Dear William Dean Howells, Joseph Hopkins Twichell, Joseph T. Goodman,
and other old friends of Mark Twain:
I cannot let these volumes go to press without some grateful word to
you who have helped me during the six years and more that have gone to
their making.
First, I want to confess how I have envied you your association with
Mark Twain in those days when you and he “went gipsying, a long time
ago.” Next, I want to express my wonder at your willingness to give me
so unstintedly from your precious letters and memories, when it is in
the nature of man to hoard such treasures, for himself and for those
who follow him. And, lastly, I want to tell you that I do not envy you
so much, any more, for in these chapters, one after another, through
your grace, I have gone gipsying with you all. Neither do I wonder now,
for I have come to know that out of your love for him grew that greater
unselfishness (or divine selfishness, as he himself might have termed
it), and that nothing short of the fullest you could do for his memory
would have contented your hearts.
My gratitude is measureless; and it is world-wide, for there is no land
so distant that it does not contain some one who has eagerly
contributed to the story. Only, I seem so poorly able to put my thanks
into words.
Albert Bigelow Paine.