His tendency to estimate the measure of the work he was doing, and

had completed, must have clung to him from his old printer days.

The chapter which was to get his heirs and assigns burned alive was

on the orthodox God, and there was more than one such chapter. In

the next letter he refers to two exquisite poems by Howells, and the

writer of these notes recalls his wonderful reading of them aloud.

'In Our Town' was a collection of short stories then recently issued

by William Allen White. Howells had recommended them.

To W. D. Howells, in Maine:

21 FIFTH AVE., Tuesday Eve.

DEAR HOWELLS,--It is lovely of you to say those beautiful things--I don't

know how to thank you enough. But I love you, that I know.

I read "After the Wedding" aloud and we felt all the pain of it and the

truth. It was very moving and very beautiful--would have been

over-comingly moving, at times, but for the haltings and pauses compelled

by the difficulties of MS--these were a protection, in that they

furnished me time to brace up my voice, and get a new start. Jean wanted

to keep the MS for another reading-aloud, and for "keeps," too, I

suspected, but I said it would be safest to write you about it.

I like "In Our Town," particularly that Colonel, of the Lookout Mountain

Oration, and very particularly pages 212-16. I wrote and told White so.

After "After the Wedding" I read "The Mother" aloud and sounded its human

deeps with your deep-sea lead. I had not read it before, since it was

first published.

I have been dictating some fearful things, for 4 successive mornings--for

no eye but yours to see until I have been dead a century--if then. But

I got them out of my system, where they had been festering for years--and

that was the main thing. I feel better, now.

I came down today on business--from house to house in 12 1/2 hours, and

expected to arrive dead, but am neither tired nor sleepy.

Yours as always

MARK.

To William Allen White, in Emporia, Kans.:

DUBLIN, NEW HAMPSHIRE,

June 24, 1906.

DEAR MR. WHITE,--Howells told me that "In Our Town" was a charming book,

and indeed it is. All of it is delightful when read one's self, parts of

it can score finely when subjected to the most exacting of tests--the

reading aloud. Pages 197 and 216 are of that grade. I have tried them a

couple of times on the family, and pages 212 and 216 are qualified to

fetch any house of any country, caste or color, endowed with those riches

which are denied to no nation on the planet--humor and feeling.

Talk again--the country is listening.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Witter Bynner, the poet, was one of the editors of McClure's

Magazine at this time, but was trying to muster the courage to give

up routine work for verse-making and the possibility of poverty.

Clemens was fond of Bynner and believed in his work. He did not

advise him, however, to break away entirely from a salaried

position--at least not immediately; but one day Bynner did so, and

reported the step he had taken, with some doubt as to the answer he

would receive.

To Witter Bynner, in New York:

DUBLIN, Oct. 5, 1906.

DEAR POET,--You have certainly done right for several good reasons; at

least, of them, I can name two:

1. With your reputation you can have your freedom and yet earn your

living. 2. if you fall short of succeeding to your wish, your

reputation will provide you another job. And so in high approval I

suppress the scolding and give you the saintly and fatherly pat instead.

MARK TWAIN.

On another occasion, when Bynner had written a poem to Clara

Clemens, her father pretended great indignation that the first poem

written by Bynner to any one in his household should not be to him,

and threatened revenge. At dinner shortly after he produced from

his pocket a slip of paper on which he had set down what he said was

"his only poem." He read the lines that follow:

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen,

The saddest are these: It might have been.

Ah, say not so! as life grows longer, leaner, thinner,

We recognize, O God, it might have Bynner!"

He returned to New York in October and soon after was presented by

Mrs. H. H. Rogers with a handsome billiard-table.

He had a passion for the game, but had played comparatively little

since the old Hartford days of fifteen years before, when a group of

his friends used to assemble on Friday nights in the room at the top

of the house for long, strenuous games and much hilarity. Now the

old fever all came back; the fascinations of the game superseded

even his interest in the daily dictations.

To Mrs. H. H. Rogers, in New York:

21 FIFTH AVENUE, Monday, Nov., 1906.

DEAR MRS. ROGERS,--The billiard table is better than the doctors. It is

driving out the heartburn in a most promising way. I have a billiardist

on the premises, and I walk not less than ten miles every day with the

cue in my hand. And the walking is not the whole of the exercise, nor

the most health-giving part of it, I think. Through the multitude of the

positions and attitudes it brings into play every muscle in the body and

exercises them all.

The games begin right after luncheon, daily, and continue until midnight,

with 2 hours' intermission for dinner and music. And so it is 9 hours'

exercise per day, and 10 or 12 on Sunday. Yesterday and last night it

was 12--and I slept until 8 this morning without waking. The billiard

table, as a Sabbath breaker can beat any coal-breaker in Pennsylvania,

and give it 30 in, the game. If Mr. Rogers will take to daily billiards

he can do without doctors and the massageur, I think.

We are really going to build a house on my farm, an hour and a half from

New York. It is decided. It is to be built by contract, and is to come

within $25,000.

With love and many thanks.

S. L. C.

P.S. Clara is in the sanitarium--till January 28 when her western

concert tour will begin. She is getting to be a mighty competent singer.

You must know Clara better; she is one of the very finest and completest

and most satisfactory characters I have ever met. Others knew it before,

but I have always been busy with other matters.

The "billiardist on the premises" was the writer of these notes,

who, earlier in the year, had become his biographer, and, in the

course of time, his daily companion and friend. The farm mentioned

was one which he had bought at Redding, Connecticut, where, later,

he built the house known as "Stormfield."

Henry Mills Alden, for nearly forty years editor of Harper's

Magazine, arrived at his seventieth birthday on November 11th that

year, and Harper & Brothers had arranged to give him a great dinner

in the offices of Franklin Square, where, for half a century, he had

been an active force. Mark Twain, threatened with a cold, and

knowing the dinner would be strenuous, did not feel able to attend,

so wrote a letter which, if found suitable, could be read at the

gathering.

To Mr. Henry Alden:

ALDEN,--dear and ancient friend--it is a solemn moment. You have now

reached the age of discretion. You have been a long time arriving. Many

years ago you docked me on an article because the subject was too old;

later, you docked me on an article because the subject was too new; later

still, you docked me on an article because the subject was betwixt and

between. Once, when I wrote a Letter to Queen Victoria, you did not put

it in the respectable part of the Magazine, but interred it in that

potter's field, the Editor's Drawer. As a result, she never answered it.

How often we recall, with regret, that Napoleon once shot at a magazine

editor and missed him and killed a publisher. But we remember, with

charity, that his intentions were good.

You will reform, now, Alden. You will cease from these economies, and

you will be discharged. But in your retirement you will carry with you

the admiration and earnest good wishes of the oppressed and toiling

scribes. This will be better than bread. Let this console you when the

bread fails.

You will carry with you another thing, too--the affection of the scribes;

for they all love you in spite of your crimes. For you bear a kind heart

in your breast, and the sweet and winning spirit that charms away all

hostilities and animosities, and makes of your enemy your friend and

keeps him so. You have reigned over us thirty-six years, and, please

God, you shall reign another thirty-six--"and peace to Mahmoud on his

golden throne!"

Always yours

MARK

A copyright bill was coming up in Washington and a delegation of

authors went down to work for it. Clemens was not the head of the

delegation, but he was the most prominent member of it, as well as

the most useful. He invited the writer to accompany him, and

elsewhere I have told in detail the story of that excursion,--[See

Mark Twain; A Biography, chap. ccli,]--which need be but briefly

touched upon here.

His work was mainly done aside from that of the delegation. They

had him scheduled for a speech, however, which he made without notes

and with scarcely any preparation. Meantime he had applied to

Speaker Cannon for permission to allow him on the floor of the

House, where he could buttonhole the Congressmen. He was not

eligible to the floor without having received the thanks of

Congress, hence the following letter:

To Hon. Joseph Cannon, House of Representatives:

Dec. 7, 1906.

DEAR UNCLE JOSEPH,--Please get me the thanks of the Congress--not next

week but right away. It is very necessary. Do accomplish this for your

affectionate old friend right away; by persuasion, if you can, by

violence if you must, for it is imperatively necessary that I get on the

floor for two or three hours and talk to the members, man by man, in

behalf of the support, encouragement and protection of one of the

nation's most valuable assets and industries--its literature. I have

arguments with me, also a barrel, with liquid in it.

Give me a chance. Get me the thanks of Congress. Don't wait for others;

there isn't time. I have stayed away and let Congress alone for

seventy-one years and I am entitled to thanks. Congress knows it

perfectly well and I have long felt hurt that this quite proper and

earned expression of gratitude has been merely felt by the House and

never publicly uttered. Send me an order on the Sergeant-at-Arms quick.

When shall I come? With love and a benediction.

MARK TWAIN.

This was mainly a joke. Mark Twain did not expect any "thanks," but

he did hope for access to the floor, which once, in an earlier day,

had been accorded him. We drove to the Capitol and he delivered his

letter to "Uncle Joe" by hand. "Uncle Joe" could not give him the

privilege of the floor; the rules had become more stringent. He

declared they would hang him if he did such a thing. He added that

he had a private room down-stairs, where Mark Twain might establish

headquarters, and that he would assign his colored servant, Neal, of

long acquaintanceship with many of the members, to pass the word

that Mark Twain was receiving.

The result was a great success. All that afternoon members of

Congress poured into the Speaker's room and, in an atmosphere blue

with tobacco smoke, Mark Twain talked the gospel of copyright to his

heart's content.

The bill did not come up for passage that session, but Mark Twain

lived to see his afternoon's lobbying bring a return. In 1909,

Champ Clark, and those others who had gathered around him that

afternoon, passed a measure that added fourteen years to the

copyright term.

The next letter refers to a proposed lobby of quite a different

sort.

To Helen Keller, in Wrentham, Mass.:

21 FIFTH AVENUE,

Dec. 23, '06.

DEAR HELEN KELLER,--. . . You say, "As a reformer, you know that

ideas must be driven home again and again."

Yes, I know it; and by old experience I know that speeches and documents

and public meetings are a pretty poor and lame way of accomplishing it.

Last year I proposed a sane way--one which I had practiced with success

for a quarter of a century--but I wasn't expecting it to get any

attention, and it didn't.

Give me a battalion of 200 winsome young girls and matrons, and let me

tell them what to do and how to do it, and I will be responsible for

shining results. If I could mass them on the stage in front of the

audience and instruct them there, I could make a public meeting take hold

of itself and do something really valuable for once. Not that the real

instruction would be done there, for it wouldn't; it would be previously

done privately, and merely repeated there.

But it isn't going to happen--the good old way will be stuck to: there'll

be a public meeting: with music, and prayer, and a wearying report, and a

verbal description of the marvels the blind can do, and 17 speeches--then

the call upon all present who are still alive, to contribute. This hoary

program was invented in the idiot asylum, and will never be changed. Its

function is to breed hostility to good causes.

Some day somebody will recruit my 200--my dear beguilesome Knights of the

Golden Fleece--and you will see them make good their ominous name.

Mind, we must meet! not in the grim and ghastly air of the platform,

mayhap, but by the friendly fire--here at 21.

Affectionately your friend,

S. L. CLEMENS.

They did meet somewhat later that winter in the friendly parlors of

No. 21, and friends gathered in to meet the marvelous blind girl and

to pay tribute to Miss Sullivan (Mrs. Macy) for her almost

incredible achievement.

MARK TWAIN'S LETTERS 1907-1910

ARRANGED WITH COMMENT BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

VOLUME VI.

