Hence, my sweet Clo, with her unfailing solicitude
for me, having observed me flying signals of distress, has
contrived to put it into my head that your presence might
have a calming effect. Therefore, my dear boy, if you
can manage to cast off the grapples of the Polite World
for a few days, to run down here and shelter a battered
old hulk under your lee, I shall be proud to have you as
my guest.
Yours faithfully to serve,
JOHN CHUMLY.
P.S.--Pray bring your valet; you will need him, her
Grace insists on dressing for dinner. Likewise my Trafalgar
coat begins to need skilled patching, here and there;
it is getting beyond the Bo'sun.
Here again Barnabas must needs pause to read over certain of the
Captain's scrawling characters, and a new light was in his eyes as
he broke the seal of her Grace's epistle.
MY DEAR MR. BEVERLEY,--The country down here,
though delightfully Arcadian and quite idyllic (hayricks
are so romantic, and I always adored cows--in pictures),
is dreadfully quiet, and I freely confess that I generally
prefer a man to a hop-pole (though I do wear a wig), and
the voice of a man to the babble of brooks, or the trill of
a skylark,--though I protest, I wouldn't be without
them (I mean the larks) for the world,--they make me
long for London so.
Pages:
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492