letins to Carl in Paris
for publication in the papers of several continents for the information
of a waiting world. The sad end came at last, and Carl was there in time
to help in the final mournful rites.

'You remember that great funeral, and what a stir it made all over
the globe, and how the illustrious of two worlds came to attend it and
testify their sorrow. We four--still inseparable--carried the coffin,
and would allow none to help. And we were right about that, because it
hadn't anything in it but a wax figure, and any other coffin-bearers
would have found fault with the weight. Yes, we same old four, who had
lovingly shared privation together in the old hard times now gone for
ever, carried the cof--'

'Which four?'

'We four--for Millet helped to carry his own coffin. In disguise, you
know. Disguised as a relative--distant relative.'

'Astonishing!'

'But true just the same. Well, you remember how the pictures went up.
Money? We didn't know what to do with it. There's a man in Paris to-day
who owns seventy Millet pictures. He paid us two million francs for
them. And as for the bushels of sketches and studies which Millet
shovelled out during the six weeks that we were on the road, well, it
would astonish you to know the figure we sell them at nowadays--that is,
when we consent to let one go!'

'It is a wonderful history, perfectly wonderful!'

'Yes--it amounts to that.'

'Whatever became of Millet?'

'Can you keep a secret?'

'I can.'

'Do you remember the man I called your attention to in the dining room
to-day? That was Francois Millet.'

'Great--'

'Scott! Yes. For once they didn't starve a genius to death and then
put into other pockets the rewards he should have had himself. This
song-bird was not allowed to pipe out its heart unheard and then be paid
with the cold pomp of a big funeral. We looked out for that.'

MY DEBUT AS A LITERARY PERSON

In those early days I had already published one little thing ('The
Jumping Frog') in an Eastern paper, but I did not consider that that
counted. In my view, a person who published things in a mere newspaper
could not properly claim recognition as a Literary Person: he must
rise away above that; he must appear in a magazine. He would then be
a Literary Person; also, he would be famous--right away. These
two ambitions were strong upon me. This was in 1866. I prepared my
contribution, and then looked around for the best magazine to go up