I reckon you are dead again, but no matter, I will heave a line at the corpse. I have really nothing to say, though, except that Mrs. C. & I are going to spend a week secretly in a Boston hotel, by & by, & hope you & Mrs. Howells will not be sorry to hear it—for, upon the honor of a man & a scribe, we shall not be incensed if you do nothing more than drop in & say howdy-do, for we know what it is to be busy & have a wife whose health requires peace, & rest from intrusions. social taxing.

That most infernally troublesome book is at last hidden from my sight & mind in the jaws of three steam presses. Orders received for 25,000 copies—not a very satisfactory start, but the diligent Canadian has warned everybody that he will glut the market at half-a-dollar within ten days after we issue; proclaims that he has bought advance-sheets right along from pressmen & understrappers in the three printing-offices, attending to the matter in person here under an assumed name. Such is Belford! However, these things discomfort me not in the slightest degree. My joy in getting the book out of my hands fills me up & leaves no room for trivial griefs.

I have reached (MS) page 326 on my historical tale of “t The Little Prince & the Little Pauper” & if I knew it would never sell a copy my jubilant delight in writing it would not suffer any diminution. Love to you all.