London, 28 January 1892 

Dear Hermann, 

I think it’s high time I let you have some news of myself again, the 
more so because gently impelled thereto by business. For in your last 
statement you credited me with 79.40 marks, being a reimbursement 
by F. Engels & Co. This is presumably the cost of the power of attor- 
ney, certified by notary and consul at Rudolf’s request. Otherwise 
everything seems to tally. 

Then I should also like you to tell me how much the Schaaffhau- 
sens you are holding for me are actually worth today, i.e. the price 
and nominal value of my shares. The holding was reduced at one 
time and so I no longer know exactly how many I’ve got; there is 
a possibility I might prefer to get rid of the lot. 

For the rest, I can’t complain. My health is pretty good; my eye 

trouble has more or less cleared up and can be disregarded apart 
from the fact of my not writing by lamplight which admittedly is 
awkward in wintertime. I still enjoy eating and drinking, can still 
walk pretty briskly and am generally considered to be one of the 
youngest old men in London. On the other hand I have to restrict my 
smoking very considerably because, like good wine and, alas, Pilsener 
beer also, it tends to upset the cardiac nerves which, in turn, makes 
me sleep badly. But this only lasts from the New Year to the spring, 
during which time I take sulphonal once a week, and that sees me 
through the bad months as well—the sulphonal all comes from 
Bayers in Elberfeld—and, as soon as the weather is good and I can 
get out into the open air, things begin to look up again, and then 
comes the summer with holidays beside or on the sea, when I shall 
once again be on top of my form. Last summer I spent 4 weeks in the 
Isle of Wight followed by a fortnight in Scotland and Ireland,?** 
mostly afloat; this is what always suits me best, now that riding is out 
of the question. If I could go riding here in winter and spend the sum- 
mer at sea, then [ should certainly be on top of my form again. But 
since this can’t be done, I shall have to content myself with climbing 
London’s Chimborazo, namely Hampstead Heath, which is about 
the same height above sea level as your house in Barmen, that is 
150 metres. Fortunately this suffices at a pinch to keep one’s 
spirits up. 

So far I have fortunately missed having influenza which, however, 
is a veritable scourge over here; people in my street are going down 
like flies, though they most of them eventually recover; but it seems to 
be a wretched affliction, and makes everyone so terribly depressed 
that it quite takes one’s appetite away. 

But now it is your turn to tell me how things are with you, what 
you and Emma are doing and all the children and grandchildren, 
Rudolf, Hedwig and their not inconsiderable appurtenances, the 
Blanks, the Engelskirchen lot—indeed, all the innumerable hordes of 
whom one simply can’t keep track over here. Since Rudolf Blank left 
this country I no longer get any news, particularly since marriages 
and christenings seem to have become fewer and further between; 
these used to provide as it were milestones which enabled one to keep 
tabs on what you were all of you up to. 

With love to Emma and all your family, the Rudolfs, Hedwig 
& Co. & Co. 

Your old 
Friedrich