every day to write to tell
you that the Cyprus wine is as nectareous as possible, so fit for the
gods, in fact, that I have been forced to leave it off as unfit for
_me_; it made me so feverish. But I keep it until the sun shall have
made me a little less mortal; and in the meantime recognise thankfully
both its high qualities and _your_ kind ones. How delightful it is to
have this sense of a summer at hand. _Shall_ I see you this summer, I
wonder. That is a question among my dreams.

By the last American packet I had two letters, one from a poet of
Massachusetts, and another from a poetess: the _he_, Mr. Lowell, and
the _she_, Mrs. Sigourney. She says that the sound of my poetry is
stirring the 'deep green forests of the New World;' which sounds
pleasantly, does it not? And I understand from Mr. Moxon that a new
edition will be called for before very long, only not immediately....

Your affectionate and grateful friend,
ELIBET.

Arabel and Mr. Hunter talk of paying you a visit some day.

_To Mrs. Martin_
April 3, 1845.

My dearest Mrs. Martin,--I wrote to you not many days ago, but I must
tell you that our voyagers are safe in Sandgate break in 'an ugly
hulk' (as poor Stormie says despondingly), suffering three or four
days of quarantine agony, and that we expect to see them on Monday or
Tuesday in the full bloom of their ill humour. I am happy to think,
according to the present symptoms, that the mania for sea voyages
is considerably abated. 'Nothing could be more miserable,' exclaims
Storm; 'the only comfort of the whole four months is the safety of
the beans, tell papa'--and the safety of the beans is rather a
Pythagoraean[133] equivalent for four months' vexation, though not
a bean of them all should have lost in freshness and value! He could
scarcely write, he said, for the chilblains on his hands, and was in
utter destitution of shirts and sheets. Oh! I have very good hopes
that for the future Wimpole Street may be found endurable.

Well, and you are at once angry and satisfied, I suppose, about
Maynooth; just as I am! satisfied with the justice as far as it goes,
and angry and disgusted at the hideous shrieks of intolerance and
bigotry which run through the country. The dissenters have very nearly
disgusted me, what with the Education clamour, and the Presbyterian
chapel cry, and now this Maynooth cry; and certainly it is wonderful
how people can see rights as rights in their own hands, and as wrongs