Monday. July 11.
Up at six, intending to go at eight.
Went however, at half past eight—& not my fault. Breakfasted by myself, & found Mrs. Boyd breakfasting, & had from her, details about the thunderstorm, & influenza & Miss Marshall & Mr. Biscoe[1] & a thousand other things not worth remembering. I went up to Mr. Boyd, & fancied he was glad to see me. I really believe he was. When we had talked we read the seven chiefs, and when we had read we talked, and when we had talked, I assisted him in learning some passages in the Prometheus. Happy day!— He said once “is it really your opinion that you will leave this house”? “Yes:[”] I answered—“it is indeed”. “And will you go away then next month—”? I thought there was in his voice an expression of dejection. The tears came fast into my eyes!— I wish he may miss me .. a little. He showed me a letter from the German booksellers, in which Wolf’s folio Homer is stated to be either out of print or so rare as to have escaped the exertions of their correspondents.[2] My feeling on reading this, was pleasurable. I wd. rather that he had not given me the book; yet I am glad he thought of giving it to me. I went away at half past three. Called for a minute at Mrs. Trants, & found her at dinner with Sam & Henry. She begged me to spend a day with her as I do with Mr. Boyd. What an idea!—what a misapprehension of ideas! On cross questioning, I found out that she preferred my going to her by myself—in other words, without Bummy! Selfish woman!— Is her want of courtesy towards my friends, to be remunerated by my superabundant courtesy towards her? For nothing but courtesy could force me to spend a day with her.
I got to the Bartons at half past four, before their dinner, & was obliged to dine & talk until tea. Everybody was emptied out of Hope End into Barton court, at six—and our children seemed to enjoy themselves very much. Dear little things!— How tired I was, & unwell this evening. As, on our return, I was sitting by myself in our bedroom, I heard what I used to hear in the summer of 1828, & only then—the deathwatch.[3] I grew sick & pale, & dizzy—& slept miserably all night—solely I believe from the strong unaccountable impression produced on me, by this circumstance. I have mentioned it to nobody, & dont much like mentioning it here. There never was a more foolishly weakly superstitious being than I am.
1. Miss Marshall has not been identified. Mr. Biscoe was Annie Boyd’s suitor, possibly the Rev. William Biscoe (1805–77), recently appointed Rector of Donnington, near Ledbury, who was unmarried at this time. Alternatively, he may have been Joseph Biscoe, whose marriage was mentioned by E.B.B. in a letter [30 May 1834] to H.S.B. (BC, 3, 91–93).
2. Friedrich Augustus Wolf, ed. Homeri et Homeridarum Opera et Reliquiœ (Lipsiæ, 1806.) H.S.B. presented this edition to E.B.B. on 16 July.
3. “There are several circumstances which are considered, as signs of approaching death. If a dog howls, or a death-watch ticks, or a looking glass is broken, the approaching death of some person in the family, where the circumstance occurs, is supposed to be signified” (Popular Superstitions, Philadelphia, [1830?], p. 60). E.B.B.’s mother died on 7 October 1828, and E.B.B. obviously believed that the loss was heralded during that summer by the death-watch beetle.
