After all, too, it teaches you what the great events of my life are, not that the resuscitation of your violets would not really be a great event to me, even if I led the life of a pirate, between fire and sea, otherwise.  But take you away ... out of my life!—­and what remains?  The only greenness I used to have (before you brought your flowers) was as the grass growing in deserted streets, ... which brings a proof, in every increase, of the extending desolation.

Dearest, I persist in thinking that you ought not to be too disdainful to explain your meaning in the Pomegranates.  Surely you might say in a word or two that, your title having been doubted about (to your surprise, you might say!), you refer the doubters to the Jewish priest’s robe, and the Rabbinical gloss ... for I suppose it is a gloss on the robe ... do you not think so?  Consider that Mr. Kenyon and I may fairly represent the average intelligence of your readers,—­and that he was altogether in the clouds as to your meaning ... had not the most distant notion of it,—­while I, taking hold of the priest’s garment, missed the Rabbins and the distinctive significance, as completely as he did.  Then for Vasari, it is not the handbook of the whole world, however it may be Mrs. Jameson’s.  Now why should you be too proud to teach such persons as only desire to be taught?  I persist—­I shall teaze you.

This morning my brothers have been saying ...  ’Ah you had Mr. Browning with you yesterday, I see by the flowers,’ ... just as if they said ’I see queen Mab has been with you.’  Then Stormie took the opportunity of swearing to me by all his gods that your name was mentioned lately in the House of Commons—­is that true? or untrue?  He forgot to tell me at the time, he says,—­and you were named with others and in relation to copyright matters. Is it true?

Mr. Hornblower Gill is the author of a Hymn to Passion week, and wrote to me as the ‘glorifier of pain!’ to remind me that the best glory of a soul is shown in the joy of it, and that all chief poets except Dante have seen, felt, and written it so.  Thus and therefore was matured his purpose of writing an ‘ode to joy,’ as I told you.  The man seems to have very good thoughts, ... but he writes like a colder Cowley still ... no impulse, no heat for fusing ... no inspiration, in fact.  Though I have scarcely done more than glance at his ’Passion week,’ and have little right to give an opinion.

If you have killed Luria as you helped to kill my violets, what shall I say, do you fancy?  Well—­we shall see!  Do not kill yourself, beloved, in any case!  The [Greek:  iostephanoi Mousai] had better die themselves first!  Ah—­what am I writing?  What nonsense?  I mean, in deep earnest, the deepest, that you should take care and exercise, and not be vexed for Luria’s sake—­Luria will have his triumph presently!  May God bless you—­prays your own

BA.

R.B. to E.B.B.