an extract from Miss M.’s book, desiring him to make use of the biographical details.  Now it struck him immediately, he said, on reading the passage, that it was likely to give me great pain, and he was so unwilling to be the means of giving me more pain that he came to Robert to ask him how he should act.  Do observe the delicacy and sensibility of this man—­a man, a foreigner, a Frenchman!  I shall be grateful to him as long as I live.[11]

Robert has seen the extract in the ‘Athenaeum.’  It refers to the great affliction of my life, with the most affectionate intentions and the obtusest understanding.  I know I am morbid, but this thing should not have been done indeed.  Now, I shall be liable to see recollections dreadful to me, thrust into every vulgar notice of my books.  I shall be afraid to see my books reviewed anywhere.  Oh!  I have been so deeply shaken by all this. You will understand, I am certain, and I could not help speaking of it to you, because I was certain.

I am answering your note, observe, by return of post.  Do let me know if you receive what I write this time.  Robert will direct for me, having faith in his superior legibleness, and I accept the insult implied in the opinion.

God bless you.  Do write.  And never doubt my grateful affection for you, whether posts go ill or well.

Robert is going out to inquire about ‘My Novel.’  His warm regards with mine to dear Mr. Martin and yourself.  This is a scratch rather than a letter, but I would rather send it to you in haste than wait for another post.

Your ever affectionate
BA.

* * * * *

The following letter marks the beginning of a new friendship, with Miss Mulock, afterwards Mrs. Craik, the authoress of ’John Halifax, Gentleman.’  The subsequent letters are in very affectionate tones, but it does not appear that the correspondence ever reached any very extended dimensions.

* * * * *

To Miss Mulock

Paris, 138 Avenue des Champs-Elysees: 
January 21, [1852].

I hear from England that you have dedicated a book to me with too kind and most touching words.  To thank you for such a proof of sympathy, to thank you from my heart, cannot surely be a wrong thing to do, it seems so natural and comes from so irresistible an impulse.

I read a book of yours once at Florence, which first made [me] know you pleasantly, and afterwards (that was at Florence, too) there came a piercing touch from a hand in the air—­whether yours also, I cannot dare to guess—­which has preoccupied me a good deal since.  If I speak to you in mysteries, forgive me.  Let it be clear at least, that I am very happy to be grateful to you for the honor you have done me in your dedication, and that my husband, moved more, as he always is, by honor paid to me than to himself, thanks you beside.  I will not keep back his thanks, which are worth more than mine can be.