Author: RB

[Postmark: July 10, 1846]

Friday.

And I am disappointed, dearest, in this news of La Cava
after which it would be madness to think of going there :
the one reason we have to go at all is simply for your health
I mean, that if the seclusion were the main object, we
might easily compass that here. All places are utterly in-
different to me if I can inhabit them with you why should
Palermo please me less than Italy proper? The distance
is considerable, however, and the journey expensive I
wonder whether the steamer will sail for Leghorn as last
year. As for the travelling English, they are horrible, and
at Florence, unbearable . . their voices in your ear at every
turn . . and such voices ! I got to very nearly hate the
Tribune for their sakes. Vietri is close to Salerno and
must be obvious to the same condemnation. Your friend
speaks from personal experience, I presume she may well
say that the baneful effects of the hour of sunset (i.e. the
Ave-maria) are too much overlooked ‘ in all Italy ‘ I never
heard of them before but an infinity of ‘ crotchets ‘ go
from Italian brain to brain about what, in eating or drinking
or walking or sleeping, will be the death of you : still, they
may know best. The most dreadful event that could
happen to me would be your getting worse instead of
better . . God knows what I should do ! So whatever
precaution we can take, let us take.

Oh, poor Flush, do you think I do not love and respect
him for his jealous supervision, his slowness to know
another, having once known you ? All my apprehension is
that, in the imaginations down-stairs, he may very unconsci-
ously play the part of the dog that is heard to ‘ bark violently ‘
while something dreadful takes place : yet I do not sorrow
over his slapped ears, as if they ever pained him very much
you dear Ba !

And to-morrow I shall see you. Are you, can you be,
really ‘ better ‘ after I have seen you ? If it is not truth . .
which I will not say . . such an assurance is the most
consummate flattery I can imagine . . it may be recorded
on my tombstone ‘R. B. to whom this flattery was ad-
dressed, that, after the sight of him, Ba was better, she
said.’ If it is truth . . may you say that, neither more
nor less, day by day, year by year through our lives and I
shall have lived indeed !

How it rains how it varies from hot to cold ! a pretty
vantage-ground whence we English can look and call other
climates bad or indifferent ! Now if to-morrow resembles
to-day, will the Chiswick expedition hold good ? I shall
consider that I may go unless a letter comes to-morrow . .
which would have to be written to-day. How pleasant it
would be to make our days always Wednesday and Satur-
day . . could not that be contrived ? So much for con-
siderateness and contentedness !

I want, now, to refer as little as possible to the sad
subject . . but I am glad you have written,- glad too that
you are not severe on me for some hasty speeches which
did, indeed, mean as you say . . vexation at your having
been vexed. And, I will just add, you remark excellently
on the wound to self-love making itself that remedy, rather
than the wound to the affections . . yet there are instances . .
Romilly loses his wife . . so does poor Laman Blanchard.

So I go on writing, writing about all but what my heart
is full of ! Let me kiss you, ever dearest to-morrow will
soon arrive meanwhile, and forever I am your own.

[Postmark: July 9, 1846]

My own darling, my Ba, do you know when I read those
letters (as soon as I remembered I had got them, – for you
hold me long after both doors, up and down stairs, shut)
when I looked through them, under a gateway . . I was
pricked at the heart to have thought so, and spoken so, of
the poor writer. I will believe that he was good and even
great when in communication with you – indeed all men
are made, or make themselves, different in their approaches
to different men – and the secret of goodness and greatness
is in choosing whom you will approach, and live with, in
memory or imagination, through the crowding obvious
people who seem to live with you. That letter about
the glory of being a painter ‘ if only for the neglect ‘ is most
touching and admirable . . there is the serene spot attained,
the solid siren’s isle amid the sea ; and while there, he was
safe and well . . but he would put out to sea again, after a
breathing time, I suppose ? though even a smaller strip of
land was enough to maintain Blake, for one instance, in
power and glory through the poor, fleeting ‘ sixty years ‘ – then
comes the rest from cartooning and exhibiting. But there
is no standing, one foot on land and one on the waves, now
with the high aim in view, now with the low aim, – and all
the strange mistaken talk about ‘ prestiges,’ ‘ Youth and its
luck,’ Napoleon and the world’s surprise and interest.
There comes the low aim between the other, – an organ grinds
Mr. Jullien’s newest dance-tune, and Camoens is vexed that
the ‘choral singing which brought angels down,’ can’t also
draw street-passengers round.

