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money he mentions was the paper issued by private banks, “wild cat,” as it was called. He had been paid with it in New York, and found it usually at a discount – sometimes even worthless. Wages and money were both better in Philadelphia, but the fund for his mother’s trip to Kentucky apparently did not grow very rapidly.

      The next letter, written a month later, is also to Orion Clemens, who had now moved to Muscatine, Iowa, and established there a new paper with an old title, ’The Journal’.

      To Orion Clemens, in Muscatine, Iowa:

      Philadelphia, Nov. 28th, 1853.

      My dear brother, – I received your letter today. I think Ma ought to spend the winter in St. Louis. I don’t believe in that climate – it’s too cold for her.

      The printers’ annual ball and supper came off the other night. The proceeds amounted to about $1,000. The printers, as well as other people, are endeavoring to raise money to erect a monument to Franklin, but there are so many abominable foreigners here (and among printers, too,) who hate everything American, that I am very certain as much money for such a purpose could be raised in St. Louis, as in Philadelphia. I was in Franklin’s old office this morning – the “North American” (formerly “Philadelphia Gazette”) and there was at least one foreigner for every American at work there.

      How many subscribers has the Journal got? What does the job-work pay? and what does the whole concern pay?…

      I will try to write for the paper occasionally, but I fear my letters will be very uninteresting, for this incessant night-work dulls one’s ideas amazingly.

      From some cause, I cannot set type nearly so fast as when I was at home. Sunday is a long day, and while others set 12 and 15,000, yesterday, I only set 10,000. However, I will shake this laziness off, soon, I reckon….

      How do you like “free-soil?”—I would like amazingly to see a good old-fashioned negro.

      My love to all,

      Truly your brother,

      Sam.

      We may believe that it never occurred to the young printer, looking up landmark of Ben Franklin, that time would show points of resemblance between the great Franklin’s career and his own. Yet these seem now rather striking. Like Franklin, he had been taken out of school very young and put at the printer’s trade; like Franklin, he had worked in his brother’s office, and had written for the paper. Like him, too, he had left quietly for New York and Philadelphia to work at the trade of printing, and in time Samuel Clemens, like Benjamin Franklin, would become a world-figure, many-sided, human, and of incredible popularity. The boy Sam Clemens may have had such dreams, but we find no trace of them.

      There is but one more letter of this early period. Young Clemens spent some time in Washington, but if he wrote from there his letters have disappeared. The last letter is from Philadelphia and seems to reflect homesickness. The novelty of absence and travel was wearing thin.

      To Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:

      Philadelphia, Dec. 5, ’53.

      My dear sister, – I have already written two letters within the last two hours, and you will excuse me if this is not lengthy. If I had the money, I would come to St. Louis now, while the river is open; but within the last two or three weeks I have spent about thirty dollars for clothing, so I suppose I shall remain where I am. I only want to return to avoid night-work, which is injuring my eyes. I have received one or two letters from home, but they are not written as they should be, and I know no more about what is going on there than the man in the moon. One only has to leave home to learn how to write an interesting letter to an absent friend when he gets back. I suppose you board at Mrs. Hunter’s yet – and that, I think, is somewhere in Olive street above Fifth. Philadelphia is one of the healthiest places in the Union. I wanted to spend this winter in a warm climate, but it is too late now. I don’t like our present prospect for cold weather at all.

      Truly your brother,

      Sam.

      But he did not return to the West for another half year. The letters he wrote during that period have not survived. It was late in the summer of 1854 when he finally started for St. Louis. He sat up for three days and nights in a smoking-car to make the journey, and arrived exhausted. The river packet was leaving in a few hours for Muscatine, Iowa, where his mother and his two brothers were now located. He paid his sister a brief visit, and caught the boat. Worn-out, he dropped into his berth and slept the thirty-six hours of the journey.

      It was early when-he arrived – too early to arouse the family. In the office of the little hotel where he waited for daylight he found a small book. It contained portraits of the English rulers, with the brief facts of their reigns. Young Clemens entertained himself by learning this information by heart. He had a fine memory for such things, and in an hour or two had the printed data perfectly and permanently committed. This incidentally acquired knowledge proved of immense value to him. It was his groundwork for all English history.

      II. Letters 1856-61. Keokuk, And The River. End Of Piloting

      There comes a period now of nearly four years, when Samuel Clemens was either a poor correspondent or his letters have not been preserved. Only two from this time have survived – happily of intimate biographical importance.

      Young Clemens had not remained in Muscatine. His brother had no inducements to offer, and he presently returned to St. Louis, where he worked as a compositor on the Evening News until the following spring, rooming with a young man named Burrough, a journeyman chair-maker with a taste for the English classics. Orion Clemens, meantime, on a trip to Keokuk, had casually married there, and a little later removed his office to that city. He did not move the paper; perhaps it did not seem worth while, and in Keokuk he confined himself to commercial printing. The Ben Franklin Book and Job Office started with fair prospects. Henry Clemens and a boy named Dick Hingham were the assistants, and somewhat later, when brother Sam came up from St. Louis on a visit, an offer of five dollars a week and board induced him to remain. Later, when it became increasingly difficult to pay the five dollars, Orion took his brother into partnership, which perhaps relieved the financial stress, though the office methods would seem to have left something to be desired. It is about at this point that the first of the two letters mentioned was written. The writer addressed it to his mother and sister – Jane Clemens having by this time taken up her home with her daughter, Mrs. Moffett.

      To Mrs. Clemens and Mrs. Moffett, in St. Louis:

      Keokuk, Iowa, June 10th, 1856.

      My dear mother & sister, – I have nothing to write. Everything is going on well. The Directory is coming on finely. I have to work on it occasionally, which I don’t like a particle I don’t like to work at too many things at once. They take Henry and Dick away from me too. Before we commenced the Directory, I could tell before breakfast just how much work could be done during the day, and manage accordingly – but now, they throw all my plans into disorder by taking my hands away from their work. I have nothing to do with the book – if I did I would have the two book hands do more work than they do, or else I would drop it. It is not a mere supposition that they do not work fast enough – I know it; for yesterday the two book hands were at work all day, Henry and Dick all the afternoon, on the advertisements, and they set up five pages and a half – and I set up two pages and a quarter of the same matter after supper, night before last, and I don’t work fast on such things. They are either excessively slow motioned or very lazy. I am not getting along well with the job work. I can’t work blindly – without system. I gave Dick a job yesterday, which I calculated he would set in two hours and I could work off in three, and therefore just finish it by supper time, but he was transferred to the Directory, and the job, promised this morning, remains untouched. Through all the great pressure of job work lately, I never before failed in a promise of the kind.

      Your Son,

      Sam.

      Excuse brevity this is my 3rd letter to-night.

      Samuel Clemens was never celebrated for his patience; we may imagine that the disorder of the office tried his nerves. He seems, on the whole, however, to have been rather

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