Mark Twain revered Ulysses S. Grant more than he did any other national figure of that era. Why did Twain have such an elevated and in some cases historically insupportable view of General Grant as a leader and a human being? Considering Twain’s southern background, why would he revere the General of the Union forces? Why would he single out and stand in awe of a man whom most historians consider to have been a disastrous president? Was there someone in Twain’s childhood who was the basis for his attitude about Grant? Did Twain transfer his feelings about a person from his past onto Grant?

There can be no doubt concerning the strength of Twain’s feelings about Grant: Twain’s own recorded comments and the observation of one of his close friends prove his veneration. For example, he expressed his exalted judgment of Grant in a letter: "The presidency can’t add anything to Grant—he will shine on, without it. It is ephemeral, he is eternal."¹ Albert Bigelow Paine, who knew Twain in his later years and became his official biographer, commented on Twain’s feelings about Grant: "Clemens had felt always . . . a reverence and awe for the great soldier. . . ."²

Twain valued Grant’s leadership abilities highly, often equating Grant’s actions with the forward movement of civilization itself. For example, when Twain wrote to thank the cartoonist Thomas Nast for his part in the re-election of Grant to the presidency in 1872, he expressed the highest opinion of Grant as a leader. "Nast, you more than any other man have won a prodigious victory for Grant—I mean, rather, for civilization and progress."³ Eight years later in a speech, Twain praised Grant as ". . . the pioneer in the march of the nations toward the last perfection of enlightened government, the substitution of reason for force in the settlement of controversies. . . ."⁴ It would be difficult to imagine more exalted comments that one could make about a leader.

Twain also thought Grant was the epitome of the self-sacrificing, good citizen. In his Hartford speech welcoming Grant, he describes Grant as a ". . . great soldier, honored statesman, unselfish citizen."⁵ He portrays a man who has achieved relative ease and security in

his life after the ordeal of the Civil War, but who sacrifices himself to serve his country further by accepting the presidency.⁶

It seems to have been Grant’s personal character which most impressed Twain. Throughout the time that Twain knew Grant, he recorded in letters and notebooks many short tributes to Grant’s character. However, it is in his summary of Grant’s character, which he wrote for Henry Ward Beecher to include in his eulogy of the dead soldier, that the strength of Twain’s affection and his high regard for Grant’s character are most fully revealed. Twain’s appraisal is itself a eulogy.

The sick-room brought out the points of General Grant’s character—some of them particularly, to wit:
   His patience; his indestructible equability of temper; his exceeding gentleness, kindness, forbearance, lovingness, charity; his loyalty: to friends, to convictions, to promises, half-promises, infinitesimal fractions and shadows of promises . . . his aggravatingly trustful nature; his genuineness, simplicity, modesty, diffidence, self-depreciation, poverty in the quality of vanity . . . he was the most lovable great child in the world . . . and his trusting, easy, unexacting fashion when doing business for himself . . . and his fortitude!⁷

These are not merely the words of a bereaved friend who emotionally, and perhaps dramatically, remembers his dead friend. There is ample evidence that Twain’s evaluation of Grant’s character had evolved to this high level of reverence over a period of many years. When Grant died, Twain lost his only political hero; to him, Grant had been greatness itself.

And thus the question exists: Why did Twain feel such awe of the public Grant and such love for the private Grant? Like all human beings, Twain formulated his adult behavior and conceptions on the basis of his childhood experiences. Is Twain’s attitude about Grant traceable in some way to his early experiences? Does the answer lie in the very common, very human act of transference?

Transference is an important facet of everyone’s relationships to other people. "Any person forms generalities about his associates during his early life. Out of his own experiences grow his expectations and feelings concerning others."⁸ If a person has had negative experiences with one associate, he will tend to react to new associates who remind him of the old associate "in a fixed way without regard to the actual personality of the other individual."⁹ As a result of his fixed reaction, in a transference relationship he will choose, according to psychoanalyst Karen Homey, to move away from persons, to move toward persons, or to move against persons.¹⁰ Whichever

way he moves, he will be responding to an unconscious transference (or displacement) of feelings to his new associate that he has had about his former associate.

This transference may be based on external realities (likenesses, similarities of the associates) or inner experiences or both." It is important to emphasize that this transference of feeling is unconscious. The person who is transferring his feelings does not choose to respond to his new associate in terms of an old associate.

