1348. Thomas Westwood to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 7, 273–274.
Chase Side, Enfield
Augst 5th 1843.
My dear Madam,
We have greeted no number of the Athenæum of late, with so cordial & kindly a greeting, as that which has made us acquainted with “Flush, my dog.” [1] We have long wished to meet with you in print, looking upon such appearance as a sort of bulletin, & your long silence began to assume the shape of an evil augury, which we are right glad to exchange for more hopeful thoughts & anticipations. Indeed, I have been wishing to write for some time past, if only to ask the brief question, ‘How do you do’? but I knew that you could have but little time to give to such extra correspondents as myself, & therefore put it off, till, finding you were able to say kind things & cheerful to a little four-footed friend, I thought you might not consider it a hardship to bestow a moment or two on one, who will look quite as pleased to receive a few lines from you as Flush does when you pat him on the head, or take him out the first bright summer day for a ramble over hill & meadow. I know what that pleasure is, for a little dog is lying at my feet, who is wont to cut all sorts of ecstatic capers, when he wins a caress from me, or is released from his indoor durance. He is as great a pet methinks, as yours, & a good, faithful, honest-hearted creature withal,—to say nothing of certain personal prettinesses which might almost justify him in aspiring to the acquaintanceship of the doubly immortalized Flush– Pray do not be indignant at such arrogant pretensions––if you think Flush aggrieved, Flossy shall apologize in due form. There is at least one link of connexion between the ‘two dogs’– Miss Mitford gave the one, & named the other. I met with the name in a little story of hers, called “Amy & her dog Flos[s].” I had a favour to ask of you, & yet I scarcely like to mention it, lest you should suppose that to be my impulse in writing—which indeed & in truth it is not—but you will not, I am sure harbour so unjust a suspicion so I will tell you what the favour is. There is a poem of yours, called I believe “The Legend of the brown Rosary,”—which we have long wished to see & cannot meet with—& I am now a beggar for an ms. Copy of it, if you have a duplicate, or if the poem do not exceed copying length– If it be too long, look upon my request as at once, null & void, & if anything else prevent your gratifying us, pray refuse point blank, & be sure that the refusal will be received as kindly as the compliance would have been. You do not know with what greediness we seek to make accessions to our stock, & how often we think longingly of that “more than enough to fill a volume” which you adverted to nine months ago & which we hope by this time, is enough to fill two.
The summer has been a sad gloomy one, & very unlike that of last year, which you said was so beneficial to you. The “patchwork” has had but few sunbeams, wherewith to sew it together, & has been sent so often to the wash, that it is getting quite threadbare,—& no colour left in it[.] We can but hope that the strength you gained from the sunshine of the past year, has enabled you to weather the dark skies of this. May it be very long ere Flush has another such opportunity of signalizing his faithfulness & affection. [2] Believe me to be dear Madam.
Very sincerely yours,
T. Westwood–
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. In the issue of 22 July (no. 821, pp. 670–671).
2. The poem lauded Flush’s faithful bedside watch, “Day and night unweary … Round the sick and dreary.”
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