We have been up here 10 days, now, & I have been on the sick list pretty much all that time, with lumbago. Mrs. Gleason was here a few days ago & told us your sisters were at the Cure, but neither Livy nor I have fairly been in condition to go down there since then. I have spent part of my time in bed; but yesterday evening Livy & I determined to get to the Cure this morning—but there’s another failure: I’m bedridden again—a decided case of rheumatism; I shall not be out again for some days I guess. We have twice sent verbal messages to Olive, begging her to waive ceremonyⒶemendation & run up here, but she don’t waive worth a cent. It is cold & stormy to-day; but Livy & Sue will go to the Cure as soon as the weather moderates.

Have just finished the Scholar of the 12th Cent. & am delighted with the amusing & pathetic story.Ⓐemendation Suppose Giraldus had been politic; he might have reached the primacy; thenⒶemendation imagine poor Henry II saddled with the second Beckett! I wish I could read the original; those marvels charm me—such as the spring running with milk, the man breached like a bull, & that soldier’s immaculate conception of a calf. I will remail the pamphlet to you to-day or to-morrow.

I am writing with a stylographic pen. It takes a royal amount of cussing to make the thing go, the first few days or weeks; but by that time the dullest ass gets the hang of the thing, & after that no enrichments of expression are required & said ass finds the stylographic a genuine God’s blessing. I carry one in each breeches pocket, & both loaded. I’d give you one of them if I had you where I could teach you how to use it—not otherwise; for the average ass flings the thing out of the window in disgust, the second day, believingⒶemendation it hath no virtue norⒶemendation merit of any sort, whereas the lack lieth in himself, God of his mercy damn him.

I have writ one or two magazine articles & about 100 pages on one of my books, since we left Hartford—been idle the rest of the time.

“1601” is on its travels again; John Hay has been handing it around, in Washington, & took it out & left it in Cleveland, the other day, in the hands of an antiquary who will memorize it & then return it.

(I hear the mellow German tongue out yonder: “Clara, where art thou?” “Here above. We wait for thee, Susie.”

It seems to me our tongue lost a good deal when the gentle thee & thou departed out of it.)

Tom Beecher & familyⒶemendation are up in the woods at Jim Beecher’sⒶemendation; Mrs. Langdon is at Avon Springs; Charley Langdon, with his family, is at WaukeshaⒶemendation, Wisconsin, suffering horribly with dyspepsia. This household is well & flourishing, except me. I think we are growing doubtful about the son & heir. Sometimes we say, “HeⒶemendation cometh not at all, & is a delusion & a fraudⒶemendation;” at other times we be dimly hopeful, & say, “Mayhap this is not so; peradventure he cometh by slow freight.”

Well, old man, we all send a power of love to you & Harmony & the kids—& I am