May God bless you—­

Your

E.B.B.

From the New Monthly Magazine.  ’The admirers of Robert Browning’s poetry, and they are now very numerous, will be glad to hear of the issue by Mr. Moxon of a seventh series of the renowned “Bells” and delicious “Pomegranates,” under the title of “Dramatic Romances and Lyrics."’

E.B.B. to R.B.

Tuesday.
[Post-mark, December 30, 1845.]

When you are gone I find your flowers; and you never spoke of nor showed them to me—­so instead of yesterday I thank you to-day—­thank you.  Count among the miracles that your flowers live with me—­I accept that for an omen, dear—­dearest!  Flowers in general, all other flowers, die of despair when they come into the same atmosphere ... used to do it so constantly and observably that it made me melancholy and I left off for the most part having them here.  Now you see how they put up with the close room, and condescend to me and the dust—­it is true and no fancy!  To be sure they know that I care for them and that I stand up by the table myself to change their water and cut their stalk freshly at intervals—­that may make a difference perhaps.  Only the great reason must be that they are yours, and that you teach them to bear with me patiently.

Do not pretend even to misunderstand what I meant to say yesterday of dear Mr. Kenyon.  His blame would fall as my blame of myself has fallen:  he would say—­will say—­’it is ungenerous of her to let such a risk be run!  I thought she would have been more generous.’  There, is Mr. Kenyon’s opinion as I foresee it!  Not that it would be spoken, you know! he is too kind.  And then, he said to me last summer, somewhere a propos to the flies or butterflies, that he had ’long ceased to wonder at any extreme of foolishness produced by—­love.’  He will of course think you very very foolish, but not ungenerously foolish like other people.

Never mind.  I do not mind indeed.  I mean, that, having said to myself worse than the worst perhaps of what can be said against me by any who regard me at all, and feeling it put to silence by the fact that you do feel so and so for me; feeling that fact to be an answer to all,—­I cannot mind much, in comparison, the railing at second remove.  There will be a nine days’ railing of it and no more:  and if on the ninth day you should not exactly wish never to have known me, the better reason will be demonstrated to stand with us.  On this one point the wise man cannot judge for the fool his neighbour.  If you do love me, the inference is that you would be happier with than without me—­and whether you do, you know better than another:  so I think of you and not of them—­always of you!  When I talked of being afraid of dear Mr. Kenyon, I just meant that he makes me nervous with his all-scrutinizing spectacles, put on for great occasions, and his questions which seem to belong