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2。 Are there passages whose English is not poor & thin &
commonplace； but is of a quality above that？
3。 Are there passages which burn with real firenot punk； fox…
fire； make…believe？
4。 Has he heroes & heroines who are not cads and cadesses？
5。 Has he personages whose acts & talk correspond with their
characters as described by him？
6。 Has he heroes & heroines whom the reader admiresadmires and
knows why？
7。 Has he funny characters that are funny； and humorous passages
that are humorous？
8。 Does he ever chain the reader's interest & make him reluctant to
lay the book down？
9。 Are there pages where he ceases from posing； ceases from
admiring the placid flood & flow of his own dilution； ceases from
being artificial； & is for a time； long or short； recognizably
sincere & in earnest？
10。 Did he know how to write English； & didn't do it because he
didn't want to？
11。 Did he use the right word only when he couldn't think of
another one； or did he run so much to wrong words because he didn't
know the right one when he saw it？
12。 Can you read him and keep your respect for him？ Of course a
person could in his dayan era of sentimentality & sloppy
romanticsbut land！ can a body do it to…day？
Brander； I lie here dying； slowly dying； under the blight of Sir
Walter。 I have read the first volume of Rob Roy； & as far as
Chapter XIX of Guy Mannering； & I can no longer hold my head up or
take my nourishment。 Lord； it's all so juvenile！ so artificial； so
shoddy； & such wax figures & skeletons & specters。 Interest？ Why；
it is impossible to feel an interest in these bloodless shams； these
milk…&…water humbugs。 And oh； the poverty of invention！ Not
poverty in inventing situations； but poverty in furnishing reasons
for them。 Sir Walter usually gives himself away when he arranges
for a situationelaborates & elaborates & elaborates till； if you
live to get to it； you don't believe in it when it happens。
I can't find the rest of Rob Roy； I； can't stand any more Mannering…
I do not know just what to do； but I will reflect； & not quit this
great study rashly 。。。。
My； I wish I could see you & Leigh Hunt！
Sincerely yours；
S。 L。 CLEMENS。
But a few days later he experienced a revelation。 It came when he
perseveringly attacked still a third work of ScottQuentin Durward。
Hastily he wrote to Matthews again：
I'm still in bed； but the days have lost their dullness since I broke
into Sir Walter & lost my temper。 I finished Guy Mannering that curious；
curious book； with its mob of squalid shadows gibbering around a single
flesh…&…blood beingDinmont； a book crazily put together out of the very
refuse of the romance artist's stage propertiesfinished it & took up
Quentin Durward & finished that。
It was like leaving the dead to mingle with the living； it was like
withdrawing from the infant class in the college of journalism to sit
under the lectures in English literature in Columbia University。
I wonder who wrote Quentin Durward？ ＇This letter； enveloped； addressed；
and stamped； was evidently mislaid。 It was found and mailed seven years
later； June； 1910 message from the dead。＇
Among other books which he read that winter and spring was Helen Keller's
'The Story of My Life'； then recently published。 That he finished it in
a mood of sweet gentleness we gather from a long； lovely letter which he
wrote hera letter in which he said：
I am charmed with your bookenchanted。 You are a wonderful creature；
the most wonderful in the worldyou and your other half togetherMiss
Sullivan； I meanfor it took the pair of you to make a complete &
perfect whole。 How she stands out in her letters！ her brilliancy；
penetration； originality； wisdom； character； & the fine literary
competencies of her penthey are all there。
When reading and writing failed as diversion； Mark Twain often turned to
mathematics。 With no special talent for accuracy in the matter of
figures； he had a curious fondness for calculations； scientific and
financial； and he used to cover pages； ciphering at one thing and
another； arriving pretty inevitably at the wrong results。 When the
problem was financial； and had to do with his own fortunes； his figures
were as likely as not to leave him in a state of panic。 The expenditures
were naturally heavy that spring； and one night； when he had nothing
better to do； he figured the relative proportion to his income。 The
result showed that they were headed straight for financial ruin。 He put
in the rest of the night fearfully rolling and tossing； and
reconstructing his figures that grew always worse； and next morning
summoned Jean and Clara and petrified them with the announcement that the
cost of living was one hundred and twenty…five per cent。 more than the
money…supply。
Writing to MacAlister three days later he said：
It was a mistake。 When I came down in the morning； a gray and aged
wreck； I found that in some unaccountable way （unaccountable to a
business man； but not to me） I had multiplied the totals by two。 By
God； I dropped seventy…five years on the floor where I stood！
Do you know it affected me as one is affected when one wakes out of
a hideous dream & finds it was only a dream。 It was a great comfort
& satisfaction to me to call the daughters to a private meeting of
the board again。 Certainly there is a blistering & awful reality
about a well…arranged unreality。 It is quite within the
possibilities that two or three nights like that of mine would drive
a man to suicide。 He would refuse to examine the figures； they
would revolt him so； & he would go to his death unaware that there
was nothing serious about them。 I cannot get that night out of my
head； it was so vivid； so real； so ghastly： In any other year of
these thirty…three the relief would have been simple： go where you
can； cut your cloth to fit your income。 You can't do that when your
wife can't be moved； even from one room to the next。
The doctor & a specialist met in conspiracy five days ago； & in
their belief she will by and by come out of this as good as new；
substantially。 They ordered her to Italy for next winterwhich
seems to indicate that by autumn she will be able to undertake the
voyage。 So Clara is writing to a Florence friend to take a look
around among the villas for us in the regions near that city。
CCXXVIII
PROFFERED HONORS
Mark Twain had been at home well on toward three years； but his
popularity showed no signs of diminishing。 So far from having waned； it
had surged to a higher point than ever before。 His crusade against
public and private abuses had stirred readers； and had set them to
thinking； the news of illness in his household； a report that he was
contemplating another residence abroadthese things moved deeply the