Dear Tom,--Yours did not reach me till yesterday, owing to some
confusion at the Post-office. There is another Dodd here, who has been
receiving _my_ letters, and I _his_, for the last week; and I conclude
that each of us has learned more than was quite necessary of the other's
affairs; for while _he_ was reading of all the moneyed distresses
and embarrassments of your humble servant, _I_ opened a letter dated
Doctors' Commons, beginning, "Dear sir, we have at last obtained the
most satisfactory proofs against Mrs. Dodd, and have no hesitation in
now submitting the case to a jury." We met yesterday, and exchanged
credentials, with an expression of face that I'm sure "Phiz" would have
given a five-pound note to look at. Peachem and Lockit were nothing to
it. We agreed that either of us ought to leave this, to prevent similar
mistakes in future, although, in my heart, I believe that we now know so
much of each other's affairs, that we might depute one of us to conduct
both correspondences. In consequence, we tossed up who was to go. _He_
won; so that we take our departure on Wednesday next, if I can settle
matters in the mean while. I 'm told Bonn, on the Rhine, is a cheap
place, and good for education,--a great matter as regards James,--so
that you may direct your next to me there. To tell you the truth, Tom,
I'm scarcely sorry to get away, although the process will be anything
but a cheap one. First of all, we have taken the rooms for three months,
and hired a job-coach for the same time. Moving is also an expensive
business, and not over-agreeable at this season; but against these
there is the setoff that Mrs. D. and the girls are going to the devil in
expense for dress. From breakfast-time till three or four o'clock
every day, the house is like a fair with milliners, male and female,
hairdressers, perfumers, shoemakers, and trinket-men. I thought we'd
done with all this when we left London; but it seems that everything we
bought there is perfectly useless, and Mrs. D. comes sailing in every
now and then, to make me laugh, as she says, at a bit of English taste
by showing me where her waist is too short, or her sleeves too long; and
Mary Anne comes down to breakfast in a great stiff watered silk, which
for economy she has converted into a house-dress. Caroline, I must say,
has not followed the lead, and is quite satisfied to be dressed as
she used to be. James I see little of, for he 's working hard at the
languages, and, from what the girls say, with great success. Of course,
this is all for the best; but it's little use French or even Chinese
would be to him in the Customs or the Board of Trade, and it's there I'm
trying to get him. Vickars told me last week that his name is down on
no less than four lists, and it will be bad luck but we 'll bit upon
something. Between ourselves, I'm not over-pleased with Vickars.
Whenever I write to him about James, his reply is always what he's doing
about the poor laws, or the Jews, or the grant to Maynooth; so that I
had to tell him, at last, that I 'd rather hear that my son was in the
Revenue, than that every patriarch in Palestine was in Parliament, or
every papist in Ireland eating venison and guinea-hens. Patriotism is
a fine thing, if you have a fine fortune, and some men we could mention
have n't made badly out of it, without a sixpence; but for one like
myself, the wrong side of fifty, with an encumbered estate, and no
talents for agitation, it's as expensive as horse-racing, or yachting,
or any other diversion of the kind. So there's no chance of a tenant
for Dodsborough! You ought to put it in the English papers, with a
puff about the shooting and the trout-fishing, and the excellent
neighborhood, and all that kind of thing. There 's not a doubt but it's
too good for any Manchester blackguard of them all! What you say about
Tully Brack is quite true. The encumbrances are over eleven thousand;
and if we bought in the estate at three or four, there would be so much
gain to us. The "Times" little knew the good it was doing us when it
was blackguarding the Irish landlords, and depreciating Irish property.
There's many a one has been able to buy in his own land for one-fifth of
the mortgages on it; and if this is n't repudiation, it's not so far off
Pennsylvania, after all.
I don't quite approve of your plan for Ballyslevin. Whenever a property
's in Chancery, the best thing is to let it go to ruin entirely. The
worse the land is, the more miserable the tenants, the cheaper will be
the terms you 'll get it on; and if the boys shoot a receiver once or
twice, no great harm. As for the Government, I don't think they 'll
do anything for Ireland except set us by the ears about education and
church matters; and we 're getting almost tired of quarrelling, Tom; for
so it is, the very best of dispositions may be imposed on too far!
