East Bridgewater

August 25, 1875

Most beloved Chumemeke: --

A glorious sunset – it only wants the mood to make the evening perfect. But of course I cannot enjoy it, for two reasons: First: the soul killing association with these good country people. Second: the absence of the only one of my sex (or any other sex) with whom I could enjoy any beauties of nature or of art without: the feeling that one, or both of us was a porcupine with each quill as sensitive as a bare nerve. If you were here, Charlie, I could, perhaps, be happy.

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When am I coming back? You ask in your letter just received. I have not changed the date yet. Immediately after Thanksgiving which comes on the last Thursday in November. I tell everybody that this is the time I am going back, and everybody is [page 2] making up their minds that on that date I leave the country. So there is no manner of doubt about it at all, my boy, as I have already written two or three times.

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I have been home but very little as yet – only two weeks in the country, anyway, and the most of the time in Boston. I wrote you I think, about my studio. We have just finished shingling the roof today. We work 12 hours a day and, in a couple of days more it will be all done…and painted inside. It makes a jolly little room 20 x 15 with great light. I shall carry my desk down there – stow away all my books and papers and be able to write at my ease there. It is only a temporary affair but a desirable one so I can lock all my things up when I go away and give the keys to Father to keep the children out.

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Last Sunday I spent with the Adams in Quincy, or rather we spent it down the harbour in his yacht and I passed the most peaceful 41 hours I have since I landed. Great house, plenty of servants, a good literary atmosphere, good dinners, good wines, [page 3] and good cheer. Mr. A, who has been a good friend of mine says of course I must return in the fall.

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I have, of course, very many invitations. I refuse, all I can. Since I have been in this town I have only been across the street once. Stick in my own dooryard all the time. I don’t care, a d--- what my friends think. There is a first rate club in Boston, composed of Bohemians, where I can plunge into all the magazines and newspapers. Five rooms, the best I ever saw. There in Lippincotts [magazine] I read your “Sawdust Fairy” and Donny’s “Saint Bernard.”[1] In the Overland [Monthly] is published her Provincial Rhapsody. I also have seen in the Overland a poem of yours about Venice.[2] Joaquin [Miller, known as a writer about the American west] has changed his spots at least I hear he has gone to Jersey or some other out of the way state. He is in for lectures on “New Rome & New Romans”, “New Italy”, “Afloat in Venice.[”] The conceited ass! What does he know about the Italians or afloat in Venice? I’d like to hear the latter. Shall if I possibly [page 4] can.

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Newspaper business is awfully dull. Can’t get a thing to do or a cent for anything. It never has been so flat before. I had a little thing in the “Courier” which I send you. It is sort of funny, I think, even in dog days. Dog days are scirocos [windy] days and no discount. We have here nothing but dog days since I arrived and this and the mixed up state of my affairs makes me write as I do. Hungry! I’d give all I possess if you were here to lie down under the pines on the river side and gaum [hang out] with me for a season! But let us have patience and we shall meet again.

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In the same mail with yours (the last containing the two letters of introduction for, with many thanks) came one from Mrs. Adams. A very good letter[.] I am really glad if there is nothing between Donny [Charlotte Adams] and Will Green -— but I don’t believe Mrs. A. if she wrote you that. She may say so, but what I saw at St. Elisa in Donny’s face told a different story. How could she be so foolish. Oh, I have had a letter from that creature. I returned it unopened and without a word. Mrs. Adams who predicted great things may now be satisfied that I shall not return with Mrs. Millet. I hope to hear from Donny soon.

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But it is late and I’ll stop. Shall write more a week always, dear old boy and when we meet we’ll have it out. With much love I am always yours –

Frank

Notes

1. "Doonny" was a nickname for Charlotte Adams. See C. W. Stoddard, "A Sawdust Fairy," and Charlotte Adams, "The Hospice of the Great St. Bernard," Lippincott's Magazine, September 1875. Charlotte Adams does not seem to be related to Charles F. Adams, Jr., and her identity has not been established.
2. Charles Warren Stoddard, "The Message" [poem], 496.