pied all the year round.

We cannot have this house next season, but I have secured Mrs. Upton's
house which is over in the law and science quarter, two or three miles
from here, and about the same distance from the art, literary, and
scholastic groups. The science and law quarter has needed improving,
this good while.

The nearest railway-station is distant something like an hour's drive;
it is three hours from there to Boston, over a branch line. You can go
to New York in six hours per branch lines if you change cars every time
you think of it, but it is better to go to Boston and stop over and take
the trunk line next day, then you do not get lost.

It is claimed that the atmosphere of the New Hampshire highlands is
exceptionally bracing and stimulating, and a fine aid to hard and
continuous work. It is a just claim, I think. I came in May, and wrought
35 successive days without a break. It is possible that I could not have
done it elsewhere. I do not know; I have not had any disposition to try
it, before. I think I got the disposition out of the atmosphere, this
time. I feel quite sure, in fact, that that is where it came from.

I am ashamed to confess what an intolerable pile of manuscript I ground
out in the 35 days, therefore I will keep the number of words to myself.
I wrote the first half of a long tale--"The Adventures of a Microbe"
and put it away for a finish next summer, and started another long
tale--"The Mysterious Stranger;" I wrote the first half of it and put
it with the other for a finish next summer. I stopped, then. I was not
tired, but I had no books on hand that needed finishing this year except
one that was seven years old. After a little I took that one up and
finished it. Not for publication, but to have it ready for revision next
summer.

Since I stopped work I have had a two months' holiday. The summer has
been my working time for 35 years; to have a holiday in it (in America)
is new for me. I have not broken it, except to write "Eve's Diary" and
"A Horse's Tale"--short things occupying the mill 12 days.

This year our summer is 6 months long and ends with November and the
flight home to New York, but next year we hope and expect to stretch it
another month and end it the first of December.

[No signature.]

The fact that he was a persistent smoker was widely known, and many
friends and admirers of Mark Twain sent him cigars, most of which he