1896] Morris on the Love of Beauty 229 



and religion. As to the last he does not believe in any God the Creator 

 of the World, or any Providence, or, I think, any future life. But 

 he is not a pessimist, and thinks mankind the ' crown of things,' in spite 

 of man's destructive action and his modern craze of ugdiness. His 

 illness does not make him gloomy ; only it troubles him in his work. 



" Swinburne's new poem was reviewed yesterday in all the papers. 

 Morris thinks it poor stuff and not worth doing, as the story, ' Balin and 

 Balan,' was quite perfect in its prose form in the ' Morte d'Arthur.' 

 ' I't would not do, however,' he said, ' for Swinburne to hear me saying 

 this, for he would never forgive me.' Swinburne, it appears, is the 

 most sensitive and jealous of men, and cannot bear the smallest crit- 

 icism. But he and Morris have not met for some years, though Mrs. 

 Morris goes now and then to see Swinburne. Tennyson, Morris says, 

 was the same, and never forgave him and Burne-Jones for having dis- 

 approved of his bowdlerization of the ' Morte d'Arthur ' in the ' Idylls 

 of the King.' I drove Morris yesterday to Crookhorn and a little way 

 round. He is, I think, happy here. The oak woods are new to him, 

 though he was born in Epping Forest, and he likes the multitude of 

 birds. He creeps about a little among them in 'the sun. 



"31^ May (Sunday). — The Morrises left yesterday. I think he 

 enjoyed himself while he was here, and he talks of coming back for 

 another week later, and of our making a drive together in Epping 

 Forest, where he was born. But I fear he is very ill. He has told me 

 something of his origin. His father was a bill broker in the Ci'ty, and 

 he himself was destined for that trade. ' If I had gone on with it,' 

 he said, ' I should have broken the bills into very small bits. We had 

 some mining shares in Cornwall, and when I succeeded to them I sold 

 them. My relations thought me both wicked and mad. bu't the shares 

 are worth nothing now.' I took him yesterday to see Shipley Church, 

 a fine old Norman tower, injured with restoration. He was very in- 

 dignant, swearing at the parsons as we walked up the nave : ' Beasts ! 

 Pigs ! Damn their souls ! ' We had a long discussion whether the 

 love of beauty was natural or acquired. ' As for me,' he said, ' I have 

 it naturally, for neither my father, nor my mother, nor any of my 

 relations had the least idea of it. I remember as a boy going into 

 Canterbury Cathedral and thinking that the spates of heaven had been 

 opened to me, also when I first saw an illuminated manuscript. These 

 first pleasures which I discovered for myself were stronger than any- 

 thing else I have had in life.' He talked much about his Iceland 

 journey, as he often does, and has a sick man's fancy to go there again, 

 for it would do him good. ' I am a man of the North,' he said. ' I 

 am disappointed a't the fine weather we are having here. I had hoped 

 it would rain, so that I could sit indoors and watch it beating on the 

 windows.' 



