Yours sincerely and affectionately,
E.B.  BARRETT.

The spring of 1838 was marked by two events of interest to Miss Barrett and her family.  In the first place, Mr. Barrett’s apparently interminable search for a house ended in his selection of 50 Wimpole Street, which continued to be his home for the rest of his life, and which is, consequently, more than any other house in London, to be associated with his daughter’s memory.  The second event was the publication of ‘The Seraphim, and other Poems,’ which was Miss Barrett’s first serious appearance before the public, and in her own name, as a poet.  The early letters of this year refer to the preparation of this volume, as well as to the authoress’s health, which was at this time in a very serious condition, owing to the breaking of a blood-vessel.  Indeed, from this time until her marriage in 1846 she held her life on the frailest of tenures, and lived in all respects the life of an invalid.

To H.S.  Boyd Monday morning, March 27, 1838 [postmark].

My dear Friend,—­I do hope that you may not be very angry, but papa thinks—­and, indeed, I think—­that as I have already had two proof sheets and forty-eight pages, and the printers have gone on to the rest of the poem, it would not be very welcome to them if we were to ask them to retrace their steps.  Besides, I would rather—­I for myself, I—­that you had the whole poem at once and clearly printed before you, to insure as many chances as possible of your liking it.  I am promised to see the volume completed in three weeks from this time, so that the dreadful moment of your reading it—­I mean the ‘Seraphim’ part of it—­cannot be far off, and perhaps, the season being a good deal advanced even now, you might not, on consideration, wish me to retard the appearance of the book, except for some very sufficient reason.  I feel very nervous about it—­far more than I did when my ‘Prometheus’ crept out [of] the Greek, or I myself out of the shell, in the first ‘Essay on Mind.’  Perhaps this is owing to Dr. Chambers’s medicines, or perhaps to a consciousness that my present attempt is actually, and will be considered by others, more a trial of strength than either of my preceding ones.

Thank you for the books, and especially for the editio rarissima, which I should as soon have thought of your trusting to me as of your admitting me to stand with gloves on within a yard of Baxter.  This extraordinary confidence shall not be abused.

I thank you besides for your kind inquiries about my health.  Dr. Chambers did not think me worse yesterday, notwithstanding the last cold days, which have occasioned some uncomfortable sensations, and he still thinks I shall be better in the summer season.  In the meantime he has ordered me to take ice—­out of sympathy with nature, I suppose; and not to speak a word, out of contradiction to my particular, human, feminine nature.