I take your view of H.’s freedom, at that time, from the
thoughts of what followed.

He was weak – a strong man would have borne what so
many bear – what were his griefs, as grief goes ? Do you
remember I told you, when the news of Aliwal and the
other battles came to England, of our gardener, and his son,
a sergeant in one of the regiments engaged . . how the father
could learn nothing at first, of course . . how they told him
at the Horse Guards he should be duly informed in time,
after his betters, whether this son was dead, or wounded.
Since then, no news came . . ‘ which is good news ‘ the father
persuaded himself to think . . so the apprehensions subside,
and the hope confirms itself, more and more, while the old
fellow digs and mows and rakes away, like a man painting
historical pictures . . only without the love of it. Well, this
morning we had his daughter here to say ‘ the letter ‘ had
arrived at last . . her brother was killed in the first battle,
so there’s an end of the three months’ sickness of heart, –
and the poor fellow must bear his loss ‘ like a man ‘ – or
like a woman . . for I recollect another case, of an old
woman whom my mother was in the habit of relieving, –
who brought a letter one day which she could hardly under-
stand – it was from her son, a sailor, and went on for a
couple of pages about his good health and expectations, –
then, in a different handwriting, somebody, ‘ your son’s
shipmate’ ‘took up his pen to inform you that he fell from
the masthead into the sea and was drowned yesterday, –
which he therefore thought it right to put in the unfinished
letter.’ All which the old woman bore somehow, – seeing
she lives yet.

Well, – ought not I to say Mr. Kenyon was as kind as
usual, and his party as pleasant ? No, for you know – what
you cannot by possibility know, it seems, is, that I am not
particularly engaged next Saturday ! Ba, shall I really see
you so soon ? Bless you ever, my very, very own ! I shall
not hear to-day . . but to-morrow, – do but not keep me
waiting for that letter, and the mules shall be ready hours
and hours, for any sign I will have, at La Cava !

Ever your R.

[Postmark: July 8, 1846]

My own Ba, I received your note on my return from
Talfourd’s last night. I am anxious to get the first post for
this, so can only use the bare words, – if those. After
dinner, Forster put a question to our host about the
amount of the subscription ; and in a minute the paper-
bequest was introduced. Talfourd had received a letter from
Miss Mitford, enclosing one from you (or a copy of one . . I
did not hear) – whereat he pronounced ‘ so emphatically
upon H.’s conduct in making you,-‘ who could never have
known the nature of the transaction nor the very serious
consequences it involved’ the depositary of his pictures
&c. on such occasions, – the words, ‘ H. it seems, has been
in the habit of using Miss B’s house &c.’ (or to that effect)
had so offensive an implication, – that I felt obliged to say
simply, you had never seen Haydon and were altogether
amazed and distressed at his desire, – and that, for the
other matter, what he chose to send, you could not, I
supposed, bring yourself to refuse admittance to the house.
I gave no particular account of my own means of know-
ledge, nor spoke further than to remove the impression
from the minds of the people present that you must have
‘ known ‘ Haydon, as they call ‘ knowing ‘ – and Forster, for
one, expressed surprise at it. I ventured to repeat what I
mentioned to you – ‘ that it seemed likely you were selected
for the Editorship precisely on account of your isolation
from the world.’

Soon after, Forster went away – and, up-stairs, I got
Talfourd alone, and just told him that I was in the habit of
corresponding with you, that you had made me acquainted
with a few of the circumstances, and that you had at once
thought of him, Talfourd, as the proper source of instruction
on the subject. Talfourd’s reply amounted to this, – (in
the fewest words possible). The will &c. is of course an
absurdity. The papers are the undoubted property of the
creditors . . any attempt to publish them would subject
you to an action at law. They were given prospectively to
you exactly for the reason I suggested : they having been in the
first instance offered to Talfourd. Haydon knew that T.
would never print them in their offensive integrity, and hoped
that you would – being quite of the average astuteness in
worldly matters when his own vanity and selfishness were not
concerned. They might, these papers, be published with
advantage to Mrs. Haydon at some future time if the
creditors permit or without their permitting, if woven into
a substantially new framework ; as some ‘ Haydon and his
Times,’ or the like . . but there is nothing to call for such
a step at present, even in that view of advantage to the
family . . the subscription and other assistances being
sufficient for their necessities. Therefore the course T.
would recommend you to adopt is to let the deposit (if you
have one . . for he did not know, and I said nothing) – lie
untouched not giving them up to anybody, any creditor,
to Mrs. H’s prejudice.

