p503-272 HONOURED AS A CURIOSITY.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 273. In-line image; opening image for the story "Honoured As A Curiosity." Image of Twain in conversation with a missionary. The men are standing in the foreground and the missionary is pointing backwards towards a camp of straw houses and church.[end figure description]

IF you get into conversation with
a stranger in Honolulu, and experience
that natural desire to
know what sort of ground you are
treading on by finding out what
manner of man your stranger is,
strike out boldly and address him
as “Captain.” Watch him narrowly,
and if you see by his countenance
that you are on the wrong
track, ask him where he preaches.
It is a safe bet that he is either a
missionary or captain of a whaler.
I became personally acquainted with seventy-two captains and ninety-six
missionaries. The captains and ministers form one-half of the population;

[figure description] Page 274.[end figure description]

the third fourth is composed of common Kanakas and mercantile foreigners
and their families; and the final fourth is made up of high officers of the
Hawaiian Government. And there are just about cats enough for three apiece
all around.

A solemn stranger met me in the suburbs one day, and said:

“Good morning, your reverence. Preach in the stone church yonder, no
doubt!”

“No, I don't. I'm not a preacher.”

“Really, I beg your pardon, captain. I trust you had a good season. How
much oil” —

“Oil! Why what do you take me for? I'm not a whaler.”

“Oh! I beg a thousands pardons, your Excellency. Major-General in the
household troops, no doubt? Minister of the Interior, likely? Secretary of
War? First Gentleman of the Bedchamber? Commissioner of the Royal”—

“Stuff! man. I'm not connected in any way with the Government.”

“Bless my life! Then who the mischief are you? what the mischief are you?
and how the mischief did you get here? and where in thunder did you come
from?”

“I'm only a private personage—an unassuming stranger—lately arrived from
America.”

“No! Not a missionary! not a whaler! not a member of his Majesty's
Government! not even Secretary of the Navy! Ah! heaven! it is too blissful
to be true; alas! I do but dream. And yet that noble, honest countenance—
those oblique, ingenuous eyes—that massive head, incapable of—of anything;
your hand; give me your hand, bright waif. Excuse these tears. For sixteen
weary years I have yearned for a moment like this, and”—

Here his feeling were too much for him, and he swooned away. I pitied this
poor creature from the bottom of my heart. I was deeply moved. I shed a few
tears on him, and kissed him for his mother. I then took what small change
he had, and “shoved.”

p503-274 THE LATE BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 275. In-line image; opening image for the story "The Late Benjamin Franklin." Image depicts Twain and a small boy standing out in a lightning storm. The boy looks horrified as Franklin stands in the storm holding onto a kite that has a key attached to the line.[end figure description]

[“Never put off till to-morrow what you
can do day after to-morrow just as well.”—B.
F.]

THIS party was one of those
persons whom they call Philosophers.
He was twins,
being born simultaneously in two
different houses in the city of Boston.
These houses remain unto this day,
and have signs upon them worded
in accordance with the facts. The
signs are considered well enough to
have, though not necessary, because
the inhabitants point out the two
birth-places to the stranger anyhow,
and sometimes as often as several
times in the same day. The subject of this memoir was of a vicious disposition,
and early prostituted his talents to the invention of maxims and aphorisms

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 276. Image of a small boy studying his algebra by the light of a smoldering fire.[end figure description]

calculated to inflict suffering upon the rising generation of all subsequent ages.
His simplest acts, also, were contrived with a view to their being held up for
the emulation of boys for ever—boys who might otherwise have been happy.
It was in this spirit that he became the son of a soap-boiler, and probably for
no other reason than that the efforts of all future boys who tried to be anything
might be looked upon with suspicion unless they were the sons of soap-boilers.
With a malevolence which is without parallel in history, he would work all day,
and then sit up nights, and let on to be studying algebra by the light of a
smouldering fire, so that all other
boys might have to do that also, or
else have Benjamin Franklin thrown
up to them. Not satisfied with these
proceedings, he had a fashion of
living wholly on bread and water,
and studying astronomy at meal
time—a thing which has brought
affliction to millions of boys since,
whose fathers had read Franklin's
pernicious biography.

His maxims were full of animosity
towards boys. Nowadays
a boy cannot follow out a single
natural instinct without tumbling
over some of those everlasting aphorisms
and hearing from Franklin on
the spot. If he buys two cents' worth of peanuts, his father says, “Remember
what Franklin has said, my son—`A groat a day's a penny a year;”' and the
comfort is all gone out of those peanuts. If he wants to spin his top when he
has done work, his father quotes, “Procrastination is the thief of time.” If
he does a virtuous action, he never gets any thing for it, because “Virtue is
its own reward.” And that boy is hounded to death and robbed of his natural
rest, because Franklin said once, in one of his inspired flights of malignity—

[figure description] Page 277.[end figure description]

As if it were any object to a boy to be healthy and wealthy and wise on such
terms. The sorrow that that maxim has cost me through my parents' experimenting
on me with it, tongue cannot tell. The legitimate result is my present state
of general debility, indigence, and mental aberration. My parents used to have
me up before nine o'clock in the morning, sometimes, when I was a boy. If
they had let me take my natural rest, where would I have been now? Keeping
store, no doubt, and respected by all.

