Month: September 2018

[Postmark: September 15, 1846]

Tuesday Morning,

My own Ba, could you think me capable of such a step ? I forget what I exactly said in the first letter, but in the second, which you have received by this, I know there is mention made of your account which is to accompany mine. You never quite understood, I think, my feeling about Mr. Kenyon and desire to tell him earlier. In the first place, at the very beginning, he seemed to stand (as he did) in closer connection with you than any other person I could communicate with, – therefore to represent, in some degree, your dear self in the worldly sense, and be able to impose on me any conditions &c. which your generous nature might be silent on, and my ignorance and excitement overlook : then there was another reason, the natural one, of our own . . his friendship, rather, for me, and the circumstance of his having in a manner introduced me to your acquaintance, – at all events, facilitated my introduction, – and so being after a fashion responsible in some degree for my conduct. These two reasons, added to a general real respect for his circumspection and sagacity, and a desire to make both of them instruct me in the way of doing you good. But you effectually convinced me that in neither case would the benefit derivable balance the certain injury, or at least, annoyance, to himself – while you showed me that I should not be so truly serving you, as I had intended, by the plans I used to turn over in my mind.

In brief, it was written that your proof of love and trust to me was to be complete, the completest – and I could not but be proud and submit – and a few words will explain the mere sin against friendship. I quite, quite feel as you feel, nor ever had the least intention of writing . . that is, of sending any letter, – till the very last. Be sure of it.

For the cards, I have just given orders, as you desire and as I entirely agree. The notion of a word about our not being in England was only a fancy for your family’s sake – just to save people’s application to them, to know what had become of us – and I had heard Mr. Kenyon commend the considerateness of those ‘ Lydian measures ‘ . . albeit there was . . or narrowly escaped being – an awful oversight of the traveller’s which would have made him the sad hero of a merry story for ever . . as I will tell you someday. If you will send the addresses, at any time, that trouble will be over. In all these mighty matters, be sure I shall never take the least step without consulting you – will you draw up the advertisement, please ? I will supply the clergyman’s name &c. &c.

I shall not see one friend more before I leave with you. So that nobody needs divine that since the 12th, we have not been at Margate – seeking ‘food for the mind’ –

11¾ A.M.

Dearest, I agree to all – I will not see you, for those reasons. I think, as you may, that it will be a point in excuse of the precipitancy that a removal was threatened for ‘ next Monday perhaps ‘ . . which, finding us unprepared, would have been ruinous. Say all you would have me say to your father, – no concession shall be felt by the side of your love. I will write a few words to Mrs. J. – her kindness is admirable and deserves the attention. For the date, – you will have seen the precautions I take, – I hope to see nobody now ; but I don’t know that it will be necessary to suppress it in the advertisement, if we can leave England by the end of the week, as I hope . . do you not hope, too? For I see announcements, in to-day’s Times, of marriages on the 8th and 9th and our silence on that particular might be only the beginning of some mystery . . as if it had happened half a year ago, for instance. Beside, your relations will examine the register. All rests with you, however – and will rest, Ba ! I shall ask you to do no more of my business that I can manage myself but where I can not manage . . why, then you shall think for me, – that is my command !

I suppose when a man buys a spinning-machine he loses dignity because he lets it weave stockings, – does not keep on with his clumsy fingers ! No, I will retain my honours, be certain, – you shall say, Ego et rex meus like Wolsey – or rather, like dear, dear Ba – like yourself I will ever worship ! See the good of taking up arms against me out of that service ! If you ‘ honour and obey ‘ me, ‘ with my body I thee worship ‘ – my best, dearest, sweetest Ba, and that I have avowed thus ‘ irrevocably ‘ – is the heart’s delight of your own R.

[Postmark: September 15, 1846]

Monday Evening.

