So the long letter which I wrote at the time the new letter of credit went, never reached you, & I must write it over again. It’s hard luck, for young know letter-writing & tooth-ache rank together in my affections. Well, briefly it was to this effect: the new letter finishes the stipulated sum, & so I wanted you to so plan that half of it would be left for you to get home on—in case you decided to come home.

You will still have $500 or $600 left on hand the 1st of August; so you have now several months in which to make plans & think them over.

If I may advise, I would strongly advise that youn now write A. St Gaudens & J. Q. A. Ward, & ask them if they can give you employment & wages in their establishments in New York. If they can & will, that is a certainty; it is sure bread & butter; & is of course better & wiser than setting up for one’s self without capital. I have talked with Warner, & the above is what he suggested & advised. He said it was the course which Ward followed when he returned from his European studies: he worked in a New York sculptor’s studio for wages until he became able to set up for himself.

Warner says there is a world of work in this country of a modest sort—soldier-monuments, portrait-busts, &c—humble work, maybe, but affording plenty of bread & butter; & that for this reason New York is probably a better field than Paris for a beginner, if the beginner can get in with Ward & St Gaudens.

I throw out the suggestion, for it strikes me favorably; but you must not regard it as anything weightier than a suggestion. You might, & must, do the thing which shall seem wisest & best to you. And moreover

And we wish to add this: Keep us informed of your movements & purposes, & always let us know when we can help you in any way—with advice, or money, or otherwise; for our strong interests in your fortunes & your future does not pale or die with the “stipulated sum,” you can rest assured.

---

I am broken in upon by an irritating telephonic message from Meriden which has taken the last rag of patience out of me & raised my temper to fever-heat; & so I need not try to finish my letter. Only remainder of page, containing two or three lines of text, torn away to cancel

Imagine all I would say that is loving & kind & pleasant; & believe that you will still fall short of the affectionate regard in which I hold you.