Ever faithfully yours. [Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield.] DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _March 6th, 1846._ MY DEAR STANNY, In reference to the damage of the candlesticks, I beg to quote (from "The Cricket on the Hearth," by the highly popular and deservedly so Dick) this reply: "I'll damage you if you enquire." Ever yours, My block-reeving, Main-brace splicing, Lead-heaving, Ship-conning, Stun'sail-bending, Deck-swabbing Son of a sea-cook, HENRY BLUFF, H.M.S. _Timber._ [Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.] DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Saturday, April 13th, 1846._ MY DEAR SIR, Do you recollect sending me your biography of Shakespeare last autumn, and my not acknowledging its receipt? I do, with remorse. The truth is, that I took it out of town with me, read it with great pleasure as a charming piece of honest enthusiasm and perseverance, kept it by me, came home, meant to say all manner of things to you, suffered the time to go by, got ashamed, thought of speaking to you, never saw you, felt it heavy on my mind, and now fling off the load by thanking you heartily, and hoping you will not think it too late. Always believe me, Faithfully yours. [Sidenote: Miss Ely.] DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Sunday, April 19th, 1846._ MY DEAR MISS ELY, A mysterious emissary brought me a note in your always welcome handwriting at the Athenæum last night. I enquired of the servant in attendance whether the bearer of this letter was of my vast establishment. To which he replied "Yezzir." "Then," said I, "tell him not to wait." Maclise was with me. It was then half-past seven. We had been walking, and were splashed to the eyes. We debated upon the possibility of getting to Russell Square in reasonable time--decided that it would be in the worst taste to appear when the performance would be half over--and very reluctantly decided not to come. You may suppose how dirty and dismal we were when we went to the Thames Tunnel, of all places in the world, instead! When I came home here at midnight I found another letter from you (I left off in this place to press it dutifully to my lips). Then my mind misgave me that _you_ must have sent to the Athenæum. At the apparent rudeness of my reply, my face, as Hadji Baba says, was turned upside down, and fifty donkeys sat upon my father's grave--or would have done so, but for his not being dead yet.