First, God is to be thanked for this great joy of hearing that you are better, my ever dearest – it is a joy that floats over all the other emotions. Dearest, I am so glad ! I had feared that excitement’s telling on you quite in another way. When the whole is done, and we have left England and the talkers thereof behind our backs, you will be well, steadfastly and satisfactorily, I do trust. In the meantime, there seems so much to do, that I am frightened to look towards the heaps of it. As to accoutrements, everything has been arranged as simply as possible that way – but still there are necessities – and the letters, the letters ! I am paralysed when I think of having to write such words as . . ‘ Papa, I am married ; I hope you will not be too displeased.’ Ah, poor Papa ! You are too sanguine if you expect any such calm from him as an assumption of indifference would imply. To the utmost, he will be angry, – he will cast me off as far from him. Well – there is no comfort in such thoughts. How I felt to-night when I saw him at seven o’clock, for the first time since Friday, and the event of Saturday ! He spoke kindly too, and asked me how I was. Once I heard of his saying of me that I was ‘ the purest woman he ever knew,’ – which made me smile at the moment, or laugh I believe, outright, because I understood perfectly what he meant by that – viz – that I had not troubled him with the iniquity of love affairs, or any impropriety of seeming to think about being married. But now the whole sex will go down with me to the perdition of faith in any of us. See the effect of my wickedness ! –’ Those women ! ‘

But we will submit, dearest. I will put myself under his feet, to be forgiven a little, . . enough to be taken up again into his arms. I love him – he is my father – he has good and high qualities after all : he is my father above all. And you, because you are so generous and tender to me, will let me, you say, and help me to try to win back the alienated affection – for which, I thank you and bless you, – I did not thank you enough this morning. Surely I may say to him, too, . . ‘ With the exception of this act, I have submitted to the least of your wishes all my life long. Set the life against the act, and forgive me, for the sake of the daughter you once loved.’ Surely I may say that, – and then remind him of the long suffering I have suffered, – and entreat him to pardon the happiness which has come at last.

And he will wish in return, that I had died years ago ! For the storm will come and endure. And at last, perhaps, he will forgive us – it is my hope.

I accede to all you say of Mr. Kenyon. I will ask him for his address in the country, and we will send, when the moment comes, our letters together.

From Mrs. Jameson I had the letter I enclose, this morning, (full of kindness – is it not ?) and another really as kind from Miss Bayley, who begs me, if I cannot go to Italy, to go to Hastings and visit her. To both I must write at some length. Will you write to Mrs. Jameson, besides what I shall write ? And what are we to say as to travelling ? As she is in Paris, perhaps we may let her have the solution of our problem sooner than the near people. May we ? shall we ? Yet we dare not, I suppose, talk too historically of what happened last Saturday. It is like the dates in the newspaper – advertisements, which we must eschew, as you observe.

Other things, too, you observe, my beloved, which are altogether out of date. In your ways towards me, you have acted throughout too much ‘ the woman’s part,’ as that is considered. You loved me because I was lower than others, that you might be generous and raise me up : – very characteristic for a woman (in her ideal standard) but quite wrong for a man, as again and again I used to signify to you, Robert – but you went on and did it all the same. And now, you still go on – you persist – you will be the woman of the play, to the last ; let the prompter prompt ever so against you. You are to do everything I like, instead of my doing what you like, . . and to ‘ honour and obey ‘ me, in spite of what was in the vows last Saturday, – is that the way of it and of you? and are vows to be kept so, pray ? after that fashion ? Then, don’t put ‘ at home ‘ at the corner of the cards, dearest ! It is my command !

And forgive the inveterate jesting, which jests with eyes full of tears. I love you – I bless God for you. You are too good for me, as always I knew. I look up to you continually.

It is best, I continue to think, that you should not come here – best for you, because the position, if you were to try it, would be less tolerable than ever – and best for both of us, that in case the whole truth were ever discovered (I mean, of the previous marriage) we might be able to call it simply an act in order to security. I don’t know how to put my feeling into words, but I do seem to feel that it would be better, and less offensive to those whom we offend at any rate, to avoid all possible remark on this point. It seems better to a sort of instinct I have.

