Oh, look here!  You are just like everybody; merely because I am literary you think I’m a commercial somnambulist, and am not watching you with all that money in your hands.  Bless you, I’ve got a description of you and a photograph in every police-office in Christendom, with the remark appended:  “Look out for a handsome, tall, slender young man with a gray mustache and courtly manners and an address well calculated to deceive, calling himself by the name of Smith.”  Don’t you try to get away—­it won’t work.

From the note-book: 

    Midnight.  At Miss Bailie’s home for English governesses.  Two
    comedies & some songs and ballads.  Was asked to speak & did it. 
    (And rung in the “Mexican Plug.”)

    A Voice.  “The Princess Hohenlohe wishes you to write on her fan.”

    “With pleasure—­where is she?”

    “At your elbow.”

I turned & took the fan & said, “Your Highness’s place is in a fairy tale; & by & by I mean to write that tale,” whereat she laughed a happy girlish laugh, & we moved through the crowd to get to a writing-table—­& to get in a strong light so that I could see her better.  Beautiful little creature, with the dearest friendly ways & sincerities & simplicities & sweetnesses—­the ideal princess of the fairy tales.  She is 16 or 17, I judge.

    Mental Telegraphy.  Mrs. Clemens was pouring out the coffee this
    morning; I unfolded the Neue Freie Presse, began to read a paragraph
    & said: 

    “They’ve found a new way to tell genuine gems from false——­”

    “By the Roentgen ray!” she exclaimed.

    That is what I was going to say.  She had not seen the paper, &
    there had been no talk about the ray or gems by herself or by me. 
    It was a plain case of telegraphy.

    No man that ever lived has ever done a thing to please God
    —­primarily.  It was done to please himself, then God next.

The Being who to me is the real God is the one who created this majestic universe & rules it.  He is the only originator, the only originator of thoughts; thoughts suggested from within, not from without; the originator of colors & of all their possible combinations; of forces & the laws that govern them; of forms & shapes of all forms-man has never invented a new one.  He is the only originator.  He made the materials of all things; He made the laws by which, & by which only, man may combine them into the machines & other things which outside influences suggest to him.  He made character—­man can portray it but not “create” it, for He is the only creator.

    He, is the perfect artisan, the perfect artist.

CCVI

A SUMMER IN SWEDEN