Mr. Poe has sent me his poems and tales--so now I must write to thank
him for his dedication. Just now I have the book. As to Mr.
Buckingham, he will go, Constantinople and back, before we talk of
him.
_R.B. to E.B.B._
Saturday Morning.
[Post-mark, March 21, 1846.]
Dearest,--it just strikes me that I _might_ by some chance be kept in
town this morning--(having to go to Milnes' breakfast there)--so as
not to find the note I venture to expect, in time for an answer by our
last post to-night. But I will try--this only is a precaution against
the possibility. Dear, dear Ba! I cannot thank you, know not how to
thank you for the notes! I adopt every one, of course, not as Ba's
notes but as Miss Barrett's, not as Miss Barrett's but as anybody's,
everybody's--such incontestable improvements they suggest. When shall
I tell you more ... on Monday or Tuesday? _That_ I _must_
know--because you appointed Monday, 'if nothing happened--' and Mr. K.
happened--can you let me hear by our early post to-morrow--as on
Monday I am to be with Moxon early, you know--and no letters arrive
before 11-1/2 or 12. I was not very well yesterday, but to-day am much
better--and you,--I say how _I_ am precisely to have a double right to
know _all_ about you, dearest, in this snow and cold! How do you bear
it? And Mr. K. spoke of '_that_ being your worst day.' Oh, dear
dearest Ba, remember how I live in you--on the hopes, with the memory
of you. Bless you ever!