I hope you go out this fine morning—the wind is cold, to be sure, but London is much warmer than this place, and the wind kept off by the houses. I have got two of Mr. Kenyon’s kind notes, to confirm the appointment for Wednesday (when Mrs. Jameson is to be of the party), and to invite me to meet Landor on Tuesday—so that for three days running I shall be in Ba’s very neighbourhood ... for if the wind can’t get through houses and walls, Ba can and does, as my heart knows. Might I not see you for a moment on the Wednesday? Ah, there will be time to contrive, to concert—but the worst is that when I see you I contrive nothing, nor do you help me, you Ba! Else, out of these walks,—who is to object to my going to see the Thames Tunnel or the Tower, by way of Wimpole Street,—wanting the organ of locality as I am said to? Whereas I am all one consciousness of the influence of one locality, turning as my whole heart and soul turn to Ba,—my dearest, dearest, whom may God bless and requite. I can only kiss you, as I do, and be your very own, my Ba, as I am and shall be ever.

E.B.B. to R.B.

Thursday.
[Post-mark, May 29, 1846.]

Dearest dearest, I thought I had lost my letter to-night, for not a sound came like a postman’s knock ... I thought I had lost my letter, talking of losing jewels. I waited and waited, and at last broke silence to Arabel with, ‘when will the post come?’ ‘Not to-night,’ said she—‘it is nearly ten.’ On which I exclaimed so pitifully and with such a desperate sense of loss, ‘You mean to say that I shall have no letter to-night,’? ... that after she had laughed a very little, she went down-stairs to search the letterbox and brought me what I wanted.

And you think it possible that I should give up my letters and their golden fountain?—I! ... while I live and have understanding! I can’t fancy what manner of eagles you believe in. If in real live eagles, ... why it is as probable as any other thing of the sort, that I (or you) should be snatched away by an eagle ... the eagle who used to live, for instance, at the Coliseum of Regent’s Park. And when I ride away upon an eagle, I may take a wrong counsel perhaps that hour from other birds of the air: ... but till then, I am yours to have and to hold, ... unless, as you say, you open your hand wide and cry with a distinct voice, ‘Go.’ It shall be your doing and not mine, if we two are to part—or God’s own doing, through illness and death. And the way to avert danger is to avoid observation and discussion, as much as we can—and we have not been frightened much yet, ... now have we? As for Wednesday, there is time to think. But how can you leave your sister? you cannot. So unless you derange your ‘myth’ altogether, and find a trysting place for us, ... each mounted on an eagle, ... in Nephelococcygia, we had better be satisfied, it seems to me, with Monday and Saturday.

I was out to-day as you saw by my letter, which with my own hand I dropped into the post. I liked to do it beyond what you discern. And how the sun shone,—and the little breath of wind could do nobody harm, I felt. Also there was the ‘Autography’ in the shop-window to see, before I sate down in the shop. So you were thought of by necessity, besides the freewill.

Do you not see that I am bound to you hand and foot? Why do you not see what God sees?

But it is late, and the rest must be for to-morrow. The sender of the rose-tree sent to-day a great heliotrope—so, presently, you will have to seek me in a wood.

Everywhere your own

Ba.