Dear Sir,
I have to thank you for your very kind letter of the 25th ult., and for your too-liberal offer of a copy of your complete edition of Shelley. While I do not like to refuse the honour of this gift from you, I must really protest against your attacking me suddenly with so valuable a present on such insignificant and unintentional provocation. It is one among the works of our higher literature which during the last three or four years I have put off reading, waiting for more settled leisure to study them as they ought to be studied. I will do my best to profit by it, and should any notes occur to me which I can think worth your attention will submit them to you frankly.
I regret that you have been put to the trouble of procuring the number of Fraser, which I could not offer to send you, having no copy left. Your judgment on the relative merits of the Idyll and Weddah confirms my own. I was aware that the former as a piece of pure pleasantness was more smooth and easy in style than the latter, but I knew also that the latter in its style as dictated by the nature of the story was honestly wrought out to the best of my ability and was comparatively a serious bit of work. By the bye, the Idyll as I wrote it had two more joints to its tail, ending thus after some points to mark the transition:—
What time is it, dear, now?
We are in the year now
Of the New Creation One million, two or three.
But where are we now, love?
We are as I trow, love,
In the Heaven of Heavens upon the Crystal Sea.
