"Tennyson has been here for three weeks; dining daily till he is near dead;—setting out a Poem withal. He came in to us on Sunday evening last, and on the preceding Sunday: a truly interesting Son of Earth, and Son of Heaven,—who has almost lost his way, among the will-o'wisps, I doubt; and may flounder ever deeper, over neck and nose at last, among the quagmires that abound! I like him ...

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