. I have been down stairs
in night-gown and slippers a couple of hours, and have been photographed
in that costume; but I will dress, now, and behave myself.

That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my
brain... Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for it. I
wish Henry Rogers would come here, and I wish you would come with him.
You can't rest in that crowded place, but you could rest here, for sure!
I would learn bridge, and entertain you, and rob you.

With love to you both,
Ever yours,
S. L. C.

In the foregoing letter we get the first intimation of Mark Twain's
failing health. The nephew who had died was Samuel E. Moffett, son
of Pamela Clemens. Moffett, who was a distinguished journalist--an
editorial writer on Collier's Weekly, a man beloved by all who knew
him--had been drowned in the surf off the Jersey beach.

*****

To W. D. Howells, Kittery Point, Maine:

Aug. 12, '08.

DEAR HOWELLS,--Won't you and Mrs. Howells and Mildred come and give us
as many days as you can spare, and examine John's triumph? It is
the most satisfactory house I am acquainted with, and the most
satisfactorily situated.

But it is no place to work in, because one is outside of it all the
time, while the sun and the moon are on duty. Outside of it in the
loggia, where the breezes blow and the tall arches divide up the scenery
and frame it.

It's a ghastly long distance to come, and I wouldn't travel such a
distance to see anything short of a memorial museum, but if you can't
come now you can at least come later when you return to New York, for
the journey will be only an hour and a half per express-train. Things
are gradually and steadily taking shape inside the house, and nature is
taking care of the outside in her ingenious and wonderful fashion--and
she is competent and asks no help and gets none. I have retired from New
York for good, I have retired from labor for good, I have dismissed my
stenographer and have entered upon a holiday whose other end is in the
cemetery.

Yours ever,
MARK.

From a gentleman in Buffalo Clemens one day received a letter
inclosing an incompleted list of the world's "One Hundred Greates