ch and German and
Italian. She had naturally a fine intellect, with many of her father's
characteristics, and a tender heart that made every dumb creature her
friend.

Katie Leary, who had been Jean's nurse, once told how, as a little
child, Jean had not been particularly interested in a picture of the
Lisbon earthquake, where the people were being swallowed up; but
on looking at the next page, which showed a number of animals being
overwhelmed, she had said:

"Poor things!"

Katie said:

"Why, you didn't say that about the people!"

But Jean answered:

"Oh, they could speak."

One night at the dinner-table her father was saying how difficult it
must be for a man who had led a busy life to give up the habit of work.

"That is why the Rogerses kill themselves," he said. "They would rather
kill themselves in the old treadmill than stop and try to kill time.
They have forgotten how to rest. They know nothing but to keep on till
they drop."

I told of something I had read not long before. It was about an aged
lion that had broken loose from his cage at Coney Island. He had not
offered to hurt any one; but after wandering about a little, rather
aimlessly, he had come to a picket-fence, and a moment later began
pacing up and down in front of it, just the length of his cage. They had
come and led him back to his prison without trouble, and he had rushed
eagerly into it. I noticed that Jean was listening anxiously, and when I
finished she said:

"Is that a true story?"

She had forgotten altogether the point in illustration. She was
concerned only with the poor old beast that had found no joy in his
liberty.

Among the letters that Clemens wrote just then was one to Miss Wallace,
in which he described the glory of the fall colors as seen from his
windows.

The autumn splendors passed you by? What a pity! I wish you had
been here. It was beyond words! It was heaven & hell & sunset &
rainbows & the aurora all fused into one divine harmony, & you
couldn't look at it and keep the tears back.

Such a singing together, & such a whispering together, & such a
snuggling together of cozy, soft colors, & such kissing & caressing,
& such pretty blushing when the sun breaks out & catches those
dainty weeds at it--you remember that weed-garden of mine?--& then
--then the far hills sleeping in a dim blue trance--oh, hearing
about it is nothing, you should be here to see it!

In th