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To Mrs. Jane Clemens and family in St. Louis:
NEW YORK, June 7th, 1867.
DEAR FOLKS, I suppose we shall be many a league at sea tomorrow night,
and goodness knows I shall be unspeakably glad of it.
I haven't got anything to write, else I would write it. I have just
written myself clear out in letters to the Alta, and I think they
are the stupidest letters that were ever written from New York.
Corresponding has been a perfect drag ever since I got to the states. If
it continues abroad, I don't know what the Tribune and Alta folks will
think. I have withdrawn the Sandwich Island book--it would be useless to
publish it in these dull publishing times. As for the Frog book, I don't
believe that will ever pay anything worth a cent. I published it simply
to advertise myself--not with the hope of making anything out of it.
Well, I haven't anything to write, except that I am tired of staying in
one place--that I am in a fever to get away. Read my Alta letters--they
contain everything I could possibly write to you. Tell Zeb and John
Leavenworth to write me. They can get plenty of gossip from the pilots.
An importing house sent two cases of exquisite champagne aboard the ship
for me today--Veuve Clicquot and Lac d'Or. I and my room-mate have set
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