“They have a line of character in French theatricals they call ‘grand utilities.’ What a splendid thing it would be to introduce it into political life. I think I’ll make an O’Dowd on it, and recommend Cornelius himself to the Premier’s notice. From Tipperary to Taganrog is a wide sweep, and I’d engage to ‘talk’ anything from Pat to Panslav-isms. If you see Stanley, mention it. “Did I tell you Russell--I mean ‘The Times’ man--wrote to me in great glorification about ‘Only an Irishman.’ “My very warmest regards to Mrs Blackwood. If I live and do well--that is, get leave and a little cash--I’ll go over and give them myself.” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “Trieste, _March_ 16, 1868. “It _was_ L. N. who first suggested ironclad gunboats to be employed against the Russian batteries; and as for his courage, you’ll get no one on the Continent to believe it except M. Persigny and Madame Walerothy. He is the Post pump-man _par excellence_. “As you and your wife have left town, I have lost much of the wish to go over. “I quite agree with you that the tone of condescension employed by the press towards Dizzy is disgusting in the extreme; but my hands are tied, by the position I am in, from saying how highly I think of him. I know nothing of his honesty, nothing at all of his nature; but his ability is unquestionably above the other men’s. His great want is a total deficiency in all genial elements. He attaches no one, and he is incapable of understanding the uses of those traits which made Palmerston and Lord Melbourne the idols of their party. “Thank God, Gladstone has still less of these endearing qualities! But still I think our friends will have a short lease of Whitehall, and (unlike Pat) no claim for their improvements when they are evicted.” _To Mr John Blackwood._ “Trieste, _April_ 6, 1868. “First of all, I hope you are about to print my short story this month. I’m sure you’ll like it when in type, and I want to see it there. “Secondly, what would you say to an Irish tale, a serial, a story of modern--that is, _recent_--Ireland, as opposed to the old Erin, with all its conflicting agencies of Tory and Whig, radical, rebel, and loyalist, dashed with a something of that humour that even poverty and famine have not exhausted, without a bit of sermonising or anything at all ‘doctrinaire’? I think I could put many strong truths forcibly forward, and insinuate much worth consideration and reflection; and if I could also make an amusing story, it would be like Mary Jones’ Alphabet in Gingerbread--‘Learning to the _taste_ of the Public.’