But you, my dear friend, I do earnestly entreat you to consider if you are sure of principles, sentiment—­and of yourself.  Because, whether you know it or not, you are happily situated now as far as exterior circumstances are concerned.  They are not worth much, but they have their worth.  They give you liberty to follow your own devices, to think the beautiful and feel the noble; to live out, in short, your individual life, which it is so hard to do in marriage, even where you marry worthily.

I say this probably ‘as one who beateth the air;’ yet you must consider that I who say it, and who say it emphatically, consider a happy marriage as the happiest state, and that all pecuniary reasons against love are both ineffectual and stupid.

Flippancy, flippancy, of course.  London would be better (for your friends) as a residence for you, than Wittemberg can be; and for that, and no other account, I could be sorry that you did not settle so.

Well, never mind!  The description sounds excellently; almost over-romantic, though.  Is there steadiness, do you think, and depth, and reliableness altogether?  What impression does he make among those who have known him longest?  Dearest Fanny, do nothing in haste.

Now I am going to tell you something which has vexed me, and continues to vex me.  The clock.  If you knew Robert, you never would have asked him.  He has a sort of mania about shops, and won’t buy his own gloves.  He bought a pair of boots the other day (because I went down on my knees to ask him, and the water was running in through his soles), and he will not soon get over it.  Without exaggeration, he would rather leap down among the lions after your glove, as the knight of old, than walk into a shop for you.  If I could but go out, there would be no difficulties; but I am shut up in my winter prison, in spite of the extraordinarily mild weather, through having suffered so much in the beginning of the winter.  I asked Sarianna; she also shrinks from the responsibility; is afraid of not pleasing you, &c.  The end of it all is that Mrs. Haworth will think us all very disobliging barbarians, and that really I am vexed.  Why not ask Mrs. Cochrane to get the thing for you?  You can but ask, at any rate.

I am very anxious just now about dear Mr. Kenyon, who has been alarmingly ill, and is only better, I fear.  Miss Bayley wrote to tell me, and added that he was going to Cowes when he could move, which pleases me; for only change of air and liberation from London air can complete his convalescence.

For the rest, I am busy beyond description; but never too much so, mind, dear Fanny, to be glad to get your letters.  Write soon.  Your ever affectionate

E.B.B.

* * * * *

To Mrs. Martin

[Paris]:  3 Rue du Colisee:  February 21, [1856].