To Olivia L. Langdon
30 October 1868 • Hartford, Conn.
(MS: CU-MARK, UCCL 02760)

Hartford, Oct. 30.

My Honored Sister:

Your welcome letter made me entirely satisfied. And so I have dispatched all lagging work contentedly since, & am unmanacled, now, & free to go whither I list.1 I owe you many thanks for this assistance. And I thank you for the assurance that I still have your respect & esteem—& particularly that “they have not been changed”—for I would not willingly have them diminished in any degree.

“It may sometimes seem to you that Christ is far from you, that his indwelling spirit is not with you.” You have said truly. I pray as one who prays with words, against a firm-set mountain of sin. I pray too hopefully, sometimes, & sometimes hopelessly. But I still pray—& shall continue to pray. Mr. Twichell has confidence that I shall succeed, & says that I will be a most useful man in the world then—& you know it is pleasant to think that at any time you have been useful or are going to be. The idea of that party of ministers at his house the other night thanking me fervently for having written & published certain trash which they said had lit up some gloomy days with a wholesome laugh was a surprise to me. I had not flattered myself before that a part of my mission on earth was to be a benefactor to the clergy. I believe I have only one good hope to keep me in heart in this search after a better life, & that is, that indolent as I seem, I know I possess a deal of persistence, & that I shall keep on coming to the surface again after each discouragement & beginning the contest afresh until ——. Time must decide what the result shall be. I believe, appreciate, & have treasured up what you say about religion & what was in the little printed slip, & I trust that this kindness & consideration of yours will not be lost upon me.

[Mrs. & Mrs. ]Twichell & myself, & two young ladies, sisters of Mrs. T., drove 10 miles out in the country & back the other day,2 & in the course of the conversation Mr. T. uttered several things that struck me forcibly. I was speaking at length about the present wonderful method of communicating with the deaf & dumb almost wholly by word-signs instead of letters,3 & said it was so particularly curious because some of these people were born deaf & dumb & consequently knew no words at all—then how is it that we, who think in words, can convey such thoughts to these people? He said we didn’t always think in words—that our highest, grandest, most brilliant thoughts were far beyond our capacity to frame into words, & that we had no words that would express them—that often a radiant thought-vision lit up our plodding brains with its [wierd ]beauty, & vanished instantly to the heaven it surely came from, while we stood amazed, delighted, yet utterly incapable of determining what it was like, but only ejaculating helplessly, “Heavens! what was that!” And he said something like this—I have the substance I think, but I have forgotten his language: But some day this tramelling flesh will be stripped away, this prison-house thrown open & the soul set free—free to expand to its just magnitude—& then what thoughts we shall have! what visions! The celestial visitants that haunt us now, exquisite but without form & void,4 will be stately temples of thought, ornate, symmetrical, full of grace, & gorgeous with dissolving lights that stream from that far-off world we dream of!—not the shapeless magnificent chaos they seem to us here in the dark! I never heard this idea suggested before, but I think it is very beautiful.

Twichell is splendid. And he has one rare faculty—he is thoughtful & considerate. He lends me his overcoat when I go there without one, lends me his umbrella, lends me his slippers. I asked for a pair of slippers only once—I never have to ask for them now. These are small things, but they show the man, you know—he thinks of others people’s comfort before his own—& thus reminds me of you—& to my own disadvantage. For I know of many instances of your inconveniencing yourself to satisfy some persistent petition of mine, when it would have looked better if I had been thinking more of your pleasure & less of my own. I know very well what you would say to this, but that couldn’t alter the facts any. The facts simply are, that I ought to be ashamed of myself—and I ain’t. I still reflect with pleasure upon every time I persuaded you to do anything. It was wrong to persuade you to go to see the Misses Spaulding that day when you wanted to write.5 But I would do it again. I do not mind doing anything that is wrong when I know I am right. No, I am unrepentant. I regret to this day that the horse was not there.

“Each soul must fight its own battle, & human friendship is impotent to help.” I even think I am glad to find an imperfection in you, for it makes you more like other people—glad to find a most ungenerous sentiment reposing in a bosom where it has no company. The little child, trusting its mother, trusts her God—having faith in its mother, has faith in whom she worships—loving its mother, loves the [Savior ]toward whose gracious presence she turns with such a yearning tenderness—& so led, so guided, it is saved, while the doctors, learned & wise, grope among premises & arguments, testimonies, doubts & logic, & are lost. The preacher helps his flock—the missionary exiles himself from all of earth his love holds dear, to help the friendless & forsaken in every hapless land—even Jesus saith, “If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in Heaven.”6 And so you, only you, are left to say “human friendship is impotent to help.” You have read Matt. [ xxv, 44–45? & xvii ], 18–20? However, you make the strongest point against your own doctrine, once in every four & twenty hours—when you pray for me—& so what need is there that I should say a word by way of argument?

But I still stick to what I said at first—I am glad you hold this extravagant doctrine—I am glad you have it—I would not that it should be otherwise, my sister—& with that perversity that belongs to human nature, I simply love you all the better for it.

