God bless you, my dear friend,

R.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Monday Morning.
[Post-mark, May 27, 1845.]

You will think me the most changeable of all the changeable; but indeed it is not my fault that I cannot, as I wished, receive you on Wednesday.  There was a letter this morning; and our friends not only come to London but come to this house on Tuesday (to-morrow) to pass two or three days, until they settle in an hotel for the rest of the season.  Therefore you see, it is doubtful whether the two days may not be three, and the three days four; but if they go away in time, and if Saturday should suit you, I will let you know by a word; and you can answer by a yea or nay.  While they are in the house, I must give them what time I can—­and indeed, it is something to dread altogether.

Tuesday.

I send you the note I had begun before receiving yours of last night, and also a fragment[1] from Mrs. Hedley’s herein enclosed, a full and complete certificate, ... that you may know ... quite know, ... what the real and only reason of the obstacle to Wednesday is.  On Saturday perhaps, or on Monday more certainly, there is likely to be no opposition, ... at least not on the ‘cote gauche’ (my side!) to our meeting—­but I will let you know more.

For the rest, we have both been a little unlucky, there’s no denying, in overcoming the embarrassments of a first acquaintance—­but suffer me to say as one other last word, (and quite, quite the last this time!) in case there should have been anything approaching, however remotely, to a distrustful or unkind tone in what I wrote on Sunday, (and I have a sort of consciousness that in the process of my self-scorning I was not in the most sabbatical of moods perhaps—­) that I do recall and abjure it, and from my heart entreat your pardon for it, and profess, notwithstanding it, neither to ‘choose’ nor ’to be able’ to think otherwise of you than I have done, ... as of one most generous and most loyal; for that if I chose, I could not; and that if I could, I should not choose.

Ever and gratefully your friend,

E.B.B.

—­And now we shall hear of ‘Luria,’ shall we not? and much besides.  And Miss Mitford has sent me the most high comical of letters to read, addressed to her by ‘R.B.  Haydon historical painter’ which has made me quite laugh; and would make you; expressing his righteous indignation at the ‘great fact’ and gross impropriety of any man who has ‘thoughts too deep for tears’ agreeing to wear a ‘bag-wig’ ... the case of poor Wordsworth’s going to court, you know.—­Mr. Haydon being infinitely serious all the time, and yet holding the doctrine of the divine right of princes in his left hand.

How is your head? may I be hoping the best for it?  May God bless you.

[Footnote 1:  ... me on Tuesday, or Wednesday? if on Tuesday, I shall come by the three o’clock train; if on Wednesday, early in the morning, as I shall be anxious to secure rooms ... so that your Uncle and Arabel may come up on Thursday.]