_SS._ ‘_Lübeck_,’ _at sea_ [_on the return voyage from Sydney_, _March_
1891].
MY DEAR CHARLES,—Perhaps in my old days I do grow irascible; ‘the old man
virulent’ has long been my pet name for myself. Well, the temper is at
least all gone now; time is good at lowering these distemperatures; far
better is a sharp sickness, and I am just (and scarce) afoot again after
a smoking hot little malady at Sydney. And the temper being gone, I
still think the same. . . . We have not our parents for ever; we are
never very good to them; when they go and we have lost our front-file
man, we begin to feel all our neglects mighty sensibly. I propose a
proposal. My mother is here on board with me; to-day for once I mean to
make her as happy as I am able, and to do that which I know she likes.
You, on the other hand, go and see your father, and do ditto, and give
him a real good hour or two. We shall both be glad hereafter.—Yours
ever,