“Dear Patmore,—Friday is
always a writing day with me, for the “Examiner” work, not to be done earlier or later in the week.
So, unhappily (at least for me), I am obliged to write to
——, foregoing the proffered engagement. I had supposed
you to be at Hendon or Harrow, by the account Hazlitt gave
me, or I should have sought you in Southampton Street, whither, indeed, I was
about to bend my steps, when I encountered the said Hazlitt. Ever since you strolled over here I have been
“going” to do so. Your account, however, of the haymaking freaks
amuses me mightily, and suggests a pretty moral as to the evils that wait on
absentee landlords. The same story reminds me of Leigh
Hunt’s anecdote of the two boys (his own cockney
subjects), who, having reached Primrose Hill, dreaded penetrating farther into
the wild and seemingly uninhabited
210 | LAMAN BLANCHARD. |
“What are you doing in the country?”