write him a hearty letter, and many of �em � and if ever he needs
help and I can help him � may � the devil admire me if I don�t!
/ There�s a dirty, scoundrelly feeling I�ve noted in England,
and not in America at all. It�s a dread of having to help re-
lations. Here, if a man�s down he�s helped; � and made to
suffer no moral degradation by it. In England, all through the
middle classes, I think, this feeling exists. And in this matter
I�ll be an American. A letter from Joe
Greatbatch, Australia, voluminous in size and recrossings. Lots of
particulars of high prices. He�s tried the diggings twice, each time floored
by sickness, will try it again. Writes cheery and self reliant. /
Lastly. A bit of a note from Boutcher, dated Marseilles.
A kindly farewell as it were. He is on his way to Nineveh and
the old Bible cities, there to sojourn for three years. So, his hand
I shall not press when I see them all in England, next year; there�s
one item lying cold at heart, I hadn�t reckoned on. Dear friend,
book-lover, and true gentleman!
He will write, periodically, and will I. I bless God that
I have brave, rich, loyal hearts to love me, even as I do them!
But three � long � years! To have him by the hand for
a minute now! �
My heart�s full, and I can�t write any more to-night.
24. Thursday. Was scribbling a few words corollary to my Mississippi
written letters, when Whytal came up. He was going off to see his child,
which is thriving in the care of his relatives at Boston. Lotty, playing at
a Baltimore theatre, company black-legs, so says Whytal. He showed
me a long rhyming letter he had sent to Mrs Kidder, reviling her. He�s pros-
perous, owing to �Uncle Tom� at the National. / Called at