December 9 Tuesday – In the evening, Sam gave his “Roughing It on the Silver Frontier” lecture at the Queen’s Concert Rooms, London [MTPO]. Afterward, Sam wrote Livy that he’d “never enjoyed delivering a lecture” more than he had that night.
And it was such a stylish looking, bright audience. There were people there who gave way entirely & just went on laughing, & I had to stop & wait for them to get through…Those people almost made me laugh myself, tonight. …
The fog was so thick to-day at noon that the cabs went in a walk, & men went before the omnibuses carrying lanterns. Give that item to Warner. It was the heaviest fog seen in London in 20 years. And you know how the fog invades the houses & makes your eyes smart. To-night, the first thing I said on the stage was, “Ladies & gentlemen, I hear you, & so I know that you are here—& I am here, too, notwithstanding I am not visible.” The audience did look so vague, & dim, & ghostly! The halls seemed full of thick blue smoke [MTL 5: 497]. Note: The term “smog” had not been coined.
Sam wrote a second time to Livy, having forgotten to enclose a note from Dr. John Brown, to whom Sam had sent clippings from the Dec. 2 London Morning Post [MTL 5: 499].
Sam wrote George H. Fitzgibbon that he’d be at the Morayshire dinner. He cawed about the successful talk and notice in the Post.
Few men can tell a story as well as Mr. Twain, who has an inexhaustible stock of “yarns,” and is never tired of spinning them…. There is nothing so broadly comic to be heard in London as “Roughing it on the Silver Frontier,” and Mr. Twain ought to have crowded houses every night, as no doubt he will [MTL 5: 500].
Sam also wrote Henry Lee, who had asked Sam to give a brief joke at a benefit for Edward P. Hingston, past manager of Artemus Ward. Hingston was retiring.
“I like Hingston, & I would do a good many things for him, but I couldn’t do that for my brother—for the reason that a man isn’t justified in telling an uproarious anecdote before an audience until he has led up to it with a lecture with things in it which show he is capable of better things” [MTL 5: 501].
Sam never wanted to be a mere humorist (today we call them stand-up comedians), but a moralist as well, because he felt a mere humorist never won true respectability and position in life.
Livy paid an undated bill of $150 worth of furniture from Deming & Fenn, 205 Main St., Hartford, for purchases ending this date. Also, a bill was paid to Sykes & Newton, Hartford chemists & druggists, for “1 doz scotch ale (Younger’s)” $2.85 [MTP]. Perhaps stocking up for Sam’s return.
George W. Smalley wrote to Sam.
Dear Mark Twain, / We have to thank you for your kindness in sending us tickets, & still more for the delight of hearing you. Mrs. Smalley and I agreed in thinking the lecture capital, both in itself and in the manner of its delivery, which was simply inimitable. I admired your way of leading up to your points, & your great good sense in giving a slow witted English audience time to take them in. That they enjoyed so many of them was a proper tribute to you and some credit to them also, for the average Englishman does not take kindly to the peculiar humour in which you excel. I was sorry to see you so wretchedly noticed in the Daily News,—what a donkey the man must be to be able to spoil things so. / Yours ever / G. W. Smalley
Conway sat beside us & laughed till the bench shook. I thought his conduct most improper / [MTPO]. Note: source gives the negative review from the London Daily News:
Last evening Mr. Mark Twain delivered a new lecture at the Hanover-square Rooms, the title of which was “Roughing it on the Silver Frontier.” When Mr. Twain announced a record of his adventures amidst the savages of the Sandwich Islands, the public got some idea of his whereabouts at least, although they could not anticipate the strange scenes he depicted nor the yet stranger mode of his portraiture. On the present occasion, though more familiar with his peculiar style, the London public have been left entirely in the dark as to the locality to which he intended to introduce them. Considering the attraction that a little mystery has had at all times for the world, it would be unfair, perhaps, to Mr. Twain to find fault with him for shrouding himself in so much darkness as would lead people to the Hanover-square Rooms to ascertain what he meant. If such was his idea the result confirmed his expectation, for the large room was well filled by an audience many of whom were inquiring long before the lecturer’s appearance what was or where was the “Silver Frontier.” Mexico was generally suggested, but Mr. Twain soon informed his hearers that by the “Silver Frontier” he meant a portion of Nevada. He lived in that part of the world for three years. It was inhabited when he was there by editors and thieves, blacklegs and lawyers, carters, miners, gamblers, and characters of that sort. On his journey he assisted at a Mormon marriage, but did not wait to see it all finished. They were very fond of card playing in Nevada. Their game was “Seven up,” and he joined in; but he was sorry he did, for card playing was very sinful unless you won money at it. But though a place for gamblers he would not advise hunters to go there, for they might hunt for a whole year and find nothing. It was a country for desperadoes, and of one of these, named Jack Harris, the lecturer gave an amusing account. This man took refuge in Nevada from the justice of the United States, and lodged with the principal clergyman of the place, for there was no distinction in that country between classes. Harris was known for his expertness with the pistol and bowie-knife, but a change of life came over Harris, and he took to a doubled-barrel gun when he gave up the pistol and bowie-knife. Intermixed with his word-play and jests, Mr. Twain gave some very eloquent descriptions of the country. He began and concluded his lecture last evening amidst loud applause.