Of the published Volume Moxon gave the worst tidings;no man had hailed it with welcome;unsold it lay,under the leaden seal of general neglect;the public when asked what it thought,had answered hitherto by a lazy stare.It shall answer otherwise,thought Sterling;by no means taking that as the final response.It was in this same September that he announced to me and other friends,under seal of secrecy as usual,the completion,or complete first-draught,of "a new Poem reaching to two thousand verses."By working "three hours every morning"he had brought it so far.This Piece,entitled _The Election_,of which in due time we obtained perusal,and had to give some judgment,proved to be in a new vein,--what might be called the mock-heroic,or sentimental Hudibrastic,reminding one a little,too,of Wieland's _Oberon_;--it had touches of true drollery combined not ill with grave clear insight;showed spirit everywhere,and a plainly improved power of execution.Our stingy verdict was to the effect,"Better,but still not good enough:--why follow that sad 'metrical'course,climbing the loose sandhills,when you have a firm path along the plain?"To Sterling himself it remained dubious whether so slight a strain,new though it were,would suffice to awaken the sleeping public;and the Piece was thrown away and taken up again,at intervals;and the question,Publish or not publish?lay many months undecided.
Meanwhile his own feeling was now set more and more towards Poetry;and in spite of symptoms and dissuasions,and perverse prognostics of outward wind and weather,he was rallying all his force for a downright struggle with it;resolute to see which _was_the stronger.
It must be owned,he takes his failures in the kindliest manner;and goes along,bating no jot of heart or hope.Perhaps I should have more admired this than I did!My dissuasions,in that case,might have been fainter.But then my sincerity,which was all the use of my poor counsel in assent or dissent,would have been less.He was now furthermore busy with a _Tragedy of Strafford_,the theme of many failures in Tragedy;planning it industriously in his head;eagerly reading in _Whitlocke,Rushworth_and the Puritan Books,to attain a vesture and local habitation for it.Faithful assiduous studies I do believe;--of which,knowing my stubborn realism,and savage humor towards singing by the Thespian or other methods,he told me little,during his visits that summer.
The advance of the dark weather sent him adrift again;to Torquay,for this winter:there,in his old Falmouth climate,he hoped to do well;--and did,so far as well-doing was readily possible,in that sad wandering way of life.However,be where he may,he tries to work "two or three hours in the morning,"were it even "with a lamp,"in bed,before the fires are lit;and so makes something of it.From abundant Letters of his now before me,I glean these two or three small glimpses;sufficient for our purpose at present.The general date is "Tor,near Torquay:"--_To Mrs.Charles Fox,Falmouth_.
_Tor,November 30th_,1840.--I reached this place on Thursday;having,after much hesitation,resolved to come here,at least for the next three weeks,--with some obscure purpose of embarking,at the New Year,from Falmouth for Malta,and so reaching Naples,which I have not seen.There was also a doubt whether I should not,after Christmas,bring my family here for the first four months of the year.All this,however,is still doubtful.But for certain inhabitants of Falmouth and its neighborhood,this place would be far more attractive than it.
But I have here also friends,whose kindness,like much that I met with last winter,perpetually makes me wonder at the stock of benignity in human nature.A brother of my friend Julius Hare,Marcus by name,a Naval man,and though not a man of letters,full of sense and knowledge,lives here in a beautiful place,with a most agreeable and excellent wife,a daughter of Lord Stanley of Alderley.I had hardly seen them before;but they are fraternizing with me,in a much better than the Jacobin fashion;and one only feels ashamed at the enormity of some people's good-nature.I am in a little rural sort of lodging;and as comfortable as a solitary oyster can expect to be."--_To C.Barton_.
