[_Skerryvore_, _Bournemouth_], _January_ 1_st_, 1886.
MY DEAR PEOPLE,—Many happy returns of the day to you all; I am fairly
well and in good spirits; and much and hopefully occupied with dear
Jenkin’s life. The inquiry in every detail, every letter that I read,
makes me think of him more nobly. I cannot imagine how I got his
friendship; I did not deserve it. I believe the notice will be
interesting and useful.
My father’s last letter, owing to the use of a quill pen and the neglect
of blotting-paper, was hopelessly illegible. Every one tried, and every
one failed to decipher an important word on which the interest of one
whole clause (and the letter consisted of two) depended.
I find I can make little more of this; but I’ll spare the blots.—Dear
people, ever your loving son,