John's spirits have been equable and good since we rejoined him. Berry has always got something the matter with his digestion—seems to me the male gender of Maria Jolly, and ought to take nothing but Revalenta Arabica. Bottled ale is not to be got in these parts, and Arthur is thrown upon draught.
My dearest love to Georgy and to Katey, also to Marguerite. Also to all the boys and the noble Plorn.
Ever your affectionate Father.
Miss Hogarth.
Tavistock House, Tavistock Square, London, W.C.,
Wednesday Morning, Aug. 18th, 1858.
I write this hurried line before starting, to report that my cold is decidedly better, thank God (though still bad), and that I hope to be able to stagger through to-night. After dinner yesterday I began to recover my voice, and I think I sang half the Irish Melodies to myself, as I walked about to test it. I got home at half-past ten, and mustard-poulticed and barley-watered myself tremendously.
Love to the dear girls, and to all.
Ever affectionately.
The same.