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clothing the hillside by which his house stood。 We agreed that there was
a novel charm in trees seen from such a vantage； far surpassing that of
the farther scenery。 He had not been a country boy for nothing； rather
he had been a country boy； or； still better； a village boy； for
everything that Nature can offer the young of our species； and no aspect
of her was lost on him。 We were natives of the same vast Mississippi
Valley； and Missouri was not so far from Ohio but that we were akin in
our first knowledges of woods and fields as we were in our early
parlance。 I had outgrown the use of mine through my greater bookishness；
but I gladly recognized the phrases which he employed for their lasting
juiciness and the long…remembered savor they had on his mental palate。
I have elsewhere sufficiently spoken of his unsophisticated use of words；
of the diction which forms the backbone of his manly style。 If I mention
my own greater bookishness； by which I mean his less quantitative
reading； it is to give myself better occasion to note that he was always
reading some vital book。 It might be some out…of…the…way book； but it
had the root of the human matter in it： a volume of great trials； one of
the supreme autobiographies； a signal passage of history； a narrative of
travel； a story of captivity； which gave him life at first…hand。 As I
remember； he did not care much for fiction； and in that sort he had
certain distinct loathings； there were certain authors whose names he
seemed not so much to pronounce as to spew out of his mouth。 Goldsmith
was one of these； but his prime abhorrence was my dear and honored prime
favorite； Jane Austen。 He once said to me； I suppose after he had been
reading some of my unsparing praises of herI am always praising her；
〃You seem to think that woman could write；〃 and he forbore withering me
with his scorn； apparently because we had been friends so long； and he
more pitied than hated me for my bad taste。 He seemed not to have any
preferences among novelists； or at least I never heard him express any。
He used to read the modern novels I praised； in or out of print； but I do
not think he much liked reading fiction。 As for plays； he detested the
theatre； and said he would as lief do a sum as follow a plot on the
stage。 He could not； or did not； give any reasons for his literary
abhorrences； and perhaps he really had none。 But he could have said very
distinctly； if he had needed； why he liked the books he did。 I was away
at the time of his great Browning passion； and I know of it chiefly from
hearsay； but at the time Tolstoy was doing what could be done to make me
over Clemens wrote； 〃That man seems to have been to you what Browning was
to me。〃 I do not know that he had other favorites among the poets； but
he had favorite poems which he liked to read to you； and he read； of
course； splendidly。 I have forgotten what piece of John Hay's it was
that he liked so much； but I remembered how he fiercely revelled in the
vengefulness of William Morris's 'Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast；' and how
he especially exalted in the lines which tell of the supposed speaker's
joy in slaying the murderer of his brother：
〃I am threescore years and ten；
And my hair is 'nigh turned gray；
But I am glad to think of the moment when
I took his life away。〃
Generally； I fancy his pleasure in poetry was not great； and I do not
believe he cared much for the conventionally accepted masterpieces of
literature。 He liked to find out good things and great things for
himself； sometimes he would discover these in a masterpiece new to him
alone； and then； if you brought his ignorance home to him； he enjoyed it；
and enjoyed it the more the more you rubbed it in。
Of all the literary men I have known he was the most unliterary in his
make and manner。 I do not know whether he had any acquaintance with
Latin； but I believe not the least； German he knew pretty well； and
Italian enough late in life to have fun with it； but he used English in
all its alien derivations as if it were native to his own air； as if it
had come up out of American； out of Missourian ground。 His style was
what we know； for good and for bad； but his manner； if I may difference
the two； was as entirely his own as if no one had ever written before。
I have noted before this how he was not enslaved to the consecutiveness
in writing which the rest of us try to keep chained to。 That is； he
wrote as he thought； and as all men think； without sequence； without an
eye to what went before or should come after。 If something beyond or
beside what he was saying occurred to him； he invited it into his page；
and made it as much at home there as the nature of it would suffer him。
Then； when he was through with the welcoming of this casual and
unexpected guest； he would go back to the company he was entertaining；
and keep on with what he had been talking about。 He observed this manner
in the construction of his sentences； and the arrangement of his
chapters； and the ordering or disordering of his compilations。 ＇Nowhere
is this characteristic better found than in Twain's Autobiography；' it
was not a 〃style〃 it was unselfconscious thought D。W。＇ I helped him
with a Library of Humor； which he once edited； and when I had done my
work according to tradition； with authors； times； and topics carefully
studied in due sequence； he tore it all apart； and 〃chucked〃 the pieces
in wherever the fancy； for them took him at the moment。 He was right： we
were not making a text…book； but a book for the pleasure rather than the
instruction of the reader； and he did not see why the principle on which
he built his travels and reminiscences and tales and novels should not
apply to it； and I do not now see； either； though at the time it
confounded me。 On minor points he was； beyond any author I have known；
without favorite phrases or pet words。 He utterly despised the avoidance
of repetitions out of fear of tautology。 If a word served his turn
better than a substitute； he would use it as many times in a page as he
chose。
V。
At that time I had become editor of The Atlantic Monthly； and I had
allegiances belonging to the conduct of what was and still remains the
most scrupulously cultivated of our periodicals。 When Clemens began to
write for it he came willingly under its rules； for with all his
wilfulness there never was a more biddable man in things you could show
him a reason for。 He never made the least of that trouble which so
abounds for the hapless editor from narrower…minded contributors。 If you
wanted a thing changed； very good； he changed it； if you suggested that a
word or a sentence or a paragraph had better be struck out； very good；
he struck it out。 His proof…sheets came back each a veritable 〃mush of
concession；〃 as Emerson says。 Now and then he would try a little
stronger language than 'The Atlantic' had stomach for； and once when I
sent him a proof I made him observe that I had left out the profanity。
He wrote back： 〃Mrs。 Clemens opened that proof； and lit into the room
with danger in her eye。 What profanity？ You see； when I read the
manuscript to her I skipped that。〃 It was part of his joke to pretend a
violence in that gentlest creature which the more amusingly realized the
situation to their friends。
I was always very glad of him and proud of him as a contributor； but I
must not claim the whole merit； or the first merit of having him write
for us。 It was the publisher； the late H。 O。 Houghton； who felt the
incongruity of his absence from the leading periodical of the country；
and was always urging me to get him to write。 I will take the credit of
being eager for him； but it is to the publisher's credit that he tried；
so far as the modest traditions of 'The Atlantic' would permit； to meet
the expectations in pay which the colossal profits of Clemens's books
might naturally have bred in him。 Whether he was really able to do this
he never knew from Clemens himself； but probably twenty dollars a page
did not surfeit the author of books that 〃sold right along just like the
Bible。〃
We had several short contributions from Clemens first； all of capital
quality； and then we had the series of papers which went mainly to the
making of his great book； 'Life on the Mississippi'。 Upon the whole I
have the notion that Clemens thought this his greatest book； and he was
supported in his opinion by that of the 'portier' in his hotel at Vienna；
and that of the German Emperor； who； as he told me with equal respect for
the preference of each； united in thinking it his best； with such far…
sundered social poles approaching in its favor； he apparently found
himself without standing for opposition。 At any rate； the papers won
instant appreciation from his editor and publisher； and from the readers
of their periodical； which they expected to prosper beyond precedent in
its circulation。 But those were days of simpler acceptance of the
popular rights of newspapers than these are； when magazines strictly
guard their vested interests against them。 'The New York Times' and the
'St。 Louis Democrat' pro