But you see them—­and I see you, and know my first duty and do it resolutely if not cheerfully.

As for referring again, till leave by word or letter—­you will see—­

And very likely, the tone of this letter even will be misunderstood—­because I studiously cut out all vain words, protesting &c.:—­No—­will it?

I said, unadvisedly, that Saturday was taken from me ... but it was dark and I had not looked at the tickets:  the hour of the performance is later than I thought.  If to-morrow does not suit you, as I infer, let it be Saturday—­at 3—­and I will leave earlier, a little, and all will be quite right here.  One hint will apprise me.

God bless you, dearest friend.

R.B.

Something else just heard, makes me reluctantly strike out Saturday—­

Monday then?

E.B.B. to R.B.

Friday Morning.
[Post-mark, September 19, 1845.]

It is not ‘misunderstanding’ you to know you to be the most generous and loyal of all in the world—­you overwhelm me with your generosity—­only while you see from above and I from below, we cannot see the same thing in the same light.  Moreover, if we did, I should be more beneath you in one sense, than I am.  Do me the justice of remembering this whenever you recur in thought to the subject which ends here in the words of it.

I began to write last Saturday to thank you for all the delight I had had in Shelley, though you beguiled me about the pencil-marks, which are few.  Besides the translations, some of the original poems were not in my copy and were, so, quite new to me.  ‘Marianne’s Dream’ I had been anxious about to no end—­I only know it now.—­

On Monday at the usual hour.  As to coming twice into town on Saturday, that would have been quite foolish if it had been possible.

Dearest friend,

I am yours,

E.B.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

[Post-mark, September 24, 1845.]

I have nothing to say about Pisa, ... but a great deal (if I could say it) about you, who do what is wrong by your own confession and are ill because of it and make people uneasy—­now is it right altogether? is it right to do wrong?... for it comes to that:—­and is it kind to do so much wrong?... for it comes almost to that besides.  Ah—­you should not indeed!  I seem to see quite plainly that you will be ill in a serious way, if you do not take care and take exercise; and so you must consent to be teazed a little into taking both.  And if you will not take them here ... or not so effectually as in other places; why not go with your Italian friends?  Have you thought of it at all? I have been thinking since yesterday that it might be best for you to go at once, now that the probability has turned quite against me.  If I were going, I should ask you not to do so immediately ... but you see how unlikely it is!—­although