
I dont seem to have heard from you for a long while. In a letter I had from Mrs Sd—she mentioned that you were prevented from coming to Glendale the day fixed but wld come the following. How I should like to see you all again—the first picture that I sell for a decent sum I shall come—Just now I was engaged upon a picture of "Juliet" life size, "Juliet comes over the balcony and takes her last look at her husband," Oh God, I have an ill divining soul".... I believe that the picture will make my name as an artist, a few months will show!
Mother is staying away, change will do her good, has been writing
pretty hard of late, something about you, sent it to the Nineteenth Century. An article of hers is coming out in the November Blackwood
"Three Glimpses of a New England Village: editor kept it a year so it was a very
pleasant surprize to all of us—its acceptance.
You dont seem to have been busy with your pen this summer. You must come over and
draw a final inspiration from dear grimy, glorious, immense old London. Fleet Street will give you a
new sensation I warrant you, if you want one, that is; for there is only one London
all foreigners friendly and otherwise are agreed upon that; there may be better
cities but there are none the least like it. Your poems are gaining ground a little
here I think; sort of standard works... We have had a smart skirmish with our
publisher. Made him jump I fancy—but they—publishers—are a damned
set of thieves.
Dined out in Hampstead the other night with young Bigelow—the exministers son—of the dashing fashionable order; with more aplomb than most New Yorkers. Young B. is rather anti democratic I should fear, remarked that Mathew Arnold was not a gentleman, on being asked why—because he dined out in Chicago in a shooting jacket.

Mr. and Mrs Joseph Pennell spent a couple of evenings with us a few weeks since, nice genuine people: homely, but homliness illumined with depth of feeling and sincerity of aim, altogether a remarkable and interesting Philadelphian.
Tell me about yourself when you write.
Yours affectionately, Herbert H Gilchrist. Walt Whitman.
