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I am writing this letter from Antwerp where I came yesterday morning, and I am getting ready to go to Brussels where I have an invitation, And then I go to Paris.

We are about to sail for Norway and Sweden, and for some weeks you may not hear from me. Never imagine any disaster happening to us; for if it does happen, the news will reach you without any effort on my part. The weather is wet and cold, and your people are trying to convince me that it is unusual for this time of the year, but that brings me no consolation. The last wet summer when I was in Europe I heard the same remark; this makes me suspect that the wetness and the remark on it are both usual for your climate!

There is a settled atmosphere of pessimistic gloom in the minds of all Indians we meet, which makes me feel hopeful of a change of psychology in our country which is greatly needed. All our attention must come back to our own resources, and the insults and disappointments which give a proper direction to our straying energies are welcome.

The enclosed letter I wrote to a great Russian artist, Show it to Nanda Lal and give him my blessings,