It's of course for you and Leonard to use'em or not, and as you don't like'em—why there's an end on't. But the blue paper with just the title on it would be nice: I hope you use that. Six or seven orders—what extreme minginess! I blush at the idea. I shall have to come back and persuade you and L. to let me sell it on a barrow—customers to bring their own wrappings. I thought of you at Asheham: I am glad it was so lovely. Don't forget that you have asked us for later—will you?

I really don't know anything about this place. While the Lord continues allowing his sun to shine in this superb fashion—its heavenly—heavenly. To my drunk eyes it seems all Cornwall, not at all Devonshire—far better than the South of France—the place for great artists like ourselves to wander in—and so on. But I'm frankly not sober. The tide comes in very big and brimming, goes out leaving heavy, weedy rocks and pools and little creeks and long sands and winkles. There are tiny islands covered with thick forest, valleys dipping down to the sea with marshes yellow with kingcups and irises. Then there is the little town, built on both banks of a deep river and joined by an extremely ‘paintable’ bridge. And seagulls, and flowers—and so on. (I wish I didn't keep saying and so on. I loathe the phrase.) Well—Virginia if you would ask the Belgians to post me 4 packets of those Blue cigarettes, cut my throat I will send you a postal order by return.

I wish I could send you something in this letter…. There's that tiny little horse shoe I found yesterday—it page 184 would go into an envelope. No, you'd think it absurd—No, I've nothing. Oh, did I say before how very greatly we enjoyed your Tchehov review?