But after all, I must unsay those arguments of mine—for I cannot pit a few flippant fancies against the years of patient study that have revealed to you the truth. And when I come to search my understanding & my heart, neither will consent that you are capable of thinking a wrong thing any more than you are of doing one. I do not want to think you are—I do not want to harbor such an idea at all—for then I think I should not have faith in my species any more. {Now I didn’t want to scratch that out, but then you would have wrapped my knuckles, maybe, & I thought ‸maybe‸ I had better do it. Curiosity is a virtue of your sex—I don’t mind your exercising it, sister mine.}

Yes, I will be sure to write Mrs. F. to send you that book. No, I’ll get a new one & mark it again. That one is soiled by railway travel. I have been reading such an exquisite book!7 [I]’ll tell you all I—No indeed, you are not given to saying unkind things, & I am very, very thankful for it—but I knew you could, if you believed it necessary, & that is why I pleaded. Get your Browning ready—for lo, I come like a lamb to the slaughter!8 You know very well that I enjoyed my lessons before, [ noth notwithstanding ]I couldn’t get the gas-lamps right.9

I shall spend the first week of Nov. in New York, & shall surely call on Mrs. Brooks (“not Brown”—yes, I remember.)10 Then I shall be in Cleveland till the 17th Nov. Won’t you please write me at the Everett House, Union Square, N.Y? Remember it is already “unfrequently” since you wrote. Try—& if you can’t, why then be sure to write “Care Herald, Cleveland.”—long before the 17th. Now remember that I am not where I can “persist” until I persuade you—& so be generous.

You see that I am trying not to abuse my privilege of writing as much as I please—& not succeeding worth a cent. Somehow 9 pages don’t seem to hold anything.11 But I’ve got to ‸must‸ have relief. I’ll inflict the rest on Mrs. Fairbanks, who’s got to put up with it.

What was the name of that hymn we fancied so much in church one day? “Fading, Still Fading” is beautiful.—old, but beautiful.12

P.S.—You Good-bye & pleasant dreams.—

Your affectionate Brother,

Samℓ. L. Clemens.

[on back of letter as folded: ]

P.S. I have got mother Fairbanks in a stew [again. I ]named that lecture just for her benefit. And I sent her ab an absurd [ pretended ]synopsis of it that I knew would provoke her wrath—& intimated that I was idling somewhat.13 I like to tease her because I [ love like ]her so. I would tease you, only you take everything in such dreadful earnest it hurts my conscience. I never could venture farther than to convince you that there was 16 in a cribbage hand that hadn’t anything in it.

[ Good-bye]—.

P.S.—Have just received an imperative invitation from the Webb sisters to attend a party in New York to-night—to which is added an urgent note from several eminent newspaper men & “Many New Yorkers & Californians”—& now, my sister, my curiosity is fearfully excited! I do wonder what it is? I shall take the cars at noon.14

Good bye.

P.P.S—I am going to a Yale College re-union with Mr. Twichell, & then go on to N. Y.15

I will [sieze ]the opportunity offered by all this blank space to say

Good [bye—may] peace & prosperity attend you. 16

{I did not scratch it out to excite your curiosity, or to tease you, but because it was surplusage.}

[ Goo ]

Miss Olivia L. Langdon. | Elmira | New York. [postmarked:] new haven con. oct 30 [docketed by OLL:] 5th

Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary

Editorial Signs

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1 In an Alta dispatch dated 28 October Clemens wrote: “I have not been working very hard, but I have got this book of mine ready for the engravers and electrotypers at last, though it will not be issued from the publishing house till March. Not knowing what else to name it, I have called it ‘The New Pilgrim’s Progress.’ I am told that Bancroft is to be the agent for it on the Pacific Coast and in China” (SLC 1868 [MT00754]).

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2 It is not known which two of Harmony Twichell’s six sisters were present on this outing, which Clemens informed Olivia on 18 October would take place “tomorrow.” His reference to “young ladies,” however, suggests that neither Delia Cushman Hannahs (aged about thirty-nine), Maria Cushman (aged about thirty), nor Dora H. Cushman (aged about twenty-eight) were along, but that Mary D. Cushman (aged about twenty-two), Harriet E. Cushman (aged about eighteen), or Charlotte Cushman (aged about sixteen) might well have been (18 Oct 68 to OLL; “Sudden Death of Mrs. Twichell,” Hartford Courant, 25 Apr 1910, 2; Exeter Census, 11).

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3 Clemens’s “speaking at length” about sign language may have been prompted by the proximity of the American Asylum at 690 Asylum Street, the first school for the deaf in the United States. Founded in 1817 by Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet (1787–1851), the school moved to this large tract of land, granted it by Congress, in 1821. Gallaudet studied French techniques for teaching deaf mutes, eventually bringing to the United States a system of signs and gestures developed in the late eighteenth century by Abbé Charles Michel de l’Epée, which, together with the manual alphabet, evolved into modern American Sign Language (Trumbull, 1:425–27; Geer, 27).

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4 Genesis 1:2.

