"I will try to write a more genial book, but the Devil himself
always gets into my inkstand, and I can only get him out by
penfuls."

Still again:--

"Heaven sees fit to visit me with the unshakable conviction that
all this series of articles is good for nothing. I don't think that
the public will bear with much more of this sort of thing."

His letters are often full of this moody discouragement, though lighted
up always by some gleams of his humor. For instance, he writes to
Fields:--

"Do make some inquiries about Portugal,--in what part of the world
it lies, and whether it is a Kingdom, an Empire, or a Republic.
Also the expenses of living there, and whether the Minister would
be much pestered with his own countrymen."

And later, when he was in Rome:--

"I bitterly detest this Rome, and shall rejoice to bid it adieu
forever; and I fully acquiesce in all the mischief and ruin that
has ever happened to it from Nero's conflagration downward. In
fact, I wish the very site of it had been obliterated before I ever
saw it."

His complaints about his pens are really very amusing to those
people--and their name is legion--who have had a like difficulty in
pleasing themselves. He writes to Fields:--

"If you want me to write you a good novel, send me a good pen; not
a gold one, but one which will not get stiff and rheumatic the
moment I get attached to it. I never met with a good pen in my
life."

To this last sentiment we think that a great multitude which no man can
number will respond Amen. He says of them again:--

"Nobody ever suffered more from pens than I have, and I am glad
that my labor with the abominable little tool is drawing to a
close."

In private conversation he enlivened his more serious thoughts often
with vivid surprises of expression; and he had a mild way of making a
severe remark, which reminded Charlotte Cushman of a man she once saw
making such a disturbance in the gallery of a theatre that the play
could hardly proceed. Cries of "Throw him over!" arose from all parts of
the house, and the noise became furious. All was tumultuous chaos until
a sweet and gentle female voice was heard in the pit, when all grew
silent to hear:--

"No, I pray you, my friends, don't throw him over. I beg that you
will not throw him over, but--kill him where he is!"

It was only in th