Dearest—­when, in the next dream, you meet me in the ‘landing-place,’ tell me why I am to stand up to be reviewed again.  What a fancy, that is of yours, for ’full-lengths’—­and what bad policy, if a fancy, to talk of it so! because you would have had the glory and advantage, and privilege, of seeing me on my feet twenty times before now, if you had not impressed on me, in some ineffable manner, that to stand on my head would scarcely be stranger.  Nevertheless you shall have it your own way, as you have everything—­which makes you so very, very, exemplarily submissive, you know!

Mr. Kenyon does not come—­puts it off to Saturday perhaps.

The Daily News I have had a glance at.  A weak leading article, I thought ... and nothing stronger from Ireland:—­but enough advertisements to promise a long future.  What do you think? or have you not seen the paper?  No broad principles laid down.  A mere newspaper-support of the ‘League.’

May God bless you.  Say how you are—­and do walk, and ‘care’ for yourself,

and, so, for your own

Ba.

Have I expressed to you at all how ‘Luria’ impresses me more and more?  You shall see the ‘remarks’ with the other papers—­the details of what strikes me.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Thursday Morning.
[Post-mark, January 22, 1846.]

But you did not get the letter last evening—­no, for all my good intentions—­because somebody came over in the morning and forced me to go out ... and, perhaps, I knew what was coming, and had all my thoughts there, that is, here now, with my own letters from you.  I think so—­for this punishment, I will tell you, came for some sin or other last night.  I woke—­late, or early—­and, in one of those lucid moments when all things are thoroughly perceived,—­whether suggested by some forgotten passage in the past sleep itself, I don’t know—­but I seem to apprehend, comprehend entirely, for the first time, what would happen if I lost you—­the whole sense of that closed door of Catarina’s came on me at once, and it was I who said—­not as quoting or adapting another’s words, but spontaneously, unavoidably, ’In that door, you will not enter, I have’....  And, dearest, the

Unwritten it must remain.

What is on the other leaf, no ill-omen, after all,—­because I strengthened myself against a merely imaginary evil—­as I do always; and thus—­I know I never can lose you,—­you surely are more mine, there is less for the future to give or take away than in the ordinary cases, where so much less is known, explained, possessed, as with us.  Understand for me, my dearest—­