I write shortly, after a day's work at my desk, rather than lose a post
in answering your enthusiastic, earnest, and young--how young, in all
the best side of youth--letter.
To tell you the truth, I confidently expected to hear from you. I knew
that if there were a man in the world who would be interested in, and
who would approve of, my giving utterance to whatever was in me at this
time, it would be you. I was as sure of you as of the sun this morning.
The subject is surrounded by difficulties; the Association is sorely in
want of able men; and the resistance of all the phalanx, who have an
interest in corruption and mismanagement, is the resistance of a
struggle against death. But the great, first, strong necessity is to
rouse the people up, to keep them stirring and vigilant, to carry the
war dead into the tent of such creatures as ----, and ring into their
souls (or what stands for them) that the time for dandy insolence is
gone for ever. It may be necessary to come to that law of primogeniture
(I have no love for it), or to come to even greater things; but this is
the first service to be done, and unless it is done, there is not a
chance. For this, and to encourage timid people to come in, I went to
Drury Lane the other night; and I wish you had been there and had seen
and heard the people.
The Association will be proud to have your name and gift. When we sat
down on the stage the other night, and were waiting a minute or two to
begin, I said to Morley, the chairman (a thoroughly fine earnest
fellow), "this reminds me so of one of my dearest friends, with a
melancholy so curious, that I don't know whether the place feels
familiar to me or strange." He was full of interest directly, and we
went on talking of you until the moment of his getting up to open the
business.
They are going to print my speech in a tract-form, and send it all over
the country. I corrected it for the purpose last night. We are all well.
Charley in the City; all the boys at home for the holidays; three prizes
brought home triumphantly (one from the Boulogne waters and one from
Wimbledon); I taking dives into a new book, and runs at leap-frog over
"Household Words;" and Anne going to be married--which is the only bad
news.
Catherine, Georgie, Mary, Katey, Charley, and all the rest, send
multitudes of loves. Ever, my dearest Macready, with unalterable
affection and attachment,
Your faithful Friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]