_R.B. to E.B.B._
Thursday Morning.
[Post-mark, June 19, 1845.]
When I next see you, do not let me go on and on to my confusion about
matters I am more or less ignorant of, but always ignorant. I tell
you plainly I only trench on them, and intrench in them, from
gaucherie, pure and respectable ... I should certainly grow
instructive on the prospects of hay-crops and pasture-land, if
deprived of this resource. And now here is a week to wait before I
shall have any occasion to relapse into Greek literature when I am
thinking all the while, 'now I will just ask simply, what flattery
there was,' &c. &c., which, as I had not courage to say then, I keep
to myself for shame now. This I will say, then--wait and know me
better, as you will one long day at the end.
Why I write now, is because you did not promise, as before, to let me
know how you are--this morning is miserably cold again--Will you tell
me, at your own time?
God bless you, my dear friend.