XLVI

LETTERS 1907-08. A DEGREE FROM OXFORD. THE NEW HOME AT REDDING

The author, J. Howard Moore, sent a copy of his book, The Universal

Kinship, with a letter in which he said: "Most humorists have no

anxiety except to glorify themselves and add substance to their

pocket-books by making their readers laugh. You have shown, on many

occasions, that your mission is not simply to antidote the

melancholy of a world, but includes a real and intelligent concern

for the general welfare of your fellowman."

The Universal Kinship was the kind of a book that Mark Twain

appreciated, as his acknowledgment clearly shows.

To Mr. J. Howard Moore:

Feb. 2, '07.

DEAR MR. MOORE, The book has furnished me several days of deep pleasure

and satisfaction; it has compelled my gratitude at the same time, since

it saves me the labor of stating my own long-cherished opinions and

reflections and resentments by doing it lucidly and fervently and

irascibly for me.

There is one thing that always puzzles me: as inheritors of the mentality

of our reptile ancestors we have improved the inheritance by a thousand

grades; but in the matter of the morals which they left us we have gone

backward as many grades. That evolution is strange, and to me

unaccountable and unnatural. Necessarily we started equipped with their

perfect and blemishless morals; now we are wholly destitute; we have no

real, morals, but only artificial ones--morals created and preserved by

the forced suppression of natural and hellish instincts. Yet we are dull

enough to be vain of them. Certainly we are a sufficiently comical

invention, we humans.

Sincerely Yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Mark Twain's own books were always being excommunicated by some

librarian, and the matter never failed to invite the attention and

amusement of the press, and the indignation of many correspondents.

Usually the books were Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, the morals of which

were not regarded as wholly exemplary. But in 1907 a small library,

in a very small town, attained a day's national notoriety by putting

the ban on Eve's Diary, not so much on account of its text as for

the chaste and exquisite illustrations by Lester Ralph. When the

reporters came in a troop to learn about it, the author said: "I

believe this time the trouble is mainly with the pictures. I did

not draw them. I wish I had--they are so beautiful."

Just at this time, Dr. William Lyon Phelps, of Yale, was giving a

literary talk to the Teachers' Club, of Hartford, dwelling on the

superlative value of Mark Twain's writings for readers old and

young. Mrs. F. G. Whitmore, an old Hartford friend, wrote Clemens

of the things that Phelps had said, as consolation for Eve's latest

banishment. This gave him a chance to add something to what he had

said to the reporters.

To Mrs. Whitmore, in Hartford:

Feb. 7, 1907.

DEAR MRS. WHITMORE,--But the truth is, that when a Library expels a book

of mine and leaves an unexpurgated Bible lying around where unprotected

youth and age can get hold of it, the deep unconscious irony of it

delights me and doesn't anger me. But even if it angered me such words

as those of Professor Phelps would take the sting all out. Nobody

attaches weight to the freaks of the Charlton Library, but when a man

like Phelps speaks, the world gives attention. Some day I hope to meet

him and thank him for his courage for saying those things out in public.

Custom is, to think a handsome thing in private but tame it down in the

utterance.

I hope you are all well and happy; and thereto I add my love.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

In May, 1907, Mark Twain was invited to England to receive from

Oxford the degree of Literary Doctor. It was an honor that came to

him as a sort of laurel crown at the end of a great career, and

gratified him exceedingly. To Moberly Bell, of the London Times,

he expressed his appreciation. Bell had been over in April and

Clemens believed him concerned in the matter.

To Moberly Bell, in London:

21 FIFTH AVENUE, May 3, '07

DEAR MR. BELL,--Your hand is in it! and you have my best thanks.

Although I wouldn't cross an ocean again for the price of the ship that

carried me, I am glad to do it for an Oxford degree. I shall plan to

sail for England a shade before the middle of June, so that I can have a

few days in London before the 26th.

Sincerely,

S. L. CLEMENS.

He had taken a house at Tuxedo for the summer, desiring to be near

New York City, and in the next letter he writes Mr. Rogers

concerning his London plans. We discover, also, in this letter that

he has begun work on the Redding home and the cost is to come

entirely out of the autobiographical chapters then running in the

North American Review. It may be of passing interest to note here

that he had the usual house-builder's fortune. He received thirty

thousand dollars for the chapters; the house cost him nearly double

that amount.

To H. H. Rogers, in New York:

TUXEDO PARK,

May 29, '07.

DEAR ADMIRAL,--Why hang it, I am not going to see you and Mrs. Rogers at

all in England! It is a great disappointment. I leave there a month

from now--June 29. No, I shall see you; for by your itinerary you are

most likely to come to London June 21st or along there. So that is very

good and satisfactory. I have declined all engagements but two--Whitelaw

Reid (dinner) June 21, and the Pilgrims (lunch), June 25. The Oxford

ceremony is June 26. I have paid my return passage in the

Minne-something, but it is just possible that I may want to stay in

England a week or two longer--I can't tell, yet. I do very much want

to meet up with the boys for the last time.

I have signed the contract for the building of the house on my

Connecticut farm and specified the cost limit, and work has been begun.

The cost has to all come out of a year's instalments of Autobiography in

the N. A. Review.

Clara, is winning her way to success and distinction with sure and steady

strides. By all accounts she is singing like a bird, and is not afraid

on the concert stage any more.

Tuxedo is a charming place; I think it hasn't its equal anywhere.

Very best wishes to you both.

S. L. C.

The story of Mark Twain's extraordinary reception and triumph in

England has been told.--[Mark Twain; A Biography, chaps. cclvi-

cclix]--It was, in fact, the crowning glory of his career. Perhaps

one of the most satisfactory incidents of his sojourn was a dinner

given to him by the staff of Punch, in the historic offices at 10

Bouverie Street where no other foreign visitor had been thus

honored--a notable distinction. When the dinner ended, little joy

Agnew, daughter of the chief editor, entered and presented to the

chief guest the original drawing of a cartoon by Bernard Partridge,

which had appeared on the front page of Punch. In this picture the

presiding genius of the paper is offering to Mark Twain health, long

life, and happiness from "The Punch Bowl."

A short time after his return to America he received a pretty

childish letter from little Miss Agnew acknowledging a photograph he

had sent her, and giving a list of her pets and occupations. Such a

letter always delighted Mark Twain, and his pleasure in this one is

reflected in his reply.

To Miss Joy Agnew, in London:

TUXEDO PARK, NEW YORK.

Unto you greetings and salutation and worship, you dear, sweet little

rightly-named Joy! I can see you now almost as vividly as I saw you that

night when you sat flashing and beaming upon those sombre swallow-tails.

"Fair as a star when only one

Is shining in the sky."

Oh, you were indeed the only one--there wasn't even the remotest chance

of competition with you, dear! Ah, you are a decoration, you little

witch!

The idea of your house going to the wanton expense of a flower garden!

--aren't you enough? And what do you want to go and discourage the other

flowers for? Is that the right spirit? is it considerate? is it kind?

How do you suppose they feel when you come around--looking the way you

look? And you so pink and sweet and dainty and lovely and supernatural?

Why, it makes them feel embarrassed and artificial, of course; and in my

opinion it is just as pathetic as it can be. Now then you want to

reform--dear--and do right.

Well certainly you are well off, Joy:

3 bantams;

3 goldfish;

3 doves;

6 canaries;

2 dogs;

1 cat;

All you need, now, to be permanently beyond the reach of want, is one

more dog--just one more good, gentle, high principled, affectionate,

loyal dog who wouldn't want any nobler service than the golden privilege

of lying at your door, nights, and biting everything that came along--and

I am that very one, and ready to come at the dropping of a hat.

Do you think you could convey my love and thanks to your "daddy" and Owen

Seaman and those other oppressed and down-trodden subjects of yours, you

darling small tyrant?

On my knees! These--with the kiss of fealty from your other subject--

MARK TWAIN

Elinor Glyn, author of Three Weeks and other erotic tales, was in

America that winter and asked permission to call on Mark Twain. An

appointment was made and Clemens discussed with her, for an hour or

more, those crucial phases of life which have made living a complex

problem since the days of Eve in Eden. Mrs. Glyn had never before

heard anything like Mark Twain's wonderful talk, and she was anxious

to print their interview. She wrote what she could remember of it

and sent it to him for approval. If his conversation had been

frank, his refusal was hardly less so.

To Mrs. Elinor Glyn, in New York:

Jan. 22, '08.

DEAR MRS. GLYN, It reads pretty poorly--I get the sense of it, but it is

a poor literary job; however, it would have to be that because nobody can

be reported even approximately, except by a stenographer.

Approximations, synopsized speeches, translated poems, artificial flowers

and chromos all have a sort of value, but it is small. If you had put

upon paper what I really said it would have wrecked your type-machine.

I said some fetid, over-vigorous things, but that was because it was a

confidential conversation. I said nothing for print. My own report of

the same conversation reads like Satan roasting a Sunday school. It, and

certain other readable chapters of my autobiography will not be published

until all the Clemens family are dead--dead and correspondingly

indifferent. They were written to entertain me, not the rest of the

world. I am not here to do good--at least not to do it intentionally.

You must pardon me for dictating this letter; I am sick a-bed and not

feeling as well as I might.

Sincerely Yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Among the cultured men of England Mark Twain had no greater admirer,

or warmer friend, than Andrew Lang. They were at one on most

literary subjects, and especially so in their admiration of the life

and character of Joan of Arc. Both had written of her, and both

held her to be something almost more than mortal. When, therefore,

Anatole France published his exhaustive biography of the maid of

Domremy, a book in which he followed, with exaggerated minuteness

and innumerable footnotes, every step of Joan's physical career at

the expense of her spiritual life, which he was inclined to cheapen,

Lang wrote feelingly, and with some contempt, of the performance,

inviting the author of the Personal Recollections to come to the

rescue of their heroine. "Compare every one of his statements with

the passages he cites from authorities, and make him the laughter of

the world" he wrote. "If you are lazy about comparing I can make

you a complete set of what the authorities say, and of what this

amazing novelist says that they say. When I tell you that he thinks

the Epiphany (January 6, Twelfth Night) is December 25th--Christmas

Day-you begin to see what an egregious ass he is. Treat him like

Dowden, and oblige"--a reference to Mark Twain's defense of Harriet

Shelley, in which he had heaped ridicule on Dowden's Life of the

Poet--a masterly performance; one of the best that ever came from

Mark Twain's pen.

Lang's suggestion would seem to have been a welcome one.

To Andrew Lang, in London:

NEW YORK, April 25, 1908.

DEAR MR. LANG,--I haven't seen the book nor any review of it, but only

not very-understandable references to it--of a sort which discomforted

me, but of course set my interest on fire. I don't want to have to read

it in French--I should lose the nice shades, and should do a lot of gross

misinterpreting, too. But there'll be a translation soon, nicht wahr?

I will wait for it. I note with joy that you say: "If you are lazy about

comparing, (which I most certainly am), I can make you a complete set of

what the authorities say, and of what this amazing novelist says that

they say."

Ah, do it for me! Then I will attempt the article, and (if I succeed in

doing it to my satisfaction,) will publish it. It is long since I

touched a pen (3 1/2 years), and I was intending to continue this happy

holiday to the gallows, but--there are things that could beguile me to

break this blessed Sabbath.

Yours very sincerely,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Certainly it is an interesting fact that an Englishman--one of the

race that burned Joan--should feel moved to defend her memory

against the top-heavy perversions of a distinguished French author.

But Lang seems never to have sent the notes. The copying would have

been a tremendous task, and perhaps he never found the time for it.

