MARK TWAIN

a little jeeringly—and this embarrassed her and she made
an awkward pretence that I had misunderstood her. I
made a sarcastic remark about this pretence, and asked
for a spoon to eat my pie with. She had but the one
and she took it out of her mouth, in a quite matter-of-
course way, and offered it to me. My stomach rose—there
everything vanished.

It was not a dream—it all happened. I was actually
there in person—in my spiritualized condition. My, how
vivid it all was! Even to the texture of her shirt, its dull
white color, and the pale brown tint of a stain on the
shoulder of it. I had never seen that girl; I was not
acquainted with her—but dead or alive she is a reality \ she
exists and she was there. Her pie was a spiritualized
pie, no doubt, and also her shirt and the bench and the
shed—but their actualities were at that moment in exist-
ence somewhere in the world.

The time that my dream self first appeared to me and
explained itself (apparently I was for the moment dream-
ing) it was as insubstantial as a dim blue smoke, and I
saw the furniture through it, but it was dressed in my
customary clothes.

He does not stick to his text—not altogether—-
as who can in any attempt to elucidate the shades
of difference between under-conscious and semi-
conscious dream personalities—our various and
multiple selves? In the last paragraph we feel
a touch of fiction, seldom entirely lacking with
him, however much he tried to stick to the literal
relation. Very likely he felt this himself, and so
ended in this incomplete fashion.

Vienna, Jan. 19, '98. Tonight drove out to Leschetizk/s
house (wife and Clara along) to attend one of the fort-
nightly meetings of his piano class. About 25 of his great
multitude of people present. The master sat at one piano,

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