hich blew all
night. For a few hours on the evening side of midnight there was no
getting from this cabin of mine to the saloon, or _vice versa_, so
heavily did the sea break over the decks. The ship, however, made
nothing of it, and we were all right again by Monday afternoon. Except
for a few hours yesterday (when we had a very light head-wind), the
weather has been constantly favourable, and we are now bowling away at a
great rate, with a fresh breeze filling all our sails. We expect to be
at Queenstown between midnight and three in the morning.

I hope, my dear Fields, you may find this legible, but I rather doubt
it, for there is motion enough on the ship to render writing to a
landsman, however accustomed to pen and ink, rather a difficult
achievement. Besides which, I slide away gracefully from the paper,
whenever I want to be particularly expressive. . . .

----, sitting opposite to me at breakfast, always has the following
items: A large dish of porridge into which he casts slices of butter and
a quantity of sugar. Two cups of tea. A steak. Irish stew. Chutnee and
marmalade. Another deputation of two has solicited a reading to-night.
Illustrious novelist has unconditionally and absolutely declined. More
love, and more to that, from your ever affectionate friend.

[Sidenote: The same.]

"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _May 15th, 1868._

MY DEAR FIELDS,

I have found it so extremely difficult to write about America (though
never so briefly) without appearing to blow trumpets on the one hand, or
to be inconsistent with my avowed determination _not_ to write about it
on the other, that I have taken the simple course enclosed. The number
will be published on the 6th of June. It appears to me to be the most
modest and manly course, and to derive some graceful significance from
its title.

Thank my dear Mrs. Fields for me for her delightful letter received on
the 16th. I will write to her very soon, and tell her about the dogs. I
would write by this post, but that Wills' absence (in Sussex, and
getting no better there as yet) so overwhelms me with business that I
can scarcely get through it.

Miss me? Ah, my dear fellow, but how do I miss _you_! We talk about you
both at Gad's Hill every day of our lives. And I never see the place
looking very pretty indeed, or hear the birds sing all day long and the
nightingales all night, without restlessly wishing that you were both
there.

With