Now, can you do better than as Forster advises?
Talfourd goes on circuit to-morrow – he said, ‘ I can hear,
or arrange anything with Miss B’s brother ‘ – so that, if there
should be no time, you can write by him, and entrust
explanations &c. But would it not be best to get done with
this matter directly to write a BRIEF note in the course of
to-day, mentioning the facts, and requesting advice ? In
order to leave you the time to do this, – should the post
presently bring me a letter allowing me to see you at three
. . unless the allowance is very free, very irresistible . . I
will rather take to-morrow . . a piece of self-denial I fear I
should not so readily bring myself to exhibit, were I not
really obliged to pass your house to-day ; so that even Ba
will understand !

Miss Mitford’s note appears to have been none of the
wisest – indeed a phrase or two I heard, were purely foolish :
H. was said to have practised ‘ Ion’s principle’ !

T. had known Haydon most intimately and for a long
time : he does not believe H. was mad — of a mad vanity, of
course. His last paper . . ‘ Haydon’s Thoughts ‘ . . was a
dissertation on the respective merits of Napoleon and
Wellington – how wrong Haydon felt he had been to prefer
the former . . and the why and the wherefore. All this
wretched stuff, in a room theatrically arranged, here his
pictures, there . . God forgive us all, fools or wise by
comparison ! The debts are said to be £3,000 . . he
having been an insolvent debtor . . how long before?
His landlord, a poor man, is creditor for £1,200.

Here I will end, and wait : this is written in all haste
. . and is so altogether no proper letter of mine that I shall
put the necessary ‘ Private ‘ at the top of it. My letter shall
go presently, if I do not go, to my own Ba-

R. B.

Should you write to your brother . . will he need
reminding that Talfourd is only to know we correspond, –
not that we are personally acquainted ? Had you not better
mention this in any case ?

God bless you, dearest, – what a letter from me to you –
to Ba ! Time, Time !

[Postmark: July 6, 1846]

Monday.

When I read, after the reasons for not seeing you to-day,
this ó’still I leave it to you,’óbelieve, dearest, that I at
once made the sacrifice and determined to wait till Wednes-
day, óas seemed best for you, and therefore for me : but at
the letter’s very end, amid the sweetest, comes ‘ Wednesday
. . or must it be Thursday?’ What is than What ‘must’
is mine ? Shall you fear, or otherwise suffer, if we appoint
Wednesday ?

Oh, another year of this ! Yet I am not, I feel, ungrate-
ful to the Past . . all the obstacles in the world can do
nothing now, nothing : earlier they might have proved
formidable annoyances. I have seen enough of you, Ba,
for an eternity of belief in you . . and you, as you confess,
you cannot think ‘ I shall forget.’

All you can, you compensate me for the absence óthat

such letters, instead of being themselves the supremest
reward and last of gains, should beócompensation, at the
best ! Am I really to have you, all of you and altogether,
and always ? If you go out of your dream-life, can I lie
quietly in mine ? But I hold your hand and hear your
voice through it all.

How do these abrupt changes in the temperature affect
you ? Yesterday at noon, so oppressively hot ó this morn-
ing, a wind and a cold. Do you feel no worse than
usual ? If you do not tell me,ó you know, I cannot keep
away. Then, this disinspiriting bequest of poor Haydon’s
journal . . his ‘ writings ‘ ó from which all the harm came,
and, it should seem, is still to come to himself and every-
body beside ó let us all forget what came of those descrip-
tions and vindications and explanations interminable ; but
as for beginning another sorrowful issue of them,ó it is part
and parcel of the insanity ó and to lay the business of editing
the ‘ twenty-six ‘ (I think) volumes, with the responsibility,
on you ó most insane ! Unless, which one would avoic
supposing, the author trusted precisely to your ignorance of
facts and isolation from the people able to instruct you.
Take one little instance of how ‘ facts ‘ may be set downó
in the Athenceum was an account of Haydon’s quoting
Waller’s verse about the eagle reached by his own feather
on the arrow,ówhich he applied to Maclise and some
others, who had profited by their intimacy with him to turn
his precepts to account and so surpass him in public estima-
tion : now, Maclise was in Haydon’s company for the first
time at Talfourd’s on that evening when I met your brother
there,óso said Talfourd in an after-supper speech,óand
Forster, to whom I mentioned the circumstance, assured
me that Maclise ‘ called on Haydon for the first time only
a few months ago ‘ . . I suppose, shortly after. New, what
right has Maclise, a fine generous fellow, to be subjected to
such an imputation as that? With an impartial prudent
man, acquainted with the artists of the last thirty years,

