Day: May 7, 2018

[Postmark: May 7, 1846]

No, dearest, — I get Mrs. Jameson’s leave to put the
breakfast off till to-morrow— and this morning, instead of
resting as I had intended, I wisely went to town, to get a
call on Forster off my mind — I have walked there and back
again . . see the weakness you pity ! I cheat you, my Ba,
of all that pity . . yet when I have got it, however unjustly,

I lay it to my heart.

And I was at Mrs. Procter’s last night — Kinglake and
Chorley, with a little of Milnes and Coventry Patmore —
but no Howitts : because they have a sick child, — dying, I
am afraid. On my return I found a note from Home, who
is in London of a sudden for a week.

Oh, — The Daily News passes into the redoubtable
hands of Mr. Dilke, — and the price is to be reduced to

2d½, in emulation of the system recently adopted by the
French Journals. Forster continues to write, on the new
Editor’s particular entreaty. I rather think the scheme will
succeed, Dilke having the experience the present regime
wants — he will buy his privileges cheaply too. So that
Chorley may possibly be employed. Here ends my
patronage of it, at all events — not another number do I
groan over !

Patmore told me in his quiet way that his criticisms —
his book on which he had been expending a world of pains,
is altogether superseded by the appearance of ‘ Ulrici on
Shakespeare’ — ‘ the very words of many of his more im-
portant paragraphs are the same.’ That astounds one a
little, does it not ?

And what, what do you suppose Tennyson’s business to
have been at Dickens’ — what caused all the dining and
repining? He has been sponsor to Dickens’ child in
company with Count D’Orsay, and accordingly the novus
homo glories in the prænomina, Alfred D’Orsay Tenny-
son Dickens ! Ah, Charlie, if this don’t prove to posterity
that you might have been a Tennyson and were a D’Orsay
— why excellent labour will have been lost ! You observe,
‘ Alfred ‘ is common to both the godfather and the — devil-
father, as I take the Count to be : so Milnes has been
goodnaturedly circulating the report that in good truth
it is the Alfred of neither personage, but of — Mr. Alfred
Bunn. When you remember what the form of sponsorship is,
to what it pledges you in the ritual of the Church of England
— — and then remember that Mr. Dickens is an enlightened
Unitarian, — you will get a curious notion of the man, I
fancy.

Have you not forgotten that birthday? Do, my Ba,
forget it — my day, as I told you, is the 20th — my true,
happiest day ! But I thank you all I can, dearest — All
good to me comes through you, or for you — every wish and
hope ends in you. May God bless you, ever dear Ba. —

Your own R.

[Postmark: May 7, 1846]

Now, dearest, you are close by and I am writing to you
as if you were ever so far off. People are not always the
better, you see, for being near one another. There’s a moral
to put on with your gloves — and if you were not quite
sufficiently frightened by Mrs. Jameson’s salutation, it may
be of some use to you perhaps — who knows ?

She left word yesterday that she should come to-day or
to-morrow, and as to-day she didn’t, I shall hear of you from
her to-morrow . . that is, if you go to her breakfast, which
you will do I dare say, supposing that you are not perfectly
ill and exhausted by what came before. Ah — you do not
say how you are — and I know what that means. Even
the music was half lost in the fatigue . . that is what you
express by ‘ stupefaction.’ And then to have to dine at Mr.
Procter’s without music . . say how you are . . do not omit
it this time.

Nor think that I shall forget how to-morrow is the seventh
of May . . your month as you call it somewhere . . in
Sordello, I believe . . so that I knew before, you had a
birthday there — and I shall remember it to-morrow and send
you the thoughts which are yours, and pray for you that you
may be saved from March-winds . . ever dearest !

I am glad you heard the music after all : it was something
to hear, as you describe it.

To-day I had a book sent to me from America by the
poetess Mrs. Osgood. Did you ever hear of a poetess Mrs.
Osgood ? . . and her note was of the very most affectionate,
and her book is of the most gorgeous, all purple and gold —
and she tells me . . oh, she tells me . . that I ought to go
to New York, only ‘ to see Mr. Poe’s wild eyes flash through
tears ‘ when he reads my verses. It is overcoming to think
of, even . . isn’t it ? Talking of poetesses, such as Mrs.
Osgood and me, Miss Heaton, . . the friend of your
intimate friend, . . told me yesterday that the poetess proper
of the city of Leeds was ‘ Mrs, A.’ . ‘ Mrs. A. ? ‘ said I with
an enquiring innocence. ‘ Oh,’ she went on, (divining
sarcasms in every breath I drew) . . ‘ oh ! I dare say, you
wouldn’t admit her to be a real poetess. But as she lives in
Leeds and writes verses, we call her our poetess ! and then,
really, Mrs. A. is a charming woman. She was a Miss
Roberts . . and her ‘ Spirit of the Woods,’ and of the ‘Flowers’
has been admired, I assure you.’ Well, in a moment I
seemed to remember something, — because only a few months
since, surely I had a letter from somebody who once was a
spirit of the Woods or ghost of the Flowers. Still, I could
not make out Mrs. A. . . ! ‘ Certainly ‘ I confessed modestly,
‘ I never did hear of a Mrs. A. . . and yet, and yet ‘ . . .
A most glorious confusion I was in . . when suddenly my
visitor thought of spelling the name . . ‘ H e y ‘ said she.
Now conceive that ! The Mrs. Hey who came by solution,
had both written to me and sent me a book on the Lakes
quite lately . . ‘ by the author of the Spirit of the Woods ‘ . .
There was the explanation ! And my Leeds visitor will go
back and say that I denied all knowledge of the charming
Mrs. A. the Leeds poetess, and that it was with the greatest
difficulty I could be brought to recognise her existence. Oh,
the arrogance and ingratitude of me ! And Mrs. A. . . being
‘ a churchwoman ‘ . . . will expose me of course to the
churchwardens ! May you never fall into such ill luck !
You could not expect me to walk to the post office afterwards
— now could you ?

What nonsense and foolishness I take it into my head to
send you sometimes.

I was down-stairs to-day but not out of the house. Now
you are talking, now you are laughing — I think that almost
I can hear you when I listen hard . . at Mr. Procter’s !

Do you, on the other side, hear me ? . . and how I am
calling myself your very own

Ba.