_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Feb_. 15, 1871.
“I am now on my twelfth day in bed, somewhat better at last, but very
low and depressed. I had, before I was struck down, begun an ‘O’Dowd,’
but how write for a public that buys 150,000 copies of ‘Dame Europa’s
School’! Is there any use in inventing epigrams for such an auditory?
Tomorrow is the black day of the post, and can bring me no letter, or I
should not bore you with this.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Fiume Istrica, _Feb_. 28,1871.
“Your kind letter and its enclosure reached me safely here, where I have
been sent to refit. I believe the word suits, as I have got fluid in my
pericardium, and my condition is therefore one of being water-logged,
which means unseaworthy, but not yet gone down.
“The Gladstone request to Robinson to falsify the date of his letter is
too atrocious; and as the ‘O’Dowds’ are made of certain subtle analysis,
this case cannot be so treated, there being fortunately no parallel
instance to put against it.
“As to old Russell: he was instructed to bark, and he went farther, and
growled; but as Bismarck knew he was muzzled, there came nothing of it.
“My impression is the Turks are going to throw us over and make
alliances with Russia, and seeing how utterly powerless we are, small
blame to them. England is rapidly coming to the condition of Holland. I
think another fifty years will do it, and instead of the New Zealander,
a Burgomaster will sit on London Bridge and bob for eels in the muddy
Thames.
“So you mean to be in town this April? Not that I have any hope of
meeting you. Tell Mrs Blackwood for me how glad I should be to spoil her
breakfast once more!”
_To Dr Burbidge._
“Trieste, _March_ 26, 1871.
“Your letter found me at Rome, where I had been sent for a change of
air. It was my first visit to Sydney since her marriage, and I enjoyed
myself much, and threw off my cough, and could get up stairs without
blowing like a grampus.
“I cannot tell you how sincerely I thank you for your letters. I know of
no man but yourself from whom I should have liked to have letters on the
same theme, and if my illness did not make me as reflective as you hoped
for, your letter has given me much thought.
“It is easy enough for a man to mistake deep dejection for reflection,
and so far I might have deceived myself, for I have been depressed to a
state I never knew till now.
“I am cared for and watched and loved as much as is possible for a man
to be, and all the while I am companionless. The dear friend who was
with me through every hour of my life is gone, and I have no heart for
any present [? or future] occupation without her. My impatience is even
such, that I do not like those signs of returning health that promise to
keep me longer here; and I trust more complacently in breaking up
than in anything. With all this, your letter has been a great--the
greatest--comfort I have yet felt, and your affection is very dear to
me. I think I know how only such warm friendship would have taken the
tone and the words you use, and it comes to me like water to a man
thirsting.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Wednesday_, March 29.
“I believe what I now send you is good, but I will not be certain till
I hear you are of the same mind. The truth is, I am so broken in courage
as well as health, that it is only the continued insistence of my
daughters drives me to the desk at all, and they are perhaps only minded
thereto by seeing the deep depression in which I live, and which they
ascribe to idleness.
“I hope at all events to hear from you soon, with tidings of the great
paper, and if soon after with proof of the present, _tant mieux_.
“I believe I have seen my last of London, and I am sorry for it, and
sorrier not to see you again,--not but I feel you would scarce care to
meet me, depressed and low-spirited as I am now.
“I have just seen the aide-de-camp the Emperor here sent to Berlin, and
who had a confidential interview with Bismarck.
“The Prussians are furious with us, and not over friendly with Russia.
Bismarck even said that if Austria should be attacked by Russia they
will stand by her, but not support her in any aggressive policy. He
added, ‘Do what you like with Turkey, but don’t interfere with the
German rights on the Danube.’”
“If Bright had been still in the Ministry I could have understood Henry
Bulwer being made a peer as a subtle attack on the House of Lords. What
it means now I cannot guess.
“If I was not an official with a uniform and a quarter day (both
d------d shabby), I’d make an O’D. on the Princess’s marriage in this
way. The Queen, seeing the impossibility of elevating English democracy,
sees that she has but one other thing to do, which is to come down to
it. This is like old Sheridan, when appealed to by a drunken man in the
gutter, ‘Lift me up, lift me,’ replying, ‘I can’t lift you up, but I’ll
lie down beside you.’”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _April_ 16, 1871.
