THE AMERICAN
During his stay at Baden-Baden he received a letter from Mrs. Tristram, scolding him for the scant tidings he had sent his friends and begging to be definitely assured that he had not even thought of not wintering within call of the Avenue d'Iéna. Newman replied as to the blast of a silver bugle.
"I supposed you knew I was a miserable letter-writer and did n't expect anything of me. I guess I've not struck off twenty letters of pure friendship in my whole life; in America I conducted my correspondence altogether by telegrams and by dictation to a shorthand reporter. This is a letter of friendship undefiled; you've got hold of a curiosity—you could really get something for it. If you want to know everything that has happened to me these three months the best way to tell you, I think, would be to send you my half-dozen guide-books with my pencil marks in the margin. Wherever you find a scratch or a cross or a 'Beautiful!' or a 'So true!' or a 'Too thin!' you may know that I've had some one or other of the sensations I was after. That has been about my history ever since I left you. Belgium, Holland, Switzerland, Germany, Italy—I've taken the whole list as the bare-backed rider takes the paper hoops at the circus, and I'm not even yet out of breath. I carry about six volumes of Ruskin in my trunk; I've seen some grand old things and shall perhaps talk them over this winter by your fireside. You see my face is n't altogether set against Paris. I have had all kinds of plans and visions, but your letter has blown most of them away. 'L'appétit vient en mangeant,' says your proverb, and I find that the more
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