Haverhill, —
Livy darling, it was a dreadfully stormy night, the train was delayed a while, & when I got to the hall it was half an hour after the time for the lecture to begin. But not a soul had left the house. I went right on through the audience in my overcoat & overshoes with carpet bag in hand & undressed on the stage in full view. It was no time to stand on ceremony. I told them I knew they were indignant with me, & righteously so—& that if any aggrieved gentleman would rise in his place & abuse me for 15 minutes, I would feel better, would take it as a great kindness, & would do as much for him some time. That broke the ice & we went through with colors flying & drums beating.1
You sent the “Not a stage trick” (for which I am greatly obliged to Warner—it was copied in the Boston papers,)2 but you didn’t send the Brooklyn note you speak of. What was it about?3
I am getting my lecture in better shape, now. I end it with the poetry, every time, & a description of Artemus’s death in a foreign land.4
Mighty glad to hear old Twichell is back. I want to hear him howl about the for “strange, strange lands beyond the sea.”5
Confound the confounded cooks. Offer five dollars & a week, & see if that won’t fetch one. Advertise again.
I don’t get a chance to read anything, my old darling—am patching at my lecture all the time—trying to weed Artemus out of it & work myself in. What I say, fetches ’em—but what he says, don’t. But I’m going to mark Lowell for you—pity, too, to mar such dainty pages.6
Bless your heart, I appreciate the cubbie—& shall, more & more as he develops & becomes vicious & interesting. To me he is a very very dear little rip. Kiss him for me, sweetheart. I have ordered the song book7 for him.
Since I wrote that last sentence, I have been studying the railway guide an hour, my dearie, & I think I can reach home some time Saturday afternoon or evening, & stay till after midnight, & then go on to New York, where I can rest all day Sunday & half of Monday—or possibly there may be a daylight train on Sunday from Hartford to New York.8 I’ll find out. I want to see my darling I do assure you.
Sleepy!
Lovingly
Samℓ.
Love9 to Mr. & C.e.
[in ink:] Mrs. Samℓ. L. Clemens | Cor. Forest & Hawthorne | Hartford | Conn [postmarked:] haverhill mass. nov 16
Explanatory Notes
He then produced a most wretchedly torn handkerchief,
which he shook out so as fully to display its state of dilapidation,
and remarked, “I didn’t mean to bring that
here; it belongs to General Hawley.” This remark was also
received with laughter. (“The Institute
Lectures,” 9 Nov 71, 2) Probably at Clemens’s request, Hartford Courant associate editor Charles Dudley Warner
hastened into print with “Not a Stage Trick”: An embarrassing incident happened at the opening of Mark
Twain’s lecture Wednesday evening. Just as the lecturer
began, he took from his pocket a dilapidated piece of linen instead
of a handkerchief. The audience laughed, and Mr. Clemens, after a
moment’s annoyance, turned the matter off with a joke. It
was only an accident, resulting from a servant’s putting
some old linen into the drawer where Mr. Clemens was trustingly
taught to expect to find his handkerchiefs, and it might have
happened to Edward Everett himself. We only refer to it because we
hear that some of the audience regarded it as an arranged joke. Mr.
Clemens likes a joke as well as anybody, but he is the last man to
attempt a cheap trick of that sort. (10 Nov 71, 2) Warner’s correction, which has not been found
in Boston papers, did not neutralize the handkerchief incident. The
Boston Journal reported on 14 November: —Mark Twain, at his lecture in Hartford the other evening,
took from his pocket a dilapidated piece of linen instead of a
handkerchief. The audience tittered, and Mark probably curtain
lectured Mrs. Clemens when he got home. (“Current
Notes,” 4) Similar items appeared in the Buffalo Courier of 20 November (“Personal,” 1),
the Cleveland Leader of 21 November
(“Gossip,” 1), and the Danville (Ill.) Commercial of 30 November, which noted, with
malicious inaccuracy: “This accident has already happened to
Mark twenty-three times at his lectures” (“Mark
Twain met . . . ,” 1).
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L4, 491–493; Wecter 1948, 84, with omission; LLMT, 163–64.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection in Description of Provenance.