Right Honorable Sir—The editor of a Bohemian literary journal takes the liberty of applying, in a very delicate matter, to you the most renowned poet of the first literature in the world. Yet this liberty I draw from having a great belief in the generous character of the English nation.
What I do venture to impress on your mind is this, that a poem of yours written on, and dedicated to the poor descendants of Bohemia’s happier ancestors, would as a mighty missionary go the round all over their fair country evoking everywhere loud echoes out of the graves of their heroes!
(1892)
The following is a letter from an hysterical Irishman:
Eminent Sir—I send you the inside poem to show you what the American people think of your lives of tyranny, and may the day come when your infernal land may be torn to a million pieces. Curse you for your highway robbery of Ireland, and then holding her down in such misery, and also for your cowardly war with Napoleon. You could fight him alone, could you? I wish that every Englishman was in the hottest place of hell—their bones made into gridirons to roast their hearts on. * * *
(1888-1892)
A French chemist, hearing that “Monsieur” suffers from gout, has a certain secret cure. If he could, he would come over to England, “et ... je vous guérirais complètement.”
He is assured that this remedy will rapidly make him rich. But it should be known beyond France.
On m’a dit que je pouvais trouver quelques-uns à l’étranger qui sauraient l’apprécier et le faire valoir que cela vaut une petite fortune pour moi; ne serai-je que pour l’humanité, je me tacherai de la vendre.
Je vous le répète, Monsieur, c’est bien regrettable que je ne sois pas plus près de chez vous, car je vous soulagerois et, Monsieur, on peut se renseigner sur moi; je ne suis pas riche mais honnête et d’une bonne famille, et en faisant mon chimisterie je m’occupe un peu d’antiquités.