For Miss Mitford ...

But people are not angels quite ...

and she sees the whole world in stripes of black and white, it is her way.  I feel very affectionately towards her, love her sincerely.  She is affectionate to me beyond measure.  Still, always I feel that if I were to vex her, the lower deep below the lowest deep would not be low enough for me.  I always feel that.  She would advertise me directly for a wretch proper.

Then, for all I said about never changing, I have ice enough over me just now to hold the sparrows!—­in respect to a great crowd of people, and she is among them—­for reasons—­for reasons.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Saturday Morning.
[Post-mark, February 23, 1846.]

So all was altered, my love—­and, instead of Miss T. and the other friend, I had your brother and Procter—­to my great pleasure.  After, I went to that place, and soon got away, and am very well this morning in the sunshine; which I feel with you, do I not?  Yesterday after dinner we spoke of Mrs. Jameson, and, as my wont is—­(Here your letter reaches me—­let me finish this sentence now I have finished kissing you, dearest beyond all dearness—­My own heart’s Ba!)—­oh, as I am used, I left the talking to go on by itself, with the thought busied elsewhere, till at last my own voice startled me for I heard my tongue utter ‘Miss Barrett ... that is, Mrs. Jameson says’ ... or ’does ... or does not.’  I forget which!  And if anybody noticed the gaucherie it must have been just your brother!

Now to these letters!  I do solemnly, unaffectedly wonder how you can put so much pure felicity into an envelope so as that I shall get it as from the fount head.  This to-day, those yesterday—­there is, I see, and know, thus much goodness in line after line, goodness to be scientifically appreciated, proved there—­but over and above, is it in the writing, the dots and traces, the seal, the paper—­here does the subtle charm lie beyond all rational accounting for?  The other day I stumbled on a quotation from J. Baptista Porta—­wherein he avers that any musical instrument made out of wood possessed of medicinal properties retains, being put to use, such virtues undiminished,—­and that, for instance, a sick man to whom you should pipe on a pipe of elder-tree would so receive all the advantage derivable from a decoction of its berries.  From whence, by a parity of reasoning, I may discover, I think, that the very ink and paper were—­ah, what were they?  Curious thinking won’t do for me and the wise head which is mine, so I will lie and rest in my ignorance of content and understand that without any magic at all you simply wish to make one person—­which of your free goodness proves to be your R.B.—­to make me supremely happy, and that you have your wish—­you do bless me!  More and more, for the old treasure is piled undiminished and still the new comes glittering in.  Dear, dear heart of my heart, life of my life, will this last, let me begin to ask?  Can it be meant I shall live this to the end?  Then, dearest, care also for the life beyond, and put in my mind how to testify here that I have felt, if I could not deserve that a gift beyond all gifts!  I hope to work hard, to prove I do feel, as I say—­it would be terrible to accomplish nothing now.