TO PASTOR SCHUBRING AT DESSAU.
Dear Schubring,—I have owed you a letter for almost a year. It is no use to begin with excuses; I am too hopelessly in the wrong, and should never get to the end of my apologies. Indeed, I couldn’t explain how the delay came about. On establishing myself here last autumn I got your letter with your notes for the “St. Paul;” they were the best contributions I had received, and that same afternoon I set to and thought it over seriously. I took a Bible, and sitting down amid all the confusion of my study, soon got so deep in it that I could hardly force myself to go on with other work which was bound to be completed first. I was on the point of writing then to give you my heartiest thanks, but then it struck me it would be pleasanter if I could say the thing had been already commenced, and when I really did begin it in the spring the manifold cares of composition sprang up to distract me. But now I cannot content myself with thinking of you, but must write to ask about yourself and your family. That the latter has increased I know, only was it quite right of you not
