P. S. This is a sort of salad note, written both to "He" and "She" (as they said in old duetts)--once again, excuse every incoherence. I am still very ill--and have all the day been interrupted. 13 EATON PLACE, WEST, March 10, '60. DEAR MRS. HAWTHORNE,--I assure you I feel the good nature not to be on my side of the treaty. It is not common for a critic to get any kind construction, or to be credited with anything save a desire to show ingenuity, no matter whether just or unjust.--Most deeply, too, do I feel the honor of having a suggestion such as mine adopted,--I thought when my letter had gone that I had written in a strange, random humor, and that had I got a "Mind your own business" sort of answer, it was no more than such unasked-for meddling might expect. I am glad with all my heart at what you tell me about the success of the tale. But we really will not wait so long for number five? To-day's train takes you my Italian story:--I had every trouble in the world to find a publisher for it: having the gift of no-success in a very remarkable degree. The dedication tells its own story. It was begun in 1848:--and ended not before the Italian war broke out.--Some of my few readers (within a dozen) are aggrieved at my having only told part of the story of Italian patriotism.--I meant it merely as a picture of manners: and have seen too much of the class "refugee," not to have felt how they have as a class retarded, not aided, the cause of real freedom and high morals. I should have sent it before, but I always feel, like Teresa Panza, when she sent acorns to the Duchess. You will come to town, and eat in my quiet corner before you go, I know:--Perhaps, I may call on you at Easter: as there is just a chance of my being at Birmingham. There is an old house, Compton Wingates, that I very much want to see. Has Hawthorne seen it? Once more thank you affectionately,--these sort of passages are among the very few set-offs to the difficulties of a harsh life and all ungracious career. My seeing you face to face was, I assure you, one of my best pleasures in 1859. Ever yours faithfully, HENRY N. CHORLEY.