Volume Iii Part 65 (1/2)
FOLKESTONE, _September 16th, 1855._
MY DEAR WILLS,
Scrooge is delighted to find that Bob Cratchit is enjoying his holiday in such a delightful situation; and he says (with that warmth of nature which has distinguished him since his conversion), ”Make the most of it, Bob; make the most of it.”
[I am just getting to work on No. 3 of the new book, and am in the hideous state of mind belonging to that condition.]
I have not a word of news. I am steeped in my story, and rise and fall by turns into enthusiasm and depression.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]
FOLKESTONE, _Sunday, Sept. 16th, 1855._
MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,
This will be a short letter, but I hope not unwelcome. If you knew how often I write to you--in intention--I don't know where you would find room for the correspondence.
Catherine tells me that you want to know the name of my new book. I cannot bear that you should know it from anyone but me. It will not be made public until the end of October; the t.i.tle is:
”n.o.bODY'S FAULT.”
Keep it as the apple of your eye--an expressive form of speech, though I have not the least idea of what it means.
Next, I wish to tell you that I have appointed to read at Peterboro', on Tuesday, the 18th of December. I have told the Dean that I cannot accept his hospitality, and that I am going with Mr. Wills to the inn, therefore I shall be absolutely at your disposal, and shall be more than disappointed if you don't stay with us. As the time approaches will you let me know your arrangements, and whether Mr. Wills can bespeak any rooms for you in arranging for me? Georgy will give you our address in Paris as soon as we shall have settled there. We shall leave here, I think, in rather less than a month from this time.
You know my state of mind as well as I do, indeed, if you don't know it much better, it is not the state of mind I take it to be. How I work, how I walk, how I shut myself up, how I roll down hills and climb up cliffs; how the new story is everywhere--heaving in the sea, flying with the clouds, blowing in the wind; how I settle to nothing, and wonder (in the old way) at my own incomprehensibility. I am getting on pretty well, have done the first two numbers, and am just now beginning the third; which egotistical announcements I make to you because I know you will be interested in them.
All the house send their kindest loves. I think of inserting an advertis.e.m.e.nt in _The Times_, offering to submit the Plornishghenter to public compet.i.tion, and to receive fifty thousand pounds if such another boy cannot be found, and to pay five pounds (my fortune) if he can.
Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson, affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]
FOLKESTONE, _Sunday, Sept. 30th, 1855._
MY DEAR COLLINS,
Welcome from the bosom of the deep! If a hornpipe will be acceptable to you at any time (as a reminder of what the three brothers were always doing), I shall be, as the chairman says at Mr. Evans's, ”happy to oblige.”
I have almost finished No. 3, in which I have relieved my indignant soul with a scarifier. Sticking at it day after day, I am the incompletest letter-writer imaginable--seem to have no idea of holding a pen for any other purpose but that book. My fair Laura has not yet reported concerning Paris, but I should think will have done so before I see you.
And now to that point. I purpose being in town on _Monday, the 8th_, when I have promised to dine with Forster. At the office, between half-past eleven and one that day, I will expect you, unless I hear from you to the contrary. Of course the H. W. stories are at your disposition. If you should have completed your idea, we might breakfast together at the G. on the Tuesday morning and discuss it. Or I shall be in town after ten on the Monday night. At the office I will tell you the idea of the Christmas number, which will put you in train, I hope, for a story. I have postponed the s.h.i.+pwreck idea for a year, as it seemed to require more force from me than I could well give it with the weight of a new start upon me.
All here send their kindest remembrances. We missed you very much, and the Plorn was quite inconsolable. We slide down Caesar occasionally.
They launched the boat, the rapid building of which you remember, the other day. All the fishermen in the place, all the nondescripts, and all the boys pulled at it with ropes from six A.M. to four P.M. Every now and then the ropes broke, and they all fell down in the s.h.i.+ngle. The obstinate way in which the beastly thing wouldn't move was so exasperating that I wondered they didn't shoot it, or burn it. Whenever it moved an inch they all cheered; whenever it wouldn't move they all swore. Finally, when it was quite given over, some one tumbled against it accidentally (as it appeared to me, looking out at my window here), and it instantly shot about a mile into the sea, and they all stood looking at it helplessly.