Hartford, 8th May.
Patience! Fortitude! These are rare virtues. I possess them, little darling—for it is now exactly 9 PM & for nearly an hour & a half I have had your precious letter in my pocket, yet behold, even at this very moment the seal is unbroken! I am suffering to know what is in it, but I am determined to enjoy the luxury of reading it in bed, with the added delight of a cigar. I tell you, dearie, it is a hard task to carry one of your letters an hour & a half without opening it. But then the pleasure I shall have will repay all my patience. I am writing now, because I cannot consent to rob myself of the solace of writing you every day; & you see, ever so many things may occur tomorrow to lose me that pleasure. Bless your dear little heart, my own darling! The more I think of you the better I love you & the more [bitter ] this [ see separation ] [seems. Livy ], you are so interwoven with the very fibres of my being that if I were to lose you it seems to me that to lose memory & reason at the same time would be a blessing to me. God preserve you, my little jewel. I felt very thankful this morning when “our” good mother’s letter to Charley said your cold was growing better, albeit a little impatient that it was only growing better “slowly.”
Charley drove up to the depot with me & I left him in good spirits—& forgot to retain the carriage & send him back in it. I never thought of it until this moment, & now I am so ashamed of myself that the pleasure of reading your letter is going to be marred by my upbraiding conscience. I will write him & apologize. Oh, this is too bad. I would give anything if this had not occurred. Charley don’t like to walk is all kindness & thoughtfulness, & I am all stupidity & carelessness. He never would have been so inconsiderate of my comfort as to serve me such a scurvy trick as this. I won’t add [another ] line to this until I have asked his pardon.
* * * * * * *
Well, I have written Uncle Cholley a most humble letter, & I begin to feel better already.
Livy, one of those New York papers said “Mark Twain is at the St Nicholas, & we have seen him & he is only one.”—a play upon Twain & our reported marriage. How’s thim?1
That squib I wrote about the Wilson murder case was in the New York Tribune this morning. Did my little business manager cut it out & preserve it? It isn’t important, but then it comes under the head of the s especial duty I assign you, & so you must attend to it, honey.1
I have seen Mr. Twichell just a [moment ], & he wants me to spend a week with him. His wife is going away Monday. Told him I [didn’t ] know. S Am to spend [the ] evening with him tomorrow & talk about it.
I am satisfied there is another letter in the post office from you by this time, & I do wish I had it.
I am writing on a marble-top table, & if I don’t quit right away I shall get a scolding from the dearest girl in the world—therefore, with worlds of love, & a kiss & a blessing, I am your devoted,
Sam
Miss Olivia L. [Langdon ]
| Elmira | New [York ]
[return address:]
allyn house, hartford, conn.
r. j. allyn.
3
[postmarked:] hartford conn. may
9
[docketed by OLL:] 62nd
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
REMARKABLE MURDER TRIAL.
To the Editor of The Tribune. Sir: The Wilson trial
came to an end yesterday. In some respects this was the most
remarkable case that has ever had a place upon the criminal records
of the country. It excited great interest in this part of the State,
and, during the last ten days, the court-room has been pretty
generally crowded with eager listeners. The facts in the Wilson case
were simply these: On the 17th of February last, George L. Roderick
provoked a quarrel with Dr. R. Wilson, in front of the Union Hotel
in this place. Wilson put up with a good deal of abuse before he
even showed temper. He even tried to pacify Roderick, but to no
purpose. Roderick called him a thief, a liar, a swindler; yet Wilson
bore it all calmly. Roderick grew more excited, and heaped one
opprobrious epithet after another upon Wilson, and finally called
him a member of the New-York Legislature. At this, Wilson sprang to
his feet, and remarking to Roderick that he would not take that from
any man, shot him dead with an axe-handle. Such was the evidence
elicited upon the trial. The Court acquitted Wilson, upon the ground
that the provocation was sufficient.
Elmira,
N.Y., April 29. The events and persons alluded to were entirely fictitious: no Wilson
murder occurred in Elmira, nor was there any such trial, nor even any
“Union Hotel.” The New York Evening Telegram recognized Mark Twain’s purpose,
noting that he “has grown so satirical of late as to awaken
the enmity of several pugnacious politicians whose courage he has
ventured to doubt. They threaten to toe the Mark
in proof of their pluck” (8 May 69, 2). The objects of his
ridicule were Republican Senators William Sprague (1830–1915)
of Rhode Island and Joseph C. Abbott (1825–81) of North
Carolina. In a Senate speech on 22 April Sprague had referred to two
political opponents as “a large mastiff and a mongrel
puppy.” Abbott assumed he was the puppy (making the mastiff
Clemens’s old acquaintance, James W. Nye, a Republican
senator from Nevada), and replied to Sprague, threatening him with
“physical castigation,” and demanding a retraction
or, by implication, satisfaction on the field of honor. But on 26 April,
despite what the New York Times described as
“the most ferocious face-makings, and terrific threats ever
witnessed,” the two men were reconciled in a mild exchange of
letters (New York Times:
“Washington,” “United States
Senate,” 23 Apr 69, 1; “Washington,” 27
Apr 69, 5; “Sprague and Company,” 28 Apr 69, 6).
The Elmira Advertiser reported this story in two
brief reports that Mark Twain must have read, and it reprinted his Tribune letter, without comment, one week after
it appeared (“News By Telegraph,” 23 Apr 69, 1;
“The Abbott-Sprague Quarrel Settled,” 27 Apr 69,
1; “Remarkable Murder Trial,” 15 May 69, 4). On 22
May, however, aspiring local author and lecturer James Ausburn Towner
(1836–1909) also reprinted Mark Twain’s letter as
part of “Ishmael’s Corner” in the
Elmira Saturday Evening Review, disparaging its
humor as unsubtle and interlarding his own sarcastic remarks
(“There’s richness for you; there’s
fatness; there is such an air of fresh unctious humor about
it”) while evidently failing to recognize that any satire was
intended (Towner 1869; “Ishmael,”
Elmira Saturday Evening Review, 14 Aug 69,
8).
Mark Twain.
(New York Tribune, 8 May
69, 4)
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L3, 206–208; LLMT, 358, brief paraphrase.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection, p. 586.
Emendations and textual notes:
bitter • btt bitter [corrected miswriting]
see separation • seeparation [doubtful ‘seepparation’]
seems. Livy • seems.—|Livy
another • an |another [corrected miswriting]
moment • moment[,] [written off edge of page]
didn’t • didn’[t] [written off edge of page]
the • th[e] [written off edge of page]
Langdon • Langdo[n] [torn]
York • Yor[k] [torn]
