To Mrs. Martin October 15, 1844.

...  Not a word more have I heard from Miss Martineau; and shall not soon, perhaps, as she is commanded not to write, not to read—­to do nothing, in fact, except the getting better.  I am not, I confess, quite satisfied myself.  But she herself appears to be so altogether, and she speaks of ‘symptoms having given way,’ implying a structural change.  Yes, I use the common phrase in respect to mesmerism, and think ‘there is something in it.’  Only I think, besides, that, if something, there must be a great deal in it.  Clairvoyance has precisely the same evidence as the phenomenon of the trance has, and scientific and philosophical minds are recognising all the phenomena as facts on all sides of us.  Mr. Kenyon’s is the best distinction, and the immense quantity of humbug which embroiders the truth over and over, and round and round, makes it needful:  ’I believe in mesmerism, but not in mesmerists.’

We have had no other letter from our Egyptians, but can wait a little longer without losing our patience.

The blind rises in favour, and the ivy would not fall, if it would but live.  Alas!  I am going to try guano as a last resource.  You see, in painting the windows, papa was forced to have it taken down, and the ivy that grows on ruins and oaks is not usually taken down ’for the nonce.’  I think I shall have a myrtle grove in two or three large pots inside the window.  I have a mind to try it.

I heard twice from dear Mr. Kenyon at Dover, where he was detained by the weather, but not since his entrance into France.  Which is grand enough word for the French Majesty itself—­’entrance into France.’  By the way, I do hope you have some sympathy with me in my respect for the King of the French—­that right kingly king, Louis Philippe.  If France had borne more liberty, he would not have withheld it, and, for the rest, and in all truly royal qualities, he is the noblest king, according to my idea, in Europe—­the most royal king in the encouragement of art and literature, and in the honoring of artists and men of letters.  Let a young unknown writer accomplish a successful tragedy, and the next day he sits at the king’s table—­not in a metaphor, but face to face.  See how different the matter is in our court, where the artists are shown up the back stairs, and where no poet (even by the back stairs) can penetrate, unless so fortunate as to be a banker also.  What is the use of kings and queens in these days, except to encourage arts and letters?  Really I cannot see.  Anybody can hunt an otter out of a box—­who has nerve enough.

I had a letter from America to-day, and heard that my book was not published there until the fifth of this October.  Still, a few copies had preceded the publication, and made way among the critics, and several reviews were in the course of germinating very greenly.  Yes, I was delighted with the ‘Examiner,’ and all the more so from having interpreted the long delay of the notice, the gloomiest manner possible.  My friends try to persuade me that the book is making some impression, and I am willing enough to be convinced.  Thank you for all your kind sympathy, my dear friend.