The verses called forth by your love and the disappointment that followed I have read with much pleasure, tho’ grieved that you should have suffered so much; as poetry they derive an interest from your philosophical pursuits, which could not but recommend the verses even to indifferent readers, and must give them in the eyes of your friends a great charm.  The style appears to me good, and the general flow of the versification harmonious; but you deal somewhat more in dactylic endings and identical terminations than I am accustomed to think legitimate.  Sincerely do I congratulate you upon being able to continue your philosophical pursuits under such a pressure of personal feeling.

It gives me much pleasure that you and Coleridge have met, and that you were not disappointed in the conversation of a man from whose writings you had previously drawn so much delight and improvement.  He and my beloved sister are the two beings to whom my intellect is most indebted, and they are now proceeding, as it were, pari passu, along the path of sickness, I will not say towards the grave, but I trust towards a blessed immortality.

It was not my intention to write so seriously:  my heart is full, and you must excuse it.

You do not tell me how you like Cambridge as a place, nor what you thought of its buildings and other works of art.  Did you not see Oxford as well?  Surely you would not lose the opportunity; it has greatly the advantage over Cambridge in its happy intermixture of streets, churches, and collegiate buildings.

I hope you found time when in London to visit the British Museum.

A fortnight ago I came hither to my son and daughter, who are living a gentle, happy, quiet, and useful life together.  My daughter Dora is also with us.  On this day I should have returned, but an inflammation in my eyes makes it unsafe for me to venture in an open carriage, the weather being exceedingly disturbed.

A week ago appeared here Mr. W.S.  Landor, the Poet, and author of the Imaginary Conversations, which probably have fallen in your way.  We had never met before, tho’ several letters had passed between us; and as I had not heard that he was in England, my gratification in seeing him was heightened by surprise.  We passed a day together at the house of my friend Mr. Rawson, on the banks of Wastwater.  His conversation is lively and original; his learning great, tho’ he will not allow it, and his laugh the heartiest I have heard of a long time.  It is not much less than twenty years since he left England for France, and afterwards Italy, where he hopes to end his days, nay [he has] fixed near Florence upon the spot where he wishes to be buried.  Remember me most kindly to your sisters.  Dora begs her love and thanks to your sister Eliza for her last most interesting letter, which she will answer when she can command a frank.

                   Ever faithfully yours,
                        WM. WORDSWORTH.[128]