[_Skerryvore_, _Bournemouth_], August 6_th_, 1887.
MY DEAR LOW,—We—my mother, my wife, my stepson, my maidservant, and
myself, five souls—leave, if all is well, Aug. 20th, per Wilson line SS.
_Ludgate Hill_. Shall probably evade N. Y. at first, cutting straight to
a watering-place: Newport, I believe, its name. Afterwards we shall
steal incognito into _la bonne villa_, and see no one but you and the
Scribners, if it may be so managed. You must understand I have been very
seedy indeed, quite a dead body; and unless the voyage does miracles, I
shall have to draw it dam fine. Alas, ‘The Canoe Speaks’ is now out of
date; it will figure in my volume of verses now imminent. However, I may
find some inspiration some day.—Till very soon, yours ever,