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om many of them at the time of his death would show。
In the early fall of 1892 Richard returned to his editorial work on Harper's Weekly； and one of the first assignments he gave was to despatch himself to Chicago to report the Dedication Exercises of the World's Fair。 That the trip at least started out little to my brother's liking the following seems to show。 However； Richard's moods frequently changed with the hour； and it is more than possible that before the letter was sent he was enjoying himself hugely and regarding Chicago with his usual kindly eyes。
Chicago Club； DEAR FAMILY： October 2； 1892。
Though lost to sight I am still thinking of you sadly。 It seems that I took a coupe after leaving you and after living in it for a few years I grew tired and got out on the prairie and walked along drinking in the pure air from the lakes and reading Liebig's and Cooper's advs。 After a brisk ten mile walk I reentered my coupe and we in time drew up before a large hotel inhabited by a clerk and a regular boarder。 I am on the seventh floor without a bathroom or electric buttonI merely made remarks and then returned to town in a railroad train which runs conveniently near。 After gaining civilization I made my way through several parades or it may have been the same one to the reviewing stand。 My progress was marked by mocking remarks by the police who asked of each other to get on to my coat and on several occasions I was mistaken by a crowd of some thousand people for the Pe of Ws； and tumultuously cheered。 At last I found an inspector of police on horseback； who agreed to get me to the stand if it took a leg。 He accordingly charged about 300 women and clubbed eight menI counted themand finally got me in。 He was very drunk but he was very good to me。
Once back from Chicago Richard divided his time between his desk at Franklin Square； his rooms on Twenty…eighth Street； and in quickly picking up the friendships and the social activities his trip to England had temporarily broken off。 Much as he now loved London； he was still an enthusiastic New Yorker； and the amount of work and play he accomplished was quite extraordinary。 Indeed it is difficult to understand where he found the time to do so much。 In addition to his work on Harper's he wrote many short stories and special articles； not only because he loved the mere writing of them； but because he had come to so greatly enjoy the things he could buy with the money his labors now brought him。 His pleasures had increased as steadily as the prices he could now command for his stories； and in looking back on those days it is rather remarkable when one considers his age； the temptations that surrounded him； and his extraordinary capacity for enjoyment； that he never seems to have forgotten the balance between work and play； and stuck to both with an unswerving and unceasing enthusiasm。 However； after four months of New York； he decided it was high time for him to be off again； and he arranged with the Harpers to spend the late winter and the spring in collecting material for the two sets of articles which afterward appeared in book form under the titles of 〃The Rulers of the Mediterranean〃 and 〃About Paris。〃 He set sail for Gibraltar the early part of February； 1893； and the following letters describe his leisurely progress about the Mediterranean ports。
NEW YORK； February 3； 1893。 DEAREST MOTHER：
This is a little present for you and a goodby。 Your packing…case is what I need and what I shall want； and I love it because you made it。 But as YOU say； we understand and do not have to write love letters； you have given me all that is worth while in me； and I love you so that I look forward already over miles and miles and days and months； and just see us sitting together at Marion and telling each other how good it is to be together again and holding each other's hands。 I don't believe you really know how HAPPY I am in loving you； dear； and in having you say nice things about me。 God bless you； dearest； and may I never do anything to make you feel less proud of your wicked son。
DICK。
Off Gibraltar； DEAR MOTHER： February 12； 1893。
Today is Sunday。 We arrive at Gibraltar at five tomorrow morning and the boat lies there until nine o'clock。 Unless war and pestilence have broken out in other places； I shall go over to Tangiers in a day or two； and from there continue on my journey as mapped out when I left。 I have had a most delightful trip and the most enjoyable I have ever taken by sea。 These small boats are as different from the big twin…screw steamers as a flat from a Broadway hotel。
Everyone gets to know everything about everyone else； and it has been more like a yacht than a passenger steamer。 When I first came on board I thought I would not find in any new old country I was about to visit anything more foreign than the people； and I was right； but they are most amusing and I have learned a great deal。 They are different from any people I know； and are the Americans we were talking about。 The ones of whom I used to read in The Atlantic and Blackwood's； as traveling always and sinking out of sight whenever they reached home。 They； with the exception of a Boston couple； know none of my friends or my haunts； and I have learned a great deal in meeting them。 It has been most BROADENING and the change has been SUCH a rest。 I had no idea of how tired I was of talking about the theater of Arts and Letters and Miss Whitney's debut and my Soul。 These people are simple and unimaginative and bourgeois to a degree and as kind…hearted and apparent as animal alphabets。 I do not think I have had such a complete change or rest in years； and I am sure I have not laughed so much for as long。 Of course； the idea of a six months' holiday is enough to make anyone laugh at anything； but I find that besides that I was a good deal harassed and run down； and I am glad to cut off from everything and start fresh。 I feel miserably selfish about it all the time。
These Germans run everything as though you were the owner of the line。 The discipline is like that of the German Army or of a man…of…war； everything moves by the stroke of a bell； and they have had dances and speeches and concerts and religious services and lectures every other minute。 Into all of these I have gone with much enthusiasm。 We have at the captain's table Dr。 Field； the editor of The Evangelist； John Russell； a Boston Democrat； who was in Congress and who has been in public life for over forty years。 A Tammany sachem； who looks like and worships Tweed； and who says what I never heard an American off the stage say： 〃That's me。 That's what I do；〃 he says。 〃When I have insomnia； I don't believe in your sleeping draughts。 I get up and go round to Jake Stewart's on Fourteenth Street and eat a fry or a porterhouse steak and then I sleep good…that's me。〃 There is also a lively lady from Albany next to me and her husband； who tells anecdotes of the war just as though it had happened yesterday。 Indeed； they are all so much older than I that all their talk is about things I never understood the truth about； and it is most interest