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5 Clara (1849–1935) and her older sister, Alice (d. 1935), were the daughters of Captain Henry Clinton Spaulding, a wealthy Elmira coal and lumber dealer, and his wife, the former Clara Wisner. The incident referred to here has not been further identified (Salsbury, 433; Towner, 128; Boyd and Boyd, 197; Herbert A. Wisbey, Jr., to Dahlia Armon, 12 Jan 1987, CU-MARK). In 1906 Clemens described Clara as “my wife’s playmate and schoolmate from the earliest times,” who was “about my wife’s age, or two or three years younger—mentally, morally, spiritually, and in all ways, a superior and lovable personality” (AD, 26 Feb 1906, CU-MARK, in MTA, 2:140).

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6 Matthew 18:19.

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7 Neither book has been identified. Clemens’s references to the “exquisite” book in two later letters to Olivia (5 and 7 Dec 68, and 31 Dec 68) imply that it was one, or all, of the four parts of The Angel in the House, a popular verse narrative by Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore (1832–96): The Betrothal (1854), The Espousals (1856), Faithful for Ever (1860), and The Victories of Love (1862), published together in one volume in 1866 (London: Macmillan). The first two parts trace the growing love, courtship, and marriage of Honoria Churchill and Felix Vaughan. The last two concern the courtship and marriage of Honoria’s cousin, Frederick Graham, and Jane, a chaplain’s daughter. Clemens quoted from or discussed these books elsewhere in his letters to Olivia (4 Dec 68, 23 and 24 Dec 68, and 31 Dec 68).

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8 Isaiah 53:7.

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9 See 18 Oct 68 to OLL, n. 6.

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10 Fidele A. Brooks (b. 1837) was the wife of Henry J. Brooks, a New York leather merchant. The Brookses were close friends of the Langdons’, and were particularly fond of Olivia; they had signed the Langdons’ guestbook on 19 August, just two days before Clemens arrived for his first visit, but it is not known just when, or even whether, Clemens had met them. His mistake of “Brown” for “Brooks” has not been found, perhaps because it occurred in the now largely lost letter of 4–5 October (“Langdon Guest Book,” 5; Wilson 1868, 134; Fidele A. Brooks to SLC, 2 Jan 1910, CU-MARK; SLC to PAM, 23 June 69, CU-MARK).

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11 At this point in his letter Clemens was only one line from the bottom of the ninth page, which he had begun with the paragraph “But after all” (273.29). Eight words into that paragraph’s second sentence (“understanding,” 273.31), he had started writing in a noticeably smaller hand, making two lines of script fit into each ruled line of stationery. He went on to squeeze the rest of his letter into the margins and onto the back of this same page.

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12 “Fading, Still Fading,” an anonymous vesper hymn sung to a Portuguese melody, had been popular in America since its first publication in the Sacred Minstrel (1830). The words were included in Henry Ward Beecher’s Plymouth Collection of Hymns, which was probably the hymnal of the Langdons’ church (Park Congregational) and had been “frequently used” on board the Quaker City (Julian, 362; McCaskey, 3:62; SLC 1867 [MT00587]):

Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining,

Father in heaven! the day is declining,

Safety and innocence fly with the light,

Temptation and danger walk forth with the night;

From the fall of the shade till the morning bells chime,

Shield me from danger, save me from crime.

(Henry Ward Beecher 1855, 822)

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13 See 12 Oct 68 to Fairbanks.

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14 Neither the “party” alluded to, nor the signers of the “urgent note,” have been identified. The Webb sisters, Emma and Ada, were moderately wellknown professional actresses and singers. They debuted in 1860 as the “Fairy Star Sisters” at New York’s recently opened New Bowery Theater. Clemens had met them in April when they were on tour in Virginia City, billed in the Trespass as the “beautiful and accomplished Artistes,” appearing in “a choice selection from their Repertoire of Dramas, Burlesques, [and] Musical Farces.” They canceled their last two performances in order to make Piper’s Opera House available to Clemens (Odell, 8:244; Odell, 7:230; “Amusements,” Virginia City Trespass, 25 Apr 68, 2; Virginia City Territorial Enterprise: “Piper’s Opera House,” 16 Apr 68, 3; “Mark Twain,” 24 Apr 68, 3; “Piper’s Opera House,” 26 Apr 68, 3).

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15 Nothing further is known about this 30 October “re-union”; but see 18 Nov 68 to the president of the Yale College Scroll and Key Society.

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16 Clemens was writing on the back of his ninth and final page, after folding the letter for mailing, in a “blank space” of about one-sixth of a page.

Description of Texts and Provenance

Source text(s):

MS, Mark Twain Papers, The Bancroft Library, University of California, Berkeley (CU-MARK).

Previous publication: L2, 271–277.

Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, pp. 515–16.

Emendations and textual notes:

Mrs. & Mrs. • [sic]

wierd • [sic]

Savior • [possibly ‘Sarvior’]

xxv . . . xvii • [small capitals simulated, not underscored]

I • I | I

noth notwithstanding • nothwithstanding

again. I • again.—|I

pretended • p[tn]d[]d [heavily canceled]

love like • lov ‸ik‸e

Good-bye • Good[]bye [heavily canceled]

sieze • [sic]

bye—may • bye[y] [heavily canceled]

Goo • G[] [heavily canceled]