My head is all but well now; thank you.
_E.B.B. to R.B._
Friday Morning.
[Post-mark, May 30, 1845.]
Just one word to say that if Saturday, to-morrow, should be
fine--because in the case of its raining I _shall not expect you_; you
will find me at three o'clock.
Yes--the circumstances of the costume were mentioned in the letter;
Mr. Rogers' bag-wig and the rest, and David Wilkie's sword--and also
that the Laureate, so equipped, fell down upon both knees in the
superfluity of etiquette, and had to be picked up by two
lords-in-waiting. It is a large exaggeration I do not doubt--and then
I never sympathised with the sighing kept up by people about that
acceptance of the Laureateship which drew the bag-wig as a corollary
after it. Not that the Laureateship honoured _him_, but that he
honoured it; and that, so honouring it, he preserves a symbol
instructive to the masses, who are children and to be taught by
symbols now as formerly. Isn't it true? or at least may it not be
true? And won't the court laurel (such as it is) be all the worthier
of _you_ for Wordsworth's having worn it first?
And in the meantime I shall see you to-morrow perhaps? or if it should
rain, on Monday at the same hour.
Ever yours, my dear friend,