The next day Mr. Kenyon gave a little dinner in honor of Miss Mitford, who was the author of a great book called, “Our Village.”  That night when Miss Mitford wrote her usual letter to the folks down in the country, telling how she was getting along, she described this dinner-party.  She says:  “Wordsworth was there—­an adorable old man.  Then there was Walter Savage Landor, too, as splendid a person as Mr. Kenyon himself, but not so full of sweetness and sympathy.  But best of all, the charming Miss Barrett, who translated the most difficult of the Greek plays, ‘Prometheus Bound.’  She has written most exquisite poems, too, in almost every modern style.  She is so sweet and gentle, and so pretty that one looks at her as if she were some bright flower.”  Then in another letter Miss Mitford adds:  “She is 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 lashes; a smile like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness that I had some difficulty in persuading a friend that she was really the translator of AEschylus and the author of the ‘Essay on Mind.’”

When Miss Mitford went back home, she wrote Miss Barrett a letter ’most every day.  She addresses her as “My Sweet Love,” “My Dearest Sweet,” and “My Sweetest Dear.”  She declares her to be the gentlest, strongest, sanest, noblest and most spiritual of all living persons.  And moreover she wrote these things to others and published them in reviews.  She gave Elizabeth Barrett much good advice and some not so good.  Among other things she says:  “Your one fault, my dear, is obscurity.  You must be simple and plain.  Think of the stupidest person of your acquaintance, and when you have made your words so clear that you are sure he will understand, you may venture to hope it will be understood by others.”

I hardly think that this advice caused Miss Barrett to bring her lines down to the level of the stupidest person she knew.  She continued to write just as she chose.  Yet she was grateful for Miss Mitford’s glowing friendship, and all the pretty gush was accepted, although perhaps with good large pinches of the Syracuse product.

Of course there are foolish people who assume that gushing women are shallow, but this is jumping at conclusions.  A recent novel gives us a picture of “a tall soldier,” who, in camp, was very full of brag and bluster.  We are quite sure that when the fight comes on this man with the lubricated tongue will prove an arrant coward; we assume that he will run at the first smell of smoke.  But we are wrong—­he stuck; and when the flag was carried down in the rush, he rescued it and bore it bravely so far to the front that when he came back he brought another—­the tawdry, red flag of the enemy!

I slip this in here just to warn hasty folk against the assumption that talkative people are necessarily vacant-minded.  Man has a many-sided nature, and like the moon reveals only certain phases at certain times.  And as there is one side of the moon that is never revealed at all to dwellers on the planet Earth, so mortals may unconsciously conceal certain phases of soul-stuff from each other.