one; MAIL IL FAUT LUTTER. I was haunted last night when I was in
bed by the most cold, desolate recollections of my past life here;
I was glad to try and think of the forest, and warm my hands at the
thought of it. O the quiet, grey thickets, and the yellow
butterflies, and the woodpeckers, and the outlook over the plain as
it were over a sea! O for the good, fleshly stupidity of the
woods, the body conscious of itself all over and the mind
forgotten, the clean air nestling next your skin as though your
clothes were gossamer, the eye filled and content, the whole MAN
HAPPY! Whereas here it takes a pull to hold yourself together; it
needs both hands, and a book of stoical maxims, and a sort of
bitterness at the heart by way of armour. - Ever your faithful

R. L. S.

WEDNESDAY. - I am so played out with a cold in my eye that I cannot
see to write or read without difficulty. It is swollen HORRIBLE;
so how I shall look as Orsino, God knows! I have my fine clothes
tho'. Henley's sonnets have been taken for the CORNHILL. He is
out of hospital now, and dressed, but still not too much to brag of
in health, poor fellow, I am afraid.

SUNDAY. - So. I have still rather bad eyes, and a nasty sore
throat. I play Orsino every day, in all the pomp of Solomon,
splendid Francis the First clothes, heavy with gold and stage
jewellery. I play it ill enough, I believe; but me and the
clothes, and the wedding wherewith the clothes and me are
reconciled, produce every night a thrill of admiration. Our cook
told my mother (there is a servants' night, you know) that she and
the housemaid were 'just prood to be able to say it was oor young