Lockport, Feb. 27.
Livy dear, it does seem that I am doomed never to get a satisfactory chance to write you again. They gave me no opportunity at Mr. Nevius’s, & so I traveled all night last night, purposely that I might have plenty of time [to-day].1 But now the day is nearly gone & I have only just gotten rid of an old California friend or two & the inevitable “committee.”2 And I have raced my feet off in the storm trying to find the villain (of the “committee”) who has got your letter—but of course I have failed, so far. If it were not wicked, I could cordially wish his funeral might occur tomorrow. However, I have bribed a man to find & bring me his body, dead or alive—& that letter. I know it is from you—there is no question about that.
We did not see Mrs. Brooks, my love. As I wrote you from Stuyvesant, she was out. We drove out there in the evening. I was not so very sorry she was absent, because I preferred to talk to Mr. Langdon, any-how—for I love him, & I only like Mrs. Brooks. Having made the call, my conscience was clear, because my Livy’s orders had been obeyed—& without orders from you, & only you of all people in the world, I wouldn’t have gone—for you know I wouldn’t be likely to forget that neither she nor her husband invited me to come back when I was there last.3 But I would go there fifty times if you desired it. Mr. Langdon acted very badly—& that was one reason why I didn’t grieve when we found her absent. He persisted in getting shaved before starting, & for no other reason ‸than‸ that he wanted to “show off.” He wanted to appear better looking than me. That was pure vanity. I cannot approve of such conduct as those.
I could not get much of Mr. Langdon’s company (except his Coal company.) I hardly like to tell on
him,—but l
Livy you ought to have seen what sort of characters he was associating with. He had his room full of them all the time.
He had two abandoned [coal-heavers ] there from Scranton, & two or three suspicious looking pirates from other districts, & that dissolute
Mr. Frisbie from Elmira, & the
a notorious character by the name of Slee, from Buffalo.4 But it was pleasant. The subject of coal is very thrilling. I listened to it for an hour—till my blood curdled
in my veins, I may say. And what do you suppose they are going to do? Why they are going to take the Captain’s case
into consideration. The Captain lives at Buffalo, you know. The Captain is all very well, but he don’t suit
me.
‸the Company.‸ He wants his salary raised to three thousand. He says he can’t live on less. Simply because he
has a large family to support—as if the coal company is
‸was‸ responsible for his family—or any of his other crimes, for that matter.5 No—the captain will find that the large-family dodge won’t answer. It is too old. We want something
fresh. He lives in a twelve [thousand-dollar ] house, you know, & they his lease is about out, & they are going to raise the rent on him
from $500 to $800 a year—& just on that pretense he wants his wages advanced
$600., per annum. [torn in order to cancel:] I
[
[j
] ros[ p] & ]
[seven lines (between 6 and 40 words) torn away] 6
The Captain is all very well, you know, but he is altogether too valuable. He not only transacts all the duties that belong in his departments, but he transacts a little of everything that comes along. And maybe you won’t b[e]lieve it, but he has actually been selling hundreds of dollars worth of coal on tickets—(hence the term “on [tick.”) He ] sold a lot ‸of it demurrage & other stuff‸ on tickets to a Canadian mining company years ago, & they have got that coal ‸plunder‸ yet. Think of selling coal for tickets, Livy—when you know, & I know, that tickets are not good for anything but bread, & to travel on railroads with. But hereafter the notorious Slee will have to take charge of everything, ‸in Buffalo‸ himself—& the Head Centre (I mean the Head Salesman)7 will hire & discharge the men under him to suit himself, & be personally responsible, ‸to Mr. Slee‸ —& the Captain will have to keep his fingers out of that pie, & go remarkably slow on the Ticket system, too. And his wages will not be raised, either, unless Mr. Slee thinks fit. But The Captain’s family salary isn’t high enough, according to the size of his family as it now stands, & so it is plain enough to any noodle that that family has got to be reconstructed. Therefore, the salary will remain just as it is, & Mr. Slee will proceed to cut ‸down‸ the Captain’s family down to fit it. Business is business, you know. [in margin: Mr. Slee gave me a very cordial invitation to visit his home in Buffalo, & I shall do it, some day. I like him first-rate.] 8
{Livy, they spell Plymouth without the u—take courage, my darling.}9
Mr. Langdon thought of going up to Hartford about to-day, to see the Hookers;10 & you may well be glad of it, for he would wear himself out with business in New York in another week. He was at it all the time. However, he was in good spirits, & apparently in excellent health.
When I read your Stuyvesant letter I was inclined to be angry with Bement, at first, for writing you a note that made you [down-hearted ], but upon reflection I felt more charitable. He couldn’t write you a cordial letter, dear—it wouldn’t be human nature—for he loves you himself. Don’t talk back, Livy! He does love you—& so how could he rejoice that you are lost to him?11
I am glad I marked those books for you, since the marking gives you pleasure, but I remember that the pencilings are very meagre—for which I am sorry. I have marked many a book for you, in the cars—& thrown them away afterward, not appreciating that I was taking a pleasure of any great moment from you. I will do better hereafter, my precious little wife.