“I have got a short leave, and having determined to venture on the road,
I mean to start on Wednesday, and, if I can, reach town by Saturday
next. My plan is--as I want to go over to Ireland--to do my ‘Irishries’
until such time as you arrive in London, where, I need not say, I have
no object more at heart than to meet you and Mrs Blackwood.
“If I could manage a rapid run south and west in Ireland, I’ll try what
I could do as ‘A Last Glimpse of Ireland,’ and only wish I had a little
more strength and more spirit for the effort.
“Write me a line to meet me in town (at Burlington Hotel) to say when I
may hope to see you--to see you both, I mean.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“[? London] _Tuesday_, April 25, 1871.
“What with being nearly driven over ten times a-day, and the certainty
of being over-dinnered at night, I have a perilous time of it here.
“I was delighted to get your cordial note, and more so to count upon
seeing you so soon, and I hope, too, Mrs Blackwood with you. My plans
are to visit Ireland at once, so as to have as much of London as I can
when you shall have arrived.
“How I would wish to have you over with me in Ireland, but I suppose the
thing is impossible.
“I have got an autumn invitation to Sir Healy Maxwell, and if we could
manage it perhaps we could then make a little Killarney excursion
together. _Nous en parlerons!_
“I wish I may see and be able to record something in my new ramble worth
sending to ‘Maga,’--at least I will try.
“They tell me here that the Tories might come in at any moment by a snap
vote with the Radicals, but that they are too wise to be tempted.
“I hear that Tichborne is certain to win his suit: indeed fabulous odds
are laid in his favour.”
_To Mr Alexander Spencer._
“Garrick Club, London, _April_ 25, 1871.
“I am here in the midst of civilities and attentions more than enough
to turn my poor head; but I mean to run over to Ireland and be there on
Sunday next, and, if not inconvenient, would ask you to tell Morrison’s
people to keep a room for me as low down--that is, with as few steps to
mount--as they can, always provided that the room be large and airy.
I intend to take some hurried rambles through the south and west to
refresh memories and lay in new stores, if I can.” Lever arrived in
Ireland at the end of April. He was in excellent spirits, and apparently
in a more even frame of mind than he had been during his previous visit.
Again he found himself in a vortex of dining, whisting, talking, and
laughter. Lord Spencer, who was Viceroy of Ireland at this period, made
the author of ‘Lord Kilgobbin’ his guest for some days at the Viceregal
Lodge. Lever “charmed and entertained” Lord and Lady Spencer. Bishops,
military folk, judges, doctors, professors, vied with each other for
the privilege of securing the novelist’s company at dinner-tables and
receptions. Morrison’s hotel, where he had engaged rooms, was besieged
by callers. One of these gives a very pleasant glimpse of the Irish
novelist. “I found him seated,” he says, “at an open window, a bottle of
claret at his right hand and the proof-sheets of ‘Lord Kilgobbin’ before
him. It was a beautiful morning of May: the hawthorns in the College
park were just beginning to bloom.... He looked a hale, hearty,
laughter-loving man of sixty. There was mirth in his grey eye, joviality
in the wink that twittered on his eyelid, saucy humour in his smile, and
_bon mot_, wit, and rejoinder in every movement of his lips. His hair,
very thin but of a silky brown, fell across his forehead, and when
it curtained his eyes he would jerk back his head--this, too, at some
telling crisis in a narrative.... He made great use of his hands, which
were small and white and delicate as those of a woman. He threw them
up in ecstasy or wrung them in mournfulness--just as the action of the
moment demanded.... He was somewhat careless in his dress, but clung to
the traditional high shirt-collar.... ‘I stick to my Irish shoes,’ he
said. ‘There is no shoe in the world--or no accent either--equal to the
Irish brogue.’” Trinity College decided to confer upon him the title
of Doctor of Laws--the actual bestowal of the title did not take place
until July--and played whist with him. The University Club gave a dinner
in his honour. Standing with his back to a chiffonnier, he remarked to a
friend that most of the old faces had disappeared. “You still have some
