rk. My New York readings are over (except four farewell nights in
April), and I look forward to the relief of being out of my hardest
hall. Last Friday night, though it was only "Nickleby" and "Boots," I
was again dead beat at the end, and was once more laid upon a sofa. But
the faintness went off after a little while. We have now cold, bright,
frosty weather, without snow--the best weather for me.

Having been in great trepidation about the play, I am correspondingly
elated by the belief that it really _is_ a success. No doubt the
unnecessary explanations will have been taken out, and the flatness of
the last act fetched up. At some points I could have done wonders to it,
in the way of screwing it up sharply and picturesquely, if I could have
rehearsed it. Your account of the first night interested me immensely,
but I was afraid to open the letter until Dolby rushed in with the
opened _Times_.

On Wednesday I come back here for my four church readings at Brooklyn.
Each evening an enormous ferryboat will convey me and my state carriage
(not to mention half-a-dozen waggons, and any number of people, and a
few score of horses) across the river, and will bring me back again. The
sale of tickets there was an amazing scene. The noble army of
speculators are now furnished (this is literally true, and I am quite
serious), each man with a straw mattress, a little bag of bread and
meat, two blankets, and a bottle of whisky. With this outfit _they lie
down in line on the pavement_ the whole night before the tickets are
sold, generally taking up their position at about ten. It being severely
cold at Brooklyn, they made an immense bonfire in the street--a narrow
street of wooden houses!--which the police turned out to extinguish. A
general fight then took place, out of which the people farthest off in
the line rushed bleeding when they saw a chance of displacing others
near the door, and put their mattresses in those places, and then held
on by the iron rails. At eight in the morning Dolby appeared with the
tickets in a portmanteau. He was immediately saluted with a roar of
"Halloa, Dolby! So Charley has let you have the carriage, has he, Dolby!
How is he, Dolby! Don't drop the tickets, Dolby! Look alive, Dolby!"
etc. etc. etc., in the midst of which he proceeded to business, and
concluded (as usual) by giving universal dissatisfaction.

He is now going off upon a little journey "to look over the ground and
cut back again." This