e escape looks true, and is most interesting.

I have been exceedingly struck, since I last wrote to you, by some
extracts from Edgar Poe's writings; I mean a book called "The
Readable Library," composed of selections from his works, prose and
verse. The famous ones are, I find, The Maelstrom and The Raven;
without denying their high merits, I prefer that fine poem on The
Bells, quite as fine as Schiller's, and those remarkable bits of
stories on circumstantial evidence. I am lower, dear friend, than
ever, and what is worse, in supporting myself on my hand I have
strained my right side and can hardly turn in bed. But if we cannot
walk round Swallowfield, we can drive, and the very sight of you
will do me good. If Mr. Bentley send me only one copy of that
engraving, it shall be for you. You know I have a copy for you of
the book. There are no words to tell the letters and books I receive
about it, so I suppose it is popular. I have lost, as you know, my
most accomplished and admirable neighbor, Sir Henry Russell, the
worthy successor of the great Lord Clarendon. His eldest daughter is
my favorite young friend, a most lovely creature, the ideal of a
poet. I hope you will see Beranger. Heaven bless you!

Ever yours, M.R.M.

Saturday Night.

Ah, my very dear friend, how can I ever thank you? But I don't want
to thank you. There are some persons (very few, though) to whom it
is a happiness to be indebted, and you are one of them. The books
and the busts are arrived. Poor dear Louis Napoleon with his head
off--Heaven avert the omen! Of course _that_ head can be replaced, I
mean stuck on again upon its proper shoulders. Beranger is a
beautiful old man, just what one fancies him and loves to fancy him.
I hope you saw him. To my mind, he is the very greatest poet now
alive, perhaps the greatest man, the truest and best type of perfect
independence. Thanks a thousand and a thousand times for those
charming busts and for the books. Mrs. Browning had mentioned to me
Mr. Read. If I live to write another book, I shall put him and Mr.
Taylor and Mr. Stoddard together, and try to do justice to Poe. I
have a good right to love America and the Americans. My Mr. Lucas
tells me to go, and says he has a mind to go. I want you to know
John Lucas, not only the finest portrait-painter, but about the