George Ticknor, Life, letters and journals of George Ticknor
George Hillard, Ed.

[153] and I was well pleased to find that in such an academical company justice was done to them. It would not have been so twenty years ago. But Whewell and Hallam are above all common prejudices, at least . . .

April 7.—We made a most delightful visit to Miss Joanna Baillie. . . . . She talked of Scott with a tender enthusiasm that was contagious, and of Lockhart with a kindness that is uncommon when coupled with his name, and which seemed only characteristic of her benevolence. It is very rare that old age, or, indeed, any age, is found so winning and agreeable. I do not wonder that Scott in his letters treats her with more deference, and writes to her with more care and beauty, than to any other of his correspondents, however high or titled. . . . .

We dined at Henry N. Coleridge's. He lives very pleasantly near Regent's Park, and old Mrs. Coleridge, the widow of S. T. Coleridge and mother of his wife, lives with him. The Head Master of Eton was there,—a stiff dominie, but not without agreeable talk,—and two or three barristers, with as many ladies, and the dinner was agreeable. Coleridge himself has a good deal of acuteness.

In talking of Southey and Wordsworth, he said—what is according to my own impression—that Wordsworth has a keen enjoyment of life, and he added that Southey is become extremely weary of life. Not long since, he said, somebody was predicting what they should see, if he and Southey lived ten years longer. Without directly interrupting him, Southey clasped his hands and cast his eyes upward, ejaculating parenthetically, ‘Which God in his infinite mercy forbid!’ and seemed to shudder all over at the thought of his possibly living so long. He has been in this melancholy state, I understand, ever since Mrs. Southey first gave signs of insanity, about five years ago.

Mrs. Coleridge, the elder, presided at the table, her daughter not being well enough, from recent illness, to be in her place; but she came down into the saloon afterwards . . . . . Her health has long been bad, and she showed to-day but slight traces of the round, happy, and most beautiful creature I knew, just sixteen years old, in 1819, at Southey's. But she was very lady-like and gentle in her manner, and showed occasionally bright flashes of spirit and fancy. She is very pleasing, too, and I dare say has much of the extraordinary talent her father gives her credit for. We enjoyed our visit, and, though tired with a laborious day, stayed late.

April 9.—We went this morning, by the invitation of Sir Francis