ot recall any but James Montgomery, Thomas
Moore, and myself, who are living, except the octogenarian with whom I
began.

[208]

Walter Scott died 21st Sept. 1832. S.T. Coleridge " 25th July 1834.
Charles Lamb " 27th Dec. 1834. Geo. Crabbe " 3rd Feb. 1832. Felicia
Hemans " 16th May 1835. Robert Southey " 21st March 1843.

I saw Tennyson, when I was in London, several times. He is decidedly the
first of our living poets, and I hope will live to give the world still
better things. You will be pleased to hear that he expressed in the
strongest terms his gratitude to my writings. To this I was far from
indifferent, though persuaded that he is not much in sympathy with what
I should myself most value in my attempts, viz. the spirituality with
which I have endeavoured to invest the material universe, and the moral
relations under which I have wished to exhibit its most ordinary
appearances. I ought not to conclude this first portion of my letter
without telling you that I have now under my roof a cousin, who some
time ago was introduced, improperly, I think, she being then a child, to
the notice of the public, as one of the English poetesses, in an article
of the _Quarterly_ so entitled. Her name is Emmeline Fisher, and her
mother is my first cousin. What advances she may have made in latter
years I do not know, but her productions from the age of eight to twelve
were not less than astonishing. She only arrived yesterday, and we
promise ourselves much pleasure in seeing more of her. Our dear friend
Miss Fenwick is also under our roof; so is Katharine Southey, her late
father's youngest daughter, so that we reckon ourselves rich; though our
only daughter is far from us, being gone to Oporto with her husband on
account of her enfeebled frame: and most unfortunately, soon after her
arrival, she was seized with a violent attack of rheumatic fever caused
by exposure to the evening air. We have also been obliged lately to part
with four grandsons, very fine boys, who are gone with their father to
Italy to visit their mother, kept there by severe illness, which sent
her abroad two years ago. Under these circumstances we old people keep
our spirits as well as we can, trusting the end to God's goodness.

Now, for the enclosed poem,[209] which I wrote the other day, and which
I send to you, hoping it may give you some pleasure, as a scanty
repayment for all that we owe you. Our dear friend, Miss Fenwick, is
especially desirous th