To Henry James

CAMBRIDGE, April 15, 1908.

Dearest Henry,—Your good letter to Harry has brought news of your play, of which I had only seen an enigmatic paragraph in the papers. I'm right glad it is a success, and that such good artists as the Robertsons are in it. I hope it will have a first-rate run in London. Your apologies for not writing are the most uncalled-for things—your assiduity and the length of your letters to this family are a standing marvel—especially considering the market-value of your "copy"! So waste no more in that direction. 'Tis I who should be prostrating myself—silent as I've been for months in spite of the fact that I'm so soon to descend upon you. The fact is I've been trying to compose the accursed lectures in a state of abominable brain-fatigue—a race between myself and time. I've got six now done out of the eight, so I'm safe, but sorry that the infernal nervous condition that with me always accompanies literary production must continue at Oxford and add itself to the other fatigues—a fixed habit of wakefulness, etc. I ought not to have accepted, but they've panned out good, so far, and if I get through them successfully, I shall be very glad that the opportunity came. They will be a good thing to have done. Previously, in such states of fatigue, I have had a break and got away, but this time no day without its half dozen pages—but the thing hangs on so long!...