Dear love to Jane and Louisa. My next shall be to my once little, now tall and stately favourite.
Yours affectionately, H. C.
TO EDWARD MOXON.
Aug. 12, 1841.
After so long an interval, you will perhaps be disposed to view my autograph with something of that unwelcoming would-be incredulity wherewith Poll of Wapping beholds her husband returned from transportation, when she has got another. Yet, sir, I assure you, I have not forgot our engagements; and if you persevere in your intention of publishing Spenser, shall be glad to prefix a Commentary on his Pastorals and Faery Queen, with some observations on his personal history, as indicated in his writings. I have no doubt that many particulars of his life, not uninteresting or unconnected with the public history of his time, might be gleaned from divers sources. Had I access to the many collections of papers in private hands, I would willingly perform the task; but in my present Patmos this is impossible. But however little I may have to say about Spenser that is dead, I think I can say much of the Spenser that lives, and will live for ever.
Did you see the abuse of me in the 'Atlas'?1 I am glad of it; I find I can stand fire. I am like a soldier who has been in battle. I should like, though, to know who it is.
What I should have said, and have written on Massinger and Ford, will find a place in an Essay on the Age of Shakespeare, in which I purpose to set forth what in each author was catholic in relation to that age and phase of human existence, and what was each author's own.
But my more immediate intent in addressing you at present respects my poems, which are very nearly, if not quite out of print. In three weeks time I could, if you were disposed to publish, produce a volume, as large as the last, of sonnets or miscellanies; and before Christmas, 'Prometheus,' whom I think we shall do better to introduce to the public alone, and____________________