472 Delaware st., Buffalo, Jan. 28.  Dear Mr. Aldrich,—­No indeed, don’t take back the apology!  Hang it, I don’t want to abuse a man’s civility merely because he gives me the chance.

I hear a good deal about doing things on the “spur of the moment” —­I invariably regret the things I do on the spur of the moment.  That disclaimer of mine was a case in point.  I am ashamed every time I think of my bursting out before an unconcerned public with that bombastic pow-wow about burning publishers’ letters, and all that sort of imbecility, and about my not being an imitator, etc.  Who would find out that I am a natural fool if I kept always cool and never let nature come to the surface?  Nobody.

But I did hate to be accused of plagiarizing Bret Harte, who trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesquenesses to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found a certain favor in the eyes of even some of the very decentest people in the land—­and this grateful remembrance of mine ought to be worth its face, seeing that Bret broke our long friendship a year ago without any cause or provocation that I am aware of.

Well, it is funny, the reminiscences that glare out from murky corners of one’s memory, now and then, without warning.  Just at this moment a picture flits before me:  Scene—­private room in Barnum’s Restaurant, Virginia, Nevada; present, Artemus Ward, Joseph T. Goodman, (editor and proprietor Daily “Enterprise"), and “Dan de Quille” and myself, reporters for same; remnants of the feast thin and scattering, but such tautology and repetition of empty bottles everywhere visible as to be offensive to the sensitive eye; time, 2.30 A.M.; Artemus thickly reciting a poem about a certain infant you wot of, and interrupting himself and being interrupted every few lines by poundings of the table and shouts of “Splendid, by Shorzhe!” Finally, a long, vociferous, poundiferous and vitreous jingling of applause announces the conclusion, and then Artemus:  “Let every man ’at loves his fellow man and ’preciates a poet ’at loves his fellow man, stan’ up!—­Stan’ up and drink health and long life to Thomas Bailey Aldrich!—­and drink it stanning!” (On all hands fervent, enthusiastic, and sincerely honest attempts to comply.) Then Artemus:  “Well—­consider it stanning, and drink it just as ye are!” Which was done.

You must excuse all this stuff from a stranger, for the present, and when I see you I will apologize in full.

Do you know the prettiest fancy and the neatest that ever shot through Harte’s brain?  It was this:  When they were trying to decide upon a vignette for the cover of the Overland, a grizzly bear (of the arms of the State of California) was chosen.  Nahl Bras. carved him and the page was printed, with him in it, looking thus:  [Rude sketch of a grizzly bear.]