ouse of business, where he
might find a path perhaps for his younger brothers, and stay at home,
and make himself the head of that long, small procession. I was very
much pleased with him indeed; he showed a fine sense and a fine feeling
in the whole matter. We have arranged, therefore, that he shall leave
Eton at Christmas, and go to Germany after the holidays, to become well
acquainted with that language, now most essential in such a walk of life
as he will probably tread.

And I think this is the whole of my news. We are always talking of you
at home. Mary Boyle dined with us a little while ago. You look out, I
imagine, on a waste of water. When I came from Windsor, I thought I must
have made a mistake and got into a boat (in the dark) instead of a
railway-carriage. Catherine and Georgina send their kindest loves. I am
ever, with the best and truest wishes of my heart, my dear Mrs. Watson,

Your most affectionate Friend.

[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]

OFFICE OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS," _Monday, Nov. 22nd, 1852._

MY DEAR WHITE,

First and foremost, there is no doubt whatever of your story suiting
"Household Words." It is a very good story indeed, and would be
serviceable at any time. I am not quite so clear of its suiting the
Christmas number, for this reason. You know what the spirit of the
Christmas number is. When I suggested the stories being about a
highwayman, I got hold of that idea as being an adventurous one,
including various kinds of wrong, expressing a state of society no
longer existing among us, and pleasant to hear (therefore) from an old
man. Now, your highwayman not being a real highwayman after all, the
kind of suitable Christmas interest I meant to awaken in the story is
not in it. Do you understand? For an ordinary number it is quite
unobjectionable. If you should think of any other idea, narratable by an
old man, which you think would strike the chord of the season; and if
you should find time to work it out during the short remainder of this
month, I should be greatly pleased to have it. In any case, this story
goes straightway into type.

What tremendous weather it is! Our best loves to all at home. (I have
just bought thirty bottles of the most stunning port on earth, which
Ellis of the Star and Garter, Richmond, wrote to me of.)

I think you will find some good going in the next "Bleak House." I write
shortly, having been working