And what an adroit old adventurer the subject of this memoir was! In
order to get a chance to fly his kite on Sunday he used to hang a key on the
string and let on to be fishing for lightning. And a guileless public would go
home chirping about the “wisdom” and the “genius” of the hoary Sabbathbreaker.
If anybody caught him playing “mumble-peg” by himself, after the
age of sixty, he would immediately appear to be ciphering out how the grass
grew—as if it was any of his business. My grandfather knew him well, and he
says Franklin was always fixed—always ready. If a body, during his old age,
happened on him unexpectedly when he was catching flies, or making mud
pies, or sliding on a cellar-door, he would immediately look wise, and rip out a
maxim, and walk off with his nose in the air and his cap turned wrong side
before, trying to appear absent-minded and eccentric. He was a hard lot.

He invented a stove that would smoke your head off in four hours by the
clock. One can see the almost devilish satisfaction he took in it by his giving
it his name.

He was always proud of telling how he entered Philadelphia for the first time,
with nothing in the world but two shillings in his pocket and four rolls of
bread under his arm. But really, when you come to examine it critically, it
was nothing. Anybody could have done it.

To the subject of this memoir belongs the honor of recommending the army
to go back to bows and arrows in place of bayonets and muskets. He observed,
with his customary force, that the bayonet was very well under some circumstances,
but that he doubted whether it could be used with accuracy at a long
range.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 278. Image of a small boy standing on a platform over a giant vat boiling soap. He is surrounded by plumes of steam.[end figure description]

Benjamin Franklin did a great many notable things for his country, and
made her young name to be honored in many lands as the mother of such a son.
It is not the idea of this memoir to ignore that or cover it up. No; the simple
idea of it is to snub those pretentious maxims of his, which he worked up with
a great show of originality out of truisms that had become wearisome platitudes
as early as the dispersion from Babel; and also to snub his stove, and his military
inspirations, his unseemly endeavor to make himself conspicuous when he
entered Philadelphia, and his flying
his kite and fooling away his time
in all sorts of such ways when he
ought to have been foraging for soapfat,
or constructing candles. I merely
desired to do away with somewhat of
the prevalent calamitous idea
among heads of families that
Franklin acquired his great genius by
working for nothing, studying by
moonlight, and getting up in the
night instead of waiting till morning
like a Christian; and that this
programme, rigidly inflicted, will
make a Franklin of every father's
fool. It is time these gentlemen
were finding out that these execrable eccentricities of instinct and conduct are
only the evidences of genius, not the creators of it. I wish I had been the father
of my parents long enough to make them comprehend this truth, and thus
prepare them to let their son have an easier time of it. When I was a child I
had to boil soap, notwithstanding my father was wealthy, and I had to get up
early and study geometry at breakfast, and peddle my own poetry, and do everything
just as Franklin did, in the solemn hope that I would be a Franklin some
day. And here I am.

p503-278 THE “BLIND LETTER” DEPARTMENT, LONDON P. O.

To Fred Sidney Esq, Theatre Royal Stockton-on-Tees.
By whom we are Surrounded. [figure description] 503EAF. Page 279. In-line image; opening images for the story "The 'Blind Letter' Department, London P.O." There are three images, with one across the top of the page and the other two, which are designed as postcards, flanking both vertical sides of the page. The top image shows a group of dogs staring at a theater sign. The left image depicts Miss Brooke of Kings Worthy, Winchester. She is standing outside of her house dressed for winter weather and leaning on the head of her umbrella. The right image shows the one clerk who works in the blind letter department.[end figure description]

ABOUT the
most curious
feature of the
London post-office
is the “Blind-Letter”
Department. Only
one clerk is employed
in it and
sometimes his place
is a sinecure for a
day at a time, and
then against it is just
the reverse. His
specialty is a wonderful
knack in the
way of deciphering atrocious penmanship. That man can read anything
that is done with a pen. All superscriptions are carried to him which the
mighty army of his fellow clerks cannot make out, and he spells them off
like print and sends them on their way. He keeps in a book, fac-similes of

Dundreary Dreams Of Home
[To The Majesty The Queen,
And The Princess of Wales.] [figure description] 503EAF. Page 280. Two images. The first depicts the clerk Dundreary dreaming. His dream shows his wife and children and also an address in New York. The second image is an illustration of indecipherable handwriting from a postcard addressed to the Queen and the Princess of Wales.[end figure description]

the most astonishing specimens he comes across. He also keeps fac-similes of
many of the envelopes that pass through the office with queer pictures drawn
upon them. He was kind enough to have some of the picture-envelopes and
execrable superscriptions copied for me, (the latter with “translations” added,)
and I here offer them for the inspection of the curious reader.