If Twain’s attitude about Grant were shaped by transference, his father John Clemens was the most likely molder of Twain’s attitudes. He was the dominant older man in Twain’s formative years. It is generally accepted by most psychoanalysts that the father is the most common transference figure. Thus, if one wishes to explain Twain’s feelings about Grant, it becomes very important to understand the character of John Clemens and to understand Twain’s relationship with his father.

Much of the character that history has attributed to John Clemens must have resulted from his becoming male head of the household at the age of seven when his own father was accidentally killed at a house-raising. He grew up with a taste for work and plenty of resoluteness, both of which helped him support financially his mother and the family while he studied at night and earned a law degree. Industrious and serious-minded,¹² he had a hearty dislike for frivolity and confusion of any kind. In his Autobiography Twain remembered that his father "was a proud man, a silent, austere man. . . ."¹³

John Clemens had a heart full of hope and dreams and was always moving from one place to another, looking for a better situation for himself and his family. There is disagreement about whether he was too optimistic, too visionary. Paine describes him as having an unerring faculty for making business mistakes and as having absolute confidence in prosperity just ahead, a prosperity that he never attained.¹⁴ On the other hand, Brashear insists that "he was something more than a mere visionary; only half the truth is told about him when it is said that he was a man of over-large hopes. His was not a downgrade career; his frequent removals were usually into better situations."¹⁵

However one evaluates John Clemens’ business career or his hopes for the future, there is no debate about the primary elements of the man’s character. He-was a rigidly upright man, a man with an unswerving sense of justice and integrity. No matter how frustrating his professional or personal life might become and no matter how

barbaric the community he was residing in might be, "he did not retreat from his moral and intellectual standards. . . . Absolutely fearless, he permitted none to trample on his rights."¹⁶

Thus has history painted the character of John Clemens; however, it is his son’s view of him that is most important to this study. What Samuel Clemens thought his father was like is most important, for it is Twain’s perception of his father that would make it possible for him later to transfer his feelings about John Clemens to Ulysses Grant.

What was Twain’s relationship to his father, and how did he perceive his father? "During his earliest Hannibal years, the influence of Sam Clemens’ father on his mind and temperament, though unrealized, must have been more potent than any of the records show."¹⁷ Mark Twain himself recorded, "My father and I were always on the most distant terms when I was a boy—a sort of armed neutrality, so to speak."¹⁸ Perhaps this relationship began at Twain’s birth. John Clemens was thirty-seven when his fifth child, Samuel, was born, and "there was no fanfare of welcome at his coming. Perhaps it was even suggested that, in a house so small and so sufficiently filled, there was no real need of his coming at all."¹⁹

Whatever negative feelings Twain may have felt emanating from his father must surely have been amplified by an important incident that occurred when Twain was seven. The whole family was planning a visit to the farm of John Quarles, Mrs. Clemens’ brother-in-law. Quarles’ farm, which was near Florida, Missouri, was a day’s ride away. The family agreed that Mrs. Clemens and all the children except Sam would go a day early and that Judge Clemens would follow with Sam the next morning. "The hour was early when Judge Clemens got up to saddle his horse, and Little Sam was still asleep. The horse being ready, Clemens, his mind far away, mounted and rode off without once remembering the little boy. . . ." When the father arrived at the farm without his son a relative was hastily sent back to Hannibal after the little boy. "The child was safe enough, but he was crying with loneliness and hunger."²⁰

Twain did not remember having a personal relationship with his father. He remembered his father as a somber man who rarely or never laughed. John Clemens’ own difficult childhood and the necessity for providing food for his family seemed to have removed any mirth from him. He was a man of reserve and formality, and while the family "always shook hands at night before going to bed, warmer gestures of affection played no part in their daily life."²¹ His father’s austerity was emphasized by the contrast with his Uncle John

Quarles—a warm, hearty, loving man who enjoyed the company of children.

Twain perceived his father as a business failure. Throughout his youth Twain’s family struggled for a living, moving from one locale to another as his father changed jobs. There were never enough law clients to pay the bills, and his father was a poor store manager. Twain even remembered his father as having died just as he finally acquired a job as clerk of the circuit court, a position that would have made the family secure. The truth seems to have been that Judge Clemens had only announced himself as a candidate for the position, but Twain did not choose to remember it that way.²² He preferred to remember his father as failing (through death) even at the most likely moment of success. "And by the standards of the times, the Protestant ethic which the author of The Gilded Age could not wholly escape, business failure was a sin."²³

What characteristics did Grant possess that might have reminded Twain of his own father? Twain need not have found a total likeness between his father and Grant: only a few similar characteristics could have sparked a transference. And indeed there were noticeable similarities in the two men. John Clemens and General Grant shared both character traits and professional traits.

