0, Felt as I strolled about after breakfast that I should be willing to go to sleep for the winter and wake up to find myself here [Dublin] again.
There is still woodchopping to be done and I hate to leave it.
Of our neighbors the Abbot Thayers, he said they live outdoors, know all birds and butterflies, and rear the latter from the chrysalis till they flutter in and out of the great sitting-room as if it were their home.
One summer we had Mark Twain for a neighbor:—
Called on Clemens.
Found him in bed where he prefers to write, a strange picturesque object, in night clothes, with curly white hair standing up over his head.
The bed was covered with written sheets which his daughter carried off at intervals, to be copied by her on typewriter, his secretary only writing his correspondence.
He often leaves off anything in the middle and begins on something else and goes back to it. He has always worked in this way and likes it.
In our early years at Dublin, the Smit