A new volume by A. T. is in preparation and will, I suppose, be out in Autumn. In the meantime I have no copy of the "Palace of Art," but shall be happy to repeat it to you when you come,--no copy of the "Legend of Fair Women," but can repeat about a dozen stanzas which are of the finest,--no copy of the conclusion of "Œnone" but one in pencil which no one but myself can read. The two concluding stanzas of "The Miller's Daughter," I can give you in this letter.... A broad smiling letter from John Heath commissions me this morning to engage Mrs. Perry's lodgings for Dunbar, whereat I rejoice: also informs me that he himself keeps a Parroquet, and that Douglas has become a great Berkeleian, and would leave his body, like Jeremy Bentham's, to be dissected, if he thought he had one. His brother Edward, who had been for some time in delicate health, died on the 24th of August 1832, and a few days later Spedding writes to Thompson: If you have seen Tennant you will be prepared to hear that my brother Edward died early on Friday morning, after above a month of severe suffering, leaving a ghastly vacancy in my prospects, not to be filled up. However, what is past--the profit and the pleasure which I have gathered out of long and pleasant years of brotherly society--this at least is safe, and is so much to be thankful for. Why should I be the sorrier because I have so long been graced with a source of comfort and of pride, which, if I had never known, I should now be as cheerful as when I last wrote to you? You knew him but little, but you knew him enough to form some notion of how much I have to regret--or, in other words, how much I have had to bless God for. He made a good and a Christian end, and it is ascertained by a _post-mortem_ inspection that he could not possibly have had health for any length of time together. His disease was the formation of internal abscesses, in consequence of a failure of some of the membranes, and quite beyond the reach of surgery, so that, had one been at liberty to decide by a wish whether he should live or die, it would have been an act of unpardonable selfishness to wish him a moment more of captivity. This too is something to take off the bitterness of regret, which, however, in any way has no business to be bitter. But whether it is that I value high human friendship more highly than I ought to do, or whatever be the cause, a strange fatality seems to hang over the objects of my more especial esteem, and I would have you, Thompson, beware in time. But I shall lose my character with you if I do not take care. I hope you will communicate the news to Tennant and Farish, and to all our common friends, for explanations face to face are formidable things.