Sunday Afternoon,0
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At Home, 472 Delaware Avenue,
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Buffalo Feb. [6,]
[1870.]
My First, & Oldest & Dearest Friend,
My heart goes out to you just the same as [ever!] Your letter has stirred me to the bottom.1 The fountains of my great deep are broken up & I have rained reminiscences for four & twenty hours.2 The old life has swept before me like a panorama; the old days have trooped by in their old glory, [again;] the old faces have looked out of the mists of the past; old footsteps have sounded in my listening ears; old hands have clasped mine, old voices have greeted me, & the songs I loved ages & ages ago have come wailing down the centuries! Heavens what eternities have swung their hoary cycles about us since those days were new!—What Since we tore down Dick Hardy’s stable; since you had the measles & I went to your house purposely to catch them; since Henry Beebe kept that envied [slaughter-house], & Joe Craig sold him cats to kill in it; since old General Gaines used to say, “Whoop! Bow your neck & spread!;” since Jimmy [Finn] was town drunkard & we stole his dinner while he slept in the vat & fed it to the hogs in order to keep them still till we could mount them & have a ride; since Clint Levering was drowned; since we taught that one-legged nigger, Higgins, to offend Bill League’s dignity by hailing him in [publici ] with his exasperating “Hello, League!”—since we used to undress & play Robin Hood wi in our shirt-tails, with lath swords, in the woods on Holliday’s Hill on those long summer days; since we used to go in swimming above the still-house branch—& at mighty intervals wandered on vagrant o fishing excursions clear up to “the Bay,” & wondered what was curtained away in the great world beyond that remote point;3 since I jumped overboard from the ferry boat in the middle of the river that stormy day to get my hat, & swam two or three miles after it (& got it,) while all the town collected on the wharf & for an hour or so looked out across the angry waste of “white‐caps” toward where people said Sam. Clemens was last seen before he went down; since we got up a mutiny rebellion against Miss Newcomb, under Ed. Stevens’ leadership, (to force her to let us all go over to Miss Torry’s side of the schoolroom,) & gallantly “sassed” Laura Hawkins when she came out the third time to call us in, & then afterward marched in ‸in‸ threatening & bloodthirsty [array,—]& meekly yielded, & took each his little thrashing, [& resumed] his old seat entirely “reconstructed;” since we used to indulge in that very peculiar performance on that old bench outside the [school-house] to drive good old Bill Brown crazy while he was eating his dinner; since we used to remain at school at noon & go hungry, in order to persecute Bill Brown in all possible ways—poor old Bill, who could be driven to such extremity of vindictiveness as to call us “You infernal fools!” & chase us round & round the school-house—& yet who never had the heart to hurt us when he caught us, & who always loved us & always took our part when the big boys wanted to thrash us; since we used to lay in wait for Bill Pitts at the pump & whale him; (I saw him two or three years ago, & I was awful polite to his six feet two, & mentioned no reminiscences); since we used to be in Dave Garth’s class in Sunday school & on week-days stole his leaf tobacco to run our miniature tobacco presses with; since Owsley shot Smar; since Ben Hawkins shot off his finger; since we accidentally burned up that poor fellow in the calaboose; since we used to shoot spool cannons;, & cannons made of keys, while that envied & hated Henry Beebe drowned out our poor little pop-guns with his booming brazen little artillery on wheels; since Laura Hawkins was my [sweetheart——————] 4
Hold! That rouses me out of my dream, & brings me violently back unto this day & this generation. For behold I have at this moment the only sweetheart I ever loved, & bless her old heart she is lying asleep upstairs in a bed that I sleep in every night, & for four whole days she has been Mrs. Samuel L. Clemens! 5
I am 34 & she is 24; I am young & very handsome (I make the statement with the fullest confidence, for I got it from her,) & she is much the most beautiful girl I ever saw (I said that before she was anything to me, & so it is worthy of all belief) & she is the best girl, & the sweetest, & the gentlest, & the daintiest, & the most modest & unpretentious, & the wisest in all things she should be wise in & the most ignorant in all matters it would not grace her to know, & she is sensible & quick, & loving & faithful, forgiving, full of charity—& her beautiful life is ordered by a religion that is all kindliness & unselfishness. Before the gentle majesty of her purity all evil things & evil ways & evil deeds stand abashed,—then surrender. Wherefore without effort, or struggle, or spoken exorcism, all the old vices & shameful habits that have possessed me these many many years, are falling away, one by one, & departing into the darkness.
