TC TO JOHN FORSTER ; 19 April 1843; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18430419-TC-JF-01; CL 16: 132-133
TC TO JOHN FORSTER
Chelsea, 19 April, 1843—
I have Doctors' devilry in my interior today, and such a total despair of everything, that I conclude we must give up Horton for the present!1 It seems to lie within six miles of the Great Western Railway, some two miles from Colnbrook, perhaps not above five from Honslow; and might be attainable enough: but we should make a right Literary Party of the Expedition thither,—should we not? And choose the best of weather for it, and the best of humours. Perhaps Dickens would go, and other chosen men. And then ought not, as in the case of the Todgers people, “our rugged natures to be softened” (probably) “by the presence of lovely woman,” on such an occasion?2 If you and I go at any time ourselves, we must take in Chalfont too, and even Great Hampden, all of which lie in the same region.3— In short, for the present, all is shoved over the horizon again into the sunny continents of Hope; and nothing remains certain but the “early chop” for some day next week,—which, if it please the Pigs,4 we will not neglect!
Adieu. In spite of blue-pill horrors,
Yours ever truly /