before the wine went
round, unmistakably pale, and had horror-stricken faces. Next morning
Harness (Fields knows--Rev. William--did an edition of Shakespeare--old
friend of the Kembles and Mrs. Siddons), writing to me about it, and
saying it was "a most amazing and terrific thing," added, "but I am
bound to tell you that I had an almost irresistible impulse upon me to
_scream_, and that, if anyone had cried out, I am certain I should have
followed." He had no idea that, on the night, P----, the great ladies'
doctor, had taken me aside and said: "My dear Dickens, you may rely upon
it that if only one woman cries out when you murder the girl, there will
be a contagion of hysteria all over this place." It is impossible to
soften it without spoiling it, and you may suppose that I am rather
anxious to discover how it goes on the 5th of January!!! We are afraid
to announce it elsewhere, without knowing, except that I have thought it
pretty safe to put it up once in Dublin. I asked Mrs. K----, the famous
actress, who was at the experiment: "What do _you_ say? Do it or not?"
"Why, of course, do it," she replied. "Having got at such an effect as
that, it must be done. But," rolling her large black eyes very slowly,
and speaking very distinctly, "the public have been looking out for a
sensation these last fifty years or so, and by Heaven they have got it!"
With which words, and a long breath and a long stare, she became
speechless. Again, you may suppose that I am a little anxious!

Not a day passes but Dolby and I talk about you both, and recall where
we were at the corresponding time of last year. My old likening of
Boston to Edinburgh has been constantly revived within these last ten
days. There is a certain remarkable similarity of _tone_ between the two
places. The audiences are curiously alike, except that the Edinburgh
audience has a quicker sense of humour and is a little more genial. No
disparagement to Boston in this, because I consider an Edinburgh
audience perfect.

I trust, my dear Eugenius, that you have recognised yourself in a
certain Uncommercial, and also some small reference to a name rather
dear to you? As an instance of how strangely something comic springs up
in the midst of the direst misery, look to a succeeding Uncommercial,
called "A Small Star in the East," published to-day, by-the-bye. I have
described, _with exactness_, the poor places into which I went, and how
the people behaved, and what they said