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Letter from Gerard Manley Hopkins to Alexander William Mowbray Baillie, discussing his meeting with Baillie's cousin, Mrs. Cunliffe; his impending trip to Wales; his visit to the Junior Water Colours and the British Institution; etc.

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go again. She seemed a most engaging lady. But then she is your cousin. She COMPREHOOD who I was by my photographeme which you strangely said was not like me.

I am going to Wales, Maentwrog, Merionethshire, on the 1st of Aug ust I think, not the Lakes. If you hear nothing to the contrary direct to Miss Roberts, Pen-y-lan, Maentenrog, Merionethshire, North Wales, after that day. I am adscrib ed third into Alfred Erskine and Bond.

Since writing the above I have been invited by the Marshalls, but un happily the Cunliffes cannot come. I am therefore to call, as before, which shall be today.

I went yesterday to the Junior Water Colours and the British Institution

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(Old Masters.) The latter were charm ing. I had a silent gush before a Gainsborough; 'an' 'opipiatwv ebtaza mnyas of admiration. There was a portrait for a handsome young gentle man by Leonardo (it is most know ing of all to write it Lionardo), a Baptism of Our Lord by Luini, exquisite grace refined almost into effeminacy. There were numbers of Gains boroughs, Sir Joshuas and Romneys. Romney is like them. Five Nelas quezes, a Murillo, a Gurbaran, many Canalettos, which I have now unbared; you cannot deceive your self with you see "the Rotunda, Ranelagh" or Westminster Bridge whatever you may do in Venetian pictures. But I have invented a Canaletto with genius. His name is Guardi. If you see any of his

Last edit over 6 years ago by John B Howard
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charming person. I did not see her hus band. I was so amused by their all, I mean Mrs. Cunliffe, Miss Lyall and Mr. Alford, Talking of feeling in their bones, "why, they asked and"ing, etc. etc.

From the top of this page has been written at Pen-y-lan, Maen-twrog, Merionethshire, where I arrived last Monday, Aug ust 1st. I have had adventures. I was lost in storms of rain on the mount ains between Bala and Ffestiniog. It really happened what is the related in novels and allegories, "the dry beds of the morning were not turned into the channels of swollen torrents," etc. At last a river ran across the road and cut me off entirely. I took refuge in a shepherd's hut and slept amongst the Corinthians.

Last edit over 6 years ago by John B Howard
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