It will be seen by the foregoing that Mark Twain’s interest in the Kellgren system was still an ardent one.  Indeed, for a time he gave most of his thought to it, and wrote several long appreciations, perhaps with little idea of publication, but merely to get his enthusiasm physically expressed.  War, however, presently supplanted medicine—­the Boer troubles in South Africa and the Boxer insurrection in China.  It was a disturbing, exciting year.

To W. D. Howells, in Boston: 

Wellingtoncourt, Knightsbridge,
Jan. 25, 1900. 
Dear Howells,—­If you got half as much as Pond prophesied, be content and praise God—­it has not happened to another.  But I am sorry he didn’t go with you; for it is marvelous to hear him yarn.  He is good company, cheery and hearty, and his mill is never idle.  Your doing a lecture tour was heroic.  It was the highest order of grit, and you have a right to be proud of yourself.  No mount of applause or money or both could save it from being a hell to a man constituted as you are.  It is that even to me, who am made of coarser stuff.

I knew the audiences would come forward and shake hands with you—­that one infallible sign of sincere approval.  In all my life, wherever it failed me I left the hall sick and ashamed, knowing what it meant.

Privately speaking, this is a sordid and criminal war, and in every way shameful and excuseless.  Every day I write (in my head) bitter magazine articles about it, but I have to stop with that.  For England must not fall; it would mean an inundation of Russian and German political degradations which would envelop the globe and steep it in a sort of Middle-Age night and slavery which would last till Christ comes again.  Even wrong—­and she is wrong—­England must be upheld.  He is an enemy of the human race who shall speak against her now.  Why was the human race created?  Or at least why wasn’t something creditable created in place of it.  God had his opportunity.  He could have made a reputation.  But no, He must commit this grotesque folly—­a lark which must have cost him a regret or two when He came to think it over and observe effects.  For a giddy and unbecoming caprice there has been nothing like it till this war.  I talk the war with both sides—­always waiting until the other man introduces the topic.  Then I say “My head is with the Briton, but my heart and such rags of morals as I have are with the Boer—­now we will talk, unembarrassed and without prejudice.”  And so we discuss, and have no trouble.

Jan. 26.  It was my intention to make some disparaging remarks about the human race; and so I kept this letter open for that purpose, and for the purpose of telling my dream, wherein the Trinity were trying to guess a conundrum, but I can do better—­for I can snip out of the “Times” various samples and side-lights which bring the race down to date, and expose it as of yesterday.  If you will notice, there is seldom a telegram in a paper which fails to show up one or more members and beneficiaries of our Civilization as promenading in his shirt-tail, with the rest of his regalia in the wash.