Difference between revisions of "Millet to Stoddard: June 18, 1875"
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Latest revision as of 09:15, 16 March 2012
Letter 5: Letters of Frank Millet to Charles Warren Stoddard: May 10, 1875 - January 3, 1900
(Venice) Ubi Bohemia Fuit
Dear Charlie: --
I’m a little too tired tonight to write you more than a line or two. But it is a long time since I have had a chat, you know, and notwithstanding the lateness of the hour I am bound to let you know that I still live and move and have my being. There was to be a picnic at St. Helena today and we went over, which the others didn’t do it and we ate our grub under the trees with the Adamses who didn’t eat any.[1] Which they weren’t hungry and after dinner Ben lay on his back with his head on a stone, of which he has two of whom, and we gaumed until nine thirty and came home. [2]
Damn picnics especially when the people don’t come. It is to be repeated tomorrow “Deo volente.”[3]
But Mrs. Warner came down here occasionally – I like ‘em very much. Also Mr. & Mrs. Benson have called and liked my picture very much. Miss Fletcher and Donny gaum which she will tell you all about [page 2] with dressings of enthusiastic gush. I dare say – not meaning to be hard on any girl – in the letter enclosed in this.
I see no reason to change my plans about meeting you in Antwerp on the morning of Saturday, July 10 at the dock of the Harwich company. Two weeks from today I shall be on my winding way I think. The Adamses say they are coming too, but I don’t believe it as they are not certain of anything.
We have the Overland[4] with the “Chambers in Charlotte St.” Like it, but not so well as “Bloomsbury.”
Arthur is going to Milan tomorrow I hope. Ben is here now and serves as an antidote. One is needed. A. & I shall go to Ancona a week from today. I shall try and go to Loreto If I do I shall certainly call on Father John. You can’t imagine what pleasure I take in anticipating our trip in Belgium and Holland. Don’t fail to come, old chummeke, and we’ll have a busting time. Bohemia is now no more. You wouldn’t know the place. I’m glad I am going to leave, the Italians are getting familiar, one committed suicide off our river the other day but we yanked him and just in time to bring him to. That’s what I call cheek. But ‘nuf ced. Write me soon else I shall be gone.
Yours with all my old affection
Frank.
