t on the same shelf, to be just looked at and
called by their names, but by no means eaten bodily.

But you mistake me, dearest friend, about the 'Blackwood' verses. I
never thought of writing _applicative poems_--the heavens forfend!
Only that just _then_, [in] the midst of all the talk, _any_ verses
of mine should come into print--and some of them to that _particular
effect_--looked unlucky. I dare say poor papa (for instance) thought
me turned suddenly to brass itself. Well, it is perhaps more my
fancy than anything else, and was only an impression, even there. Mr.
Chorley will tell you of a play of his, which I hope will make its
way, though I do wonder how people can bear to write for the theatres
in the present state of things. Robert is busy preparing a new edition
of his collected poems which are to be so clear that everyone who has
understood them hitherto will lose all distinction. We both mean to
be as little idle as possible.... We shall meet one day in joy, I do
hope, and then you will love my husband for his own sake, as for mine
you do not hate him now.

Your ever affectionate
E.B.B.

[Footnote 153: This surname is a mistake on Mrs. Browning's part; see
her letter of October 1, 1849.]

[Footnote 154: See _Lady Geraldine's Courtship_, stanza xli.]

_To H.S. Boyd_
[Pisa:] December 21 [1846].

You must let me tell you, my dearest Mr. Boyd, that I dreamed of you
last night, and that you were looking very well in my dream, and that
you told me to break a crust from a loaf of bread which lay by you
on the table; which I accept on recollection as a sacramental sign
between us, of peace and affection. Wasn't it strange that I should
dream so of you? Yet no; thinking awake of you, the sleeping thoughts
come naturally. Believe of me this Christmas time, as indeed at every
time, that I do not forget you, and that all the distance and change
of country can make no difference. Understand, too (for _that_ will
give pleasure to your goodness), that I am very happy, and not unwell,
though it is almost Christmas....

Dearest friend, are you well and in good spirits? Think of me over
the Cyprus, between the cup and the lip, though bad things are said to
fall out so. We have, instead of Cyprus, _Montepulciano_, the famous
'King of Wine,' crowned king, you remember, by the grace of a poet!
Your Cyprus, however, keeps supremacy over me, and will not abdicate
the divine right of being associated with you. I speak o