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"O soul, soul, soul of mine:
Soul, soul, soul of thine!
Thy soul, my soul, two souls entwine,
And sing thy lauds in crystal wine!"
This he goes about repeating to everybody, daily and nightly, insomuch
that he is become a sore affliction to all that know him.
But I must desist. There are drafts here, everywhere and my gout is
something frightful. My left foot hath resemblance to a snuff-bladder.
God be with you.
HARTFORD.
These to Lady Hartford, in the earldom of Hartford, in the upper portion
of the city of Dublin.
One may imagine the joy of Howells and the others in this ludicrous
extravaganza, which could have been written by no one but Mark
Twain. It will hardly take rank as prophecy, though certainly true
forecast in it is not wholly lacking.
Clemens was now pretty well satisfied with his piloting story, but
he began to have doubts as to its title, "Old Times on the
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