Mark Twain by Susy Clemens

We are a very happy family! we consist of papa, mamma, Jean Clara and me. It is papa I am writing about, and I shall have no trouble in not knowing what to say about him, as he is a very striking character. Papa’s appearance has been discribed many times, but very incorectly; he has beautiful curly grey hair, not any too thick, or any too long, just right; A roman nose, which greatly improves the beauty of his features, kind blue eyes, and a small mustache, he has a wonderfully shaped head, and profile, he has a very good figure in short he is an extrodinarily fine looking man. All his features are perfect exept that he hasn’t extrodinary teeth. His complexion is very fair, and he doesn’t ware a beard.

He is a very good man, and a very funny one; he has got a temper but we all of us have in this family. He is the loveliest man I ever saw, or ever hope to see; and oh so absent minded! He does tell perfectly delightful stories, Clara and I used to sit on each arm of his chair, and listen while he told us stories about the pictures on the wall.

His favorite game is billiards, and when he is tired, and wishes to rest himself he stays up all night and plays billiards, it seems to rest his head. He smokes a great deal almost incessantly. He has the mind of an author exactly, some of the simplest things he cant understand. Our burglar alarm is often out of order, and papa had been obliged to take the mahogany room off from the alarm altogether for a time, because the burglar alarm had been in the habit of ringing even when the mahogany room window was closed. At length he thought that perhaps the burglar alarm might be in order, and he decided to try and see; accordingly he put it on, and then went down and opened the window; consequently the alarm bell rang, it would even if the alarm had been in order. Papa went despairingly up stairs, and said to mamma, “Livy the mahogany room wont go on, I have just opened the window to see.” “Why Youth” mamma replied, “if you’ve opened the window why of coarse the alarm will ring!’ “That’s what I’ve opened it for, why I just went down to see if it would ring”! Mamma tried to explain to papa that when he wanted to go and see whether the alarm would ring while the window was closed, he mustn’t go and open the window. But in vain, papa couldn’t understand, and got very impatient with mamma for trying to make him believe an impossible thing true.

He has a peculiar gait we like, it seems just to sute him, but most people do not; he always walks up and down the room while thinking and between each coarse at meals. He is very fond of animals particularly of cats, we had a dear little grey kitten once, that he named “Lazy” (papa always wares grey to match his hair and eyes) and he would carry him around on his shoulder, it was a mighty pretty sight! the grey cat sound asleep against papa’s grey coat and hair. The names that he has given our different cats, are realy remarkably funny, they are namely “Stray Kit,” “Abner” “Motly,” “Freulein,” “Lazy” “Bufalo Bill” and “Soapy Sall” “Cleveland,” “Sour Mash” and “Famine”

Papa uses very strong language, but I have an idea not nearly so strong as when he first married mamma. A lady acquaintance of his is rather apt to interupt what one is saying, and papa told mamma that he thought he should say to the lady’s husband “I am glad Mrs. _____ wasn’t present when the Deity said ‘“let ther be light”’

Papapa said the other day, “I am a mugwump and a mugwump is pure from the marrow out.” (Papa knows that I am writing this biography of him, and he said this for it.) He doesn’t like to go to church at all, why I never understood, until just now, he told us the other day, that he couldn’t bear to hear any one talk but himself, but that he could listen to himself talk for hours without getting tired, of course he said this in joke, but I’ve no dought it was founded on truth. One of his latest books was the “Prince and the Pauper,” and it is unquestionably the best book he has ever written, some people want him to keep to his old style, some gentelman wrote him, “I enjoyed “Huckelberry Finn” immensly and am glad to see that you have returned to your old style.” ***** That enoyed me greatly, because it trobles me to have so few people know papa, I mean realy know him, they think of Mark Twain as a humorist joking at every thing; “and with a mop of reddish brown hair, which sorely needs the barbar’s brush, a roman nose, short stubby mustache, a sad care-worn face, with many crow’s feet,” &c. that is the way people picture papa, I have wanted papa to write a book that would reveal something of his kind sympathetic nature, and the “Prince and Pauper” partly does it. The book is full of lovely charming ideas, and oh the language! it is perfect, I think. I think that one of the most touching scenes in it, is where the pauper is riding on horsback with his nobles in the recognition procession, and he sees his mother, oh and then what followed; how she runs to his side, when she sees him throw up his hand palm outward, and is rudely pushed off by one [of] the king’s officers. And then how the little pauper’s consience troubles him as he rembers the shameful words that were falling from his lips, when she was torn from his side. “I know you not woman” And how his grandeurs were stricken valueless, and his pride consumed to ashes. It is a wonderfully beautiful and touching little scene, and papa has described it so wonderfully. I never saw a man with so much variety of feeling as papa has; now the “Prince and the Pauper” is full of touching places, but there is most always a streak of humor in them somewhere now in the “Coronation”—in the stirring coronation, just after the little king has got his crown back again papa brings that in about the seal, where the Pauper says he used the seal “to crack nuts with,” oh it is so funny and nice! papa very seldom writes a passage without some humorisam in it some where, and I dont think he ever will.

Papa was born in Misouri, his mother is Grandma Clemens (Jane Lampton Clemens,) of Kentucky, Grandpa Clemens was of the F.F.V’s of Virginia. Clara and I are sure that papa played the trick on Grandma, about the whipping, that is related in “The Adventures of Tom Sayer” “Hand me that switch.” The switch hovered in the air the peril was desperate,—“My, look behind you aunt,”! The old lady whirled round and snatched her skirts out of danger. The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board fence, and dissapeared over it.” ’ And we know papa played “Hookey” all the time. and how readily would papa have pretended to be dying so as not to have to go to school!

Grandma couldn’t make papa go to school, so she let him go into a printing office to learn the trade. He did so, and gradually picked up enough education to enable him to do about as well as those who were more studious in early life. He was about 20 years old when he went on the Mississippi as a pilot. Just befor he started on his tripp Mrs. Clemens asked him to promise her on the Bible not to touch intoxicating liquors or swear, and he said “Yes mother I will,” and he kept that promise seven years, when Grandma released him from it. After papa had been a pilot on the Mississippi, for a time, Uncle Orion Clemens, was appointed secretary of the State of Nevada, and papa went with him out to Nevada to be his secratary. Afterwards he became interested in mining in California, the[n] he reported for a newspaper, and was on several newspapers; then he was sent to the Sandwich islands to After that he came back to America and his friends wanted him to lecture, so he lectured; then he went to Philidelphia, and found a situation in a printing office; Then he went abroad on “the Quaker City,” and on board that ship he became equainted with Uncle Charlie, Mr. C. J. Langdon of New York, papa and uncle Charlie soon became friends, and when they returned from their journey, Grandpa Langdon, unc[l]e Charlie’s father, told uncle Charlie to invite Mr. Clemens to dine with them at the St Nicholas hotel N.Y. Papa accepted the invitation, and went to dine at the “St Nicholas” with Grandpapa, and there he met mamma, Olivia Louise Langdon, first. But they did not meet again until the next August; because papa went away to California, and there wrote the “Inocense Abroad.”

Mamma was the daughter of Mr. Jervis Langdon, (I don’t know whether Grandpa had a middle name or not) and Mrs. Olivia Lewis Langdon, of Elmira New York. She had one brother, and one sister, uncle Charlie, Charles J. Langdon; and aunt Susie, Susan Langdon. Mamma loved Grandpapa more than any one else in all the world, he was her idol, and she his, I think mamma’s love for Grandpa must have very much resembled, my love for mamma. Grandpa was a great and good man, and we all think of him with respect, and love. Mamma was an invalid when she was young, and had to give up study a long time.

Soon papa [came] back east, and papa and mamma were married. Papa wrote mamma a great many beautiful love letters when he was engaged to mamma, but mamma says I am too young to see them yet; I asked papa what I should do for I didn’t [know] how I could write a Biography of him without his love-letters, papa said that I could write mamma’s oppinion of them, and that would do just as well. So I will do as papa says, and mamma says she thinks they are the loveliest love-letters that ever were written, she says she thinks that Hawthorne’s love-letters to Mrs. Hawthorne are far inferior to these. Mamma [and papa] were going to board first in Bufalo and Grandpa said he would find them a good boarding house. But he afterwards told mamma that he had bought a pretty house for them, and had it all beautifully furnished, he had also hired a young coachman, and had bought a horse for them, which all would be ready waiting for them, when they should arive in Bufalo; but he wanted to keep it a secret, from “Youth” as Grandpa called papa. What a delightful surprise it was! Grandpa went down to Bufalo with mamma and papa. And when they drove up to the house, papa said he thought, the landlord of such a boarding house, must charge a great deal, to those who wanted to live there. And when the secret was told papa was delighted beyond all degree. Mamma has told me the story many times, and I asked her what papa said, when Grandpa told him that the delightful boarding house was his home, mamma answered that he was rather embariesed, and so delighted he didn’t know what to say. About 6 months after papa and mamma were married Grandpapa died; it was a terrible blow on mamma, and papa told aunt Sue he thought Livy would never smile again she was so broken hearted. Mamma couldn’t have had a greater sorrow than that of dear Grandpapa’s death, or any that could equal it exept the death of papa. Mamma helped take care of Grandpapa during his illness, and she couldn’t give up hope till the end had realy come. After that she went back to Bufalo; and a few months after dear little Langdon was born. Mamma named him Langdon after Grandpapa, he was a wonderfully beautiful little boy, but very, very delicate. He had wonderful blue eyes, but such a blue that mamma has never been able to discribe them to me, so that I could see them clearly in my mind’s eye. His delicate health was a constant anxiety to mamma, and he was so good and sweet, that that must have troubled her too, as I know it did. While a little baby he used to carry a pencil in his little hand, that was his great plaything; I believe he was very seldom seen without one in his hand. When he was in aunt Susy’s arms and would want to go to mamma he would hold out his hands to her with the backs of his hands out toward her, instead of with his palmes out. About a year after Langdon was born, I was born, and my chief occupation then was to cry so I must have added greatly to mamma’s care! Soon after little Langdon was born, papa and mamma moved to Hartford to live. Their house in Bufalo reminded them too much of dear Grandpapa, so they moved to Hartford soon after he died. Soon after little Langdon was born a friend of mamma’s came to visit her (Emma Nigh.) And she was taken with the typhoid fever, while visiting mamma. At length she became so delirious, and was so hard to take care of, that mamma had to send to some of her friends in Elmira N.Y. to come and help take care of her. Aunt Clara, came, (Miss Clara L. Spaulding) she is no relation of ours but we call her aunt Clara, because she is such a great friend of mamma’s. She came and helped mamma take care of Ema Nigh, but in spite of all the good care that she received, she grew worse and died. Just after I mentioned, that mamma and papa couldn’t stay in their house in Bufalo because it reminded so much of Grandpapa, mamma received a letter from aunt Susy, in which aunt Susy says a good deal about Grandpapa, and the letter shows so clearly how much every one that knew Grandpapa loved and respected him; that mamma let me take it to copy what is in it about Grandpapa. And mamma thought it would fit in nicely here.