Then, if I see you – farewell, the letter-writing. Oh no – there will be time enough when we are on the railway ! – We shall talk then.

Ah – you say such things to me ! Dearest, dearestest ! And you do not start at that word, ‘ Irrevocable,’ as I have had fancies that you might, when the time came ! ‘ But you may recover, by putting out your hand, all you have given me, . . nearly all. I never, never, being myself, could willingly vex you, torment you. If I approach to it, you will tell me. I will confide in you, to that end also. Dearest.

And your father’s goodness, and the affectionateness of them all. When they shall have learnt most that I am not worthy of you, they will have learnt besides that I can be grateful to them and you. Certainly I am capable, I hope, of loving them all, well and with appreciation. And then . . imagine the comfort I take to the deepest of my heart from these hands held out to me ! For your sake ! Yes, for your sake entirely ! – and, so, the more dearly comforting to

Your very own BA.

There is still difficulty about the house. They think of Tunbridge Wells.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Monday Morning.

Ever dearest, this one word goes to you to say about Mr. Kenyon’s letter – oh, do not send any letter, dearest, till we are out of hearing of the answer. It terrifies me to think of your sending a letter, perhaps, without delay. Do let no letter nor intimation be given till the very last. Remember that I shall be killed – it will be so infinitely worse than you can have an idea.

Afterwards – yes ! – you will, for my sake forget some natural pride, as I, for yours, have forgotten some as natural apprehensiveness. That kindness, I expected from you, . . and now accept . . thanking you, dearest. In the meanwhile, there seems to remain the dreadful danger of the newspapers – we must trust, as you say.

Your mother’s goodness touches me very deeply. I am grateful to her and to all your family, beyond any power of mine to express my feelings. Let me be silent therefore, instead of trying.

As to the important business of the cards, you know I have heard the whole theory of etiquette lately on that subject, and you must not think of putting any ‘ At home’ anywhere, or any other thing in the place of it. A Fellows is an authority in Asia Minor, but for the minora of the cards, not at all. Put simply the names, as you say, on one card, only without abbreviation or initial, and no intimation of address, which is not necessary, and would be under our circumstances quite wrong. Then I had better perhaps send you a list of names and addresses. But for this, enough time.

They hasten me – I must go. Not from the thought however of you . . being your very own Ba.

I shall write of course in the evening again.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Monday Morning.

You go on to comfort me, love – bless you for it. I collect from the letter that you are recovering from the pain and excitement ; that is happy ! I waited to hear from you, my own Ba, and will only write a word – then go out – think.

Do you feel so, through the anxieties and trouble of this situation ? You take my words from me – I ‘ exult ‘ in the irrevocability of this precious bestowal of yourself on me – come what will my life has borne flower and fruit – it is a glorious, successful, felicitous life, I thank God and you.

All has been for the best, you will see, even in these apparently untoward circumstances – this particular act was precipitated by them, certainly – but it is done, and well done. Does it not simplify our arrangements that this is done ? And surely there was every justification for the precipitancy in that proposed journey, and uncertain return, – (in Winter to a freshly-painted house !) But every moment of my life brings fresh proof to me of the intervention of Providence. How the natural course would have embarrassed us ! – any consultation with you respecting your own feelings on a removal at present – any desire to gratify them . .

Will not Mr. Kenyon understand at least ? Would it not be well to ascertain his precise address in the country, – so as to send your letter there, before the newspaper reaches him, – or any other person’s version ? I will send you my letter to accompany yours – just a few words to explain why he was not consulted – (by me) . . what is strictly my own part to be excused. What do you intend to do about Mrs. Jameson? I only want to know in the case of our mutual friends, of course, so as to avoid the necessity of going over the same ground in our letters.

