editorial office of the atlantic monthly. the riverside press, cambridge, mass.
Aug. 20, 1876.
My dear Clemens:
Why don’t you come out with a letter, or speech, or something, for Hayes? I honestly believe that there isn’t another man in the country who could help him so much as you. Do think the matter seriously over.
I’m making an enormous quantity of copy in a very brief time, and my love is longer than my letter
can be. Mrs. Howells and I delighted in that speech of Susie’s—it was charming; and I must tell you one of Bua’s in return. I’m sorry
‸to say‸ that he picked up at Shirley the habit of profane swearing, of which he broke himself with many tears and groans.
The other night, here, he had nightmares, and I went to him as usual. He wanted, of course, to make conversation, so as to prolong the
interview, and asked if I thought his B.D. (bad dream) came from something he’d eaten for supper. I said I thought not.
“Then do you suppose it was something the matter with the prayer?” (He prays before going to
sleep for 15 minutes, ‸lying‸ with his hands folded like the effigy of a crusader.) I told him
the Almighty
that I hadn’t sworn that day”!
Yours ever
W. D. Howells.
I’m going to put you into the ‸Atlantic‸ prospectus for ’77 any way—for something.
