The next letter to Twichell takes up politics and humanity in general, in a manner complimentary to neither.  Mark Twain was never really a pessimist, but he had pessimistic intervals, such as come to most of us in life’s later years, and at such times he let himself go without stint concerning “the damned human race,” as he called it, usually with a manifest sense of indignation that he should be a member of it.  In much of his later writing —­A Mysterious Stranger for example—­he said his say with but small restraint, and certainly in his purely intellectual moments he was likely to be a pessimist of the most extreme type, capably damning the race and the inventor of it.  Yet, at heart, no man loved his kind more genuinely, or with deeper compassion, than Mark Twain, perhaps for its very weaknesses.  It was only that he had intervals —­frequent intervals, and rather long ones—­when he did not admire it, and was still more doubtful as to the ways of providence.

To Rev. J. H. Twichell, in Hartford: 

March 14, ’05. 
Dear Joe,—­I have a Puddn’head maxim: 

“When a man is a pessimist before 48 he knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little.”

It is with contentment, therefore, that I reflect that I am better and wiser than you.  Joe, you seem to be dealing in “bulks,” now; the “bulk” of the farmers and U. S. Senators are “honest.”  As regards purchase and sale with money?  Who doubts it?  Is that the only measure of honesty?  Aren’t there a dozen kinds of honesty which can’t be measured by the money-standard?  Treason is treason—­and there’s more than one form of it; the money-form is but one of them.  When a person is disloyal to any confessed duty, he is plainly and simply dishonest, and knows it; knows it, and is privately troubled about it and not proud of himself.  Judged by this standard—­and who will challenge the validity of it?—­there isn’t an honest man in Connecticut, nor in the Senate, nor anywhere else.  I do not even except myself, this time.

Am I finding fault with you and the rest of the populace?  No—­I assure you I am not.  For I know the human race’s limitations, and this makes it my duty—­my pleasant duty—­to be fair to it.  Each person in it is honest in one or several ways, but no member of it is honest in all the ways required by—­by what?  By his own standard.  Outside of that, as I look at it, there is no obligation upon him.

Am I honest?  I give you my word of honor (private) I am not.  For seven years I have suppressed a book which my conscience tells me I ought to publish.  I hold it a duty to publish it.  There are other difficult duties which I am equal to, but I am not equal to that one.  Yes, even I am dishonest.  Not in many ways, but in some.  Forty-one, I think it is.  We are certainly all honest in one or several ways—­every man in the world—­though I have reason to think I am the only one whose black-list runs so light.  Sometimes I feel lonely enough in this lofty solitude.