_Tautira_ (_The Garden of the World_), _otherwise called_
_Hans-Christian-Andersen-ville_ [_November_ 1888].
MY DEAR CHARLES,—Whether I have a penny left in the wide world, I know
not, nor shall know, till I get to Honolulu, where I anticipate a devil
of an awakening. It will be from a mighty pleasant dream at least:
Tautira being mere Heaven. But suppose, for the sake of argument, any
money to be left in the hands of my painful doer, what is to be done with
it? Save us from exile would be the wise man’s choice, I suppose; for
the exile threatens to be eternal. But yet I am of opinion—in case there
should be _some_ dibs in the hand of the P.D., _i.e._ painful doer;
because if there be none, I shall take to my flageolet on the high-road,
and work home the best way I can, having previously made away with my
family—I am of opinion that if — and his are in the customary state, and
you are thinking of an offering, and there should be still some funds
over, you would be a real good P.D. to put some in with yours and tak’
the credit o’t, like a wee man! I know it’s a beastly thing to ask; but
it, after all, does no earthly harm, only that much good. And besides,
like enough there’s nothing in the till, and there is an end. Yet I live
here in the full lustre of millions; it is thought I am the richest son
of man that has yet been to Tautira: I!—and I am secretly eaten with the
fear of lying in pawn, perhaps for the remainder of my days, in San
Francisco. As usual, my colds have much hashed my finances.
Do tell Henley I write this just after having dismissed Ori the
sub-chief, in whose house I live, Mrs. Ori, and Pairai, their adopted
child, from the evening hour of music: during which I Publickly (with a
k) Blow on the Flageolet. These are words of truth. Yesterday I told
Ori about W. E. H., counterfeited his playing on the piano and the pipe,
and succeeded in sending the six feet four there is of that sub-chief
somewhat sadly to his bed; feeling that his was not the genuine article
after all. Ori is exactly like a colonel in the Guards.—I am, dear
Charles, ever yours affectionately,