the editing might turn to profit : I do hope for an exercise
of Mr. Kenyon’s caution here, at all events. And then how
horrible are all these posthumous revelations, óthese passions
of the now passionless, errors of the at length better-
instructed ! All falls unfitly, ungraciouslyóthe triumphs
or the despondencies, the hopes or fears, ofó whom ? He
is so far above it all now ! Even in this lifeóimagine a
proficient in an art or science, who, after thirty or sixty
years of progressive discovery, finds that some bookseller
has disinterred and is about publishing the raw first attempt
at a work which he was guilty of in the outset !

All of which you know better than Ió what do you not
know better ? Nor as well ? óthat I love you with my
whole heart, Ba, dearest Ba, and look up into your eyes for
all light and life. Bless you.

Your very own ó

I am going to Talfourd’s to-morrow (to dine)óand per-
haps to Chorley’s in the evening. If I can do any bidding of
yours at Talfourd’s . . but that seems improbable, with
Mr Kenyon, too ! But (this between our very selves] the
Talfourds, or at least Mrs T., please to take one of their
unimaginably stupid groundless dislikes to him.

[Postmark: July 6, 1846]JH

You will have known by my two or three words that I
received your letter in time to set out for Mrs J.’s — she said
to me, directly and naturally, ‘you have missed a great
pleasure ‘ — and then accounted for your absence. Do not

be sorry, Ba, at my gladness . . for I was I hope glad
. . yes, I am sure, glad that you ran no risk if you will not
think of that, think of my risk if you had ‘fainted’ .. should
I have kept the secret, do you suppose ? Oh, dearest of
all dreamt-of dearness, – incur no unnecessary danger now,
at . . shall I dare trust, – the end of the adventure ! I
cannot fear for any mischance that may follow once let my}
arms be round you . . I mean, the blow seems then to fall
on both alike – now, what dismal, obscure months might be
prolonged between us before we meet next by a caprice
where the power is ! When have I been so long without
the blessing of your sight ! Yet how considerately you
have written, what amends you make, all that the case
admits of ! If I were less sure of my own mind, and what
it knows for best, I might understand the French lover’s
fancy of being separated from his mistress that he might be

written to and write .. but the very best I know, and have

ever in sight, and constantly shall strive after .. to see you

face to face, to live so and to die so – which I say, because it

ends all, all that can be ended .. and yet seems in itself so encountered – no death no end.

After all, I may see you to-morrow may I not ? There

is no more than a danger, an apprehension, that we may lose to-morrow also, is there ? You cannot tell me after this is

read . . I shall know before. If I receive no letter, mind, I go to you .. so that if the Post is in fault after its custom, and your note arrives at 3 o’clock you will know

why I seem to disobey it and call .. and I shall understand why you are not to be seen – but I will hope.

When you say these exquisitely dear and tender things, you know Ba, it is as if the sweet hand were on my mouth –

I cannot speak .. I try to seem as if I heard not, for all the

joy of hearing .. you give me a jewel and I cannot repeat, ‘you, you do give me a jewel.’ I am not worthy of any gift,

you must know, Ba, – never say you do not – but what you press on me, let me feel and half-see, and in the end, carry

away, but do not think I can, in set words, take them. At
most, they are, and shall be, half-gift half-loan for adornment’s sake, — mine to wear, yours to take back again.
Even this, all this ungracefulness, is proper, appropriate in
its way — I am penetrated with shame thinking on what you
say, and what my utmost devotion will deserve . . so
infinitely less will it deserve ! You are my very, very
angel.

