_[Menton], Monday, January 26th, 1874._
MY DEAR FATHER,--Heh! Heh! business letter finished. Receipt
acknowledged without much ado, and I think with a certain commercial
decision and brevity. The signature is good but not original.
I should rather think I _had_ lost my heart to the wee princess. Her
mother demanded the other day "_A quand les noces?_" which Mrs.
Stevenson will translate for you in case you don't see it yourself.
I had a political quarrel last night with the American; it was a real
quarrel for about two minutes; we relieved our feelings and separated;
but a mutual feeling of shame led us to a most moving reconciliation, in
which the American vowed he would shed his best blood for England. In
looking back upon the interview, I feel that I have learned something; I
scarcely appreciated how badly England had behaved, and how well she
deserves the hatred the Americans bear her. It would have made you laugh
if you could have been present and seen your unpatriotic son thundering
anathemas in the moonlight against all those that were not the friend of
England. Johnson being nearly as nervous as I, we were both very ill
after it, which added a further pathos to the reconciliation.
There is no good in sending this off to-day, as I have sent another
letter this morning already.
O, a remark of the Princess's amused me the other day. Somebody wanted
to give Nelitchka garlic as a medicine. "_Quoi? Une petite amour comme
ca, qu'on ne pourrait pas baiser? Il n'y a pas de sens en cela!_"
I am reading a lot of French histories just now, and the spelling keeps
one in a good humour all day long--I mean the spelling of English
names.--Your affectionate son,