with my sincere impressions.  And how could it be that no one within my hearing ever spoke of these poems?  Because it is true that I never saw one of them—­never!—­except the ‘Tokay,’ which is inferior to all; and that I was quite unaware of your having printed so much with Hood—­or at all, except this ‘Tokay,’ and this ‘Duchess’!  The world is very deaf and dumb, I think—­but in the end, we need not be afraid of its not learning its lesson.

Could you come—­for I am going out in the carriage, and will not stay to write of your poems even, any more to-day—­could you come on Thursday or Friday (the day left to your choice) instead of on Wednesday?  If I could help it I would not say so—­it is not a caprice.  And I leave it to you, whether Thursday or Friday.  And Alexandria seems discredited just now for Malta—­and ‘anything but Madeira,’ I go on saying to myself.  These Hood poems are all to be in the next ‘Bells’ of course—­of necessity?

May God bless you my dear friend, my ever dear friend!—­

E.B.B.

R.B. to E.B.B.

Tuesday Morning.
[Post-mark, July 22, 1845.]

I will say, with your leave, Thursday (nor attempt to say anything else without your leave).

The temptation of reading the ‘Essay’ was more than I could bear:  and a wonderful work it is every way; the other poems and their music—­wonderful!

And you go out still—­so continue better!

I cannot write this morning—­I should say too much and have to be sorry and afraid—­let me be safely yours ever, my own dear friend—­

R.B.

I am but too proud of your praise—­when will the blame come—­at Malta?

E.B.B. to R.B.

[Post-mark, July 25, 1845.]

Are you any better to-day? and will you say just the truth of it? and not attempt to do any of the writing which does harm—­nor of the reading even, which may do harm—­and something does harm to you, you see—­and you told me not long ago that you knew how to avoid the harm ... now, did you not? and what could it have been last week which you did not avoid, and which made you so unwell?  Beseech you not to think that I am going to aid and abet in this wronging of yourself, for I will not indeed—­and I am only sorry to have given you my querulous queries yesterday ... and to have omitted to say in relation to them, too, how they were to be accepted in any case as just passing thoughts of mine for your passing thoughts, ... some right, it may be ... some wrong, it must be ... and none, insisted on even by the thinker! just impressions, and by no means pretending to be judgments—­now will you understand?  Also, I intended (as a proof of my fallacy) to strike out one or two of my doubts before I gave the paper to you—­so whichever strikes you as the most foolish of them, of course must be what I meant to strike out—­(there’s ingenuity for you!).  The poem did, for the rest,