_December_ 5_th_, 1892.
MY DEAR MRS. JENKIN,—. . . So much said, I come with guilty speed to what
more immediately concerns myself. Spare us a month or two for old sake’s
sake, and make my wife and me happy and proud. We are only fourteen days
from San Francisco, just about a month from Liverpool; we have our new
house almost finished. The thing _can_ be done; I believe we can make
you almost comfortable. It is the loveliest climate in the world, our
political troubles seem near an end. It can be done, it must! Do,
please, make a virtuous effort, come and take a glimpse of a new world I
am sure you do not dream of, and some old friends who do often dream of
your arrival.
Alas, I was just beginning to get eloquent, and there goes the lunch
bell, and after lunch I must make up the mail.
Do come. You must not come in February or March—bad months. From April
on it is delightful.—Your sincere friend,