Troy, Jan. 14.
Livy darling, I have been worrying sorely over the letter I wrote you yesterday about smoking—& wondering what I said in it—for as usual, none of the language is left in my memory. I only remember having in my mind a picture of you returning from church all worn & unhappy, & a consciousness in my mind that you had been wrong‸fully‸ ed & treated, & were blameless & should not have been made to suffer for the sin of another. And I had upon me a rasping, chafing sense of
There, there, there—let us bother with the hateful subject no more. I am sure it has caused us both more real suffering [ that than ] would accrue from smoking a million cigars.
And this is a bad time for me to write about exciting matters, for my nerves, & my [ whoo whole ] physical economy, are kno shattered with the wear & tear of travel, lecturing, ten thousand puny petty annoyances & vexations, & an unusual loss of sleep. When things get to going wrong, they keep it up. Yesterday afternoon I arrived at Cambridge & drove to the hotel through a driving storm of sleet—it was dreary & cold. The My spirits began to ebb. Then the Committee (with customary brilliancy of judgment,) informed me that the Troy Times had published my entire lecture, praising it highly, & using numberless dashes & hyphens to imitate my drawling manner of speaking——& further informed me that ever the Times had a large circulation in [Cambridge. My ] spirits fell lower—my anger began to rise. I abused my informant in no minced language, for knowing no better than to tell me I was to talk to an audience to whom my speech would be no news. Then he left (to return after supper) & I was alone in my fury.1 I opened your letter, & lo, even the darling of my heart could not be spared! You had received another shot upon that old, old subject whose bare mention by any lips but yours is getting to be sufficient to make my hair rise. For I am a full grown man, & with gray hairs in my head, & have all a man’s repugnance to [ bee being ] per
There I go again. Well, I had but little time to spare, & so I must have written as I felt—I must have copied my condition. And it was not a happy condition. In due time the Chairman returned, & at 7 the fire‐bells rang, & he sprang to his feet & exclaimed, “My God, there is the lecture‐hall in flames!”
Mentally I uttered a thanksgiving so fervent that if ever prayer of mine pierced the vault of Heaven that one did. I did not move from my chair, & so my wildly excited chairman halted in his mad flight to the door. I said: “You can see by the blinding glare from the windows that nothing can save your hall—why need you rush there for nothing?”
He cooled a little & sat down—& as the fires glowed through those tall windows my spirits came up till I felt that all I needed to be entirely happy was to see the Troy Times editors & this chairman locked up in that burning building.
But my rising spirits were crushed to earth, & exasperation came again. The house was saved. It was burned a little, & flooded with water. But within the hour they scrubbed & the floors, let out the smoke & warmed the place up again—& I lectured.2
Of course, after the lecture, a lot of committeemen invited themselves to my room—although they knew I must rise at 7 in the morning—& presently I grew cheerful & kept them there till 12 o’clock.
This morning the porter failed to call me. I woke, surprised to see it so light, looked at my watch—14 minutes to 8—train leaves at 8.05—depot 4 or 5 blocks distant—no vehicle in sight. Inside of 4 minutes I was not only fully dressed, but down stairs making trouble. The landlord3 was crazy as a loon in 3 seconds—darted this way & that—yelled for a coach—tore his hair—swore at his porter, & was in despair—said the jig was up, & the best he could do was to take a buggy & drive me to Troy—30 miles—thermometer already below zero & growing steadily colder.
I said, “Collect your senses & don’t go wild—show me we have still 6 minutes—show me to the depot—run!” And he did run—ran a tolerably good gate, but I beat him to the depot & jumped on the train—he arrived the next second with my [hand-sachel ] & I was safe for Utica!4 Hurrah!
Don’t grieve over anything I said [ or a ] about smoking, my poor child, but remember that in all moods I love you & honor you—no storm can ruffle that move the depths of that sea—& remember, also, that whenever, unbiased by any influence but your own [ j ] calm, just & charitable judgment, or your own dear, resistless desire, I am called upon to give up smoking, or any other habit of mine, I stand ready to do it—not reluctantly or churlishly, but cheerfully & with a loving [whole-heartedness ] & devotion to your happiness, my Livy.
Peace be with you my precious wife.
Sam.
P.S.—I talk in Fredonia, N.Y. Jan. 19.—(L. McKinstry.)5
[in ink:] Miss Olivia L. Langdon | Elmira | N. Y. [return address:] [if not delivered within 10 days, to be delivered to] [postmarked:] [troy n. y. jan 14 ]3 pm. [docketed by OLL:] 177th
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
Source text(s):Previous publication:
L4, 24–27; LLMT, 137–39.
Provenance:see Samossoud Collection in Description of Provenance.
Emendations and textual notes:
that than • thatn
whoo whole • whoole
Cambridge. My • Cambridge.— | My
bee being • beeing
hand-sachel • hand-|sachel
or a • [‘a’ partly formed]
j • [partly formed]
whole-heartedness • whole-|heartedness
if . . . to
•
[
r]
ed to
[torn; text of
return address adopted in part from envelope of 13 Jan
70 to OLL]
troy n. y. jan 14
•
[]
roy n.y
[]
jan
[14]
[badly
inked]
