We are all sorry that you are not coming until the middle of next month,
but we hope that you will then be able to remain, so that we may all
come back together about the 10th of October. I think (recreation
allowed, etc.), that the play will take that time to write. The ladies
of the _dram. pers._ are frightfully anxious to get it under way, and to
see you locked up in the pavilion; apropos of which noble edifice I have
omitted to mention that it is made a more secluded retreat than it used
to be, and is greatly improved by the position of the door being
changed. It is as snug and as pleasant as possible; and the Genius of
Order has made a few little improvements about the house (at the rate of
about tenpence apiece), which the Genius of Disorder will, it is hoped,
appreciate.
I think I must come over for a small spree, and to fetch you. Suppose I
were to come on the 9th or 10th of August to stay three or four days in
town, would that do for you? Let me know at the end of this month.
I cannot tell you what a high opinion I have of Anne Rodway. I took
"Extracts" out of the title because it conveyed to the many-headed an
idea of incompleteness--of something unfinished--and is likely to stall
some readers off. I read the first part at the office with strong
admiration, and read the second on the railway coming back here, being
in town just after you had started on your cruise. My behaviour before
my fellow-passengers was weak in the extreme, for I cried as much as you
could possibly desire. Apart from the genuine force and beauty of the
little narrative, and the admirable personation of the girl's identity
and point of view, it is done with an amount of honest pains and
devotion to the work which few men have better reason to appreciate than
I, and which no man can have a more profound respect for. I think it
excellent, feel a personal pride and pleasure in it which is a
delightful sensation, and know no one else who could have done it.
Of myself I have only to report that I have been hard at it with "Little
Dorrit," and am now doing No. 10. This last week I sketched out the
notion, characters, and progress of the farce, and sent it off to Mark,
who has been ill of an ague. It ought to be very funny. The cat business
is too ludicrous to be treated of in so small a sheet of paper, so I
must describe it _viva voce_ when I come to town. French has been so
insufferably conceited since he shot tigerish cat No. 1 (intent on the
noble Dick, with green eyes three inches in advance of her head), that I
am afraid I shall have to part with him. All the boys likewise (in new
clothes and ready for church) are at this instant prone on their
stomachs behind bushes, whooshing and crying (after tigerish cat No. 2):
"French!" "Here she comes!" "There she goes!" etc. I dare not put my
head out of window for fear of being shot (it is as like a _coup d'etat_
as possible), and tradesmen coming up the avenue cry plaintively: "_Ne
tirez pas, Monsieur Fleench; c'est moi--boulanger. Ne tirez pas, mon
ami._"
Likewise I shall have to recount to you the secret history of a robbery
at the Pavilion at Folkestone, which you will have to write.
Tell Piggot, when you see him, that we shall all be much pleased if he
will come at his own convenience while you are here, and stay a few days
with us.
I shall have more than one notion of future work to suggest to you while
we are beguiling the dreariness of an arctic winter in these parts. May
they prosper!
Kind regards from all to the Dramatic Poet of the establishment, and to
the D. P.'s mother and brother.
Ever yours.
P.S.--If the "Flying Dutchman" should be done again, pray do go and see
it. Webster expressed his opinion to me that it was "a neat piece." I
implore you to go and see a neat piece.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]