I thought, and still think, to write to you about George Sand, and the vexed question, a very Bermoothes of the ’Mental Claims of the Sexes Relatively Considered’ (so was called the, ...  I do believe, ... worst poem I ever read in my life), and Mrs. Hemans, and all and some of the points referred to in your letter—­but ’by my fay, I cannot reason,’ to-day:  and, by a consequence, I feel the more—­so I say how I want news of you ... which, when they arrive, I shall read ’meritoriously’—­do you think?  My friend, what ought I to tell you on that head (or the reverse rather)—­of your discourse?  I should like to match you at a fancy-flight; if I could, give you nearly as pleasant an assurance that ‘there’s no merit in the case,’ but the hot weather and lack of wit get the better of my good will—­besides, I remember once to have admired a certain enticing simplicity in the avowal of the Treasurer of a Charitable Institution at a Dinner got up in its behalf—­the Funds being at lowest, Debt at highest ... in fact, this Dinner was the last chance of the Charity, and this Treasurer’s speech the main feature in the chance—­and our friend, inspired by the emergency, went so far as to say, with a bland smile—­’Do not let it be supposed that we—­despise annual contributors,—­we rather—­solicit their assistance.’  All which means, do not think that I take any ‘merit’ for making myself supremely happy, I rather &c. &c.

Always rather mean to deserve it a little better—­but never shall:  so it should be, for you and me—­and as it was in the beginning so it is still.  You are the—­But you know and why should I tease myself with words?

Let me send this off now—­and to-morrow some more, because I trust to hear you have made the first effort and with success.

Ever yours, my dear friend,

R.B.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Monday.
[Post-mark, July 8, 1845.]

Well—­I have really been out; and am really alive after it—­which is more surprising still—­alive enough I mean, to write even so, to-night.  But perhaps I say so with more emphasis, to console myself for failing in my great ambition of getting into the Park and of reaching Mr. Kenyon’s door just to leave a card there vaingloriously, ... all which I did fail in, and was forced to turn back from the gates of Devonshire Place.  The next time it will be better perhaps—­and this time there was no fainting nor anything very wrong ... not even cowardice on the part of the victim (be it recorded!) for one of my sisters was as usual in authority and ordered the turning back just according to her own prudence and not my selfwill.  Only you will not, any of you, ask me to admit that it was all delightful—­pleasanter work than what you wanted to spare me in taking care of your roses on Saturday! don’t ask that, and I will try it again presently.

I ought to be ashamed of writing this I and me-ism—­but since your kindness made it worth while asking about I must not be over-wise and silent on my side.