liam Harness.]

VILLA DU CAMP DE DROITE, BOULOGNE,
_Saturday, Aug. 19th, 1854._

MY DEAR HARNESS,

Yes. The book came from me. I could not put a memorandum to that effect
on the title-page, in consequence of my being here.

I am heartily glad you like it. I know the piece you mention, but am far
from being convinced by it. A great misgiving is upon me, that in many
things (this thing among the rest) too many are martyrs to _our_
complacency and satisfaction, and that we must give up something thereof
for their poor sakes.

My kindest regards to your sister, and my love (if I may send it) to
another of your relations.

Always, very faithfully yours.

[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]

VILLA DU CAMP DE DROITE, BOULOGNE,
_Wednesday, Sept. 6th, 1854._

* * * * *

Any Saturday on which the tide serves your purpose (next Saturday
excepted) will suit me for the flying visit you hint at; and we shall be
delighted to see you. Although the camp is not above a mile from this
gate, we never see or hear of it, unless we choose. If you could come
here in dry weather you would find it as pretty, airy, and pleasant a
situation as you ever saw. We illuminated the whole front of the house
last night--eighteen windows--and an immense palace of light was seen
sparkling on this hill-top for miles and miles away. I rushed to a
distance to look at it, and never saw anything of the same kind half so
pretty.

The town[18] looks like one immense flag, it is so decked out with
streamers; and as the royal yacht approached yesterday--the whole range
of the cliff tops lined with troops, and the artillery matches in hand,
all ready to fire the great guns the moment she made the harbour; the
sailors standing up in the prow of the yacht, the Prince in a blazing
uniform, left alone on the deck for everybody to see--a stupendous
silence, and then such an infernal blazing and banging as never was
heard. It was almost as fine a sight as one could see under a deep blue
sky. In our own proper illumination I laid on all the servants, all the
children now at home, all the visitors (it is the annual "Household
Words" time), one to every window, with everything ready to light up on
the ringing of a big dinner-bell by your humble correspondent. St.
Peter's on Easter