The eye is pierced just where the cornea meets the sclerotic coating. I do not know the depth of the wound or its exact direction. Sight was completely gone from the injured eye for the first few days, and my physician said it would be ever gone, but I was surprised to find that on the fourth or fifth day I could see a little with it. Sight continued to increase for a few days, but for the last three weeks it has not perceptibly increased or diminished. I called in a Dr. Parvin lately, said to be a very skillful oculist and of large experience both here and in Europe. He said that he thought the iris permanently injured; that the crystalline lens was not injured; that, of course, my two eyes would not work together; and that on the whole my chances of distinct vision were not good. But the bare possibility of anything like full sight is now my outstanding hope. When the wound was made about one third of a teaspoonful of fluid like the white of an egg flowed out upon my fingers,--aqueous fluid, I suppose. The eye has not yet lost its natural appearance. I can _see_ sufficiently well with it to avoid the furniture, etc., in walking through a room. Can almost, in full light, recognize some of my friends but cannot distinguish one letter from another of common type. I would like to hear Dr. Carr’s opinion of my case. When I received my blow I could not feel any pain or faintness because the tremendous thought glared full on me that my _right eye_ was lost. I could gladly have died on the spot, because I did not feel that I could have heart to look at any flower again. But this is not so, for I wish to try some cloudy day to walk to the woods, where I am sure some of spring’s sweet fresh-born are waiting. I believe with you that “nothing is without meaning and purpose that comes from a Father’s hand,” but during these dark weeks I could not feel this, and, as for courage and fortitude, scarce the shadows of these virtues were left me. The shock upon my nervous system made me weak in mind as a child. But enough of woe. When I can walk to where fruited specimens of _Climacium_ are, I will send you as many as you wish. I must close. I thank you all again for your kindness. I cannot make sentences that will tell how much I feel indebted to you. Please remember me to all my friends. You will write soon. I can read my letters now. Please send them in care of Osgood & Smith. Cordially, MUIR. [April, 1867.] [Beginning of letter missing.]