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+Project Gutenberg's Mark Twain's Speeches, by Mark Twain (Samuel
+Clemens)
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost
+no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use
+it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Mark Twain's Speeches
+
+Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
+
+Release Date: August 19, 2006 [EBook #3188]
+Last Updated: February 24, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES ***
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES
+
+
+by Mark Twain
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+
+
+ INTRODUCTION
+
+ PREFACE
+
+ THE STORY OF A SPEECH
+
+ PLYMOUTH ROCK AND THE PILGRIMS
+
+ COMPLIMENTS AND DEGREES
+
+ BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND HATS
+
+ DEDICATION SPEECH
+
+ DIE SCHRECKEN DER DEUTSCHEN SPRACHE
+
+ GERMAN FOR THE HUNGARIANS
+
+ A NEW GERMAN WORD
+
+ UNCONSCIOUS PLAGIARISM
+
+ THE WEATHER
+
+ THE BABIES
+
+ OUR CHILDREN AND GREAT DISCOVERIES
+
+ EDUCATING THEATRE-GOERS
+
+ THE EDUCATIONAL THEATRE
+
+ POETS AS POLICEMEN
+
+ PUDD'NHEAD WILSON DRAMATIZED
+
+ DALY THEATRE
+
+ THE DRESS OF CIVILIZED WOMAN
+
+ DRESS REFORM AND COPYRIGHT
+
+ COLLEGE GIRLS
+
+ GIRLS
+
+ THE LADIES
+
+ WOMAN'S PRESS CLUB
+
+ VOTES FOR WOMEN
+
+ WOMAN-AN OPINION
+
+ ADVICE TO GIRLS
+
+ TAXES AND MORALS
+
+ TAMMANY AND CROKER
+
+ MUNICIPAL CORRUPTION
+
+ MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT
+
+ CHINA AND THE PHILIPPINES
+
+ THEORETICAL MORALS
+
+ LAYMAN'S SERMON
+
+ UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENT SOCIETY
+
+ PUBLIC EDUCATION ASSOCIATION
+
+ EDUCATION AND CITIZENSHIP
+
+ COURAGE
+
+ THE DINNER TO MR. CHOATE
+
+ ON STANLEY AND LIVINGSTONE
+
+ HENRY M. STANLEY
+
+ DINNER TO MR. JEROME
+
+ HENRY IRVING
+
+ DINNER TO HAMILTON W. MABIE
+
+ INTRODUCING NYE AND RILEY
+
+ DINNER TO WHITELAW REID
+
+ ROGERS AND RAILROADS
+
+ THE OLD-FASHIONED PRINTER
+
+ SOCIETY OF AMERICAN AUTHORS
+
+ READING-ROOM OPENING
+
+ LITERATURE
+
+ DISAPPEARANCE OF LITERATURE
+
+ THE NEW YORK PRESS CLUB DINNER
+
+ THE ALPHABET AND SIMPLIFIED SPELLING
+
+ SPELLING AND PICTURES
+
+ BOOKS AND BURGLARS
+
+ AUTHORS' CLUB
+
+ BOOKSELLERS
+
+ “MARK TWAIN'S FIRST APPEARANCE”
+
+ MORALS AND MEMORY
+
+ QUEEN VICTORIA
+
+ JOAN OF ARC
+
+ ACCIDENT INSURANCE—ETC.
+
+ OSTEOPATHY
+
+ WATER-SUPPLY
+
+ MISTAKEN IDENTITY
+
+ CATS AND CANDY
+
+ OBITUARY POETRY
+
+ CIGARS AND TOBACCO
+
+ BILLIARDS
+
+ THE UNION RIGHT OR WRONG
+
+ AN IDEAL FRENCH ADDRESS
+
+ STATISTICS
+
+ GALVESTON ORPHAN BAZAAR
+
+ SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE
+
+ CHARITY AND ACTORS
+
+ RUSSIAN REPUBLIC
+
+ RUSSIAN SUFFERERS
+
+ WATTERSON AND TWAIN AS REBELS
+
+ ROBERT FULTON FUND
+
+ FULTON DAY, JAMESTOWN
+
+ LOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF MARK TWAIN
+
+ COPYRIGHT
+
+ IN AID OF THE BLIND
+
+ DR. MARK TWAIN, FARMEOPATH
+
+ MISSOURI UNIVERSITY SPEECH
+
+ BUSINESS
+
+ CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR
+
+ ON POETRY, VERACITY, AND SUICIDE
+
+ WELCOME HOME
+
+ AN UNDELIVERED SPEECH
+
+ SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY
+
+ TO THE WHITEFRIARS
+
+ THE ASCOT GOLD CUP
+
+ THE SAVAGE CLUB DINNER
+
+ GENERAL MILES AND THE DOG
+
+ WHEN IN DOUBT, TELL THE TRUTH
+
+ THE DAY WE CELEBRATE
+
+ INDEPENDENCE DAY
+
+ AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH
+
+ ABOUT LONDON
+
+ PRINCETON
+
+ THE ST. LOUIS HARBOR-BOAT “MARK TWAIN”
+
+ SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+These speeches will address themselves to the minds and hearts of those
+who read them, but not with the effect they had with those who heard
+them; Clemens himself would have said, not with half the effect. I have
+noted elsewhere how he always held that the actor doubled the value of
+the author's words; and he was a great actor as well as a great author.
+He was a most consummate actor, with this difference from other actors,
+that he was the first to know the thoughts and invent the fancies to
+which his voice and action gave the color of life. Representation is the
+art of other actors; his art was creative as well as representative; it
+was nothing at second hand.
+
+I never heard Clemens speak when I thought he quite failed; some burst
+or spurt redeemed him when he seemed flagging short of the goal, and,
+whoever else was in the running, he came in ahead. His near-failures
+were the error of a rare trust to the spontaneity in which other
+speakers confide, or are believed to confide, when they are on
+their feet. He knew that from the beginning of oratory the orator's
+spontaneity was for the silence and solitude of the closet where he
+mused his words to an imagined audience; that this was the use of
+orators from Demosthenes and Cicero up and down. He studied every word
+and syllable, and memorized them by a system of mnemonics peculiar
+to himself, consisting of an arbitrary arrangement of things on a
+table—knives, forks, salt-cellars; inkstands, pens, boxes, or whatever
+was at hand—which stood for points and clauses and climaxes, and were
+at once indelible diction and constant suggestion. He studied every tone
+and every gesture, and he forecast the result with the real audience
+from its result with that imagined audience. Therefore, it was beautiful
+to see him and to hear him; he rejoiced in the pleasure he gave and the
+blows of surprise which he dealt; and because he had his end in mind, he
+knew when to stop.
+
+I have been talking of his method and manner; the matter the reader has
+here before him; and it is good matter, glad, honest, kind, just.
+
+W. D. HOWELLS.
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION OF “MARK TWAIN'S SKETCHES”
+
+If I were to sell the reader a barrel of molasses, and he, instead of
+sweetening his substantial dinner with the same at judicious intervals,
+should eat the entire barrel at one sitting, and then abuse me for
+making him sick, I would say that he deserved to be made sick for not
+knowing any better how to utilize the blessings this world affords.
+And if I sell to the reader this volume of nonsense, and he, instead of
+seasoning his graver reading with a chapter of it now and then, when his
+mind demands such relaxation, unwisely overdoses himself with several
+chapters of it at a single sitting, he will deserve to be nauseated, and
+he will have nobody to blame but himself if he is. There is no more sin
+in publishing an entire volume of nonsense than there is in keeping a
+candy-store with no hardware in it. It lies wholly with the customer
+whether he will injure himself by means of either, or will derive
+from them the benefits which they will afford him if he uses their
+possibilities judiciously.
+
+Respectfully submitted,
+
+THE AUTHOR.
+
+
+
+                          MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STORY OF A SPEECH
+
+
+
+          An address delivered in 1877, and a review of it twenty-nine
+          years later.  The original speech was delivered at a dinner
+          given by the publishers of The Atlantic Monthly in honor of the
+          seventieth anniversary o f the birth of John Greenleaf
+          Whittier, at the Hotel Brunswick, Boston, December 17, 1877.
+
+This is an occasion peculiarly meet for the digging up of pleasant
+reminiscences concerning literary folk; therefore I will drop lightly
+into history myself. Standing here on the shore of the Atlantic and
+contemplating certain of its largest literary billows, I am reminded
+of a thing which happened to me thirteen years ago, when I had just
+succeeded in stirring up a little Nevadian literary puddle myself, whose
+spume-flakes were beginning to blow thinly Californiaward. I started an
+inspection tramp through the southern mines of California. I was callow
+and conceited, and I resolved to try the virtue of my 'nom de guerre'.
+
+I very soon had an opportunity. I knocked at a miner's lonely log cabin
+in the foot-hills of the Sierras just at nightfall. It was snowing at
+the time. A jaded, melancholy man of fifty, barefooted, opened the door
+to me. When he heard my 'nom de guerre' he looked more dejected than
+before. He let me in—pretty reluctantly, I thought—and after the
+customary bacon and beans, black coffee and hot whiskey, I took a pipe.
+This sorrowful man had not said three words up to this time. Now he
+spoke up and said, in the voice of one who is secretly suffering,
+“You're the fourth—I'm going to move.” “The fourth what?” said I. “The
+fourth littery man that has been here in twenty-four hours—I'm going
+to move.” “You don't tell me!” said I; “who were the others?” “Mr.
+Longfellow, Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Oliver Wendell Holmes—consound the
+lot!”
+
+You can easily believe I was interested. I supplicated—three hot
+whiskeys did the rest—and finally the melancholy miner began. Said he:
+
+“They came here just at dark yesterday evening, and I let them in of
+course. Said they were going to the Yosemite. They were a rough lot, but
+that's nothing; everybody looks rough that travels afoot. Mr. Emerson
+was a seedy little bit of a chap, red-headed. Mr. Holmes was as fat as
+a balloon; he weighed as much as three hundred, and had double chins
+all the way down to his stomach. Mr. Longfellow was built like a
+prizefighter. His head was cropped and bristly, like as if he had a wig
+made of hair-brushes. His nose lay straight down his face, like a finger
+with the end joint tilted up. They had been drinking, I could see that.
+And what queer talk they used! Mr. Holmes inspected this cabin, then he
+took me by the buttonhole, and says he:
+
+
+
+          “'Through the deep caves of thought
+          I hear a voice that sings,
+          Build thee more stately mansions,
+          O my soul!'
+
+“Says I, 'I can't afford it, Mr. Holmes, and moreover I don't want to.'
+Blamed if I liked it pretty well, either, coming from a stranger, that
+way. However, I started to get out my bacon and beans, when Mr. Emerson
+came and looked on awhile, and then he takes me aside by the buttonhole
+and says:
+
+
+
+          “'Give me agates for my meat;
+          Give me cantharids to eat;
+          From air and ocean bring me foods,
+          From all zones and altitudes.'
+
+“Says I, 'Mr. Emerson, if you'll excuse me, this ain't no hotel.' You
+see it sort of riled me—I warn't used to the ways of littery swells.
+But I went on a-sweating over my work, and next comes Mr. Longfellow and
+buttonholes me, and interrupts me. Says he:
+
+
+
+          “'Honor be to Mudjekeewis!
+          You shall hear how Pau-Puk-Keewis--'
+
+“But I broke in, and says I, 'Beg your pardon, Mr. Longfellow, if you'll
+be so kind as to hold your yawp for about five minutes and let me get
+this grub ready, you'll do me proud.' Well, sir, after they'd filled up
+I set out the jug. Mr. Holmes looks at it, and then he fires up all of a
+sudden and yells:
+
+
+
+          “Flash out a stream of blood-red wine!
+          For I would drink to other days.'
+
+“By George, I was getting kind of worked up. I don't deny it, I was
+getting kind of worked up. I turns to Mr. Holmes, and says I, 'Looky
+here, my fat friend, I'm a-running this shanty, and if the court knows
+herself, you'll take whiskey straight or you'll go dry.' Them's the
+very words I said to him. Now I don't want to sass such famous littery
+people, but you see they kind of forced me. There ain't nothing
+onreasonable 'bout me; I don't mind a passel of guests a-treadin' on
+my tail three or four times, but when it comes to standing on it it's
+different, 'and if the court knows herself,' I says, 'you'll take
+whiskey straight or you'll go dry.' Well, between drinks they'd swell
+around the cabin and strike attitudes and spout; and pretty soon they
+got out a greasy old deck and went to playing euchre at ten cents a
+corner—on trust. I began to notice some pretty suspicious things. Mr.
+Emerson dealt, looked at his hand, shook his head, says:
+
+
+
+          “'I am the doubter and the doubt--'
+
+and ca'mly bunched the hands and went to shuffling for a new layout.
+Says he:
+
+
+
+          “'They reckon ill who leave me out;
+          They know not well the subtle ways I keep.
+          I pass and deal again!'
+
+Hang'd if he didn't go ahead and do it, too! Oh, he was a cool one!
+Well, in about a minute things were running pretty tight, but all of a
+sudden I see by Mr. Emerson's eye he judged he had 'em. He had already
+corralled two tricks, and each of the others one. So now he kind of
+lifts a little in his chair and says:
+
+
+
+          “'I tire of globes and aces!
+          Too long the game is played!'
+
+—and down he fetched a right bower. Mr. Longfellow smiles as sweet as
+pie and says:
+
+
+
+          “'Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
+          For the lesson thou hast taught,'
+
+—and blamed if he didn't down with another right bower! Emerson claps
+his hand on his bowie, Longfellow claps his on his revolver, and I went
+under a bunk. There was going to be trouble; but that monstrous Holmes
+rose up, wobbling his double chins, and says he, 'Order, gentlemen; the
+first man that draws, I'll lay down on him and smother him!' All quiet
+on the Potomac, you bet!
+
+“They were pretty how-come-you-so by now, and they begun to blow.
+Emerson says, 'The nobbiest thing I ever wrote was “Barbara Frietchie.”'
+Says Longfellow, 'It don't begin with my “Biglow Papers.”' Says Holmes,
+'My “Thanatopsis” lays over 'em both.' They mighty near ended in a
+fight. Then they wished they had some more company—and Mr. Emerson
+pointed to me and says:
+
+
+
+          “'Is yonder squalid peasant all
+          That this proud nursery could breed?'
+
+He was a-whetting his bowie on his boot—so I let it pass. Well, sir,
+next they took it into their heads that they would like some music; so
+they made me stand up and sing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” till
+I dropped-at thirteen minutes past four this morning. That's what I've
+been through, my friend. When I woke at seven, they were leaving, thank
+goodness, and Mr. Longfellow had my only boots on, and his'n under his
+arm. Says I, 'Hold on, there, Evangeline, what are you going to do with
+them?' He says, 'Going to make tracks with 'em; because:
+
+
+
+          “'Lives of great men all remind us
+          We can make our lives sublime;
+          And, departing, leave behind us
+          Footprints on the sands of time.'
+
+“As I said, Mr. Twain, you are the fourth in twenty-four hours—and I'm
+going to move; I ain't suited to a littery atmosphere.”
+
+I said to the miner, “Why, my dear sir, these were not the gracious
+singers to whom we and the world pay loving reverence and homage; these
+were impostors.”
+
+The miner investigated me with a calm eye for a while; then said he,
+“Ah! impostors, were they? Are you?”
+
+I did not pursue the subject, and since then I have not travelled on my
+'nom de guerre' enough to hurt. Such was the reminiscence I was moved
+to contribute, Mr. Chairman. In my enthusiasm I may have exaggerated
+the details a little, but you will easily forgive me that fault, since
+I believe it is the first time I have ever deflected from perpendicular
+fact on an occasion like this.
+
+
+
+                     .........................
+
+From Mark Twain's Autobiography.
+
+
+January 11, 1906.
+
+Answer to a letter received this morning:
+
+
+
+     DEAR MRS. H.,--I am forever your debtor for reminding me of that
+     curious passage in my life.  During the first year or, two after it
+     happened, I could not bear to think of it.  My pain and shame were
+     so intense, and my sense of having been an imbecile so settled,
+     established and confirmed, that I drove the episode entirely from my
+     mind--and so all these twenty-eight or twenty-nine years I have
+     lived in the conviction that my performance of that time was coarse,
+     vulgar, and destitute of humor.  But your suggestion that you and
+     your family found humor in it twenty-eight years ago moved me to
+     look into the matter.  So I commissioned a Boston typewriter to
+     delve among the Boston papers of that bygone time and send me a copy
+     of it.
+
+     It came this morning, and if there is any vulgarity about it I am
+     not able to discover it.  If it isn't innocently and ridiculously
+     funny, I am no judge.  I will see to it that you get a copy.
+
+What I have said to Mrs. H. is true. I did suffer during a year or two
+from the deep humiliations of that episode. But at last, in 1888, in
+Venice, my wife and I came across Mr. and Mrs. A. P. C., of Concord,
+Massachusetts, and a friendship began then of the sort which nothing
+but death terminates. The C.'s were very bright people and in every way
+charming and companionable. We were together a month or two in Venice
+and several months in Rome, afterward, and one day that lamented break
+of mine was mentioned. And when I was on the point of lathering those
+people for bringing it to my mind when I had gotten the memory of it
+almost squelched, I perceived with joy that the C.'s were indignant
+about the way that my performance had been received in Boston. They
+poured out their opinions most freely and frankly about the frosty
+attitude of the people who were present at that performance, and about
+the Boston newspapers for the position they had taken in regard to the
+matter. That position was that I had been irreverent beyond belief,
+beyond imagination. Very well; I had accepted that as a fact for a year
+or two, and had been thoroughly miserable about it whenever I thought of
+it—which was not frequently, if I could help it. Whenever I thought
+of it I wondered how I ever could have been inspired to do so unholy
+a thing. Well, the C.'s comforted me, but they did not persuade me to
+continue to think about the unhappy episode. I resisted that. I tried to
+get it out of my mind, and let it die, and I succeeded. Until Mrs. H.'s
+letter came, it had been a good twenty-five years since I had thought
+of that matter; and when she said that the thing was funny I wondered if
+possibly she might be right. At any rate, my curiosity was aroused, and
+I wrote to Boston and got the whole thing copied, as above set forth.
+
+I vaguely remember some of the details of that gathering—dimly I can
+see a hundred people—no, perhaps fifty—shadowy figures sitting at tables
+feeding, ghosts now to me, and nameless forevermore. I don't know who
+they were, but I can very distinctly see, seated at the grand table and
+facing the rest of us, Mr. Emerson, supernaturally grave, unsmiling; Mr.
+Whittier, grave, lovely, his beautiful spirit shining out of his face;
+Mr. Longfellow, with his silken white hair and his benignant face;
+Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, flashing smiles and affection and all
+good-fellowship everywhere like a rose-diamond whose facets are being
+turned toward the light first one way and then another—a charming man,
+and always fascinating, whether he was talking or whether he was sitting
+still (what he would call still, but what would be more or less motion
+to other people). I can see those figures with entire distinctness
+across this abyss of time.
+
+One other feature is clear—Willie Winter (for these past thousand years
+dramatic editor of the New York Tribune, and still occupying that high
+post in his old age) was there. He was much younger then than he is now,
+and he showed 'it. It was always a pleasure to me to see Willie Winter
+at a banquet. During a matter of twenty years I was seldom at a banquet
+where Willie Winter was not also present, and where he did not read a
+charming poem written for the occasion. He did it this time, and it was
+up to standard: dainty, happy, choicely phrased, and as good to listen
+to as music, and sounding exactly as if it was pouring unprepared out of
+heart and brain.
+
+Now at that point ends all that was pleasurable about that notable
+celebration of Mr. Whittier's seventieth birthday—because I got up at
+that point and followed Winter, with what I have no doubt I supposed
+would be the gem of the evening—the gay oration above quoted from the
+Boston paper. I had written it all out the day before and had
+perfectly memorized it, and I stood up there at my genial and happy and
+self-satisfied ease, and began to deliver it. Those majestic guests;
+that row of venerable and still active volcanoes, listened; as did
+everybody else in the house, with attentive interest. Well, I delivered
+myself of—we'll say the first two hundred words of my speech. I was
+expecting no returns from that part of the speech, but this was not the
+case as regarded the rest of it. I arrived now at the dialogue: “The old
+miner said, 'You are the fourth, I'm going to move.' 'The fourth what?'
+said I. He answered, 'The fourth littery man that has been here in
+twenty-four hours. I am going to move.' 'Why, you don't tell me;' said
+I. 'Who were the others?' 'Mr. Longfellow, Mr. Emerson, Mr. Oliver
+Wendell Holmes, consound the lot—'”
+
+Now, then, the house's attention continued, but the expression of
+interest in the faces turned to a sort of black frost. I wondered
+what the trouble was. I didn't know. I went on, but with difficulty—I
+struggled along, and entered upon that miner's fearful description
+of the bogus Emerson, the bogus Holmes, the bogus Longfellow, always
+hoping—but with a gradually perishing hope that somebody—would laugh, or
+that somebody would at least smile, but nobody did. I didn't know enough
+to give it up and sit down, I was too new to public speaking, and so I
+went on with this awful performance, and carried it clear through to
+the end, in front of a body of people who seemed turned to stone with
+horror. It was the sort of expression their faces would have worn if
+I had been making these remarks about the Deity and the rest of the
+Trinity; there is no milder way, in which to describe the petrified
+condition and the ghastly expression of those people.
+
+When I sat down it was with a heart which had long ceased to beat.
+I shall never be as dead again as I was then. I shall never be as
+miserable again as I was then. I speak now as one who doesn't know what
+the condition of things may be in the next world, but in this one I
+shall never be as wretched again as I was then. Howells, who was near
+me, tried to say a comforting word, but couldn't get beyond a gasp.
+There was no use—he understood the whole size of the disaster. He had
+good intentions, but the words froze before they could get out. It
+was an atmosphere that would freeze anything. If Benvenuto Cellini's
+salamander had been in that place he would not have survived to be put
+into Cellini's autobiography. There was a frightful pause. There was an
+awful silence, a desolating silence. Then the next man on the list had
+to get up—there was no help for it. That was Bishop—Bishop had just
+burst handsomely upon the world with a most acceptable novel, which had
+appeared in The Atlantic Monthly, a place which would make any novel
+respectable and any author noteworthy. In this case the novel itself was
+recognized as being, without extraneous help, respectable. Bishop was
+away up in the public favor, and he was an object of high interest,
+consequently there was a sort of national expectancy in the air; we may
+say our American millions were standing, from Maine to Texas and from
+Alaska to Florida, holding their breath, their lips parted, their hands
+ready to applaud, when Bishop should get up on that occasion, and for
+the first time in his life speak in public. It was under these damaging
+conditions that he got up to “make good,” as the vulgar say. I had
+spoken several times before, and that is the reason why I was able to
+go on without dying in my tracks, as I ought to have done—but Bishop
+had had no experience. He was up facing those awful deities—facing those
+other people, those strangers—facing human beings for the first time in
+his life, with a speech to utter. No doubt it was well packed away in
+his memory, no doubt it was fresh and usable, until I had been heard
+from. I suppose that after that, and under the smothering pall of that
+dreary silence, it began to waste away and disappear out of his head
+like the rags breaking from the edge of a fog, and presently there
+wasn't any fog left. He didn't go on—he didn't last long. It was not
+many sentence's after his first before he began to hesitate, and break,
+and lose his grip, and totter, and wobble, and at last he slumped down
+in a limp and mushy pile.
+
+Well, the programme for the occasion was probably not more than
+one-third finished, but it ended there. Nobody rose. The next man hadn't
+strength enough to get up, and everybody looked so dazed, so stupefied,
+paralyzed; it was impossible for anybody to do anything, or even try.
+Nothing could go on in that strange atmosphere. Howells mournfully, and
+without words, hitched himself to Bishop and me and supported us out of
+the room. It was very kind—he was most generous. He towed us tottering
+away into some room in that building, and we sat down there. I don't
+know what my remark was now, but I know the nature of it. It was the
+kind of remark you make when you know that nothing in the world can
+help your case. But Howells was honest—he had to say the heart-breaking
+things he did say: that there was no help for this calamity, this
+shipwreck, this cataclysm; that this was the most disastrous thing that
+had ever happened in anybody's history—and then he added, “That is, for
+you—and consider what you have done for Bishop. It is bad enough in
+your case, you deserve to suffer. You have committed this crime, and you
+deserve to have all you are going to get. But here is an innocent man.
+Bishop had never done you any harm, and see what you have done to him.
+He can never hold his head up again. The world can never look upon
+Bishop as being a live person. He is a corpse.”
+
+That is the history of that episode of twenty-eight years ago, which
+pretty nearly killed me with shame during that first year or two
+whenever it forced its way into my mind.
+
+Now then, I take that speech up and examine it. As I said, it arrived
+this morning, from Boston. I have read it twice, and unless I am an
+idiot, it hasn't a single defect in it from the first word to the last.
+It is just as good as good can be. It is smart; it is saturated with
+humor. There isn't a suggestion of coarseness or vulgarity in it
+anywhere. What could have been the matter with that house? It is
+amazing, it is incredible, that they didn't shout with laughter, and
+those deities the loudest of them all. Could the fault have been with
+me? Did I lose courage when I saw those great men up there whom I was
+going to describe in such a strange fashion? If that happened, if I
+showed doubt, that can account for it, for you can't be successfully
+funny if you show that you are afraid of it. Well, I can't account for
+it, but if I had those beloved and revered old literary immortals back
+here now on the platform at Carnegie Hall I would take that same old
+speech, deliver it, word for word, and melt them till they'd run all
+over that stage. Oh, the fault must have been with me, it is not in the
+speech at all.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PLYMOUTH ROCK AND THE PILGRIMS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE FIRST ANNUAL DINNER, N. E.  SOCIETY,
+          PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER 22, 1881
+
+          On calling upon Mr. Clemens to make response,
+          President Rollins said:
+
+          “This sentiment has been assigned to one who was never exactly
+          born in New England, nor, perhaps, were any of his ancestors.
+          He is not technically, therefore, of New England descent.
+          Under the painful circumstances in which he has found himself,
+          however, he has done the best he could--he has had all his
+          children born there, and has made of himself a New England
+          ancestor.  He is a self-made man.  More than this, and better
+          even, in cheerful, hopeful, helpful literature he is of New
+          England ascent.  To ascend there in any thing that's reasonable
+          is difficult; for--confidentially, with the door shut--we all
+          know that they are the brightest, ablest sons of that goodly
+          land who never leave it, and it is among and above them that
+          Mr. Twain has made his brilliant and permanent ascent--become
+          a man of mark.”
+
+I rise to protest. I have kept still for years; but really I think there
+is no sufficient justification for this sort of thing. What do you want
+to celebrate those people for?—those ancestors of yours of 1620—the
+Mayflower tribe, I mean. What do you want to celebrate them for? Your
+pardon: the gentleman at my left assures me that you are not celebrating
+the Pilgrims themselves, but the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth
+rock on the 22d of December. So you are celebrating their landing. Why,
+the other pretext was thin enough, but this is thinner than ever;
+the other was tissue, tinfoil, fish-bladder, but this is gold-leaf.
+Celebrating their lauding! What was there remarkable about it, I would
+like to know? What can you be thinking of? Why, those Pilgrims had been
+at sea three or four months. It was the very middle of winter: it was
+as cold as death off Cape Cod there. Why shouldn't they come ashore? If
+they hadn't landed there would be some reason for celebrating the fact:
+It would have been a case of monumental leatherheadedness which the
+world would not willingly let die. If it had been you, gentlemen, you
+probably wouldn't have landed, but you have no shadow of right to be
+celebrating, in your ancestors, gifts which they did not exercise,
+but only transmitted. Why, to be celebrating the mere landing of the
+Pilgrims—to be trying to make out that this most natural and simple and
+customary procedure was an extraordinary circumstance—a circumstance
+to be amazed at, and admired, aggrandized and glorified, at orgies like
+this for two hundred and sixty years—hang it, a horse would have known
+enough to land; a horse—Pardon again; the gentleman on my right assures
+me that it was not merely the landing of the Pilgrims that we are
+celebrating, but the Pilgrims themselves. So we have struck an
+inconsistency here—one says it was the landing, the other says it was
+the Pilgrims. It is an inconsistency characteristic of your intractable
+and disputatious tribe, for you never agree about anything but Boston.
+Well, then, what do you want to celebrate those Pilgrims for? They
+were a mighty hard lot—you know it. I grant you, without the slightest
+unwillingness, that they were a deal more gentle and merciful and just
+than were the people of Europe of that day; I grant you that they are
+better than their predecessors. But what of that?—that is nothing.
+People always progress. You are better than your fathers and
+grandfathers were (this is the first time I have ever aimed a
+measureless slander at the departed, for I consider such things
+improper). Yes, those among you who have not been in the penitentiary,
+if such there be, are better than your fathers and grandfathers were;
+but is that any sufficient reason for getting up annual dinners and
+celebrating you? No, by no means—by no means. Well, I repeat, those
+Pilgrims were a hard lot. They took good care of themselves, but they
+abolished everybody else's ancestors. I am a border-ruffian from the
+State of Missouri. I am a Connecticut Yankee by adoption. In me, you
+have Missouri morals, Connecticut culture; this, gentlemen, is the
+combination which makes the perfect man. But where are my ancestors?
+Whom shall I celebrate? Where shall I find the raw material?
+
+My first American ancestor, gentlemen, was an Indian—an early Indian.
+Your ancestors skinned him alive, and I am an orphan. Not one drop of
+my blood flows in that Indian's veins today. I stand here, lone and
+forlorn, without an ancestor. They skinned him! I do not object to that,
+if they needed his fur; but alive, gentlemen--alive! They skinned him
+alive—and before company! That is what rankles. Think how he must have
+felt; for he was a sensitive person and easily embarrassed. If he had
+been a bird, it would have been all right, and no violence done to his
+feelings, because he would have been considered “dressed.” But he
+was not a bird, gentlemen, he was a man, and probably one of the most
+undressed men that ever was. I ask you to put yourselves in his place.
+I ask it as a favor; I ask it as a tardy act of justice; I ask it in the
+interest of fidelity to the traditions of your ancestors; I ask it
+that the world may contemplate, with vision unobstructed by disguising
+swallow-tails and white cravats, the spectacle which the true New
+England Society ought to present. Cease to come to these annual orgies
+in this hollow modern mockery—the surplusage of raiment. Come in
+character; come in the summer grace, come in the unadorned simplicity,
+come in the free and joyous costume which your sainted ancestors
+provided for mine.
+
+Later ancestors of mine were the Quakers William Robinson, Marmaduke
+Stevenson, et al. Your tribe chased them out of the country for their
+religion's sake; promised them death if they came back; for your
+ancestors had forsaken the homes they loved, and braved the perils of
+the sea, the implacable climate, and the savage wilderness, to acquire
+that highest and most precious of boons, freedom for every man on
+this broad continent to worship according to the dictates of his own
+conscience—and they were not going to allow a lot of pestiferous
+Quakers to interfere with it. Your ancestors broke forever the chains
+of political slavery, and gave the vote to every man in this wide land,
+excluding none!—none except those who did not belong to the orthodox
+church. Your ancestors—yes, they were a hard lot; but, nevertheless,
+they gave us religious liberty to worship as they required us to
+worship, and political liberty to vote as the church required; and so
+I the bereft one, I the forlorn one, am here to do my best to help you
+celebrate them right.
+
+The Quaker woman Elizabeth Hooton was an ancestress of mine. Your people
+were pretty severe with her you will confess that. But, poor thing! I
+believe they changed her opinions before she died, and took her into
+their fold; and so we have every reason to presume that when she died
+she went to the same place which your ancestors went to. It is a great
+pity, for she was a good woman. Roger Williams was an ancestor of mine.
+I don't really remember what your people did with him. But they banished
+him to Rhode Island, anyway. And then, I believe, recognizing that this
+was really carrying harshness to an unjustifiable extreme, they took
+pity on him and burned him. They were a hard lot! All those Salem
+witches were ancestors of mine! Your people made it tropical for them.
+Yes, they did; by pressure and the gallows they made such a clean deal
+with them that there hasn't been a witch and hardly a halter in our
+family from that day to this, and that is one hundred and eighty-nine
+years. The first slave brought into New England out of Africa by your
+progenitors was an ancestor of mine—for I am of a mixed breed, an
+infinitely shaded and exquisite Mongrel. I'm not one of your sham
+meerschaums that you can color in a week. No, my complexion is the
+patient art of eight generations. Well, in my own time, I had acquired
+a lot of my kin—by purchase, and swapping around, and one way and
+another—and was getting along very well. Then, with the inborn
+perversity of your lineage, you got up a war, and took them all away
+from me. And so, again am I bereft, again am I forlorn; no drop of my
+blood flows in the veins of any living being who is marketable.
+
+O my friends, hear me and reform! I seek your good, not mine. You have
+heard the speeches. Disband these New England societies—nurseries of
+a system of steadily augmenting laudation and hosannaing, which; if
+persisted in uncurbed, may some day in the remote future beguile you
+into prevaricating and bragging. Oh, stop, stop, while you are still
+temperate in your appreciation of your ancestors! Hear me, I beseech
+you; get up an auction and sell Plymouth Rock! The Pilgrims were a
+simple and ignorant race. They never had seen any good rocks before,
+or at least any that were not watched, and so they were excusable for
+hopping ashore in frantic delight and clapping an iron fence around this
+one. But you, gentlemen, are educated; you are enlightened; you know
+that in the rich land of your nativity, opulent New England, overflowing
+with rocks, this one isn't worth, at the outside, more than thirty-five
+cents. Therefore, sell it, before it is injured by exposure, or at least
+throw it open to the patent-medicine advertisements, and let it earn its
+taxes:
+
+Yes, hear your true friend--your only true friend—list to his voice.
+Disband these societies, hotbeds of vice, of moral decay—perpetuators
+of ancestral superstition. Here on this board I see water, I see milk, I
+see the wild and deadly lemonade. These are but steps upon the downward
+path. Next we shall see tea, then chocolate, then coffee—hotel coffee.
+A few more years—all too few, I fear—mark my words, we shall have cider!
+Gentlemen, pause ere it be too late. You are on the broad road which
+leads to dissipation, physical ruin, moral decay, gory crime and the
+gallows! I beseech you, I implore you, in the name of your anxious
+friends, in the name of your suffering families, in the name of your
+impending widows and orphans, stop ere it be too late. Disband these New
+England societies, renounce these soul-blistering saturnalia, cease from
+varnishing the rusty reputations of your long-vanished ancestors—the
+super-high-moral old iron-clads of Cape Cod, the pious buccaneers of
+Plymouth Rock—go home, and try to learn to behave!
+
+However, chaff and nonsense aside, I think I honor and appreciate your
+Pilgrim stock as much as you do yourselves, perhaps; and I endorse and
+adopt a sentiment uttered by a grandfather of mine once—a man of sturdy
+opinions, of sincere make of mind, and not given to flattery. He said:
+“People may talk as they like about that Pilgrim stock, but, after all's
+said and done, it would be pretty hard to improve on those people; and,
+as for me, I don't mind coming out flatfooted and saying there ain't any
+way to improve on them—except having them born in Missouri!”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+COMPLIMENTS AND DEGREES
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED AT THE LOTOS CLUB, JANUARY 11, 1908
+
+          In introducing Mr. Clemens, Frank R.  Lawrence, the President
+          of the Lotos Club, recalled the fact that the first club dinner
+          in the present club-house, some fourteen years ago, was in
+          honor of Mark Twain.
+
+I wish to begin this time at the beginning, lest I forget it altogether;
+that is to say, I wish to thank you for this welcome that you are
+giving, and the welcome which you gave me seven years ago, and which I
+forgot to thank you for at that time. I also wish to thank you for the
+welcome you gave me fourteen years ago, which I also forgot to thank you
+for at the time.
+
+I hope you will continue this custom to give me a dinner every seven
+years before I join the hosts in the other world—I do not know which
+world.
+
+Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Porter have paid me many compliments. It is very
+difficult to take compliments. I do not care whether you deserve the
+compliments or not, it is just as difficult to take them. The other
+night I was at the Engineers' Club, and enjoyed the sufferings of
+Mr. Carnegie. They were complimenting him there; there it was all
+compliments, and none of them deserved. They say that you cannot live by
+bread alone, but I can live on compliments.
+
+I do not make any pretence that I dislike compliments. The stronger the
+better, and I can manage to digest them. I think I have lost so much by
+not making a collection of compliments, to put them away and take them
+out again once in a while. When in England I said that I would start to
+collect compliments, and I began there and I have brought some of them
+along.
+
+The first one of these lies—I wrote them down and preserved them—I think
+they are mighty good and extremely just. It is one of Hamilton Mabie's
+compliments. He said that La Salle was the first one to make a voyage
+of the Mississippi, but Mark Twain was the first to chart, light, and
+navigate it for the whole world.
+
+If that had been published at the time that I issued that book [Life on
+the Mississippi], it would have been money in my pocket. I tell you, it
+is a talent by itself to pay compliments gracefully and have them ring
+true. It's an art by itself.
+
+Here is another compliment by Albert Bigelow Paine, my biographer. He
+is writing four octavo volumes about me, and he has been at my elbow two
+and one-half years.
+
+I just suppose that he does not know me, but says he knows me. He says
+“Mark Twain is not merely a great writer, a great philosopher, a great
+man; he is the supreme expression of the human being, with his strength
+and his weakness.” What a talent for compression! It takes a genius in
+compression to compact as many facts as that.
+
+W. D. Howells spoke of me as first of Hartford, and ultimately of the
+solar system, not to say of the universe:
+
+You know how modest Howells is. If it can be proved that my fame reaches
+to Neptune and Saturn; that will satisfy even me. You know how modest
+and retiring Howells seems to be, but deep down he is as vain as I am.
+
+Mr. Howells had been granted a degree at Oxford, whose gown was red. He
+had been invited to an exercise at Columbia, and upon inquiry had been
+told that it was usual to wear the black gown: Later he had found that
+three other men wore bright gowns, and he had lamented that he had been
+one of the black mass, and not a red torch.
+
+Edison wrote: “The average American loves his family. If he has any love
+left over for some other person, he generally selects Mark Twain.”
+
+Now here's the compliment of a little Montana girl which came to me
+indirectly. She was in a room in which there was a large photograph of
+me. After gazing at it steadily for a time, she said:
+
+“We've got a John the Baptist like that.” She also said: “Only ours has
+more trimmings.”
+
+I suppose she meant the halo. Now here is a gold-miner's compliment. It
+is forty-two years old. It was my introduction to an audience to which
+I lectured in a log school-house. There were no ladies there. I wasn't
+famous then. They didn't know me. Only the miners were there, with their
+breeches tucked into their boottops and with clay all over them.
+They wanted some one to introduce me, and they selected a miner, who
+protested, saying:
+
+“I don't know anything about this man. Anyhow, I only know two things
+about him. One is, he has never been in jail, and the other is, I don't
+know why.”
+
+There's one thing I want to say about that English trip. I knew his
+Majesty the King of England long years ago, and I didn't meet him for
+the first time then. One thing that I regret was that some newspapers
+said I talked with the Queen of England with my hat on. I don't do that
+with any woman. I did not put it on until she asked me to. Then she told
+me to put it on, and it's a command there. I thought I had carried my
+American democracy far enough. So I put it on. I have no use for a hat,
+and never did have.
+
+Who was it who said that the police of London knew me? Why, the police
+know me everywhere. There never was a day over there when a policeman
+did not salute me, and then put up his hand and stop the traffic of the
+world. They treated me as though I were a duchess.
+
+The happiest experience I had in England was at a dinner given in the
+building of the Punch publication, a humorous paper which is appreciated
+by all Englishmen. It was the greatest privilege ever allowed a
+foreigner. I entered the dining-room of the building, where those men
+get together who have been running the paper for over fifty years. We
+were about to begin dinner when the toastmaster said: “Just a minute;
+there ought to be a little ceremony.” Then there was that meditating
+silence for a while, and out of a closet there came a beautiful little
+girl dressed in pink, holding in her hand a copy of the previous week's
+paper, which had in it my cartoon. It broke me all up. I could not even
+say “Thank you.” That was the prettiest incident of the dinner, the
+delight of all that wonderful table. When she was about to go; I said,
+“My child, you are not going to leave me; I have hardly got acquainted
+with you.” She replied, “You know I've got to go; they never let me come
+in here before, and they never will again.” That is one of the beautiful
+incidents that I cherish.
+
+
+
+     [At the conclusion of his speech, and while the diners were still
+     cheering him, Colonel Porter brought forward the red-and-gray gown
+     of the Oxford “doctor,” and Mr. Clemens was made to don it.
+     The diners rose to their feet in their enthusiasm. With the
+     mortar-board on his head, and looking down admiringly at himself,
+     Mr. Twain said--]
+
+I like that gown. I always did like red. The redder it is the better I
+like it. I was born for a savage. Now, whoever saw any red like this?
+There is no red outside the arteries of an archangel that could compare
+with this. I know you all envy me. I am going to have luncheon shortly
+with ladies just ladies. I will be the only lady of my sex present, and
+I shall put on this gown and make those ladies look dim.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND HATS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE PILGRIMS' CLUB LUNCHEON, GIVEN IN HONOR OF Mr.
+          CLEMENS AT THE SAVOY HOTEL, LONDON, JUNE 25, 1907.
+
+          Mr. Birrell, M.P., Chief-Secretary for Ireland, in introducing
+          Mr. Clemens said: “We all love Mark Twain, and we are here to
+          tell him so.  One more point--all the world knows it, and that
+          is why it is dangerous to omit it--our guest is a distinguished
+          citizen of the Great Republic beyond the seas.  In America his
+          'Huckleberry Finn' and his 'Tom Sawyer' are what 'Robinson
+          Crusoe' and 'Tom Brown's School Days' have been to us.  They
+          are racy of the soil.  They are books to which it is impossible
+          to place any period of termination.  I will not speak of the
+          classics--reminiscences of much evil in our early lives.  We do
+          not meet here to-day as critics with our appreciations and
+          depreciations, our twopenny little prefaces or our forewords.
+          I am not going to say what the world a thousand years hence
+          will think of Mark Twain.  Posterity will take care of itself,
+          will read what it wants to read, will forget what it chooses to
+          forget, and will pay no attention whatsoever to our critical
+          mumblings and jumblings.  Let us therefore be content to say to
+          our friend and guest that we are here speaking for ourselves
+          and for our children, to say what he has been to us.  I
+          remember in Liverpool, in 1867, first buying the copy, which I
+          still preserve, of the celebrated 'Jumping Frog.'  It had a few
+          words of preface which reminded me then that our guest in those
+          days was called 'the wild humorist of the Pacific slope,' and a
+          few lines later down, 'the moralist of the Main.'  That was
+          some forty years ago.  Here he is, still the humorist, still
+          the moralist.  His humor enlivens and enlightens his morality,
+          and his morality is all the better for his humor.  That is one
+          of the reasons why we love him.  I am not here to mention any
+          book of his--that is a subject of dispute in my family circle,
+          which is the best and which is the next best--but I must put in
+          a word, lest I should not be true to myself--a terrible thing
+          --for his Joan of Arc, a book of chivalry, of nobility, and of
+          manly sincerity for which I take this opportunity of thanking
+          him.  But you can all drink this toast, each one of you with
+          his own intention.  You can get into it what meaning you like.
+          Mark Twain is a man whom English and Americans do well to
+          honor.  He is the true consolidator of nations.  His delightful
+          humor is of the kind which dissipates and destroys national
+          prejudices.  His truth and his honor, his love of truth, and
+          his love of honor, overflow all boundaries.  He has made the
+          world better by his presence.  We rejoice to see him here.
+          Long may he live to reap the plentiful harvest of hearty,
+          honest human affection!”
+
+Pilgrims, I desire first to thank those undergraduates of Oxford. When
+a man has grown so old as I am, when he has reached the verge of
+seventy-two years, there is nothing that carries him back to the
+dreamland of his life, to his boyhood, like recognition of those young
+hearts up yonder. And so I thank them out of my heart. I desire to thank
+the Pilgrims of New York also for their kind notice and message which
+they have cabled over here. Mr. Birrell says he does not know how he
+got here. But he will be able to get away all right—he has not drunk
+anything since he came here. I am glad to know about those friends
+of his, Otway and Chatterton—fresh, new names to me. I am glad of the
+disposition he has shown to rescue them from the evils of poverty, and
+if they are still in London, I hope to have a talk with them. For a
+while I thought he was going to tell us the effect which my book had
+upon his growing manhood. I thought he was going to tell us how much
+that effect amounted to, and whether it really made him what he now is,
+but with the discretion born of Parliamentary experience he dodged that,
+and we do not know now whether he read the book or not. He did that very
+neatly. I could not do it any better myself.
+
+My books have had effects, and very good ones, too, here and there, and
+some others not so good. There is no doubt about that. But I remember
+one monumental instance of it years and years ago. Professor Norton, of
+Harvard, was over here, and when he came back to Boston I went out with
+Howells to call on him. Norton was allied in some way by marriage with
+Darwin.
+
+Mr. Norton was very gentle in what he had to say, and almost delicate,
+and he said: “Mr. Clemens, I have been spending some time with Mr.
+Darwin in England, and I should like to tell you something connected
+with that visit. You were the object of it, and I myself would have
+been very proud of it, but you may not be proud of it. At any rate, I am
+going to tell you what it was, and to leave to you to regard it as you
+please. Mr. Darwin took me up to his bedroom and pointed out certain
+things there-pitcher-plants, and so on, that he was measuring and
+watching from day to day—and he said: 'The chambermaid is permitted to
+do what she pleases in this room, but she must never touch those plants
+and never touch those books on that table by that candle. With those
+books I read myself to sleep every night.' Those were your own books.”
+ I said: “There is no question to my mind as to whether I should regard
+that as a compliment or not. I do regard it as a very great compliment
+and a very high honor that that great mind, laboring for the whole human
+race, should rest itself on my books. I am proud that he should read
+himself to sleep with them.”
+
+Now, I could not keep that to myself—I was so proud of it. As soon as I
+got home to Hartford I called up my oldest friend—and dearest enemy on
+occasion—the Rev. Joseph Twichell, my pastor, and I told him about that,
+and, of course, he was full of interest and venom. Those people who get
+no compliments like that feel like that. He went off. He did not issue
+any applause of any kind, and I did not hear of that subject for some
+time. But when Mr. Darwin passed away from this life, and some time
+after Darwin's Life and Letters came out, the Rev. Mr. Twichell procured
+an early copy of that work and found something in it which he considered
+applied to me. He came over to my house—it was snowing, raining,
+sleeting, but that did not make any difference to Twichell. He produced
+the book, and turned over and over, until he came to a certain place,
+when he said: “Here, look at this letter from Mr. Darwin to Sir Joseph
+Hooker.” What Mr. Darwin said—I give you the idea and not the very
+words—was this: I do not know whether I ought to have devoted my whole
+life to these drudgeries in natural history and the other sciences or
+not, for while I may have gained in one way I have lost in another. Once
+I had a fine perception and appreciation of high literature, but in me
+that quality is atrophied. “That was the reason,” said Mr. Twichell, “he
+was reading your books.”
+
+Mr. Birrell has touched lightly—very lightly, but in not an
+uncomplimentary way—on my position in this world as a moralist. I am
+glad to have that recognition, too, because I have suffered since I have
+been in this town; in the first place, right away, when I came here,
+from a newsman going around with a great red, highly displayed placard
+in the place of an apron. He was selling newspapers, and there were two
+sentences on that placard which would have been all right if they had
+been punctuated; but they ran those two sentences together without a
+comma or anything, and that would naturally create a wrong impression,
+because it said, “Mark Twain arrives Ascot Cup stolen.” No doubt many a
+person was misled by those sentences joined together in that unkind way.
+I have no doubt my character has suffered from it. I suppose I ought to
+defend my character, but how can I defend it? I can say here and
+now—and anybody can see by my face that I am sincere, that I speak the
+truth—that I have never seen that Cup. I have not got the Cup—I did not
+have a chance to get it. I have always had a good character in that way.
+I have hardly ever stolen anything, and if I did steal anything I had
+discretion enough to know about the value of it first. I do not steal
+things that are likely to get myself into trouble. I do not think any of
+us do that. I know we all take things—that is to be expected—but really,
+I have never taken anything, certainly in England, that amounts to any
+great thing. I do confess that when I was here seven years ago I stole a
+hat, but that did not amount to anything. It was not a good hat, and was
+only a clergyman's hat, anyway.
+
+I was at a luncheon party, and Archdeacon Wilberforce was there also. I
+dare say he is Archdeacon now—he was a canon then—and he was serving in
+the Westminster battery, if that is the proper term—I do not know, as
+you mix military and ecclesiastical things together so much. He left the
+luncheon table before I did. He began this. I did steal his hat, but
+he began by taking mine. I make that interjection because I would not
+accuse Archdeacon Wilberforce of stealing my hat—I should not think of
+it. I confine that phrase to myself. He merely took my hat. And with
+good judgment, too—it was a better hat than his. He came out before the
+luncheon was over, and sorted the hats in the hall, and selected one
+which suited. It happened to be mine. He went off with it. When I came
+out by-and-by there was no hat there which would go on my head except
+his, which was left behind. My head was not the customary size just at
+that time. I had been receiving a good many very nice and complimentary
+attentions, and my head was a couple of sizes larger than usual, and his
+hat just suited me. The bumps and corners were all right intellectually.
+There were results pleasing to me—possibly so to him. He found out whose
+hat it was, and wrote me saying it was pleasant that all the way
+home, whenever he met anybody his gravities, his solemnities, his deep
+thoughts, his eloquent remarks were all snatched up by the people he
+met, and mistaken for brilliant humorisms.
+
+I had another experience. It was not unpleasing. I was received with a
+deference which was entirely foreign to my experience by everybody whom
+I met, so that before I got home I had a much higher opinion of
+myself than I have ever had before or since. And there is in that very
+connection an incident which I remember at that old date which is rather
+melancholy to me, because it shows how a person can deteriorate in a
+mere seven years. It is seven years ago. I have not that hat now. I
+was going down Pall-Mall, or some other of your big streets, and I
+recognized that that hat needed ironing. I went into a big shop
+and passed in my hat, and asked that it might be ironed. They were
+courteous, very courteous, even courtly. They brought that hat back to
+me presently very sleek and nice, and I asked how much there was to
+pay. They replied that they did not charge the clergy anything. I have
+cherished the delight of that moment from that day to this. It was the
+first thing I did the other day to go and hunt up that shop and hand in
+my hat to have it ironed. I said when it came back, “How much to
+pay?” They said, “Ninepence.” In seven years I have acquired all that
+worldliness, and I am sorry to be back where I was seven years ago.
+
+But now I am chaffing and chaffing and chaffing here, and I hope
+you will forgive me for that; but when a man stands on the verge of
+seventy-two you know perfectly well that he never reached that place
+without knowing what this life is—heart breaking bereavement. And so our
+reverence is for our dead. We do not forget them; but our duty is toward
+the living; and if we can be cheerful, cheerful in spirit, cheerful in
+speech and in hope, that is a benefit to those who are around us.
+
+My own history includes an incident which will always connect me with
+England in a pathetic way, for when I arrived here seven years ago with
+my wife and my daughter—we had gone around the globe lecturing to raise
+money to clear off a debt—my wife and one of my daughters started across
+the ocean to bring to England our eldest daughter. She was twenty
+four years of age and in the bloom of young womanhood, and we were
+unsuspecting. When my wife and daughter—and my wife has passed from this
+life since—when they had reached mid Atlantic, a cablegram—one of those
+heartbreaking cablegrams which we all in our days have to experience—was
+put into my hand. It stated that that daughter of ours had gone to her
+long sleep. And so, as I say, I cannot always be cheerful, and I cannot
+always be chaffing; I must sometimes lay the cap and bells aside, and
+recognize that I am of the human race like the rest, and must have my
+cares and griefs. And therefore I noticed what Mr. Birrell said—I was so
+glad to hear him say it—something that was in the nature of these verses
+here at the top of this:
+
+
+
+              “He lit our life with shafts of sun
+               And vanquished pain.
+               Thus two great nations stand as one
+               In honoring Twain.”
+
+I am very glad to have those verses. I am very glad and very grateful
+for what Mr. Birrell said in that connection. I have received since
+I have been here, in this one week, hundreds of letters from all
+conditions of people in England—men, women, and children—and there is in
+them compliment, praise, and, above all and better than all, there is
+in them a note of affection. Praise is well, compliment is well, but
+affection—that is the last and final and most precious reward that any
+man can win, whether by character or achievement, and I am very grateful
+to have that reward. All these letters make me feel that here in
+England—as in America—when I stand under the English flag, I am not a
+stranger. I am not an alien, but at home.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION SPEECH
+
+
+
+          AT THE DEDICATION OF THE COLLEGE OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK,
+          MAY 14, 1908
+
+          Mr. Clemens wore his gown as Doctor of Laws, Oxford University.
+          Ambassador Bryce and Mr. Choate had made the formal addresses.
+
+How difficult, indeed, is the higher education. Mr. Choate needs a
+little of it. He is not only short as a statistician of New York, but
+he is off, far off, in his mathematics. The four thousand citizens of
+Greater New York, indeed!
+
+But I don't think it was wise or judicious on the part of Mr. Choate to
+show this higher education he has obtained. He sat in the lap of that
+great education (I was there at the time), and see the result—the
+lamentable result. Maybe if he had had a sandwich here to sustain him
+the result would not have been so serious.
+
+For seventy-two years I have been striving to acquire that higher
+education which stands for modesty and diffidence, and it doesn't work.
+
+And then look at Ambassador Bryce, who referred to his alma mater,
+Oxford. He might just as well have included me. Well, I am a later
+production.
+
+If I am the latest graduate, I really and sincerely hope I am not the
+final flower of its seven centuries; I hope it may go on for seven ages
+longer.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DIE SCHRECKEN DER DEUTSCHEN SPRACHE [THE HORRORS OF THE GERMAN LANGUAGE]
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS TO THE VIENNA PRESS CLUB, NOVEMBER 21, 1897,
+          DELIVERED IN GERMAN [Here in literal translation]
+
+It has me deeply touched, my gentlemen, here so hospitably received to
+be. From colleagues out of my own profession, in this from my own home
+so far distant land. My heart is full of gratitude, but my poverty of
+German words forces me to greater economy of expression. Excuse you, my
+gentlemen, that I read off, what I you say will. [But he didn't read].
