My dear Gunn:
Here it is. It was written by Mark Twain in a serious effort to bring
back our literature and philosophy to the sober and chaste Elizabethan
standard. But the taste of the present day is too corrupt for anything
so classic. He has not yet been able even to find a publisher. The Globe
has not yet recovered from Downey's inroad, and they won't touch it.
I send it to you as one of the few lingering relics of that race of
appreciative critics, who know a good thing when they see it.
Read it with reverence and gratitude and send it back to me; for Mark is
impatient to see once more his wandering offspring.
Yours,
Hay.
In his third letter one can almost hear Hay's chuckle in the certainty
that his diplomatic, if somewhat wicked, suggestion would bear fruit.