friends at your back,” said his companion; and turning to see who they
were, the novelist beheld some volumes of his own writings. Taking up
‘Harry Lorrequer,’ he observed, “A poor thing. How well Phiz illustrated
it!” One of the calls he made during this visit to Dublin was at the
house of Sheridan le Fanu. The author of ‘Uncle Silas’ was in an extra
gloomy mood, and he denied himself to his old comrade. He was more
fortunate with another friend, Sir William Wilde. Lever was beginning to
suffer from dimness of sight. The eminent oculist assured him that there
was nothing radically wrong with his eyes--that the difficulty arose out
of late suppers. Every one who met him during his last visit to Dublin
declared that ‘Lorrequer’ had never been so agreeable, so fascinating,
so buoyant. The ramble through the south and west of Ireland was not
undertaken. Dublin festivities had weakened the novelist’s will. He said
goodbye to Ireland in May, and made a short stay in London. He enjoyed
again in London the company of all that was bright and lively, himself
the brightest and liveliest. He made some heavy losses at whist, but
his ill-luck had a sunny side. It encouraged him to call upon Mr W. H.
Smith, whose firm now owned most of his copyrights; and Mr Smith, it is
said, gave Lever a very considerable sum of money on account of payments
to be made to him for a series of autobiographical prefaces to his
novels.
_To Mr Alexander Spencer._
“Trieste, _June_ 14, 1871.
“It is in no ingratitude for all the hospitalities and courtesies I have
lately received that I say I was glad to be once more in my cottage, and
back in the calm, quiet, and comfortable little crib I call my home.
“I was present in court at the Tichborne examination of Thursday last,
and a more miserable spectacle of evasion, falsehood, and shame I never
witnessed; but in these depreciations of the man’s character I see no
reason to dispute his identity,--on the contrary, the blacker he is, the
more, to my thinking, he is a Tichborne. At the same time, juries do
not confine themselves to the issue they have to try, but are swayed by
moral reasons outside the legal ones, and may in all likelihood scruple
to endow with fortune such a palpable scoundrel.
“My last dinner in London was with Ballantine, and he persists in
believing the claimant to be the real man; but I do not perceive that he
is confident of the verdict.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _July_ 2, 1871.
“I am so anxious to be early that I send you the three O’Ds. I have
written this very moment. I have finished them, and so near post hour
that I have scarce time for a line to say that I am at home again, and
have brought back a fair stock of the good health my visit to town gave
me, and a large budget of the pleasure and kind flatteries which every
one bestowed on me when there,--narratives my daughters delight in, and
in which your name and your wife’s come in at every moment and to meet
all our gratitude in recognition.
“I hope you will like the O’Ds., and think they have not lost in vigour
because of my late excesses in turtle and whitebait.
“When you send me a proof, tell me all you think of them, and if
anything occurs to me in the meanwhile, I’ll speak of it.
“Tichborne I incline to think the real man, and the blacker they make
him the more certainly they identify him: so far I regard Coleridge as
his best advocate. Of course, I must not speak of the case till it is
concluded.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _July_ 5, 1871.
“As I had finished the enclosed O’D., I read how Trinity had made me
LL.D. The degree must not be exported to me in gratitude. I really
believe a large amount of what I have said, which is more than can be
asserted by Tichborne, or the man who says he is Tichborne.
“It is a great grief to me that I cannot say what I think of that
curious trial, and all that I should like to say of the solicitor to the
Crown’s examination; but I see it would be too dangerous, and, to use
his own style, I might ask myself, ‘Would you not be surprised to hear
that an attachment was issued against you?’”
“The hot weather has begun here, and in such honest earnest that I can
do nothing but hunt out a dark cool corner and go to sleep.
“I am very sorry not to be in Ireland now, when the [? ] have been
invited to the Exhibition banquet on the 20th; but I have done with
banquets now, and must address myself to my maccaroni with what appetite
I may.”
