To Richard Wilby, Esq., Eton College, Windsor.

My Dear Dick,—­It is very good of you, among your severe studies at Eton, to write to your Uncle.  I am extremely pleased to hear that your football is appreciated in the highest circles, and shall be happy to have as good an account of your skill in making Latin verses.

I am glad you like “She,” Mr. Rider Haggard’s book which I sent you.  It is “something like,” as you say, and I quite agree with you, both in being in love with the heroine, and in thinking that she preaches rather too much.  But, then, as she was over two thousand years old, and had lived for most of that time among cannibals, who did not understand her, one may excuse her for “jawing,” as you say, a good deal, when she met white men.  You want to know if “She” is a true story.  Of course it is!

But you have read “She,” and you have read all Cooper’s, and Marryat’s, and Mr. Stevenson’s books, and “Tom Sawyer,” and “Huckleberry Finn,” several times.  So have I, and am quite ready to begin again.  But, to my mind, books about “Red Indians” have always seemed much the most interesting.  At your age, I remember, I bought a tomahawk, and, as we had also lots of spears and boomerangs from Australia, the poultry used to have rather a rough time of it.

I never could do very much with a boomerang; but I could throw a spear to a hair’s breadth, as many a chicken had occasion to discover.  When you go home for Christmas I hope you will remember that all this was very wrong, and that you will consider we are civilized people, not Mohicans, nor Pawnees.  I also made a stone pipe, like Hiawatha’s, but I never could drill a hole in the stem, so it did not “draw” like a civilized pipe.

By way of an awful warning to you on this score, and also, as you say you want a true book about Red Indians, let me recommend to you the best book about them I ever came across.  It is called “A Narrative of the Captivity and Adventures of John Tanner, during Thirty Years’ Residence among the Indians,” and it was published at New York by Messrs. Carvill, in 1830.

If I were an American publisher, instead of a British author (how I wish I was!) I’d publish “John Tanner” again, or perhaps cut a good deal out, and make a boy’s book of it.  You are not likely to get it to buy, but Mr. Steevens, the American bookseller, has found me a copy.  If I lend you it, will you be kind enough to illustrate it on separate sheets of paper, and not make drawings on the pages of the book?  This will, in the long run, be more satisfactory to yourself, as you will be able to keep your pictures; for I want “John Tanner” back again:  and don’t lend him to your fag-master.

Tanner was born about 1780; he lived in Kentucky.  Don’t you wish you had lived in Kentucky in Colonel Boone’s time?  The Shawnees were roaming about the neighbourhood when Tanner was a little boy.  His uncle scalped one of them.  This made bad feeling between the Tanners and the Shawnees; but John, like any boy of spirit, wished never to learn lessons, and wanted to be an Indian brave.  He soon had more of being a brave than he liked; but he never learned any more lessons, and could not even read or write.