with all of us and
with me chiefly. Oh, you need not say no! I see it, I understand it,
and shall therefore take up my own cause precisely as if I were an
injured person. In the first place, dearest Mrs. Martin, when you
wrote to me (at last!) to say that we were both guilty correspondents,
you should have spoken in the singular number; for I was not guilty
at all, I beg to say, while you were on the Continent. You were
uncertain, you said, on going, where you should go and how long
you should stay, and you promised to write and give me some sort of
address--a promise never kept--and where was I to write to you? I
heard for the first time, from the Peytons, of your being at Pau, and
then you were expected at home. So innocent I am, and because it is
a pleasure rather rare to make a sincere profession of innocence, I
meant to write to you at least ten days ago; and then (believe me you
will, without difficulty) the dreadful death of poor Mr. Haydon,[141]
the artist, quite upset me, and made me disinclined to write a word
beyond necessary ones. I thank God that I never saw him--poor gifted
Haydon--but, a year and a half ago, we had a correspondence which
lasted through several months and was very pleasant while it lasted.
Then it was dropped, and only a few days before the event he wrote
three or four notes to me to ask me to take charge of some papers
and pictures, which I acceded to as once I had done before. He was
constantly in pecuniary difficulty, and in apprehension of the seizure
of goods; and nothing of _fear_ suggested itself to my mind--nothing.
The shock was very great. Oh! I do not write to you to write of this.
Only I would have you understand the real case, and that it is not an
excuse, and that it was natural for me to be shaken a good deal. No
artist is left behind with equal largeness of poetical conception! If
the hand had always obeyed the soul, he would have been a genius of
the first order. As it is, he lived on the _slope_ of greatness
and could not be steadfast and calm. His life was one long agony of
self-assertion. Poor, poor Haydon! See how the world treats those who
try too openly for its gratitude! 'Tom Thumb for ever' over the heads
of the giants.

So you heard that I was quite well? Don't believe everything you hear.
But I am really in _a way_ to be well, if I could have such sunshine
as we have been burning in lately, and a fair field of peace besides.
Generally, I am able to go out every