August 29 Wednesday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam finished his Aug. 28 to Mary B. Rogers.
Tuesday, 12.50 noon. [Sam likely lost track of the day; this was Wednesday, following the sequence of the prior passages].
I have been dictating for an hour & 25 minutes. And what is that to you? Ordinarily it wouldn’t be anything to you, of course, but maybe it’s different this time, because part of it is about our Bar Harbor luncheon. Maybe you will strike it out, but no names are mentioned, & I don’t believe you will; I think you will let it stay.
I miss you—dear me, yes!
Affectionately your uncle,
Mark.
Sam also wrote to Anne Engle Benjamin (Mrs. William E. Benjamin)
I am going to return that perfectly delightful book presently—as soon as I have finished reading it again.
Mrs. Rogers senior as good as said you would accept my series of moral photographs, so I send them [enclosed] Let Beatrice paste them up in a row in her room & you can’t imagine the change that will happen.
Will you kindly pass the other two sets along, for me? One is for Mrs. Rogers senior, the other is for my pal. Both are under contract & cannot escape. I take it Mrs. senior is with you by now, as I sent her an urgent & (un)important telegram to the mountains when I returned from Fairhaven, & as she didn’t answer it I know she didn’t get it. With very warm remembrances to all, /Sincerely Yours
[cross-written in the left margin of the first page:]
I am doing my very very best to expect Harry & Mary to-morrow—I think there’s going to be some fun—I think so.
[Inserted on another page with the photographs, the note listed below by Paine (in italics here)] Aug. 29/06 [MTP].
Notes: the seven photographs, were a parody on scientific management and of time-and-motion studies in vogue at this time. Paine writes of their creation:
It was just before one of his departures that I made another set of pictures of him, this time on the colonnaded veranda, where his figure had become so familiar. He had determined to have his hair cut when he reached New York, and I was anxious to get the pictures before this happened. When the proofs came seven of them—he arranged them as a series to illustrate what he called “The Progress of a Moral Purpose.” He ordered a number of sets of this series, and he wrote a legend on each photograph, numbering them from 1 to 7, laying each set in a sheet of letter-paper which formed a sort of wrapper, on which was written:
This series of 7 photographs registers with scientific precision, stage by stage, the progress of a moral purpose through the mind of the human race’s Oldest Friend. S. L. C.
He added a personal inscription, and sent one to each of his more intimate friends. One of the pictures amused him more than the others, because during the exposure a little kitten, unnoticed, had walked into it, and paused near his foot [MTB 1316]. Note: see all photographs on a fold out between p. 1316 and 1317. Here are the legends on each photograph, the numbers being written in a drawn box:
No. 1 Shall I learn to be good? ……. I will sit here and think it over.
No. 2 There do seem to be so many diffi …..
No. 3 And yet I should really try ….
No. 4 …. and just put my whole heart in it ….
No. 5 …. But then I couldn’t break the Sab ….
No. 6 …. and there’s so many other privileges that …. perhaps ….
No. 7 Oh, never mind, I reckon I’m good enough just as I am.
Isabel Lyon’s journal: There was a long—a 3 hour dictation this morning—when Mr. Clemens used letters as a subject. (I had given him copies of 2 letters which Mr. Pearmain handed to me on the train going to Boston.) It was beautiful to hear the laughter from the porch; the King’s rich laugh, the biographer’s falsetto delight & the stenographer’s chirping gurgle. I stole out to sit on a wicker thing in the hall & watch & listen. The King in white, the biographer in soft grey & the stenographer in dark blue, with a kitten in her lap. I had Bertina in mind as I sat to watch & listen. This afternoon the King & I went off to the upper pasture. We rested in the shade 3 times on the way up & the King found it all beautiful. He loved the green & grey moss, & the solemn rocks & the dark sighing pine woods & the great final height from which you can see a wide horizon, except in one place where Monadnock shuts off the distant hills. While I was suggesting a modest rock for the King to stand on & so get a better view, he mounted with swift light steps to the top of the big cairn of stones on the highest point of the hill. None of the rest of us have climbed that cairn—but the King would do what none of the rest of his have ever done. We came home for music played to Gladys [Thayer] & Miss Wollaman & Mrs. Whiting [MTP TS 114-115].
Samuel Hopkins Adams for Collier’s Weekly wrote thank Sam for his help.
Here is a rough draft of the copy about the Oppenheimer Institute. Whatever changes I make in polishing it will be in the nature of cutting down, and will not affect the main points. With certain of the quotations, such as Senator Nelson’s, you have no personal concern as they were written to me direct. I mention this to save you any confusion of mind. /
Charles Emory Smith, I am told, has returned to the Oppenheimer fold, but my letter of inquiry has not elicited an answer [MTP]. Note: Charles Emory Smith (1842-1908), journalist and politician, Postmaster General in the McKinley and Roosevelt administrations (1898-1902).
Frank N. Doubleday for Doubleday, Page & Co. wrote twice to Sam. The first note:
“I have Miss Lyon’s letter, and am extremely sorry to hear about the mistake at the bottom of page 131. This is inexcusable, and Mr. De Vinne would not let it go out of his shop for anything. He wants you to send back your two copies of the book, and he will rectify every copy.”
Doubleday’s second note:
“Enclosed please fine copyright certificate for the book “What is Man[?]” It is rather amusing to receive a letter from the Librarian of Congress, asking us to give them the name of the author so that it can be used for the purpose of cross-reference. Mr. Bothwell was obliged to confess that he did not know the name of the author, so the matter stopped there” [MTP].
Clemens’ A.D. this day included: Letter from lady in regard to story, “A Horse’s Tale,” and Mr. Clemens’ reply—Project for composite story—Two letters from lady who tried to aid San Francisco sufferers by contributing her brother’s wife’s “oll woole” suit—Reminiscences of Capt, Ned Wakeman, and extract from his letter to Joe Twichell [MTP: Autodict2; MTE 243- 9].