We reached here in company with two middle-aged men and a woman, all of high life and familiar with the world. At dinner the ice had to be broken. After dinner the husband buried himself in a newspaper, the wife in a book, and the other man began to write letters, while I played alone against the host and hostess. Observe, if you please, that the people who isolated themselves thus had not seen their hostess for even a longer time than I, and they had, necessarily, many more things than I to tell her. I am told, and from the little I have seen am inclined to believe it, that the Celtic race know how to talk. ‘Tis a fact that on a market day one hears an uninterrupted sound of animated voices, of laughing and shouting. The Gaelic tongue is very soft and smooth to the ear. In England and the Lowlands there is absolute silence. It is not kind of you to have written to me but once. I have sent you two letters, at least, to one of yours. Still I have no desire to scold you from so far away. These are my plans: I shall leave here to-morrow to go to Inverness, where I shall remain one day; from there to Edinburgh, then to York, Durham, and possibly Derby. I expect to reach Paris the 23d. CLXVIII CARABANCHEL, _Thursday, December, 1856_. (_I have forgotten the date._) It is pouring rain. Yesterday was the loveliest day imaginable, and another like it is predicted to-morrow. I took advantage of this beautiful weather to sprain my wrist, and I am able to write to you only because I have been taught the American method, in which the fingers are not moved. The accident happened through the fault of a horse, who insisted on choosing an inconvenient moment to speak to Lord A.’s mare, and then, indignant at my objections to his guilty passion, treacherously flung me over his head as I was lighting my cigar. This occurred in a pathway beside the sea, which was only a hundred feet below. Fortunately, I chose the path on which to fall. I was not hurt at all, except my hand, which to-day is very much inflamed. I hope to go next week to Cannes, where you will kindly write to me, general delivery. To bring to a close the chapter on my health, I think I shall soon feel much better. Nevertheless, I have had another of those attacks of dizziness, which upset me a good deal, but not so much as in Paris. A physician here tells me that they are nervous convulsions, and that I must take much exercise. This I am doing, but am sleeping no better than I did in Paris, although I go to bed at eleven o’clock. I should have only to say the word to be a lion (in the English sense); every one here is bored. I have been besieged with English cards and Russian cards, and some one wished to present me to the grand duchess Hélène, an honour which I promptly declined.