This is one of the days on which I feel like nothing on earth. Yet I must answer your three letters to the best of my enfeebled power. . . . I want a Catholic Dictionary'
or
Drummond's Life of Erasmus'
or
a second-hand copy of either
will be quite acceptable: the
second is an old book and
probably out of print.
five fumable cigars "from stock"; but a present I must have because I am working a stunt about the immense number of birthday gifts which I am sure of receiving. The Cleveland Club is being canvassed with this intent and the members urged to make canvass-backed ducks and drakes of their money: oh, how like nothing on earth I feel after being brought to bed of this joke! I am to have a cake with 56 candles in it from my doctor's wife, which her name is Phyllis Twigg; so let no one send me an other. If I ate more than 56 candles at my age, I should have to go in cossack-cloth and ashes for the rest of my life; oh, like nothing on earth, Stephen, like nothing on earth!. . .
