[Trossachs—Tuesday, 22 June 1869]

Tuesday June 22d A day of perfect restful enjoyment which looks like an eternity from this distance. When I remember all we did and the numberless hours we seemed to live, the time grows into years. I basked alone on the hillside as if it were Campton and Mabel & I climbed the lonely hill at night. We rowed on the lake at noon and in the moonlight and drove to Loch Katrine and walked by its side & wrote letters, and did nothing, and listened to the bag-pipes until altogether I see the moments grew into years.


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