am of my poet than of my poems ... pour cause.  But since, according to the Quarterly regime, you were to be not apart but with somebody of my degree, I am glad, pleased, that it should be with myself:—­and since I was to be there at all, I am pleased, very much pleased that it should be with you,—­oh, of course I am pleased!—­I am pleased that the ’names should be read together’ as you say, ... and am happily safe from the apprehension of that ingenious idea of yours about ‘my leading you’ &c. ... quite happily safe from the apprehension of that idea’s occurring to any mind in the world, except just your own.  Now if I ‘find fault’ with you for writing down such an extravagance, such an ungainly absurdity, (oh, I shall abuse it just as I shall choose!) can it be ‘to your surprise?’ can it?  Ought you to say such things, when in the first place they are unfit in themselves and inapplicable, and in the second place, abominable in my eyes?  The qualification for Hanwell Asylum is different peradventure from what you take it to be—­we had better not examine it too nearly.  You never will say such words again?  It is your promise to me?  Not those words—­and not any in their likeness.

Also ... nothing is my work ... if you please!  What an omen you take in calling anything my work!  If it is my work, woe on it—­for everything turns to evil which I touch.  Let it be God’s work and yours, and I may take breath and wait in hope—­and indeed I exclaim to myself about the miracle of it far more even than you can do.  It seems to me (as I say over and over ...  I say it to my own thoughts oftenest) it seems to me still a dream how you came here at all, ... the very machinery of it seems miraculous.  Why did I receive you and only you?  Can I tell? no, not a word.

Last year I had such an escape of seeing Mr. Horne; and in this way it was.  He was going to Germany, he said, for an indefinite time, and took the trouble of begging me to receive him for ten minutes before he went.  I answered with my usual ‘no,’ like a wild Indian—­whereupon he wrote me a letter so expressive of mortification and vexation ... ‘mortification’ was 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!—­