Now, as to "education," how many amongst those who insist on a
particular course for the poor, ever thought of stipulating for the
same for their own children? or do they think that the Bible is only
necessary for such as have not an independent fortune? And as to
Maynooth, is there any man such a fool as to believe that £30,000 a
year would make the priests loyal? You gave the money well knowing what
for,--to teach Catholic theology, not to instil the oath of allegiance.
To expect more would be like asking a market-gardener to raise
strawberries with fresh cream round them! The truth is, they don't wish
to advance our interests in England. They 're afraid of us, Tom. If we
ever were to take a national turn, like the Scotch, for instance, we
might prove very dangerous rivals to them in many ways. I 'm sick of
politics; not, indeed, that I know too much of what's doing, for the
last "Times" I saw was cut up into a new pattern for a polka, and they
only kept me the supplement, which, as you know, is more varied than
amusing. In reply to your question as to how I like this kind of life, I
own to you that it does n't quite suit me. Maybe I 'm too old in years,
maybe too old in my notions, but it does n't do, Tom. There is an
everlasting bowing and scraping and introducing,--a perpetual prelude
to acquaintanceship that never seems to begin. It appears to me like an
orchestra that never got further than the tuning of the instruments!
I 'm sure that, at the least, I 've exchanged bows and grins and leers
with fifty gentlemen here, whom _I_ should n't know to-morrow, nor
do _they_ care whether I did or no. Their intercourse is like their
cookery, and you are always asking, "Is there nothing substantial
coming?" Then they 're frivolous, Tom. I don't mean that they are fond
of pleasure, and given up to amusement, but that their very pleasures
and amusements are contemptible in themselves. No such thing as
field-sports; at least, nothing deserving the name; no manly pastimes,
no bodily exercises; and lastly, they all, even the oldest of them,
think that they ought to make love to your wife and daughters, just as
you hand a lady a chair or a cup of tea in our country,--a mere matter
of course. I need not tell you that my observations on men and manners
are necessarily limited by my ignorance of the language; but I have
acquired the deaf man's privilege, and if I hear the less, I see the
more.
I begin to think, my dear Tom, that we all make a great mistake in this
taste we've got into for foreign travel, foreign languages, and foreign
accomplishments. We rear up our families with notions and habits quite
inapplicable to home purposes; and we are like the Parisian shopkeepers,
that have nothing on sale but articles of luxury; and, after all, we
have n't a genius for this trifling, and we make very ungraceful idlers
in the end. To train a man for the Continent, you must begin early;
teach him French when a child; let him learn dominoes at four, and to
smoke cigars at six, wear lacquered boots at eight, and put his hair
in paper at nine; eat sugar-plums for dinner, and barley-water for tea;
make him a steady shot with the pistol, and a cool hand with the rapier;
and there he is finished and fit for the Boulevard,--a nice man for the
_salons_.
It is cheap, there is no doubt; but it costs a great deal of money to
come at the economy. You 'll perhaps say that's my own fault. Maybe it
is. We 'll talk of it more another time.
I ought to confess that Mrs. D. is delighted with everything; she vows
that she is only beginning to live; and to hear her talk, you 'd think
that Dodsborough was one of the new model penitentiaries. Mary Anne's
her own daughter, and she raves about princes and dukes and counts, all
day long. What they 'll say when I tell them that we 're to be off on
Wednesday next, I can't imagine. I intend to dine out that evening, for
I know there will be no standing the row!
The Ambassador has been mighty polite and attentive: we dined there last
week. A grand dinner, and fine company; but, talking French, and nothing
but French, all the time, Mrs. D. and your humble servant were rather
at a nonplus. Then we had his box at the opera, where, I must say, Tom,
anything to equal the dancing I never saw,--indecency is no name for it.
Not but Mrs. D. and Mary Anne are of a contrary opinion, and tauntingly
ask me if I prefer a "Tatter Jack Walsh," at the cross-roads, to
Taglioni. As for the singing, it's screeching,--that's the word for it,
screeching. The composer is one Verdi,--a fellow, they tell me, that
cracks every voice in Europe; and I can believe it. The young woman that
played the first part grew purple in the face, and strained till
her neck looked like a half-unravelled cable; her mouth was dragged
sideways; and it was only when I thought she was off in strong
convulsions that the audience began to applaud. There's no saying what
their enthusiasm might not have been had she burst a blood-vessel.
