to cut out the rest, had dressed this house so, that every brick of it was hidden.  They had asked M——­’s permission to “ring the alarm-bell (!) when master drove up”; but M——­, having some slight idea that that compliment might awaken master’s sense of the ludicrous, had recommended bell abstinence.  But on Sunday, the village choir (which includes the bell-ringers) made amends.  After some unusually brief pious reflection in the crowns of their hats at the end of the sermon, the ringers bolted out and rang like mad until I got home. (There had been a conspiracy among the villagers to take the horse out, if I had come to our own station, and draw me here.  M——­ and G——­ had got wind of it and warned me.)

Divers birds sing here all day, and the nightingales all night.  The place is lovely, and in perfect order.  I have put five mirrors in the Swiss Chalet (where I write), and they reflect and refract in all kinds of ways the leaves that are quivering at the windows, and he great fields of waving corn, and the sail-dotted river.  My room is up among the branches of the trees; and the birds and the butterflies fly in and out, and the green branches shoot in, at the open windows, and the lights and shadows of the clouds come and go with the rest of the company.  The scent of the flowers, and indeed of everything that is growing for miles and miles, is most delicious.

Dolby (who sends a world of messages) found his wife much better than he expected, and the children (wonderful to relate!) perfect.  The little girl winds up her prayers every night with a special commendation to Heaven of me and the pony,—­as if I must mount him to get there!  I dine with Dolby (I was going to write “him,” but found it would look as if I were going to dine with the pony) at Greenwich this very day, and if your ears do not burn from six to nine this evening, then the Atlantic is a non-conductor.  We are already settling—­think of this!—­the details of my farewell course of readings.  I am brown beyond relief, and cause the greatest disappointment in all quarters by looking so well.  It is really wonderful what those fine days at sea did for me!  My doctor was quite broken down in spirits when he saw me, for the first time since my return, last Saturday.  “Good Lord!” he said, recoiling; “seven years younger!”

It is time I should explain the otherwise inexplicable enclosure.  Will you tell Fields, with my love, (I suppose he hasn’t used all the pens yet?) that I think there is in Tremont Street a set of my books, sent out by Chapman, not arrived when I departed.  Such set of the immortal works of our illustrious, etc., is designed for the gentleman to whom the enclosure is addressed.  If T., F., & Co. will kindly forward the set (carriage paid) with the enclosure to ——­’s address, I will invoke new blessings on their heads, and will get Dolby’s little daughter to mention them nightly.