Bill, I know whereof I speak. I am too old & have moved about too much, & rubbed against too many people not to know human beings as well as we used to know “boils” from “[breaks.”] 6
She is the very most perfect gem of womankind that ever I saw in my life—& I will stand by that remark till I die.
William, old boy, her father surprised us a little, the other night. We all arrived here in a night train (my little wife & I were going to board,) & under pretense of taking us to the private boarding house that had been selected for me while I was absent lecturing in New England, my new father-in-law & some old friends drove us in sleighs to the [daintiest,] darlingest, loveliest little palace in America—& when I said “Oh, this [won’t do]—people who can afford to live in this sort of style won’t take boarders,” that same blessed father-in-law let out the secret that this was all our property—a present from [himself.] House & furniture cost $40,000 in cash, (including stable, horse & carriage), & is a most exquisite little palace (I saw no apartment in Europe so lovely as our little drawing-room.)
Come along, you & Mollie,7 just whenever you can, & pay us a visit, (giving us a little notice [beforehand],) & if we don’t make you comfortable nobody in the world can.
[{And] now ‸my‸ princess has come down for dinner (bless me, isn’t it cosy, nobody but just us two, & three servants to wait on us & respectfully call us “Mr.” and “Mrs. Clemens” instead of “Sam.” & “Livy!”) It took me many a year to work up to where I can put on style, but now I’ll do [it. My] book gives me an income like a small lord, & my paper is not a good [ po profitable] concern.8
Dinner’s ready. Good bye & g God bless you, old friend, & keep your heart fresh & your memory green for the old days that will never come again.
Yrs always
Sam. Clemens.
Explanatory Notes | Textual Commentary
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Clemens was at the Lafayette Street Presbyterian Church, which he and Olivia attended regularly during
their first few months in Buffalo (13 Feb 70 to
Fairbanks; 19 June 70 to the Langdons; Reigstad 1990, 1–2). Mentioned by Olivia: domestics
Ellen White and Harriet, the former a Langdon family servant who, according to Olivia’s cousin Hattie Lewis,
was “installed as housekeeper” (Paff, 7),
but also seems to have been the cook; coachman Patrick McAleer (1846–1906), who served the Clemenses almost
without interruption until 1891; four of the remaining Langdon household staff (Laura, Mary Crossey, Mary Green, Mrs.
Barnes); Emma Sayles; John D. F. Slee; Eunice Ford; Susan and Theodore Crane; and, possibly, Anna Marsh Brown (16 Apr 70 to Crane; 11 June 70 to White; MTB, 1:396; 15 May 72 and 10 June 74, both to OC and MEC, CU-MARK; 26–27? July 72 to MEC, CU-MARK;
“Coachman Many Years for Mark Twain,” Hartford Courant, 26 Feb 1906,
6).![]()
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Previous publication:
L4, 50–55; In 1989, before the Bowen TS was
discovered, the Mark Twain Project published a text in Inds, 20–23, which was based in part on three transcripts: a typed transcription at CtHMTH, and two published transcriptions, SLC 1938, 8–10, and SLC 1941, 18–21. All derive directly or indirectly from
the Bowen TS.
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Provenance:
The surviving MS was donated to TxU in the summer of 1940 by Eva
Laura Bowen (Mrs. Louis Knox), daughter of William Bowen (Hornberger, 7 n. 12, 10). A photocopy of William Bowen’s TS was given to the Mark Twain Papers in 1993
by Gunnison’s granddaughters, Barbara Gunnison Anderson, Alberta Gunnison Stock, and Marion Gunnison
Weygers.
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Emendations and textual notes:
MS is copy-text for ‘
c
. . . back’ (50.1–51.26)
TS is copy-text for ‘unto
. . . father-in-law’ (51.27–52.19)
MS is copy-text for ‘let out
. . . Clemens.’ (52.19–37)
6, •
6[
]
[ink faded and paper discolored]
1870. (TS) •
[![]()
]70[.]
[ink faded and paper discolored]
ever! (TS) •
ever[
]
[faded]
again; • again◇; [doubtful canceled question mark]
slaughter-house • slaughter-|house
Finn • Finn Finn [corrected miswriting]
publici • [‘i’ partly formed]
array,— • [deletion implied]
& resumed • & & resumed
school-house • school-|house
sweetheart—————— • sweetheart——— | ———
breaks.” • breaks”.
daintiest, • daintiest‸
won’t do • wont do
himself. • himself◇. [period over doubtful, unrecovered character]
beforehand • before-|hand
{And • [no closing bracket]
it. My • it.— | My
po profitable • porofitable
c