And, through the cadavers of the apple-trees in the orchard behind the house, there rattled a wind from the sea, the sea to which men go down in ships never to return, telling of sorrow and all that sort of thing.
"Fate," some people call it.
To Irma Hathaway it was all the same.
June, July, August
Tulips, crocuses and chard,
And the wax bean
In the back yard.
And the open road to the land of dreams,
With the heavy swirl
Of the singing streams.
Oh! boy!
Unpublished Letters of Mark Twain
With a foreword by Albert Bigelow Paine[1]
FOREWORD
This letter from Mark Twain to Mr. Horace J. Borrow of Hartford has recently been called to my attention by a niece of Mr. Borrow's who now lives in Glastonbury. I have no reason to believe that the lady is a charlatan, in fact, I have often heard Mark Twain speak of Mr. Borrow in the highest terms.
[1] The complete works of Mark Twain, with complete forewords by Mr. Paine are, oddly enough, published by Harper and Bros. who, oddly enough, also publish this magazine. We celebrate this coincidence by offering the complete set to our readers on easy and friendly terms.