Mrs. Southey complains that she has lost half her income by her marriage, and her friend Mr. Landor is anxious to persuade, by the means of intermediate friends, Sir Robert Peel to grant her a pension. She is said to be in London now, and has at least left Keswick for ever. It is not likely that Wordsworth should come here this year, which I am sorry for now, although I should certainly be sorry if he did come. A happy state of contradiction, not confined either to that particular movement or no-movement, inasmuch as I was gratified by his sending me the poem you saw, and yet read it with such extreme pain as to incapacitate me from judging of it. Such stuff we are made of! This is a long letter--and you are tired, I feel by instinct! May God bless you, my dearest Mrs. Martin. Give my love to Mr. Martin, and think of me as Your very affectionate, BA. Henry and Daisy have been to see the _lying in state_, as lying stark and dead is called whimsically, of the Duke of Sussex. It was a fine sight, they say. _To H.S. Boyd_ May 9, 1843 [postmark]. My very dear Friend,--I thank you much for the copies of your 'Anti-Puseyistic Pugilism.' The papers reached my hands quite safely and so missed setting the world on fire; and I shall be as wary of them evermore (be sure) as if they were gunpowder. Pray send them to Mary Hunter. Why not? Why should you think that I was likely to 'object' to your doing so? She will laugh. _I_ laughed, albeit in no smiling mood; for I have been transmigrating from one room to another, and your packet found me half tired and half excited, and _whole_ grave. But I could not choose but laugh at your Oxford charge; and when I had counted your great guns and javelin points and other military appurtenances of the Punic war, I said to myself--or to Flush, 'Well, Mr. Boyd will soon be back again with the dissenters.' Upon which I think Flush said, 'That's a comfort.' Mary's direction is, 111 London Road, Brighton. You ought to send the verses to her yourself, if you mean to please her entirely: and I cannot agree with you that there is the slightest danger in sending them by the post. Letters are never opened, unless you tempt the flesh by putting sovereigns, or shillings, or other metallic substances inside the envelope; and if the devil entered into me causing me to write a libel against the Queen, I would send it by the post fearlessly from John o' Groat's to Land's End inclusive. One of your best puns, if not the best, Hatching succession apostolical, With other falsehoods diabolical, lies in an octosyllabic couplet; and what business has _that_ in your heroic libel? The 'pearl' of maidens sends her love to you. Your very affectionate ELIZABETH B. BARRETT. _To H.S. Boyd_ May 14, 1843.