thing else will do me any good. Dragging about in this
dreary, heartless way is all that ails me, and reading for my degree
would be the best cure. I mean to work hard for honours, and, if
possible, delude myself with hopes of success. Work is the need.
Here, there is this one comfort. There is no one to talk to, no birds
in last year's nest, sons absent, daughters disposed of, but,
unluckily, the Pastoress, under a mistaken sense of kindness, has asked
the Vicar's son to walk with me, and he is always lying in wait,--an
Ensign in a transition state between the sheepish schoolboy and the
fast man, with an experience of three months of depot. Having roused
him from the pristine form, I regret the alternative.

'Did I ever write so savage a letter? Don't let it vex you, or I won't
send it. What a bull! There is such a delectable Scotch mist, that no
one will suspect me of going out; and I shall actually cheat the
Ensign, and get a walk in solitude to hearten me for the dismal state
dinner party of the evening.

'October 14th.--Is it in the book of fate that I should always treat
this rose-coloured pastor like a carrion crow? I have done it again!
And it has but brought out more of my father's marvellous kindness and
patience.

'I plunged into the Scotch mist unsuspected and unpursued. The visible
ebullition of discontent had so much disgusted me that I must needs see
whether anything could be done with it, and fairly face the matter, as
I can only do in a walk. Pillow counsel is feverish and tumultuous;
one is hardly master of oneself. The soft, cool, mist-laden air, heavy
but incense-breathing, was a far more friendly adjunct in the quiet
decay of nature--mournful, but not foul nor corrupt, because man had
not spoilt it. It suited me better than a sunny, glaring day, such as
I used to revel in, and the brightness of which, last spring, made me
pine to be in the free air. Such days are past with me; I had better
know that they are, and not strive after them. Personal happiness is
the lure, not the object, in this world. I have my Northwold home, and
I am beginning to see that my father's comfort depends on me as I
little imagined, and sufficiently to sweeten any sacrifice. So I have
written to refuse Scarborough, for there is no use in trying to combine
two things, pleasing my father and myself. I wish the determination
may last; but mine have never been good for much, and you must help me.

'Neither