little every day, by daylight, without pain or fatigue, and
write letters. I feel I owe you a long one; but I shall
write a portion each day and not try my eyes unduly.

I am glad to know you are now settled down in chambers at
Fig Tree Court in the Temple and have begun your studies for
the Bar. You could not have taken up a finer profession.
What seems to me so wonderful is that you should be able to
earn your living at the same time and be no charge on me. I
accept your assurances that you need no support; but never
forget, my dear Son, that if you _do_, I am ready and
willing to help. You sowed your wild oats--perhaps we both
exaggerated the sins of the wild years--at any rate you have
made a noble reparation. What a splendid school the Colonies
must be! What a difference between the David who left me
five years ago for Mr. Praed's studio and the David who
returned to me last summer! I can never be sufficiently
thankful to Almighty God for the change He has wrought in
you! No lip religion, but a change of heart. I presume you
explained everything to the Colonial Office after you got
back to London and that you are now free to take up a civil
career? The people out there never sent me any further
information; but the other day one of my letters to you
(written after I had received the sad news) returned to me,
with the information that the hospital you were in had been
captured by the Boers and that you could not be traced. I
enclose it. You can now finish up the story yourself and let
the authorities know how you got away and returned home.

The other day that impudent baggage Jenny Gorlais came and