[Rev'd E.W. Edgell,
40 York St., Gloucester Place, London.]
From Dr. Livingstone To His Daughter.
Sent by one clergyman to another. [figure description] 503EAF. Page 280. Three images that are examples of postcards. The two top cards illustrate different handwriting samples while the bottom image is of a card sent from one clergyman to another. The card depicts the Intelligence Office for Ministers and shows two men examining a row of clergymen.[end figure description]

[figure description] Page 281. Five postcard images with varying addresses.[end figure description]

p503-282 FIRST INTERVIEW WITH ARTEMUS WARD.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 282. In-line image; opening image from the story "First Interview With Artemus Ward." The image depicts Twain and Ward sitting at a table in a restaurant talking. In the background a man dining alone and reading a newspaper listens in to the conversation.[end figure description]

I HAD never seen him before. He brought letters of introduction from mutual
friends in San Francisco, and by invitation I breakfasted with him. It was
almost religion, there in the silver mines, to precede such a meal with whiskey
cocktails. Artemus, with the true cosmopolitan instinct, always deferred to the
customs of the country he was in, and so he ordered three of those abominations.
Hingston was present. I said I would rather not drink a whiskey cocktail. I
said it would go right to my head, and confuse me so that I would be in a helpless
tangle in ten minutes. I did not want to act like a lunatic before strangers. But

[figure description] Page 284.[end figure description]

Artemus gently insisted, and I drank the treasonable mixture under protest, and
felt all the time that I was doing a thing I might be sorry for. In a minute or two
I began to imagine that my ideas were clouded. I waited in great anxiety for the
conversation to open, with a sort of vague hope that my understanding would prove
clear, after all, and my misgivings groundless.

Artemus dropped an unimportant remark or two, and then assumed a look of
superhuman earnestness, and made the following astounding speech. He said:—

“Now there is one thing I ought to ask you about before I forget it. You have
been here in Silverland—here in Nevada—two or three years, and, of course, your
position on the daily press has made it necessary for you to go down in the mines
and examine them carefully in detail, and therefore you know all about the silvermining
business. Now, what I want to get at is—is, well, the way the deposits of
ore are made, you know. For instance. Now, as I understand it, the vein which
contains the silver is sandwiched in between casings of granite, and runs along the
ground, and sticks up like a curb-stone. Well, take a vein forty feet thick, for
example, or eighty, for that matter, or even a hundred—say you go down on it with
a shaft, straight down, you know, or with what you call `incline,' maybe you go
down five hundred feet, or maybe you don't go down but two hundred—any way
you go down, and all the time this vein grows narrower, when the casings come
nearer or approach each other, you may say—that is, when they do approach, which
of course they do not always do, particularly in cases where the nature of the
formation is such that they stand apart wider than they otherwise would, and which
geology has failed to account for, although everything in that science goes to prove
that, all things being equal, it would if it did not, or would not certainly if it did,
and then of course they are. Do not you think it is?”

I said to myself:—

“Now I just knew how it would be—that whiskey cocktail has done the business
for me; I don't understand any more than a clam.”

And then I said aloud—

“I—I—that is—if you don't mind, would you—would you say that over again?
I ought”—

“Oh, certainly, certainly! You see I am very unfamiliar with the subject, and
perhaps I don't present my case clearly, but I”—

[figure description] Page 285.[end figure description]

“No, no—no, no—you state it plain enough, but that cocktail has muddled me
a little. But I will—no, I do understand for that matter; but I would get the
hang of it all the better if you went over it again—and I'll pay better attention this
time.”

He said, “Why, what I was after was this.”

[Here he became even more fearfully impressive than ever, and emphasized each
particular point by checking it off on his finger ends.]

“This vein, or lode, or ledge, or whatever you call it, runs along between two
layers of granite, just the same as if it were a sandwich. Very well. Now, suppose
you go down on that, say a thousand feet, or maybe twelve hundred (it don't really
matter), before you drift, and then you start your drifts, some of them across the
ledge, and others along the length of it, where the sulphurets—I believe they call
them sulphurets, though why they should, considering that, so far as I can see, the
main dependence of a miner does not so lie, as some suppose, but in which it cannot
be successfully maintained, wherein the same should not continue, while part
and parcel of the same ore not committed to either in the sense referred to, whereas,
under different circumstances, the most inexperienced among us could not detect
it if it were, or might overlook it if it did, or scorn the very idea of such a thing,
even though it were palpably demonstrated as such. Am I not right?”

I said, sorrowfully—“I feel ashamed of myself, Mr. Ward. I know I ought to
understand you perfectly well, but you see that treacherous whiskey cocktail has
got into my head, and now I cannot understand even the simplest proposition. I
told you how it would be.”

“Oh, don't mind it, don't mind it; the fault was my own, no doubt—though I
did think it clear enough for”—

“Don't say a word. Clear! Why, you stated it as clear as the sun to anybody
but an abject idiot; but it's that confounded cocktail that has played the mischief.”

“No; now don't say that. I'll begin it all over again, and”—

“Don't now—for goodness sake, don't do anything of the kind, because I tell
you my head is in such a condition that I don't believe I could understand the
most trifling question a man could ask me.”

“Now, don't you be afraid. I'll put it so plain this time that you can't help but
get the hang of it. We will begin at the very beginning.” [Leaning far across the

[figure description] Page 286.[end figure description]

table, with determined impressiveness wrought upon his every feature, and fingers
prepared to keep tally of each point as enumerated; and I, leaning forward with
painful interest, resolved to comprehend or perish.] “You know the vein, the
ledge, the thing that contains the metal, whereby it constitutes the medium between
all other forces, whether of present or remote agencies, so brought to bear in favor
of the former against the latter, or the latter against the former or all, or both, or
compromising the relative differences existing within the radius whence culminate
the several degrees of similarity to which”—

I said—“Oh, hang my wooden head, it ain't any use!—it ain't any use to try—
I can't understand anything. The plainer you get it the more I can't get the hang
of it.”

I heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned in time to see Hingston
dodging behind a newspaper, and quaking with a gentle ecstasy of laughter. I
looked at Ward again, and he had thrown off his dread solemnity and was laughing
also. Then I saw that I had been sold—that I had been made the victim of a
swindle in the way of a string of plausibly worded sentences that didn't mean anything
under the sun. Artemus Ward was one of the best fellows in the world, and
one of the most companionable. It has been said that he was not fluent in conversation,
but, with the above experience in my mind, I differ.

p503-286 CANNIBALISM IN THE CARS.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 287. In-line image; opening images for the story "Cannibalism In The Cars." The top image is of a train car stuck on the snow bound tracks. The headlight from the front car is spotlighting a group of people trapped in chest-deep snow. They are waving their hands for help. The bottom image depicts the inside of a carriage, with two well-dressed men staring at each other angrily. A woman sits behind them frightened by their behavior.[end figure description]

I VISITED St Louis lately, and on my
way west, after changing cars at Terre
Haute, Indiana, a mild, benevolent-looking
gentleman of about forty-five, or
may be fifty, came in at one of the way-stations
and sat down beside me. We
talked together pleasantly on various subjects
for an hour, perhaps, and I found
him exceedingly intelligent and entertaining.
When he learned that I was from
Washington, he immediately began to ask
questions about various public men, and
about Congressional affairs; and I saw
very shortly that I was conversing with a man who was perfectly familiar
with the ins and outs of political life at the Capital, even to the ways and

[figure description] Page 288.[end figure description]

manners, and customs of procedure of Senators and Representatives in the
Chambers of the National Legislature. Presently two men halted near us for a
single moment, and one said to the other:

“Harris, if you'll do that for me, I'll never forget you, my boy.”

My new comrade's eyes lighted pleasantly. The words had touched upon a
happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled into thoughtfulness—almost into
gloom. He turned to me and said, “Let me tell you a story; let me give you a
secret chapter of my life—a chapter that has never been referred to by me since its
events transpired. Listen patiently, and promise that you will not interrupt me.”

I said I would not, and he related the following strange adventure, speaking
sometimes with animation, sometimes with melancholy, but always with feeling
and earnestness.

The Stranger's Narrative.

“On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St. Louis on the evening train
bound for Chicago. There were only twenty-four passengers, all told. There
were no ladies and no children. We were in excellent spirits, and pleasant
acquaintanceships were soon formed. The journey bade fair to be a happy one;
and no individual in the party, I think, had even the vaguest presentiment of the
horrors we were soon to undergo.

“At 11 P. M. it began to snow hard. Shortly after leaving the small village of
Welden, we entered upon that tremendous prairie solitude that stretches its leagues
on leagues of houseless dreariness far away towards the Jubilee Settlements. The
winds, unobstructed by trees or hills, or even vagrant rocks, whistled fiercely across
the level desert, driving the falling snow before it like spray from the crested waves
of a stormy sea. The snow was deepening fast; and we knew, by the diminished
speed of the train, that the engine was ploughing through it with steadily increasing
difficulty. Indeed, it almost came to a dead halt sometimes, in the midst of great
drifts that piled themselves like colossal graves across the track. Conversation
began to flag. Cheerfulness gave place to grave concern. The possibility of being
imprisoned in the snow, on the bleak prairie, fifty miles from any house, presented
itself to every mind, and extended its depressing influence over every spirit.

“At two o'clock in the morning I was aroused out of an uneasy slumber by the

[figure description] Page 289.[end figure description]

ceasing of all motion about me. The appalling truth flashed upon me instantly—
we were captives in a snow-drift! `All hands to the rescue!' Every man sprang
to obey. Out into the wild night, the pitchy darkness, the billowy snow, the
driving storm, every soul leaped, with the consciousness that a moment lost now
might bring destruction to us all. Shovels, hands, boards—anything, everything
that could displace snow, was brought into instant requisition. It was a weird
picture, that small company of frantic men fighting the banking snows, half in the
blackest shadow and half in the angry light of the locomotive's reflector.

“One short hour sufficed to prove the utter uselessness of our efforts. The storm
barricaded the track with a dozen drifts while we dug one away. And worse than
this, it was discovered that the last grand charge the engine had made upon the
enemy had broken the fore-and-aft shaft of the driving-wheel! With a free track
before us we should still have been helpless. We entered the car wearied with
labor, and very sorrowful. We gathered about the stoves, and gravely canvassed
our situation. We had no provisions whatever—in this lay our chief distress. We
could not freeze, for there was a good supply of wood in the tender. This was our
only comfort. The discussion ended at last in accepting the disheartening decision
of the conductor, viz., that it would be death for any man to attempt to travel fifty
miles on foot through snow like that. We could not send for help; and even
if we could, it could not come. We must submit, and await, as patiently as we
might, succor or starvation! I think the stoutest heart there felt a momentary
chill when those words were uttered.

“Within the hour conversation subsided to a low murmur here and there about
the car, caught fitfully between the rising and falling of the blast; the lamps grew
dim; and the majority of the castaways settled themselves among the flickering
shadows to think—to forget the present, if they could—to sleep, if they might.

