rtion written on the
back was thus lost, the rest became valueless. I can fancy the
American collector tearing his hair as he reads of this desecration.
But it was a rash act and a terrible loss of money. Each letter might
have later been worth say from five to ten pounds apiece.

It would be difficult to give an idea of Forster's overflowing
kindness on the occasion of the coming of friends to town. Perpetual
hospitality was the order of the day, and, like so many older
Londoners, he took special delight in hearing accounts of the strange
out-of-the-way things a visitor will discover, and with which he will
even surprise the resident. He enjoyed what he called "hearing your
adventures." I never met anyone with so boisterous and enjoying a
laugh. Something would tickle him, and, like Johnson in Fleet Street,
he would roar and roar again. Like Diggory, too, at the same story, or
rather _scene_; for, like his friend Boz, it was the _picture_ of some
humorous incident that delighted, and would set him off into
convulsions. One narrative of my own, a description of the recitation
of Poe's _The Bells_ by an actress, in which she simulated the action
of pulling the bell for the Fire, or for a Wedding or Funeral bells,
used to send him into perfect hysterics. And I must say that I, who
have seen and heard all sorts of truly humorous and spuriously
humorous stories in which the world abounds at the present moment,
have never witnessed anything more diverting. The poor lady thought
she was doing the thing realistically, while the audience was
shrieking with enjoyment. I do not know how many times I was invited
to repeat this narrative, a somewhat awkward situation for me, but I
was glad always to do what he wished. I recall Browning coming in, and
I was called on to rehearse this story, Forster rolling on the sofa
in agonies of enjoyment. This will seem trivial and personal, but
really it was characteristic; and pleasant it was to find a man of his
sort so natural and even boyish.

At the head of his table, with a number of agreeable and clever guests
around him, Forster was at his best. He seemed altogether changed.
Beaming smiles, a gentle, encouraging voice, and a tenderness verging
on gallantry to the ladies, took the place of the old, rough fashions.
He talked ostentatiously, he _led_ the talk, told most _a propos_
anecdotes of the remarkable men he had met, and was fond of fortifying
his own views by adding: "As Gladston