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<h2> WOMAN’S PRESS CLUB </h2>
<p>On October 27, 1900, the New York Woman’s Press Club gave a tea<br/>
in Carnegie Hall. Mr. Clemens was the guest of honor.<br/></p>
<p>If I were asked an opinion I would call this an ungrammatical nation.
There is no such thing as perfect grammar, and I don’t always speak good
grammar myself. But I have been foregathering for the past few days with
professors of American universities, and I’ve heard them all say things
like this: “He don’t like to do it.” [There was a stir.] Oh, you’ll hear
that to-night if you listen, or, “He would have liked to have done it.”
You’ll catch some educated Americans saying that. When these men take pen
in hand they write with as good grammar as any. But the moment they throw
the pen aside they throw grammatical morals aside with it.</p>
<p>To illustrate the desirability and possibility of concentration, I must
tell you a story of my little six-year-old daughter. The governess had
been teaching her about the reindeer, and, as the custom was, she related
it to the family. She reduced the history of that reindeer to two or three
sentences when the governess could not have put it into a page. She said:
“The reindeer is a very swift animal. A reindeer once drew a sled four
hundred miles in two hours.” She appended the comment: “This was regarded
as extraordinary.” And concluded: “When that reindeer was done drawing
that sled four hundred miles in two hours it died.”</p>
<p>As a final instance of the force of limitations in the development of
concentration, I must mention that beautiful creature, Helen Keller, whom
I have known for these many years. I am filled with the wonder of her
knowledge, acquired because shut out from all distraction. If I could have
been deaf, dumb, and blind I also might have arrived at something.</p>
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