lway
station."

A telegram from Berry at Edinburgh yesterday evening, to say that he
had got the bills, and that they would all be up and dispersed yesterday
evening under his own eyes. So no time was lost in setting things as
right as they can be set. He has now gone on to Glasgow.

P.S.--Duty to Mrs. Bouncer.

[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

BERWICK-ON-TWEED, _Monday, Nov. 25th, 1861._

I write (in a gale of wind, with a high sea running), to let you know
that we go on to Edinburgh at half-past eight to-morrow morning.

A most ridiculous room was designed for me in this odd out-of-the-way
place. An immense Corn Exchange made of glass and iron, round,
dome-topped, lofty, utterly absurd for any such purpose, and full of
thundering echoes, with a little lofty crow's-nest of a stone gallery
breast high, deep in the wall, into which it was designed to put _me_! I
instantly struck, of course, and said I would either read in a room
attached to this house (a very snug one, capable of holding five hundred
people) or not at all. Terrified local agents glowered, but fell
prostrate.

Berry has this moment come back from Edinburgh and Glasgow with hopeful
accounts. He seems to have done the business extremely well, and he says
that it was quite curious and cheering to see how the Glasgow people
assembled round the bills the instant they were posted, and evidently
with a great interest in them.

We left Newcastle yesterday morning in the dark, when it was intensely
cold and froze very hard. So it did here. But towards night the wind
went round to the S.W., and all night it has been blowing very hard
indeed. So it is now.

Tell Mamie that I have the same sitting-room as we had when we came here
with poor Arthur, and that my bedroom is the room out of it which she
and Katie had. Surely it is the oddest town to read in! But it is taken
on poor Arthur's principle that a place in the way pays the expenses of
a through journey; and the people would seem to be coming up to the
scratch gallantly. It was a dull Sunday, though; O it _was_ a dull
Sunday, without a book! For I had forgotten to buy one at Newcastle,
until it was too late. So after dark I made a jug of whisky-punch, and
drowned the unlucky Headland's remembrance of his failures.

I shall hope to hear very soon that the workmen have "broken through,"
and that you have been in the state apartments, and that upholstery
measurements have come off.