I intended to have despatched this by to-day's post, but it is Saint
Somebody's day, and the office closes at two o'clock, so that I 'll have
to keep it over, perhaps till Saturday, for to-morrow, I find, we 're to
go to Waterloo, to see the field of battle. There's a prince--whose name
I forget, and, indeed, I could n't spell, if I remembered it--going to
be our "Cicerone." I 'm not sure if he says he was there at the battle;
but Mrs. D. believes him as she would the Duke of Wellington. Then
there's a German count, whose father did something wonderful, and two
Belgian barons, whose ancestors, I 've no doubt, sustained the national
reputation for speed. The season is hardly suitable for such an
excursion; but even a day in the country--a few hours in the fields and
the free air--will be a great enjoyment James is going to bring a Polish
friend of his,--a great Don he calls him,--but I 'm so overlaid with
nobility, the Khan of Tartary would not surprise me now. I 'll keep this
open to add a few lines, and only say good-bye for the present.
Saturday.
Waterloo's a humbug, Tom. I don't mean to say that Bony found it so some
thirty-odd years back, but such it now appears. I assure you they 've
cut away half the field to commemorate the battle,--a process mighty
like slicing off a man's nose to establish his identity. The result is
that you might as well stand upon Hounslow Heath or Salisbury Plain, and
listen to a narrative of the action, as visit Waterloo for the sake of
the localities. La Haye Sainte and Hougoumont stand, certainly, in the
old places, but the deep gorge beside the one, and the ridge from whence
the cannonade shattered the other, are totally obliterated. The guides
tell you, indeed, where Vivian's brigade stood, where Picton charged and
fell, where Ney's column halted, faltered, and broke; they speak of the
ridge behind which the guard lay in long expectancy; they describe to
you the undulating swell over which our line advanced, cheering madly:
but it's like listening to a description of Killarney in a fog, and
being informed that Turk Mountain is yonder, and that the waterfall is
down a glen to your right. One thing is clear, Tom, however,--we beat
the French; and when I say "We," I mean what I say. England knows, and
all Europe knows, who won the battle, and more's the disgrace for
the way we 're treated. But, after all, it's our own fault in a great
measure, Tom; we take everything that comes from Parliament as a boon
and a favor, little guessing often how it will turn out. Our conduct in
this respect reminds me of poor Jack Whalley's wife. You remember Jack,
that was postboy at the Clanbrazil Arms. Well, his wife one day chanced
to find an elegant piece of white leather on the road, and she brought
it home with her in great delight, to mend Jack's small clothes, which
she did very neatly. Jack set off the next day, little suspecting what
was in store for him; but when he trotted about five miles,--it was in
the month of July,--he began to feel mighty uneasy in the saddle,--a
feeling that continued to increase at every moment, till at last, as he
said, "It was like taking a canter on a beehive in swarming time;" and
well it might, for the piece of leather was no other than a blister that
the apothecary's boy had dropped that morning on the road; and so it is,
Tom. There's many a thing we take to be a fine patch for our nakedness
that's only a blister, after all. Witness the Poor Law and the "Cumbrous
Estates Court," as Rooney calls it. But I 'm wandering away from
Waterloo all this time. You know the grand controversy is about what
time the Prussians came up; because that mainly decides who won the
battle. I believe it's nearly impossible to get at the truth of the
matter; for though it seems clear enough they were in the wood early in
the day, it appears equally plain they stayed there--and small blame to
them--till they saw the Inniskillings cutting down the Cuirassiers and
sabring all before them. They waited, as you and I often waited in a
row, till the enemy began to run, and then they were down on them.
Even that same was no small help; for, by the best accounts, the French
require a deal of beating, and we were dreadfully tired giving it to
them! Sergeant Cotton, the guide, tells me it was a grand sight just
about seven o'clock, when the whole line began cheering; first, Adam's
brigade, then Cooke's battalion, all taking it up and cheering madly;
the general officers waving their hats, and shouting like the rest. I
was never able to satisfy myself whether we gained or lost most by that
same victory of Waterloo; for you see, Tom, after all our fighting in
Spain and Portugal, after all Nelson's great battles, all our
triumphs and votes of thanks, Europe is going back to the old system
again,--kings bullying their people, setting spies on them, opening
their letters, transporting the writers, and hanging the readers. If
they 'd have let Bony alone when he came back from Elba, the chances
were that he 'd not have disturbed the peace of the world. He had
already got his bellyful of fighting; he was getting old, falling into
flesh, and rather disposed to think more of his personal ease than he
used to do. Are you aware that the first thing he said on entering
the Tuileries from Elba was, "Avant tout, un bon dîner"? One of the
marshals, who heard the speech, whispered to a friend, "He is greatly
changed; you 'll see no more campaigns." I know you 'll reply to me with
your old argument about legitimacy and divine right, and all that kind
of thing. But, my dear Tom, for the matter of that, have n't I a divine
right to my ancestral estate of Tullylicknaslatterley; and look
what they 're going to do with it, to-morrow or next day! 'T is much
Commissioner Longfield would mind, if I begged to defer the sale, on
the ground of "my divine right." Kings are exactly like landlords; they
can't do what they like with their own, hard as it may seem to say so.
