December 24 Sunday – At 21 Fifth Ave., N.Y. Sam wrote to William Robertson Coe (1869-
1955), son-in-law to H.H. Rogers.
I have sampled the Cabañas, & they are fit for the Gods (who will not get a dam one of them.) May you live long & continue to prosper; & Mrs. Coe the same.
I started out, yesterday afternoon, to look in upon the four households and wish them a Merry Christmas, but I got belated & couldn’t make it; but I shall try again soon, & shall succeed; for you are all my nearest & steadfastest & most valued friends, & I don’t like to let the chief holiday-week of the year get by without a good handshake & a drink with you. I am planning this raid for New Year’s Day, & I hope I shan’t be disappointed. With sincerest regards to you both, … [MTP].
Note: Dias writes of Coe: “A native of England, he was educated in Wales, migrated to Philadelphia with his family in 1883, and became a naturalized American citizen in 1890. In 1893, he became an insurance broker in New York. He and Mai [Rogers] were married on June 4, 1900. He was a director of various companies and, in his later years, was well-known for his large racing stableand for his many philanthropies” [MT Letters 50].
Sam also wrote to the Editor of Harper’s Weekly. The letter ran in the Weekly Jan. 13, 1906.
To the Editor of Harper’s Weekly. SIR:
Scarcely had Watchman Fowler taken his post at the gate when a procession of strange creatures appeared.
“Halt! Who goes there?” ejaculated the watchman when a fat negro approached, laboriously leading a thin, bow-legged goat.
“Dis heah beast is Ole Ironsides, suh,” explained the goat’s mahout.
—From “Dan’l the Bulldog,” in the “Times.”
When I read it I recognized, with a thrill, that the right word had been found at last—mahout.
The ’mobile, that majestic devil, that impressive devil, is our elephant, he is in a class by himself, like the jungle monarch; to be his master, pilot, and compeller is a post of solemn and awful dignity and danger, and it does seem to me that that measly word “chauffeur” does not properly fit the occupant of it. Chauffeur is a good enough word when strictly confined to its modest and rightful place—as you will see by what Littre says about it. I translate: “A chauffeur is the firer-up on the street-corner peanut-roaster; in English, stoker.” A good enough word, you see, in its own place; but when we come to apply it to the admiral of the thunderous ’mobile or of the mighty elephant, we realize that it is inadequate. No, stoker is not the thing, chauffeur is not the thing, mahout is the thing—mahout is the word we need. Besides, there is only one way of saying mahout, whereas there are nine ways of saying chauffeur, and none of them right. With ever-increasing respect, dear sir, as the ages roll on, I am yours, [MTP].
Sam also wrote to George B. Harvey.
MARK TWAIN.
Xmas eve, 1905
O Harvey the Magnificent! little by little I am recovering from its emotions & its splendors— the most satisfying & spirit-exalting honor ever done me in all my 70 years, oh by 70 times 70! By George, nobody but you could have imagined & carried out that wonderful thing. I can’t thank you adequately, dear uncle George, it is just impossible. / Yours now & always [MTP].
Isabel Lyon’s journal: “This afternoon Sir Purdon Clarke came in while we were at tea, and he sat for over an hour delighting us with his talk. He took us all over the world for in his wanderings he has been all over it” [MTP TS 116].
I have sampled the Cabañas, & they are fit for the Gods (who will not get a dam one of them.) May you live long & continue to prosper; & Mrs. Coe the same.
I started out, yesterday afternoon, to look in upon the four households and wish them a Merry Christmas, but I got belated & couldn’t make it; but I shall try again soon, & shall succeed; for you are all my nearest & steadfastest & most valued friends, & I don’t like to let the chief holiday-week of the year get by without a good handshake & a drink with you. I am planning this raid for New Year’s Day, & I hope I shan’t be disappointed. With sincerest regards to you both, … [MTP].
Note: Dias writes of Coe: “A native of England, he was educated in Wales, migrated to Philadelphia with his family in 1883, and became a naturalized American citizen in 1890. In 1893, he became an insurance broker in New York. He and Mai [Rogers] were married on June 4, 1900. He was a director of various companies and, in his later years, was well-known for his large racing stableand for his many philanthropies” [MT Letters 50].
Sam also wrote to the Editor of Harper’s Weekly. The letter ran in the Weekly Jan. 13, 1906.
To the Editor of Harper’s Weekly. SIR:
Scarcely had Watchman Fowler taken his post at the gate when a procession of strange creatures appeared.
“Halt! Who goes there?” ejaculated the watchman when a fat negro approached, laboriously leading a thin, bow-legged goat.
“Dis heah beast is Ole Ironsides, suh,” explained the goat’s mahout.
—From “Dan’l the Bulldog,” in the “Times.”
When I read it I recognized, with a thrill, that the right word had been found at last—mahout.
The ’mobile, that majestic devil, that impressive devil, is our elephant, he is in a class by himself, like the jungle monarch; to be his master, pilot, and compeller is a post of solemn and awful dignity and danger, and it does seem to me that that measly word “chauffeur” does not properly fit the occupant of it. Chauffeur is a good enough word when strictly confined to its modest and rightful place—as you will see by what Littre says about it. I translate: “A chauffeur is the firer-up on the street-corner peanut-roaster; in English, stoker.” A good enough word, you see, in its own place; but when we come to apply it to the admiral of the thunderous ’mobile or of the mighty elephant, we realize that it is inadequate. No, stoker is not the thing, chauffeur is not the thing, mahout is the thing—mahout is the word we need. Besides, there is only one way of saying mahout, whereas there are nine ways of saying chauffeur, and none of them right. With ever-increasing respect, dear sir, as the ages roll on, I am yours, [MTP].
Sam also wrote to George B. Harvey.
MARK TWAIN.
Xmas eve, 1905
O Harvey the Magnificent! little by little I am recovering from its emotions & its splendors— the most satisfying & spirit-exalting honor ever done me in all my 70 years, oh by 70 times 70! By George, nobody but you could have imagined & carried out that wonderful thing. I can’t thank you adequately, dear uncle George, it is just impossible. / Yours now & always [MTP].
Isabel Lyon’s journal: “This afternoon Sir Purdon Clarke came in while we were at tea, and he sat for over an hour delighting us with his talk. He took us all over the world for in his wanderings he has been all over it” [MTP TS 116].
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