George has been properly ‘indoctrinated,’ and, we must hope, will do credit to my instructions.  Just now ... just as I was writing ... he came in to say good-morning and good-night (he goes to chambers earlier than I receive visitors generally), and to ask with a smile, if I had ‘a message for my friend’ ... that was you ... and so he was indoctrinated.  He is good and true, honest and kind, but a little over-grave and reasonable, as I and my sisters complain continually.  The great Law lime-kiln dries human souls all to one colour—­and he is an industrious reader among law books and knows a good deal about them, I have heard from persons who can judge; but with a sacrifice of impulsiveness and liberty of spirit, which I should regret for him if he sate on the Woolsack even.  Oh—­that law! how I do detest it!  I hate it and think ill of it—­I tell George so sometimes—­and he is good-natured and only thinks to himself (a little audibly now and then) that I am a woman and talking nonsense.  But the morals of it, and the philosophy of it!  And the manners of it! in which the whole host of barristers looks down on the attorneys and the rest of the world!—­how long are these things to last!

Theodosia Garrow, I have seen face to face once or twice.  She is very clever—­very accomplished—­with talents and tastes of various kinds—­a musician and linguist, in most modern languages I believe—­and a writer of fluent graceful melodious verses, ... you cannot say any more.  At least I cannot—­and though I have not seen this last poem in the ‘Book of Beauty,’ I have no more trust ready for it than for its predecessors, of which Mr. Landor said as much.  It is the personal feeling which speaks in him, I fancy—­simply the personal feeling—­and, that being the case, it does not spoil the discriminating appreciation on the other page of this letter.  I might have the modesty to admit besides that I may be wrong and he, right, all through.  But ... ’more intense than Sappho’!—­more intense than intensity itself!—­to think of that!—­Also the word ‘poetry’ has a clear meaning to me, and all the fluency and facility and quick ear-catching of a tune which one can find in the world, do not answer to it—­no.

How is the head? will you tell me?  I have written all this without a word of it, and yet ever since yesterday I have been uneasy, ...  I cannot help it.  You see you are not better but worse.  ’Since you were in Italy’—­Then is it England that disagrees with you? and is it change away from England that you want? ... require, I mean.  If so—­why what follows and ought to follow?  You must not be ill indeed—­that is the first necessity.  Tell me how you are, exactly how you are; and remember to walk, and not to work too much—­for my sake—­if you care for me—­if it is not too bold of me to say so.  I had fancied you were looking better rather than otherwise:  but those sensations in the head are frightful and ought to be stopped by