599. EBB to Mary Russell Mitford
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 3, 303–304.
74 Gloucester Place
Monday. [11 December 1837] [1]
Thank you my dearest Miss Mitford for your kind and interesting letter! Here I am, going to make an interesting one too, one sure of a welcome, out of dear Mr Kenyon who was going on satisfactorily yesterday evening, & of whom in order to send you the very latest news, I have just told Sette to run away to Harley Place and bring it to me. It is an illustration of the distance-in-adjacency which is in this London (where with humanity wrapt round us almost too close for breathing, we may yet shudder at solitude!) that for one fortnight our dear friend was almost dying or thought so, within a quarter of a mile of the house we inhabit, & we were wondering why he did not come!——!!
Oh! I well knew how you would feel dearest Miss Mitford! And therefore I did not write before. All the kindnesses & excellences of earth must be paid for by grief– It is a solemn thing to touch them!—and I never do– I never make a new friendship or feel anew the dearness of an old one, without an emotion which for all its happiness is half-made of sadness!– All kindnesses, all excellencies, if they do not fail, will pass away, or we from them—except the Chief & the Divine—and may That be with you!——
There has been as I think I told you a malady of cold as well as of fever—bilious fever. The latter is no more: but the cough has been continually troublesome, & a blister [2] was considered necessary three days ago.– Here is Sette!– The answer disappoints me—it is “not much better”. But you see dearest Miss Mitford, we must not expect any very rapid amendment in a cough during this weather. If you have a little frost or a little fog at Three Mile Cross;—multiply frost by frost, & fog by fog, & then add them together, & imagine—shd you have any imagination left, after so much arithmetic,—that such must be our weather in London!—— I am not a very great deal better myself, notwithstanding Dr Chambers—, and my fancy, that as soon as ever one consults a medical man, one ought to grow perfectly well immediately in order to make the least equivalent amends for the disagreeableness of it. Now dont be uncomfortable about dear Mr Kenyon. You shall hear another account before long, & I do trust a “much better” one.
Thank you for all the details about yourself. Do you expect me to praise the Welsh plan? I could as soon praise a Welsh rabbit! [3] or fall down in love with that terrible Welsh Giant who talked such terrible bad English to Jack the Giant killer. Dearest Miss Mitford! If you had gone into Wales, what shd we selfish people, left so far behind, have done? We shd never have seen you—that is certain! And besides it wd not have suited you (according to my doxy) to have associated with scarcely anybody but the ghosts of the bards!– I am so glad you are not going to Wales! And so glad besides, that you had that particular opportunity of going there. It is pleasant for those who love you, to know that others love you too!——
May God bless you my dear friend! & give you strength for all things! I cannot bear to think of the fatigue & molestation which seem so much to oppress you. If I were you, I wd fix days for receiving company. Indeed you owe it to yourself–
Your ever affectionate
E B Barrett—in great haste–
I am rather better.
Publication: EBB-MRM, I, 57–58 (as [4? December 1837]).
Manuscript: Wellesley College.
1. Dated by the further discussion of Miss Mitford’s projected move to Wales.
2. A sharp, irritating ointment, plaster or other application to cause the formation of a blister or blisters on the skin, held to be useful in inflammations of the serous membranes.
3. A Welsh rabbit (or rarebit) is a still-popular quick snack of melted cheese on toast.
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