| 1231 | 1232 | 1233 | 1234 | 1235 |
| 1 | 314 | 629 | 943 | 1257 |
|
To W. D. Howells, in New York:
STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONNECTICUT,
in the morning, Apl. 17, '09.
Written with pencil].
3
[
My pen has gone dry and the ink is out of reach. Howells, Did you write
me day-before-day before yesterday, or did I dream it? In my mind's
eye I most vividly see your hand-write on a square blue envelop in the
mailpile. I have hunted the house over, but there is no such letter. Was
it an illusion?
I am reading Lowell's letter, and smoking. I woke an hour ago and am
reading to keep from wasting the time. On page 305, vol. I. I have just
margined a note:
"
Young friend! I like that! You ought to see him now."
It seemed startlingly strange to hear a person call you young. It was a
brick out of a blue sky, and knocked me groggy for a moment. Ah me, the
pathos of it is, that we were young then. And he--why, so was he, but
he didn't know it. He didn't even know it 9 years later, when we saw him
approaching and you warned me, saying, "Don't say anything about age--he
has just turned fifty, and thinks he is old and broods over it."
1233
Page
Quick Jump
|