What a blessing that he was not here just now! It is my black Monday when his holidays begin.
Instead of getting steadier, he grows more plaguesome.

And the wonder of it is that he would tie your kid shoes; while he pulls out my jaconet, and sits on my French hat.

How I wish he was old enough for his commission! To-morrow he will be dancing in and out of every cottage, boat, or gun, or rabbit-hole, and nothing shall be hidden from his eyes and ears.

Let him come.

'I am accustomed to have all things go awry,' as somebody says in some tragedy.