+
+The German language speak I not good, but have numerous connoisseurs
+me assured that I her write like an angel. Maybe—maybe—I know not. Have
+till now no acquaintance with the angels had. That comes later—when it
+the dear God please—it has no hurry.
+
+Since long, my gentlemen, have I the passionate longing nursed a speech
+on German to hold, but one has me not permitted. Men, who no feeling
+for the art had, laid me ever hindrance in the way and made naught my
+desire—sometimes by excuses, often by force. Always said these men to
+me: “Keep you still, your Highness! Silence! For God's sake seek another
+way and means yourself obnoxious to make.”
+
+In the present case, as usual it is me difficult become, for me the
+permission to obtain. The committee sorrowed deeply, but could me
+the permission not grant on account of a law which from the Concordia
+demands she shall the German language protect. Du liebe Zeit! How so
+had one to me this say could—might—dared—should? I am indeed the truest
+friend of the German language—and not only now, but from long since—yes,
+before twenty years already. And never have I the desire had the noble
+language to hurt; to the contrary, only wished she to improve—I would
+her only reform. It is the dream of my life been. I have already visits
+by the various German governments paid and for contracts prayed. I am
+now to Austria in the same task come. I would only some changes effect.
+I would only the language method—the luxurious, elaborate construction
+compress, the eternal parenthesis suppress, do away with, annihilate;
+the introduction of more than thirteen subjects in one sentence forbid;
+the verb so far to the front pull that one it without a telescope
+discover can. With one word, my gentlemen, I would your beloved language
+simplify so that, my gentlemen, when you her for prayer need, One her
+yonder-up understands.
+
+I beseech you, from me yourself counsel to let, execute these mentioned
+reforms. Then will you an elegant language possess, and afterward, when
+you some thing say will, will you at least yourself understand what you
+said had. But often nowadays, when you a mile-long sentence from you
+given and you yourself somewhat have rested, then must you have a
+touching inquisitiveness have yourself to determine what you actually
+spoken have. Before several days has the correspondent of a local paper
+a sentence constructed which hundred and twelve words contain, and
+therein were seven parentheses smuggled in, and the subject seven times
+changed. Think you only, my gentlemen, in the course of the voyage of a
+single sentence must the poor, persecuted, fatigued subject seven times
+change position!
+
+Now, when we the mentioned reforms execute, will it no longer so bad
+be. Doch noch eins. I might gladly the separable verb also a little bit
+reform. I might none do let what Schiller did: he has the whole history
+of the Thirty Years' War between the two members of a separable verb
+in-pushed. That has even Germany itself aroused, and one has Schiller
+the permission refused the History of the Hundred Years' War to
+compose—God be it thanked! After all these reforms established be will,
+will the German language the noblest and the prettiest on the world be.
+
+Since to you now, my gentlemen, the character of my mission known is,
+beseech I you so friendly to be and to me your valuable help grant. Mr.
+Potzl has the public believed make would that I to Vienna come am
+in order the bridges to clog up and the traffic to hinder, while I
+observations gather and note. Allow you yourselves but not from him
+deceived. My frequent presence on the bridges has an entirely innocent
+ground. Yonder gives it the necessary space, yonder can one a noble
+long German sentence elaborate, the bridge-railing along, and his whole
+contents with one glance overlook. On the one end of the railing pasted
+I the first member of a separable verb and the final member cleave I
+to the other end—then spread the body of the sentence between it out!
+Usually are for my purposes the bridges of the city long enough; when I
+but Potzl's writings study will I ride out and use the glorious endless
+imperial bridge. But this is a calumny; Potzl writes the prettiest
+German. Perhaps not so pliable as the mine, but in many details much
+better. Excuse you these flatteries. These are well deserved.
+
+Now I my speech execute—no, I would say I bring her to the close. I am
+a foreigner—but here, under you, have I it entirely forgotten. And so
+again and yet again proffer I you my heartiest thanks.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GERMAN FOR THE HUNGARIANS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE JUBILEE CELEBRATION OF THE EMANCIPATION OF THE
+          HUNGARIAN PRESS,  MARCH 26, 1899
+
+          The Ministry and members of Parliament were present.  The
+          subject was the “Ausgleich”--i. e., the arrangement for the
+          apportionment of the taxes between Hungary and Austria.
+          Paragraph 14 of the ausgleich fixes the proportion each country
+          must pay to the support of the army.  It is the paragraph which
+          caused the trouble and prevented its renewal.
+
+Now that we are all here together, I think it will be a good idea to
+arrange the ausgleich. If you will act for Hungary I shall be quite
+willing to act for Austria, and this is the very time for it. There
+couldn't be a better, for we are all feeling friendly, fair-minded,
+and hospitable now, and, full of admiration for each other, full of
+confidence in each other, full of the spirit of welcome, full of the
+grace of forgiveness, and the disposition to let bygones be bygones.
+
+Let us not waste this golden, this beneficent, this providential
+opportunity. I am willing to make any concession you want, just so we
+get it settled. I am not only willing to let grain come in free, I am
+willing to pay the freight on it, and you may send delegates to the
+Reichsrath if you like. All I require is that they shall be quiet,
+peaceable people like your own deputies, and not disturb our
+proceedings.
+
+If you want the Gegenseitigengeldbeitragendenverhaltnismassigkeiten
+rearranged and readjusted I am ready for that. I will let you off at
+twenty-eight per cent.—twenty-seven—even twenty-five if you insist,
+for there is nothing illiberal about me when I am out on a diplomatic
+debauch.
+
+Now, in return for these concessions, I am willing to take anything
+in reason, and I think we may consider the business settled and the
+ausgleich ausgegloschen at last for ten solid years, and we will sign
+the papers in blank, and do it here and now.
+
+Well, I am unspeakably glad to have that ausgleich off my hands. It has
+kept me awake nights for anderthalbjahr.
+
+But I never could settle it before, because always when I called at the
+Foreign Office in Vienna to talk about it, there wasn't anybody at home,
+and that is not a place where you can go in and see for yourself whether
+it is a mistake or not, because the person who takes care of the front
+door there is of a size that discourages liberty of action and the free
+spirit of investigation. To think the ausgleich is abgemacht at last! It
+is a grand and beautiful consummation, and I am glad I came.
+
+The way I feel now I do honestly believe I would rather be just my own
+humble self at this moment than paragraph 14.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A NEW GERMAN WORD
+
+
+
+          To aid a local charity Mr. Clemens appeared before a
+          fashionable audience in Vienna, March 10, 1899, reading his
+          sketch “The Lucerne Girl,” and describing how he had been
+          interviewed and ridiculed.  He said in part:
+
+I have not sufficiently mastered German, to allow my using it with
+impunity. My collection of fourteen-syllable German words is still
+incomplete. But I have just added to that collection a jewel—a veritable
+jewel. I found it in a telegram from Linz, and it contains ninety-five
+letters:
+
+
+Personaleinkommensteuerschatzungskommissionsmitgliedsreisekostenrechnungs
+erganzungsrevisionsfund
+
+If I could get a similar word engraved upon my tombstone I should sleep
+beneath it in peace.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+UNCONSCIOUS PLAGIARISM
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED AT THE DINNER GIVEN BY THE PUBLISHERS OF “THE
+          ATLANTIC MONTHLY” TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, IN HONOR OF HIS
+          SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY, AUGUST 29, 1879
+
+I would have travelled a much greater distance than I have come to
+witness the paying of honors to Doctor Holmes; for my feeling toward him
+has always been one of peculiar warmth. When one receives a letter from
+a great man for the first time in his life, it is a large event to him,
+as all of you know by your own experience. You never can receive letters
+enough from famous men afterward to obliterate that one, or dim the
+memory of the pleasant surprise it was, and the gratification it gave
+you. Lapse of time cannot make it commonplace or cheap.
+
+Well, the first great man who ever wrote me a letter was our
+guest—Oliver Wendell Holmes. He was also the first great literary man I
+ever stole anything from—and that is how I came to write to him and he
+to me. When my first book was new, a friend of mine said to me, “The
+dedication is very neat.” Yes, I said, I thought it was. My friend said,
+“I always admired it, even before I saw it in The Innocents Abroad.” I
+naturally said: “What do you mean? Where did you ever see it before?”
+ “Well, I saw it first some years ago as Doctor Holmes's dedication to
+his Songs in Many Keys.” Of course, my first impulse was to prepare this
+man's remains for burial, but upon reflection I said I would reprieve
+him for a moment or two and give him a chance to prove his assertion
+if he could: We stepped into a book-store, and he did prove it. I had
+really stolen that dedication, almost word for word. I could not imagine
+how this curious thing had happened; for I knew one thing—that a certain
+amount of pride always goes along with a teaspoonful of brains, and
+that this pride protects a man from deliberately stealing other people's
+ideas. That is what a teaspoonful of brains will do for a man—and
+admirers had often told me I had nearly a basketful—though they were
+rather reserved as to the size of the basket.
+
+However, I thought the thing out, and solved the mystery. Two years
+before, I had been laid up a couple of weeks in the Sandwich Islands,
+and had read and re-read Doctor Holmes's poems till my mental reservoir
+was filled up with them to the brim. The dedication lay on the top, and
+handy, so, by-and-by, I unconsciously stole it. Perhaps I unconsciously
+stole the rest of the volume, too, for many people have told me that
+my book was pretty poetical, in one way or another. Well, of course, I
+wrote Doctor Holmes and told him I hadn't meant to steal, and he wrote
+back and said in the kindest way that it was all right and no harm
+done; and added that he believed we all unconsciously worked over ideas
+gathered in reading and hearing, imagining they were original with
+ourselves. He stated a truth, and did it in such a pleasant way, and
+salved over my sore spot so gently and so healingly, that I was rather
+glad I had committed the crime for the sake of the letter. I afterward
+called on him and told him to make perfectly free with any ideas of mine
+that struck him as being good protoplasm for poetry. He could see by
+that that there wasn't anything mean about me; so we got along right
+from the start. I have not met Doctor Holmes many times since; and
+lately he said—However, I am wandering wildly away from the one thing
+which I got on my feet to do; that is, to make my compliments to you, my
+fellow-teachers of the great public, and likewise to say that I am
+right glad to see that Doctor Holmes is still in his prime and full of
+generous life; and as age is not determined by years, but by trouble
+and infirmities of mind and body, I hope it may be a very long time yet
+before any one can truthfully say, “He is growing old.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WEATHER
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY'S SEVENTY FIRST
+          ANNUAL DINNER, NEW YORK CITY
+
+The next toast was: “The Oldest Inhabitant-The Weather of New England.”
+
+
+
+                   “Who can lose it and forget it?
+                    Who can have it and regret it?
+                    Be interposer 'twixt us Twain.”
+                                         --Merchant of Venice.
+
+I reverently believe that the Maker who made us all makes everything in
+New England but the weather. I don't know who makes that, but I think
+it must be raw apprentices in the weather-clerk's factory who experiment
+and learn how, in New England, for board and clothes, and then are
+promoted to make weather for countries that require a good article,
+and will take their custom elsewhere if they don't get it. There is
+a sumptuous variety about the New England weather that compels the
+stranger's admiration—and regret. The weather is always doing something
+there; always attending strictly to business; always getting up new
+designs and trying them on the people to see how they will go. But it
+gets through more business in spring than in any other season. In the
+spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of
+weather inside of four-and-twenty hours. It was I that made the fame and
+fortune of that man that had that marvellous collection of weather on
+exhibition at the Centennial, that so astounded the foreigners. He
+was going to travel all over the world and get specimens from all the
+climes. I said, “Don't you do it; you come to New England on a favorable
+spring day.” I told him what we could do in the way of style, variety,
+and quantity. Well, he came and he made his collection in four days. As
+to variety, why, he confessed that he got hundreds of kinds of weather
+that he had never heard of before. And as to quantity well, after he had
+picked out and discarded all that was blemished in any way, he not only
+had weather enough, but weather to spare; weather to hire out; weather
+to sell; to deposit; weather to invest; weather to give to the poor. The
+people of New England are by nature patient and forbearing, but there
+are some things which they will not stand. Every year they kill a lot of
+poets for writing about “Beautiful Spring.” These are generally casual
+visitors, who bring their notions of spring from somewhere else, and
+cannot, of course, know how the natives feel about spring. And so the
+first thing they know the opportunity to inquire how they feel has
+permanently gone by. Old Probabilities has a mighty reputation for
+accurate prophecy, and thoroughly well deserves it. You take up the
+paper and observe how crisply and confidently he checks off what
+to-day's weather is going to be on the Pacific, down South, in the
+Middle States, in the Wisconsin region. See him sail along in the joy
+and pride of his power till he gets to New England, and then see his
+tail drop. He doesn't know what the weather is going to be in New
+England. Well, he mulls over it, and by and-by he gets out something
+about like this: Probably northeast to southwest winds, varying to the
+southward and westward and eastward, and points between, high and low
+barometer swapping around from place to place; probable areas of rain,
+snow, hail, and drought, succeeded or preceded by earthquakes, with
+thunder and lightning. Then he jots down his postscript from his
+wandering mind, to cover accidents. “But it is possible that the
+programme may be wholly changed in the mean time.” Yes, one of the
+brightest gems in the New England weather is the dazzling uncertainty of
+it. There is only one thing certain about it: you are certain there is
+going to be plenty of it—a perfect grand review; but you never can tell
+which end of the procession is going to move first. You fix up for the
+drought; you leave your umbrella in the house and sally out, and two to
+one you get drowned. You make up your mind that the earthquake is due;
+you stand from under, and take hold of something to steady yourself, and
+the first thing you know you get struck by lightning. These are great
+disappointments; but they can't be helped. The lightning there is
+peculiar; it is so convincing, that when it strikes a thing it doesn't
+leave enough of that thing behind for you to tell whether—Well, you'd
+think it was something valuable, and a Congressman had been there. And
+the thunder. When the thunder begins to merely tune up and scrape and
+saw, and key up the instruments for the performance, strangers say,
+“Why, what awful thunder you have here!” But when the baton is raised
+and the real concert begins, you'll find that stranger down in the
+cellar with his head in the ash-barrel. Now as to the size of the
+weather in New England—lengthways, I mean. It is utterly disproportioned
+to the size of that little country. Half the time, when it is packed as
+full as it can stick, you will see that New England weather sticking out
+beyond the edges and projecting around hundreds and hundreds of miles
+over the neighboring States. She can't hold a tenth part of her weather.
+You can see cracks all about where she has strained herself trying to
+do it. I could speak volumes about the inhuman perversity of the New
+England weather, but I will give but a single specimen. I like to hear
+rain on a tin roof. So I covered part of my roof with tin, with an eye
+to that luxury. Well, sir, do you think it ever rains on that tin? No,
+sir; skips it every time. Mind, in this speech I have been trying merely
+to do honor to the New England weather—no language could do it justice.
+But, after all, there is at least one or two things about that weather
+(or, if you please, effects produced by it) which we residents would not
+like to part with. If we hadn't our bewitching autumn foliage, we should
+still have to credit the weather with one feature which compensates for
+all its bullying vagaries—the ice-storm: when a leafless tree is clothed
+with ice from the bottom to the top—ice that is as bright and clear
+as crystal; when every bough and twig is strung with ice-beads, frozen
+dew-drops, and the whole tree sparkles cold and white, like the Shah
+of Persia's diamond plume. Then the wind waves the branches and the sun
+comes out and turns all those myriads of beads and drops to prisms that
+glow and burn and flash with all manner of colored fires, which change
+and change again with inconceivable rapidity from blue to red, from red
+to green, and green to gold—the tree becomes a spraying fountain, a very
+explosion of dazzling jewels; and it stands there the acme, the
+climax, the supremest possibility in art or nature, of bewildering,
+intoxicating, intolerable magnificence. One cannot make the words too
+strong.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BABIES
+
+THE BABIES
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED AT THE BANQUET, IN CHICAGO, GIVEN BY THE ARMY OF THE
+          TENNESSEE TO THEIR FIRST COMMANDER, GENERAL U. S. GRANT,
+          NOVEMBER, 1879
+
+          The fifteenth regular toast was “The Babies.--As they comfort
+          us in our sorrows, let us not forget them in our festivities.”
+
+I like that. We have not all had the good fortune to be ladies. We have
+not all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works
+down to the babies, we stand on common ground. It is a shame that for a
+thousand years the world's banquets have utterly ignored the baby, as if
+he didn't amount to anything. If you will stop and think a minute—if you
+will go back fifty or one hundred years to your early married life and
+recontemplate your first baby—you will remember that he amounted to a
+good deal, and even something over. You soldiers all know that when that
+little fellow arrived at family headquarters you had to hand in your
+resignation. He took entire command. You became his lackey, his mere
+body-servant, and you had to stand around too. He was not a commander
+who made allowances for time, distance, weather, or anything else. You
+had to execute his order whether it was possible or not. And there was
+only one form of marching in his manual of tactics, and that was
+the double-quick. He treated you with every sort of insolence and
+disrespect, and the bravest of you didn't dare to say a word. You could
+face the death-storm at Donelson and Vicksburg, and give back blow
+for blow; but when he clawed your whiskers, and pulled your hair, and
+twisted your nose, you had to take it. When the thunders of war were
+sounding in your ears you set your faces toward the batteries, and
+advanced with steady tread; but when he turned on the terrors of his
+war whoop you advanced in the other direction, and mighty glad of the
+chance, too. When he called for soothing-syrup, did you venture to throw
+out any side-remarks about certain services being unbecoming an officer
+and a gentleman? No. You got up and got it. When he ordered his pap
+bottle and it was not warm, did you talk back? Not you. You went to work
+and warmed it. You even descended so far in your menial office as to
+take a suck at that warm, insipid stuff yourself, to see if it was
+right—three parts water to one of milk, a touch of sugar to modify the
+colic, and a drop of peppermint to kill those immortal hiccoughs. I can
+taste that stuff yet. And how many things you learned as you went along!
+Sentimental young folks still take stock in that beautiful old saying
+that when the baby smiles in his sleep, it is because the angels are
+whispering to him. Very pretty, but too thin—simply wind on the stomach,
+my friends. If the baby proposed to take a walk at his usual hour, two
+o'clock in the morning, didn't you rise up promptly and remark, with a
+mental addition which would not improve a Sunday-school book much, that
+that was the very thing you were about to propose yourself? Oh! you were
+under good discipline, and as you went fluttering up and down the room
+in your undress uniform, you not only prattled undignified baby-talk,
+but even tuned up your martial voices and tried to sing!—Rock a-by
+Baby in the Tree-top, for instance. What a spectacle for an Army of the
+Tennessee! And what an affliction for the neighbors, too; for it is not
+everybody within a mile around that likes military music at three in
+the morning. And, when you had been keeping this sort of thing up two or
+three hours, and your little velvet head intimated that nothing suited
+him like exercise and noise, what did you do? You simply went on until
+you dropped in the last ditch. The idea that a baby doesn't amount to
+anything! Why, one baby is just a house and a front yard full by itself.
+One baby can furnish more business than you and your whole Interior
+Department can attend to. He is enterprising, irrepressible, brimful of
+lawless activities. Do what you please, you can't make him stay on the
+reservation. Sufficient unto the day is one baby. As long as you are
+in your right mind don't you ever pray for twins. Twins amount to a
+permanent riot. And there ain't any real difference between triplets and
+an insurrection.
+
+Yes, it was high time for a toast-master to recognize the importance
+of the babies. Think what is in store for the present crop! Fifty years
+from now we shall all be dead, I trust, and then this flag, if it still
+survive (and let us hope it may), will be floating over a Republic
+numbering 200,000,000 souls, according to the settled laws of our
+increase. Our present schooner of State will have grown into a political
+leviathan—a Great Eastern. The cradled babies of to-day will be on deck.
+Let them be well trained, for we are going to leave a big contract on
+their hands. 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. In one of these cradles
+the unconscious Farragut of the future is at this moment teething—think
+of it! and putting in a world of dead earnest, unarticulated, but
+perfectly justifiable profanity over it, too. In another the future
+renowned astronomer is blinking at the shining Milky Way with but a
+languid interest poor little chap!—and wondering what has become of that
+other one they call the wet-nurse. In another the future great historian
+is lying—and doubtless will continue to lie until his earthly mission
+is ended. In another the future President is busying himself with no
+profounder problem of state than what the mischief has become of his
+hair so early; and in a mighty array of other cradles there are now some
+60,000 future office-seekers, getting ready to furnish him occasion to
+grapple with that same old problem a second time. And in still one
+more cradle, some where 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
+big toe into his mouth—an achievement which, meaning no disrespect, the
+illustrious guest of this evening turned his entire 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OUR CHILDREN AND GREAT DISCOVERIES
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED AT THE AUTHORS' CLUB, NEW YORK
+
+Our children—yours—and—mine. They seem like little things to talk
+about—our children, but little things often make up the sum of human
+life—that's a good sentence. I repeat it, little things often produce
+great things. Now, to illustrate, take Sir Isaac Newton—I presume some
+of you have heard of Mr. Newton. Well, once when Sir Isaac Newton—a mere
+lad—got over into the man's apple orchard—I don't know what he was doing
+there—I didn't come all the way from Hartford to q-u-e-s-t-i-o-n Mr.
+Newton's honesty—but when he was there—in the main orchard—he saw
+an apple fall and he was a-t-t-racted toward it, and that led to the
+discovery—not of Mr. Newton but of the great law of attraction and
+gravitation.
+
+And there was once another great discoverer—I've forgotten his name, and
+I don't remember what he discovered, but I know it was something very
+important, and I hope you will all tell your children about it when you
+get home. Well, when the great discoverer was once loafn' around down in
+Virginia, and a-puttin' in his time flirting with Pocahontas—oh! Captain
+John Smith, that was the man's name—and while he and Poca were sitting
+in Mr. Powhatan's garden, he accidentally put his arm around her and
+picked something—a simple weed, which proved to be tobacco—and now we
+find it in every Christian family, shedding its civilizing influence
+broadcast throughout the whole religious community.
+
+Now there was another great man, I can't think of his name either, who
+used to loaf around and watch the great chandelier in the cathedral at
+Pisa., which set him to thinking about the great law of gunpowder, and
+eventually led to the discovery of the cotton-gin.
+
+Now, I don't say this as an inducement for our young men to loaf around
+like Mr. Newton and Mr. Galileo and Captain Smith, but they were once
+little babies two days old, and they show what little things have
+sometimes accomplished.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EDUCATING THEATRE-GOERS
+
+
+
+          The children of the Educational Alliance gave a performance of
+          “The Prince and the Pauper” on the afternoon of April 14, 1907,
+          in the theatre of the Alliance Building in East Broadway.  The
+          audience was composed of nearly one thousand children of the
+          neighborhood.  Mr. Clemens, Mr. Howells, and Mr. Daniel Frohman
+          were among the invited guests.
+
+I have not enjoyed a play so much, so heartily, and so thoroughly since
+I played Miles Hendon twenty-two years ago. I used to play in this piece
+(“The Prince and the Pauper”) with my children, who, twenty-two years
+ago, were little youngsters. One of my daughters was the Prince, and a
+neighbor's daughter was the Pauper, and the children of other neighbors
+played other parts. But we never gave such a performance as we have seen
+here to-day. It would have been beyond us.
+
+My late wife was the dramatist and stage-manager. Our coachman was the
+stage-manager, second in command. We used to play it in this simple way,
+and the one who used to bring in the crown on a cushion—he was a little
+fellow then—is now a clergyman way up high—six or seven feet high—and
+growing higher all the time. We played it well, but not as well as you
+see it here, for you see it done by practically trained professionals.
+
+I was especially interested in the scene which we have just had, for
+Miles Hendon was my part. I did it as well as a person could who never
+remembered his part. The children all knew their parts. They did not
+mind if I did not know mine. I could thread a needle nearly as well as
+the player did whom you saw to-day. The words of my part I could supply
+on the spot. The words of the song that Miles Hendon sang here I did not
+catch. But I was great in that song.
+
+
+
+          [Then Mr. Clemens hummed a bit of doggerel that the reporter
+          made out as this:
+
+                   “There was a woman in her town,
+                    She loved her husband well,
+                    But another man just twice as well.”
+
+          “How is that?” demanded Mr. Clemens.  Then resuming]
+
+It was so fresh and enjoyable to make up a new set of words each time
+that I played the part.
+
+If I had a thousand citizens in front of me, I would like to give them
+information, but you children already know all that I have found out
+about the Educational Alliance. It's like a man living within thirty
+miles of Vesuvius and never knowing about a volcano. It's like living
+for a lifetime in Buffalo, eighteen miles from Niagara, and never going
+to see the Falls. So I had lived in New York and knew nothing about the
+Educational Alliance.
+
+This theatre is a part of the work, and furnishes pure and clean plays.
+This theatre is an influence. Everything in the world is accomplished by
+influences which train and educate. When you get to be seventy-one and a
+half, as I am, you may think that your education is over, but it isn't.
+
+If we had forty theatres of this kind in this city of four millions,
+how they would educate and elevate! We should have a body of educated
+theatre-goers.
+
+It would make better citizens, honest citizens. One of the best gifts a
+millionaire could make would be a theatre here and a theatre there. It
+would make of you a real Republic, and bring about an educational level.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE EDUCATIONAL THEATRE
+
+
+
+          On November 19, 1907, Mr. Clemens entertained a party of six or
+          seven hundred of his friends, inviting them to witness the
+          representation of “The Prince and the Pauper,” played by boys
+          and girls of the East Side at the Children's Educational
+          Theatre, New York.
+
+Just a word or two to let you know how deeply I appreciate the honor
+which the children who are the actors and frequenters of this cozy
+playhouse have conferred upon me. They have asked me to be their
+ambassador to invite the hearts and brains of New York to come down here
+and see the work they are doing. I consider it a grand distinction to be
+chosen as their intermediary. Between the children and myself there is
+an indissoluble bond of friendship.
+
+I am proud of this theatre and this performance—proud, because I am
+naturally vain—vain of myself and proud of the children.
+
+I wish we could reach more children at one time. I am glad to see that
+the children of the East Side have turned their backs on the Bowery
+theatres to come to see the pure entertainments presented here.
+
+This Children's Theatre is a great educational institution. I hope the
+time will come when it will be part of every public school in the land.
+I may be pardoned in being vain. I was born vain, I guess. [At this
+point the stage-manager's whistle interrupted Mr. Clemens.] That settles
+it; there's my cue to stop. I was to talk until the whistle blew, but it
+blew before I got started. It takes me longer to get started than most
+people. I guess I was born at slow speed. My time is up, and if you'll
+keep quiet for two minutes I'll tell you something about Miss Herts, the
+woman who conceived this splendid idea. She is the originator and the
+creator of this theatre. Educationally, this institution coins the gold
+of young hearts into external good.
+
+
+
+          [On April 23, 1908, he spoke again at the same place]
+
+I will be strictly honest with you; I am only fit to be honorary
+president. It is not to be expected that I should be useful as a real
+president. But when it comes to things ornamental I, of course, have no
+objection. There is, of course, no competition. I take it as a very real
+compliment because there are thousands of children who have had a part
+in this request. It is promotion in truth.
+
+It is a thing worth doing that is done here. You have seen the children
+play. You saw how little Sally reformed her burglar. She could reform
+any burglar. She could reform me. This is the only school in which
+can be taught the highest and most difficult lessons—morals. In other
+schools the way of teaching morals is revolting. Here the children who
+come in thousands live through each part.
+
+They are terribly anxious for the villain to get his bullet, and that
+I take to be a humane and proper sentiment. They spend freely the ten
+cents that is not saved without a struggle. It comes out of the candy
+money, and the money that goes for chewing-gum and other necessaries of
+life. They make the sacrifice freely. This is the only school which they
+are sorry to leave.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+POETS AS POLICEMEN
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens was one of the speakers at the Lotos Club dinner to
+          Governor Odell, March 24, 1900.  The police problem was
+          referred to at length.
+
+Let us abolish policemen who carry clubs and revolvers, and put in a
+squad of poets armed to the teeth with poems on Spring and Love. I
+would be very glad to serve as commissioner, not because I think I am
+especially qualified, but because I am too tired to work and would like
+to take a rest.
+
+Howells would go well as my deputy. He is tired too, and needs a rest
+badly.
+
+I would start in at once to elevate, purify, and depopulate the
+red-light district. I would assign the most soulful poets to that
+district, all heavily armed with their poems. Take Chauncey Depew as a
+sample. I would station them on the corners after they had rounded up
+all the depraved people of the district so they could not escape, and
+then have them read from their poems to the poor unfortunates. The
+plan would be very effective in causing an emigration of the depraved
+element.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PUDD'NHEAD WILSON DRAMATIZED
+
+
+
+          When Mr. Clemens arrived from Europe in 1895 one of the first
+          things he did was to see the dramatization of Pudd'nhead
+          Wilson.  The audience becoming aware of the fact that Mr.
+          Clemens was in the house called upon him for a speech.
+
+Never in my life have I been able to make a speech without preparation,
+and I assure you that this position in which I find myself is one
+totally unexpected.
+
+I have been hemmed in all day by William Dean Howells and other
+frivolous persons, and I have been talking about everything in the world
+except that of which speeches are constructed. Then, too, seven days
+on the water is not conducive to speech-making. I will only say that I
+congratulate Mr. Mayhew; he has certainly made a delightful play out of
+my rubbish. His is a charming gift. Confidentially I have always had
+an idea that I was well equipped to write plays, but I have never
+encountered a manager who has agreed with me.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DALY THEATRE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A DINNER AFTER THE ONE HUNDREDTH PERFORMANCE OF
+          “THE TAMING OF THE SHREW.”
+
+          Mr. Clemens made the following speech, which he incorporated
+          afterward in Following the Equator.
+
+I am glad to be here. This is the hardest theatre in New York to get
+into, even at the front door. I never got in without hard work. I am
+glad we have got so far in at last. Two or three years ago I had an
+appointment to meet Mr. Daly on the stage of this theatre at eight
+o'clock in the evening. Well, I got on a train at Hartford to come to
+New York and keep the appointment. All I had to do was to come to the
+back door of the theatre on Sixth Avenue. I did not believe that; I did
+not believe it could be on Sixth Avenue, but that is what Daly's note
+said—come to that door, walk right in, and keep the appointment. It
+looked very easy. It looked easy enough, but I had not much confidence
+in the Sixth Avenue door.
+
+Well, I was kind of bored on the train, and I bought some newspapers—New
+Haven newspapers—and there was not much news in them, so I read the
+advertisements. There was one advertisement of a bench-show. I had
+heard of bench-shows, and I often wondered what there was about them
+to interest people. I had seen bench-shows—lectured to bench-shows, in
+fact—but I didn't want to advertise them or to brag about them. Well, I
+read on a little, and learned that a bench-show was not a bench-show—but
+dogs, not benches at all—only dogs. I began to be interested, and as
+there was nothing else to do I read every bit of the advertisement, and
+learned that the biggest thing in this show was a St. Bernard dog that
+weighed one hundred and forty-five pounds. Before I got to New York I
+was so interested in the bench-shows that I made up my mind to go to one
+the first chance I got. Down on Sixth Avenue, near where that back door
+might be, I began to take things leisurely. I did not like to be in too
+much of a hurry. There was not anything in sight that looked like a back
+door. The nearest approach to it was a cigar store. So I went in and
+bought a cigar, not too expensive, but it cost enough to pay for any
+information I might get and leave the dealer a fair profit. Well, I did
+not like to be too abrupt, to make the man think me crazy, by asking him
+if that was the way to Daly's Theatre, so I started gradually to lead up
+to the subject, asking him first if that was the way to Castle Garden.
+When I got to the real question, and he said he would show me the way, I
+was astonished. He sent me through a long hallway, and I found myself
+in a back yard. Then I went through a long passageway and into a little
+room, and there before my eyes was a big St. Bernard dog lying on a
+bench. There was another door beyond and I went there, and was met by a
+big, fierce man with a fur cap on and coat off, who remarked, “Phwat do
+yez want?” I told him I wanted to see Mr. Daly. “Yez can't see Mr. Daly
+this time of night,” he responded. I urged that I had an appointment
+with Mr. Daly, and gave him my card, which did not seem to impress
+him much. “Yez can't get in and yez can't shmoke here. Throw away that
+cigar. If yez want to see Mr. Daly, yez 'll have to be after going to
+the front door and buy a ticket, and then if yez have luck and he's
+around that way yez may see him.” I was getting discouraged, but I had
+one resource left that had been of good service in similar emergencies.
+Firmly but kindly I told him my name was Mark Twain, and I awaited
+results. There was none. He was not fazed a bit. “Phwere's your order
+to see Mr. Daly?” he asked. I handed him the note, and he examined it
+intently. “My friend,” I remarked, “you can read that better if you
+hold it the other side up.” But he took no notice of the suggestion, and
+finally asked: “Where's Mr. Daly's name?” “There it is,” I told him,
+“on the top of the page.” “That's all right,” he said, “that's where
+he always puts it; but I don't see the 'W' in his name,” and he eyed
+me distrustfully. Finally, he asked, “Phwat do yez want to see Mr.
+Daly for?” “Business.” “Business?” “Yes.” It was my only hope. “Phwat
+kind—theatres?” that was too much. “No.” “What kind of shows, then?”
+ “Bench-shows.” It was risky, but I was desperate. “Bench—shows, is
+it—where?” The big man's face changed, and he began to look interested.
+“New Haven.” “New Haven, it is? Ah, that's going to be a fine show. I'm
+glad to see you. Did you see a big dog in the other room?” “Yes.” “How
+much do you think that dog weighs?” “One hundred and forty-five pounds.”
+ “Look at that, now! He's a good judge of dogs, and no mistake. He weighs
+all of one hundred and thirty-eight. Sit down and shmoke—go on and
+shmoke your cigar, I'll tell Mr. Daly you are here.” In a few minutes I
+was on the stage shaking hands with Mr. Daly, and the big man standing
+around glowing with satisfaction. “Come around in front,” said Mr. Daly,
+“and see the performance. I will put you into my own box.” And as I
+moved away I heard my honest friend mutter, “Well, he desarves it.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DRESS OF CIVILIZED WOMAN
+
+A large part of the daughter of civilization is her dress—as it should
+be. Some civilized women would lose half their charm without dress, and
+some would lose all of it. The daughter of modern civilization dressed
+at her utmost best is a marvel of exquisite and beautiful art and
+expense. All the lands, all the climes, and all the arts are laid under
+tribute to furnish her forth. Her linen is from Belfast, her robe is
+from Paris, her lace is from Venice, or Spain, or France, her feathers
+are from the remote regions of Southern Africa, her furs from the
+remoter region of the iceberg and the aurora, her fan from Japan, her
+diamonds from Brazil, her bracelets from California, her pearls from
+Ceylon, her cameos from Rome. She has gems and trinkets from buried
+Pompeii, and others that graced comely Egyptian forms that have been
+dust and ashes now for forty centuries. Her watch is from Geneva, her
+card case is from China, her hair is from—from—I don't know where her
+hair is from; I never could find out; that is, her other hair—her public
+hair, her Sunday hair; I don't mean the hair she goes to bed with.
+
+And that reminds me of a trifle. Any time you want to you can glance
+around the carpet of a Pullman car, and go and pick up a hair-pin; but
+not to save your life can you get any woman in that car to acknowledge
+that hair-pin. Now, isn't that strange? But it's true. The woman who
+has never swerved from cast-iron veracity and fidelity in her whole life
+will, when confronted with this crucial test, deny her hair-pin. She
+will deny that hair-pin before a hundred witnesses. I have stupidly got
+into more trouble and more hot water trying to hunt up the owner of a
+hair-pin in a Pullman than by any other indiscretion of my life.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DRESS REFORM AND COPYRIGHT
+
+
+
+          When the present copyright law was under discussion, Mr.
+          Clemens appeared before the committee.  He had sent Speaker
+          Cannon the following letter:
+
+          “DEAR UNCLE JOSEPH,--Please get me the thanks of Congress, not
+          next week but right away.  It is very necessary.  Do accomplish
+          this for your affectionate old friend right away--by
+          persuasion if you can, by violence if you must, for it is
+          imperatively necessary that I get on the floor of the House for
+          two or three hours and talk to the members, man by man, in
+          behalf of support, encouragement, and protection of one of the
+          nation's most valuable assets and industries--its literature.
+          I have arguments with me--also a barrel with liquid in it.
+
+          “Give me a chance.  Get me the thanks of Congress.  Don't wait
+          for others--there isn't time; furnish them to me yourself and
+          let Congress ratify later.  I have stayed away and let Congress
+          alone for seventy-one years and am entitled to the thanks.
+          Congress knows this perfectly well, and I have long felt hurt
+          that this quite proper and earned expression of gratitude has
+          been merely felt by the House and never publicly uttered.
+
+          “Send me an order on the sergeant-at-arms quick.  When shall I
+          come?
+                                   “With love and a benediction,
+                                                       “MARK TWAIN.”
+
+
+
+          While waiting to appear before the committee, Mr. Clemens
+          talked to the reporters:
+
+Why don't you ask why I am wearing such apparently unseasonable clothes?
+I'll tell you. I have found that when a man reaches the advanced age of
+seventy-one years, as I have, the continual sight of dark clothing is
+likely to have a depressing effect upon him. Light-colored clothing
+is more pleasing to the eye and enlivens the spirit. Now, of course,
+I cannot compel every one to wear such clothing just for my especial
+benefit, so I do the next best thing and wear it myself.
+
+Of course, before a man reaches my years the fear of criticism might
+prevent him from indulging his fancy. I am not afraid of that. I am
+decidedly for pleasing color combinations in dress. I like to see the
+women's clothes, say, at the opera. What can be more depressing than the
+sombre black which custom requires men to wear upon state occasions? A
+group of men in evening clothes looks like a flock of crows, and is just
+about as inspiring.
+
+After all, what is the purpose of clothing? Are not clothes intended
+primarily to preserve dignity and also to afford comfort to their
+wearer? Now I know of nothing more uncomfortable than the present-day
+clothes of men. The finest clothing made is a person's own skin, but, of
+course, society demands something more than this.
+
+The best-dressed man I have ever seen, however, was a native of the
+Sandwich Islands who attracted my attention thirty years ago. Now, when
+that man wanted to don especial dress to honor a public occasion or a
+holiday, why, he occasionally put on a pair of spectacles. Otherwise the
+clothing with which God had provided him sufficed.
+
+Of course, I have ideas of dress reform. For one thing, why not adopt
+some of the women's styles? Goodness knows, they adopt enough of ours.
+Take the peek-a-boo waist, for instance. It has the obvious advantages
+of being cool and comfortable, and in addition it is almost always made
+up in pleasing colors which cheer and do not depress.
+
+It is true that I dressed the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's Court
+in a plug-hat, but, let's see, that was twenty-five years ago. Then no
+man was considered fully dressed until he donned a plug-hat. Nowadays I
+think that no man is dressed until he leaves it home. Why, when I left
+home yesterday they trotted out a plug-hat for me to wear.
+
+“You must wear it,” they told me; “why, just think of going to
+Washington without a plug-hat!” But I said no; I would wear a derby or
+nothing. Why, I believe I could walk along the streets of New York—I
+never do—but still I think I could—and I should never see a well-dressed
+man wearing a plug-hat. If I did I should suspect him of something. I
+don't know just what, but I would suspect him.
+
+Why, when I got up on the second story of that Pennsylvania ferry-boat
+coming down here yesterday I saw Howells coming along. He was the only
+man on the boat with a plug-hat, and I tell you he felt ashamed of
+himself. He said he had been persuaded to wear it against his better
+sense. But just think of a man nearly seventy years old who has not a
+mind of his own on such matters!
+
+“Are you doing any work now?” the youngest and most serious reporter
+asked.
+
+Work? I retired from work on my seventieth birthday. Since then I
+have been putting in merely twenty-six hours a day dictating my
+autobiography, which, as John Phoenix said in regard to his autograph,
+may be relied upon as authentic, as it is written exclusively by me.
+But it is not to be published in full until I am thoroughly dead. I have
+made it as caustic, fiendish, and devilish as possible. It will fill
+many volumes, and I shall continue writing it until the time comes for
+me to join the angels. It is going to be a terrible autobiography. It
+will make the hair of some folks curl. But it cannot be published
+until I am dead, and the persons mentioned in it and their children and
+grandchildren are dead. It is something awful!
+
+“Can you tell us the names of some of the notables that are here to see
+you off?”
+
+I don't know. I am so shy. My shyness takes a peculiar phase. I never
+look a person in the face. The reason is that I am afraid they may know
+me and that I may not know them, which makes it very embarrassing for
+both of us. I always wait for the other person to speak. I know lots of
+people, but I don't know who they are. It is all a matter of ability to
+observe things. I never observe anything now. I gave up the habit years
+ago. You should keep a habit up if you want to become proficient in it.
+For instance, I was a pilot once, but I gave it up, and I do not believe
+the captain of the Minneapolis would let me navigate his ship to London.
+Still, if I think that he is not on the job I may go up on the bridge
+and offer him a few suggestions.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+COLLEGE GIRLS
+
+
+
+          Five hundred undergraduates, under the auspices of the Woman's
+          University Club, New York, welcomed Mr. Clemens as their guest,
+          April 3, 1906, and gave him the freedom of the club, which the
+          chairman explained was freedom to talk individually to any girl
+          present.
+
+I've worked for the public good thirty years, so for the rest of my life
+I shall work for my personal contentment. I am glad Miss Neron has fed
+me, for there is no telling what iniquity I might wander into on an
+empty stomach—I mean, an empty mind.
+
+I am going to tell you a practical story about how once upon a time I
+was blind—a story I should have been using all these months, but I never
+thought about telling it until the other night, and now it is too late,
+for on the nineteenth of this month I hope to take formal leave of the
+platform forever at Carnegie Hall—that is, take leave so far as talking
+for money and for people who have paid money to hear me talk. I shall
+continue to infest the platform on these conditions—that there is nobody
+in the house who has paid to hear me, that I am not paid to be heard,
+and that there will be none but young women students in the audience.
+[Here Mr. Clemens told the story of how he took a girl to the theatre
+while he was wearing tight boots, which appears elsewhere in this
+volume, and ended by saying: “And now let this be a lesson to you—I
+don't know what kind of a lesson; I'll let you think it out.”]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GIRLS
+
+In my capacity of publisher I recently received a manuscript from
+a teacher which embodied a number of answers given by her pupils to
+questions propounded. These answers show that the children had nothing
+but the sound to go by—the sense was perfectly empty. Here are some of
+their answers to words they were asked to define: Auriferous—pertaining
+to an orifice; ammonia—the food of the gods; equestrian—one who asks
+questions; parasite—a kind of umbrella; ipecaca—man who likes a good
+dinner. And here is the definition of an ancient word honored by a
+great party: Republican—a sinner mentioned in the Bible. And here is
+an innocent deliverance of a zoological kind: “There are a good many
+donkeys in the theological gardens.” Here also is a definition which
+really isn't very bad in its way: Demagogue—a vessel containing beer and
+other liquids. Here, too, is a sample of a boy's composition on girls,
+which, I must say, I rather like:
+
+“Girls are very stuckup and dignified in their manner and behaveyour.
+They think more of dress than anything and like to play with dowls and
+rags. They cry if they see a cow in a far distance and are afraid of
+guns. They stay at home all the time and go to church every Sunday. They
+are al-ways sick. They are al-ways furry and making fun of boys hands
+and they say how dirty. They cant play marbles. I pity them poor things.
+They make fun of boys and then turn round and love them. I don't belave
+they ever kiled a cat or anything. They look out every nite and say,
+'Oh, a'nt the moon lovely!'—Thir is one thing I have not told and that
+is they al-ways now their lessons bettern boys.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LADIES
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED AT THE ANNIVERSARY FESTIVAL, 1872, OF THE SCOTTISH
+          CORPORATION OF LONDON
+
+          Mr. Clemens replied to the toast “The Ladies.”
+
+I am proud, indeed, of the distinction of being chosen to respond to
+this especial toast, to “The Ladies,” or to women if you please, for
+that is the preferable term, perhaps; it is certainly the older, and
+therefore the more entitled to reverence. I have noticed that the
+Bible, with that plain, blunt honesty which is such a conspicuous
+characteristic of the Scriptures, is always particular to never refer
+to even the illustrious mother of all mankind as a “lady,” but speaks of
+her as a woman. It is odd, but you will find it is so. I am peculiarly
+proud of this honor, because I think that the toast to women is one
+which, by right and by every rule of gallantry, should take precedence
+of all others—of the army, of the navy, of even royalty itself—perhaps,
+though the latter is not necessary in this day and in this land, for the
+reason that, tacitly, you do drink a broad general health to all good
+women when you drink the health of the Queen of England and the Princess
+of Wales. I have in mind a poem just now which is familiar to you
+all, familiar to everybody. And what an inspiration that was, and how
+instantly the present toast recalls the verses to all our minds when
+the most noble, the most gracious, the purest, and sweetest of all poets
+says:
+
+
+
+                         “Woman!  O woman!---er
+                         Wom----”
+
+However, you remember the lines; and you remember how feelingly, how
+daintily, how almost imperceptibly the verses raise up before you,
+feature by feature, the ideal of a true and perfect woman; and how, as
+you contemplate the finished marvel, your homage grows into worship of
+the intellect that could create so fair a thing out of mere breath, mere
+words. And you call to mind now, as I speak, how the poet, with stern
+fidelity to the history of all humanity, delivers this beautiful child
+of his heart and his brain over to the trials and sorrows that must come
+to all, sooner or later, that abide in the earth, and how the pathetic
+story culminates in that apostrophe—so wild, so regretful, so full of
+mournful retrospection. The lines run thus:
+
+
+
+                        “Alas!--alas!--a--alas!
+                         ----Alas!--------alas!”
+
+—and so on. I do not remember the rest; but, taken together, it seems to
+me that poem is the noblest tribute to woman that human genius has ever
+brought forth—and I feel that if I were to talk hours I could not do my
+great theme completer or more graceful justice than I have now done in
+simply quoting that poet's matchless words. The phases of the womanly
+nature are infinite in their variety. Take any type of woman, and you
+shall find in it something to respect, something to admire, something to
+love. And you shall find the whole joining you heart and hand. Who was
+more patriotic than Joan of Arc? Who was braver? Who has given us a
+grander instance of self-sacrificing devotion? Ah! you remember, you
+remember well, what a throb of pain, what a great tidal wave of grief
+swept over us all when Joan of Arc fell at Waterloo. Who does not sorrow
+for the loss of Sappho, the sweet singer of Israel? Who among us does
+not miss the gentle ministrations, the softening influences, the humble
+piety of Lucretia Borgia? Who can join in the heartless libel that says
+woman is extravagant in dress when he can look back and call to mind our
+simple and lowly mother Eve arrayed in her modification of the Highland
+costume? Sir, women have been soldiers, women have been painters, women
+have been poets. As long as language lives the name of Cleopatra will
+live. And not because she conquered George III.—but because she wrote
+those divine lines:
+
+
+
+                   “Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
+                    For God hath made them so.”
+
+The story of the world is adorned with the names of illustrious ones of
+our own sex—some of them sons of St. Andrew, too—Scott, Bruce, Burns,
+the warrior Wallace, Ben Nevis—the gifted Ben Lomond, and the great
+new Scotchman, Ben Disraeli.—[Mr. Benjamin Disraeli, at that time
+Prime Minister of England, had just been elected Lord Rector of
+Glasgow University, and had made a speech which gave rise to a world
+of discussion]—Out of the great plains of history tower whole mountain
+ranges of sublime women: the Queen of Sheba, Josephine, Semiramis,
+Sairey Gamp; the list is endless—but I will not call the mighty roll,
+the names rise up in your own memories at the mere suggestion, luminous
+with the glory of deeds that cannot die, hallowed by the loving worship
+of the good and the true of all epochs and all climes. Suffice it for
+our pride and our honor that we in our day have added to it such names
+as those of Grace Darling and Florence Nightingale. Woman is all that
+she should be—gentle, patient, longsuffering, trustful, unselfish,
+full of generous impulses. It is her blessed mission to comfort the
+sorrowing, plead for the erring, encourage the faint of purpose, succor
+the distressed, uplift the fallen, befriend the friendless—in a word,
+afford the healing of her sympathies and a home in her heart for all the
+bruised and persecuted children that knock at its hospitable door. And
+when I say, God bless her, there is none among us who has known the
+ennobling affection of a wife, or the steadfast devotion of a mother but
+in his heart will say, Amen!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WOMAN'S PRESS CLUB
+
+
+
+          On October 27, 1900, the New York Woman's Press Club gave a tea
+          in Carnegie Hall.  Mr. Clemens was the guest of honor.
+
+If I were asked an opinion I would call this an ungrammatical nation.
+There is no such thing as perfect grammar, and I don't always speak good
+grammar myself. But I have been foregathering for the past few days with
+professors of American universities, and I've heard them all say things
+like this: “He don't like to do it.” [There was a stir.] Oh, you'll hear
+that to-night if you listen, or, “He would have liked to have done it.”
+ You'll catch some educated Americans saying that. When these men take
+pen in hand they write with as good grammar as any. But the moment they
+throw the pen aside they throw grammatical morals aside with it.
+
+To illustrate the desirability and possibility of concentration, I must
+tell you a story of my little six-year-old daughter. The governess
+had been teaching her about the reindeer, and, as the custom was, she
+related it to the family. She reduced the history of that reindeer to
+two or three sentences when the governess could not have put it into a
+page. She said: “The reindeer is a very swift animal. A reindeer once
+drew a sled four hundred miles in two hours.” She appended the comment:
+“This was regarded as extraordinary.” And concluded: “When that reindeer
+was done drawing that sled four hundred miles in two hours it died.”
+
+As a final instance of the force of limitations in the development of
+concentration, I must mention that beautiful creature, Helen Keller,
+whom I have known for these many years. I am filled with the wonder
+of her knowledge, acquired because shut out from all distraction. If
+I could have been deaf, dumb, and blind I also might have arrived at
+something.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VOTES FOR WOMEN
+
+
+
+          AT THE ANNUAL MEETING OF THE HEBREW TECHNICAL SCHOOL FOR GIRLS,
+          HELD IN THE TEMPLE EMMANUEL, JANUARY 20, 1901
+
+          Mr. Clemens was introduced by President Meyer, who said: “In
+          one of Mr. Clemens's works he expressed his opinion of men,
+          saying he had no choice between Hebrew and Gentile, black men
+          or white; to him all men were alike.  But I never could find
+          that he expressed his opinion of women; perhaps that opinion
+          was so exalted that he could not express it.  We shall now be
+          called to hear what he thinks of women.”
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It is a small help that I can afford, but it is
+just such help that one can give as coming from the heart through the
+mouth. The report of Mr. Meyer was admirable, and I was as interested in
+it as you have been. Why, I'm twice as old as he, and I've had so much
+experience that I would say to him, when he makes his appeal for help:
+“Don't make it for to-day or to-morrow, but collect the money on the
+spot.”
+
+We are all creatures of sudden impulse. We must be worked up by steam,
+as it were. Get them to write their wills now, or it may be too late
+by-and-by. Fifteen or twenty years ago I had an experience I shall
+never forget. I got into a church which was crowded by a sweltering
+and panting multitude. The city missionary of our town—Hartford—made a
+telling appeal for help. He told of personal experiences among the poor
+in cellars and top lofts requiring instances of devotion and help. The
+poor are always good to the poor. When a person with his millions gives
+a hundred thousand dollars it makes a great noise in the world, but he
+does not miss it; it's the widow's mite that makes no noise but does the
+best work.
+
+I remember on that occasion in the Hartford church the collection was
+being taken up. The appeal had so stirred me that I could hardly wait
+for the hat or plate to come my way. I had four hundred dollars in my
+pocket, and I was anxious to drop it in the plate and wanted to borrow
+more. But the plate was so long in coming my way that the fever-heat of
+beneficence was going down lower and lower—going down at the rate of a
+hundred dollars a minute. The plate was passed too late. When it finally
+came to me, my enthusiasm had gone down so much that I kept my four
+hundred dollars—and stole a dime from the plate. So, you see, time
+sometimes leads to crime.
+
+Oh, many a time have I thought of that and regretted it, and I adjure
+you all to give while the fever is on you.
+
+Referring to woman's sphere in life, I'll say that woman is always
+right. For twenty-five years I've been a woman's rights man. I have
+always believed, long before my mother died, that, with her gray hairs
+and admirable intellect, perhaps she knew as much as I did. Perhaps she
+knew as much about voting as I.
+
+I should like to see the time come when women shall help to make the
+laws. I should like to see that whip-lash, the ballot, in the hands of
+women. As for this city's government, I don't want to say much, except
+that it is a shame—a shame; but if I should live twenty-five years
+longer—and there is no reason why I shouldn't—I think I'll see women
+handle the ballot. If women had the ballot to-day, the state of things
+in this town would not exist.
+
+If all the women in this town had a vote to-day they would elect a mayor
+at the next election, and they would rise in their might and change the
+awful state of things now existing here.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WOMAN-AN OPINION
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT AN EARLY BANQUET OF THE WASHINGTON
+          CORRESPONDENTS' CLUB
+
+          The twelfth toast was as follows: “Woman--The pride of any
+          profession, and the jewel of ours.”
+
+MR. PRESIDENT,—I do not know why I should be singled out to receive the
+greatest distinction of the evening—for so the office of replying to the
+toast of woman has been regarded in every age. I do not know why I have
+received this distinction, unless it be that I am a trifle less
+homely than the other members of the club. But be this as it may, Mr.
+President, I am proud of the position, and you could not have chosen any
+one who would have accepted it more gladly, or labored with a heartier
+good-will to do the subject justice than I—because, sir, I love the sex.
+I love all the women, irrespective of age or color.
