London, Ontario, 7 Dec., 1888.

     I have your letter of 5.30 p. m. Wednesday (5th) and am greatly relieved at the result of the consultation as far as I understand it at present. I had a letter also by this morning's mail from Osler, written 5th, but before the consultation. It is, however, very cheering. I want to impress it upon you, however, that you certainly should be seen (for the present) every day by some good doctor who would call in Osler from time to time as necessary. Osler agrees with me that this would be the proper thing to do. You had better take some clever young (at least not old) Camden man for the regular daily attendant.

     Thank you very much for Shakespeare-Bacon's Cipher. It is too bad that it was missed out of Sands, for it is a good piece.

     I am confident that your present painful symptoms can be greatly alleviated (if not removed) by careful management, but you must be seen at least once per day in order that you may be closely watched and the proper steps taken at once from day to day.

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     I want you to show this letter to Traubel to save me repeating it to him.

Always affectionately

R. M. Bucke.

     I told W. I had anticipated this letter in writing B. yesterday. I informed B. that we would use Walsh when necessary: that Ed would be especially vigilant, understanding that Walsh was to be summoned night or day upon the slightest sign of a bad turn in W. I added: "You know Doctor's deprivation: he is away: is anxious, loving." W.: "Yes: I see it—see it all: he is right, we are right." Then of my explanation: "It is good—very good: when did you say you wrote it?" "Yesterday" "Ah! I am glad! that is about what I should have said myself: all are kind, attentive, as you put it: we will be on our guard—not hesitate when the time comes: I have a friend here—right near us—Dr. Benjamin (you know him?): a young man (you know Maurice wants a young man): he has offered to come in—is anxious to serve, too." I said to W.: "But these are all drug men—druggers: don't you think you could get along mostly without medicines?" He said "yes" with gusto and went on: "I do—I do: Maurice knows what I feel about that: my whole being revolts against their potions: I think the time will come when the doctor will be quite another sort of administrator doing quite other things." "You mean along mental, psychical lines?" "Yes, mostly: yes indeed: if we knew enough we would not need to resort to our poisons: we could find better ways to extricate ourselves from deviltries." He laughed "Maurice says I 'm a good deal of a fool when I say such things: maybe I am: and you, Horace—you sound like the same sort of fool yourself. Did you ever have the temerity to disclose your views to Doctor on that subject?" "Yes: and first he gave me hell—particular hell: then he wound up by agreeing with me." W. was most amused. "Exactly my experience, Horace: he said to me—Maurice

     Going the rounds is an announcement that W. W. is to contribute to Lippincott's the coming year. He laughed at the idea himself: "They got hold of that two years ago: have kept it standing." I quoted something that was said to me to-day by Brinton: "Howells is not our man, James is not our man." W. was much struck. "That is a genuine protest: I am sure it is right—not surer of anything than of that: but then I should be inclined to ask—where is our man to be found? Among all the brilliant advanced men, I see none I should pick out—not here, not in Europe: I don't know so much about the continent: at least not in England: no—I guess not one." I mentioned Tolstoy. W. "could not approve"—felt he did not "know" Tolstoy. "Tolstoy has been unfortunate in his translators: how much of his failure to impress me is owing to this I could not say: much," he was confident: "the most wretched miserable stuff has been palmed off on us as transcipts of the original. There is Dole: I know Nathan Haskell Dole: he was for a time on the Philadelphia Press: went form The Press to The Epoch—then out on his own hook. He always displayed a very kindly and courteous spirit towards me: I met him in New York—he was here several times to see me, too—affable, a gentleman, generous—sent me a couple of his books." W. had "tried to read" these books. "One of them—Anne Karenina, or some such name—I have downstairs still: wrestled with it at the time: never had such a task: I had heard somewhere—some distinguished critic had said so—that this was Tolstoy's best book—that this was most rich in the larger qualities ascribed to him: so, in spite of myself, I persisted—went through with it—feeling that along somewhere the truth would out—I