So I thought and thought, at odd moments and at last I struck what I considered to be the right plan!  Mind I have never altered the ideas, from the first—­the plan was the difficulty.  When Howells was here last, I laid before him the whole story without referring to my Ms and he said:  “You have got it sure this time.  But drop the idea of making mere magazine stuff of it.  Don’t waste it.  Print it by itself—­publish it first in England—­ask Dean Stanley to endorse it, which will draw some of the teeth of the religious press, and then reprint in America.”  I doubt my ability to get Dean Stanley to do anything of the sort, but I shall do the rest—­and this is all a secret which you must not divulge.

Now look here—­I have tried, all these years, to think of some way of “doing” hell too—­and have always had to give it up.  Hell, in my book, will not occupy five pages of Ms I judge—­it will be only covert hints, I suppose, and quickly dropped, I may end by not even referring to it.

And mind you, in my opinion you will find that you can’t write up hell so it will stand printing.  Neither Howells nor I believe in hell or the divinity of the Savior, but no matter, the Savior is none the less a sacred Personage, and a man should have no desire or disposition to refer to him lightly, profanely, or otherwise than with the profoundest reverence.

The only safe thing is not to introduce him, or refer to him at all, I suspect.  I have entirely rewritten one book 3 (perhaps 4.) times, changing the plan every time—­1200 pages of Ms. wasted and burned—­and shall tackle it again, one of these years and maybe succeed at last.  Therefore you need not expect to get your book right the first time.  Go to work and revamp or rewrite it.  God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention.  These are God’s adjectives.  You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by and by.

Mr. Perkins will send you and Ma your checks when we are gone.  But don’t write him, ever, except a single line in case he forgets the checks—­for the man is driven to death with work.

I see you are half promising yourself a monthly return for your book.  In my experience, previously counted chickens never do hatch.  How many of mine I have counted! and never a one of them but failed!  It is much better to hedge disappointment by not counting.—­Unexpected money is a delight.  The same sum is a bitterness when you expected more.

My time in America is growing mighty short.  Perhaps we can manage in this way:  Imprimis, if the N. Y. Weekly people know that you are my brother, they will turn that fact into an advertisement—­a thing of value to them, but not to you and me.  This must be prevented.  I will write them a note to say you have a friend near Keokuk, Charles S. Miller, who has a Ms for sale which you think is a pretty clever travesty on Verne; and if they want it they might write to him in your care.  Then if any correspondence ensues between you and them, let Mollie write for you and sign your name—­your own hand writing representing Miller’s.  Keep yourself out of sight till you make a strike on your own merits there is no other way to get a fair verdict upon your merits.