The story Every man must learn his trade—not pick it up. God requires that he learn it by slow & painful processes. The apprentice-hand, in blacksmithing, in medicine, in literature, in everything is a thing that can’t be hidden. It always shows.

But happily there is a market for apprentice-work, else the Innocents Abroad would have had no sale. Happily, too, there’s a wider market for some sorts of apprentice-literature than there is for the very best of journey-work. This work of yours is exceedingly crude, but its very over-enthusiasms should commend it to the uncritical common herd. I am free

It is too crude to offer to any prominent periodical

to say it is less crude than I expected it to be, & considerably better work than I believed you could do.

It is too crude to offer to any prominent periodical, so I shall speak to the N. Y. Weekly people. To publish it in that will be to bury it. Why could not some good genius have sent me to the N. Y. Weekly with my apprentice-sketches?

You should not publish it in book form at all—for this reason: it is only an imitation of Verne, at last—it is not a burlesque. But I think it may be regarded as proof that Verne cannot be burlesqued.

In accompanying notes I have suggested that you vastly modify the first visit to hell, & leave out the second visit altogether. Nodbody would or ought to print those those things.

You are not avdvanced enough in literature to venture upon a matter requiring so much practice. Let me show you what a man has got to go through:

Eight Nine years ago I mapped out my “Journey in h Heaven.” I discussed it with literary friends whom I could trust to keep it to themselves. I gave it a deal of thought, from time to time. After a year or more, I wrote it up. It was not a success. Five years ago I wrote it again, altering the plan. That MS is at my elbow now. It was a considerable improvement on the first attempt, but still it wouldn’t do. Last year & year before I talked frequently with Howells about the subject, & he kept urging me to do it again. So I thought & thought, at odd moments, & at last I struck what I considered to be the right plan! Mind, I never have altered the ideas, from the first—the plan was the difficulty. When Howells was here last, I laid before him the whole story without referring to my MS., & he said: “Drop the “You have got it, sure, this time. But drop the idea of making mere magazine stuff of it. Don’t waste it. Print it by itself—publish it first in England—ask Dean Stanley to endorse it, which will draw some of the teeth of the religious press, & then reprint in America.”

I doubt my ability to get Dean Stanley to do anything of the sort, but I shall do the rest—& this is all a secret, which you must not divulge.

Now look here—I have tried, all these years, to think of some way of “doing” hell, too—& have always had to give it up. Hell, in my book, will not occupy five pages of MS, I judge—it will be only covert hints, I suppose, & quickly dropped. I may end by not even referring to it. And mind you, in my opinion you will find that you can’t write up hell so it will stand printing.

Neither Howells nor I believe in hell or the divinity of the Savior—but no matter, the Savior is none the less a sacred Personage & a man should have no desire or disposition to refer to him lightly, profanely, or otherwise than with the profoundest reverence. The olnly safe thing is not to introduce him or refer to him at all, I suspect.

I have re entirely re-writtenⒶemendation one book 3 (perhaps 4) times, changing the plan every time—1200 pages of MS wasted & burned—& shall tackle it again, one of these years & may be succeed at last. Therefore you need not expect to get your book right the first time.

Go to work & re-vampⒶemendation or re-write it. God only exhibits his thunder-&-lightning at intervals, & so they always command attention. These are God’s adjectives. You thunder-&-lighten too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by & by.

Mr. Perkins will send you & Ma your checks when we are gone. But don’t write him, ever, except a single line in case he forgets the checks—for the man is driven to death with work.

I see you are already half ve promising yourself a money-return for your book. In my experience, previously counted chickens never do hatch. How many of mine I have counted!—& never a one of them but failed! It is much better to hedge disappointment by not counting. Unexpected money is a delight. The same sum is a bitterness when you expected more.

My time in America is growing mighty short. Perhaps we can manage in this way:

Imprimis, if the N. Y. Weekly people know that you are my brother, they will turn that fact into an advertisement—a thing of valuee to them, but not to you & me. This must be prevented. I will write them a note to say you have near a friend near Keokuk, Charles S. Miller, who has a MS for sale which you think is a pretty clever travesty on Verne; & if they want it they might write to him und in your care. Then if any correspondence ensues between you & them, tell let Mollie write for you & sign your name—your own handwriting representing Miller’s.

Keep yourself out of sight till you make a strike on your own merits—there is no other way to get a fair verdict upon your merits.

Later—I’ve written the note to Smith, & with nothing in it which he can use as an advertisement.

I’m called—Good-byeⒶemendation—love to you both. We leave here next Wednesday for Elmira; we leave there Apl 9 or 10—& sail 11th.