[_Edinburgh, April 1875._]
_Wednesday._--A moment at last. These last few days have been as jolly
as days could be, and by good fortune I leave to-morrow for Swanston, so
that I shall not feel the whole fall back to habitual self. The pride of
life could scarce go further. To live in splendid clothes, velvet and
gold and fur, upon principally champagne and lobster salad, with a
company of people nearly all of whom are exceptionally good talkers;
when your days began about eleven and ended about four--I have lost that
sentence; I give it up; it is very admirable sport, any way. Then both
my afternoons have been so pleasantly occupied--taking Henley drives. I
had a business to carry him down the long stair, and more of a business
to get him up again, but while he was in the carriage it was splendid.
It is now just the top of spring with us. The whole country is mad with
green. To see the cherry-blossom bitten out upon the black firs, and the
black firs bitten out of the blue sky, was a sight to set before a king.
You may imagine what it was to a man who has been eighteen months in an
hospital ward. The look of his face was a wine to me. He plainly has
been little in the country before. Imagine this: I always stopped him on
the Bridges to let him enjoy the great _cry_ of green that goes up to
Heaven out of the river beds, and he asked (more than once) "What noise
is that?"--"The water."--"O!" almost incredulously; and then quite a
long while after: "Do you know the noise of the water astonished me very
much?" I was much struck by his putting the question _twice_; I have
lost the sense of wonder of course; but there must be something to
wonder at, for Henley has eyes and ears and an immortal soul of his own.
I shall send this off to-day to let you know of my new
address--Swanston Cottage, Lothianburn, Edinburgh. Salute the faithful
in my name. Salute Priscilla, salute Barnabas, salute Ebenezer--O no,
he's too much, I withdraw Ebenezer; enough of early Christians.--Ever
your faithful