on Posh's Goods for Money lent; old as
he is (enough to distrust all Mankind)--has perfect reliance on his
Honour, Industry, Skill, and Luck. This is a pretty Sight to me. I tell
Newson he has at last found his Master, and become possessed of that
troublesome thing: an anxious Regard for some one.

"I was noticing for several Days how many _Robins_ were singing along the
'London Road' here; and (without my speaking of it) Lusia Kerrich told me
they had almost a _Plague_ of Robins at _Gelson_ [Geldestone]: 3 or 4
coming into the Breakfast room every morning; getting under Kerrich's
Legs, &c. And yesterday Posh told me that _three_ came to his Lugger out
at Sea; also another very pretty Bird, whose name he didn't know, but
which he caught and caged in _the Binnacle_, where it was found dead in
due time. . . .

"_P.S._--Posh (as Cooper, whom I question, tells me) was _over_ 12 _miles
from Land_ when the _four_ Robins came aboard: a Bird which he nor Cooper
had ever seen to visit a Ship before. The Bird he shut up in the
Binnacle he describes as of 'all sorts of Colours'--perhaps a Tomtit!--and
I fear it was _roasted_ in the Binnacle, when Posh lighted up at night,
forgetting his Guest. 'Poor little fallow!'"

"LOWESTOFT, _Dec._ 4, 1866. [Ib.]

"I am sorry you can't come, but have no doubt that you are right in _not_
coming. You may imagine what I do with myself here: somehow, I do
believe the Seaside is more of my Element than elsewhere, and the old
Lodging Life suits me best. That, however, I have at Woodbridge; and can
be better treated nowhere than there.

"I have just seen Posh, who had been shooting his Lines in the Morning:
had fallen asleep after his Sunday Dinner, and rose up like a Giant
refreshed when I went into his house. His little Wife, however, told him
he must go and tidy his Hair, which he was preparing to obey. Oh! these
are the People who somehow interest me; and if I were not now too far
advanced on the Road to Forgetfulness, I should be sad that my own Life
had been such a wretched Concern in comparison. But it is too late, even
to lament, now. . . .

"There is a Wedding-party next door: at No. 11; I being in 12; _Becky_
having charge of both houses. There is incessant vulgar Giggling and
Tittering, and 5 meals a Day, Becky says. Oh! these are not such
Gentlefolks as my Friends on the Beach, who have not 5 meals a Day. I
wonder how soon I shall quarrel with them, however--I don't m