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[F.N. Earp]
23, Sheen Park, Richmond.
Dec. 30. 34
My dear Buchan,
As I think I have said before, I am rather shy of writing to you, knowing how precious time must be, but I have just finished your life of Cromwell, which Mrs. Earp gave me for Xmas, and I should like to congratulate you upon it. I am no historian & in fact seldom manage to get through anything of the kind without skipping, but I had no difficulty this time. What impressed me most was your grasp of detail; I cannot imagine how you find time not only to learn, but to digest so much & if I were not too old, I would gladly take lessons. I particularly
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admire in that respect your introductory sketch, though the same thing comes out elsewhere. And you are very clear, & I often think that clear historical narrative must be the hardest of all things to write: events themselves are so confused & crowded. The more you know, the more difficult it must be to put them into intelligible shape. The process may have become instinctive with you, but it would bewilder me.
I enjoyed the last half of the book most, rather to my surprise, for it is the saddest part of the story. I rather expected to enjoy the campaigning most, but I found Oliver himself more interesting than events. Your account of him is certainly just & sympathetic and gives me the impression that you understand him better than most of your predecessors; I would say 'better than all', but I have not read all, so it is safer to say 'most'.
In contrast with your industry I am ashamed to say that I have done nothing more about my verses, which you kindly read, except to submit them to one or two more critics. Unfortunately, though favourable, they disagree in their likings, & I must muster self-confidence enough to cut the knot by choosing for myself. In my present mood I doubt whether any are quite good enough.
As I get older, the affairs of this transitory world, including my private emotions, seem less important than they did, & when I want to enjoy myself, I turn to philosophy. In that frame of mind only great poetry appeals to me. I mention this partly because it shows why I was able to sympathize with Oliver.
I have done nothing of late that would interest you much, even in Scotland, but I'll mention one thing. Fishing on Loch Awe was nearly as hopeless as usual & the stormy days, which they reckon best for fishing, were useless, though
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I faced one or two pretty rough ones. My best bag, a very modest best, was obtained on a sunny day with little or no breeze, when out of perversity I rowed about & fished the places that are supposed to be no good. On another day, they would be resting in deep water far out from the shores. It was the same with flies; there was no telling what they would like. Fish are unaccountable & if there are any rules, I am sure that no one knows them.
With good wishes for the New Year.
Yours very sincerely,
FR Earp
