21 and 25 May 1856 • Keokuk, Iowa (Kansas City Star Magazine, 21 Mar 1926, UCCL 00010)
of the hurricane deck is still visible above the water. Here is another “Royal George” —I think I shall have to be a second Cowper, and write her requiemⒶemendation.1explanatory note
Well, Annie, I was not permitted to finish my letter Wednesday evening.2explanatory note I believe Henry, who commenced his a day later, has beaten me. However, if my friends will let me alone I will go through today. Bugs! Yes, B-U-G-S! What of the bugs? Why, perdition take the bugs! That is all. Night before last I stood at the little press until nearly 2 o’clock, and the flaring gas light over my head attracted all the varieties of bugs which are to be found in natural history, and they all had the same praiseworthy recklessness about flying into the fire. They at first came in little social crowds of a dozen or so, but soon increased in numbers, until a religious mass meeting of several millions was assembled on the board before me, presided over by a venerable beetle, who occupied the most prominent lock of my hair as his chair of state, while innumerable lesser dignitaries of the same tribe were clustered around him, keeping order, and at the same time endeavoring to attract the attention of the vast assemblage to their own importance by industriously grating their teeth. It must have been an interesting occasion—perhaps a great bug jubilee commemorating the triumph of the locusts over Pharaoh’s crops in Egypt many centuries ago. At least, good seats, commanding an unobstructed view of the scene, were in great demand; and I have no doubt small fortunes were made by certain delegates from Yankee land by disposing of comfortable places on my shoulders at round premiums. In fact, the advantages which my altitude afforded were so well appreciated that I soon began to look like one of those big cards in the museum covered with insects impaled on pins.
The big “president” beetle (who, when he frowned, closely resembled Isbell when the pupils are out of time)3explanatory note rose and ducked his head and, crossing his arms over his shoulders, stroked them down to the tip of his nose several times, and after thus disposing of the perspiration, stuck his hands under his wings, propped his back against a lock of hair, and then, bobbing his head at the congregation, remarked, “B-u-z-z!” To which the congregation devoutly responded, “B-u-z-z!” Satisfied with this promptness on the part of his flock, he took a more imposing perpendicular against another lock of hair and, lifting his hands to command silence, gave another melodious “b-u-z-z!” on a louder key (which I suppose to have been the key-note) and after a moment’s silence the whole congregation burst into a grand anthem, three dignified daddy longlegs, perched near the gas burner, beating quadruple time during the performance. Soon two of the parts in the great chorus maintained silence, while a treble and alto duet, sung by forty-seven thousand mosquitoes and twenty-three thousand house flies, came in, and then, after another chorus, a tenor and bass duet by thirty-two thousand locusts and ninety-seven thousand pinch bugs was sung—then another grand chorus, “Let Every Bug Rejoice and Sing” (we used to sing “heart” instead of “bug”),4explanatory note terminated the performance, during which eleven treble singers split their throats from head to heels, and the patriotic “daddies” who beat time hadn’t a stump of a leg left.
It would take a ream of paper to give all the ceremonies of this great mass meeting. Suffice it to say that the little press “chawed up” half a bushel of the devotees, and I combed 976 beetles out of my hair the next morning, every one of whose throats was stretched wide open, for their gentle spirits had passed away while yet they sung—and who shall say they will not receive their reward? I buried their motionless forms with musical honors in John’s hat.5explanatory note
Now, Annie, don’t say anything about how long my letter was in going, for I didn’t receive yours until Wednesday—and don’t forget that I tried to answer it the same day, though I was doomed to fail. I wonder if you will do as much?
Yes, the loss of that bridge6explanatory note almost finished my earthly career. There is still a slight nausea about my stomach (for certain malicious persons say that my heart lies in that vicinity) whenever I think of it, and I believe I should have evaporated and vanished away like a blue cloud if John—indefatigable, unconquerable John—had not recovered from his illness to relieve me of a portion of my troubles. I think I can survive it now. John says “der chills kill a white boy, but sie (pronounced see) can’t kill a Detch-manⒶemendation.”
I have not now the slightest doubt, Annie, that your beautiful sketch is perfect. It looks more and more like what I suppose “Mt. Unpleasant” to be every time I look at it. It is really a pity that you could not get the shrubbery in, for your dog fennel is such a tasteful ornament to any yard. Still, I am entirely satisfied to get the principal beauties of the place, and will not grieve over the loss. I have delighted Henry’s little heart by delivering your message. Give the respected councilman the Latin letter by all means.7explanatory note If I understood the lingo well enough I would write you a Dutch one for him. Tell ManeⒶemendation 8explanatory note I don’t know what Henry thinks of the verb “amo,” but for some time past I have discovered various fragments of paper scattered about bearing the single word “amite,” and since the receipt of her letter the fragments have greatly multiplied and the word has suddenly warmed into “amour” —all written in the same hand, and that, if I mistake not, Henry’s, for the latter is the only French word he has any particular affection for. Ah, Annie, I have a slight horror of writing essays myself; and if I were inclined to write one I should be afraid to do it, knowing you could do it so much better if you would only get industrious once and try. Don’t you be frightened—I guess Mane Ⓐemendationis afraid to write anything bad about you, or else her heart softens before she succeeds in doing it. Don’t fail to remember me to her—for I perceive she is aware that my funeral has not yet been preached. Ete paid us a visit yesterday, and we are going to return the kindness this afternoon.9explanatory note Good-by.
