A year after, when Julian had learned to write, and was reading the immortal “Water Babies”, wherein fun is poked at his grandfather’s name among the authorities on water-babies and water-beasts of every description, he greatly desired more light as to the reality of water-babies.  There is a picture by Linley Sambourne, showing my father and Owen examining a bottled water-baby under big magnifying glasses.  Here, then, was a real authority to consult.  So he wrote a letter of inquiry, first anxiously asking his mother if he would receive in reply a “proper letter” that he could read for himself, or a “wrong kind of letter” that must be read to him.

Dear Grandpater,

Have you seen a Waterbaby?  Did you put it in a bottle?  Did it wonder if it could get out?  Can I see it some day?

Your loving

Julian.

To this he received the following reply from his grandfather, neatly printed, letter by letter, very unlike the orderly confusion with which his pen usually rushed across the paper—­time being so short for such a multitude of writing—­to the great perplexity, often, of his foreign correspondents.]

Hodeslea, Staveley road, Eastbourne, March 24 1892.

My dear Julian

I never could make sure about that Water Baby.  I have seen Babies in water and Babies in bottles; but the Baby in the water was not in a bottle and the Baby in the bottle was not in water.

My friend who wrote the story of the Water Baby, was a very kind man and very clever.  Perhaps he thought I could see as much in the water as he did—­There are some people who see a great deal and some who see very little in the same things.

When you grow up I dare say you will be one of the great-deal seers and see things more wonderful than Water Babies where other folks can see nothing.

Give my best love to Daddy and Mammy and Trevenen—­Grand is a little better but not up yet—­

Ever

Your loving

Grandpater.

[Others of his family would occasionally receive elaborate pieces of nonsense, of which I give a couple of specimens.  The following is to his youngest daughter:—­]

Athenaeum Club, May 17, 1892.

Dearest Babs,

As I was going along Upper Thames

Street just now, I saw between Numbers 170 and 211 ( (primary parenthesis) but you would like to know what I was going along that odorous street for.  Well, it was to inquire how the pen with which I am now writing—­( (2nd parenthesis) you see it is a new-fangled fountain pen, warranted to cure the worst writing and always spell properly) (2nd parenthesis)—­works, because it would not work properly this morning.  And the nice young woman who took it from me—­( (3rd parenthesis) as who should say you old foodle!) (3rd parenthesis) inked her own fingers enormously ( (4th parenthesis) which I told her I was pleased they were her fingers