+
+Human intellect cannot estimate what we owe to woman, sir. She sews on
+our buttons; she mends our clothes; she ropes us in at the church fairs;
+she confides in us; she tells us whatever she can find out about the
+little private affairs of the neighbors; she gives us good advice, and
+plenty of it; she soothes our aching brows; she bears our children—ours
+as a general thing. In all relations of life, sir, it is but a just and
+graceful tribute to woman to say of her that she is a brick.
+
+Wheresoever you place woman, sir—in whatever position or estate—she
+is an ornament to the place she occupies, and a treasure to the world.
+[Here Mr. Clemens paused, looked inquiringly at his hearers, and
+remarked that the applause should come in at this point. It came in.
+He resumed his eulogy.] Look at Cleopatra! look at Desdemona!—look at
+Florence Nightingale!—look at Joan of Arc!—look at Lucretia Borgia!
+[Disapprobation expressed.] Well [said Mr. Clemens, scratching his head,
+doubtfully], suppose we let Lucretia slide. Look at Joyce Heth!—look at
+Mother Eve! You need not look at her unless you want to, but [said
+Mr. Clemens, reflectively, after a pause] Eve was ornamental,
+sir—particularly before the fashions changed. I repeat, sir, look at the
+illustrious names of history. Look at the Widow Machree!—look at Lucy
+Stone!—look at Elizabeth Cady Stanton!—look at George Francis Train!
+And, sir, I say it with bowed head and deepest veneration—look at the
+mother of Washington! She raised a boy that could not tell a lie—could
+not tell a lie! But he never had any chance. It might have been
+different if he had belonged to the Washington Newspaper Correspondents'
+Club.
+
+I repeat, sir, that in whatever position you place a woman she is an
+ornament to society and a treasure to the world. As a sweetheart, she
+has few equals and no superiors; as a cousin, she is convenient; as a
+wealthy grandmother with an incurable distemper, she is precious; as a
+wetnurse, she has no equal among men.
+
+What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman? They would
+be scarce, sir, almighty scarce. Then let us cherish her; let us protect
+her; let us give her our support, our encouragement, our sympathy,
+ourselves—if we get a chance.
+
+But, jesting aside, Mr. President, woman is lovable, gracious, kind of
+heart, beautiful—worthy of all respect, of all esteem, of all deference.
+Not any here will refuse to drink her health right cordially in this
+bumper of wine, for each and every one has personally known, and loved,
+and honored the very best one of them all—his own mother.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ADVICE TO GIRLS
+
+
+
+          In 1907 a young girl whom Mr. Clemens met on the steamer
+          Minnehaha called him “grandpa,” and he called her his
+          granddaughter.  She was attending St. Timothy's School, at
+          Catonsville, Maryland, and Mr. Clemens promised her to see her
+          graduate.  He accordingly made the journey from New York on
+          June 10, 1909, and delivered a short address.
+
+I don't know what to tell you girls to do. Mr. Martin has told you
+everything you ought to do, and now I must give you some don'ts.
+
+There are three things which come to my mind which I consider excellent
+advice:
+
+First, girls, don't smoke—that is, don't smoke to excess. I am
+seventy-three and a half years old, and have been smoking seventy-three
+of them. But I never smoke to excess—that is, I smoke in moderation,
+only one cigar at a time.
+
+Second, don't drink—that is, don't drink to excess.
+
+Third, don't marry—I mean, to excess.
+
+Honesty is the best policy. That is an old proverb; but you don't want
+ever to forget it in your journey through life.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TAXES AND MORALS
+
+ADDRESS DELIVERED IN NEW YORK, JANUARY 22, 1906
+
+
+
+          At the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of Tuskeegee
+          Institute by Booker Washington, Mr. Choate presided, and in
+          introducing Mr. Clemens made fun of him because he made play
+          his work, and that when he worked hardest he did so lying in
+          bed.
+
+I came here in the responsible capacity of policeman to watch Mr.
+Choate. This is an occasion of grave and serious importance, and it
+seems necessary for me to be present, so that if he tried to work
+off any statement that required correction, reduction, refutation, or
+exposure, there would be a tried friend of the public to protect the
+house. He has not made one statement whose veracity fails to tally
+exactly with my own standard. I have never seen a person improve so.
+This makes me thankful and proud of a country that can produce such
+men—two such men. And all in the same country. We can't be with you
+always; we are passing away, and then—well, everything will have to
+stop, I reckon. It is a sad thought. But in spirit I shall still be with
+you. Choate, too—if he can.
+
+Every born American among the eighty millions, let his creed or
+destitution of creed be what it may, is indisputably a Christian—to this
+degree that his moral constitution is Christian.
+
+There are two kinds of Christian morals, one private and the other
+public. These two are so distinct, so unrelated, that they are no more
+akin to each other than are archangels and politicians. During three
+hundred and sixty-three days in the year the American citizen is true to
+his Christian private morals, and keeps undefiled the nation's character
+at its best and highest; then in the other two days of the year he
+leaves his Christian private morals at home and carries his Christian
+public morals to the tax office and the polls, and does the best he can
+to damage and undo his whole year's faithful and righteous work. Without
+a blush he will vote for an unclean boss if that boss is his party's
+Moses, without compunction he will vote against the best man in the
+whole land if he is on the other ticket. Every year in a number of
+cities and States he helps put corrupt men in office, whereas if
+he would but throw away his Christian public morals, and carry his
+Christian private morals to the polls, he could promptly purify the
+public service and make the possession of office a high and honorable
+distinction.
+
+Once a year he lays aside his Christian private morals and hires a
+ferry-boat and piles up his bonds in a warehouse in New Jersey for
+three days, and gets out his Christian public morals and goes to the tax
+office and holds up his hands and swears he wishes he may never—never if
+he's got a cent in the world, so help him. The next day the list appears
+in the papers—a column and a quarter of names, in fine print, and every
+man in the list a billionaire and member of a couple of churches. I know
+all those people. I have friendly, social, and criminal relations with
+the whole lot of them. They never miss a sermon when they are so's to be
+around, and they never miss swearing-off day, whether they are so's to
+be around or not.
+
+I used to be an honest man. I am crumbling. No—I have crumbled. When
+they assessed me at $75,000 a fortnight ago I went out and tried to
+borrow the money, and couldn't; then when I found they were letting a
+whole crop of millionaires live in New York at a third of the price they
+were charging me I was hurt, I was indignant, and said: “This is the
+last feather. I am not going to run this town all by myself.” In that
+moment—in that memorable moment—I began to crumble. In fifteen minutes
+the disintegration was complete. In fifteen minutes I had become just a
+mere moral sand-pile; and I lifted up my hand along with those seasoned
+and experienced deacons and swore off every rag of personal property
+I've got in the world, clear down to cork leg, glass eye, and what is
+left of my wig.
+
+Those tax officers were moved; they were profoundly moved. They had long
+been accustomed to seeing hardened old grafters act like that, and they
+could endure the spectacle; but they were expecting better things of me,
+a chartered, professional moralist, and they were saddened.
+
+I fell visibly in their respect and esteem, and I should have fallen in
+my own, except that I had already struck bottom, and there wasn't any
+place to fall to.
+
+At Tuskeegee they will jump to misleading conclusions from insufficient
+evidence, along with Doctor Parkhurst, and they will deceive the student
+with the superstition that no gentleman ever swears.
+
+Look at those good millionaires; aren't they gentlemen? Well, they
+swear. Only once in a year, maybe, but there's enough bulk to it to make
+up for the lost time. And do they lose anything by it? No, they don't;
+they save enough in three minutes to support the family seven years.
+When they swear, do we shudder? No—unless they say “damn!” Then we do.
+It shrivels us all up. Yet we ought not to feel so about it, because we
+all swear—everybody. Including the ladies. Including Doctor Parkhurst,
+that strong and brave and excellent citizen, but superficially educated.
+
+For it is not the word that is the sin, it is the spirit back of the
+word. When an irritated lady says “oh!” the spirit back of it is “damn!”
+ and that is the way it is going to be recorded against her. It always
+makes me so sorry when I hear a lady swear like that. But if she says
+“damn,” and says it in an amiable, nice way, it isn't going to be
+recorded at all.
+
+The idea that no gentleman ever swears is all wrong; he can swear
+and still be a gentleman if he does it in a nice and, benevolent and
+affectionate way. The historian, John Fiske, whom I knew well and loved,
+was a spotless and most noble and upright Christian gentleman, and yet
+he swore once. Not exactly that, maybe; still, he—but I will tell you
+about it.
+
+One day, when he was deeply immersed in his work, his wife came in, much
+moved and profoundly distressed, and said: “I am sorry to disturb you,
+John, but I must, for this is a serious matter, and needs to be attended
+to at once.”
+
+Then, lamenting, she brought a grave accusation against their little
+son. She said: “He has been saying his Aunt Mary is a fool and his Aunt
+Martha is a damned fool.” Mr. Fiske reflected upon the matter a minute,
+then said: “Oh, well, it's about the distinction I should make between
+them myself.”
+
+Mr. Washington, I beg you to convey these teachings to your great and
+prosperous and most beneficent educational institution, and add them to
+the prodigal mental and moral riches wherewith you equip your fortunate
+proteges for the struggle of life.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TAMMANY AND CROKER
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens made his debut as a campaign orator on October 7,
+          1901, advocating the election of Seth Low for Mayor, not as a
+          Republican, but as a member of the “Acorns,” which he described
+          as a “third party having no political affiliation, but was
+          concerned only in the selection of the best candidates and the
+          best member.”
+
+Great Britain had a Tammany and a Croker a good while ago. This Tammany
+was in India, and it began its career with the spread of the English
+dominion after the Battle of Plassey. Its first boss was Clive, a
+sufficiently crooked person sometimes, but straight as a yard stick
+when compared with the corkscrew crookedness of the second boss, Warren
+Hastings.
+
+That old-time Tammany was the East India Company's government, and had
+its headquarters at Calcutta. Ostensibly it consisted of a Great Council
+of four persons, of whom one was the Governor-General, Warren Hastings;
+really it consisted of one person—Warren Hastings; for by usurpation he
+concentrated all authority in himself and governed the country like an
+autocrat.
+
+Ostensibly the Court of Directors, sitting in London and representing
+the vast interests of the stockholders, was supreme in authority over
+the Calcutta Great Council, whose membership it appointed and removed at
+pleasure, whose policies it dictated, and to whom it conveyed its will
+in the form of sovereign commands; but whenever it suited Hastings,
+he ignored even that august body's authority and conducted the mighty
+affairs of the British Empire in India to suit his own notions.
+
+At his mercy was the daily bread of every official, every trader, every
+clerk, every civil servant, big and little, in the whole huge India
+Company's machine, and the man who hazarded his bread by any failure of
+subserviency to the boss lost it.
+
+Now then, let the supreme masters of British India, the giant
+corporation of the India Company of London, stand for the voters of the
+city of New York; let the Great Council of Calcutta stand for Tammany;
+let the corrupt and money-grubbing great hive of serfs which served
+under the Indian Tammany's rod stand for New York Tammany's serfs; let
+Warren Hastings stand for Richard Croker, and it seems to me that the
+parallel is exact and complete. And so let us be properly grateful and
+thank God and our good luck that we didn't invent Tammany.
+
+Edmund Burke, regarded by many as the greatest orator of all times,
+conducted the case against Warren Hastings in that renowned trial which
+lasted years, and which promises to keep its renown for centuries to
+come. I wish to quote some of the things he said. I wish to imagine him
+arraigning Mr. Croker and Tammany before the voters of New York City and
+pleading with them for the overthrow of that combined iniquity of
+the 5th of November, and will substitute for “My Lords,” read
+“Fellow-Citizens”; for “Kingdom,” read “City”; for “Parliamentary
+Process,” read “Political Campaign”; for “Two Houses,” read “Two
+Parties,” and so it reads:
+
+“Fellow—citizens, I must look upon it as an auspicious circumstance to
+this cause, in which the honor of the city is involved, that from the
+first commencement of our political campaign to this the hour of solemn
+trial not the smallest difference of opinion has arisen, between the two
+parties.
+
+“You will see, in the progress of this cause, that there is not only
+a long, connected, systematic series of misdemeanors, but an equally
+connected system of maxims and principles invented to justify them. Upon
+both of these you must judge.
+
+“It is not only the interest of the city of New York, now the most
+considerable part of the city of the Americans, which is concerned,
+but the credit and honor of the nation itself will be decided by this
+decision.”
+
+
+
+          At a later meeting of the Acorn Club, Mr. Clemens said:
+
+Tammany is dead, and there's no use in blackguarding a corpse.
+
+The election makes me think of a story of a man who was dying. He had
+only two minutes to live, so he sent for a clergyman and asked him,
+“Where is the best place to go to?” He was undecided about it. So the
+minister told him that each place had its advantages—heaven for climate,
+and hell for society.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MUNICIPAL CORRUPTION
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE CITY CLUB DINNER, JANUARY 4,1901
+
+          Bishop Potter told how an alleged representative of Tammany
+          Hall asked him in effect if he would cease his warfare upon the
+          Police Department if a certain captain and inspector were
+          dismissed.  He replied that he would never be satisfied until
+          the “man at the top” and the “system” which permitted evils in
+          the Police Department were crushed.
+
+The Bishop has just spoken of a condition of things which none of us
+can deny, and which ought not to exist; that is, the lust of gain—a lust
+which does not stop short of the penitentiary or the jail to accomplish
+its ends. But we may be sure of one thing, and that is that this sort of
+thing is not universal. If it were, this country would not be. You may
+put this down as a fact: that out of every fifty men, forty-nine are
+clean. Then why is it, you may ask, that the forty-nine don't have
+things the way they want them? I'll tell you why it is. A good deal
+has been said here to-night about what is to be accomplished by
+organization. That's just the thing. It's because the fiftieth fellow
+and his pals are organized and the other forty-nine are not that the
+dirty one rubs it into the clean fellows every time.
+
+You may say organize, organize, organize; but there may be so much
+organization that it will interfere with the work to be done. The Bishop
+here had an experience of that sort, and told all about it down-town the
+other night. He was painting a barn—it was his own barn—and yet he
+was informed that his work must stop; he was a non-union painter, and
+couldn't continue at that sort of job.
+
+Now, all these conditions of which you complain should be remedied, and
+I am here to tell you just how to do it. I've been a statesman without
+salary for many years, and I have accomplished great and widespread
+good. I don't know that it has benefited anybody very much, even if
+it was good; but I do know that it hasn't harmed me very much, and is
+hasn't made me any richer.
+
+We hold the balance of power. Put up your best men for office, and we
+shall support the better one. With the election of the best man for
+Mayor would follow the selection of the best man for Police Commissioner
+and Chief of Police.
+
+My first lesson in the craft of statesmanship was taken at an early age.
+Fifty-one years ago I was fourteen years old, and we had a society in
+the town I lived in, patterned after the Freemasons, or the Ancient
+Order of United Farmers, or some such thing—just what it was patterned
+after doesn't matter. It had an inside guard and an outside guard, and
+a past-grand warden, and a lot of such things, so as to give dignity to
+the organization and offices to the members.
+
+Generally speaking it was a pretty good sort of organization, and
+some of the very best boys in the village, including—but I mustn't get
+personal on an occasion like this—and the society would have got along
+pretty well had it not been for the fact that there were a certain
+number of the members who could be bought. They got to be an infernal
+nuisance. Every time we had an election the candidates had to go
+around and see the purchasable members. The price per vote was paid in
+doughnuts, and it depended somewhat on the appetites of the individuals
+as to the price of the votes.
+
+This thing ran along until some of us, the really very best boys in the
+organization, decided that these corrupt practices must stop, and for
+the purpose of stopping them we organized a third party. We had a name,
+but we were never known by that name. Those who didn't like us called us
+the Anti-Doughnut party, but we didn't mind that.
+
+We said: “Call us what you please; the name doesn't matter. We are
+organized for a principle.” By-and-by the election came around, and
+we made a big mistake. We were triumphantly beaten. That taught us a
+lesson. Then and there we decided never again to nominate anybody
+for anything. We decided simply to force the other two parties in the
+society to nominate their very best men. Although we were organized for
+a principle, we didn't care much about that. Principles aren't of much
+account anyway, except at election-time. After that you hang them up to
+let them season.
+
+The next time we had an election we told both the other parties that
+we'd beat any candidates put up by any one of them of whom we didn't
+approve. In that election we did business. We got the man we wanted. I
+suppose they called us the Anti-Doughnut party because they couldn't buy
+us with their doughnuts. They didn't have enough of them. Most reformers
+arrive at their price sooner or later, and I suppose we would have had
+our price; but our opponents weren't offering anything but doughnuts,
+and those we spurned.
+
+Now it seems to me that an Anti-Doughnut party is just what is wanted
+in the present emergency. I would have the Anti-Doughnuts felt in every
+city and hamlet and school district in this State and in the United
+States. I was an Anti-Doughnut in my boyhood, and I'm an Anti-Doughnut
+still. The modern designation is Mugwump. There used to be quite a
+number of us Mugwumps, but I think I'm the only one left. I had a vote
+this fall, and I began to make some inquiries as to what I had better do
+with it.
+
+I don't know anything about finance, and I never did, but I know some
+pretty shrewd financiers, and they told me that Mr. Bryan wasn't safe on
+any financial question. I said to myself, then, that it wouldn't do
+for me to vote for Bryan, and I rather thought—I know now—that McKinley
+wasn't just right on this Philippine question, and so I just didn't vote
+for anybody. I've got that vote yet, and I've kept it clean, ready to
+deposit at some other election. It wasn't cast for any wildcat financial
+theories, and it wasn't cast to support the man who sends our boys as
+volunteers out into the Philippines to get shot down under a polluted
+flag.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT
+
+ADDRESS AT THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE ST. NICHOLAS SOCIETY, NEW YORK,
+DECEMBER 6, 1900.
+
+
+
+          Doctor Mackay, in his response to the toast “St. Nicholas,”
+           referred to Mr. Clemens, saying:--“Mark Twain is as true a
+          preacher of true righteousness as any bishop, priest, or
+          minister of any church to-day, because he moves men to forget
+          their faults by cheerful well-doing instead of making them sour
+          and morbid by everlastingly bending their attention to the
+          seamy and sober side of life.”
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE ST. NICHOLAS SOCIETY,—These are,
+indeed, prosperous days for me. Night before last, in a speech, the
+Bishop of the Diocese of New York complimented me for my contribution to
+theology, and to-night the Reverend Doctor Mackay has elected me to the
+ministry. I thanked Bishop Potter then for his compliment, and I thank
+Doctor Mackay now for that promotion. I think that both have discerned
+in me what I long ago discerned, but what I was afraid the world would
+never learn to recognize.
+
+In this absence of nine years I find a great improvement in the city of
+New York. I am glad to speak on that as a toast—“The City of New York.”
+ Some say it has improved because I have been away. Others, and I agree
+with them, say it has improved because I have come back. We must judge
+of a city, as of a man, by its external appearances and by its inward
+character. In externals the foreigner coming to these shores is more
+impressed at first by our sky-scrapers. They are new to him. He has
+not done anything of the sort since he built the tower of Babel. The
+foreigner is shocked by them.
+
+In the daylight they are ugly. They are—well, too chimneyfied and too
+snaggy—like a mouth that needs attention from a dentist; like a cemetery
+that is all monuments and no gravestones. But at night, seen from the
+river where they are columns towering against the sky, all sparkling
+with light, they are fairylike; they are beauty more satisfactory to the
+soul and more enchanting than anything that man has dreamed of since the
+Arabian nights. We can't always have the beautiful aspect of things. Let
+us make the most of our sights that are beautiful and let the others go.
+When your foreigner makes disagreeable comments on New York by daylight,
+float him down the river at night.
+
+What has made these sky-scrapers possible is the elevator. The cigar-box
+which the European calls a “lift” needs but to be compared with our
+elevators to be appreciated. The lift stops to reflect between floors.
+That is all right in a hearse, but not in elevators. The American
+elevator acts like the man's patent purge—it worked. As the inventor
+said, “This purge doesn't waste any time fooling around; it attends
+strictly to business.”
+
+That New-Yorkers have the cleanest, quickest, and most admirable system
+of street railways in the world has been forced upon you by the abnormal
+appreciation you have of your hackman. We ought always to be grateful to
+him for that service. Nobody else would have brought such a system into
+existence for us. We ought to build him a monument. We owe him one as
+much as we owe one to anybody. Let it be a tall one. Nothing permanent,
+of course; build it of plaster, say. Then gaze at it and realize how
+grateful we are—for the time being—and then pull it down and throw it on
+the ash-heap. That's the way to honor your public heroes.
+
+As to our streets, I find them cleaner than they used to be. I miss
+those dear old landmarks, the symmetrical mountain ranges of dust and
+dirt that used to be piled up along the streets for the wind and rain
+to tear down at their pleasure. Yes, New York is cleaner than Bombay. I
+realize that I have been in Bombay, that I now am in New York; that it
+is not my duty to flatter Bombay, but rather to flatter New York.
+
+Compared with the wretched attempts of London to light that city, New
+York may fairly be said to be a well-lighted city. Why, London's attempt
+at good lighting is almost as bad as London's attempt at rapid transit.
+There is just one good system of rapid transit in London—the “Tube,” and
+that, of course, had been put in by Americans. Perhaps, after a while,
+those Americans will come back and give New York also a good underground
+system. Perhaps they have already begun. I have been so busy since I
+came back that I haven't had time as yet to go down cellar.
+
+But it is by the laws of the city, it is by the manners of the city, it
+is by the ideals of the city, it is by the customs of the city and by
+the municipal government which all these elements correct, support, and
+foster, by which the foreigner judges the city. It is by these that he
+realizes that New York may, indeed, hold her head high among the cities
+of the world. It is by these standards that he knows whether to class
+the city higher or lower than the other municipalities of the world.
+
+Gentlemen, you have the best municipal government in the world—the
+purest and the most fragrant. The very angels envy you, and wish they
+could establish a government like it in heaven. You got it by a noble
+fidelity to civic duty. You got it by stern and ever-watchful exertion
+of the great powers with which you are charged by the rights which were
+handed down to you by your forefathers, by your manly refusal to let
+base men invade the high places of your government, and by instant
+retaliation when any public officer has insulted you in the city's name
+by swerving in the slightest from the upright and full performance of
+his duty. It is you who have made this city the envy of the cities of
+the world. God will bless you for it—God will bless you for it. Why,
+when you approach the final resting-place the angels of heaven will
+gather at the gates and cry out:
+
+“Here they come! Show them to the archangel's box, and turn the
+lime-light on them!”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHINA AND THE PHILIPPINES
+
+
+
+          AT A DINNER GIVEN IN THE WALDORF-ASTORIA HOTEL, DECEMBER, 1900
+
+          Winston Spencer Churchill was introduced by Mr. Clemens.
+
+For years I've been a self-appointed missionary to bring about the union
+of America and the motherland. They ought to be united. Behold America,
+the refuge of the oppressed from everywhere (who can pay fifty dollars'
+admission)—any one except a Chinaman—standing up for human rights
+everywhere, even helping China let people in free when she wants to
+collect fifty dollars upon them. And how unselfishly England has wrought
+for the open door for all! And how piously America has wrought for that
+open door in all cases where it was not her own!
+
+Yes, as a missionary I've sung my songs of praise. And yet I think that
+England sinned when she got herself into a war in South Africa which she
+could have avoided, just as we sinned in getting into a similar war in
+the Philippines. Mr. Churchill, by his father, is an Englishman; by his
+mother he is an American—no doubt a blend that makes the perfect man.
+England and America; yes, we are kin. And now that we are also kin in
+sin, there is nothing more to be desired. The harmony is complete, the
+blend is perfect.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THEORETICAL MORALS
+
+
+
+          The New Vagabonds Club of London, made up of the leading
+          younger literary men of the day, gave a dinner in honor of Mr.
+          and Mrs. Clemens, July 8, 1899.
+
+It has always been difficult—leave that word difficult—not exceedingly
+difficult, but just difficult, nothing more than that, not the slightest
+shade to add to that—just difficult—to respond properly, in the right
+phraseology, when compliments are paid to me; but it is more than
+difficult when the compliments are paid to a better than I—my wife.
+
+And while I am not here to testify against myself—I can't be expected
+to do so, a prisoner in your own country is not admitted to do so—as to
+which member of the family wrote my books, I could say in general that
+really I wrote the books myself. My wife puts the facts in, and they
+make it respectable. My modesty won't suffer while compliments are being
+paid to literature, and through literature to my family. I can't get
+enough of them.
+
+I am curiously situated to-night. It so rarely happens that I am
+introduced by a humorist; I am generally introduced by a person of
+grave walk and carriage. That makes the proper background of gravity
+for brightness. I am going to alter to suit, and haply I may say some
+humorous things.
+
+When you start with a blaze of sunshine and upburst of humor, when you
+begin with that, the proper office of humor is to reflect, to put you
+into that pensive mood of deep thought, to make you think of your sins,
+if you wish half an hour to fly. Humor makes me reflect now to-night, it
+sets the thinking machinery in motion. Always, when I am thinking, there
+come suggestions of what I am, and what we all are, and what we are
+coming to. A sermon comes from my lips always when I listen to a
+humorous speech.
+
+I seize the opportunity to throw away frivolities, to say something to
+plant the seed, and make all better than when I came. In Mr. Grossmith's
+remarks there was a subtle something suggesting my favorite theory of
+the difference between theoretical morals and practical morals. I try to
+instil practical morals in the place of theatrical—I mean theoretical;
+but as an addendum—an annex—something added to theoretical morals.
+
+When your chairman said it was the first time he had ever taken the
+chair, he did not mean that he had not taken lots of other things;
+he attended my first lecture and took notes. This indicated the man's
+disposition. There was nothing else flying round, so he took notes; he
+would have taken anything he could get.
+
+I can bring a moral to bear here which shows the difference between
+theoretical morals and practical morals. Theoretical morals are the sort
+you get on your mother's knee, in good books, and from the pulpit. You
+gather them in your head, and not in your heart; they are theory without
+practice. Without the assistance of practice to perfect them, it is
+difficult to teach a child to “be honest, don't steal.”
+
+I will teach you how it should be done, lead you into temptation, teach
+you how to steal, so that you may recognize when you have stolen and
+feel the proper pangs. It is no good going round and bragging you have
+never taken the chair.
+
+As by the fires of experience, so by commission of crime, you learn real
+morals. Commit all the crimes, familiarize yourself with all sins, take
+them in rotation (there are only two or three thousand of them), stick
+to it, commit two or three every day, and by-and-by you will be proof
+against them. When you are through you will be proof against all sins
+and morally perfect. You will be vaccinated against every possible
+commission of them. This is the only way.
+
+I will read you a written statement upon the subject that I wrote three
+years ago to read to the Sabbath-schools. [Here the lecturer turned his
+pockets out, but without success.] No! I have left it at home. Still, it
+was a mere statement of fact, illustrating the value of practical morals
+produced by the commission of crime.
+
+It was in my boyhood just a statement of fact, reading is only more
+formal, merely facts, merely pathetic facts, which I can state so as to
+be understood. It relates to the first time I ever stole a watermelon;
+that is, I think it was the first time; anyway, it was right along there
+somewhere.
+
+I stole it out of a farmer's wagon while he was waiting on another
+customer. “Stole” is a harsh term. I withdrew—I retired that watermelon.
+I carried it to a secluded corner of a lumber-yard. I broke it open. It
+was green—the greenest watermelon raised in the valley that year.
+
+The minute I saw it was green I was sorry, and began to
+reflect—reflection is the beginning of reform. If you don't reflect when
+you commit a crime then that crime is of no use; it might just as well
+have been committed by some one else: You must reflect or the value is
+lost; you are not vaccinated against committing it again.
+
+I began to reflect. I said to myself: “What ought a boy to do who has
+stolen a green watermelon? What would George Washington do, the father
+of his country, the only American who could not tell a lie? What would
+he do? There is only one right, high, noble thing for any boy to do who
+has stolen a watermelon of that class: he must make restitution; he must
+restore that stolen property to its rightful owner.” I said I would do
+it when I made that good resolution. I felt it to be a noble, uplifting
+obligation. I rose up spiritually stronger and refreshed. I carried that
+watermelon back—what was left of it—and restored it to the farmer, and
+made him give me a ripe one in its place.
+
+Now you see that this constant impact of crime upon crime protects
+you against further commission of crime. It builds you up. A man can't
+become morally perfect by stealing one or a thousand green watermelons,
+but every little helps.
+
+I was at a great school yesterday (St. Paul's), where for four hundred
+years they have been busy with brains, and building up England by
+producing Pepys, Miltons, and Marlboroughs. Six hundred boys left to
+nothing in the world but theoretical morality. I wanted to become the
+professor of practical morality, but the high master was away, so I
+suppose I shall have to go on making my living the same old way—by
+adding practical to theoretical morality.
+
+What are the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome, compared
+to the glory and grandeur and majesty of a perfected morality such as
+you see before you?
+
+The New Vagabonds are old vagabonds (undergoing the old sort of reform).
+You drank my health; I hope I have not been unuseful. Take this system
+of morality to your hearts. Take it home to your neighbors and your
+graves, and I hope that it will be a long time before you arrive there.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LAYMAN'S SERMON
+
+
+
+          The Young Men's Christian Association asked Mr. Clemens to
+          deliver a lay sermon at the Majestic Theatre, New York, March
+          4, 1906.  More than five thousand young men tried to get into
+          the theatre, and in a short time traffic was practically
+          stopped in the adjacent streets.  The police reserves had to be
+          called out to thin the crowd.  Doctor Fagnani had said
+          something before about the police episode, and Mr. Clemens took
+          it up.
+
+I have been listening to what was said here, and there is in it a lesson
+of citizenship. You created the police, and you are responsible for
+them. One must pause, therefore, before criticising them too harshly.
+They are citizens, just as we are. A little of citizenship ought to
+be taught at the mother's knee and in the nursery. Citizenship is what
+makes a republic; monarchies can get along without it. What keeps a
+republic on its legs is good citizenship.
+
+Organization is necessary in all things. It is even necessary in reform.
+I was an organization myself once—for twelve hours. I was in Chicago
+a few years ago about to depart for New York. There were with me Mr.
+Osgood, a publisher, and a stenographer. I picked out a state-room on
+a train, the principal feature of which was that it contained the
+privilege of smoking. The train had started but a short time when the
+conductor came in and said that there had been a mistake made, and asked
+that we vacate the apartment. I refused, but when I went out on the
+platform Osgood and the stenographer agreed to accept a section. They
+were too modest.
+
+Now, I am not modest. I was born modest, but it didn't last. I asserted
+myself; insisted upon my rights, and finally the Pullman Conductor and
+the train conductor capitulated, and I was left in possession.
+
+I went into the dining-car the next morning for breakfast. Ordinarily I
+only care for coffee and rolls, but this particular morning I espied
+an important-looking man on the other side of the car eating broiled
+chicken. I asked for broiled chicken, and I was told by the waiter and
+later by the dining-car conductor that there was no broiled chicken.
+There must have been an argument, for the Pullman conductor came in and
+remarked: “If he wants broiled chicken, give it to him. If you
+haven't got it on the train, stop somewhere. It will be better for all
+concerned!” I got the chicken.
+
+It is from experiences such as these that you get your education of
+life, and you string them into jewels or into tinware, as you may
+choose. I have received recently several letters asking my counsel
+or advice. The principal request is for some incident that may prove
+helpful to the young. There were a lot of incidents in my career to help
+me along—sometimes they helped me along faster than I wanted to go.
+
+Here is such a request. It is a telegram from Joplin, Missouri, and
+it reads: “In what one of your works can we find the definition of a
+gentleman?”
+
+I have not answered that telegram, either; I couldn't. It seems to me
+that if any man has just merciful and kindly instincts he would be a
+gentleman, for he would need nothing else in the world.
+
+I received the other day a letter from my old friend, William Dean
+Howells—Howells, the head of American literature. No one is able to
+stand with him. He is an old, old friend of mine, and he writes me,
+“To-morrow I shall be sixty-nine years old.” Why, I am surprised at
+Howells writing that! I have known him longer than that. I'm sorry to
+see a man trying to appear so young. Let's see. Howells says now, “I see
+you have been burying Patrick. I suppose he was old, too.”
+
+No, he was never old—Patrick. He came to us thirty-six years ago. He was
+my coachman on the morning that I drove my young bride to our new home.
+He was a young Irishman, slender, tall, lithe, honest, truthful, and
+he never changed in all his life. He really was with us but twenty-five
+years, for he did not go with us to Europe, but he never regarded that
+as separation. As the children grew up he was their guide. He was all
+honor, honesty, and affection. He was with us in New Hampshire, with us
+last summer, and his hair was just as black, his eyes were just as blue,
+his form just as straight, and his heart just as good as on the day we
+first met. In all the long years Patrick never made a mistake. He never
+needed an order, he never received a command. He knew. I have been asked
+for my idea of an ideal gentleman, and I give it to you Patrick McAleer.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENT SOCIETY
+
+
+
+          After the serious addresses were made, Seth Low introduced Mr.
+          Clemens at the Settlement House, February 2, 1901.
+
+The older we grow the greater becomes our wonder at how much ignorance
+one can contain without bursting one's clothes. Ten days ago I did not
+know anything about the University Settlement except what I'd read in
+the pamphlets sent me. Now, after being here and hearing Mrs. Hewitt
+and Mrs. Thomas, it seems to me I know of nothing like it at all. It's a
+charity that carries no humiliation with it. Marvellous it is, to think
+of schools where you don't have to drive the children in but drive them
+out. It was not so in my day.
+
+Down-stairs just now I saw a dancing lesson going on. You must pay a
+cent for a lesson. You can't get it for nothing. That's the reason I
+never learned to dance.
+
+But it was the pawnbroker's shop you have here that interested me
+mightily. I've known something about pawnbrokers' shops in my time,
+but here you have a wonderful plan. The ordinary pawnbroker charges
+thirty-six per cent. a year for a loan, and I've paid more myself, but
+here a man or woman in distress can obtain a loan for one per cent. a
+month! It's wonderful!
+
+I've been interested in all I've heard to-day, especially in the
+romances recounted by Mrs. Thomas, which reminds me that I have a
+romance of my own in my autobiography, which I am building for the
+instruction of the world.
+
+In San Francisco, many years ago, when I was a newspaper reporter
+(perhaps I should say I had been and was willing to be), a pawnbroker
+was taking care of what property I had. There was a friend of mine, a
+poet, out of a job, and he was having a hard time of it, too. There was
+passage in it, but I guess I've got to keep that for the autobiography.
+
+Well, my friend the poet thought his life was a failure, and I told
+him I thought it was, and then he said he thought he ought to commit
+suicide, and I said “all right,” which was disinterested advice to a
+friend in trouble; but, like all such advice, there was just a little
+bit of self-interest back of it, for if I could get a “scoop” on the
+other newspapers I could get a job.
+
+The poet could be spared, and so, largely for his own good and partly
+for mine, I kept the thing in his mind, which was necessary, as would-be
+suicides are very changeable and hard to hold to their purpose. He had a
+preference for a pistol, which was an extravagance, for we hadn't enough
+between us to hire a pistol. A fork would have been easier.
+
+And so he concluded to drown himself, and I said it was an excellent
+idea—the only trouble being that he was so good a swimmer. So we went
+down to the beach. I went along to see that the thing was done right.
+Then something most romantic happened. There came in on the sea
+something that had been on its way for three years. It rolled in across
+the broad Pacific with a message that was full of meaning to that poor
+poet and cast itself at his feet. It was a life-preserver! This was a
+complication. And then I had an idea—he never had any, especially
+when he was going to write poetry; I suggested that we pawn the
+life-preserver and get a revolver.
+
+The pawnbroker gave us an old derringer with a bullet as big as a
+hickory nut. When he heard that it was only a poet that was going to
+kill himself he did not quibble. Well, we succeeded in sending a bullet
+right through his head. It was a terrible moment when he placed that
+pistol against his forehead and stood for an instant. I said, “Oh, pull
+the trigger!” and he did, and cleaned out all the gray matter in his
+brains. It carried the poetic faculty away, and now he's a useful member
+of society.
+
+Now, therefore, I realize that there's no more beneficent institution
+than this penny fund of yours, and I want all the poets to know this. I
+did think about writing you a check, but now I think I'll send you a few
+copies of what one of your little members called 'Strawberry Finn'.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PUBLIC EDUCATION ASSOCIATION
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A MEETING OF THE BERKELEY LYCEUM, NEW YORK,
+          NOVEMBER 23, 1900
+
+I don't suppose that I am called here as an expert on education, for
+that would show a lack of foresight on your part and a deliberate
+intention to remind me of my shortcomings.
+
+As I sat here looking around for an idea it struck me that I was called
+for two reasons. One was to do good to me, a poor unfortunate traveller
+on the world's wide ocean, by giving me a knowledge of the nature and
+scope of your society and letting me know that others beside myself have
+been of some use in the world. The other reason that I can see is
+that you have called me to show by way of contrast what education can
+accomplish if administered in the right sort of doses.
+
+Your worthy president said that the school pictures, which have received
+the admiration of the world at the Paris Exposition, have been sent to
+Russia, and this was a compliment from that Government—which is very
+surprising to me. Why, it is only an hour since I read a cablegram
+in the newspapers beginning “Russia Proposes to Retrench.” I was not
+expecting such a thunderbolt, and I thought what a happy thing it
+will be for Russians when the retrenchment will bring home the thirty
+thousand Russian troops now in Manchuria, to live in peaceful pursuits.
+I thought this was what Germany should do also without delay, and that
+France and all the other nations in China should follow suit.
+
+Why should not China be free from the foreigners, who are only making
+trouble on her soil? If they would only all go home, what a pleasant
+place China would be for the Chinese! We do not allow Chinamen to come
+here, and I say in all seriousness that it would be a graceful thing to
+let China decide who shall go there.
+
+China never wanted foreigners any more than foreigners wanted Chinamen,
+and on this question I am with the Boxers every time. The Boxer is a
+patriot. He loves his country better than he does the countries of other
+people. I wish him success. The Boxer believes in driving us out of
+his country. I am a Boxer too, for I believe in driving him out of our
+country.
+
+When I read the Russian despatch further my dream of world peace
+vanished. It said that the vast expense of maintaining the army had
+made it necessary to retrench, and so the Government had decided that
+to support the army it would be necessary to withdraw the appropriation
+from the public schools. This is a monstrous idea to us.
+
+We believe that out of the public school grows the greatness of a
+nation.
+
+It is curious to reflect how history repeats itself the world over. Why,
+I remember the same thing was done when I was a boy on the Mississippi
+River. There was a proposition in a township there to discontinue public
+schools because they were too expensive. An old farmer spoke up and said
+if they stopped the schools they would not save anything, because every
+time a school was closed a jail had to be built.
+
+It's like feeding a dog on his own tail. He'll never get fat. I believe
+it is better to support schools than jails.
+
+The work of your association is better and shows more wisdom than the
+Czar of Russia and all his people. This is not much of a compliment, but
+it's the best I've got in stock.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EDUCATION AND CITIZENSHIP
+
+
+
+          On the evening of May 14, 1908, the alumni of the College of
+          the City of New York celebrated the opening of the new college
+          buildings at a banquet in the Waldorf Astoria.  Mr. Clemens
+          followed Mayor McClellan.
+
+I agreed when the Mayor said that there was not a man within hearing who
+did not agree that citizenship should be placed above everything else,
+even learning.
+
+Have you ever thought about this? Is there a college in the whole
+country where there is a chair of good citizenship? There is a kind
+of bad citizenship which is taught in the schools, but no real good
+citizenship taught. There are some which teach insane citizenship,
+bastard citizenship, but that is all. Patriotism! Yes; but patriotism
+is usually the refuge of the scoundrel. He is the man who talks the
+loudest.
+
+You can begin that chair of citizenship in the College of the City of
+New York. You can place it above mathematics and literature, and that is
+where it belongs.
+
+We used to trust in God. I think it was in 1863 that some genius
+suggested that it be put upon the gold and silver coins which circulated
+among the rich. They didn't put it on the nickels and coppers because
+they didn't think the poor folks had any trust in God.
+
+Good citizenship would teach accuracy of thinking and accuracy of
+statement. Now, that motto on the coin is an overstatement. Those
+Congressmen had no right to commit this whole country to a theological
+doctrine. But since they did, Congress ought to state what our creed
+should be.
+
+There was never a nation in the world that put its whole trust in
+God. It is a statement made on insufficient evidence. Leaving out the
+gamblers, the burglars, and the plumbers, perhaps we do put our trust in
+God after a fashion. But, after all, it is an overstatement.
+
+If the cholera or black plague should come to these shores, perhaps
+the bulk of the nation would pray to be delivered from it, but the rest
+would put their trust in the Health Board of the City of New York.
+
+I read in the papers within the last day or two of a poor young girl who
+they said was a leper. Did the people in that populous section of the
+country where she was—did they put their trust in God? The girl was
+afflicted with the leprosy, a disease which cannot be communicated from
+one person to another.
+
+Yet, instead of putting their trust in God, they harried that poor
+creature, shelterless and friendless, from place to place, exactly as
+they did in the Middle Ages, when they made lepers wear bells, so that
+people could be warned of their approach and avoid them. Perhaps those
+people in the Middle Ages thought they were putting their trust in God.
+
+The President ordered the removal of that motto from the coin, and I
+thought that it was well. I thought that overstatement should not stay
+there. But I think it would better read, “Within certain judicious
+limitations we trust in God,” and if there isn't enough room on the coin
+for this, why, enlarge the coin.
+
+Now I want to tell a story about jumping at conclusions. It was told
+to me by Bram Stoker, and it concerns a christening. There was a little
+clergyman who was prone to jump at conclusions sometimes. One day he
+was invited to officiate at a christening. He went. There sat
+the relatives—intelligent-looking relatives they were. The little
+clergyman's instinct came to him to make a great speech. He was given to
+flights of oratory that way—a very dangerous thing, for often the wings
+which take one into clouds of oratorical enthusiasm are wax and melt up
+there, and down you come.
+
+But the little clergyman couldn't resist. He took the child in his arms,
+and, holding it, looked at it a moment. It wasn't much of a child.
+It was little, like a sweet-potato. Then the little clergyman waited
+impressively, and then: “I see in your countenances,” he said,
+“disappointment of him. I see you are disappointed with this baby. Why?
+Because he is so little. My friends, if you had but the power of looking
+into the future you might see that great things may come of little
+things. There is the great ocean, holding the navies of the world, which
+comes from little drops of water no larger than a woman's tears. There
+are the great constellations in the sky, made up of little bits of
+stars. Oh, if you could consider his future you might see that he might
+become the greatest poet of the universe, the greatest warrior the world
+has ever known, greater than Caesar, than Hannibal, than—er—er” (turning
+to the father)—“what's his name?”
+
+The father hesitated, then whispered back: “His name? Well, his name is
+Mary Ann.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+COURAGE
+
+
+
+          At a beefsteak dinner, given by artists, caricaturists, and
+          humorists of New York City, April 18, 1908, Mr. Clemens, Mr. H.
+          H. Rogers, and Mr. Patrick McCarren were the guests of honor.
+          Each wore a white apron, and each made a short speech.
+
+In the matter of courage we all have our limits.
+
+There never was a hero who did not have his bounds. I suppose it may be
+said of Nelson and all the others whose courage has been advertised that
+there came times in their lives when their bravery knew it had come to
+its limit.
+
+I have found mine a good many times. Sometimes this was expected—often
+it was unexpected. I know a man who is not afraid to sleep with a
+rattlesnake, but you could not get him to sleep with a safety-razor.
+
+I never had the courage to talk across a long, narrow room. I should
+be at the end of the room facing all the audience. If I attempt to
+talk across a room I find myself turning this way and that, and thus at
+alternate periods I have part of the audience behind me. You ought never
+to have any part of the audience behind you; you never can tell what
+they are going to do.
+
+I'll sit down.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DINNER TO MR. CHOATE
+
+
+
+          AT A DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF AMBASSADOR JOSEPH H. CHOATE AT
+          THE LOTOS CLUB, NOVEMBER 24, 1902
+
+          The speakers, among others, were: Senator Depew, William Henry
+          White, Speaker Thomas Reed, and Mr. Choate.  Mr. Clemens spoke,
+          in part, as follows:
+
+The greatness of this country rests on two anecdotes. The first one is
+that of Washington and his hatchet, representing the foundation of true
+speaking, which is the characteristic of our people. The second one is
+an old one, and I've been waiting to hear it to-night; but as nobody has
+told it yet, I will tell it.
+
+You've heard it before, and you'll hear it many, many times more. It is
+an anecdote of our guest, of the time when he was engaged as a young man
+with a gentle Hebrew, in the process of skinning the client. The main
+part in that business is the collection of the bill for services in
+skinning the man. “Services” is the term used in that craft for the
+operation of that kind-diplomatic in its nature.
+
+Choate's—co-respondent—made out a bill for $500 for his services, so
+called. But Choate told him he had better leave the matter to him,
+and the next day he collected the bill for the services and handed the
+Hebrew $5000, saying, “That's your half of the loot,” and inducing that
+memorable response: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.”
+
+The deep-thinkers didn't merely laugh when that happened. They stopped
+to think, and said “There's a rising man. He must be rescued from the
+law and consecrated to diplomacy. The commercial advantages of a great
+nation lie there in that man's keeping. We no longer require a man to
+take care of our moral character before the world. Washington and his
+anecdote have done that. We require a man to take care of our commercial
+prosperity.”
+
+Mr. Choate has carried that trait with him, and, as Mr. Carnegie has
+said, he has worked like a mole underground.
+
+We see the result when American railroad iron is sold so cheap in
+England that the poorest family can have it. He has so beguiled that
+Cabinet of England.
+
+He has been spreading the commerce of this nation, and has depressed
+English commerce in the same ratio. This was the principle underlying
+that anecdote, and the wise men saw it; the principle of give and
+take—give one and take ten—the principle of diplomacy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ON STANLEY AND LIVINGSTONE
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens was entertained at dinner by the Whitefriars' Club,
+          London, at the Mitre Tavern, on the evening of August 6, 1872.
+          In reply to the toast in his honor he said:
+
+GENTLEMEN,—I thank you very heartily indeed for this expression of
+kindness toward me. What I have done for England and civilization in the
+arduous affairs which I have engaged in (that is good: that is so smooth
+that I will say it again and again)—what I have done for England and
+civilization in the arduous part I have performed I have done with a
+single-hearted devotion and with no hope of reward. I am proud, I am
+very proud, that it was reserved for me to find Doctor Livingstone and
+for Mr. Stanley to get all the credit. I hunted for that man in Africa
+all over seventy-five or one hundred parishes, thousands and thousands
+of miles in the wilds and deserts all over the place, sometimes riding
+negroes and sometimes travelling by rail. I didn't mind the rail or
+anything else, so that I didn't come in for the tar and feathers. I
+found that man at Ujiji—a place you may remember if you have ever been
+there—and it was a very great satisfaction that I found him just in the
+nick of time. I found that poor old man deserted by his niggers and
+by his geographers, deserted by all of his kind except the
+gorillas—dejected, miserable, famishing, absolutely famishing—but he
+was eloquent. Just as I found him he had eaten his last elephant, and
+he said to me: “God knows where I shall get another.” He had nothing to
+wear except his venerable and honorable naval suit, and nothing to eat
+but his diary.
+
+But I said to him: “It is all right; I have discovered you, and Stanley
+will be here by the four-o'clock train and will discover you officially,
+and then we will turn to and have a reg'lar good time.” I said: “Cheer
+up, for Stanley has got corn, ammunition, glass beads, hymn-books,
+whiskey, and everything which the human heart can desire; he has got all
+kinds of valuables, including telegraph-poles and a few cart-loads of
+money. By this time communication has been made with the land of Bibles
+and civilization, and property will advance.” And then we surveyed
+all that country, from Ujiji, through Unanogo and other places, to
+Unyanyembe. I mention these names simply for your edification, nothing
+more—do not expect it—particularly as intelligence to the Royal
+Geographical Society. And then, having filled up the old man, we were
+all too full for utterance and departed. We have since then feasted on
+honors.
+
+Stanley has received a snuff-box and I have received considerable snuff;
+he has got to write a book and gather in the rest of the credit, and
+I am going to levy on the copyright and to collect the money. Nothing
+comes amiss to me—cash or credit; but, seriously, I do feel that Stanley
+is the chief man and an illustrious one, and I do applaud him with all
+my heart. Whether he is an American or a Welshman by birth, or one,
+or both, matters not to me. So far as I am personally concerned, I am
+simply here to stay a few months, and to see English people and to learn
+English manners and customs, and to enjoy myself; so the simplest thing
+I can do is to thank you for the toast you have honored me with and
+for the remarks you have made, and to wish health and prosperity to the
+Whitefriars' Club, and to sink down to my accustomed level.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HENRY M. STANLEY
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS DELIVERED IN BOSTON, NOVEMBER, 1886
+
+          Mr. Clemens introduced Mr. Stanley.
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, if any should ask, Why is it that you are here as
+introducer of the lecturer? I should answer that I happened to be around
+and was asked to perform this function. I was quite willing to do so,
+and, as there was no sort of need of an introduction, anyway, it could
+be necessary only that some person come forward for a moment and do an
+unnecessary thing, and this is quite in my line. Now, to introduce so
+illustrious a name as Henry M. Stanley by any detail of what the man
+has done is clear aside from my purpose; that would be stretching the
+unnecessary to an unconscionable degree. When I contrast what I have
+achieved in my measurably brief life with what he has achieved in his
+possibly briefer one, the effect is to sweep utterly away the ten-story
+edifice of my own self-appreciation and leave nothing behind but the
+cellar. When you compare these achievements of his with the achievements
+of really great men who exist in history, the comparison, I believe, is
+in his favor. I am not here to disparage Columbus.
+
+No, I won't do that; but when you come to regard the achievements
+of these two men, Columbus and Stanley, from the standpoint of the
+difficulties they encountered, the advantage is with Stanley and against
+Columbus. Now, Columbus started out to discover America. Well, he didn't
+need to do anything at all but sit in the cabin of his ship and hold his
+grip and sail straight on, and America would discover itself. Here
+it was, barring his passage the whole length and breadth of the South
+American continent, and he couldn't get by it. He'd got to discover it.
+But Stanley started out to find Doctor Livingstone, who was scattered
+abroad, as you may say, over the length and breadth of a vast slab of
+Africa as big as the United States.
+
+It was a blind kind of search. He was the worst scattered of men. But
+I will throw the weight of this introduction upon one very peculiar
+feature of Mr. Stanley's character, and that is his indestructible
+Americanism—an Americanism which he is proud of. And in this day and
+time, when it is the custom to ape and imitate English methods and
+fashion, it is like a breath of fresh air to stand in the presence of
+this untainted American citizen who has been caressed and complimented
+by half of the crowned heads of Europe who could clothe his body from
+his head to his heels with the orders and decorations lavished upon
+him. And yet, when the untitled myriads of his own country put out their
+hands in welcome to him and greet him, “Well done,” through the Congress
+of the United States, that is the crown that is worth all the rest to
+him. He is a product of institutions which exist in no other country on
+earth-institutions that bring out all that is best and most heroic in a
+man. I introduce Henry M. Stanley.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DINNER TO MR. JEROME
+
+
+
+          A dinner to express their confidence in the integrity and good
+          judgment of District-Attorney Jerome was given at Delmonico's
+          by over three hundred of his admirers on the evening of May 7,
+          1909.
+
+Indeed, that is very sudden. I was not informed that the verdict
+was going to depend upon my judgment, but that makes not the least
+difference in the world when you already know all about it. It is not
+any matter when you are called upon to express it; you can get up and do
+it, and my verdict has already been recorded in my heart and in my head
+as regards Mr. Jerome and his administration of the criminal affairs of
+this county.
+
+I agree with everything Mr. Choate has said in his letter regarding Mr.
+Jerome; I agree with everything Mr. Shepard has said; and I agree with
+everything Mr. Jerome has said in his own commendation. And I thought
+Mr. Jerome was modest in that. If he had been talking about another
+officer of this county, he could have painted the joys and sorrows of
+office and his victories in even stronger language than he did.
+
+I voted for Mr. Jerome in those old days, and I should like to vote for
+him again if he runs for any office. I moved out of New York, and that
+is the reason, I suppose, I cannot vote for him again. There may be some
+way, but I have not found it out. But now I am a farmer—a farmer up in
+Connecticut, and winning laurels. Those people already speak with such
+high favor, admiration, of my farming, and they say that I am the only
+man that has ever come to that region who could make two blades of grass
+grow where only three grew before.
+
+Well, I cannot vote for him. You see that. As it stands now, I cannot.
+I am crippled in that way and to that extent, for I would ever so much
+like to do it. I am not a Congress, and I cannot distribute pensions,
+and I don't know any other legitimate way to buy a vote. But if I should
+think of any legitimate way, I shall make use of it, and then I shall
+vote for Mr. Jerome.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HENRY IRVING
+
+
+
+          The Dramatic and Literary Society of London gave a welcome-home
+          dinner to Sir Henry Irving at the Savoy Hotel, London, June 9,
+          1900.  In proposing the toast of “The Drama” Mr. Clemens said:
+
+I find my task a very easy one. I have been a dramatist for thirty
+years. I have had an ambition in all that time to overdo the work of the
+Spaniard who said he left behind him four hundred dramas when he died. I
+leave behind me four hundred and fifteen, and am not yet dead.
+
+The greatest of all the arts is to write a drama. It is a most difficult
+thing. It requires the highest talent possible and the rarest gifts.
+No, there is another talent that ranks with it—for anybody can write a
+drama—I had four hundred of them—but to get one accepted requires real
+ability. And I have never had that felicity yet.
+
+But human nature is so constructed, we are so persistent, that when we
+know that we are born to a thing we do not care what the world thinks
+about it. We go on exploiting that talent year after year, as I have
+done. I shall go on writing dramas, and some day the impossible may
+happen, but I am not looking for it.
+
+In writing plays the chief thing is novelty. The world grows tired of
+solid forms in all the arts. I struck a new idea myself years ago. I was
+not surprised at it. I was always expecting it would happen. A person
+who has suffered disappointment for many years loses confidence, and I
+thought I had better make inquiries before I exploited my new idea of
+doing a drama in the form of a dream, so I wrote to a great authority on
+knowledge of all kinds, and asked him whether it was new.
