gards to yourself, and Mrs. and
Miss Tagart, and all your family. I heartily join them in all kind
remembrances and good wishes. As the messenger has just looked in at the
door, and shedding on me a balmy gale of onions, has protested against
being detained any longer, I will only say (which is not at all
necessary) that I am ever,

Faithfully yours.

P.S.--There is a little to see here, in the church way, I assure you.

[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield.]

ALBARO, _Saturday Night, August 24th, 1844._

MY DEAR STANFIELD,

I love you so truly, and have such pride and joy of heart in your
friendship, that I don't know how to begin writing to you. When I think
how you are walking up and down London in that portly surtout, and can't
receive proposals from Dick to go to the theatre, I fall into a state
between laughing and crying, and want some friendly back to smite.
"Je-im!" "Aye, aye, your honour," is in my ears every time I walk upon
the sea-shore here; and the number of expeditions I make into Cornwall
in my sleep, the springs of Flys I break, the songs I sing, and the
bowls of punch I drink, would soften a heart of stone.

We have had weather here, since five o'clock this morning, after your
own heart. Suppose yourself the Admiral in "Black-eyed Susan" after the
acquittal of William, and when it was possible to be on friendly terms
with him. I am T. P.[4] My trousers are very full at the ankles, my
black neckerchief is tied in the regular style, the name of my ship is
painted round my glazed hat, I have a red waistcoat on, and the seams of
my blue jacket are "paid"--permit me to dig you in the ribs when I make
use of this nautical expression--with white. In my hand I hold the very
box connected with the story of Sandomingerbilly. I lift up my eyebrows
as far as I can (on the T. P. model), take a quid from the box, screw
the lid on again (chewing at the same time, and looking pleasantly at
the pit), brush it with my right elbow, take up my right leg, scrape my
right foot on the ground, hitch up my trousers, and in reply to a
question of yours, namely, "Indeed, what weather, William?" I deliver
myself as follows:

Lord love your honour! Weather! Such weather as
would set all hands to the pumps aboard one of
your fresh-water cockboats, and set the purser
to his wits' ends to stow away, for the use of