ven his hearty laugh of enjoyment was always based on a rational
motive. This sort of solid well-trained men are rather scarce
nowadays.

Forster was also a type of the old Cromwellian or Independant with
reference to religious liberty. He could not endure, therefore,
"Romish tyranny," as he called it, which stifled thought. Many of his
friends were Roman Catholics. There were "touches" in Forster as good
as anything in the old comedies.

His handsome and spacious library, with its gallery running round, was
well known to all his friends. Richly stored was it with book
treasures, manuscripts, rare first editions, autographs, in short all
those things which may now be seen at South Kensington. He had a store
of other fine things somewhere else, and kept a secretary or
librarian, to whom he issued his instructions. For he himself did not
profess to know the _locale_ of the books and papers, and I have often
heard him in his lofty way direct that instructions should be sent to
Mr. ---- to search out such and such documents. He had grand ideas
about his books, and spared no cost either in his purchases or
bindings. I have seen one of his quarto MS. thus dressed by Riviere in
plain decoration, but which he told me had cost L30.

Once for some modest private theatricals I had written a couple of
little pieces to be acted by ourselves and our friends. One was called
_Blotting Paper_, the other _The William Simpson_. A gay company was
invited, and I recall how the performers were pleased and encouraged
when the face of the brilliant author of a _Lady of Lyons_ was seen in
the front row. Forster took the whole under his protection, and was
looking forward to attending, but his invariable terrible cough seized
on him. Mrs. Forster was sent with strict instructions to observe and
report everything that did or could occur on this interesting
occasion. I see her soft amiable face smiling encouragement from the
stalls. I rose greatly in my friend's estimation from this attendance
of the author of _Pelham_. "How did you manage it?" "He goes nowhere
or to few places. It was a gr-eat compliment."

This little performance is associated in a melancholy way with the
closing days of Dickens' career. I was naturally eager to secure his
presence, and went to see him at "his office" to try and persuade him
to attend; he pleaded, however, his overwhelming engagements. I find
in an old diary some notes of our talk. "Theatricals led to Regnie