My dear Novello,—Mary Wollstonecraft’s daughter brings you
this letter. I know you would receive her with all your kindness and respect for
that designation alone; but there are a hundred other reasons why you will do so,
including her own extraordinary talents (which, at the same time, no woman can be
less obtrusive with), the pleasure you will find in her society, and last not
least, her love of music and regard for a certain professor of ditto—but I
have spoken of this introduction already. I do not send you a long letter, for
reasons given in the same place; but I trust it will be as good as a long letter in
its returns to me, because it sets you the example of writing a short one when you
cannot do more. How I envy Mary Shelley the
power of taking you all by the hands and joining your kind-hearted circle! But I am
there very often myself, I assure you; invisible, it is true, and behind the
curtain: but it is possible, you know, to be behind a curtain and yet be very
intensely present besides. But do
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God bless you, dear Novello. From Florence I shall send you some music, especially what you wanted in Rome.
From this place I can send you nothing except a ring of my hair, which you must wear for the sake of your affectionate friend,