Langdon Clemens, 1871.

The FarmApril 16^th/85.

“Livy dear,

Are you not reminded by todays report of Gen. Grant of father? You remember how as Judge Smith and others whom father had chosen as executors were going out of the room, he said “Gentlemen I shall live to bury you all,” smiled and was cheerful. At that time he had far less strength than Gen. Grant seems to have, but that same wonderful courage to battle with the foe. All along, there has been much to remind me of father, of his quiet patience—in Gen. Grant. There certainly is a marked likeness in the souls of the two men. Watching day by day the reports from the nations sick room brings to mind so vividly the days of that summer of 1870. And yet they seem so far away, I seemed as a child compared with now, both in years and experiance. The best and the hardest of life have been since then, to me, and I know this [is] so in your life. All before seems dreamy—I supose this [is] because our lives had to be all readjusted to go on without that great power in them. Father was quietly such a power in so many lives beside ours Livy dear,—not in kind or degree the same to any one, but oh a power! the evening of the last company, I was so struck with the fact, when Mr. Atwater stood quietly before fathers portrait a long time, and turning to me said, “we shall never see his like again”—with a tremble and a choking in his voice,—this after 15 yrs. and from a business friend. And some stranger a week ago spoke of his habit of giving as so remarkable, he having heard of father’s generosity.” ***************

Papa made arangements to read at Vassar College the 1^st of May, and I went with him. We went by way of N.Y. City; mamma went with us to New York and stayed two days, to do some shopping. We started Tuesday at ½ past two o’clock in the after noon, and reached New York about ¼ past 6. Papa went right up to Gen. Grants from the station, and mamma, and I went to the Everett House. Aunt Clara came to supper with us up in our room. We were going to the theater right after supper, and we expected papa to take us there, and to come home as early as he could. But we got through dinner, and he didn’t come, and didn’t come, and mamma got more perplexed and worried, but at [last] we thought we would have to go without him, so we put on our things, and started down stairs but before we’d goten half down, we met papa coming up, with a great bunch of roses in his hand, he explained that the reason he was so late was that his watch stopped, and he didn’t notice, and kept thinking it, an hour earlier than it realy was. The roses he carried were some Col. Grant sent to mamma. We went to the theater and enjoyed “Adonis,” the play acted very much, we reached home about ½ past 11 o’clock, and went right to bed. Wed. morning we got up rather late, and had breakfast about ½ past 9 o’clock. After breakfast mamma went out shopping, and papa and I went to see papa’s agent about some busniess matters. After papa had gotten through talking to Cousin Charlie, his agent, we went to get a friend of papa’s (Major Pond) to go and see a dog show with us. Then we went to see the dogs with Major Pond and we had a delightful time seeing so many dogs together; when we got through seeing the dogs, papa thought he would go up and see Gen. Grant, and I went with him,—this was April 29^th 1885. Papa went up into Gen. Grant’s room, and he took me with him, I felt greatly honored and delighted when papa took me into Gen. Grant’s room and let me see the Gen. and Col. Grant; for Gen Grant is a man I shall be glad all my life that I have seen. Papa and Gen. Grant had a long talk together; and papa has writen an account of his talk and visit with Gen. Grant for me to put into this Biography.

1885.

“April 29^th 1885. “I called on Gen. Grant and took Susie with me. The Gen. was looking and feeling far better, than he had looked or felt for some months. He had ventured to work again on his book that morning—the first time he had done any work for perhaps a month. This morning’s work was his first attempt at dictating and it was a thourough success to his great delight. He had always said that it would be impossible for him to dictate anything; but I had said that he was noted for cleanness of statement, and a narative was simply a statement of consecutive facts, and that he was consequently peculiarly qualified and equipped for dictation. This turned out to be true; for he had dictated two hours that morning to a short hand writer, had never hessitated for words, had not repeated himself, and the manuscript, when finished needed no revision. The two hours work was an account of Appomatox, and this was such an extremely important feature, that his book would necessarily have been severely lame without it. Therefore I had taken a short hand writer there before to see if I could not get him to write at least a few lines about Appomatox; but he was at that time, not well enough to undertake it. I was aware that of all the hundred versions of Appomatox, not one was realy corect Therefore I was extremely anxious that he should leave behind him the truth. His throat was not disstressing him and his voice was much better and stronger than usual. He was so delighted to have got Appomatox, accomplished, once more in his life—to have got the matter off his mind—that he was as talkative as his old self. He received Susy very pleasantly, and then fell to talking about certain matters which he hoped to be able to dictate next day; and he said in substance, that—among other things—he wanted to settle once for all a question that had been bandied about from mouth to mouth and from newspaper to newspaper and that question was: with whom orriginated the idea of the march to the sea,—was it Grant’s or was it Sherman’s idea?

Whether I or some one else—being anxious to get the important fact settled—asked him with whom the idea orriginated, I dont remember. But I remember his answer; I shall always remember his answer. Gen Grant said. “Neither of us originated the idea of Shermans march to the sea. The enemy did it.”

He went on to say that the enemy very necessarily orriginates a great many of the plans that the general on the opposite side gets the credit for; at the same time the enemy is doing that, he is laying open other moves, which the General sees and takes advantage of.

In this case Sherman had a plan all thought out of course. He meant to destroy the two remaining railroads in that part of the country and that would have finnished up that region. But Gen. How did not play the military part that he was expected to play. On the contrary Gen. How made a dive at Chattanooga. This left the march to the sea open to Sherman. And so after sending part of his army [t]o defend and hold what he had conquered in the Chattanooga region, he was perfectly free to proceed with the rest of it through Georgia. He saw the opportunity and he would not have been fit for his place, if he had not seized it.

“He wrote me, (the Gen. is speaking) what his plan was, and I sent him word to go ahead. My staff were opposed to the movement,” (I think he said it tried to persuade him to stop Sherman.) The [chief] of his staff the Gen. said even went so far, as to go to Washington without the General’s knowledge, and get the ear of the authaurities, and he succeded in erasing their fears to such an extent that they telegraphed me to stop Sherman. Out of deferance to the goverment I telegraphed Sherman and stopped him twenty four hours; and then considering that that was deferance enough to the government, I telegraphed him to go ahead again.”

I have not tried to give the Generals language but only the general idea of what he said.

The thing that mainly struck me was his terse remark that the enemy orriginated the idea of the march to the sea.

It struck me because it was so suggestive of the generals epegramatic fashion,—saying a great deal, in a single crisp sentence.”

Mark Twain.

After papa and Gen. Grant had, had their talk, we went back to the hotel where mamma was, and papa told mamma all about his interview with Gen. Grant. Mamma and I had a nice quiet afternoon together; and papa went to read in public; there were a great many authors that read that Thursday afternoon beside papa; I would have liked to have gone and heard papa read, but papa said he was going to read in Vasser just what he was planning to read in New York. So I staid at home with mamma. The next day mamma planned to take the four o’clock car back to Hartford. We rose quite early that morning and went to the “Vienna Bakery” and took breakfast there. From there we went to a German book store, and bought some German books for Clara’s birth day. Then mamma and I went to do some shopping, and papa went to see Gen. Grant. After we had finnished doing our shopping, we went home to the hotel together. When we entered our rooms in the hotel, we saw on the table a vase full of exquisett red roses. Mamma who is very fond of flowers, exclaimed, “Oh I wonder who could have sent them”? We both looked at the card in the midst of the roses, and saw that it was written on in papa’s hand writing, it was written in German, “Liebes Geschenk on die Mamma.” Mamma was delighted. Papa came home, and gave mamma her ticket; and after visiting a while with her, went to see Maj. Pond, and mamma and I sat down to our lunch. After lunch most of our time was taken up with packing. And at about 3 o’clock, we went to escort mamma to the train. We got on board the train with her, and stayed with her about 5 minutes; and then we said good bye to her and the train started for Hartford. It was the first time I had ever beene away from home without Mamma in my life, although I was 13 yrs. old. Papa and I rode back to the hotel, and got Maj. Pond, and then went to see the “Brooklyn Bridge” we went across it to Brooklyn on the cars, and then walked back across it from Brooklyn to New York. We enjoyed looking at the beautiful scenery, and we could see the bridge moove under the intense heat of the sun. We had a perfectly delightful time, but wer pretty tired when we got back to the hotel.

Maj. Pond, and Miss Jessie, a friend of his took dinner with us up in our hotel rooms. They left a little while, after we had finnished dinner and then papa and I went to bed. The next morning we rose early, took our breakfast and took an early train to Poughkeepsie. We had a very pleasant journey to Poughkeepsie, the Hudson, was magnificent shrouded with beautiful mists. When we arived at Poughkeepsie, it was raining quite hard; which fact greatly dissapointed me, because I very much wanted to see the outside buildings of Vassar College, and as it rained, that would be impossible. It was quite a long drive from the station to Vassar College, and papa and I had a nice long time to discuss and laugh over German profanity. One of the German phrases papa particularly enjoys, is “Ah heilige Maria, Mutter Jesus”! Jean has a german nurse and this was one of her phrases, there was a time when Jean exclaimed “Ach Gott!” to every trifle, but when mamma found it out, she was shocked and instantly put a stop to it.

