he criticisms of the great New York dailies
are always just, intelligent, and square and honest--notwithstanding,
by a blunder which nobody was seriously to blame for, I was made to say
exactly the opposite of this in a newspaper some time ago. Never said it
at all, and moreover I never thought it. I could not publicly correct
it before the play appeared in New York, because that would look as if I
had really said that thing and then was moved by fears for my pocket and
my reputation to take it back. But I can correct it now, and shall do
it; for now my motives cannot be impugned. When I began this letter, it
had not occurred to me to use you in this connection, but it occurs to
me now. Your opinion and mine, uttered a year ago, and repeated more
than once since, that the candor and ability of the New York critics
were beyond question, is a matter which makes it proper enough that I
should speak through you at this time. Therefore if you will print this
paragraph somewhere, it may remove the impression that I say unjust
things which I do not think, merely for the pleasure of talking.

There, now, Can't you say--

"In a letter to Mr. Howells of the Atlantic Monthly, Mark
Twain describes the reception of the new comedy 'Ali Sin,'
and then goes on to say:" etc.

Beginning at the star with the words, "The criticisms were just." Mrs.
Clemens says, "Don't ask that of Mr. Howells--it will be disagreeable
to him." I hadn't thought of it, but I will bet two to one on the
correctness of her instinct. We shall see.

Will you cut that paragraph out of this letter and precede it with the
remarks suggested (or with better ones,) and send it to the Globe or
some other paper? You can't do me a bigger favor; and yet if it is in
the least disagreeable, you mustn't think of it. But let me know, right
away, for I want to correct this thing before it grows stale again. I
explained myself to only one critic (the World)--the consequence was a
noble notice of the play. This one called on me, else I shouldn't have
explained myself to him.

I have been putting in a deal of hard work on that play in New York, but
it is full of incurable defects.

My old Plunkett family seemed wonderfully coarse and vulgar on the
stage, but it was because they were played in such an outrageously and
inexcusably coarse way. The Chinaman is killingly funny. I don't know
when I have enjoyed anything as much as I did him. The people say there
isn