Here have I been waiting with my load of gratitude, till my shoulders ache under it, not knowing to what address to carry it! Sarianna sent me one address of your London lodgings, with the satisfactory addition that you were about to move immediately.

You really _might_ have written to me before, unkindest and falsest of Fannies! Or else (understand) you should not have sent me those graceful and suggestive drawings, for which only now I am able to thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

It was very kind of you to let me have them.
Then, pray how did you get my 'Poems before Congress'?
Was I not to send you an order?
Here I send one at least, whether you scorn my gift or not; and by this sign you will inherit also an 'Aurora Leigh.' Yes, I expected nothing better from the 'British public,' which, strictly conforming itself to the higher civilisation of the age, gives sympathy only where it gives 'the belt.'[87] As the favorite hero says in his last eloquent letter, 'In all my actions, whether in private or public life, may I be worthy of having had the honor ...

_of a notice in the_ "_Times_,"' he concludes 'of the abuse of the "Saturday Review"' &c., &c., say _I_.
For the rest, being turned out of the old world, I fall on my feet in the new world, where people have been generous, and even publishers turned liberal.

Think of my having an offer (on the ground of that book) from a periodical in New York of a hundred dollars for every single poem, though as short as a sonnet--that is, for its merely passing through their pages on the road to the publisher's proper.