the
little steamer that brought me ashore from the _Cuba_. He took it into
his head that he would have a piece of English mistletoe brought out in
this week's Cunard, which should be laid upon my breakfast-table. And
there it was this morning. In such affectionate touches as this, these
New England people are especially amiable.

As a general rule, you may lay it down that whatever you see about me in
the papers is not true. But although my voyage out was of that highly
hilarious description that you first made known to me, you may
_generally_ lend a more believing ear to the Philadelphia correspondent
of _The Times_. I don't know him, but I know the source from which he
derives his information, and it is a very respectable one.

Did I tell you in a former letter from here, to tell Anne, with her old
master's love, that I had seen Putnam, my old secretary? Grey, and with
several front teeth out, but I would have known him anywhere. He is
coming to "Copperfield" to-night, accompanied by his wife and daughter,
and is in the seventh heaven at having his tickets given him.

Our hotel in New York was on fire _again_ the other night. But fires in
this country are quite matters of course. There was a large one there at
four this morning, and I don't think a single night has passed since I
have been under the protection of the Eagle, but I have heard the fire
bells dolefully clanging all over the city.

Dolby sends his kindest regard. His hair has become quite white, the
effect, I suppose, of the climate. He is so universally hauled over the
coals (for no reason on earth), that I fully expect to hear him, one of
these nights, assailed with a howl when he precedes me to the platform
steps. You may conceive what the low newspapers are here, when one of
them yesterday morning had, as an item of news, the intelligence:
"Dickens's Readings. The chap calling himself Dolby got drunk last
night, and was locked up in a police-station for fighting an Irishman."
I don't find that anybody is shocked by this liveliness.

My love to all, and to Mrs. Hulkes and the boy. By-the-bye, when we left
New York for this place, Dolby called my amazed attention to the
circumstance that Scott was leaning his head against the side of the
carriage and weeping bitterly. I asked him what was the matter, and he
replied: "The owdacious treatment of the luggage, which was more
outrageous than a man could bear." I told him not to make a fool of
himself; b