_To Mr William Blackwood._
“Trieste, _July_ 13, 1871.
“I should have liked to have detained these proofs until I heard what
your uncle might have to say to them, but I am afraid of delay, and send
them back at once. My hope is that he will like them, though I cannot
dare to think that my chief, Lord Granville, will approve of what I say
of his speech at the Cobden dinner. At any rate, if they kick me out,
I can go home and be a rebel, and if too old for a pike I am still good
for a paragraph.
“All that London life with its flatteries and fat-feeding has sorely
unfitted me for my cold mutton v. existence at home; but it cannot be
helped, and I must try to get back into the old groove and work along as
before.
“There is now a dull apathy over life--the consequence of all our late
excitement; but we cannot always afford to pay for ‘stars,’ and Bismarck
is too costly an _artiste_ to keep always on the boards. From all I
see, the French are just as insolent and bumptious as before they were
licked,--showing us, if we like to see it, what the world would have had
to endure had they been the conquerors!
“It is a sore grief to me that I cannot go to the Scott festival; but I
have no leave and less money, and though I believe F. O. might grant me
the one, they’d even stop my pay, which is the aggravation of insult.
“I hope sincerely you don’t feel it a matter of conscience to read all
a man writes, for if so I’d shut up. Only assuring you that now we have
met and shaken hands, it is with increased pleasure I write myself,
yours sincerely, Chas. Lever.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Aug_. 6, 1871.
“_En attendant_ to writing you a long letter, I send you these ‘O’Dowds’
now, which will give us more time to discuss them.
“That on our ‘National Donations’ is, I hope, good. I know it is called
for. The shabby scoundrels from Manchester that want to manage England
like a mill and treat the monarch like an overseer deserve castigation,
and I feel you will agree with me. Is not ‘Meat without Bone’ good
enough for use?
“I am so sorry not to be able to say all the civil things I should like
to say of the Solicitor-General now, for when the trial is over I shall
not be able to revive my generous indignation to the white heat it now
enjoys.
“Why don’t you tell me some popular theme to O’Dowd? I’m here, as they
say in Ireland, ‘at the back of good speed,’ and know nothing.
“A very curious trial occurred five years ago in Austria on a disputed
identity, and the man questioned substantiated his case. It would be
interesting if a correct record could be had.
“Ballantine tells me that Jeune is gone to Australia, and will be back
in November with proofs of the loss of the _Bella_, names of survivors,
and existence in the colony of Arthur Orton up to November last. B. is
sure of a verdict--at least, he is sure of his right to it.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Aug_. 5, 1871.
“It is time I should thank you and Mrs Blackwood for your cordial
invitation to myself and my daughter to go and see you in Scotland, and
we are only too sorry we cannot manage you a visit, and in talk--for it
is all that is left us--to ride over the links of Fife, and even assist
at golf.
“Even if I could have plucked up courage to go over now, I ‘stopped’
myself by letting my ‘vice’ go on leave,--a piece of generosity on my
part that has cost me heavier than I thought for, and gave me nearer
opportunities of intimacy with Cardiff captains and Hull skippers than I
care for.
“Of course, it is out of the question trying to write except on my ‘off
days,’ when I shut out the whole rabble.
“I begin to think that Gladstone has been carried away by pure anger in
all his late doings. It is purely womanish and hysterical throughout. To
hit off this I have thrown off the short ‘O’Dowd,’ ‘What if they were to
be Court-martialled?’ which, with a little change, will perhaps do.
“It is one of those cases which will be as long kept before the public,
for it is the attack on a great principle--and in that sense no mere
grievance of the hour.
“As a means of lowering the House of Lords--if such was the
intention--it has totally failed, and even ‘Pall Mall’ has come to the
side of the Peers, which is significant.
“I see Seymour, my old friend, has got his first verdict in the Hertford
case. It is £70,000 a-year at issue, but of course the great battle will
be fought before ‘the Lords,’”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Aug_. 17,1871.