“The eternal night—it surely seemed eternal to us—wore its lagging hours away
at last, and the cold grey dawn broke in the east. As the light grew stronger the
passengers began to stir and give signs of life, one after another, and each in turn
pushed his slouched hat up from his forehead, stretched his stiffened limbs, and
glanced out at the windows upon the cheerless prospect. It was cheerless indeed!—
not a living thing visible anywhere, not a human habitation; nothing but a vast

[figure description] Page 290.[end figure description]

white desert; uplifted sheets of snow drifting hither and thither before the wind—
a world of eddying flakes shutting out the firmament above.

“All day we moped about the cars, saying little, thinking much. Another lingering
dreary night—and hunger.

“Another dawning—another day of silence, sadness, wasting hunger, hopeless
watching for succor that could not come. A night of restless slumber, filled with
dreams of feasting—wakings distressed with the gnawings of hunger.

“The fourth day came and went—and the fifth! Five days of dreadful imprisonment!
A savage hunger looked out at every eye. There was in it a sign of awful
import—the foreshadowing of a something that was vaguely shaping itself in every
heart—a something which no tongue dared yet to frame into words.

“The sixth day passed—the seventh dawned upon as gaunt and haggard and
hopeless a company of men as ever stood in the shadow of death. It must out now!
That thing which had been growing up in every heart was ready to leap from every
lip at last! Nature had been taxed to the utmost—she must yield. Richard H.
Gaston, of Minnesota, tall, cadaverous, and pale, rose up. All knew what was
coming. All prepared—every emotion, every semblance of excitement was
smothered—only a calm, thoughtful seriousness appeared in the eyes that were
lately so wild.

“`Gentlemen,—It cannot be delayed longer! The time is at hand! We must
determine which of us shall die to furnish food for the rest!'

“Mr. John J. Williams, of Illinois, rose and said: `Gentlemen,—I nominate
the Rev. James Sawyer, of Tennessee.'

Mr. Wm. R. Adams, of Indiana, said: `I nominate Mr. Daniel Slote, of New York.'

“Mr. Charles J. Langdon: `I nominate Mr. Samuel A. Bowen, of St. Louis.'

“Mr. Slote: `Gentlemen,—I desire to decline in favor of Mr. John A. Van
Nostrand, Jun., of New Jersey.'

“Mr. Gaston: `If there be no objection, the gentleman's desire will be acceded
to.'

“Mr. Van Nostrand objecting, the resignation of Mr. Slote was rejected. The
resignations of Messrs. Sawyer and Bowen were also offered, and refused upon the
same grounds.

[figure description] Page 291.[end figure description]

“Mr. A. L. Bascom, of Ohio: `I move that the nominations now close, and that
the House proceed to an election by ballot.'

“Mr. Sawyer: `Gentlemen,—I protest earnestly against these proceedings.
They are, in every way, irregular and unbecoming. I must beg to move that they
be dropped at once, and that we elect a chairman of the meeting and proper officers
to assist him, and then we can go on with the business before us understandingly.'

“Mr. Bell, of Iowa: `Gentlemen,—I object. This is no time to stand upon
forms and ceremonious observances. For more than seven days we have been
without food. Every moment we lose in idle discussion increases our distress. I
am satisfied with the nominations that have been made—every gentleman present
is, I believe—and I, for one, do not see why we should not proceed at once to elect
one or more of them. I wish to offer a resolution—'

“Mr. Gaston: `It would be objected to, and have to lie over one day under
the rules, thus bringing about the very delay you wish to avoid. The gentleman
from New Jersey—'

“Mr. Van Nostrand: `Gentlemen,—I am a stranger among you; I have not
sought the distinction that has been conferred upon me, and I feel a delicacy—'

“Mr. Morgan, of Alabama (interrupting): `I move the previous question.'

“The motion was carried, and further debate shut off, of course. The motion
to elect officers was passed, and under it Mr. Gaston was chosen chairman, Mr.
Blake secretary, Messrs. Holcomb, Dyer, and Baldwin, a committee on nominations,
and Mr. R. M. Howland, purveyor, to assist the committee in making selections.

“A recess of half an hour was then taken, and some little caucussing followed.
At the sound of the gavel the meeting reassembled, and the committee reported in
favor of Messrs. George Ferguson, of Kentucky, Lucien Herrman, of Louisiana,
and W. Messick, of Colorado, as candidates. The report was accepted.

“Mr. Rogers, of Missouri: `Mr. President,—The report being properly before
the House now, I move to amend it by substituting for the name of Mr. Herrman
that of Mr. Lucius Harris, of St. Louis, who is well and honorably known to us all.
I do not wish to be understood as casting the least reflection upon the high character
and standing of the gentleman from Louisiana—far from it. I respect and
esteem him as much as any gentleman here present possibly can; but none of us

[figure description] Page 292.[end figure description]

can be blind to the fact that he has lost more flesh during the week that we have
lain here than any among us—none of us can be blind to the fact that the committee
has been derelict in its duty, either through negligence or a graver fault, in
thus offering for our suffrages a gentleman who, however pure his own motives may
be, has really less nutriment in him—'

“The Chair: `The gentleman from Missouri will take his seat. The Chair
cannot allow the integrity of the Committee to be questioned save by the regular
course, under the rules. What action will the House take upon the gentleman's
motion?'

