That is to say, I don't see why a kaleidoscope shouldn't enjoy itself as much as a telescope, nor a grindstone have as good a time as a whetstone, nor a barometer as good a time as a yardstick.I don't feel like girding at you any more about fickleness of purpose, because I recognize and realize at last that it is incurable; but before I learned to accept this truth, each new weekly project of yours possessed the power of throwing me into the most exhausting and helpless convulsions of profanity.But fire away, now! Your magic has lost its might.I am able to view your inspirations dispassionately and judicially, now, and say "This one or that one or the other one is not up to your average flight, or is above it, or below it."And so, without passion, or prejudice, or bias of any kind, I sit in judgment upon your lecture project, and say it was up to your average, it was indeed above it, for it had possibilities in it, and even practical ones.While I was not sorry you abandoned it, I should not be sorry if you had stuck to it and given it a trial.But on the whole you did the wise thing to lay it aside, I think, because a lecture is a most easy thing to fail in; and at your time of life, and in your own town, such a failure would make a deep and cruel wound in your heart and in your pride.It was decidedly unwise in you to think for a moment of coming before a community who knew you, with such a course of lectures;because Keokuk is not unaware that you have been a Swedenborgian, a Presbyterian, a Congregationalist, and a Methodist (on probation), and that just a year ago you were an infidel.If Keokuk had gone to your lecture course, it would have gone to be amused, not instructed, for when a man is known to have no settled convictions of his own he can't convince other people.They would have gone to be amused and that would have been a deep humiliation to you.It could have been safe for you to appear only where you were unknown--then many of your hearers would think you were in earnest.And they would be right.You are in earnest while your convictions are new.But taking it by and large, you probably did best to discard that project altogether.But I leave you to judge of that, for you are the worst judge I know of.
(Unfinished.)
That Mark Twain in many ways was hardly less child-like than his brother is now and again revealed in his letters.He was of steadfast purpose, and he possessed the driving power which Orion Clemens lacked; but the importance to him of some of the smaller matters of life, as shown in a letter like the following, bespeaks a certain simplicity of nature which he never outgrew:
To Rev.J.H.Twichell, in Hartford:
MUNICH, Feb.24.(1879)
DEAR OLD JOE,--It was a mighty good letter, Joe--and that idea of yours is a rattling good one.But I have not sot down here to answer your letter,--for it is down at my study,--but only to impart some information.
For a months I had not shaved without crying.I'd spend 3/4 of an hour whetting away on my hand--no use, couldn't get an edge.Tried a razor strop-same result.So I sat down and put in an hour thinking out the mystery.Then it seemed plain--to wit: my hand can't give a razor an edge, it can only smooth and refine an edge that has already been given.
I judge that a razor fresh from the hone is this shape V--the long point being the continuation of the edge--and that after much use the shape is this V--the attenuated edge all worn off and gone.By George I knew that was the explanation.And I knew that a freshly honed and freshly strapped razor won't cut, but after strapping on the hand as a final operation, it will cut.--So I sent out for an oil-stone; none to be had, but messenger brought back a little piece of rock the size of a Safety-match box--(it was bought in a shoemaker's shop) bad flaw in middle of it, too, but I put 4 drops of fine Olive oil on it, picked out the razor marked "Thursday" because it was never any account and would be no loss if I spoiled it--gave it a brisk and reckless honing for 10 minutes, then tried it on a hair--it wouldn't cut.Then I trotted it through a vigorous 20-minute course on a razor-strap and tried it on a hair-it wouldn't cut--tried it on my face--it made me cry--gave it a 5-minute stropping on my hand, and my land, what an edge she had! We thought we knew what sharp razors were when we were tramping in Switzerland, but it was a mistake--they were dull beside this old Thursday razor of mine--which I mean to name Thursday October Christian, in gratitude.I took my whetstone, and in 20 minutes I put two more of my razors in splendid condition--but I leave them in the box--I never use any but Thursday O.
C., and shan't till its edge is gone--and then I'll know how to restore it without any delay.
We all go to Paris next Thursday--address, Monroe & Co., Bankers.
With love Ys Ever MARK.
In Paris they found pleasant quarters at the Hotel Normandy, but it was a chilly, rainy spring, and the travelers gained a rather poor impression of the French capital.Mark Twain's work did not go well, at first, because of the noises of the street.But then he found a quieter corner in the hotel and made better progress.In a brief note to Aldrich he said: "I sleep like a lamb and write like a lion--I mean the kind of a lion that writes--if any such." He expected to finish the book in six weeks; that is to say, before returning to America.He was looking after its illustrations himself, and a letter to Frank Bliss, of The American Publishing Company, refers to the frontpiece, which, from time to time, has caused question as to its origin.To Bliss he says: "It is a thing which I manufactured by pasting a popular comic picture into the middle of a celebrated Biblical one--shall attribute it to Titian.
It needs to be engraved by a master."
