_To H.S. Boyd_
[74 Gloucester Place:] November 26, 1836 [postmark].

My dear Mr. Boyd,--I have been so busy that I have not been able until
this morning to take breath or _inspiration_ to answer your lyrics.
You shall see me soon, but I am sorry to say it can't be Monday or
Tuesday.

I have had another note from the editor of the 'New Monthly
Magazine'--very flattering, and praying for farther supplies. The
Angels were not ready, and I was obliged to send something else, which
I will not ask you to read. So don't be very uneasy.

Arabel's and my best love to Annie. And believe me in a great hurry,
for I won't miss this post,

Yours affectionately,
E.B. BARRETT.

Your lyrics found me dull as prose
Among a file of papers
And analysing London fogs
To nothing but the vapours.

They knew their part; but through the fog
Their flaming lightning raising;
They missed my fancy, and instead,
My choler set a-blazing.