+
+I could depend upon him. He lived in my dear home in America—that dear
+home, dearer to me through taxes. He sent me a list of plays in which
+that old device had been used, and he said that there was also a modern
+lot. He travelled back to China and to a play dated two thousand six
+hundred years before the Christian era. He said he would follow it up
+with a list of the previous plays of the kind, and in his innocence
+would have carried them back to the Flood.
+
+That is the most discouraging thing that has ever happened to me in my
+dramatic career. I have done a world of good in a silent and private
+way, and have furnished Sir Henry Irving with plays and plays and plays.
+What has he achieved through that influence? See where he stands now—on
+the summit of his art in two worlds and it was I who put him there—that
+partly put him there.
+
+I need not enlarge upon the influence the drama has exerted upon
+civilization. It has made good morals entertaining. I am to be followed
+by Mr. Pinero. I conceive that we stand at the head of the profession.
+He has not written as many plays as I have, but he has lead that
+God-given talent, which I lack, of working them off on the manager. I
+couple his name with this toast, and add the hope that his influence
+will be supported in exercising his masterly handicraft in that great
+gift, and that he will long live to continue his fine work.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DINNER TO HAMILTON W. MABIE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS DELIVERED APRIL 29, 1901
+
+          In introducing Mr. Clemens, Doctor Van Dyke said:
+
+          “The longer the speaking goes on to-night the more I wonder how
+          I got this job, and the only explanation I can give for it is
+          that it is the same kind of compensation for the number of
+          articles I have sent to The Outlook, to be rejected by Hamilton
+          W. Mabie.  There is one man here to-night that has a job cut
+          out for him that none of you would have had--a man whose humor
+          has put a girdle of light around the globe, and whose sense of
+          humor has been an example for all five continents.  He is going
+          to speak to you.  Gentlemen, you know him best as Mark Twain.”
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN,—This man knows now how it feels to be the
+chief guest, and if he has enjoyed it he is the first man I have ever
+seen in that position that did enjoy it. And I know, by side-remarks
+which he made to me before his ordeal came upon him, that he was feeling
+as some of the rest of us have felt under the same circumstances. He was
+afraid that he would not do himself justice; but he did—to my surprise.
+It is a most serious thing to be a chief guest on an occasion like this,
+and it is admirable, it is fine. It is a great compliment to a man
+that he shall come out of it so gloriously as Mr. Mabie came out of it
+tonight—to my surprise. He did it well.
+
+He appears to be editor of The Outlook, and notwithstanding that, I
+have every admiration, because when everything is said concerning The
+Outlook, after all one must admit that it is frank in its delinquencies,
+that it is outspoken in its departures from fact, that it is vigorous
+in its mistaken criticisms of men like me. I have lived in this world a
+long, long time, and I know you must not judge a man by the editorials
+that he puts in his paper. A man is always better than his printed
+opinions. A man always reserves to himself on the inside a purity and an
+honesty and a justice that are a credit to him, whereas the things that
+he prints are just the reverse.
+
+Oh yes, you must not judge a man by what he writes in his paper. Even in
+an ordinary secular paper a man must observe some care about it; he must
+be better than the principles which he puts in print. And that is
+the case with Mr. Mabie. Why, to see what he writes about me and the
+missionaries you would think he did not have any principles. But that is
+Mr. Mabie in his public capacity. Mr. Mabie in his private capacity is
+just as clean a man as I am.
+
+In this very room, a month or two ago, some people admired that
+portrait; some admired this, but the great majority fastened on that,
+and said, “There is a portrait that is a beautiful piece of art.” When
+that portrait is a hundred years old it will suggest what were the
+manners and customs in our time. Just as they talk about Mr. Mabie
+to-night, in that enthusiastic way, pointing out the various virtues of
+the man and the grace of his spirit, and all that, so was that portrait
+talked about. They were enthusiastic, just as we men have been over the
+character and the work of Mr. Mabie. And when they were through they
+said that portrait, fine as it is, that work, beautiful as it is, that
+piece of humanity on that canvas, gracious and fine as it is, does not
+rise to those perfections that exist in the man himself. Come up, Mr.
+Alexander. [The reference was to James W. Alexander, who happened to be
+sitting—beneath the portrait of himself on the wall.] Now, I should come
+up and show myself. But he cannot do it, he cannot do it. He was born
+that way, he was reared in that way. Let his modesty be an example,
+and I wish some of you had it, too. But that is just what I have been
+saying—that portrait, fine as it is, is not as fine as the man it
+represents, and all the things that have been said about Mr. Mabie, and
+certainly they have been very nobly worded and beautiful, still fall
+short of the real Mabie.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCING NYE AND RILEY
+
+
+
+          James Whitcomb Riley and Edgar Wilson Nye (Bill Nye) were to
+          give readings in Tremont Temple, Boston, November, 1888.  Mr.
+          Clemens was induced to introduce Messrs. Riley and Nye.  His
+          appearance on the platform was a surprise to the audience, and
+          when they recognized him there was a tremendous demonstration.
+
+I am very glad indeed to introduce these young people to you, and at the
+same time get acquainted with them myself. I have seen them more than
+once for a moment, but have not had the privilege of knowing them
+personally as intimately as I wanted to. I saw them first, a great many
+years ago, when Mr. Barnum had them, and they were just fresh from Siam.
+The ligature was their best hold then, the literature became their best
+hold later, when one of them committed an indiscretion, and they had to
+cut the old bond to accommodate the sheriff.
+
+In that old former time this one was Chang, that one was Eng. The
+sympathy existing between the two was most extraordinary; it was so
+fine, so strong, so subtle, that what the one ate the other digested;
+when one slept, the other snored; if one sold a thing, the other scooped
+the usufruct. This independent and yet dependent action was observable
+in all the details of their daily life—I mean this quaint and arbitrary
+distribution of originating cause and resulting effect between the
+two—between, I may say, this dynamo and the other always motor, or,
+in other words, that the one was always the creating force, the other
+always the utilizing force; no, no, for while it is true that within
+certain well-defined zones of activity the one was always dynamo and
+the other always motor, within certain other well-defined zones these
+positions became exactly reversed.
+
+For instance, in moral matters Mr. Chang Riley was always dynamo, Mr.
+Eng Nye was always motor; for while Mr. Chang Riley had a high—in fact,
+an abnormally high and fine moral sense, he had no machinery to work
+it with; whereas, Mr. Eng Nye, who hadn't any moral sense at all, and
+hasn't yet, was equipped with all the necessary plant for putting a
+noble deed through, if he could only get the inspiration on reasonable
+terms outside.
+
+In intellectual matters, on the other hand, Mr. Eng Nye was always
+dynamo, Mr. Chang Riley was always motor; Mr. Eng Nye had a stately
+intellect, but couldn't make it go; Mr. Chang Riley hadn't, but could.
+That is to say, that while Mr. Chang Riley couldn't think things
+himself, he had a marvellous natural grace in setting them down and
+weaving them together when his pal furnished the raw material.
+
+Thus, working together, they made a strong team; laboring together, they
+could do miracles; but break the circuit, and both were impotent. It has
+remained so to this day: they must travel together, hoe, and plant, and
+plough, and reap, and sell their public together, or there's no result.
+
+I have made this explanation, this analysis, this vivisection, so
+to speak, in order that you may enjoy these delightful adventurers
+understandingly. When Mr. Eng Nye's deep and broad and limpid
+philosophies flow by in front of you, refreshing all the regions round
+about with their gracious floods, you will remember that it isn't his
+water; it's the other man's, and he is only working the pump. And when
+Mr. Chang Riley enchants your ear, and soothes your spirit, and touches
+your heart with the sweet and genuine music of his poetry—as sweet and
+as genuine as any that his friends, the birds and the bees, make about
+his other friends, the woods and the flowers—you will remember, while
+placing justice where justice is due, that it isn't his music, but the
+other man's—he is only turning the crank.
+
+I beseech for these visitors a fair field, a singleminded, one-eyed
+umpire, and a score bulletin barren of goose-eggs if they earn it—and I
+judge they will and hope they will. Mr. James Whitcomb Chang Riley will
+now go to the bat.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DINNER TO WHITELAW REID
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER IN HONOR OF AMBASSADOR REID, GIVEN BY THE
+          PILGRIMS' CLUB OF NEW YORK ON FEBRUARY 19, 1908
+
+I am very proud to respond to this toast, as it recalls the proudest day
+of my life. The delightful hospitality shown me at the time of my visit
+to Oxford I shall cherish until I die. In that long and distinguished
+career of mine I value that degree above all other honors. When the ship
+landed even the stevedores gathered on the shore and gave an English
+cheer. Nothing could surpass in my life the pleasure of those four
+weeks. No one could pass by me without taking my hand, even the
+policemen. I've been in all the principal capitals of Christendom in my
+life, and have always been an object of interest to policemen. Sometimes
+there was suspicion in their eyes, but not always. With their puissant
+hand they would hold up the commerce of the world to let me pass.
+
+I noticed in the papers this afternoon a despatch from Washington,
+saying that Congress would immediately pass a bill restoring to our gold
+coinage the motto “In God We Trust.” I'm glad of that; I'm glad of
+that. I was troubled when that motto was removed. Sure enough, the
+prosperities of the whole nation went down in a heap when we ceased to
+trust in God in that conspicuously advertised way. I knew there would
+be trouble. And if Pierpont Morgan hadn't stepped in—Bishop Lawrence may
+now add to his message to the old country that we are now trusting in
+God again. So we can discharge Mr. Morgan from his office with honor.
+
+Mr. Reid said an hour or so ago something about my ruining my activities
+last summer. They are not ruined, they are renewed. I am stronger
+now—much stronger. I suppose that the spiritual uplift I received
+increased my physical power more than anything I ever had before. I was
+dancing last night at 2.30 o'clock.
+
+Mr. Choate has mentioned Mr. Reid's predecessors. Mr. Choate's head is
+full of history, and some of it is true, too. I enjoyed hearing him tell
+about the list of the men who had the place before he did. He mentioned
+a long list of those predecessors, people I never heard of before, and
+elected five of them to the Presidency by his own vote. I'm glad and
+proud to find Mr. Reid in that high position, because he didn't look it
+when I knew him forty years ago. I was talking to Reid the other day,
+and he showed me my autograph on an old paper twenty years old. I didn't
+know I had an autograph twenty years ago. Nobody ever asked me for it.
+
+I remember a dinner I had long ago with Whitelaw Reid and John Hay at
+Reid's expense. I had another last summer when I was in London at the
+embassy that Choate blackguards so. I'd like to live there.
+
+Some people say they couldn't live on the salary, but I could live on
+the salary and the nation together. Some of us don't appreciate what
+this country can do. There's John Hay, Reid, Choate, and me. This is the
+only country in the world where youth, talent, and energy can reach such
+heights. It shows what we could do without means, and what people can do
+with talent and energy when they find it in people like us.
+
+When I first came to New York they were all struggling young men, and I
+am glad to see that they have got on in the world. I knew John Hay when
+I had no white hairs in my head and more hair than Reid has now.
+Those were days of joy and hope. Reid and Hay were on the staff of the
+Tribune. I went there once in that old building, and I looked all around
+and I finally found a door ajar and looked in. It wasn't Reid or Hay
+there, but it was Horace Greeley. Those were in the days when Horace
+Greeley was a king. That was the first time I ever saw him and the last.
+
+I was admiring him when he stopped and seemed to realize that there was
+a fine presence there somewhere. He tried to smile, but he was out of
+smiles. He looked at me a moment, and said:
+
+“What in H—-do you want?”
+
+He began with that word “H.” That's a long word and a profane word. I
+don't remember what the word was now, but I recognized the power of
+it. I had never used that language myself, but at that moment I was
+converted. It has been a great refuge for me in time of trouble. If a
+man doesn't know that language he can't express himself on strenuous
+occasions. When you have that word at your command let trouble come.
+
+But later Hay rose, and you know what summit Whitelaw Reid has reached,
+and you see me. Those two men have regulated troubles of nations and
+conferred peace upon mankind. And in my humble way, of which I am quite
+vain, I was the principal moral force in all those great international
+movements. These great men illustrated what I say. Look at us great
+people—we all come from the dregs of society. That's what can be done in
+this country. That's what this country does for you.
+
+Choate here—he hasn't got anything to say, but he says it just the
+same, and he can do it so felicitously, too. I said long ago he was the
+handsomest man America ever produced. May the progress of civilization
+always rest on such distinguished men as it has in the past!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ROGERS AND RAILROADS
+
+
+
+          AT A BANQUET GIVEN MR. H. H. ROGERS BY THE BUSINESS MEN OF
+          NORFOLK, VA., CELEBRATING THE OPENING OF THE VIRGINIAN RAILWAY,
+          APRIL, 3, 1909
+
+          Toastmaster:
+
+          “I have often thought that when the time comes, which must come
+          to all of us, when we reach that Great Way in the Great Beyond,
+          and the question is propounded, 'What have you done to gain
+          admission into this great realm?' if the answer could be
+          sincerely made, 'I have made men laugh,' it would be the surest
+          passport to a welcome entrance.  We have here to-night one who
+          has made millions laugh--not the loud laughter that bespeaks
+          the vacant mind, but the laugh of intelligent mirth that helps
+          the human heart and the human mind.  I refer, of course, to
+          Doctor Clemens.  I was going to say Mark Twain, his literary
+          title, which is a household phrase in more homes than that of
+          any other man, and you know him best by that dear old title.”
+
+I thank you, Mr. Toastmaster, for the compliment which you have paid me,
+and I am sure I would rather have made people laugh than cry, yet in my
+time I have made some of them cry; and before I stop entirely I hope to
+make some more of them cry. I like compliments. I deal in them myself.
+I have listened with the greatest pleasure to the compliments which the
+chairman has paid to Mr. Rogers and that road of his to-night, and I
+hope some of them are deserved.
+
+It is no small distinction to a man like that to sit here before an
+intelligent crowd like this and to be classed with Napoleon and Caesar.
+Why didn't he say that this was the proudest day of his life? Napoleon
+and Caesar are dead, and they can't be here to defend themselves. But
+I'm here!
+
+The chairman said, and very truly, that the most lasting thing in the
+hands of man are the roads which Caesar built, and it is true that he
+built a lot of them; and they are there yet.
+
+Yes, Caesar built a lot of roads in England, and you can find them. But
+Rogers has only built one road, and he hasn't finished that yet. I
+like to hear my old friend complimented, but I don't like to hear it
+overdone.
+
+I didn't go around to-day with the others to see what he is doing. I
+will do that in a quiet time, when there is not anything going on, and
+when I shall not be called upon to deliver intemperate compliments on a
+railroad in which I own no stock.
+
+They proposed that I go along with the committee and help inspect that
+dump down yonder. I didn't go. I saw that dump. I saw that thing when I
+was coming in on the steamer, and I didn't go because I was diffident,
+sentimentally diffident, about going and looking at that thing
+again—that great, long, bony thing; it looked just like Mr. Rogers's
+foot.
+
+The chairman says Mr. Rogers is full of practical wisdom, and he is.
+It is intimated here that he is a very ingenious man, and he is a very
+competent financier. Maybe he is now, but it was not always so. I know
+lots of private things in his life which people don't know, and I know
+how he started; and it was not a very good start. I could have done
+better myself. The first time he crossed the Atlantic he had just made
+the first little strike in oil, and he was so young he did not like to
+ask questions. He did not like to appear ignorant. To this day he don't
+like to appear ignorant, but he can look as ignorant as anybody. On
+board the ship they were betting on the run of the ship, betting a
+couple of shillings, or half a crown, and they proposed that this youth
+from the oil regions should bet on the run of the ship. He did not like
+to ask what a half-crown was, and he didn't know; but rather than be
+ashamed of himself he did bet half a crown on the run of the ship, and
+in bed he could not sleep. He wondered if he could afford that outlay in
+case he lost. He kept wondering over it, and said to himself: “A king's
+crown must be worth $20,000, so half a crown would cost $10,000.” He
+could not afford to bet away $10,000 on the run of the ship, so he went
+up to the stakeholder and gave him $150 to let him off.
+
+I like to hear Mr. Rogers complimented. I am not stingy in compliments
+to him myself. Why, I did it to-day when I sent his wife a telegram to
+comfort her. That is the kind of person I am. I knew she would be uneasy
+about him. I knew she would be solicitous about what he might do down
+here, so I did it to quiet her and to comfort her. I said he was doing
+well for a person out of practice. There is nothing like it. He is like
+I used to be. There were times when I was careless—careless in my dress
+when I got older. You know how uncomfortable your wife can get when you
+are going away without her superintendence. Once when my wife could not
+go with me (she always went with me when she could—I always did meet
+that kind of luck), I was going to Washington once, a long time ago, in
+Mr. Cleveland's first administration, and she could not go; but, in her
+anxiety that I should not desecrate the house, she made preparation.
+She knew that there was to be a reception of those authors at the White
+House at seven o'clock in the evening. She said, “If I should tell you
+now what I want to ask of you, you would forget it before you get to
+Washington, and, therefore, I have written it on a card, and you
+will find it in your dress-vest pocket when you are dressing at the
+Arlington—when you are dressing to see the President.” I never thought
+of it again until I was dressing, and I felt in that pocket and took it
+out, and it said, in a kind of imploring way, “Don't wear your arctics
+in the White House.”
+
+You complimented Mr. Rogers on his energy, his foresightedness,
+complimented him in various ways, and he has deserved those compliments,
+although I say it myself; and I enjoy them all. There is one side of Mr.
+Rogers that has not been mentioned. If you will leave that to me I will
+touch upon that. There was a note in an editorial in one of the Norfolk
+papers this morning that touched upon that very thing, that hidden side
+of Mr. Rogers, where it spoke of Helen Keller and her affection for Mr.
+Rogers, to whom she dedicated her life book. And she has a right to
+feel that way, because, without the public knowing anything about it,
+he rescued, if I may use that term, that marvellous girl, that wonderful
+Southern girl, that girl who was stone deaf, blind, and dumb from
+scarlet-fever when she was a baby eighteen months old; and who now is as
+well and thoroughly educated as any woman on this planet at twenty-nine
+years of age. She is the most marvellous person of her sex that has
+existed on this earth since Joan of Arc.
+
+That is not all Mr. Rogers has done; but you never see that side of his
+character, because it is never protruding; but he lends a helping hand
+daily out of that generous heart of his. You never hear of it. He is
+supposed to be a moon which has one side dark and the other bright. But
+the other side, though you don't see it, is not dark; it is bright, and
+its rays penetrate, and others do see it who are not God.
+
+I would take this opportunity to tell something that I have never been
+allowed to tell by Mr. Rogers, either by my mouth or in print, and if I
+don't look at him I can tell it now.
+
+In 1893, when the publishing company of Charles L. Webster, of which
+I was financial agent, failed, it left me heavily in debt. If you will
+remember what commerce was at that time you will recall that you could
+not sell anything, and could not buy anything, and I was on my back;
+my books were not worth anything at all, and I could not give away my
+copyrights. Mr. Rogers had long enough vision ahead to say, “Your books
+have supported you before, and after the panic is over they will support
+you again,” and that was a correct proposition. He saved my copyrights,
+and saved me from financial ruin. He it was who arranged with my
+creditors to allow me to roam the face of the earth for four years and
+persecute the nations thereof with lectures, promising that at the end
+of four years I would pay dollar for dollar. That arrangement was made;
+otherwise I would now be living out-of-doors under an umbrella, and a
+borrowed one at that.
+
+You see his white mustache and his head trying to get white (he is
+always trying to look like me—I don't blame him for that). These are
+only emblematic of his character, and that is all. I say, without
+exception, hair and all, he is the whitest man I have ever known.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD-FASHIONED PRINTER
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE TYPOTHETAE DINNER GIVEN AT DELMONICO'S,
+          JANUARY 18, 1886, COMMEMORATING THE BIRTHDAY OF
+          BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
+
+          Mr. Clemens responded to the toast “The Compositor.”
+
+The chairman's historical reminiscences of Gutenberg have caused me to
+fall into reminiscences, for I myself am something of an antiquity. All
+things change in the procession of years, and it may be that I am among
+strangers. It may be that the printer of to-day is not the printer of
+thirty-five years ago. I was no stranger to him. I knew him well. I
+built his fire for him in the winter mornings; I brought his water from
+the village pump; I swept out his office; I picked up his type from
+under his stand; and, if he were there to see, I put the good type in
+his case and the broken ones among the “hell matter”; and if he wasn't
+there to see, I dumped it all with the “pi” on the imposing-stone—for
+that was the furtive fashion of the cub, and I was a cub. I wetted down
+the paper Saturdays, I turned it Sundays—for this was a country weekly;
+I rolled, I washed the rollers, I washed the forms, I folded the papers,
+I carried them around at dawn Thursday mornings. The carrier was then
+an object of interest to all the dogs in town. If I had saved up all
+the bites I ever received, I could keep M. Pasteur busy for a year.
+I enveloped the papers that were for the mail—we had a hundred
+town subscribers and three hundred and fifty country ones; the town
+subscribers paid in groceries and the country ones in cabbages and
+cord-wood—when they paid at all, which was merely sometimes, and then
+we always stated the fact in the paper, and gave them a puff; and if we
+forgot it they stopped the paper. Every man on the town list helped
+edit the thing—that is, he gave orders as to how it was to be edited;
+dictated its opinions, marked out its course for it, and every time the
+boss failed to connect he stopped his paper. We were just infested with
+critics, and we tried to satisfy them all over. We had one subscriber
+who paid cash, and he was more trouble than all the rest. He bought
+us once a year, body and soul, for two dollars. He used to modify our
+politics every which way, and he made us change our religion four times
+in five years. If we ever tried to reason with him, he would threaten to
+stop his paper, and, of course, that meant bankruptcy and destruction.
+That man used to write articles a column and a half long, leaded long
+primer, and sign them “Junius,” or “Veritas,” or “Vox Populi,” or some
+other high-sounding rot; and then, after it was set up, he would come
+in and say he had changed his mind-which was a gilded figure of speech,
+because he hadn't any—and order it to be left out. We couldn't afford
+“bogus” in that office, so we always took the leads out, altered the
+signature, credited the article to the rival paper in the next village,
+and put it in. Well, we did have one or two kinds of “bogus.” Whenever
+there was a barbecue, or a circus, or a baptizing, we knocked off for
+half a day, and then to make up for short matter we would “turn over
+ads”—turn over the whole page and duplicate it. The other “bogus” was
+deep philosophical stuff, which we judged nobody ever read; so we kept
+a galley of it standing, and kept on slapping the same old batches of it
+in, every now and then, till it got dangerous. Also, in the early days
+of the telegraph we used to economize on the news. We picked out the
+items that were pointless and barren of information and stood them on
+a galley, and changed the dates and localities, and used them over and
+over again till the public interest in them was worn to the bone. We
+marked the ads, but we seldom paid any attention to the marks afterward;
+so the life of a “td” ad and a “tf” ad was equally eternal. I have seen
+a “td” notice of a sheriff's sale still booming serenely along two years
+after the sale was over, the sheriff dead, and the whole circumstance
+become ancient history. Most of the yearly ads were patent-medicine
+stereotypes, and we used to fence with them.
+
+I can see that printing-office of prehistoric times yet, with its horse
+bills on the walls, its “d” boxes clogged with tallow, because we
+always stood the candle in the “k” box nights, its towel, which was
+not considered soiled until it could stand alone, and other signs and
+symbols that marked the establishment of that kind in the Mississippi
+Valley; and I can see, also, the tramping “jour,” who flitted by in the
+summer and tarried a day, with his wallet stuffed with one shirt and a
+hatful of handbills; for if he couldn't get any type to set he would do
+a temperance lecture. His way of life was simple, his needs not complex;
+all he wanted was plate and bed and money enough to get drunk on, and he
+was satisfied. But it may be, as I have said, that I am among strangers,
+and sing the glories of a forgotten age to unfamiliar ears, so I will
+“make even” and stop.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOCIETY OF AMERICAN AUTHORS
+
+
+
+          On November 15, 1900, the society gave a reception to Mr.
+          Clemens, who came with his wife and daughter.  So many members
+          surrounded the guests that Mr. Clemens asked: “Is this genuine
+          popularity or is it all a part of a prearranged programme?”
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It seems a most difficult thing for
+any man to say anything about me that is not complimentary. I don't know
+what the charm is about me which makes it impossible for a person to say
+a harsh thing about me and say it heartily, as if he was glad to say it.
+
+If this thing keeps on it will make me believe that I am what these kind
+chairmen say of me. In introducing me, Judge Ransom spoke of my modesty
+as if he was envious of me. I would like to have one man come out
+flat-footed and say something harsh and disparaging of me, even if it
+were true. I thought at one time, as the learned judge was speaking,
+that I had found that man; but he wound up, like all the others, by
+saying complimentary things.
+
+I am constructed like everybody else, and enjoy a compliment as well
+as any other fool, but I do like to have the other side presented. And
+there is another side. I have a wicked side. Estimable friends who know
+all about it would tell you and take a certain delight in telling you
+things that I have done, and things further that I have not repented.
+
+The real life that I live, and the real life that I suppose all of you
+live, is a life of interior sin. That is what makes life valuable and
+pleasant. To lead a life of undiscovered sin! That is true joy.
+
+Judge Ransom seems to have all the virtues that he ascribes to me. But,
+oh my! if you could throw an X-ray through him. We are a pair. I have
+made a life-study of trying to appear to be what he seems to think I am.
+Everybody believes that I am a monument of all the virtues, but it is
+nothing of the sort. I am living two lives, and it keeps me pretty busy.
+
+Some day there will be a chairman who will forget some of these merits
+of mine, and then he will make a speech.
+
+I have more personal vanity than modesty, and twice as much veracity as
+the two put together.
+
+When that fearless and forgetful chairman is found there will be another
+story told. At the Press Club recently I thought that I had found
+him. He started in in the way that I knew I should be painted with all
+sincerity, and was leading to things that would not be to my credit; but
+when he said that he never read a book of mine I knew at once that he
+was a liar, because he never could have had all the wit and intelligence
+with which he was blessed unless he had read my works as a basis.
+
+I like compliments. I like to go home and tell them all over again to
+the members of my family. They don't believe them, but I like to tell
+them in the home circle, all the same. I like to dream of them if I can.
+
+I thank everybody for their compliments, but I don't think that I am
+praised any more than I am entitled to be.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+READING-ROOM OPENING
+
+
+
+          On October 13, 1900, Mr. Clemens made his last address
+          preceding his departure for America at Kensal Rise, London.
+
+I formally declare this reading-room open, and I think that the
+legislature should not compel a community to provide itself with
+intelligent food, but give it the privilege of providing it if the
+community so desires.
+
+If the community is anxious to have a reading-room it would put its hand
+in its pocket and bring out the penny tax. I think it a proof of the
+healthy, moral, financial, and mental condition of the community if it
+taxes itself for its mental food.
+
+A reading-room is the proper introduction to a library, leading up
+through the newspapers and magazines to other literature. What would we
+do without newspapers?
+
+Look at the rapid manner in which the news of the Galveston disaster
+was made known to the entire world. This reminds me of an episode
+which occurred fifteen years ago when I was at church in Hartford,
+Connecticut.
+
+The clergyman decided to make a collection for the survivors, if any. He
+did not include me among the leading citizens who took the plates around
+for collection. I complained to the governor of his lack of financial
+trust in me, and he replied: “I would trust you myself—if you had a
+bell-punch.”
+
+You have paid me many compliments, and I like to listen to compliments.
+I indorse all your chairman has said to you about the union of England
+and America. He also alluded to my name, of which I am rather fond.
+
+A little girl wrote me from New Zealand in a letter I received
+yesterday, stating that her father said my proper name was not Mark
+Twain but Samuel Clemens, but that she knew better, because Clemens was
+the name of the man who sold the patent medicine, and his name was not
+Mark. She was sure it was Mark Twain, because Mark is in the Bible and
+Twain is in the Bible.
+
+I was very glad to get that expression of confidence in my origin, and
+as I now know my name to be a scriptural one, I am not without hopes of
+making it worthy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LITERATURE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE ROYAL LITERARY FUND BANQUET, LONDON, MAY 4, 1900
+
+          Anthony Hope introduced Mr. Clemens to make the response to the
+          toast “Literature.”
+
+MR. HOPE has been able to deal adequately with this toast without
+assistance from me. Still, I was born generous. If he had advanced any
+theories that needed refutation or correction I would have attended to
+them, and if he had made any statements stronger than those which he is
+in the habit of making I would have dealt with them.
+
+In fact, I was surprised at the mildness of his statements. I could not
+have made such statements if I had preferred to, because to exaggerate
+is the only way I can approximate to the truth. You cannot have a theory
+without principles. Principles is another name for prejudices. I have no
+prejudices in politics, religion, literature, or anything else.
+
+I am now on my way to my own country to run for the presidency because
+there are not yet enough candidates in the field, and those who have
+entered are too much hampered by their own principles, which are
+prejudices.
+
+I propose to go there to purify the political atmosphere. I am in favor
+of everything everybody is in favor of. What you should do is to satisfy
+the whole nation, not half of it, for then you would only be half a
+President.
+
+There could not be a broader platform than mine. I am in favor of
+anything and everything—of temperance and intemperance, morality and
+qualified immorality, gold standard and free silver.
+
+I have tried all sorts of things, and that is why I want to try the
+great position of ruler of a country. I have been in turn reporter,
+editor, publisher, author, lawyer, burglar. I have worked my way up, and
+wish to continue to do so.
+
+I read to-day in a magazine article that Christendom issued last year
+fifty-five thousand new books. Consider what that means! Fifty-five
+thousand new books meant fifty-four thousand new authors. We are
+going to have them all on our hands to take care of sooner or later.
+Therefore, double your subscriptions to the literary fund!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DISAPPEARANCE OF LITERATURE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY CLUB, AT
+          SHERRY'S, NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 20, 1900
+
+          Mr. Clemens spoke to the toast “The Disappearance of
+          Literature.”  Doctor Gould presided, and in introducing
+          Mr. Clemens said that he (the speaker), when in Germany, had to
+          do a lot of apologizing for a certain literary man who was
+          taking what the Germans thought undue liberties with their
+          language.
+
+It wasn't necessary for your chairman to apologize for me in Germany. It
+wasn't necessary at all. Instead of that he ought to have impressed upon
+those poor benighted Teutons the service I rendered them. Their language
+had needed untangling for a good many years. Nobody else seemed to want
+to take the job, and so I took it, and I flatter myself that I made a
+pretty good job of it. The Germans have an inhuman way of cutting up
+their verbs. Now a verb has a hard time enough of it in this world when
+it's all together. It's downright inhuman to split it up. But that's
+just what those Germans do. They take part of a verb and put it down
+here, like a stake, and they take the other part of it and put it away
+over yonder like another stake, and between these two limits they just
+shovel in German. I maintain that there is no necessity for apologizing
+for a man who helped in a small way to stop such mutilation.
+
+We have heard a discussion to-night on the disappearance of literature.
+That's no new thing. That's what certain kinds of literature have been
+doing for several years. The fact is, my friends, that the fashion in
+literature changes, and the literary tailors have to change their cuts
+or go out of business. Professor Winchester here, if I remember fairly
+correctly what he said, remarked that few, if any, of the novels
+produced to-day would live as long as the novels of Walter Scott. That
+may be his notion. Maybe he is right; but so far as I am concerned, I
+don't care if they don't.
+
+Professor Winchester also said something about there being no modern
+epics like Paradise Lost. I guess he's right. He talked as if he was
+pretty familiar with that piece of literary work, and nobody would
+suppose that he never had read it. I don't believe any of you have ever
+read Paradise Lost, and you don't want to. That's something that you
+just want to take on trust. It's a classic, just as Professor Winchester
+says, and it meets his definition of a classic—something that everybody
+wants to have read and nobody wants to read.
+
+Professor Trent also had a good deal to say about the disappearance of
+literature. He said that Scott would outlive all his critics. I guess
+that's true. The fact of the business is, you've got to be one of two
+ages to appreciate Scott. When you're eighteen you can read Ivanhoe, and
+you want to wait until you are ninety to read some of the rest. It takes
+a pretty well-regulated, abstemious critic to live ninety years.
+
+But as much as these two gentlemen have talked about the disappearance
+of literature, they didn't say anything about my books. Maybe they think
+they've disappeared. If they do, that just shows their ignorance on the
+general subject of literature. I am not as young as I was several years
+ago, and maybe I'm not so fashionable, but I'd be willing to take
+my chances with Mr. Scott to-morrow morning in selling a piece of
+literature to the Century Publishing Company. And I haven't got much of
+a pull here, either. I often think that the highest compliment ever
+paid to my poor efforts was paid by Darwin through President Eliot, of
+Harvard College. At least, Eliot said it was a compliment, and I always
+take the opinion of great men like college presidents on all such
+subjects as that.
+
+I went out to Cambridge one day a few years ago and called on President
+Eliot. In the course of the conversation he said that he had just
+returned from England, and that he was very much touched by what he
+considered the high compliment Darwin was paying to my books, and he
+went on to tell me something like this:
+
+“Do you know that there is one room in Darwin's house, his bedroom,
+where the housemaid is never allowed to touch two things? One is a
+plant he is growing and studying while it grows” (it was one of those
+insect-devouring plants which consumed bugs and beetles and things for
+the particular delectation of Mr. Darwin) “and the other some books that
+lie on the night table at the head of his bed. They are your books, Mr.
+Clemens, and Mr. Darwin reads them every night to lull him to sleep.”
+
+My friends, I thoroughly appreciated that compliment, and considered it
+the highest one that was ever paid to me. To be the means of soothing to
+sleep a brain teeming with bugs and squirming things like Darwin's was
+something that I had never hoped for, and now that he is dead I never
+hope to be able to do it again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW YORK PRESS CLUB DINNER
+
+
+
+          AT THE ANNUAL DINNER, NOVEMBER 13, 1900
+
+          Col. William L. Brown, the former editor of the Daily News, as
+          president of the club, introduced Mr. Clemens as the principal
+          ornament of American literature.
+
+I must say that I have already begun to regret that I left my gun at
+home. I've said so many times when a chairman has distressed me with
+just such compliments that the next time such a thing occurs I will
+certainly use a gun on that chairman. It is my privilege to compliment
+him in return. You behold before you a very, very old man. A cursory
+glance at him would deceive the most penetrating. His features seem to
+reveal a person dead to all honorable instincts—they seem to bear the
+traces of all the known crimes, instead of the marks of a life spent for
+the most part, and now altogether, in the Sunday-school of a life that
+may well stand as an example to all generations that have risen or
+will riz—I mean to say, will rise. His private character is altogether
+suggestive of virtues which to all appearances he has not. If you
+examine his past history you will find it as deceptive as his features,
+because it is marked all over with waywardness and misdemeanor—mere
+effects of a great spirit upon a weak body—mere accidents of a great
+career. In his heart he cherishes every virtue on the list of virtues,
+and he practises them all—secretly—always secretly. You all know him
+so well that there is no need for him to be introduced here. Gentlemen,
+Colonel Brown.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ALPHABET AND SIMPLIFIED SPELLING
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER GIVEN TO MR. CARNEGIE AT THE DEDICATION
+          OF THE NEW YORK ENGINEERS' CLUB, DECEMBER 9, 1907
+
+          Mr. Clemens was introduced by the president of the club, who,
+          quoting from the Mark Twain autobiography, recalled the day
+          when the distinguished writer came to New York with $3 in small
+          change in his pockets and a $10 bill sewed in his clothes.
+
+It seems to me that I was around here in the neighborhood of the Public
+Library about fifty or sixty years ago. I don't deny the circumstance,
+although I don't see how you got it out of my autobiography, which was
+not to be printed until I am dead, unless I'm dead now. I had that $3 in
+change, and I remember well the $10 which was sewed in my coat. I
+have prospered since. Now I have plenty of money and a disposition to
+squander it, but I can't. One of those trust companies is taking care of
+it.
+
+Now, as this is probably the last time that I shall be out after
+nightfall this winter, I must say that I have come here with a mission,
+and I would make my errand of value.
+
+Many compliments have been paid to Mr. Carnegie to-night. I was
+expecting them. They are very gratifying to me.
+
+I have been a guest of honor myself, and I know what Mr. Carnegie is
+experiencing now. It is embarrassing to get compliments and compliments
+and only compliments, particularly when he knows as well as the rest of
+us that on the other side of him there are all sorts of things worthy of
+our condemnation.
+
+Just look at Mr. Carnegie's face. It is fairly scintillating with
+fictitious innocence. You would think, looking at him, that he had
+never committed a crime in his life. But no—look at his pestiferious
+simplified spelling. You can't any of you imagine what a crime that has
+been. Torquemada was nothing to Mr. Carnegie. That old fellow shed some
+blood in the Inquisition, but Mr. Carnegie has brought destruction to
+the entire race. I know he didn't mean it to be a crime, but it was,
+just the same. He's got us all so we can't spell anything.
+
+The trouble with him is that he attacked orthography at the wrong end.
+He meant well, but he attacked the symptoms and not the cause of the
+disease. He ought to have gone to work on the alphabet. There's not
+a vowel in it with a definite value, and not a consonant that you can
+hitch anything to. Look at the “h's” distributed all around. There's
+“gherkin.” What are you going to do with the “h” in that? What the
+devil's the use of “h” in gherkin, I'd like to know. It's one thing I
+admire the English for: they just don't mind anything about them at all.
+
+But look at the “pneumatics” and the “pneumonias” and the rest of them.
+A real reform would settle them once and for all, and wind up by giving
+us an alphabet that we wouldn't have to spell with at all, instead of
+this present silly alphabet, which I fancy was invented by a drunken
+thief. Why, there isn't a man who doesn't have to throw out about
+fifteen hundred words a day when he writes his letters because he can't
+spell them! It's like trying to do a St. Vitus's dance with wooden legs.
+
+Now I'll bet there isn't a man here who can spell “pterodactyl,” not
+even the prisoner at the bar. I'd like to hear him try once—but not
+in public, for it's too near Sunday, when all extravagant histrionic
+entertainments are barred. I'd like to hear him try in private, and when
+he got through trying to spell “pterodactyl” you wouldn't know whether
+it was a fish or a beast or a bird, and whether it flew on its legs or
+walked with its wings. The chances are that he would give it tusks and
+make it lay eggs.
+
+Let's get Mr. Carnegie to reform the alphabet, and we'll pray for him—if
+he'll take the risk. If we had adequate, competent vowels, with a system
+of accents, giving to each vowel its own soul and value, so every shade
+of that vowel would be shown in its accent, there is not a word in any
+tongue that we could not spell accurately. That would be competent,
+adequate, simplified spelling, in contrast to the clipping, the hair
+punching, the carbuncles, and the cancers which go by the name of
+simplified spelling. If I ask you what b-o-w spells you can't tell
+me unless you know which b-o-w I mean, and it is the same with r-o-w,
+b-o-r-e, and the whole family of words which were born out of lawful
+wedlock and don't know their own origin.
+
+Now, if we had an alphabet that was adequate and competent, instead of
+inadequate and incompetent, things would be different. Spelling reform
+has only made it bald-headed and unsightly. There is the whole tribe of
+them, “row” and “read” and “lead”—a whole family who don't know who they
+are. I ask you to pronounce s-o-w, and you ask me what kind of a one.
+
+If we had a sane, determinate alphabet, instead of a hospital of
+comminuted eunuchs, you would know whether one referred to the act of
+a man casting the seed over the ploughed land or whether one wished to
+recall the lady hog and the future ham.
+
+It's a rotten alphabet. I appoint Mr. Carnegie to get after it, and
+leave simplified spelling alone.
+
+Simplified spelling brought about sun-spots, the San Francisco
+earthquake, and the recent business depression, which we would never
+have had if spelling had been left all alone.
+
+Now, I hope I have soothed Mr. Carnegie and made him more comfortable
+than he would have been had he received only compliment after
+compliment, and I wish to say to him that simplified spelling is all
+right, but, like chastity, you can carry it too far.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SPELLING AND PICTURES
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE ASSOCIATED PRESS, AT THE
+          WALDORF-ASTORIA, SEPTEMBER 18, 1906
+
+I am here to make an appeal to the nations in behalf of the simplified
+spelling. I have come here because they cannot all be reached except
+through you. There are only two forces that can carry light to all the
+corners of the globe—only two—the sun in the heavens and the Associated
+Press down here. I may seem to be flattering the sun, but I do not mean
+it so; I am meaning only to be just and fair all around. You speak with
+a million voices; no one can reach so many races, so many hearts and
+intellects, as you—except Rudyard Kipling, and he cannot do it without
+your help. If the Associated Press will adopt and use our simplified
+forms, and thus spread them to the ends of the earth, covering the whole
+spacious planet with them as with a garden of flowers, our difficulties
+are at an end.
+
+Every day of the three hundred and sixty-five the only pages of the
+world's countless newspapers that are read by all the human beings and
+angels and devils that can read, are these pages that are built out
+of Associated Press despatches. And so I beg you, I beseech you—oh,
+I implore you to spell them in our simplified forms. Do this daily,
+constantly, persistently, for three months—only three months—it is all
+I ask. The infallible result?—victory, victory all down the line. For by
+that time all eyes here and above and below will have become adjusted to
+the change and in love with it, and the present clumsy and ragged forms
+will be grotesque to the eye and revolting to the soul. And we shall
+be rid of phthisis and phthisic and pneumonia and pneumatics, and
+diphtheria and pterodactyl, and all those other insane words which no
+man addicted to the simple Christian life can try to spell and not lose
+some of the bloom of his piety in the demoralizing attempt. Do not doubt
+it. We are chameleons, and our partialities and prejudices change places
+with an easy and blessed facility, and we are soon wonted to the change
+and happy in it. We do not regret our old, yellow fangs and snags and
+tushes after we have worn nice, fresh, uniform store teeth a while.
+
+Do I seem to be seeking the good of the world? That is the idea. It is
+my public attitude; privately I am merely seeking my own profit. We all
+do it, but it is sound and it is virtuous, for no public interest
+is anything other or nobler than a massed accumulation of private
+interests. In 1883, when the simplified-spelling movement first tried to
+make a noise, I was indifferent to it; more—I even irreverently scoffed
+at it. What I needed was an object-lesson, you see. It is the only way
+to teach some people. Very well, I got it. At that time I was scrambling
+along, earning the family's bread on magazine work at seven cents a
+word, compound words at single rates, just as it is in the dark present.
+I was the property of a magazine, a seven-cent slave under a boiler-iron
+contract. One day there came a note from the editor requiring me to
+write ten pages—on this revolting text: “Considerations concerning the
+alleged subterranean holophotal extemporaneousness of the conchyliaceous
+superimbrication of the Ornithorhyncus, as foreshadowed by the
+unintelligibility of its plesiosaurian anisodactylous aspects.”
+
+Ten pages of that. Each and every word a seventeen-jointed vestibuled
+railroad train. Seven cents a word. I saw starvation staring the family
+in the face. I went to the editor, and I took a stenographer along so
+as to have the interview down in black and white, for no magazine editor
+can ever remember any part of a business talk except the part that's got
+graft in it for him and the magazine. I said, “Read that text,
+Jackson, and let it go on the record; read it out loud.” He read
+it: “Considerations concerning the alleged subterranean holophotal
+extemporaneousness of the conchyliaceous superimbrication of the
+Ornithorhyncus, as foreshadowed by the unintelligibility of its
+plesiosaurian anisodactylous aspects.”
+
+I said, “You want ten pages of those rumbling, great, long, summer
+thunderpeals, and you expect to get them at seven cents a peal?”
+
+He said, “A word's a word, and seven cents is the contract; what are you
+going to do about it?”
+
+I said, “Jackson, this is cold-blooded oppression. What's an average
+English word?”
+
+He said, “Six letters.”
+
+I said, “Nothing of the kind; that's French, and includes the spaces
+between the words; an average English word is four letters and a half.
+By hard, honest labor I've dug all the large words out of my vocabulary
+and shaved it down till the average is three letters and a half. I can
+put one thousand and two hundred words on your page, and there's not
+another man alive that can come within two hundred of it. My page is
+worth eighty-four dollars to me. It takes exactly as long to fill your
+magazine page with long words as it does with short ones-four hours.
+Now, then, look at the criminal injustice of this requirement of yours.
+I am careful, I am economical of my time and labor. For the family's
+sake I've got to be so. So I never write 'metropolis' for seven cents,
+because I can get the same money for 'city.' I never write 'policeman,'
+because I can get the same price for 'cop.' And so on and so on. I never
+write 'valetudinarian' at all, for not even hunger and wretchedness can
+humble me to the point where I will do a word like that for seven cents;
+I wouldn't do it for fifteen. Examine your obscene text, please; count
+the words.”
+
+He counted and said it was twenty-four. I asked him to count the
+letters. He made it two hundred and three.
+
+I said, “Now, I hope you see the whole size of your crime. With my
+vocabulary I would make sixty words out of those two hundred and five
+letters, and get four dollars and twenty cents for it; whereas for your
+inhuman twenty-four I would get only one dollar and sixty-eight cents.
+Ten pages of these sky-scrapers of yours would pay me only about three
+hundred dollars; in my simplified vocabulary the same space and the same
+labor would pay me eight hundred and forty dollars. I do not wish to
+work upon this scandalous job by the piece. I want to be hired by the
+year.” He coldly refused. I said:
+
+“Then for the sake of the family, if you have no feeling for me, you
+ought at least to allow me overtime on that word extemporaneousness.”
+ Again he coldly refused. I seldom say a harsh word to any one, but I
+was not master of myself then, and I spoke right out and called him an
+anisodactylous plesiosaurian conchyliaceous Ornithorhyncus, and rotten
+to the heart with holoaophotal subterranean extemporaneousness. God
+forgive me for that wanton crime; he lived only two hours.
+
+From that day to this I have been a devoted and hard-working member
+of the heaven-born institution, the International Association for the
+Prevention of Cruelty to Authors, and now I am laboring with Carnegie's
+Simplified Committee, and with my heart in the work....
+
+Now then, let us look at this mighty question reasonably, rationally,
+sanely—yes, and calmly, not excitedly. What is the real function, the
+essential function, the supreme function, of language? Isn't it merely
+to convey ideas and emotions? Certainly. Then if we can do it with words
+of fonetic brevity and compactness, why keep the present cumbersome
+forms? But can we? Yes. I hold in my hand the proof of it. Here is a
+letter written by a woman, right out of her heart of hearts. I think she
+never saw a spelling-book in her life. The spelling is her own. There
+isn't a waste letter in it anywhere. It reduces the fonetics to the last
+gasp—it squeezes the surplusage out of every word—there's no spelling
+that can begin with it on this planet outside of the White House. And
+as for the punctuation, there isn't any. It is all one sentence, eagerly
+and breathlessly uttered, without break or pause in it anywhere. The
+letter is absolutely genuine—I have the proofs of that in my possession.
+I can't stop to spell the words for you, but you can take the letter
+presently and comfort your eyes with it. I will read the letter:
+
+“Miss dear freind I took some Close into the armerry and give them to
+you to Send too the suffrers out to California and i Hate to treble you
+but i got to have one of them Back it was a black oll wolle Shevyott
+With a jacket to Mach trimed Kind of Fancy no 38 Burst measure and palsy
+menterry acrost the front And the color i woodent Trubble you but it
+belonged to my brothers wife and she is Mad about it i thoght she was
+willin but she want she says she want done with it and she was going to
+Wear it a Spell longer she ant so free harted as what i am and she Has
+got more to do with Than i have having a Husband to Work and slave For
+her i gels you remember Me I am shot and stout and light complected i
+torked with you quite a spell about the suffrars and said it was orful
+about that erth quake I shoodent wondar if they had another one rite off
+seeine general Condision of the country is Kind of Explossive i hate to
+take that Black dress away from the suffrars but i will hunt round And
+see if i can get another One if i can i will call to the armerry for
+it if you will jest lay it asside so no more at present from your True
+freind
+
+“i liked your appearance very Much”
+
+Now you see what simplified spelling can do.
+
+It can convey any fact you need to convey; and it can pour out emotions
+like a sewer. I beg you, I beseech you, to adopt our spelling, and print
+all your despatches in it.
+
+Now I wish to say just one entirely serious word:
+
+I have reached a time of life, seventy years and a half, where none of
+the concerns of this world have much interest for me personally. I think
+I can speak dispassionately upon this matter, because in the little
+while that I have got to remain here I can get along very well with
+these old-fashioned forms, and I don't propose to make any trouble about
+it at all. I shall soon be where they won't care how I spell so long as
+I keep the Sabbath.
+
+There are eighty-two millions of us people that use this orthography,
+and it ought to be simplified in our behalf, but it is kept in its
+present condition to satisfy one million people who like to have their
+literature in the old form. That looks to me to be rather selfish,
+and we keep the forms as they are while we have got one million people
+coming in here from foreign countries every year and they have got
+to struggle with this orthography of ours, and it keeps them back
+and damages their citizenship for years until they learn to spell the
+language, if they ever do learn. This is merely sentimental argument.
+
+People say it is the spelling of Chaucer and Spencer and Shakespeare and
+a lot of other people who do not know how to spell anyway, and it has
+been transmitted to us and we preserved it and wish to preserve it
+because of its ancient and hallowed associations.
+
+Now, I don't see that there is any real argument about that. If that
+argument is good, then it would be a good argument not to banish the
+flies and the cockroaches from hospitals because they have been there so
+long that the patients have got used to them and they feel a tenderness
+for them on account of the associations. Why, it is like preserving a
+cancer in a family because it is a family cancer, and we are bound to it
+by the test of affection and reverence and old, mouldy antiquity.
+
+I think that this declaration to improve this orthography of ours is our
+family cancer, and I wish we could reconcile ourselves to have it cut
+out and let the family cancer go.
+
+Now, you see before you the wreck and ruin of what was once a young
+person like yourselves. I am exhausted by the heat of the day. I must
+take what is left of this wreck and run out of your presence and carry
+it away to my home and spread it out there and sleep the sleep of
+the righteous. There is nothing much left of me but my age and my
+righteousness, but I leave with you my love and my blessing, and may you
+always keep your youth.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS AND BURGLARS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS TO THE REDDING (CONN.) LIBRARY ASSOCIATION,
+          OCTOBER 28, 1908
+
+Suppose this library had been in operation a few weeks ago, and the
+burglars who happened along and broke into my house—taking a lot of
+things they didn't need, and for that matter which I didn't need—had
+first made entry into this institution.
+
+Picture them seated here on the floor, poring by the light of their
+dark-lanterns over some of the books they found, and thus absorbing
+moral truths and getting a moral uplift. The whole course of their
+lives would have been changed. As it was, they kept straight on in their
+immoral way and were sent to jail.
+
+For all we know, they may next be sent to Congress.
+
+And, speaking of burglars, let us not speak of them too harshly. Now, I
+have known so many burglars—not exactly known, but so many of them have
+come near me in my various dwelling-places, that I am disposed to allow
+them credit for whatever good qualities they possess.
+
+Chief among these, and, indeed, the only one I just now think of, is
+their great care while doing business to avoid disturbing people's
+sleep.
+
+Noiseless as they may be while at work, however, the effect of their
+visitation is to murder sleep later on.
+
+Now we are prepared for these visitors. All sorts of alarm devices have
+been put in the house, and the ground for half a mile around it has
+been electrified. The burglar who steps within this danger zone will
+set loose a bedlam of sounds, and spring into readiness for action our
+elaborate system of defences. As for the fate of the trespasser, do not
+seek to know that. He will never be heard of more.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AUTHORS' CLUB
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF MR. CLEMENS, LONDON,
+          JUNE, 1899
+
+          Mr. Clemens was introduced by Sir Walter Besant.
+
+It does not embarrass me to hear my books praised so much. It
+only pleases and delights me. I have not gone beyond the age when
+embarrassment is possible, but I have reached the age when I know how to
+conceal it. It is such a satisfaction to me to hear Sir Walter Besant,
+who is much more capable than I to judge of my work, deliver a judgment
+which is such a contentment to my spirit.
+
+Well, I have thought well of the books myself, but I think more of them
+now. It charms me also to hear Sir Spencer Walpole deliver a similar
+judgment, and I shall treasure his remarks also. I shall not discount
+the praises in any possible way. When I report them to my family they
+shall lose nothing. There are, however, certain heredities which come
+down to us which our writings of the present day may be traced to. I,
+for instance, read the Walpole Letters when I was a boy. I absorbed
+them, gathered in their grace, wit, and humor, and put them away to be
+used by-and-by. One does that so unconsciously with things one really
+likes. I am reminded now of what use those letters have been to me.
+
+They must not claim credit in America for what was really written in
+another form so long ago. They must only claim that I trimmed this,
+that, and the other, and so changed their appearance as to make them
+seem to be original. You now see what modesty I have in stock. But it
+has taken long practice to get it there.
+
+But I must not stand here talking. I merely meant to get up and give my
+thanks for the pleasant things that preceding speakers have said of me.
+I wish also to extend my thanks to the Authors' Club for constituting me
+a member, at a reasonable price per year, and for giving me the benefit
+of your legal adviser.
+
+I believe you keep a lawyer. I have always kept a lawyer, too, though I
+have never made anything out of him. It is service to an author to
+have a lawyer. There is something so disagreeable in having a personal
+contact with a publisher. So it is better to work through a lawyer—and
+lose your case. I understand that the publishers have been meeting
+together also like us. I don't know what for, but possibly they are
+devising new and mysterious ways for remunerating authors. I only wish
+now to thank you for electing me a member of this club—I believe I have
+paid my dues—and to thank you again for the pleasant things you have
+said of me.
+
+Last February, when Rudyard Kipling was ill in America, the sympathy
+which was poured out to him was genuine and sincere, and I believe
+that which cost Kipling so much will bring England and America closer
+together. I have been proud and pleased to see this growing affection
+and respect between the two countries. I hope it will continue to grow,
+and, please God, it will continue to grow. I trust we authors will leave
+to posterity, if we have nothing else to leave, a friendship between
+England and America that will count for much. I will now confess that I
+have been engaged for the past eight days in compiling a publication. I
+have brought it here to lay at your feet. I do not ask your indulgence
+in presenting it, but for your applause.
