December 20 Thursday – Sam wrote from Hartford to Charles Follen Adams (1842-1918) in Boston. Sam thanked Adams and wrote that “several of the pieces are familiar to me, & I shall be glad to make the acquaintance of the rest” [MTLE 2: 206]. Adams had sent his Leedle Yawcob Strauss, and Other Poems (1878; preface dated 1877) [Gribben 7].
Sam also wrote to Nathaniel W. Starbird, Jr., ordering a “brass fender (54 ½ inches long,) which you showed to me & Mr. Howells, editor of the ‘Atlantic Monthly’ Tuesday morning.” Sam enclosed a $60 check and asked Starbird to ship it at once to give as a Christmas present [MTLE 2: 207]. (See Dec. 28 entry.)
An unspecified sketch of Sam’s ran in the London World [The Twainian, vol. 6 no. 4, July-Aug. 1947].
Below, letter from Frank Finlay in London to Sam of the same date.
My dear Clemens. / A wellmeant but imperfect sketch of one Mark Twain in the World of today (for which I have no responsibility) pricks one in the conscience. I look back to your last letter, and I find it was written A.D. 1647, and is still without answer. I am contrite. If your ears be good, you may hear groans of repentance and sighs of anguish. NB. They are my groans, and my sighs. I have brought out & placed before me certain counterfeit presentments of a man in white garments in a cabin-of-a-ship-looking study, working a miracle by writing without a pen. The windows contain landscapes: a china doggie sits upon sheets of M.S.: volumes of The Gilded Age and other theological works are piled on a round table with an ostentatious knob. The gifted author has filled his wastebasket and not crowded his table with copy. It is The Interior of Mark Twain’s Summer Study at Quarry Farm. Slow music. The scene changes. It is a London particular fog. Gas lighted. A back room in a London street. Over the door a bust of Pallas, with a Raven perched upon it, and a gilt tablet on which is written “NEVERMORE!” On one wall a large shield of crimson with a trophy of old arms and curios, the spoils of foreign travel: on the opposite wall, an old Queen Anne wall-mirror with a shelf full of old china. Over the mantelpiece a large illuminated text—
“The First Of All Gospels Is This—That a Lie Cannot Endure For Ever”
from Carlyle’s Revolution. Beneath, a frame surrounding a block of old Mosaic brought from Carthage, with “Delenda Est Carthago” on it. On the mantel a marble bust of the Young Augustus, a photo of Dickens with a piece of his writing: photos. of two female busts by Hiram Powers, a gift from the sculptor: more old china & curios. On brackets more old china. A big carve oak bookcase, crammed. Some water colours & engravings on the walls. Photos of Garibaldi, Edward Whitty, Gad’s Hill with Dickens & his family on the lawn. A square legged Eastlake table of dark oak, and a carved oak writing table, very much littered, complete the picture. Stay—I forgot myself. I am at the writing table, and this is my little den, into which I have settled at last & where I have found rest for the sole of my foot.
Since I wrote last we have had great troubles and great relief. My poor wife had all her distress over again: another tumour & another operation. But she bore it like a herd of Trojan heroes. We didn’t get into our home till 21st. Augt. Then she took bad again, & after the second operation I took her to Scarboro’ for 5 weeks, & that set her up completely. She is now very much better, but needing much care still. We like our house very much. I have all my old crockery out & displayed, and all we want now is a mad bull: we have the China shop. How pleased I should be to see you here, Sir and Brother! And when–when when. Here I am, a loafer and an idle vagabond, and able to go round London with you day & night [MTP]