The exchange of these two letters marked the beginning of one of the most notable publishing connections in American literary history.  The book, however, was not begun immediately.  Bliss was in poor health and final arrangements were delayed; it was not until late in January that Clemens went to Hartford and concluded the arrangement.

Meantime, fate had disclosed another matter of even greater importance; we get the first hint of it in the following letter, though to him its beginning had been earlier—­on a day in the blue harbor of Smyrna, when young Charles Langdon, a fellow-passenger on the Quaker City, had shown to Mark Twain a miniature of young Langdon’s sister at home: 

To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis: 

224 F. Street, wash, Jan. 8, 1868.  My dear mother and sister,—­And so the old Major has been there, has he?  I would like mighty well to see him.  I was a sort of benefactor to him once.  I helped to snatch him out when he was about to ride into a Mohammedan Mosque in that queer old Moorish town of Tangier, in Africa.  If he had got in, the Moors would have knocked his venerable old head off, for his temerity.

I have just arrived from New York-been there ever since Christmas staying at the house of Dan Slote my Quaker City room-mate, and having a splendid time.  Charley Langdon, Jack Van Nostrand, Dan and I, (all Quaker City night-hawks,) had a blow-out at Dan’s’ house and a lively talk over old times.  We went through the Holy Land together, and I just laughed till my sides ached, at some of our reminiscences.  It was the unholiest gang that ever cavorted through Palestine, but those are the best boys in the world.  We needed Moulton badly.  I started to make calls, New Year’s Day, but I anchored for the day at the first house I came to—­Charlie Langdon’s sister was there (beautiful girl,) and Miss Alice Hooker, another beautiful girl, a niece of Henry Ward Beecher’s.  We sent the old folks home early, with instructions not to send the carriage till midnight, and then I just staid there and worried the life out of those girls.  I am going to spend a few days with the Langdon’s in Elmira, New York, as soon as I get time, and a few days at Mrs. Hooker’s in Hartford, Conn., shortly.

Henry Ward Beecher sent for me last Sunday to come over and dine (he lives in Brooklyn, you know,) and I went.  Harriet Beecher Stowe was there, and Mrs. and Miss Beecher, Mrs. Hooker and my old Quaker City favorite, Emma Beach.

We had a very gay time, if it was Sunday.  I expect I told more lies than I have told before in a month.

I went back by invitation, after the evening service, and finished the blow-out, and then staid all night at Mr. Beach’s.  Henry Ward is a brick.

I found out at 10 o’clock, last night, that I was to lecture tomorrow evening and so you must be aware that I have been working like sin all night to get a lecture written.  I have finished it, I call it “Frozen Truth.”  It is a little top-heavy, though, because there is more truth in the title than there is in the lecture.