Good-bye, dearest dearest; I continue quite well ... I thank God, as you do, and see his hand in it. My poor mother suffers greatly, but is no worse ... rather, better I hope. They (all here) will leave town for some quiet place at the beginning of October for some three weeks at least. Dear, kind souls they are.
Kiss me as I kiss you, dearest Ba. I can bring you no flowers but I pluck this bud and send it with all affectionate devotion.
Your own
R.B.
E.B.B. to R.B.
[Post-mark, September 17, 1846.]
Dearest, the general departure from this house takes place on Monday—and the house at Little Bookham is six miles from the nearest railroad, and a mile and a half from Leatherhead where a coach runs. Now you are to judge. Certainly if I go with you on Saturday I shall not have half the letters written—you, who talk so largely of epic poems, have not the least imagination of my state of mind and spirits. I began to write a letter to Papa this morning, and could do nothing but cry, and looked so pale thereupon, that everybody wondered what could be the matter. Oh—quite well I am now, and I only speak of myself in that way to show you how the inspiration is by no means sufficient for epic poems. Still, I may certainly write the necessary letters, ... and do the others on the road ... could I, do you think? I would rather have waited—indeed rather—only it may be difficult to leave Bookham ... yet possible—so tell me what you would have me do.
Wilson and I have a light box and a carpet bag between us—and I will be docile about the books, dearest. Do you take a desk? Had I better not, I wonder?
Then for box and carpet bag.... Remember that we cannot take them out of the house with us. We must send them the evening before—Friday evening, if we went on Saturday ... and where? Have you a friend anywhere, to whose house they might be sent, or could they go direct to the railroad office—and what office? In that case they should have your name on them, should they not?
Now think for me, ever dearest—and tell me what you do not tell me ... that you continue better. Ah no—you are ill again—or you would not wait to be told to tell me. And the dear, dear little bud!—I shall keep it to the end of my life, if you love me so long, ... or not, sir! I thank you, dearest.