But two hours later, when he had returned from one of the long walks
     which he and Twichell so frequently took together, he told a
     different story.

Later, P.M.  Home, 24th ’74.

My dear Howells,—­I take back the remark that I can’t write for the Jan. number.  For Twichell and I have had a long walk in the woods and I got to telling him about old Mississippi days of steam-boating glory and grandeur as I saw them (during 5 years) from the pilothouse.  He said “What a virgin subject to hurl into a magazine!” I hadn’t thought of that before.  Would you like a series of papers to run through 3 months or 6 or 9?—­or about 4 months, say? 
                         Yrs ever,
                                   Mark.

Howells himself had come from a family of pilots, and rejoiced in the idea.  A few days later Mark Twain forwarded the first instalment of the new series—­those wonderful chapters that begin, now, with chapter four in the Mississippi book.  Apparently he was not without doubt concerning the manuscript, and accompanied it with a brief line.

To W. D. Howells, in Boston: 

Dear Howells,—­Cut it, scarify it, reject it handle it with entire
freedom. 
                         Yrs ever,
                                   Mark.

But Howells had no doubts as to the quality of the new find.  He declared that the “piece” about the Mississippi was capital, that it almost made the water in their ice-pitcher turn muddy as he read it.  “The sketch of the low-lived little town was so good that I could have wished that there was more of it.  I want the sketches, if you can make them, every month.”

     The “low-lived little town” was Hannibal, and the reader can turn to
     the vivid description of it in the chapter already mentioned.

     In the same letter Howells refers to a “letter from Limerick,” which
     he declares he shall keep until he has shown it around—­especially
     to Aldrich and Osgood.

The “letter from Limerick” has to do with a special episode.  Mention has just been made of Mark Twain’s walk with Twichell.  Frequently their walks were extended tramps, and once in a daring moment one or the other of them proposed to walk to Boston.  The time was November, and the bracing air made the proposition seem attractive.  They were off one morning early, Twichell carrying a little bag, and Clemens a basket of luncheon.  A few days before, Clemens had written Redpath that the Rev. J. H. Twichell and he expected to start at eight 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.”

They did not get quite to Boston.  In fact, they got only a little farther than