oken it so soon, when there was no occasion or excuse: unless it
were the thought of leaving his Wife so ill at home. The Man is so
beyond others, as I think, that I have come to feel that I must not
condemn him by general rule; nevertheless, if he ask me, I can refer
him to no other. I must send him back his own written Promise of
Sobriety, signed only a month before he broke it so needlessly: and I
must even tell him that I know not yet if he can be left with the
Mortgage as we settled it in May. . . .

"P.S.--I enclose Posh's letter, and the answer I propose to give to
it. I am sure it makes me sad and ashamed to be setting up for Judge
on a much nobler Creature than myself. . . . I had thought of
returning him his written Promise as worthless: desiring back my
direction to my Heirs that he should keep on the Lugger in case of my
Death. . . . I think Posh ought to be made to feel this severely:
and, as his Wife is better I do not mind making him feel it if I can.
On the other hand, I do not wish to drive Him, by Despair, into the
very fault which I have so tried to cure him of. . . ."

His mother did not try to excuse him at all: his father would not even
see him go off. She merely told me parenthetically, "I tell him he seem
to do it when the Governor is here."

If FitzGerald had not set poor Posh (for in a way I am sorry for the old
fellow) on a pedestal, he would have understood that to a longshoreman or
herring fisher who drinks it (there are many teetotallers now), "bare"
can never be regarded as an enemy. Posh did not think any excuse was
necessary for having had, perhaps, more than he could conveniently carry.
It was his last day ashore (though I can't quite understand what fishing
he was going on unless the herring came down earlier than they do now),
and he was "injyin' of hisself." In the old days they took a cask or so
aboard. This is never done now, and the chief drink aboard is cocoa
(pronounced, as FitzGerald writes, "cuckoo"). Posh no doubt thought
himself hard done by that such a fuss should have been made about a
"drarp o' bare." He doubtless wished that FitzGerald should forgive him.
For, despite his conduct, he did, I truly believe, love his "guv'nor." As
for the father and mother, well, they smoothed down the "gennleman" and
sympathised with their son according to their kind and to mother nature.
The Direction to FitzGerald's Heirs, whic