I may say so, acquired, than inspired, poetry. If you intend calling to-morrow, will you let me know, as Mrs. Bulwer sent here to day, and I must go and see her. I wish you would work to-morrow, and be idle all Thursday afternoon" [for some excursion up the river to visit Mrs. Hall].
Matters were arranged, and in company with a friend, Miss Turin, her senior by some years, and of independent fortune, our fair traveller set out on her first excursion from that London which she liked so well. I may merely offer an excuse for the tone of reliance on me in regard to literary projects and business, which had not lessened with the passage of time. The first letter is from Boulogne, and dated 22nd of June, 1834:—
"Dear Sir,
"I began a letter to you yesterday, but on taking it up this morning, I find it is, even to you, scarcely legible, so will begin it over again. I have also another reason; I wrote on English paper, which is heavier, and I have to pay the inland postage, and to-day my time ne vaut pas mes sous. We parted on Thursday, though not at all too soon, much as I regretted it. You cannot think how I missed you. I really thought the morning never would pass. It did pass, however, and then I wished it back again. The wind blew directly in our teeth, and your friend the captain talked doubtingly as to whether we should reach Boulogne that night. Miss Turin was not out of bed the whole day. It was impossible to read for three reasons—the sun, the wind, and the noise. I suppose Lord Byron had the deck of a steam-vessel in his mind when he said,
'This is to be alone;
This, this is solitude;'
And when I endeavoured to get into a pleasant train of