“About half an hour after your pleasant letter and its handsome
enclosure reached me, Langford came in. He was on his way to Venice,
but, like a good fellow, stopped to dine with myself and daughter.
“We are delighted with him,--not only with his talk about books and
writers, Garrick men and reviewers, but with his fine fresh-hearted
appreciation of all he sees in his tour. He likes everything, and
travels really to enjoy it.
“I wish I knew how to detain him here a little longer; though, God
knows, no place nor no man has fewer pretensions to lay an embargo on
any one.
“I took him out to see Miramar last evening, and we both wished greatly
you had been with us. It was a cool drive of some miles along the
Adriatic, with the Dalmatian mountains in front, and to the westward the
whole Julian Alps snow-topped and edged. I know you would have enjoyed
it.
“I am so glad you like the O’Ds. As I grow older I become more and more
distrustful of all I do; in fact, I feel like the man who does not know
when he draws on his banker that he may not have overdrawn his account
and have his cheque returned. This is very like intellectual bankruptcy,
or the dread of it, which is much the same.
“The finest part of Scott’s nature to my thinking was the grand heroic
spirit--that trumpet-stop on his organ--which elevated our commonplace
people and stirred the heart of all that was high-spirited and
generous amongst us. It was the anti-climax to our realism and
sensationalism--detective Police Literature or Watch-house Romance.
“This was the tone I wanted to see praised and recommended, and I was
sorry to see how little it was touched on. The very influence that
a gentleman exerts in society on a knot of inferiors was the sort of
influence Scott brought to bear upon the whole nation. All felt that
there was at least one there before whom nothing mean or low or shabby
should be exhibited.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Aug_. 28, 1871.
“The day after Langford left this, my horse, treading on a sharp stone
that cut his frog, fell on me and crushed my foot,--not severely, but
enough to bring on the worst attack of gout I ever had in my life, and
which all my precautions have only kept down up to this from seizing on
the stomach. My foot was about as big and as shapely as Cardwell’s head.
I am now unable to move, and howl if any one approaches me rashly.
“I told Langford of a curious police trial for swindling here at
Vienna--curious as illustrating Austrian criminal procedure, &c. He
thought I ought to report it in ‘O’Dowd.’ I send it off now for your
opinion and judgment (and hope favourably). It might want a little
retouching here and there, but you will see and say.
“I was delighted with your ‘Scott’ speech--the best of them of all that
I read, and I see it has been copied and recopied largely. Your allusion
to Wilson was perfect, and such a just homage to a really great man whom
all the Cockneyism in the world cannot disparage.
“I am in such damnable pain that I can hardly write a line, but I want
you to see the ‘Police’ sketch at once. Can I have a proof, if you like
it, early? as perhaps when I am able to move I shall have to get to some
of the sulphur springs in Styria at once.
“My enemy is now making a demonstration about my left knee, and, as the
newspapers say, _La situation est difficile_.
“I am not so ill but that I can desire to be remembered to Mrs
Blackwood.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“_Sept._, 9, 1871.
“Between gout and indignation I am half mad. Gladstone at Whitby is
worse to me than my swelled ankle, and I send you a furious O’D. to show
that the Cabinet are only playing out--where they do not parody--the
game of the Communists.
“Whether it will be in time to send me a proof I cannot tell, but you
will, I know, take care of me. I feel in writing it as though we had
been talking the whole thing together, and that I was merely giving a
_résumé_ of our gossip.
“Your delightful note and its enclosure have just come. I thank you
cordially for both. I have not any recollection of what I said of Scott,
but I know what I _feel_ about him, and how proud I am that you like my
words. I cannot get my foot to the ground yet, but I am rather in vein
for writing, as I always am in gout, only my caligraphy has got added
difficulties from the position I am reduced to.
“I am glad Langford likes us here: my daughters took to him immensely,
and only were sorry we saw so little of him. If he has really ‘bitten’
you with a curiosity to see Miramar I shall bless the day he came here.
“Tell Mrs Blackwood my cabin will be glad to house her here, and if she
will only come I’ll be her courier over the whole of North Italy.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Sept_. 10, 1871.
