_The Cottage, Castleton of Braemar, [August 1881]._
... Well, I have been pretty mean, but I have not yet got over my cold
so completely as to have recovered much energy. It is really
extraordinary that I should have recovered as well as I have in this
blighting weather; the wind pipes, the rain comes in squalls, great
black clouds are continually overhead, and it is as cold as March. The
country is delightful, more cannot be said; it is very beautiful, a
perfect joy when we get a blink of sun to see it in. The Queen knows a
thing or two, I perceive; she has picked out the finest habitable spot
in Britain.
I have done no work, and scarce written a letter for three weeks, but I
think I should soon begin again; my cough is now very trifling. I eat
well, and seem to have lost but little flesh in the meanwhile. I was
_wonderfully_ well before I caught this horrid cold. I never thought I
should have been as well again; I really enjoyed life and work; and, of
course, I now have a good hope that this may return.
I suppose you heard of our ghost stories. They are somewhat delayed by
my cold and a bad attack of laziness, embroidery, etc., under which
Fanny had been some time prostrate. It is horrid that we can get no
better weather. I did not get such good accounts of you as might have
been. You must imitate me. I am now one of the most conscientious people
at trying to get better you ever saw. I have a white hat, it is much
admired; also a plaid, and a heavy stoop; so I take my walks abroad,
witching the world.
Last night I was beaten at chess, and am still grinding under the
blow.--Ever your faithful friend,