MY OWN WIFIE,--I have been exceedingly anxious about you ever since I left. You seemed so very ill that it has been haunting me ever since that I ought to have stayed in London. My own darling may write to me whenever she pleases. I was so longing for a telegram all day yesterday, but not getting one came to the conclusion that you had not been able to go to London.
I have been round the place here, everything going on well. The new mine is improving, so I have been tempted to continue it for a short while longer.
It will not be necessary for me to remain here longer than a few days, so that whenever you are ready for me I can return.
I finished will before going to bed on Monday, and will execute it and send it north to-morrow. Am pretty sure to be able to return next Monday or Tuesday at latest.
MY OWN DARLING QUEENIE,--I got off all right yesterday morning, forgetting the lamp, however, until I was in train, when I decided upon telegraphing them from Chester to send it on at once, which I did. I am having the carpenter to fix { 261} a strong hook in the ceiling joist for it to hang upon, and it will be a great improvement on the present state of affairs, as the consumption of candles is enormous, while giving very little light. They are undoubtedly the best and safest lamps out; in fact, absolutely safe.
One of the little lamps here was broken since, so I have suspended the other one also, as it was no use by itself.
The room will be very nice for a large suspended lamp; it is about 13½ feet high, by 24 feet by 20 feet.
I had only half an hour to wait at Kingstown for the train, which I spent in the waiting-room, and a quarter of an hour at Bray.
The sea was rather rough, but not too rough for me. I studied the swinging of a lamp minutely during the passage, and derived valuable lessons for the new ship.[1]
Am going to Arklow in the morning. Everything going on here very well, notwithstanding which I have been advising and admonishing K.[2] all day.
E.[3] is here all by herself, mother being expected to-night.
Miss B. B. was very old, very ugly, and very vulgar; in fact, E. says the worst sponge that ever got hold of my mother. She drank nothing but whisky, and took it to bed with her.