not but look with deep interest and
admiration on the woman for whom this illustrious man had for so many
years cherished feelings of reverential love.

'Peace settles where the intellect is meek,'

is a line which you will recall from one of the beautiful poems
Wordsworth has addressed to her; and this seemed peculiarly the temper
of her spirit--_peace_, the holy calmness of a heart to whom love had
been an 'unerring light.' Surely we may pray, my friend, that in the
brief season of separation which she has now to pass, she may be
strengthened with divine consolation.

I cannot forbear to quote here that beautiful passage, near the end of
the great poem, 'The Prelude,' as an utterance by the author of tender
feelings in his own matchless way. After speaking of his sister in tones
of deepest thankfulness, he adds,

'Thereafter came
One, whom with thee friendship had early prized;
She came, no more a phantom to adorn
A moment, but an inmate of the heart;
And yet a spirit, there for me enshrined,
To penetrate the lofty and the low;
Even as one essence of pervading light
Shines in the brightness of ten thousand stars,
And the meek worm that feeds her lonely lamp
Couched in the dewy grass.'

I have been led away from my narrative; but I wished to record the
feelings which had arisen within me with regard to this excellent lady;
she who has been, as ---- has so happily expressed it in his letter to
you, 'almost like the Poet's guardian angel for near fifty years.'

* * * * *

I may here mention, that throughout the conversation Wordsworth's manner
was animated, and that he took pleasure in it evidently. His words were
very choice: each sentence seemed faultless. No one could have listened
to his talk for five minutes, even on ordinary topics, without
perceiving that he was a remarkable man. Not that he was brilliant; but
there was sustained vigour, and that mode of expression which denotes
habitual thoughtfulness.

When the clock struck four, I thought it time for me to go. Wordsworth
told me to say to his friends in America, that he and his wife were
well; that they had had a great grief of late, in the loss of their only
daughter, which he supposed they would never get over. This explained,
as I have already mentioned, the sadness of his manner. Such strength of
the affections in old age we rarely see. And yet the Po