We may regret to-day that he did not, for Mark Twain's article on

the French author's Joan would have been at least unique.

Samuel Clemens could never accustom himself to the loss of his wife.

From the time of her death, marriage-which had brought him his

greatest joy in life-presented itself to him always with the thought

of bereavement, waiting somewhere just behind. The news of an

approaching wedding saddened him and there was nearly always a

somber tinge in his congratulations, of which the following to a

dear friend is an example:

To Father Fitz-Simon, in Washington:

June 5, '08.

DEAR FATHER FITZ-SIMON,--Marriage--yes, it is the supreme felicity of

life, I concede it. And it is also the supreme tragedy of life. The

deeper the love the surer the tragedy. And the more disconsolating when

it comes.

And so I congratulate you. Not perfunctorily, not lukewarmly, but with a

fervency and fire that no word in the dictionary is strong enough to

convey. And in the same breath and with the same depth and sincerity,

I grieve for you. Not for both of you and not for the one that shall go

first, but for the one that is fated to be left behind. For that one

there is no recompense.--For that one no recompense is possible.

There are times--thousands of times--when I can expose the half of my

mind, and conceal the other half, but in the matter of the tragedy of

marriage I feel too deeply for that, and I have to bleed it all out or

shut it all in. And so you must consider what I have been through, and

am passing through and be charitable with me.

Make the most of the sunshine! and I hope it will last long--ever so

long.

I do not really want to be present; yet for friendship's sake and because

I honor you so, I would be there if I could.

Most sincerely your friend,

S. L. CLEMENS.

The new home at Redding was completed in the spring of 1908, and on

the 18th of June, when it was entirely fitted and furnished, Mark

Twain entered it for the first time. He had never even seen the

place nor carefully examined plans which John Howells had made for

his house. He preferred the surprise of it, and the general

avoidance of detail. That he was satisfied with the result will be

seen in his letters. He named it at first "Innocence at Home";

later changing this title to "Stormfield."

The letter which follows is an acknowledgment of an interesting

souvenir from the battle-field of Tewksbury (1471), and some relics

of the Cavalier and Roundhead Regiments encamped at Tewksbury in

1643.

To an English admirer:

INNOCENCE AT HOME, REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

Aug. 15, '08.

DEAR SIR,--I highly prize the pipes, and shall intimate to people that

"Raleigh" smoked them, and doubtless he did. After a little practice I

shall be able to go further and say he did; they will then be the most

interesting features of my library's decorations. The Horse-shoe is

attracting a good deal of attention, because I have intimated that the

conqueror's horse cast it; it will attract more when I get my hand in and

say he cast it, I thank you for the pipes and the shoe; and also for the

official guide, which I read through at a single sitting. If a person

should say that about a book of mine I should regard it as good evidence

of the book's interest.

Very truly yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

In his philosophy, What Is Man?, and now and again in his other

writings, we find Mark Twain giving small credit to the human mind

as an originator of ideas. The most original writer of his time, he

took no credit for pure invention and allowed none to others. The

mind, he declared, adapted, consciously or unconsciously; it did not

create. In a letter which follows he elucidates this doctrine. The

reference in it to the "captain" and to the kerosene, as the reader

may remember, have to do with Captain "Hurricane" Jones and his

theory of the miracles of "Isaac and of the prophets of Baal," as

expounded in Some Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion.

By a trick of memory Clemens gives The Little Duke as his suggestion

for The Prince and the Pauper; he should have written The Prince and

the Page, by the same author.

To Rev. F. Y. Christ, in New York:

REDDING, CONN., Aug., '08.

DEAR SIR,--You say "I often owe my best sermons to a suggestion received

in reading or from other exterior sources." Your remark is not quite in

accordance with the facts. We must change it to--"I owe all my thoughts,

sermons and ideas to suggestions received from sources outside of myself."

The simplified English of this proposition is--"No man's brains ever

originated an idea." It is an astonishing thing that after all these

ages the world goes on thinking the human brain machinery can originate a

thought.

It can't. It never has done it. In all cases, little and big, the

thought is born of a suggestion; and in all cases the suggestions come to

the brain from the outside. The brain never acts except from exterior

impulse.

A man can satisfy himself of the truth of this by a single process,--let

him examine every idea that occurs to him in an hour; a day; in a week

--in a lifetime if he please. He will always find that an outside

something suggested the thought, something which he saw with his eyes or

heard with his ears or perceived by his touch--not necessarily to-day,

nor yesterday, nor last year, nor twenty years ago, but sometime or

other. Usually the source of the suggestion is immediately traceable,

but sometimes it isn't.

However, if you will examine every thought that occurs to you for the

next two days, you will find that in at least nine cases out of ten you

can put your finger on the outside suggestion--And that ought to convince

you that No. 10 had that source too, although you cannot at present hunt

it down and find it.

The idea of writing to me would have had to wait a long time if it waited

until your brain originated it. It was born of an outside suggestion

--Sir Thomas and my old Captain.

The hypnotist thinks he has invented a new thing--suggestion. This is

very sad. I don't know where my captain got his kerosene idea. (It was

forty-one years ago, and he is long ago dead.) But I know that it didn't

originate in his head, but it was born from a suggestion from the

outside.

Yesterday a guest said, "How did you come to think of writing 'The Prince

and the Pauper?'" I didn't. The thought came to me from the outside

--suggested by that pleasant and picturesque little history-book, Charlotte

M. Yonge's "Little Duke," I doubt if Mrs. Burnett knows whence came to

her the suggestion to write "Little Lord Fauntleroy," but I know; it came

to her from reading "The Prince and the Pauper." In all my life I have

never originated an idea, and neither has she, nor anybody else.

Man's mind is a clever machine, and can work up materials into ingenious

fancies and ideas, but it can't create the material; none but the gods

can do that. In Sweden I saw a vast machine receive a block of wood, and

turn it into marketable matches in two minutes. It could do everything

but make the wood. That is the kind of machine the human mind is. Maybe

this is not a large compliment, but it is all I can afford.....

Your friend and well-wisher

S. L. CLEMENS.

To Mrs. H. H. Rogers, in Fair Hawn, Mass.:

REDDING, CONN, Aug. 12, 1908.

DEAR MRS. ROGERS, I believe I am the wellest man on the planet to-day,

and good for a trip to Fair Haven (which I discussed with the Captain of

the New Bedford boat, who pleasantly accosted me in the Grand Central

August 5) but the doctor came up from New York day before yesterday, and

gave positive orders that I must not stir from here before frost. It is

because I was threatened with a swoon, 10 or 12 days ago, and went to New

York a day or two later to attend my nephew's funeral and got horribly

exhausted by the heat and came back here and had a bilious collapse. In

24 hours I was as sound as a nut again, but nobody believes it but me.

This is a prodigiously satisfactory place, and I am so glad I don't have

to go back to the turmoil and rush of New York. The house stands high

and the horizons are wide, yet the seclusion is perfect. The nearest

public road is half a mile away, so there is nobody to look in, and I

don't have to wear clothes if I don't want to. I have been down stairs

in night-gown and slippers a couple of hours, and have been photographed

in that costume; but I will dress, now, and behave myself.

That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my

brain. . . Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for

it. I wish Henry Rogers would come here, and I wish you would come with

him. You can't rest in that crowded place, but you could rest here, for

sure! I would learn bridge, and entertain you, and rob you.

With love to you both,

Ever yours,

S. L. C.

In the foregoing letter we get the first intimation of Mark Twain's

failing health. The nephew who had died was Samuel E. Moffett, son

of Pamela Clemens. Moffett, who was a distinguished journalist--an

editorial writer on Collier's Weekly, a man beloved by all who knew

him--had been drowned in the surf off the Jersey beach.

To W. D. Howells, Kittery Point, Maine:

Aug. 12, '08.

DEAR HOWELLS,--Won't you and Mrs. Howells and Mildred come and give us as

many days as you can spare, and examine John's triumph? It is the most

satisfactory house I am acquainted with, and the most satisfactorily

situated.

But it is no place to work in, because one is outside of it all the time,

while the sun and the moon are on duty. Outside of it in the loggia,

where the breezes blow and the tall arches divide up the scenery and

frame it.

It's a ghastly long distance to come, and I wouldn't travel such a

distance to see anything short of a memorial museum, but if you can't

come now you can at least come later when you return to New York, for the

journey will be only an hour and a half per express-train. Things are

gradually and steadily taking shape inside the house, and nature is

taking care of the outside in her ingenious and wonderful fashion--and

she is competent and asks no help and gets none. I have retired from New

York for good, I have retired from labor for good, I have dismissed my

stenographer and have entered upon a holiday whose other end is in the

cemetery.

Yours ever,

MARK.

From a gentleman in Buffalo Clemens one day received a letter

inclosing an incompleted list of the world's "One Hundred Greatest

Men," men who had exerted "the largest visible influence on the life

and activities of the race." The writer asked that Mark Twain

examine the list and suggest names, adding "would you include Jesus,

as the founder of Christianity, in the list?"

To the list of statesmen Clemens added the name of Thomas Paine; to

the list of inventors, Edison and Alexander Graham Bell. The

question he answered in detail.

To-----------, Buffalo, N. Y.

Private. REDDING, CONN, Aug. 28, '08.

DEAR SIR,--By "private," I mean don't print any remarks of mine.

..................

I like your list.

The "largest visible influence."

These terms require you to add Jesus. And they doubly and trebly require

you to add Satan. From A.D. 350 to A.D. 1850 these gentlemen exercised a

vaster influence over a fifth part of the human race than was exercised

over that fraction of the race by all other influences combined.

Ninety-nine hundredths of this influence proceeded from Satan, the

remaining fraction of it from Jesus. During those 1500 years the fear of

Satan and Hell made 99 Christians where love of God and Heaven landed

one. During those 1500 years, Satan's influence was worth very nearly a

hundred times as much to the business as was the influence of all the

rest of the Holy Family put together.

You have asked me a question, and I have answered it seriously and

sincerely. You have put in Buddha--a god, with a following, at one time,

greater than Jesus ever had: a god with perhaps a little better evidence

of his godship than that which is offered for Jesus's. How then, in

fairness, can you leave Jesus out? And if you put him in, how can you

logically leave Satan out? Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but

it is the lightning that does the work.

Very truly yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

The "Children's Theatre" of the next letter was an institution of

the New York East Side in which Mark Twain was deeply interested.

The children were most, if not all, of Hebrew parentage, and the

performances they gave, under the direction of Alice M. Herts, were

really remarkable. It seemed a pity that lack of funds should have

brought this excellent educational venture to an untimely end.

The following letter was in reply to one inclosing a newspaper

clipping reporting a performance of The Prince and the Pauper, given

by Chicago school children.

To Mrs. Hookway, in Chicago:

Sept., 1908.

DEAR MRS. HOOKWAY,--Although I am full of the spirit of work this

morning, a rarity with me lately--I must steal a moment or two for a

word in person: for I have been reading the eloquent account in the

Record-Herald and am pleasurably stirred, to my deepest deeps. The

reading brings vividly back to me my pet and pride. The Children's

Theatre of the East side, New York. And it supports and re-affirms what

I have so often and strenuously said in public that a children's theatre

is easily the most valuable adjunct that any educational institution for

the young can have, and that no otherwise good school is complete without

it.

It is much the most effective teacher of morals and promoter of good

conduct that the ingenuity of man has yet devised, for the reason that

its lessons are not taught wearily by book and by dreary homily, but by

visible and enthusing action; and they go straight to the heart, which is

the rightest of right places for them. Book morals often get no further

than the intellect, if they even get that far on their spectral and

shadowy pilgrimage: but when they travel from a Children's Theatre they

do not stop permanently at that halfway house, but go on home.