I confided my approaching marriage to that kind old Pritchard, lest he should be too much wounded – if his surprise was considerable, his delight kept due proportion. You may depend on his secrecy – I need not say, I mentioned the fact simply . . without a word about any circumstances. If your father could be brought to allow the matter to pass as indifferent to him . . what he did not chose to interfere with, however little he approved it, – we should be fortunate ? Perhaps pride, if no kinder feeling, may induce him to that.

My family all love you, dearest – you cannot conceive my father and mother’s childlike faith in goodness – and my sister is very high-spirited, and quick of apprehension – so as to seize the true point of the case at once. I am in great hopes you will love them all, and understand them. Last night, I asked my father, who was absorbed over some old book, ‘ if he should not be glad to see his new daughter ? ‘ – to which he, starting, replied ‘ Indeed I shall ! ‘ with such a fervour as to make my mother laugh – not abated by his adding, ‘And how I should be glad of her seeing Sis ! ‘ his other daughter, Sarianna, to wit – who was at church.

Trifles, trifles, only commended to your dear, affectionate heart. Do you confide in me, Ba ? Well, you shall ! – in my love, in my pride, in my heart’s purposes ; but not in anything else. Give me your counsel at all times, beloved : I am wholly open to your desires, and teaching, and direction. Try what you can make of me, – if you can in any way justify your choice to the world. So I would gladly counsel you on any point ! See how I read lectures about Flush ! Only give a kiss before beginning, and promise me another upon my profiting, – and I shall be twice blessed beside the profit. So, my counsel being done, here begin the kisses, you dear dear Ba of mine. Bless you ever, Ba ! I continue quite well – is it not strange . . or is it ? And my mother is better decidedly. When she comes back from town (where she and my sister are caring for me) I will tell her what you bade me promise to give her – in return for what she has long given you. Good-bye, my own – very own Ba, from your R.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Sunday Afternoon.

Thank you a thousand times for the note, my own Ba. I welcomed it as I never yet welcomed even your notes ; entirely kind to write, and write so ! Oh, I know the effort you made, the pain you bore for my sake ! I tell you, once and for ever, your proof of love to me is made . . I know love, my dearest dearest : my whole life shall be spent in trying to furnish such a proof of my affection ; such a perfect proof, – and perhaps vainly spent – but I will endeavour with God’s help. Do you feel what I mean, dearest ? How you have dared and done all this, under my very eyes, for my only sake ? I believed you would be capable of it – what then? What is a belief? My own eyes have seen – my heart will remember !

Dearest, nothing needs much trouble you farther : take your own time and opportunity. I confide in your judgment – (for I am not going to profess confidence in you !) – I am sure you will see and act for the best. My preparations are made ; I have only to await your desires. I will not ask to see you, for instance – though of course a word brings me as usual to you – your will is altogether my will.

The first obvious advantage of our present relation, I will take. You are mine – your generosity has given to me my utmost claim upon your family – so far as I am concerned, putting aside my sympathy with you, there is nothing more they can give me : so, I will say, perhaps a little less reservedly than I could have brought myself to say before, that there is no conceivable submission I will refuse, nor possible satisfaction I will hesitate to make to those feelings I have been forced to offend, if by any means I may preserve, for you, so much of their affection as you have been accustomed to receive ; I do not require anything beyond toleration for myself . . I will cheerfully accept as the truest kindness to me, a continuance of kindness to you. You know what I would have done to possess you : – now that I do possess you, I renew the offer to you . . judge with what earnest purpose of keeping my word ! I do not think . . nor do you think . . that any personal application, directly or by letter, would do any good – it might rather add to the irritation we apprehend : but my consent is given beforehand to any measure you shall ever consider proper. And your father may be sure that while I adore his daughter it will be impossible for me, under any circumstances, to be wanting in the utmost respect for, and observance of, himself. Understand, with the rest, why I write this, Ba. To your brothers and sisters I am bound for ever, – by every tie of gratitude : they may acquiesce more easily . . comprehending more, perhaps, of the dear treasure you are, they will forgive my ambition of gaining it. I will write to Mr. Kenyon. You will probably have time to write all the letters requisite.

