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give us pain, they make our lives miserable, they murder us-andwhere is the use of it all, where the Tell her I am likely to drop dead any minute andit would be most embarrassing. Clemens's embarrassment when Stepniak hadvisited them and talked books, and asked her what her husband thought ofBalzac, Thackeray, and the others. I sometimes thought of his inner consciousness as a pool darkened by histragedies, its glassy surface, when calm, refle

s; but, morethan any other of Mark Twain's pretentious works, it needs editing--trimming by a fond but relentless hard. He envied her lying there, so free from it all, with the great peace uponher face. He had entered into the estate envied so long. It was like leaving the dead to mingle with the living; it was likewithdrawing from the infant class in the college of journalism to situnder the lectures in English literature in Columbia University.