MARK TWAIN

down in the privacy of his heart, has any considerable
respect for himself.

Dec. 13, Friday, 1895. Sailed from Wellington, New
Zealand, today at 3:15 P.M. in the Mararoa. (Returning
to Australia.)

Now let us have a storm, and a heavy one. This is the
damnest menagerie of mannerless children I have ever
gone to sea with.

In the past year have read Vicar of Wakefield and
some of Jane Austen. Thoroughly artificial.

Back to Australia

Tuesday, Dec. 17. Reached Sydney 9 A.M. Day before
yesterday it was full Sydney summer—95 in the shade,
and as hot as 115 at Horsham. Then came a "burster"—
kind of hurricane—out of the south—the twin of the
Texas "Norther"—and knocked the mercury down 36
degrees in four hours. The dust blew. It will be cool
weather now for a spell.

Rain. Praying subject up again. Rev. Dr. Strong has
been trying to explain why prayers for rain are not a
proper sort to make. The usual result: a nest of ignorant
hornets waked up—violent, vituperative, insulting people.
One of them quotes passages from the New Testament
to show that what thing soever a righteous Christian prays
for, he will get it—otherwise God would be violating his
contract. Then almost in the next sentence this logician
says—"God reserves the privilege of exercising His own
judgment as to which things prayed for He will grant."

Went to see "For the Term of His Natural Life." Even
when the chain gangs were humorous they were still a most
pathetic sight. The play goes far to enable one to realize

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