A person once commended to my
acquaintance an individual whom he described as "a fine, pompous,
gentlemanly man," and I thought it prudent, under the circumstances, to
decline the proffered introduction.
But I will proceed with those outbursts of bright-heartedness vouchsafed
to us in Dickens's letters. To me these epistles are good as fresh
"Uncommercials," or unpublished "Sketches by Boz."
1 Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park, London, 1st
September, 1842.
My Dear Felton: Of course that letter in the papers was as foul a
forgery as ever felon swung for.... I have not contradicted it
publicly, nor shall I. When I tilt at such wringings out of the
dirtiest mortality, I shall be another man--indeed, almost the
creature they would make me.
I gave your message to Forster, who sends a despatch-box full of
kind remembrances in return. He is in a great state of delight with
the first volume of my American book (which I have just finished),
and swears loudly by it. It is _True_, and Honorable I know, and I
shall hope to send it you, complete, by the first steamer in
November.
Your description of the porter and the carpet-bags prepares me for a
first-rate facetious novel, brimful of the richest humor, on which I
have no doubt you are engaged.
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