The attempt proved more difficult than I had believed, for I only
write by spasms, and these ever more rare,--and daemons that have
no ears. Meantime the publication day was announced, and the
printer at the door. Then came your letter in the shortening
days. When I drudged to keep my word, _invita Minerva._
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* This letter is printed from an imperfect rough draft.
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I could not write in my book, and I could not write a letter.
Tomorrow and many morrows made things worse, for we have
indifferent health in the house, and, as it chanced, unusual
strain of affairs,--which always come when they should not. For
one thing--I have just sold a house which I once built opposite
my own. But I will leave the bad month, which I hope will not
match itself in my lifetime. Only 't is pathetic and remorseful
to me that any purpose of yours, especially, a purpose so
inspired, should find me imbecile.
Heartily I delight in your proposed disposition of the books. It
has every charm of surprise, and nobleness, and large affection.
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