Daniel not having yet come to judgment, there is no news stirring. Every morning I proclaim: "At home to Mr. Thompson." Every evening I ejaculate with Monsieur Jacques[23]: "But he weel come. I know he weel." After which I look vacantly at the boxes; put my hands to my gray wig, as if to make quite sure that it is still on my head, all safe: and go off, first entrance O.P. to soft music.
* * * * * *
Always faithfully your friend.
Mr. Ebenezer Jones.
Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park,
Monday, 15th April, 1844.
Dear Sir,
I don't know how it has happened that I have been so long in acknowledging the receipt of your kind present of your poems[24]; but I do know that I have often thought of writing to you, and have very often reproached myself for not carrying that thought into execution.
I have not been neglectful of the poems themselves, I assure you, but have read them with very great pleasure. They struck me at the first glance as being remarkably nervous, picturesque, imaginative, and original. I have frequently recurred to them since, and never with the slightest abatement of that impression. I am much flattered and gratified by your recollection of me. I beg you to believe in my unaffected sympathy with, and appreciation of, your powers; and I entreat you to accept my best wishes, and genuine though tardy thanks.
Dear Sir, faithfully yours.
Mr. Charles Babbage.