+
+Here it is: “Since England and America may be joined together in
+Kipling, may they not be severed in 'Twain.'”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOKSELLERS
+
+
+
+          Address at banquet on Wednesday evening, May 20, 1908, of the
+          American Booksellers' Association, which included most of the
+          leading booksellers of America, held at the rooms of the Aldine
+          Association, New York.
+
+This annual gathering of booksellers from all over America comes
+together ostensibly to eat and drink, but really to discuss business;
+therefore I am required to talk shop. I am required to furnish a
+statement of the indebtedness under which I lie to you gentlemen for
+your help in enabling me to earn my living. For something over forty
+years I have acquired my bread by print, beginning with The Innocents
+Abroad, followed at intervals of a year or so by Roughing It, Tom
+Sawyer, Gilded Age, and so on. For thirty-six years my books were sold
+by subscription. You are not interested in those years, but only in the
+four which have since followed. The books passed into the hands of my
+present publishers at the beginning of 1900, and you then became the
+providers of my diet. I think I may say, without flattering you, that
+you have done exceedingly well by me. Exceedingly well is not too strong
+a phrase, since the official statistics show that in four years you have
+sold twice as many volumes of my venerable books as my contract with my
+publishers bound you and them to sell in five years. To your sorrow you
+are aware that frequently, much too frequently, when a book gets to be
+five or ten years old its annual sale shrinks to two or three hundred
+copies, and after an added ten or twenty years ceases to sell. But you
+sell thousands of my moss-backed old books every year—the youngest of
+them being books that range from fifteen to twenty-seven years old, and
+the oldest reaching back to thirty-five and forty.
+
+By the terms of my contract my publishers had to account to me for
+50,000 volumes per year for five years, and pay me for them whether they
+sold them or not. It is at this point that you gentlemen come in, for
+it was your business to unload 250,000 volumes upon the public in five
+years if you possibly could. Have you succeeded? Yes, you have—and more.
+For in four years, with a year still to spare, you have sold the 250,000
+volumes, and 240,000 besides.
+
+Your sales have increased each year. In the first year you sold 90,328;
+in the second year, 104,851; in the third, 133,975; in the fourth
+year—which was last year—you sold 160,000. The aggregate for the four
+years is 500,000 volumes, lacking 11,000.
+
+Of the oldest book, The Innocents Abroad,—now forty years old—you
+sold upward of 46,000 copies in the four years; of Roughing It—now
+thirty-eight years old, I think—you sold 40,334; of Tom Sawyer, 41,000.
+And so on.
+
+And there is one thing that is peculiarly gratifying to me: the Personal
+Recollections of Joan of Arc is a serious book; I wrote it for love, and
+never expected it to sell, but you have pleasantly disappointed me in
+that matter. In your hands its sale has increased each year. In 1904 you
+sold 1726 copies; in 1905, 2445; in 1906, 5381; and last year, 6574.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+“MARK TWAIN'S FIRST APPEARANCE”
+
+
+
+          On October 5, 1906, Mr. Clemens, following a musical recital by
+          his daughter in Norfolk, Conn., addressed her audience on the
+          subject of stage-fright.  He thanked the people for making
+          things as easy as possible for his daughter's American debut as
+          a contralto, and then told of his first experience before the
+          public.
+
+My heart goes out in sympathy to any one who is making his first
+appearance before an audience of human beings. By a direct process of
+memory I go back forty years, less one month—for I'm older than I look.
+
+I recall the occasion of my first appearance. San Francisco knew me
+then only as a reporter, and I was to make my bow to San Francisco as
+a lecturer. I knew that nothing short of compulsion would get me to the
+theatre. So I bound myself by a hard-and-fast contract so that I could
+not escape. I got to the theatre forty-five minutes before the hour set
+for the lecture. My knees were shaking so that I didn't know whether I
+could stand up. If there is an awful, horrible malady in the world, it
+is stage-fright-and seasickness. They are a pair. I had stage-fright
+then for the first and last time. I was only seasick once, too. It
+was on a little ship on which there were two hundred other passengers.
+I—was—sick. I was so sick that there wasn't any left for those other two
+hundred passengers.
+
+It was dark and lonely behind the scenes in that theatre, and I peeked
+through the little peekholes they have in theatre curtains and looked
+into the big auditorium. That was dark and empty, too. By-and-by it
+lighted up, and the audience began to arrive.
+
+I had got a number of friends of mine, stalwart men, to sprinkle
+themselves through the audience armed with big clubs. Every time I said
+anything they could possibly guess I intended to be funny they were to
+pound those clubs on the floor. Then there was a kind lady in a box up
+there, also a good friend of mine, the wife of the Governor. She was to
+watch me intently, and whenever I glanced toward her she was going to
+deliver a gubernatorial laugh that would lead the whole audience into
+applause.
+
+At last I began. I had the manuscript tucked under a United States flag
+in front of me where I could get at it in case of need. But I managed to
+get started without it. I walked up and down—I was young in those days
+and needed the exercise—and talked and talked.
+
+Right in the middle of the speech I had placed a gem. I had put in a
+moving, pathetic part which was to get at the hearts and souls of my
+hearers. When I delivered it they did just what I hoped and expected.
+They sat silent and awed. I had touched them. Then I happened to glance
+up at the box where the Governor's wife was—you know what happened.
+
+Well, after the first agonizing five minutes, my stage-fright left me,
+never to return. I know if I was going to be hanged I could get up
+and make a good showing, and I intend to. But I shall never forget my
+feelings before the agony left me, and I got up here to thank you for
+her for helping my daughter, by your kindness, to live through her
+first appearance. And I want to thank you for your appreciation of her
+singing, which is, by-the-way, hereditary.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MORALS AND MEMORY
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens was the guest of honor at a reception held at
+          Barnard College (Columbia University), March 7, 1906, by the
+          Barnard Union.  One of the young ladies presented Mr. Clemens,
+          and thanked him for his amiability in coming to make them an
+          address.  She closed with the expression of the great joy it
+          gave her fellow-collegians, “because we all love you.”
+
+If any one here loves me, she has my sincere thanks. Nay, if any one
+here is so good as to love me—why, I'll be a brother to her. She shall
+have my sincere, warm, unsullied affection. When I was coming up in the
+car with the very kind young lady who was delegated to show me the way,
+she asked me what I was going to talk about. And I said I wasn't sure. I
+said I had some illustrations, and I was going to bring them in. I
+said I was certain to give those illustrations, but that I hadn't the
+faintest notion what they were going to illustrate.
+
+Now, I've been thinking it over in this forest glade [indicating the
+woods of Arcady on the scene setting], and I've decided to work them in
+with something about morals and the caprices of memory. That seems to
+me to be a pretty good subject. You see, everybody has a memory and it's
+pretty sure to have caprices. And, of course, everybody has morals.
+
+It's my opinion that every one I know has morals, though I wouldn't like
+to ask. I know I have. But I'd rather teach them than practice them any
+day. “Give them to others”—that's my motto. Then you never have any
+use for them when you're left without. Now, speaking of the caprices of
+memory in general, and of mine in particular, it's strange to think
+of all the tricks this little mental process plays on us. Here
+we're endowed with a faculty of mind that ought to be more supremely
+serviceable to us than them all. And what happens? This memory of ours
+stores up a perfect record of the most useless facts and anecdotes and
+experiences. And all the things that we ought to know—that we need
+to know—that we'd profit by knowing—it casts aside with the careless
+indifference of a girl refusing her true lover. It's terrible to think
+of this phenomenon. I tremble in all my members when I consider all
+the really valuable things that I've forgotten in seventy years—when I
+meditate upon the caprices of my memory.
+
+There's a bird out in California that is one perfect symbol of the
+human memory. I've forgotten the bird's name (just because it would be
+valuable for me to know it—to recall it to your own minds, perhaps).
+
+But this fool of a creature goes around collecting the most ridiculous
+things you can imagine and storing them up. He never selects a thing
+that could ever prove of the slightest help to him; but he goes
+about gathering iron forks, and spoons, and tin cans, and broken
+mouse-traps—all sorts of rubbish that is difficult for him to carry and
+yet be any use when he gets it. Why, that bird will go by a gold watch
+to bring back one of those patent cake-pans.
+
+Now, my mind is just like that, and my mind isn't very different from
+yours—and so our minds are just like that bird. We pass by what would be
+of inestimable value to us, and pack our memories with the most
+trivial odds and ends that never by any chance, under any circumstances
+whatsoever, could be of the slightest use to any one.
+
+Now, things that I have remembered are constantly popping into my head.
+And I am repeatedly startled by the vividness with which they recur
+to me after the lapse of years and their utter uselessness in being
+remembered at all.
+
+I was thinking over some on my way up here. They were the illustrations
+I spoke about to the young lady on the way up. And I've come to the
+conclusion, curious though it is, that I can use every one of these
+freaks of memory to teach you all a lesson. I'm convinced that each one
+has its moral. And I think it's my duty to hand the moral on to you.
+
+Now, I recall that when I was a boy I was a good boy—I was a very good
+boy. Why, I was the best boy in my school. I was the best boy in that
+little Mississippi town where I lived. The population was only about
+twenty million. You may not believe it, but I was the best boy in that
+State—and in the United States, for that matter.
+
+But I don't know why I never heard any one say that but myself. I always
+recognized it. But even those nearest and dearest to me couldn't seem to
+see it. My mother, especially, seemed to think there was something wrong
+with that estimate. And she never got over that prejudice.
+
+Now, when my mother got to be eighty-five years old her memory failed
+her. She forgot little threads that hold life's patches of meaning
+together. She was living out West then, and I went on to visit her.
+
+I hadn't seen my mother in a year or so. And when I got there she knew
+my face; knew I was married; knew I had a family, and that I was living
+with them. But she couldn't, for the life of her, tell my name or who I
+was. So I told her I was her boy.
+
+“But you don't live with me,” she said.
+
+“No,” said I, “I'm living in Rochester.”
+
+“What are you doing there?”
+
+“Going to school.”
+
+“Large school?”
+
+“Very large.”
+
+“All boys?”
+
+“All boys.”
+
+“And how do you stand?” said my mother.
+
+“I'm the best boy in that school,” I answered.
+
+“Well,” said my mother, with a return of her old fire, “I'd like to know
+what the other boys are like.”
+
+Now, one point in this story is the fact that my mother's mind went back
+to my school days, and remembered my little youthful self-prejudice when
+she'd forgotten everything else about me.
+
+The other point is the moral. There's one there that you will find if
+you search for it.
+
+Now, here's something else I remember. It's about the first time I ever
+stole a watermelon. “Stole” is a strong word. Stole? Stole? No, I don't
+mean that. It was the first time I ever withdrew a watermelon. It was
+the first time I ever extracted a watermelon. That is exactly the word I
+want—“extracted.” It is definite. It is precise. It perfectly conveys my
+idea. Its use in dentistry connotes the delicate shade of meaning I am
+looking for. You know we never extract our own teeth.
+
+And it was not my watermelon that I extracted. I extracted that
+watermelon from a farmer's wagon while he was inside negotiating with
+another customer. I carried that watermelon to one of the secluded
+recesses of the lumber-yard, and there I broke it open.
+
+It was a green watermelon.
+
+Well, do you know when I saw that I began to feel sorry—sorry—sorry. It
+seemed to me that I had done wrong. I reflected deeply. I reflected that
+I was young—I think I was just eleven. But I knew that though immature
+I did not lack moral advancement. I knew what a boy ought to do who had
+extracted a watermelon—like that.
+
+I considered George Washington, and what action he would have taken
+under similar circumstances. Then I knew there was just one thing to
+make me feel right inside, and that was—Restitution.
+
+So I said to myself: “I will do that. I will take that green watermelon
+back where I got it from.” And the minute I had said it I felt
+that great moral uplift that comes to you when you've made a noble
+resolution.
+
+So I gathered up the biggest fragments, and I carried them back to the
+farmer's wagon, and I restored the watermelon—what was left of it. And I
+made him give me a good one in place of it, too.
+
+And I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself going around working
+off his worthless, old, green watermelons on trusting purchasers who had
+to rely on him. How could they tell from the outside whether the melons
+were good or not? That was his business. And if he didn't reform, I told
+him I'd see that he didn't get any more of my trade—nor anybody else's I
+knew, if I could help it.
+
+You know that man was as contrite as a revivalist's last convert. He
+said he was all broken up to think I'd gotten a green watermelon.
+He promised that he would never carry another green watermelon if he
+starved for it. And he drove off—a better man.
+
+Now, do you see what I did for that man? He was on a downward path, and
+I rescued him. But all I got out of it was a watermelon.
+
+Yet I'd rather have that memory—just that memory of the good I did for
+that depraved farmer—than all the material gain you can think of. Look
+at the lesson he got! I never got anything like that from it. But
+I ought to be satisfied: I was only eleven years old, but I secured
+everlasting benefit to other people.
+
+The moral in this is perfectly clear, and I think there's one in the
+next memory I'm going to tell you about.
+
+To go back to my childhood, there's another little incident that comes
+to me from which you can draw even another moral. It's about one of the
+times I went fishing. You see, in our house there was a sort of family
+prejudice against going fishing if you hadn't permission. But it would
+frequently be bad judgment to ask. So I went fishing secretly, as it
+were—way up the Mississippi. It was an exquisitely happy trip, I recall,
+with a very pleasant sensation.
+
+Well, while I was away there was a tragedy in our town. A stranger,
+stopping over on his way East from California; was stabbed to death in
+an unseemly brawl.
+
+Now, my father was justice of the peace, and because he was justice
+of the peace he was coroner; and since he was coroner he was also
+constable; and being constable he was sheriff; and out of consideration
+for his holding the office of sheriff he was likewise county clerk and a
+dozen other officials I don't think of just this minute.
+
+I thought he had power of life or death, only he didn't use it over
+other boys. He was sort of an austere man. Somehow I didn't like being
+round him when I'd done anything he disapproved of. So that's the reason
+I wasn't often around.
+
+Well, when this gentleman got knifed they communicated with the proper
+authority, the coroner, and they laid the corpse out in the coroner's
+office—our front sitting-room—in preparation for the inquest the next
+morning.
+
+About 9 or 10 o'clock I got back from fishing. It was a little too late
+for me to be received by my folks, so I took my shoes off and slipped
+noiselessly up the back way to the sitting-room. I was very tired, and I
+didn't wish to disturb my people. So I groped my way to the sofa and lay
+down.
+
+Now, I didn't know anything of what had happened during my absence.
+But I was sort of nervous on my own account-afraid of being caught, and
+rather dubious about the morning affair. And I had been lying there
+a few moments when my eyes gradually got used to the darkness, and I
+became aware of something on the other side of the room.
+
+It was something foreign to the apartment. It had an uncanny appearance.
+And I sat up looking very hard, and wondering what in heaven this long,
+formless, vicious-looking thing might be.
+
+First I thought I'd go and see. Then I thought, “Never mind that.”
+
+Mind you, I had no cowardly sensations whatever, but it didn't seem
+exactly prudent to investigate. But I somehow couldn't keep my eyes off
+the thing. And the more I looked at it the more disagreeably it grew on
+me. But I was resolved to play the man. So I decided to turn over and
+count a hundred, and let the patch of moonlight creep up and show me
+what the dickens it was.
+
+I turned over and tried to count, but I couldn't keep my mind on it. I
+kept thinking of that grewsome mass. I was losing count all the time,
+and going back and beginning over again. Oh no; I wasn't frightened—just
+annoyed. But by the time I'd gotten to the century mark I turned
+cautiously over and opened my eyes with great fortitude.
+
+The moonlight revealed to me a marble-white human hand. Well, maybe I
+wasn't embarrassed! But then that changed to a creepy feeling again,
+and I thought I'd try the counting again. I don't know how many hours or
+weeks it was that I lay there counting hard. But the moonlight crept up
+that white arm, and it showed me a lead face and a terrible wound over
+the heart.
+
+I could scarcely say that I was terror-stricken or anything like that.
+But somehow his eyes interested me so that I went right out of the
+window. I didn't need the sash. But it seemed easier to take it than
+leave it behind.
+
+Now, let that teach you a lesson—I don't know just what it is. But at
+seventy years old I find that memory of peculiar value to me. I have
+been unconsciously guided by it all these years. Things that seemed
+pigeon-holed and remote are a perpetual influence. Yes, you're taught in
+so many ways. And you're so felicitously taught when you don't know it.
+
+Here's something else that taught me a good deal.
+
+When I was seventeen I was very bashful, and a sixteen-year-old girl
+came to stay a week with us. She was a peach, and I was seized with a
+happiness not of this world.
+
+One evening my mother suggested that, to entertain her, I take her
+to the theatre. I didn't really like to, because I was seventeen and
+sensitive about appearing in the streets with a girl. I couldn't see my
+way to enjoying my delight in public. But we went.
+
+I didn't feel very happy. I couldn't seem to keep my mind on the play.
+I became conscious, after a while, that that was due less to my lovely
+company than my boots. They were sweet to look upon, as smooth as skin,
+but fitted ten time as close. I got oblivious to the play and the girl
+and the other people and everything but my boots until—I hitched one
+partly off. The sensation was sensuously perfect: I couldn't help it.
+I had to get the other off, partly. Then I was obliged to get them off
+altogether, except that I kept my feet in the legs so they couldn't get
+away.
+
+From that time I enjoyed the play. But the first thing I knew the
+curtain came down, like that, without my notice, and—I hadn't any boots
+on. What's more, they wouldn't go on. I tugged strenuously. And the
+people in our row got up and fussed and said things until the peach and
+I simply had to move on.
+
+We moved—the girl on one arm and the boots under the other.
+
+We walked home that way, sixteen blocks, with a retinue a mile long:
+Every time we passed a lamp-post, death gripped me at the throat. But we
+got home—and I had on white socks.
+
+If I live to be nine hundred and ninety-nine years old I don't suppose
+I could ever forget that walk. I remember, it about as keenly as the
+chagrin I suffered on another occasion.
+
+At one time in our domestic history we had a colored butler who had a
+failing. He could never remember to ask people who came to the door
+to state their business. So I used to suffer a good many calls
+unnecessarily.
+
+One morning when I was especially busy he brought me a card engraved
+with a name I did not know. So I said, “What does he wish to see
+me for?” and Sylvester said, “Ah couldn't ask him, sah; he, wuz a
+genlinun.” “Return instantly,” I thundered, “and inquire his mission.
+Ask him what's his game.” Well, Sylvester returned with the announcement
+that he had lightning-rods to sell. “Indeed,” said I, “things are coming
+to a fine pass when lightning-rod agents send up engraved cards.” “He
+has pictures,” added Sylvester. “Pictures, indeed! He maybe peddling
+etchings. Has he a Russia leather case?” But Sylvester was too
+frightened to remember. I said; “I am going down to make it hot for that
+upstart!”
+
+I went down the stairs, working up my temper all the way. When I got to
+the parlor I was in a fine frenzy concealed beneath a veneer of frigid
+courtesy. And when I looked in the door, sure enough he had a Russia
+leather case in his hand. But I didn't happen to notice that it was our
+Russia leather case.
+
+And if you'd believe me, that man was sitting with a whole gallery of
+etchings spread out before him. But I didn't happen to notice that
+they were our etchings, spread out by some member of my family for some
+unguessed purpose.
+
+Very curtly I asked the gentleman his business. With a surprised, timid
+manner he faltered that he had met my wife and daughter at Onteora, and
+they had asked him to call. Fine lie, I thought, and I froze him.
+
+He seemed to be kind of non-plussed, and sat there fingering the
+etchings in the case until I told him he needn't bother, because we had
+those. That pleased him so much that he leaned over, in an embarrassed
+way, to pick up another from the floor. But I stopped him. I
+said, “We've got that, too.” He seemed pitifully amazed, but I was
+congratulating myself on my great success.
+
+Finally the gentleman asked where Mr. Winton lived; he'd met him in the
+mountains, too. So I said I'd show him gladly. And I did on the spot.
+And when he was gone I felt queer, because there were all his etchings
+spread out on the floor.
+
+Well, my wife came in and asked me who had been in. I showed her the
+card, and told her all exultantly. To my dismay she nearly fainted. She
+told me he had been a most kind friend to them in the country, and had
+forgotten to tell me that he was expected our way. And she pushed me out
+of the door, and commanded me to get over to the Wintons in a hurry and
+get him back.
+
+I came into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Winton was sitting up very
+stiff in a chair, beating me at my own game. Well, I began to put
+another light on things. Before many seconds Mrs. Winton saw it was
+time to change her temperature. In five minutes I had asked the man to
+luncheon, and she to dinner, and so on.
+
+We made that fellow change his trip and stay a week, and we gave him the
+time of his life. Why, I don't believe we let him get sober the whole
+time.
+
+I trust that you will carry away some good thought from these lessons I
+have given you, and that the memory of them will inspire you to higher
+things, and elevate you to plans far above the old—and—and—
+
+And I tell you one thing, young ladies: I've had a better time with you
+to-day than with that peach fifty-three years ago.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+QUEEN VICTORIA
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS TO THE BRITISH SCHOOLS AND UNIVERSITIES CLUB, AT
+          DELMONICO'S, MONDAY, MAY 25, 1908, IN HONOR OF QUEEN VICTORIA'S
+          BIRTHDAY
+
+          Mr. Clemens told the story of his duel with a rival editor: how
+          he practised firing at a barn door and failed to hit it, but a
+          friend of his took off the head of a little bird at thirty-five
+          yards and attributed the shot to Mark twain.  The duel did not
+          take place.  Mr. Clemens continued as follows:
+
+It also happened that I was the means of stopping duelling in Nevada,
+for a law was passed sending all duellists to jail for two years, and
+the Governor, hearing of my marksmanship, said that if he got me I
+should go to prison for the full term. That's why I left Nevada, and I
+have not been there since.
+
+You do me a high honor, indeed, in selecting me to speak of my country
+in this commemoration of the birthday of that noble lady whose life was
+consecrated to the virtues and the humanities and to the promotion of
+lofty ideals, and was a model upon which many a humbler life was formed
+and made beautiful while she lived, and upon which many such lives will
+still be formed in the generations that are to come—a life which finds
+its just image in the star which falls out of its place in the sky and
+out of existence, but whose light still streams with unfaded lustre
+across the abysses of space long after its fires have been extinguished
+at their source.
+
+As a woman the Queen was all that the most exacting standards could
+require. As a far-reaching and effective beneficent moral force she had
+no peer in her time among either, monarchs or commoners. As a monarch
+she was without reproach in her great office. We may not venture,
+perhaps, to say so sweeping a thing as this in cold blood about any
+monarch that preceded her upon either her own throne or upon any other.
+It is a colossal eulogy, but it is justified.
+
+In those qualities of the heart which beget affection in all sorts and
+conditions of men she was rich, surprisingly rich, and for this she will
+still be remembered and revered in the far-off ages when the political
+glories of her reign shall have faded from vital history and fallen to
+a place in that scrap-heap of unverifiable odds and ends which we call
+tradition. Which is to say, in briefer phrase, that her name will live
+always. And with it her character—a fame rare in the history of thrones,
+dominions, principalities, and powers, since it will not rest upon
+harvested selfish and sordid ambitions, but upon love, earned and freely
+vouchsafed. She mended broken hearts where she could, but she broke
+none.
+
+What she did for us in America in our time of storm and stress we shall
+not forget, and whenever we call it to mind we shall always remember
+the wise and righteous mind that guided her in it and sustained and
+supported her—Prince Albert's. We need not talk any idle talk here
+to-night about either possible or impossible war between the two
+countries; there will be no war while we remain sane and the son of
+Victoria and Albert sits upon the throne. In conclusion, I believe I may
+justly claim to utter the voice of my country in saying that we hold him
+in deep honor, and also in cordially wishing him a long life and a happy
+reign.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+JOAN OF ARC
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER OF THE SOCIETY OF ILLUSTRATORS, GIVEN AT
+          THE ALDINE ASSOCIATION CLUB, DECEMBER 22, 1905
+
+          Just before Mr. Clemens made his speech, a young woman attired
+          as Joan of Arc, with a page bearing her flag of battle,
+          courtesied reverently and tendered Mr. Clemens a laurel wreath
+          on a satin pillow.  He tried to speak, but his voice failed
+          from excess of emotion. “I thank you!” he finally exclaimed,
+          and, pulling himself together, he began his speech.
+
+Now there is an illustration [pointing to the retreating Joan of
+Arc]. That is exactly what I wanted—precisely what I wanted—when I was
+describing to myself Joan of Arc, after studying her history and her
+character for twelve years diligently.
+
+That was the product—not the conventional Joan of Arc. Wherever you find
+the conventional Joan of Arc in history she is an offence to anybody who
+knows the story of that wonderful girl.
+
+Why, she was—she was almost supreme in several details. She had a
+marvellous intellect; she had a great heart, had a noble spirit, was
+absolutely pure in her character, her feeling, her language, her words,
+her everything—she was only eighteen years old.
+
+Now put that heart into such a breast—eighteen years old—and give it
+that masterly intellect which showed in the face, and furnish it
+with that almost god-like spirit, and what are you going to have? The
+conventional Joan of Arc? Not by any means. That is impossible. I cannot
+comprehend any such thing as that.
+
+You must have a creature like that young and fair and beautiful girl we
+just saw. And her spirit must look out of the eyes. The figure should
+be—the figure should be in harmony with all that, but, oh, what we get
+in the conventional picture, and it is always the conventional picture!
+
+I hope you will allow me to say that your guild, when you take the
+conventional, you have got it at second-hand. Certainly, if you had
+studied and studied, then you might have something else as a result, but
+when you have the common convention you stick to that.
+
+You cannot prevail upon the artist to do it; he always gives you a Joan
+of Arc—that lovely creature that started a great career at thirteen, but
+whose greatness arrived when she was eighteen; and merely because
+she was a girl he can not see the divinity in her, and so he paints a
+peasant, a coarse and lubberly figure—the figure of a cotton-bale, and
+he clothes that in the coarsest raiment of the peasant region just like
+a fish woman, her hair cropped short like a Russian peasant, and that
+face of hers, which should be beautiful and which should radiate all the
+glories which are in the spirit and in her heart that expression in that
+face is always just the fixed expression of a ham.
+
+But now Mr. Beard has intimated a moment ago, and so has Sir
+Purdon-Clarke also, that the artist, the illustrator, does not often
+get the idea of the man whose book he is illustrating. Here is a very
+remarkable instance of the other thing in Mr. Beard, who illustrated a
+book of mine. You may never have heard of it. I will tell you about it
+now—A Yankee in King Arthur's Court.
+
+Now, Beard got everything that I put into that book and a little more
+besides. Those pictures of Beard's in that book—oh, from the first
+page to the last is one vast sardonic laugh at the trivialities, the
+servilities of our poor human race, and also at the professions and
+the insolence of priest-craft and king-craft—those creatures that make
+slaves of themselves and have not the manliness to shake it off. Beard
+put it all in that book. I meant it to be there. I put a lot of it there
+and Beard put the rest.
+
+That publisher of mine in Hartford had an eye for the pennies, and he
+saved them. He did not waste any on the illustrations. He had a very
+good artist—Williams—who had never taken a lesson in drawing. Everything
+he did was original. The publisher hired the cheapest wood-engraver he
+could find, and in my early books you can see a trace of that. You can
+see that if Williams had had a chance he would have made some very good
+pictures. He had a good heart and good intentions.
+
+I had a character in the first book he illustrated—The Innocents Abroad.
+That was a boy seventeen or eighteen years old—Jack Van Nostrand—a New
+York boy, who, to my mind, was a very remarkable creature. He and I
+tried to get Williams to understand that boy, and make a picture of Jack
+that would be worthy of Jack.
+
+Jack was a most singular combination. He was born and reared in New York
+here. He was as delicate in his feelings, as clean and pure and refined
+in his feelings as any lovely girl that ever was, but whenever he
+expressed a feeling he did it in Bowery slang, and it was a most curious
+combination—that delicacy of his and that apparent coarseness. There
+was no coarseness inside of Jack at all, and Jack, in the course of
+seventeen or eighteen years, had acquired a capital of ignorance that
+was marvellous—ignorance of various things, not of all things. For
+instance, he did not know anything about the Bible. He had never been
+in Sunday-school. Jack got more out of the Holy Land than anybody else,
+because the others knew what they were expecting, but it was a land of
+surprises to him.
+
+I said in the book that we found him watching a turtle on a log, stoning
+that turtle, and he was stoning that turtle because he had read that
+“The song of the turtle was heard in the land,” and this turtle wouldn't
+sing. It sounded absurd, but it was charged on Jack as a fact, and as
+he went along through that country he had a proper foil in an old
+rebel colonel, who was superintendent and head engineer in a large
+Sunday-school in Wheeling, West Virginia. That man was full of
+enthusiasm wherever he went, and would stand and deliver himself of
+speeches, and Jack would listen to those speeches of the colonel and
+wonder.
+
+Jack had made a trip as a child almost across this continent in the
+first overland stage-coach. That man's name who ran that line of
+stages—well, I declare that name is gone. Well, names will go.
+
+Halliday—ah, that's the name—Ben Halliday, your uncle [turning to
+Mr. Carnegie]. That was the fellow—Ben Halliday—and Jack was full of
+admiration at the prodigious speed that that line of stages made—and it
+was good speed—one hundred and twenty-five miles a day, going day and
+night, and it was the event of Jack's life, and there at the Fords of
+the Jordan the colonel was inspired to a speech (he was always making a
+speech), so he called us up to him. He called up five sinners and three
+saints. It has been only lately that Mr. Carnegie beatified me. And he
+said: “Here are the Fords of the Jordan—a monumental place. At this very
+point, when Moses brought the children of Israel through—he brought
+the children of Israel from Egypt through the desert you see there—he
+guarded them through that desert patiently, patiently during forty
+years, and brought them to this spot safe and sound. There you see—there
+is the scene of what Moses did.”
+
+And Jack said: “Moses who?”
+
+“Oh,” he says, “Jack, you ought not to ask that! Moses, the great
+law-giver! Moses, the great patriot! Moses, the great warrior! Moses,
+the great guide, who, as I tell you, brought these people through these
+three hundred miles of sand in forty years, and landed them safe and
+sound.”
+
+Jack said: “There's nothin' in that three hundred miles in forty years.
+Ben Halliday would have snaked 'em through in thirty—six hours.”
+
+Well, I was speaking of Jack's innocence, and it was beautiful. Jack was
+not ignorant on all subjects. That boy was a deep student in the history
+of Anglo-Saxon liberty, and he was a patriot all the way through to
+the marrow. There was a subject that interested him all the time.
+Other subjects were of no concern to Jack, but that quaint, inscrutable
+innocence of his I could not get Williams to put into the picture.
+
+Yes, Williams wanted to do it. He said: “I will make him as innocent
+as a virgin.” He thought a moment, and then said, “I will make him as
+innocent as an unborn virgin;” which covered the ground.
+
+I was reminded of Jack because I came across a letter to-day which is
+over thirty years old that Jack wrote. Jack was doomed to consumption.
+He was very long and slim, poor creature; and in a year or two after
+he got back from that excursion, to the Holy Land he went on a ride on
+horseback through Colorado, and he did not last but a year or two.
+
+He wrote this letter, not to me, but to a friend of mine; and he said:
+“I have ridden horseback”——this was three years after—“I have ridden
+horseback four hundred miles through a desert country where you
+never see anything but cattle now and then, and now and then a cattle
+station—ten miles apart, twenty miles apart. Now you tell Clemens that
+in all that stretch of four hundred miles I have seen only two books—the
+Bible and 'Innocents Abroad'. Tell Clemens the Bible was in a very good
+condition.”
+
+I say that he had studied, and he had, the real Saxon liberty, the
+acquirement of our liberty, and Jack used to repeat some verses—I don't
+know where they came from, but I thought of them to-day when I saw that
+letter—that that boy could have been talking of himself in those quoted
+lines from that unknown poet:
+
+
+
+               “For he had sat at Sidney's feet
+               And walked with him in plain apart,
+               And through the centuries heard the beat
+               Of Freedom's march through Cromwell's heart.”
+
+And he was that kind of a boy. He should have lived, and yet he should
+not have lived, because he died at that early age—he couldn't have been
+more than twenty—he had seen all there was to see in the world that was
+worth the trouble of living in it; he had seen all of this world that is
+valuable; he had seen all of this world that was illusion, and illusion,
+is the only valuable thing in it. He had arrived at that point where
+presently the illusions would cease and he would have entered upon the
+realities of life, and God help the man that has arrived at that point.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ACCIDENT INSURANCE—ETC.
+
+
+
+          DELIVERED IN HARTFORD, AT A DINNER TO CORNELIUS WALFORD,
+          OF LONDON
+
+GENTLEMEN,—I am glad, indeed, to assist in welcoming the distinguished
+guest of this occasion to a city whose fame as an insurance centre has
+extended to all lands, and given us the name of being a quadruple band
+of brothers working sweetly hand in hand—the Colt's arms company making
+the destruction of our race easy and convenient, our life-insurance
+citizens paying for the victims when they pass away, Mr. Batterson
+perpetuating their memory with his stately monuments, and our
+fire-insurance comrades taking care of their hereafter. I am glad to
+assist in welcoming our guest—first, because he is an Englishman, and I
+owe a heavy debt of hospitality to certain of his fellow-countrymen;
+and secondly, because he is in sympathy with insurance, and has been
+the means of making many other men cast their sympathies in the same
+direction.
+
+Certainly there is no nobler field for human effort than the insurance
+line of business—especially accident insurance. Ever since I have been a
+director in an accident-insurance company I have felt that I am a better
+man. Life has seemed more precious. Accidents have assumed a kindlier
+aspect. Distressing special providences have lost half their horror. I
+look upon a cripple now with affectionate interest—as an advertisement.
+I do not seem to care for poetry any more. I do not care for
+politics—even agriculture does not excite me. But to me now there is a
+charm about a railway collision that is unspeakable.
+
+There is nothing more beneficent than accident insurance. I have seen
+an entire family lifted out of poverty and into affluence by the simple
+boon of a broken leg. I have had people come to me on crutches, with
+tears in their eyes, to bless this beneficent institution. In all my
+experience of life, I have seen nothing so seraphic as the look that
+comes into a freshly mutilated man's face when he feels in his vest
+pocket with his remaining hand and finds his accident ticket all right.
+And I have seen nothing so sad as the look that came into another
+splintered customer's face when he found he couldn't collect on a wooden
+leg.
+
+I will remark here, by way of advertisement, that that noble charity
+which we have named the HARTFORD ACCIDENT INSURANCE COMPANY is an
+institution, which is peculiarly to be depended upon. A man is bound to
+prosper who gives it his custom. No man can take out a policy in it and
+not get crippled before the year is out. Now there was one indigent
+man who had been disappointed so often with other companies that he had
+grown disheartened, his appetite left him, he ceased to smile—said life
+was but a weariness. Three weeks ago I got him to insure with us, and
+now he is the brightest, happiest spirit in this land—has a good steady
+income and a stylish suit of new bandages every day, and travels around
+on a shutter.
+
+I will say in conclusion, that my share of the welcome to our guest is
+none the less hearty because I talk so much nonsense, and I know that I
+can say the same far the rest of the speakers.
+
+(The speaker was a director of the company named.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OSTEOPATHY
+
+
+
+          On February 27, 1901, Mr. Clemens appeared before the Assembly
+          Committee in Albany, New York, in favor of the Seymour bill
+          legalizing the practice of osteopathy.
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND GENTLEMEN,—Dr. Van Fleet is the gentleman who gave
+me the character. I have heard my character discussed a thousand times
+before you were born, sir, and shown the iniquities in it, and you did
+not get more than half of them.
+
+I was touched and distressed when they brought that part of a child in
+here, and proved that you cannot take a child to pieces in that way.
+What remarkable names those diseases have! It makes me envious of the
+man that has them all. I have had many diseases, and am thankful for all
+I have had.
+
+One of the gentlemen spoke of the knowledge of something else found in
+Sweden, a treatment which I took. It is, I suppose, a kindred thing.
+There is apparently no great difference between them. I was a year and
+a half in London and Sweden, in the hands of that grand old man, Mr.
+Kildren.
+
+I cannot call him a doctor, for he has not the authority to give a
+certificate if a patient should die, but fortunately they don't.
+
+The State stands as a mighty Gibraltar clothed with power. It stands
+between me and my body, and tells me what kind of a doctor I must
+employ. When my soul is sick unlimited spiritual liberty is given me by
+the State. Now then, it doesn't seem logical that the State shall depart
+from this great policy, the health of the soul, and change about and
+take the other position in the matter of smaller consequence—the health
+of the body.
+
+The Bell bill limitations would drive the osteopaths out of the State.
+Oh, dear me! when you drive somebody out of the State you create the
+same condition as prevailed in the Garden of Eden.
+
+You want the thing that you can't have. I didn't care much about the
+osteopaths, but as soon as I found they were going to drive them out I
+got in a state of uneasiness, and I can't sleep nights now.
+
+I know how Adam felt in the Garden of Eden about the prohibited apple.
+Adam didn't want the apple till he found out he couldn't have it, just
+as he would have wanted osteopathy if he couldn't have it.
+
+Whose property is my body? Probably mine. I so regard it. If I
+experiment with it, who must be answerable? I, not the State. If I
+choose injudiciously, does the State die? Oh no.
+
+I was the subject of my mother's experiment. She was wise. She made
+experiments cautiously. She didn't pick out just any child in the
+flock. No, she chose judiciously. She chose one she could spare, and she
+couldn't spare the others. I was the choice child of the flock; so I had
+to take all of the experiments.
+
+In 1844 Kneipp filled the world with the wonder of the water cure.
+Mother wanted to try it, but on sober second thought she put me through.
+A bucket of ice-water was poured over to see the effect. Then I was
+rubbed down with flannels, sheet was dipped in the water, and I was put
+to bed. I perspired so much that mother put a life-preserver to bed with
+me.
+
+But this had nothing but a spiritual effect on me, and I didn't care for
+that. When they took off the sheet it was yellow from the output of my
+conscience, the exudation of sin. It purified me spiritually, and it
+remains until this day.
+
+I have experimented with osteopathy and allopathy. I took a chance at
+the latter for old times' sake, for, three times, when a boy, mother's
+new methods got me so near death's door she had to call in the family
+physician to pull me out.
+
+The physicians think they are moved by regard for the best interests of
+the public. Isn't there a little touch of self-interest back of it all?
+It seems to me there is, and I don't claim to have all the virtues—only
+nine or ten of them.
+
+I was born in the “Banner State,” and by “Banner State” I mean Missouri.
+Osteopathy was born in the same State, and both of us are getting along
+reasonably well. At a time during my younger days my attention was
+attracted to a picture of a house which bore the inscription, “Christ
+Disputing with the Doctors.”
+
+I could attach no other meaning to it than that Christ was actually
+quarreling with the doctors. So I asked an old slave, who was a sort of
+a herb doctor in a small way—unlicensed, of course—what the meaning
+of the picture was. “What had he done?” I asked. And the colored man
+replied “Humph, he ain't got no license.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WATER-SUPPLY
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens visited Albany on February 27 and 28, 1901. The
+          privileges of the floor were granted to him and he was asked to make a
+          short address to the Senate.
+
+MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN,—I do not know how to thank you sufficiently
+for this high honor which you are conferring upon me. I have for the
+second time now enjoyed this kind of prodigal hospitality—in the other
+House yesterday, to-day in this one. I am a modest man, and diffident
+about appearing before legislative bodies, and yet utterly and entirely
+appreciative of a courtesy like this when it is extended to me, and I
+thank you very much for it.
+
+If I had the privilege, which unfortunately I have not got, of
+suggesting things to the legislators in my individual capacity, I would
+so enjoy the opportunity that I would not charge anything for it at all.
+I would do that without a salary. I would give them the benefit of my
+wisdom and experience in legislative bodies, and if I could have had the
+privilege for a few minutes of giving advice to the other House I should
+have liked to, but of course I could not undertake it, as they did not
+ask me to do it—but if they had only asked me!
+
+Now that the House is considering a measure which is to furnish a
+water-supply to the city of New York, why, permit me to say I live
+in New York myself. I know all about its ways, its desires, and its
+residents, and—if I had the privilege—I should have urged them not to
+weary themselves over a measure like that to furnish water to the city
+of New York, for we never drink it.
+
+But I will not venture to advise this body, as I only venture to advise
+bodies who are, not present.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISTAKEN IDENTITY
+
+ADDRESS AT THE ANNUAL “LADIES' DAY,” PAPYRUS CLUB, BOSTON
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I am perfectly
+astonished—a-s-t-o-n-i-s-h-e-d—ladies and gentlemen—astonished at
+the way history repeats itself. I find myself situated at this moment
+exactly and precisely as I was once before, years ago, to a jot, to a
+tittle—to a very hair. There isn't a shade of difference. It is the most
+astonishing coincidence that ever—but wait. I will tell you the former
+instance, and then you will see it for yourself. Years ago I arrived one
+day at Salamanca, New York, eastward bound; must change cars there and
+take the sleeper train. There were crowds of people there, and they were
+swarming into the long sleeper train and packing it full, and it was a
+perfect purgatory of dust and confusion and gritting of teeth and soft,
+sweet, and low profanity. I asked the young man in the ticket-office if
+I could have a sleeping-section, and he answered “No,” with a snarl that
+shrivelled me up like burned leather. I went off, smarting under this
+insult to my dignity, and asked another local official, supplicatingly,
+if I couldn't have some poor little corner somewhere in a sleeping-car;
+but he cut me short with a venomous “No, you can't; every corner is
+full. Now, don't bother me any more”; and he turned his back and walked
+off. My dignity was in a state now which cannot be described. I was so
+ruffled that—“well,” I said to my companion, “If these people knew who
+I am they—” But my companion cut me short there—“Don't talk such folly,”
+ he said; “if they did know who you are, do you suppose it would help
+your high-mightiness to a vacancy in a train which has no vacancies in
+it?”
+
+This did not improve my condition any to speak of, but just then I
+observed that the colored porter of a sleeping-car had his eye on me.
+I saw his dark countenance light up. He whispered to the uniformed
+conductor, punctuating with nods and jerks toward me, and straightway
+this conductor came forward, oozing politeness from every pore.
+
+“Can I be of any service to you?” he asked. “Will you have a place in
+the sleeper?”
+
+“Yes,” I said, “and much oblige me, too. Give me anything—anything will
+answer.”
+
+“We have nothing left but the big family state-room,” he continued,
+“with two berths and a couple of arm-chairs in it, but it is entirely at
+your disposal. Here, Tom, take these satchels aboard!”
+
+Then he touched his hat and we and the colored Tom moved along. I was
+bursting to drop just one little remark to my companion, but I held in
+and waited. Tom made us comfortable in that sumptuous great apartment,
+and then said, with many bows and a perfect affluence of smiles:
+
+“Now, is dey anything you want, sah? Case you kin have jes' anything you
+wants. It don't make no difference what it is.”
+
+“Can I have some hot water and a tumbler at nine to-night-blazing hot?”
+ I asked. “You know about the right temperature for a hot Scotch punch?”
+
+“Yes, sah, dat you kin; you kin pen on it; I'll get it myself.”
+
+“Good! Now, that lamp is hung too high. Can I have a big coach candle
+fixed up just at the head of my bed, so that I can read comfortably?”
+
+“Yes, sah, you kin; I'll fix her up myself, an' I'll fix her so she'll
+burn all night. Yes, sah; an' you can jes' call for anything you want,
+and dish yer whole railroad'll be turned wrong end up an' inside out for
+to get it for you. Dat's so.” And he disappeared.
+
+Well, I tilted my head back, hooked my thumbs in my armholes, smiled a
+smile on my companion, and said, gently:
+
+“Well, what do you say now?”
+
+My companion was not in the humor to respond, and didn't. The next
+moment that smiling black face was thrust in at the crack of the door,
+and this speech followed:
+
+“Laws bless you, sah, I knowed you in a minute. I told de conductah so.
+Laws! I knowed you de minute I sot eyes on you.”
+
+“Is that so, my boy?” (Handing him a quadruple fee.) “Who am I?”
+
+“Jenuel McClellan,” and he disappeared again.
+
+My companion said, vinegarishly, “Well, well! what do you say now?”
+ Right there comes in the marvellous coincidence I mentioned a while
+ago—viz., I was speechless, and that is my condition now. Perceive it?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CATS AND CANDY
+
+
+
+          The following address was delivered at a social meeting of
+          literary men in New York in 1874:
+
+When I was fourteen I was living with my parents, who were very poor—and
+correspondently honest. We had a youth living with us by the name of
+Jim Wolfe. He was an excellent fellow, seventeen years old, and very
+diffident. He and I slept together—virtuously; and one bitter winter's
+night a cousin Mary—she's married now and gone—gave what they call a
+candy-pulling in those days in the West, and they took the saucers of
+hot candy outside of the house into the snow, under a sort of old bower
+that came from the eaves—it was a sort of an ell then, all covered with
+vines—to cool this hot candy in the snow, and they were all sitting
+there. In the mean time we were gone to bed. We were not invited to
+attend this party; we were too young.
+
+The young ladies and gentlemen were assembled there, and Jim and I were
+in bed. There was about four inches of snow on the roof of this ell,
+and our windows looked out on it; and it was frozen hard. A couple of
+tom-cats—it is possible one might have been of the opposite sex—were
+assembled on the chimney in the middle of this ell, and they were
+growling at a fearful rate, and switching their tails about and going
+on, and we couldn't sleep at all.
+
+Finally Jim said, “For two cents I'd go out and snake them cats off that
+chimney.” So I said, “Of course you would.” He said, “Well, I would;
+I have a mighty good notion to do it.” Says I, “Of course you have;
+certainly you have, you have a great notion to do it.” I hoped he might
+try it, but I was afraid he wouldn't.
+
+Finally I did get his ambition up, and he raised the window and climbed
+out on the icy roof, with nothing on but his socks and a very short
+shirt. He went climbing along on all fours on the roof toward the
+chimney where the cats were. In the mean time these young ladies and
+gentlemen were enjoying themselves down under the eaves, and when Jim
+got almost to that chimney he made a pass at the cats, and his heels
+flew up and he shot down and crashed through those vines, and lit in the
+midst of the ladies and gentlemen, and sat down in those hot saucers of
+candy.
+
+There was a stampede, of course, and he came up-stairs dropping pieces
+of chinaware and candy all the way up, and when he got up there—now
+anybody in the world would have gone into profanity or something
+calculated to relieve the mind, but he didn't; he scraped the candy off
+his legs, nursed his blisters a little, and said, “I could have ketched
+them cats if I had had on a good ready.”
+
+[Does any reader know what a “ready” was in 1840? D.W.]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OBITUARY POETRY
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE ACTORS' FUND FAIR, PHILADELPHIA, in 1895
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—The—er this—er—welcome occasion gives me
+an—er—opportunity to make an—er—explanation that I have long desired to
+deliver myself of. I rise to the highest honors before a Philadelphia
+audience. In the course of my checkered career I have, on divers
+occasions, been charged—er—maliciously with a more or less serious
+offence. It is in reply to one of the more—er—important of these that
+I wish to speak. More than once I have been accused of writing obituary
+poetry in the Philadelphia Ledger.
+
+I wish right here to deny that dreadful assertion. I will admit that
+once, when a compositor in the Ledger establishment, I did set up some
+of that poetry, but for a worse offence than that no indictment can be
+found against me. I did not write that poetry—at least, not all of it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CIGARS AND TOBACCO
+
+My friends for some years now have remarked that I am an inveterate
+consumer of tobacco. That is true, but my habits with regard to tobacco
+have changed. I have no doubt that you will say, when I have explained
+to you what my present purpose is, that my taste has deteriorated, but I
+do not so regard it.
+
+Whenever I held a smoking-party at my house, I found that my guests had
+always just taken the pledge.
+
+Let me tell you briefly the history of my personal relation to tobacco.
+It began, I think, when I was a lad, and took the form of a quid, which
+I became expert in tucking under my tongue. Afterward I learned the
+delights of the pipe, and I suppose there was no other youngster of my
+age who could more deftly cut plug tobacco so as to make it available
+for pipe-smoking.
+
+Well, time ran on, and there came a time when I was able to gratify one
+of my youthful ambitions—I could buy the choicest Havana cigars without
+seriously interfering with my income. I smoked a good many, changing off
+from the Havana cigars to the pipe in the course of a day's smoking.
+
+At last it occurred to me that something was lacking in the
+Havana cigar. It did not quite fulfil my youthful anticipations.
+I experimented. I bought what was called a seed-leaf cigar with a
+Connecticut wrapper. After a while I became satiated of these, and I
+searched for something else, The Pittsburg stogy was recommended to me.
+It certainly had the merit of cheapness, if that be a merit in tobacco,
+and I experimented with the stogy.
+
+Then, once more, I changed off, so that I might acquire the subtler
+flavor of the Wheeling toby. Now that palled, and I looked around New
+York in the hope of finding cigars which would seem to most people vile,
+but which, I am sure, would be ambrosial to me. I couldn't find any.
+They put into my hands some of those little things that cost ten cents a
+box, but they are a delusion.
+
+I said to a friend, “I want to know if you can direct me to an honest
+tobacco merchant who will tell me what is the worst cigar in the New
+York market, excepting those made for Chinese consumption—I want real
+tobacco. If you will do this and I find the man is as good as his word,
+I will guarantee him a regular market for a fair amount of his cigars.”
+
+We found a tobacco dealer who would tell the truth—who, if a cigar was
+bad, would boldly say so. He produced what he called the very worst
+cigars he had ever had in his shop. He let me experiment with one then
+and there. The test was satisfactory.
+
+This was, after all, the real thing. I negotiated for a box of them and
+took them away with me, so that I might be sure of having them handy
+when I want them.
+
+I discovered that the “worst cigars,” so called, are the best for me,
+after all.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BILLIARDS
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens attended a billiard tourney on the evening of April
+          24, 1906, and was called on to tell a story.
+
+The game of billiards has destroyed my naturally sweet disposition.
+Once, when I was an underpaid reporter in Virginia City, whenever I
+wished to play billiards I went out to look for an easy mark. One day
+a stranger came to town and opened a billiard parlor. I looked him over
+casually. When he proposed a game, I answered, “All right.”
+
+“Just knock the balls around a little so that I can get your gait,” he
+said; and when I had done so, he remarked: “I will be perfectly
+fair with you. I'll play you left-handed.” I felt hurt, for he was
+cross-eyed, freckled, and had red hair, and I determined to teach him a
+lesson. He won first shot, ran out, took my half-dollar, and all I got
+was the opportunity to chalk my cue.
+
+“If you can play like that with your left hand,” I said, “I'd like to
+see you play with your right.”
+
+“I can't,” he said. “I'm left-handed.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE UNION RIGHT OR WRONG
+
+
+
+          REMINISCENCES OF NEVADA
+
+I can assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that Nevada had lively
+newspapers in those days.
+
+My great competitor among the reporters was Boggs, of the Union, an
+excellent reporter.
+
+Once in three or four months he would get a little intoxicated; but,
+as a general thing, he was a wary and cautious drinker, although always
+ready to damp himself a little with the enemy.
+
+He had the advantage of me in one thing: he could get the monthly
+public-school report and I could not, because the principal hated my
+sheet—the 'Enterprise'.
+
+One snowy night, when the report was due, I started out, sadly wondering
+how I was to get it.
+
+Presently, a few steps up the almost deserted street, I stumbled on
+Boggs, and asked him where he was going.
+
+“After the school report.”
+
+“I'll go along with you.”
+
+“No, Sir. I'll excuse you.”
+
+“Have it your own way.”
+
+A saloon-keeper's boy passed by with a steaming pitcher of hot punch,
+and Boggs snuffed the fragrance gratefully.
+
+He gazed fondly after the boy, and saw him start up the Enterprise
+stairs.
+
+I said:
+
+“I wish you could help me get that school business, but since you can't,
+I must run up to the Union office and see if I can get a proof of it
+after it's set up, though I don't begin to suppose I can. Good night.”
+
+“Hold on a minute. I don't mind getting the report and sitting around
+with the boys a little while you copy it, if you're willing to drop down
+to the principal's with me.”
+
+“Now you talk like a human being. Come along.”
+
+We ploughed a couple of blocks through the snow, got the report—a short
+document—and soon copied it in our office.
+
+Meantime, Boggs helped himself to the punch.
+
+I gave the manuscript back to him, and we started back to get an
+inquest.
+
+At four o'clock in the morning, when we had gone to press and were
+having a relaxing concert as usual (for some of the printers were good
+singers and others good performers on the guitar and on that atrocity
+the accordion), the proprietor of the Union strode in and asked if
+anybody had heard anything of Boggs or the school report.
+
+We stated the case, and all turned out to help hunt for the delinquent.
+
+We found him standing on a table in a saloon, with an old tin lantern
+in one hand and the school report in the other, haranguing a gang of
+“corned” miners on the iniquity of squandering the public money on
+education “when hundreds and hundreds of honest, hard-working men were
+literally starving for whiskey.”
+
+He had been assisting in a regal spree with those parties for hours.
+
+We dragged him away, and put him into bed.
+
+Of course there was no school report in the Union, and Boggs held me
+accountable, though I was innocent of any intention or desire to compass
+its absence from that paper, and was as sorry as any one that the
+misfortune had occurred. But we were perfectly friendly.
+
+The day the next school report was due the proprietor of the Tennessee
+Mine furnished us a buggy, and asked us to go down and write something
+about the property—a very common request, and one always gladly acceded
+to when people furnished buggies, for we were as fond of pleasure
+excursions as other people.
+
+The “mine” was a hole in the ground ninety feet deep, and no way of
+getting down into it but by holding on to a rope and being lowered with
+a windlass.
+
+The workmen had just gone off somewhere to dinner.
+
+I was not strong enough to lower Boggs's bulk, so I took an unlighted
+candle in my teeth, made a loop for my foot in the end of the rope,
+implored Boggs not to go to sleep or let the windlass get the start of
+him, and then swung out over the shaft.
+
+I reached the bottom muddy and bruised about the elbows, but safe.
+
+I lit the candle, made an examination of the rock, selected some
+specimens, and shouted to Boggs to hoist away.
