I am almost tired out. It has been 22 hours since I wrote you, & ever since that time I have been drifting along over the slowest railways. I have just arrived here, & it is almost midnight. I can’t get any supper—too late—but I don’t mind that—

I am so inexpressibly tired & drowsy!—not tired, either, but worn, you know, & dreary. I wish I never had to travel any more. And I won’t Ⓐemendation, after we come to anchor, my dear—I won’t for any light cause. How I long to have a home & never leave it! You Ⓐemendationdon’t thoroughly appreciate the luxury of having a home, Livy—but you could before long, if you had to go, go, go, all the time, from one of these hated hotels to another, as I do. Now this room is large & well furnished, & the open fire looks cheerful—but it is stupid & lonesome,—& there is that indescribable something or other about the disposal of the curtains & the bureau ornaments which tells that the place does not seldom knows Ⓐemendationthe gentle presence of a woman. I wish you—but you can’t be here, of course—& so there isn’t any use in wishing it. I——but I am falling asleep. I Ⓐemendation do love you, Livy. Good-night. Our Father have you in his His Ⓐemendationholy keeping. , my blameless one.

22 d Ⓐemendation—Midnight.—I have just this moment parted with my newspaper friends—I don’t get a moment’s time to myself. I ⒶemendationThe whole day long I have been driving or visiting, with first one & then another—& I found an old friend or two here, as usual—I find them everywhere—how they do wander! It was move, move, move—all the day long—& so I got no time to write finish my letter—I barely got time to shave before time for the lecture (1,000 or 1,100 people there—they seemed to like it.) I called on Miss Nye and Mrs. Sill1explanatory note at 4 P.M., & staid to tea at 6, because the place looked homelike & I wanted to get away from the dreariness of the hotel. I am not going to tell you what Miss Nye said about you, Livy, because you would simply say she was blinded by love, & you would believe it, too. Why won’t you let us praise you all we want to?—it is ever so pleasant to us, & it don’t do you any harm, you dear little woman. But one thing she said which I will tell you, anyhow—it supports what Mrs. Fairbanks says, & what I say: She said your English composition was wonderful for the charm there was about it—& I say its simplicity, its naturalness & its unconsciousness are just matchless. Now ruffle your feathers!—but it isn’t of any use, Livy—I am not on the sofa & you can’t stop my mouth. {If I were I would stop yours with a kiss precious soon, I can tell you.} I was very stupid, at Mr. Sill’s, but I Ⓐemendationthink it was mostly because I was ashamed of being there unshaven.—though of course I was drowsy from driving two hours & a half in the cold & snow. Mr. Sill was not at home, & the ladies could not attend the lecture, but Miss Nye sent a note inviting me to fo Ⓐemendation(for Mrs. ⒶemendationSill) to come there Christmas Day to attend some sort of Santa Claus fandango—but you know I can’t be here then. Please Ⓐemendationwon’t you write Miss Nye so, in your next letter?—there’s a dear good girl. You see the note does not require an answer, & even if it did, when shall I get a chance to answer it?

No letter from you, Livy—but I know it will come in the morning, be Ⓐemendationunless circumstances have interfered to prevent your writing it—for I know you meant to do it.

Don’t write to Dayton, at all—the date has been changed—but please write so that one letter to Cleveland (care Herald) to hit that date (Dec. 31.) I shall be there.

Livy, I ought to be ashamed to send you such a shabby, incoherent, yea, trifling & trivial a letter as this—but dear, it has been written in fatigue & drowsiness at such odd moments as I could catch late & nightⒶemendation—& you will forgive. It is 1 o’clock A.M. now, & I must get up this morning (23d) & go & lecture at Lansing to-nightⒶemendation. I am very sleepy. My fire has gone out & I am catching cold. Give my loving duty to Mr. & Mrs. Langdon, please.

Good night. I shall remember you in my prayers, five minutes hence, my life, my hope, my darling!