I suppose you heard how a marble monument for which St. Gaudens was pecuniarily responsible, burned down in Hartford the other day, uninsured—­for who in the world would ever think of insuring a marble shaft in a cemetery against a fire?—­and left St. Gauden out of pocket $15,000.

It was a bad day for artists.  Gerhardt finished my bust that day, and the work was pronounced admirable by all the kin and friends; but in putting it in plaster (or rather taking it out) next day it got ruined.  It was four or five weeks hard work gone to the dogs.  The news flew, and everybody on the farm flocked to the arbor and grouped themselves about the wreck in a profound and moving silence—­the farm-help, the colored servants, the German nurse, the children, everybody—­a silence interrupted at wide intervals by absent-minded ejaculations wising from unconscious breasts as the whole size of the disaster gradually worked its way home to the realization of one spirit after another.

Some burst out with one thing, some another; the German nurse put up her hands and said, “Oh, Schade! oh, schrecklich!  “But Gerhardt said nothing; or almost that.  He couldn’t word it, I suppose.  But he went to work, and by dark had everything thoroughly well under way for a fresh start in the morning; and in three days’ time had built a new bust which was a trifle better than the old one—­and to-morrow we shall put the finishing touches on it, and it will be about as good a one as nearly anybody can make. 
                         Yrs Ever
                                   Mark.

If you run across anybody who wants a bust, be sure and recommend Gerhardt on my say-so.

But Howells was determinedly for Blaine.  “I shall vote for Blaine,” he replied.  “I do not believe he is guilty of the things they accuse him of, and I know they are not proved against him.  As for Cleveland, his private life may be no worse than that of most men, but as an enemy of that contemptible, hypocritical, lop-sided morality which says a woman shall suffer all the shame of unchastity and man none, I want to see him destroyed politically by his past.  The men who defend him would take their wives to the White House if he were president, but if he married his concubine—­’made her an honest woman’ they would not go near him.  I can’t stand that.”

Certainly this was sound logic, in that day, at least.  But it left Clemens far from satisfied.

To W. D. Howells, in Boston: 

Elmira, Sept. 17, ’84.  My dear Howells,—­Somehow I can’t seem to rest quiet under the idea of your voting for Blaine.  I believe you said something about the country and the party.  Certainly allegiance to these is well; but as certainly a man’s first duty is to his own conscience and honor—­the party or the country come second to that, and never first.  I don’t ask you to vote at all—­I only urge you to not soil yourself by voting for Blaine.