Thursday.
This is not to be called a letter, please to understand,
because to write a letter to you once a day is enough in all
reason. But I want to send you the review you asked for
at the same time with the drawings which I kept too long
I thought months ago, — but I have looked over them again
and again. Then there is the book on Junius — and lastly,
the song which I want you to have . . the ‘ Toll Slowly ‘-
that is my gift to you, for as much as it is worth, and not
to be sent back to me if you please. As for the Notes on
Naples, I shall keep them for the present, having need to
study about Amalfi.
Now I am going out in the carriage, and shall drive
round the park perhaps. You will not think much of the
Aiusic — but it being the first music I had heard for years
and years, and in itself so overwhelmingly melancholy, it
affected me so that I should scarcely hear it to the end. I
went down-stairs on purpose to hear it and be able to thank
the composer rightly. But she has done better things, I
am sure.
Your own
Ba.
Observe — I disobey in nothing by sending this parcel.
There is too much for you to carry. Don’t forget to bring
me my Statesmen which is a lawful burden.