[Postmark: May 2, 1846]
No, my Ba, your letter came as it ought last night, — and
the promise it contained of another made me restless all the
morning — to no purpose, — nothing more comes— yet — for
there is a ‘ peradventure ‘ yet unwithdrawn. When I do not
hear from you, as now, I always fancy there was some
signal reason why I ought to have heard . . that ‘ to-morrow,’
I could better bear the not hearing . . though never, never
do yesterday’s letters slip by a hair’s breadth from the place in
my affection they once take, — they could not have been dis-
pensed with,— but the imaginary letter of to-morrow could,
by contrast with to-day’s exigencies . . till to-morrow really
comes and is found preferring such claims of its own — such
claims.
This letter I have got, and will try and love enough for
two . . I can do no harm by trying . . this I do not mean
to say that I expected. May I say ‘ in heart-playing,’ . . now,
Ba, it will be a fancy, which you can pounce on and poke
your humming-bird bill through, like a needle, in a very
‘ twinkling,’ and so shall my flower’s eye be ruined for ever,
and when it turns black and shrivels up as dead flowers do,
you can triumph and ask ‘ are these your best flowers, best
feelings for me ? ‘. But now, after this deprecation, you will
be generous and only hover above, using the diamond eye
rather than the needle-bill, — and I will go on and dare say
that I should like, for one half second, not to love you, and
then feel all the love lit up in a flame to the topmost height,
at the falling of such a letter on my heart. Don’t you know
that foolish boys sometimes play at hanging themselves—
suspend themselves by the neck actually for such a half second
as this of my fancying — that they may taste the luxury of catch-
ing back at existence, and being cut down again ? There is
a notable exemplification, a worthy simile ! It all comes,
I suppose, from the joy of being rid handsomely of my
dinners and in a fair way for Monday . . nothing between
but letters, — I shall continue to hope ! At sea it always
sounds pleasantly to hear . . after passing Cape This and
Isle the other, ‘ now, next land we make is— Italy, or England,
or Greece.’
Moxon told me Tennyson was still in Town. Switzerland ?
He is a fortnight going to wherever a Train takes
him — ‘for,’ says Moxon, ‘ he has to pack up, and is too late,
and next day ‘ . . I dare say he unaffectedly hates London
where this poco-curanteism would entail all manner of dis-
agreeabilities. If I caught rightly . . that is, now apply
rightly, a word or two I heard . . one striking celebrity at
Dickens’ Dinner was — Lord Chesterfield — literary, inasmuch
as a great ‘ maker up of books ‘ — for the Derby. Macready
may have been another personage — they, Tennyson and he,
may ‘ fadge,’ in Shakespearian phrase, if the writer of the
‘ Two Voices ‘ &c. considers Home’s ‘ Douglas ‘ exquisite
poetry, — otherwise, — it is a chance!
But with respect to your Brother . . first of all — nay,
and last of all, for it all is attributable to that — I feel his
kindness, in its way, as I feel yours ; as truly, according to
its degree and claim : but — ‘ now think what I would
speak ! ‘ — When he really does see me one day — no longer
embarrassed as under the circumstances I could not but
have been on these two or three occasions when we met — he
will find something better than conversational powers to
which I never pretended — and what he will accept in preference,
— a true, faithful desire of repaying his goodness —
he will find it, that is, because it must be there, and I have
confidence in such feelings making sooner or later their
way.
So now, at 2½ p.m., I must ( — here is the Post . . from you ?
Yes — the letter is here at last — I was waiting : — now to read;
no, kissing it comes first).
And now .. I will not say a word, my love of loves, my
dearest, dearest Ba, — not one word — but I will go out and
walk where I can be alone, and think out all my thought of
you, and bless you and love you with nothing to intercept
the blessing and the love. I will look in the direction of
London and send my heart there . . Dear, dear love, I kiss
you and commend you to God. Your very own —
I am very well — quite well, dearest.