Edinbro’
Feb. 18.
My dear Papa,
It is really a long time since we had any direct news of you, for though your handwriting appears often on the breakfast table in the morning, there is nothing inside to tell us how you are, whether you are very busy, and when you will begin to think of returning here again. I am afraid you must have felt cold and dismal last week. We had a little snow and some gloomy days, but now it is as mild as ever again; thermometer 45 this morning. Are not the snowdrops in beauty by this time? I saw some on Mrs Walker’s table which had been brought from Hawthornden very full blown. Tilly 1 and Mr C. 2 went to Comely Bank 3 garden the other day, and heard a dismal account of loses – All the tender roses against the wall are dead, and of a whole field of Arrocarias (I do’nt [sic] know the right spelling) not I a single one survives! – I should like to know whether our Diodora in the Orchard is hurt, and how the poor Laurustinas look.
I had a short letter from Charles 4 this morning complaining rather of the cold. He says Mr Headlam 5 will most probably buy the pony after all.
We have had Tilly very much to ourselves lately, sometimes passing the whole afternoon here and dining very often, as Mr Clark has been obliged to be away at Dabton several times for two or three days together, on account of poor Miss Maxwell’s illness and death. Tilly expects him home definitively this afternoon, and he wo’nt [sic] be sorry, I am sure, to have down [sic] with those most particularly tedious railway journies backwards & forwards. Tilly is looking remarkably well & active, and it is such a delightful addition to our evenings to have her, for she is always in such good spirits, so lively, amusing & full of talk, that she makes everyone feel tenfold more cheerful & happy when she is there.
It has come on to rain so hard that our meditated drive into the country, to call on Lady Gibson Craig, 6who lives somewhere not far from Collinton in a very pretty place – has been knocked on the head today.
Poor Mamie 7 is still shut up with the same bad cold, which wo’nt leave her altogether, but returns each time she ventures to stir out in the least.
Now goodbye, dear Papa, I shall hope for a letter soon.
Your affectionate daughter
Rosamond.
Have you enlisted the services of Jones and his post bag this time?
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