On Tuesday, 20 May, the steam ferry between Keokuk and Hamilton (Illinois) had struck a snag and sunk up to the guards near the Illinois shore, leaving only its top deck above water. Although it was heavily loaded with fifty men, women, and children, seven two-horse wagons, and fifteen cattle, no lives were lost (“Ferry Boat Sunk”: Keokuk Gate City, Keokuk Daily Post, Keokuk Des Moines Valley Whig, all 21 May 56, 3). Most of the first part of Clemens’s letter—evidently written on Wednesday, 21 May—is missing, but its concluding sentence, as well as the fifth paragraph of the part written on 25 May, strongly imply that he was one of the fifty passengers. William Cowper’s “On the Loss of the Royal George” was written in 1782 to memorialize the eight hundred men who died when the English man-of-war Royal George capsized.
Ann Elizabeth (Annie) Taylor (1840–1916), daughter of Hawkins Taylor (see note 7), was attending Iowa Wesleyan University at nearby Mount Pleasant (“Death of Mrs. Cunningham,” Carrollton [Mo.] Democrat, 28 Jan 1916, 3; Lorch 1929, 426–28).
Oliver C. Isbell was the proprietor of the Keokuk “music rooms,” where he offered voice, piano, and melodeon lessons and conducted the Mendelssohn Choral Society, which gave an annual series of concerts under his direction. His studio was on the second floor of the Ogden building, immediately below Orion’s print shop. Clemens reportedly joined one of Isbell’s singing classes and also took piano lessons from him (advertisements in the Keokuk Gate City, Nov 55–Mar 56; OC 1856, 78, 89; MTB , 1:104–5; Varble, 223).
“Let Every Heart Rejoice and Sing” was a hymn written by Henry S. Washburn (1813–1903) in 1842 (Julian, 1235).
John W. Kerr was a printer working for Orion. It seems highly likely that Kerr is the “German apprentice” called only “Fritz” whom Orion mentioned in his (now lost) autobiography ( MTB , 1:107–8; Lorch 1929, 425–26).
Possibly a mistranscription of the manuscript reading “barge,” meaning the sunken ferryboat presumably described in the now-missing part of the letter. No other information has been found to explain the reference to a lost “bridge.”
Hawkins Taylor (b. 1810 or 1811), Annie’s father, was an alderman on the Keokuk city council and would become mayor in 1857. Formerly a steamboat captain and now a prominent businessman, he was a literate, articulate man interested in promoting education and known for his “sprightly writings along nearly the whole line of the Annals of Iowa” (Stiles, 118–19; OC 1856, 45; Keokuk Census [1850], 416; Lorch 1929, 427–28). The author of “the Latin letter” remains unknown.
Mary Jane Taylor, Annie’s nineteen-year-old sister, also a student at Iowa Wesleyan University (Lorch 1929, 426).
“Ete” was Annie and Mary Jane’s twenty-one-year-old sister, Esther ( Keokuk Census [1850], 416; family information courtesy of Gladys Hill).
Comparison of the Star Magazine printing of the 1 June 57 letter with the MS facsimiles of parts of it shows that the newspaper styled dateline and signature. Emendations at 59.4 and 62.5 reverse the same typographic styling apparently imposed by the Star Magazine on this letter.
“Letters Young Mark Twain Wrote in 1857,” Kansas City (Mo.) Kansas City Star Magazine, 21 Mar 1926, 4, in Jean Webster McKinney Family Papers, Vassar College Library (NPV). The article printed this letter and the letter of 1 June 57.
L1 , 59–62; “Personal Glimpses: Sam Clemens in ‘Sideburns’ to ‘Dear Friend Annie,’” Literary Digest 89 (8 May 1926): 38 and 42; Lorch 1929, 422–25; and Brashear, 167–69.
see McKinney Family Papers, pp. 459–61. According to the Star Magazine article, this letter was one of five Clemens wrote to Ann E. Taylor which were found by Mrs. Catherine Blackwell among the papers of her brother, Judge C. A. Cunningham of Carrollton, Mo., after his death in 1920. Cunningham was married to Ann E. Taylor, who died in 1916. In fact there were probably no more than four letters: what Mrs. Blackwell took to be a fifth letter must have been the now missing portion of this one. That part and two additional letters—perhaps the letters Clemens wrote from Cincinnati which he mentions in 1 June 57 to Taylorclick to open letter (pp. 71–72)—disappeared after Mrs. Blackwell sent them to cousins living in the state of Washington (Star Magazine, 3). None of the four (or five) MSS has been found.