May 26, 1845.
Nay – – I must have last word – – as all people in the wrong desire to have – – and then, no more of the subject. You said I had given you great pain – – so long as I stop that, think anything of me you choose or can! But before your former letter came, I saw the pre-ordained uselessness of mine. Speaking is to some end, (apart from foolish self-relief, which, after all, I can do without) – – and where there is no end – – you see! or, to finish characteristically – – since the offering to cut off one’s right-hand to save anybody a headache, is in vile taste, even for our melodramas, seeing that it was never yet believed in on the stage or off it, – – how much worse to really make the ugly chop, and afterwards come sheepishly in, one’s arm in a black sling, and find that the delectable gift had changed aching to nausea! There! And now, ‘exit, prompt-side, nearest door, Luria’ – – and enter R.B. – – next Wednesday, – – as boldly as he suspects most people do just after they have been soundly frightened!
I shall be most happy to see you on the day and at the hour you mention.
God bless you, my dear friend,
R.B.