Mrs Jameson showed me the lines you had sent her,
Horne’s very beautiful poem, — very earnest, very solemn
and pathetic, — worthy of Horne and the subject — and you
will do well to reward him as you propose. I think I will
also write two or three lines, — telling him that you called
my attention to the poem, — so that he may understand the
new friend does not drive out the old, as the old proverb
says. I will wait a day or two and write. And you are
herein, too, a dear good Ba, — to write me out the verses
in the characters I love best of all ! I may keep them,
I hope.

The weather is hot as ever : Ba, remember how I believe in you — is the indisposition ‘ nothing to signify ‘ ?
And remember the confidence I make you of every
slightest headache or what looks like it — tell me frankly as
Ba should, and will if she loves me ! I am very well . .
and my mother much better. I observe while I write, the
clouds gather propitiously for coolness if not rain — may| all
be as is best for you — ‘ and for me ? ‘ Then kiss me, really,
through the distance, and love me, my sweetest Ba !

I am your own —

[Postmark: July 4, 1846]

Saturday.

Dearest Ba, I am at Mrs. Jameson’s . . to hear you can not come ; most properly. She wants me to go and see
an Exhibition, and I cannot refuse . . so this is my poor
long letter (with kisses in the words), that was to have
been ! But on Monday, dearest, dearest, I shall see you ?
All thanks for your letter . . I dare write no more, as there
must be some difference in my way of writing to you from
other ways.

Bless you, ever, as I am ever yours —

R.

[Postmark: July 3, 1846]

Friday.

No, dear, dear Ba, I shall not see you to-day in spite of
all the hoping and fancying . . for I could not, as I calculate,
reach Mrs. Jameson’s before 1 o’clock or a little
later . . and there would be the worst of vexations, to know
you had been and gone again ! I persuade myself you may
not pay the visit to-day, . . (‘it is impossible’ you say),
and that it may be paid next week, the week in which there
is only one day for us . . how do you say, dearest ? all
complaining is vain — let to-morrow make haste and arrive !

Ba, there is nothing in your letter that shocks me, —
nothing : if you choose to imagine that ‘possibility,’ you
are consistent in imagining the proper step to take . . it is
all imagining. But I feel altogether as you feel about the
horribleness of married friends, mutual esteemers &c. — when
your name sounds in my ear like any other name, your
voice like other voices, — when we wisely cease to interfere
with each other’s pursuits, — respect differences of taste &c.
&c., all will be over then !

I cannot myself conceive of one respect in which I shall
ever fall from this feeling for you . . there never has been
one word, one gesture unprompted by the living, immediate
love beneath — but there have been many, many, so many
that the same love has suppressed, refused to be represented
by ! I say this, because I can suppose a man taking
up a service of looks and words, which service is only to
last for a time, and so may be endured, — after which the
‘real affection,’ ‘honest attachment’ &c. &c. means to go
to its ends by a shorter road, saving useless ceremony and
phrases . . do you know what I mean ? I hardly do . .
except that it is, whatever it is, opposed, as heaven to earth,
to what I feel is. I count confidently on being more and
more able to find the true words and ways (which may not
be spoken words perhaps), the true rites by which you should
be worshipped, you dear, dear Ba, my entire blessing now
and ever — and ever ; if God shall save me also.

Let me kiss you now, and long for to-morrow — I shall
bring you the poorest flowers — all is brown, dry, autumnal.
The sun shines and reproves me . . After all, there would
have been some rocks in the pleasant water of to-day’s
meeting . . ‘Oh, hardness to dissemble’ !

Here is no dissembling . . I kiss you, my very own !

[Postmark: July 2, 1846]

Thursday.

Dear, you might as well imagine you had never given
me any other of the gifts, as that you did not call me, as I
tell you. You spoke quickly, interrupting me, and, for the
name, ‘I can hear it, ‘twixt my spirit and the earth-noise
intervene ‘ ; do you think I forget one gift in another, even
a greater ? I should still taste the first freshness of the
vinegar, (or whatever was the charm of it) – though Cleopatra
had gone on dissolving pearl after pearl in it. I love you for
these gifts to me now – hereafter, it seems almost as if I
must love you even better, should you choose to continue
them to me in spite of complete knowledge : I feel this as
often as I think of it, which is not seldom.

