including a reprint of some
translations from the Greek Fathers, which Mr. Boyd had published
previously.]

_To Miss Commeline_
September 22, 1834 [Sidmouth].

I am afraid that there can be no chance of my handwriting at least
being unforgotten by you, dear Miss Commeline, but in the case of your
having a very long memory you may remember the name which shall be
written at the end of this note, and which belongs to one who does
not, nor is likely to forget you! I was much, _much_ obliged to you
for the kind few lines you wrote to me--how long ago! No, do not
remember how long--do not remember _that_ for fear you should think me
unkind, and--what I am not! I have intended again and again to answer
your note, and I am doing it--_at last_! Are you all quite well? Mrs.
Commeline and all of you? Shall I ever see any of you again? Perhaps
I shall not; but even if I do not, I shall not cease to wish you to be
well and happy 'in the body or out of the body.'

We came to Sidmouth for two months, and you see we are here still; and
when we are likely to go is as uncertain as ever. I like the place,
and some of its inhabitants. I like the greenness and the tranquillity
and the sea; and the solitude of one dear seat which hangs over it,
and which is too far or too lonely for many others to like besides
myself. We are living in a thatched cottage, with a green lawn bounded
by a _Devonshire lane_. Do you know what that is? Milton did when he
wrote of 'hedgerow elms and hillocks green.' Indeed Sidmouth is a nest
among elms; and the lulling of the sea and the shadow of the hills
make it a peaceful one. But there are no majestic features in the
country. It is all green and fresh and secluded; and the grandeur is
concentrated upon the ocean without deigning to have anything to do
with the earth. I often find my thoughts where my footsteps once used
to be! but there is no use in speaking of that....

Pray believe me, affectionately yours,
E.B. BARRETT.

_To Mrs. Martin_
Sidmouth: Friday, December 19, 1834 [postmark].

My dearest Mrs. Martin,--... We have lately had deep anxiety with
regard to our dear papa. He left us two months ago to do his London
business: and a few weeks since we were told by a letter from him that
he was ill; he giving us to understand that his complaint was of
a rheumatic character. By the next coach, we were so daring (I can
scarcely understand how we managed it) as to send Henry to him:
thinking that