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A Mantel and a Baby Elephant

       CCLXXVI. Shakespeare-Bacon Talk

       CCLXXVII. "Is Shakespeare Dead?"

       CCLXXVIII. The Death of Henry Rogers

       CCLXXIX. An Extension of Copyright

       CCLXXX. A Warning

       CCLXXXI. The Last Summer at Stormfield

       CCLXXXII. Personal Memoranda

       CCLXXXIII. Astronomy and Dreams

       CCLXXXIV. A Library Concert

       CCLXXXV. A Wedding at Stormfield

       CCLXXXVI. Autumn Days

       CCLXXXVII. Mark Twain's Reading

       CCLXXXVIII. A Bermuda Birthday

       CCLXXXIX. The Death of Jean

       CCXC. The Return to Bermuda

       CCXCI. Letters from Bermuda

       CCXCII. The Voyage Home

       CCXCIII. The Return to the Invisible

       CCXCIV. The Last Rites

       CCXCV. Mark Twain's Religion

       CCXCVI. Postscript

       Appendix A

       Appendix B

       Appendix C

       Appendix D

       Appendix E

       Appendix F

       Appendix G

       Appendix H

       Appendix I

       Appendix J

       Appendix K

       Appendix L

       Appendix M

       Appendix N

       Appendix O

       Appendix P

       Appendix Q

       Appendix R

       Appendix S

       Appendix T

       Appendix U

       Appendix V

       Appendix W

       Appendix X

      Volume I.

       Part 1: 1835-1866

       Table of Contents

      TO CLARA CLEMENS GABRILOWITSCH WHO STEADILY UPHELD THE AUTHOR'S PURPOSE TO WRITE HISTORY RATHER THAN EULOGY AS THE STORY OF HER FATHER'S LIFE

      An Acknowledgment

       Table of Contents

      Dear William Dean Howells, Joseph Hopkins Twichell, Joseph T. Goodman, and other old friends of Mark Twain:

      I cannot let these volumes go to press without some grateful word to you who have helped me during the six years and more that have gone to their making.

      First, I want to confess how I have envied you your association with Mark Twain in those days when you and he "went gipsying, a long time ago." Next, I want to express my wonder at your willingness to give me so unstintedly from your precious letters and memories, when it is in the nature of man to hoard such treasures, for himself and for those who follow him. And, lastly, I want to tell you that I do not envy you so much, any more, for in these chapters, one after another, through your grace, I have gone gipsying with you all. Neither do I wonder now, for I have come to know that out of your love for him grew that greater unselfishness (or divine selfishness, as he himself might have termed it), and that nothing short of the fullest you could do for his memory would have contented your hearts.

      My gratitude is measureless; and it is world-wide, for there is no land so distant that it does not contain some one who has eagerly contributed to the story. Only, I seem so poorly able to put my thanks into words.

      Albert Bigelow Paine.

      Prefatory Note

      

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