The children's theatre is the only teacher of morals and conduct and high

ideals that never bores the pupil, but always leaves him sorry when the

lesson is over. And as for history, no other teacher is for a moment

comparable to it: no other can make the dead heroes of the world rise up

and shake the dust of the ages from their bones and live and move and

breathe and speak and be real to the looker and listener: no other can

make the study of the lives and times of the illustrious dead a delight,

a splendid interest, a passion; and no other can paint a history-lesson

in colors that will stay, and stay, and never fade.

It is my conviction that the children's theatre is one of the very, very

great inventions of the twentieth century; and that its vast educational

value--now but dimly perceived and but vaguely understood--will presently

come to be recognized. By the article which I have been reading I find

the same things happening in the Howland School that we have become

familiar with in our Children's Theatre (of which I am President, and

sufficiently vain of the distinction.) These things among others;

1. The educating history-study does not stop with the little players,

but the whole school catches the infection and revels in it.

2. And it doesn't even stop there; the children carry it home and infect

the family with it--even the parents and grandparents; and the whole

household fall to studying history, and bygone manners and customs and

costumes with eager interest. And this interest is carried along to the

studying of costumes in old book-plates; and beyond that to the selecting

of fabrics and the making of clothes. Hundreds of our children learn,

the plays by listening without book, and by making notes; then the

listener goes home and plays the piece--all the parts! to the family.

And the family are glad and proud; glad to listen to the explanations and

analyses, glad to learn, glad to be lifted to planes above their dreary

workaday lives. Our children's theatre is educating 7,000 children--and

their families. When we put on a play of Shakespeare they fall to

studying it diligently; so that they may be qualified to enjoy it to the

limit when the piece is staged.

3. Your Howland School children do the construction-work,

stage-decorations, etc. That is our way too. Our young folks do

everything that is needed by the theatre, with their own hands;

scene-designing, scene-painting, gas-fitting, electric work,

costume-designing--costume making, everything and all things indeed--and

their orchestra and its leader are from their own ranks.

The article which I have been reading, says--speaking of the historical

play produced by the pupils of the Howland School--

"The question naturally arises, What has this drama done for those who so

enthusiastically took part?--The touching story has made a year out of

the Past live for the children as could no chronology or bald statement

of historical events; it has cultivated the fancy and given to the

imagination strength and purity; work in composition has ceased to be

drudgery, for when all other themes fall flat a subject dealing with some

aspect of the drama presented never fails to arouse interest and a rapid

pushing of pens over paper."

That is entirely true. The interest is not confined to the drama's

story, it spreads out all around the period of the story, and gives to

all the outlying and unrelated happenings of that period a fascinating

interest--an interest which does not fade out with the years, but remains

always fresh, always inspiring, always welcome. History-facts dug by the

job, with sweat and tears out of a dry and spiritless text-book--but

never mind, all who have suffered know what that is. . .

I remain, dear madam,

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Mark Twain had a special fondness for cats. As a boy he always

owned one and it generally had a seat beside him at the table.

There were cats at Quarry Farm and at Hartford, and in the house at

Redding there was a gray mother-cat named Tammany, of which he was

especially fond. Kittens capering about were his chief delight.

In a letter to a Chicago woman he tells how those of Tammany

assisted at his favorite game.

To Mrs. Mabel Larkin Patterson, in Chicago:

REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

Oct. 2, '08.

DEAR MRS. PATTERSON,--The contents of your letter are very pleasant and

very welcome, and I thank you for them, sincerely. If I can find a

photograph of my "Tammany" and her kittens, I will enclose it in this.

One of them likes to be crammed into a corner-pocket of the billiard

table--which he fits as snugly as does a finger in a glove and then he

watches the game (and obstructs it) by the hour, and spoils many a shot

by putting out his paw and changing the direction of a passing ball.

Whenever a ball is in his arms, or so close to him that it cannot be

played upon without risk of hurting him, the player is privileged to

remove it to anyone of the 3 spots that chances to be vacant.

Ah, no, my lecturing days are over for good and all.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

The letter to Howells which follows was written a short time before

the passage of the copyright extension bill, which rendered Mark

Twain's new plan, here mentioned, unneeded--at least for the time.

To W. D. Howells, in New York:

Monday, Oct. 26, '08.

Oh, I say! Where are you hiding, and why are you hiding? You promised

to come here and you didn't keep your word. (This sounds like

astonishment--but don't be misled by that.)

Come, fire up again on your fiction-mill and give us another good

promise. And this time keep it--for it is your turn to be astonished.

Come and stay as long as you possibly can. I invented a new copyright

extension scheme last Friday, and sat up all night arranging its details.

It will interest you. Yesterday I got it down on paper in as compact a

form as I could. Harvey and I have examined the scheme, and to-morrow or

next day he will send me a couple of copyright-experts to arrange about

getting certain statistics for me.

Authors, publishers and the public have always been damaged by the

copyright laws. The proposed amendment will advantage all three--the

public most of all. I think Congress will pass it and settle the vexed

question permanently.

I shall need your assent and the assent of about a dozen other authors.

Also the assent of all the large firms of the 300 publishers. These

authors and publishers will furnish said assent I am sure. Not even the

pirates will be able to furnish a serious objection, I think.

Come along. This place seemed at its best when all around was

summer-green; later it seemed at its best when all around was burning

with the autumn splendors; and now once more it seems at its best, with

the trees naked and the ground a painter's palette.

Yours ever,

MARK.

Clemens was a great admirer of the sea stories of W. W. Jacobs and

generally kept one or more of this author's volumes in reach of his

bed, where most of his reading was done. The acknowledgment that

follows was sent when he had finished Salthaven.

To W. W. Jacobs, in England:

REDDING, CONN,

Oct. 28, '08.

DEAR MR. JACOBS,--It has a delightful look. I will not venture to say

how delightful, because the words would sound extravagant, and would

thereby lose some of their strength and to that degree misrepresent me.

It is my conviction that Dialstone Lane holds the supremacy over all

purely humorous books in our language, but I feel about Salthaven as the

Cape Cod poet feels about Simon Hanks:

"The Lord knows all things, great and small,

With doubt he's not perplexed:

'Tis Him alone that knows it all

But Simon Hanks comes next."

The poet was moved by envy and malice and jealousy, but I am not: I place

Salthaven close up next to Dialstone because I think it has a fair and

honest right to that high position. I have kept the other book moving;

I shall begin to hand this one around now.

And many thanks to you for remembering me.

This house is out in the solitudes of the woods and the hills, an hour

and a half from New York, and I mean to stay in it winter and summer the

rest of my days. I beg you to come and help occupy it a few days the

next time you visit the U.S.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

One of the attractions of Stormfield was a beautiful mantel in the

billiard room, presented by the Hawaiian Promotion Committee. It

had not arrived when the rest of the house was completed, but came

in time to be set in place early in the morning of the owner's

seventy-third birthday. It was made of a variety of Hawaiian woods,

and was the work of a native carver, F. M. Otremba. Clemens was

deeply touched by the offering from those "western isles"--the

memory of which was always so sweet to him.

To Mr. Wood, in Hawaii:

Nov. 30, '08.

DEAR MR. WOOD,--The beautiful mantel was put in its place an hour ago,

and its friendly "Aloha" was the first uttered greeting my 73rd birthday

received. It is rich in color, rich in quality, and rich in decoration,

therefore it exactly harmonizes with the taste for such things which was

born in me and which I have seldom been able to indulge to my content.

It will be a great pleasure to me, daily renewed, to have under my eye

this lovely reminder of the loveliest fleet of islands that lies anchored

in any ocean, and I beg to thank the Committee for providing me that

pleasure.

Sincerely Yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

XLVII

LETTERS, 1909. TO HOWELLS AND OTHERS. LIFE AT STORMFIELD. COPYRIGHT

EXTENSION. DEATH OF JEAN CLEMENS

Clemens remained at Stormfield all that winter. New York was sixty

miles away and he did not often care to make the journey. He was

constantly invited to this or that public gathering, or private

party, but such affairs had lost interest for him. He preferred the

quiet of his luxurious home with its beautiful outlook, while for

entertainment he found the billiard afternoons sufficient. Guests

came from the city, now and again, for week-end visits, and if he

ever was restless or lonely he did not show it.

Among the invitations that came was one from General O. O. Howard

asking him to preside at a meeting to raise an endowment fund for a

Lincoln Memorial University at Cumberland Gap, Tennessee. Closing

his letter, General Howard said, "Never mind if you did fight on the

other side."

To General O. O. Howard:

STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

Jan, 12, '09.

DEAR GENERAL HOWARD,--You pay me a most gratifying compliment in asking

me to preside, and it causes me very real regret that I am obliged to

decline, for the object of the meeting appeals strongly to me, since that

object is to aid in raising the $500,000 Endowment Fund for Lincoln

Memorial University. The Endowment Fund will be the most fitting of all

the memorials the country will dedicate to the memory of Lincoln,

serving, as it will, to uplift his very own people.

I hope you will meet with complete success, and I am sorry I cannot be

there to witness it and help you rejoice. But I am older than people

think, and besides I live away out in the country and never stir from

home, except at geological intervals, to fill left-over engagements in

mesozoic times when I was younger and indiscreeter.

You ought not to say sarcastic things about my "fighting on the other

side." General Grant did not act like that. General Grant paid me

compliments. He bracketed me with Zenophon--it is there in his Memoirs

for anybody to read. He said if all the confederate soldiers had

followed my example and adopted my military arts he could never have

caught enough of them in a bunch to inconvenience the Rebellion. General

Grant was a fair man, and recognized my worth; but you are prejudiced,

and you have hurt my feelings.

But I have an affection for you, anyway.

MARK TWAIN.

One of Mark Twain's friends was Henniker-Heaton, the so-called

"Father of Penny Postage" between England and America. When, after

long years of effort, he succeeded in getting the rate established,

he at once bent his energies in the direction of cheap cable service

and a letter from him came one day to Stormfield concerning his new

plans. This letter happened to be over-weight, which gave Mark

Twain a chance for some amusing exaggerations at his expense.

To Henniker-Heaton, in London:

STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

Jan. 18, 1909.

DEAR HENNIKER-HEATON,--I do hope you will succeed to your heart's desire

in your cheap-cablegram campaign, and I feel sure you will. Indeed your

cheap-postage victory, achieved in spite of a quarter-century of

determined opposition, is good and rational prophecy that you will.

Wireless, not being as yet imprisoned in a Chinese wall of private cash

and high-placed and formidable influence, will come to your aid and make

your new campaign briefer and easier than the other one was.

Now then, after uttering my serious word, am I privileged to be frivolous

for a moment? When you shall have achieved cheap telegraphy, are you

going to employ it for just your own selfish profit and other people's

pecuniary damage, the way you are doing with your cheap postage? You get

letter-postage reduced to 2 cents an ounce, then you mail me a 4-ounce

letter with a 2-cent stamp on it, and I have to pay the extra freight at

this end of the line. I return your envelope for inspection. Look at

it. Stamped in one place is a vast "T," and under it the figures "40,"

and under those figures appears an "L," a sinister and suspicious and

mysterious L. In another place, stamped within a circle, in offensively

large capitals, you find the words "DUE 8 CENTS." Finally, in the midst

of a desert space up nor-noreastard from that circle you find a figure

"3" of quite unnecessarily aggressive and insolent magnitude--and done

with a blue pencil, so as to be as conspicuous as possible. I inquired

about these strange signs and symbols of the postman. He said they were

P. O. Department signals for his instruction.

"Instruction for what?"

