to A. Patchett Martin

[1877.]

DEAR SIR,—It would not be very easy for me to give you any idea of the pleasure I found in your present.  People who write for the magazines (probably from a guilty conscience) are apt to suppose their works practically unpublished.  It seems unlikely that any one would take the trouble to read a little paper buried among so many others; and reading it, read it with any attention or pleasure.  And so, I can assure you, your little book, coming from so far, gave me all the pleasure and encouragement in the world.

I suppose you know and remember Charles Lamb’s essay on distant correspondents?  Well, I was somewhat of his way of thinking about my mild productions.  I did not indeed imagine they were read, and (I suppose I may say) enjoyed right round upon the other side of the big Football we have the honour to inhabit.  And as your present was the first sign to the contrary, I feel I have been very ungrateful in not writing earlier to acknowledge the receipt.  I dare say, however, you hate writing letters as much as I can do myself (for if you like my article, I may presume other points of sympathy between us); and on this hypothesis you will be ready to forgive me the delay.

I may mention with regard to the piece of verses called ‘Such is Life,’ that I am not the only one on this side of the Football aforesaid to think it a good and bright piece of work, and recognised a link of sympathy with the poets who ‘play in hostelries at euchre.’—Believe me, dear sir, yours truly,

R. L S.