_608 Bush Street, San Francisco, January 1880._
MY DEAR HENLEY,--You have got a letter ahead of me, owing to the Alpine
accumulation of ill news I had to stagger under. I will stand no
complaints of my correspondence from England, I having written near half
as many letters again as I have received.
Do not damp me about my work; _qu'elle soit bonne ou mauvaise_, it has
to be done. You know the wolf is at the door, and I have been seriously
ill. I am now at Thoreau. I almost blame myself for persevering in
anything so difficult under the circumstances: but it may set me up
again in style, which is the great point. I have now L80 in the world
and two houses to keep up for an indefinite period. It is odd to be on
so strict a regimen; it is a week for instance since I have bought
myself a drink, and unless times change, I do not suppose I shall ever
buy myself another. The health improves. The Pied Piper is an idea; it
shall have my thoughts, and so shall you. The character of the P. P.
would be highly comic, I seem to see. Had you looked at the _Pavilion_,
I do not think you would have sent it to Stephen; 'tis a mere story, and
has no higher pretension: Dibbs is its name, I wish it was its nature
also. The _Vendetta_, at which you ignorantly puff out your lips, is a
real novel, though not a good one. As soon as I have found strength to
finish the _Emigrant_, I shall also finish the _Vend._ and draw a
breath--I wish I could say, "and draw a cheque." My spirits have risen
_contra fortunam_; I will fight this out, and conquer. You are all
anxious to have me home in a hurry. There are two or three objections to
that; but I shall instruct you more at large when I have time, for
to-day I am hunted, having a pile of letters before me. Yet it is
already drawing into dusk.--Yours affectionately,