COLLINS, WILKIE. Autograph letter signed to the southern American poet Paul Hamilton Hayne, London, 28 January 1885. 4 pages, 8vo, in brown ink on Collins' tan stationery with his printed address and monogram, first page a trifle darkened ; with a portrait photograph (cabinet-style) of Collins. A fine letter. "The bodily part of you, my dear friend, lives at Copse Hill [Hayne's home near Augusta, Georgia]. That I don't deny. But the spiritual part of you, I firmly believe, crossed the Atlantic not long since -- discovered that I was sorely in want of some encouragement -- and sent me, not only the kindest of letters, but a tribute of poetry which I received as one of the memorable events in my literary life -- which I read with admiration -- and which I shall remember...to the end of my days. That middle-age Oracle had his reasons for not speaking plainly. He is one of the men whom I hate most - a discreet man. If he had been bold enough to tell the truth, he would have answered you in these words: 'Look here, Paul Hamilton Hayne: The less you say about your friend Wilkie Collins, the better. His stars, for the last three months, have given him up as a bad job...' In a playful manner Collins describes how his left eye had been injured on a sea voyage (for the pain "Laudaman -- divine laudaman -- was his only friend"), and closes: "...I could write much more -- but I must spare the sound eye (especially after a long day's work on the first chapter of a new novel) and ask you to consider my letters as periodical publications 'to be continued'..."
COLLINS, WILKIE. Autograph letter signed to the southern American poet Paul Hamilton Hayne, London, 28 January 1885. 4 pages, 8vo, in brown ink on Collins' tan stationery with his printed address and monogram, first page a trifle darkened ; with a portrait photograph (cabinet-style) of Collins. A fine letter. "The bodily part of you, my dear friend, lives at Copse Hill [Hayne's home near Augusta, Georgia]. That I don't deny. But the spiritual part of you, I firmly believe, crossed the Atlantic not long since -- discovered that I was sorely in want of some encouragement -- and sent me, not only the kindest of letters, but a tribute of poetry which I received as one of the memorable events in my literary life -- which I read with admiration -- and which I shall remember...to the end of my days. That middle-age Oracle had his reasons for not speaking plainly. He is one of the men whom I hate most - a discreet man. If he had been bold enough to tell the truth, he would have answered you in these words: 'Look here, Paul Hamilton Hayne: The less you say about your friend Wilkie Collins, the better. His stars, for the last three months, have given him up as a bad job...' In a playful manner Collins describes how his left eye had been injured on a sea voyage (for the pain "Laudaman -- divine laudaman -- was his only friend"), and closes: "...I could write much more -- but I must spare the sound eye (especially after a long day's work on the first chapter of a new novel) and ask you to consider my letters as periodical publications 'to be continued'..."
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