20 January 1866 • San Francisco, Calif.
(MS: CU-MARK, UCCL 00094)
San Francisco,
Jan. 20, [1865].1
My Dear Mother & Sister:
Ma’s last letter was sent me by Mollie to-day.
I don’t know what to write—my life is so uneventful. I wish I was back there piloting up & down the river again. Verily, all is vanity and little worth—save piloting. To think that after writing many an article a man might be excused for thinking tolerably good, those New York people should single out a villainous [backwoods ]sketch to compliment me on!—“Jim Smiley & His Jumping Frog”—a squib which would never have been written but to please Artemus Ward, & then it reached New York too late to appear in his book. But no matter—his book was a wretchedly poor one, generally speaking, & it could be no credit to either of us to appear between its covers. This paragraph is from the New York correspondence of the San Francisco Alta:2
The New York publishing house of Carleton & Co gave the sketch to the “Saturday Press” when they found it was too late for the book.3
Bret Harte & I have both quit the “Californian.” He will write for a Boston paper hereafter,4 and I for the “New York [Weekly ]Review”—[ the Saturday ] and possibly for the “Saturday Press” sometimes. I am too lazy to write oftener than once a month, though. I sent a sketch by yesterday’s steamer which will probably appear in the “Review” along about the middle or latter part of February. If it makes Annie mad I can’t help it. If it makes Ma mad I can’t help it. I don’t mean them any offence at all—I am only using them as types of a class—I am merely hitting other people over their shoulders. It The Aunt I mention is not Aunt Ella or Aunt Betsy Smith—& I think they will see that she bears no resemblance to them.5
Though I am generally placed at the head of my breed of scribblers in this part of the country, the place properly belongs to Bret Harte, I think (late editor of the “Californian”,[)] though he denies it, along with the rest. He wants me to club a lot of old sketches together with a lot of his, & publish a book together. I wouldn’t do it, only he agrees to take all the trouble. But I want to know whether we are going to make anything out of it, first, however. He has written to a New York publisher, & if we are offered a bargain that will pay for a month’s labor, we will go to work & prepare the volume for the press. My labor will not occupy more than 24 hours, because I will only have to take the scissors & slash my old sketches out of the Enterprise & the Californian—I burned up a small cart-load of them lately—so they are forever ruled out of any book—but they were not worth republishing.6
Understand—all this I am telling you is in confidence—we want it to go no further—however, it don’t make any difference where you are, I suppose, so far away.
And we have got another secret on hand. We are going to burlesque a book of poems which the publisher, Bancroft, p is to issue in the spring. We know all the tribe of California poets, & understand their different styles, & I think we can just make them get up & howl. If Bancroft prints his book in New York in the spring, ours shall be in press there at the same time, & come out promptly with his volume. Then [you’ll y hear ]these poetical asses here tear around worse than a pack of [wildcats]. Bancroft’s book is to contain a poem by every poet in California. We shall only burlesque a few of the prominent ones, but we will introduce each burlesque poem with a blast of trumpets & some comments that will be eminently worth reading, no doubt. I am willing enough to go into this thing, because there will be fun in it.7
The book referred to in that paragraph is a pet notion of mine—nobody knows what it is going to be about but just myself. Orion don’t know. I am slow & lazy, you know, & the bulk of it will not be finished under a year. I expect it to make about three hundred pages, and the last hundred will have to be written in St Louis, because the materials for them can only be got there. If I do not write it to suit me at first I will write it all over again, & so, who knows?—I may be an old man before I finish it. I have not written a line in it for three weeks, & may not for three more. I shall only write when the spirit moves me. I am the Genius of Indolence.8
I still [write ]a letter every day for the “Enterprise.” Give my love to everybody.
Aff’ly
Sam. Clemens.
P. S. Give the enclosed Enterprise letter to Zeb Leavenworth, or send it to Bill Kribben, Secretary of the Pilot’s Association.9
That Ajax is the finest Ocean Steamer in America, & one of the fastest. She will make this trip to the Sandwich Islands & back in a month, & it generally take[s] a sailing vessel three months. She had 52 invited guests aboard—the cream of the town—gentleman & ladies both, & a splendid band brass band. I know lots of the guests. I got an invitation, but I could not accept it, because there would be no one to write my correspondence while I was gone. But I am so sorry now. If the Ajax were back I would go—quick!—and throw up the correspondence. Where could a man catch such another crowd together?10
Mark
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L1, 327–332; MTB, 1:278–79, 280, 281, excerpts; MTL, 1:101–2, with omissions.
Provenance:probably Moffett Collection; see p. 462.
Emendations and textual notes:
1865 • [sic]
backwoods • back-|woods
Weekly • Weelkly [‘k’ over ‘l’]
the Saturday • the | Saturday [Both words were canceled with identical looping scrawls, presumably together, not separately.]
you’ll y hear • you’ll y hea hear [‘h’ of ‘hea’ over ‘y’; ‘hea’ rewritten for clarity]
wildcats • wild-|cats
write • writt write