when, not before Christmas anyway. Yesterday I was twenty-five; so
please wish me many happy returns - directly. This one was not
UNhappy anyway. I have got back a good deal into my old random,
little-thought way of life, and do not care whether I read, write,
speak, or walk, so long as I do something. I have a great delight
in this wheel-skating; I have made great advance in it of late, can
do a good many amusing things (I mean amusing in MY sense - amusing
to do). You know, I lose all my forenoons at Court! So it is, but
the time passes; it is a great pleasure to sit and hear cases
argued or advised. This is quite autobiographical, but I feel as
if it was some time since we met, and I can tell you, I am glad to
meet you again. In every way, you see, but that of work the world
goes well with me. My health is better than ever it was before; I
get on without any jar, nay, as if there never had been a jar, with
my parents. If it weren't about that work, I'd be happy. But the
fact is, I don't think - the fact is, I'm going to trust in
Providence about work. If I could get one or two pieces I hate out
of my way all would be well, I think; but these obstacles disgust
me, and as I know I ought to do them first, I don't do anything. I
must finish this off, or I'll just lose another day. I'll try to
write again soon. - Ever your faithful friend,

R. L. S.



Letter: TO MRS. DE MATTOS