_[Edinburgh], Tuesday, October 14, 1873._
My father has returned in better health, and I am more delighted than I
can well tell you. The one trouble that I can see no way through is that
his health, or my mother's, should give way. To-night, as I was walking
along Princes Street, I heard the bugles sound the recall. I do not
think I had ever remarked it before; there is something of unspeakable
appeal in the cadence. I felt as if something yearningly cried to me out
of the darkness overhead to come thither and find rest; one felt as if
there must be warm hearts and bright fires waiting for one up there,
where the buglers stood on the damp pavement and sounded their friendly
invitation forth into the night.
_Wednesday._--I may as well tell you exactly about my health. I am not
at all ill; have quite recovered; only I am what _MM. les medecins_ call
below par; which, in plain English, is that I am weak. With tonics,
decent weather, and a little cheerfulness, that will go away in its
turn, and I shall be all right again.
I am glad to hear what you say about the Exam.; until quite lately I
have treated that pretty cavalierly, for I say honestly that I do not
mind being plucked; I shall just have to go up again. We travelled with
the Lord Advocate the other day, and he strongly advised me in my
father's hearing to go to the English Bar; and the Lord Advocate's
advice goes a long way in Scotland. It is a sort of special legal
revelation. Don't misunderstand me. I don't, of course, want to be
plucked; but so far as my style of knowledge suits them, I cannot make
much betterment on it in a month. If they wish scholarship more exact, I
must take a new lease altogether.
_Thursday._--My head and eyes both gave in this morning, and I had to
take a day of complete idleness. I was in the open air all day, and did
no thought that I could avoid, and I think I have got my head between my
shoulders again; however, I am not going to do much. I don't want you to
run away with any fancy about my being ill. Given a person weak and in
some trouble, and working longer hours than he is used to, and you have
the matter in a nutshell. You should have seen the sunshine on the hill
to-day; it has lost now that crystalline clearness, as if the medium
were spring-water (you see, I am stupid!); but it retains that wonderful
thinness of outline that makes the delicate shape and hue savour better
in one's mouth, like fine wine out of a finely-blown glass. The birds
are all silent now but the crows. I sat a long time on the stairs that
lead down to Duddingston Loch--a place as busy as a great town during
frost, but now solitary and silent; and when I shut my eyes I heard
nothing but the wind in the trees; and you know all that went through
me, I dare say, without my saying it.
11.--I am now all right. I do not expect any tic to-night, and shall be
at work again to-morrow. I have had a day of open air, only a little
modified by _Le Capitaine Fracasse_ before the dining-room fire. I must
write no more, for I am sleepy after two nights, to quote my book,
"_sinon blanches, du moins grises_"; and so I must go to bed and
faithfully, hoggishly slumber.--Your faithful