st condition, one would
think, poor woman, for the exercise of public elocution as an art.

Between ourselves, I think the whole idea a mistake, and have thought so
from its first announcement. It has a fatal appearance of trading upon
Uncle Tom, and am I not a man and a brother? which you may be by all
means, and still not have the smallest claim to my attention as a public
reader. The town is over-read from all the white squares on the
draught-board; it has been considerably harried from all the black
squares--now with the aid of old banjoes, and now with the aid of Exeter
Hall; and I have a very strong impression that it is by no means to be
laid hold of from this point of address. I myself, for example, am the
meekest of men, and in abhorrence of slavery yield to no human creature,
and yet I don't admit the sequence that I want Uncle Tom (or Aunt
Tomasina) to expound "King Lear" to me. And I believe my case to be the
case of thousands.

I trouble you with this much about it, because I am naturally desirous
you should understand that if I could possibly have been of any service,
or have suggested anything to this poor lady, I would not have lost the
opportunity. But I cannot help her, and I assure you that I cannot
honestly encourage her to hope. I fear her enterprise has no hope in it.

In your absence I have always followed you through the papers, and felt
a personal interest and pleasure in the public affection in which you
are held over there.[2] At the same time I must confess that I should
prefer to have you here, where good public men seem to me to be dismally
wanted. I have no sympathy with demagogues, but am a grievous Radical,
and think the political signs of the times to be just about as bad as
the spirit of the people will admit of their being. In all other
respects I am as healthy, sound, and happy as your kindness can wish. So
you will set down my political despondency as my only disease.

On the tip-top of Gad's Hill, between this and Rochester, on the very
spot where Falstaff ran away, I have a pretty little old-fashioned
house, which I shall live in the hope of showing to you one day. Also I
have a little story respecting the manner in which it became mine, which
I hope (on the same occasion in the clouds) to tell you. Until then and
always, I am, dear Lord Carlisle,

Yours very faithfully and obliged.

[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]