R.B.
Or, write, as last night, if needs be: Monday, Tuesday is not so long to wait. Will you write?
E.B.B. to R.B.
Friday Evening.
[Post-mark, June 28, 1845.]
You are very kind and always—but really that does not seem a good reason against your coming to-morrow—so come, if it should not rain. If it rains, it concludes for Monday ... or Tuesday; whichever may be clear of rain. I was tired on Wednesday by the confounding confusion of more voices than usual in this room; but the effect passed off, and though Miss Mitford was with me for hours yesterday I am not unwell to-day. And pray speak bona verba about the awful things which are possible between this now and Wednesday. You continue to be better, I do hope? I am forced to the brevity you see, by the post on one side, and my friends on the other, who have so long overstayed the coming of your note—but it is enough to assure you that you will do no harm by coming—only give pleasure.
Ever yours, my dear friend,
E.B.B.
E.B.B. to R.B.
Monday.
[June 30, 1845.]
I send back the prize poems which have been kept far too long even if I do not make excuses for the keeping—but our sins are not always to be measured by our repentance for them. Then I am well enough this morning to have thought of going out till they told me it was not at all a right day for it ... too windy ... soft and delightful as the air seems to be—particularly after yesterday, when we had some winter back again in an episode. And the roses do not die; which is quite magnanimous of them considering their reverses; and their buds are coming out in most exemplary resignation—like birds singing in a cage. Now that the windows may be open, the flowers take heart to live a little in this room.