we came along were wretched. We find a very
moderate let here; but I am myself rather surprised to know that a
hundred and twenty stalls have made up their minds to the undertaking of
getting to the hall. This seems to be a very nice hotel, but it is an
extraordinarily cold one. Our reading for to-night is "Marigold" and
"Trial." With amazing perversity the local agent said to Dolby: "They
hoped that Mr. Dickens _might_ have given them 'The Boy at Mugby.'"

Barton, the gasman who succeeded the man who sprained his leg, sprained
_his_ leg yesterday!! And that, not at his work, but in running
downstairs at the hotel. However, he has hobbled through it so far, and
I hope will hobble on, for he knows his work.

I have seldom seen a place look more hopelessly frozen up than this
place does. The hall is like a Methodist chapel in low spirits, and with
a cold in its head. A few blue people shiver at the corners of the
streets. And this house, which is outside the town, looks like an
ornament on an immense twelfth cake baked for 1847.

I am now going to the fire to try to warm myself, but have not the least
expectation of succeeding. The sitting-room has two large windows in it,
down to the ground and facing due east. The adjoining bedroom (mine) has
also two large windows in it, down to the ground and facing due east.
The very large doors are opposite the large windows, and I feel as if I
were something to eat in a pantry.

[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._

At Chester we read in a snowstorm and a fall of ice. I think it was the
worst weather I ever saw. Nevertheless, the people were enthusiastic. At
Wolverhampton last night the thaw had thoroughly set in, and it rained
heavily. We had not intended to go back there, but have arranged to do
so on the day after Ash Wednesday. Last night I was again heavily
beaten. We came on here after the reading (it is only a ride of forty
minutes), and it was as much as I could do to hold out the journey. But
I was not faint, as at Liverpool; I was only exhausted. I am all right
this morning; and to-night, as you know, I have a rest. I trust that
Charley Collins is better, and that Mamie is strong and well again.
Yesterday I had a note from Katie, which seemed hopeful and encouraging.

[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._

Since I wrote to your aunt just no