Wednesday Morning.
August 20, 1845.
Mauvaise, mauvaise, mauvaise, you know as I know, just as much, that your ‘kindness and considerateness’ consisted, not in putting off Tuesday for another day, but in caring for my coming at all; for my coming and being told at the door that you were engaged, and I might call another time! And you are not, not my ‘other friend,’ any more than this head of mine is my other head, seeing that I have got a violin which has a head too! All which, beware lest you get fully told in the letter I will write this evening, when I have done with my Romans – – who are, it so happens, here at this minute; that is, have left the house for a few minutes with my sister – – but are not ‘with me,’ as you seem to understand it, – – in the house to stay. They were kind to me in Rome, (husband and wife), and I am bound to be of what use I may during their short stay. Let me lose no time in begging and praying you to cry ‘hands off’ to that dreadful Burgess; have not I got a . . . but I will tell you to-night – – or on Friday which is my day, please – – Friday. Till when, pray believe me, with respect and esteem,
Your most obliged and disobliged at these blank endings – – what have I done? God bless you ever dearest friend.