Angwin,
April 18,
1893.
My dear Blanche,
I take a few moments from work to write you in order (mainly) to say that your letter of March 31st did not go astray, as you seem to fear—though why you should care if it did I can't conjecture. The loss to me—that is probably what would touch your compassionate heart.
So you will try to write. That is a good girl. I'm almost sure you can—not, of course, all at once, but by-and-by. And if not, what matter? You are not of the sort, I am sure, who would go on despite everything, determined to succeed by dint of determining to succeed.
* * *
We are blessed with the most amiable of all conceivable weathers up here, and the wild flowers are putting up their heads everywhere to look for you. Lying in their graves last autumn, they overheard (underheard) your promise to come in the spring, and it has stimulated and cheered them to a vigorous growth.
I'm sending you some more papers. Don't think yourself obliged to read all the stuff I send you—I don't read it.
Condole with me—I have just lost another publisher—by failure. Schulte, of Chicago, publisher of "The Monk" etc., has "gone under," I hear. Danziger and I have not had a cent from him. I put out three books in a year, and lo! each one brings down a publisher's gray hair in sorrow to the grave! for Langton, of "Black Beetles," came to grief—that is how Danziger got involved. "O that mine enemy would publish one of my books!"
I am glad to hear of your success at your concert. If I could have reached you you should have had the biggest basket of pretty vegetables that was ever handed over the footlights. I'm sure you merited it all—what do you not merit?
Your father gives me good accounts of my boy. He must be doing well, I think, by the way he neglects all my commissions.