* * * * *
So far from having "got through my agonies," as you benevolently hope, I
have not yet begun them. No, on this _ninth of the month_ I have not yet
written a single slip. What could I do; house-hunting at first, and
beleaguered all day to-day and yesterday by furniture that must be
altered, and things that must be put away? My wretchedness, just now, is
inconceivable. Tell Anne, by-the-bye (not with reference to my
wretchedness, but in connection with the arrangements generally), that I
can't get on at all without her.
If Kate has not mentioned it, get Katey and Mamey to write and send a
letter to Charley; of course not hinting at our being here. He wants to
hear from them.
Poor little Hall is dead, as you will have seen, I dare say, in the
paper. This house is very cheerful on the drawing-room floor and above,
looking into the park on one side and Albany Street on the other.
Forster is mild. Maclise, exceedingly bald on the crown of his head.
Roche has just come in to know if he may "blow datter light." Love to
all the darlings. Regards to everybody else. Love to yourself.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Miss Dickens and Miss Katey Dickens.]