Charles Lever, His Life in His Letters, Vol. II

“My poor wife has gone back sorely in health. I have many causes for uneasiness, but this is the worst of all.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“Villa Morelli, June 18,1867.

“I enclose you the proof and a few pages to wind up ‘The Adieu.’

“You will see ere long that I am right about L. Nap. He means to play us a slippery trick about the East. He bamboozled us into the Crimean War, and he is now going to juggle us out of its small benefits.

“My wife is at last a little better. I got to bed last night after twelve nights of half-sleep on the sofa. I am fairly knocked up, and for this and other reasons do look to the proof, and don’t trust me.

“You have heard that Elliott has been appointed Ambassador to Constantinople. He is about the greatest ass in diplomacy, – a big word when one remembers Loftus at Berlin and Howard at Munich. Here is an epigram I made on his appointment: —

“F.O. is much puzzled, we all have heard recently,
To find proper Envoys to send to each Court;
And while Lyons at Paris may get along decently,
We rejoice to hear Elliott est mis à la Porte.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“British Consulate, Trieste, July 2,1867.

“Though my cry, like the starling’s, is still ‘I can’t get out,’ I exist in the hope that I am not to be left to die here.

“I send you a short bit on Miramar that I hope you may like. I’ll follow it with something lighter, but I send this now to acknowledge your note and its eighteen-pounder (a shot in my locker that told with considerable effect). I see you will not pity me for being sentenced to this d – d place, but if you only saw the faces of the Shylocks you’d be more compassionate. If nothing else offer, I’ll try and negotiate an exchange with Flynn. I’ll be shot if there must not be something amongst the convicts more companionable than here.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“Villa Morelli, Florence, Sept. 5,1867.

“I am passing my last few days at the Villa Morelli, and mean to leave for good – if that be the phrase for it – on Monday next. My wife is still very ill, and very unfit for the fatigue of a journey; but short of giving up my post, I have no alternative. I hoped to have heard from you before I wrote, but as I have a quiet half hour – not a very frequent thing with me of late – I sit down to inflict it on you. I wish, besides, to ask and learn from you – shall you want me seriously next year, – that is, do you care to have a novel from me any time about April or May next? I am driven to ask this because I have had a proposal which, if you want me, I shall certainly not accept, nor am I sure I shall even in the other alternative.

“I am always hoping that each book I write will be my last; and if it were not that I have taken (mentally) as many farewells as Grey, I’d say this new and not-a-bit-the-less-on-that-account-much-to-be-thought-over story would be my final curtsey to an indulgent public.

“It seems to me you won’t believe in a war in England. It is part of the national hypocrisy to cry peace while our neighbours are whetting their knives and polishing their breechloaders. War is certain, nevertheless – as sure as the devil is in hell and I am a consul! – two facts so apparently alike, it seems tantalising to mention them.

“We are in for a little war of our own, meanwhile, with the African savage, – perhaps to serve as an excuse for not taking part in the bigger fight near home. This policy reminds me of an old Irish squire who, being a bad horseman, always excused himself when the hounds met near him by saying ‘he was off for a rat-hunt.’

“The next Glasgow steamer that leaves Trieste will bring you a few bottles of Maraschino, which, as Cattaro is one of my dependencies, will be real. I wish I could think I’d see you sip a glass with me one of these days beside the blue Adriatic.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“Trieste, Oct. 18.

“It is not now I need tell you what a miserable hand I am at correcting a proof. The man who has never been able, after fifty odd years’ experience of his own nature, to correct one of his own faults, can scarcely have much success in dealing with his printers’. Look, therefore, to this for me, and let me come decently before the public. I have added a bit to Garibaldi’s which is certainly true, whatever men may think of it in England.

“I am afraid I am not equal to a notice (a worthy notice) of Aytoun. I never knew [him] personally, and I suspect it should be one who did should now recall his fine traits of heart as well as of intellect. All I know of him I liked sincerely.

“I abhor Cockneydom as much as you do! Without being a Fenian, I have an Irishman’s hate of the Londoner.

“Only think of what a lucky dog I am! All our clothes, &c, coming from Florence have been shipwrecked in the Adriatic. They were sent from Ravenna, and the craft was wrecked off Pola. I must make an O’D. of it!”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“Consulate, Trieste, Nov. 16,1867.

“Thanks for your note and its enclosure.

“You are mistaken if you think I invented the Nobility Association, or that it is a hoax. It is bona fide, every bit of it; and I have added a note which you can insert if you suspect that your own incredulity may be felt by others.

“I have added a page also to ‘Garibaldi.’ It is, to my mind, so essential to a right reading of the present position of Italy to place briefly the whole incident before the reader, that I think it now will display events as they have been, as they might have been, and as they are.

“To comply with your wish to return proof by post, I have, I fear, corrected laxly; but you will, I know, look to my ‘shortcomings.’

“I suspect Serjeant Brownlow’s reminiscences would make an amusing review. If you think so, send it to me, and I’ll try.

“My wife is again very ill, a relapsed [] of the lung, and I am dreary – dreary.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“Trieste, Dec. 2.

“I send you for your New Year No. the best magazine story I think I ever wrote.

“I only hope you may agree with me, – at all events you will tell me what you think of it, and let me have early proof.”

To Mr John Blackwood.

“British Consulate, Trieste, Dec 6, 1867.

“I return you ‘Bob Considine,’ hurriedly, but I hope effectually, corrected. I sincerely hope it may appear New Year’s Day: I have a superstition of a good start on that day.

“Your note contained no cheque, and I suppose you may have found it on your table since, but you can annex it to ‘Bob’ when you write.

“We are going to have a mournful spectacle here – the funeral reception of the poor Mexican Emperor’s remains. It will be, they say, very solemn and imposing.

“I find I could not improve the wind-up, and left it unchanged. As to how mad Bob turned out afterwards is nothing to either of us, though I own I think the case hazardous.

“A happy Xmas to you and your wife. Give her all my best wishes and warm regards; as for me, —

“The time of mince-pies, mistletoe, and buns,
The time that tells of all that bright and neat is,
Only brings thoughts of Xmas bills and duns,
Confounded chilblains and my old bronchitis.

“This short month drives me close to time, or I should have liked to add something to the Persano sketch. I find it is a subject immensely talked of by our people (sailors) at home, and that opinion is more favourable to him in England than in Italy. There is no time, however, for this now.

“I suspect Dizzy’s plurality of votes scheme is utter failure. A Bill of Reform must be simple, even at the cost of some efficiency in details. It is a weapon to be used by coarse hands – and every day of the week besides.