“Mr. Halliday, of Virginia: `I move to further amend the report by substituting
Mr. Harvey Davis, of Oregon, for Mr. Messick. It may be urged by
gentlemen that the hardships and privations of a frontier life have rendered Mr.
Davis tough; but, gentlemen, is this a time to cavil at toughness? is this a time to
be fastidious concerning trifles? is this a time to dispute about matters of paltry
significance? No, gentlemen, bulk is what we desire—substance, weight, bulk—
these are the supreme requisites now—not talent, not genius, not education. I
insist upon my motion.'

“Mr. Morgan (excitedly): `Mr. Chairman,—I do most strenuously object to
this amendment. The gentleman from Oregon is old, and furthermore is bulky
only in bone—not in flesh. I ask the gentleman from Virginia if it is soup we
want instead of solid sustenance? if he would delude us with shadows? if he would
mock our suffering with an Oregonian spectre? I ask him if he can look upon the
anxious faces around him, if he can gaze into our sad eyes, if he can listen to the
beating of our expectant hearts, and still thrust this famine-stricken fraud upon us?
I ask him if he can think of our desolate state, of our past sorrows, of our dark
future, and still unpityingly foist upon us this wreck, this ruin; this tottering swindle,
this gnarled and blighted and sapless vagabond from Oregon's inhospitable shores?
Never!' (Applause.)

“The amendment was put to vote, after a fiery debate, and lost. Mr. Harris was
substituted on the first amendment. The balloting then began. Five ballots were
held without a choice. On the sixth, Mr. Harris was elected, all voting for him
but himself. It was then moved that his election should be ratified by acclamation,
which was lost, in consequence of his again voting against himself.

[figure description] Page 293.[end figure description]

“Mr. Radway moved that the House now take up the remaining candidates, and
go into an election for breakfast. This was carried.

“On the first ballot there was a tie, half the members favoring one candidate on
account of his youth, and half favoring the other on account of his superior size.
The President gave the casting vote for the latter, Mr. Messick. This decision
created considerable dissatisfaction among the friends of Mr. Ferguson, the defeated
candidate, and there was some talk of demanding a new ballot; but in the midst
of it, a motion to adjourn was carried, and the meeting broke up at once.

“The preparations for supper diverted the attention of the Ferguson faction from
the discussion of their grievance for a long time, and then, when they would have
taken it up again, the happy announcement that Mr. Harris was ready, drove all
thought of it to the winds.

“We improvised tables by propping up the backs of car-seats, and sat down with
hearts full of gratitude to the finest supper that had blessed our vision for seven
torturing days. How changed we were from what we had been a few short hours
before! Hopeless, sad-eyed misery, hunger, feverish anxiety, desperation, then—
thankfulness, serenity, joy too deep for utterance now. That I know was the
cheeriest hour of my eventful life. The wind howled, and blew the snow wildly
about our prison-house, but they were powerless to distress us any more. I liked
Harris. He might have been better done, perhaps, but I am free to say that no
man ever agreed with me better than Harris, or afforded me so large a degree of
satisfaction. Messick was very well, though rather high-flavored, but for genuine
nutritiousness and delicacy of fibre, give me Harris. Messick had his good points—
I will not attempt to deny it, nor do I wish to do it—but he was no more fitted
for breakfast than a mummy would be, sir—not a bit. Lean?—why, bless me!—
and tough? Ah, he was very tough! You could not imagine it,—you could never
imagine anything like it.”

“Do you mean to tell me that—”

“Do not interrupt me, please. After breakfast we elected a man by the name of
Walker, from Detroit, for supper. He was very good. I wrote his wife so afterwards.
He was worthy of all praise. I shall always remember Walker. He was
a little rare, but very good. And then the next morning we had Morgan, of Alabama,
for breakfast. He was one of the finest men I ever sat down to,—handsome

[figure description] Page 294.[end figure description]

educated, refined, spoke several languages fluently—a perfect gentleman—he was
a perfect gentleman, and singularly juicy. For supper we had that Oregon patriarch,
and he was a fraud, there is no question about it—old, scraggy, tough, nobody
can picture the reality. I finally said, gentlemen, you can do as you like, but I
will wait for another election. And Grimes, of Illinois, said, `Gentlemen, I will
wait also. When you elect a man that has something to recommend him, I shall be
glad to join you again.' It soon became evident that there was general dissatisfaction
with Davis, of Oregon, and so, to preserve the good-will that had prevailed so
pleasantly since we had had Harris, an election was called, and the result of it was
that Baker, of Georgia, was chosen. He was splendid! Well, well—after that we
liad Doolittle and Hawkins, and McElroy (there was some complaint about McElroy,
because he was uncommonly short and thin), and Penrod, and two Smiths, and
Bailey (Bailey had a wooden leg, which was clear loss, but he was otherwise good),
and an Indian boy, and an organ grinder, and a gentleman by the name of Buckminster—
a poor stick of a vagabond that wasn't any good for company and no
account for breakfast. We were glad we got him elected before relief came.”

“And so the blessed relief did come at last?”

