[Postmark: August 27, 1846]
E. B. B. to R. B.
Dearest, I am to write to you of Mrs. Jameson. First, as to telling her . . will it not be an embarrassment both to her and ourselves ? If she cannot say ‘ I knew nothing of this,’ she bears the odium of confidante and adviser perhaps – who shall explain the distinction to others ? And to Mr. Kenyon, will it not seem as if we had trusted her more than him – and though there is a broad distinction too between their cases, who shall explain that to him so quickly and nicely that he shall not receive the shock of a painful impression ? Consider a little – She is so in medias res – so in the way of all the conversation and the questionings. But it shall be as you like and think best. I am too nervous perhaps.
As for the travelling, she sets out between the seventh and tenth of September, a century before our aera, you know – but if she goes to Italy and is not too angry with me, we might certainly meet her in Paris or at Orleans . . take her up at Orleans, and go on together. That is, if you like it too. She would be pleased, I daresay, if it were proposed – and we might be kind in proposing it – and something I might say to her, if you liked it, on the condition of her not changing her mind. Certainly I do agree with you that she must have some ideas – she is not without imagination, and the suggestions are abundant, – though nothing points to you, mind ! – if she could possibly think me capable of loving anyone else in the world, with you in it.
I had a letter to-day . . with a proposition to write ballads and other lyrics in order to the civilisation of the colonies . . especially Australia. It appears that a Mr. Angus Fife has a scheme on foot nearly, about sending missionary ballad-singers among the natives, and that I am invited to write some of them, or to be invited – for nothing is specified yet. Now what do you think of that ? One should take one’s mythology from the Kangaroos, I suppose.
Then a book of ‘ serious poems ‘ is to be brought out in Edinburgh and contributions are desired so very politely that nobody can quite refuse.
I write to you of anything but what is in my thoughts. Your letter of yesterday took hold of me and will not let me go – it all seems too earnest for the mere dream I have been dreaming all this while – is it not a dream . . or what ? And something I said in my letter, which was wrong to say and I am sorry to think of – forgive me that, ever beloved – but you have forgiven, I know. May God bless you, and not take from me my blessing in you.
I am your very own BA.
We are going out in the carriage and shall post this note.
You will come to-morrow unless you hear more? Is it a compact ?