"To get extra postage."

"Is it so? Explain. Tell me about the large T and the 40.

"It's short for Take 40--or as we postmen say, grab 40"

Go on, please, while I think up some words to swear with."

"Due 8 means, grab 8 more."

"Continue."

"The blue-pencil 3 was an afterthought. There aren't any stamps for

afterthoughts; the sums vary, according to inspiration, and they whirl in

the one that suggests itself at the last moment. Sometimes they go

several times higher than this one. This one only means hog 3 cents

more. And so if you've got 51 cents about you, or can borrow it--"

"Tell me: who gets this corruption?"

"Half of it goes to the man in England who ships the letter on short

postage, and the other half goes to the P.O.D. to protect cheap postage

from inaugurating a deficit."

"-------------------"

"I can't blame you; I would say it myself in your place, if these ladies

were not present. But you see I'm only obeying orders, I can't help

myself."

"Oh, I know it; I'm not blaming you. Finally, what does that L stand

for?"

"Get the money, or give him L. It's English, you know."

"Take it and go. It's the last cent I've got in the world--."

After seeing the Oxford pageant file by the grand stand, picture after

picture, splendor after splendor, three thousand five hundred strong, the

most moving and beautiful and impressive and historically-instructive

show conceivable, you are not to think I would miss the London pageant of

next year, with its shining host of 15,000 historical English men and

women dug from the misty books of all the vanished ages and marching in

the light of the sun--all alive, and looking just as they were used to

look! Mr. Lascelles spent yesterday here on the farm, and told me all

about it. I shall be in the middle of my 75th year then, and interested

in pageants for personal and prospective reasons.

I beg you to give my best thanks to the Bath Club for the offer of its

hospitalities, but I shall not be able to take advantage of it, because I

am to be a guest in a private house during my stay in London.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

It was in 1907 that Clemens had seen the Oxford Pageant--during the

week when he had been awarded his doctor's degree. It gave him the

greatest delight, and he fully expected to see the next one, planned

for 1910.

In the letter to Howells which follows we get another glimpse of

Mark Twain's philosophy of man, the irresponsible machine.

To W. D. Howells, in New York:

STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONN.,

Jan. 18, '09.

DEAR HOWELLS,--I have to write a line, lazy as I am, to say how your Poe

article delighted me; and to say that I am in agreement with

substantially all you say about his literature. To me his prose is

unreadable--like Jane Austin's. No, there is a difference. I could read

his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It

seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death.

Another thing: you grant that God and circumstances sinned against Poe,

but you also grant that he sinned against himself--a thing which he

couldn't do and didn't do.

It is lively up here now. I wish you could come.

Yrs ever,

MARK

To W. D. Howells, in New York:

STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

3 in the morning, Apl. 17, '09.

[Written with pencil].

My pen has gone dry and the ink is out of reach. Howells, Did you write

me day-before-day before yesterday, or did I dream it? In my mind's eye

I most vividly see your hand-write on a square blue envelop in the

mailpile. I have hunted the house over, but there is no such letter.

Was it an illusion?

I am reading Lowell's letter, and smoking. I woke an hour ago and am

reading to keep from wasting the time. On page 305, vol. I. I have

just margined a note:

"Young friend! I like that! You ought to see him now."

It seemed startlingly strange to hear a person call you young. It was a

brick out of a blue sky, and knocked me groggy for a moment. Ah me, the

pathos of it is, that we were young then. And he--why, so was he, but he

didn't know it. He didn't even know it 9 years later, when we saw him

approaching and you warned me, saying, "Don't say anything about age--he

has just turned fifty, and thinks he is old and broods over it."

[Well, Clara did sing! And you wrote her a dear letter.]

Time to go to sleep.

Yours ever,

MARK.

To Daniel Kiefer:

[No date.]

DANL KIEFER ESQ. DEAR SIR,--I should be far from willing to have a

political party named after me.

I would not be willing to belong to a party which allowed its members to

have political aspirations or to push friends forward for political

preferment.

Yours very truly,

S. L. CLEMENS.

The copyright extension, for which the author had been working so

long, was granted by Congress in 1909, largely as the result of that

afternoon in Washington when Mark Twain had "received" in "Uncle

Joe" Cannon's private room, and preached the gospel of copyright

until the daylight faded and the rest of the Capitol grew still.

Champ Clark was the last to linger that day and they had talked far

into the dusk. Clark was powerful, and had fathered the bill. Now

he wrote to know if it was satisfactory.

To Champ Clark, in Washington:

STORMFIELD, REDDING, CONN., June 5, '09.

DEAR CHAMP CLARK--Is the new copyright law acceptable to me?

Emphatically, yes! Clark, it is the only sane, and clearly defined, and

just and righteous copyright law that has ever existed in the United

States. Whosoever will compare it with its predecessors will have no

trouble in arriving at that decision.

The bill which was before the committee two years ago when I was down

there was the most stupefying jumble of conflicting and apparently

irreconcilable interests that was ever seen; and we all said "the case is

hopeless, absolutely hopeless--out of this chaos nothing can be built."

But we were in error; out of that chaotic mass this excellent bill has

been instructed; the warring interests have been reconciled, and the

result is as comely and substantial a legislative edifice as lifts its

domes and towers and protective lightning rods out of the statute book,

I think. When I think of that other bill, which even the Deity couldn't

understand, and of this one which even I can understand, I take off my

hat to the man or men who devised this one. Was it R. U. Johnson? Was

it the Author's League? Was it both together? I don't know, but I take

off my hat, anyway. Johnson has written a valuable article about the new

law--I enclose it.

At last--at last and for the first time in copyright history we are ahead

of England! Ahead of her in two ways: by length of time and by fairness

to all interests concerned. Does this sound like shouting? Then I must

modify it: all we possessed of copyright-justice before the fourth of

last March we owed to England's initiative.

Truly Yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Because Mark Twain amused himself with certain aspects of Christian

Science, and was critical of Mrs. Eddy, there grew up a wide

impression that he jeered at the theory of mental healing; when, as

a matter of fact, he was one of its earliest converts, and never

lost faith in its power. The letter which follows is an excellent

exposition of his attitude toward the institution of Christian

Science and the founder of the church in America.

To J. Wylie Smith, Glasgow, Scotland:

"STORMFIELD," August 7, 1909

DEAR SIR,--My view of the matter has not changed. To wit, that Christian

Science is valuable; that it has just the same value now that it had when

Mrs. Eddy stole it from Quimby; that its healing principle (its most

valuable asset) possesses the same force now that it possessed a million

years ago before Quimby was born; that Mrs. Eddy. . . organized that

force, and is entitled to high credit for that. Then, with a splendid

sagacity she hitched it to. . . a religion, the surest of all ways to

secure friends for it, and support. In a fine and lofty way

--figuratively speaking--it was a tramp stealing a ride on the lightning

express. Ah, how did that ignorant village-born peasant woman know the

human being so well? She has no more intellect than a tadpole--until it

comes to business then she is a marvel! Am I sorry I wrote the book?

Most certainly not. You say you have 500 (converts) in Glasgow. Fifty

years from now, your posterity will not count them by the hundred, but by

the thousand. I feel absolutely sure of this.

Very truly yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Clemens wrote very little for publication that year, but he enjoyed

writing for his own amusement, setting down the things that boiled,

or bubbled, within him: mainly chapters on the inconsistencies of

human deportment, human superstition and human creeds. The "Letters

from the Earth" referred to in the following, were supposed to have

been written by an immortal visitant from some far realm to a

friend, describing the absurdities of mankind. It is true, as he

said, that they would not do for publication, though certainly the

manuscript contains some of his mgt delicious writing. Miss

Wallace, to whom the next letter is written, had known Mark Twain in

Bermuda, and, after his death, published a dainty volume entitled

Mark Twain in the Happy Island.

"STORMFIELD," REDDING, CONNECTICUT,

Nov. 13, '09.

DEAR BETSY,--I've been writing "Letters from the Earth," and if you will

come here and see us I will--what? Put the MS in your hands, with the

places to skip marked? No. I won't trust you quite that far. I'll read

messages to you. This book will never be published--in fact it couldn't

be, because it would be felony to soil the mails with it, for it has much

Holy Scripture in it of the kind that . . . can't properly be read

aloud, except from the pulpit and in family worship. Paine enjoys it,

but Paine is going to be damned one of these days, I suppose.

The autumn splendors passed you by? What a pity. I wish you had been

here. It was beyond words! It was heaven and hell and sunset and

rainbows and the aurora all fused into one divine harmony, and you

couldn't look at it and keep the tears back. All the hosannahing strong

gorgeousnesses have gone back to heaven and hell and the pole, now, but

no matter; if you could look out of my bedroom window at this moment, you

would choke up; and when you got your voice you would say: This is not

real, this is a dream. Such a singing together, and such a whispering

together, and such a snuggling together of cosy soft colors, and such

kissing and caressing, and such pretty blushing when the sun breaks out

and catches those dainty weeds at it--you remember that weed-garden of

mine?--and then--then the far hills sleeping in a dim blue trance--oh,

hearing about it is nothing, you should be here to see it.

Good! I wish I could go on the platform and read. And I could, if it

could be kept out of the papers. There's a charity-school of 400 young

girls in Boston that I would give my ears to talk to, if I had some more;

but--oh, well, I can't go, and it's no use to grieve about it.

This morning Jean went to town; also Paine; also the butler; also Katy;

also the laundress. The cook and the maid, and the boy and the

roustabout and Jean's coachman are left--just enough to make it lonesome,

because they are around yet never visible. However, the Harpers are

sending Leigh up to play billiards; therefore I shall survive.

Affectionately,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Early in June that year, Clemens had developed unmistakable symptoms

of heart trouble of a very serious nature. It was angina pectoris,

and while to all appearances he was as well as ever and usually felt

so, he was periodically visited by severe attacks of acute "breast

pains" which, as the months passed, increased in frequency and

severity. He was alarmed and distressed--not on his own account,

but because of his daughter Jean--a handsome girl, who had long been

subject to epileptic seizures. In case of his death he feared that

Jean would be without permanent anchorage, his other daughter,

Clara--following her marriage to Ossip Gabrilowitsch in October

--having taken up residence abroad.

This anxiety was soon ended. On the morning of December 24th, jean

Clemens was found dead in her apartment. She was not drowned in her

bath, as was reported, but died from heart exhaustion, the result of

her malady and the shock of cold water.

[Questionable diagnosis! D.W.]

The blow to her father was terrible, but heavy as it was, one may

perhaps understand that her passing in that swift, painless way must

have afforded him a measure of relief.

To Mrs. Gabrilowitsch, in Europe:

REDDING, CONN.,

Dec. 29, '09.

O, Clara, Clara dear, I am so glad she is out of it and safe--safe! I am

not melancholy; I shall never be melancholy again, I think. You see, I

was in such distress when I came to realize that you were gone far away

and no one stood between her and danger but me--and I could die at any

moment, and then--oh then what would become of her! For she was wilful,

you know, and would not have been governable.

You can't imagine what a darling she was, that last two or three days;

and how fine, and good, and sweet, and noble-and joyful, thank Heaven!

--and how intellectually brilliant. I had never been acquainted with

Jean before. I recognized that.

But I mustn't try to write about her--I can't. I have already poured my

heart out with the pen, recording that last day or two.

