TC TO JOHN FORSTER; 7 November 1854; DOI: 10.1215/lt-18541107-TC-JF-01; CL 29: 192-193
TC TO JOHN FORSTER
Chelsea, 7 Novr, 1854—
Dear Forster,—A thousand thanks: you are always mindful of me; nor do I, in my dreary wanderings thro' the realm of Solitude (my common place of abode lately), forget you. I have had, and have, some cold; much dullness, incapacity to master this abominable chaos (of Prussian sand and peat bog), or make the least way towards draining it green:—otherwise nothing wrong, with me or my other self either.
The Brunswick Book1 will most likely have something in it for me; and if it had nothing but brown paper, should not I reckon it a thing of price, think you? The Foote too; why did not you send me the Quarterly and Foote;2 of which I have heard on all hands, and have been eagerly looking out for it, tho' in a helpless manner! Send it at once, if you can:—item remember we are always here, nearly every evening, or I may say altogether so; sitting with two Books, and no other company: why not come at once to the mark,—by one shillings worth of Cab, any evening!—
You did well to contradict that stony Blockhead;3 and a great favour to me, at the same time; nay the Books, I believe, were worth getting, very far indeed beyond the average.
Adieu, dear Forster; the Foote immediately if you have it ready. Self—when? Any evening, I say.
Yours ever truly /