[Footnote 1: The words in brackets are struck out.]
_R.B. to E.B.B._
[Post-mark, March 18, 1846.]
Indeed, dearest, you shall not have _last word_ as you think,--all the
'risk' shall not be mine, neither; how can I, in the event, throw
ambs-ace (is not that the old word?) and not peril _your_ stakes too,
when once we have common stock and are partners? When I see the
unicorn and grieve proportionately, do you mean to say you are not
going to grieve too, for my sake? And if so--why, _you_ clearly run
exactly the same risk,--_must_,--unless you mean to rejoice in my
sorrow! So your chance is my chance; my success your success, you say,
and my failure, your failure, will you not say? You see, you see, Ba,
my own--own! What do you think frightened me in your letter for a
second or two? You write 'Let us talk on Thursday ... Monday I
forgot'--which I read,--'no, not on Thursday--I had forgotten! It is
to be _Monday_ when we meet next'!--whereat
... as a goose
In death contracts his talons close,
as Hudibras sings--I clutched the letter convulsively--till relief
came.
So till to-morrow--my all-beloved! Bless you. I am rather hazy in the
head as Archer Gurney will find in due season--(he comes, I told
you)--but all the morning I have been going for once and for ever
through the 'Tragedy,' and it is _done_--(done _for_). Perhaps I may
bring it to-morrow--if my sister can copy all; I cut out a huge kind
of sermon from the middle and reserve it for a better time--still it
is very long; so long! So, if I ask, may I have 'Luria' back to
morrow? So shall printing begin, and headache end--and 'no more for
the present from your loving'