would not forgive me at the end of ten years—­and this, from none of the causes mentioned by me here and in no disrespect to your name and your position ... though he does not over-value poetry even in his daughter, and is apt to take the world’s measures of the means of life ... but for the singular reason that he never does tolerate in his family (sons or daughters) the development of one class of feelings.  Such an objection I could not bring to you of my own will—­it rang hollow in my ears—­perhaps I thought even too little of it:—­and I brought to you what I thought much of, and cannot cease to think much of equally.  Worldly thoughts, these are not at all, nor have been:  there need be no soiling of the heart with any such:—­and I will say, in reply to some words of yours, that you cannot despise the gold and gauds of the world more than I do, and should do even if I found a use for them.  And if I wished to be very poor, in the world’s sense of poverty, I could not, with three or four hundred a year of which no living will can dispossess me.  And is it not the chief good of money, the being free from the need of thinking of it?  It seems so to me.

The obstacles then are of another character, and the stronger for being so.  Believe that I am grateful to you—­how grateful, cannot be shown in words nor even in tears ... grateful enough to be truthful in all ways.  You know I might have hidden myself from you—­but I would not:  and by the truth told of myself, you may believe in the earnestness with which I tell the other truths—­of you ... and of this subject.  The subject will not bear consideration—­it breaks in our hands.  But that God is stronger than we, cannot be a bitter thought to you but a holy thought ... while He lets me, as much as I can be anyone’s, be only yours.

E.B.B.

R.B. to E.B.B.

[Post-mark, September 17, 1845.]

I do not know whether you imagine the precise effect of your letter on me—­very likely you do, and write it just for that—­for I conceive all from your goodness.  But before I tell you what is that effect, let me say in as few words as possible what shall stop any fear—­though only for a moment and on the outset—­that you have been misunderstood, that the goodness outside, and round and over all, hides all or any thing.  I understand you to signify to me that you see, at this present, insurmountable obstacles to that—­can I speak it—­entire gift, which I shall own, was, while I dared ask it, above my hopes—­and wishes, even, so it seems to me ... and yet could not but be asked, so plainly was it dictated to me, by something quite out of those hopes and wishes.  Will it help me to say that once in this Aladdin-cavern I knew I ought to stop for no heaps of jewel-fruit on the trees from the very beginning, but go on to the lamp, the prize, the last and best of all?  Well, I understand you to pronounce that at present