DEAR HOWELLS,--..... I've a lot of things to write you, but it's no
use--I can't get time for anything these days. I must break off and
write a postscript to Canon Wilberforce before I go to bed. This
afternoon he left a luncheon-party half an hour ahead of the rest, and
carried off my hat (which has Mark Twain in a big hand written in it.)
When the rest of us came out there was but one hat that would go on my
head--it fitted exactly, too. So wore it away. It had no name in it, but
the Canon was the only man who was absent. I wrote him a note at 8 p.m.;
saying that for four hours I had not been able to take anything that did
not belong to me, nor stretch a fact beyond the frontiers of truth, and
my family were getting alarmed. Could he explain my trouble? And now
at 8.30 p.m. comes a note from him to say that all the afternoon he
has been exhibiting a wonder-compelling mental vivacity and grace
of expression, etc., etc., and have I missed a hat? Our letters have
crossed.
Yours ever
MARK.
News came of the death of Robert Ingersoll. Clemens had been always
one of his most ardent admirers, and a warm personal friend. To
Ingersoll's niece he sent a word of heartfelt sympathy.
*****
To Miss Eva Farrell, in New York: