My wife sends her love, and says she has her eye on you. She is all for retirement.
Ever yours,
I am very sorry to hear of poor Mangles' death, but I suppose there was no other chance.
T.H.H.
[In September he hails with delight some intermission of the constant depression under which he has been labouring, and writes:—]
So long as I sit still and write or read I am all right, otherwise not good for much, which is odd, considering that I eat, drink, and sleep like a top. I suppose that everybody starts with a certain capital of life-stuff, and that expensive habits have reduced mine.
[And again:—]
I have been very shaky for the last few weeks, but I am picking up again, and hope to come up smiling for the winter's punishment.
There was nothing to drink last night, so I had some tea! with my dinner—smoked a pipe or two—slept better than usual, and woke without blue devils for the first time for a week!!! Query, is that the effect of tea or baccy? I shall try them again. We are fearfully and wonderfully made, especially in the stomach—which is altogether past finding out.
[Still, his humour would flash out in the midst of his troubles; he writes in answer to a string of semi-official inquiries from Sir J. Donnelly:—]