Faithfully yours.

[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone.]

BEDFORD HOTEL, BRIGHTON, _Monday Night, Nov. 27th, 1848._

MY DEAR STONE,

You are a TRUMP, emphatically a TRUMP, and such are my feelings towards
you at this moment that I think (but I am not sure) that if I saw you
about to place a card on a wrong pack at Bibeck (?), I wouldn't breathe
a word of objection.

Sir, there is a subject I have written to-day for the third part, that I
think and hope will just suit you. Scene, Tetterby's. Time, morning. The
power of bringing back people's memories of sorrow, wrong and trouble,
has been given by the ghost to Milly, though she don't know it herself.
As she comes along the street, Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby recover themselves,
and are mutually affectionate again, and embrace, closing _rather_ a
good scene of quarrel and discontent. The moment they do so, Johnny (who
has seen her in the distance and announced her before, from which moment
they begin to recover) cries "Here she is!" and she comes in, surrounded
by the little Tetterbys, the very spirit of morning, gladness,
innocence, hope, love, domesticity, etc. etc. etc. etc.

I would limit the illustration to her and the children, which will make
a fitness between it and your other illustrations, and give them all a
character of their own. The exact words of the passage I endorsed on
another slip of paper. Note. There are six boy Tetterbys present (young
'Dolphus is not there), including Johnny; and in Johnny's arms is
Moloch, the baby, who is a girl. I hope to be back in town next Monday,
and will lose no time in reporting myself to you. Don't wait to send me
the drawing of this. I know how pretty she will be with the children in
your hands, and should be a stupendous jackass if I had any distrust of
it.

The Duke of Cambridge is staying in this house, and they are driving me
mad by having Life Guards bands under our windows, playing _our_
overtures! I have been at work all day, and am going to wander into the
theatre, where (for the comic man's benefit) "two gentlemen of Brighton"
are performing two counts in a melodrama. I was quite addle-headed for
the time being, and think an amateur or so would revive me. No 'Tone! I
don't in the abstract approve of Brighton. I couldn't pass an autumn
here; but it is a gay place for a week or so; and when one laughs and
cries, and suffers the agitation that some men experience over th