Henry Ward Beecher sent for me last Sunday to come over and dine (he lives in Brooklyn, you know,) and I went. Harriet Beecher Stowe was there, and Mrs. and Miss Beecher, Mrs. Hooker and my old Quaker City favorite, Emma Beach. We had a very gay time, if it was Sunday. I expect I told more lies than I have told before in a month. I went back by invitation, after the evening service, and finished the blow-out, and then staid all night at Mr. Beach's. Henry Ward is a brick. I found out at 10 o'clock, last night, that I was to lecture tomorrow evening and so you must be aware that I have been working like sin all night to get a lecture written. I have finished it, I call it “Frozen Truth.” It is a little top-heavy, though, because there is more truth in the title than there is in the lecture. But thunder, I mustn't sit here writing all day, with so much business before me. Good by, and kind regards to all. Yrs affy SAM L. CLEMENS. Jack Van Nostrand of this letter is “Jack” of the Innocents. Emma Beach was the daughter of Moses S. Beach, of the 'New York Sun.' Later she became the wife of the well-known painter, Abbot H. Thayer. We do not hear of Miss Langdon again in the letters of that time, but it was not because she was absent from his thoughts. He had first seen her with her father and brother at the old St. Nicholas Hotel, on lower Broadway, where, soon after the arrival of the Quaker City in New York, he had been invited to dine. Long afterward he said: “It is forty years ago; from that day to this she has never been out of my mind.” From his next letter we learn of the lecture which apparently was delivered in Washington. ***** To Mrs. Jane Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis: WASH. Jan. 9, 1868. MY DEAR MOTHER AND SISTER,--That infernal lecture is over, thank Heaven! It came near being a villainous failure. It was not advertised at all. The manager was taken sick yesterday, and the man who was sent to tell me, never got to me till afternoon today. There was the dickens to pay. It was too late to do anything--too late to stop the lecture. I scared up a door-keeper, and was ready at the proper time, and by pure good luck a tolerably good house assembled and I was saved! I hardly knew what I was going to talk about, but it went off in splendid style. I was to have preached again Saturday night, but I won't--I can't get along without a manager. I have been in New York ever since Christmas, you know, and now I shall have to work like sin to catch up my correspondence. And I have got to get up that book, too. Cut my letters out of the Alta's and send them to me in an envelop. Some, here, that are not mailed yet, I shall have to copy, I suppose. I have got a thousand things to do, and am not doing any of them. I feel perfectly savage.