They have their obligations and their duties; and if they fail in them,
they come into the Encumbered Estates Court, just like us,--ay, and,
just like us, they "take very little by their motion."
I know it's very hard to be turned out of your "holding." I can imagine
the feelings with which a man would quit such a comfortable quarter
as the Tuileries, and such a nice place for summer as Versailles;
Dodsborough is too fresh in my mind to leave any doubt on this point;
but there 's another side of the question, Tom. What were they there
for? You'll call out, "This is all Socialism and Democracy," and the
devil knows what else. Maybe I 'll agree with you. Maybe I 'll say I
don't like the doctrine myself. Maybe I 'll tell you that I think the
old time was pleasantest, when, if we pressed a little hard to-day, why,
we were all the kinder to-morrow, and both ruler and ruled looked more
leniently on each other's faults. But say what we will, do what we will,
these days are gone by, and they 'll not come back again. There 's a set
of fellows at work, all over the world, telling the people about their
rights. Some of these are very acute and clever chaps, that don't
overstate the case; they neither go off into any flights about universal
equality, or any balderdash about our being of the same stock; but they
stick to two or three hard propositions, and they say, "Don't pay more
for anything than you can get it for,--that's free-trade; don't pay for
anything you don't want,--that's a blow at the Church Establishment;
don't pay for soldiers if you don't want to fight,--that 's at 'a
standing army;' and, above all, when you have n't a pair of breeches
to your back, don't be buying embroidered small-clothes for
lords-in-waiting or gentlemen of the bedchamber." But here I am again,
running away from Waterloo just as if I was a Belgian.
When we got to Hougoumont, a dreadful storm of rain came on,--such
rain as I thought never fell out of Ireland. It came swooping along
the ground, and wetting you through and through in five minutes. The
thunder, too, rolled awfully, crashing and cannonading around these old
walls, as if to wake up the dead by a memory of the great artillery.
Mrs. D. took to her prayers in the little chapel, with Mary Anne and
the Pole, James's friend. Caroline stood with me at a little window,
watching the lightning; and James, by way of airing his French, got into
a conversation, or rather a discussion, about the battle with a small
foreigner with a large beard, that had just come in, drenched to the
skin. The louder it thundered, the louder they spoke, or rather screamed
at each other; and though I don't fancy James was very fluent in the
French, it's clear the other was getting the worst of the argument, for
he grew terribly angry and jumped about and flourished a stick, and, in
fact, seemed very anxious to try conclusions once more on the old field
of conflict.
James carried the day, at last; for the other was obliged, as Uncle Toby
says, "to evacuate Flanders,"--meaning, thereby, to issue forth into the
thickest of the storm rather than sustain the combat any longer. When
the storm passed over, we made our way back to the little inn at the
village of Waterloo, kept in the house where Lord Anglesey suffered
amputation, and there we dined. It was neither a very good dinner nor
a very social party. Mrs. D.'s black velvet bonnet and blue ribbons
had got a tremendous drenching; Mary Anne contrived to tear a new
satin dress all down the back, with a nail in the old chapel; James
was unusually grave and silent; and as for the Pole, all his efforts at
conversation were so marred by his bad English that he was a downright
bore. It is a mistake to bring one of these foreigners out with a small
family party! they neither understand _you_ nor _you them_. Cary was the
only one that enjoyed herself; but she went about the inn, picking up
little curiosities of the battle,--old buttons, bullets, and the like;
and it was a comfort to see that one, at least, amongst us derived
pleasure from the excursion.