Do you know, Mrs. Jameson asked me to go and see
her on Friday morning – would you like me to go ? What
I like . . do not fancy, because your own pleasure is to
be consulted. Should you fear the eyes, which can, on
occasion, wear spectacles ? If not . . and if our Saturday
will not be interfered with . . and if you can tell me the
hour ‘ later than twelve ‘ you mean to appoint, . . so that
my call may be neither too early nor too late . . why, then,
Ba, dearest, dearest –

La Cava – is surely our cave, Ba – early in October will
be vintage-time, – no fire flies. There will be the advantage
in the vicinity of Naples, that through the Rothschilds’
House there we can, I believe, receive and dispatch letters
without any charge, which otherwise would be an expen-
sive business in Italy. The economy of the Post Office
there is astounding. A stranger goes to a window and asks
for ‘ A’s ‘ or ‘ Z’s ‘ letters . . not even professing himself to
be ‘A,’ or ‘Z’ – whereupon the official hands over sundry
dozens of letters, without a word of enquiry, out of which
the said stranger picks what pleases him, and paying for his
selections, goes away and there an end. At Venice, I
remember, they offered me, with other letters, about ten or
fifteen for the Marquis of Hastings who was not arrived yet –
I had only to say ‘ I am sent for them ‘ . . At Rome a
lady lamented to me the sad state of things ‘ A letter
might contain Heaven only knew what and lie at the office
and ‘ – ‘I might go and get it,’ I said – ‘ You? Nay, my
husband might ! ‘ she answered as one mightily wronged.

But of your dear self now – the going out will soon and
effectually cure the nervousness, we may be sure. I am
most happy, love, to hear of the walking and increased
strength. So you used to like riding on a donkey ? Then
you shall have a mule, un bel mulo, and I will be your
muleteer, walk by your side – and you will think the
moment you see him of the wicked shoeing of cats with
walnut-shells, for they make a mule’s shoes turn up, for all
the world like large shells – those on his forefeet at least.
Will the time really come then ? Meanwhile, your visitors
. . let us hope they will go sight-seeing or call-making, do
anything but keep the house on our days . . The three
hours seem as a minute . . if they are to be curtailed, oh,
no, no, I hope. Tell me all you can, dearest . . and let me
tell you all I can, little as it is, in kissing you, my best and
dearest Ba, as now kisses your very own.

[Postmark: 1846-07-0]

Wednesday.

Dearest – dearest, you did once, one time only, call me
by my name – Robert ; and though it was to bid ‘ R. not talk
extravagances ‘ (your very words) still the name so spoken
became what it never had been before to me. I never am
called by any pet-name, nor abbreviation, here at home or
elsewhere . . Oh, best let it alone . . it is one of my in-
communicable advantages to have a Ba of my own, and call
her so – indeed, yes, my Ba ! I write ‘ dearest,’ and ‘ most
dearest,’ but it all ends in – ‘ Ba,’ and the ‘my’ is its frame-
work, – its surrounding arm – Ba – my own Ba ! ‘ Robert ‘
is in Saxon, (ni fallor), ‘ famous in counsel,’ so let him give
a proof of his quality in counselling you to hold your good,
happy inspiration about La Cava (my French map-maker
must have had Ceva in Piedmont in his head) for at such a
place, so situate, we renounce not one sight at Salerno, nor
Amalfi, nor Sorrento . . four miles . . the distance between
your house and Highgate, perhaps ! Cava, – the hollow of
a hill ; and such hills and such hollows are in that land !
Oh, let it be La Cava or Seven Dials, with you !

I passed through Seven Dials this morning – and after-
ward, by your house, – with a heart full of thoughts, – not fuller
than usual, but they were more stirring and alive, near their
source. I called at Mrs. Procter’s door (proceeding from
Forster’s) and then on Mrs. Jameson whom I found and
talked with pleasantly till a visitor came. I do extremely
appreciate her, delight in her . . to avoid saying ‘ love ‘ – I
was never just to her before, far from it. I saw her niece,
a quiet earnest-looking little girl. But did it not please me
to call in at Moxon’s and hear that (amongst other literary
news dexterously enquired after) Miss Barrett’s poems were
selling very well and would ere long be out of print ? And,
after that pleasure, came the other of finding dear, generous,
noble Carlyle had sent his new edition of ‘ Cromwell,’ three
great volumes, with his brave energetic assurance of ‘ regards ‘
and ‘ many ‘ of them, in black manly writing on the first
page. So may he continue to like me till he knows you ;
when it will be ‘ mine ‘ instead of me, that he shall love –
‘ love ‘ ? I let the whole world love you – if they can over-
take my love. As I read on, about the visit to Mr. Boyd,
I thought, ‘ I trust she will kiss his forehead,’ – and I kiss
yours – thus – for that, too, – in gratitude for that. You dear,
good, blessing of a Ba, how I kiss you ! –

