The farm is perfectly delightful this season.It is as quiet and peaceful as a South Sea Island.Some of the sunsets which we have witnessed from this commanding eminence were marvelous.One evening a rainbow spanned an entire range of hills with its mighty arch, and from a black hub resting upon the hill-top in the exact centre, black rays diverged upward in perfect regularity to the rainbow's arch and created a very strongly defined and altogether the most majestic, magnificent and startling half-sunk wagon wheel you can imagine.After that, a world of tumbling and prodigious clouds came drifting up out of the West and took to themselves a wonderfully rich and brilliant green color--the decided green of new spring foliage.Close by them we saw the intense blue of the skies, through rents in the cloud-rack, and away off in another quarter were drifting clouds of a delicate pink color.In one place hung a pall of dense black clouds, like compacted pitch-smoke.And the stupendous wagon wheel was still in the supremacy of its unspeakable grandeur.So you see, the colors present in the sky at once and the same time were blue, green, pink, black, and the vari-colored splendors of the rainbow.All strong and decided colors, too.I don't know whether this weird and astounding spectacle most suggested heaven, or hell.The wonder, with its constant, stately, and always surprising changes, lasted upwards of two hours, and we all stood on the top of the hill by my study till the final miracle was complete and the greatest day ended that we ever saw.
Our farmer, who is a grave man, watched that spectacle to the end, and then observed that it was "dam funny."The double-barreled novel lies torpid.I found I could not go on with it.The chapters I had written were still too new and familiar to me.
I may take it up next winter, but cannot tell yet; I waited and waited to see if my interest in it would not revive, but gave it up a month ago and began another boys' book--more to be at work than anything else.I have written 400 pages on it--therefore it is very nearly half done.It is Huck Finn's Autobiography.I like it only tolerably well, as far as Ihave got, and may possibly pigeonhole or burn the MS when it is done.
So the comedy is done, and with a "fair degree of satisfaction." That rejoices me, and makes me mad, too--for I can't plan a comedy, and what have you done that God should be so good to you? I have racked myself baldheaded trying to plan a comedy harness for some promising characters of mine to work in, and had to give it up.It is a noble lot of blooded stock and worth no end of money, but they must stand in the stable and be profitless.I want to be present when the comedy is produced and help enjoy the success.
Warner's book is mighty readable, I think.
Love to yez.
Yrs ever MARK
Howells promptly wrote again, urging him to enter the campaign for Hayes."There is not another man in this country," he said, "who could help him so much as you." The "farce" which Clemens refers to in his reply, was "The Parlor Car," which seems to have been about the first venture of Howells in that field.
To W.D.Howells, in Boston:
ELMIRA, August 23, 1876.
MY DEAR HOWELLS,--I am glad you think I could do Hayes any good, for Ihave been wanting to write a letter or make a speech to that end.I'll be careful not to do either, however, until the opportunity comes in a natural, justifiable and unlugged way; and shall not then do anything unless I've got it all digested and worded just right.In which case Imight do some good--in any other I should do harm.When a humorist ventures upon the grave concerns of life he must do his job better than another man or he works harm to his cause.
The farce is wonderfully bright and delicious, and must make a hit.You read it to me, and it was mighty good; I read it last night and it was better; I read it aloud to the household this morning and it was better than ever.So it would be worth going a long way to see it well played;for without any question an actor of genius always adds a subtle something to any man's work that none but the writer knew was there before.Even if he knew it.I have heard of readers convulsing audiences with my "Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man." If there is anything really funny in the piece, the author is not aware of it.
All right--advertise me for the new volume.I send you herewith a sketch which will make 3 pages of the Atlantic.If you like it and accept it, you should get it into the December No.because I shall read it in public in Boston the 13th and 14th of Nov.If it went in a month earlier it would be too old for me to read except as old matter; and if it went in a month later it would be too old for the Atlantic--do you see? And if you wish to use it, will you set it up now, and send me three proofs? --one to correct for Atlantic, one to send to Temple Bar (shall I tell them to use it not earlier than their November No.?) and one to use in practising for my Boston readings.
We must get up a less elaborate and a much better skeleton-plan for the Blindfold Novels and make a success of that idea.David Gray spent Sunday here and said we could but little comprehend what a rattling stir that thing would make in the country.He thought it would make a mighty strike.So do I.But with only 8 pages to tell the tale in, the plot must be less elaborate, doubtless.What do you think?
When we exchange visits I'll show you an unfinished sketch of Elizabeth's time which shook David Gray's system up pretty exhaustively.
Yrs ever, MARK.
The MS.sketch mentioned in the foregoing letter was "The Canvasser's Tale," later included in the volume, Tom Sawyer Abroad, and Other Stories.It is far from being Mark Twain's best work, but was accepted and printed in the Atlantic.David Gray was an able journalist and editor whom Mark Twain had known in Buffalo.
