‘Were you wrong in answering?’ Surely not ... unless it is wrong to show all this goodness ... and too much, it may be for me.  When the plants droop for drought and the copious showers fall suddenly, silver upon silver, they die sometimes of the reverse of their adversities.  But no—­that, even, shall not be a danger!  And if I said ’Do not answer,’ I did not mean that I would not have a doubt removed—­(having no doubt!—­) but I was simply unwilling to seem to be asking for golden words ... going down the aisles with that large silken purse, as queteuse.  Try to understand.

On Wednesday then!—­George is invited to meet you on Thursday at Mr. Kenyon’s.

The Examiner speaks well, upon the whole, and with allowances ... oh, that absurdity about metaphysics apart from poetry!—­’Can such things be’ in one of the best reviews of the day?  Mr. Kenyon was here on Sunday and talking of the poems with real living tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.  But I will tell you.  ‘Luria’ is to climb to the place of a great work, I see.  And if I write too long letters, is it not because you spoil me, and because (being spoilt) I cannot help it?—­May God bless you always—­

Your

E.B.B.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Thursday Morning.

Here is the copy of Landor’s verses.

You know thoroughly, do you not, why I brought all those good-natured letters, desperate praise and all?  Not, not out of the least vanity in the world—­nor to help myself in your sight with such testimony:  would it seem very extravagant, on the contrary, if I said that perhaps I laid them before your eyes in a real fit of compunction at not being, in my heart, thankful enough for the evident motive of the writers,—­and so was determined to give them the ‘last honours’ if not the first, and not make them miss you because, through my fault, they had missed me?  Does this sound too fantastical?  Because it is strictly true:  the most laudatory of all, I skimmed once over with my flesh creeping—­it seemed such a death-struggle, that of good nature over—­well, it is fresh ingratitude of me, so here it shall end.

I am not ungrateful to you—­but you must wait to know that:—­I can speak less than nothing with my living lips.

I mean to ask your brother how you are to-night ... so quietly!

God bless you, my dearest, and reward you.

Your R.B.

Mrs. Shelley—­with the ‘Ricordi.’

Of course, Landor’s praise is altogether a different gift; a gold vase from King Hiram; beside he has plenty of conscious rejoicing in his own riches, and is not left painfully poor by what he sends away. That is the unpleasant point with some others—­they spread you a board and want to gird up their loins and wait on you there.  Landor says ‘come up higher and let us sit and eat together.’  Is it not that?