“Yes, it came one bright, sunny morning, just after election. John Murphy was
the choice, and there never was a better, I am willing to testify; but John Murphy
came home with us, in the train that came to succor us, and lived to marry the
widow Harris—”

“Relict of—”

“Relict of our first choice. He married her, and is happy and respected and
prosperous yet. Ah, it was like a novel, sir—it was like a romance. This is my
stopping-place, sir; I must bid you good-by. Any time that you can make it convenient
to tarry a day or two with me, I shall be glad to have you. I like you, sir;
I have conceived an affection for you. I could like you as well as I liked Harris
himself, sir. Good day, sir, and a pleasant journey.”

He was gone. I never felt so stunned, so distressed, so bewildered in my life.
But in my soul I was glad he was gone. With all his gentleness of manner and his
soft voice, I shuddered whenever he turned his hungry eye upon me; and when I
heard that I had achieved his perilous affection, and that I stood almost with the
late Harris in his esteem, my heart fairly stood still!

[figure description] Page 295.[end figure description]

I was bewildered beyond description. I did not doubt his word; I could not
question a single item in a statement so stamped with the earnestness of truth as
his; but its dreadful details overpowered me, and threw my thoughts into hopeless
confusion. I saw the conductor looking at me. I said, “Who is that man?”

“He was a member of Congress once, and a good one. But he got caught in a
snowdrift in the cars, and like to been starved to death. He got so frost-bitten
and frozen up generally, and used up for want of something to eat, that he was sick
and out of his head two or three months afterwards. He is all right now, only he
is a monomaniac, and when he gets on that old subject he never stops till he has
eat up that whole car-load of people he talks about. He would have finished the
crowd by this time, only he had to get out here. He has got their names as pat as
A, B, C. When he gets them all eat up but himself, he always says:—`Then the
hour for the usual election for breakfast having arrived, and there being no opposition,
I was duly elected, after which, there being no objections offered, I resigned.
Thus I am here.”'

I felt inexpressibly relieved to know that I had only been listening to the harmless
vagaries of a madman instead of the genuine experiences of a bloodthirsty
cannibal.

p503-295 The Scriptural Panoramist.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 296. In-line image; opening image for the story "The Scriptural Panoramist." The picture shows the Panoramist standing on stage in front of one of his murals staring in horror, eyes bugged out, at the pianist playing at the foot of the stage.[end figure description]

“THERE was a fellow traveling
around in that country,” said
Mr. Nickerson, “with a moralreligious
show—a sort of scriptural
panorama—and he hired a woodenheaded
old slab to play the piano for
him. After the first night's performance
the showman says—

“`My friend, you seem to know
pretty much all the tunes there are,
and you worry along first-rate. But
then, don't you notice that sometimes
last night the piece you happened
to be playing was a little rough on the proprieties, so to speak—didn't
seem to jibe with the general gait of the picture that was passing at the time,

[figure description] Page 297.[end figure description]

as it were—was a little foreign to the subject, you know—as if you didn't either
trump or follow suit, you understand?'

“`Well, no,' the fellow said; `he hadn't noticed, but it might be; he had
played along just as it came handy.'

“So they put it up that the simple old dummy was to keep his eye on the panorama
after that, and as soon as a stunning picture was reeled out he was to fit
it to a dot with a piece of music that would help the audience to get the idea of
the subject, and warm them up like a camp-meeting revival. That sort of thing
would corral their sympathies, the showman said.

“There was a big audience that night—mostly middle-aged and old people
who belong to the church, and took a strong interest in Bible matters, and the
balance were pretty much young bucks and heifers—they always come out
strong on panoramas, you know, because it gives them a chance to taste one
another's complexions in the dark.

“Well, the showman began to swell himself up for his lecture, and the old
mud-dobber tackled the piano and ran his fingers up and down once or twice
to see that she was all right, and the fellows behind the curtain commenced to
grind out the panorama. The showman balanced his weight on his right foot,
and propped his hands over his hips, and flung his eyes over his shoulder at
the scenery, and said—

“`Ladies and gentlemen, the painting now before you illustrates the beautiful
and touching parable of the Prodigal Son. Observe the happy expression just
breaking over the features of the poor, suffering youth—so worn and weary
with his long march; note also the ecstasy beaming from the uplifted countenance
of the aged father, and the joy that sparkles in the eyes of the excited
group of youths and maidens, and seems ready to burst into the welcoming
chorus from their lips. The lesson, my friends, is as solemn and instructive as
the story is tender and beautiful.'

“The mud-dobber was all ready, and when the second speech was finished,
struck up—

“Some of the people giggled, and some groaned a little. The showman

[figure description] Page 298.[end figure description]

couldn't say a word; he looked at the pianist sharp, but he was all lovely and
serene—he didn't know there was anything out of gear.

“The panorama moved on, and the showman drummed up his grit and started
in fresh.

“`Ladies and gentlemen, the fine picture now unfolding itself to your gaze
exhibits one of the most notable events in Bible history—our Saviour and His
disciples upon the Sea of Galilee. How grand, how awe-inspiring are the
reflections which the subject invokes? What sublimity of faith is revealed to
us in this lesson from the sacred writings? The Saviour rebukes the angry
waves, and walks securely upon the bosom of the deep!'

“All around the house they were whispering, `Oh, how lovely, how beautiful!'
and the orchestra let himself out again—

“There was a good deal of honest snickering turned on this time, and considerable
groaning, and one or two old deacons got up and went out. The showman
grated his teeth, and cursed the piano man to himself; but the fellow sat
there like a knot on a log, and seemed to think he was doing first-rate.

