Your letter came today—thanks for it, & thanks for the generous thanks you filled it with, & which I do not deserve in the least, but accept & enjoy just as happily & gratefully as if I did. ItⒶemendation was much the joyousest trip I ever had, Joe—not a heartache in it, not a twinge of conscience. I often come to myself out of a reverie & detect an undertone of thought that had been thinking itself without volition of mine: viz: If we had only had ten days of those walks & talks instead of four!

I sent those 2 articles to Howells & have completed our trip in 2 more since I came here. I like the last two ever so much; but I have written to Howells & suggested the destruction of the 2 I read to you. In my closing chapter I have got in your story of the 2 dying soldiers & the coffin; if that doesn’t travel the rounds, then this is an unappreciative world. I got in the cabbage palms in due & solemn state; & the white houses; & Alfred; & the soup & chicken of St George’s & that young girl there; & Moore’s chair which we didn’t see; & the absent tramps; & a blast at our health officer, & upwards of several other things. I like those 2 chapters.

You grieve us to death with your news about Dean Sage. I am conscious of a stubborn inward refusal to accept of this impending dispensation—a sort of resentment about it that is afraid to formulate itself. There are so many we could spare!—& that he should be singled out! ThisⒶemendation is wicked, no doubt, but it is at least honest. And justifiable.

We all of this householdⒶemendation send love & God bless you’s to yourⒶemendation & yours.