your friends were afraid you would delay the assignment too long."

John Mackay called yesterday, and said, "Don't let it disturb you,
Sam--we all have to do it, at one time or another; it's nothing to be
ashamed of."

One stranger out in New York State sent me a dollar bill and thought
he would like to get up a dollar-subscription for me. And Poultney
Bigelow's note came promptly, with his check for $1,000. I had been
meeting him every day at the Club and liking him better and better
all the time. I couldn't take his money, of course, but I thanked him
cordially for his good will.

Now and then a good and dear Joe Twichell or Susy Warner condoles with
me and says "Cheer up--don't be downhearted," and some other friend
says, "I am glad and surprised to see how cheerful you are and how
bravely you stand it"--and none of them suspect what a burden has been
lifted from me and how blithe I am inside. Except when I think of you,
dear heart--then I am not blithe; for I seem to see you grieving and
ashamed, and dreading to look people in the face. For in the thick of
the fight there is cheer, but you are far away and cannot hear the drums
nor see the wheeling squadrons. You only seem to see rout, retreat, and
dishonored colors dragging in the dirt--whereas none of these things
exist. There is temporary defeat, but no dishonor--and we will march
again. Charley Warner said to-day, "Sho, Livy isn't worrying. So long as
she's got you and the children she doesn't care what happens. She knows
it isn't her affair." Which didn't convince me.

Good bye my darling, I love you and all of the kids--and you can tell
Clara I am not a spitting gray kitten.

SAML.

Clemens sailed for Europe as soon as his affairs would permit him
to go. He must get settled where he could work comfortably.
Type-setter prospects seemed promising, but meantime there was
need of funds.

He began writing on the ship, as was his habit, and had completed
his article on Fenimore Cooper by the time he reached London. In
August we find him writing to Mr. Rogers from Etretat, a little
Norman watering-place.

*****

To H. H. Rogers, in New York:

ETRETAT, (NORMANDIE)

CHALET DES ABRIS

Aug. 25, '94.

DEAR MR. ROGERS,