y, and
how sorely I miss a dear friend, and how sorely I miss all art, in these
parts. No disparagement to the country, which has a great future in
reserve, or to its people, who are very kind to me.

I mean to take my leave of readings in the autumn and winter, in a final
series in England with Chappell. This will come into the way of literary
work for a time, for, after I have rested--don't laugh--it is a grim
reality--I shall have to turn my mind to--ha! ha! ha!--to--ha! ha! ha!
(more sepulchrally than before)--the--the CHRISTMAS NUMBER!!! I feel as
if I had murdered a Christmas number years ago (perhaps I did!) and its
ghost perpetually haunted me. Nevertheless in some blessed rest at
Gad's, we will talk over stage matters, and all matters, in an even way,
and see what we can make of them, please God. Be sure that I shall not
be in London one evening, after disembarking, without coming round to
the theatre to embrace you, my dear fellow.

I have had an American cold (the worst in the world) since Christmas
Day. I read four times a week, with the most tremendous energy I can
bring to bear upon it. I travel about pretty heavily. I am very resolute
about calling on people, or receiving people, or dining out, and so save
myself a great deal. I read in all sorts of places--churches, theatres,
concert rooms, lecture halls. Every night I read I am described (mostly
by people who have not the faintest notion of observing) from the sole
of my boot to where the topmost hair of my head ought to be, but is not.
Sometimes I am described as being "evidently nervous;" sometimes it is
rather taken ill that "Mr. Dickens is so extraordinarily composed." My
eyes are blue, red, grey, white, green, brown, black, hazel, violet, and
rainbow-coloured. I am like "a well-to-do American gentleman," and the
Emperor of the French, with an occasional touch of the Emperor of China,
and a deterioration from the attributes of our famous townsman, Rufus W.
B. D. Dodge Grumsher Pickville. I say all sorts of things that I never
said, go to all sorts of places that I never saw or heard of, and have
done all manner of things (in some previous state of existence I
suppose) that have quite escaped my memory. You ask your friend to
describe what he is about. This is what he is about, every day and hour
of his American life.

I hope to be back with you before you write to me!

Ever, my dear Fechter,
Your mo