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I'm not fond of writing letters, but may I thank you for the glow of pleasure your
last volume3 has given me? Nobody ever sings
anymore—and when someone does (someone with a lovely voice) it makes one feel
quite young for a moment, even for a whole day, and following days. More than a
month ago I first got the book, in Canada4,
but I have read it many times since. Did you, perhaps, in your childhood have a
painted picture-book5 with a large picture6 showing red robins dropping russet leaves
on over the Babes in the Wood? I had such a
book. It's a beautiful allusion—quite melts one's
heart. You wouldn't have done it twenty years ago. Perhaps you will smile and say
that you did write it twenty years ago,—but I
should find it hard to believe you. But Nearly
everything in the book is very lovely. Just to hear anybody sing again – – – If one
has an authentic right to sing, one can gratify the ear as much in "Inert Perfection"7 as in "Not
So Far as the Forest"8. Again, thank you.