The Collected Letters, Volume 28


TC TO LADY ASHBURTON ; 9 June 1853; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18530609-TC-LA-01; CL 28: 166-167


Chelsea, 9 june, 1853—

You get two Notes this morning; of which the other was written yesterday,—and put into a wrong post-office, by my unfortunate self! On arriving at the Hospital Clock, I perceived that it was already 5 p.m. & not 4; and that your poor little Letter wouldn't go: I ran back; but of course there was no remedy; Postmasters dare not be hanged even to oblige a favoured individual!1— If you open this first; go on with it, nothing doubting; for in the other, I guess there will be next to mere zero found. That was my sad consolation yesterday. And here, you perceive, is the reply from Clough!—

I cannot well make out what Clough will do: I even looked into the Note for you, hoping there might be farther light there; but there is not. The poor man knows not what to do,—there being a little female Smith in the game!2 My own notion is, that the Smiths are a little exacting for their young lady; and that Clough and they, if among them they let this thing go, will behave extremely like great fools! C. cannot expect that, again, any goddess will take the trouble to get him a situation! And his little Damsel, if she want a clever man, must not insist on his being a rich one too: she actually is not right for that.— — However, I hope it will go wisely after all. I shall otherwise be a good deal vexed, and almost provoked.

The bright sun, and all sun, is gone today; a shower in the night, has clothed everything with hot damp grey.— I have finished my Index, however: thank Heaven. And I shall see a certain “Ladyday” again, if I live, on saturday? Alas, alas— But it is something even to know that you are alive, amid these dim unbeautiful millions, all chanting Uncle-Tom & Dizzy and Anti-Dizzy3 (with a murrain to them!)—and as long as I live, I mean to keep related to you, noble Woman of a thousand, by all the methods that Heaven permits me; and Heaven, I suppose, will not refuse to let me think of you, whatever else is forbidden! Adieu, adieu. Times perhaps will mind,4 tho' I doubt, not.

Yours ever, /