October 9 Monday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam wrote two letters to Frederick A. Duneka of Harper’s.
The easiest way for me to furnish the details you ask for . . . is handy for you too; for you can at your pleasure talk the details to any journalist that come to you or print my letter on slips & hand them to as many of the boys as will accept . . .
…As to other matters here are the details.
Yes, I have tried a number of summer homes, here & in Europe together.
Each of these homes had charms of its own; charms & delights of its own, & some of them— even in Europe—had comforts. Several of them had conveniences, too. They all had a “view.”
It is my conviction that there should always be some water in a view—a lake or a river, but not the ocean, if you are down on its level. I think that when you are down on its level it seldom inflames you with an ecstasy which you could not get out of a sand-flat. It is like being on board ship, over again; indeed it is worse than that, for there’s three months of it. On board ship one tires of the aspects in a couple days, & quits looking. The same vast circle of heaving humps is spread around you all the time, with you in the centre of it & never for variety, a flight of flying-fish, mornings; a flock of porpoises throwing summersaults afternoons; a remote whale spouting, Sundays; occasional phosphorescent effects, nights; every other day a streak of black smoke trailing along under the horizon; on the one single red letter day, the illustrious iceberg. I have seen that iceberg thirty-four times in thirty-seven voyages; it is always the same shape, it is always the same size, it always throws up the same old flash when the sun strikes it; you may set it on any New York door-step of a June morning & light it up with a mirror-flash; & I will engage to recognize it. It is artificial, & it is provided & anchored out by the steamer companies. I used to like the sea, but I was young then, & could easily get excited over any kind of monotony, & keep it up till the monotonies ran out, if it was a fortnight.
Last January, when we were beginning to inquire about a home for this summer, I remembered that Abbott Thayer had said, three years before, that the New Hampshire highlands was a good place. He was right—it was a good place. Any place that is good for an artist in paint is good for an artist in morals & ink. [George de Forest] Brush is here, too; so is Col. T. W. Higginson; so is Raphael Pumpelly; so is Mr. Secretary [Ethan Allen] Hitchcock; so is [Ernest Flagg] Henderson; so is [Josephus N.] Larned; so is Sumner; so is Franklin MacVeigh [sic MacVeagh] ; so is Joseph L. Smith; so is Henry Copley Greene, when I am not occupying his house, which I am doing this season. Paint, literature, science, statesmanship, history, professorship, law, morals—these are all represented here, yet crime is substantially unknown. [editorial emphasis]
The summer homes of these refugees are sprinkled, a mile apart, among the forest-clad hills, with access to each other by firm smooth country roads which are so embowered in dense foliage that it is always twilight in there, & comfortable. The forests are spider-webbed with these good roads, they go everywhere; but for the help of the guide-boards, the stranger would not arrive anywhere.
The village—Dublin—is bunched together in its own place, but a good telephone service makes its markets handy to all those outliars. I have spelt it that way to be witty. The village executes orders on the Boston plan—promptness & courtesy.
The summer homes are high-perched, as a rule, & have contenting outlooks. The house we occupy has one. Monadnock, a soaring double hump, rises into the sky at its left elbow—that is to say, it is close at hand.
From the base of the long slant of the mountain the valley spreads away to the circling frame of the hills, ranges rises to view & flows, fold upon fold, wave upon wave, soft & blue & unworldly, to the horizon fifty miles away. In these October days Monadnock & the valley & its framing hills make an inspiring picture to look at, for they are sumptuously splashed & mottled & be-torched from sky-line to sky-line with the richest dyes the autumn can furnish; & when they lie flaming in the full drench of the mid-afternoon sun, the sight affects the spectator physically, it stirs his blood like military music.
We cannot have this house next season, but I have secured Mrs. Upton’s house which is over in the law & scince quarter, two or three miles from here, & about the same distance from the art, literary, & scholastic groups. The science & law quarter has needed improving, this good while.
The nearest railway-station is distant something like an hour’s drive; it is three hours from there to Boston, over a branch line. You can go to New York in six hours per branch lines if you change cars every time you think of it, but it is better to go to Boston & stop over & take the trunk line next day, then you do not get lost.
It is claimed that the atmosphere of the New Hampshire highlands is exceptionally bracing & stimulating, & a find aid to hard & continuous work. It is a just claim, I think. I came in May, & wrought 35 successive days without a break. It is possible that I could not have done it elsewhere. I do not know; I have not hand any disposition to try it, before. I think I got the disposition out of the atmosphere, this time. I feel quite sure, in fact, that that is where it came from.
