The Letters of Charles Dickens. Vol. 1, 1833-1856Dickens, Charles
General
The Letters of Charles Dickens. Vol. 1, 1833-1856
Dickens, Charles
Dickens, Charles, 1812-1870 -- Correspondence; Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Correspondence
We found a roaring fire, an elegant dinner, a snug room, and capital
beds all ready for us at Leamington, after a very agreeable (but very
cold) ride. We started in a postchaise next morning for Kenilworth, with
which we were both enraptured, and where I really think we MUST have
lodgings next summer, please God that we are in good health and all goes
well. You cannot conceive how delightful it is. To read among the ruins
in fine weather would be perfect luxury. From here we went on to Warwick
Castle, which is an ancient building, newly restored, and possessing no
very great attraction beyond a fine view and some beautiful pictures;
and thence to Stratford-upon-Avon, where we sat down in the room where
Shakespeare was born, and left our autographs and read those of other
people and so forth.
We remained at Stratford all night, and found to our unspeakable dismay
that father's plan of proceeding by Bridgenorth was impracticable, as
there were no coaches. So we were compelled to come here by way of
Birmingham and Wolverhampton, starting at eight o'clock through a cold
wet fog, and travelling, when the day had cleared up, through miles of
cinder-paths and blazing furnaces, and roaring steam-engines, and such a
mass of dirt, gloom, and misery as I never before witnessed. We got
pretty well accommodated here when we arrived at half-past four, and are
now going off in a postchaise to Llangollen--thirty miles--where we
shall remain to-night, and where the Bangor mail will take us up
to-morrow. Such are our movements up to this point, and when I have
received your letter at Chester I shall write to you again and tell you
when I shall be back. I can say positively that I shall not exceed the
fortnight, and I think it very possible that I may return a day or two
before it expires.
We were at the play last night. It was a bespeak--"The Love Chase," a
ballet (with a phenomenon!), divers songs, and "A Roland for an Oliver."
It is a good theatre, but the actors are very funny. Browne laughed with
such indecent heartiness at one point of the entertainment, that an old
gentleman in the next box suffered the most violent indignation. The
bespeak party occupied two boxes, the ladies were full-dressed, and the
gentlemen, to a man, in white gloves with flowers in their button-holes.
It amused us mightily, and was really as like the Miss Snevellicci
business as it could well be.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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