_Tuesday._--The sun is shining to-day, which is a great matter, and
altogether the gale having blown off again, I live in a precarious lull.
On the whole I am not displeased with last night; I kept my eyes open
through it all, and, I think, not only avoided saying anything that
could make matters worse in the future, but said something that _may_ do
good. But a little better or a little worse is a trifle. I lay in bed
this morning awake, for I was tired and cold and in no special hurry to
rise, and heard my father go out for the papers; and then I lay and
wished--O, if he would only _whistle_ when he comes in again! But of
course he did not. I have stopped that pipe.
Now, you see, I have written to you this time and sent it off, for both
of which God forgive me.--Ever your faithful friend, R. L. S.
My father and I together can put about a year through in half an hour.
Look here, you mustn't take this too much to heart. I shall be all right
in a few hours. It's impossible to depress me. And of course, when you
can't do anything, there's no need of being depressed. It's all waste
tissue.