of the chimney.  Altogether there is every reasonable probability that the whole house will in the course of next winter be as like Persepolis as anything so ugly can be!  If another house which will fit us can be found in Sidmouth, I am sure papa will take it; but, as he said the other day, ‘If I can’t find a house, I must go.’  I hope he may find one, and as near the sea as this ruin.  I have enjoyed its moonlight and its calmness all the summer; and am prepared to enjoy its tempestuousness of the winter with as true an enjoyment.  What we shall do ultimately, I do not even dream; and, if I know papa, he does not.  My visions of the future are confined to ’what shall I write or read next,’ and ‘when shall we next go out in the boat,’ and they, you know, can do no harm to anybody.  Of one thing I have a comforting certainty—­that wherever we may go or stay, the decree which moves or fixes us will and must be the ’wisest virtuousest discreetest best!’ ...

So, I will change the subject to myself.  You told me that you were going to read my book, and I want to know what you think of it.  If you were given to compliment and insincerity, I should be afraid of asking you; because, among other evident reasons, I might then appear to be asking for your praise instead of your opinion.  As it is—­I want to know what you think of my book.  Is the translation stiff?  If you know me at all (and I venture to hope that you do) you will be certain that I shall like your honesty, and love you for being honest, even if you put on the very blackest of black caps....

Of course you know that the late Bill has ruined the West Indians.  That is settled.  The consternation here is very great.  Nevertheless I am glad, and always shall be, that the negroes are—­virtually—­free!

May God bless you, dear Mrs. Martin! 
Ever believe me, your affectionate
E.B.  BARRETT.

To H.S.  Boyd Sidmouth:  Friday [1834].

My dear Friend,—­I don’t know how I shall begin to persuade you not to be angry with me, but perhaps the best plan will be to confess as many sins as would cover this sheet of paper, and then to go on with my merits.  Certainly I am altogether guiltless of your charge of not noticing your book’s arrival because no Calvinism arrived with it.  I told you the bare truth when I told you why I did not write immediately.  The passage relating to Calvinism I certainly read, and as certainly was sorry for; but as certainly as both those certainties, such reading and such regret had nothing whatever to do with the silence which made you so angry with me.