And so you have been having visions of our future home, too, Livy? I have such visions every day of my life, now. And they always take one favorite shape—peace, & quiet—rest, & seclusion from the rush & roar & discord of the [world. —You ] & I apart from the jangling elements of the outside world, reading & studying together when the day’s duties are done—in our own castle, by our own fireside, blessed in each other’s unwavering love & confidence. But it makes me ever so restive, Livy!—& impatient to throw off these wandering duties that thrall me now, & take you to my arms, never to miss your dear presence again. Speed the day! How I dread the California trip. Three awful months without seeing Livy once—it weakens my resolution to think of it. It is not a week since I saw you, & yet it seems already an age, & I would walk twenty miles through this snow-storm to kiss you, Livy. How will three months seem to me? A century.
Livy, darling, I see by your letter that you are not sleeping enough. Do you want to break this old heart of mine? But I was ever so glad to hear that when your father left, that morning, at 9 o’clock, you were still in bed. What I do long to hear, Livy, is that you lie abed late in the morning—that you don’t get up until your dear eyes refuse to stay shut any longer. For it is the morning sleep that is so strengthening, Livy. An hour of it is worth any other three hours. Please sleep later, Livy. I have talked it over with your father, & he is ready to [ le ] miss the blessing of your presence at breakfast in order that you may become more than ever a blessing to him by building up your strength through late sleeping. I want to see you looking strong and healthy when I take you in my arms on the 17th of March, Livy—& I can see you so, if you will only listen to my pleadings & sleep till ten o’clock every morning. Please, Livy darling.
Your new letter is come! No, Livy, Livy, Livy, I can’t see that you are in constant danger of pursuing your own tastes & pleasures instead of giving up your life for others. What I do see, though, is that you are always sacrificing yourself for other [peoples’ ] benefit. I know it, Livy. You are doing enough. You are doing all that God has given you strength to do, & I tremble every time I detect a disposition in you to tax that strength further. Livy, the sweet spirit that goes out from you carries a constant blessing to the every member of the little circle you inhabit. You bless many persons by your beautiful life, while w most [ per people ] bless only one or two or three, by theirs—& therefore, why not be content? No, no, darling, it makes me uneasy, these thinkings, these longings & aspirings after a broader field of usefulness.12 It is because such thoughts & such broodings have their effect upon your physical strength—they waste it, they burn it out—& I so long to see you have a strength-restoring season of calm, of contentment, of tranquillity, both of mind & body—for then I know you would grow strong, & cheery & happy. Then you could think of others’ weal as much as you wished, Livy, & I would gladly help you scheme & plan & execute. Don’t be hurt at my solicitude, & my anxiety about your health, darling, for it is born of my strong, deep, deathless love for you, my worshipped idol.
I will send Hattie a photograph of the old pattern, & when I sit again, I will send her a [new . ] one.13 {I talk of sitting, as complacently as if I were an old hen, .} & used to it.} And this reminds me that I told Mrs. Fairbanks you would sit for a large photograph for her, (like mine that hangs in the library,) as a companion to the one I gave her. She said she wanted her son & her [daughter ] both, where she could look at them when she pleased,. But you needn’t hurry, Livy—in the spring will do. I will take you to the photographer’s & “fix” you., to suit myself.
The ring continuing to be “the largest piece of furniture in the house” is a burst of humor worthy of your affianced husband, Livy., you dear little Gravity. How I envy you your multiplicity of cousins!—for I can hardly claim a relative in the world outside our own family. I suppose it will be hard to write that letter to the Chicago cousin, under the circumstances, but then you are the brave girl that can do it.14
I did not try to get the porcelain picture taken in New York because I would have no chance to examine “proofs” of it, having only half a day to spare there—but I will sit for it in Hartford.15 Which reminds me, honey, that you must direct your letters henceforward to “Saml. L. Clemens, 148 Asylum st., Hartford,”16 & thus oblige the man who loves, loves, loves you, Livy!
I kiss you, my own darling, on lip & cheek & brow, & bid you good-night, & pray that the ministering spirits of God will have you in their keeping & shield you from all harm.
Tell your mother that her eldest son is well, & sends his love.
Thine, until Death doth us part,
Saml.
Miss Olivia L. Langdon
Present.
Care of Charlie.
[docketed by OLL:] 44thExplanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L3, 114–120; Wecter 1947, 66, brief quotation; LLMT, 67–72; Davis 1977, 4, excerpt.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
to-day • to-|day
coal-heavers • coal-heavers
thousand-dollar • thousand| -dollar
[j] ros[ p] & •
[The conjectured first line of this suppressed passage (see p. 119, n. 6)
is based on the hypothetical reconstruction of the torn MS reproduced below.]
Letter of 27 February 1869 to Olivia L. Langdon. Surviving portion of MS page 5, with part of the first line Clemens tore away from it editorially reconstructed (CU-MARK).
tick.”) He • tick.”)—|He
down-hearted • down-|hearted
world. —You • [deletion implied]
le • [‘e’ partly formed]
peoples’ • [sic]
per people • perople
new. • [deletion implied]
daughter • [doubtful ‘daughteer’]