I will send you that--and you must let no one but Ossip read it.

Good-bye.

I love you so!

And Ossip.

FATHER.

The writing mentioned in the last paragraph was his article 'The Death of

Jean,' his last serious writing, and one of the world's most beautiful

examples of elegiac prose.--[Harper's Magazine, Dec., 1910,] and later in

the volume, 'What Is Man and Other Essays.'

XLVIII

LETTERS OF 1910. LAST TRIP TO BERMUDA. LETTERS TO PAINE.

THE LAST LETTER

Mark Twain had returned from a month's trip to Bermuda a few days

before Jean died. Now, by his physician's advice, he went back to

those balmy islands. He had always loved them, since his first trip

there with Twichell thirty-three years earlier, and at "Bay House,"

the residence of Vice-Consul Allen, where he was always a welcome

guest, he could have the attentions and care and comforts of a home.

Taking Claude, the butler, as his valet, he sailed January 5th, and

presently sent back a letter in which he said, "Again I am leading

the ideal life, and am immeasurably content."

By his wish, the present writer and his family were keeping the

Stormfield house open for him, in order that he might be able to

return to its comforts at any time. He sent frequent letters--one

or two by each steamer--but as a rule they did not concern matters

of general interest. A little after his arrival, however, he wrote

concerning an incident of his former visit--a trivial matter--but

one which had annoyed him. I had been with him in Bermuda on the

earlier visit, and as I remember it, there had been some slight

oversight on his part in the matter of official etiquette--something

which doubtless no one had noticed but himself.

To A. B. Paine, in Redding:

BAY HOUSE, Jan. 11, 1910.

DEAR PAINE,--. . . There was a military lecture last night at the

Officer's Mess, prospect, and as the lecturer honored me with a special

and urgent invitation and said he wanted to lecture to me particularly,

I being "the greatest living master of the platform-art," I naturally

packed Helen and her mother into the provided carriage and went.

As soon as we landed at the door with the crowd the Governor came to me

at once and was very cordial, and apparently as glad to see me as he said

he was. So that incident is closed. And pleasantly and entirely

satisfactorily. Everything is all right, now, and I am no longer in a

clumsy and awkward situation.

I "met up" with that charming Colonel Chapman, and other officers of the

regiment, and had a good time.

Commandant Peters of the "Carnegie" will dine here tonight and arrange a

private visit for us to his ship, the crowd to be denied access.

Sincerely Yours,

S. L. C.

"Helen" of this letter was Mr. and Mrs. Allen's young daughter,

a favorite companion of his walks and drives. "Loomis" and "Lark,"

mentioned in the letters which follow, were Edward E. Loomis--his

nephew by marriage--named by Mark Twain as one of the trustees of

his estate, and Charles T. Lark, Mark Twain's attorney.

To A. B. Paine, in Redding:

HAMILTON, Jan. 21, '10.

DEAR PAINE,--Thanks for your letter, and for its contenting news of the

situation in that foreign and far-off and vaguely-remembered country

where you and Loomis and Lark and other beloved friends are.

I have a letter from Clara this morning. She is solicitous, and wants me

well and watchfully taken care of. My, she ought to see Helen and her

parents and Claude administer that trust!

Also she says: "I hope to hear from you or Mr. Paine very soon."

I am writing her, and I know you will respond to your part of her prayer.

She is pretty desolate now, after Jean's emancipation--the only kindness

God ever did that poor unoffending child in all her hard life.

Ys ever

S. L. C.

Send Clara a copy of Howells's gorgeous letter. I want a copy of my

article that he is speaking of.

The "gorgeous letter" was concerning Mark Twain's article, "The

Turning-point in My Life" which had just appeared in one of the

Harper publications. Howells wrote of it, "While your wonderful

words are warm in my mind yet, I want to tell you what you know

already: that you never wrote anything greater, finer, than that

turning-point paper of yours."

From the early Bermuda letters we may gather that Mark Twain's days

were enjoyable enough, and that his malady was not giving him

serious trouble, thus far. Near the end of January he wrote: "Life

continues here the same as usual. There isn't a flaw in it. Good

times, good home, tranquil contentment all day and every day,

without a break. I shouldn't know how to go about bettering my

situation." He did little in the way of literary work, probably

finding neither time nor inclination for it. When he wrote at all

it was merely to set down some fanciful drolleries with no thought

of publication.

To Prof. William Lyon Phelps, Yale College:

HAMILTON, March 12.

DEAR PROFESSOR PHELPS,--I thank you ever so much for the book--[Professor

Phelps's Essays on Modern Novelists.]--which I find charming--so charming

indeed, that I read it through in a single night, and did not regret the

lost night's sleep. I am glad if I deserve what you have said about me:

and even if I don't I am proud and well contented, since you think I

deserve it.

Yes, I saw Prof. Lounsbury, and had a most pleasant time with him. He

ought to have staid longer in this little paradise--partly for his own

sake, but mainly for mine.

I knew my poor Jean had written you. I shall not have so dear and sweet

a secretary again.

Good health to you, and all good fortune attend you.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

He would appear to have written not many letters besides those to

Mrs. Gabrilowitsch and to Stormfield, but when a little girl sent

him a report of a dream, inspired by reading The Prince and the

Pauper, he took the time and trouble to acknowledge it, realizing,

no doubt, that a line from him would give the child happiness.

To Miss Sulamith, in New York:

"BAY HOUSE," BERMUDA, March 21, 1910.

DEAR MISS SULAMITH,--I think it is a remarkable dream for a girl of 13 to

have dreamed, in fact for a person of any age to have dreamed, because it

moves by regular grade and sequence from the beginning to the end, which

is not the habit of dreams. I think your report of it is a good piece of

work, a clear and effective statement of the vision.

I am glad to know you like the "Prince and the Pauper" so well and I

believe with you that the dream is good evidence of that liking. I think

I may say, with your sister that I like myself best when I am serious.

Sincerely yours,

S. L. CLEMENS.

Through February, and most of March, letters and reports from him

were about the same. He had begun to plan for his return, and

concerning amusements at Stormfield for the entertainment of the

neighbors, and for the benefit of the library which he had founded

soon after his arrival in Redding. In these letters he seldom

mentioned the angina pains that had tortured him earlier. But once,

when he sent a small photograph of himself, it seemed to us that his

face had become thin and that he had suffered. Certainly his next

letter was not reassuring.

To A. B. Paine, in Redding:

DEAR PAINE,--We must look into the magic-lantern business. Maybe the

modern lantern is too elaborate and troublesome for back-settlement use,

but we can inquire. We must have some kind of a show at "Stormfield" to

entertain the countryside with.

We are booked to sail in the "Bermudian" April 23rd, but don't tell

anybody, I don't want it known. I may have to go sooner if the pain in

my breast doesn't mend its ways pretty considerably. I don't want to die

here for this is an unkind place for a person in that condition. I

should have to lie in the undertaker's cellar until the ship would remove

me and it is dark down there and unpleasant.

The Colliers will meet me on the pier and I may stay with them a week or

two before going home. It all depends on the breast pain--I don't want

to die there. I am growing more and more particular about the place.

With love,

S. L. C.

This letter had been written by the hand of his "secretary," Helen

Allen: writing had become an effort to him. Yet we did not suspect

how rapidly the end was approaching and only grew vaguely alarmed.

A week later, however, it became evident that his condition was

critical.

DEAR PAINE,--. . . . I have been having a most uncomfortable time for

the past 4 days with that breast-pain, which turns out to be an affection

of the heart, just as I originally suspected. The news from New York is

to the effect that non-bronchial weather has arrived there at last,

therefore if I can get my breast trouble in traveling condition I may

sail for home a week or two earlier than has heretofore been proposed:

Yours as ever

S. L. CLEMENS,

(per H. S. A.)

In this letter he seems to have forgotten that his trouble had been

pronounced an affection of the heart long before he left America,

though at first it had been thought that it might be gastritis.

The same mail brought a letter from Mr. Allen explaining fully the

seriousness of his condition. I sailed immediately for Bermuda,

arriving there on the 4th of April. He was not suffering at the

moment, though the pains came now with alarming frequency and

violence. He was cheerful and brave. He did not complain. He gave

no suggestion of a man whose days were nearly ended.

A part of the Stormfield estate had been a farm, which he had given

to Jean Clemens, where she had busied herself raising some live

stock and poultry. After her death he had wished the place to be

sold and the returns devoted to some memorial purpose. The sale had

been made during the winter and the price received had been paid in

cash. I found him full of interest in all affairs, and anxious to

discuss the memorial plan. A day or two later he dictated the

following letter-the last he would ever send.

It seemed fitting that this final word from one who had so long

given happiness to the whole world should record a special gift to

his neighbors.

To Charles T. Lark, in New York:

HAMILTON, BERMUDA.

April 6, 1910.

DEAR MR. LARK,--I have told Paine that I want the money derived from the

sale of the farm, which I had given, but not conveyed, to my daughter

Jean, to be used to erect a building for the Mark Twain Library of

Redding, the building to be called the Jean L. Clemens Memorial Building.

I wish to place the money $6,000.00 in the hands of three trustees,

--Paine and two others: H. A. Lounsbury and William E. Hazen, all of

Redding, these trustees to form a building Committee to decide on the

size and plan of the building needed and to arrange for and supervise the

work in such a manner that the fund shall amply provide for the building

complete, with necessary furnishings, leaving, if possible, a balance

remaining, sufficient for such repairs and additional furnishings as may

be required for two years from the time of completion.

Will you please draw a document covering these requirements and have it

ready by the time I reach New York (April 14th).

Very sincerely,

S. L. CLEMENS.

We sailed on the 12th of April, reaching New York on the 14th,

as he had planned. A day or two later, Mr. and Mrs. Gabrilowitsch,

summoned from Italy by cable, arrived. He suffered very little

after reaching Stormfield, and his mind was comparatively clear up

to the last day. On the afternoon of April 21st he sank into a

state of coma, and just at sunset he died. Three days later, at

Elmira, New York, he was laid beside Mrs. Clemens and those others

who had preceded him.

THE LAST DAY AT STORMFIELD

By BLISS CARMAN.

At Redding, Connecticut,

The April sunrise pours

Over the hardwood ridges

Softening and greening now

In the first magic of Spring.

The wild cherry-trees are in bloom,

The bloodroot is white underfoot,

The serene early light flows on,

Touching with glory the world,

And flooding the large upper room

Where a sick man sleeps.

Slowly he opens his eyes,

After long weariness, smiles,

And stretches arms overhead,

While those about him take heart.

With his awakening strength,

(Morning and spring in the air,

The strong clean scents of earth,

The call of the golden shaft,

Ringing across the hills)

He takes up his heartening book,

Opens the volume and reads,

A page of old rugged Carlyle,

The dour philosopher

Who looked askance upon life,

Lurid, ironical, grim,

Yet sound at the core.

But weariness returns;

He lays the book aside

With his glasses upon the bed,

And gladly sleeps. Sleep,

Blessed abundant sleep,

Is all that he needs.

And when the close of day

Reddens upon the hills

And washes the room with rose,

In the twilight hush

The Summoner comes to him

Ever so gently, unseen,

Touches him on the shoulder;

And with the departing sun

Our great funning friend is gone.

How he has made us laugh!

A whole generation of men

Smiled in the joy of his wit.

But who knows whether he was not

Like those deep jesters of old

Who dwelt at the courts of Kings,

Arthur's, Pendragon's, Lear's,

Plying the wise fool's trade,

Making men merry at will,

Hiding their deeper thoughts

Under a motley array,--

Keen-eyed, serious men,

Watching the sorry world,

The gaudy pageant of life,

With pity and wisdom and love?

