Hartford, Conn., Jan. 24.
Dear Mother—
Don’t abuse me on [ t ]account of that dinner-speech in reply to the toast to Woman, if you should see it floating around in the [papers.1 It ]had slang in it, but they had no business to report it so verbatimly. They ought to have left out the slang—you know that. It was all their fault. I am not going to make any more slang speeches in public. You will forgive me, now, won’t you?
I saw Dan as I came through New York, & I staid part of two days at Mr. Bee ach’s, in Brooklyn. That is a hospitable family, if there ever was one. Mr. Beach has been so liberal & so generous toward some of the cabin crew of the Quaker City, & has treated me so well, also, that I am ashamed to think I ever thought uncharitably of him.2 Mrs. Beach is a very fine woman, & certainly one seldom finds as good a girl as Emma, anywhere.
I am to do up the Excursion in a vast 5 or 600-page book, for the American p Publishing Company of Hartford. It is to be sold only by [subscription. They ]pay most liberally.—but then my newspaper & magazine contracts were worth six or eight hundred dollars a month, & as I would have to throw away half of them if I prepared the book I was not inclined to do it unless I saw more profit in the said book. I have a very easy contract. I have from now till the middle of July in which to get the manuscript ready. I shall use nearly all my old letters (revamped,) but still many a chapter will be entirely new. What would you call the book?—the “Modern Pilgrim’s Progress”—“Cruise of the Quaker City”—or what?
I am tired of writing [wishy-washy ]squibs for the Tribune, & have joined the Herald staff—2 impersonal letters a week. Mr. Bennett says I may have full swing, & say as many mean things as I please.3 Now don’t say a word Madam, because I just mean to abuse people right & left., in case the humor takes me to do it. There are lots of folks in Washington who need villifying. I expect I ‸shall‸ will shock you sometimes, anger you occasionally, provoke your motherly uneasiness often—but [ woul wound ]your feelings, never!
I have not sworn an oath since I wrote you last—& yet I have not a button on my clothes hardly. The fortitude I have shown under these exasperating circumstances fills me with admiration. I have a splendid opinion of myself, now—& I owe it all to you. Long may you lif live—& long may I live also, to sing your praises.
I am the guest of Mr. Hoop ker’s (Henry Ward Beecher’s brother-in-law) family here for a few days, & I tell you I have to walk mighty straight. I desire to have the respect of this sterling old Puritan community, for their respect is well worth having—& so I don’t dare to smoke after I go to bed, & in fact I don’t dare to do anything that’s comfortable & natural. It comes a little hard to lead such a sinless life, but then you know it won’t be for long—I can let myself out when I get to Washington. I have promised to be Mrs. Hooker’s special Washington correspondent, & so I shall have to be particular again. I am in a pretty close place—I can’t put my slang into your letters—I can’t put it into hers—I guess I shall have to deluge Charley Langdon with it.
But I guess I have written bosh enough for the present. [Good-bye]. I am ever so grateful to you for sending me those copies of the Herald. I see a good many ideas in your letters that I can steal.4 Remember me most kindly to Mrs. Severance & that good old husband of hers.
Sam Clemens
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L2, 165–167; MTMF, 13–16; Davis 1954, brief excerpt.
Provenance:see Huntington Library, p. 512.
Emendations and textual notes:
t • [partly formed]
papers. It • papers.—|It
subscription. They • subscription.—|They
wishy-washy • wishy-|washy
woul wound • woulnd
Good-bye • Good-|bye
Sincerly • [sic]