A major characteristic of Grant, recorded by many biographers and historians, was his taciturnity. He was most often dour, stern, and silent in expression and manner. His reserve was legend. Louis Coolidge describes him: "With immense will, he was taciturn."²⁴ His close friend and Aide-de-Camp, Adam Badeau, observed Grant for years, and he chose to record in his personal memoirs of the General the silence that was typical of him: ". . . he was not ready in replying; he had little small talk, and could not make conversation without a theme. . . ."²⁵ Repeatedly at the many lavish banquets given in his honor, Grant refused to respond with more than a few words. The speech (as reported by the NY Times) that became his hallmark included only two sentences: "I rise only to say I do not intend to say anything. [Laughter] I thank you for your kind words and your hearty welcome. [Applause]"²⁶ This reserve of Grant’s was natural and seems to have been intentional. "At times there was a positive inability to reveal emotion, a sort of inarticulate undemonstrativeness as far as possible from stolidity."²⁷

John Clemens was also described as silent and reserved. In fact, one can speculate that the reserved nature of his father must have been very difficult for Twain who was loquacious and ebullient by

nature. And then his father died when Twain was only twelve and all chance of winning his father’s love and approval was lost forever. When he met a similarly taciturn, reserved man, Ulysses S. Grant, Twain chose to move toward him (rather than away from or against him—the other possibilities psychotherapist Homey suggests). Consequently, Twain spent many years trying to gain the acceptance of Grant (and, subconsciously, the acceptance of his father).

Significantly, Twain began by trying to make Grant laugh. His own father was somber; he never laughed. "Twain did not remember ever having seen or heard his father laugh."²⁸ Grant was of similar character. As Twain began to transfer his feelings about his father, especially his great need for his father’s acceptance, to Grant, he translated the ability to make Grant laugh to mean, in some manner, Grant’s acceptance of him.

Twain’s very first meeting with Grant in 1867 illustrates Twain’s need of the General’s acceptance. Twain was under great pressure:

I shook hands and then there was a pause and silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I merely looked into the General’s grim, immovable countenance a moment or two in silence and then I said: "Mr. President, I am embarrassed. Are you?" He smiled a smile which would have done no discredit to a cast-iron image and I got away under the smoke of my volley.²⁹

Twain was very much pleased when twelve years Later (1879) Grant remembered his actual words and referred to them. By this time Grant had been president and had just returned from a world tour which had been a continual ovation. Twain made the long trip to Chicago and prepared to welcome Grant. On the reviewing stand built especially for the large parade, Twain was re-introduced to Grant. They shook hands. "There was the usual momentary pause and then the General said: ‘I am not embarrassed. Are you?’"³⁰ This meeting began a lifelong relationship that was very important to Twain because it fulfilled needs in him that had been created by his inadequate relationship with his own father.

That evening a great banquet was given in Grant’s honor. Speaker after speaker stood up and praised Grant. Twain records in his Autobiography how particularly amazed he was at Grant’s composure:

The orators always began by emptying Niagaras of glory upon Grant. They always came and stood near him aid over him and emptied the Niagara down on him at short range, but it had no more effect upon him than if he had been a bronze image. In turn, each orator passed from Grant to Sherman then to Sheridan and to the rest and emptied barrels of inflamed praise upon each. And in every case it was as if the orator was emptying

fire upon the man, the victim so writhed and fidgeted and squirmed and suffered. . . . Not one of them was able to sit still under the fiery deluge of praise except that one man, Grant.³¹

In a letter to his wife about the occasion Twain wrote, "What an iron man Grant is!"³² Twain had learned to respect such composure by watching his own father; John Clemens’ major characteristic had been his reserve; had Grant’s reserve fueled Twain’s subconscious transference of his feelings about his father?

