ven if he had more
impotently tried (supposing it to be possible) for the dramatic
laurel. In fact his poetry, dramatic or otherwise, is 'nought'; but
for the prose romances, and for 'Ernest Maltravers' above all, I must
lift up my voice and cry. And I read the _Athenaeum_ about your Sir
James Wylie who took you for an Italian....

'Poi vi diro Signor, che ne fu causa
Ch' avio fatto al scriver debita pausa.'--

Ever your

E.B.B.

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

Friday Morning.
[Post-mark, August 15, 1845.]

Do you know, dear friend, it is no good policy to stop up all the
vents of my feeling, nor leave one for safety's sake, as you will do,
let me caution you never so repeatedly. I know, quite well enough,
that your 'kindness' is not _so_ apparent, even, in this instance of
correcting my verses, as in many other points--but on such points, you
lift a finger to me and I am dumb.... Am I not to be allowed a word
here neither?

I remember, in the first season of German Opera here, when 'Fidelio's'
effects were going, going up to the gallery in order to get the best
of the last chorus--get its oneness which you do--and, while perched
there an inch under the ceiling, I was amused with the enormous
enthusiasm of an elderly German (we thought,--I and a cousin of
mine)--whose whole body broke out in billow, heaved and swayed in the
perfection of his delight, hands, head, feet, all tossing and striving
to utter what possessed him. Well--next week, we went again to the
Opera, and again mounted at the proper time, but the crowd was
_greater_, and our mild great faced white haired red cheeked German
was not to be seen, not at first--for as the glory was at its full, my
cousin twisted me round and made me see an arm, only an arm, all the
body of its owner being amalgamated with a dense crowd on each side,
before, and--not behind, because they, the crowd, occupied the last
benches, over which we looked--and this arm waved and exulted as if
'for the dignity of the whole body,'--relieved it of its dangerous
accumulation of repressed excitability. When the crowd broke up all
the rest of the man disengaged itself by slow endeavours, and there
stood our friend confessed--as we were sure!

--Now, you would have bade him keep his arm quiet? 'Lady Geraldine,
you _would_!