+
+No answer.
+
+Presently a head appeared in the circle of daylight away aloft, and a
+voice came down:
+
+“Are you all set?”
+
+“All set-hoist away!”
+
+“Are you comfortable?”
+
+“Perfectly.”
+
+“Could you wait a little?”
+
+“Oh, certainly-no particular hurry.”
+
+“Well-good-bye.”
+
+“Why, where are you going?”
+
+“After the school report!”
+
+And he did.
+
+I stayed down there an hour, and surprised the workmen when they hauled
+up and found a man on the rope instead of a bucket of rock.
+
+I walked home, too—five miles-up-hill.
+
+We had no school report next morning—but the Union had.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN IDEAL FRENCH ADDRESS
+
+
+
+     EXTRACT FROM “PARIS NOTES,” IN “TOM SAWYER ABROAD,” ETC.
+
+I am told that a French sermon is like a French speech—it never names an
+historical event, but only the date of it; if you are not up in dates,
+you get left. A French speech is something like this:
+
+“Comrades, citizens, brothers, noble parts of the only sublime and
+perfect nation, let us not forget that the 21st January cast off our
+chains; that the 10th August relieved us of the shameful presence of
+foreign spies; that the 5th September was its own justification before
+Heaven and humanity; that the 18th Brumaire contained the seeds of
+its own punishment; that the 14th July was the mighty voice of liberty
+proclaiming the resurrection, the new day, and inviting the oppressed
+peoples of the earth to look upon the divine face of France and live;
+and let us here record our everlasting curse against the man of the 2d
+December, and declare in thunder tones, the native tones of France, that
+but for him there had been no 17th March in history, no 12th October,
+nor 9th January, no 22d April, no 16th November, no 30th September,
+no 2d July, no 14th February, no 29th June, no 15th August, no 31st
+May—that but for him, France, the pure, the grand, the peerless, had had
+a serene and vacant almanac to-day.”
+
+I have heard of one French sermon which closed in this odd yet eloquent
+way:
+
+“My hearers, we have sad cause to remember the man of the 13th January.
+The results of the vast crime of the 13th January have been in just
+proportion to the magnitude of the act itself. But for it there had been
+no 30th November—sorrowful spectacle! The grisly deed of the 16th June
+had not been done but for it, nor had the man of the 16th June known
+existence; to it alone the 3d September was due, also the fatal 12th
+October. Shall we, then, be grateful for the 13th January, with its
+freight of death for you and me and all that breathe? Yes, my friends,
+for it gave us also that which had never come but for it, and it
+alone—the blessed 25th December.”
+
+It may be well enough to explain. The man of the 13th January is Adam;
+the crime of that date was the eating of the apple; the sorrowful
+spectacle of the 30th November was the expulsion from Eden; the
+grisly deed of the 16th June was the murder of Abel; the act of the 3d
+September was the beginning of the journey to the land of Nod; the 12th
+day of October, the last mountaintops disappeared under the flood.
+When you go to church in France, you want to take your almanac with
+you—annotated.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+STATISTICS
+
+
+
+          EXTRACT FROM “THE HISTORY OF THE SAVAGE CLUB”
+
+          During that period of gloom when domestic bereavement had
+          forced Mr. Clemens and his dear ones to secure the privacy they
+          craved until their wounds should heal, his address was known to
+          only a very few of his closest friends.  One old friend in New
+          York, after vain efforts to get his address, wrote him a letter
+          addressed as follows
+
+                    MARK TWAIN,
+                         God Knows Where,
+                                   Try London.
+
+          The letter found him, and Mr. Clemens replied to the letter
+          expressing himself surprised and complimented that the person
+          who was credited with knowing his whereabouts should take so
+          much interest in him, adding: “Had the letter been addressed to
+          the care of the 'other party,' I would naturally have expected
+          to receive it without delay.”
+
+          His correspondent tried again, and addressed the second letter:
+
+                    MARK TWAIN,
+                         The Devil Knows Where,
+                              Try London.
+
+          This found him also no less promptly.
+
+          On June 9, 1899, he consented to visit the Savage Club, London,
+          on condition that there was to be no publicity and no speech
+          was to be expected from him.  The toastmaster, in proposing the
+          health of their guest, said that as a Scotchman, and therefore
+          as a born expert, he thought Mark Twain had little or no claim
+          to the title of humorist.  Mr. Clemens had tried to be funny
+          but had failed, and his true role in life was statistics; that
+          he was a master of statistics, and loved them for their own
+          sake, and it would be the easiest task he ever undertook if he
+          would try to count all the real jokes he had ever made.  While
+          the toastmaster was speaking, the members saw Mr. Clemens's
+          eyes begin to sparkle and his cheeks to flush.  He jumped up,
+          and made a characteristic speech.
+
+Perhaps I am not a humorist, but I am a first-class fool—a simpleton;
+for up to this moment I have believed Chairman MacAlister to be a decent
+person whom I could allow to mix up with my friends and relatives. The
+exhibition he has just made of himself reveals him to be a scoundrel and
+a knave of the deepest dye. I have been cruelly deceived, and it serves
+me right for trusting a Scotchman. Yes, I do understand figures, and I
+can count. I have counted the words in MacAlister's drivel (I certainly
+cannot call it a speech), and there were exactly three thousand four
+hundred and thirty-nine. I also carefully counted the lies—there were
+exactly three thousand four hundred and thirty-nine. Therefore, I leave
+MacAlister to his fate.
+
+I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors,
+because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is
+dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I am not feeling very well
+myself.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GALVESTON ORPHAN BAZAAR
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A FAIR HELD AT THE WALDORF-ASTORIA, NEW YORK, IN
+          OCTOBER, 1900, IN AID OF THE ORPHANS AT GALVESTON
+
+I expected that the Governor of Texas would occupy this place first and
+would speak to you, and in the course of his remarks would drop a
+text for me to talk from; but with the proverbial obstinacy that is
+proverbial with governors, they go back on their duties, and he has not
+come here, and has not furnished me with a text, and I am here without
+a text. I have no text except what you furnish me with your handsome
+faces, and—but I won't continue that, for I could go on forever about
+attractive faces, beautiful dresses, and other things. But, after all,
+compliments should be in order in a place like this.
+
+I have been in New York two or three days, and have been in a condition
+of strict diligence night and day, the object of this diligence being
+to regulate the moral and political situation on this planet—put it on
+a sound basis—and when you are regulating the conditions of a planet it
+requires a great deal of talk in a great many kinds of ways, and when
+you have talked a lot the emptier you get, and get also in a position
+of corking. When I am situated like that, with nothing to say, I feel as
+though I were a sort of fraud; I seem to be playing a part, and please
+consider I am playing a part for want of something better, and this is
+not unfamiliar to me; I have often done this before.
+
+When I was here about eight years ago I was coming up in a car of the
+elevated road. Very few people were in that car, and on one end of it
+there was no one, except on the opposite seat, where sat a man about
+fifty years old, with a most winning face and an elegant eye—a beautiful
+eye; and I took him from his dress to be a master mechanic, a man who
+had a vocation. He had with him a very fine little child of about four
+or five years. I was watching the affection which existed between those
+two. I judged he was the grandfather, perhaps. It was really a pretty
+child, and I was admiring her, and as soon as he saw I was admiring her
+he began to notice me.
+
+I could see his admiration of me in his eye, and I did what everybody
+else would do—admired the child four times as much, knowing I would get
+four times as much of his admiration. Things went on very pleasantly. I
+was making my way into his heart.
+
+By-and-by, when he almost reached the station where he was to get off,
+he got up, crossed over, and he said: “Now I am going to say something
+to you which I hope you will regard as a compliment.” And then he went
+on to say: “I have never seen Mark Twain, but I have seen a portrait of
+him, and any friend of mine will tell you that when I have once seen a
+portrait of a man I place it in my eye and store it away in my memory,
+and I can tell you now that you look enough like Mark Twain to be his
+brother. Now,” he said, “I hope you take this as a compliment. Yes,
+you are a very good imitation; but when I come to look closer, you are
+probably not that man.”
+
+I said: “I will be frank with you. In my desire to look like that
+excellent character I have dressed for the character; I have been
+playing a part.”
+
+He said: “That is all right, that is all right; you look very well on
+the outside, but when it comes to the inside you are not in it with the
+original.”
+
+So when I come to a place like this with nothing valuable to say I
+always play a part. But I will say before I sit down that when it comes
+to saying anything here I will express myself in this way: I am heartily
+in sympathy with you in your efforts to help those who were sufferers
+in this calamity, and in your desire to help those who were rendered
+homeless, and in saying this I wish to impress on you the fact that I am
+not playing a part.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE
+
+
+
+          After the address at the Robert Fulton Fund meeting, June 19,
+          1906, Mr. Clemens talked to the assembled reporters about the
+          San Francisco earthquake.
+
+I haven't been there since 1868, and that great city of San Francisco
+has grown up since my day. When I was there she had one hundred and
+eighteen thousand people, and of this number eighteen thousand were
+Chinese. I was a reporter on the Virginia City Enterprise in Nevada in
+1862, and stayed there, I think, about two years, when I went to San
+Francisco and got a job as a reporter on The Call. I was there three or
+four years.
+
+I remember one day I was walking down Third Street in San Francisco. It
+was a sleepy, dull Sunday afternoon, and no one was stirring. Suddenly
+as I looked up the street about three hundred yards the whole side of
+a house fell out. The street was full of bricks and mortar. At the same
+time I was knocked against the side of a house, and stood there stunned
+for a moment.
+
+I thought it was an earthquake. Nobody else had heard anything about it
+and no one said earthquake to me afterward, but I saw it and I wrote
+it. Nobody else wrote it, and the house I saw go into the street was the
+only house in the city that felt it. I've always wondered if it wasn't a
+little performance gotten up for my especial entertainment by the nether
+regions.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARITY AND ACTORS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE ACTORS' FUND FAIR IN THE METROPOLITAN
+          OPERA HOUSE, NEW YORK, MAY 6, 1907
+
+          Mr. Clemens, in his white suit, formally declared the fair
+          open.  Mr. Daniel Frohman, in introducing Mr. Clemens, said:
+
+          “We intend to make this a banner week in the history of the
+          Fund, which takes an interest in every one on the stage, be he
+          actor, singer, dancer, or workman.  We have spent more than
+          $40,000 during the past year.  Charity covers a multitude of
+          sins, but it also reveals a multitude of virtues.  At the
+          opening of the former fair we had the assistance of Edwin Booth
+          and Joseph Jefferson.  In their place we have to-day that
+          American institution and apostle of wide humanity--Mark Twain.”
+
+As Mr. Frohman has said, charity reveals a multitude of virtues. This is
+true, and it is to be proved here before the week is over. Mr. Frohman
+has told you something of the object and something of the character of
+the work. He told me he would do this—and he has kept his word! I had
+expected to hear of it through the newspapers. I wouldn't trust anything
+between Frohman and the newspapers—except when it's a case of charity!
+
+You should all remember that the actor has been your benefactor many and
+many a year. When you have been weary and downcast he has lifted your
+heart out of gloom and given you a fresh impulse. You are all under
+obligation to him. This is your opportunity to be his benefactor—to help
+provide for him in his old age and when he suffers from infirmities.
+
+At this fair no one is to be persecuted to buy. If you offer a
+twenty-dollar bill in payment for a purchase of $1 you will receive
+$19 in change. There is to be no robbery here. There is to be no creed
+here—no religion except charity. We want to raise $250,000—and that is a
+great task to attempt.
+
+The President has set the fair in motion by pressing the button in
+Washington. Now your good wishes are to be transmuted into cash.
+
+By virtue of the authority in me vested I declare the fair open. I call
+the ball game. Let the transmuting begin!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RUSSIAN REPUBLIC
+
+
+
+      The American auxiliary movement to aid the cause of freedom in Russia was
+      launched on the evening of April 11, 1906, at the Club A house, 3 Fifth
+      Avenue, with Mr. Clemens and Maxim Gorky as the principal spokesmen. Mr.
+      Clemens made an introductory address, presenting Mr. Gorky.
+
+If we can build a Russian republic to give to the persecuted people of
+the Tsar's domain the same measure of freedom that we enjoy, let us go
+ahead and do it. We need not discuss the methods by which that purpose
+is to be attained. Let us hope that fighting will be postponed or
+averted for a while, but if it must come—
+
+I am most emphatically in sympathy with the movement, now on foot
+in Russia, to make that country free. I am certain that it will be
+successful, as it deserves to be. Any such movement should have and
+deserves our earnest and unanimous co-operation, and such a petition for
+funds as has been explained by Mr. Hunter, with its just and powerful
+meaning, should have the utmost support of each and every one of us.
+Anybody whose ancestors were in this country when we were trying to free
+ourselves from oppression, must sympathize with those who now are trying
+to do the same thing in Russia.
+
+The parallel I have just drawn only goes to show that it makes no
+difference whether the oppression is bitter or not; men with red, warm
+blood in their veins will not endure it, but will seek to cast it off.
+If we keep our hearts in this matter Russia will be free.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+RUSSIAN SUFFERERS
+
+
+
+          On December 18, 1905, an entertainment was given at the Casino
+          for the benefit of the Russian sufferers.  After the
+          performance Mr. Clemens spoke.
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It seems a sort of cruelty to inflict upon an
+audience like this our rude English tongue, after we have heard that
+divine speech flowing in that lucid Gallic tongue.
+
+It has always been a marvel to me—that French language; it has always
+been a puzzle to me. How beautiful that language is. How expressive it
+seems to be. How full of grace it is.
+
+And when it comes from lips like those, how eloquent and how liquid
+it is. And, oh, I am always deceived—I always think I am going to
+understand it.
+
+Oh, it is such a delight to me, such a delight to me, to meet Madame
+Bernhardt, and laugh hand to hand and heart to heart with her.
+
+I have seen her play, as we all have, and oh, that is divine; but I have
+always wanted to know Madame Bernhardt herself—her fiery self. I have
+wanted to know that beautiful character.
+
+Why, she is the youngest person I ever saw, except myself—for I always
+feel young when I come in the presence of young people.
+
+I have a pleasant recollection of an incident so many years ago—when
+Madame Bernhardt came to Hartford, where I lived, and she was going
+to play and the tickets were three dollars, and there were two lovely
+women—a widow and her daughter—neighbors of ours, highly cultivated
+ladies they were; their tastes were fine and elevated, but they were
+very poor, and they said “Well, we must not spend six dollars on a
+pleasure of the mind, a pleasure of the intellect; we must spend it, if
+it must go at all, to furnish to somebody bread to eat.”
+
+And so they sorrowed over the fact that they had to give up that great
+pleasure of seeing Madame Bernhardt, but there were two neighbors
+equally highly cultivated and who could not afford bread, and those
+good-hearted Joneses sent that six dollars—deprived themselves of it—and
+sent it to those poor Smiths to buy bread with. And those Smiths took it
+and bought tickets with it to see Madame Bernhardt.
+
+Oh yes, some people have tastes and intelligence also.
+
+Now, I was going to make a speech—I supposed I was, but I am not. It
+is late, late; and so I am going to tell a story; and there is this
+advantage about a story, anyway, that whatever moral or valuable thing
+you put into a speech, why, it gets diffused among those involuted
+sentences and possibly your audience goes away without finding out what
+that valuable thing was that you were trying to confer upon it; but,
+dear me, you put the same jewel into a story and it becomes the keystone
+of that story, and you are bound to get it—it flashes, it flames, it is
+the jewel in the toad's head—you don't overlook that.
+
+Now, if I am going to talk on such a subject as, for instance, the lost
+opportunity—oh, the lost opportunity. Anybody in this house who has
+reached the turn of life—sixty, or seventy, or even fifty, or along
+there—when he goes back along his history, there he finds it mile-stoned
+all the way with the lost opportunity, and you know how pathetic that
+is.
+
+You younger ones cannot know the full pathos that lies in those
+words—the lost opportunity; but anybody who is old, who has really lived
+and felt this life, he knows the pathos of the lost opportunity.
+
+Now, I will tell you a story whose moral is that, whose lesson is that,
+whose lament is that.
+
+I was in a village which is a suburb of New Bedford several years
+ago—well, New Bedford is a suburb of Fair Haven, or perhaps it is the
+other way; in any case, it took both of those towns to make a great
+centre of the great whaling industry of the first half of the nineteenth
+century, and I was up there at Fair Haven some years ago with a friend
+of mine.
+
+There was a dedication of a great town-hall, a public building, and we
+were there in the afternoon. This great building was filled, like this
+great theatre, with rejoicing villagers, and my friend and I started
+down the centre aisle. He saw a man standing in that aisle, and he said
+“Now, look at that bronzed veteran—at that mahogany-faced man. Now, tell
+me, do you see anything about that man's face that is emotional? Do you
+see anything about it that suggests that inside that man anywhere there
+are fires that can be started? Would you ever imagine that that is a
+human volcano?”
+
+“Why, no,” I said, “I would not. He looks like a wooden Indian in front
+of a cigar store.”
+
+“Very well,” said my friend, “I will show you that there is emotion even
+in that unpromising place. I will just go to that man and I will just
+mention in the most casual way an incident in his life. That man is
+getting along toward ninety years old. He is past eighty. I will mention
+an incident of fifty or sixty years ago. Now, just watch the effect, and
+it will be so casual that if you don't watch you won't know when I do
+say that thing—but you just watch the effect.”
+
+He went on down there and accosted this antiquity, and made a remark
+or two. I could not catch up. They were so casual I could not recognize
+which one it was that touched that bottom, for in an instant that old
+man was literally in eruption and was filling the whole place with
+profanity of the most exquisite kind. You never heard such accomplished
+profanity. I never heard it also delivered with such eloquence.
+
+I never enjoyed profanity as I enjoyed it then—more than if I had been
+uttering it myself. There is nothing like listening to an artist—all
+his passions passing away in lava, smoke, thunder, lightning, and
+earthquake.
+
+Then this friend said to me: “Now, I will tell you about that. About
+sixty years ago that man was a young fellow of twenty-three, and had
+just come home from a three years' whaling voyage. He came into that
+village of his, happy and proud because now, instead of being chief
+mate, he was going to be master of a whaleship, and he was proud and
+happy about it.
+
+“Then he found that there had been a kind of a cold frost come upon that
+town and the whole region roundabout; for while he had been away the
+Father Mathew temperance excitement had come upon the whole region.
+Therefore, everybody had taken the pledge; there wasn't anybody for
+miles and miles around that had not taken the pledge.
+
+“So you can see what a solitude it was to this young man, who was fond
+of his grog. And he was just an outcast, because when they found he
+would not join Father Mathew's Society they ostracized him, and he went
+about that town three weeks, day and night, in utter loneliness—the only
+human being in the whole place who ever took grog, and he had to take it
+privately.
+
+“If you don't know what it is to be ostracized, to be shunned by your
+fellow-man, may you never know it. Then he recognized that there
+was something more valuable in this life than grog, and that is the
+fellowship of your fellow-man. And at last he gave it up, and at nine
+o'clock one night he went down to the Father Mathew Temperance Society,
+and with a broken heart he said: 'Put my name down for membership in
+this society.'
+
+“And then he went away crying, and at earliest dawn the next morning
+they came for him and routed him out, and they said that new ship of his
+was ready to sail on a three years' voyage. In a minute he was on board
+that ship and gone.
+
+“And he said—well, he was not out of sight of that town till he began to
+repent, but he had made up his mind that he would not take a drink, and
+so that whole voyage of three years was a three years' agony to that man
+because he saw all the time the mistake he had made.
+
+“He felt it all through; he had constant reminders of it, because the
+crew would pass him with their grog, come out on the deck and take it,
+and there was the torturous Smell of it.
+
+“He went through the whole, three years of suffering, and at last coming
+into port it was snowy, it was cold, he was stamping through the snow
+two feet deep on the deck and longing to get home, and there was his
+crew torturing him to the last minute with hot grog, but at last he had
+his reward. He really did get to shore at last, and jumped and ran
+and bought a jug and rushed to the society's office, and said to the
+secretary:
+
+“'Take my name off your membership books, and do it right away! I have
+got a three years' thirst on.'
+
+“And the secretary said: 'It is not necessary. You were blackballed!'”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WATTERSON AND TWAIN AS REBELS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE CELEBRATION OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S 92ND BIRTHDAY
+          ANNIVERSARY, CARNEGIE HALL, FEBRUARY 11, 1901, TO RAISE FUNDS
+          FOR THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL UNIVERSITY AT CUMBERLAND GAP, TENN.
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—The remainder of my duties as presiding chairman
+here this evening are but two—only two. One of them is easy, and the
+other difficult. That is to say, I must introduce the orator, and then
+keep still and give him a chance. The name of Henry Watterson carries
+with it its own explanation. It is like an electric light on top of
+Madison Square Garden; you touch the button and the light flashes up out
+of the darkness. You mention the name of Henry Watterson, and your
+minds are at once illuminated with the splendid radiance of his fame and
+achievements. A journalist, a soldier, an orator, a statesman, a rebel.
+Yes, he was a rebel; and, better still, now he is a reconstructed rebel.
+
+It is a curious circumstance, a circumstance brought about without any
+collusion or prearrangement, that he and I, both of whom were rebels
+related by blood to each other, should be brought here together this
+evening bearing a tribute in our hands and bowing our heads in reverence
+to that noble soul who for three years we tried to destroy. I don't
+know as the fact has ever been mentioned before, but it is a fact,
+nevertheless. Colonel Watterson and I were both rebels, and we are blood
+relations. I was a second lieutenant in a Confederate company for a
+while—oh, I could have stayed on if I had wanted to. I made myself felt,
+I left tracks all around the country. I could have stayed on, but it was
+such weather. I never saw such weather to be out-of-doors in, in all my
+life.
+
+The Colonel commanded a regiment, and did his part, I suppose, to
+destroy the Union. He did not succeed, yet if he had obeyed me he would
+have done so. I had a plan, and I fully intended to drive General Grant
+into the Pacific Ocean—if I could get transportation. I told Colonel
+Watterson about it. I told him what he had to do. What I wanted him to
+do was to surround the Eastern army and wait until I came up. But he was
+insubordinate; he stuck on some quibble of military etiquette about a
+second lieutenant giving orders to a colonel or something like that.
+And what was the consequence? The Union was preserved. This is the first
+time I believe that that secret has ever been revealed.
+
+No one outside of the family circle, I think, knew it before; but there
+the facts are. Watterson saved the Union; yes, he saved the Union. And
+yet there he sits, and not a step has been taken or a movement made
+toward granting him a pension. That is the way things are done. It is
+a case where some blushing ought to be done. You ought to blush, and I
+ought to blush, and he—well, he's a little out of practice now.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ROBERT FULTON FUND
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS MADE ON THE EVENING OF APRIL 19, 1906
+
+          Mr. Clemens had been asked to address the association by Gen.
+          Frederick D. Grant, president.  He was offered a fee of $1,000,
+          but refused it, saying:
+
+          “I shall be glad to do it, but I must stipulate that you keep
+          the $1,000, and add it to the Memorial Fund as my contribution
+          to erect a monument in New York to the memory of the man who
+          applied steam to navigation.”
+
+          At this meeting Mr. Clemens made this formal announcement from
+          the platform:
+
+          “This is my last appearance on the paid platform.  I shall not
+          retire from the gratis platform until I am buried, and courtesy
+          will compel me to keep still and not disturb the others.  Now,
+          since I must, I shall say good-bye.  I see many faces in this
+          audience well known to me.  They are all my friends, and I feel
+          that those I don't know are my friends, too.  I wish to
+          consider that you represent the nation, and  that in saying
+          good-bye to you I am saying good-bye to the nation.  In the
+          great name of humanity, let me say this final word: I offer an
+          appeal in behalf of that vast, pathetic multitude of fathers,
+          mothers, and helpless little children.  They were sheltered and
+          happy two days ago.  Now they are wandering, forlorn, hopeless,
+          and homeless, the victims of a great disaster.  So I beg of
+          you, I beg of you, to open your hearts and open your purses and
+          remember San Francisco, the smitten city.”
+
+I wish to deliver a historical address. I've been studying the history
+of—-er—a—let me see—a [then he stopped in confusion, and walked over to
+Gen. Fred D. Grant, who sat at the head of the platform. He leaned
+over in a whisper, and then returned to the front of the stage and
+continued]. Oh yes! I've been studying Robert Fulton. I've been studying
+a biographical sketch of Robert Fulton, the inventor of—er—a—let's
+see—ah yes, the inventor of the electric telegraph and the Morse
+sewing—machine. Also, I understand he invented the air—diria—pshaw! I
+have it at last—the dirigible balloon. Yes, the dirigible—but it is a
+difficult word, and I don't see why anybody should marry a couple of
+words like that when they don't want to be married at all and are likely
+to quarrel with each other all the time. I should put that couple
+of words under the ban of the United States Supreme Court, under its
+decision of a few days ago, and take 'em out and drown 'em.
+
+I used to know Fulton. It used to do me good to see him dashing through
+the town on a wild broncho.
+
+And Fulton was born in—-er—a—Well, it doesn't make much difference where
+he was born, does it? I remember a man who came to interview me once,
+to get a sketch of my life. I consulted with a friend—a practical
+man—before he came, to know how I should treat him.
+
+“Whenever you give the interviewer a fact,” he said, “give him another
+fact that will contradict it. Then he'll go away with a jumble that
+he can't use at all. Be gentle, be sweet, smile like an idiot—just be
+natural.” That's what my friend told me to do, and I did it.
+
+“Where were you born?” asked the interviewer.
+
+“Well-er-a,” I began, “I was born in Alabama, or Alaska, or the Sandwich
+Islands; I don't know where, but right around there somewhere. And you
+had better put it down before you forget it.”
+
+“But you weren't born in all those places,” he said.
+
+“Well, I've offered you three places. Take your choice. They're all at
+the same price.”
+
+“How old are you?” he asked.
+
+“I shall be nineteen in June,” I said.
+
+“Why, there's such a discrepancy between your age and your looks,” he
+said.
+
+“Oh, that's nothing,” I said, “I was born discrepantly.”
+
+Then we got to talking about my brother Samuel, and he told me my
+explanations were confusing.
+
+“I suppose he is dead,” I said. “Some said that he was dead and some
+said that he wasn't.”
+
+“Did you bury him without knowing whether he was dead or not?” asked the
+reporter.
+
+“There was a mystery,” said I. “We were twins, and one day when we were
+two weeks old—that is, he was one week old, and I was one week old—we
+got mixed up in the bath-tub, and one of us drowned. We never could tell
+which. One of us had a strawberry birthmark on the back of his hand.
+There it is on my hand. This is the one that was drowned. There's no
+doubt about it.
+
+“Where's the mystery?” he said.
+
+“Why, don't you see how stupid it was to bury the wrong twin?” I
+answered. I didn't explain it any more because he said the explanation
+confused him. To me it is perfectly plain.
+
+But, to get back to Fulton. I'm going along like an old man I used to
+know who used to start to tell a story about his grandfather. He had an
+awfully retentive memory, and he never finished the story, because
+he switched off into something else. He used to tell about how his
+grandfather one day went into a pasture, where there was a ram. The old
+man dropped a silver dime in the grass, and stooped over to pick it
+up. The ram was observing him, and took the old man's action as an
+invitation.
+
+Just as he was going to finish about the ram this friend of mine would
+recall that his grandfather had a niece who had a glass eye. She used
+to loan that glass eye to another lady friend, who used it when she
+received company. The eye didn't fit the friend's face, and it was
+loose. And whenever she winked it would turn over.
+
+Then he got on the subject of accidents, and he would tell a story about
+how he believed accidents never happened.
+
+“There was an Irishman coming down a ladder with a hod of bricks,” he
+said, “and a Dutchman was standing on the ground below. The Irishman
+fell on the Dutchman and killed him. Accident? Never! If the Dutchman
+hadn't been there the Irishman would have been killed. Why didn't the
+Irishman fall on a dog which was next to the Dutchman? Because the dog
+would have seen him coming.”
+
+Then he'd get off from the Dutchman to an uncle named Reginald Wilson.
+Reginald went into a carpet factory one day, and got twisted into the
+machinery's belt. He went excursioning around the factory until he was
+properly distributed and was woven into sixty-nine yards of the best
+three-ply carpet. His wife bought the carpet, and then she erected a
+monument to his memory. It read:
+
+
+
+                          Sacred to the memory
+                                   of
+             sixty-nine yards of the best three-ply carpet
+                  containing the mortal remainders of
+
+                            REGINALD WILSON
+
+                        Go thou and do likewise
+
+And so on he would ramble about telling the story of his grandfather
+until we never were told whether he found the ten-cent piece or whether
+something else happened.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FULTON DAY, JAMESTOWN
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS DELIVERED SEPTEMBER 23, 1907
+
+          Lieutenant-Governor Ellyson, of Virginia, in introducing Mr.
+          Clemens, said:
+
+          “The people have come here to bring a tribute of affectionate
+          recollection for the man who has contributed so much to the
+          progress of the world and the happiness of mankind.”  As Mr.
+          Clemens came down to the platform the applause became louder
+          and louder, until Mr. Clemens held out his hand for silence.
+          It was a great triumph, and it was almost a minute after the
+          applause ceased before Mr. Clemens could speak.  He attempted
+          it once, and when the audience noticed his emotion, it cheered
+          again loudly.
+
+LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I am but human, and when you, give me a reception
+like that I am obliged to wait a little while I get my voice. When you
+appeal to my head, I don't feel it; but when you appeal to my heart, I
+do feel it.
+
+We are here to celebrate one of the greatest events of American history,
+and not only in American history, but in the world's history.
+
+Indeed it was—the application of steam by Robert Fulton.
+
+It was a world event—there are not many of them. It is peculiarly
+an American event, that is true, but the influence was very broad in
+effect. We should regard this day as a very great American holiday. We
+have not many that are exclusively American holidays. We have the Fourth
+of July, which we regard as an American holiday, but it is nothing of
+the kind. I am waiting for a dissenting voice. All great efforts that
+led up to the Fourth of July were made, not by Americans, but by English
+residents of America, subjects of the King of England.
+
+They fought all the fighting that was done, they shed and spilt all the
+blood that was spilt, in securing to us the invaluable liberties which
+are incorporated in the Declaration of Independence; but they were not
+Americans. They signed the Declaration of Independence; no American's
+name is signed to that document at all. There never was an American such
+as you and I are until after the Revolution, when it had all been fought
+out and liberty secured, after the adoption of the Constitution, and the
+recognition of the Independence of America by all powers.
+
+While we revere the Fourth of July—and let us always revere it, and the
+liberties it conferred upon us—yet it was not an American event, a great
+American day.
+
+It was an American who applied that steam successfully. There are not
+a great many world events, and we have our full share. The telegraph,
+telephone, and the application of steam to navigation—these are great
+American events.
+
+To-day I have been requested, or I have requested myself, not to confine
+myself to furnishing you with information, but to remind you of things,
+and to introduce one of the nation's celebrants.
+
+Admiral Harrington here is going to tell you all that I have left
+untold. I am going to tell you all that I know, and then he will follow
+up with such rags and remnants as he can find, and tell you what he
+knows.
+
+No doubt you have heard a great deal about Robert Fulton and the
+influences that have grown from his invention, but the little steamboat
+is suffering neglect.
+
+You probably do not know a great deal about that boat. It was the
+most important steamboat in the world. I was there and saw it. Admiral
+Harrington was there at the time. It need not surprise you, for he is
+not as old as he looks. That little boat was interesting in every way.
+The size of it. The boat was one [consults Admiral], he said ten feet
+long. The breadth of that boat [consults Admiral], two hundred feet.
+You see, the first and most important detail is the length, then the
+breadth, and then the depth; the depth of that boat was [consults
+again]—the Admiral says it was a flat boat. Then her tonnage—you know
+nothing about a boat until you know two more things: her speed and her
+tonnage. We know the speed she made. She made four miles—-and sometimes
+five miles. It was on her initial trip, on, August 11, 1807, that she
+made her initial trip, when she went from [consults Admiral] Jersey
+City—to Chicago. That's right. She went by way of Albany. Now comes
+the tonnage of that boat. Tonnage of a boat means the amount of
+displacement; displacement means the amount of water a vessel can shove
+in a day. The tonnage of man is estimated by the amount of whiskey he
+can displace in a day.
+
+Robert Fulton named the 'Clermont' in honor of his bride, that is,
+Clermont was the name of the county-seat.
+
+I feel that it surprises you that I know so much. In my remarks of
+welcome of Admiral Harrington I am not going to give him compliments.
+Compliments always embarrass a man. You do not know anything to say. It
+does not inspire you with words. There is nothing you can say in answer
+to a compliment. I have been complimented myself a great many times, and
+they always embarrass me—I always feel that they have not said enough.
+
+The Admiral and myself have held public office, and were associated
+together a great deal in a friendly way in the time of Pocahontas.
+That incident where Pocahontas saves the life of Smith from her father,
+Powhatan's club, was gotten up by the Admiral and myself to advertise
+Jamestown.
+
+At that time the Admiral and myself did not have the facilities of
+advertising that you have.
+
+I have known Admiral Harrington in all kinds of situations—in public
+service, on the platform, and in the chain-gang now and then—but it was
+a mistake. A case of mistaken identity. I do not think it is at all a
+necessity to tell you Admiral Harrington's public history. You know that
+it is in the histories. I am not here to tell you anything about his
+public life, but to expose his private life.
+
+I am something of a poet. When the great poet laureate, Tennyson, died,
+and I found that the place was open, I tried to get it—but I did not
+get it. Anybody can write the first line of a poem, but it is a very
+difficult task to make the second line rhyme with the first. When I was
+down in Australia there were two towns named Johnswood and Par-am. I
+made this rhyme:
+
+
+
+               “The people of Johnswood are pious and good;
+               The people of Par-am they don't care a----.”
+
+I do not want to compliment Admiral Harrington, but as long as such men
+as he devote their lives to the public service the credit of the country
+will never cease. I will say that the same high qualities, the same
+moral and intellectual attainments, the same graciousness of manner, of
+conduct, of observation, and expression have caused Admiral Harrington
+to be mistaken for me—and I have been mistaken for him.
+
+A mutual compliment can go no further, and I now have the honor and
+privilege of introducing to you Admiral Harrington.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF MARK TWAIN
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE FIRST FORMAL DINNER IN THE NEW CLUB-HOUSE,
+          NOVEMBER 11, 1893
+
+          In introducing the guest of the evening, Mr. Lawrence said:
+
+          “To-night the old faces appear once more amid new surroundings.
+          The place where last we met about the table has vanished, and
+          to-night we have our first Lotos dinner in a home that is all
+          our own.  It is peculiarly fitting that the board should now be
+          spread in honor of one who has been a member of the club for
+          full a score of years, and it is a happy augury for the future
+          that our fellow-member whom we assemble to greet should be the
+          bearer of a most distinguished name in the world of letters;
+          for the Lotos Club is ever at its best when paying homage to
+          genius in literature or in art.  Is there a civilized being who
+          has not heard the name of Mark Twain?  We knew him long years
+          ago, before he came out of the boundless West, brimful of wit
+          and eloquence, with no reverence for anything, and went abroad
+          to educate the untutored European in the subtleties of the
+          American joke.  The world has looked on and applauded while he
+          has broken many images.  He has led us in imagination all over
+          the globe.  With him as our guide we have traversed alike the
+          Mississippi and the Sea of Galilee.  At his bidding we have
+          laughed at a thousand absurdities.  By a laborious process of
+          reasoning he has convinced us that the Egyptian mummies are
+          actually dead.  He has held us spellbound upon the plain at the
+          foot of the great Sphinx, and we have joined him in weeping
+          bitter tears at the tomb of Adam.  To-night we greet him in the
+          flesh.  What name is there in literature that can be likened to
+          his?  Perhaps some of the distinguished gentlemen about this
+          table can tell us, but I know of none.  Himself his only
+          parallel!”
+
+MR. PRESIDENT, GENTLEMEN, AND FELLOW-MEMBERS OF THE LOTOS CLUB,—I have
+seldom in my lifetime listened to compliments so felicitously phrased
+or so well deserved. I return thanks for them from a full heart and an
+appreciative spirit, and I will say this in self-defence: While I am
+charged with having no reverence for anything, I wish to say that I have
+reverence for the man who can utter such truths, and I also have a deep
+reverence and a sincere one for a club that can do such justice to me.
+To be the chief guest of such a club is something to be envied, and if
+I read your countenances rightly I am envied. I am glad to see this club
+in such palatial quarters. I remember it twenty years ago when it was
+housed in a stable.
+
+Now when I was studying for the ministry there were two or three things
+that struck my attention particularly. At the first banquet mentioned
+in history that other prodigal son who came back from his travels was
+invited to stand up and have his say. They were all there, his brethren,
+David and Goliath, and—er, and if he had had such experience as I have
+had he would have waited until those other people got through talking.
+He got up and testified to all his failings. Now if he had waited before
+telling all about his riotous living until the others had spoken he
+might not have given himself away as he did, and I think that I would
+give myself away if I should go on. I think I'd better wait until the
+others hand in their testimony; then if it is necessary for me to make
+an explanation, I will get up and explain, and if I cannot do that, I'll
+deny it happened.
+
+
+
+          Later in the evening Mr. Clemens made another speech, replying
+          to a fire of short speeches by Charles Dudley Warner, Charles
+          A. Dana, Seth Low, General Porter, and many others, each
+          welcoming the guest of honor.
+
+I don't see that I have a great deal to explain. I got off very well,
+considering the opportunities that these other fellows had. I don't
+see that Mr. Low said anything against me, and neither did Mr. Dana.
+However, I will say that I never heard so many lies told in one evening
+as were told by Mr. McKelway—and I consider myself very capable; but
+even in his case, when he got through, I was gratified by finding how
+much he hadn't found out. By accident he missed the very things that I
+didn't want to have said, and now, gentlemen, about Americanism.
+
+I have been on the continent of Europe for two and a half years. I have
+met many Americans there, some sojourning for a short time only, others
+making protracted stays, and it has been very gratifying to me to find
+that nearly all preserved their Americanism. I have found they all like
+to see the Flag fly, and that their hearts rise when they see the Stars
+and Stripes. I met only one lady who had forgotten the land of her birth
+and glorified monarchical institutions.
+
+I think it is a great thing to say that in two and a half years I met
+only one person who had fallen a victim to the shams—I think we may call
+them shams—of nobilities and of heredities. She was entirely lost in
+them. After I had listened to her for a long time, I said to her:
+“At least you must admit that we have one merit. We are not like the
+Chinese, who refuse to allow their citizens who are tired of the country
+to leave it. Thank God, we don't!”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT
+
+
+
+          With Mr. Howells, Edward Everett Hale, Thomas Nelson Page, and
+          a number of other authors, Mr. Clemens appeared before the
+          committee December 6, 1906.  The new Copyright Bill
+          contemplated an author's copyright for the term of his life and
+          for fifty years thereafter, applying also for the benefit of
+          artists, musicians, and others, but the authors did most of the
+          talking.  F. D. Millet made a speech for the artists, and John
+          Philip Sousa for the musicians.
+
+          Mr. Clemens was the last speaker of the day, and its chief
+          feature.  He made a speech, the serious parts of which created
+          a strong impression, and the humorous parts set the Senators
+          and Representatives in roars of laughter.
+
+I have read this bill. At least I have read such portions as I could
+understand. Nobody but a practised legislator can read the bill and
+thoroughly understand it, and I am not a practised legislator.
+
+I am interested particularly and especially in the part of the bill
+which concerns my trade. I like that extension of copyright life to the
+author's life and fifty years afterward. I think that would satisfy any
+reasonable author, because it would take care of his children. Let
+the grandchildren take care of themselves. That would take care of my
+daughters, and after that I am not particular. I shall then have long
+been out of this struggle, independent of it, indifferent to it.
+
+It isn't objectionable to me that all the trades and professions in
+the United States are protected by the bill. I like that. They are
+all important and worthy, and if we can take care of them under the
+Copyright law I should like to see it done. I should like to see oyster
+culture added, and anything else.
+
+I am aware that copyright must have a limit, because that is required
+by the Constitution of the United States, which sets aside the earlier
+Constitution, which we call the decalogue. The decalogue says you shall
+not take away from any man his profit. I don't like to be obliged to
+use the harsh term. What the decalogue really says is, “Thou shalt not
+steal,” but I am trying to use more polite language.
+
+The laws of England and America do take it away, do select but one
+class, the people who create the literature of the land. They always
+talk handsomely about the literature of the land, always what a fine,
+great, monumental thing a great literature is, and in the midst of their
+enthusiasm they turn around and do what they can to discourage it.
+
+I know we must have a limit, but forty-two years is too much of a limit.
+I am quite unable to guess why there should be a limit at all to the
+possession of the product of a man's labor. There is no limit to real
+estate.
+
+Doctor Hale has suggested that a man might just as well, after
+discovering a coal-mine and working it forty-two years, have the
+Government step in and take it away.
+
+What is the excuse? It is that the author who produced that book has
+had the profit of it long enough, and therefore the Government takes
+a profit which does not belong to it and generously gives it to the
+88,000,000 of people. But it doesn't do anything of the kind. It merely
+takes the author's property, takes his children's bread, and gives the
+publisher double profit. He goes on publishing the book and as many of
+his confederates as choose to go into the conspiracy do so, and they
+rear families in affluence.
+
+And they continue the enjoyment of those ill-gotten gains generation
+after generation forever, for they never die. In a few weeks or months
+or years I shall be out of it, I hope under a monument. I hope I shall
+not be entirely forgotten, and I shall subscribe to the monument myself.
+But I shall not be caring what happens if there are fifty years left of
+my copyright. My copyright produces annually a good deal more than I
+can use, but my children can use it. I can get along; I know a lot of
+trades. But that goes to my daughters, who can't get along as well as I
+can because I have carefully raised them as young ladies, who don't know
+anything and can't do anything. I hope Congress will extend to them the
+charity which they have failed to get from me.
+
+Why, if a man who is not even mad, but only strenuous—strenuous about
+race-suicide—should come to me and try to get me to use my large
+political and ecclesiastical influence to get a bill passed by this
+Congress limiting families to twenty-two children by one mother, I
+should try to calm him down. I should reason with him. I should say to
+him, “Leave it alone. Leave it alone and it will take care of itself.
+Only one couple a year in the United States can reach that limit. If
+they have reached that limit let them go right on. Let them have all the
+liberty they want. In restricting that family to twenty-two children you
+are merely conferring discomfort and unhappiness on one family per year
+in a nation of 88,000,000, which is not worth while.”
+
+It is the very same with copyright. One author per year produces a book
+which can outlive the forty-two-year limit; that's all. This nation
+can't produce two authors a year that can do it; the thing is
+demonstrably impossible. All that the limited copyright can do is to
+take the bread out of the mouths of the children of that one author per
+year.
+
+I made an estimate some years ago, when I appeared before a committee
+of the House of Lords, that we had published in this country since the
+Declaration of Independence 220,000 books. They have all gone. They had
+all perished before they were ten years old. It is only one book in 1000
+that can outlive the forty-two year limit. Therefore why put a limit at
+all? You might as well limit the family to twenty-two children.
+
+If you recall the Americans in the nineteenth century who wrote books
+that lived forty-two years you will have to begin with Cooper; you can
+follow with Washington Irving, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Edgar Allan Poe,
+and there you have to wait a long time. You come to Emerson, and
+you have to stand still and look further. You find Howells and T.
+B. Aldrich, and then your numbers begin to run pretty thin, and you
+question if you can name twenty persons in the United States who—in a
+whole century have written books that would live forty-two years. Why,
+you could take them all and put them on one bench there [pointing]. Add
+the wives and children and you could put the result on, two or three
+more benches.
+
+One hundred persons—that is the little, insignificant crowd whose
+bread-and-butter is to be taken away for what purpose, for what profit
+to anybody? You turn these few books into the hands of the pirate and of
+the legitimate publisher, too, and they get the profit that should have
+gone to the wife and children.
+
+When I appeared before that committee of the House of Lords the chairman
+asked me what limit I would propose. I said, “Perpetuity.” I could see
+some resentment in his manner, and he said the idea was illogical, for
+the reason that it has long ago been decided that there can be no such
+thing as property in ideas. I said there was property in ideas before
+Queen Anne's time; they had perpetual copyright. He said, “What is a
+book? A book is just built from base to roof on ideas, and there can be
+no property in it.”
+
+I said I wished he could mention any kind of property on this planet
+that had a pecuniary value which was not derived from an idea or ideas.
+
+He said real estate. I put a supposititious case, a dozen Englishmen who
+travel through South Africa and camp out, and eleven of them see nothing
+at all; they are mentally blind. But there is one in the party who knows
+what this harbor means and what the lay of the land means. To him it
+means that some day a railway will go through here, and there on that
+harbor a great city will spring up. That is his idea. And he has another
+idea, which is to go and trade his last bottle of Scotch whiskey and his
+last horse-blanket to the principal chief of that region and buy a piece
+of land the size of Pennsylvania.
+
+That was the value of an idea that the day would come when the Cape to
+Cairo Railway would be built.
+
+Every improvement that is put upon the real estate is the result of an
+idea in somebody's head. The skyscraper is another idea; the railroad
+is another; the telephone and all those things are merely symbols which
+represent ideas. An andiron, a wash-tub, is the result of an idea that
+did not exist before.
+
+So if, as that gentleman said, a book does consist solely of ideas, that
+is the best argument in the world that it is property, and should not be
+under any limitation at all. We don't ask for that. Fifty years from now
+we shall ask for it.
+
+I hope the bill will pass without any deleterious amendments. I do seem
+to be extraordinarily interested in a whole lot of arts and things that
+I have got nothing to do with. It is a part of my generous, liberal
+nature; I can't help it. I feel the same sort of charity to everybody
+that was manifested by a gentleman who arrived at home at two o'clock
+in the morning from the club and was feeling so perfectly satisfied with
+life, so happy, and so comfortable, and there was his house weaving,
+weaving, weaving around. He watched his chance, and by and by when the
+steps got in his neighborhood he made a jump and climbed up and got on
+the portico.
+
+And the house went on weaving and weaving and weaving, but he watched
+the door, and when it came around his way he plunged through it. He
+got to the stairs, and when he went up on all fours the house was so
+unsteady that he could hardly make his way, but at last he got to the
+top and raised his foot and put it on the top step. But only the toe
+hitched on the step, and he rolled down and fetched up on the bottom
+step, with his arm around the newel-post, and he said:
+
+“God pity the poor sailors out at sea on a night like this.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IN AID OF THE BLIND
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A PUBLIC MEETING OF THE NEW YORK ASSOCIATION FOR
+          PROMOTING THE INTERESTS OF THE BLIND AT THE WALDORF ASTORIA,
+          MARCH 29, 1906
+
+If you detect any awkwardness in my movements and infelicities in my
+conduct I will offer the explanation that I never presided at a meeting
+of any kind before in my life, and that I do find it out of my line. I
+supposed I could do anything anybody else could, but I recognize that
+experience helps, and I do feel the lack of that experience. I don't
+feel as graceful and easy as I ought to be in order to impress an
+audience. I shall not pretend that I know how to umpire a meeting like
+this, and I shall just take the humble place of the Essex band.
+
+There was a great gathering in a small New England town, about
+twenty-five years ago. I remember that circumstance because there was
+something that happened at that time. It was a great occasion. They
+gathered in the militia and orators and everybody from all the towns
+around. It was an extraordinary occasion.
+
+The little local paper threw itself into ecstasies of admiration and
+tried to do itself proud from beginning to end. It praised the orators,
+the militia, and all the bands that came from everywhere, and all this
+in honest country newspaper detail, but the writer ran out of adjectives
+toward the end. Having exhausted his whole magazine of praise and
+glorification, he found he still had one band left over. He had to
+say something about it, and he said: “The Essex band done the best it
+could.”
+
+I am an Essex band on this occasion, and I am going to get through as
+well as inexperience and good intentions will enable me. I have got
+all the documents here necessary to instruct you in the objects and
+intentions of this meeting and also of the association which has
+called the meeting. But they are too voluminous. I could not pack those
+statistics into my head, and I had to give it up. I shall have to just
+reduce all that mass of statistics to a few salient facts. There are
+too many statistics and figures for me. I never could do anything
+with figures, never had any talent for mathematics, never accomplished
+anything in my efforts at that rugged study, and to-day the only
+mathematics I know is multiplication, and the minute I get away up in
+that, as soon as I reach nine times seven—
+
+[Mr. Clemens lapsed into deep thought for a moment. He was trying to
+figure out nine times seven, but it was a hopeless task, and he turned
+to St. Clair McKelway, who sat near him. Mr. McKelway whispered the
+answer, and the speaker resumed:]
+
+I've got it now. It's eighty-four. Well, I can get that far all right
+with a little hesitation. After that I am uncertain, and I can't manage
+a statistic.
+
+“This association for the—”
+
+[Mr. Clemens was in another dilemma. Again he was obliged to turn to Mr.
+McKelway.]
+
+Oh yes, for promoting the interests of the blind. It's a long name. If
+I could I would write it out for you and let you take it home and
+study it, but I don't know how to spell it. And Mr. Carnegie is down in
+Virginia somewhere. Well, anyway, the object of that association which
+has been recently organized, five months ago, in fact, is in the hands
+of very, very energetic, intelligent, and capable people, and they will
+push it to success very surely, and all the more surely if you will give
+them a little of your assistance out of your pockets.
+
+The intention, the purpose, is to search out all the blind and find work
+for them to do so that they may earn, their own bread. Now it is dismal
+enough to be blind—it is dreary, dreary life at best, but it can be
+largely ameliorated by finding something for these poor blind people to
+do with their hands. The time passes so heavily that it is never day
+or night with them, it is always night, and when they have to sit with
+folded hands and with nothing to do to amuse or entertain or employ
+their minds, it is drearier and drearier.
+
+And then the knowledge they have that they must subsist on charity, and
+so often reluctant charity, it would renew their lives if they could
+have something to do with their hands and pass their time and at the
+same time earn their bread, and know the sweetness of the bread which
+is the result of the labor of one's own hands. They need that cheer and
+pleasure. It is the only way you can turn their night into day, to
+give them happy hearts, the only thing you can put in the place of the
+blessed sun. That you can do in the way I speak of.
+
+Blind people generally who have seen the light know what it is to
+miss the light. Those who have gone blind since they were twenty years
+old—their lives are unendingly dreary. But they can be taught to use
+their hands and to employ themselves at a great many industries. That
+association from which this draws its birth in Cambridge, Massachusetts,
+has taught its blind to make many things. They make them better than
+most people, and more honest than people who have the use of their eyes.
+The goods they make are readily salable. People like them. And so they
+are supporting themselves, and it is a matter of cheer, cheer. They pass
+their time now not too irksomely as they formerly did.
+
+What this association needs and wants is $15,000. The figures are set
+down, and what the money is for, and there is no graft in it or I would
+not be here. And they hope to beguile that out of your pockets, and you
+will find affixed to the programme an opportunity, that little blank
+which you will fill out and promise so much money now or to-morrow or
+some time. Then, there is another opportunity which is still better, and
+that is that you shall subscribe an annual sum.
+
+I have invented a good many useful things in my time, but never anything
+better than that of getting money out of people who don't want to part
+with it. It is always for good objects, of course. This is the plan:
+When you call upon a person to contribute to a great and good object,
+and you think he should furnish about $1,000, he disappoints you as like
+as not. Much the best way to work him to supply that thousand dollars is
+to split it into parts and contribute, say a hundred dollars a year,
+or fifty, or whatever the sum maybe. Let him contribute ten or twenty a
+year. He doesn't feel that, but he does feel it when you call upon him
+to contribute a large amount. When you get used to it you would rather
+contribute than borrow money.
+
+I tried it in Helen Keller's case. Mr. Hutton wrote me in 1896 or 1897
+when I was in London and said: “The gentleman who has been so liberal in
+taking care of Helen Keller has died without making provision for her
+in his will, and now they don't know what to do.” They were proposing
+to raise a fund, and he thought $50,000 enough to furnish an income of
+$2400 or $2500 a year for the support of that wonderful girl and her
+wonderful teacher, Miss Sullivan, now Mrs. Macy. I wrote to Mr. Hutton
+and said: “Go on, get up your fund. It will be slow, but if you want
+quick work, I propose this system,” the system I speak of, of asking
+people to contribute such and such a sum from year to year and drop
+out whenever they please, and he would find there wouldn't be any
+difficulty, people wouldn't feel the burden of it. And he wrote back
+saying he had raised the $2400 a year indefinitely by that system in a
+single afternoon. We would like to do something just like that to-night.
+We will take as many checks as you care to give. You can leave your
+donations in the big room outside.
+
+I knew once what it was to be blind. I shall never forget that
+experience. I have been as blind as anybody ever was for three or
+four hours, and the sufferings that I endured and the mishaps and the
+accidents that are burning in my memory make my sympathy rise when I
+feel for the blind and always shall feel. I once went to Heidelberg
+on an excursion. I took a clergyman along with me, the Rev. Joseph
+Twichell, of Hartford, who is still among the living despite that fact.
+I always travel with clergymen when I can. It is better for them, it is
+better for me. And any preacher who goes out with me in stormy weather
+and without a lightning rod is a good one. The Reverend Twichell is one
+of those people filled with patience and endurance, two good ingredients
+for a man travelling with me, so we got along very well together. In
+that old town they have not altered a house nor built one in 1500 years.
+We went to the inn and they placed Twichell and me in a most colossal
+bedroom, the largest I ever saw or heard of. It was as big as this room.
+
+I didn't take much notice of the place. I didn't really get my bearings.
+I noticed Twichell got a German bed about two feet wide, the kind in
+which you've got to lie on your edge, because there isn't room to lie on
+your back, and he was way down south in that big room, and I was way up
+north at the other end of it, with a regular Sahara in between.
+
+We went to bed. Twichell went to sleep, but then he had his conscience
+loaded and it was easy for him to get to sleep. I couldn't get to sleep.
+It was one of those torturing kinds of lovely summer nights when you
+hear various kinds of noises now and then. A mouse away off in the
+southwest. You throw things at the mouse. That encourages the mouse. But
+I couldn't stand it, and about two o'clock I got up and thought I
+would give it up and go out in the square where there was one of those
+tinkling fountains, and sit on its brink and dream, full of romance.