The next evening Twain experienced a very gratifying moment, for he accomplished what no one else had been able to do—he made Grant laugh. Twain’s speech came last. It was 2:00 a.m.; he had been placed at the end of the evening to hold the house. He received a tremendous round of applause; then, he opened his speech with this memorable fancy:

We haven’t all had the good-fortune to be ladies; we haven’t all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works down to the babies, we stand on common ground. . . .³³

From then on the speech was frequently interrupted with applause. In the final paragraph Twain accomplished his purpose, for even Grant’s solemn composure was destroyed, and he laughed heartily while tears ran down his cheeks.

Among the three or four million cradles now rocking in the land are some which this nation would preserve for ages as sacred things, if we could know which ones they are.
   And in still one more cradle, somewhere under the flag, the future illustrious Commander in Chief of the American armies is so little burdened with his approaching grandeurs and responsibilities as to be giving his whole strategic mind, at this moment, to trying to find out some way to get his own big toe into his mouth—an achievement which, meaning no disrespect, the illustrious guest of this evening turned his whole attention to some fifty-six years ago. And if the child is but a prophecy of the man, there are mighty few who will doubt that he succeeded.³⁴

Twain had broken through Grant’s composure; he had succeeded with Grant where he had never succeeded with his own father. It was the beginning of the great satisfaction Twain felt in Grant’s friendship. Grant had accepted him in a way he had accepted no one outside of his family and in a way John Clemens had never accepted his son-and Grant had done it in public before six hundred men. From this point on there would be a continuous string of occasions when Twain would try to reinforce his perception of Grant’s approval of him by making Grant laugh. And Twain would be so successful that even

as Grant lay dying of cancer, Twain would be called in to comfort and cheer him.

Justin Kaplan emphasizes the victory over Grant that Twain felt and expressed on the occasion of his speech when Twain reported to William Dean Howells, "I knew I could lick him. I shook him up like dynamite."³⁵ This need for a victory was a natural response for Twain to have because he had transferred his feelings about his father to Grant. There is a decidedly Oedipal element in all relations between boys and their fathers—a mixture of love and hostility that results from what the boy perceives as competition for his mother’s affection. Under normal circumstances the boy grows into a closer relationship with his father, and the Oedipal complex is broken. But Twain never had the opportunity to become close to his father; John Clemens was distant by nature, and he died when Twain was twelve.

There were other similarities in the characters of Grant and John Clemens that Twain would have unconsciously been affected by. Both Grant and John Clemens were resolute men. Grant’s close friend, Badeau, writes in his memoir of Grant’s "determined will" which "he carried into the most extraordinary circumstances, and applied on the grandest possible theatre."³⁶ William B. Hesseltine, a historian, writes that in Grant’s mind ". . . any turning back was a symbol of failure."³⁷ John Clemens had proven his resoluteness by struggling to support a family from the time he was seven years old.

This resoluteness supported both men throughout their professional careers. Both became men of public affairs, but not before both had changed jobs and professions because of recurring failures. Grant resigned from the Army rather than face court martial for drunkenness. He went back to Missouri and tried farming for three years. Crops were not good, money was not available, and Grant failed.³⁸ He accepted a clerkship at his brother’s store. It was another unsuccessful venture, but this time his future was dictated by Lincoln’s call for volunteers the day after the fall of Fort Sumter; he rejoined the army.³⁹ In time Grant’s resoluteness would contribute greatly to the Union victory. Clemens, too, doggedly worked on moving from one place to another and changing professions.

Both John Clemens and Grant made disastrous financial errors which forced their families to live in poverty. Toward the end of his life John Clemens made the mistake of endorsing a large note for a friend, Ira Stout, "and Ira walked off and deliberately took the benefit of the new bankrupt law—a deed which enabled him to live easily and comfortably along till death called for him, but a deed

which ruined my father, sent him poor to his grave and condemned his heirs to a long and discouraging struggle with the world for a livelihood."⁴⁰ Grant’s bad business sense also ruined him financially toward the end of his life. In 1883 he invested $100,000 in the brokerage firm his son; Ulysses Jr., had formed with an unscrupulous man, Ferdinand Ward. Apparently unknown to both Grants, Ward was illegally pledging the company’s stocks as collateral for more than one bank loan at a time. Eventually Ward was unable to cover the loans he had made using the firm’s securities as collateral. Ward went to Grant and confessed at least some of his misdoing. Grant was forced into the humiliating position of asking William Henry Vanderbilt for a loan or $150,000. Vanderbilt gave him the money, but the bankers elected not to save the firm of Grant and Ward. Ward fled the country; another partner, James D. Fish, was tried and sent to jail, and "Grant was destitute and on display as an object of national pity."⁴¹ Twain felt the same anguish he had experienced when his own father had gone bankrupt and then died. But Grant was still alive, and by this time Twain had transferred to Grant his feelings and needs concerning his father. Twain’s father had ignored him for the most part, perhaps even made him feel unwanted and disliked, but Twain later met Grant and was unconsciously reminded of his father. Twain chose to move toward him, to exalt him and then to become intimate friends with him. The friendship he received from Grant was, for Twain, a meaningful substitute for his own father’s love and .approval.

