. . . My heart saddens to think of Bramford all desolate; {267a} and I
shall now almost turn my head away as any road, or railroad, brings me
within sight of the little spire! I write once a week to abuse both of
them for going. But they are quite happy at Oxford.
I felt a sort of horror when I read in your letter you had ordered the
Book {267b} into your Club, for fear some one might guess. But if _your_
folks don't guess, no one else will. I have heard no more of it since I
wrote to you last, except that its sale does not stand still. Pickering's
foreman blundered in the Advertisements; quoting an extract about the use
of the Book, when he should have quoted about its amusement, which is
what the world is attracted by. But I left it to him. As it would be a
real horror to me to be known as the writer, I do not think I can have
much personal ambition in its success; but I should sincerely wish it to
be read for what little benefit it may do. . . .
I have seen scarce anybody here: Thackeray only once; neither Tennyson
nor Carlyle. Donne came up for a day to see as to the morality of the
'Prodigal Son' {268} at Drury Lane, which the Bishop of London complained
of. Donne is deputy Licenser for Jack Kemble. I went to see it with
him; it was only stupid and gaudy.
BOULGE, Tuesday, _May_ the something, 1851.