w.

I made up a very good number yesterday. You will see in it a very short
article that I have called "Now!" which is a highly remarkable piece of
description. It is done by a new man, from whom I have accepted another
article; but he will never do anything so good again.

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Wednesday, Aug. 26th, 1868._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I was happy to receive your esteemed letter a few days ago.

The severity of the winter in America (which was quite exceptional even
in that rigorous climate), combined with the hard work I had to do,
tried me a good deal. Neuralgia and colds beset me, either by turns or
both together, and I had often much to do to get through at night. But
the sea voyage home again did wonders in restoring me, and I have been
very well indeed, though a little fatigued, ever since. I am now
preparing for a final reading campaign in England, Scotland, and
Ireland. It will begin on the 6th of October, and will probably last,
with short occasional intermissions, until June.

The great subject in England for the moment is the horrible accident to
the Irish mail-train. It is now supposed that the petroleum (known to be
a powerful anaesthetic) rendered the unfortunate people who were burnt
almost instantly insensible to any sensation. My escape in the
Staplehurst accident of three years ago is not to be obliterated from my
nervous system. To this hour I have sudden vague rushes of terror, even
when riding in a hansom cab, which are perfectly unreasonable but quite
insurmountable. I used to make nothing of driving a pair of horses
habitually through the most crowded parts of London. I cannot now drive,
with comfort to myself, on the country roads here; and I doubt if I
could ride at all in the saddle. My reading secretary and companion
knows so well when one of these odd momentary seizures comes upon me in
a railway carriage, that he instantly produces a dram of brandy, which
rallies the blood to the heart and generally prevails. I forget whether
I ever told you that my watch (a chronometer) has never gone exactly
since the accident? So the Irish catastrophe naturally revives the
dreadful things I saw that day.

The only other news here you know as well as I; to wit, that the country
is going to be ruined, and tha