Hang it, no! I haven’t received Dad’s photograph. Maybe it was sent to Osgood, Boston, instead of to me, at Hartford. Was it?—if so, it’s all right & I shall get it.

Wish you would tell Lem to tell his Missouri-meerschaum maker to send me a couple of dozen of those cob pipes to Elmira, N. Y. & forward the bill by mail—or send the things C. O. D., no difference which. I only stopped smoking the one Lem gave me, three weeks ago—she got so strong nobody would let me stay around.

Day before yesterday I wrote a chapter which Lem has got to back up, next spring winter or spring, when it is printed. You tell him so. He must swear it all occurred just as I say. I have some reputation for telling the petrified truth (or maybe the putrefied truth.) I don’t want to begin receiving have it damaged by people with inaccurate memories, who think a thing occurred in a certain way when I know it happened in an entirely different way altogether.

I will write Osgood about that photograph.

Please remember me in the kindest & most appreciative way to Capt McCord, & Lem & Dad, & the same to yourself.