“I am now on my twelfth day in bed, somewhat better at last, but very low and depressed. I had, before I was struck down, begun an ‘O’Dowd,’ but how write for a public that buys 150,000 copies of ‘Dame Europa’s School’! Is there any use in inventing epigrams for such an auditory? Tomorrow is the black day of the post, and can bring me no letter, or I should not bore you with this.” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “Fiume Istrica, _Feb_. 28,1871. “Your kind letter and its enclosure reached me safely here, where I have been sent to refit. I believe the word suits, as I have got fluid in my pericardium, and my condition is therefore one of being water-logged, which means unseaworthy, but not yet gone down. “The Gladstone request to Robinson to falsify the date of his letter is too atrocious; and as the ‘O’Dowds’ are made of certain subtle analysis, this case cannot be so treated, there being fortunately no parallel instance to put against it. “As to old Russell: he was instructed to bark, and he went farther, and growled; but as Bismarck knew he was muzzled, there came nothing of it. “My impression is the Turks are going to throw us over and make alliances with Russia, and seeing how utterly powerless we are, small blame to them. England is rapidly coming to the condition of Holland. I think another fifty years will do it, and instead of the New Zealander, a Burgomaster will sit on London Bridge and bob for eels in the muddy Thames. “So you mean to be in town this April? Not that I have any hope of meeting you. Tell Mrs Blackwood for me how glad I should be to spoil her breakfast once more!” _To Dr Burbidge._ “Trieste, _March_ 26, 1871. “Your letter found me at Rome, where I had been sent for a change of air. It was my first visit to Sydney since her marriage, and I enjoyed myself much, and threw off my cough, and could get up stairs without blowing like a grampus. “I cannot tell you how sincerely I thank you for your letters. I know of no man but yourself from whom I should have liked to have letters on the same theme, and if my illness did not make me as reflective as you hoped for, your letter has given me much thought. “It is easy enough for a man to mistake deep dejection for reflection, and so far I might have deceived myself, for I have been depressed to a state I never knew till now.