[Postmark: August 13, 1846]
Thursday.
Dearest Ba, I love you wholly and for ever ! How shall
the charm ever break ?
My two letters ! I think we must institute solemn days
whereon such letters are to be read years hence . . when I
shall ask you, — (all being known, many weaknesses you do
not choose to see now, and perhaps some strength and
constancy you cannot be sure of — for the charm may
break, you think) . . ‘ If you stood there ‘ . . at Wimpole
Street in the room . . would you whisper ‘ Love, I love you,
as before ? ‘ Oh, how fortunately, fortunately the next verse
comes with its sweetest reassurance !
When I have chosen to consider the circumstances of
the altered life I am about to lead with you . . (‘chosen,’
because you have often suggested drawbacks, harms to my
interest &c. which I have really been forced to take up and
try to think over seriously, lest I should be unawares found
treating what had undoubtedly come from you with disrespect),
I never, after all the considering in my power, was
yet able to fancy even the possibility of their existence. I
will not revert to them now — nor to the few real inconveniences
which I did apprehend at the beginning, but which
never occurred to you : at present I take you, and with you
as much happiness as I seem fit to bear in this world, — the
one shadow being the fear of its continuance. Or if there is
one thing I shall regret . . it is just that which I should as
truly lose if I married any Miss Campbell of them all —
rather, then should really lose, what now is only modified,
— transferred partly and the rest retainable. There was
always a great delight to me in this prolonged relation of
childhood almost . . nay altogether — with all here. My
father and I have not one taste in common, one artistic
taste . . in pictures, he goes, ‘souls away,’ to Brauwer,
Ostade, Teniers . . he would turn from the Sistine Altar
piece to these — in music he desiderates a tune ‘ that has
a story connected with it, ‘ whether Charles II.’s favourite
dance of ‘ Brose and butter ‘ or — no matter, — what I mean
is, that the sympathy has not been an intellectual one. I
hope if you want to please me especially, Ba, you will
always remember I have been accustomed, by pure choice,
to have another will lead mine in the little daily matters of
life. If there are two walks to take (to put the thing at
simplest) you must say, ‘ This one ‘ and not ‘ either ‘ . .
because though they were before indifferently to be chosen
— after that speech, one is altogether better than the other,
to me if not to you. When you have a real preference which
I can discern, you will be good enough to say nothing about
it, my own Ba ! Now, do you not see how, with this feeling,
which God knows I profess to be mine without the least
affectation, — how much my happiness would be disturbed by
allying myself with a woman to whose intellect, as well as
goodness, I could not look up ? — in an obedience to whose
desires, therefore, I should not be justified in indulging ?
It is pleasanter to lie back on the cushions inside the
carriage and let another drive — but if you suspect he cannot
drive ?
Nothing new at Mr. Kenyon’s yesterday — I arrived late
to a small party — Thackeray and Procter — pleasant as
usual. I took an opportunity of mentioning that I had come
straight from home. Did you really look from the window,
dearest ? I was carried the other way, by the new road,
but I thought of you till you may have felt it !
And indeed you are ‘ out ‘ again as to my notions of
your notions, you dearest Ba ! I know well enough that by
‘ calmness ‘ you did not mean absence of passion — I spoke
only of the foolish popular notion.
To-morrow there would seem to be no impediment whatever
— and I trust to be with you, beloved — but before, I
can kiss you as now, — loving you as ever — ever —
Your own.