[_San Francisco, May 1880._]
MY DEAR COLVIN,--It is a long while since I have heard from you; nearly
a month, I believe; and I begin to grow very uneasy. At first I was
tempted to suppose that I had been myself to blame in some way; but now
I have grown to fear lest some sickness or trouble among those whom you
love may not be the impediment. I believe I shall soon hear; so I wait
as best I can. I am, beyond a doubt, greatly stronger, and yet still
useless for any work, and, I may say, for any pleasure. My affairs and
the bad weather still keep me here unmarried; but not, I earnestly hope,
for long. Whenever I get into the mountain, I trust I shall rapidly pick
up. Until I get away from these sea fogs and my imprisonment in the
house, I do not hope to do much more than keep from active harm. My
doctor took a desponding fit about me, and scared Fanny into blue fits;
but I have talked her over again. It is the change I want, and the
blessed sun, and a gentle air in which I can sit out and see the trees
and running water: these mere defensive hygienics cannot advance one,
though they may prevent evil. I do nothing now, but try to possess my
soul in peace, and continue to possess my body on any terms.
_Calistoga, Napa County, California._--All which is a fortnight old and
not much to the point nowadays. Here we are, Fanny and I, and a certain
hound, in a lovely valley under Mount Saint Helena, looking around, or
rather wondering when we shall begin to look around, for a house of our
own. I have received the first sheets of the _Amateur Emigrant_; not yet
the second bunch, as announced. It is a pretty heavy, emphatic piece of
pedantry; but I don't care; the public, I verily believe, will like it.
I have excised all you proposed and more on my own movement. But I have
not yet been able to rewrite the two special pieces which, as you said,
so badly wanted it; it is hard work to rewrite passages in proof; and
the easiest work is still hard to me. But I am certainly recovering
fast; a married and convalescent being.
Received James's _Hawthorne_, on which I meditate a blast, Miss Bird,
Dixon's _Penn_, a _wrong_ Cornhill (like my luck) and _Coquelin_: for
all which, and especially the last, I tender my best thanks. I have
opened only James; it is very clever, very well written, and out of
sight the most inside-out thing in the world; I have dug up the hatchet;
a scalp shall flutter at my belt ere long. I think my new book should be
good; it will contain our adventures for the summer, so far as these are
worth narrating; and I have already a few pages of diary which should
make up bright. I am going to repeat my old experiment, after
buckling-to a while to write more correctly, lie down and have a
wallow. Whether I shall get any of my novels done this summer I do not
know; I wish to finish the _Vendetta_ first, for it really could not
come after _Prince Otto_. Lewis Campbell has made some noble work in
that Agamemnon; it surprised me. We hope to get a house at Silverado, a
deserted mining-camp eight miles up the mountain, now solely inhabited
by a mighty hunter answering to the name of Rufe Hansome, who slew last
year a hundred and fifty deer. This is the motto I propose for the new
volume: "_Vixerunt nonnulli in agris, delectati re sua familiari. His
idem propositum fuit quod regibus, ut ne qua re egerent, ne cui
parerent, libertate uterentur; cujus proprium est sic vivere ut velis._"
I always have a terror lest the wish should have been father to the
translation, when I come to quote; but that seems too plain sailing. I
should put _regibus_ in capitals for the pleasantry's sake. We are in
the Coast range, that being so much cheaper to reach; the family, I
hope, will soon follow. Love to all.--Ever yours,