“My Dear Friend,
“Very sorry to hear of the illness of Madame Reid and of your own indisposition. Bronchitis—that curse of the London climate—is a very trying affair; we know only too much of it.
“Many, many thanks for your kind offer, which I gladly accept as far as your powerful pen is concerned. I am indeed in need of it, the more so as I have no time to write myself—have scarcely time to breathe.
“We must try and make this Chancery suit a glorious triumph to my country’s rights and to the great principles involved in it, and I think we may if only the press is not allowed to relax its support.
“The papers—at least most of them—are well disposed—even The Times—only think!
“So write! write! write! is the word now more than ever.
“The Daily News will, I think, accept any good article on the subject—at least I expect them to do so—the Morning Star still more, and of the Morning Advertiser I feel perfectly sure.
“I shall try to see you in the course of to-morrow, if possible—if not, then after to-morrow for certainty.
“Yours very faithfully,
“Kossuth.