Monday, I went down in the rain with a colic to take the
chair at a public meeting; dined with Haggard; sailed off to
my meeting, and fought with wild beasts for three anxious
hours. All was lost that any sensible man cared for, but the
meeting did not break up - thanks a good deal to R. L. S. -
and the man who opposed my election, and with whom I was all
the time wrangling, proposed the vote of thanks to me with a
certain handsomeness; I assure you I had earned it . . .
Haggard and the great Abdul, his high-caste Indian servant,
imported by my wife, were sitting up for me with supper, and
I suppose it was twelve before I got to bed. Tuesday
raining, my mother rode down, and we went to the Consulate to
sign a Factory and Commission. Thence, I to the lawyers, to
the printing office, and to the Mission. It was dinner time
when I returned home.

This morning, our cook-boy having suddenly left - injured
feelings - the archangel was to cook breakfast. I found him
lighting the fire before dawn; his eyes blazed, he had no
word of any language left to use, and I saw in him (to my
wonder) the strongest workings of gratified ambition.
Napoleon was no more pleased to sign his first treaty with
Austria than was Lafaele to cook that breakfast. All
morning, when I had hoped to be at this letter, I slept like
one drugged and you must take this (which is all I can give
you) for what it is worth -


D.B.