Do not trouble yourself with more than is strictly necessary – you can supply all wants at Leghorn or Pisa. Let us be as unencumbered with luggage as possible.

What is your opinion about the advertisements? If our journey is delayed for a few days, we had better omit the date, I think. And the cards ? I will get them engraved if you will direct me. The simplest form of course : – and the last (or among the last) happens to be also the simplest, consisting merely of the words ‘ Mr. and Mrs. R. B.’ on one card – with the usual ‘ at home ‘ in a corner. How shall we manage that, by the way ? Could we put ‘ In Italy for a year?’ There is precedent for it – Sir – Fellows’ (what is the traveller’s name?) – his were thus subscribed. By which means we should avoid telling people absolutely, that they need never come and see us. Choose your own fashion, my Ba, and tell me how many you require.

I only saw my cousin for a few minutes afterward – he came up in a cab immediately – he understood all there was need he should. You to be ‘ uncourteous ‘ to anybody ! no, no – sweetest ! But I will thank him as you bid, knowing the value of Ba’s thanks ! For the prying penny-a-liners . . why, trust to Providence – we must ! I do not apprehend much danger . .

Dearest, I woke this morning quite well – quite free from the sensation in the head. I have not woke so, for two years perhaps – what have you been doing to me ?

My father and mother and sister love you thoroughly – my mother said this morning, in my room, ‘ If I were as I have been, I would try and write to her ‘ – I said, ‘ I will tell her what I know you feel.’ She is much better – (I hear her voice while I write . . below the open window). Poor Pritchard came home from the country on Friday night – late – and posted here immediately – he was vexed to be made understand that there was some way in which he might have served me and did not. It was kind, very kind of Wilson.

I will leave off – to resume to-morrow. Bless you, my very own, only Ba – my pride, and joy, and utter comfort. I kiss you and am ever your own.

[Postmark: September 14, 1846]

Sunday.

My own beloved, if ever you should have reason to complain of me in things voluntary and possible, all other women would have a right to tread me underfoot, I should be so vile and utterly unworthy. There is my answer to what you wrote yesterday of wishing to be better to me . . you ! What could be better than lifting me from the ground and carrying me into life and the sunshine ? I was yours rather by right than by gift (yet by gift also, my beloved !) ; for what you have saved and renewed is surely yours. All that I am, I owe you – if I enjoy anything now and henceforth, it is through you. You know this well. Even as I, from the beginning, knew that I had no power against you, . . or that, if I had, it was for your sake.

Dearest, in the emotion and confusion of yesterday morning, there was yet room in me for one thought which was not a feeling – for I thought that, of the many, many women who have stood where I stood, and to the same end, not one of them all perhaps, not one perhaps, since that building was a church, has had reasons strong as mine, for an absolute trust and devotion towards the man she married, – not one ! And then I both thought and felt, that it was only just, for them, . . those women who were less happy, . . to have that affectionate sympathy and support and presence of their nearest relations, parent or sister . . which failed to me, . . needing it less through being happier !

All my brothers have been here this morning, laughing and talking, and discussing this matter of the leaving town, – and in the room, at the same time, were two or three female friends of ours, from Herefordshire – and I did not dare to cry out against the noise, though my head seemed splitting in two (one half for each shoulder), I had such a morbid fear of exciting a suspicion. Treppy too being one of them, I promised to go to see her to-morrow and dine in her drawing-room if she would give me, for dinner, some bread and butter. It was like having a sort of fever. And all in the midst, the bells began to ring. ‘ What bells are those ? ‘ asked one of the provincials. ‘ Marylebone Church bells ‘ said Henrietta, standing behind my chair.

And now . . while I write, having escaped from the great din, and sit here quietly, – comes . . who do you think? – Mr. Kenyon.

