I must begin by performing a commission, arising, I am sorry to say, as you will be to hear, from the death of Mr. Edmondson. By his desire I am to say that a hamper of yours, which was left in his care, will be as secure with his family as it was during his lifetime. This most useful and meritorious man died on Monday last, worn out by an internal disease, with which he had struggled for the last two years. A subscription is proposed for placing a tablet in the church to his memory.

His professional skill, the conscientiousness of his charges, and the laborious course of duty in which his life was passed, deserve this tribute. It will be creditable to the people of this place that this should be done, and you do men good by raising them in their own esteem when you engage them in anything which partakes of a generous or a grateful feeling. What a different world would this be if half the pains were taken to call forth good feelings which are employed in exciting and fostering evil ones!

My first thought when I read of Canova’s death

was of you. The death of a friend so remotely situated that we have no hope or prospect of seeing him again is nevertheless felt as a loss, and is one in reality. He may be nearer to us than when he existed in the same world, and even more intimately sensible of our regard for him. This is a consolatory thought. But all our associations connected with the dead change their character, and thus our happiest recollections die before us. The longer we live the stronger those ties become which attract us toward another world, and the fewer and the weaker those that attach us to this. Faith and hope then become essential parts of our nature, and thus we gain more than we lose.

You will, I think, be pleased with the paper on Spain in the last Quarterly.

It is written by Blanco White, the author of Leucadio Doblado’s Letters,

a very interesting person; by birth a Spaniard of Irish-Catholic extraction, and at one time holding some preferment in the Cathedral of Seville. He came over to this country a thorough Liberal in his opinions, disbelieving everything. Here he was led into a right course of inquiry, and I believe that at this time the Church of England has not a more thoroughly pious man among her ministers.

I am in daily expectation of seeing Wordsworth on his return from Whitehaven, where he is with the Lonsdales. The accounts of little William

are good, except that application to study is found neither to agree with him nor his brother

at this time.

At present I am closely occupied in finishing the long promised Book of the Church.

It has grown into two volumes, and the cost bestowed upon it has (as usual in most cases) more than doubled the estimate. I hope, however, it has not been ill bestowed. As soon as it is done I shall set out with my daughter Edith for London, probably the first week in November. Shall you be at Coleorton then? If so, it would give me great pleasure to direct my course in that direction, and pass a few days with you.