[Postmark: July 24, 1846]
Thursday Evening
No letter for me to-night ! not a word ! — Perhaps the post
is sinning again. If so, I shall hear to-morrow morning, if
not . . may it be anything rather than that you are more
unwell than usual ! anything !
There is not much to say on my part. I had a letter
from Miss Mitford this morning, and she encloses to me . . .
you will not guess what — a lyric of the ubiquitous Bennett
— the ‘ Mignonette.’ Are you not amused ? That’s the
way to ‘ agitate ‘ for readers and praisers. She sees
something in Bennett. He is to be ‘ heard of in our
literature.’ She shed tears over the ‘ Mignonette,’ herself —
Your portrait of Victor Hugo, I like less and less — there
is something ignoble in the face — and even the forehead is
rather big than large. He does not ‘ look like a poet ‘ in any
case — now does he ?
Dearest, did I annoy you . . frighten you, . . about
Wilson yesterday ? Did that prevent you from writing to
me to-day — if really you did not write to me to-day ? It yet
was the merest question, . . I wished you to understand —
the merest question for a yes or a no — and I shall not mind,
however you may answer, be certain. I have been thinking
to-day that it would be possible enough to leave a direction
which might supply everything, and so escape inflicting the
injury apprehended — yes, and as for myself, I shall manage
perfectly. Observe how I pinned your coat, miraculously
pricking you at the same moment. I shall do for myself
and by myself, as well as possible. And therefore, judge,
speak your thoughts out to the purpose and without drawback.
I shall always feel to thank you for speaking the
truth, even where it goes against me. But this will not
go against me, however you speak it, . . understand.
And as for what my sisters think, it is nothing to the
purpose. Say your ‘ no,’ and they never shall hear it. I
will avoid the subject from henceforth, with them . . that is
all.
And take care of Mr. Kenyon to-morrow. I feel afraid
of Mr. Kenyon. But take care of yourself most — look well
that you never let me do, in the least or greatest matter,
what would seem better undone hereafter. Not in the least,
not in the greatest. For me, if I am to be thought of,
remember that you kill me, if you suffer me to injure you.
That is for me.
See how I exhort people who do not write to me ! .
Ah no ! It must be the post’s fault. You could not be
very much vexed with me, I think, for a mere proposal
about Wilson. And the rest of my letter was all made up
of assent and agreement. You could not be vexed about
Wilson. And you shall not be ill, because I cannot bear to
think of it — which, dearest, is a good reason and
irrefragable.
The Hedleys dine here, and others. I hear the voices
and the laughing. I wish I could, your voice, as near.
May God bless you . . bless you —
Your own BA.