eads Greek as I do French. She has
published some translations from AEschylus and some striking poems. She is
a delightful creature, shy, timid and modest."

The next day Mr. Kenyon gave a little dinner in honor of Miss Mitford, who
was the author of a great book called, "Our Village." That night when Miss
Mitford wrote her usual letter to the folks down in the country, telling
how she was getting along, she described this dinner-party. She says:
"Wordsworth was there--an adorable old man. Then there was Walter Savage
Landor, too, as splendid a person as Mr. Kenyon himself, but not so full
of sweetness and sympathy. But best of all, the charming Miss Barrett, who
translated the most difficult of the Greek plays, 'Prometheus Bound.' She
has written most exquisite poems, too, in almost every modern style. She
is so sweet and gentle, and so pretty that one looks at her as if she were
some bright flower." Then in another letter Miss Mitford adds: "She is of
a slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either
side of a most expressive face; large tender eyes, richly fringed by dark
lashes; a smile like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness that I had
some difficulty in persuading a friend that she was really the translator
of AEschylus and the author of the 'Essay on Mind.'"

When Miss Mitford went back home, she wrote Miss Barrett a letter 'most
every day. She addresses her as "My Sweet Love," "My Dearest Sweet," and
"My Sweetest Dear." She declares her to be the gentlest, strongest,
sanest, noblest and most spiritual of all living persons. And moreover she
wrote these things to others and published them in reviews. She gave
Elizabeth Barrett much good advice and some not so good. Among other
things she says: "Your one fault, my dear, is obscurity. You must be
simple and plain. Think of the stupidest person of your acquaintance, and
when you have made your words so clear that you are sure he will
understand, you may venture to hope it will be understood by others."

I hardly think that this advice caused Miss Barrett to bring her lines
down to the level of the stupidest person she knew. She continued to write
just as she chose. Yet she was grateful for Miss Mitford's glowing
friendship, and all the pretty gush was accepted, although perhaps with
good large pinches of the Syracuse product.

Of course there are foolish people who assume that gushing women are
shallow, but this is jumping at conclus