Col. Tuttle’s letter came yesterday., just after I had written a letter to Gen. Strong accepting Strong declining the invitation to the Banquet—& it had cost me a pang, too, for I had been yearning to be there, but my book is with the printers, I was pressed for time, the journey was long, the weather likely to be severe, &c &c—so on the whole I thought I had better not venture to go. But Col. Tuttle’s letter gave me an idea. The Woman subject was one I had responded to twice in the U. S. & once in London—I had worked that vein out—but nobody had ever responded to the Babies, & I judged I might be able to throw considerable light on that topic. I thought that if somebody made a good speech on Woman, a speech on Babies would follow after it with a happy appropriateness.

I studied over the subject an hour, & made some notes, to make sure that the topic was of good promise; then I telegraphed Col. Tuttle, asking permission to substitute The Babies for Woman—& at the same time I telegraphed Gen. Strong, accepting the invitation to the Banquet.

Now I am in a fix. Time crowds me so that every second is valuable to me, & yet I am not able to—to—to well, to do anything. Have telegraphed Col. Tuttle again this morning, but I can’t get an answer.

Has my suggestion given offense? It seems incredible. Nothing is commoner among banqueteers than to ask a change of toasts ts—nothing is commoner than to accord it. Still, i If I have offended, I simply didn’t mean to—but if I have, will you please telegraph me a word & give me a chance to recal my acceptance of Gen. Strong’s invitation, so that he will have plenty of time to offer my seat to another,—for, naturally, seats at that board will be pretty desirable, & none should be empty.

Well, to think that I put in two hours building 14 toasts to Babies, simply to select one from, and——well, let’s talk about Tom Fitch, or Virginia City, & something else that is not mysterious, or mixed up, or perplexing!

Drop me a telegram—do. Solve this mystery.