And so Twain responded as a son should. When Twain learned Grant had throat cancer and that he had become destitute after the Grant and Ward failure, Twain came to the rescue. He heard that Grant was planning to publish his memoirs as a way to save his family. Twain went straight to Grant the next morning, reviewed the contract which had been proposed by Century Publishing Co., and declared it to be totally inadequate. Twain offered Grant excellent terms if he would allow Twain’s own publishing company to publish the Memoirs. He immediately drew out his checkbook and offered to write a check for $25,000 on the spot as an advance royalty payment. Grant gave the publishing contract to Twain, who sacrificed a major portion of one year of his life to the project.

The year Twain worked closely with Grant on the Memoirs, as well as his previous relationship with Grant, seems to have shaped Twain’s memory of his own experiences in the Civil War. In 1877, Twain had given a speech about his experiences as a Confederate soldier in which he outlined the way he and his Hannibal friends had

established a very casual military unit to fight the Yankees and had set out on what seemed to them to be a lark, as serious as a camping trip. However, they were soon disillusioned by rain, contrary horses and mules, and constant retreating. In fact, the fun of the adventure was so lessened that half the unit, including Twain, deserted for better prospects. Twain, of course, went to Nevada.

When Twain wrote the account of his military service ("A Private History of a Campaign that Failed") for the December, 1885, Century Magazine, he concluded the rollicking story of fifteen young lads out on a lark with a new addition of a decidedly somber tone. In this addition he fictitiously portrays himself as possibly responsible for a man’s death. Significantly, he vacillates in his feelings about the man’s death. When the man first falls, Twain feels "surprised gratification."⁴² After he learns that the man is alone and unarmed, "the coldest sensation that ever went through [his] marrow" strikes him as he realizes "that [he] was a murderer; that [he] had killed a man—a man "who had never done [him] any harm." He is so guilt-ridden that he even imagines that "the dying man gave [him] a reproachful look out of his shadowy eyes."⁴³

Twain closes the essay by claiming that his decision to leave the regiment was prompted by the news that a Union colonel was sweeping down on them. That colonel was Grant (Twain learned later), and Twain claimed to have missed him by "a few hours."⁴⁴ The facts are that he missed Grant by weeks and miles and that the shooting episode was entirely fictional.

Why did Twain make these alterations in what he presented as his "history"? Was he struggling with ambivalent feelings about Grant that made these changes necessary? Significantly, this re-writing of history took place the year when Twain was almost entirely caught up in the task of publishing Grant’s Memoirs, was seeing Grant often, and was watching his slow, painful death. Justin Kaplan suggests that Grant was the victim of Twain’s fictionalized shooting, that Grant was the dying man about whose wounds Twain felt first gratification, then remorse, and finally guilt.⁴⁵ Why would Twain, even symbolically, murder Grant? The question can be answered by once again considering Twain’s feelings about his father. The transference theory’s Oedipal element assured that Twain would feel both love and hostility for Grant as he did for his own father. If Twain meant to suggest that Grant was symbolically the man he may have killed, he was simply recording the very natural hostile feelings that a boy has for his father at a particular stage in life, the Oedipal stage, a stage Twain had never been able to outgrow. Since Twain had

transferred his feelings about his father to Grant, it is understandable that some hostility, however veiled, would be present. Twain’s vacillation about whether or not he was responsible for the man’s death is a perfect picture of the vacillation between love and hate that a boy feels for his father.

In the end Twain sold more than 300,000 sets of two volumes and paid Mrs. Grant between $420,000 and $450,000. He could not save Grant from the cancer, but his love motivated him to assist Grant achieve financial security.

