[_Hotel Belvedere, Davos, December 1880_]
MY DEAR COLVIN,--I feel better, but variable. I see from the doctor's
report that I have more actual disease than I supposed; but there seems
little doubt of my recovery. I like the place and shall like it much
better when you come at Christmas. That is written on my heart: S. C.
comes at Christmas: so if you play me false, I shall have a lie upon my
conscience. I like Symonds very well, though he is much, I think, of an
invalid in mind and character. But his mind is interesting, with many
beautiful corners, and his consumptive smile very winning to see. We
have had some good talks; one went over Zola, Balzac, Flaubert, Whitman,
Christ, Handel, Milton, Sir Thomas Browne; do you see the _liaison_?--in
another, I, the Bohnist, the un-Grecian, was the means of his conversion
in the matter of the Ajax. It is truly not for nothing that I have read
my Buckley.[32]
To-day the south wind blows; and I am seedy in consequence.
_Later._--I want to know when you are coming, so as to get you a room.
You will toboggan and skate your head off, and I will talk it off, and
briefly if you don't come pretty soon, I will cut you off with a
shilling.
It would be handsome of you to write. The doctor says I may be as well
as ever; but in the meantime I go slow and am fit for little.--Ever
yours,