I am delighted with your review, & so is Mrs. Clemens. What you have said, there, will convince anybody that reads it; a body cannot help it. That is the kind of a review to have; the doubtful man, even the prejudiced man, is persuaded, & succumbs. Henry Robinson met me on the street, yesterday, & shouted in his vigorous way: “Seen that review in P the Tribune? it’s a good one, mighty good one, Clemens—done by a master, Clemens, done by a master—hope the book’s half as good as the review; yes, & I hope it’s half as good as the reviewer thinks it is & believes it is.”

That document takes care of the opinions of the country general press pretty effectually. That was my main solicitude; I can drop it out of my mind, now.

What a queer blunder that was, about the baronet. I can’t quite see how I ever made it. There was an opulent abundance of things I didn’t know; & consequently no sh need to trench upon the vest-pocketful of things I did know, to get material for a blunder.

Charley Warren Stoddard has gone to the Sandwich Islands permanently. Lucky devil. It is the only supremely delightful place on earth. It does seem that the more advantages a body doesn’t earn, here, the more of them God throws at his head. This fellow’s postal card has set the vision of those gracious islands before my mind, again, with not a leaf withered, nor a rainbow vanished, nor a sun-flash missing from the waves, & n & now it will be months, I reckon, before I can drive it away again. It is beautiful company, but it makes one restless & dissatisfied.

With love & thanks,