I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful manner and the true spirit
of friendship in which you have noticed my "Carol." But I _must_ thank
you because you have filled my heart up to the brim, and it is running
over.
You meant to give me great pleasure, my dear fellow, and you have done
it. The tone of your elegant and fervent praise has touched me in the
tenderest place. I cannot write about it, and as to talking of it, I
could no more do that than a dumb man. I have derived inexpressible
gratification from what I know was a labour of love on your part. And I
can never forget it.
When I think it likely that I may meet you (perhaps at Ainsworth's on
Friday?) I shall slip a "Carol" into my pocket and ask you to put it
among your books for my sake. You will never like it the less for having
made it the means of so much happiness to me.
Always, my dear Blanchard,
Faithfully your Friend.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Charles Dickens.]