Livy darling, we are still grinding along, still steadily reducing the remaining days of the pilgrimage. Thank goodness there’s not only not much work left to do, but what is left is almost whoolly in big pleasant cities.

We rose at 5.45 this morning & took a train which ought to have had us hearre at 10.30, but it lost 2 hours on the road. I slept a couple of hours on the way, & I feel rusty & seedy, now. I have not eaten for 12 hours & it will doubtless be another 12 before I do eat; for I got up with a sour stomach. Pond has just been in, mad. He went in to dinner with Cable, who was shown to a table where some children sat; & he whirled on his heel & marched out before everybody in grandiose style & told Pond to have his dinner sent to his room. Pond was deeply mortified at this fantastic exhibition of petty magnificence.

We had a most delightful time with the Fort Wayne audience last night. I enjoyed every moment of my time on the stage.

I know I ought to write to Tennyson, for your letter gives me just the needed text; & I am a good deal moved to do it; but I am in that drowsy, wretched condition which is the deadly enemy to all felicity of expression, & I should make a botch of it. Therefore I am leaving it undone—& greatly against my will.

Jean’s two letters came in yours, & they were very interesting, though part of the writing in one of them was confused & I could not make out c exactly what it was that Elisa did to the cat.

Goodbye, sweetheart, I love you.