February 21 Monday — In Hamilton, Bermuda Sam wrote to Julia Langdon Loomis (Mrs. Edward E. Loomis)
Julie dear, bless your heart it was a pleasure to serve Jervis, not a trouble. Think what he & Edward are doing for me & mine, I don’t forget it, & I am very grateful for it.
Last night I went with Helen (aged 15 1/2) & her parents to the Princess hotel to dine with some friends. Among the groups in the great lobby after dinner was one which was partly composed of a handsome lady & a very pretty & sweet-faced young girl of Helen’s age. Helen was strongly attracted, & said “Go and get acquainted with her, I want to know her.’
So I went, & offered my hand, & said, “I have come, under the pretense that I know you & have met you some where before,”
The mother said, “You are doing her a great honor, Mr. Clemens.” ‘Then added, “There was already a tie between us: I was Julie Langdon’s room-mate at Miss Brown’s school, & was present when you came there & read from The Yankee at King Arthur’s Court. Who is that sweet child with you? My daughter was just saying she wished she could know her.”
Wasn't it nice? I semaphored Helen to come, & the two fairies were inseparable the rest of the evening, till 10:30.
And there was another incident. Mrs. Harry Rogers wrote me that Mr. & Mrs, Lee—friends of hers—were coming to Bermuda, & would look me up, So, at the Princess I inquire if there were any Lees among the new arrivals. Yes—but they were at dinner. I got the head waiter to take me to their table. They were cordial—& knew me. Told me where & when they had met me. I asked after Mary Rogers—& damned if they had ever seen her! So I made the head waiter try again, & sure enough we found the right ones. It appears to be raining Lees this week.
With lots & lots of love to you & all the kin, Uncle Sam’ [MTP].
Sam also wrote to Mary B. Rogers (Mrs. H.H. Rogers, Jr.).
You dear Mariechen, I’ve made another botch! and I feel pretty badly about it, When your letter came I put it carefully away with one from Clara which would require about a week’s reflection before I would know just how to answer it. Of course I couldn’t find them again. Also of course I could not recal the names of those friends of yours whom you had instructed to see me & give me your love, For a few days I was not troubled, for I thought they would get my address at the hotel & call upon me at the private house where I am a guest. But time went on, & I got uneasy; but there wasn’t any way to hunt them up, since I couldn’t recal their names.
I never found the letters until yesterday evening, just as I was starting to the Princess hotel to dine with some friends. I found that the Lees were stopping there, but had already gone in to dinner. I got the head waiter to pilot me to their table—the table of “Mr. & Mrs. Cornelius Lee.” It was another failure—it was the wrong Lees. I rejoined my party, & asked the head waiter to try again. He made a search & succeeded, this time, & I asked him to pilot me again, But he said “remain where you are—they are going to speak to you when they leave the dining room.” We stayed at table till the place was emptied, but they did not come. I was obliged to think they were offended because I had not hunted them up when they first arrived. And yet—why? They had not hunted me up, & I was twice as old as both of them put together. I think they ought to have called upon me; & I think it is what you expected they would do. However, they were friends of yours, & this debarred me from standing upon a punctilio—I must not fail in any courtesy that might be due them. So I went to the great lobby & hunted them up. Naturally it was a little embarrassing, but—like the Essex band—I “done my best.” I didn’t tell them I had forgotten their names, through mislaying their your letter; I spared myself that pang, Mariechen, I think they are offended, & will not return my call. But do you think I am any more to blame than they are? I would have sought them earlier if 1 could have done it.
Would you expect a person to catch a bronchial cold in Bermuda? Well, I have achieved that miracle, A lady bought it from America & I sat at a bridge table with her 4 days ago & caught it, & carried it to bed & was not on my feet again until I turned out to keep that dinner-engagement yesterday evening. That was my very first game of bridge. It is a bad-luck game, It is not even lucky when you try, out of kindness, to help other people pass the time pleasantly when they are playing it. I have suffered violence for that act of benevolence.
You must pack your bag again, & keep your word, & pay the visit to Stormfield & help me hunt for the garboard strake when the pleasant weather comes. Only such as are purged of all worldliness can find it, for (necessarily this is confidential) it is really the Holy Grail disguised with a modern name We can find it for we are qualfied, but no others are, in my opinion. I may not go home until the end of April—then the mystery & miracle of the birth of Spring will begin, & you must be ready.
This is a wonderful June day. Why don’t you run down here? I wish you would. Come. You can easily employ yourself outdoors all day, with pleasure & profit. (You will note the spelling of that word.) My health is blemishless, except for the pain in my breast. That is permanent, I suppose. It doesn’t allow me to work, & it doesn’t allow me to walk even so much as a hundred yards; but as it lets me do all the things I want to do, it is not an incumbrance.
With all the love permissible by the statutes, / Affectionately, / ... [MTP}.
Sam also began a letter to daughter Clara that he added to on Feb. 22 and finished on Feb. 23.
Clara dear, your darling letter of the 3d reached me a couple of hours ago & gave me peace & deep pleasure. Yesterday I dictated a scrawl to you, for I couldn’t very well write, for I had been laid up a few days with bronchitis & was just out of bed & feeling rusty and incompetent. I caught that cold from a person who had just brought it from America. I knew I was in danger, still I took the risk.
Don’t you be afraid of making your letters too long—I love to read them; the longer they are, the better. But you must never tire yourself to write me; for that would distress me if I discovered it.
Indeed I don’t “disclaim relationship” with you because you are married—no, you are nearer & dearer to me now than ever; of my fair fleet all my ships have gone down but you; you are all my wealth; but while I have you I am still rich [MTP].
Sam also wrote to Albert Bigelow Paine , letter not extant but referred to in Paine’s Feb. 25 reply [MTP].
Herbert W. Burk for the Washington Memorial Chapel, Valley Forge wrote to Sam.
“Historians state that Washington rarely laughed. As ‘Mark Twain’ must be held largely responsible for this by declining to be one of the contemporaries of the Father of his country I write to ask if you will make an apology to his memory in the form of a book presented to the Washington Memorial Library, Valley Forge”’ [MTP].