included in 'A Tramp Abroad.' It was published separately,
as 'The Stolen White Elephant' in a volume bearing that
title. The play, which he had now found "dreadfully witless
and flat," was no other than "Simon Wheeler, Detective,"
which he had once regarded so highly. The "Stewart"
referred to was the millionaire merchant, A. T. Stewart,
whose body was stolen in the expectation of reward.

*****

To W. D. Howells, in Boston:

MUNICH, Jan. 21, (1879)

MY DEAR HOWELLS,--It's no use, your letter miscarried in some way and
is lost. The consul has made a thorough search and says he has not been
able to trace it. It is unaccountable, for all the letters I did not
want arrived without a single grateful failure. Well, I have read-up,
now, as far as you have got, that is, to where there's a storm at sea
approaching,--and we three think you are clear, out-Howellsing Howells.
If your literature has not struck perfection now we are not able to see
what is lacking. It is all such truth--truth to the life; every where
your pen falls it leaves a photograph. I did imagine that everything had
been said about life at sea that could be said, but no matter, it
was all a failure and lies, nothing but lies with a thin varnish of
fact,--only you have stated it as it absolutely is. And only you see
people and their ways, and their insides and outsides as they are, and
make them talk as they do talk. I think you are the very greatest artist
in these tremendous mysteries that ever lived. There doesn't seem to be
anything that can be concealed from your awful all-seeing eye. It must
be a cheerful thing for one to live with you and be aware that you are
going up and down in him like another conscience all the time. Possibly
you will not be a fully accepted classic until you have been dead a
hundred years,--it is the fate of the Shakespeares and of all genuine
prophets,--but then your books will be as common as Bibles, I believe.
You're not a weed, but an oak; not a summer-house, but a cathedral. In
that day I shall still be in the Cyclopedias, too, thus: "Mark Twain;
history and occupation unknown--but he was personally acquainted with
Howells." There--I could sing your praises all day, and feel and believe
every bit of it.

My book is half finished; I wish to heaven it was done. I have given up
writing a detective novel--can't write a novel, for I lack the