superior to all living poets besides. What says Coleridge? The "Monody
on Henderson" is _immensely good_; the rest of that little volume is
_readable and above mediocrity?_ [2] I proceed to a more pleasant
task,--pleasant because the poems are yours; pleasant because you impose
the task on me; and pleasant, let me add, because it will confer a
whimsical importance on me to sit in judgment upon your rhymes. First,
though, let me thank you again and again, in my own and my sister's
name, for your invitations. Nothing could give us more pleasure than to
come; but (were there no other reasons) while my brother's leg is so
bad, it is out of the question. Poor fellow! he is very feverish and
light-headed; but Cruikshanks has pronounced the symptoms favourable,
and gives us every hope that there will be no need of amputation. God
send not! We are necessarily confined with him all the afternoon and
evening till very late, so that I am stealing a few minutes to write
to you.

Thank you for your frequent letters; you are the only correspondent and,
I might add, the only friend I have in the world. I go nowhere, and have
no acquaintance. Slow of speech and reserved of manners, no one seeks or
cares for my society, and I am left alone. Austin calls only
occasionally, as though it were a duty rather, and seldom stays ten
minutes. Then judge how thankful I am for your letters! Do not, however,
burden yourself with the correspondence. I trouble you again so soon
only in obedience to your injunctions. Complaints apart, proceed we to
our task. I am called away to tea,--thence must wait upon my brother; so
must delay till to-morrow. Farewell!--_Wednesday_.

_Thursday_.--I will first notice what is new to me. Thirteenth page:
"The thrilling tones that concentrate the soul" is a nervous line, and
the six first lines of page 14 are very pretty, the twenty-first