LONDON, February 24th, 1881.
—Consternation of F. and me at breakfast, getting an official notice of Uncle W. having slipped in the half-melted snow at the garden-door coming home from Marlboro' House last night, and cut the back of his head open on the edge of the doorstep. It sounded too horrid, but on arriving there we found the state of things wonderfully comfortable: he was not stunned even for a moment, and Sir James Paget and Clark were quite easy about him. It was the hard bone of the crown which bore the brunt; I believe if it had been an inch or two lower down he might have been killed. I asked Paget if the loss of blood was not serious at his age, but he laughed and said I would not think so if I knew how many "broken heads" he had bled till they fainted when he was a student! It was the thing to do then, and he never knew any harm come of it. However, Uncle W. is to be kept quiet in bed for some days, and will enjoy himself thoroughly.