receive attention. Mr. Howells was perhaps the first critic of eminence
to recognize in Mark Twain not only the humorist, but the supreme
genius-the "Lincoln of our literature." This was later. The public--the
silent public--with what Howells calls "the inspired knowledge of the
simple-hearted multitude," reached a similar verdict forthwith. And on
sufficient evidence: let the average unprejudiced person of to-day take
up the old volume and read a few chapters anywhere and decide whether it
is the work of a mere humorist, or also of a philosopher, a poet, and
a seer. The writer well remembers a little group of "the simple-hearted
multitude" who during the winter of '69 and '70 gathered each evening to
hear the Innocents read aloud, and their unanimous verdict that it was
the "best book of modern times."

It was the most daring book of its day. Passages of it were calculated
to take the breath of the orthodox reader; only, somehow, it made him
smile, too. It was all so good-natured, so openly sincere. Without doubt
it preached heresy--the heresy of viewing revered landmarks and relics
joyously, rather than lugubriously; reverentially, when they inspired
reverence; satirically, when they invited ridicule, and with kindliness
always.

The Innocents Abroad is Mark Twain's greatest book of travel. The
critical and the pure in speech may object to this verdict. Brander
Matthews regards it second to A Tramp Abroad, the natural viewpoint
of the literary technician. The 'Tramp' contains better usage without
doubt, but it lacks the "color" which gives the Innocents its perennial
charm. In the Innocents there is a glow, a fragrance, a romance of
touch, a subtle something which is idyllic, something which is not quite
of reality, in the tale of that little company that so long ago sailed
away to the harbors of their illusions beyond the sea, and, wandered
together through old palaces and galleries, and among the tombs of the
saints, and down through ancient lands. There is an atmosphere about it
all, a dream-like quality that lies somewhere in the telling, maybe, or
in the tale; at all events it is there, and the world has felt it ever
since. Perhaps it could be defined in a single word, perhaps that
word would be "youth." That the artist, poor True Williams, felt its
inspiration is certain. We may believe that Williams was not a great
draftsman, but no artist ever caught more perfectly the light and spirit
of the author's text.