[_Skerryvore_, _Bournemouth_], _January_ 1_st_, 1886.
DEAREST KATHARINE,—Here, on a very little book and accompanied with lame
verses, I have put your name. Our kindness is now getting well on in
years; it must be nearly of age; and it gets more valuable to me with
every time I see you. It is not possible to express any sentiment, and
it is not necessary to try, at least between us. You know very well that
I love you dearly, and that I always will. I only wish the verses were
better, but at least you like the story; and it is sent to you by the one
that loves you—Jekyll, and not Hyde.