a relation of one human being to another which God never allowed to exist between Him and ourselves. Trees live and die, if you please, and accept will for a law—­but with us, all commands surely refer to a previously-implanted conviction in ourselves of their rationality and justice.  Or why declare that ‘the Lord is holy, just and good’ unless there is recognised and independent conception of holiness and goodness, to which the subsequent assertion is referable?  ’You know what holiness is, what it is to be good?  Then, He is that’—­not, ’that is so—­because he is that’; though, of course, when once the converse is demonstrated, this, too, follows, and may be urged for practical purposes.  All God’s urgency, so to speak, is on the justice of his judgments, rightness of his rule:  yet why? one might ask—­if one does believe that the rule is his; why ask further?—­Because, his is a ‘reasonable service,’ once for all.

Understand why I turn my thoughts in this direction.  If it is indeed as you fear, and no endeavour, concession, on my part will avail, under any circumstances—­(and by endeavour, I mean all heart and soul could bring the flesh to perform)—­in that case, you will not come to me with a shadow past hope of chasing.

The likelihood is, I over frighten myself for you, by the involuntary contrast with those here—­you allude to them—­if I went with this letter downstairs and said simply ’I want this taken to the direction to-night, and am unwell and unable to go, will you take it now?’ my father would not say a word, or rather would say a dozen cheerful absurdities about his ‘wanting a walk,’ ’just having been wishing to go out’ &c.  At night he sits studying my works—­illustrating them (I will bring you drawings to make you laugh)—­and yesterday I picked up a crumpled bit of paper ... ’his notion of what a criticism on this last number ought to be,—­none, that have appeared, satisfying him!’—­So judge of what he will say!  And my mother loves me just as much more as must of necessity be.

Once more, understand all this ... for the clock scares me of a sudden—­I meant to say more—­far more.

But may God bless you ever—­my own dearest, my Ba—­

I am wholly your R.

(Tuesday)

E.B.B. to R.B.

Sunday.
[Post-mark, January 19, 1846.]

Your letter came just after the hope of one had past—­the latest Saturday post had gone, they said, and I was beginning to be as vexed as possible, looking into the long letterless Sunday.  Then, suddenly came the knock—­the postman redivivus—­just when it seemed so beyond hoping for—­it was half past eight, observe, and there had been a post at nearly eight—­suddenly came the knock, and your letter with it.  Was I not glad, do you think?