London, 10 December 1873

Dear Moor,

Enclosed you will find 3 halves of five-pound notes; please acknowledge receipt at once so that the rest can follow.

Heavy fog since yesterday morning from which I just escaped for a short hour by taking a walk to the Heath.* Up there blue sky and warm sunshine, AN ISLAND OF BRIGHTNESS IN A SEA OF FOG.

That good- for-nothing Roderich Benedix has left a bad odour behind in the shape of a thick tome against ‘Shakespearomania’.” In it he has proved to a nicety that Shakespeare can’t hold a candle to our great poets, not even to those of modern times. Shakespeare is apparently to be hurled down from his pedestal so that fat-arsed Benedix can be hoisted into his place. However, the first act of the Merry Wives* alone contains more life and reality than all German literature, and Launce* with his dog Crab is alone worth more than all the German comedies put together. By way of contrast, the ponderous posterior R. Benedix will indulge in considerations as serious as they are cheap over the casual manner in which Shakespeare often makes short work of his dénouements and thereby cuts short the tedious twaddle that in reality is nevertheless unavoidable. Habeat sibi.“

Yesterday received a geological map of the Rhine Province. The superficial conjectures I made in loco‘ mostly confirmed.

Best regards to Tussy.

Your

F. E.