Henrietta and Arabel have a drawing master, and are meditating soon beginning to sketch out of doors—­that is, if before the meditation is at an end we do not leave Sidmouth.  Our plans are quite uncertain; and papa has not, I believe, made up his mind whether or not to take this house on after the beginning of next month; when our engagement with our present landlord closes.  If we do leave Sidmouth, you know as well as I do where we shall go.  Perhaps to Boulogne! perhaps to the Swan River.  The West Indians are irreparably ruined if the Bill passes.  Papa says that in the case of its passing, nobody in his senses would think of even attempting the culture of sugar, and that they had better hang weights to the sides of the island of Jamaica and sink it at once.  Don’t you think certain heads might be found heavy enough for the purpose?  No insinuation, I assure you, against the Administration, in spite of the dagger in their right hands.  Mr. Atwood seems to me a demi-god of ingratitude!  So much for the ‘fickle reek of popular breath’ to which men have erected their temple of the winds—­who would trust a feather to it?  I am almost more sorry for poor Lord Grey who is going to ruin us, than for our poor selves who are going to be ruined.  You will hear that my ’Prometheus and other Poems’ came into light a few weeks ago—­a fortnight ago, I think.  I dare say I shall wish it out of the light before I have done with it.  And I dare say Henrietta is wishing me anywhere, rather than where I am.  Certainly I have past all bounds.  Do write soon, and tell us everything about Mr. Martin and yourself.  And ever believe me, dearest Mrs. Martin,

Your affectionate
E.B.  BARRETT.

[Footnote 18:  Alfred, the fifth brother.]

To Mrs. Martin Sidmouth:  September 7, 1833.

My dearest Mrs. Martin,—­Are you a little angry again?  I do hope not.  I should have written long ago if it had not been for Henrietta; and Henrietta would have written very lately if it had not been for me:  and we must beg of you to forgive us both for the sake of each other.  Thank you for the kind letter which I have been so tardy in thanking you for, but which was not, on that account, the less gladly received.  Do believe how much it pleases me always to see and read dear Mrs. Martin’s handwriting.  But I must try to tell you some less ancient truths.  We are still in the ruinous house.  Without any poetical fiction, the walls are too frail for even me, who enjoy the situation in a most particularly particular manner, to have any desire to pass the winter within them.  One wind we have had the privilege of hearing already; and down came the tiles while we were at dinner, and made us all think that down something else was coming.  We have had one chimney pulled down to prevent it from tumbling down; and have received especial injunctions from the bricklayers not to lean too much out of the windows, for fear the walls should follow the destiny