“He was constructing what seemed to be some kind of frail mechanical toy.” “It must try your patience pretty sharply sometimes.” One-armed Pete “Father, I am going to shake hands with Major Hawkins.” “Must he go down in his spectral night dress?” “Clah to goodness it’s de fust time I’ve sot eyes on ’em.” Parker, assistant editor of the _Democrat_ “How do you do?” “Both were so paralyzed with joy.” “It had already happened.” “His thoughts had been far away from these things.” “Fool or _no_ fool, he would grab it.” “No. 5 started a laugh.” Capt. Saltmarsh and brother of the brush Wasted sewer gas “Eastward with that great light transfiguring their faces.” It was a violent case of mutual love at first sight “Time dragged heavily for both, now.” “Oh, my God, she’s kissing it!” “The shady devil had knifed her.” “You an earl’s son! Show me the signs.” “My father!” “Finally there was a quiet wedding at the Towers.” EXPLANATORY The Colonel Mulberry Sellers here re-introduced to the public is the same person who appeared as _Eschol_ Sellers in the first edition of the tale entitled “The Gilded Age,” years ago, and as _Beriah_ Sellers in the subsequent editions of the same book, and finally as _Mulberry_ Sellers in the drama played afterward by John T. Raymond. The name was changed from Eschol to Beriah to accommodate an Eschol Sellers who rose up out of the vasty deeps of uncharted space and preferred his request—backed by threat of a libel suit—then went his way appeased, and came no more. In the play Beriah had to be dropped to satisfy another member of the race, and Mulberry was substituted in the hope that the objectors would be tired by that time and let it pass unchallenged. So far it has occupied the field in peace; therefore we chance it again, feeling reasonably safe, this time, under shelter of the statute of limitations. MARK TWAIN. Hartford, 1891. THE WEATHER IN THIS BOOK. No weather will be found in this book. This is an attempt to pull a book through without weather. It being the first attempt of the kind in fictitious literature, it may prove a failure, but it seemed worth the while of some dare-devil person to try it, and the author was in just the mood. Many a reader who wanted to read a tale through was not able to do it because of delays on account of the weather. Nothing breaks up an author’s progress like having to stop every few pages to fuss-up the weather. Thus it is plain that persistent intrusions of weather are bad for both reader and author.