Clinton, Mass, Nov. 15.
Livy Darling—
I had to submit to the customary & exasperating drive around town in a freezing open buggy this morning (at Norwich) to see the wonders of the village.1
{Mem.—They always consist of the Mayor’s house; the ex-mayor’s house; the house of a State Senator; house of an ex-governor; house of a former Member of Congress; the public school with its infernal architecture; the female seminary; paper mill or factory of some kind or other; the cemetery; the Court house; the plaza; the place where the park is going to be—& I must sit & shiver & stare at a melancholy grove of skeleton trees & listen while my friend gushes enthusiastic statistics & dimensions. All towns are alike—all [have ] [their ]same stupid trivialities to show, & all demand an impossible interest at the suffering stranger’s hands. Why won’t these insane persecutors believe me when I protest pleadingly that I don’t care two cents for all the thrilling wonders the village can [boast.
{How ]I gloat in secret when one of these people regrets that I cannot “remain over” & see his accursed village! And how unblushingly I repeat the [threadbare ]lie that I am sorry!
{After the natural wonders are all visited, then we have to call on other inanimate wonders with dull faces, but with legs to them that show them to be human: the mayor; the richest man; the wag of the village (who instantly assails me with old stale jokes & humorous profanity); the village editor—& a lot more of people I take no possible interest in & don’t want to see. And when by some divine accident one of them isn’t at home, what a fervent prayer of thankfulness rises up in my heart!}
I only have to submit to these inflictions when I am the guest of somebody & cannot refuse to suffer in return for his hospitality. When I am paying my own bills, at a hotel, I talk out & say No Sir—not any village wonders for the subscriber, if you please.
Here I am in a hotel—the Clinton House—& a villainous one it is—shabby bed, shabby room, shabby furniture, dim lights—everything shabby & disagreeable.
Holyoke, Mass, 16
Livy Darling—
I got your little letter a while ago & am therefore glad & happy—happier & more & more grateful for your love with every day that goes over my head. I would not know what to do or whither to turn to give life a value if I were to lose my darling now. I am so wrapped up in you, I so live in you, that it to lose you would be equivalent to losing life itself.
I left Boston without baggage, thinking I would go back there from Norwich the same night—but the trains left at such inconvenient hours that I went from there to Clinton—found a similar state of things — came straight here. But as I am clear out of shirts (wore this one yesterday) I shall take an early train to Boston tomorrow before I go to Danvers.2
Loving kisses, darling.
Sam.
P. S.—The photograph was Josh Billings.3
This is the way to spell a certain word, little sweetheart—“pretty”—do you see, honey? I have not looked to see whether any others are [misspelt ]or not, because I don’t care whether they are or not—but that one just happened to fall under my eye at this moment.
I am so dead stupid, from getting up so early this morning, that I fairly dread going on that [ state stage ] [to-night]. Come, my darling, stam check that cold immediately, & look out for the sore throat—don’t you dare to go out with only one shawl.
I cured my cold with two long & severe Turkish baths taken in immediate succession, with cold shower baths between4—next morning I was entirely well.
Sam
[in ink:] Miss Olivia L. [Langdon ]| Elmira |[ N. Y. ] [postmarked:] holyoke mass. nov 17 [docketed by OLL:] 138th | S S | P. S
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):
Previous publication:
L3, 395–397; LLMT, 121–22, 360, excerpt and brief paraphrase.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
have • have | have
their • [‘r’ partly formed]
boast. [¶] {How • boast.—| [¶] {How
threadbare • thread-|bare
misspelt • mis-|spelt
state stage • statege
to-night • to-|night
Langdon • Langdo[n] [torn]
N. Y. • N. [Y] [torn]