“You are right. There is little point--that is, there is no epigram--in
the ‘Trial.’ I wrote it rather to break the monotony of eternal
moral-isings than with any other object. If it be pleasant reading I am
content, and, I hope, so are you.
“I sent yesterday a hard-hitting O’D. on ‘How Gladstone is doing the
Work of the Commune,’ and I send you now, I think, a witty comparison
between the remaining troopers and the Whigs. My daughter thinks it the
smartest bit of fun I have done since I had the gout last, and all the
salt in it comes unquestionably from that source.
“All the names in the ‘Trial’ are authentic. The lady is really the
grand-daughter of Hughes Ball (the celebrated Golden Ball); and the
man’s assertion of being ‘Times’ correspondent was accepted as an
unquestionable fact.
“I have made superhuman efforts to be legible in this ‘O’Dowd’ now, so
as to make correction easy. Heaven grant that my ‘Internationals’ be as
lucky.
“I am still a cripple, and if irritability be a sign of recovery, my
daughter says that my convalescence is approaching.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Oct_. 1, 1871.
“I am so eager to save a post and see this in proof, that I have never
left my desk for five hours, and only read it to Lord D. (Henry Bulwer),
who was delighted with it, before I sent it.
“You have given me a rare fright by printing, as I see, what I said of
Scott--at least, any other man than yourself doing so would terrify me,
but you are a true friend and a wise critic, and what you have done
must be right and safe: I do not remember one word of it. I have written
myself back into gout, and must now go to bed. I had a sort of _coup_
yesterday, and D. believed I was off.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Oct_. 3,1871.
“I have just seen ‘Maga,’ and I am ashamed at the prominence you have
given my few words about Scott.
“What a close connection a man’s ankles have with his intellect. I don’t
know, but I can swear to it, that since I have become tender about the
feet I have grown to feel very insecure about the thinking department,
and the row in the cellar is re-echoed in the garret.
“Every fresh speech of Gladstone gives me a fresh seizure, and his last
‘bunkum’ at Aberdeen has cost me a pint of colchicum.
“I have an O’D. in my head on the ‘Cobden Campaign,’ but I suppose it is
safer to leave it there. You know what the tenor replied when some one
said from the pit, ‘Monsieur, vous chantez fau.’ ‘Je le sais, Monsieur,
mais je ne veux pas qu’on me le dise.’
“Give my warmest regards to Mrs Blackwood. I wish with all my heart,
gout _nonobstant_, I was to dine with you to-day.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Oct_. 17, 1871.
“I know well but for golf and its ‘divartin’ sticks’ I should have had
a line from you, but you have no moment to spare correcting O’Ds. amidst
your distractions.
“I kept back the proof I now send to hear from you and make any changes
or alterations you might suggest, and I have a half-done O’Dowd ‘On
Widows’ which I shall keep over for another time. I am sorely done
up,--only able to crawl with a stick and a friendly arm, and so weak
that the Irishwoman’s simile of a ‘sheet of wet paper’ is my only
parallel. Robert Lytton tells me he has got such a pleasant letter
from you. He and his wife had been stopping with us here, and we were
delighted with them both.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Nov_. 1, 1871.
“I was sorry not to see my ‘Home Rule’ in ‘Maga,’ but sorrier still
not to hear from you, and I tormented myself thinking--which I ought
not--that you were somewhat _chagriné_ with me. I am delighted now to
find you are not, and that the only ‘grievance’ between us makes _me_
the plaintiff for your not having printed my O’D. I can forgive this,
however, and honestly assure you that I could forgive even worse at your
hands. It is the nervous fear that I may be falling into [? senility] as
well as gout that makes me tetchy about a rejected paper.
“Henry James got very safely out of my hands. He has no more pretension
to play whist with me than I would have to cross-examine a witness
before him, and I told him so before I won his sixpenny points.
“I fortunately asked F. O. by telegraph if I should take on the
despatches, as the messenger was in quarantine, and they said not. They
knew they were Henry Elliott’s, and that the delay could not injure the
freshness. He is a great diplomatist, and there is nothing ephemeral
in the news he sends home. Drummond Wolff is here with me now and Lord
Dalling, and our conversation is more remarkable for wit than propriety.
