is favourites among the English poets, especially the latter, whom he
almost idolises. He expressed one opinion which rather surprised me, and
in which I could not concur--that he preferred the 'Samson Agonistes' to
'Comus.' He recited in vindication of his judgment one very fine passage
from the former poem, and in a very striking manner; his voice is deep
and pathetic, and thrills with feeling. He is Toryish--at least what
would he considered so--in his political principles, though he disclaims
all connection with party, and certainly argues with great fairness and
temper on controverted topics, such as Parliamentary Reform and Catholic
Emancipation. We took a long walk with him the other evening, to the
scene of one of his Pastorals in the neighbourhood of Grasmere. He has a
good deal of general conversation, and has more the manners of a man of
the world than I should have expected from his poems; but his discourse
indicates great simplicity and purity of mind; indeed, nothing renders
his conversation more interesting than the unaffected tone of elevated
morality and devotion which pervades it. We have been reading his long
poem, the 'Excursion,' since we came here. I particularly recommend it
to your notice, barring some few extra vagancies into which his
peculiar theory has led him: his fourth book, the last, contains
specimens both of versification, sentiment, and imagery, scarcely
inferior to what you will find in the best passages of Milton. He spoke
with great plainness, and yet with candour, of his contemporaries. He
admitted the power of Byron in describing the workings of human passion,
but denied that he knew anything of the beauties of Nature, or succeeded
in describing them with fidelity. This he illustrated by examples. He
spoke with deserved severity of Byron's licentiousness and contempt of
religious decorum. He told us he thought the greatest of modern
geniuses, had he given his powers a proper direction, and one decidedly
superior to Byron, was Shelley, a young man, author of 'Queen Mab,' who
died lately at Rome. (Vol. i. pp. 72-4.)

Manchester, July 16. 1830.

....Though I am busy, I feel rather melancholy; and I am continually
reminded how sad my life would be without the society and affection of
those we love, and how terribly awful the dispensation of death must be
to those who cannot anticipate a future reunion, and regard it as the
utter extinction of all human interests and