It was a presidential year and the air was thick with politics. Mark Twain was no longer actively interested in the political situation; he was only disheartened by the hollowness and pretense of office-seeking, and the methods of office-seekers in general. Shall we ever laugh again? If I could only see a dog that I knew in the old times! and could put my arms around his neck and tell him all, everything, and ease my heart. Think--in 3 hours it will be a week!--and soon a month; and by and by a year. How fast our dead fly from us. Aldrich was here half an hour ago, like a breeze from over the fields, with the fragrance still upon his spirit. I am tired of waiting for that man to get old. When a man is a pessimist before 48 he knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little. TWAIN'S LETTERS V6 1907-1910 by A. B. Paine[MT#59][mt6lt10.txt]3198 That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my brain. . . Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for it. You ought not to say sarcastic things about my "fighting on the other side." General Grant did not act like that. General Grant paid me compliments. He bracketed me with Zenophon--it is there in his Memoirs for anybody to read. He said if all the confederate soldiers had followed my example and adopted my military arts he could never have caught enough of them in a bunch to inconvenience the Rebellion. General Grant was a fair man, and recognized my worth; but you are prejudiced, and you have hurt my feelings. DEAR HOWELLS,--I have to write a line, lazy as I am, to say how your Poe article delighted me; and to say that I am in agreement with substantially all you say about his literature. To me his prose is unreadable--like Jane Austin's. No, there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death. COMPLETE LETTERS OF MARK TWAIN, by Paine [MT#60][mtclt10.txt]3199 That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my brain. . . Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for it. Shall we ever laugh again? If I could only see a dog that I knew in the old times! and could put my arms around his neck and tell him all, everything, and ease my heart. Think--in 3 hours it will be a week!--and soon a month; and by and by a year. How fast our dead fly from us. I used to like the sea, but I was young then, and could easily get excited over any kind of monotony, and keep it up till the monotonies ran out. And I say this also: He that waiteth for all men to be satisfied with his plan, let him seek eternal life, for he shall need it. Well-good-bye, and a short life and a merry one be yours. Poor old Methusaleh, how did he manage to stand it so long?