Friday Night.
May 17, 1845.
My friend is not ‘mistrustful’ of me, no, because she don’t fear I shall make mainprize of the stray cloaks and umbrellas down-stairs, or turn an article for Colburn’s on her sayings and doings up-stairs, – – but spite of that, she does mistrust . . . so mistrust my common sense, – – nay, uncommon and dramatic-poet’s sense, if I am put on asserting it! – – all which pieces of mistrust I could detect, and catch struggling, and pin to death in a moment, and put a label in, with name, genus and species, just like a horrible entomologist; only I won’t, because the first visit of the Northwind will carry the whole tribe into the Red Sea – – and those horns and tails and scalewings are best forgotten altogether. And now will I say a cutting thing and have done. Have I trusted my friend so, – – or said even to myself, much less to her, she is even as – – ‘Mr. Simpson’ who desireth the honour of the acquaintance of Mr. B. whose admirable works have long been his, Simpson’s, especial solace in private – – and who accordingly is led to that personage by a mutual friend – – Simpson blushing as only adorable ingenuousness can, and twisting the brim of his hat like a sailor giving evidence. Whereupon Mr. B. beginneth by remarking that the rooms are growing hot – – or that he supposes Mr. S. has not heard if there will be another adjournment of the House to-night – – whereupon Mr. S. looketh up all at once, brusheth the brim smooth again with his sleeve, and takes to his assurance once more, in something of a huff, and after staying his five minutes out for decency’s sake, noddeth familiarly an adieu, and spinning round on his heel ejaculateth mentally – – ‘Well, I did expect to see something different from that little yellow commonplace man . . . and, now I come to think, there was some precious trash in that book of his’ – – Have I said ‘so will Miss Barrett ejaculate?’
Dear Miss Barrett, I thank you for the leave you give me, and for the infinite kindness of the way of giving it. I will call at 2 on Tuesday – – not sooner, that you may have time to write should any adverse circumstances happen . . . not that they need inconvenience you, because . . . what I want particularly to tell you for now and hereafter – – do not mind my coming in the least, but – – should you be unwell, for instance, – – just send or leave word, and I will come again, and again, and again – – my time is of no importance, and I have acquaintances thick in the vicinity.
Now if I do not seem grateful enough to you, am I so much to blame? You see it is high time you saw me, for I have clearly written myself out!
Ever yours,
R.B.