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Wednesday. Feb 21.

To day for the first time the Sun rose
above the horizon [though?] for a fortnight still screened
from our eyes by the intervening hills.
Although the powerful refraction of Polar
latitudes heralds the direct appearance
of the sun by brilliant light. This light is
as far removed from the glorious times
of day as it is from actual twilight.
Never the less - for the past ten days we
have been watching the growing warmth of
our landscape - seeing it emerge from
buried shadow through all the stages of distinctness of an India Ink - [into India ink mystery]
[and thence] washing step by step into the hard
cold definition of one desolate harbour
scene. Thus watching we have marked
every dash or warmth which the great
painter [had] in his benevolence vouchsa=
=fed to us. Now the enpurpled blues
now the spreading lake - now the flick=
=ering yellow : peering at this - poor devils!
- every thing seemed superlative lustre - and
unsurpassed glory - We had so grovelled
in darkness that we over saw the light -
[omit]
~ To day came the heraldings of the Day
God - wiping out the perfection of yes=
terday and preparing us for the greater
light of the day to come - not for a
fortnight yet will we see the sun himself.

Mr. Wilson has caught a foolish cold and
relapsed - He is far from well.

Mr. Ohlsen after a suspicious day - [startled?]
me by an attack of partial epilepsy - one
of those strange undefinable “spells” “fits” “seizures”
- whatever name the jargon gives them - which
indicate deep disturbance - I conceal his
case but it adds to my heavy pack of
troubles to anticipate - the gloomy scenes
of epileptic transport introduced into