of music." I said I was. "Yes,
I could tell that by your head," he answered. "There's a deal in that
head." And he shook his own solemnly. I said it might be so, but I found
it hard, at least, to get it out. Then my father cut in brutally, said
anyway I had no ear, and left the verger so distressed and shaken in the
foundations of his creed that, I hear, he got my father aside afterwards
and said he was sure there was something in my face, and wanted to know
what it was, if not music. He was relieved when he heard that I occupied
myself with literature (which word, note here, I do now spell
correctly). Good-night, and here's the verger's health!

_Friday._--Yesterday received the letter you know of. I have finished my
Portfolio paper, not very good but with things in it: I don't know if
they will take it; and I have got a good start made with my _John Knox_
articles. The weather here is rainy and miserable and windy: it is warm
and not over boisterous for a certain sort of pleasure. This place, as
I have made my first real inquisition into it to-night is curious
enough; all the days I have been here, I have been at work, and so I was
quite new to it.

_Saturday._--A most beautiful day. We took a most beautiful drive, also
up the banks of the river. The heather and furze are in flower at once
and make up a splendid richness of colour on the hills; the trees were
beautiful; there was a bit of winding road with larches on one hand and
oaks on the other; the oaks were in shadow and printed themselves off at
every corner on the sunlit background of the larches. We passed a little
family of children by the roadside. The youngest of all sat a good way
apart from the others on the summit of a knoll; it was ensconced in an
old tea-box, out of which issued its head and shoulders in a blue cloak
and scarlet hat. O if you could have seen its dignity! It was
deliciously humorous: and this little piece of comic self-satisfaction
was framed in wonderfully by the hills and the sunlit estuary. We saw
another child in a cottage garden. She had been sick, it seemed, and was
taking the air quietly for health's sake. Over her pale face, she had
decorated herself with all available flowers and weeds; and she was
driving one chair as a horse, sitting in another by way of carriage. We
cheered her as we passed, and she acknowledged the compliment like a
queen. I like children better every day, I think, and most other things
less. _John Knox_ g