But I do confess to you, my dear friend, that I suspect—­through the mist of my sensations—­the poem in question to be very inferior to his former poems; I confess that the impression left on my mind is, of its decided inferiority, and I have heard that the poet’s friends and critics (all except one) are mourning over its appearance; sighing inwardly, ‘Wordsworth is old.’

One thing is clear to me, however, and over that I rejoice and triumph greatly.  If you can esteem this poem of ‘Grace Darling,’ you must be susceptible to the grandeur and beauty of the poems which preceded it; and the cause of your past reluctance to recognise the poet’s power must be, as I have always suspected, from your having given a very partial attention and consideration to his poetry.  You were partial in your attention I, perhaps, was injudicious in my extracts; but with your truth and his genius, I cannot doubt but that the time will come for your mutual amity.  Oh that I could stand as a herald of peace, with my wool-twisted fillet!  I do not understand the Greek metres as well as you do, but I understand Wordsworth’s genius better, and do you forgive that it should console me.

I will ask about his collegian extraction.  Such a question never occurred to me.  Apollo taught him under the laurels, while all the Muses looked through the boughs.

Your ever affectionate
ELIZABETH B. BARRETT,

Oh, yes, it delights me that you should be nearer.  Of course you know that Wordsworth is Laureate.[77]

[Footnote 77:  Wordsworth was nominated Poet Laureate after the death of Southey in March 1843.]

To John Kenyan May 19, 1843,

Thank you, my dear cousin, for all your kindness to me.  There is ivy enough for a thyrsus, and I almost feel ready to enact a sort of Bacchus triumphalis ‘for jollitie,’ as I see it already planted, and looking in at me through the window.  I never thought to see such a sight as that in my London room, and am overwhelmed with my own glory.

And then Mr. Browning’s note!  Unless you say ‘nay’ to me, I shall keep this note, which has pleased me so much, yet not more than it ought. Now, I forgive Mr. Merivale for his hard thoughts of my easy rhymes.  But all this pleasure, my dear Mr. Kenyon, I owe to you, and shall remember that I do.

Ever affectionately yours,
E.B.B.

To Mrs. Martin May 26, 1843.

...  I thank you for your part in the gaining of my bed, dearest Mrs. Martin, most earnestly; and am quite ready to believe that it was gained by wishdom, which believing is wisdom!  No, you would certainly never recognise my prison if you were to see it.  The bed, like a sofa and no Bed; the large table placed out in the room, towards the wardrobe end of it; the sofa rolled where a sofa should be rolled—­opposite the arm-chair:  the drawers crowned with a coronal