ot fail to write again before I go away. There seems to
be nothing but "I" in this letter; but "I" know, my dear friend, that
you will be more interested in that letter in the present connection,
than in any other I could take from the alphabet.

Catherine and Georgina send their kindest loves, and more messages than
this little sheet would hold. If I were to give you a hint of what we
feel at the sight of your handwriting, and at the receipt of a word from
yourself about yourself, and the dear boys, and the precious little
girls, I should begin to be sorrowful, which is rather the tendency of
my mind at the close of another long book. I heard from Cerjat two or
three days since. Goff, by-the-bye, lived in this house two years.

Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson,
Yours, with true affection and regard.

[Sidenote: Mr. Peter Cunningham.]

CHATEAU DES MOULINEAUX, RUE BEAUREPAIRE, BOULOGNE.

MY DEAR CUNNINGHAM,

A note--Cerberus-like--of three heads.

First. I know you will be glad to hear that the manager is himself
again. Vigorous, brown, energetic, muscular; the pride of Albion and the
admiration of Gaul.

Secondly. I told Wills when I left home, that I was quite pained to see
the end of your excellent "Bowl of Punch" altered. I was unaffectedly
touched and gratified by the heartiness of the original; and saw no
earthly, celestial, or subterranean objection to its remaining, as it
did not so unmistakably apply to me as to necessitate the observance of
my usual precaution in the case of such references, by any means.

Thirdly. If you ever have a holiday that you don't know what to do with,
_do_ come and pass a little time here. We live in a charming garden in a
very pleasant country, and should be delighted to receive you. Excellent
light wines on the premises, French cookery, millions of roses, two cows
(for milk punch), vegetables cut for the pot, and handed in at the
kitchen window; five summer-houses, fifteen fountains (with no water in
'em), and thirty-seven clocks (keeping, as I conceive, Australian time;
having no reference whatever to the hours on this side of the globe).

I know, my dear Cunningham, that the British nation can ill afford to
lose you; and that when the Audit Office mice are away, the cats of that
great public establishment will play. But pray consider that the bow may
be sometimes bent too long, and that ever-ar