Volume Iii Part 6 (1/2)
If you have any difficulty about Kit, never mind about putting him in.
The two others to-morrow.
Faithfully always.
[Sidenote: Mr. George Cattermole.]
DEVONs.h.i.+RE TERRACE, _Friday Morning._
MY DEAR CATTERMOLE,
I sent the MS. of the enclosed proof, marked 2, up to Chapman and Hall, from Devons.h.i.+re, mentioning a subject of an old gateway, which I had put in expressly with a view to your ill.u.s.trious pencil. By a mistake, however, it went to Browne instead. Chapman is out of town, and such things have gone wrong in consequence.
The subject to which I wish to call your attention is in an unwritten number to follow this one, but it is a mere echo of what you will find at the conclusion of this proof marked 2. I want the cart, gaily decorated, going through the street of the old town with the wax brigand displayed to fierce advantage, and the child seated in it also dispersing bills. As many flags and inscriptions about Jarley's Wax Work fluttering from the cart as you please. You know the wax brigands, and how they contemplate small oval miniatures? That's the figure I want. I send you the sc.r.a.p of MS. which contains the subject.
Will you, when you have done this, send it with all speed to Chapman and Hall, as we are mortally pressed for time, and I must go hard to work to make up for what I have lost by being dutiful and going to see my father.
I want to see you about a frontispiece to our first ”Clock” volume, which will come out (I think) at the end of September, and about other matters. When shall we meet and where?
I say nothing about our cousin or the baby, for Kate bears this, and will make me a full report and convey all loves and congratulations.
Could you dine with us on Sunday, at six o'clock sharp? I'd come and fetch you in the morning, and we could take a ride and walk. We shall be quite alone, unless Macready comes. What say you?
Don't forget despatch, there's a dear fellow, and ever believe me,
Heartily yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. George Cattermole.]
_December 22nd, 1840._
DEAR GEORGE,
The child lying dead in the little sleeping-room, which is behind the open screen. It is winter time, so there are no flowers; but upon her breast and pillow, and about her bed, there may be strips of holly and berries, and such free green things. Window overgrown with ivy. The little boy who had that talk with her about angels may be by the bedside, if you like it so; but I think it will be quieter and more peaceful if she is quite alone. I want it to express the most beautiful repose and tranquillity, and to have something of a happy look, if death can.
2.
The child has been buried inside the church, and the old man, who cannot be made to understand that she is dead, repairs to the grave and sits there all day long, waiting for her arrival, to begin another journey.
His staff and knapsack, her little bonnet and basket, etc., lie beside him. ”She'll come to-morrow,” he says when it gets dark, and goes sorrowfully home. I think an hourgla.s.s running out would help the notion; perhaps her little things upon his knee, or in his hand.
I am breaking my heart over this story, and cannot bear to finish it.
Love to Missis.
Ever and always heartily.
1841.