+
+I got out of bed, and I ought to have lit a candle, but I didn't think
+of it until it was too late. It was the darkest place that ever was.
+There has never been darkness any thicker than that. It just lay in
+cakes.
+
+I thought that before dressing I would accumulate my clothes. I pawed
+around in the dark and found everything packed together on the floor
+except one sock. I couldn't get on the track of that sock. It might
+have occurred to me that maybe it was in the wash. But I didn't think of
+that. I went excursioning on my hands and knees. Presently I thought,
+“I am never going to find it; I'll go back to bed again.” That is what I
+tried to do during the next three hours. I had lost the bearings of that
+bed. I was going in the wrong direction all the time. By-and-by I came
+in collision with a chair and that encouraged me.
+
+It seemed to me, as far as I could recollect, there was only a chair
+here and there and yonder, five or six of them scattered over this
+territory, and I thought maybe after I found that chair I might find the
+next one. Well, I did. And I found another and another and another. I
+kept going around on my hands and knees, having those sudden collisions,
+and finally when I banged into another chair I almost lost my temper.
+And I raised up, garbed as I was, not for public exhibition, right in
+front of a mirror fifteen or sixteen feet high.
+
+I hadn't noticed the mirror; didn't know it was there. And when I saw
+myself in the mirror I was frightened out of my wits. I don't allow any
+ghosts to bite me, and I took up a chair and smashed at it. A million
+pieces. Then I reflected. That's the way I always do, and it's
+unprofitable unless a man has had much experience that way and has
+clear judgment. And I had judgment, and I would have had to pay for that
+mirror if I hadn't recollected to say it was Twichell who broke it.
+
+Then I got down, on my hands and knees and went on another exploring
+expedition.
+
+As far as I could remember there were six chairs in that Oklahoma, and
+one table, a great big heavy table, not a good table to hit with your
+head when rushing madly along. In the course of time I collided with
+thirty-five chairs and tables enough to stock that dining-room out
+there. It was a hospital for decayed furniture, and it was in a worse
+condition when I got through with it. I went on and on, and at last got
+to a place where I could feel my way up, and there was a shelf. I knew
+that wasn't in the middle of the room. Up to that time I was afraid I
+had gotten out of the city.
+
+I was very careful and pawed along that shelf, and there was a pitcher
+of water about a foot high, and it was at the head of Twichell's bed,
+but I didn't know it. I felt that pitcher going and I grabbed at it,
+but it didn't help any and came right down in Twichell's face and nearly
+drowned him. But it woke him up. I was grateful to have company on any
+terms. He lit a match, and there I was, way down south when I ought to
+have been back up yonder. My bed was out of sight it was so far away.
+You needed a telescope to find it. Twichell comforted me and I scrubbed
+him off and we got sociable.
+
+But that night wasn't wasted. I had my pedometer on my leg. Twichell and
+I were in a pedometer match. Twichell had longer legs than I. The only
+way I could keep up was to wear my pedometer to bed. I always walk in my
+sleep, and on this occasion I gained sixteen miles on him. After all, I
+never found that sock. I never have seen it from that day to this. But
+that adventure taught me what it is to be blind. That was one of the
+most serious occasions of my whole life, yet I never can speak of it
+without somebody thinking it isn't serious. You try it and see how
+serious it is to be as the blind are and I was that night.
+
+[Mr. Clemens read several letters of regret. He then introduced Joseph
+H. Choate, saying:]
+
+It is now my privilege to present to you Mr. Choate. I don't have to
+really introduce him. I don't have to praise him, or to flatter him.
+I could say truly that in the forty-seven years I have been familiarly
+acquainted with him he has always been the handsomest man America has
+ever produced. And I hope and believe he will hold the belt forty-five
+years more. He has served his country ably, faithfully, and brilliantly.
+He stands at the summit, at the very top in the esteem and regard of his
+countrymen, and if I could say one word which would lift him any higher
+in his countrymen's esteem and affection, I would say that word whether
+it was true or not.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+DR. MARK TWAIN, FARMEOPATH
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE ANNUAL DINNER OF THE NEW YORK POST-GRADUATE
+          MEDICAL SCHOOL AND HOSPITAL, JANUARY 21, 1909
+
+          The president, Dr.  George N.  Miller, in introducing Mr.
+          Clemens, referred to his late experience with burglars.
+
+GENTLEMEN AND DOCTORS,—I am glad to be among my own kind to-night. I
+was once a sharpshooter, but now I practise a much higher and equally as
+deadly a profession. It wasn't so very long ago that I became a member
+of your cult, and for the time I've been in the business my record is
+one that can't be scoffed at.
+
+As to the burglars, I am perfectly familiar with these people. I have
+always had a good deal to do with burglars—not officially, but through
+their attentions to me. I never suffered anything at the hands of a
+burglar. They have invaded my house time and time again. They never got
+anything. Then those people who burglarized our house in September—we
+got back the plated ware they took off, we jailed them, and I have been
+sorry ever since. They did us a great service they scared off all the
+servants in the place.
+
+I consider the Children's Theatre, of which I am president, and the
+Post-Graduate Medical School as the two greatest institutions in the
+country. This school, in bringing its twenty thousand physicians from
+all parts of the country, bringing them up to date, and sending them
+back with renewed confidence, has surely saved hundreds of thousands of
+lives which otherwise would have been lost.
+
+I have been practising now for seven months. When I settled on my farm
+in Connecticut in June I found the Community very thinly settled—and
+since I have been engaged in practice it has become more thinly settled
+still. This gratifies me, as indicating that I am making an impression
+on my community. I suppose it is the same with all of you.
+
+I have always felt that I ought to do something for you, and so I
+organized a Redding (Connecticut) branch of the Post-Graduate School. I
+am only a country farmer up there, but I am doing the best I can.
+
+Of course, the practice of medicine and surgery in a remote country
+district has its disadvantages, but in my case I am happy in a division
+of responsibility. I practise in conjunction with a horse-doctor, a
+sexton, and an undertaker. The combination is air-tight, and once a man
+is stricken in our district escape is impossible for him.
+
+These four of us—three in the regular profession and the fourth an
+undertaker—are all good men. There is Bill Ferguson, the Redding
+undertaker. Bill is there in every respect. He is a little lukewarm on
+general practice, and writes his name with a rubber stamp. Like my old
+Southern, friend, he is one of the finest planters anywhere.
+
+Then there is Jim Ruggles, the horse-doctor. Ruggles is one of the best
+men I have got. He also is not much on general medicine, but he is a
+fine horse-doctor. Ferguson doesn't make any money off him.
+
+You see, the combination started this way. When I got up to Redding and
+had become a doctor, I looked around to see what my chances were for
+aiding in the great work. The first thing I did was to determine what
+manner of doctor I was to be. Being a Connecticut farmer, I naturally
+consulted my farmacopia, and at once decided to become a farmeopath.
+
+Then I got circulating about, and got in touch with Ferguson and
+Ruggles. Ferguson joined readily in my ideas, but Ruggles kept saying
+that, while it was all right for an undertaker to get aboard, he
+couldn't see where it helped horses.
+
+Well, we started to find out what was the trouble with the community,
+and it didn't take long to find out that there was just one disease, and
+that was race-suicide. And driving about the country-side I was told
+by my fellow-farmers that it was the only rational human and valuable
+disease. But it is cutting into our profits so that we'll either have to
+stop it or we'll have to move.
+
+We've had some funny experiences up there in Redding. Not long ago a
+fellow came along with a rolling gait and a distressed face. We asked
+him what was the matter. We always hold consultations on every case, as
+there isn't business enough for four. He said he didn't know, but that
+he was a sailor, and perhaps that might help us to give a diagnosis. We
+treated him for that, and I never saw a man die more peacefully.
+
+That same afternoon my dog Tige treed an African gentleman. We
+chained up the dog, and then the gentleman came down and said he had
+appendicitis. We asked him if he wanted to be cut open, and he said yes,
+that he'd like to know if there was anything in it. So we cut him open
+and found nothing in him but darkness. So we diagnosed his case as
+infidelity, because he was dark inside. Tige is a very clever dog, and
+aids us greatly.
+
+The other day a patient came to me and inquired if I was old Doctor
+Clemens—
+
+As a practitioner I have given a great deal of my attention to Bright's
+disease. I have made some rules for treating it that may be valuable.
+Listen:
+
+Rule 1. When approaching the bedside of one whom an all-wise President—I
+mean an all-wise Providence—well, anyway, it's the same thing—has seen
+fit to afflict with disease—well, the rule is simple, even if it is
+old-fashioned.
+
+Rule 2. I've forgotten just what it is, but—
+
+Rule 3. This is always indispensable: Bleed your patient.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISSOURI UNIVERSITY SPEECH
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS DELIVERED JUNE 4, 1902, AT COLUMBIA, MO.
+
+          When the name of Samuel L. Clemens was called the humorist
+          stepped forward, put his hand to his hair, and apparently
+          hesitated.  There was a dead silence for a moment.  Suddenly
+          the entire audience rose and stood in silence.  Some one began
+          to spell out the word Missouri with an interval between the
+          letters.  All joined in.  Then the house again became silent.
+          Mr. Clemens broke the spell:
+
+As you are all standing [he drawled in his characteristic voice], I
+guess, I suppose I had better stand too.
+
+[Then came a laugh and loud cries for a speech. As the great humorist
+spoke of his recent visit to Hannibal, his old home, his voice
+trembled.]
+
+You cannot know what a strain it was on my emotions [he said]. In fact,
+when I found myself shaking hands with persons I had not seen for fifty
+years and looking into wrinkled faces that were so young and joyous when
+I last saw them, I experienced emotions that I had never expected, and
+did not know were in me. I was profoundly moved and saddened to think
+that this was the last time, perhaps, that I would ever behold those
+kind old faces and dear old scenes of childhood.
+
+[The humorist then changed to a lighter mood, and for a time the
+audience was in a continual roar of laughter. He was particularly amused
+at the eulogy on himself read by Gardiner Lathrop in conferring the
+degree.] He has a fine opportunity to distinguish himself [said Mr.
+Clemens] by telling the truth about me.
+
+I have seen it stated in print that as a boy I had been guilty of
+stealing peaches, apples, and watermelons. I read a story to this effect
+very closely not long ago, and I was convinced of one thing, which was
+that the man who wrote it was of the opinion that it was wrong to steal,
+and that I had not acted right in doing so. I wish now, however, to make
+an honest statement, which is that I do not believe, in all my checkered
+career, I stole a ton of peaches.
+
+One night I stole—I mean I removed—a watermelon from a wagon while the
+owner was attending to another customer. I crawled off to a secluded
+spot, where I found that it was green. It was the greenest melon in
+the Mississippi Valley. Then I began to reflect. I began to be sorry. I
+wondered what George Washington would have done had he been in my place.
+I thought a long time, and then suddenly felt that strange feeling which
+comes to a man with a good resolution, and I took up that watermelon and
+took it back to its owner. I handed him the watermelon and told him to
+reform. He took my lecture much to heart, and, when he gave me a good
+one in place of the green melon, I forgave him.
+
+I told him that I would still be a customer of his, and that I cherished
+no ill-feeling because of the incident—that would remain green in my
+memory.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BUSINESS
+
+
+
+          The alumni of Eastman College gave their annual banquet,
+          March 30, 1901, at the Y. M. C. A. Building. Mr. James G.
+          Cannon, of the Fourth National Bank, made the first speech of
+          the evening, after which Mr. Clemens was introduced by Mr.
+          Bailey as the personal friend of Tom Sawyer, who was one of the
+          types of successful business men.
+
+MR. CANNON has furnished me with texts enough to last as slow a speaker
+as myself all the rest of the night. I took exception to the introducing
+of Mr. Cannon as a great financier, as if he were the only great
+financier present. I am a financier. But my methods are not the same as
+Mr. Cannon's.
+
+I cannot say that I have turned out the great business man that I
+thought I was when I began life. But I am comparatively young yet, and
+may learn. I am rather inclined to believe that what troubled me was
+that I got the big-head early in the game. I want to explain to you a
+few points of difference between the principles of business as I see
+them and those that Mr. Cannon believes in.
+
+He says that the primary rule of business success is loyalty to your
+employer. That's all right—as a theory. What is the matter with loyalty
+to yourself? As nearly as I can understand Mr. Cannon's methods, there
+is one great drawback to them. He wants you to work a great deal.
+Diligence is a good thing, but taking things easy is much more-restful.
+My idea is that the employer should be the busy man, and the employee
+the idle one. The employer should be the worried man, and the employee
+the happy one. And why not? He gets the salary. My plan is to get
+another man to do the work for me. In that there's more repose. What I
+want is repose first, last, and all the time.
+
+Mr. Cannon says that there are three cardinal rules of business success;
+they are diligence, honesty, and truthfulness. Well, diligence is all
+right. Let it go as a theory. Honesty is the best policy—when there is
+money in it. But truthfulness is one of the most dangerous—why, this man
+is misleading you.
+
+I had an experience to-day with my wife which illustrates this. I was
+acknowledging a belated invitation to another dinner for this evening,
+which seemed to have been sent about ten days ago. It only reached me
+this morning. I was mortified at the discourtesy into which I had been
+brought by this delay, and wondered what was being thought of me by
+my hosts. As I had accepted your invitation, of course I had to send
+regrets to my other friends.
+
+When I started to write this note my wife came up and stood looking
+over my shoulder. Women always want to know what is going on. Said she
+“Should not that read in the third person?” I conceded that it should,
+put aside what I was writing, and commenced over again. That seemed to
+satisfy her, and so she sat down and let me proceed. I then—finished my
+first note—and so sent what I intended. I never could have done this if
+I had let my wife know the truth about it. Here is what I wrote:
+
+
+
+     TO THE OHIO SOCIETY,--I have at this moment received a most kind
+     invitation (eleven days old) from Mr. Southard, president; and a
+     like one (ten days old) from Mr. Bryant, president of the Press
+     Club.  I thank the society cordially for the compliment of these
+     invitations, although I am booked elsewhere and cannot come.
+
+     But, oh, I should like to know the name of the Lightning Express by
+     which they were forwarded; for I owe a friend a dozen chickens, and
+     I believe it will be cheaper to send eggs instead, and let them
+     develop on the road.
+                    Sincerely yours,
+                                        Mark TWAIN.
+
+I want to tell you of some of my experiences in business, and then I
+will be in a position to lay down one general rule for the guidance
+of those who want to succeed in business. My first effort was about
+twenty-five years ago. I took hold of an invention—I don't know now
+what it was all about, but some one came to me and told me it was a good
+thing, and that there was lots of money in it. He persuaded me to invest
+$15,000, and I lived up to my beliefs by engaging a man to develop it.
+To make a long story short, I sunk $40,000 in it.
+
+Then I took up the publication of a book. I called in a publisher and
+said to him: “I want you to publish this book along lines which I shall
+lay down. I am the employer, and you are the employee. I am going to
+show them some new kinks in the publishing business. And I want you to
+draw on me for money as you go along,” which he did. He drew on me
+for $56,000. Then I asked him to take the book and call it off. But he
+refused to do that.
+
+My next venture was with a machine for doing something or other. I knew
+less about that than I did about the invention. But I sunk $170,000 in
+the business, and I can't for the life of me recollect what it was the
+machine was to do.
+
+I was still undismayed. You see, one of the strong points about my
+business life was that I never gave up. I undertook to publish General
+Grant's book, and made $140,000 in six months. My axiom is, to succeed
+in business: avoid my example.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR
+
+
+
+          At the dinner given in honor of Andrew Carnegie by the Lotos
+          Club, March 17, 1909, Mr. Clemens appeared in a white suit from
+          head to feet.  He wore a white double-breasted coat, white
+          trousers, and white shoes.  The only relief was a big black
+          cigar, which he confidentially informed the company was not
+          from his usual stack bought at $3 per barrel.
+
+The State of Missouri has for its coat of arms a barrel-head with two
+Missourians, one on each side of it, and mark the motto—“United We
+Stand, Divided We Fall.” Mr. Carnegie, this evening, has suffered from
+compliments. It is interesting to hear what people will say about a man.
+Why, at the banquet given by this club in my honor, Mr. Carnegie had
+the inspiration for which the club is now honoring him. If Dunfermline
+contributed so much to the United States in contributing Mr. Carnegie,
+what would have happened if all Scotland had turned out? These
+Dunfermline folk have acquired advantages in coming to America.
+
+Doctor McKelway paid the top compliment, the cumulation, when he said of
+Mr. Carnegie:
+
+“There is a man who wants to pay more taxes than he is charged.” Richard
+Watson Gilder did very well for a poet. He advertised his magazine. He
+spoke of hiring Mr. Carnegie—the next thing he will be trying to hire
+me.
+
+If I undertook to pay compliments I would do it stronger than any others
+have done it, for what Mr. Carnegie wants are strong compliments. Now,
+the other side of seventy, I have preserved, as my chiefest virtue,
+modesty.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ON POETRY, VERACITY, AND SUICIDE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A DINNER OF THE MANHATTAN DICKENS FELLOWSHIP,
+          NEW YORK CITY, FEBRUARY 7, 1906
+
+          This dinner was in commemoration of the ninety-fourth
+          anniversary of the birth of Charles Dickens.  On an other
+          occasion Mr. Clemens told the same story with variations and a
+          different conclusion to the University Settlement Society.
+
+I always had taken an interest in young people who wanted to become
+poets. I remember I was particularly interested in one budding poet when
+I was a reporter. His name was Butter.
+
+One day he came to me and said, disconsolately, that he was going to
+commit suicide—he was tired of life, not being able to express his
+thoughts in poetic form. Butter asked me what I thought of the idea.
+
+I said I would; that it was a good idea. “You can do me a friendly turn.
+You go off in a private place and do it there, and I'll get it all. You
+do it, and I'll do as much for you some time.”
+
+At first he determined to drown himself. Drowning is so nice and clean,
+and writes up so well in a newspaper.
+
+But things ne'er do go smoothly in weddings, suicides, or courtships.
+Only there at the edge of the water, where Butter was to end himself,
+lay a life-preserver—a big round canvas one, which would float after the
+scrap-iron was soaked out of it.
+
+Butter wouldn't kill himself with the life-preserver in sight, and so
+I had an idea. I took it to a pawnshop, and [soaked] it for a revolver:
+The pawnbroker didn't think much of the exchange, but when I explained
+the situation he acquiesced. We went up on top of a high building, and
+this is what happened to the poet:
+
+He put the revolver to his forehead and blew a tunnel straight through
+his head. The tunnel was about the size of your finger. You could look
+right through it. The job was complete; there was nothing in it.
+
+Well, after that that man never could write prose, but he could write
+poetry. He could write it after he had blown his brains out. There is
+lots of that talent all over the country, but the trouble is they don't
+develop it.
+
+I am suffering now from the fact that I, who have told the truth a good
+many times in my life, have lately received more letters than anybody
+else urging me to lead a righteous life. I have more friends who want to
+see me develop on a high level than anybody else.
+
+Young John D. Rockefeller, two weeks ago, taught his Bible class all
+about veracity, and why it was better that everybody should always keep
+a plentiful supply on hand. Some of the letters I have received suggest
+that I ought to attend his class and learn, too. Why, I know Mr.
+Rockefeller, and he is a good fellow. He is competent in many ways
+to teach a Bible class, but when it comes to veracity he is only
+thirty-five years old. I'm seventy years old. I have been familiar with
+veracity twice as long as he.
+
+And the story about George Washington and his little hatchet has also
+been suggested to me in these letters—in a fugitive way, as if I needed
+some of George Washington and his hatchet in my constitution. Why, dear
+me, they overlook the real point in that story. The point is not the one
+that is usually suggested, and you can readily see that.
+
+The point is not that George said to his father, “Yes, father, I cut
+down the cheery-tree; I can't tell a lie,” but that the little
+boy—only seven years old—should have his sagacity developed under such
+circumstances. He was a boy wise beyond his years. His conduct then was
+a prophecy of later years. Yes, I think he was the most remarkable man
+the country ever produced-up to my time, anyway.
+
+Now then, little George realized that circumstantial evidence was
+against him. He knew that his father would know from the size of the
+chips that no full-grown hatchet cut that tree down, and that no man
+would have haggled it so. He knew that his father would send around the
+plantation and inquire for a small boy with a hatchet, and he had the
+wisdom to come out and confess it. Now, the idea that his father was
+overjoyed when he told little George that he would rather have him cut
+down, a thousand cheery-trees than tell a lie is all nonsense. What did
+he really mean? Why, that he was absolutely astonished that he had a son
+who had the chance to tell a lie and didn't.
+
+I admire old George—if that was his name—for his discernment. He knew
+when he said that his son couldn't tell a lie that he was stretching it
+a good deal. He wouldn't have to go to John D. Rockefeller's Bible class
+to find that out. The way the old George Washington story goes down it
+doesn't do anybody any good. It only discourages people who can tell a
+lie.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WELCOME HOME
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER IN HIS HONOR AT THE LOTOS CLUB,
+          NOVEMBER 10, 1900
+
+      In August, 1895, just before sailing for Australia, Mr. Clemens
+      issued the following statement:
+
+“It has been reported that I sacrificed, for the benefit of the
+creditors, the property of the publishing firm whose financial backer I
+was, and that I am now lecturing for my own benefit.
+
+“This is an error. I intend the lectures, as well as the property, for
+the creditors. The law recognizes no mortgage on a man's brains, and a
+merchant who has given up all he has may take advantage of the laws of
+insolvency and may start free again for himself. But I am not a business
+man, and honor is a harder master than the law. It cannot compromise
+for less than one hundred cents on a dollar, and its debts are never
+outlawed.
+
+“I had a two-thirds interest in the publishing firm whose capital I
+furnished. If the firm had prospered I would have expected to collect
+two-thirds of the profits. As it is, I expect to pay all the debts. My
+partner has no resources, and I do not look for assistance to my wife,
+whose contributions in cash from her own means have nearly equalled
+the claims of all the creditors combined. She has taken nothing; on
+the contrary, she has helped and intends to help me to satisfy the
+obligations due to the rest of the creditors.
+
+“It is my intention to ask my creditors to accept that as a legal
+discharge, and trust to my honor to pay the other fifty per cent. as
+fast as I can earn it. From my reception thus far on my lecturing tour,
+I am confident that if I live I can pay off the last debt within four
+years.
+
+“After which, at the age of sixty-four, I can make a fresh and
+unincumbered start in life. I am going to Australia, India, and South
+Africa, and next year I hope to make a tour of the great cities of the
+United States.”
+
+I thank you all out of my heart for this fraternal welcome, and it seems
+almost too fine, almost too magnificent, for a humble Missourian such as
+I am, far from his native haunts on the banks of the Mississippi; yet
+my modesty is in a degree fortified by observing that I am not the only
+Missourian who has been honored here to-night, for I see at this very
+table-here is a Missourian [indicating Mr. McKelway], and there is a
+Missourian [indicating Mr. Depew], and there is another Missourian—and
+Hendrix and Clemens; and last but not least, the greatest Missourian of
+them all—here he sits—Tom Reed, who has always concealed his birth till
+now. And since I have been away I know what has been happening in his
+case: he has deserted politics, and now is leading a creditable life.
+He has reformed, and God prosper him; and I judge, by a remark which
+he made up-stairs awhile ago, that he had found a new business that is
+utterly suited to his make and constitution, and all he is doing now is
+that he is around raising the average of personal beauty.
+
+But I am grateful to the president for the kind words which he has said
+of me, and it is not for me to say whether these praises were deserved
+or not. I prefer to accept them just as they stand, without concerning
+myself with the statistics upon which they have been built, but only
+with that large matter, that essential matter, the good-fellowship,
+the kindliness, the magnanimity, and generosity that prompted their
+utterance. Well, many things have happened since I sat here before, and
+now that I think of it, the president's reference to the debts which
+were left by the bankrupt firm of Charles L. Webster & Co. gives me an
+opportunity to say a word which I very much wish to say, not for myself,
+but for ninety-five men and women whom I shall always hold in high
+esteem and in pleasant remembrance—the creditors of that firm. They
+treated me well; they treated me handsomely. There were ninety-six of
+them, and by not a finger's weight did ninety-five of them add to the
+burden of that time for me. Ninety-five out of the ninety-six—they
+didn't indicate by any word or sign that they were anxious about their
+money. They treated me well, and I shall not forget it; I could not
+forget it if I wanted to. Many of them said, “Don't you worry, don't
+you hurry”; that's what they said. Why, if I could have that kind
+of creditors always, and that experience, I would recognize it as a
+personal loss to be out of debt. I owe those ninety-five creditors a
+debt of homage, and I pay it now in such measure as one may pay so
+fine a debt in mere words. Yes, they said that very thing. I was not
+personally acquainted with ten of them, and yet they said, “Don't you
+worry, and don't you hurry.” I know that phrase by heart, and if all the
+other music should perish out of the world it would still sing to me.
+I appreciate that; I am glad to say this word; people say so much about
+me, and they forget those creditors. They were handsomer than I was—or
+Tom Reed.
+
+Oh, you have been doing many things in this time that I have been
+absent; you have done lots of things, some that are well worth
+remembering, too. Now, we have fought a righteous war since I have gone,
+and that is rare in history—a righteous war is so rare that it is almost
+unknown in history; but by the grace of that war we set Cuba free, and
+we joined her to those three or four nations that exist on this earth;
+and we started out to set those poor Filipinos free, too, and why, why,
+why that most righteous purpose of ours has apparently miscarried I
+suppose I never shall know.
+
+But we have made a most creditable record in China in these days—our
+sound and level-headed administration has made a most creditable record
+over there, and there are some of the Powers that cannot say that by any
+means. The Yellow Terror is threatening this world to-day. It is looming
+vast and ominous on that distant horizon. I do not know what is going to
+be the result of that Yellow Terror, but our government has had no hand
+in evoking it, and let's be happy in that and proud of it.
+
+We have nursed free silver, we watched by its cradle; we have done the
+best we could to raise that child, but those pestiferous Republicans
+have—well, they keep giving it the measles every chance they get, and we
+never shall raise that child. Well, that's no matter—there's plenty of
+other things to do, and we must think of something else. Well, we have
+tried a President four years, criticised him and found fault with him
+the whole time, and turned around a day or two ago with votes enough
+to spare to elect another. O consistency! consistency! thy name—I don't
+know what thy name is—Thompson will do—any name will do—but you see
+there is the fact, there is the consistency. Then we have tried for
+governor an illustrious Rough Rider, and we liked him so much in that
+great office that now we have made him Vice-President—not in order
+that that office shall give him distinction, but that he may confer
+distinction upon that office. And it's needed, too—it's needed. And now,
+for a while anyway, we shall not be stammering and embarrassed when a
+stranger asks us, “What is the name of the Vice-President?” This one is
+known; this one is pretty well known, pretty widely known, and in some
+quarters favorably. I am not accustomed to dealing in these fulsome
+compliments, and I am probably overdoing it a little; but—well, my old
+affectionate admiration for Governor Roosevelt has probably betrayed me
+into the complimentary excess; but I know him, and you know him; and
+if you give him rope enough—I mean if—oh yes, he will justify that
+compliment; leave it just as it is. And now we have put in his place
+Mr. Odell, another Rough Rider, I suppose; all the fat things go to that
+profession now. Why, I could have been a Rough Rider myself if I had
+known that this political Klondike was going to open up, and I would
+have been a Rough Rider if I could have gone to war on an automobile but
+not on a horse! No, I know the horse too well; I have known the horse
+in war and in peace, and there is no place where a horse is comfortable.
+The horse has too many caprices, and he is too much given to initiative.
+He invents too many new ideas. No, I don't want anything to do with a
+horse.
+
+And then we have taken Chauncey Depew out of a useful and active
+life and made him a Senator—embalmed him, corked him up. And I am not
+grieving. That man has said many a true thing about me in his time, and
+I always said something would happen to him. Look at that [pointing to
+Mr. Depew] gilded mummy! He has made my life a sorrow to me at many a
+banquet on both sides of the ocean, and now he has got it. Perish the
+hand that pulls that cork!
+
+All these things have happened, all these things have come to pass,
+while I have been away, and it just shows how little a Mugwump can be
+missed in a cold, unfeeling world, even when he is the last one that is
+left—a GRAND OLD PARTY all by himself. And there is another thing
+that has happened, perhaps the most imposing event of them all: the
+institution called the Daughters of the—Crown—the Daughters of the Royal
+Crown—has established itself and gone into business. Now, there's an
+American idea for you; there's an idea born of God knows what kind of
+specialized insanity, but not softening of the brain—you cannot soften
+a thing that doesn't exist—the Daughters of the Royal Crown! Nobody
+eligible but American descendants of Charles II. Dear me, how the fancy
+product of that old harem still holds out!
+
+Well, I am truly glad to foregather with you again, and partake of the
+bread and salt of this hospitable house once more. Seven years ago, when
+I was your guest here, when I was old and despondent, you gave me the
+grip and the word that lift a man up and make him glad to be alive; and
+now I come back from my exile young again, fresh and alive, and ready to
+begin life once more, and your welcome puts the finishing touch upon my
+restored youth and makes it real to me, and not a gracious dream that
+must vanish with the morning. I thank you.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN UNDELIVERED SPEECH
+
+
+
+          The steamship St. Paul was to have been launched from Cramp's
+          shipyard in Philadelphia on March 25, 1895.  After the
+          launching a luncheon was to have been given, at which Mr.
+          Clemens was to make a speech.  Just before the final word was
+          given a reporter asked Mr. Clemens for a copy of his speech to
+          be delivered at the luncheon.  To facilitate the work of the
+          reporter he loaned him a typewritten copy of the speech.  It
+          happened, however, that when the blocks were knocked away the
+          big ship refused to budge, and no amount of labor could move
+          her an inch.  She had stuck fast upon the ways.  As a result,
+          the launching was postponed for a week or two; but in the mean
+          time Mr. Clemens had gone to Europe.  Years after a reporter
+          called on Mr. Clemens and submitted the manuscript of the
+          speech, which was as follows:
+
+Day after to-morrow I sail for England in a ship of this line, the
+Paris. It will be my fourteenth crossing in three years and a half.
+Therefore, my presence here, as you see, is quite natural, quite
+commercial. I am interested in ships. They interest me more now than
+hotels do. When a new ship is launched I feel a desire to go and see if
+she will be good quarters for me to live in, particularly if she
+belongs to this line, for it is by this line that I have done most of my
+ferrying.
+
+People wonder why I go so much. Well, I go partly for my health, partly
+to familiarize myself with the road. I have gone over the same road so
+many times now that I know all the whales that belong along the route,
+and latterly it is an embarrassment to me to meet them, for they do not
+look glad to see me, but annoyed, and they seem to say: “Here is this
+old derelict again.”
+
+Earlier in life this would have pained me and made me ashamed, but I am
+older now, and when I am behaving myself, and doing right, I do not care
+for a whale's opinion about me. When we are young we generally estimate
+an opinion by the size of the person that holds it, but later we find
+that that is an uncertain rule, for we realize that there are times when
+a hornet's opinion disturbs us more than an emperor's.
+
+I do not mean that I care nothing at all for a whale's opinion, for that
+would be going to too great a length. Of course, it is better to have
+the good opinion of a whale than his disapproval; but my position is
+that if you cannot have a whale's good opinion, except at some sacrifice
+of principle or personal dignity, it is better to try to live without
+it. That is my idea about whales.
+
+Yes, I have gone over that same route so often that I know my way
+without a compass, just by the waves. I know all the large waves and a
+good many of the small ones. Also the sunsets. I know every sunset and
+where it belongs just by its color. Necessarily, then, I do not make the
+passage now for scenery. That is all gone by.
+
+What I prize most is safety, and in the second place swift transit
+and handiness. These are best furnished, by the American line, whose
+watertight compartments have no passage through them; no doors to be
+left open, and consequently no way for water to get from one of them to
+another in time of collision. If you nullify the peril which collisions
+threaten you with, you nullify the only very serious peril which attends
+voyages in the great liners of our day, and makes voyaging safer than
+staying at home.
+
+When the Paris was half-torn to pieces some years ago, enough of the
+Atlantic ebbed and flowed through one end of her, during her long agony,
+to sink the fleets of the world if distributed among them; but she
+floated in perfect safety, and no life was lost. In time of collision
+the rock of Gibraltar is not safer than the Paris and other great ships
+of this line. This seems to be the only great line in the world that
+takes a passenger from metropolis to metropolis without the intervention
+of tugs and barges or bridges—takes him through without breaking bulk,
+so to speak.
+
+On the English side he lands at a dock; on the dock a special train is
+waiting; in an hour and three-quarters he is in London. Nothing could
+be handier. If your journey were from a sand-pit on our side to a
+lighthouse on the other, you could make it quicker by other lines, but
+that is not the case. The journey is from the city of New York to the
+city of London, and no line can do that journey quicker than this one,
+nor anywhere near as conveniently and handily. And when the passenger
+lands on our side he lands on the American side of the river, not in
+the provinces. As a very learned man said on the last voyage (he is head
+quartermaster of the New York land garboard streak of the middle watch),
+
+“When we land a passenger on the American side there's nothing betwix
+him and his hotel but hell and the hackman.”
+
+I am glad, with you and the nation, to welcome the new ship. She is
+another pride, another consolation, for a great country whose mighty
+fleets have all vanished, and which has almost forgotten what it is to
+fly its flag to sea. I am not sure as to which St. Paul she is named
+for. Some think it is the one that is on the upper Mississippi, but the
+head quartermaster told me it was the one that killed Goliath. But it is
+not important. No matter which it is, let us give her hearty welcome and
+godspeed.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY
+
+
+
+          AT THE METROPOLITAN CLUB, NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 28, 1902
+
+          Address at a dinner given in honor of Mr. Clemens by Colonel
+          Harvey, President of Harper &amp; Brothers.
+
+I think I ought to be allowed to talk as long as I want to, for the
+reason that I have cancelled all my winter's engagements of every kind,
+for good and sufficient reasons, and am making no new engagements for
+this winter, and, therefore, this is the only chance I shall have to
+disembowel my skull for a year—close the mouth in that portrait for
+a year. I want to offer thanks and homage to the chairman for this
+innovation which he has introduced here, which is an improvement, as
+I consider it, on the old-fashioned style of conducting occasions like
+this. That was bad that was a bad, bad, bad arrangement. Under that old
+custom the chairman got up and made a speech, he introduced the prisoner
+at the bar, and covered him all over with compliments, nothing but
+compliments, not a thing but compliments, never a slur, and sat down
+and left that man to get up and talk without a text. You cannot talk on
+compliments; that is not a text. No modest person, and I was born one,
+can talk on compliments. A man gets up and is filled to the eyes with
+happy emotions, but his tongue is tied; he has nothing to say; he is in
+the condition of Doctor Rice's friend who came home drunk and explained
+it to his wife, and his wife said to him, “John, when you have drunk all
+the whiskey you want, you ought to ask for sarsaparilla.” He said, “Yes,
+but when I have drunk all the whiskey I want I can't say sarsaparilla.”
+ And so I think it is much better to leave a man unmolested until the
+testimony and pleadings are all in. Otherwise he is dumb—he is at the
+sarsaparilla stage.
+
+Before I get to the higgledy-piggledy point, as Mr. Howells suggested
+I do, I want to thank you, gentlemen, for this very high honor you are
+doing me, and I am quite competent to estimate it at its value. I see
+around me captains of all the illustrious industries, most distinguished
+men; there are more than fifty here, and I believe I know thirty-nine of
+them well. I could probably borrow money from—from the others, anyway.
+It is a proud thing to me, indeed, to see such a distinguished company
+gather here on such an occasion as this, when there is no foreign
+prince to be feted—when you have come here not to do honor to hereditary
+privilege and ancient lineage, but to do reverence to mere moral
+excellence and elemental veracity-and, dear me, how old it seems to make
+me! I look around me and I see three or four persons I have known so
+many, many years. I have known Mr. Secretary Hay—John Hay, as the nation
+and the rest of his friends love to call him—I have known John Hay and
+Tom Reed and the Reverend Twichell close upon thirty-six years. Close
+upon thirty-six years I have known those venerable men. I have known Mr.
+Howells nearly thirty-four years, and I knew Chauncey Depew before
+he could walk straight, and before he learned to tell the truth.
+Twenty-seven years ago, I heard him make the most noble and eloquent and
+beautiful speech that has ever fallen from even his capable lips. Tom
+Reed said that my principal defect was inaccuracy of statement. Well,
+suppose that that is true. What's the use of telling the truth all the
+time? I never tell the truth about Tom Reed—but that is his defect,
+truth; he speaks the truth always. Tom Reed has a good heart, and he
+has a good intellect, but he hasn't any judgment. Why, when Tom Reed
+was invited to lecture to the Ladies' Society for the Procreation
+or Procrastination, or something, of morals, I don't know what
+it was—advancement, I suppose, of pure morals—he had the immortal
+indiscretion to begin by saying that some of us can't be optimists, but
+by judiciously utilizing the opportunities that Providence puts in our
+way we can all be bigamists. You perceive his limitations. Anything he
+has in his mind he states, if he thinks it is true. Well, that was true,
+but that was no place to say it—so they fired him out.
+
+A lot of accounts have been settled here tonight for me; I have held
+grudges against some of these people, but they have all been wiped out
+by the very handsome compliments that have been paid me. Even Wayne
+MacVeagh—I have had a grudge against him many years. The first time I
+saw Wayne MacVeagh was at a private dinner-party at Charles A. Dana's,
+and when I got there he was clattering along, and I tried to get a
+word in here and there; but you know what Wayne MacVeagh is when he is
+started, and I could not get in five words to his one—or one word to his
+five. I struggled along and struggled along, and—well, I wanted to tell
+and I was trying to tell a dream I had had the night before, and it was
+a remarkable dream, a dream worth people's while to listen to, a dream
+recounting Sam Jones the revivalist's reception in heaven. I was on a
+train, and was approaching the celestial way-station—I had a through
+ticket—and I noticed a man sitting alongside of me asleep, and he
+had his ticket in his hat. He was the remains of the Archbishop of
+Canterbury; I recognized him by his photograph. I had nothing against
+him, so I took his ticket and let him have mine. He didn't object—he
+wasn't in a condition to object—and presently when the train stopped
+at the heavenly station—well, I got off, and he went on by request—but
+there they all were, the angels, you know, millions of them, every one
+with a torch; they had arranged for a torch-light procession; they were
+expecting the Archbishop, and when I got off they started to raise
+a shout, but it didn't materialize. I don't know whether they were
+disappointed. I suppose they had a lot of superstitious ideas about the
+Archbishop and what he should look like, and I didn't fill the bill, and
+I was trying to explain to Saint Peter, and was doing it in the German
+tongue, because I didn't want to be too explicit. Well, I found it was
+no use, I couldn't get along, for Wayne MacVeagh was occupying the whole
+place, and I said to Mr. Dana, “What is the matter with that man? Who is
+that man with the long tongue? What's the trouble with him, that long,
+lank cadaver, old oil-derrick out of a job—who is that?” “Well, now,”
+ Mr. Dana said, “you don't want to meddle with him; you had better keep
+quiet; just keep quiet, because that's a bad man. Talk! He was born to
+talk. Don't let him get out with you; he'll skin you.” I said, “I have
+been skinned, skinned, and skinned for years, there is nothing left.”
+ He said, “Oh, you'll find there is; that man is the very seed and
+inspiration of that proverb which says, 'No matter how close you skin an
+onion, a clever man can always peel it again.'” Well, I reflected and
+I quieted down. That would never occur to Tom Reed. He's got no
+discretion. Well, MacVeagh is just the same man; he hasn't changed a bit
+in all those years; he has been peeling Mr. Mitchell lately. That's the
+kind of man he is.
+
+Mr. Howells—that poem of his is admirable; that's the way to treat a
+person. Howells has a peculiar gift for seeing the merits of people,
+and he has always exhibited them in my favor. Howells has never written
+anything about me that I couldn't read six or seven times a day; he is
+always just and always fair; he has written more appreciatively of
+me than any one in this world, and published it in the North American
+Review. He did me the justice to say that my intentions—he italicized
+that—that my intentions were always good, that I wounded people's
+conventions rather than their convictions. Now, I wouldn't want anything
+handsomer than that said of me. I would rather wait, with anything harsh
+I might have to say, till the convictions become conventions. Bangs has
+traced me all the way down. He can't find that honest man, but I will
+look for him in the looking-glass when I get home. It was intimated by
+the Colonel that it is New England that makes New York and builds up
+this country and makes it great, overlooking the fact that there's a
+lot of people here who came from elsewhere, like John Hay from away
+out West, and Howells from Ohio, and St. Clair McKelway and me
+from Missouri, and we are doing what we can to build up New York a
+little-elevate it. Why, when I was living in that village of Hannibal,
+Missouri, on the banks of the Mississippi, and Hay up in the town of
+Warsaw, also on the banks of the Mississippi River it is an emotional
+bit of the Mississippi, and when it is low water you have to climb up
+to it on a ladder, and when it floods you have to hunt for it; with a
+deep-sea lead—but it is a great and beautiful country. In that old time
+it was a paradise for simplicity—it was a simple, simple life, cheap but
+comfortable, and full of sweetness, and there was nothing of this rage
+of modern civilization there at all. It was a delectable land. I went
+out there last June, and I met in that town of Hannibal a schoolmate of
+mine, John Briggs, whom I had not seen for more than fifty years. I tell
+you, that was a meeting! That pal whom I had known as a little boy long
+ago, and knew now as a stately man three or four inches over six feet
+and browned by exposure to many climes, he was back there to see that
+old place again. We spent a whole afternoon going about here and there
+and yonder, and hunting up the scenes and talking of the crimes which
+we had committed so long ago. It was a heartbreaking delight, full of
+pathos, laughter, and tears, all mixed together; and we called the roll
+of the boys and girls that we picnicked and sweethearted with so many
+years ago, and there were hardly half a dozen of them left; the rest
+were in their graves; and we went up there on the summit of that hill,
+a treasured place in my memory, the summit of Holiday's Hill, and looked
+out again over that magnificent panorama of the Mississippi River,
+sweeping along league after league, a level green paradise on one side,
+and retreating capes and promontories as far as you could see on the
+other, fading away in the soft, rich lights of the remote distance. I
+recognized then that I was seeing now the most enchanting river view
+the planet could furnish. I never knew it when I was a boy; it took an
+educated eye that had travelled over the globe to know and appreciate
+it; and John said, “Can you point out the place where Bear Creek used to
+be before the railroad came?” I said, “Yes, it ran along yonder.” “And
+can you point out the swimming-hole?” “Yes, out there.” And he said,
+“Can you point out the place where we stole the skiff?” Well, I didn't
+know which one he meant. Such a wilderness of events had intervened
+since that day, more than fifty years ago, it took me more than five
+minutes to call back that little incident, and then I did call it back;
+it was a white skiff, and we painted it red to allay suspicion. And the
+saddest, saddest man came along—a stranger he was—and he looked that red
+skiff over so pathetically, and he said: “Well, if it weren't for the
+complexion I'd know whose skiff that was.” He said it in that pleading
+way, you know, that appeals for sympathy and suggestion; we were full of
+sympathy for him, but we weren't in any condition to offer suggestions.
+I can see him yet as he turned away with that same sad look on his face
+and vanished out of history forever. I wonder what became of that man.
+I know what became of the skiff. Well, it was a beautiful life, a lovely
+life. There was no crime. Merely little things like pillaging orchards
+and watermelon-patches and breaking the Sabbath—we didn't break the
+Sabbath often enough to signify—once a week perhaps. But we were good
+boys, good Presbyterian boys, all Presbyterian boys, and loyal and
+all that; anyway, we were good Presbyterian boys when the weather was
+doubtful; when it was fair, we did wander a little from the fold.
+
+Look at John Hay and me. There we were in obscurity, and look where
+we are now. Consider the ladder which he has climbed, the illustrious
+vocations he has served—and vocations is the right word; he has in all
+those vocations acquitted himself with high credit and honor to his
+country and to the mother that bore him. Scholar, soldier, diplomat,
+poet, historian—now, see where we are. He is Secretary of State and I am
+a gentleman. It could not happen in any other country. Our institutions
+give men the positions that of right belong to them through merit;
+all you men have won your places, not by heredities, and not by family
+influence or extraneous help, but only by the natural gifts God gave you
+at your birth, made effective by your own energies; this is the country
+to live in.
+
+Now, there is one invisible guest here. A part of me is present; the
+larger part, the better part, is yonder at her home; that is my wife,
+and she has a good many personal friends here, and I think it won't
+distress any one of them to know that, although she is going to
+be confined to that bed for many months to come from that nervous
+prostration, there is not any danger and she is coming along very
+well—and I think it quite appropriate that I should speak of her. I knew
+her for the first time just in the same year that I first knew John Hay
+and Tom Reed and Mr. Twichell—thirty-six years ago—and she has been the
+best friend I have ever had, and that is saying a good deal; she
+has reared me—she and Twichell together—and what I am I owe to them.
+Twichell—why, it is such a pleasure to look upon Twichell's face! For
+five-and-twenty years I was under the Rev. Mr. Twichell's tuition, I
+was in his pastorate, occupying a pew in his church, and held him in due
+reverence. That man is full of all the graces that go to make a person
+companionable and beloved; and wherever Twichell goes to start a church
+the people flock there to buy the land; they find real estate goes up
+all around the spot, and the envious and the thoughtful always try
+to get Twichell to move to their neighborhood and start a church; and
+wherever you see him go you can go and buy land there with confidence,
+feeling sure that there will be a double price for you before very long.
+I am not saying this to flatter Mr. Twichell; it is the fact. Many and
+many a time I have attended the annual sale in his church, and bought
+up all the pews on a margin—and it would have been better for me
+spiritually and financially if I had stayed under his wing.
+
+I have tried to do good in this world, and it is marvellous in how many
+different ways I have done good, and it is comfortable to reflect—now,
+there's Mr. Rogers—just out of the affection I bear that man many a time
+I have given him points in finance that he had never thought of—and if
+he could lay aside envy, prejudice, and superstition, and utilize those
+ideas in his business, it would make a difference in his bank account.
+
+Well, I like the poetry. I like all the speeches and the poetry, too.
+I liked Doctor Van Dyke's poem. I wish I could return thanks in proper
+measure to you, gentlemen, who have spoken and violated your feelings
+to pay me compliments; some were merited and some you overlooked, it is
+true; and Colonel Harvey did slander every one of you, and put things
+into my mouth that I never said, never thought of at all.
+
+And now, my wife and I, out of our single heart, return you our deepest
+and most grateful thanks, and—yesterday was her birthday.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO THE WHITEFRIARS
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE DINNER GIVEN BY THE WHITEFRIARS CLUB IN HONOR OF
+          MR. CLEMENS, LONDON, JUNE 20, 1899
+
+          The Whitefriars Club was founded by Dr. Samuel Johnson, and Mr.
+          Clemens was made an honorary member in 1874.  The members are
+          representative of literary and journalistic London.  The toast
+          of “Our Guest” was proposed by Louis F. Austin, of the
+          Illustrated London News, and in the course of some humorous
+          remarks he referred to the vow and to the imaginary woes of the
+          “Friars,” as the members of the club style themselves.
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND BRETHREN OF THE VOW—in whatever the vow is; for
+although I have been a member of this club for five-and twenty years, I
+don't know any more about what that vow is than Mr. Austin seems to. But
+what ever the vow is, I don't care what it is. I have made a thousand
+vows.
+
+There is no pleasure comparable to making a vow in the presence of
+one who appreciates that vow, in the presence of men who honor and
+appreciate you for making the vow, and men who admire you for making the
+vow.
+
+There is only one pleasure higher than that, and that is to get outside
+and break the vow. A vow is always a pledge of some kind or other for
+the protection of your own morals and principles or somebody else's, and
+generally, by the irony of fate, it is for the protection of your own
+morals.
+
+Hence we have pledges that make us eschew tobacco or wine, and while
+you are taking the pledge there is a holy influence about that makes you
+feel you are reformed, and that you can never be so happy again in this
+world until—you get outside and take a drink.
+
+I had forgotten that I was a member of this club—it is so long ago. But
+now I remember that I was here five-and-twenty years ago, and that I was
+then at a dinner of the Whitefriars Club, and it was in those old days
+when you had just made two great finds. All London was talking about
+nothing else than that they had found Livingstone, and that the lost Sir
+Roger Tichborne had been found—and they were trying him for it.
+
+And at the dinner, Chairman (I do not know who he was)—failed to come
+to time. The gentleman who had been appointed to pay me the customary
+compliments and to introduce me forgot the compliments, and did not know
+what they were.
+
+And George Augustus Sala came in at the last moment, just when I was
+about to go without compliments altogether. And that man was a gifted
+man. They just called on him instantaneously, while he was going to sit
+down, to introduce the stranger, and Sala, made one of those marvellous
+speeches which he was capable of making. I think no man talked so fast
+as Sala did. One did not need wine while he was making a speech. The
+rapidity of his utterance made a man drunk in a minute. An incomparable
+speech was that, an impromptu speech, and—an impromptu speech is a
+seldom thing, and he did it so well.
+
+He went into the whole history of the United States, and made it
+entirely new to me. He filled it with episodes and incidents that
+Washington never heard of, and he did it so convincingly that although
+I knew none of it had happened, from that day to this I do not know any
+history but Sala's.
+
+I do not know anything so sad as a dinner where you are going to get up
+and say something by-and-by, and you do not know what it is. You sit
+and wonder and wonder what the gentleman is going to say who is going
+to introduce you. You know that if he says something severe, that if he
+will deride you, or traduce you, or do anything of that kind, he will
+furnish you with a text, because anybody can get up and talk against
+that.
+
+Anybody can get up and straighten out his character. But when a
+gentleman gets up and merely tells the truth about you, what can you do?
+
+Mr. Austin has done well. He has supplied so many texts that I will have
+to drop out a lot of them, and that is about as difficult as when you
+do not have any text at all. Now, he made a beautiful and smooth speech
+without any difficulty at all, and I could have done that if I had gone
+on with the schooling with which I began. I see here a gentleman on my
+left who was my master in the art of oratory more than twenty-five years
+ago.
+
+When I look upon the inspiring face of Mr. Depew, it carries me a long
+way back. An old and valued friend of mine is he, and I saw his career
+as it came along, and it has reached pretty well up to now, when he, by
+another miscarriage of justice, is a United States Senator. But those
+were delightful days when I was taking lessons in oratory.
+
+My other master the Ambassador-is not here yet. Under those two
+gentlemen I learned to make after-dinner speeches, and it was charming.
+
+You know the New England dinner is the great occasion on the other side
+of the water. It is held every year to celebrate the landing of the
+Pilgrims. Those Pilgrims were a lot of people who were not needed in
+England, and you know they had great rivalry, and they were persuaded to
+go elsewhere, and they chartered a ship called Mayflower and set sail,
+and I have heard it said that they pumped the Atlantic Ocean through
+that ship sixteen times.
+
+They fell in over there with the Dutch from Rotterdam, Amsterdam, and
+a lot of other places with profane names, and it is from that gang that
+Mr. Depew is descended.
+
+On the other hand, Mr. Choate is descended from those Puritans who
+landed on a bitter night in December. Every year those people used
+to meet at a great banquet in New York, and those masters of mind in
+oratory had to make speeches. It was Doctor Depew's business to get up
+there and apologise for the Dutch, and Mr. Choate had to get up later
+and explain the crimes of the Puritans, and grand, beautiful times we
+used to have.
+
+It is curious that after that long lapse of time I meet the Whitefriars
+again, some looking as young and fresh as in the old days, others
+showing a certain amount of wear and tear, and here, after all this
+time, I find one of the masters of oratory and the others named in the
+list.
+
+And here we three meet again as exiles on one pretext or another,
+and you will notice that while we are absent there is a pleasing
+tranquillity in America—a building up of public confidence. We are doing
+the best we can for our country. I think we have spent our lives in
+serving our country, and we never serve it to greater advantage than
+when we get out of it.
+
+But impromptu speaking—that is what I was trying to learn. That is a
+difficult thing. I used to do it in this way. I used to begin about a
+week ahead, and write out my impromptu speech and get it by heart. Then
+I brought it to the New England dinner printed on a piece of paper in my
+pocket, so that I could pass it to the reporters all cut and dried,
+and in order to do an impromptu speech as it should be done you have to
+indicate the places for pauses and hesitations. I put them all in it.
+And then you want the applause in the right places.
+
+When I got to the place where it should come in, if it did not come in
+I did not care, but I had it marked in the paper. And these masters of
+mind used to wonder why it was my speech came out in the morning in the
+first person, while theirs went through the butchery of synopsis.
+
+I do that kind of speech (I mean an offhand speech), and do it well,
+and make no mistake in such a way to deceive the audience completely and
+make that audience believe it is an impromptu speech—that is art.
+
+I was frightened out of it at last by an experience of Doctor Hayes. He
+was a sort of Nansen of that day. He had been to the North Pole, and it
+made him celebrated. He had even seen the polar bear climb the pole.
+
+He had made one of those magnificent voyages such as Nansen made, and in
+those days when a man did anything which greatly distinguished him for
+the moment he had to come on to the lecture platform and tell all about
+it.
+
+Doctor Hayes was a great, magnificent creature like Nansen, superbly
+built. He was to appear in Boston. He wrote his lecture out, and it was
+his purpose to read it from manuscript; but in an evil hour he concluded
+that it would be a good thing to preface it with something rather
+handsome, poetical, and beautiful that he could get off by heart and
+deliver as if it were the thought of the moment.
+
+He had not had my experience, and could not do that. He came on the
+platform, held his manuscript down, and began with a beautiful piece of
+oratory. He spoke something like this:
+
+“When a lonely human being, a pigmy in the midst of the architecture
+of nature, stands solitary on those icy waters and looks abroad to the
+horizon and sees mighty castles and temples of eternal ice raising up
+their pinnacles tipped by the pencil of the departing sun—”
+
+Here a man came across the platform and touched him on the shoulder, and
+said: “One minute.” And then to the audience:
+
+“Is Mrs. John Smith in the house? Her husband has slipped on the ice and
+broken his leg.”
