“The date is 1840. Scene the true Isles of the Blest; that is to say, the Sandwich Isles--to this day the peacefullest, restfullest, sunniest, balmiest, dreamiest haven of refuge for a worn and weary spirit the surface of the earth can offer. Away out there in the mid-solitudes of the vast Pacific, and far down to the edge of the tropics, they lie asleep on the waves, perpetually green and beautiful, remote from the work-day world and its frets and worries, a bloomy, fragrant paradise, where the troubled may go and find peace, and the sick and tired find strength and rest. There they lie, the divine islands, forever shining in the sun, forever smiling out on the sparkling sea, with its soft mottlings of drifting cloud-shadows and vagrant cat’s-paws of wind; forever inviting you, never repulsing you; and whosoever looks upon them once will never more get the picture out of his memory till he die. With him it will stay, and be always present; always present and always fresh; neither time nor distance can dim its features, or dull their charm, or reconcile him to the thought that he will never see that picture with his eyes of flesh again.”
That is all I have.
So, what happened to Mark Twain’s manuscript? Some writers have made its disappearance a topic not even Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson could solve.
Some believe it was rewritten into Twain’s book, The Confederate Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, for many of it feudal concepts and practices which come under attack in Yankee had their inception in Twain’s observations of the Sandwich Islands. However, no one knows for sure.
And now you must be tired of my ramblings and so I will say, “A Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night.”
I love every single one of you,
Joyce
