May 24 Wednesday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam replied to Robert L. Fulton’s May 12 invitation.

Dear Mr. Fulton— / I remember, as if it were yesterday, that when I disembarked from the overland stage in front of the Ormsby in Carson City in August, 1861, I was not expecting to be asked to come again. I was tired, discouraged, white with alkali dust, & did not know anybody; & if you had said, “Cheer up, desolate stranger, don’t be down-hearted—pass on, & come again in 1905,” you cannot think how grateful I would have been & how gladly I would have closed the contract. Although I was not expecting to be invited, I was watching out for it, & was hurt & disappointed when you started to ask me & changed it to “How soon—are you going away?” for I was an orphan at that time, & had been one so many years that I was getting sensitive about it.

But you have made it all right, now, & the wound is closed. And so I thank you sincerely for the invitation; & with you, all Reno, & if I were a few years younger I would accept it, & promptly. I would go. I would let somebody else do the oration, but as for me, I would talk— just talk. I would renew my youth; & talk—& talk—& talk—& have the time of my life! I would march the unforgotten & unforgetable antiques by, & name their names, & give them reverent Hail-&-farewell as they passed: Goodman, M Carthy, Sillis, Curry, Baldwin, Winters, Howard, Nye, Stewart, Neely Johnson, Hal Clayton, Jones, North, Rost, &—& my brother, upon whom be peace!—& then the desperadoes, who made life a joy & the “slaughter-house” a precious possession: Sam Brown, Farmer Pete, Bill Mayfield Six-fingered-Jake, Jack Williams, & the rest of the crimson discipleship—& so on & so on. Believe me, I would start a resurrection it would do you more good to look at than the next one will, if you go on the way you are doing now.

Those were the days!—Those old ones. They will come no more. Youth will come no more. They were full to the brim with the wine of life; there have been no others like them. It chokes me up to think of them. Would you like me to come out there & cry? It would not beseem my white head.

Good-bye. I drink to you all. Have a good time—& take an old man’s blessing [MTP]. Note: many of those mentioned from Sam’s Nevada days may be identified in Vol. 1, MTL 1, Mack or others.

Isabel Lyon’s journal: That microbe story grows and grows in depth and wonder. It has grown into the thought that perhaps we too are microbes chasing around in a globule that is only a molecule of the universe. Every morning I play to Mr. Clemens until he is ready to go to work. It gives him his inspiration for the day—takes the fog out of his brain and then he goes up to his “dissipation”. Then we have music again, and after dinner when he has read his ms., then we play Hearts [MTP TS 60].

Isabel Lyon’s journal # 2: “Mr. Clemens worked all day without interruption, and read the continuation of the Microbe autobiography after dinner. It is tremendous” [MTP TS 19].

Charles Henry Webb (1834-1905) died in N.Y.C. Webb was Sam’s first publisher (The Jumping Frog of Calaveras County and Other Sketches), founded The Californian in 1864, and wrote under the pen name “John Paul.” See Vol. I entries. The New York Times, May 25, p. 9 reviewed Webb’s publications and accomplishments.