_Menton, Sunday [November 30, 1873]._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--To-day is as hot as it has been in the sun; and as I
was a little tired and seedy, I went down and just drank in sunshine. A
strong wind has risen out of the west; the great big dead leaves from
the roadside planes scuttled about and chased one another over the
gravel round me with a noise like little waves under the keel of a boat,
and jumped up sometimes on to my lap and into my face. I lay down on my
back at last, and looked up into the sky. The white corner of the hotel,
with a wide projection at the top, stood out in dazzling relief; and
there was nothing else, save a few of the plane leaves that had got up
wonderfully high and turned and eddied and flew here and there like
little pieces of gold leaf, to break the extraordinary sea of blue. It
was bluer than anything in the world here; wonderfully blue, and
looking deeply peaceful, although in truth there was a high wind
blowing.

I am concerned about the plane leaves. Hitherto it has always been a
great feature to see these trees standing up head and shoulders and
chest--head and body, in fact--above the wonderful blue-grey-greens of
the olives, in one glory of red gold. Much more of this wind, and the
gold, I fear, will be all spent.

9.20.--I must write you another little word. I have found here a new
friend, to whom I grow daily more devoted--George Sand. I go on from one
novel to another and think the last I have read the most sympathetic and
friendly in tone, until I have read another. It is a life in dreamland.
Have you read _Mademoiselle Merquem_?

_Monday._--I did not quite know last night what to say to you about
_Mlle. Merquem_. If you want to be unpleasantly moved, read it.

I am gloomy and out of spirits to-night in consequence of a ridiculous
scene at the _table d'hote_, where a parson whom I rather liked took
offence at something I said and we had almost a quarrel. It was mopped
up and stifled, like spilt wine with a napkin; but it leaves an
unpleasant impression.

I have again ceased all work, because I felt that it strained my head a
little, and so I have resumed the tedious task of waiting with folded
hands for better days. But thanks to George Sand and the sunshine, I am
very jolly.

That last word was so much out of key that I could sit no longer, and
went away to seek out my clergyman and apologise to him. He was gone to
bed. I don't know what makes me take this so much to hea