+
+And you could see the Mrs. John Smiths get up everywhere and drift out
+of the house, and it made great gaps everywhere. Then Doctor Hayes began
+again: “When a lonely man, a pigmy in the architecture—” The janitor
+came in again and shouted: “It is not Mrs. John Smith! It is Mrs. John
+Jones!”
+
+Then all the Mrs. Jones got up and left. Once more the speaker started,
+and was in the midst of the sentence when he was interrupted again,
+and the result was that the lecture was not delivered. But the lecturer
+interviewed the janitor afterward in a private room, and of the
+fragments of the janitor they took “twelve basketsful.”
+
+Now, I don't want to sit down just in this way. I have been talking with
+so much levity that I have said no serious thing, and you are really
+no better or wiser, although Robert Buchanan has suggested that I am
+a person who deals in wisdom. I have said nothing which would make you
+better than when you came here.
+
+I should be sorry to sit down without having said one serious word which
+you can carry home and relate to your children and the old people who
+are not able to get away.
+
+And this is just a little maxim which has saved me from many a
+difficulty and many a disaster, and in times of tribulation and
+uncertainty has come to my rescue, as it shall to yours if you observe
+it as I do day and night.
+
+I always use it in an emergency, and you can take it home as a legacy
+from me, and it is “When in doubt, tell the truth.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ASCOT GOLD CUP
+
+
+
+          The news of Mr. Clemens's arrival in England in June, 1907, was
+          announced in the papers with big headlines.  Immediately
+          following the announcement was the news--also with big
+          headlines--that the Ascot Gold Cup had been stolen the same
+          day.  The combination, MARK TWAIN ARRIVES-ASCOT CUP STOLEN,
+          amused the public.  The Lord Mayor of London gave a banquet at
+          the Mansion House in honor of Mr. Clemens.
+
+I do assure you that I am not so dishonest as I look. I have been so
+busy trying to rehabilitate my honor about that Ascot Cup that I have
+had no time to prepare a speech.
+
+I was not so honest in former days as I am now, but I have always
+been reasonably honest. Well, you know how a man is influenced by his
+surroundings. Once upon a time I went to a public meeting where the
+oratory of a charitable worker so worked on my feelings that, in common
+with others, I would have dropped something substantial in the hat—if it
+had come round at that moment.
+
+The speaker had the power of putting those vivid pictures before one. We
+were all affected. That was the moment for the hat. I would have put
+two hundred dollars in. Before he had finished I could have put in
+four hundred dollars. I felt I could have filled up a blank check—with
+somebody else's name—and dropped it in.
+
+Well, now, another speaker got up, and in fifteen minutes damped my
+spirit; and during the speech of the third speaker all my enthusiasm
+went away. When at last the hat came round I dropped in ten cents—and
+took out twenty-five.
+
+I came over here to get the honorary degree from Oxford, and I would
+have encompassed the seven seas for an honor like that—the greatest
+honor that has ever fallen to my share. I am grateful to Oxford for
+conferring that honor upon me, and I am sure my country appreciates it,
+because first and foremost it is an honor to my country.
+
+And now I am going home again across the sea. I am in spirit young but
+in the flesh old, so that it is unlikely that when I go away I shall
+ever see England again. But I shall go with the recollection of the
+generous and kindly welcome I have had.
+
+I suppose I must say “Good-bye.” I say it not with my lips only, but
+from the heart.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SAVAGE CLUB DINNER
+
+
+
+          A portrait of Mr. Clemens, signed by all the members of the
+          club attending the dinner, was presented to him, July 6, 1907,
+          and in submitting the toast “The Health of Mark Twain” Mr. J.
+          Scott Stokes recalled the fact that he had read parts of Doctor
+          Clemens's works to Harold Frederic during Frederic's last
+          illness.
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND FELLOW-SAVAGES,—I am very glad indeed to have that
+portrait. I think it is the best one that I have ever had, and there
+have been opportunities before to get a good photograph. I have sat to
+photographers twenty-two times to-day. Those sittings added to those
+that have preceded them since I have been in Europe—if we average at
+that rate—must have numbered one hundred to two hundred sittings. Out
+of all those there ought to be some good photographs. This is the best I
+have had, and I am glad to have your honored names on it. I did not know
+Harold Frederic personally, but I have heard a great deal about him, and
+nothing that was not pleasant and nothing except such things as lead
+a man to honor another man and to love him. I consider that it is a
+misfortune of mine that I have never had the luck to meet him, and if
+any book of mine read to him in his last hours made those hours easier
+for him and more comfortable, I am very glad and proud of that. I call
+to mind such a case many years ago of an English authoress, well known
+in her day, who wrote such beautiful child tales, touching and lovely in
+every possible way. In a little biographical sketch of her I found that
+her last hours were spent partly in reading a book of mine, until she
+was no longer able to read. That has always remained in my mind, and
+I have always cherished it as one of the good things of my life. I had
+read what she had written, and had loved her for what she had done.
+
+Stanley apparently carried a book of mine feloniously away to Africa,
+and I have not a doubt that it had a noble and uplifting influence there
+in the wilds of Africa—because on his previous journeys he never carried
+anything to read except Shakespeare and the Bible. I did not know of
+that circumstance. I did not know that he had carried a book of mine.
+I only noticed that when he came back he was a reformed man. I knew
+Stanley very well in those old days. Stanley was the first man who ever
+reported a lecture of mine, and that was in St. Louis. When I was down
+there the next time to give the same lecture I was told to give them
+something fresh, as they had read that in the papers. I met Stanley here
+when he came back from that first expedition of his which closed with
+the finding of Livingstone. You remember how he would break out at the
+meetings of the British Association, and find fault with what people
+said, because Stanley had notions of his own, and could not contain
+them. They had to come out or break him up—and so he would go round and
+address geographical societies. He was always on the warpath in
+those days, and people always had to have Stanley contradicting their
+geography for them and improving it. But he always came back and sat
+drinking beer with me in the hotel up to two in the morning, and he was
+then one of the most civilized human beings that ever was.
+
+I saw in a newspaper this evening a reference to an interview which
+appeared in one of the papers the other day, in which the interviewer
+said that I characterized Mr. Birrell's speech the other day at the
+Pilgrims' Club as “bully.” Now, if you will excuse me, I never use slang
+to an interviewer or anybody else. That distresses me. Whatever I said
+about Mr. Birrell's speech was said in English, as good English as
+anybody uses. If I could not describe Mr. Birrell's delightful speech
+without using slang I would not describe it at all. I would close my
+mouth and keep it closed, much as it would discomfort me.
+
+Now that comes of interviewing a man in the first person, which is an
+altogether wrong way to interview him. It is entirely wrong because none
+of you, I, or anybody else, could interview a man—could listen to a man
+talking any length of time and then go off and reproduce that talk in
+the first person. It can't be done. What results is merely that the
+interviewer gives the substance of what is said and puts it in his own
+language and puts it in your mouth. It will always be either better
+language than you use or worse, and in my case it is always worse.
+I have a great respect for the English language. I am one of its
+supporters, its promoters, its elevators. I don't degrade it. A slip of
+the tongue would be the most that you would get from me. I have always
+tried hard and faithfully to improve my English and never to degrade it.
+I always try to use the best English to describe what I think and what I
+feel, or what I don't feel and what I don't think.
+
+I am not one of those who in expressing opinions confine themselves to
+facts. I don't know anything that mars good literature so completely as
+too much truth. Facts contain a deal of poetry, but you can't use too
+many of them without damaging your literature. I love all literature,
+and as long as I am a doctor of literature—I have suggested to you for
+twenty years I have been diligently trying to improve my own literature,
+and now, by virtue of the University of Oxford, I mean to doctor
+everybody else's.
+
+Now I think I ought to apologize for my clothes. At home I venture
+things that I am not permitted by my family to venture in foreign parts.
+I was instructed before I left home and ordered to refrain from white
+clothes in England. I meant to keep that command fair and clean, and I
+would have done it if I had been in the habit of obeying instructions,
+but I can't invent a new process in life right away. I have not had
+white clothes on since I crossed the ocean until now.
+
+In these three or four weeks I have grown so tired of gray and black
+that you have earned my gratitude in permitting me to come as I have. I
+wear white clothes in the depth of winter in my home, but I don't go out
+in the streets in them. I don't go out to attract too much attention.
+I like to attract some, and always I would like to be dressed so that I
+may be more conspicuous than anybody else.
+
+If I had been an ancient Briton, I would not have contented myself with
+blue paint, but I would have bankrupted the rainbow. I so enjoy gay
+clothes in which women clothe themselves that it always grieves me when
+I go to the opera to see that, while women look like a flower-bed, the
+men are a few gray stumps among them in their black evening dress. These
+are two or three reasons why I wish to wear white clothes: When I find
+myself in assemblies like this, with everybody in black clothes, I know
+I possess something that is superior to everybody else's. Clothes are
+never clean. You don't know whether they are clean or not, because you
+can't see.
+
+Here or anywhere you must scour your head every two or three days or
+it is full of grit. Your clothes must collect just as much dirt as your
+hair. If you wear white clothes you are clean, and your cleaning bill
+gets so heavy that you have to take care. I am proud to say that I can
+wear a white suit of clothes without a blemish for three days. If you
+need any further instruction in the matter of clothes I shall be glad to
+give it to you. I hope I have convinced some of you that it is just as
+well to wear white clothes as any other kind. I do not want to boast. I
+only want to make you understand that you are not clean.
+
+As to age, the fact that I am nearly seventy-two years old does not
+clearly indicate how old I am, because part of every day—it is with
+me as with you, you try to describe your age, and you cannot do it.
+Sometimes you are only fifteen; sometimes you are twenty-five. It is
+very seldom in a day that I am seventy-two years old. I am older now
+sometimes than I was when I used to rob orchards; a thing which I would
+not do to-day—if the orchards were watched. I am so glad to be here
+to-night. I am so glad to renew with the Savages that now ancient time
+when I first sat with a company of this club in London in 1872. That is
+a long time ago. But I did stay with the Savages a night in London long
+ago, and as I had come into a very strange land, and was with friends,
+as I could see, that has always remained in my mind as a peculiarly
+blessed evening, since it brought me into contact with men of my own
+kind and my own feelings.
+
+I am glad to be here, and to see you all again, because it is very
+likely that I shall not see you again. It is easier than I thought to
+come across the Atlantic. I have been received, as you know, in the most
+delightfully generous way in England ever since I came here. It keeps
+me choked up all the time. Everybody is so generous, and they do seem
+to give you such a hearty welcome. Nobody in the world can appreciate it
+higher than I do. It did not wait till I got to London, but when I came
+ashore at Tilbury the stevedores on the dock raised the first welcome—a
+good and hearty welcome from the men who do the heavy labor in the
+world, and save you and me having to do it. They are the men who with
+their hands build empires and make them prosper. It is because of them
+that the others are wealthy and can live in luxury. They received me
+with a “Hurrah!” that went to my heart. They are the men that build
+civilization, and without them no civilization can be built. So I came
+first to the authors and creators of civilization, and I blessedly end
+this happy meeting with the Savages who destroy it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+GENERAL MILES AND THE DOG
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens was the guest of honor at a dinner given by the
+          Pleiades Club at the Hotel Brevoort, December 22, 1907.  The
+          toastmaster introduced the guest of the evening with a high
+          tribute to his place in American literature, saying that he was
+          dear to the hearts of all Americans.
+
+It is hard work to make a speech when you have listened to compliments
+from the powers in authority. A compliment is a hard text to preach to.
+When the chairman introduces me as a person of merit, and when he says
+pleasant things about me, I always feel like answering simply that what
+he says is true; that it is all right; that, as far as I am concerned,
+the things he said can stand as they are. But you always have to say
+something, and that is what frightens me.
+
+I remember out in Sydney once having to respond to some complimentary
+toast, and my one desire was to turn in my tracks like any other
+worm—and run, for it. I was remembering that occasion at a later date
+when I had to introduce a speaker. Hoping, then, to spur his speech by
+putting him, in joke, on the defensive, I accused him in my introduction
+of everything I thought it impossible for him to have committed. When I
+finished there was an awful calm. I had been telling his life history by
+mistake.
+
+One must keep up one's character. Earn a character first if you can,
+and if you can't, then assume one. From the code of morals I have been
+following and revising and revising for seventy-two years I remember
+one detail. All my life I have been honest—comparatively honest. I could
+never use money I had not made honestly—I could only lend it.
+
+Last spring I met General Miles again, and he commented on the fact that
+we had known each other thirty years. He said it was strange that we had
+not met years before, when we had both been in Washington. At that point
+I changed the subject, and I changed it with art. But the facts are
+these:
+
+I was then under contract for my Innocents Abroad, but did not have a
+cent to live on while I wrote it. So I went to Washington to do a little
+journalism. There I met an equally poor friend, William Davidson, who
+had not a single vice, unless you call it a vice in a Scot to love
+Scotch. Together we devised the first and original newspaper syndicate,
+selling two letters a week to twelve newspapers and getting $1 a letter.
+That $24 a week would have been enough for us—if we had not had to
+support the jug.
+
+But there was a day when we felt that we must have $3 right away—$3
+at once. That was how I met the General. It doesn't matter now what
+we wanted so much money at one time for, but that Scot and I did
+occasionally want it. The Scot sent me out one day to get it. He had a
+great belief in Providence, that Scottish friend of mine. He said: “The
+Lord will provide.”
+
+I had given up trying to find the money lying about, and was in a hotel
+lobby in despair, when I saw a beautiful unfriended dog. The dog saw
+me, too, and at once we became acquainted. Then General Miles came in,
+admired the dog, and asked me to price it. I priced it at $3. He offered
+me an opportunity to reconsider the value of the beautiful animal, but I
+refused to take more than Providence knew I needed. The General carried
+the dog to his room.
+
+Then came in a sweet little middle-aged man, who at once began looking
+around the lobby.
+
+“Did you lose a dog?” I asked. He said he had.
+
+“I think I could find it,” I volunteered, “for a small sum.”
+
+“'How much?'” he asked. And I told him $3.
+
+He urged me to accept more, but I did not wish to outdo Providence. Then
+I went to the General's room and asked for the dog back. He was very
+angry, and wanted to know why I had sold him a dog that did not belong
+to me.
+
+“That's a singular question to ask me, sir,” I replied. “Didn't you ask
+me to sell him? You started it.” And he let me have him. I gave him back
+his $3 and returned the dog, collect, to its owner. That second $3 I
+carried home to the Scot, and we enjoyed it, but the first $3, the money
+I got from the General, I would have had to lend.
+
+The General seemed not to remember my part in that adventure, and I
+never had the heart to tell him about it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WHEN IN DOUBT, TELL THE TRUTH
+
+
+
+          Mark Twain's speech at the dinner of the “Freundschaft
+          Society,” March 9, 1906, had as a basis the words of
+          introduction used by Toastmaster Frank, who, referring to
+          Pudd'nhead Wilson, used the phrase, “When in doubt, tell the
+          truth.”
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN, Mr. PUTZEL, AND GENTLEMEN OF THE FREUNDSCHAFT,—That maxim
+I did invent, but never expected it to be applied to me. I did say,
+“When you are in doubt,” but when I am in doubt myself I use more
+sagacity.
+
+Mr. Grout suggested that if I have anything to say against Mr. Putzel,
+or any criticism of his career or his character, I am the last person to
+come out on account of that maxim and tell the truth. That is altogether
+a mistake.
+
+I do think it is right for other people to be virtuous so that they can
+be happy hereafter, but if I knew every impropriety that even Mr. Putzel
+has committed in his life, I would not mention one of them. My judgment
+has been maturing for seventy years, and I have got to that point where
+I know better than that.
+
+Mr. Putzel stands related to me in a very tender way (through the tax
+office), and it does not behoove me to say anything which could by any
+possibility militate against that condition of things.
+
+Now, that word—taxes, taxes, taxes! I have heard it to-night. I have
+heard it all night. I wish somebody would change that subject; that is a
+very sore subject to me.
+
+I was so relieved when judge Leventritt did find something that was not
+taxable—when he said that the commissioner could not tax your patience.
+And that comforted me. We've got so much taxation. I don't know of
+a single foreign product that enters this country untaxed except the
+answer to prayer.
+
+On an occasion like this the proprieties require that you merely pay
+compliments to the guest of the occasion, and I am merely here to pay
+compliments to the guest of the occasion, not to criticise him in any
+way, and I can say only complimentary things to him.
+
+When I went down to the tax office some time ago, for the first time
+in New York, I saw Mr. Putzel sitting in the “Seat of Perjury.” I
+recognized him right away. I warmed to him on the spot. I didn't
+know that I had ever seen him before, but just as soon as I saw him I
+recognized him. I had met him twenty-five years before, and at that time
+had achieved a knowledge of his abilities and something more than that.
+
+I thought: “Now, this is the man whom I saw twenty-five years ago.”
+ On that occasion I not only went free at his hands, but carried off
+something more than that. I hoped it would happen again.
+
+It was twenty-five years ago when I saw a young clerk in Putnam's
+bookstore. I went in there and asked for George Haven Putnam, and handed
+him my card, and then the young man said Mr. Putnam was busy and I
+couldn't see him. Well, I had merely called in a social way, and so it
+didn't matter.
+
+I was going out when I saw a great big, fat, interesting-looking book
+lying there, and I took it up. It was an account of the invasion
+of England in the fourteenth century by the Preaching Friar, and it
+interested me.
+
+I asked him the price of it, and he said four dollars.
+
+“Well,” I said, “what discount do you allow to publishers?”
+
+He said: “Forty percent. off.”
+
+I said: “All right, I am a publisher.”
+
+He put down the figure, forty per cent. off, on a card.
+
+Then I said: “What discount do you allow to authors?”
+
+He said: “Forty per cent. off.”
+
+“Well,” I said, “set me down as an author.”
+
+“Now,” said I, “what discount do you allow to the clergy?”
+
+He said: “Forty per cent. off.”
+
+I said to him that I was only on the road, and that I was studying for
+the ministry. I asked him wouldn't he knock off twenty per cent. for
+that. He set down the figure, and he never smiled once.
+
+I was working off these humorous brilliancies on him and getting no
+return—not a scintillation in his eye, not a spark of recognition of
+what I was doing there. I was almost in despair.
+
+I thought I might try him once more, so I said “Now, I am also a member
+of the human race. Will you let me have the ten per cent. off for that?”
+ He set it down, and never smiled.
+
+Well, I gave it up. I said: “There is my card with my address on it,
+but I have not any money with me. Will you please send the bill to
+Hartford?” I took up the book and was going away.
+
+He said: “Wait a minute. There is forty cents coming to you.”
+
+When I met him in the tax office I thought maybe I could make something
+again, but I could not. But I had not any idea I could when I came, and
+as it turned out I did get off entirely free.
+
+I put up my hand and made a statement. It gave me a good deal of pain
+to do that. I was not used to it. I was born and reared in the higher
+circles of Missouri, and there we don't do such things—didn't in my
+time, but we have got that little matter settled—got a sort of tax
+levied on me.
+
+Then he touched me. Yes, he touched me this time, because he
+cried—cried! He was moved to tears to see that I, a virtuous person only
+a year before, after immersion for one year—during one year in the New
+York morals—had no more conscience than a millionaire.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DAY WE CELEBRATE
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT THE FOURTH-OF-JULY DINNER OF THE AMERICAN SOCIETY,
+          LONDON, 1899.
+
+I noticed in Ambassador Choate's speech that he said: “You may be
+Americans or Englishmen, but you cannot be both at the same time.” You
+responded by applause.
+
+Consider the effect of a short residence here. I find the Ambassador
+rises first to speak to a toast, followed by a Senator, and I come
+third. What a subtle tribute that to monarchial influence of the country
+when you place rank above respectability!
+
+I was born modest, and if I had not been things like this would force it
+upon me. I understand it quite well. I am here to see that between them
+they do justice to the day we celebrate, and in case they do not I must
+do it myself. But I notice they have considered this day merely from one
+side—its sentimental, patriotic, poetic side. But it has another side.
+It has a commercial, a business side that needs reforming. It has a
+historical side.
+
+I do not say “an” historical side, because I am speaking the American
+language. I do not see why our cousins should continue to say “an”
+ hospital, “an” historical fact, “an” horse. It seems to me the Congress
+of Women, now in session, should look to it. I think “an” is having a
+little too much to do with it. It comes of habit, which accounts for
+many things.
+
+Yesterday, for example, I was at a luncheon party. At the end of the
+party a great dignitary of the English Established Church went away half
+an hour before anybody else and carried off my hat. Now, that was an
+innocent act on his part. He went out first, and of course had the
+choice of hats. As a rule I try to get out first myself. But I hold that
+it was an innocent, unconscious act, due, perhaps, to heredity. He
+was thinking about ecclesiastical matters, and when a man is in that
+condition of mind he will take anybody's hat. The result was that the
+whole afternoon I was under the influence of his clerical hat and could
+not tell a lie. Of course, he was hard at it.
+
+It is a compliment to both of us. His hat fitted me exactly; my hat
+fitted him exactly. So I judge I was born to rise to high dignity in the
+Church some how or other, but I do not know what he was born for. That
+is an illustration of the influence of habit, and it is perceptible here
+when they say “an” hospital, “an” European, “an” historical.
+
+The business aspects of the Fourth of July is not perfect as it stands.
+See what it costs us every year with loss of life, the crippling of
+thousands with its fireworks, and the burning down of property. It is
+not only sacred to patriotism and universal freedom, but to the surgeon,
+the undertaker, the insurance offices—and they are working it for all it
+is worth.
+
+I am pleased to see that we have a cessation of war for the time. This
+coming from me, a soldier, you will appreciate. I was a soldier in the
+Southern war for two weeks, and when gentlemen get up to speak of the
+great deeds our army and navy have recently done, why, it goes all
+through me and fires up the old war spirit. I had in my first engagement
+three horses shot under me. The next ones went over my head, the next
+hit me in the back. Then I retired to meet an engagement.
+
+I thank you, gentlemen, for making even a slight reference to the war
+profession, in which I distinguished myself, short as my career was.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INDEPENDENCE DAY
+
+
+
+          The American Society in London gave a banquet, July 4, 1907, at
+          the Hotel Cecil.  Ambassador Choate called on Mr. Clemens to
+          respond to the toast “The Day We Celebrate.”
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN, MY LORD, AND GENTLEMEN,—Once more it happens, as it has
+happened so often since I arrived in England a week or two ago,
+that instead of celebrating the Fourth of July properly as has been
+indicated, I have to first take care of my personal character. Sir
+Mortimer Durand still remains unconvinced. Well, I tried to convince
+these people from the beginning that I did not take the Ascot Cup; and
+as I have failed to convince anybody that I did not take the cup, I
+might as well confess I did take it and be done with it. I don't see why
+this uncharitable feeling should follow me everywhere, and why I should
+have that crime thrown up to me on all occasions. The tears that I have
+wept over it ought to have created a different feeling than this—and,
+besides, I don't think it is very right or fair that, considering
+England has been trying to take a cup of ours for forty years—I don't
+see why they should take so much trouble when I tried to go into the
+business myself.
+
+Sir Mortimer Durand, too, has had trouble from going to a dinner here,
+and he has told you what he suffered in consequence. But what did he
+suffer? He only missed his train, and one night of discomfort, and
+he remembers it to this day. Oh! if you could only think what I have
+suffered from a similar circumstance. Two or three years ago, in New
+York, with that Society there which is made up of people from all
+British Colonies, and from Great Britain generally, who were educated in
+British colleges and British schools, I was there to respond to a toast
+of some kind or other, and I did then what I have been in the habit of
+doing, from a selfish motive, for a long time, and that is, I got myself
+placed No, 3 in the list of speakers—then you get home early.
+
+I had to go five miles up-river, and had to catch a particular train or
+not get there. But see the magnanimity which is born in me, which I have
+cultivated all my life. A very famous and very great British clergyman
+came to me presently, and he said: “I am away down in the list; I have
+got to catch a certain train this Saturday night; if I don't catch that
+train I shall be carried beyond midnight and break the Sabbath. Won't
+you change places with me?” I said: “Certainly I will.” I did it at
+once. Now, see what happened.
+
+Talk about Sir Mortimer Durand's sufferings for a single night! I have
+suffered ever since because I saved that gentleman from breaking the
+Sabbath-yes, saved him. I took his place, but I lost my train, and it
+was I who broke the Sabbath. Up to that time I never had broken the
+Sabbath in my life, and from that day to this I never have kept it.
+
+Oh! I am learning much here to-night. I find I didn't know anything
+about the American Society—that is, I didn't know its chief virtue.
+I didn't know its chief virtue until his Excellency our Ambassador
+revealed it—I may say, exposed it. I was intending to go home on the
+13th of this month, but I look upon that in a different light now. I am
+going to stay here until the American Society pays my passage.
+
+Our Ambassador has spoken of our Fourth of July and the noise it makes.
+We have got a double Fourth of July—a daylight Fourth and a midnight
+Fourth. During the day in America, as our Ambassador has indicated, we
+keep the Fourth of July properly in a reverent spirit. We devote it to
+teaching our children patriotic things—reverence for the Declaration of
+Independence. We honor the day all through the daylight hours, and
+when night comes we dishonor it. Presently—before long—they are getting
+nearly ready to begin now—on the Atlantic coast, when night shuts down,
+that pandemonium will begin, and there will be noise, and noise, and
+noise—all night long—and there will be more than noise there will be
+people crippled, there will be people killed, there will be people who
+will lose their eyes, and all through that permission which we give
+to irresponsible boys to play with firearms and fire-crackers, and all
+sorts of dangerous things: We turn that Fourth of July, alas! over
+to rowdies to drink and get drunk and make the night hideous, and we
+cripple and kill more people than you would imagine.
+
+We probably began to celebrate our Fourth-of-July night in that way one
+hundred and twenty-five years ago, and on every Fourth-of-July night
+since these horrors have grown and grown, until now, in our five
+thousand towns of America, somebody gets killed or crippled on every
+Fourth-of-July night, besides those cases of sick persons whom we never
+hear of, who die as the result of the noise or the shock. They cripple
+and kill more people on the Fourth of July in America than they kill and
+cripple in our wars nowadays, and there are no pensions for these folk.
+And, too, we burn houses. Really we destroy more property on every
+Fourth-of-July night than the whole of the United States was worth one
+hundred and twenty-five years ago. Really our Fourth of July is our
+day of mourning, our day of sorrow. Fifty thousand people who have lost
+friends, or who have had friends crippled, receive that Fourth of July,
+when it comes, as a day of mourning for the losses they have sustained
+in their families.
+
+I have suffered in that way myself. I have had relatives killed in that
+way. One was in Chicago years ago—an uncle of mine, just as good an
+uncle as I have ever had, and I had lots of them—yes, uncles to burn,
+uncles to spare. This poor uncle, full of patriotism, opened his mouth
+to hurrah, and a rocket went down his throat. Before that man could ask
+for a drink of water to quench that thing, it blew up and scattered him
+all over the forty-five States, and—really, now, this is true—I know
+about it myself—twenty-four hours after that it was raining buttons,
+recognizable as his, on the Atlantic seaboard. A person cannot have a
+disaster like that and be entirely cheerful the rest of his life. I had
+another uncle, on an entirely different Fourth of July, who was blown up
+that way, and really it trimmed him as it would a tree. He had hardly a
+limb left on him anywhere. All we have left now is an expurgated edition
+of that uncle. But never mind about these things; they are merely
+passing matters. Don't let me make you sad.
+
+Sir Mortimer Durand said that you, the English people, gave up your
+colonies over there—got tired of them—and did it with reluctance. Now I
+wish you just to consider that he was right about that, and that he had
+his reasons for saying that England did not look upon our Revolution as
+a foreign war, but as a civil war fought by Englishmen.
+
+Our Fourth of July which we honor so much, and which we love so much,
+and which we take so much pride in, is an English institution, not an
+American one, and it comes of a great ancestry. The first Fourth of July
+in that noble genealogy dates back seven centuries lacking eight years.
+That is the day of the Great Charter—the Magna Charta—which was born at
+Runnymede in the next to the last year of King John, and portions of the
+liberties secured thus by those hardy Barons from that reluctant King
+John are a part of our Declaration of Independence, of our Fourth of
+July, of our American liberties. And the second of those Fourths of July
+was not born until four centuries later, in, Charles the First's time,
+in the Bill of Rights, and that is ours, that is part of our liberties.
+The next one was still English, in New England, where they established
+that principle which remains with us to this day, and will continue to
+remain with us—no taxation without representation. That is always going
+to stand, and that the English Colonies in New England gave us.
+
+The Fourth of July, and the one which you are celebrating now, born, in
+Philadelphia on the 4th of July, 1776—that is English, too. It is not
+American. Those were English colonists, subjects of King George III.,
+Englishmen at heart, who protested against the oppressions of the Home
+Government. Though they proposed to cure those oppressions and remove
+them, still remaining under the Crown, they were not intending a
+revolution. The revolution was brought about by circumstances which
+they could not control. The Declaration of Independence was written by
+a British subject, every name signed to it was the name of a British
+subject. There was not the name of a single American attached to the
+Declaration of Independence—in fact, there was not an American in the
+country in that day except the Indians out on the plains. They were
+Englishmen, all Englishmen—Americans did not begin until seven years
+later, when that Fourth of July had become seven years old, and then,
+the American Republic was established. Since then, there have been
+Americans. So you see what we owe to England in the matter of liberties.
+
+We have, however, one Fourth of July which is absolutely our own, and
+that is that great proclamation issued forty years ago by that great
+American to whom Sir Mortimer Durand paid that just and beautiful
+tribute—Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln's proclamation, which not only set the
+black slaves free, but set the white man free also. The owner was set
+free from the burden and offence, that sad condition of things where he
+was in so many instances a master and owner of slaves when he did not
+want to be. That proclamation set them all free. But even in this matter
+England suggested it, for England had set her slaves free thirty years
+before, and we followed her example. We always followed her example,
+whether it was good or bad.
+
+And it was an English judge that issued that other great proclamation,
+and established that great principle that, when a slave, let him belong
+to whom he may, and let him come whence he may, sets his foot upon
+English soil, his fetters by that act fall away and he is a free man
+before the world. We followed the example of 1833, and we freed our
+slaves as I have said.
+
+It is true, then, that all our Fourths of July, and we have five of
+them, England gave to us, except that one that I have mentioned—the
+Emancipation Proclamation, and, lest we forget, let us all remember that
+we owe these things to England. Let us be able to say to Old England,
+this great-hearted, venerable old mother of the race, you gave us our
+Fourths of July that we love and that we honor and revere, you gave us
+the Declaration of Independence, which is the Charter of our rights,
+you, the venerable Mother of Liberties, the Protector of Anglo-Saxon
+Freedom—you gave us these things, and we do most honestly thank you for
+them.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH
+
+
+
+     ADDRESS AT A GATHERING OF AMERICANS IN LONDON, JULY 4, 1872
+
+MR. CHAIRMAN AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I thank you for the compliment
+which has just been tendered me, and to show my appreciation of it I
+will not afflict you with many words. It is pleasant to celebrate in
+this peaceful way, upon this old mother soil, the anniversary of an
+experiment which was born of war with this same land so long ago, and
+wrought out to a successful issue by the devotion of our ancestors. It
+has taken nearly a hundred years to bring the English and Americans into
+kindly and mutually appreciative relations, but I believe it has
+been accomplished at last. It was a great step when the two last
+misunderstandings were settled by arbitration instead of cannon. It
+is another great step when England adopts our sewing-machines without
+claiming the invention—as usual. It was another when they imported one
+of our sleeping-cars the other day. And it warmed my heart more than
+I can tell, yesterday, when I witnessed the spectacle of an Englishman
+ordering an American sherry cobbler of his own free will and accord—and
+not only that but with a great brain and a level head reminding the
+barkeeper not to forget the strawberries. With a common origin, a common
+language, a common literature, a common religion, and—common drinks,
+what is longer needful to the cementing of the two nations together in a
+permanent bond of brotherhood?
+
+This is an age of progress, and ours is a progressive land. A great and
+glorious land, too—a land which has developed a Washington, a Franklin,
+a Wm. M. Tweed, a Longfellow, a Motley, a Jay Gould, a Samuel C.
+Pomeroy, a recent Congress which has never had its equal (in some
+respects), and a United States Army which conquered sixty Indians in
+eight months by tiring them out which is much better than uncivilized
+slaughter, God knows. We have a criminal jury system which is superior
+to any in the world; and its efficiency is only marred by the difficulty
+of finding twelve men every day who don't know anything and can't read.
+And I may observe that we have an insanity plea that would have
+saved Cain. I think I can say, and say with pride, that we have some
+legislatures that bring higher prices than any in the world.
+
+I refer with effusion to our railway system, which consents to let
+us live, though it might do the opposite, being our owners. It only
+destroyed three thousand and seventy lives last year by collisions, and
+twenty-seven thousand two hundred and sixty by running over heedless and
+unnecessary people at crossings. The companies seriously regretted the
+killing of these thirty thousand people, and went so far as to pay for
+some of them—voluntarily, of course, for the meanest of us would not
+claim that we possess a court treacherous enough to enforce a law
+against a railway company. But, thank Heaven, the railway companies are
+generally disposed to do the right and kindly thing without compulsion.
+I know of an instance which greatly touched me at the time. After
+an accident the company sent home the remains of a dear distant old
+relative of mine in a basket, with the remark, “Please state what figure
+you hold him at—and return the basket.” Now there couldn't be anything
+friendlier than that.
+
+But I must not stand here and brag all night. However, you won't mind a
+body bragging a little about his country on the Fourth of July. It is a
+fair and legitimate time to fly the eagle. I will say only one more
+word of brag—and a hopeful one. It is this. We have a form of government
+which gives each man a fair chance and no favor. With us no individual
+is born with a right to look down upon his neighbor and hold him in
+contempt. Let such of us as are not dukes find our consolation in that.
+And we may find hope for the future in the fact that as unhappy as is
+the condition of our political morality to-day, England has risen up out
+of a far fouler since the days when Charles I. ennobled courtesans and
+all political place was a matter of bargain and sale. There is hope for
+us yet.*
+
+
+
+          *At least the above is the speech which I was going to make,
+          but our minister, General Schenck, presided, and after the
+          blessing, got up and made a great, long, inconceivably dull
+          harangue, and wound up by saying that inasmuch as speech-making
+          did not seem to exhilarate the guests much, all further oratory
+          would be dispensed with during the evening, and we could just
+          sit and talk privately to our elbow-neighbors and have a good,
+          sociable time.  It is known that in consequence of that remark
+          forty-four perfected speeches died in the womb.  The
+          depression, the gloom, the solemnity that reigned over the
+          banquet from that time forth will be a lasting memory with many
+          that were there.  By that one thoughtless remark General
+          Schenck lost forty-four of the best friends he had in England.
+          More than one said that night: “And this is the sort of person
+          that is sent to represent us in a great sister empire!”
+
+
+
+
+
+ABOUT LONDON
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A DINNER GIVEN BY THE SAVAGE CLUB,
+          LONDON, SEPTEMBER 28, 1872.
+
+          Reported by Moncure D. Conway in the Cincinnati Commercial.
+
+It affords me sincere pleasure to meet this distinguished club, a club
+which has extended its hospitalities and its cordial welcome to so many
+of my countrymen. I hope [and here the speaker's voice became low and
+fluttering] you will excuse these clothes. I am going to the theatre;
+that will explain these clothes. I have other clothes than these.
+Judging human nature by what I have seen of it, I suppose that the
+customary thing for a stranger to do when he stands here is to make a
+pun on the name of this club, under the impression, of course, that he
+is the first man that that idea has occurred to. It is a credit to our
+human nature, not a blemish upon it; for it shows that underlying all
+our depravity (and God knows and you know we are depraved enough) and
+all our sophistication, and untarnished by them, there is a sweet germ
+of innocence and simplicity still. When a stranger says to me, with
+a glow of inspiration in his eye, some gentle, innocuous little thing
+about “Twain and one flesh,” and all that sort of thing, I don't try to
+crush that man into the earth—no. I feel like saying: “Let me take you
+by the hand, sir; let me embrace you; I have not heard that pun for
+weeks.” We will deal in palpable puns. We will call parties named King
+“Your Majesty,” and we will say to the Smiths that we think we have
+heard that name before somewhere. Such is human nature. We cannot alter
+this. It is God that made us so for some good and wise purpose. Let us
+not repine. But though I may seem strange, may seem eccentric, I mean to
+refrain from punning upon the name of this club, though I could make a
+very good one if I had time to think about it—a week.
+
+I cannot express to you what entire enjoyment I find in this first visit
+to this prodigious metropolis of yours. Its wonders seem to me to be
+limitless. I go about as in a dream—as in a realm of enchantment—where
+many things are rare and beautiful, and all things are strange and
+marvellous. Hour after hour I stand—I stand spellbound, as it were—and
+gaze upon the statuary in Leicester Square. [Leicester Square being a
+horrible chaos, with the relic of an equestrian statue in the centre,
+the king being headless and limbless, and the horse in little better
+condition.] I visit the mortuary effigies of noble old Henry VIII., and
+Judge Jeffreys, and the preserved gorilla, and try to make up my mind
+which of my ancestors I admire the most. I go to that matchless Hyde
+Park and drive all around it, and then I start to enter it at the Marble
+Arch—-and—am induced to “change my mind.” [Cabs are not permitted in
+Hyde Park—nothing less aristocratic than a private carriage.] It is a
+great benefaction—is Hyde Park. There, in his hansom cab, the invalid
+can go—the poor, sad child of misfortune—and insert his nose between the
+railings, and breathe the pure, health-giving air of the country and of
+heaven. And if he is a swell invalid, who isn't obliged to depend upon
+parks for his country air, he can drive inside—if he owns his vehicle.
+I drive round and round Hyde Park, and the more I see of the edges of it
+the more grateful I am that the margin is extensive.
+
+And I have been to the Zoological Gardens. What a wonderful place that
+is! I never have seen such a curious and interesting variety of wild
+animals in any garden before—except “Mabilie.” I never believed before
+there were so many different kinds of animals in the world as you
+can find there—and I don't believe it yet. I have been to the British
+Museum. I would advise you to drop in there some time when you have
+nothing to do for—five minutes—if you have never been there: It seems
+to me the noblest monument that this nation has yet erected to her
+greatness. I say to her, our greatness—as a nation. True, she has built
+other monuments, and stately ones, as well; but these she has uplifted
+in honor of two or three colossal demigods who have stalked across the
+world's stage, destroying tyrants and delivering nations, and whose
+prodigies will still live in the memories of men ages after their
+monuments shall have crumbled to dust—I refer to the Wellington and
+Nelson monuments, and—the Albert memorial. [Sarcasm. The Albert memorial
+is the finest monument in the world, and celebrates the existence of as
+commonplace a person as good luck ever lifted out of obscurity.]
+
+The library at the British Museum I find particularly astounding. I have
+read there hours together, and hardly made an impression on it. I revere
+that library. It is the author's friend. I don't care how mean a book
+is, it always takes one copy. [A copy of every book printed in Great
+Britain must by law be sent to the British Museum, a law much complained
+of by publishers.] And then every day that author goes there to gaze
+at that book, and is encouraged to go on in the good work. And what a
+touching sight it is of a Saturday afternoon to see the poor, careworn
+clergymen gathered together in that vast reading-room cabbaging sermons
+for Sunday. You will pardon my referring to these things.
+
+Everything in this monster city interests me, and I cannot keep from
+talking, even at the risk of being instructive. People here seem always
+to express distances by parables. To a stranger it is just a little
+confusing to be so parabolic—so to speak. I collar a citizen, and I
+think I am going to get some valuable information out of him. I ask him
+how far it is to Birmingham, and he says it is twenty-one shillings and
+sixpence. Now we know that doesn't help a man who is trying to learn.
+I find myself down-town somewhere, and I want to get some sort of idea
+where I am—being usually lost when alone—and I stop a citizen and say:
+“How far is it to Charing Cross?” “Shilling fare in a cab,” and off
+he goes. I suppose if I were to ask a Londoner how far it is from the
+sublime to the ridiculous, he would try to express it in coin. But I
+am trespassing upon your time with these geological statistics and
+historical reflections. I will not longer keep you from your orgies.
+'Tis a real pleasure for me to be here, and I thank you for it. The name
+of the Savage Club is associated in my mind with the kindly interest and
+the friendly offices which you lavished upon an old friend of mine who
+came among you a stranger, and you opened your English hearts to him and
+gave him welcome and a home—Artemus Ward. Asking that you will join me,
+I give you his memory.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PRINCETON
+
+
+
+          Mr. Clemens spent several days in May, 1901, in Princeton, New
+          Jersey, as the guest of Lawrence Hutton.  He gave a reading one
+          evening before a large audience composed of university students
+          and professors.  Before the reading Mr. Clemens said:
+
+I feel exceedingly surreptitious in coming down here without an
+announcement of any kind. I do not want to see any advertisements
+around, for the reason that I'm not a lecturer any longer. I reformed
+long ago, and I break over and commit this sin only just one time this
+year: and that is moderate, I think, for a person of my disposition. It
+is not my purpose to lecture any more as long as I live. I never intend
+to stand up on a platform any more—unless by the request of a sheriff or
+something like that.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ST. LOUIS HARBOR-BOAT “MARK TWAIN”
+
+
+
+          The Countess de Rochambeau christened the St. Louis harbor-boat
+          'Mark Twain' in honor of Mr. Clemens, June 6, 1902.  Just
+          before the luncheon he acted as pilot.
+
+          “Lower away lead!” boomed out the voice of the pilot.
+
+          “Mark twain, quarter five and one-half-six feet!” replied the
+          leadsman below.
+
+          “You are all dead safe as long as I have the wheel--but this is
+          my last time at the wheel.”
+
+          At the luncheon Mr. Clemens made a short address.
+
+First of all, no—second of all—I wish to offer my thanks for the honor
+done me by naming this last rose of summer of the Mississippi Valley for
+me, this boat which represents a perished interest, which I fortified
+long ago, but did not save its life. And, in the first place, I wish
+to thank the Countess de Rochambeau for the honor she has done me in
+presiding at this christening.
+
+I believe that it is peculiarly appropriate that I should be allowed the
+privilege of joining my voice with the general voice of St. Louis and
+Missouri in welcoming to the Mississippi Valley and this part of the
+continent these illustrious visitors from France.
+
+When La Salle came down this river a century and a quarter ago there was
+nothing on its banks but savages. He opened up this great river, and by
+his simple act was gathered in this great Louisiana territory. I would
+have done it myself for half the money.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY
+
+
+
+          ADDRESS AT A DINNER GIVEN BY COLONEL GEORGE HARVEY AT
+          DELMONICO'S, DECEMBER 5, 1905, TO CELEBRATE THE SEVENTIETH
+          ANNIVERSARY OF MR. CLEMENS' BIRTH
+
+          Mr. Howells introduced Mr. Clemens:
+
+          “Now, ladies and gentlemen, and Colonel Harvey, I will try not
+          to be greedy on your behalf in wishing the health of our
+          honored and, in view of his great age, our revered guest.  I
+          will not say, 'Oh King, live forever!' but 'Oh King, live as
+          long as you like!'” [Amid great applause and waving of napkins
+          all rise and drink to Mark Twain.]
+
+Well, if I made that joke, it is the best one I ever made, and it is in
+the prettiest language, too.—I never can get quite to that height. But
+I appreciate that joke, and I shall remember it—and I shall use it when
+occasion requires.
+
+I have had a great many birthdays in my time. I remember the first one
+very well, and I always think of it with indignation; everything was
+so crude, unaesthetic, primeval. Nothing like this at all. No proper
+appreciative preparation made; nothing really ready. Now, for a person
+born with high and delicate instincts—why, even the cradle wasn't
+whitewashed—nothing ready at all. I hadn't any hair, I hadn't any teeth,
+I hadn't any clothes, I had to go to my first banquet just like that.
+Well, everybody came swarming in. It was the merest little bit of a
+village—hardly that, just a little hamlet, in the backwoods of Missouri,
+where nothing ever happened, and the people were all interested, and
+they all came; they looked me over to see if there was anything fresh
+in my line. Why, nothing ever happened in that village—I—why, I was
+the only thing that had really happened there for months and months and
+months; and although I say it myself that shouldn't, I came the nearest
+to being a real event that had happened in that village in more than two
+years. Well, those people came, they came with that curiosity which is
+so provincial, with that frankness which also is so provincial, and they
+examined me all around and gave their opinion. Nobody asked them, and
+I shouldn't have minded if anybody had paid me a compliment, but nobody
+did. Their opinions were all just green with prejudice, and I feel those
+opinions to this day. Well, I stood that as long as—well, you know I
+was born courteous, and I stood it to the limit. I stood it an hour,
+and then the worm turned. I was the worm; it was my turn to turn, and I
+turned. I knew very well the strength of my position; I knew that I was
+the only spotlessly pure and innocent person in that whole town, and
+I came out and said so: And they could not say a word. It was so
+true: They blushed; they were embarrassed. Well, that was the first
+after-dinner speech I ever made: I think it was after dinner.
+
+It's a long stretch between that first birthday speech and this one.
+That was my cradle-song; and this is my swan-song, I suppose. I am used
+to swan-songs; I have sung them several times.
+
+This is my seventieth birthday, and I wonder if you all rise to the
+size of that proposition, realizing all the significance of that phrase,
+seventieth birthday.
+
+The seventieth birthday! It is the time of life when you arrive at a new
+and awful dignity; when you may throw aside the decent reserves which
+have oppressed you for a generation and stand unafraid and unabashed
+upon your seven-terraced summit and look down and teach—unrebuked. You
+can tell the world how you got there. It is what they all do. You shall
+never get tired of telling by what delicate arts and deep moralities you
+climbed up to that great place. You will explain the process and dwell
+on the particulars with senile rapture. I have been anxious to explain
+my own system this long time, and now at last I have the right.
+
+I have achieved my seventy years in the usual way: by sticking strictly
+to a scheme of life which would kill anybody else. It sounds like an
+exaggeration, but that is really the common rule for attaining to old
+age. When we examine the programme of any of these garrulous old people
+we always find that the habits which have preserved them would have
+decayed us; that the way of life which enabled them to live upon the
+property of their heirs so long, as Mr. Choate says, would have put us
+out of commission ahead of time. I will offer here, as a sound maxim,
+this: That we can't reach old age by another man's road.
+
+I will now teach, offering my way of life to whomsoever desires to
+commit suicide by the scheme which has enabled me to beat the doctor and
+the hangman for seventy years. Some of the details may sound untrue, but
+they are not. I am not here to deceive; I am here to teach.
+
+We have no permanent habits until we are forty. Then they begin to
+harden, presently they petrify, then business begins. Since forty I have
+been regular about going to bed and getting up—and that is one of
+the main things. I have made it a rule to go to bed when there wasn't
+anybody left to sit up with; and I have made it a rule to get up when I
+had to. This has resulted in an unswerving regularity of irregularity.
+It has saved me sound, but it would injure another person.
+
+In the matter of diet—which is another main thing—I have been
+persistently strict in sticking to the things which didn't agree with me
+until one or the other of us got the best of it. Until lately I got the
+best of it myself. But last spring I stopped frolicking with mince-pie
+after midnight; up to then I had always believed it wasn't loaded. For
+thirty years I have taken coffee and bread at eight in the morning, and
+no bite nor sup until seven-thirty in the evening. Eleven hours. That is
+all right for me, and is wholesome, because I have never had a headache
+in my life, but headachy people would not reach seventy comfortably by
+that road, and they would be foolish to try it. And I wish to urge upon
+you this—which I think is wisdom—that if you find you can't make seventy
+by any but an uncomfortable road, don't you go. When they take off the
+Pullman and retire you to the rancid smoker, put on your things, count
+your checks, and get out at the first way station where there's a
+cemetery.
+
+I have made it a rule never to smoke more than one cigar at a time. I
+have no other restriction as regards smoking. I do not know just when
+I began to smoke, I only know that it was in my father's lifetime, and
+that I was discreet. He passed from this life early in 1847, when I
+was a shade past eleven; ever since then I have smoked publicly. As an
+example to others, and—not that I care for moderation myself, it has
+always been my rule never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain
+when awake. It is a good rule. I mean, for me; but some of you know
+quite well that it wouldn't answer for everybody that's trying to get to
+be seventy.
+
+I smoke in bed until I have to go to sleep; I wake up in the night,
+sometimes once, sometimes twice; sometimes three times, and I never
+waste any of these opportunities to smoke. This habit is so old and
+dear and precious to me that I would feel as you, sir, would feel if you
+should lose the only moral you've got—meaning the chairman—if you've
+got one: I am making no charges: I will grant, here, that I have stopped
+smoking now and then, for a few months at a time, but it was not on
+principle, it was only to show off; it was to pulverize those critics
+who said I was a slave to my habits and couldn't break my bonds.
+
+To-day it is all of sixty years since I began to smoke the limit. I
+have never bought cigars with life-belts around them. I early found
+that those were too expensive for me: I have always bought cheap
+cigars—reasonably cheap, at any rate. Sixty years ago they cost me four
+dollars a barrel, but my taste has improved, latterly, and I pay seven,
+now. Six or seven. Seven, I think. Yes; it's seven. But that includes
+the barrel. I often have smoking-parties at my house; but the people
+that come have always just taken the pledge. I wonder why that is?
+
+As for drinking, I have no rule about that. When the others drink I like
+to help; otherwise I remain dry, by habit and preference. This dryness
+does not hurt me, but it could easily hurt you, because you are
+different. You let it alone.
+
+Since I was seven years old I have seldom taken a dose of medicine, and
+have still seldomer needed one. But up to seven I lived exclusively on
+allopathic medicines. Not that I needed them, for I don't think I did;
+it was for economy; my father took a drug-store for a debt, and it
+made cod-liver oil cheaper than the other breakfast foods. We had nine
+barrels of it, and it lasted me seven years. Then I was weaned. The rest
+of the family had to get along with rhubarb and ipecac and such things,
+because I was the pet. I was the first Standard Oil Trust. I had it all.
+By the time the drugstore was exhausted my health was established, and
+there has never been much the matter with me since. But you know very
+well it would be foolish for the average child to start for seventy on
+that basis. It happened to be just the thing for me, but that was merely
+an accident; it couldn't happen again in a century.
+
+I have never taken any exercise, except sleeping and resting, and I
+never intend to take any. Exercise is loathsome. And it cannot be any
+benefit when you are tired; and I was always tired. But let another
+person try my way, and see where he will come out. I desire now to
+repeat and emphasise that maxim: We can't reach old age by another man's
+road. My habits protect my life, but they would assassinate you.
+
+I have lived a severely moral life. But it would be a mistake for other
+people to try that, or for me to recommend it. Very few would succeed:
+you have to have a perfectly colossal stock of morals; and you can't get
+them on a margin; you have to have the whole thing, and put them in your
+box. Morals are an acquirement—like music, like a foreign language, like
+piety, poker, paralysis—no man is born with them. I wasn't myself, I
+started poor. I hadn't a single moral. There is hardly a man in this
+house that is poorer than I was then. Yes, I started like that—the world
+before me, not a moral in the slot. Not even an insurance moral. I can
+remember the first one I ever got. I can remember the landscape, the
+weather, the—I can remember how everything looked. It was an old moral,
+an old second-hand moral, all out of repair, and didn't fit, anyway. But
+if you are careful with a thing like that, and keep it in a dry place,
+and save it for processions, and Chautauquas, and World's Fairs, and so
+on, and disinfect it now and then, and give it a fresh coat of whitewash
+once in a while, you will be surprised to see how well she will last and
+how long she will keep sweet, or at least inoffensive. When I got
+that mouldy old moral, she had stopped growing, because she hadn't any
+exercise; but I worked her hard, I worked her Sundays and all. Under
+this cultivation she waxed in might and stature beyond belief, and
+served me well and was my pride and joy for sixty-three years; then
+she got to associating with insurance presidents, and lost flesh and
+character, and was a sorrow to look at and no longer competent for
+business. She was a great loss to me. Yet not all loss. I sold her—ah,
+pathetic skeleton, as she was—I sold her to Leopold, the pirate King of
+Belgium; he sold her to our Metropolitan Museum, and it was very glad to
+get her, for without a rag on, she stands 57 feet long and 16 feet high,
+and they think she's a brontosaur. Well, she looks it. They believe it
+will take nineteen geological periods to breed her match.
+
+Morals are of inestimable value, for every man is born crammed with sin
+microbes, and the only thing that can extirpate these sin microbes
+is morals. Now you take a sterilized Christian—I mean, you take the
+sterilized Christian, for there's only one. Dear sir, I wish you
+wouldn't look at me like that.
+
+Threescore years and ten!
+
+It is the Scriptural statute of limitations. After that, you owe
+no active duties; for you the strenuous life is over. You are a
+time-expired man, to use Kipling's military phrase: You have served your
+term, well or less well, and you are mustered out. You are become an
+honorary member of the republic, you are emancipated, compulsions are
+not for you, nor any bugle-call but “lights out.” You pay the time-worn
+duty bills if you choose, or decline if you prefer—and without
+prejudice—for they are not legally collectable.
+
+The previous-engagement plea, which in forty years has cost you so many
+twinges, you can lay aside forever; on this side of the grave you will
+never need it again. If you shrink at thought of night, and winter, and
+the late home-coming from the banquet and the lights and the laughter
+through the deserted streets—a desolation which would not remind you
+now, as for a generation it did, that your friends are sleeping, and you
+must creep in a-tiptoe and not disturb them, but would only remind you
+that you need not tiptoe, you can never disturb them more—if you shrink
+at thought of these things, you need only reply, “Your invitation honors
+me, and pleases me because you still keep me in your remembrance, but I
+am seventy; seventy, and would nestle in the chimney-corner, and smoke
+my pipe, and read my book, and take my rest, wishing you well in all
+affection; and that when you in your return shall arrive at pier No. 70
+you may step aboard your waiting ship with a reconciled spirit, and lay
+your course toward the sinking sun with a contented heart.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mark Twain's Speeches by Mark
+Twain (Samuel Clemens)
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