out
Of life we passed to God, at peace with Him
Who fills the heart with yearning Him to see.

There were many singular incidents attending my work on that
subject--thus, quite at the end, I found out there _was printed_ and
not published, a little historical tract by a Count V---- something,
called 'Sordello'--with the motto 'Post fata resurgam'! I hope he
prophesied. The main of this--biographical notices--is extracted by
Muratori, I think. Last year when I set foot in Naples I found after a
few minutes that at some theatre, that night, the opera was to be 'one
act of Sordello' and I never looked twice, nor expended a couple of
carlines on the _libretto_!

I wanted to tell you, in last letter, that when I spoke of people's
tempers _you_ have no concern with 'people'--I do not glance obliquely
at _your_ temper--either to discover it, or praise it, or adapt myself
to it. I speak of the relation one sees in other cases--how one
opposes passionate foolish people, but hates cold clever people who
take quite care enough of themselves. I myself am born supremely
passionate--so I was born with light yellow hair: all changes--that is
the passion changes its direction and, taking a channel large enough,
looks calmer, perhaps, than it should--and all my sympathies go with
quiet strength, of course--but I know what the other kind is. As for
the breakages of chairs, and the appreciation of Parisian _meubles_;
manibus, pedibusque descendo in tuam sententiam, Ba, mi ocelle! ('What
was E.B. C?' why, the first letter after, and _not_, E.B. _B_, my own
_B_! There was no latent meaning in the C--but I had no inclination to
go on to D, or E, for instance).

And so, love, Tuesday is to be our day--one day more--and then! And
meanwhile '_care_' for me! a good word for you--but _my_ care, what is
that! One day I aspire to _care_, though! I shall not go away at any
dear Mr. K.'s coming! They call me down-stairs to supper--and my fire
is out, and you keep me from feeling cold and yet ask if I am well?
Yes, well--yes, happy--and your own ever--I must bid God bless
you--dearest!

R.B.

[Footnote 1: 'Purg.' v. 52 7.]

_E.B.B. to R.B._

Sunday Night.
[Post-mark, December 24, 1845.]

But did I dispute? Surely not. Surely I believe in you and in
'mysteries.' Surely I prefer the no-reason to ever so much rationali