While I write, a letter from America is put into my hands, and having read it through with shame and confusion of face ... not able to help a smile though notwithstanding, ...  I send it to you to show how you have made me behave!—­to say nothing of my other offences to the kind people at Boston—­and to a stray gentleman in Philadelphia who is to perform a pilgrimage next year, he says, ... to visit the Holy Land and your E.B.B.  I was naughty enough to take that letter to be a circular ... for the address of various ‘Europ_a_ians.’  In any case ... just see how I have behaved! and if it has not been worse than ... not opening one’s eyes!—­Judge.  Really and gravely I am ashamed—­I mean as to Mr. Mathews, who has been an earnest, kind friend to me—­and I do mean to behave better.  I say that to prevent your scolding, you know.  And think of Mr. Poe, with that great Roman justice of his (if not rather American!), dedicating a book to one and abusing one in the preface of the same.  He wrote a review of me in just that spirit—­the two extremes of laudation and reprehension, folded in on one another.  You would have thought that it had been written by a friend and foe, each stark mad with love and hate, and writing the alternate paragraphs—­a most curious production indeed.

And here I shall end.  I have been waiting ... waiting for what does not come ... the ring ... sent to have the hair put in; but it won’t come (now) until too late for the post, and you must hear from me before Monday ... you ought to have heard to-day.  It has not been my fault—­I have waited.  Oh these people—­who won’t remember that it is possible to be out of patience!  So I send you my letter now ... and what is in the paper now ... and the rest, you shall have after Monday.  And you will not say a word ... not then ... not at all!—­I trust you.  And may God bless you.

If ever you care less for me—­I do not say it in distrust of you ...  I trust you wholly—­but you are a man, and free to care less, ... and if ever you do ... why in that case you will destroy, burn, ... do all but send back ... enough is said for you to understand.

May God bless you.  You are best to me—­best ... as I see ... in the world—­and so, dearest aright to

Your

E.B.B.

Finished on Saturday evening.  Oh—­this thread of silk—­And to post!!  After all you must wait till Tuesday.  I have no silk within reach and shall miss the post.  Do forgive me.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Saturday Evening.

This is the mere postscript to the letter I have just sent away.  By a few minutes too late, comes what I have all day been waiting for, ... and besides (now it is just too late!) now I may have a skein of silk if I please, to make that knot with, ... for want of which, two locks meant for you, have been devoted to the infernal gods already ... fallen into a tangle and thrown into the fire ... and all the hair of my head might have followed, for I was losing my patience and temper fast, ... and the post to boot.  So wisely I shut my letter, (after unwisely having driven everything to the last moment!)—­and now I have silk to tie fast with ... to tie a ‘nodus’ ... ‘dignus’ of the celestial interposition—­and a new packet shall be ready to go to you directly.