November 1 Sunday – In Redding, Conn. Sam wrote to Margaret Blackmer.

You sweet Margaret, I have been trying to get Ashcroft shot & I went to Police Commissioner General Bingham about it, but he was full of objections & lame excuses & said it would make too much talk. I have known Bingham ever since he was our military attache at the German Court 18 years ago, & yet the very first time I ask a little favor of him he hunts up excuses.

Do you know what Ashcroft did? I will tell you. When he and I were walking down Fifth Avenue that next day, I stopped at a Jeweler’s to get “1908” engraved on my shell & I sat down to wait. But Ashcroft said: “Never mind waiting, let them send it to the hotel.” It made the blood run cold down my spine. Do you see what he had in his malicious mind? He thought you might be in town & he hoped I might meet you on the street. Then what would happen? Of course I would spring at you joyfully & say: “Oh, you dear Margaret!” Then you would say coldly & haughtily: “I beg your pardon, I do not know you, Sir.” “But, dear heart, I am Clemens, old Mr. Clemens, of Redding, you know.” You would answer, sarcastically: “Indeed?

Then perhaps you carry about you a certain shell, a duplicate of this one.”

Then I would begin to cry & you would say:

“Now, go away, shameless imposter, & molest me no more, or I will give you into custody.”

You see? That is what Ashcroft was hoping & expecting would happen. But I saw through him & defeated him. I stayed right there till I got my shell back, engraved. He saw he was caught & he was the most ashamed person on this planet. Bingham disappointed me, but no matter, there are other ways of getting Ashcroft shot. He will see.

———— 

DIED

By violence, in the depths of the forest, victim of enemies unknown—

TAMMANY

The most beautiful of her race, admired, beloved & now lamented, by all who knew her.

 She leaves behind her, inconsolable, two children by her first marriage, BILLIARDS & BABYLON, & three grandchildren by her second espousals, ANANDA, ANNANCI and SINBAD.

REQUIES CAT IN PACE

 [MTP; MTAq 228-9].

Sam also wrote to Frances Nunnally.

Francesca dear, don’t you be alarmed at my writing you so continuously; it puts no obligation upon you. At least no very burdensome one. You have to spare me ten lines when you are writing your other letters—that is all—but don’t you forget to do that, & don’t you neglect it, do you hear?

An hour ago, at noon, I was drifting about the ground-floor noting the enchantment the brilliant sun was working upon this & that & the other object possessing color a glowing copper vase on the black mantel with yellow berries dropping from it; a splash of intense white light upon a many-hued rug, the rest of the rug lying subdued & soft & mellow in shadow; a blaze of mingled gold & crimson flaming in that darling billiard-room fender, observed down the intervening berugged hall from in front of the library fireplace, & a shaft of sunlight from the front door glorifying one half of a bowl of pink flowers midway of the hall, the rest of the mass dimmed to a vague flush by a deep shadow; a burning touch of sun upon the centre of a vase of red flowers on the dining-table, with the dream-image of the flowers reflected like a miniature sunset cloud in the polished dark wood of the table—& so on & so on—& then I glanced down the terraces to the columned “pagoda,” & lo & behold I had an idea! That group of beautiful cedars down there settled the question. They are the ones! They are sacred to the Aquarium now—no others need apply. Nature placed them there, Nature grouped them about the columns, no man’s defiling hands assisted. They are fine, they are delicate, they are shapely, they are graceful, symmetrical, beautiful, & without flaw or blemish—like my fishes. They will always be under my eye, & I will subtly nourish them with my worship & my affection. If I should plant trees, they might die & wound me; but these will still be green & lovely & full-flushed with life when I have been dead a century.

It was the luckiest idea! One after the other the fishes will come, & each will choose her tree &  stand up against it & be photographed, & we’ll put her name on her tree, & keep record of the date in a book. If I had only thought of all this when you were here! But never mind, you are coming [MTP].

Sam’s new guestbook:  

Name Address Date Remarks

Fred. E. Robson Toronto, Canada November 1

Isabel Lyon’s journal:  Mr. Frederic Robson a friend of Benare’s came up from New York for the day. He had a darling time sitting in the billiard room and watching the King play and listening to his sweet banter with Benar. And then after luncheon we went down to see mother, and Mr. Robson was swept off his feet and had no way of recalling himself to find words that would express his feeling of the beauty of that little house, and it is beautiful. Its redemption is so complete [MTP: IVL TS 76-77]. Note: this may be Frederic Robson, drama critic for Canadian Magazine.

Frederick Moore Clements, chemist, pharmacist wrote from Sydney, Australia to advise he’d sent some Sydney and N.Z. postcards to “some of your lady folk,” and warned him to be good and avoid “those violent paroxysms of temper…awful language you are so addicted to. So be good!” [MTP].