By the by, I had meant to send you an emendation of a passage in my Tyrannus which you found fault with. I mean where OEdipus, after putting out his eyes, talks of seeing those in Hades he does not wish to see. I knew it was not Greek: but I thought that a note would be necessary to explain what the Greek was: and I confess I do not care enough for their Mythology for that. But, if you please, the passage (as I remember it) might run: Eyes, etc., Which, having seen such things, henceforth, he said, Should never by the light of day behold Those whom he loved, nor in the after-dark Of Hades, those he loathed, to look upon. All this has run me into a third _screed_, you see: a word we used at School, only calling it '_screet_'--'I say, do lend me a screet of paper,' meaning, a quarter of a foolscap sheet. WOODBRIDGE. _Jan._ 18/82. MY DEAR NORTON, At last I took heart, and Eyes, to return to the OEdipus of this time last year; and have left none of your objections unattended to, if not all complied with. Not but that you may be quite as right in objecting as I in leaving things as they were: but as I believe I said (right or wrong) a little obscurity seems to me not amiss in certain places, provided enough is left clear, I mean in matter of Grammar, etc. But I see that you have good reason to object in other cases: and, on looking at the Play again, I also discover more, too many perhaps to have heart or Eyes to devote to their rectification. The Paper on which the second Part is printed will not endure Ink, which also daunts me: nevertheless, I send you a Copy pencilled, rather than references and alterations written by way of Letter: I hope the least trouble to you of either Alternative. . . . I scarcely know what I have written, but I know it must be bad MS.; all which I ought in good manners to rectify, or re-write. I think you in America think more of Calligraphy than we here do: a really polite accomplishment, I always maintain: and yet 'deteriora sequor.' But you know that my eyes are not very active: and now my hand is less than usually so, possessed as I am with a Devil of a Chill (in spite, or in consequence, of warm wet weather) attended with something of Bronchitis, I think. . . .