voyage to Alexandria in
papa's own vessel, the 'Statira.' I set you an imperfect example of
egotism, and hope that you will double my _I's_ and _we's_, and kindly
trust to me for being interested in yours....

Yours affectionately,
E.B. BARRETT.

_To H.S. Boyd_
Saturday, March 3, 1845.

My dearest Friend,--I am aware that I should have written to you
before, but the cold weather is apt to disable me and to make me feel
idle when it does not do so quite. Now I am going to write about your
remarks on the 'Dublin Review.'

Certainly I agree with you that there can be no necessity for
explaining anything about the tutorship if you do not kick against the
pricks of the insinuation yourself, and especially as I consider that
you _were_ in a sense my 'tutor,' inasmuch as I may say, both that
nobody ever taught me so much Greek as you, and also that without you
I should have probably lived and died without any knowledge of the
Greek Fathers. The Greek classics I should have studied by love
and instinct; but the Fathers would probably have remained in their
sepulchres, as far as my reading them was concerned. Therefore, very
gratefully do I turn to you as my 'tutor' in the best sense, and the
more persons call you so, the better it is for the pleasures of my
gratitude. The review amused me by hitting on the right meaning there,
and besides by its percipiency about your remembering me during your
travels in the East, and sending me home the Cyprus wine. Some of
these reviewers have a wonderful gift at inferences. The 'Metropolitan
Magazine' for March (which is to be sent to you when papa has read
it) contains a flaming article in my favour, calling me 'the friend of
Wordsworth,' and, moreover, a very little lower than the angels. You
shall see it soon, and it is only just out, of course, being the March
number. The praise is beyond thanking for, and then I do not know whom
to thank--I cannot at all guess at the writer.

I have had a kind note from Lord Teynham, whose oblivion I had ceased
to doubt, it seemed so _proved_ to me that he had forgotten me. But
he writes kindly, and it gave me pleasure to have some sign of
recollection, if not of regard, from one whom I consider with
unalterable and grateful respect, and shall always, although I am
aware that he denies all sympathy to my works and ways in literature
and the world. In fact, and to set my poetry aside, he has joined that
'strait sect' of the Plymouth Brethren,