Bobbing up, corkwise, from a sea of "Hard Times" I beg to report this
tenement--AMAZING!!! Range of view and air, most free and delightful;
hill-side garden, delicious; field, stupendous; speculations in haycocks
already effected by the undersigned, with the view to the keeping up of
a "home" at rounders.
I hope to finish and get to town by next Wednesday night, the 19th; what
do you say to coming back with me on the following Tuesday? The interval
I propose to pass in a career of amiable dissipation and unbounded
license in the metropolis. If you will come and breakfast with me about
midnight--anywhere--any day, and go to bed no more until we fly to these
pastoral retreats, I shall be delighted to have so vicious an associate.
Will you undertake to let Ward know that if he still wishes me to sit to
him, he shall have me as long as he likes, at Tavistock House, on
Monday, the 24th, from ten A.M.?
I have made it understood here that we shall want to be taken the
greatest care of this summer, and to be fed on nourishing meats. Several
new dishes have been rehearsed and have come out very well. I have met
with what they call in the City "a parcel" of the celebrated 1846
champagne. It is a very fine wine, and calculated to do us good when
weak.
The camp is about a mile off. Voluptuous English authors reposing from
their literary fatigues (on their laurels) are expected, when all other
things fail, to lie on straw in the midst of it when the days are sunny,
and stare at the blue sea until they fall asleep. (About one hundred
and fifty soldiers have been at various times billeted on Beaucourt
since we have been here, and he has clinked glasses with them every one,
and read a MS. book of his father's, on soldiers in general, to them
all.)
I shall be glad to hear what you say to these various proposals. I write
with the Emperor in the town, and a great expenditure of tricolour
floating thereabouts, but no stir makes its way to this inaccessible
retreat. It is like being up in a balloon. Lionising Englishmen and
Germans start to call, and are found lying imbecile in the road halfway
up. Ha! ha! ha!
Kindest regards from all. The Plornishghenter adds Mr. and Mrs. Goose's
duty.
Ever faithfully.
P.S.--The cobbler has been ill these many months, and unable to work;
has had a carbuncle in his back, and has it cut three times a week. The
little dog sits at the door so unhappy and anxious to help, that I every
day expect to see him beginning a pair of top boots.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]