Fearless, extravagant, wild,

His caustic merciless mirth

Was leveled at pompous shams.

Doubt not behind that mask

There dwelt the soul of a man,

Resolute, sorrowing, sage,

As sure a champion of good

As ever rode forth to fray.

Haply--who knows?--somewhere

In Avalon, Isle of Dreams,

In vast contentment at last,

With every grief done away,

While Chaucer and Shakespeare wait,

And Moliere hangs on his words,

And Cervantes not far off

Listens and smiles apart,

With that incomparable drawl

He is jesting with Dagonet now.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

APPENDIX X

A CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF MARK TWAIN'S WORK

PUBLISHED AND OTHERWISE--FROM 1851-1910

BY ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE

Note 1.--This is not a detailed bibliography, but merely a general list

of Mark Twain's literary undertakings, in the order of performance,

showing when, and usually where, the work was done, when and where first

published, etc. An excellent Mark Twain bibliography has been compiled

by Mr. Merle Johnson, to whom acknowledgments are due for important

items.

Note 2.--Only a few of the more important speeches are noted. Volumes

that are merely collections of tales or articles are not noted.

Note 3.--Titles are shortened to those most commonly in use, as "Huck

Finn" or "Huck" for "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn."

Names of periodicals are abbreviated.

The initials U. E. stand for the "Uniform Edition" of Mark Twain's

works.

1851.

Edited the Hannibal Journal during the absence of the owner and editor,

Orion Clemens.

Wrote local items for the Hannibal Journal.

Burlesque of a rival editor in the Hannibal Journal.

Wrote two sketches for The Sat. Eve. Post (Philadelphia).

To MARY IN H-l. Hannibal Journal.

1852-53.

JIM WOLFE AND THE FIRE--Hannibal Journal.

Burlesque of a rival editor in the Hannibal Journal.

1853.

Wrote obituary poems--not published.

Wrote first letters home.

1855-56.

First after-dinner speech; delivered at a printers' banquet in Keokuk,

Iowa.

Letters from Cincinnati, November 16, 1856, signed "Snodgrass"--

Saturday Post (Keokuk).

1857.

Letters from Cincinnati, March 16, 1857, signed "Snodgrass"--Saturday

Post (Keokuk).

1858.

Anonymous contributions to the New Orleans Crescent and probably to St.

Louis papers.

1859.

Burlesque of Capt. Isaiah Sellers--True Delta (New Orleans), May 8 or 9.

1861.

Letters home, published in The Gate City (Keokuk).

1862.

Letters and sketches, signed "Josh," for the Territorial Enterprise

(Virginia City, Nevada).

REPORT OF THE LECTURE OF PROF. PERSONAL PRONOUN--Enterprise.

REPORT OF A FOURTH OF JULY ORATION--Enterprise.

THE PETRIFIED MAN--Enterprise.

Local news reporter for the Enterprise from August.

1863.

Reported the Nevada Legislature for the Enterprise.

First used the name "Mark Twain," February 2.

ADVICE TO THE UNRELIABLE--Enterprise.

CURING A COLD--Enterprise. U. E.

INFORMATION FOR THE MILLION--Enterprise.

ADVICE TO GOOD LITTLE GIRLS--Enterprise.

THE DUTCH NICK MASSACRE--Enterprise.

Many other Enterprise sketches.

THE AGED PILOT MAN (poem)--" ROUGHING IT." U. E.

1864.

Reported the Nevada Legislature for the Enterprise.

Speech as "Governor of the Third House."

Letters to New York Sunday Mercury.

Local reporter on the San Francisco Call.

Articles and sketches for the Golden Era.

Articles and sketches for the Californian.

Daily letters from San Francisco to the Enterprise.

(Several of the Era and Californian sketches appear in SKETCHES NEW AND

OLD. U. E.)

1865.

Notes for the Jumping Frog story; Angel's Camp, February.

Sketches etc., for the Golden Era and Californian.

Daily letter to the Enterprise.

THE JUMPING FROG (San Francisco)Saturday Press. New York,

November 18. U. E.

1866.

Daily letter to the Enterprise.

Sandwich Island letters to the Sacramento Union.

Lecture on the Sandwich Islands, San Francisco, October 2.

FORTY-THREE DAYS IN AN OPEN BOAT--Harper's Magazine, December (error in

signature made it Mark Swain).

1867.

Letters to Alta California from New York.

JIM WOLFE AND THE CATS--N. Y. Sunday Mercury.

THE JUMPING FROG--book, published by Charles Henry Webb, May 1. U. E.

Lectured at Cooper Union, May, '66.

Letters to Alta California and New York Tribune from the Quaker City--

Holy Land excursion.

Letter to New York Herald on the return from the Holy Land.

After-dinner speech on "Women" (Washington).

Began arrangement for the publication of THE INNOCENTS ABROAD.

1868.

Newspaper letters, etc., from Washington, for New York Citizen, Tribune,

Herald, and other papers and periodicals.

Preparing Quaker City letters (in Washington and San Francisco) for book

publication.

CAPTAIN WAKEMAN'S (STORMFIELD'S) VISIT TO HEAVEN (San Francisco),

published Harper's Magazine, December, 1907-January, 1908 (also book,

Harpers).

Lectured in California and Nevada on the "Holy Land," July 2.

S'CAT! Anonymous article on T. K. Beecher (Elmira), published in local

paper.

Lecture-tour, season 1868-69.

1869.

THE INNOCENTS ABROAD--book (Am. Pub. Co.), July 20. U. E.

Bought one-third ownership in the Buffalo Express.

Contributed editorials, sketches, etc., to the Express.

Contributed sketches to Packard's Monthly, Wood's Magazine, etc.

Lecture-tour, season 1869-70.

1870.

Contributed various matter to Buffalo Express.

Contributed various matter under general head of "MEMORANDA" to Galaxy

Magazine, May to April, '71.

ROUGHING IT begun in September (Buffalo).

SHEM'S DIARY (Buffalo) (unfinished).

GOD, ANCIENT AND MODERN (unpublished).

1871.

MEMORANDA continued in Galaxy to April.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND FIRST ROMANCE--[THE FIRST ROMANCE had appeared in the

Express in 1870. Later included in SKETCHES.]--booklet (Sheldon & Co.).

U. E.

ROUGHING IT finished (Quarry Farm).

Ruloff letter--Tribune.

Wrote several sketches and lectures (Quarry Farm).

Western play (unfinished).

Lecture-tour, season 1871-72.

1872.

ROUGHING IT--book (Am. Pub. Co.), February. U. E.

THE MARK TWAIN SCRAP-BOOK invented (Saybrook, Connecticut).

TOM SAWYER begun as a play (Saybrook, Connecticut).

A few unimportant sketches published in "Practical jokes," etc.

Began a book on England (London).

1873.

Letters on the Sandwich Islands-Tribune, January 3 and 6.

THE GILDED AGE (with C. D. Warner)--book (Am. Pub. Co), December. U. E.

THE LICENSE OF THE PRESS--paper for The Monday Evening Club.

Lectured in London, October 18 and season 1873-74.

1874.

TOM SAWYER continued (in the new study at Quarry Farm).

A TRUE STORY (Quarry Farm)-Atlantic, November. U. E.

FABLES (Quarry Farm). U. E.

COLONEL SELLERS--play (Quarry Farm) performed by John T. Raymond.

UNDERTAKER'S LOVE-STORY (Quarry Farm) (unpublished).

OLD TIMES ON THE MISSISSIPPI (Hartford) Atlantic, January to July, 1875.

Monarchy letter to Mrs. Clemens, dated 1935 (Boston).

1875.

UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE--paper for The Monday Evening Club.

SKETCHES NEW AND OLD--book (Am. Pub. Co.), July. U. E.

TOM SAWYER concluded (Hartford).

THE CURIOUS REP. OF GONDOUR--Atlantic, October (unsigned).

PUNCH, CONDUCTOR, PUNCH--Atlantic, February, 1876. U. E.

THE SECOND ADVENT (unfinished).

THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBER (unfinished).

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A DAMN FOOL (unfinished).

Petition for International Copyright.

1876.

Performed in THE LOAN OF THE LOVER as Peter Spuyk (Hartford).

CARNIVAL OF CRIME--paper for The Monday Evening Club--Atlantic, June.

U. E.

HUCK FINN begun (Quarry Farm).

CANVASSER'S STORY (Quarry Farm)--Atlantic, December. U. E.

"1601" (Quarry Farm), privately printed. [And not edited by Livy. D.W.]

AH SIN (with Bret Harte)--play, (Hartford).

TOM SAWYER--book (Am. Pub. Co.), December. U. E.

Speech on "The Weather," New England Society, December 22.

1877.

LOVES OF ALONZO FITZ-CLARENCE, ETC. (Quarry Farm)--Atlantic.

IDLE EXCURSION (Quarry Farm)--Atlantic, October, November, December.

U. E.

SIMON WHEELER, DETECTIVE--play (Quarry Farm) (not produced).

PRINCE AND PAUPER begun (Quarry Farm).

Whittier birthday speech (Boston), December.

1878.

MAGNANIMOUS INCIDENT (Hartford)--Atlantic, May. U. E.

A TRAMP ABROAD (Heidelberg and Munich).

MENTAL TELEGRAPHY--Harper's Magazine, December, 1891. U. E.

GAMBETTA DUEL--Atlantic, February, 1879 (included in TRAMP). U. E.

REV. IN PITCAIRN--Atlantic, March, 1879. U. E.

STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT--book (Osgood & Co.), 1882. U. E.

(The three items last named were all originally a part of the TRAMP

ABROAD.)

1879.

A TRAMP ABROAD continued (Paris, Elmira, and Hartford).

Adam monument scheme (Elmira).

Speech on "The Babies" (Grant dinner, Chicago), November.

Speech on "Plagiarism" (Holmes breakfast, Boston), December.

1880.

PRINCE AND PAUPER concluded (Hartford and Elmira).

HUCK FINN continued (Quarry Farm, Elmira).

A CAT STORY (Quarry Farm) (unpublished).

A TRAMP ABROAD--book (Am. Pub. Co.), March 13. U. E.

EDWARD MILLS AND GEO. BENTON (Hartford)--Atlantic, August. U. E.

MRS. McWILLIAMS AND THE LIGHTNING (Hartford)--Atlantic, September. U. E.

1881.

A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE--Century, November. U. E.

A BIOGRAPHY OF -----(unfinished).

PRINCE AND PAUPER--book (Osgood R; CO.), December.

BURLESQUE ETIQUETTE (unfinished). [Included in LETTERS FROM THE EARTH

D.W.]

1882.

LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI (Elmira and Hartford).

1883.

LIFE ON THE Mississippi--book (Osgood R CO.), May. U. E.

WHAT Is HAPPINESS?--paper for The Monday Evening Club.

Introduction to Portuguese conversation book (Hartford).

HUCK FINN concluded (Quarry Farm).

HISTORY GAME (Quarry Farm).

AMERICAN CLAIMANT (with W. D. Howells)--play (Hartford), produced by

A. P. Burbank.

Dramatized TOM SAWYER and PRINCE AND PAUPER (not produced).

1884.

Embarked in publishing with Charles L. Webster.

THE CARSON FOOTPRINTS--the San Franciscan.

HUCK FINN--book (Charles L. Webster & Co.), December. U. E.

Platform-readings with George W. Cable, season '84-'85.

1885.

