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When I come home I look out of the small window; the landscape is magnificent: about twenty yards of virgin soil with Spring grass on it and the barn on the horizon. Behind the fence, over which I see the tops of the heads of passers-by. "Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis spectare laborem...." I forget how it runs further! My latin gets weak.
And for the next fifteen years a large part of his time was passed at Foxholes, where, in the most delightful climate known in this country, surrounded by beautiful scenery and with a commanding view of the sea, amid the comforts of home and in the company of his books and his chosen friends, he could say, from both the material and moral point of view: Suave, mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem.
'Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem . . . Protestants, who look at creeds as things to be changed like coats, whenever they seem not to fit them, little know what we Catholic-hearted ones suffer. . . . If they did, they would be more merciful and more chary in the requirements of us, just as we are in the very throe of a new-born existence.
Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari quenquam eat jucunda voluptas, Sed quibus ipse malls caress qula cernere sauv' est. All this is easily applied to the present subject.
The "well-languaged Daniel," of whom Ben Jonson said that he was "a good honest man, but no poet," wrote, however, one fine meditative piece, his Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland, a sermon apparently on the text of the Roman poet Lucretius's famous passage in praise of philosophy, Suave, mari magno, turbantibus æquora ventis, E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem.
My old tune is, Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis, &c. Adieu! P.S. ARLINGTON STREET, 7th. I am just come to town, and find your letter, with the notification of Lord Cowper's marriage; I recollect that I ought to be sorry for it, as you will probably lose an old friend. The approaching death of the Pope will be an event of no consequence.
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