The Letters of Charles Dickens - LightNovelsOnl.com
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BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _Sat.u.r.day, August 23rd, 1851._
MY DEAR STONE,
A "dim vision" occurs to me, arising out of your note; also presents itself to the brains of my other half.
Supposing you should find, on looking onward, a possibility of your being houseless at Michaelmas, what do you say to using Devons.h.i.+re Terrace as a temporary encampment? It will not be in its usual order, but we would take care that there should be as much useful furniture of all sorts there, as to render it unnecessary for you to move a stick. If you should think this a convenience, then I should propose to you to pile your furniture in the middle of the rooms at Tavistock House, and go out to Devons.h.i.+re Terrace two or three weeks _before_ Michaelmas, to enable my workmen to commence their operations. This might be to our mutual convenience, and therefore I suggest it. Certainly the sooner I can begin on Tavistock House the better. And possibly your going into Devons.h.i.+re Terrace might relieve you from a difficulty that would otherwise be perplexing.
I make this suggestion (I need not say to _you_) solely on the chance of its being useful to both of us. If it were merely convenient to me, you know I shouldn't dream of it. Such an arrangement, while it would cost you nothing, would perhaps enable you to get your new house into order comfortably, and do exactly the same thing for me.
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--I antic.i.p.ated your suggestion some weeks ago, when I found I couldn't build a stable. I said I ought to have permission to take the piece of ground into my garden, which was conceded. Loaden writes me this morning that he thinks he can get permission to build a stable one storey high, without a chimney. I reply that on the whole I would rather enlarge the garden than build a stable with those restrictions.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]
BROADSTAIRS, _Sunday, September 7th, 1851._
MY DEAR HENRY,
I am in that state of mind which you may (once) have seen described in the newspapers as "bordering on distraction;" the house given up to me, the fine weather going on (soon to break, I daresay), the painting season oozing away, my new book waiting to be born, and
NO WORKMEN ON THE PREMISES,
along of my not hearing from you!! I have torn all my hair off, and constantly beat my unoffending family. Wild notions have occurred to me of sending in my own plumber to do the drains. Then I remember that you have probably written to prepare _your_ man, and restrain my audacious hand. Then Stone presents himself, with a most exasperatingly mysterious visage, and says that a rat has appeared in the kitchen, and it's his opinion (Stone's, not the rat's) that the drains want "compo-ing;" for the use of which explicit language I could fell him without remorse. In my horrible desire to "compo" everything, the very postman becomes my enemy because he brings no letter from you; and, in short, I don't see what's to become of me unless I hear from you to-morrow, which I have not the least expectation of doing.
Going over the house again, I have materially altered the plans--abandoned conservatory and front balcony--decided to make Stone's painting-room the drawing-room (it is nearly six inches higher than the room below), to carry the entrance pa.s.sage right through the house to a back door leading to the garden, and to reduce the once intended drawing-room--now school-room--to a manageable size, making a door of communication between the new drawing-room and the study. Curtains and carpets, on a scale of awful splendour and magnitude, are already in preparation, and still--still--
NO WORKMEN ON THE PREMISES.
To pursue this theme is madness. Where are you? When are you coming home? Where is the man who is to do the work? Does he know that an army of artificers must be turned in at once, and the whole thing finished out of hand? O rescue me from my present condition. Come up to the scratch, I entreat and implore you!
I send this to Laet.i.tia to forward,
Being, as you well know why, Completely floored by N. W., I _Sleep_.
I hope you may be able to read this. My state of mind does not admit of coherence.
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--NO WORKMEN ON THE PREMISES!
Ha! ha! ha! (I am laughing demoniacally.)
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]
BROADSTAIRS, _Sunday, September 21st, 1851._
MY DEAR HENRY,
It is quite clear we could do nothing else with the drains than what you have done. Will it be at all a heavy item in the estimate?
If there be the _least_ chance of a necessity for the pillar, let us have it. Let us dance in peace, whatever we do, and only go into the kitchen by the staircase.
Have they cut the door between the drawing-room and the study yet? The foreman will let Shoolbred know when the feat is accomplished.
O! and did you tell him of another bra.s.s ventilator in the dining-room, opening into the dining-room flue?
I don't think I shall come to town until you want to show the progress, whenever that may be. I shall look forward to another dinner, and I think we must encourage the Oriental, for the goodness of its wine.
I am getting a complete set of a certain distinguished author's works prepared for a certain distinguished architect, which I hope he will accept, as a slight, though very inadequate, etc. etc.; affectionate, etc.; so heartily and kindly taking so much interest, etc. etc.
Love to Laet.i.tia.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]
BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _October 7th, 1851._
MY DEAR HENRY,
O! O! O! D---- the Pantechnicon. O!
I will be at Tavistock House at twelve on Sat.u.r.day, and then will wait for you until I see you. If we return together--as I hope we shall--our express will start at half-past four, and we ought to dine (somewhere about Temple Bar) at three.
The infamous ---- says the stoves shall be fixed to-morrow.
O! if this were to last long; the distraction of the new book, the whirling of the story through one's mind, escorted by workmen, the imbecility, the wild necessity of beginning to write, the not being able to do so, the, O! I should go---- O!
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--None. I have torn it off.
[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]
BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _October 10th, 1851._
ON THE DEATH OF HER MOTHER.
MY DEAR MISS BOYLE,
Your remembrance at such a time--not thrown away upon me, trust me--is a sufficient a.s.surance that you know how truly I feel towards you, and with what an earnest sympathy I must think of you now.
G.o.d be with you! There is indeed nothing terrible in such a death, nothing that we would undo, nothing that we may remember otherwise than with deeply thankful, though with softened hearts.
