Now do you like this [?]? [?] [?] made from the "Graphine"(sic) into paper. I have run our of black ink and did not notice it until too late to get any more. I have your letter of the 7th Dec. in front of me. You poor silly child. The idea of your bothering about sending me anything. Don't you know that your letters are inexpressibly dear to me that nothing more could be wished for except, what do you think? Those [?] of Longfellow remind me of some I saw in [?] [?] chillingly, and which you remember I tried to find an anchor for. Do you think you can find out who wrote them?
The desire of the moth for the star. The night for the morrow. The hope for something afar. From the sphere of our sorrow.
I quote from memory but those are something like the words. I am so sorry to hear that your mother has been so unwell. I hope that long 'ere[?] this she has quite recovered her [?] health. I am afraid that Bridget will never make a fortune at Fortune-telling, although she seems to have been wisely obscure as to the time when I should put in my sudden appearance. Lizzie you know that I can never doubt you. If you find Mr. Hodder's[?] drives give you pleasure, by all means go with him and only think that I am too glad that you are having pleasure. You know too, better than I can tell you, that it matters little what people say + of course they will talk, so see for yourself and never think but what I am. Your own undoubting Barrie.