29 January 1922

Chalet des Sapins, Montana-sur-Sierre, Switzerland

In the meantime our cat has got his nose scratched beyond words & he's in such a condition that he looks as though he has been taking part in a boxing match up a chimney. He is to have lessons on the fiddle this spring. All the BEST cats can play at least Hey diddle diddle. He must learn. The strings of his fiddle will be of wool, of course and the bow will have a long tassel on it. I believe he can play the piano. He sits up & plays with his two front paws:

   Nellie Bly
   Caught a Fly
   Put it in her Tea!

This exquisite morceau was in my Pianoforte Tutor, words and all. Who can have composed it! However it suits Wingley. Its a subject he can feel sympathy about. He comes down with such a terrific whack on the FLY! He is the most unthinkable lamb, really, and I am sorry if I am silly about him.
   But I meant to write about the Flu. You are very nervous of it aren't you? I feel it in your letter; I understand your feeling. But Brett, you can ward it off with food. MILK, my dear. Thats not hard to take. Drink all the milk you can & eat oranges. Oranges are full of these vitamins & they are very rich in some value that milk hasn't, not to speak of their good effect on ones functions. And its half the battle to be rid of any internal poisoning that accumulates in the colon. Milk & oranges. If Mrs. Horne is late drink hot milk & dont get exhausted waiting for her. If you feel depressed lie down & sip hot milk and sugar. Im tired of telling you to eat. I now commend you to drink. Get the milk habit, dearest, & become a secret tippler. Take to drink I implore you. What the devil does it matter how fat one gets. We shall go to Persia where fatness alone is beauty. Besides you'll never be fat; you're too "active". [To Dorothy Brett, 26 January 1922.] 

Dear Michael Sadleir,
Just in case my book should be out within a fortnight might I have the copies sent to me at the
Victoria Palace Hotel
6-8, Rue Blaise Desgolfe
Rue de Rennes
I would be very glad to have half a dozen extra copies charged to my account. I go to Paris tomorrow. I hope Ive not done wrong in writing to you about this.
Yours very sincerely
Katherine Mansfield. [To Michael Sadleir, 29 January 1922.]