One of Richard's great delights was the setter at Opçina (so often mentioned), named Fazán. He was so fond of us that on Saturday, as he was perfectly sure we should arrive about four, about two o'clock he would go to the wood stack, draw a great block of wood out with his teeth, and carry it to Daneu, the master of the inn, and, wagging his tail, would run and put it down before the stove, as much as to say, "Light the fire; they will be cold when they come up;" then he would fetch another bit, and come and sit before the gate at about half-past three to wait for our arrival, and he never left us, night or day, as long as he was there. During Richard's gout attacks it frequently occurs in his journals, "I feel too well to-day to be altogether right;" and next day, surely, he would have some attack of gout. It was so difficult for him to understand that he could not do what he did when he was twenty-five, and to get him to train down to what he could do, not what he used to do.
We now tried a new thing that seemed very good, and that is fusel oil, which is of the dregs of whisky; it is deadly poison to drink, but it acts splendidly on gouty limbs; and then we tried sulphur foot-baths.
1885.
All this January and part of February Richard was ill, and I began to implore him to throw up the Service, and to live where best suited him, even in a small way, as of course we should have been very, very poor, and at any rate, I said, "One winter may be an accident, but two winters is a caution; and you must never winter here again." He said, "No; I quite agree with you there; we will never winter here again; but I won't throw up the Service until I either get Marocco, or they let me retire on full pension." And I then said, "When we go home that is what we will try for, that you may retire now on full pension, which will only be six years before your time."
On the 17th of January he mourns Colonel Burnaby's death.
He was delighted in February with reading a German author, who began his book thus: "Der Geruch der rosen verpestet die Lüft und die verdammten Nachtigallen heulen die ganze Nacht."
We were now writing the index of the "Arabian Nights," I at dictation.
On Thursday, the 12th, I said to him, "Now mind, to-morrow is Friday, the 13th; it is our unlucky day, and we have got to be very careful."