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He was treated so well and enjoyed it all so much that he could not
write a book--the kind of book he had planned. One could not poke
fun at a country or a people that had welcomed him with open arms.
He made plenty of notes, at first, but presently gave up the book
idea and devoted himself altogether to having a good time.
He had one grievance--a publisher by the name of Hotten, a sort of
literary harpy, of which there were a great number in those days of
defective copyright, not merely content with pilfering his early
work, had reprinted, under the name of Mark Twain, the work of a
mixed assortment of other humorists, an offensive volume bearing the
title, Screamers and Eye-openers, by Mark Twain.
They besieged him to lecture in London, and promised him overflowing
houses. Artemus Ward, during his last days, had earned London by
storm with his platform humor, and they promised Mark Twain even
greater success. For some reason, however, he did not welcome the
idea; perhaps there was too much gaiety. To Mrs. Clemens he wrote:
*
****
To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford:
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