December 3, 1845.
See, dearest, what the post brings me this minute! Now, is it not a good omen, a pleasant inconscious prophecy of what is to be? Be it well done, or badly – – there are you, leading me up and onward, in his review as everywhere, at every future time! And our names will go together – – be read together. In itself this is nothing to you, dear poet – – but the unexpectedness, unintended significance of it has pleased me very much – – does it not please you? – – I thought I was to figure in that cold Quarterly all by myself, (for he writes for it) – – but here you are close by me; it cannot but be for good. He has no knowledge whatever that I am even a friend of yours. Say you are pleased!
There was no writing yesterday for me – – nor will there be much to-day. In some moods, you know, I turn and take a thousand new views of what you say . . . and find fault with you to your surprise – – at others, I rest on you, and feel all well, all best . . . now, for one instance, even that phrase of the possibility ‘and what is to follow,’ – – even that I cannot except against – – I am happy, contented; too well, too prodigally blessed to be even able to murmur just sufficiently loud to get, in addition to it all, a sweetest stopping of the mouth! I will say quietly and becomingly ‘Yes – – I do promise you’ – – yet it is some solace to – – No – – I will not even couple the promise with an adjuration that you, at the same time, see that they care for me properly at Hanwell Asylum . . . the best by all accounts: yet I feel so sure of you, so safe and confident in you! If any of it had been my work, my own . . . distrust and foreboding had pursued me from the beginning; but all is yours – – you crust me round with gold and jewelry like the wood of a sceptre; and why should you transfer your own work? Wood enough to choose from in the first instance, but the choice once made! . . . So I rest on you, for life, for death, beloved – – beside you do stand, in my solemn belief, the direct miraculous gift of God to me – – that is my solemn belief; may I be thankful!
I am anxious to hear from you . . . when am I not? – – but not before the American letter is written and sent. Is that done? And who was the visitor on Monday – – and if &c. what did he remark? – – And what is right or wrong with Saturday – – is it to be mine?
Bless you, dearest – – now and for ever – – words cannot say how much I am your own.