R. B.

I am quite well to-day, and my mother is quite well –
The good account of the visit is enough to make me happy
on a Wednesday – leading to a Saturday ! Then my two
letters !

I did not see Moxon – only the brother – who tells odd
stories drily ; one made me laugh to-day. Poor Mr. Reade,
Landor’s love, sent a book to Campbell the Poet, and then
called on him … to discover him in the very act of wiping
a razor on a leaf torn out of the book, laid commodiously by
his toilet-table for the express purpose.

[Postmark: June 30, 1846]

Tuesday.

I have looked in the map for ‘ L– ,’ the place praised
in the letter, and conclude it must be either Ceva, (La Ceva,
between Nocera and Salerno, about four miles from the
latter, and on the mountain-side, I suppose . . see a map,
my Ba !) – or else Lucera, (which looks very like the word . .
and which lies at about sixty miles to the N.E. of Naples, in
a straight line over the mountains and roadless country, but
perhaps twice as far by the mainway through Avellino, Ariano,
Bovino, and Savia – (exactly 120 Italian miles now that I
count the posts). So that there would be somewhat of a
formidable journey to undertake after the sea voyage. I
daresay at Ceva there is abundance of quietness, as the few
who visit Salerno do not go four miles inland, – can you
enquire into this ?

How inexpressibly charming it is to me to have a pretext
for writing thus . . about such approaches to the real event
these business-b’ke words, and names of places ! If at the
end you should bring yourself to say ‘ But you never
seriously believed this would take place – ‘what should I
answer, I wonder?

Let me think on what is real, indisputable, however . .
the improvement in the health as I read it on the dear, dear
cheeks yesterday. This morning is favourable again . . you
will go out, will you not ?

Mr. Kenyon sends me one of his kindest letters to ask
me to dine with him next week – on Wednesday. I feel his
kindness, just as you feel in the other case, and in its lesser
degree, I feel it, and then I know, dare think I know
whether he will be so sorry in the end, – loving you as he
does. I will send his letter that you may understand here as
elsewhere.

I think my head is dizzy with reading the debates this
morning – Peel’s speech and farewell. How exquisitely absurd,
it just strikes me, would be any measure after Miss Marti-
neau’s own heart, which should introduce women to Parlia-
ment as we understand its functions at present how essen
tially retrograde a measure ! Parliament seems no place for
originating, creative minds but for second-rate minds
influenced by and bent on working out the results of these
– and the most efficient qualities for such a purpose are
confessedly found oftener with men than with women –
physical power having a great deal to do with it beside. So
why shuffle the heaps together which, however arbitrarily
divided at first, happen luckily to lie pretty much as one
would desire, – here the great flint stones, here the pebbles
– and diamonds too. The men of genius knew all this, said
more than all this, in their way and proper place on the
outside, where Miss M. is still saying something of the kind
– to be taken up in its time by some other Mr. Cobden and
talked about, and beleaguered. But such people cannot or
will not see where their office begins and advantageously
ends ; and that there is such a thing as influencing the
influencers, playing the Bentham to the Cobden, the Barry
to a Commission for Public Works, the Lough to the three
or four industrious men with square paper caps who get
rules and plummets and dot the blocks of marble all over as
his drawings indicate. So you and I will go to Salerno or
L– – (not to the L– akes, Heaven forefend !) and if we
‘ let sail winged words, freighted with truth from the throne
of God ‘ – we may be sure –

Ah, presumption all of it ! Then, you shall fill the
words with their freight, and I will look on and love you, –
is that too much ? Yes – for any other – No – for one you
[know] is yours –

Your very own.

For the quick departing yesterday our day was not
spoken of . . it is Saturday, is it not ?