first two pages of letter missing when transcript was madeⒶemendation

We are going to partly tear down our big north chimney in the spring & see if we can’t make that dining room fireplaceⒶemendation work better.

We had a very lovely visit from Sam, its only fault being that it was too short. He didn’t give us much notice, but it turned out all right, as 5 persons whom we were expecting upon a succession of days all failed to come, for one reason or another.

I tried to make Sam open his mouth when he talks, & also expel the sounds,Ⓐemendation not keep them within, & also cut his syllablesⒶemendation distinctly—I mean cleanly.

He has the worst use of the organs of speech of any educated person I have ever seen. When he stood facing me, only 4 feet away, & read a passage from a book, I caught only the general meaning of what he said.

I think his coughs & bronchial troubles are sufficiently accounted for. I only wonder that he has any lungs or throat left. Sam flats on all words; I do not believe he pronounces any word in the language roundly & correctly. It will take long & diligent & pains-taking training, with a good singing-master (no idiot elecutionist,) to cure these formidable defects—& the sooner he gets at it the better, I judge.

Yes, no doubt I got the letters & sermons, but I don’t often answer any but business letters, because the other sort require so much time,—I only answer Mother Langdon’s letters once a year & Susie Crane’s once in two years. I don’t answer Clara Spaulding’s at all, though we consider her a member of the family.

Well I did answer one of hers some time ago, but it was a mistake; it alarmed her—she supposed I must be sick. You see, I write on an average, 400 pages of manuscript per working month—to do this, one must make it a rigid duty to refrain from writing family letters—there ain’tⒶemendation any other way. I can’t write one before work, for then I should go to work with depleted fuel; I can’t write one after work, for that would waste me like sickness (I’m 45 & must go carefully;) when I do write one, I don’t do any work that dayⒶemendation. You see, I conscientiously put the very best work I possibly can into my books, for I have made an estimate & found that I get 25 cents a word for every word in the “Tramp,” whichⒶemendation is $20 per note-paper page of M.S.—for I usually get 80 words onto a page like this which I am now writing.

I try to keep my weekly holidays (Saturday & Sunday) utterly sacred from mental activity of any sort; wherefore if I am to write a friendly letter, I sacrifice a work day to it.

I’m not sacrificing a work-day today, however,Ⓐemendation because I finished a story the size of Tom Sawyer last week and I’m standing idle till next Tuesday, when the contract with the publisher is to be ratified.

But the publisher is going to find himself in a tight place, for he has over looked the principal party to this contract—Livy. I have 2Ⓐemendation stories, &Ⓐemendation by the verbal agreement they are both going into the same book; but Livy says they’re not, &Ⓐemendation by George IⒶemendation she ought to know. She says they areⒶemendation going into separate books, &Ⓐemendation that one of them is going to be elegantly gotten up, even if the elegance of it eats up the publisher’s profits &Ⓐemendation mine too.

I anticipate that publisher’s melancholy surprise when he calls here Tuesday. However, let him suffer,Ⓐemendation it is his own fault. People who fix up agreements with me without first finding out what Livy’s plans are,Ⓐemendation take their fate into their own hands.

I said two Ⓐemendation stories—but one of them is only half done; two or three months’Ⓐemendation work on it yet. I shall tackle it Wednesday or Thursday—Ⓐemendationthat is,Ⓐemendationif Livy yieldsⒶemendation &Ⓐemendation allows both stories to go in one book—which I hope she won’t, Ⓐemendation for I wish to do book-work only in the summer time, reserving the

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