m, and
he was allowed. At the station he was in such haste he _would_ jump
into a 2nd class carriage, and we had hard work to get him out. (This
_is_ rather funny, because she usually goes there 2nd class with the
children: and he looked at the 1st and would hardly be persuaded to
get in.) Well, the coast is rather like Filey, and such a wind was
blowing, and _such_ white horses foamed and fretted, and sent up
wildly tossed fountains of foam against the rocks, and such grey and
white waves swallowed up the sands! I ran and played with the children
and the dog--and built a big sand castle ("Early English if not Delia
Cruscan"!!), and by good-luck and much sharp hunting among the
storm-wrack flung ashore among the foam, found four cork floats, and
made the children four ships with paper sails, and had a glorious dose
of oxygen and iodine. How strange are the properties of the invisible
air! The air from an open window at Ecclesfield gives me neuralgia,
and doubly so at Exeter. To-day the wild wind was driving huge tracts
of foam across the sands in masses that broke up as they flew, and
driving the sand itself after them like a dust-storm. I could barely
stand on the slippery rocks, and yet my teeth seemed to _settle in my
jaws_ and my face to get PICKLED (!) and comforted by the
wild (and very cold) blast.... Now to sweet repose, but I was obliged
to tell you I had been within sound of the sea, aye! and run into and
away from the waves, with children and a dog. This is better than a
Bath Chair in Brompton Cemetery!...

_Thornliebank, Glasgow._ September 8, 1881.

... "It is good to be sib to" kindly Scots! and I am having a very
pleasant visit. You know the place and its luxuries and hospitalities
well.

I came from Newcastle last Friday, and (in a good hour, etc.) bore more
in the travelling way than I have managed with impunity since I broke
down. I came by the late express, got to Glasgow between 8 and 9 p.m.,
and had rather a hustle to to get a cab, etc. A nice old porter (as
dirty and hairy as a Simian!) secured one at last with a cabby who
jabbered in a tongue that at last I utterly lost the running of, and
when he suddenly (and as it appeared indignantly!) remounted his box,
whipped up, and drove off, leaving me and my boxes, I felt inclined to
cry(!), and said piteously to the porter, "What _does_ he say? I
_cannot_ understand him!" On which the old Ourang-Outang began to pat me
on the shoulder with his p