“Bonaly is five miles out of Edinburgh, but, on a clear day, there is a splendid view of town, castle, and Arthur’s Seat. Only, a ‘clear day’ is not a common article, for, since Friday, I have seen little external sunshine, though, inside, there is plenty. But Mrs. Hodgson herself is confined to bed, and looks so fragile that a breath might blow her away. We trust, however, that she ‘has turned the corner,’ as the doctor says she may be taken into another room to-day.... “This house is beautifully situated in twenty-eight acres of its own grounds, and there are hills upon hills all round, except on the Edinburgh side. Two tiny mountain ‘burns,’ or streams, run through the grounds, with that constant blue haze over them—a touch of beauty which we got rarely in the Alps. In these northern latitudes, it seems to me that there never is the clear, cloudless sky which we know as the _Italian_, but there is another kind of beauty—that of the greyish-blue haze which envelopes everything with a soft and indescribably beautiful mantle. “In consequence of Mrs. Hodgson’s health, I left my dear boy at home, but if he had come, he and George (Dr. H.’s son) would have been happy together. “Mr. Knox is expected here on Thursday. He has been asked to meet me, and I hope he will come. How much you and I liked him. Miss Blyth is also invited. “I am writing in the midst of snatches of talk, which makes it difficult to know what I am writing, but you will not mind jerky sentences, with no particular thread of connection?... “There is a capital article on Woman’s Suffrage in this month’s _Macmillan_; it is by Prof. Cairnes, in answer to Goldwin Smith’s attack. You do not care so much for this question as I do, so will scarcely feel the same interest in it. “Is Agnes pretty well? What is she doing, I wonder? Will you give her my dear love when you write? There is a very charming letter from Miss Hierta to me, which shall be sent to you when I know where you are. What a very sweet woman she is! “My Hythe holiday was very pleasant; we were such a large family party. Did I tell you what darlings Frank’s brothers are? Arthur (six years old) is quite a picture of infant beauty, with his blue eyes and curly golden hair; and he says such funny things and makes droll mistakes. He rushed at me once, saying, ‘Arnie, look at my _apostles_!’ ‘Your what?’ ‘Apostles.’ I found he meant _fossils_! “Another day he was reading: ‘And she sung a—a _hullabaloo_!’ He meant _lullaby_. “Then the baby-boy, whose only experience of trees and green grass is the disused churchyard at Wapping, insisted on calling every green field and clump of trees a ‘nice churchyard!’ Was it not pathetic?