_Swanston, Wednesday, May 1874._
Struggling away at _Fables in Song_. I am much afraid I am going to make
a real failure; the time is so short, and I am so out of the humour.
Otherwise very calm and jolly: cold still _impossible_.
_Thursday._--I feel happier about the _Fables_, and it is warmer a bit;
but my body is most decrepit, and I can just manage to be cheery and
tread down hypochondria under foot by work. I lead such a funny life,
utterly without interest or pleasure outside of my work: nothing,
indeed, but work all day long, except a short walk alone on the cold
hills, and meals, and a couple of pipes with my father in the evening.
It is surprising how it suits me, and how happy I keep.
_Friday._--"My dear Stevenson how do you do? do you annoying yourself or
no? when we go to the Olivses it allways rememberse us you. Nelly and my
aunt went away. And when the organ come and play the Soldaten it mak us
think of Nelly. It is so sad I allmoste went away. I make my baths; and
then we go to Franzensbad; will you come to see us?"
There is Pella's letter facsimile, punctuation, spelling and all. Mme.
Garschine's was rather sad and gave me the blues a bit; I think it very
likely I may run over to Franzensbad for a week or so this autumn, if I
am wanted that is to say: I shall be able to afford it easily.
I have got on rather better with the _Fables_; perhaps it won't be a
failure, though I fear. To-day the sun shone brightly although the wind
was cold: I was up the hill a good time. It is very solemn to see the
top of one hill steadfastly regarding you over the shoulder of another:
I never before to-day fully realised the haunting of such a gigantic
face, as it peers over into a valley and seems to command all corners. I
had a long talk with the shepherd about foreign lands, and sheep. A
Russian had once been on the farm as a pupil; he told me that he had the
utmost pity for the Russian's capacities, since (dictionary and all) he
had never managed to understand him; it must be remembered that my
friend the shepherd spoke Scotch of the broadest and often enough
employs words which I do not understand myself.
_Saturday._--I have received such a nice long letter (four sides) from
Leslie Stephen to-day about my _Victor Hugo_. It is accepted. This ought
to have made me gay, but it hasn't. I am not likely to be much of a
tonic to-night. I have been very cynical over myself to-day, partly,
perhaps, because I have just finished some of the deedest rubbish about
Lord Lytton's _Fables_ that an intelligent editor ever shot into his
wastepaper basket. If Morley prints it I shall be glad, but my respect
for him will be shaken.