February 18 Monday – Isabel Lyon’s journal: “Thompson brought 2 beautiful pictures, & I think the King will buy the moonlight one” [MTP TS 29]. Note: on Mar. 12 Frederic L. Thompson wrote to thank Clemens for buying two of his paintings. See the strange case of Thompson-Gifford. Thompson was a goldsmith who “suddenly and inexplicably seized with an impulse to sketch and paint pictures”:

http://www.aspsi.org/feat/life_after/tymn/a089mt-e-Thompson-Gifford_Case.php

Helen M. King wrote from Brooklyn, NY to Sam. “Your statement about charity and Christian Science I wish to refute” [MTP]. Note: After Feb. 18 Sam wrote on King’s letter, perhaps as instructions to Lyon. “Wrote the book 5 years ago at a time when the church gave nothing in charity & my neighbor an ardent C.S.ist told me the same thing. If they have improved since then I am glad of it, & the book will help them to improve still farther” [MTP].

Henry T. Elmore to Sam wrote on Fuller-Holway Co. Grocers, letterhead, Augusta, Maine, asking for Clara Clemens’ present business address. Henry was May Elmore’s brother and they knew that Clara was soon coming to Portland and Lewiston and wished to meet up with her. Sam might telegraph her address [MTP].

Helen Keller wrote to Sam.

My dear Mr. Clemens: / I have had many a sharp twinge of self-reproach at the thought of not writing to you all these weeks. But correspondence has been almost out of the question for me until now. On our return from New York the first thing I did was to arm and equip myself for a fight against bronchitis. The attack was slight, but persevering. When it finally ceased, my teacher was taken very ill, and I was filled with trouble and anxiety, as she suffered greatly. But she is now recovering, and I begin to see daylight through a mist of happy tears.

      I shall always, always  remember the evening we spent with you, and had you all to ourselves for two precious hours! I think sometimes that there is nothing in the world so precious as a beautiful memory. I have many of these memories to gladden the dull days that come to all of us. They return to me often as I sit apart. While others chat and gossip, I am in the midst of the throbbing, odorous woods. The range and the sweep of the winds are mine, and the world and my soul are lit with the sun. My heart thrills with a strange joy when I recall the first time that I read Lanier’s Hymn of the Marshes of Glynn. Very near this cherished memory is that of the evening we spent with you. How it all comes back—the beautiful room, the music that stole into my soul through my finger-tips, the pleasant company and he of the magic gift, the dispenser of happiness to every one who has heard him speak or read his books. The thoughts that I have treasured of that evening are sprinkled with the jewel-dust of your wit, and can never fade or grow less brilliant. I wish I could sit beside you oftener. For there is something about you so vital and simple and nothing-withholding that somehow darkness and silence seem no longer to be. I seem to know without word or look what you are talking about, be it the extremest nonsense or the deepest wisdom or a flash of indignation against some wrong, or pleasure over an honest, interesting letter like the one you read from the young Englishwoman. Heaven preserve you to us long; for there shall not be another like you.       It is good once in a while to plunge into the whirl and gaiety and brilliancy of New York life. I love fun and gaiety, I cannot help it, and I do not want to help it either. But it was sweet to get back to the sunny quiet of our home in Wrentham.

      I returned well pleased and encouraged about the cause of the blind. I know there are still obstacles to be overcome, friends of the sightless to be convinced that nothing to do but sit in the dark all day long and fritter away one’s energies in useless thinking is worse than blindness. All efforts to help the world along toward betterment seem to pass through three stages: first, vehement denial that help is needed, second, the declaration that the Lord God hath made it so, and it is contrary to religion to change it, third, that it is just what we always thought. I am sure that we shall get to the last stage if we persevere. Only it is tiresome waiting, one would like to skip one stage or two. But I think I see the day approaching when there shall be no more needless dark hours for the blind. The silver lining has been turned for them, and for me the darkest cloud is breaking into a thousand gleams of hope.

      Please remember us kindly to Miss Lyon, and pray, do not forget the picture you promised my teacher, or you may lose some of that beautiful halo one of these fine mornings.

      With affectionate messages from us all …[MTP]. Note: Helen’s letters are always typed with her signature in her own hand, a block printed style. At the top of the letter in Sam’s own hand, but not likely related to this letter: “Add Ned Wakeman’s Englishwoman’s & Susy’s & Western Girls?”

Mally Graham Coatsworth Lord wrote from NYC to Sam. “You ARE a DEAR to say you’ll come and be adored on Friday from four thirty to six. / And then I want you to stay for dinner and decorate the family meal. You can devour the dinner and we will devour you” [MTP].

George E. Sullivan wrote to ask Sam who was the party that dramatized “Colonel Sellers” with John T. Raymond years ago; he wished to read a copy of the play [MTP]. Note: On or after Feb. 18 Sam wrote on Sullivan’s letter: “should like to read a copy of it myself—but so far as I know there is no copy of it in existence. The dramatization was made by Densmore of San Francisco. He was editor of the “Golden Era” in those days I think” Gilbert S. Densmore adapted GA to a play in 1874; see May, early and other entries in Vol. I.