I thought we 'd have got plenty of letters of recommendation for the Continent while we were in London; but it is downright impossible to see people there. Vickars, our member, was never at home, and Lord Pummistone--I might besiege Downing Street from morning till night, and never get a sight of him! I wrote as many as twenty letters, and it was only when I bethought me of saying that the Whigs never did anything except for people of the Grey, Elliott, or Dundas family, that he sent me five lines, with a kind of introduction to any of the envoys or plenipotentiaries I might meet abroad,--a roving commission after a dinner,--sorrow more or less! I believe, however, that this is of no consequence; at least, a most agreeable man, one Krauth, the sub-consul at Moelendrach, somewhere in Holland, and who came over in the same packet with us, tells me that people of condition, like us, find their place in the genteel society abroad as naturally as a man with moustaches goes to Leicester Square. That seems a comfort; for, between me and you, the fighting and scrambling that goes on at home about _who_ we 'll have, and who 'll have us, makes life little better than an election shindy! K. is a mighty nice man, and full of information. He appears to be rich, too, for Tom saw as many as thirteen gold watches in his room; and he has chains and pins and brooches without end. He was trying to persuade us to spend the winter at Moelendrach, where, besides a heavenly climate, there are such beautiful walks on the dikes, and elegant society! Mrs. D. does n't like it, however, for, though we 've been looking all the morning, we can't find the place on the map; but that does n't signify much, since even our post town of Kellynnaignabacklish is put down in the "Gazetteer" "a small village on the road to Bruff," and no mention whatever of the police-station, nor Hannagin's school, nor the Pound. That's the way the blackguards make books nowadays!