London, July 4, 1862
It is some time since I last wrote. I have hardly had the courage to do so in the face of what is now going on at home, and today we hear news of a battle near Charleston on the 16th which has done little to encourage me. Your last letter speaking of your illness and general position troubled our camp much. I had to pooh-pooh it more than I liked in order to stop the noise. Hard as your life is and threatens to become, I would like well to share it with you in order to escape in the consciousness of action a little of the struggle against fancied evils that we feel here.
The truth is we are suffering now under one of those periodical returns of anxiety and despondency that I have often written of. The last was succeeded by that brilliant series of successes which gave us New Orleans, Yorktown, Norfolk and Memphis, and perhaps this may end as well; but meanwhile we are haunted by stories about McClellan and by the strange want of life that seems justly or not to characterize our military and naval motions. You at Charleston seem to be an exception to the rule of stagnation which leaves us everywhere on the defensive even when attacking. A little dash does so much to raise one’s spirits, and now our poor men only sicken in marshes. I think of it all as little as I can.
Our own position here is now so uninteresting as to give us nothing to think of. After some pretty sharp fighting and curious experiences that I dare n’t trust to paper, we are again quiet and undisturbed, waiting the event of the struggle at Richmond. Things are not over-inspiriting with us, but I don’t know that they look much brighter with the English or French. The suffering among the operatives in Lancashire is very great and is increasing in a scale that makes people very uncomfortable though as yet they keep quiet about it. Cotton is going up to extraordinary prices; in a few days only it advanced three cents a pound and is still rising. Prices for cotton goods are merely nominal and vary according to the opinions of the holders, so that the whole trade is now pure speculation. Mills are closing in every direction. Add to this that the season has been bad and a short crop is now considered a certainty, and you can comprehend how anxious people must be to know how they are to weather next winter. No doubt this state of things will soon produce fresh agitation for mediation or intervention before long if no progress is made by our armies, but as yet we enjoy quiet….
If it were not for home matters it would be all well enough, but they have a good deal of influence here, which is felt rather than seen. We have entertained a good deal — evening receptions once a week for Americans, and several state dinners for English. . . .
