When I got up this morning, I put on my hat first and as soon as the food had been arranged, went out for a small walk. The day was so—what can one say? there isn't a word, perfect is not enough—that I had to go. First thing I saw was a large daisy at the bottom of our steps, in a pinafore—you know the kind, a Wingley flower. Then I walked along the Boulevard which smelled of pines, gum trees, heliotrope, geraniums and a dash of the sea, and really had a look at Ospedaletti. But! I hadn't the faintest idea of what it was like. It's just a fairy tale; that's all. And the country above and beyond it—these immense romantic glimpses! I sauntered along, gripping Mother's walking-stick. My heart was bursting with happiness. The sun had his arm round my shoulder. The sea made a sound you would have liked. There was a breeze that filled one's mouth with pleasure like wine. Hardly anybody about. A small scene from an opera being enacted at the cabstand between two lovely girls carrying baskets of fringed linen on their heads, a boy in a blue undervest eating a loaf of bread, and the cab-driver in white. That was all.

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Then I kept coming to these glimpses of the old town, seen between the trees, and then to pine trees with rosered geraniums climbing up to their topmost branch. The only work being done was gardening. One heard people gardening and felt them gardening, and that was all. By the time I got to the Poste I knew something very good was going to happen, and three letters were handed across. You know that row of darling little oleanders [a drawing of one]—little trees like that. I sat on a bench beneath them and read the letters and then walked off clasping them very hard and stopping occasionally and saying to a bush or a plant, “Darling!” very quietly.

Really, when you come in May I dread to think of what we shall do. When it's spring here as well as everything else. You see, we shall trundle off with our filet in the morning, and then we'll come home ravenous as I did and see this little house as I did perched on the hill half in sun, half swept by the dancing shadow of the olive-trees. And there will be flowers everywhere.

I didn't feel in the least tired. I stopped at the drug store and bought four bottles of St. Galmier. It wasn't a luxury. I think one needs to drink here, especially while the skeeters are so skeeterish. Such a nice woman in there, extremely pretty, and awfully nice jujubes on the counter. Blow! Everything was awfully nice. Beams came from the toothbrushes. She says it is like this all the winter except for an occasional day of wind or rain, just as hot, and people who come pour se reposer go away on wings. Cherry pie grows in trees in the jardin publique at Ospedaletti. Did you see that wonderful park-like place with all its flowers? Lawrence was working in the garden with a handkerchief round his neck.

Well, I don't know. But really we seem to have found the most ideal place we could have found. I can whistle again….

I wondered if you would ever publish a column from a Note Book. It is going to be called “From the Casetta” and it's a kind of day book about things like flies or a page 250 certain light or a fragment of talk over a table or workmen going home in the evening…. I want to write a whole book—ready in six months—of these … observations.

Oh, it is cruel to say how warm it is here. I never saw anything like the shadows in this house cast by the delicate trees outside. I have already noticed 5 different grasshoppers. They are great favourites of mine as insects: they are such characters. As for the cicada, every night he is here. I can't tell you how good the stove is. It is a gem, now that it is accustomed to go. Yesterday, when L. M. was out, I made my tea with about 2 leaves and a twig and the whole kitchen felt so warm and lived in….