He came with his spectacles, looking as if his eyes reached to their rim all the way round ; and one of the first words was, ‘ When did you see Browning?’ And I think I shall make a pretension to presence of mind henceforward ; for, though certainly I changed colour and he saw it, I yet answered with a tolerably quick evasion, . . ‘ He was here on Friday’ – and leapt straight into another subject, and left him gazing fixedly on my face. Dearest, he saw something, but not all. So we talked, talked. He told me that the ‘ Fawn of Sertorius,’ (which I refused to cut open the other day,) was ascribed to Landor – and he told me that he meant to leave town again on Wednesday, and would see me once before then. On rising to go away, he mentioned your name a second time . . ‘ When do you see Browning again ? ‘ To which I answered that I did not know.

Is not that pleasant ? The worst is that all these combinations of things make me feel so bewildered that I cannot make the necessary arrangements, as far as the letters go. But I must break from the dream-stupor which falls on me when left to myself a little, and set about what remains to be done.

A house near Watford is thought of now – but, as none is concluded on, the removal is not likely to take place in the middle of the week even, perhaps.

I sit in a dream, when left to myself. I cannot believe, or understand. Oh ! but in all this difficult, embarrassing and painful situation, I look over the palms to Troy – I feel happy and exulting to belong to you, past every opposition, out of sight of every will of man – none can put us asunder, now, at least. I have a right now openly to love you, and to hear other people call it a duty, when I do, . . knowing that if it were a sin, it would be done equally. Ah – I shall not be first to leave off that – see if I shall ! May God bless you, ever and ever dearest ! Beseech for me the indulgence of your father and mother, and ask your sister to love me. I feel so as if I had slipped down over the wall into somebody’s garden – I feel ashamed. To be grateful and affectionate to them all, while I live, is all that I can do, and it is too much a matter of course to need to be promised. Promise it however for your very own Ba whom you made so happy with the dear letter last night. But say in the next how you are – and how your mother is.

I did hate so, to have to take off the ring ! You will have to take the trouble of putting it on again, some day.

[Postmark: September 12, 1846]

Saturday. Sept. 12. – 4½ p.m.

Ever dearest, I write a word that you may read it and know how all is safe so far, and that I am not slain downright with the day – oh, such a day ! I went to Mr. Boyd’s directly, so as to send Wilson home the faster – and was able to lie quietly on the sofa in his sitting-room down-stairs, before he was ready to see me, being happily engaged with a medical councillor. Then I was made to talk and take Cyprus wine, – and, my sisters delaying to come, I had some bread and butter for dinner, to keep me from looking too pale in their eyes. At last they came, and with such grave faces ! Missing me and Wilson, they had taken fright, – and Arabel had forgotten at first what I told her last night about the fly. I kept saying, ‘ What nonsense, . . what fancies you do have to be sure,’ . . trembling in my heart with every look they cast at me. And so, to complete the bravery, I went on with them in the carriage to Hampstead . . as far as the heath, – and talked and looked – now you shall praise me for courage – or rather you shall love me for the love which was the root of it all. How necessity makes heroes – or heroines at least ! For I did not sleep all last night, and when I first went out with Wilson to get to the fly-stand in Marylebone Street I staggered so, that we both were afraid for the fear’s sake, – but we called at a chemist’s for sal volatile and were thus enabled to go on. I spoke to her last night, and she was very kind, very affectionate, and never shrank for a moment. I told her that always I should be grateful to her.

You – how are you ? how is your head, ever dearest ?

It seems all like a dream ! When we drove past that church again, I and my sisters, there was a cloud before my eyes. Ask your mother to forgive me, Robert. If I had not been there, she would have been there, perhaps.

And for the rest, if either of us two is to suffer injury and sorrow for what happened there to-day – I pray that it may all fall upon me ! Nor should I suffer the most pain that way, as I know, and God knows.

Your own

BA.

