216 FUNERAL. 



asked him if he had began his poem. 



He replied, " No ; have you done any- 

 thing?" 



" I have put together about 40 lines 

 or so ; if you will call this evening, 

 you can see them, and you can judge 

 for yourself." 



He did so, and while I read, he listened 

 very attentively. When I had concluded, 

 he acknowledged that they were very beau- 

 tiful, but assured me that they would not 

 win the prize. 



I then, of course, gave up all hopes 

 of being of any assistance to him, but, 

 from fancy, I pursued my task. 



Not long after this interview I was 

 summoned to Oxford, to attend the ob- 

 sequies of one of my younger sisters, who 

 had married and settled there, and had 

 fallen a victim to consumption, in the 

 full bloom of womanhood. 



After the funeral, "when the baked 

 meats were coldly furnished forth" usual 



