How does one make ‘silent promises’ ... or, rather, how does the maker of them communicate that fact to whomsoever it may concern?  I know, there have been many, very many unutterable vows and promises made,—­that is, thought down upon—­the white slip at the top of my notes,—­such as of this note; and not trusted to the pen, that always comes in for the shame,—­but given up, and replaced by the poor forms to which a pen is equal; and a glad minute I should account that, in which you collected and accepted those ’promises’—­because they would not be all so unworthy of me—­much less you!  I would receive, in virtue of them, the ascription of whatever worthiness is supposed to lie in deep, truest love, and gratitude—­

     Read my silent answer there too!

All your letter is one comfort:  we will be happy this winter, and after, do not fear.  I am most happy, to begin, that your brother is so much better:  he must be weak and susceptible of cold, remember.

It was on my lip, I do think, last visit, or the last but one, to beg you to detach those papers from the Athenaeum’s gachis.  Certainly this opportunity is most favourable, for every reason:  you cannot hesitate, surely.  At present those papers are lost—­lost for practical purposes.  Do pray reply without fail to the proposers; no, no harm of these really fine fellows, who could do harm (by printing incorrect copies, and perhaps eking out the column by suppositious matter ... ex-gr. they strengthened and lengthened a book of Dickens’, in Paris, by adding quant. suff. of Thackeray’s ‘Yellowplush Papers’ ... as I discovered by a Parisian somebody praising the latter to me as Dickens’ best work!)—­and who do really a good straightforward un-American thing.  You will encourage ’the day of small things’—­though this is not small, nor likely to have small results.  I shall be impatient to hear that you have decided.  I like the progress of these Americans in taste, their amazing leaps, like grasshoppers up to the sun—­from ... what is the ‘from,’ what depth, do you remember, say, ten or twelve years back?—­to—­Carlyle, and Tennyson, and you!  So children leave off Jack of Cornwall and go on just to Homer.

I can’t conceive why my proof does not come—­I must go to-morrow and see.  In the other, I have corrected all the points you noted, to their evident improvement.  Yesterday I took out ‘Luria’ and read it through—­the skeleton—­I shall hope to finish it soon now.  It is for a purely imaginary stage,—­very simple and straightforward.  Would you ... no, Act by Act, as I was about to propose that you should read it; that process would affect the oneness I most wish to preserve.

On Tuesday—­at last, I am with you.  Till when be with me ever, dearest—­God bless you ever—­

R.B.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Tuesday 9 a.m.
[In the same envelope with the preceding letter.]