one of the words used, I remember, ... that I grew
ashamed of myself and told him to come any day (of the last five or
six days he had to spare) between two and five. Well!--he never came.
Either he was overcome with work and engagements of various sorts and
had not a moment, (which was his way of explaining the matter and
quite true I dare say) or he was vexed and resolved on punishing me
for my caprices. If the latter was the motive, I cannot call the
punishment effective, ... for I clapped my hands for joy when I felt
my danger to be passed--and now of course, I have no scruples.... I
may be as capricious as I please, ... may I not? Not that I ask you.
It is a settled matter. And it is useful to keep out Mr. Chorley with
Mr. Horne, and Mr. Horne with Mr. Chorley, and the rest of the world
with those two. Only the miracle is that _you_ should be behind the
enclosure--within it ... and so!--

_That_ is _my_ side of the wonder! of the machinery of the wonder, ...
as _I_ see it!--But there are greater things than these.

Speaking of the portrait of you in the 'Spirit of the Age' ... which
is not like ... no!--which has not your character, in a line of it ...
something in just the forehead and eyes and hair, ... but even _that_,
thrown utterly out of your order, by another bearing so unlike you...!
speaking of that portrait ... shall I tell you?--Mr. Horne had the
goodness to send me all those portraits, and I selected the heads
which, in right hero-worship, were anything to me, and had them framed
after a rough fashion and hung up before my eyes; Harriet Martineau's
... because she was a woman and admirable, and had written me some
kind letters--and for the rest, Wordsworth's, Carlyle's, Tennyson's
and yours. The day you paid your first visit here, I, in a fit of
shyness not quite unnatural, ... though I have been cordially laughed
at for it by everybody in the house ... pulled down your portrait, ...
(there is the nail, under Wordsworth--) and then pulled down
Tennyson's in a fit of justice,--because I would not have his hung up
and yours away. It was the delight of my brothers to open all the
drawers and the boxes, and whatever they could get access to, and find
and take those two heads and hang them on the old nails and analyse my
'absurdity' to me, day after day; but at last I tired them out, being
obstinate; and finally settled the question one morning by fastening
the print of you inside your Paracelsus. Oh no, it