“ANN!  My black silk—­go to my room—­murdered who? why—­Castor.

“Now try and get some sleep.  If I find you with papers I’ll burn them.  Oh! there go all the drags and Mr. M——­ on the box—­and there go the 4.45, 5.15, and 5.25 to Baker St.—­The days fly!  But it’s a glorious life.  Work!  Work!—­Keep quiet, dear—­I shall be back directly.”

TO A.E.

"Sheffield House,” New Quay, Dartmouth. June 4, 1874.

...  The above I find is our correct address, though what I sent you is all-sufficient, especially as you can’t land without our seeing you out of our window, as we are almost within speaking distance of the steamer....

From Exeter here the line is lovely.  Half the way you run along the shore.  The fields ploughed and meadowed, and with trees, and cattle come down to the shore. [Sketch.]

TORBAY is in this line.  The cliffs are a deep red sandstone, the sky deep blue, and the fields deep green!! [Sketch.]

At Dawlish, Torquay, etc. the jutting rocks of worn-away sandstone mark the points of the little bays with fantastic looking shapes, like petrified giants. [Sketch.]

Looking back from Teignmouth is a very curious one on which the sea-birds sit.  Bless their noses! and their legs!  How they do enjoy the waves! [Sketch.]

Those lazy ripples damp their boots so nicely!

In the Exeter Station sat a ——­ [Sketch] Bull Dogue.  O dear!  He looked so “savidge,” and was so nervous; every train made him tremble in every limb!  I bought him a penny bun, but he was too nervous to eat, though he looked very grateful.  The porter promised me to give him plenty of water, and as I gave the porter plenty of coppers I hope he did!

Tell Stephen the flowers on the railway banks give you quite a turn!  Crimson, pale pink, and dead-white Valerian against a deep blue sky in hot sunshine make one not know whether to PAINT or press!

As to Dartmouth itself it is a mixture of Matlock, Whitby and Antwerp!!!  The defect is it is really oil the river, not on the sea, but the neighbouring bays are so get-at-able we have settled here.  The town is very old.  Some of the streets, or rather terraces—­if a perfectly irregular perching and jumbling of houses up and down a steep lull can be called a terrace—­are very curious. [Sketch.]

Flowers everywhere....

TO H.K.F.G.

July 12, 1874.