I am ashamed to confess what an intolerable pile of manuscript I ground out in the 35 days, therefore I will keep the number of words to myself. I wrote the first half of a long tale—“The Adventures of a Microbe”—& put it away for a finish next summer, & started another long tale —“The Mysterious Stranger;” I wrote the first half of it & put it with the other for a finish next summer. I stopped, then. I was not tired, but I had no books on hand that needed finishing this year except one that was seven years old. After a little I took that one up & finished it. Not for publication, but to have it ready for revision next summer.
Since I stopped work I have had a two months’ holiday. The summer has been my working time for 35 years; to have a holiday in it (in America) is new for me. I have not broken it, except to write “Eve’s Diary” & “A Horse’s Tale”—short things occupying the mill 12 days.
This year our summer is 6 months long & ends with November & the flight home to New York, but next year we hope & expect to stretch it out another month & end it the first of December [Paine’s 1917 Mark Twain’s Letters p.781-4].
Note: This letter appeared within an interview in “Mark Twain at 70” Hartford Courant Nov. 25, 1905 p.16. (Replaced “and’s” with &’s as Sam wrote them.) Persons mentioned: Abott Handerson Thayer (1849-1921), prominent artist and teacher; George de Forest Brush (1855-1941) painter; Thomas Wentworth Higginson (see earlier listing); Ethan Allen Hitchcock (1835-1909) Secretary of Interior under McKinley and Roosevelt (1898-1907); Ernest Flagg Henderson (1861-1928) author and historian; Josephus N. Learned (1836-1913) former owner/editor of the Buffalo Express with Sam; Sumner B. Pearmain (1859-1946), stock broker; Alice Whittemore Upton Pearmain (1863-1941), magazine and newspaper contributor was Sumner B. Pearmain’s wife. Mrs. Upton was likely Alice’s mother Sarah Miller (Duncan) Upton; Franklin MacVeagh (1837-1934) banker and Treasury Sec. under Taft (1909-1913), brother to Wayne MacVeagh; Joseph Linden Smith (1863-1950), painter, noted authority on Egyptian art; Raphael Pumpelly (1837-1923) geologist and explorer, director of the U.S. Geological Survey.
Isabel Lyon replied for Clemens to the Oct. 2 from Daniel Edwards Kennedy:
“Dear Sir: / Mr. Clemens directs me to write for him, as he is far too busy to answer letters, saying that he has heard people talk about the seven jokes, but he has never heard what they are. / Yours …” [MTP].
Sam also wrote to Miss Carrie Rosenheim, who evidently had requested an autograph: “Dear Miss Carrie: / I am a dear, & so I send you two. / Sincerely yours, Mark Twain” [MTP: Cushman file]. Note: misplaced as Oct. 5 but file copy says Oct. 9.
Sam also wrote a short note addressed to Harper & Brothers. “Dear Sirs: It is probably merely a rumor. My Library of Humor is protected by copyright, & an infringement of it is not at all likely. Please keep a lookout, & let me know of any one attempts an infringement” [MTP].
Isabel Lyon’s journal: “A Horse’s Tale sent to Harpers today” [MTP TS 104].
Hartford attorney Edward J. Garvan wrote asking Sam for the address of Karl Gerhardt [MTP]. Note: the MTP gives Sam’s answer as “on or after 9 Oct,” which is entirely possible for Oct. 9.
Isabel V. Lyon replied for Sam to Edward J. Garvan that Sam had not seen Gerhardt for twelve years, and he was then in Hartford [MTP].
David C. Grant for Lincoln National Bank wrote to Sam having rec’d Harper’s check for $2,083.33, and asked that he confirm the check as endorsed by Miss A. Watson (Katherine Harrison’s asst.) [MTP]. On or after Oct. 9 Sam wrote to David C. Grant “I ratify & confirm your action regarding the endorsed check by Miss Watson Thanking you for your courtesy” [MTP].
Thomas S. Barbour for the Congo Reform Assoc. wrote to Sam enclosing a copy of Boston American which contained extracts from the Leopold Soliloquy pamphlet. He was sending 30 free copies of the pamphlet itself [MTP].
Edward T. Heyn wrote from Berlin, Germany to Sam, sending under separate cover Sam’s photo to be signed for an artist friend of Heyn’s, M. Wolff [MTP].
Charles J. Langdon wrote to Sam, sending a NY draft for $110.84, a “one-third share of the rent paid to Oct. 1 by Leslie, the tenant on the Eire Basin property at Buffalo, N.Y.” [MTP].