_[Barmouth, September 1874], Tuesday._
I wonder if you ever read Dickens' Christmas books? I don't know that I
would recommend you to read them, because they are too much perhaps. I
have only read two of them yet, and feel so good after them and would do
anything, yes and shall do everything, to make it a little better for
people. I wish I could lose no time; I want to go out and comfort some
one; I shall never listen to the nonsense they tell one about not giving
money--I _shall_ give money; not that I haven't done so always, but I
shall do it with a high hand now.
It is raining here; and I have been working at John Knox, and at the
horrid story I have in hand, and walking in the rain. Do you know this
story of mine is horrible; I only work at it by fits and starts, because
I feel as if it were a sort of crime against humanity--it is so cruel.
_Wednesday._--I saw such nice children again to-day; one little fellow
alone by the roadside, putting a stick into a spout of water and singing
to himself--so wrapt up that we had to poke him with our umbrellas to
attract his attention; and again, two solid, fleshly, grave,
double-chinned burgomasters in black, with black hats on 'em, riding
together in what they call, I think, a double perambulator. My father is
such fun here. He is always skipping about into the drawing-room, and
speaking to all the girls, and telling them God knows what about us all.
My mother and I are the old people who sit aloof, receive him as a sort
of prodigal when he comes back to us, and listen indulgently to what he
has to tell.
_Llandudno, Thursday._--A cold bleak place of stucco villas with wide
streets to let the wind in at you. A beautiful journey, however, coming
hither.
_Friday._--Seeley has taken my paper, which is, as I now think, not to
beat about the bush, bad. However, there are pretty things in it, I
fancy; we shall see what you shall say.
_Sunday._--I took my usual walk before turning in last night, and
dallied over it a little. It was a cool, dark, solemn night, starry, but
the sky charged with big black clouds. The lights in house windows you
could see, but the houses themselves were lost in the general blackness.
A church clock struck eleven as I went past, and rather startled me. The
whiteness of the road was all I had to go by. I heard an express train
roaring away down the coast into the night, and dying away sharply in
the distance; it was like the noise of an enormous rocket, or a shot
world, one would fancy. I suppose the darkness made me a little
fanciful; but when at first I was puzzled by this great sound in the
night, between sea and hills, I thought half seriously that it might be
a world broken loose--this world to wit. I stood for I suppose five
seconds with this looking-for of destruction in my head, not exactly
frightened but put out; and I wanted badly not to be overwhelmed where I
was, unless I could cry out a farewell with a great voice over the ruin
and make myself heard.--Ever your faithful friend,