I have often heard descriptions of that night march from Brussels to
the field; and truly, what with the gloomy pine-wood, the deep and miry
roads, and the falling rain, it must have been a very piteous affair;
but for downright ill-humor and discontent, I 'd back our own journey
over the same ground against all. The horses, probably worn out with
toiling over the field all day, were dead beat, and came gradually down
from a trot to a jog, and then to a shamble, and at last to a stop.
James got down from the box, and helped to belabor them; it was raining
torrents all this time. I got out, too, to help; for one of the beasts,
although too tired to go, contrived to kick his leg over the pole,
and couldn't get it back again; but the Count contented himself with
uttering most unintelligible counsels from the window, which when he
saw totally unheeded, he threw himself back in the coach, lighted his
meerschaum, and began to smoke.
Imagine the scene at that moment, Tom. The driver was undressing himself
coolly on the roadside, to examine a kick he had just received from one
of the horses; James was holding the beasts by the head, lashing, as
they were, all the time; I was running frantically to and fro, to seek
for a stone to drive in the linch-pin, which was all but out; while
Mrs. D. and the girls, half suffocated between smoke and passion,
were screaming and coughing in chorus. By dint of violent bounding and
jerking, the wheel was wrenched clean off the axle at last, and down
went the whole conveniency on one side, our Polish friend assisting
himself out of the window by stepping over Mrs. D.'s head, as she lay
fainting within. I had, however, enough to do without thinking of him,
for the door being jammed tight would not open, and I was obliged to
pull Mrs. D. and the girls out by the window. The beasts, by the same
time, had kicked themselves free of everything but the pole, with which
appendage they scampered gayly away towards Brussels; James shouting
with laughter, as if it was the best joke he had ever known. When we
began to look about us and think what was best to be done, we discovered
that the Count had taken a French leave of us, or rather a Polish one;
for he had carried off James's cloak and umbrella along with him.
We were now all wet through, our shoes soaked, not a dry stitch on
us,--all except the coachee, who, having taken off a considerable
portion of his wearables, deposited them in the coach, while he ran up
and down the road, wringing his hands, and crying over his misfortune in
a condition that I am bound to say was far more pictorial than decent.
It was in vain that Mrs. D. opened her parasol as the last refuge of
offended modesty. The wind soon converted it into something like a
convolvulus, so that she was fain once more to seek shelter inside the
conveyance, which now lay pensively over on one side, against a muddy
bank.
Such little accidents as these are not uncommon in our own country; but
when they do occur, you are usually within reach of either succor
or shelter. There is at least a house or a cabin within hail of you.
Nothing of the kind was there here. This "Bois de Cambre," as they call
it, is a dense wood of beech or pine trees, intersected here and there
by certain straight roads, without a single inhabitant along the line.
A solitary diligence may pass once in the twenty-four hours, to or
from Wâvre. A Waterloo tourist party is occasionally seen in spring or
summer, but, except these, scarcely a traveller is ever to be met with
along this dreary tract These reassuring facts were communicated to us
by the coachee, while he made his toilet beside the window.
By great persuasions, much eloquence, French and English, and a Napoleon
in gold, our driver at length consented to start on foot for Brussels,
whence he was to send us a conveyance to return to the capital. This
bargain effected, we settled ourselves down to sleep or to grumble, as
fancy or inclination prompted.
I will not weary you with any further narrative of our sufferings, nor
tell of that miserable attempt I made to doze, disturbed by Mrs. D.'s
unceasing lamentations over her ruined bonnet, her shocked feelings,
and her shot-silk. A little before daybreak, an empty furniture-van came
accidentally by, with the driver of which we contracted for our return
to Brussels, where we arrived at nine o'clock this morning, almost as
sad a party as ever fled from Waterloo! I thought I 'd jot down these
few details before I lay down for a sleep, and it is likely that I may
still add a line or two before post-hour.
Monday.
My dear Tom,--We've had our share of trouble since I wrote the last
postscript. Poor James has been "out," and was wounded in the leg, above
the knee. The Frenchman with whom he had a dispute at Hougoumont sent
him a message on Saturday last; but as these affairs abroad are always
greatly discussed and argued before they come off, the meeting did n't
take place till this morning, when they met near Lacken. James's
friend was Lord George Tiverton, Member for Hornby, and son to some
Marquis,--that you'll find out in the "Peerage," for my head is too
confused to remember.