Contracted for General Grant's Memoirs.

A CAMPAIGN THAT FAILED--Century, December. U. E.

THE UNIVERSAL TINKER--Century, December (open letter signed X. Y. Z.

Letter on the government of children--Christian Union.)

KIDITCHIN (children's poem).

1886.

Introduced Henry M. Stanley (Boston).

CONNECTICUT YANKEE begun (Hartford).

ENGLISH AS SHE IS TAUGHT--Century, April, 1887.

LUCK--Harper's, August, 1891.

GENERAL GRANT AND MATTHEW ARNOLD--Army and Navy dinner speech.

1887.

MEISTERSCHAFT--play (Hartford)-Century, January, 1888. U. E.

KNIGHTS OF LABOR--essay (not published).

To THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND--Harper's Magazine, December. U. E.

CONSISTENCY--paper for The Monday Evening Club.

1888.

Introductory for "Unsent Letters" (unpublished).

Master of Arts degree from Yale.

Yale Alumni address (unpublished).

Copyright controversy with Brander Matthews--Princeton Review.

Replies to Matthew Arnold's American criticisms (unpublished).

YANKEE continued (Elmira and Hartford).

Introduction of Nye and Riley (Boston).

1889.

A MAJESTIC LITERARY FOSSIL Harper's Magazine, February, 1890. U. E.

HUCK AND TOM AMONG THE INDIANS (unfinished).

Introduction to YANKEE (not used).

LETTER To ELSIE LESLIE--St Nicholas, February, 1890.

CONNECTICUT YANKEE--book (Webster & Co.), December. U. E.

1890.

Letter to Andrew Lang about English Criticism.

(No important literary matters this year. Mark Twain engaged

promoting the Paige typesetting-machine.)

1891.

AMERICAN CLAIMANT (Hartford) syndicated; also book (Webster & Co.), May,

1892. U. E.

European letters to New York Sun.

DOWN THE RHONE (unfinished).

KORNERSTRASSE (unpublished).

1892.

THE GERMAN CHICAGO (Berlin--Sun.) U. E.

ALL KINDS OF SHIPS (at sea). U. E.

Tom SAWYER ABROAD (Nauheim)--St. Nicholas, November, '93, to April, '94.

U. E.

THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS (Nauheim). U. E.

PUDD'NHEAD WILSON (Nauheim and Florence)--Century, December, '93, to

June, '94 U. E.

$100,000 BANK-NOTE (Florence)--Century, January, '93. U. E.

1893.

JOAN OF ARC begun (at Villa Viviani, Florence) and completed up to the

raising of the Siege of Orleans.

CALIFORNIAN'S TALE (Florence) Liber Scriptorum, also Harper's.

ADAM'S DIARY (Florence)--Niagara Book, also Harper's.

ESQUIMAU MAIDEN'S ROMANCE--Cosmopolitan, November. U. E.

IS HE LIVING OR IS HE DEAD?--Cosmopolitan, September. U. E.

TRAVELING WITH A REFORMER--Cosmopolitan, December. U. E.

IN DEFENSE OF HARRIET SHELLEY (Florence)--N. A.--Rev., July, '94. U. E.

FENIMORE COOPER'S LITERARY OFFENSES--[This may not have been written

until early in 1894.]--(Players, New York)--N. A. Rev., July,'95 U. E.

1894.

JOAN OF ARC continued (Etretat and Paris).

WHAT PAUL BOURGET THINKS OF US (Etretat)--N. A. Rev., January, '95 U. E.

TOM SAWYER ABROAD--book (Webster & Co.), April. U. E.

PUDD'NHEAD WILSON--book (Am. Pub. Co.), November. U. E.

The failure of Charles L. Webster & Co., April 18.

THE DERELICT--poem (Paris) (unpublished).

1895.

JOAN OF ARC finished (Paris), January 28, Harper's Magazine, April to

December.

MENTAL TELEGRAPHY AGAIN--Harper's, September. U. E.

A LITTLE NOTE TO PAUL BOURGET. U. E.

Poem to Mrs. Beecher (Elmira) (not published). U. E.

Lecture-tour around the world, begun at Elmira, July 14, ended July 31.

1896.

JOAN OF ARC--book (Harpers) May. U. E.

TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE, and other stories-book (Harpers), November.

FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR begun (23 Tedworth Square, London).

1897.

FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR--book (Am. Pub. Co.), November.

QUEEN'S JUBILEE (London), newspaper syndicate; book privately printed.

JAMES HAMMOND TRUMBULL--Century, November.

WHICH WAS WHICH? (London and Switzerland) (unfinished).

TOM AND HUCK (Switzerland) (unfinished).

HELLFIRE HOTCHKISS (Switzerland) (unfinished).

IN MEMORIAM--poem (Switzerland)-Harper's Magazine. U. E.

Concordia Club speech (Vienna).

STIRRING TIMES IN AUSTRIA (Vienna)--Harper's Magazine, March, 1898. U. E.

1898.

THE AUSTRIAN EDISON KEEPING SCHOOL AGAIN (Vienna)Century, August. U. E.

AT THE APPETITE CURE (Vienna)--Cosmopolitan, August. U. E.

FROM THE LONDON TIMES, 1904 (Vienna)--Century, November. U. E.

ABOUT PLAY-ACTING (Vienna)--Forum, October. U. E.

CONCERNING THE JEWS (Vienna)--Harper's Magazine, September, '99. U. E.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE AND MRS. EDDY (Vienna)--Cosmopolitan, October. U. E.

THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG (Vienna)--Harper's Magazine, December,

'99 U. E.

Autobiographical chapters (Vienna); some of them used in the N. A. Rev.,

1906-07.

WHAT IS MAN? (Kaltenleutgeben)--book (privately printed), August, 1906.

ASSASSINATION OF AN EMPRESS (Kaltenleutgeben) (unpublished).

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER (unfinished).

Translations of German plays (unproduced).

1899.

DIPLOMATIC PAY AND CLOTHES (Vienna)--Forum, March. U. E.

MY LITERARY DEBUT (Vienna)--Century, December. U. E.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE (Vienna)--N. A. Rev., December, 1902, January and

February, 1903.

Translated German plays (Vienna) (unproduced).

Collaborated with Siegmund Schlesinger on plays (Vienna) (unfinished).

Planned a postal-check scheme (Vienna).

Articles about the Kellgren treatment (Sanna, Sweden) (unpublished).

ST. JOAN OF ARC (London)--Harper's Magazine, December, 1904. U. E.

MY FIRST LIE, AND How I GOT OUT OF IT (London)--New York World. U. E.

Articles on South African War (London) (unpublished)

Uniform Edition of Mark Twain's works (Am. Pub. Co.).

1900.

TWO LITTLE TALES (London)--Century, November, 1901. U. E.

Spoke on "Copyright" before the House of Lords.

Delivered many speeches in London and New York.

1901.

TO THE PERSON SITTING IN DARKNESS (14 West Tenth Street, New York)--

N. A. Rev., February.

TO MY MISSIONARY CRITICS (14 West Tenth Street, New York)--N. A. Rev.,

April.

DOUBLE-BARREL DETECTIVE STORY (Saranac Lake, "The Lair") Harper's

Magazine, January and February, 1902.

Lincoln Birthday Speech, February 11.

Many other speeches.

PLAN FOR CASTING VOTE PARTY (Riverdale) (unpublished).

THE STUPENDOUS PROCESSION (Riverdale) (unpublished).

ANTE-MORTEM OBITUARIES--Harper's Weekly.

Received degree of Doctor of Letters from Yale.

1902.

DOES THE RACE OF MAN LOVE A LORD? (Riverdale)--N. A. Rev., April. U. E.

FIVE BOONS of LIFE (Riverdale)--Harper's Weekly, July 5. U. E.

WHY NOT ABOLISH IT? (Riverdale)--Harper's Weekly, July 5.

DEFENSE OF GENERAL FUNSTON (Riverdale)--N. A. Rev., May.

IF I COULD BE THERE (Riverdale unpublished).

Wrote various articles, unfinished or unpublished.

Received degree of LL.D. from the University of Missouri, June.

THE BELATED PASSPORT (York Harbor)--Harper's Weekly, December 6. U. E.

WAS IT HEAVEN? OR HELL? (York Harbor)--Harper's Magazine, December. U. E.

Poem (Riverdale and York Harbor) (unpublished)

Sixty-seventh Birthday speech (New York), November 27.

1903.

MRS. EDDY IN ERROR (Riverdale)--N. A. Rev., April.

INSTRUCTIONS IN ART (Riverdale)-Metropolitan, April and May.

EDDYPUS, and other C. S. articles (unfinished).

A DOG'S TALE (Elmira)--Harper's Magazine, December. U. E.

ITALIAN WITHOUT A MASTER (Florence)--Harper's Weekly, January 21, 1904.

U. E.

ITALIAN WITH GRAMMAR (Florence)--Harper's Magazine, August, U. E.

THE $30,000 BEQUEST (Florence)--Harper's Weekly, December 10, 1904. U. E.

1904.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY (Florence)--portions published, N. A. Rev. and Harper's

Weekly.

CONCERNING COPYRIGHT (Tyringham, Massachusetts)--N. A. Rev., January,

1905.

TSARS SOLILOQUY (21 Fifth Avenue, New York)--N. A. Rev., March, 1905.

ADAM'S DIARY--book (Harpers), April.

1905.

LEOPOLD'S SOLILOQUY (21 Fifth Avenue, New York)--pamphlet, P. R. Warren

Company.

THE WAR PRAYER (21 Fifth Avenue, New York) (unpublished).

EVE'S DIARY (Dublin, New Hampshire)--Harper's Magazine, December.

3,000 YEARS AMONG THE MICROBES (unfinished).

INTERPRETING THE DEITY (Dublin New Hampshire) (unpublished).

A HORSE'S TALE (Dublin, New Hampshire)-Harper's Magazine,

August and September, 1906.

Seventieth Birthday speech.

W. D. HOWELLS (21 Fifth Avenue, New York)-Harper's Magazine, July, 1906.

1906.

Autobiography dictation (21 Fifth Avenue, New York; and Dublin, New

Hampshire)--selections published, N. A. Rev., 1906 and 1907.

Many speeches.

Farewell lecture, Carnegie Hall, April 19.

WHAT IS MAN?--book (privately printed).

Copyright speech (Washington), December.

1907.

Autobiography dictations (27 Fifth Avenue, New York; and Tuxedo).

Degree of Doctor of Literature conferred by Oxford, June 26.

Made many London speeches.

Begum of Bengal speech (Liverpool).

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE--book (Harpers), February. U. E.

CAPTAIN STORMFIELD'S VISIT To HEAVEN--book (Harpers).

1908.

Autobiography dictations (21 Fifth Avenue, New York; and Redding,

Connecticut).

Lotos Club and other speeches.

Aldrich memorial speech.

1909.

IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD?--book (Harpers), April.

A FABLE--Harper's Magazine December.

Copyright documents (unpublished).

Address to St. Timothy School.

MARJORIE FLEMING (Stormfield)--Harper's Bazar, December.

THE TURNING-POINT OF MY LIFE (Stormfield)--Harper's Bazar, February, 1910

BESSIE DIALOGUE (unpublished).

LETTERS FROM THE EARTH (unfinished).

THE DEATH OF JEAN--Harper's, December, 1910.

THE INTERNATIONAL LIGHTNING TRUST (unpublished).

1910.

VALENTINES TO HELEN AND OTHERS (not published).

ADVICE TO PAINE (not published).