Mrs. Harris, being in that delicate state (just confined, and "made comfortable," in fact), hears some sounds below, which she fancies may be the owls (or howls) of the husband to whom she is devoted. They ease her mind by informing her that these sounds are only organs. By "they" I mean the gossips and attendants. By "organs" I mean instrumental boxes with barrels in them, which are commonly played by foreigners under the windows of people of sedentary pursuits, on a speculation of being bribed to leave the street. Mrs. Harris, being of a confiding nature, believed in this pious fraud, and was fully satisfied "that his owls was organs." Faithfully yours. [Sidenote: Mr. Robert Keeley.] 9, OSNABURGH TERRACE, _Monday Evening, June 24th, 1844._ MY DEAR SIR, I have been out yachting for two or three days; and consequently could not answer your letter in due course. I cannot, consistently with the opinion I hold and have always held, in reference to the principle of adapting novels for the stage, give you a prologue to "Chuzzlewit." But believe me to be quite sincere in saying that if I felt I could reasonably do such a thing for anyone, I would do it for you. I start for Italy on Monday next, but if you have the piece on the stage, and rehearse on Friday, I will gladly come down at any time you may appoint on that morning, and go through it with you all. If you be not in a sufficiently forward state to render this proposal convenient to you, or likely to assist your preparations, do not take the trouble to answer this note. I presume Mrs. Keeley will do Ruth Pinch. If so, I feel secure about her, and of Mrs. Gamp I am certain. But a queer sensation begins in my legs, and comes upward to my forehead, when I think of Tom. Faithfully yours always. [Sidenote: Mr. Daniel Maclise.] VILLA DI BAGNARELLO, ALBARO, _Monday, July 22nd, 1844._ MY VERY DEAR MAC, I address you with something of the lofty spirit of an exile--a banished commoner--a sort of Anglo-Pole. I don't exactly know what I have done for my country in coming away from it; but I feel it is something--something great--something virtuous and heroic. Lofty emotions rise within me, when I see the sun set on the blue Mediterranean. I am the limpet on the rock. My father's name is Turner and my boots are green.