We at, length reached Vassar College, and she looked very finely, her buildings and her grounds being very beautiful. We went to the front doore and rang the bell, the young girl who came to the doore wished to know who we wanted to see. Evidently we were not expected. Papa told her who we wanted to see, and she showed us to the parlor. We waited no one came; and waited no one came, still no one came, it was beginning to seem pretty awkward, “Well this is a pretty piece of business” papa exclaimed. At length we heard footsteps coming down the long corridors, and Miss C.— . (the lady who had invited papa) came into the room. She greeted papa very pleasantly, and they had a nice little chatt together. Soon the lady Principal also entered the room, and she was very pleasant and agreable. She showed us to our rooms, and said she would send for us when dinner was ready. We went into our rooms, but we had nothing to do for half an hour, exept to watch the rain drops as they fell upon the window panes. At last we were called to dinner and I went down without papa as he never eats anything in the middle of the day. I sat at the table with the lady Principal and enjoyed very much seing all the young girls trooping into the dining room. After dinner I went around the College with the young ladies and papa stayed in his room and smoked. When it was supper time papa went down and ate supper with us and we had a very delightful supper. After supper the young ladies went to their rooms to dress for the evening, papa went to his room and I went with the Lady Principal. At length the guests began to arive, but papa still remained in his room, until called for. Papa read in the chapell. It was the first time I had ever hurd him read in my life, that is in public. When he came out onto the stage I remember the people [b]ehind me exclaimed “oh how queer he is! “isn’t he funny!” I thought papa was very funny although I did not think him queer. He read “A Trying Situation” and “The Golden Arm” a ghost [story] that he heard dow[n] South when he was a little boy. The Golden Arm papa had told me before but he had startelled me so that I did not much wish to hear it again. But I had resolved this time to [be] prepared and not to let myself be startled. But still papa did and very, very much, he startled the whole room full of people and they [jumped] as one man. The other story was also very funny and interesting and I enjoyed the [reading] inexpressibly much. After papa had finnished reading, we all went down to the Collation in the dining-room. And after that there was dancing and singing then the guests went away. And papa and I went to bed. The next morning we rose early took an early train for Hartford and reached Hartford at ½ past 2 o’clock. We were very glad to get back. *****

I stopped in the middle of mamma’s early history to tell about our tripp to Vassar because I was afraid I would forget about it, now I will go on where I left off. Some time after Miss E. Nigh died Papa took mamma and little Langdon to Elmira for the summer. When in Elmira Langdon began to fail but I think mamma did not know just what was the matter with him. At last it was time for Papa to return to Hartford and Langdon was real sick at that time, but still mamma decided to go with him thinking the journey might do him good. But they reached Hartford he became very sick, and his trouble prooved to be diptheria. He died about a week after mamma and papa reached Hartford. Little Langdon was burried by the side of Grandpa at Elmira N.Y. After that mamma became very very ill, so ill that there seemed great danger of death, but with a great deal of good care she recovered.

Some months afterward mamma and Papa went to Europe and stayed for a time in Scotland and England. In Scotland Mamma and Papa became very well equainted with Dr. John Brown the author of “Rab and His Friends” and he mett but was not so well equainted with Mr. Charles Kingsley, Mr. Henry M. Stanley, Sir Thomas Hardy (grandson of the Mr. Hardy to whom Nellson said “Kiss me Hardy” when dying on shipboard) Mr. Henry Irving, Robert Browning Sir Charles Dilke, Mr. Charles Reade Mr. Black, Lord Houghton (Muncton Milnes) Frank Buckland, Mr. Tom Hughes, Anthony Trollope, Tom Hood son of the poet and Mamma and papa were quite well equainted with Dr. Mc Donald and family, and papa met Harison Ainsworth.

Papa went to Europe to lecture and after staying in Scotland and England and making a flying tripp through Ireland, he returned home with mamma.

Last winter papa was away for many months reading with Mr. G. W. Cable, and while he was gone we composed the plan of surprising [him] when he came home by acting scenes from the “Prince and Pauper.” It took us a great while to commit all that was necesary but at last we were almost ready and we expected [him] to come home the next day on which evening we had planned to surprise him. But we received a telegram from him stating that he would reach Hartford “to day at 2 o’clock.” We were all dismayed for we were by no means prepared to receive him The library was strune with costumes which were to be tried on for the last time and we had planned a dress rehearsal over at Mr. Warners for that afternoon. But mamma gathered the things up as quickly as possble and hustled them into the mahogany room. Soon we heard the carriage roll over the pavement in front of the house and we all rushed to the doore. After we had partially gotten over surprise and delight at seeing papa we all went into the library. We all sat with papa a little while and then mamma dissapeared into the mahogany room. Clara and I sat with papa a while so as [to] prevent his being surprise of our seemingly uncalled for disertion of him. But soon we too had to withdraw to the mahogany room so as to help mama sew on bucles onto slippers and pack costumes into a clothes basket. Papa was left all alone; Exept that one of us every once in a while would slipp in and stay with him a little while. Any one but papa would have wondered at mammas unwonted absence, but papa is to absence minded, he very seldom notices things as accurately as other people do; although I do not believe in this instance he could have been wholely without suspicion. At last he went up to the billiard room and Jean went with him. Mamma as a special favor let Jean into this secret on condition that she would not breathe a whisper to any one on the subject especially to papa and Jean had promised. But when alone up in papa’s room, it was very hard for her not to tell papa the whole thing. As it was she was undecided whether to tell him or not. She did go so far as to begin with “Its a secret papa” and then dropping varius other hints about the secret and she went so far that papa said afterwards that if he had beene any one else he should have guessed it in a minute.

At½ H past three o’clock we all started for Mr. Warners house there to have our rehearsal Jean and the nurse went with us, so papa was left absolutely alone.

The next day the first information that papa got was that he was invited for the evening and he did not know that anything unusual was going to happen until sat before the curtain.

We got through the scenes quite successfully and had some delightful dancing afterwards. After we had danced for about half an hour Mamma seemed in quite a hurry to get home, so we put on our things and started for home.

When we entered the library a lady was sitting in one of the arm chairs. I did not recognise her and wondered why mamma did not introduce me to her but on drawing nearer to her chair I saw it was aunt Clara Spaulding! ****—

Mamma told aunt Clara that we would have the “Prince and Pauper” again in a few weeks so she could see it. So it was decided that we should have it again in a few weeks.

At length the time was sett and we were nearly prepared, when Frank Warner who took the “Miles Hendon” part caught a severe cold and could not play it, so papa said that he would take the part. Papa had only three days to learn the part in, but still we were all sure that he could do it. The scene that he acted in was the scene between Miles Hendon and the Prince, “The Prithee pour the water!” scene. I was the Prince and Papa and I rehearsed together 2 or 3 times a day for the three before the appointed evening. Papa acted his part beautifully and he added to the scene making it a good deal longer. He was inexpressibly funny, with his great slouch hat, and gait,! oh such a gait! Papa made the Miles Hendon scene a splendid success and every one was delighted with [the] scene and papa too. We had great great funn with our Prince and Pauper and I think we none of us shall forget how imensely funny papa [was] in it. He certainly could have been an actor as well as an author.

   The other day we were all sitting, when papa told Clara and I that he would give us an Arithmetic example; he began if A byes a horse for $100—“200” Jean interupted; the expression of mingled surprise and submission on papa[’s] face, as he turned to Jean and said “who is doing this example Jean?” was inexpressibly funny. Jean laughed and papa continued “If A byes a horse for $100—“200” Jean promptly interupted; papa looked perplexed, and mamma went into convulsions of laughter. It was plain to us all that papa would have to change his summ to $200; so he accordingly began. “If A byes a horse for $200 and B byes a mule for $140 and they join in copartnership and trade their chreatures for a piece of land $480, how long will it take a lame man to borrow a silk umbrella?”

   Papa’s great care now is “Sour Mash” (the cat) and he will come way down from his studdy on the hill to see how she is getting along.

A few months after the last Prince and Pauper we started for “The Farm. The farm is aunt Susies home and where we stay in the summers, it is situated on the top of a high hill overlooking the valley of Elmira. In the winter papa sent way to Kansas for a little donkey for us to have at the farm, and when we got to the farm we were delighted to find the donkey in good trimm and ready to have us ride her. But she has prooved to be very balky, and we have to make her go by walking in front of [her] with a handfull of crackers. Papa wrote a little poem about her which I have and will put in here, it is partly German and partly English.—

Kiditchin.

“O du lieb’ Kiditchin,

Du bist ganz bewitchin.”

    “Waw – – – – – he!”

“Our summer days Kiditchin

Thou’rt dear from nose to britchin”

    “Waw – – – – he!”

“No dought thoult get a switchin

When for mischief thour’t itchin”

    “Waw – – – – he!”

“But when youre good Kiditchin

You shall feast in James’s kitchen”

    “Wah – – – he!”

“Anon lift up thy song—

Thy noble note prolong,—

Thou living chinese gong!”

    “Waw – – – he! waw – – – – he waw – he”

    “Sweetest donkey man ever saw.”—

Mark Twain.

Cats at Quarry Farm, 1887: Sour Mash, Apollinaris, Zoroaster, and Blatherskite.

There are eleven cats at the farm here now, and papa’s favorite a little T. S. kitten he has named “Sour Mash” and a little spotted one “Famine.”

It is very [    ] to see what papa calls the cat prosession it was formed in this way. Old Minnie cat headed, (the mother of all the cats) next to her came aunt Susie, then Clara on the donkey, accompanied by a pile of cats, then papa and Jean hand in hand and a pile of cats brought up the rear, Mamma and I made up the audience.—

Our varius occupations are as follows. Papa ris[es] about H past 7 in the morning, breakfasts at eight, writes plays tennis with Clara and me and tries to make the donkey go in the morning, does varius things in A M. and in the evening plays tennis with Clara and me and amuses Jean and the donkey.

Mamma rises about ¼ to eight, breakfasts at eight, teaches Jean German reading from 9–10, reads German with me from 10–11—Then she reads studdies or visits with aunt Susie for a while, and then she reads to Clara and I till lunch time things connected with English history for we hope to go to England next summer, while we sew. Then we have lunch. She studdies for about half an hour or visits with aunt Susie, then reads to us an hour or more, then studdies write reads and rests till supper time. After supper she sits out on the porch and works till eight o’clock, from eight o’clock till bedtime she plays whist with papa, and after she has retired she reads and studdies German for a while.

Clara and I do most every thing from practicing to donkey riding and playing tag. While Jeans time is spent in asking mamma what she can have to eat.—*******

It is Jean’s birth day to day. She is 5 yrs. old. Papa is away today and he telegraphed Jean that he wished her 65 happy returns.

