_R.B. to E.B.B._
Thursday.
[Post-mark, January 15, 1846.]
Dearest, dearer to my heart minute by minute, I had no wish to give
you pain, God knows. No one can more readily consent to let a few
years more or less of life go out of account,--be lost--but as I sate
by you, you so full of the truest life, for this world as for the
next,--and was struck by the possibility, all that might happen were I
away, in the case of your continuing to acquiesce--dearest, it _is_
horrible--could not but speak. If in drawing you, all of you, closer
to my heart, I hurt you whom I would--_outlive_ ... yes,--cannot speak
here--forgive me, Ba.
My Ba, you are to consider now for me. Your health, your strength, it
is all wonderful; that is not my dream, you know--but what all see.
Now, steadily care for us both--take time, take counsel if you choose;
but at the end tell me what you will do for your part--thinking of me
as utterly devoted, soul and body, to you, living wholly in your life,
seeing good and ill only as you see,--being yours as your hand is,--or
as your Flush, rather. Then I will, on my side, prepare. When I say
'take counsel'--I reserve my last right, the man's right of first
speech. _I_ stipulate, too, and require to say my own speech in my own
words or by letter--remember! But this living without you is too
tormenting now. So begin thinking,--as for Spring, as for a New Year,
as for a new life.
I went no farther than the door with Mr. Kenyon. He must see the
truth; and--you heard the playful words which had a meaning all the
same.
No more of this; only, think of it for me, love!
One of these days I shall write a long letter--on the omitted matters,
unanswered questions, in your past letters. The present joy still
makes me ungrateful to the previous one; but I remember. We are to
live together one day, love!
Will you let Mr. Poe's book lie on the table on Monday, if you please,
that I may read what he _does_ say, with my own eyes? _That_ I meant
to ask, too!
How too, too kind you are--how you care for so little that affects me!
I am very much better--I went out yesterday, as you found: to-day I
shall walk, beside seeing Chorley. And certainly, certainly I would go
away for a week, if so I might escape being ill (and away from you) a
fortnight; but I am _not_ ill--and will care, as you bid me, beloved!
So, you will send, and take all trouble; and all about that crazy
Review! Now, you should not!--I will consider about your goodness. I
hardly know if I care to read that kind of book just now.
Will you, and must you have 'Pauline'? If I could pray you to revoke
that decision! For it is altogether foolish and _not_ boylike--and I
shall, I confess, hate the notion of running over it--yet commented
it must be; more than mere correction! I was unluckily
_precocious_--but I had rather you _saw_ real infantine efforts
(verses at six years old, and drawings still earlier) than this
ambiguous, feverish--Why not wait? When you speak of the
'Bookseller'--I smile, in glorious security--having a whole bale of
sheets at the house-top. He never knew my name even!--and I withdrew
these after a very little time.
And now--here is a vexation. May I be with you (for this once) next
Monday, at _two_ instead of _three_ o'clock? Forster's business with
the new Paper obliges him, he says, to restrict his choice of days to
_Monday_ next--and give up _my_ part of Monday I will never for fifty
Forsters--now, sweet, mind that! Monday is no common day, but leads to
a _Saturday_--and if, as I ask, I get leave to call at 2--and to stay
till 3-1/2--though I then lose nearly half an hour--yet all will be
comparatively well. If there is any difficulty--one word and I
re-appoint our party, his and mine, for the day the paper breaks
down--not so long to wait, it strikes me!