remember none of them.  And we will shuffle the cards and take patience, and begin the game again, if you please—­and I shall bear in mind that you are a dramatic poet, which is not the same thing, by any means, with us of the primitive simplicities, who don’t tread on cothurns nor shift the mask in the scene.  And I will reverence you both as ‘a poet’ and as ‘the poet’; because it is no false ‘ambition,’ but a right you have—­and one which those who live longest, will see justified to the uttermost....  In the meantime I need not ask Mr. Kenyon if you have any sense, because I have no doubt that you have quite sense enough—­and even if I had a doubt, I shall prefer judging for myself without interposition; which I can do, you know, as long as you like to come and see me.  And you can come this week if you do like it—­because our relations don’t come till the end of it, it appears—­not that I made a pretence ’out of kindness’—­pray don’t judge me so outrageously—­but if you like to come ... not on Tuesday ... but on Wednesday at three o’clock, I shall be very glad to see you; and I, for one, shall have forgotten everything by that time; being quick at forgetting my own faults usually.  If Wednesday does not suit you, I am not sure that I can see you this week—­but it depends on circumstances.  Only don’t think yourself obliged to come on Wednesday.  You know I began by entreating you to be open and sincere with me—­and no more—­I require no ‘sleekening of every word.’  I love the truth and can bear it—­whether in word or deed—­and those who have known me longest would tell you so fullest.  Well!—­May God bless you.  We shall know each other some day perhaps—­and I am

Always and faithfully your friend,

E.B.B.

R.B. to E.B.B.

[Post-mark, May 26, 1845.]

Nay—­I must have last word—­as all people in the wrong desire to have—­and then, no more of the subject.  You said I had given you great pain—­so long as I stop that, think anything of me you choose or can!  But before your former letter came, I saw the pre-ordained uselessness of mine.  Speaking is to some end, (apart from foolish self-relief, which, after all, I can do without)—­and where there is no end—­you see! or, to finish characteristically—­since the offering to cut off one’s right-hand to save anybody a headache, is in vile taste, even for our melodramas, seeing that it was never yet believed in on the stage or off it,—­how much worse to really make the ugly chop, and afterwards come sheepishly in, one’s arm in a black sling, and find that the delectable gift had changed aching to nausea!  There!  And now, ’exit, prompt-side, nearest door, Luria’—­and enter R.B.—­next Wednesday,—­as boldly as he suspects most people do just after they have been soundly frightened!

I shall be most happy to see you on the day and at the hour you mention.