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Updated: May 5, 2025
The pure lyrist, says Watts-Dunton, has one voice and sings one tune; the epic poets and quasi-dramatists have one voice but can sing several tunes, while the true dramatists, with their objective, "absolute" vision of the world, have many tongues and can sing in all tunes. A Rough Classification
"He sees everything," as Mr. Watts-Dunton once said to the writer "through the gauze of poetry." His love for beautiful words and phrases leads him to express his thoughts in the choicest language. He puts his costliest wine in myrrhine vases; he builds his temple with the lordliest cedars. Mr. Payne does not write for the multitude, but few poets of the day have a more devoted band of admirers.
Why wouldn't Watts-Dunton roar him an opportunity? I felt I had been right perhaps in feeling that the lesser man was no, not jealous of the greater whom he had guarded so long and with such love, but anxious that he himself should be as fully impressive to visitors as his fine gifts warranted. Not, indeed, that he monopolised the talk.
The room I was ushered into was a back-room, a dining-room, looking on to a good garden. It was, in form and 'fixtures, an inalienably Mid-Victorian room, and held its stolid own in the riot of Rossettis. 'Nor me from mine, said the sturdy cruet-stand on the long expanse of table-cloth. The voice of Watts-Dunton ceased suddenly, and a few moments later its owner appeared.
"I tried other subjects in the same direction," Mr Watts-Dunton continues, "but with small success, till in a lucky moment I bethought myself of Ambrose Gwinett, . . . the man who, after having been hanged and gibbeted for murdering a traveller with whom he had shared a double-bedded room at a seaside inn, revived in the night, escaped from the gibbet-irons, went to sea as a common sailor, and afterwards met on a British man-of-war the very man he had been hanged for murdering.
But how delicate it is, the two lads talking amidst the furze of Mousehold Heath at sunset. And so with the rest. As he grows older the atmosphere thins but never quite fades away; even Thurtell, the bull-necked friend of bruisers, is as much a spirit as a man. Mr. Watts-Dunton has complained that Borrow makes Isopel taller than Borrow, and therefore too tall for beauty.
Watts-Dunton, and the pigeon-holing of notes be regarded as a commencement. Still, the announcement of Mr. Payne's edition the first volume of which was actually in the press must have caused him a pang; and the sincere good wishes for his rival's success testify to the nobility, unselfishness and magnanimity of his character. Mr.
I remember first seeing you at Oulton, some twenty-five years ago; then at Donne's in London; then at my own happy home in Regent's Park; then ditto at Gorleston after which, I have seen nobody, except the nephews and nieces left me by my good sister Kerrich. So shall things rest? Yours and theirs sincerely, EDWARD FITZGERALD. Borrow was still a remarkably robust man. Mr Watts-Dunton tells how,
His bow seemed always to convey that. Swinburne having gone from the room, in would come the parlourmaid. The table was cleared, the fire was stirred, two leather arm-chairs were pushed up to the hearth. Watts-Dunton wanted gossip of the present. I wanted gossip of the great past. We settled down for a long, comfortable afternoon together. Only once was the ritual varied.
Watts-Dunton is the owner of Dunn's drawing, and as so many people want to see what Rossetti's famous Chelsea house was like inside, it is a pity he does not give it as a frontispiece to some future edition of Aylwin. Unfortunately, Mr.
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