r. Simpson' who desireth the honour of
the acquaintance of Mr. B. whose admirable works have long been his,
Simpson's, especial solace in private--and who accordingly is led to
that personage by a mutual friend--Simpson blushing as only adorable
ingenuousness can, and twisting the brim of his hat like a sailor
giving evidence. Whereupon Mr. B. beginneth by remarking that the
rooms are growing hot--or that he supposes Mr. S. has not heard if
there will be another adjournment of the House to-night--whereupon Mr.
S. looketh up all at once, brusheth the brim smooth again with his
sleeve, and takes to his assurance once more, in something of a huff,
and after staying his five minutes out for decency's sake, noddeth
familiarly an adieu, and spinning round on his heel ejaculateth
mentally--'Well, I _did_ expect to see something different from that
little yellow commonplace man ... and, now I come to think, there
_was_ some precious trash in that book of his'--Have _I_ said 'so will
Miss Barrett ejaculate?'

Dear Miss Barrett, I thank you for the leave you give me, and for the
infinite kindness of the way of giving it. I will call at 2 on
Tuesday--not sooner, that you may have time to write should any
adverse circumstances happen ... not that they need inconvenience you,
because ... what I want particularly to tell you for now and
hereafter--do not mind my coming in the least, but--should you be
unwell, for instance,--just send or leave word, and I will come again,
and again, and again--my time is of _no_ importance, and I have
acquaintances thick in the vicinity.

Now if I do not seem grateful enough to you, _am_ I so much to blame?
You see it is high time you _saw_ me, for I have clearly written
myself _out_!

Ever yours,

R.B.

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Saturday.
[Post-mark, May 17, 1845.]

I shall be ready on Tuesday I hope, but I hate and protest against
your horrible 'entomology.' Beginning to explain, would thrust me
lower and lower down the circles of some sort of an 'Inferno'; only
with my dying breath I would maintain that I never could, consciously
or unconsciously, mean to distrust you; or, the least in the world, to
Simpsonize you. What I said, ... it was _you_ that put it into my head
to say it--for certainly, in my usual disinclination to r