no more of
it. Mr. Rogers himself could see the uselessness of the endeavor. He
instructed Mr. Broughton to close up the matter as best he could and
himself undertook the harder task of breaking the news to Mark Twain. His
letters seem not to have been preserved, but the replies to them tell the
story.

169 rue de l'Universite,

PARIS, December 22, 1894.

DEAR MR. ROGERS,--I seemed to be entirely expecting your letter, and
also prepared and resigned; but Lord, it shows how little we know
ourselves and how easily we can deceive ourselves. It hit me like a
thunder-clap. It knocked every rag of sense out of my head, and I
went flying here and there and yonder, not knowing what I was doing,
and only one clearly defined thought standing up visible and
substantial out of the crazy storm-drift--that my dream of ten years
was in desperate peril and out of the 60,000 or 70,000 projects for
its rescue that came flocking through my skull not one would hold
still long enough for me to examine it and size it up. Have you
ever been like that? Not so much, I reckon.

There was another clearly defined idea--I must be there and see it
die. That is, if it must die; and maybe if I were there we might
hatch up some next-to-impossible way to make it take up its bed and
take a walk.

So, at the end of four hours I started, still whirling, and walked
over to the rue Scribe--4 p.m.--and asked a question or two and was
told I should be running a big risk if I took the 9 p.m. train for
London and Southampton; "better come right along at 6.52 per Havre
special and step aboard the New York all easy and comfortable."
Very! and I about two miles from home and no packing done.

Then it occurred to me that none of these salvation notions that
were whirlwinding through my head could be examined or made
available unless at least a month's time could be secured. So I
cabled you, and said to myself that I would take the French steamer
to-morrow (which will be Sunday).

By bedtime Mrs. Clemens had reasoned me into a fairly rational and
contented state of mind; but of course it didn't last long. So I
went on thinking--mixing it with a smoke in the dressing-room once
an hour--until dawn this morning. Result--a sane resolution; no
matter what your answer to my cable might be I would hold still and