Letters, 1876, chiefly to W. D. Howells.
Literature and politics. Planning
A play with Bret Harte
The Monday Evening Club of Hartford
was an association of most of the literary talent
of that city, and it included a number of very distinguished
members. The writers, the editors, the lawyers,
and the ministers of the gospel who composed
it were more often than not men of national or
international distinction. There was but one
paper at each meeting, and it was likely to be
a paper that would later find its way into some
magazine.
Naturally Mark Twain was one of its
favorite members, and his contributions never
failed to arouse interest and discussion. A
“Mark Twain night” brought out every
member. In the next letter we find the
first mention of one of his most memorable contributions—a
story of one of life’s moral aspects.
The tale, now included in his collected works,
is, for some reason, little read to-day; yet the curious
allegory, so vivid in its seeming reality, is well
worth consideration.
To W. D. Howells,
in Boston:
Hartford,
Jan. 11, ’76. My dear Howells,—Indeed
we haven’t forgotten the Howellses, nor scored
up a grudge of any kind against them; but the fact
is I was under the doctor’s hands for four weeks
on a stretch and have been disabled from working for
a week or so beside. I thought I was well, about
ten days ago, so I sent for a short-hand writer and
dictated answers to a bushel or so of letters that
had been accumulating during my illness. Getting
everything shipshape and cleared up, I went to work
next day upon an Atlantic article, which ought to
be worth $20 per page (which is the price they usually
pay for my work, I believe) for although it is only
70 pages Ms (less than two days work, counting
by bulk,) I have spent 3 more days trimming, altering
and working at it. I shall put in one more day’s
polishing on it, and then read it before our Club,
which is to meet at our house Monday evening, the
24th inst. I think it will bring out considerable
discussion among the gentlemen of the Club—though
the title of the article will not give them much notion
of what is to follow,—this title being
“The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of
Crime in Connecticut”—which reminds
me that today’s Tribune says there will be a
startling article in the current Atlantic, in which
a being which is tangible bud invisible will figure-exactly
the case with the sketch of mine which I am talking
about! However, mine can lie unpublished a year
or two as well as not—though I wish that
contributor of yours had not interfered with his coincidence
of heroes.
But what I am coming at, is this: won’t
you and Mrs. Howells come down Saturday the 22nd and
remain to the Club on Monday night? We always
have a rattling good time at the Club and we do want
you to come, ever so much. Will you? Now
say you will. Mrs. Clemens and I are persuading
ourselves that you twain will come.
