editorial office of the atlantic monthly. the riverside press, cambridge, mass.
June 8, 1876.
My dear Clemens:
Your last letter came just as I was hurrying off to Philadelphia, and I hadn’t time to do it half justice. One thing was your kind offer to go down to New York with me to see my small play. It has not yet been given, and I have not heard from Daly anything about it. I have heard from others however that he promises rashly; and I dare say it’s quite likely that on second thought he doesn’t find the play desirable. Small blame to him, in any case. I shall quietly pass it down to posterity in the September Atlantic.
I have written a mighty long account of the Centennial in the July number, and I shall now hammer away at my comedy. We go into the country for the summer, next week, and I’m to run up to the farm this morning to see that everything’s in order.
—I have sent Sage’s paper back to him. Everything you say of it is true, and yet it somehow fell too far below the other paper in freshness and character. I hope he wont be discouraged about sending me other things.
Let us hear from each other now and then during the summer, and drop me a line to say just when you’re going to Elmira.
Mrs. Howells salutes Mrs. Clemens from the habitual sick-bed.
Yours ever
W. D. Howells.
P.S. Whatever about your novel? Or is it two of them? If it’s two, why can’t you let us print one in The Atlantic next year?
