don't you?

Now, if instantly on the receipt of this you will send a free and
independent citizen down to the Cunard wharf at Boston, you will find
that Captain Hewett, of the _Britannia_ steamship (my ship), has a small
parcel for Professor Felton of Cambridge; and in that parcel you will
find a Christmas Carol in prose; being a short story of Christmas by
Charles Dickens. Over which Christmas Carol Charles Dickens wept and
laughed and wept again, and excited himself in a most extraordinary
manner in the composition; and thinking whereof he walked about the
black streets of London, fifteen and twenty miles many a night when all
the sober folks had gone to bed. . . . Its success is most prodigious.
And by every post all manner of strangers write all manner of letters
to him about their homes and hearths, and how this same Carol is read
aloud there, and kept on a little shelf by itself. Indeed, it is the
greatest success, as I am told, that this ruffian and rascal has ever
achieved.

Forster is out again; and if he don't go in again, after the manner in
which we have been keeping Christmas, he must be very strong indeed.
Such dinings, such dancings, such conjurings, such blindman's-buffings,
such theatre-goings, such kissings-out of old years and kissings-in of
new ones, never took place in these parts before. To keep the Chuzzlewit
going, and do this little book, the Carol, in the odd times between two
parts of it, was, as you may suppose, pretty tight work. But when it was
done I broke out like a madman. And if you could have seen me at a
children's party at Macready's the other night, going down a country
dance with Mrs. M., you would have thought I was a country gentleman of
independent property, residing on a tiptop farm, with the wind blowing
straight in my face every day. . . .

Your friend, Mr. P----, dined with us one day (I don't know whether I
told you this before), and pleased us very much. Mr. C---- has dined
here once, and spent an evening here. I have not seen him lately, though
he has called twice or thrice; for K---- being unwell and I busy, we
have not been visible at our accustomed seasons. I wonder whether H----
has fallen in your way. Poor H----! He was a good fellow, and has the
most grateful heart I ever met with. Our journeyings seem to be a dream
now. Talking of dreams, strange thoughts of Italy and France, and maybe
Germany, are springing up within me as the Chuzzlewit clears off. It's a
secr