Papa has just written something about General Grant’s Getesburg speech. I will put it in here.

“General Grant.”

Any one who has had the privilege of knowing General Grant personaly will recognize how justly General Beale recently out lined his great and simple and beautiful nature. Thirteen hundred years ago, as the legends of King Arthur’s Round table have it, Sir Launcelot, the flower of cristian chivalry, the knight without a peer, lay dead in the castle of Joyous Gard. With a loving and longing heart, his brother the knight Sir Ector de Maris had been seeking him patiently for seven lagging years, and now he arived at this place at nightfall and heard the chanting of monks over the dead. In the quaint and charming English of nearly 4 hundred years ago the story says,—

“And when Sir Ector heard such noise and light in the quire of Joyous Gard he alight, and put his horse from him, and came into the quire and there he saw men sing and weep. And all they knew Sir Ector but he knew not them. Then went Sir Bors unto Sir Ector and told him how there lay his brother Sir Launcelot dead: and then Sir Ector threw his shield sword, and helm, from him; and when he beheld Sir Launcelot’s visage, he fell down in a swoon: and when he awaked it were hard for any tongue to tell the doleful complaints that he made for his brother.”

Then follows his tribute,—a passage whose noble and simple eloquence had not its equal in English literature, until the Gettesburg speech took its lofty place beside it. The words drew a portrait 13 centuries ago; they draw its twin to day without the alteration of a syllable:—

“Ah Launcelot thou were head of all christian knights! And now I dare say, thou Sir Launcelot, there thou liest, that thou were never matched of earthly kni[gh]ts hands; and thou were the court[l]iest knight, that ever bare shield, and thou were the truest friend to thy [lover] that ever bestrode horse; and thou were the truest lover, of a sinful man, that ever loved woman, and thou were the kindest man that ever strake with sword; and thou were the goodliest person that ever came among press of knights; and thou were the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies, and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put spear in rest.”

S.L.C.

July 1885.

The other day papa thought he would see how he could mannage Cadichon who had been acting badly so he got onto her but papa wanted to go one way and Cadichon another, and as papa wouldn’t submit Cadichon threw him off into the high grass.

About a half an hour later Jean came down onto the porch in her nightgown and sat on Mammas lap. I said Jean what do you think! Cadichon threw papa off into the high grass!” She answerd in a very calm way “I know it” I said how do you know it? she said oh I saw it from the window.” She had been in the habit of standing at the window in her night gown and crittisizing the shotts papa and I made while playing tennis and we wondered why she did not critticize the way papa fell from Cadichon.

Papa has just written to the editor of [the] Sun what he thinks about Gen. Grant’s burial. I will put it in here.

“General Grant’s Burial.”
  Will the Captain be Removed?—
    A Suggestion by Mark Twain.

To the editor of the “Sun.”—“Sir: The newspaper atmosphere is charged with objections to New York as the sepulchre of General Grant, and the objectors are strenuous that Washington is the right place. They offer good reasons,—good temporary reasons,—for both of these positions.

But it seems to me that temporary reasons are not meet for the occation. We need to consider posterity rather than our own generation. We should select a grave which will not merely be in the right place now, but will still be in the right place five hundred years from now.

How does Washington promise as to that?—You only have to hit it in one place to kill it. Some day the West will be numerically strong enough to remove the seat of government; her past attemps are a fair warning that when that day comes she will do it. Then the city of Washington will lose it’s consequence, and pass out of the public view, and the public talk. It is quite within the possibilities that a century hence people would wonder and say, “how does it come, that our predecessors buried their great dead in this deserted place?”

“But as long as American civilization lasts New York will last. I cannot but think she has beene well and wisely chosen as the guardian of a grave which is destined to become almost the most conspicuous in the worlds history. Twenty centuries from now New York will still be New York, still a vast city, and the most notable object in it will still be the tomb and monument of General Grant.

I observe that the common and strongest objection to New York is that she is not national ground. Let us give ourselves no uneasyness about that.

Wherever General Grants body lies that is national ground.

S. L. Clemens.

July 27th 85.

Papa says that if collera comes here he will take Sour Mash to the mountains.

   The other day Jean was taking a walk with papa and as she passed the barn, she saw some little newly born baby ducks she turned to papa and said “I wonder why God gives us so much ducks as Patrick kills so many.”

   Papa has gone to New York to attend Gen. Grant’s funeral. And he wrote mamma that the mourning put up for President Garfield was not to be compared with that put up for Gen. Grant. He wrote that there were a great many pictures of Gen. Grant just set in a sea of black.

Papa has come home to day and we were all delighted to see him. It was beautiful to hear him discribe the procession in New York in honor of Gen. Grant.

Papa’s friend, Mr. Gherhardt a young american artist who made a bust of Gen. Grant has just received the privilege of making a statue of Gen. Grant. And we hope will get a part in the great New York statue.

“I wonder why God gives us so much ducks.”

Illustration from Sunday Magazine, 24 May 1908.

Aug. 24

Mamma and Papa have gone to visit Mrs. Wheeler the mother of the artist Miss Dora Wheeler, at Tannersville N.Y. and they will meet there Mr. and Mrs. F. R. Stockton, Mr. and Mrs. Dean Sage, and Mrs Mary Mapes Dodge. They are anticipating a delightful visit.

Aug. 29.

Mamma and papa have returned and they have had a delightful visit. Mr. Stockton was down in Virginia and could not reach Tannersville in time so they did not see him. And Mrs. Dodge was ill and couldn’t go to Tannersville. But Mrs. General Custer was there and mamma said that she was a very attractive sweet appearing woman.

   Sour Mash is a constant source of anxiety, care and pleasure to papa.

   Mamma has given me a very pleasant little newspaper scrap about papa, to copy. I will put it in here.—

   “I saw a rather disparaging paragraph the other day, that recalled an incident of the Grant obsequies. I was at the Fifth Avenue Hotel at night, when the large halls were crowded with a mob of American celebrites. As we were looking toward the great staircase I saw James Redpath throw a kiss to a man going up, who turned with a friendly smile and tossed back a similar salutation. “Who is that?” I asked “That—” said Mr. Redpath “is the man who made death easy for Gen. Grant.” “Who—Shrady or Douglas? “No” said our friend “it is Mr. Clemens—Mark Twain. If it had not been for him Grant’s death bed would have been haunted by the fear of poverty for his wife and children. “I wish he added I could tell all I know about Mark’s noble and knightly generosity. But I do I learned only under the seal of confidence. Mark deliberately alows men who would have driven a hard bargain with Grant to malign him when he could crush them by a simple statement. But I tell you the time will come when, if the newspaper reports of this day are read people will ask why Mark Twain was not given the chief place in the procession. He did more than any living man to make Grant die without dread or regret. Mark is a better man than he is an author and there is no dought I guess that he is great with his pen.” I recall this remark as I saw Mark sneeringly referred to the other day.

Sep. 9^th ’85

Mamma is teaching Jean a little natural history and is making a little collection of insects for her. But Mamma does not allow Jean to kill any insects she only colects those insects that are found dead. Mamma has told us all perticularly Jean to bring her all the little dead insects that she finds. The other day as we were all sitting at supper Jean broke into the room and ran triumfantly up to Mamma and presented her with a plate full of dead flies. Mamma thanked Jean very enthusiastically although she with difficulty concealed her amusement. Just then Sour Mash entered the room and Jean believing her hungry asked Mamma for permission to give her the flies. Mamma laughingly consented and [the flies] almost immediately dissappeared.

Sep. 10^th ’85.

The other evening Clara and I brought down our new soap bubble water and we all blew soap bubles. Papa blew his soap bubles and filled them with smoke and as the light shone on them they took very beautiful opaline colors.

Papa would hold them and then let us catch them in our hand and they felt delightful to the touch the mixture of the smoke and water had a singularly pleasant effect.

“Papa blew his soap bubles and filled them with smoke.”

Illustration from Sunday Magazine, 26 April 1908.

Nov. 29^th ’85.

Papa was fifty years old last Nov. and among his numerous presents The Critick sent him a delightful notice of his semicentenial; containing a poem to him by Dr. Holms a paragraph from Mr. F. R. Stockton, one from Mr. C. D. Warner, and one from Mr. J. C. Harris (Uncle Remus).

Papa was very much pleased and so were we all. I will put the poem and paragraphs in here.

The Critic.

Mark Twain’s Semi-Centennial.

MARK TWAIN will be half-a-hundred years old on Monday. Within the past half-century he has done more than any other man to lengthen the lives of his contemporaries by making them merrier, and it looks as if he were going to do even more good in this way within the next fifty years than in those just ended. We print below a few letters of condolence from writers whose pens, like his, have increased ‘the stock of harmless pleasures,’ and whom we have reminded of the approach of Mr. Clemens’s first semi-centennial.

MY DEAR MR. CLEMENS:

In your first half-century you have made the world laugh more than any other man. May you repeat the whole performance and ‘mark twain!’ Yours very truly,

CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA.FRANK R. STOCKTON.

MY DEAR NEIGHBOR:

You may think it an easy thing to be fifty years old, but you will find it not so easy to stay there, and your next fifty years will slip away much faster than those just accomplished. After all, half a century is not much, and I wouldn’t throw it up to you now, only for the chance of saying that few living men have crowded so much into that space as you, and few have done so much for the entertainment and good-fellowship of the world. And I am glad to see that you wear your years as lightly as your more abundant honors. Having successfully turned this corner, I hope that we shall continue to be near neighbors and grow young together. Ever your friend,

CHAS. DUDLEY WARNER.

To Mark Twain

(ON HIS FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY).

Ah Clemens, when I saw thee last,—

    We both of us were younger,—

How fondly mumbling o’er the past

    Is Memory’s toothless hunger!

So fifty years have fled, they say,

    Since first you took to drinking,—

I mean in Nature’s milky way,—

    Of course no ill I’m thinking.

But while on life’s uneven road

    Your track you’ve been pursuing,

What fountains from your wit have flowed—

    What drinks you have been brewing!

I know whence all your magic came,—

    Your secret I’ve discovered,—

The source that fed your inward flame—

    The dreams that round you hovered:

Before you learned to bite or munch

    Still kicking in your cradle,

The Muses mixed a bowl of punch

    And Hebe seized the ladle.

Dear babe, whose fiftieth year to-day

    Your ripe half-century rounded,

Your books the precious draught betray

    The laughing Nine compounded.

