t Kaltenleutgeben, a pleasant village
near Vienna, but apparently not entirely quiet. Many friends came
out from Vienna, including a number of visiting Americans. Clemens,
however, appears to have had considerable time for writing, as we
gather from the next to Howells.

*****

To W. D. Howells, in America:

KALTENLEUTGEBEN, BEI WIEN,
Aug. 16, '98.

DEAR HOWELLS,--Your letter came yesterday. It then occurred to me that I
might have known (per mental telegraph) that it was due; for a couple of
weeks ago when the Weekly came containing that handsome reference to
me I was powerfully moved to write you; and my letter went on writing
itself while I was at work at my other literature during the day. But
next day my other literature was still urgent--and so on and so on; so
my letter didn't get put into ink at all. But I see now, that you were
writing, about that time, therefore a part of my stir could have come
across the Atlantic per mental telegraph. In 1876 or '75 I wrote
40,000 words of a story called "Simon Wheeler" wherein the nub was
the preventing of an execution through testimony furnished by mental
telegraph from the other side of the globe. I had a lot of people
scattered about the globe who carried in their pockets something like
the old mesmerizer-button, made of different metals, and when they
wanted to call up each other and have a talk, they "pressed the button"
or did something, I don't remember what, and communication was at once
opened. I didn't finish the story, though I re-began it in several new
ways, and spent altogether 70,000 words on it, then gave it up and threw
it aside.

This much as preliminary to this remark: some day people will be able
to call each other up from any part of the world and talk by mental
telegraph--and not merely by impression, the impression will be
articulated into words. It could be a terrible thing, but it won't be,
because in the upper civilizations everything like sentimentality (I was
going to say sentiment) will presently get materialized out of people
along with the already fading spiritualities; and so when a man is
called who doesn't wish to talk he will be like those visitors you
mention: "not chosen"--and will be frankly damned and shut off.

Speaking of the ill luck of starting a piece of literary work wrong-and
again and again; always aware