Our dinner at Mr. Kenyon's (to which I went with the Harnesses) was magnificent. Mr. Wordsworth, whom I love — he is an adorable old man — Mr. Landor — who is as splendid a person as Mr. Kenyon, but not so full of sweetness and sympathy — the charming Miss Barrett, Mr. Courtney, and three or four more, came to dinner; one of the most magnificent dinners I ever saw; a much finer house and finer style than while Mrs. Kenyon lived. Miss Barrett has translated the most difficult of the Greek plays (the Prometheus Bound), and written most exquisite poems in almost every style. She is so sweet and gentle, and so pretty, that one looks at her as if she were some bright flower; and she says it is like a dream that she should be talking to me, whose works she knows by heart. You can not imagine how very, very, very kindly Mr. Wordsworth speaks of my poor works. You who know what I think of him, can imagine how much I am gratified by his praise.