3] I have sent it up to the printer, and Wills
is to send you a proof. Will you look carefully at all the earlier part,
where the use of the past tense instead of the present a little hurts
the picturesque effect? I understand each phase of the thing to be
_always a thing present before the mind's eye_--a shadow passing before
it. Whatever is done, must be _doing_. Is it not so? For example, if I
did the Shadow of Robinson Crusoe, I should not say he _was_ a boy at
Hull, when his father lectured him about going to sea, and so forth; but
he _is_ a boy at Hull. There he is, in that particular Shadow, eternally
a boy at Hull; his life to me is a series of shadows, but there is no
"was" in the case. If I choose to go to his manhood, I can. These
shadows don't change as realities do. No phase of his existence passes
away, if I choose to bring it to this unsubstantial and delightful life,
the only death of which, to me, is _my_ death, and thus he is immortal
to unnumbered thousands. If I am right, will you look at the proof
through the first third or half of the papers, and see whether the
Factor comes before us in that way? If not, it is merely the alteration
of the verb here and there that is requisite.

You say you are coming down to look for a place next week. Now, Jerrold
says he is coming on Thursday, by the cheap express at half-past twelve,
to return with me for the play early on Monday morning. Can't you make
that holiday too? I have promised him our only spare bed, but we'll find
you a bed hard by, and shall be delighted "to eat and drink you," as an
American once wrote to me. We will make expeditions to Herne Bay,
Canterbury, where not? and drink deep draughts of fresh air. Come! They
are beginning to cut the corn. You will never see the country so pretty.
If you stay in town these days, you'll do nothing. I feel convinced
you'll not buy the "Memoirs of a Man of Quality." Say you'll come!

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone.]

BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _Saturday, August 23rd, 1851._

MY DEAR STONE,

A "dim vision" occurs to me, arising out of your note; also presents
itself to the brains of my other half.

Supposing you should find, on looking onward, a possibility of your
being houseless at Michaelmas, what do you say to using Devonshire
Terrace as a temporary encampment? It will not be in its usual order,
but we would take care