reading only.  A bookseller at Philadelphia had announced it for publication—­he intended to take it up when the English edition reached America; but upon its being represented to him that the New York publisher had proof sheets direct from the author and would give copy money, he abandoned his intention to the other.  I confess I feel very much pleased at the kind spirit—­the spirit of eager kindness indeed—­with which the Americans receive my poetry.  It is not wrong to be pleased, I hope.  In this country there may be mortifications waiting for me; quite enough to keep my modesty in a state of cultivation.  I do not know.  I hope the work will be out this week, and then!  Did I explain to you that what ‘Lady Geraldine’s Courtship’ was wanted for was to increase the size of the first volume, so as to restore the equilibrium of volumes, without dislocating ‘Pan’?  Oh, how anxious I shall be to hear your opinion!  If you tell me that I have lost my intellects, what in the world shall I do then—­what shall I do?  My Americans—­that is, my Americans who were in at the private reading, and perhaps I myself—­are of opinion that I have made great progress since ‘The Seraphim.’  It seems to me that I have more reach, whether in thought or language.  But then, to you it may appear quite otherwise, and I shall be very melancholy if it does.  Only you must tell me the precise truth; and I trust to you that you will let me have it in its integrity.

All the life and strength which are in me, seem to have passed into my poetry.  It is my pou sto—­not to move the world; but to live on in.

I must not forget to tell you that there is a poem towards the end of the second volume, called ‘Cyprus Wine,’ which I have done myself the honor and pleasure of associating with your name.  I thought that you would not be displeased by it, as a proof of grateful regard from me.

Talking of wines, the Mountain has its attraction, but certainly is not to be compared to the Cyprus.  You will see how I have praised the latter.  Well, now I must say ‘good-bye,’ which you will praise me for!

Dearest Mr. Boyd’s affectionate
E.B.B.

P.S.—­Nota bene—­I wish to forewarn you that I have cut away in the text none of my vowels by apostrophes.  When I say ‘To efface,’ wanting two-syllable measure, I do not write ‘T’ efface’ as in the old fashion, but ‘To efface’ full length.  This is the style of the day.  Also you will find me a little lax perhaps in metre—­a freedom which is the result not of carelessness, but of conviction, and indeed of much patient study of the great Fathers of English poetry—­not meaning Mr. Pope.  Be as patient with me as you can.  You shall have the volumes as soon as they are ready.

[Footnote 98:  Evidently a reference to the name of some wine (perhaps Montepulciano) sent her by Mr. Boyd.  See the end of the letter.]