[Postmark: September 17, 1846]
Dearest, the general departure from this house takes place on Monday – and the house at Little Bookham is six miles from the nearest railroad, and a mile and a half from Leatherhead where a coach runs. Now you are to judge. Certainly if I go with you on Saturday I shall not have half the letters written – you, who talk so largely of epic poems, have not the least imagination of my state of mind and spirits. I began to write a letter to Papa this morning, and could do nothing but cry, and looked so pale thereupon, that everybody wondered what could be the matter. Oh – quite well I am now, and I only speak of myself in that way to show you how the inspiration is by no means sufficient for epic poems. Still, I may certainly write the necessary letters, . . and do the others on the road . . could I, do you think ? I would rather have waited – indeed rather – only it may be difficult to leave Bookham . . yet possible – so tell me what you would have me do.
Wilson and I have a light box and a carpet bag between us – and I will be docile about the books, dearest. Do you take a desk ? Had I better not, I wonder ?
Then for box and carpet bag . . Remember that we cannot take them out of the house with us. We must send them the evening before – Friday evening, if we went on Saturday . . and where ? Have you a friend anywhere, to whose house they might be sent, or could they go direct to the railroad office – and what office ? In that case they should have your name on them, should they not ?
Now think for me, ever dearest – and tell me what you do not tell me . . that you continue better. Ah no – you are ill again – or you would not wait to be told to tell me. And the dear, dear little bud ! – I shall keep it to the end of my life, if you love me so long, . . or not, sir ! I thank you, dearest.
Your mother ! – I am very, very sorry. Would it be better and kinder to wait on her account ? – tell me that too.
Yes, they are perfectly kind. We must love them well : and I shall, I am sure.
Mr. Kenyon sends the ‘ Fawn,’ which IS Landor’s Fawn, and desires me to send it to you when I have done with it. As if I could read a word ! He directs me to write to him to Taunton, Somersetshire. May God bless you, beloved.
No more to-night from your very own
BA.
Are not passengers allowed to carry a specific proportion of luggage ? What do you mean then, by paying for every ounce ? As to Dieppe, the diligence would be more fatiguing than the river, and, without strong reasons, one would prefer of course the Havre plan. Still I am not afraid of either. Think.
You might put in the newspaper . . of Wimpole Street and Jamaica, or . . and Cinnamon Hill, Jamaica. That is right and I thought of it at first – only stopped . . seeming to wish to have as little about poor Papa as possible. Do as you think best now.