lways vividly remembered the
marvelously clear insight which Mark Twain's vocal personality gave to
those somewhat obscure measures. They did not all of them realize that
before reading a poem he studied it line by line, even word by word;
dug out its last syllable of meaning, so far as lay within human
possibility, and indicated with pencil every shade of emphasis which
would help to reveal the poet's purpose. No student of Browning ever
more devoutly persisted in trying to compass a master's intent--in such
poems as "Sordello," for instance--than Mark Twain. Just what permanent
benefit he received from this particular passion it is difficult to
know. Once, at a class-meeting, after finishing "Easter Day," he made a
remark which the class requested him to "write down." It is recorded on
the fly-leaf of Dramatis Personae as follows:

One's glimpses & confusions, as one reads Browning, remind me of
looking through a telescope (the small sort which you must move with
your hand, not clock-work). You toil across dark spaces which are
(to your lens) empty; but every now & then a splendor of stars &
suns bursts upon you and fills the whole field with flame. Feb.
23, 1887.

In another note he speaks of the "vague dim flash of splendid
hamming-birds through a fog." Whatever mental treasures he may or may
not have laid up from Browning there was assuredly a deep gratification
in the discovery of those splendors of "stars and suns" and the flashing
"humming-birds," as there must also have been in pointing out those
wonders to the little circle of devout listeners. It all seemed so worth
while.

It was at a time when George Meredith was a reigning literary favorite.
There was a Meredith cult as distinct as that of Browning. Possibly it
exists to-day, but, if so, it is less militant. Mrs. Clemens and her
associates were caught in the Meredith movement and read Diana of the
Crossways and the Egoist with reverential appreciation.

The Meredith epidemic did not touch Mark Twain. He read but few novels
at most, and, skilful as was the artistry of the English favorite, he
found his characters artificialities--ingeniously contrived puppets
rather than human beings, and, on the whole, overrated by their creator.
Diana of the Crossways was read aloud, and, listening now and then, he
was likely to say:

"It doesn't seem to me that Diana lives up to her reputation. The author
keeps telling us how smart she is, h