She appears to have liked all things bright and beautiful. “It is too seldom,” she wrote, “that people express a conscious enjoyment of the present. While regret is busy with the past, and expectation with the future, _ennui_ usurps the place of cheerful feelings, and thinks coldly of the social, and yawns through the studious hour.” But as to Balls, she tells us, “I am one of the creatures that love not Balls in general.” Had she lived now, she probably would have approved of women having votes, for, concerning a book published in her life-time, entitled, “Rights of Woman,” she wrote:—“It has, by turns, pleased and displeased, startled, and half-convinced me that its author is oftener right than wrong. Though the ideas of absolute equality in the sexes are carried too far, and though they certainly militate against St. Paul’s maxims concerning that important compact, yet they do expose a train of mischievous mistakes in the education of females.” We may note that Tom Paine, “the greatest of pamphleteers,” died in 1809, whose pamphlets, “The Rights of Man,” and “The Age of Reason,” achieved great success. Anna Seward sympathised with the views expressed in his books on the French Revolution, though she considered many of his views on politics far too fanciful to be put into practice; moreover, she thought they would, if adopted, “ruin the earth.” Her affection for a Mr. Saville (“a man of sense, and a scholar”) who was for 48 years Vicar-choral of Lichfield Cathedral, appears to have been merely platonic, though deep and sincere. In a letter dated August 31st, 1803, she tells us that, “the dearest friend I had on earth, passed in one quarter of an hour, from apparent health and even gay vivacity, to the silence and ghastliness of death.” He died August 2nd, 1803, aged 67 years. She erected a monument to his memory in the Cathedral, and composed the verses inscribed on it. His vault is on the south side of the green surrounding the Cathedral. In a letter to Sir Walter Scott, written in 1807, the poetess remarks that her “astonishment and disgust” rose to their utmost height while she read Wordsworth’s poem, “The Daffodils”—“dancing daffodils, ten thousand, as he says, in high dance in the breeze beside the river, whose waves dance with them, and the poet’s heart, we are told, danced too.” She deemed this unnatural writing, and mentions some of his verses she liked, notably the “Leech-Gatherer.” If he had written nothing else, that composition might stamp him, she thought, a poet of no common powers. Lovers of poetry generally, however, think “The Daffodils” one of the most beautiful poems ever written.