All the failure of his first forty years and the terrible successes of the next four, which had been given gaudy celebration for almost twenty more, yielded to a splendid struggle to create the Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant. All his life he had struggled to get his story out, to get his life laid out before himself and before the world, so that in some way it could matter. Now—and only now—he succeeded.⁴⁶

Twain could also give him the peace of knowing his family would be secure. Whereas John Clemens had died a professional failure, leaving his family destitute, Twain was able to save Grant’s family from that fate and make it possible for Grant to die a success.

Neither the actual character of Ulysses S. Grant nor his contemporary reputation shaped Mark Twain’s view of Grant. In spite of Grant’s obvious shortcomings, Twain thought Grant was a great man, the greatest of men. And while Twain was unaware of the depth of his feelings, he also thought of Grant as a father—a father who was quite elevated, almost unreachable (like John Clemens), but one who had recognized Twain’s outstretched hand of love and accepted it— even welcomed it.

BAYLOR UNIVERSITY

NOTES

    ¹Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain-Howells Letters, ed. Henry Nash Smith and William M. Gibson (Cambridge. Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1960), p. 316.
   ²Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography (New York: Harper and Bros., 1912), p. 810.
   ³Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain’s Letters (New York: Harper and Bros., Publishers, 1917). p. 202.
   ⁴Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain’s Notebooks and Journals, ed. Frederick Anderson et al. (Berkeley, California: University of California Press, 1975), II, 374.
   ⁵Norebooks and Journols, II. 376.
   ⁶Noteboaks and Journals; II, 375.
   ⁷Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain s Letters, ed. Albert Bigelow Paine (New York: Harper and Bros., 1913), II, 460–61.

    ⁸Harrington V. Ingham and Leonore R. Love, The Process of Psychotherapy (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., Inc., 1954), p. 63.
   ⁹lngham and Love, p. 63.
   ¹⁰Robert A. Harper, Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1959), p. 63.
   ¹¹Carl A. Whitaker and Thomas P. Malone, The Roots of Psychotherapy (New York: The Blakiston Co., 1953), p. 87.
   ¹²Paine, p. 2.
   ¹³5amuel L. Clemens, The Autobiography of Mark Twain, ed. Charles Neider (New York: Harper and Row, 1959), p. 23.
   ¹⁴Paine, p. 5.
   ¹⁵Minnie M. Brashear, Mark Twain: Son of Missouri (New York: Russell and Russell, Inc., 1964), p. 86.
   ¹⁶Paine, p. 8.
   ¹⁷Brashear, p. 85.
   ¹⁸Brashear, p. 92.
   ¹⁹Paine, p. 13.
   ²⁰Paine, p. 30.
   ²¹Dixon Wecter, Sam Clemens of Hannibal (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1961). p. 77.
   ²²Brashear, pp. 94–95.
   ²³Wecter, p. 122.
   ²⁴Louis A. Coolidge, Ulysses S. Grant (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1922), p. 290.
   ²⁵Adam Bedeau, Grant in Peace (Freeport, N.Y.: Books for Libraries Press, 1971), p. 174.
   ²⁶William S. McFeely, Grant: A Biography (New York: W.W. Norton Co., 1981), p. 234.
   ²⁷Badeau, p. 14.
   ²⁸Paine, p. 14.
   ²⁹Clemens, Autobiography, p. 241.
   ³⁰Clemens, Autobiography, p. 242.
   ³¹Clemens, Autobiography, p. 274.
   ³²Paine, p. 654.
   ³³Samuel L. Clemens, Mark Twain Speaking, ed. Paul Fatout (Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1976), p. 131.
   ³⁴Mark Twain Speaking, p. 133.
   ³⁵Justin Kaplan, Mr. Clemens and Mark Twain (New York: Pocket Books, 1968), p. 263.
   ³⁶Badeau, p. 15.
   ³⁷William B. Hesseltine, Ulysses S. Grant (New York: Frederick Ungar Publishing Co., 1967), p. 8.
   ³⁸McFeely, pp. 59–64.
   ³⁹McFeely, p. 73.
   ⁴⁰Clemens, Autobiography, pp. 23–24.
   ⁴¹McFeely, p. 493.
   ⁴²Samuel L. Clemens, "The Private History of a Campaign that Failed," The Century Illustrated Monthly Magazine, Dec. 1885, p. 202.
   ⁴³"Private History," p. 203.
   ⁴⁴"Private History," p. 204.
   ⁴⁵Kaplan, pp. 323–324.
   ⁴⁶McFeely, p. 504.