So mixed the sweet, the sharp, the strong,

    Each finds its faults amended,

The virtues that to each belong

    In happier union blended.

And what the flavor can surpass

    Of sugar, spirit, lemons?

So while one health fills every glass

    Mark Twain for Baby Clemens!

Nov. 23d, 1885.        OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE CRITIC:

There must be some joke about this matter, or else fifty years are not as burdensome as they were in the days when men were narrow-minded and lacked humor—that is to say, when there was no Mark Twain to add salt to youth and to season old age. In those days a man at fifty was conceded to be old. If he had as many enemies as he had grandchildren it was thought that he had lived a successful life. Now Mark Twain has no grandchildren, and his enemies are only among those who do not know how to enjoy the humor that is inseparable from genuine human nature.

I saw Mr. Twain not so very long ago piloting a steamboat up and down the Mississippi River in front of New Orleans, and his hand was strong and his eye keen. Somewhat later I heard him discussing a tough German sentence with Little Jean—a discussion in which the toddling child probably had the best of it,—but his mind was clear, and he was bubbling over with good humor. I have seen him elsewhere and under other circumstances, but the fact that he was bordering on fifty years never occurred to me.

And yet I am glad that he is fifty years old. He has earned the right to grow old and mellow. He has put his youth in his books, and there it is perennial. His last book is better than his first, and there his youth is renewed and revived. I know that some of the professional critics will not agree with me, but there is not in our fictive literature a more wholesome book than ‘Huckleberry Finn.’ It is history, it is romance, it is life. Here we behold human character stripped of all tiresome details; we see people growing and living; we laugh at their humor, share their griefs; and, in the midst of it all, behold we are taught the lesson of honesty, justice and mercy.

But this is somewhat apart from my purpose; it was my desire simply to join THE CRITIC in honoring the fiftieth anniversary of an author who has had the genius to be original, and the courage to give a distinctively American flavor to everything he has ever written.

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

Dec. 1884. Last winter when papa was away reading he wrote me a good many letters which I have kept and will put in here.

The first one is written in german.

Grand Rapids Mich.

Dec. 14 1884.

Mein liebes Töchterchen,

Wie geht es jetzt mit der Cleveland und der Buffalo Bill? Errinerst du dich an die Bergziegen, oder Bergschäfe die wir bei des austellung Buffalo Bills zu Elmira gesehen haben? Nun die arme Thiere sind neulich dur Schiffsbauch veloren. Diese unfall ist auf der Mississippi vorgekommen. Wer Dampfboot an einen versteckten Fels zerstört wurde, und obgleich Buffalo Bill und seine Indianer und andere Thieren gerettet ward, die Ziegen stürtzte sich gleich ins Wasser und man sah sie noch nie wieder. Auch ein oder vieleicht zwei von den Buffalonen ertunken wurden. Dass macht mirs Herz so schwer dass ich nicht mehr schreiben kann.

Schreib an mich wieder und noch wieder meine libeling

Papa.

P.S. Meine herzlichsten grüssen an deine Grossmama.a

Utika, Dec. 1884.

Susie, my dear, I have been intending to write you and Ben^† for a long time, but have been too busy. Nach meinen vorlesung in Ithika ging ich in der Bier lager und fand ungefähr fierzig Stüdenten von Cornwell Universität dort gesammelt; und sie machten mich herzlich will[kommen] durch heftig jüchzend und klatchen in die Hände. Dann sangen sie viele prachtvolle Gesänge, mit Solo und donnerhaften Chor. Ich habe dort geblieben bis nach mitternacht, dann machte ich ihnen eine hubsche Reden, und erzählte zwei kommische Geschiten, die waren mit grossen Beifal erhielt. Nach dem fuhr ich nach Hause und bald ins Bett gegangen wurde.^‡

I love you sweetheart good-bye

Papa.

The following letter was written not long after “Huckleberry Finn” came out, it was an answer to a letter I wrote papa letting him [know] how much Margaret Warner (a friend of mine) and I had enjoyed reading the book together, and how much we admired it.

St Paul Jan 23/85

Susie dear,

I am glad you and Daisy had such a good time over Huck Finn. I wish I had another book like it ready for you.

Some young ladis school teachers—called on Mr. Cable and me yesterday afternoon, and they wanted to see my family and I showed them the picture and they were very complimentary about the group, but they said they thought Jean must be a rascal. So she is; Jean is a very attractive rascal and a very good rascal too.

The thermometer has been ridiculus for fully ten days now away down below zero all day and all night long. And this in a country where the only heating apparatus known is an air tight stove. Dreadful things they are. My windows yesterday comanded a principal street, but during the entire day I did not see a woman or a girl out of doors. Only men ventured out and very few of those. Yet at night the opera house was full of people come out partly to hear us and partly to get their noses frozen off I suppose.

I am very sorry to hear that Miss Corey and Miss Foote are sick. I hope you and Mamma and the rest of you will manage to make out with colds, and not go any further with that sort of thing. Your loving Papa.

Indianapolis Feb. 8/85

Susie dear

When I get home, you must take my Morte Arthur and read it It is the quaintest and sweetest of all books. And is full of the absolute English of 400 years ago. For instance here is a paragraph which I will quot from memory.—And you too may learn it by heart for its worth it. There are only two other things in our language comparable to it for tender eloquence and simplicity, one is Mr. Lincolns Gettysburg speech, and the other has for the moment escaped my memory.

———The paragraph just referred to is given a little further back under heading “Gen Grant.”

    “There isnt that beautiful? In this book one finds out where Tennyson got the quaint and pretty phrases which he uses in The “Idyls of the king”—“Lightly” and “Ware” and the rest. Yes you must read it when I come sweetheart. Kiss Mamma for me; and Ben and Jean.

Papa

Chicago Feb. 3/85.

Sweetheart,

Mamma has sent me your composition, and I am very greatly pleased with it, and very much obliged to Mamma for sending it. I ment to return it to Mamma, but sealed my letter previously. So I’ll get you to do it for me.

It appears that the violin is becoming quite the fashion among girls. One of Gen. Fair Childe’s daughters plays that instrument I didn’t see the girls exept the one that was a baby in Paris. They were away on a visit. It is said that one of them is very beautiful.

In this hotel, (the Grand Pacific) there is a colored youth who stands near the great dining room door, and takes the hats of the gentlemen as they pass into dinner and sets them away. The people come in shoals and sometimes he has his arms full of hats and is kept moving in a most lively way. Yet he remembers every hat, and when these people come crowding out, an hour, or an hour and a half later he hands to each gentlemen his hat and never makes any mistake. I have watched him to see how he did it but I couldn’t see that he more than merely glanced at his man if he even did that much. I have tried a couple of times to make him believe he was giving me the wrong hat but it didn’t persuade him in the least. He intimated that I might be in doubt, but that he knew.

Goodbye honey

Papa

Chicago Jan./85

Susie dear, your letter was a great pleasure to me. I am glad you like the new book; and your discription of its effect on Daisy is all that the most exacting and most praise-hungry author could desire. And by the way this reminds me to appoint you to write me two or three times a week in Mamma’s place; and when you write she must not write. What I am after is to save her. She writes me when she aught to be resting herself after the heavy fatigues of the day. It is wrong. It must be stopped. You must stop it.

When it is your day to write and you have been prevented, see to it that the day passes without a letter, she must not write a line. Goodbye sweetheart

Papa.

Toronto Feb. 15/85

Susie dear, it was a good letter you wrote me, and so was Clara’s I dont think that either of you have ever written better ones.

I went toboganing yesterday and it was indiscribeable fun. It was at a girls’ College in the country. The whole College—51 girls, were at the lecture the night before, and I came down off the platform at the close, and went down the aisle and overtook them, and said I had come down to introduce myself, because I was a stranger, and didn’t know any body and was pretty lonesome. And so we had a hand shake all around, and the lady principal said she would send a sleigh for us in the morning if we would come out to the College. I said we would do that with pleasure. So I went home and shaved. For I didn’t want to have to get up still earlier in order to do that; and next morning we drove out through the loveliest winter landscape that ever was. Brilliant sunshine, deep snow everywhere, with a shining crust on it—not flat but just a far reaching white ocean, laid in long smoothe swells like the sea when a calm is coming on after a storm, and every where near and far were island groves of forest trees. And farther and farther away was a receding panorama of hills and forests dimmed by a haze so soft and rich and dainty and spiritual, that it made all objects seem the unreal creatures of a dream, and the whole a vision of a poets paradise, a veiled hushed holy land of the immagination.

You shall see it some day

         Ich küsse dich mein liebchen

Papa.

Feb. 6^th ’86.

We have just had our third “Prince and Pauper” and we have had more fun acting it than ever before, the programme was the same exept that Papa lengthened the “Lady Jane Grey scene” in which Clara was the Lady Jane Grey. He also added a little to the interview between the prince and pauper, by putting in a little scene behind the scenes to represent their talking while changing clothes. It was as follows.

Behind scenes.

Prince. Oh wait! I did not notice! thoust got that all wrong, that part goes behind. Wait, let me help thee truss the points. There now.

Pauper. Ah good your worship I did never truss a point In all my life before tis by the grace of God alone that my rags hang together.

Prince. Wait, again, wait! You see this goes this way, then this goes in here, then one turns this back so, and brings the other forward. There now it’ll do.

Pauper. Ah good your worship, thou hast not disposed that rag to it’s just advantage, prithee let me give it the touch, that is familiar to it.

Prince. Ah thanks, thanks, here I dont quite understand how this relic,—ah good very good thanks, Oh wait the sword belongeth on thy other side, so thats right. Come.

(they go onto stage)

The addition to the Lady Jane Grey scene was this.—

(Pauper sitting despondently) (enter page)

Page. The lady Jane Grey

(Exit)

(enter lady Jane Grey bows low)

Pauper. Oh prithee let me, out!

Lady Jane. (surprised,—a little ruffled—with distant politeness) Let thee out! My lord since when must the prince of Wales sue to common Clay for leave, to leave his room when he would, you jest my lord! and I? I do not like it.

Pauper. (distressed) Oh dear lady I am not the prince of Wales!

Lady Jane. (still piqued and sarcastic) Indeed! perhaps thou art Ananias or Saphyra in sooth with practice your grace might serve for both my lord. (another toss)

Pauper. (distressed) Oh lady, do not be cruel!

