dig
comfortably! But the others! the glory of velvet and silk and cloud
and light, and black and tan and gold, and golden sand, and dark
tresses, and purple shadows and moors and mists and night and
starlight, and woods and wilds and dells and deeps, and every mystery
of heaven and its finger work, is in those little birds' backs and
wings. I am so grateful. All love and joy to you, and wings to fly
with and birds' hearts to comfort, and mine, be to you in the coming
year.

* * * * *

_Easter Day_, 1882.

I have had a happy Easter morning, entirely bright in its sun and
clear in sky; and with renewed strength enough to begin again the
piece of St. Benedict's life where I broke off, to lose these four
weeks in London,--weeks not wholly lost neither, for I have learned
more and more of what I should have known without lessoning; but I
_have_ learnt it, from these repeated dreams and fantasies, that we
walk in a vain shadow and disquiet ourselves in vain. So I am for the
present, everybody says, quite good, and give as little trouble as
possible; but people _will_ take it, you know, sometimes, even when I
don't give it, and there's a great fuss about me yet. But _you_ must
not be anxious any more, Susie, for really there is no more occasion
at one time than another. All the doctors say I needn't be ill unless
I like, and I don't mean to like any more; and as far as chances of
ordinary danger, I think one runs more risks in a single railway
journey, than in the sicknesses of a whole year.

* * * * *

HERNE HILL, _8th June_ (1882).

You write as well as ever, and the eyes must surely be better, and it
was a joyful amazement to me to hear that Mary was able to read and
could enjoy my child's botany. You always have things before other
people; will you please send me some rosemary and lavender as soon as
any are out? I am busy on the Labiatae, and a good deal bothered. Also
St. Benedict, whom I shall get done with long before I've made out the
nettles he rolled in.

I'm sure I ought to roll myself in nettles, burdocks, and blackthorn,
for here in London I can't really think now of anything but flirting,
and I'm only much the worse for it afterwards.

And I'm generally wicked and weary, like the people who ought to be
put to rest. But you'd miss me, and so would Joanie; so I suppose I
shall be let s