ime in
these. We have tables and chairs in them . . . . It must have
been a noble genius who devised this hotel. Lord! how blessed is
the repose, the tranquillity of this place! Only two sounds: the
happy clamor of the birds in the groves and the muffled music of the
Neckar tumbling over the opposing dikes. It is no hardship to lie
awake awhile nights, for thin subdued roar has exactly the sound of
a steady rain beating upon a roof. It is so healing to the spirit;
and it bears up the thread of one's imaginings as the accompaniment
bears up a song."

Twichell was summoned for August, and wrote back eagerly at the prospect:

"Oh, my! Do you realize, Mark, what a symposium it is to be? I do.
To begin with, I am thoroughly tired, and the rest will be worth
everything. To walk with you and talk with you for weeks together
--why, it's my dream of luxury!"

Meantime the struggle with the "awful German language" went on. Rosa,
the maid, was required to speak to the children only in German, though
little Clara at first would have none of it. Susy, two years older,
tried, and really made progress, but one day she said, pathetically:

"Mama, I wish Rosa was made in English."

But presently she was writing to "Aunt Sue" (Mrs. Crane) at Quarry Farm:

"I know a lot of German; everybody says I know a lot. I give you a
million dollars to see you, and you would give two hundred dollars
to see the lovely woods we see."

Twichell arrived August 1st. Clemens met him at Baden-Baden, and they
immediately set forth on a tramp through the Black Forest, excursioning
as they pleased and having a blissful time. They did not always walk.
They were likely to take a carriage or a donkey-cart, or even a train,
when one conveniently happened along. They did not hurry, but idled and
talked and gathered flowers, or gossiped with wayside natives
--picturesque peasants in the Black Forest costume. In due time they
crossed into Switzerland and prepared to conquer the Alps.

The name Mark Twain had become about as well known in Europe as it was in
America. His face, however, was less familiar. He was not often
recognized in these wanderings, and his pen-name was carefully concealed.
It was a relief to him not to be an object of curiosity and lavish
attention. Twichell's conscience now and then prompted him to reveal the
truth. In one of his letters home he wrote how a young man at a hotel
had espec