Lady Jane. Cruel? I cruel! I left mine amusement to come and help thee with thy greeck.

Pauper. Greeck? Oh dear lady I know no Greeck.

Lady Jane. Aside. How strangely he acts. I grow afraid of him saith he knoweth no Greeck, and how strange it is that he should say that for its true! (suddenly and with terrified conviction) his mind’s disordered

Clara as Lady Jane Grey and Daisy Warner as the pauper (in the prince’s clothing), costumed for the Prince and the Pauper play, 1886.

Pauper. (stepping nearer appealingly) Oh gracious lady—

Lady Jane. (interupting and shooing off with her hand) Do not touch me! (here insert old scene given in book) Oh what aileth thee my lord?

Pauper. Oh be merciful thou, in sooth I am no lord, but only poor Tom Canty of Offal Court in the City prithee let me see the prince and he will of his grace restore me to my rags and let me hence unhurt Oh be thou merciful and save me!

Lady Jane. Oh my lord! On thy knees and to me!

(exit in a frightened way)

Feb. 7^th 86. Jean who is just five years old, has learned the part of the lady Jane Grey by hearing us rehearse, and she can act it quite well making up for the words she cant get straight, by adding great emphasies to the ones she knows.

Feb. 7^th.

I overheard papa telling Jean a story this morning, it amused me very much it was a story of such great variety, and indeed papa has practise in telling stories of variety as Jean is a child of variety and original ideas, and papa is too, (I mean such a man) so half of the story he devotes to his own fancy, (if Jean allows) the other half to Jeans; I heard only a part of the story this morning, so I asked Jean to tell it to me afterwards so she did, and here it is as she gives it.

   “Well once there was a register who went out walking He saw a school-house, and he went into the school-house; He saw the big children pushed away the little children in the cold part of the room. He went in a corner and warmed the little childern, and as soon as the little childern said it felt so warm, the big childern came and pushed them away then the reg. closed and then one of the big boys said, he would put in his finger and try to open it and snapp closed the register tighter with his finger in. Then the little childern had the stove. Then the boy that was pinched, howled and cryed so, that the other big children couldn’t stay in the school house. So they went out and looked to see where that heatness came from (they thought it came from the sun or from the ground) and they couldnt see. Then they went and borrowed quite a few baloons, and went up in the air, and they went up higher and higher and higher and higher and they let out a bird, the children were frosen when they put out a bird, the bird didn’t know where he was, and he went among the clouds, and pretty soon he came back sailing back again and they sailed and sailed and sailed and went over oceans and seas and ships, and pretty soon they landed in Africa. Quite a few plain people and a few Indians came, and some lions and tigers, and the lions nibbled at the frozen childern, and couldn’t bite them. Then a man came and said they were missionarys on the half shell and they must be thawed out. So they thawed them out, and pretty soon they got growed up to women and men, and were very good missionarys and converted many, and a[t] last wer eaten at a barbecue—.

Jean, who is very fond of animals, demands strictly animal stories from papa, for which I am very sorry, as I think his other stories are better. Here is another story, of papa’s, told to me by Jean.

A Tiger in the Jungle.

Once there was a tiger lying in a jungle on a very hot day, he heard a cow in front of him “Moo,—“Moo” Moo” He got up and said he would have a real nice breakfast. But he couldn’t catch the cow, and he heard a little calf, so he stopped trying to catch the cow and ran after the calf, pretty soon he heard a cat “Meau”—“Meau,” still nearer him than the calf, so he chased the cat, then he heard a dog,—“Bow, wow,” so he ran after the dog, then he heard a rooster “Cuck-adoodle-doo,”—then he ran after the rooster, round, and round, and round, the rooster seemed nearer, and nearer, but still he couldn’t get it, at last he fell down dead, from tiredness. He had been running after his own tail.

This story was told in the same way as the two preceeding ones.

The Donkey what Could Talk.

Once there was a donkey and he went out walking. And he saw some children and he wondered why those children had books under their arms, And he thought he would go with them to see what they did. And he went into the school-house with them, and they showed him their books, But he couldn’t understand the words in the books, so one evening moonshine, he thought he would go to the school-house, and eat some of the books. He went and ate, German books, and English books, and French books and all kinds of books, and had a great deal of stomach ache afterwards, And when the children came home they wondered where their books were, and they couldn’t see where the books were, they couldnt see. Then the childrern said, “Why this donkey must have eaten our books. But the donkey said he hadn’t touched books. Then the school-teacher came home and the childrern said that this donkey could talk. And the school-teacher wanted to hear him. So the childrern called him, and he came and spoke to them, and as soon as the people saw, and heard this wonderful donkey talk, they immediately asked him to belong to their church. So he did. And when the choir sang, he sang with it, but he was not satisfied to sing in company with others, fearing his voice, might not be distinctly enough heard. So he asked for permission to sing alone in place of the choir his request was granted him, and he sang regulary after that, every Sunday. At last people got so much interested in him that he was ellected to be Member of Congress, which honor he also accepted; and he was the first donkey that ever was member of Congress. And finally he ran for President and so he was the learnedest donkey that ever was.—

Feb. 12. ’86.

Mamma and I have both been very much troubled of late because papa, since he has been publishing Gen. Grant’s book, has seemed to forget his own books and work entirely, and the other evening as papa and I were promonading up and down the library he told me that he didn’t expect to write but one more book, and then he was ready to give up work altogether, die, or do anything, he said that he had written more than he had ever expected to, and the only book that he had been pertickularly anxious to write was one locked up in the safe down stairs, not yet published.

But this intended future of course will never do, and although papa usualy holds to his own opinions and intents with outsiders, when mamma realy desires anything and says that it must be, papa allways gives up his plans (at least so far) and does as she says (and she is usually right, if she dissagrees with [him] at all). It was because he knew his great tendency to being convinced by her, that he published without her knowledge that article in the “Christian Union” conscerning the government of children. So judging by the proofs of past years, I think that we will be able, to persuade papa to go back to work as before, and not leave off writing with the end of his next story. Mamma says that she sometimes feels, and I do too, that she would rather have papa depend on his writing for a living, than to have him think of giving it up.

Ever since papa and mamma were married, papa has written his books and then taken them to mamma in manuscript and she has expergated them. Papa read “Hucleberry Finn” to us in manuscript just before it came out, and then he would leave parts of it with mamma to expergate, while he went off up to the study to work, and sometimes Clara and I would be sitting with mamma while she was looking the manuscript over, and I remember so well, with what pangs of regret we used to see her turn down the leaves of the pages, which meant, that some delightfully dreadful part must be scratched out. And I remember one part pertickularly which was perfectly fascinating it was dreadful, that Clara and I used to delight in, had to [be] scratched out, and Oh with what dispair we saw mamma turn down the leaf on which it was, written, we thought the book would be almost ruind without it. But we gradually came to feel as mamma did.

Feb. 12. ’86.

Papa has long wanted us to have an international copywright in this country, so two or three weeks ago, he went to Washington to see what he could do (to influence the government) in favor of one. Here is a discription of the hearing of the Senate that he attended.

Mark Twain in his Quarry Farm study, 1874.

Jan. 30. ’86.—

The Outlook for International Copyright.

WASHINGTON, January 30.—It is the impression of those who have followed the hearing in international copyright that the Senate Committee on Patents will report favorably the bill with the “printers’ amendment,” which is advocated by General Hawley, by Senator Chase, by Mr. Clemens, and other publishers who are also authors, and is accepted by the representative of the Typographical Union, which, as the agent of that Union somewhat grandiloquently told the Committee, through its affiliation with the Knights of Labor, speaks for from 4,000,000 to 5,000,000 people. Although it was clearly demonstrated to the Committee by Mr. Lowell and others that the American author is the only laborer who is obliged to compete with those who are not paid anything, the influence of the book manufacturers, and of labor unions, and of the various protected interests, is so strong in Congress that those who boast that they are “practical legislators” will not support a bill solely on the ground that, as Mr. Lowell put it, “it is a measure of morality and justice.” It is not, however, measures of morality and justice that can control the most votes. Mr. Clemens, in his humorous way, during the hearing said a very practical thing, in accordance with which the Committee is very likely to act. He said that while the American author has a great interest in American books, there are a great many others who are interested in book-making in its various forms, and the “other fellows” are the larger part. It is probable that the strongest opposition which the bill will encounter in the two houses will come from those who wish to maintain the present system of “cheap and nasty” reprints on the ground that they wish to make literature cheap. One of the interesting incidents of the last hearing was the presentation of a memorial in facsimile of American authors by Mr. R. R. Bowker, who used it to illustrate the fact that the American author is the only American workingman who has really to compete with unpaid labor. It is a curious pamphlet. It contains the autographs of the great body of American citizens “who earn their living in whole or in part by their pen, and who are put at disadvantage in their own country by the publication of foreign books without payment to the author, so that American books are undersold to the detriment of American literature.”

Papa has written a new version of “There is a happy land” it is—

“There is a happy land

    Far, far away,

Where they have ham and eggs,

    Three times a day,

Oh dont those boarders yell

When they hear the dinner-bell,

They give that land-lord rats

    Three times a day.”

’86. Feb. 22.

Yesterday evening papa read to us the beginning of his new, book, in manuscript, and we enjoyed it very much, it was founded, on a New Englanders visit to England in the time of King Arthur and his round table.—

Feb. 27. Sunday.—

Clara’s reputation as a baby was always a fine one, mine exactly the contrary. One often related story conscerning her braveness as a baby, and her own oppinion of this quality of hers is this. Clara and I often got slivers in ours hands and when mamma took them out with a much dreaded needle, Clara was always very brave, and I very cowardly. One day Clara got one of these slivers in her hand, a very bad one, and while mamma was taking it out, Clara stood perfectly still without even wincing; I saw how brave she was and turning to mamma said “Mamma isn’t she a brave little thing! presently mamma had to give the little hand quite a dig with the needle and noticing how perfectly quiet Clara was about it she exclaimed, why Clara! you are a brave little thing! Clara responded “No bodys braver but God!”—

Feb. 27. ’86.

