Forster told me to-day that you wish Tennyson's sonnet to be read after your health is given on Saturday. I am perfectly certain that it would not do at that time. I am quite convinced that the audience would not receive it, under these exciting circumstances, as it ought to be received. If I had to read it, I would on no account undertake to do so at that period, in a great room crowded with a dense company. I have an instinctive assurance that it would fail. Being with Bulwer this morning, I communicated your wish to him, and he immediately felt as I do. I could enter into many reasons which induce me to form this opinion. But I believe that you have that confidence in me that I may spare you the statement of them. I want to know one thing from you. As I shall be obliged to be at the London Tavern in the afternoon of to-morrow, Friday (I write, observe, on Thursday night), I shall be much helped in the arrangements if you will send me your answer by a messenger (addressed here) on the receipt of this. Which would you prefer--that "Auld Lang Syne" should be sung after your health is given and before you return thanks, or after you have spoken? I cannot forbear a word about last night. I think I have told you sometimes, my much-loved friend, how, when I was a mere boy, I was one of your faithful and devoted adherents in the pit; I believe as true a member of that true host of followers as it has ever boasted. As I improved myself and was improved by favouring circumstances in mind and fortune, I only became the more earnest (if it were possible) in my study of you. No light portion of my life arose before me when the quiet vision to which I am beholden, in I don't know how great a decree, or for how much--who does?--faded so nobly from my bodily eyes last night. And if I were to try to tell you what I felt--of regret for its being past for ever, and of joy in the thought that you could have taken your leave of _me_ but in God's own time--I should only blot this paper with some drops that would certainly not be of ink, and give very faint expression to very strong emotions. What is all this in writing! It is only some sort of relief to my full heart, and shows very little of it to you; but that's something, so I let it go. Ever, my dearest Macready, Your most affectionate Friend. P.S.--My very flourish departs from me for the moment. [Sidenote: Mr. David Roberts, R.A.] KNUTSFORD LODGE, GREAT MALVERN, _March 20th, 1851._ MY DEAR ROBERTS, Mrs. Dickens has been unwell, and I am here with her. I want you to give a quarter of an hour to the perusal of the enclosed prospectus; to consider the immense value of the design, if it be successful, to artists young and old; and then to bestow your favourable consideration on the assistance I am going to ask of you for the sake and in the name of the cause.