which I can
break upon your poverty, with that golden heart of yours so
apprehended of mine! Why if I am 'ambitious'--is it not because you
love me as if I were worthier of your love, and that, _so_, I get
frightened of the opening of your eyelids to the _un_worthiness? 'A
little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to
sleep'--_there_, is my 'ambition for afterward.' Oh--you do not
understand how with an unspeakable wonder, an astonishment which keeps
me from drawing breath, I look to this Dream, and 'see your face as
the face of an angel,' and fear for the vanishing, ... because dreams
and angels _do_ pass away in this world. But _you_, _I_ understand
_you_, and all your goodness past expression, past belief of mine, if
I had not known you ... just _you_. If it will satisfy you that I
should know you, love you, love you--why then indeed--because I never
bowed down to any of the false gods I know the gold from the mica, ...
I! 'My own beloved'--you should have my soul to stand on if it could
make you stand higher. Yet you shall not call me 'ambitious.'

To-day I went down-stairs again, and wished to know whether you were
walking in your proportion--and your letter does call you 'better,'
whether you walked enough or not, and it bears the Deptford post-mark.
On Saturday I shall see how you are looking. So pale you were last
time! I know Mr. Kenyon must have observed it, (dear Mr. Kenyon ...
for being 'kinder and kindest') and that one of the 'augurs'
marvelled at the other! By the way I forgot yesterday to tell you how
Mr. Burges's 'apt remark' did amuse me. And Mr. Kenyon who said much
the same words to me last week in relation to this very Wordsworth
junior, writhed, I am sure, and wished the ingenious observer with the
lost plays of AEschylus--oh, I seem to see Mr. Kenyon's face! He was to
have come to tell me how you all behaved at dinner that day, but he
keeps away ... you have given him too much to think of perhaps.

I heard from Miss Mitford to-day that Mr. Chorley's hope is at an end
in respect to the theatre, and (I must tell you) she praises him
warmly for his philosophy and fortitude under the disappointment. How
much philosophy does it take,--please to instruct me,--in order to the
decent bearing of such disasters? Can I fancy one, shorter than you by
a whole head of the soul, condescending to '_bear_' such things? No,
indeed.

Be good and kind, and do not work at the 'Tragedy' ... do not