Last summer while we were in Elmira an article came out in the “Christian Union” by name “What ought he to have done” treating of the government of children, or rather giving an account of a fathers battle with his little baby boy; by the mother of the child and put in the form of a question as to whether the father disciplined the child corectly or not, different people wrote their opinions of the fathers behavior, and told what they thought he should have done. Mamma had long known how to disciplin children, for in fact the bringing up of children had been one of her specialties for many years. She had a great many theories, but one of them was, that if a child was big enough to be nauty, it was big enough to be whipped and here we all agreed with her. I remember one morning when Dr. —— came up to the farm he had a long discussion with mamma, upon the following topic. Mamma gave this, as illustrative of one important rule for punishing a child. She said we will suppose the boy has thrown a handkerchief onto the floor, I tell him to pick it up, he refuses. I tell him again. he refuses. Then I say you must either pick up the handkerchief, or have a whipping. My theory is never to make a child have a whipping and pick up the handkerchief too. I say “If you do not pick it up, I must punish you.” if he doesn’t he gets the whipping, but I pick up the handkerchief, if he does he gets no punishment. I tell him to do a thing if he disobeys me he is punished for so doing, but not forced to obey me afterwards.”

When Clara and I had been very nauty or were being very nauty, the nurse would go and call mamma and she would appear suddenly and look at us (she had a way of looking at us when she was displeased as if she could see right through us) till we were ready to sink through the floor from embarasment, and total absence of knowing what to say. This look was usually followed with “Clar” or “Susy what [do] you mean by this? do you want to come to the bath-room with me?” Then followed the climax for Clara and I both new only too well what going to the bath-room meant.

But mamma’s first and foremost object was to make the child understand that he is being punnished for his sake, and because the mother so loves him that she cannot allow him to do wrong; also that it is as hard for her to punnish him, as for him to be punnished and even harder. Mamma never allowed herself to punnish us when she was angry with us she never struck us because she was enoyed at us and felt like striking us if we had been nauty and had enoyed her, so that she thought she felt or would show the least bit of temper toward us while punnishing us, she always postponed the punishment, until she was no more chafed by our behavior. She never humoured herself by striking or punishing us because or while she was the least bit enoyed with us.

Our very worst nautinesses were punished by being taken to the bathroom and being whipped by the paper cutter.b But after the whipping was over, mamma did not allow us to leave her until we were perfectly happy, and perfectly understood why we had been whipped. I never remember having felt the least bit bitterly toward mamma for punishing me, I always felt I had deserved my punishment, and was much happier for having received it. For after mamma had punished us and shown her displeasure, she showed no signs of further displeasure, but acted as if we had not displeased her in any way.—

But Mamma’s oppinions and ideas upon the subject of bringing up children has always been more or less of a joke in our family, particularly since Papa’s article in the Christian Union,” and I am sure Clara and I have related the history of our old family paper-cutter, our punishments and privations with rather more pride and triumph, because of mamma’s way of rearing us, then any other sentiment.

When the article “What ought he to have done?” came out mamma read it, and was very much interested in it. And when papa heard that she had read it he went to work and secretly wrote his opinion of what the father ought to have done. He told aunt Susy Clar and I, about it but mamma was not to see it or hear any thing about it till it came out. He gave it to aunt Susy to read, and after Clara and I gone up to get ready for bed he brought it up for us to read. He told what he thought the father ought to have done by telling what mamma would have done. The article was a beautiful tribute to mamma and every word in it true; But still in writing about mamma he partly forgot that the article was going to be published I think, and expressed himself more fully than he would do the second time he wrote it; I think the article has done and will do a great deal of good, and I think it would have been perfect for the family and friends’ enjoyment, but a little bit too private to have been published as it was. And Papa felt so too, because the very next day or a few days after, he went down to New York to see if he couldn’t get it back before it was published but it was too [late] and he had to return wi[t]hout it. When the Christian Union reached the farm and papa’s article in it all ready and waiting to be read to mamma papa hadn’t the courage to show it to her (for he knew she wouldn’t like it at all) at first, and he didn’t but he might [have] let it go and never let her see it; but finally he gave his consent to her seeing it, and told Clara and I we could take it to her, which we did, with tardiness, and we all stood around mamma while she read it, all wondering what she would say and think about it.

She was too much surprised, (and pleased privately, too) [to] say much at first, but as we all expected publicly, (or rather when she remembered that this article was to be read by every one that took the Christian Union) she was rather shocked and a little displeased.

C. and I had great fun the night papa gave it to us to read and then hide, so mamma couldn’t see it, for just as we were in the midst of reading it mamma appeared papa following anxiously and asked why we were not in bed? then a scuffle ensued for we told her it was a secret and tried to hide it; but [she] chased us wherever we went, till she thought it was time for us to go to bed, then she surendered and left us to tuck it under Clara’s matress.

A little while after the article was published letters began to come in to papa crittisizing it, there were some very pleasant ones but a few very disagreble, one of these, the very worst, mamma got hold of and read, to papa’s great regret, it was full of the most disagreble things, and so very enoying to papa that he for a time felt he must do something to show the author of it his great displeasure at being so insulted. But he finally decided not to, because he felt the man had some cause for feeling enoyed at [him], for papa had spoken of him, (he was the baby’s father) rather slightingly in his Christian Union Article.

After all this, papa and mamma both wished I think they might never hear or be spoken to on the subject of the Christian Union article, and whenever any has spoken to me and told me “How much they did enjoy my father’s article in the Christain Union” I almost laughed in their faces when I remembered what a great variety of oppinion had been expressed upon the subject of [the] Christian Union article of papa’s.

The article was written in July or August and just the other day papa received quite a bright letter from a gentleman who has read the C.U. article and give his opinion of it in these words.—c

March. 14^th ’86

Mr. Laurence Barrette and Mr. and Mrs. Hutton were here a little while ago, and we had a very interesting visit from them. Papa said Mr. Barette never had acted so well before when he had seen him, as he did the first night he was staying with us. And Mrs. — said she never had seen an actor on the stage, whome she more wanted to speak with.

Papa has been very much interested of late, in the “Mind Cure” theory. And in fact so have we all. A young lady in town has worked wonders, by using the “Mind Cure” upon people; she is constantly busy now curing peoples deseases in this way.—And curing her own even, which to me seems the most remarkable of all.—

A little while past, papa was delighted, with the knowledge of what he thought the best way of curing a cold, which was by starving it. This starving did work beautifully, and freed him from a great many severe colds. Now he says it wasn’t the starving that helped his colds, but the trust in the starving, the mind cure connected with the starving.

I shouldn’t wonder if we finally became firm believers in Mind Cure. The next time papa has a cold, I haven’t a doubt, he will send for “Miss Holden” the young lady who is doctoring in the “Mind Cure” theory, to cure him of it.

Mamma was over at Mrs. George Warners to lunch the other day, and Miss Holden was there too. Mamma asked if anything as natural as near sightedness could be cured she said oh yes just as well as other deseases.—

When mamma came home, she took me into her room, and told me that perhaps my near-sightedness could be cured by the “Mind Cure”; and that [she] was going to have me try the treatment anyway, there could be no harm in it, and there might be great good. If her plan succeeds there certainly will be a great deal in “Mind Cure” to my oppinion, for I am very near sighted, and so is mamma, and I never expected there could be any more cure for it, than for blindness, but now I dont know but what theres a cure for that.

March 14^th ’86.

Clara sprained her ankle, a little while ago, by running into a tree, when coasting, and while she [was] unable to walk with it she played solotair with cards a great deal. While Clara was sick and papa saw her play solotair so much, he got very much interested in the game, and finally began to play it himself a little, then Jean took it up, and at last mamma, even played it ocasionally; Jean’s and papa’s love for it rappidly increased, and now Jean brings the cards every night to the table and papa and mamma help her play, and before dinner is at an end, papa has gotten a seperate pack of cards, and is playing alone, with great interest, mamma and Clara next are made subject to the contagious solatair, and there are four solataireans at the table; while you hear nothing but, “Fill up the place” etc. It is dreadful! after supper Clara goes into the library, and gets a little red mahogany table, and placing it under the gasfixture seats herself and begins to play again, then papa follows with another table of the same discription, and they play solatair till bed-time.

We have just had our Prince and Pauper pictures taken; two groups and some little single ones. The groups (the Interview and Lady Jane Grey scene) were pretty good, the lady Jane Grey scene was perfect, just as pretty as it could be, the Interview was not so good; and two of the little single pictures very good indeed, but one was very bad. Yet on [the] whole we think they were a success.

Papa has done a great deal in his life I think, that is good, and very remarkable, but I think if he had, had the advantages with which he could have developed the gifts which he has made no use of in writing his books, or in any other way for other peoples pleasure and benefit outside of his own family and intimate friends, he could have done more than he has and a great deal more even. He is known to the public as a humorist, but he has much more in him that is earnest, than that is humorous. He has a keen sense of the ludricous, notices funny stories and incidents knows how to tell them, to improve upon them, and does not forget them. He has been through a great many of the funny adventures, related in “Tom Sayer” and in “Hucleberry Finn,” himself and he lived among just such boys, and in just such villages all the days of his early life. “His Prince and Pauper” is his most orriginal, and best production; it shows the most of any of his books what kind of pictures are in his mind usually; not that the pictures of England in the 16^th century and the adventures of a little prince and pauper are the kind of things he mainly thinks about; but that, that book, and those pictures represent the train of thought and imagination he would be likely to be thinking of today, tomorrow, or next day, more nearly than those given in “Tom Sawyer” or Hucleberry Finn.”

Papa can make exeedingly bright jokes, and he enjoys funny things, and when he is with people he jokes and laughs a great deal; but still he is more interested in earnest books and earnest subjects to talk upon, than in humorous ones. When we are all alone at home, nine times out of ten, he talks about some very earnest subject, (with an ocasional joke thrown in) and he a good deal more often talks upon such subjects than upon the other kind.

He is as much a Pholosopher than anything I think, I think he could have done a great deal in this way if he had studied while young, for he seems to enjoy reasoning out things, no matter what; in a great many such directions, he has greater abillity than in the gifts which have made him famous.

March. 21^st. Sunday.—Here is another of papa’s stories told to me by Jean.—

“The Generous Fender.”—

Once there was a night.—and a pair of tongs and a shuvel came into the library, with the other tongs and shuvels, and puled out the ancanifertent fender, from the fire-place, and began to kick it because they didn’t like it, but the fender was good; but they went on kicking till the fender was full of dents, and spoiled. (The people of the house had gone out to a party and they staid away all night) So the tongs and shuvels kicked the poor fender till they were tired, and then put it back in its place.—

Here Jean stopped, she had forgotten the rest of the story, and I could in no way persuade her to go on.

