August 25 Saturday – In Dublin, N.H. Sam wrote to William Dean Howells.

Dear ’Owells: / If it were my own case I should probably stand upon my innocence, & go on & publish my story “regardless”; but you are not me, & so it is different. You are better, & finer than I am, & it costs you many a pang that I escape.

My idea is this: that I send this letter of yours to Clara & let her submit it to her dear & valued & level-headed friend & mine, Mary Foots [sic Sam’s nickname for her] (lately decorated by Yale for her art), & take her judgment & advice; (& hers only.) Never mind the rest of the Feet. Mary Foots is a fine human being, of full age, & has more sense than you & me (damn the I), put together. (But no matter what the result may be, you must publish the story, just the same, for the public has a right to it.)

If you will build on my farm & live there, it will set M Howells’s health up, for sure. Come— I’ll sell you the site for $25. John will tell you it is a choice place.

I have been dissipating on the yacht & at Fairhaven for ten days, & am just back. Day after tomorrow I resume dictating, with your welcome encouragements to brace me up. / Yrs Ever /

Mark [MTHL 2: 819]. Note: n1 the source explains Howells “must have asked” advice on a novel he’d written, Fennel and Rue, which turned out to be the mirror of a real woman’s experience; see n1. Mary Hallock Foote (1847-1938), novelist and illustrator; many of her stories portrayed mining life in the West, and often ran in the Century Magazine along side her illustrations.

Sam also began a letter to Mary B. Rogers (Mrs. Harry Rogers) that he added to on Aug. 26 and 27.

Now this can’t wait, but must be attended to at once, O dear pal & incomparable niece! I am still troubled about those editorial remarks about me which we read in proof yesterday. Naturally it would not be quite delicate in me to move in the matter, yet I feel that something ought to be done. Now my idea is that you could do it, with perfect propriety. Suppose you write Col. Harvey something like this:

Dear Sir: If my uncle knew that I was writing you upon this matter he would disapprove, for he is very delicate in his feelings; so I will ask you not to let him learn about it. To me your praises of him seemed most generous—indeed prodigal, even extravagant; but he is so sensitively organized that to him they sounded cold & indifferent, & they deeply saddened him. He is almost morbidly fond of compliments, & he realizes that these are good ones, but thinks they are over-cautious & thin. When we of the family butter him we do not do it with a knife, we use a trowel. It will profoundly gratify him if you will allow me to add the following paragraph to what you have written.

Very truly yours

Mary Rogers.

=== === === ===

That is the idea, dear. Just write him that, then follow it with the paragraph. A warm one, you understand. And send me a copy of it, so that I can catch him if he tries to leave out any of the adjectives. Do it yourself, dear; don’t let Harry help, nor uncle Henry, for they are prejudiced. There will be plenty of time, for the issue-date has been postponed to Sept. 4. I know, for I have just read the proof of the “Virginia-Clemens” instalment. A duplicate has gone to Fairhaven, but I don’t need it & you can burn it.

It is past noon, now, & time to get up & dress for MacVeagh’s luncheon-party. I am going to walk, one way, through the woods—it’s only a mile. Then there’s a lecture at the Club at 4. I’m going to interrupt it.

I’m dressed, now. When I looked in the glass I was stunned with  admiration; & it seemed to me that if I could have a grandfather like that I could die happy.

It was a gay luncheon & a good lecture. I shall lecture, myself, at the Club, soon. I mean to call for a text, & teach the art of after-dinner speaking. COME—so that I can illustrate the blush- science. Shucks, Clara isn’t going to sing in Norfolk—so that’s off [MTP].

Sam wrote of the luncheon/lecture to Mary B. Rogers on Aug. 28:

Times are brisking up. Last Saturday [Aug. 25] I appeared on the platform with two pupils, & asked for a text. This one was furnished: “If it were decreed that one of the sexes must be extinguished, which one would it be best to spare?” We debated it for an hour & a quarter on the lines of my Spontaneous-Oratory-System-Without-Preparation, & it was a gay & noisy time.

Isabel Lyon’s journal: Oh, the King is back & he’s too wonderful & full of his “divine thunder”. We had a big talk this morning—a 2 hour talk—for there was mail to go over. A letter from Doubleday, saying that McClure wouldn’t offer more than $3,000.00 for the serializing of Tom Sawyer & Huckleberry Finn. ( I was to have telephoned him last week but C.C. had me on a train bound for Redding at the appointed hour.) “What is Man” isn’t to come out until about Nov. and Bothwell suggested a beautiful binding for the 10 copies to be specially bound. But the King won’t decide anything just now. A very good letter from Signor Cecchi came next. He never received my May letter giving him instructions from Mr. Clemens to discontinue the Massiglia suit. The Countess is back at the Villa in Quarto now—but the lawyers aren’t going to say that the suit is given up—for you can’t ever say what such as the Massiglia might do. They might suddenly become the assailers, instead of the assailed. That point delighted the King. It is such a dear Italian quibble.

Then came a sweet letter from Maude Adams in answer to one from the King written last May. A letter telling her how beautiful a play Peter Pan is & how we were moved & thrilled. She sent the King a copy of the Alexander portrait of Peter. Then the King told me the story of Ned House’s connection with the dramatization of the Prince and Pauper. A letter from Frederic Chapin brought it all out.

Today arrived 2 copies of “What is Man?” It is a beautifully made book, but lacks a line at p.131, “Put on a piece of paper what I’m to do. I understand it now, but God knows how I’ll understand it 10 minutes from now. I don’t think he keeps as close a watch over me as he did.”

Lunch at Franklin McVeagh’s at 1:30. Came home at 3. Start for the Club at 4 [MTP TS 109- 110]. Note: Sebastiano Cecchi’s letter from Apr. 13. Sam saw Peter Pan starring Maude Adams on Nov. 15, 1905 and praised the play. Frederic Chapin wrote on Aug. 19 and Sam replied ca. Aug. 23.

Lillian R. Beardsley wrote from Sound Beach, Conn. to Sam.

Please don’t write any more such heart-breaking stories. I have just been reading Soldier Boy’s story in Harper’s. I don’t think I would have read it had I known what was to come to Soldier Boy.

You used to write so differently. The note of pathos, of tragedy, of helpless pain creeps in now, more and more insistent. I fancy life must have taken on its more somber colors for you, and what you feel is reflected in what you write.

You belong to all of us—we of America—and we all love you and are proud of you, but you make our hearts ache sometimes [MTP]. Note: She also referred to “The Dog’s Tale.” Sam’s A.D. of Aug. 29 included this letter.

Charles J. Langdon wrote to Sam enclosing a draft for $22.17, his 1/3 share of the rent for Aug. of the Buffalo property [MTP].