Was I very uncourteous to your cousin ? So kind, too, it was in him ! Can there be the least danger of the newspapers ? Are those books ever examined by penny-a-liners, do you suppose ?

[Postmark: September 12, 1846]

1 p.m. Saturday.

You will only expect a few words – what will those be ? When the heart is full it may run over, but the real fulness stays within.

You asked me yesterday ‘ if I should repent ? ‘ Yes – my own Ba, – I could wish all the past were to do over again, that in it I might somewhat more, – never so little more, conform in the outward homage to the inward feeling. What I have professed . . (for I have performed nothing) seems to fall short of what my first love required even – and when I think of this moment’s love . . I could repent, as I say.

Words can never tell you, however, – form them, transform them anyway, – how perfectly dear you are to me – perfectly dear to my heart and soul.

I look back, and in every one point, every word and gesture, every letter, every silence – you have been entirely perfect to me – I would not change one word, one look.

My hope and aim are to preserve this love, not to fall from it – for which I trust to God who procured it for me, and doubtlessly can preserve it.

Enough now, my dearest, dearest, own Ba ! You have given me the highest, completest proof of love that ever one human being gave another. I am all gratitude – and all pride (under the proper feeling which ascribes pride to the right source) all pride that my life has been so crowned by you.

God bless you prays your very own R.

I will write to-morrow of course. Take every care of my life which is in that dearest little hand ; try and be composed, my beloved.

Remember to thank Wilson for me.

[Postmark: September 11, 1846]

Thursday.

Dearest, I write one word, and have one will which is yours. At the same time, do not be precipitate – we shall not be taken away on Monday, no, nor for several days afterward. George has simply gone to look for houses – going to Reigate first.

Oh yes – come to-morrow. And then, you shall have the ring . . soon enough and safer.

Not a word of how you are ! – you so good as to write me that letter beyond compact, yet not good enough, to say how you are ! Dear, dearest . . take care, and keep yourself unhurt and calm. I shall not fail to you – I do not, I will not. I will act by your decision, and I wish you to decide. I was yours long ago, and though you give me back my promise at this eleventh hour, . . you generous, dear unkind ! . . . you know very well that you can do as well without it. So take it again for my sake and not your own.

I cannot write, I am so tired, having been long out. Will not this dream break on a sudden ? Now is the moment for the breaking of it, surely.

But come to-morrow, come. Almost everybody is to be away at Richmond, at a picnic, and we shall be free on all sides.

Ever and ever your BA.

[Postmark: September 10, 1846]

4 p.m. Thursday.

I broke open your sealed letter and added the postscript just now. The post being thus saved, I can say a few words more leisurely.

I will go to-morrow, I think, and not to-day for the licence – there are fixed hours I fancy at the office – and I might be too late. I will also make the arrangement with my friend for Saturday, if we should want him, – as we shall, in all probability – it would look suspiciously to be unaccompanied. We can arrange to-morrow.

Your words, first and last, have been that you ‘ would not fail me ‘ – you will not.

And the marriage over, you can take advantage of circumstances and go early or late in the week, as may be practicable. There will be facilities in the general packing &c., – your own measures may be taken unobserved. Write short notes to the proper persons, – promising longer ones, if necessary.

See the tone I take, the way I write to you . , but it is all through you, in the little brief authority you give me, – and in the perfect belief of your truth and firmness – indeed, I do not consider this an extraordinary occasion for proving those qualities – this conduct of your father’s is quite characteristic.

Otherwise, too, the departure with its bustle is not unfavourable. If you hesitated, it would be before a little hurried shopping and letter-writing ! I expected it, and therefore spoke as you heard yesterday. Now your part must begin. It may as well begin and end, both, now as at any other time. I will bring you every information possible to-morrow.

It seems as if I should insult you if I spoke a word to confirm you, to beseech you, to relieve you from your promise, if you claim it.

God bless you, prays your own R.