“Faithfully yours,

    “CHARLES DICKENS.”

When I arrived in Rome, early in 1860, one of the first letters I received from London was from him.  The project of coming to America was constantly before him, and he wrote to me that he should have a great deal to say when I came back to England in the spring; but the plan fell through, and he gave up all hope of crossing the water again.  However, I did not let the matter rest; and when I returned home I did not cease, year after year, to keep the subject open in my communications with him.  He kept a watchful eye on what was going forward in America, both in literature and politics.  During the war, of course, both of us gave up our correspondence about the readings.  He was actively engaged all over Great Britain in giving his marvellous entertainments, and there certainly was no occasion for his travelling elsewhere.  In October, 1862, I sent him the proof-sheets of an article, that was soon to appear in the Atlantic Monthly, on “Blind Tom,” and on receipt of it he sent me a letter, from which this is an extract:—­

“I have read that affecting paper you have had the kindness to send me, with strong interest and emotion.  You may readily suppose that I have been most glad and ready to avail myself of your permission to print it.  I have placed it in our Number made up to-day, which will be published on the 18th of this month,—­well before you,—­as you desire.

    “Think of reading in America?  Lord bless you, I think of reading in
    the deepest depth of the lowest crater in the Moon, on my way there!

    “There is no sun-picture of my Falstaff House as yet; but it shall
    be done, and you shall have it.  It has been much improved internally
    since you saw it....

“I expect Macready at Gad’s Hill on Saturday.  You know that his second wife (an excellent one) presented him lately with a little boy?  I was staying with him for a day or two last winter, and, seizing an umbrella when he had the audacity to tell me he was growing old, made at him with Macduff’s defiance.  Upon which he fell into the old fierce guard, with the desperation of thirty years ago.

    “Kind remembrances to all friends who kindly remember me.

    “Ever heartily yours,

    “CHARLES DICKENS.”

Every time I had occasion to write to him after the war, I stirred up the subject of the readings.  On the 2d of May, 1866, he says:—­

“Your letter is an excessively difficult one to answer, because I really do not know that any sum of money that could be laid down would induce me to cross the Atlantic to read.  Nor do I think it likely that any one on your side of the great water can be prepared to understand the state of the case.  For example, I am now just finishing a series of thirty readings.  The crowds attending them have been so astounding, and the relish for them has so far outgone all