From H. E. Darwin to Emma Darwin [19 June 1865]

Dearest Mama,

Today I gave you a holiday from reading my bad hand for which I think you will be glad. I will begin journal.

After finishing our letters on Sunday morning we got on our coats & set off to church on the most lovely morning possible—fresh air & brilliant sun—but on getting to the church we found it was sacrament Sunday & on trying to get in a little old woman in a welsh hat stopped us by saying some thing unintelligible so we had to sit under the yews waiting until the welshies would let us have a turn. Such a funny little service—9 people in church not counting the clergyman—and an accordion for organ. The poor man looked so dreadfully tired & well he might having been at it since $\frac{1}{2}$ past 10.

After dinner I took a little rest—not to say an hour—& then we drank some 5 oclock tea at 4 & set off—Alfred Hope & I. We went on to our own hill as we call it—the reason is that we have no valley to go down but go straight up through our own fields out on to the hillside— it was a good stiff pull being a pretty awfully high one & we climb quite up to the top & had such a tweet view; We were all surrounded with mountains except where we saw the sea—Cader on one side & Snowdon on the other with a little white neckerchief round his neck—& just below us a quiet desolate looking tarn with still dark waters. After we had sat a bit we thought we wd get on to the next summit or spur or whatever you call the things that look like another hill only the valley between is so shallow, but finding a bran new stone wall before we got far down we had to retrace our steps & get across higher up where we had seen a track & a stile before, this track went round the side of the hill which was very steep here & had our river below— This walk our man had told was so dreadful we couldn't possibly go it alone, however we didn't feel much afraid. I am such a gooby any place where I look down anything very steep & high makes me feel giddyish, but it wasn't very long very narrow & where it was broad I was quite comf. We came to where our river forked & a whole scrimmage of valleys meeting which is always so prett, then we came round by the little tarn—& there I found the blue butterwort, which tho' common enough was new to me, and a fern which has half driven me mad & I can't conceive what it is unless it is something young & common. This is the only thing I have found except the same rosacæ that Wm found at malvern—name I forget this moment. Hope wants me to accuse Papa of havily attempted to deceive her grossly. He told her, as she believes, that he was here at the time the oak was split & Howell Seel picked out. Now Murray says this happened in the year 1440— which are we to believe Murray or Papa. as I presume Papa was not here then. Not a very fine day again I fear, but I have hopes, thought the mountains are well covered there is a brightness that augurs well. Now I must go to George & finish this afterwards.

Will you forward enclosed to B. & L. looking on our Crutchley's to see the number—we want the one that takes in the country to the north of Hengwrt— we have an ordnance for the south. I have no Crutchley here so can't look for No.

I am sorry to hear baddish account. I hope Papa may be better soon. Many thanks for D^r. H. it is very amusing. But can such a thing have had influence. I wish people weren't so foolish. Ever yours dear M. I feel prety sure I shall come home on the 21^st. & so use our ticks. but I will write again. Will you tell me what you think. I shant see Eff anyhow—Alas! Alas! so that there will be no particular object in staying on. yours H.E.D.