[1] Both, the bust by Behnes, and Hilton's oil-painting of Clare, remained in Mr. Taylor's hands during his lifetime, and after his death (1864) were sold by public auction, at Messrs. Christie, Manson, and Woods, March 17, 1865, when they came into the possession of the author of this work.
Mrs. Emmerson was very angry with her guest when he came back to her house a little after midnight, having been kept so long in the delightful interchange of thoughts with his two artist friends. Clare took very little notice of the remarks of his fair host about want of courtesy and the disappointment of distinguished visitors, his mind being full of reflections engendered by the evening's conversation. He inwardly resolved to enjoy, if possible, many more such evenings; but changed his determination the next day. It was a beautiful day of spring, the warm sunlit air wafting in soft breezes from over the green fields with its first blossoms, into the crowded streets of the town. Clare took a long walk through Regent's Park and past Primrose Hill towards Hampstead, on the slopes of which he discovered some early violets. The sight fairly made him home-sick. He ran back to Stratford Place, and quite startled Mrs. Emmerson by crying, 'I must go!' And go he did, twenty hours after; in such a haste as not even to find time to bid farewell to Allan Cunningham, warmest of friends. But he left a letter for Allan, 'a shake of the hand on paper,' which, coming down to the present time, may be found still interesting. The letter ran:--
My Dear Cunningham--I wholly intended to see you, but now I fear I cannot, as my stay is grown so short; so, if I cannot, here is a "good bye," and God bless you, and as you are aware of my ignorance in travelling about your great Babel, being insufficient to do so in most cases without a guide, which is not always to be procured, you must allow me to make up for the omission by a shake of the hand on paper, as hearty as your imagination can feel it. If you had not been a poet I would not have made such a bull, but it is an English one; it has not a cold meaning. Therefore accept it in lieu of a better. Pray give my kind remembrances to Mrs. Cunningham, and if I could utter compliments as well as I feel gratification in the society of kind and warm-hearted people, I should grow eloquent in her praise. But you well know I am not Ovid, and I as well know I am no orator, so if I am unable to pay ladies deserving compliments, if she will accept the plain respects of a plain fellow, and allow them as nothing more, it will please me much better. Once again, "good bye."