Tuesday, the 2d of May, Wordsworth and Miss F. came early to walk about and dine.  He was in a very happy kindly mood.  We took a walk on the terrace, and he went as usual to his favourite points.  On our return he was struck with the berries on the holly tree, and said, ’Why should not you and I go and pull some berries from the other side of the tree, which is not seen from the window? and then we can go and plant them in the rocky ground behind the house.’  We pulled the berries, and set forth with our tool.  I made the holes, and the Poet put in the berries.  He was as earnest and eager about it, as if it had been a matter of importance; and as he put the seeds in, he every now and then muttered, in his low solemn tone, that beautiful verse from Burns’s ‘Vision:’ 

    ’And wear thou this, she solemn said,
    And bound the holly round my head. 
    The polished leaves and berries red
          Did rustling play;
    And like a passing thought she fled
          In light away.’

He clambered to the highest rocks in the ‘Tom Intake,’ and put in the berries in such situations as Nature sometimes does with such true and beautiful effect.  He said, ’I like to do this for posterity.  Some people are selfish enough to say, What has posterity done for me? but the past does much for us.’

(II.) ADDITIONAL SENT TO THE PRESENT EDITOR BY LADY RICHARDSON.

August 28th, 1841.—­Mr. Wordsworth, Miss Fenwick, and Mrs. Hill came to dine, and it rained on the whole day, but happily the Poet talked on from two to eight without being weary, as we certainly were not.  After dinner, when we came to the drawing-room, the conversation turned on the treatment of Wordsworth by the reviews of the day.  I had never heard him open out on it before, and was much struck with the manner in which he did it; from his present elevation looking calmly back on the past, and at the same time feeling that an irreparable injury had been done to him at the time when life and hope were young.  As nearly as I can I shall record his words as they were spoken.  He said: 

’At the time I resolved to dedicate myself to poetry and separate myself from the ordinary lucrative professions, it would certainly have been a great object to me to have reaped the profits I should have done from my writings but for the stupidity of Mr. Gifford and the impertinence of Mr. Jeffrey.  It would have enabled me to purchase many books which I could not obtain, and I should have gone to Italy earlier, which I never could afford to do until I was sixty-five, when Moxon gave me a thousand pounds for my writings.  This was the only kind of injury Mr. Jeffrey did me, for I immediately perceived that his mind was of that kind that his individual opinion on poetry was of no consequence to me whatever, that it was only by the influence his periodical exercised at the time in preventing my poems being read and sold that he could injure me; for feeling that my