“While James was here I was too gouty to go out with him, and what the
latter Q.C. (queer customer) means by saying I was dog-bitten, I can’t
guess. I am now crippled hand and foot, and a perfect curse to myself
from irritability.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Nov_. 3, 1871.
“If my late discomfiture in your opinion of my last rejected O’Ds. had
not taught me that I am not infallible, I should say that the O’D. I now
send you is, as regards thought or pith, as good as any of them. I wrote
it in a fit of gout. Spasmodic it is, perhaps, but vigorous I hope.
“I have been violently assailed in letters for what I said about
‘touching pitch,’--but there is nothing that leads me to retract or
modify one word I wrote,--some from doctors, well written, but on a
wrong issue. You can no more make people modest by Act of Parliament
than you can make them grateful or polite in fifty other good things.
“A Mr Crane, West George Street, Glasgow, writes me a very courteous
note, and says, ‘I do thank the Editor of “Blackwood” for publishing
what you say of Scott,’ and goes on to express his hearty concurrence
with it all, and he regrets that it had not been spoken instead of
written, &c, &c.
“I do not feel as if I was to get better this time; but I have called
wolf so often I shall scream no more. What I feel most, and struggle
against most in vain, is depression. I have got to believe not only
that my brains are leaving me, but that my friends are tired of me. Of
course, I couple the two disasters together, and long to be beyond the
reach of remembering either one or the other.
“You read my MS. so easily that if you do not like the O’D. don’t print
it--it saves me a disappointment at least; and above all, do not mind
any chance irritability I display in writing, for a cry escapes me in my
pain, and I often do not hear it myself.
“Now that I write very little and brood a great deal, I sit thinking
hours’ long over a very good-for-nothing life, and owning to myself
that no man ever did less with his weapon than I have. I say this in no
vanity, but sheer shame and self-reproach.
“If I could be with you at times it would rouse And stimulate me
greatly, for I think you know--that is, you understand--me better than
almost any one, and I always feel the better of your company.
“Bulwer (Lord Dalling) is with me now; but he is a richer man than
myself, and though we rally after dinner, we are poor creatures of a
morning.
“Your last note did me real good, and I have re-read it three or four
times.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Nov_. 16, 1871.
“You are right about Bradlaugh, and I have added a few lines to insert
in the place marked. I hope I am not libellous, and I believe I have
steered safely.
“I am breaking up at last more rapidly, for up to this the planking has
been too tough; but I am now bumping heavily, and, please God, must soon
go to pieces.
“Your kindness, and your wife’s, are very dear to me. I am constantly
thinking of you both. Your last note gave me sincere pleasure.
“Lytton and I talked a great deal of you and drank your health. We often
wished you were with us. He is immensely improved--I mean mentally,--and
become one of the very best talkers I ever met, and not a shade of any
affectation about him. I am convinced he will make a great career yet.
“‘Our Quacks’ is, I think, a better title. Decide yourself.”
_To Mr John Blackwood._
“Trieste, _Dec_. 11, 1871.
“I was indeed surprised at the address of your letter, but I should
have been more than surprised--overjoyed--had I seen yourself, and I am
sorely sorry you did not come on here. Do let it be for another time,
and ask Mrs Blackwood to have a craving desire to see Venice and the
Titians, and take me as an accident of the road.
“I am getting too ill for work, but not for the pleasure of seeing my
friends, and there is nothing does me the same good.
“I see no difficulty in writing to you about Austria, but not as
O’Dowd,--gravely, soberly, and, if I could, instructingly. But I must
wait for a little health and a little energy, or I should be only
steaming with half-boiler power.
“I see little prospect now of getting better, and all I have to do is to
scramble along with as much of health as remains to me, and not bore
my friends or myself any more on the matter. Sending the divers down
to report how thin my iron plating is, is certainly not the way to
encourage me to a new voyage.
“Like a kind fellow, send me George Eliot’s new book. There is nothing
like her.”