First of all, here is enclosed a letter for Mrs. Stanfield, which, if
you don't immediately and faithfully deliver, you will hear of in an
unpleasant way from the station-house at the curve of the hill above
you.
Secondly, this is not to remind you that we meet at the Athenaeum next
Monday at five, because none but a mouldy swab as never broke biscuit or
lay out on the for'sel-yard-arm in a gale of wind ever forgot an
appointment with a messmate.
But what I want you to think of at your leisure is this: when our dear
old Macready was in town last, I saw it would give him so much interest
and pleasure if I promised to go down and read my "Christmas Carol" to
the little Sherborne Institution, which is now one of the few active
objects he has in the life about him, that I came out with that promise
in a bold--I may say a swaggering way. Consequently, on Wednesday, the
20th of December, I am going down to see him, with Kate and Georgina,
returning to town in good time for Christmas, on Saturday, the 23rd. Do
you think you could manage to go and return with us? I really believe
there is scarcely anything in the world that would give him such
extraordinary pleasure as such a visit; and if you would empower me to
send him an intimation that he may expect it, he will have a daily joy
in looking forward to the time (I am seriously sure) which we--whose
light has not gone out, and who are among our old dear pursuits and
associations--can scarcely estimate.
I don't like to broach the idea in a careless way, and so I propose it
thus, and ask you to think of it.
Ever most affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Miss Procter.]