He had his breeding at Cambridge, as if for
the Law or Church; being master of a small annuity on his
Father's decease, he preferred clubbing with his Mother and some
Sisters, to live unpromoted and write Poems. In this way he
lives still, now here, now there; the family always within reach
of London, never in it; he himself making rare and brief visits,
lodging in some old comrade's rooms. I think he must be under
forty, not much under it. One of the finest-looking men in the
world. A great shock of rough dusty-dark hair; bright-laughing
hazel eyes; massive aquiline face, most massive yet most
delicate; of sallow-brown complexion, almost Indian-looking;
clothes cynically loose, free-and-easy;--smokes infinite tobacco.
His voice is musical metallic,--fit for loud laughter and
piercing wail, and all that may lie between; speech, and
speculation free and plenteous: I do not meet, in these late
decades, such company over a pipe!--We shall see what he will
grow to. He is often unwell; very chaotic,--his way is through
Chaos and the Bottomless and Pathless; not handy for making out
many miles upon.
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