I take a few moments from work to write you in order (mainly) to say
that your letter of March 31st did not go astray, as you seem to
fear--though why _you_ should care if it did I can't conjecture. The
loss to me--that is probably what would touch your compassionate
heart.
So you _will_ try to write. That is a good girl. I'm almost sure you
can--not, of course, all at once, but by-and-by. And if not, what
matter? You are not of the sort, I am sure, who would go on despite
everything, determined to succeed by dint of determining to succeed.
* * * * *
We are blessed with the most amiable of all conceivable weathers up
here, and the wild flowers are putting up their heads everywhere to
look for you. Lying in their graves last autumn, they overheard
(_under_heard) your promise to come in the spring, and it has
stimulated and cheered them to a vigorous growth.
I'm sending you some more papers. Don't think yourself obliged to read
all the stuff I send you--_I_ don't read it.
Condole with me--I have just lost another publisher--by failure.
Schulte, of Chicago, publisher of "The Monk" etc., has "gone under," I
hear. Danziger and I have not had a cent from him. I put out three
books in a year, and lo! each one brings down a publisher's gray hair
in sorrow to the grave! for Langton, of "Black Beetles," came to
grief--that is how Danziger got involved. "O that mine enemy would
_publish_ one of my books!"
I am glad to hear of your success at your concert. If I could have
reached you you should have had the biggest basket of pretty
vegetables that was ever handed over the footlights. I'm sure you
merited it all--what do you _not_ merit?
Your father gives me good accounts of my boy. He _must_ be doing well,
I think, by the way he neglects all my commissions.
Enclosed you will find my contribution to the Partington art gallery,
with an autograph letter from the artist. You can hang them in any
light you please and show them to Richard. He will doubtless be
pleased to note how the latent genius of his boss has burst into
bloom.
I have been wading in the creek this afternoon for pure love of it;
the gravel looked so clean under the water. I was for the moment at
least ten years younger than your father. To whom, and to all the rest
of your people, my sincere regards, Your uncle,