He had a golden sense of comfort in his home life, an entire
satisfaction, which made his rare absences a penance. Added to this
was his tendency to asthma, from which he suffered often very
severely. In a letter written in 1867 from Montreal, whither he had
gone to obtain a copyright of one of his books, we can see how his
domestic habits, as well as his asthma, made any long absence
intolerable to him.
MONTREAL, October 23, 1867.
Dear Mr. Fields:... I am as comfortable here as I can be, but I have
earned my money, for I have had a full share of my old trouble.
Last night was better, and to-day I am going about the town. Miss
Frothingham sent me a basket of black Hamburg grapes to-day, which
were very grateful after the hotel tea and coffee and other
'pothecary's stuff.
Don't talk to me about taverns! There is just one genuine, clean,
decent, palatable thing occasionally to be had in them,--namely, a
boiled egg. The soups _taste_ pretty good sometimes, but their
sources are involved in a darker mystery than that of the Nile.
Omelettes taste as if they had been carried in the waiter's hat, or
fried in an old boot. I ordered scrambled eggs one day. It must be
that they had been scrambled for by _somebody_, but who--who in
the possession of a sound reason _could_ have scrambled for what
I had set before me under that name? Butter! I am thinking just now of
those exquisite little pellets I have so often seen at your table, and
wondering why the taverns _always_ keep it until it is old.
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