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wild and beautiful, sketches charming,
walking tours and excursions,
poetic downs and the lovely
Chine, fine cliffs, everything (except
odious Fashionables.) My brothers
and cousin catch us shrimps,
prawns and lobsters, and keep
aquariums. Ah and I will tell you
a Popehenic anecdote. I thought it
would look strikingly graceful
etc to wear sea-anemones round my
forehead. (Mermaids do it, you
know. Fragment from an unpublished ?)
So I put a large one on in
the middle, and it fixed itself correctly.
Now one has heard of their
stinging, but I had handled them
so often unharmed, and who could
have imagined a creature stinging
with its - base, you call it in Sea

anemones? But it did, loudly, and
when the pain had ceased a mark
remained, which is now a large red
scar.

About Millais' Eve of S. Agnes, you
ought to have known me well enough
to be sure I should like it. Of course
I do intensely - not wholly perhaps
as Keats' Madeline but as the conception
of her by a genius. I think over
this picture, which I could only unhappily
see once, and it, or the memory
of it, grows upon me. Those three
pictures by Millais in this years' Academy
have opened my eyes. I see that
he is the greatest English painter,
one of the greatest of the world.
Eddis, the painter, said to me that
he thought some of its best men - he
instanced Millais - were leaving the
school. Very unfairly, as you will

wild and beautiful, sketches charming,
walking tours and excursions,
poetic downs and the lovely
Chine, fine cliffs, everything (except
odious Fashionables.) My brothers
and cousin catch us shrimps,
prawns and lobsters, and keep
aquariums. Ah and I will tell you
a Popehenic anecdote. I thought it
would look strikingly graceful
etc to wear sea-anemones round my
forehead. (Mermaids do it, you
know. Fragment from an unpublished?)
So I put a large one on in
the middle, and it fixed itself correctly.
Now one has heard of their
stinging, but I had handled them
so often unharmed, and who could
have imagined a creature stinging
with its - base, you call it in Sea

anemones? But it did, loudly, and
when the pain had ceased a mark
remained, which is now a large red
sear.

About Millais' Eve of S. Agnes, you
ought to have known me well enough
to be sure I should like it. Of course
I do intensely - not wholly perhaps
as Keats' Madeline but as the conception
of her by a genius. I think over
this picture, which I could only unhappily
see once, and it, or the memory
of it, grows upon me. Those three
pictures by Millais in this years' academy
have opened my eyes. I see that
he is the greatest English painter,
one of the greatest of the world.
Eddis, the painter, said to me that
he thought some of its best men - he
instanced Millais - were leaving the
school. Very unfairly, as you will