He stood to James like a trump; drove him to the ground in his own
phaeton, lent him his own pistols,--the neatest tools ever I looked at,
I wonder he could miss with them,--and then brought him back here, and
is still with him, sitting at the bedside like a brother. Of course it's
very distressing to us all, and poor James is in terrible pain, for the
leg is swelled up as thick as three, and all blue, and the doctors don't
well know whether they can save it; but it's a grand thing, Tom, to know
that the boy behaved beautifully. Lord G. says: "I've been out something
like six-and-twenty times, principal or second, but I never saw anything
cooler, quieter, or in better taste than young Dodd's conduct." These
are his own words, and let me tell you, Tom, that's high praise from
such a quarter, for the English are great sticklers for a grave,
decorous, cold-blooded kind of fighting, that we don't think so much
about in Ireland. The Frenchman is one Count Roger,--not pronounced
Roger, but Rogee,--and, they say, the surest shot in France. He left
his card to inquire after James, about half an hour ago,--a very
pretty piece of attention, at all events. Mrs. D. and the girls are not
permitted to see James yet, nor would it be quite safe, for the poor
fellow is wandering in his mind. When I came into the room he told Lord
George that I was his uncle! and begged me not to alarm his aunt on any
account!
I can't as yet say how far this unlucky event will interfere with our
plans about moving. Of course, for the present, this is out of the
question; for the surgeon says that, taking the most favorable view of
his case, it will be weeks before J. can leave his bed. To tell you my
mind frankly, I don't think they know much about gunshot wounds abroad;
for I remember when I hit Giles Eyre, the bullet went through his chest
and came out under the bladebone, and Dr. Purden just stopped up the
hole with a pitch-plaster, and gave him a tumbler of weak punch, and he
was about again, as fresh as ever, in a week's time. To be sure, he used
to have a hacking kind of a short cough, and complained of a pain now
and then; but everybody has his infirmities!
I mentioned what Purden did, to Baron Seutin, the surgeon here; but
he called him a barbarian, and said be deserved the galleys for it! I
thought to myself, "It's lucky old Sam does n't hear you, for he's just
the boy would give you an early morning for it!"
I was called away by a message from the Commissary of the Police, who
has sent one of his sergeants to make an inquiry about the duel.
If it was to Roger he went, it would be reasonable enough; but why come
and torment us that have our own troubles? I was obliged to sit quiet
and answer all his questions, giving my Christian name and my wife's,
our ages, what religion we were, if we were really married,--egad, it's
lucky it was n't Mrs. D. was under examination,--what children we had,
their ages and sex,--I thought at one time he was going to ask how many
more we meant to have. Then he took an excursion into our grandfathers
and grandmothers, and at last came back to the present generation and
the shindy.
If it was n't for Lord George, we 'd never have got through the
business; but he translated for me, and helped me greatly,--for what
with the confusion I was in, and the language, and the absurdity of the
whole thing, I lost my temper very often; and now I discover that we
're to have a kind of prosecution against us, though of what kind, or
at whose suit, or why, I can't find out. This will be, therefore, number
three in my list of law-suits here,--not bad, considering that I 'm
scarce as many weeks in the country! I have n't mentioned this to you
before, for I don't like dwelling on it; but it's truth, nevertheless.
I must close this at last, for we have Lord G. to dinner; and I must go
and put Paddy Byrne through his facings, or there 'll be all kinds of
blundering. I wish I'd never brought him with us, nor the jaunting-car.
The young chaps--the dandies here--have a knack of driving, as if down
on us, just to see Mary Anne trying to save her legs; but I 'll come
across them one day with the whip, in a style they won't like. Betty
Cobb, too, was no bargain, and I wish she was back at Dodsborough.
We 're always reading in the newspapers how well the Irish get on out
of Ireland,--how industrious they become, how thrifty, and so on;
don't believe a word of it, Tom. There's Betty, the same lazy,
good-for-nothing, story-telling, complaining, discontented devil ever
she was; and as for Paddy Byrne, his fists have never been out of
somebody's features, except when there were handcuffs on them,--_semper
eadem!_ Tom, as we used to say at Dr. Bell's. Whatever we may be at
home,--and the "Times" won't say much for us there,--it's _there_ we 're
best, after all. The doctors are here again to see James; so that I must
conclude with love to all yours, and Remain ever faithfully your friend,
Kenny I. Dodd.