slcfarmington avenue, hartford.
10 P.M.
My Dear Howells—
Never mind about Harte—I mean never mind about being bothered with the letter. I had to have an outlet to my feelings—I saw none but through you—but of course the thing would be disagreeable to you.1 I must try to get somebody to plead with the President who is in the political line of business & won’t mind it. I have partly framed a public letter of advice to Harte, (to print when he is [MS page 2] appointed.) I told him, when we were writing the play together, that nobody would appoint him to an office, or ought to.2
To-night I read a little of my Bermuda MS to our little domestic crowd & got no applause—they are a dull lot—then I read the W your Wilden Mann article in the current number, which was received with shrieks of laughter & extravagant praise—Oh, a name goes for everything with these people. If I had written it [MS page 3] they wouldn’t have seen anything in it. Yet there are good things in it—I admit that.3
They all want you & Mrs. Howells to come any time this summer & stay a week with us here at the farm on the summit of the hill, & longer if you can. Perfectly glorious here—perfectly bewitching. Can you? Will you? Won’t you? Come—say yes. Love to you both.
Ys Ever,
Mark.
