I do not despair about Ireland because I never despair about anything.
And I am ever yours,
Tex.
Your letter of the 23rd, he writes, 25. 8. 21, found me still here. (The Wharf, Sutton Courtney): I go to-morrow to the Norton Priory till Monday . . . and longer if they will have me longer. Then back home; and to Sutro's for a brief week-end on Saturday.
Yes, I know Lancaster, its castle, where I have, and its lunatic asylum, where I have never, stayed. . . .
It were useless for me to pretend that I have not mislayed your list of addresses. I may find it in some other suit; but you might notify me of your next movement whenever you write. But do not translate m. p. h. as miles per hour. Master of phoxhounds, if you like, or miles per horam; but we Englih say an hour and not per hour. . . .
M. sent an enormous 120 h. p. (hocus pocus) land-yacht to meet me at Portsmouth, he writes from Norton Priory, 27. 8. 21, relieving me of the worst part of the journey. . . . N. arrived from town before dinner, bringing with him a . . . stockbroker. . . . They go up on Monday morning, but I stay on till Wednesday, like
