few,
indeed, but devoted and congenial, who were admitted to her sick room.
Chief among these friends of her earlier London years were John Kenyon,
a distant cousin, and Mary Russell Mitford, author of _Our Village_.
Miss Mitford made the acquaintance of Miss Barrett in one of the
latter's rare appearances in society, and she has left an account of the
meeting and a description of Miss Barrett which is famous.

"She was certainly one of the most interesting persons that I had ever
seen. Everybody who then saw her said the same; so that it is not merely
the impression of my partiality or my enthusiasm. 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 eyelashes, a
smile like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness that I had some
difficulty in persuading a friend ... that the translatress of the
_Prometheus_ of AEschylus, the authoress of the _Essay on Mind_, was old
enough to be introduced into company,--in technical language, was
'out.'"

Although Miss Mitford was nineteen years older than Miss Barrett, the
friendship which sprang up between them was most close, and lasted until
Miss Mitford's death in 1855. Their correspondence was constant and
voluminous, as was that, in fact, of Miss Barrett with all of her
intimate friends. These letters of hers from her sick room are no more
remarkable for number than for brightness and vivacity. Little mention
is made of her ailments, except when her friends have specifically
demanded news of her health, and the letters deal rather with literary
than with other subjects. This was, of course, most natural; the invalid
could have little news to communicate from her couch to her friends in
the outer world. Her literary activity, too, increased, and she began to
contribute to magazines poems of various kinds, which attracted much
attention. Not all comment on them was favorable; the people declared
that some of them were Sphinx-like--too difficult, if not impossible, of
interpretation. But every one realized that here was a real poet, one of
striking individuality, and, for a woman, most remarkable learning.

By the autumn of 1838, her health had become so much worse that the
doctor ordered removal to a warmer climate, and she was taken to
Torquay, where she remained for three years. Her father and her brothers
and sisters visited her there from time to time, but her constant
com