My sister has to thank Lady Beaumont for a letter; but she is at present unable to write, from a violent inflammation in her eyes, which I hope is no more than the complaint going about:  but as she has lately been over-fatigued, and is in other respects unwell, I am not without fear that the indisposition in her eyes may last some time.  As soon as she is able, she will do herself the pleasure of writing to Lady Beaumont.  Mrs. Wordsworth and Lady B.’s little god-daughter[22] are both doing very well.  Had the child been a boy, we should have persisted in our right to avail ourselves of Lady Beaumont’s goodness in offering to stand sponsor for it.  The name of Dorothy, obsolete as it is now grown, had been so long devoted in my own thoughts to the first daughter that I might have, that I could not break this promise to myself—­a promise in which my wife participated; though the name of Mary, to my ear the most musical and truly English in sound we have, would have otherwise been most welcome to me, including, as it would, Lady Beaumont and its mother.  This last sentence, though in a letter to you, Sir George, is intended for Lady Beaumont.

[22] Dora Wordsworth, born Aug. 16. 1804.

* * * * *

When I ventured to express my regret at Sir Joshua Reynolds giving so much of his time to portrait-painting and to his friends, I did not mean to recommend absolute solitude and seclusion from the world as an advantage to him or anybody else.  I think it a great evil; and indeed, in the case of a painter, frequent intercourse with the living world seems absolutely necessary to keep the mind in health and vigour.  I spoke, in some respects, in compliment to Sir Joshua Reynolds, feeling deeply, as I do, the power of his genius, and loving passionately the labours of genius in every way in which I am capable of comprehending them.  Mr. Malone, in the account prefixed to the Discourses, tells us that Sir Joshua generally passed the time from eleven till four every day in portrait-painting.  This it was that grieved me, as a sacrifice of great things to little ones.  It will give me great pleasure to hear from you at your leisure.  I am anxious to know that you are satisfied with the site and intended plan of your house.  I suppose no man ever built a house without finding, when it was finished, that something in it might have been better done. Internal architecture seems to have arrived at great excellence in England; but, I don’t know how it is, I scarcely ever see the outside of a new house that pleases me.  But I must break off.  Believe me, with best remembrances from my wife and sister to yourself and Lady Beaumont,

Yours,
With the greatest respect and regard,
W. WORDSWORTH.

My poetical labours have been entirely suspended during the last two months:  I am most anxious to return to them[23].

[23] Memoirs, vol. i. pp. 270—­2.  G.