enchanting, and vanished now forever.  Sometimes they took the train as far as Bloomfield, a little station on the way, and walked the rest of the distance, or they took the train from Bloomfield home.  It seems a strange association, perhaps, the fellowship of that violent dissenter with that fervent soul dedicated to church and creed, but the root of their friendship lay in the frankness with which each man delivered his dogmas and respected those of his companion.

It was during one of their walks to the tower that they planned a far more extraordinary undertaking—­nothing less, in fact, than a walk from Hartford to Boston.  This was early in November.  They did not delay the matter, for the weather was getting too uncertain.

Clemens wrote Redpath: 

Dear Redpath,—­Rev. J. H. Twichell and I expect to start at 8 o’clock Thursday morning to walk to Boston in twenty four hours—­or more.  We shall telegraph Young’s Hotel for rooms Saturday night, in order to allow for a low average of pedestrianism.

It was half past eight on Thursday morning, November 12, 1874, that they left Twichell’s house in a carriage, drove to the East Hartford bridge, and there took to the road, Twichell carrying a little bag and Clemens a basket of lunch.

The papers had got hold of it by this time, and were watching the result.  They did well enough that first day, following the old Boston stage road, arriving at Westford about seven o’clock in the evening, twenty-eight miles from the starting-point.  There was no real hotel at Westford, only a sort of tavern, but it afforded the luxury of rest.  “Also,” says Twichell, in a memoranda of the trip, “a sublimely profane hostler whom you couldn’t jostle with any sort of mild remark without bringing down upon yourself a perfect avalanche of oaths.”

This was a joy to Clemens, who sat behind the stove, rubbing his lame knees and fairly reveling in Twichell’s discomfiture in his efforts to divert the hostler’s blasphemy.  There was also a mellow inebriate there who recommended kerosene for Clemens’s lameness, and offered as testimony the fact that he himself had frequently used it for stiffness in his joints after lying out all night in cold weather, drunk:  altogether it was a notable evening.

Westford was about as far as they continued the journey afoot.  Clemens was exceedingly lame next morning, and had had a rather bad night; but he swore and limped along six miles farther, to North Ashford, then gave it up.  They drove from North Ashford to the railway, where Clemens telegraphed Redpath and Howells of their approach.  To Redpath: 

    We have made thirty-five miles in less than five days.  This
    demonstrates that the thing can be done.  Shall now finish by rail. 
    Did you have any bets on us?

To Howells: 

    Arrive by rail at seven o’clock, the first of a series of grand
    annual pedestrian tours from Hartford to Boston to be performed by
    us.  The next will take place next year.