nglishmen at this time of day. Such interest culminated in the last
Stuart, and has worn itself out. It would be uphill work to evoke an
interest in Perkin Warbeck.

I do not doubt the play's being well received, but my fear is that these
people would be looked upon as mere abstractions, and would have but a
cold welcome in consequence, and would not lay hold of your audience.
Now, when you _have_ laid hold of your audience and have accustomed them
to your theatre, you may produce "The White Rose," with far greater
justice to the author, and to the manager also. Wait. Feel your way.
Perkin Warbeck is too far removed from analogy with the sympathies and
lives of the people for a beginning.

My dear Fechter, ever faithfully yours.

[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Saturday, Dec. 27th, 1862._

MY DEAR MARY,

I must send you my Christmas greeting and happy New Year wishes in
return for yours; most heartily and fervently reciprocating your
interest and affection. You are among the few whom I most care for and
best love.

Being in London two evenings in the opening week, I tried to persuade my
legs (for whose judgment I have the highest respect) to go to an evening
party. But I _could not_ induce them to pass Leicester Square. The
faltering presentiment under which they laboured so impressed me, that
at that point I yielded to their terrors. They immediately ran away to
the east, and I accompanied them to the Olympic, where I saw a very good
play, "Camilla's Husband," very well played. Real merit in Mr. Neville
and Miss Saville.

We came across directly after the gale, with the Channel all bestrewn
with floating wreck, and with a hundred and fifty sick schoolboys from
Calais on board. I am going back on the morning after Fechter's opening
night, and have promised to read "Copperfield" at the Embassy, for a
British charity.

Georgy continues wonderfully well, and she and Mary send you their best
love. The house is pervaded by boys; and every boy has (as usual) an
unaccountable and awful power of producing himself in every part of the
house at every moment, apparently in fourteen pairs of creaking boots.

My dear Mary, ever affectionately your
JOE.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Lieutenant Andrew