[Postmark: May 6, 1846]
Dearest, it has just come into my head that I should
like to carry this letter to the post myself — but no, I shall
not be able. Probably the post is far out of reach, and
even if it were within reach, my grand scheme of walking
in the street is scarcely a possible thing to-day, for I must
keep watch in the house from two till five for Lady
Margaret Cocks, an old friend of mine, who was kind to
me when I was a child, in the country, and has not for-
gotten me since, when, two months in the year, she has
been in the habit of going to London. A good, worthy
person, with a certain cultivation as to languages and
literature, but quite manquée on the side of the imagination
. . talking of the poets, as a blind woman of colours,
calling ‘ Pippa Passes ‘ ‘ pretty and odd,’ and writing herself
‘ poems ‘ in heaps of copy books which every now and then
she brings to show me … ‘ odes ‘ to Hope and Patience
and all the cardinal virtues, with formulas of ‘ Begin my
muse’ in the fashion ended last century. She has helped
to applaud and scold me since I could walk and write
verses ; and when I was so wicked as to go to dissenting
chapels besides, she reproached me with tears in her eyes ;
but they were tears of earnest partizanship, and not of affec-
tion for me, . . she does not love me after all, nor guess at
my heart, and I do not love her, I feel. Woe to us ! for
there are good and unlovable people in the world, and we
cannot help it for our lives.
In the midst of writing which, comes the Leeds Miss
Heaton, who used to send me those long confidential letters
à faire frémir, and beg me to call her ‘ Ellen,’ and as this is
the second time that she has sent up her card, in an acci-
dental visit to London, I thought I would be good-natured
for once, and see her. An intelligent woman, with large
black eyes and a pleasant voice, and young . . manners
provincial enough, for the rest, and talking as if the world
were equally divided between the ‘ Congregationalists ‘ and
the ‘ Churchpeople.’ She assured me that ‘ Dr. Vaughan
was very much annoyed ‘ at the article on my poems which
‘ crept ‘ into his review, and that it was fully intended to
recant at length on the first convenient oppojtunity. ‘ And
really,’ she said, ‘ it seems to me that you have as many
admirers among churchmen as among dissenters.’ ! There’s
glory ! — and I kept my countenance. Lost it though, five
minutes afterwards, when she observed pathetically, that a
‘ friend of hers who had known Mr. Browning quite inti-
mately, had told her he was an infidel . . . more’s the pity,
when he has such a genius.’ I desired the particular information
of your intimate friend, a little more warmly perhaps
than was necessary, . . but what could be expected of me,
I wonder ?
I shall write again to you to-night, you know, and this is
enough for two o’clock. Now will you get my letter on this
Tuesday ? Do you think of me . . love me ? And are you
well to-day? The flowers look beautiful though you put
their heads into the water instead of their feet.
Your Ba.
Your Ba.