Many thanks for your letter received last night; as it crossed one from me to the Dad, which I hope he could read (it was writ large), I should not write again at once (having, of course, nothing to say--except that it is, _pour changer_, a splendid afternoon, and I ought to be out of doors) but that I want you at once to tell the poor old Dad how concerned and sorry I am to hear that he has been so ailing, and ailing so long, and how I wonder at his superb power of recuperation. I don't ask in _this_ letter how the Dad is, because I am sure he will send me a line in answer to my note to him. But I have another reason for writing at once; I want you, please, to thank Lina with best love, for her nice long letter (_she does not want a letter written from here_), and tell her, before it is too late, that I hope she won't give up her Ballater without _a very full trial_, because I know that it takes many people a considerable time to get acclimatised to that bracing air. Tell her also that I was myself going to suggest an _Ausflug_ to Braemar; if she goes to the Invercauld Arms let her use my name, and she will be well treated. I should _peculiarly_ like her to see the Lynn of Dee--she will only have to scramble five or six yards off the main road to look down into the stream from under some of the grandest old Scotch firs in Scotland; and I verily believe that the watching for a silent bit of those dark, dark, seemingly bottomless, noiselessly swirling pools, _tiny_ as they are under the hollow grey craig, will, somehow, whisper a big peace and a strange wondering fascination into her being; the whole thing is not bigger than an expensive toy, but it lays a never-failing grip on _me_.[82]--Affectionate brother, FRED. To Mrs. Orr when in Scotland:-- _August 22, 1891._ If you can manage it go to a favourite haunt of mine, the Lynn of Dee, quite a tiny tumble of green waters in fantastically scooped grey rocks, no higher than a cottage, under astounding old Scotch firs (by-the-bye the grandest tree in the world to my thinking), where I have sat interminably long looking down into the dark deep pools, from which now and then a salmon leaps. To me no spot about there is so fascinating. GRAND HOTEL, BRUFANI, PERUGIA, _October 3, 1891_.