Wednesday Morning.
March 4, 1846.
Ah, sweetest, don’t mind people and their lies any more than I shall; if the toad does ‘take it into his toad’s head to spit at you’ – – you will not ‘drop dead,’ I warrant. All the same, if one may make a circuit through a flower-bed and see the less of his toad-habits and general ugliness, so much the better – – no words can express my entire indifference (far below contempt) for what can be said or done. But one thing, only one, I choose to hinder being said, if I can – – the others I would not if I could – – why prevent the toad’s puffing himself out thrice his black bigness if it amuses him among those wet stones? We shall be in the sun.
I dare say I am unjust – – hasty certainly, in the other matter – – but all faults are such inasmuch as they are ‘mistakes of the intellect’ – – toads may spit or leave it alone, – – but if I ever see it right, exercising my intellect, to treat any human beings like my ‘chattels’ – – I shall pay for that mistake one day or another, I am convinced – – and I very much fear that you would soon discover what one fault of mine is, if you were to hear anyone assert such a right in my presence.
Well, I shall see you to-morrow – – had I better come a little later, I wonder? – – half-past three, for instance, staying, as last time, till . . . ah, it is ill policy to count my treasure aloud! Or shall I come at the usual time to-morrow? If I do not hear, at the usual time! – – because, I think you would – – am sure you would have considered and suggested it, were it necessary.
Bless you, dearest – – ever your own.
I said nothing about that Mr. Russell and his proposition – – by all means, yes – – let him do more good with that noble, pathetic ‘lay’ – – and do not mind the ‘burthen,’ if he is peremptory – – so that he duly specify ‘by the singer‘ – – with that precaution nothing but good can come of his using it.