There is a good genius presiding over your gifts—they are so felicitous. You always give me something of which I have felt the want beforehand, and can use continually. It is eminently so with my pretty mittens; there was no little appendage I wanted more; and they are just as warm at the wrist as I could have wished them to be—warming, too, as a mark of affection at a time when all cheering things are doubly welcome.
Mr. Lewes came home last night, and you may imagine that I am glad. Between the bad weather, bad health, and solitude, I have been so far unlike the wicked that I have not flourished like the green bay-tree. To make amends, he—Mr. Lewes, not the wicked—has had a brilliant time, gained great instruction, and seen some admirable men, who have received him warmly.
I go out of doors very little, but I shall open the drawer and look at my mittens on the days when I don't put them on.
Journal, 1868.
Jan.—Engaged in writing Part III. of "Spanish Gypsy."
Feb. 27.—Returned last evening from a very pleasant visit to Cambridge.[4] I am still only at p. 5 of Part IV., having had a wretched month of malaise.
March 1.—Finished Guillemin on the "Heavens," and the 4th Book of the "Iliad." I shall now read Grote.
March 6.—Reading Lubbock's "Prehistoric Ages."
March 8.—Saturday concert. Joachim and Piatti, with Schubert's Ottett.
Letter to Mrs. Congreve, 17th Mch. 1868.