eyes, then straightway I read
Brebeuf's magnificent martyrdom, and turn in, subdued and wondering.
By and by the thought occurs to me, Brebeuf, with his good, great
heart would spare even that poor humble mousie--and for his sake so
will I--I will throw the trap in the fire--jump out of bed, reach
under, fetch out the trap, and find him throttled there and not two
minutes dead.

They gave him a dinner in Montreal. Louis Frechette, the Canadian poet,
was there and Clemens addressed him handsomely in the response he made
to the speech of welcome. From that moment Frechette never ceased to
adore Mark Twain, and visited him soon after the return to Hartford.

'The Prince and the Pauper' was published in England, Canada, Germany,
and America early in December, 1881. There had been no stint of money,
and it was an extremely handsome book. The pen-and-ink drawings were
really charming, and they were lavish as to number. It was an attractive
volume from every standpoint, and it was properly dedicated "To those
good-mannered and agreeable children, Susy and Clara Clemens."

The story itself was totally unlike anything that Mark Twain had done
before. Enough of its plan and purpose has been given in former chapters
to make a synopsis of it unnecessary here. The story of the wandering
prince and the pauper king--an impressive picture of ancient legal and
regal cruelty--is as fine and consistent a tale as exists in the
realm of pure romance. Unlike its great successor, the 'Yankee at King
Arthur's Court', it never sacrifices the illusion to the burlesque,
while through it all there runs a delicate vein of humor. Only here and
there is there the slightest disillusion, and this mainly in the use of
some ultra-modern phrase or word.

Mark Twain never did any better writing than some of the splendid scenes
in 'The Prince and the Pauper'. The picture of Old London Bridge; the
scene in the vagabond's retreat, with its presentation to the little
king of the wrongs inflicted by the laws of his realm; the episode of
the jail where his revelation reaches a climax--these are but a few of
the splendid pictures which the chapters portray, while the spectacle
of England acquiring mercy at the hands of two children, a king and a
beggar, is one which only genius could create. One might quote here, but
to do so without the context would be to sacrifice atmosphere, half the
story's charm. How breathlessly interesting is th