Portland, Oregon
Aug. 18, 1903. 
My dear, dear mark twain,—­May a little girl write and tell you how dearly she loves and admires your writings?  Well, I do and I want to tell you your ownself.  Don’t think me too impertinent for indeed I don’t mean to be that!  I have read everything of yours that I could get and parts that touch me I have read over and over again.  They seem such dear friends to me, so like real live human beings talking and laughing, working and suffering too!  One cannot but feel that it is your own life and experience that you have painted.  So do not wonder that you seem a dear friend to me who has never even seen you.  I often think of you as such in my own thoughts.  I wonder if you will laugh when I tell you I have made a hero of you?  For when people seem very sordid and mean and stupid (and it seems as if everybody was) then the thought will come like a little crumb of comfort “well, Mark Twain isn’t anyway.”  And it does really brighten me up.

You see I have gotten an idea that you are a great, bright spirit of kindness and tenderness.  One who can twist everybody’s-even your own-faults and absurdities into hearty laughs.  Even the person mocked must laugh!  Oh, Dear!  How often you have made me laugh!  And yet as often you have struck something infinite away down deep in my heart so that I want to cry while half laughing!

So this all means that I want to thank you and to tell you.  “God always
love Mark Twain!” is often my wish.  I dearly love to read books, and I
never tire of reading yours; they always have a charm for me.  Good-bye,
I am afraid I have not expressed what I feel.  But at least I have tried. 
                         Sincerely yours. 
                                   Margaret M.——­

Clemens and family left Elmira October the 5th for New York City.  They remained at the Hotel Grosvenor until their sailing date, October 24th.  A few days earlier, Mr. Frank Doubleday sent a volume of Kipling’s poems and de Blowitz’s Memoirs for entertainment on the ship.  Mark Twain’s acknowledgment follows.

To F. N. Doubleday, in New York: 

TheGrosvenor,
October 12, ’03. 
Dear Doubleday,—­The books came—­ever so many thanks.  I have been reading “The Bell Buoy” and “The Old Men” over and over again—­my custom with Kipling’s work-and saving up the rest for other leisurely and luxurious meals.  A bell-buoy is a deeply impressive fellow-being.  In these many recent trips up and down the Sound in the Kanawha —­[Mr. Rogers’s yacht.]—­he has talked to me nightly, sometimes in his pathetic and melancholy way, sometimes with his strenuous and urgent note, and I got his meaning—­now I have his words!  No one but Kipling could do this strong and vivid thing.  Some day I hope to hear the poem chanted or sung—­with the bell-buoy breaking in, out of the distance.