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There is another letter written just at this time which of all
letters must not be omitted here. Only five years earlier Mark
Twain, poor, and comparatively unknown, had been carrying water
while Jim Gillis and Dick Stoker washed out the pans of dirt in
search of the gold pocket which they did not find. Clemens must
have received a letter from Gillis referring to some particular
occasion, but it has disappeared; the reply, however, always
remained one of James Gillis's treasured possessions.
*
****
To James Gillis, in his cabin on Jackass Hill, Tuolumne Co., California:
ELMIRA, N.Y. Jan. 26, '70.
DEAR JIM,--I remember that old night just as well! And somewhere among
my relics I have your remembrance stored away. It makes my heart ache
yet to call to mind some of those days. Still, it shouldn't--for right
in the depths of their poverty and their pocket-hunting vagabondage
lay the germ of my coming good fortune. You remember the one gleam
of jollity that shot across our dismal sojourn in the rain and mud of
Angels' Camp I mean that day we sat around the tavern stove and heard
that chap tell about the frog and how they filled him with shot. And you
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