(Let it be three instead of two—­if the hour be as convenient to yourself.)

Before you come, try to forgive me for my ‘infinite kindness’ in the manner of consenting to see you.  Is it ‘the cruellest cut of all’ when you talk of infinite kindness, yet attribute such villainy to me?  Well! but we are friends till Tuesday—­and after perhaps.

Ever yours,

E.B.B.

If on Tuesday you should be not well, pray do not come—­Now, that is my request to your kindness.[1]

[Footnote 1:  Envelope endorsed by Robert Browning:—­Tuesday, May 20, 1845, 3-4-1/2 p.m.]

R.B. to E.B.B.

Tuesday Evening.
[Post-mark, May 21, 1845.]

I trust to you for a true account of how you are—­if tired, if not tired, if I did wrong in any thing,—­or, if you please, right in any thing—­(only, not one more word about my ‘kindness,’ which, to get done with, I will grant is exceptive)—­but, let us so arrange matters if possible,—­and why should it not be—­that my great happiness, such as it will be if I see you, as this morning, from time to time, may be obtained at the cost of as little inconvenience to you as we can contrive.  For an instance—­just what strikes me—­they all say here I speak very loud—­(a trick caught from having often to talk with a deaf relative of mine).  And did I stay too long?

I will tell you unhesitatingly of such ’corrigenda’—­nay, I will again say, do not humiliate me—­do not again,—­by calling me ‘kind’ in that way.

I am proud and happy in your friendship—­now and ever.  May God bless you!

R.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Wednesday Morning.
[Post-mark, May 22, 1845.]

Indeed there was nothing wrong—­how could there be?  And there was everything right—­as how should there not be?  And as for the ’loud speaking,’ I did not hear any—­and, instead of being worse, I ought to be better for what was certainly (to speak it, or be silent of it,) happiness and honour to me yesterday.

Which reminds me to observe that you are so restricting our vocabulary, as to be ominous of silence in a full sense, presently.  First, one word is not to be spoken—­and then, another is not.  And why?  Why deny me the use of such words as have natural feelings belonging to them—­and how can the use of such be ‘humiliating’ to you?  If my heart were open to you, you could see nothing offensive to you in any thought there or trace of thought that has been there—­but it is hard for you to understand, with all your psychology (and to be reminded of it I have just been looking at the preface of some poems by some Mr. Gurney where he speaks of ’the reflective wisdom of a Wordsworth and the profound psychological utterances of a Browning’) it is hard for you to understand what my mental position is after the peculiar experience I have suffered, and what [Greek:  ti emoi kai soi][1] a sort of