[Postmark: September 18, 1846]
Dearest take this word, as if it were many. I am so tired
—and then it shall be the right word.
Sunday and Friday are impossible. On Saturday I will
go to you, if you like—with half done, . . nothing done
. . . scarcely. Will you come for me to Hodgson’s ? or
shall I meet you at the station ? At what o’clock should I
set out, to be there at the hour you mention ?
Also, for the boxes . . we cannot carry them out of the
house, you know, Wilson and I. They must be sent on
Friday evening to the Vauxhall station, ‘to be taken care
of.’ Will the people keep them carefully ? Ought someone
to be spoken to beforehand ? If we sent them to New
Cross, they would not reach you in time.
Hold me my beloved—with your love. It is very
hard— But Saturday seems the only day for us. Tell me
if you think so indeed.
Your very own BA.
The boxes must have your name on them of course.
Let there be no great haste about sending out the cards.
Saturday might be mentioned in the advertisement, without
the date—might it not ?