In Bed—
Albany, Jan. 10.
Had an immense house, tonight, little sweetheart, & turned away several hundred—no seats for them. It is hard to make al Albany Dutchme an laugh & applaud, but the subscriber did it.1 One day less to worry through before my rascally pilgrimage is finished & we resign ourselves to rest & refreshment in the tranquil privacy of our own home, my darling.
Bless your little heart, you did no “impertinent thing” in opening a letter addressed to me, Livy dear. You can open any letter addressed to me—whatever is mine is Livy’s. The letter was from John McComb & I will enclose it to you. I have a secret to tell you about him when I see you again, if I do not forget it. I will write him to-night to hunt up that Blind Tom letter. I am glad & proud that my little wife takes such an interest in my scribblings.2 I plainly see, now, why Joe Goodman gradually lost all interest in his poetry (he was a born poet) & finally lost all ambition in that direction & ceased to write. The one whose applause would have been dearer to him & more potent than that of all the world beside, could not help him, or encourage him or spur him, because she was far below his intellectual level & could not [ appe appreciate ] the work of his brain or feel an interest in it. When I told him you took care of my sketches for me & listened with a lively interest to any manuscript of mine before it was printed, he dropped an unconscious remark that was so full of pathos—so fraught with “It might have been”—that my heart ached for him.3 He could have been so honored of men, & so loved by all who for whom poetry has a charm, but for the dead weight o & clog of a wife upon his winged genius, of a wife whose soul could have no companionship save with the things of the dull earth.4
But I am blessed above my kind, with a another self—a life companion o who is part of me—part of my heart, & flesh & spirit—& not a fellow-pilgrim who lags far behind or flies ahead, or soars above me. Side by side, my darling, we walk the ways of life; & the ray of light that falls upon the one, illumines the face of the other; the cloud that darkens the hope of one casts its sable shadow upon the other; & the storms that come will beat upon no single head, but both will feel its ‸their‸ might & brave its ‸their‸ desolation.
Oh, think of Mrs. Fairbanks—a [ Pa Pegasus ] harnessed with a dull brute of the field. Mated, but not matched, must be the direst grief that can befall any poor human creature—& when I think how I have escaped it when so many that are worthier than I have suffered it, I am filled with a thankfulness to God which I can feel—that rare thankfulness that such as I feel all too seldom. It is at such times that one’s heart lifts up its unspoken gratitude, & no choicely worded eloquence of lip & brain is like unto [it. ], or half so puissant.
I shall love the silk quilt, not only because our mother gave it you, but because it will always preserve that old dress that was so dear to me.5 And we never can sleep under it, darling, & forget the old pleasant days that were ours when it was “still “in the flesh,” if I may so speak. We will cherish the quilt well, & help it hoard its memory-treasures. It must be sacred to our bed—guests cannot have it.6 And I am very glad, too, that it has in it something to that knew you when you were a little girl—for I always feel a sense of loss, when I reflect that I never [knew ] you when you were little. [in margin: You darling little rascal, you must spell “[suffice]” as I spell it now. That’s all that’s wrong, [sweetheart].]
My child! I thought you had a full list.7 Here it is:
Jan. 11 (tomorrow) West Troy
12—Rondout—H. M. Crane
13—Cambridge (N. Y.) A. H. Comstock
14.—Utica—W. P. Carpenter.
15—Oswego—Joseph Owen
16—Sunday.
17—Baldwinsville (N. Y.) W. F. Morris.
—
—
20—Hornellsville
21—Jamestown, (N. Y.) C. E. Bishop.
That is the end of the list, now, & I hope no additions will be made to it.
If you hurry, honey, I guess you can get the newspaper notices to the Oswego man in time.8
I have received the bookseller’s receipt for the money paid for the Doré book, & so I suppose the book has reached you by this time—it was to be sent right away.9
Sleep in peace, my own darling, & all good angels guard your dreams & give them happy omens.
Sam.
[in ink:] Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira |[N. Y.] [return address:] delavan house, albany, chas. e. leland. clarendon hotel, saratoga springs, chas. e. leland. leland hotel, springfield, ill. h. s. leland & co. metropolitan hotel, new-york. s. leland & co. [postmarked:] [albany n. y. ]jan 11 [docketed by OLL:] 10 173rd
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
delighted an immense audience last night. Tweddle
Hall was packed in every part. The Sandwich Island Savages were
described in a peculiarly droll and interesting manner, which kept
the audience in a broad grin from commencement to close. Mark is
decidedly the best of our humorists, and what is more to his credit,
he never descends to the trick of bad spelling in his writings.
(“‘Our Fellow Savages,’”
11 Jan 70, 3) The Albany Argus agreed, calling Clemens
“the best humorist now before the public” and a
success “from first to last”
(“‘Mark Twain’ at Tweddle
Hall,” 11 Jan 70, 2).
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L4, 17–20; MFMT, 209–10, excerpt; LLMT, 124–25, excerpt; MTMF, 117, excerpt.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection in Description of Provenance.
Emendations and textual notes:
appe appreciate • appereciate
Pa Pegasus • Paegasus
it. • [deletion implied]
knew • kn new | knew [rewritten for clarity]
suffice • suf-| fice fice [‘fice’ rewritten for clarity]
sweetheart • sweet-|heart
N. Y. • N. Y[] [torn]
albany n.y. • al [bany] n.[y.] [stamped off edge; badly inked]