I think that long ride and those
late dinners had been too much for her. Without them I am inclined to
doubt whether she would have been ill.

Last Sunday as ever was, the theatre took fire at half-past eleven in
the forenoon. Being close by the English church, it showered hot sparks
into that temple through the open windows. Whereupon the congregation
shrieked and rose and tumbled out into the street; ---- benignly
observing to the only ancient female who would listen to him, "I fear we
must part;" and afterwards being beheld in the street--in his robes and
with a kind of sacred wildness on him--handing ladies over the kennel
into shops and other structures, where they had no business whatever, or
the least desire to go. I got to the back of the theatre, where I could
see in through some great doors that had been forced open, and whence
the spectacle of the whole interior, burning like a red-hot cavern, was
really very fine, even in the daylight. Meantime the soldiers were at
work, "saving" the scenery by pitching it into the next street; and the
poor little properties (one spinning-wheel, a feeble imitation of a
water-mill, and a basketful of the dismalest artificial flowers very
conspicuous) were being passed from hand to hand with the greatest
excitement, as if they were rescued children or lovely women. In four or
five hours the whole place was burnt down, except the outer walls. Never
in my days did I behold such feeble endeavours in the way of
extinguishment. On an average I should say it took ten minutes to throw
half a gallon of water on the great roaring heap; and every time it was
insulted in this way it gave a ferocious burst, and everybody ran off.
Beaucourt has been going about for two days in a clean collar; which
phenomenon evidently means something, but I don't know what. Elliotson
reports that the great conjuror lives at his hotel, has extra wine every
day, and fares expensively. Is he the devil?

I have heard from the Kernel.[19] Wa'al, sir, sayin' as he minded to
locate himself with us for a week, I expected to have heard from him
again this morning, but have not. Beard comes to-morrow.

Kindest regards and remembrances from all. Ward lives in a little street
between the two Tintilleries. The Plornish-Maroon desires his duty. He
had a fall yesterday, through overbalancing himself in kicking his
nurse.

Ever faithfully.

[Sidenote: Mr. Fran