The Autobiography of Mark Twain by Mark Twain (good book recommendations .TXT) 📕
Description
The Autobiography of Mark Twain is a collection of reminiscences and reflections. Twain began dictating them in 1870, and in 1906 he published Chapters from My Autobiography in twenty-five installments in the North American Review. He continued to write stories for his autobiography, most of which weren’t published in his lifetime due to a lack of access to his papers, or their private subject matters. After Twain’s death, numerous editors have tried to organize this collection of published and unpublished autobiographical works, producing various differing editions. The most recent attempt is by the Mark Twain Project at the University of California, Berkeley, which published a three-volume edition; but, through what many consider legal trickery, the University of California, Berkeley has claimed copyright on that edition until 2047—137 years after Twain’s death.
This Standard Ebooks production is based on Harper and Brothers’ 1924 collection, compiled by Albert Bigelow Paine.
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- Author: Mark Twain
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Yours very respectfully,
Asa Don Dickinson.
(In charge Department for the Blind and Sheepshead Bay Branch, Brooklyn Public Library.)
That was a very private letter. I didn’t know the author of it, but I thought I perceived that he was a safe man and that I could venture to write a pretty private letter in return and trust that he would not allow its dreadful contents to leak out and get into the newspapers. I wrote him on the 21st:
21 Fifth Avenue,
November 21, 1905
Dear Sir:
I am greatly troubled by what you say. I wrote Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn for adults exclusively, and it always distresses me when I find that boys and girls have been allowed access to them. The mind that becomes soiled in youth can never again be washed clean; I know this by my own experience, and to this day I cherish an unappeasable bitterness against the unfaithful guardians of my young life, who not only permitted but compelled me to read an unexpurgated Bible through before I was 15 years old. None can do that and ever draw a clean sweet breath again this side of the grave. Ask that young lady—she will tell you so.
Most honestly do I wish I could say a softening word or two in defence of Huck’s character, since you wish it, but really in my opinion it is no better than those of Solomon, David, Satan, and the rest of the sacred brotherhood.
If there is an unexpurgated in the Children’s Department, won’t you please help that young woman remove Huck and Tom from that questionable companionship? Sincerely yours,
(Signed) S. L. Clemens.
I shall not show your letter to anyone—it is safe with me.
A couple of days later I received this handsome rejoinder in return:
Sheepshead Bay Branch
Brooklyn Public Library
1657 Shore Road Brooklyn-New York, Nov. 23rd, ’05
Dear Sir:
Your letter rec’d. I am surprised to hear that you think Huck and Tom would have an unwholesome effect on boys and girls. But relieved to hear that you would not place them in the same category with many of the scriptural reprobates. I know of one boy who made the acquaintance of Huck in 1884, at the age of eight, and who has known him intimately ever since, and I can assure you he is not an atom the worse for the 20 years’ companionship. On the contrary he will always feel grateful to Huck’s father—I don’t mean Pop—for the many hours spent with him and Jim, when sickness and sorrow were forgotten.
Huckleberry Finn was the first book I selected to read to my blind (for selfish reasons I am afraid), and the amount of innocent enjoyment it gave them, has never been equalled by anything I have since read.
Thanking you for the almost unhoped for courtesy of your reply, I am
Yours very respectfully,
Asa Don Dickinson.
Four months drifted tranquilly by. Then there was music! There came a freshet of newspaper reporters and they besieged my secretary all day. Of course I was in bed. I am always in bed. She barred the stairs against them. They were bound to see me, if only for a moment, but none of them got by her guard. They said a report had sprung up that I had written a letter some months before to the Brooklyn Public Library; that according to that report the letter was pungent and valuable, and they wanted a copy of it. They said the head officials of the Brooklyn Library declared that they had never seen the letter and that they had never heard of it until the reporters came and asked for it. I judged by this that my man—who was not in the head library, but in a branch of it—was keeping his secret all right, and I believed he could be trusted to continue to keep that secret, for his own sake as well as mine. That letter would be a bombshell for me if it got out—but it would hoist him, too. So I feel pretty confident that for his own sake, if for no other, he would protect me.
My secretary had a hard day of it, but I had a most enjoyable one. She never allowed any reporter to get an idea of the nature of the letter; she smoothed all those young fellows down and sent them away empty.
They renewed the assault next day, but I told her to never mind—human nature would win the victory for us. There would be an earthquake somewhere, or a municipal upheaval here, or a threat of war in Europe—something would be sure to happen in the way of a big excitement that would call the boys away from No. 21 Fifth Avenue for twenty-four hours, and that would answer every purpose; they wouldn’t think of that letter again, and we should have peace.
I knew the reporters would get on the right track very soon, so I wrote Mr. Dickinson and warned him to keep his mouth hermetically sealed. I told him to be wise and wary. His answer bears date March 28th.
Bay Ridge Branch
Brooklyn Public Library
73rd Street and Second Avenue
Brooklyn-New York, Mar. 28, ’06
Dear Mr. Clemens:
Your letter of the 26th inst. rec’d this moment. As I have now been transferred to the above address, it has been a long time reaching me.
I have tried to be wary and wise and am very grateful to you for your reticence. The poor old B.P.L. has achieved some very undesirable notoriety. I thought my head was coming off when I heard from my chief on the telephone night before last. But yesterday he began to be amused, I think, at the teapot tempest.
Last night I reached home at 11:30 and found a Herald man sitting on the steps, leaning his head
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