When the season in Paris had reached its end, Richard returned to London and later on to Marion, where he spent the late summer and early fall, working on his Mediterranean and Paris articles, and completing his novel "Soldiers of Fortune." In October he returned to New York and once more assumed his editorial duties and took his usual active interest in the winter's gayeties.

The first of these letters refers to a dinner of welcome given to Sir Henry Irving. The last two to books by my mother and Richard, and which were published simultaneously.

NEW YORK, November 27, 1893.
DEAR MOTHER:

The dinner was very fine. I was very glad I went. Whitelaw Reid sat on one side of Sir Henry Irving and Horace Porter on the other. Howells and Warner came next. John Russell Young and Mark Twain, Millet, Palmer, Hutton, Gilder and a lot more were there. There were no newspaper men, not even critics nor actors there, which struck me as interesting. The men were very nice to me. Especially Young, Reid, Irving and Howells. Everybody said when I came in, "I used to know you when you were a little boy," so that some one said finally, "What a disagreeable little boy you MUST have been." I sat next a chap from Brazil who told me lots of amusing things. One story if it is good saves a whole day for me. One he told was of a German explorer to whom Don Pedro gave an audience. The Emperor asked him, with some touch of patronage, if he had ever met a king before. "Yes," the German said thoughtfully; "five, three wild and two tame."

Mark Twain told some very funny stories, and captured me because I never thought him funny before, and Irving told some about Stanley, and everybody talked interestingly. Irving said he was looking forward to seeing Dad when he reached Philadelphia. "It is nice to have seen you," he said, "but I have still to see your father," as though I was not enough.

DICK.

NEW YORK, 1893.
DEAREST MOTHER:

I cannot tell you how touched and moved I was by the three initials in the book. It was a genuine and complete surprise and when I came across it while I was examining the letterpress with critical approbation and with no idea of what was to come, it left me quite breathless-- It was so sweet of you-- You understand me and I understand you and you know how much that counts to me-- I think the book is awfully pretty and in such good taste-- It is quite a delight to the eye and I am much more keen about it than over any of my own-- I have sent it to some of my friends but I have not read it yet myself, as I am waiting until I get on the boat where I shall not be disturbed-- Then I shall write you again-- It was awfully good of you, and I am so pleased to have it to give away. I never had anything to show people when they asked for one of your other books and this comes in such an unquestionable form-- With lots of love.

DICK.

NEW YORK, 1893.
DEAR MOTHER:

I got your nice letter and one from Dad. Both calling me many adjectives pleasing to hear although they do not happen to fit. So you are in a third edition are you? These YOUNG writers are crowding me to the wall. I feel thrills of pride when I see us sitting cheek by jowl on the news-stands. Lots of love.

In February, 1894, Richard was forced by a severe attack of sciatica to give up temporarily the gayeties of New York and for a cure he naturally chose our home in Philadelphia, where he remained for many weeks. Although unable to leave his bed, he continued to do a considerable amount of work, including the novelette "The Princess Aline," in the writing of which I believe my brother took more pleasure than in that of any story or novel he ever wrote. The future Empress of Russia was the heroine of the tale, and that she eventually read the story and was apparently delighted with it caused Richard much human happiness.

PHILADELPHIA.

March 5th.
DEAR CHAS:

I am getting rapidly better owing to regular hours and light literature and home comforts. I am not blue as I was and my morbidness has gone and I only get depressed at times. I am still however feeling tired and I think I will take quite a rest before I venture across the seas. But across them I will come no matter if all the nerves on earth jump and pull. Still, I think it wiser for all concerned that I get thoroughly well so that when I do come I won't have to be cutting back home again as I did last time. We are young yet and the world's wide and there's a new farce comedy written every minute and I have a great many things to do myself so I intend to get strong and then do them. I enclose two poems. I am going to have them printed for my particular pals later. I am writing one to all of you folks over there.

DICK.

TAKE ME BACK TO BROADWAY, WHERE
THE ORCHIDS GROW

WITH APOLOGIES TO THE WESTERN DIALECT POETS

"I have wandered up and down somewhat in many different lands I have been to Fort Worth, Texas, and I've tramped through Jersey sands, I have seen Pike's Peak by Moonlight, and I've visited the Fair And to save enumeration I've been nearly everywhere. But no matter where I rested and no matter where I'd go, I have longed to be on Broadway

                    Where
                         the
                              Orchids
                                   Grow.

Some people love the lilies fair that hide in mossy dells Some folks are fond of new mown hay, before the rainy spells But give to me the orchids rare that hang in Thorley's store, And in Fleischman's at the Hoffman, and in half a dozen more And when I see them far from home they make my heart's blood glow    For they take me back to Broadway

                    Where
                         the
                              Orchids
                                   Grow.