May 31 Thursday – In Paris Sam wrote to Henry H. Rogers, minutes after hearing from his secretary, Katharine I. Harrison, of the death of Abbie Gifford Rogers (Mrs. Rogers).

I cannot realize that she is gone, & that there will be a void in the house when I come again. She was so young; & in all ways so lovely. She was not even entering age yet. It seems impossible; & yet for all my grief I must believe it. When I think of yours, words fail; they cannot measure your loss. And they have no power to lessen your sense of it, or bring you any comfort. I can offer sympathy out of the bottom of my heart, and I do; but I know no healing words, & indeed there are none. If there were, I would find them. I will let myself hope, & dream, that you will come abroad with me & find some help in rest & change. It may be that you cannot see your way to it, but I will hope.

I am glad I have her picture, & that it is by her own consent that I have it [MTHHR 57-8].

The New York Times ran a squib on p.6, “Circumstantial Evidence.”

Mark Twain in The Century

Even the clearest and most perfect circumstantial evidence is likely to be at fault, after all, and therefore ought to be received with great caution. Take the case of any pencil, sharpened by any woman; if you have witnesses, you will find she did it with a knife; but if you take simply the aspect of the pencil, you will say she did it with her teeth.