March. 23 ’86.

The other day was my birthday, and I had a little birthday party in the evening. and papa acted some very funny charades with Mr. Gherhardt, Mr. Jesse Grant (who had come up from New York and was spending the evening with us,)—and Mr. Frank Warner.—One of them was “on his knees” honys-sneeze.

There were a good many other funny ones, all, of which I dont remember.

Mr. Grant was very pleasant, and began playing the charades in the most delightful way.—

March. 26. Mamma and Papa have been in New York for two or three days, and Miss Corey has been staying with us. They are coming home today at two o’clock.

Papa has just begun to play chess, and he is very fond of it, so he has engaged to play with Mrs. Charles Warner every morning from 10 to 12, he came down to supper last night, full of this pleasant prospect, but evidently with something on his mind. Finally he said to Mamma in an appologetical tone, Susy Warner and I have a plan.—

“Well” mamma said “what now I [wonder],” Papa said that “Susy Warner” and he were going to name the chess men after some of the old bible heroes, and then play chess on Sunday.—

April 18^th ’86.

Mamma and papa Clara and Daisy have gone to New York to see the “Mikado.” They are coming home tonight at half past seven.

The other day mamma got a new rug, and she wanted to hang it up in front of the dining-room door; (aunt Clara had come two or three days before) the rug was spread out by the door, and mamma was looking at it, and comparing it with the door, to see if it was broad enough, aunt Clara seemed to think it wasn’t broad enough. Mamma said “Clara I’ve the greatest mind to lie down and see.” “Lie down and see”? “why what do you mean Livy”? aunt Clara asked wondering. “Why I mean I’ve the greatest mind to lie down by the rug, and see how long it is; and then get up and measure by the door.” “Well aunt Clara said laughing, it seems to me, that is the most orriginal way of measuring a rug, I have ever seen.”

Last winter when Mr. Cable was lecturing with papa, he wrote this letter to him, just before he came to visite us.

Everett House

New York Jan. 21/84

Dear Uncle,

That’s one nice thing about me, I never bother any one, to offer me a good thing twice. You dont ask me to stay over Sunday, but then you dont ask me to leave Saturday night, and knowing the nobility of your nature as I do—thank you, I’ll stay till Monday morning.

Your’s and the dear familie’s

George W. Cable.—

April 19.

Yes the Mind Cure does seem to be working wonderfully, papa who has been using glasses now, for more than a year, has laid them off entirely. And my nearsightedness is realy getting better. It seems marvelous! When Jean has stomack ache, Clara and I have tried to divert her, by telling her to lie on her side and try Mind Cure. The novelty of it, has made her willing to try it, and then Clara and I would exclaim about how wonderful it was it was getting better! and she would think it realy was finally, and stop crying, to our delight.

The other day mamma went into the library, and found her lying on the sofa with her back toward the door. She said “why Jean what’s the matter? dont you fell well? Jean said that she had a little stomack ache, and so thought she would lie down. Mamma said “why dont you try Mind Cure? “I am” Jean answered.

The other night papa read us a little article, which he had just written entitled “Luck,” it was very good we thought.

The stories of prevailing interest, which Papa tells us is “Jim and the strainin rag” and “Whoop says I” Jim and the strainin rag is simply a discription of a little scene way out west; but he tells it in such a funny way, that it is captivating.

“Jim and the strainin Rag”

“Aunt Sal”!—aunt Sal! Jim’s gone got the new strainin rag roun’ his sore schin. A. S. You Jim, take that ar strainin rag off you sore schin, an’ renc’ it out, I aller’s did dispise nastiness.”

“Whoop Says I.”

Good morning Mrs.        What is it yer got in yer basket? Fish says she. They stinc says I. Ter Hell says she. Whoop! says I.—

We all played a game of Croquet yesterday evening, and aunt Clara and I beat papa and Clara, to our perfect satisfaction.

“Mark Twain has reached his fiftieth birthday, and has been warmly congratulated on his “Jubilee” by most of the wits of his native land. As the Ettrick Shepherd said to Wordsworth, when first they met “Im’e glad you’r so young a man” So one might observe to Mark, and wish he were still younger. But his genious is still young, and perhaps never showed so well, with such strength and variety, such varacity and humor, as in his latest book “Hucleberry Finn.” Persons of extreemely fine culture, may have no taste for Mark when he gets among pictures and holy places, Mark is all himself, and the most powerful and diverting writer I think of his American Contemperaries. Here followeth, rather late, but heartily well meant, a tribute to Mark on his Jubilee:

“For Mark Twain”

“To brave Mark Twain, across the sea,

The years have brought his Jubilee.

    One hears it, half in pain,

That fifty years have passed and gone,

Since danced the merry star that shone

Above the babe Mark Twain.”

How many, and many a weary day,

When sad enough were we, Marks way,

    (Unlike the Laureates Markes)

Has made us laugh until we cried,

And, sinking back exausted, sighed

Like Gargery Wot larx!

“We turn his pages and we see

The Mississippi flowing free;

We turn again and grin

Oer all Tom Sayer did and planned

With him of the ensanguined hand,

    With Hucleberry Finn!

Spirit of Mirth, whose chime of bells,

Shakes on his cap, and sweetly swells

Across the Atlantic main,

Grant that Mark’s laughter never die,

That men through many a century

May chucle oer Mark Twain!

By Andrew Lang.

Mr. W. D. Howells, and his daughter Pilla have been here, to visite us, and we have enjoyed them very much. They arived Saturday at half past two and staid till Sunday night. Sunday night at supper papa and Mr. Howells began to talk about the Jews. Mr. Howells said that in “Silas Lapham” he wrote a sentence about a Jew, that was perfectly true, and he meant no harm to the Jews in saying it, it was true, and he saw no reason why it should not be recognized as fact. But after the story came out in the Century, two or three Jews wrote him, saying in a very plaintive and meek, way, that they wished he wouldn’t say that about them, he said that after he received these letters his consions pricked him very much for having said what he did—

At last one of these Jews wrote him asking him, to take that sentence out of the story when it came out in book form; Mr. Howells said he thought, the Jews were a persecuted race, and a race already down. So he decided to take out the sentence, when the story appeared in book form.

Papa said that a Mr. Wood an equaintance of his, new a rich Jew who read papa’s books a great deal. One day this Jew said that papa was the only great humorist, who had ever written without poking some fun against a Jew. And that as the Jews were such a good subject for fun and funny ridicule, he had often wondered why in all his stories, not one said or had anything in it against the Jews. And he asked Mr. Wood, the next time he saw papa to ask him how this happened.

Mr. Wood soon did see papa and spoke to him, upon this subject. Papa at first did not know himself, why it was that he had never spoken unkindly of the Jews in any of his books; but after thinking awhile, he decided that, the Jews had always seemed to him, a race much to be respected; also they had suffered much, and had been greatly persecuted; so to ridicul or make fun of them, seemed to be like attacking a man that was already down. And of course that fact took away whatever there was funny in the ridicule of a Jew.

He said it seemed to him, the Jews ought to be respected very much, for two things pertickularly, one was that they never begged, that one never saw a Jew begging, another was that they always took care of their poor, that although one never heard of a Jewish orphans home, there must be such things, for the poor Jews seemed always well taken care of.

He said that once the ladies of a orphans home wrote him asking him if he would come to Chicago and lecture for the benefit of the orphans. So papa went, and read for their benefit. He said that they were the most forlorn looking little wretches ever seen.—He said the fact was they were starving to death. The ladies said they had done everything possible, but could not raise enough money; and they said that what they realy most needed was a bath tub. So they said that as their last resource they decided to write to him asking him to lecture, for them, to see if in that way they could not raise a little money.

And they said what was most humiliating about their lack of means was that right next door, there was [a] Jewish Orphan’s home, which had everything that was needed to make it comfortable. They said that this home was also a work of charity, but that they never knew, of its begging for anything of any one outside a Jew. They said no one (hardly) knew, that it was a Jewish home, exept they who lived right next door, to it. And that very few knew there was such a building in the city.

May 6, ’86.

Papa has contrived a new way for us to remember dates. We are to bring to breakfast every morning a date, without fail, and now they are to be dates from English historie. At the farm two summers ago he drove pegs into the ground all around the place representing each [king’s reign] following each other according. Then we used to play games running between these different pegs till finally we knew when each king or queen reighned and in refference to the kings preceeding them.—

    The other day, mamma went into the library and found papa sitting there reading a book, and roaring with laughter over it; she asked him what he was reading, he answered that he hadn’t stopped to look at the title of the book,” and went on reading; she glanced over his shoulder at the cover, and found it was one of his own books.

June 26./86

We are all of us on our way to Keokuk to see Grandma Clemens, who is very feeble and wants to see us. And pertickularly Jean who is her name sake. We are going by way of the lakes, as papa thought that would be the most comfortable way.

July 4. We have arived in Keokuk after a very pleasant

a[Translation: “My dear little daughter, how are Cleveland and Buffalo Bill now? Do you remember the mountain goats, or mountain sheep, we saw at Buffalo Bill’s show in Elmira? The poor beasts were recently lost through shipwreck. This accident occurred on the Mississippi. The steamboat was wrecked on a hidden rock, and although Buffalo Bill and his Indians and the rest of the animals were rescued, the goats plunged straight into the water and were never seen again. Also, one or maybe two of the buffalo were drowned. That makes my heart so heavy that I can write no further. Write to me again and yet again my darling. P.S. My warmest greetings to your grandmamma.”]

^†[Susy’s footnote:] When Jean was a little thing Clara and I taught her to call us Guck and Ben, and Papa thought “Ben” so appropriate a name for Clara, that he still calls her that.

^‡[Translation: “After my reading in Ithaca I went to the beer hall and found about forty students from Cornell University gathered there; and they made me heartily welcome with loud cheers and clapping of hands. Then they sang a lot of wonderful songs, with a solo and a thundering chorus. I stayed there until after midnight, then I made them a nice speech, and told two comic stories which were received with great applause. After that I drove home and was soon in bed.”]

^b[Letter-opener, at this date usually made of bone or wood—BG.]

^c[It is missing—BG.]