or a moment thought of 'making
conversation' about the 'Improvisatore' or novels in general, when I
wrote what I did to you. I might, to other persons ... perhaps.
Certainly not to _you_. I was not dealing round from one pack of cards
to you and to others. That's what you meant to reproach me for you
know,--and of that, I am not guilty at all. I never could think of
'making conversation' in a letter to _you_--never. Women are said to
partake of the nature of children--and my brothers call me 'absurdly
childish' sometimes: and I am capable of being childishly 'in earnest'
about novels, and straws, and such 'puppydogs' tails' as my Flush's!
Also I write more letters than you do, ... I write in fact almost as
you pay visits, ... and one has to 'make conversation' in turn, of
course. _But_--give me something to vow by--whatever you meant in the
'Vivian Grey' argument, you were wrong in it! and you never can be
much more wrong--which is a comfortable reflection.

Yet you leap very high at Dante's crown--or you do not leap, ... you
simply extend your hand to it, and make a rustling among the laurel
leaves, which is somewhat prophane. Dante's poetry only materials for
the northern rhymers! I must think of that ... if you please ...
before I agree with you. Dante's poetry seems to come down in hail,
rather than in rain--but count me the drops congealed in one
hailstone! Oh! the 'Flight of the Duchess'--do let us hear more of
her! Are you (I wonder) ... not a 'self-flatterer,' ... but ... a
flatterer.

Ever yours,

E.B.B.

_R.B. to E.B.B._

Saturday Morning.
[Post-mark, May 3, 1845.]

Now shall you see what you shall see--here shall be 'sound speech not
to be reproved,'--for this morning you are to know that the soul of me
has it all her own way, dear Miss Barrett, this green cool
nine-in-the-morning time for my chestnut tree over there, and for me
who only coaxed my good-natured--(really)--body up, after its
three-hours' night-rest on condition it should lounge, or creep about,
incognito and without consequences--and so it shall, all but my
right-hand which is half-spirit and 'cuts' its poor relation, and
passes itself off for somebody (that is, some soul) and is doubly
active and ready on such occasions--Now I shall tell you all about it,
first