“After things got quiet the showman thought he would make one more stagger
at it any way, though his confidence was beginning to get mighty shaky. The
supes started the panorma grinding along again, and he says—

“`Ladies and gentlemen, this exquisite painting represents the raising of
Lazarus from the dead by our Saviour. The subject has been handled with
marvelous skill by the artist, and such touching sweetness and tenderness of
expression has he thrown into it that I have known peculiarly sensitive persons
to be even affected to tears by looking at it. Observe the half-confused, halfinquiring
look upon the countenance of the awakened Lazarus. Observe, also,
the attitude and expression of the Saviour, who takes him gently by the sleeve
of his shroud with one hand, while He points with the other towards the
distant city.'

“Before anybody could get off an opinion in the case the innocent old ass
at the piano struck up—

p503-300

[figure description] Page 299.[end figure description]

“Whe-ew! All the solemn old flats got up in a huff to go, and everybody
else laughed till the windows rattled.

“The showman went down and grabbed the orchestra and shook him up and
says—

“`That lets you out, you know, you chowder-headed old clam: Go to the
door-keeper and get your money, and cut your stick—vamose the ranche!
Ladies and gentlemen, circumstances over which I have no control compel me
prematurely to dismiss the house.”'

FROM “HOSPITAL DAYS. ”

THE extempore speech and prayer sometimes took odd turns. I was present
when a Defender (her customary name for Uncle Sam's soldier-lads) rose
and said he wished to confess to the brethren some particulars of a sinful
life. There was once, in such a town, a godless youth—said he—and went on to
paint his career: how at the age of twelve he smoked cigars and threw the Bible
at his grandmother; at fourteen he played ten-pins and went sailing on Sunday;
at sixteen he ran away from home, etc., etc.,—and when we expected the usual
conclusion, “and I, who address you to-night, my friends, am that forsaken lad,”
surprised us by clapping his hand on the shoulder of an innocent, blushing youth
in front of him, one of the steadiest boys in the camp, and shouting his climax,
“Which his name is Asy Allen and here he sets!”

[figure description] Tipped in Erratum.[end figure description]

ERRATUM.

By an error of the publishers the above sketch “From `Hospital
Days”' was inserted in this book. It should not have been, as
Mark Twain is not the author of it. It will not appear in any
future edition.

[figure description] Tipped in Erratum.[end figure description]

p503-301 CURING A COLD.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 300. In-line image; opening image for the story "Curing A Cold." The image depicts Twain with a serious cold sitting in a chair being wrapped in a giant blanket by two men. Twain's feet are bare and ready to stick into a tub of water.[end figure description]

IT is a good thing, perhaps, to
write for the amusement of the
public, but it is a far higher and
nobler thing to write for their instruction,
their profit, their actual
and tangible benefit. The latter is
the sole object of this article. If it
prove the means of restoring to
health one solitary sufferer among
my race, of lighting up once more
the fire of hope and joy in his faded
eyes, of bringing back to his dead
heart again the quick, generous
impulses of other days, I shall be
amply rewarded for my labor; my
soul will be permeated with the sacred delight a Christian feels when he has
done a good, unselfish deed.

[figure description] Page 301.[end figure description]

Having led a pure and blameless life, I am justified in believing that no man
who knows me will reject the suggestions I am about to make, out of fear that
I am trying to deceive him. Let the public do itself the honor to read my
experience in doctoring a cold, as herein set forth, and then follow in my
footsteps.

When the White House was burned in Virginia City, I lost my home, my
happiness, my constitution, and my trunk. The loss of the two first-named
articles was a matter of no great consequence, since a home without a mother
or a sister, or a distant young female relative in it, to remind you, by putting
your soiled linen out of sight and taking your boots down off the mantel-piece,
that there are those who think about you and care for you, is easily obtained.
And I cared nothing for the loss of my happiness, because not being a poet, it
could not be possible that melancholy would abide with me long. But to lose
a good constitution and a better trunk were serious misfortunes. On the day
of the fire my constitution succumbed to a severe cold, caused by undue exertion
in getting ready to do something. I suffered to no purpose, too, because the
plan I was figuring at for the extinguishing of the fire was so elaborate that I
never got it completed until the middle of the following week.

The first time I began to sneeze, a friend told me to go and bathe my feet in
hot water and go to bed. I did so. Shortly afterwards, another friend advised
me to get up and take a cold shower-bath. I did that also. Within the hour,
another friend assured me that it was policy to “feed a cold and starve a fever.”
I had both. So I thought it best to fill myself up for the cold, and then keep
dark and let the fever starve awhile.

In a case of this kind, I seldom do things by halves; I ate pretty heartily; I
conferred my custom upon a stranger who had just opened his restaurant that
morning: he waited near me in respectful silence until I had finished feeding
my cold, when he inquired if the people about Virginia City were much afflicted
with colds? I told him I thought they were. He then went out and took in
his sign.

I started down toward the office, and on the way encountered another bosom
friend, who told me that a quart of salt water, taken warm, would come as near

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 302. Image of a woman preparing a potion for curing a cold. She is standing in front of a flaming stove stirring a mixture in a giant pot. Plumes of steam are rising from the pot and filling the room.[end figure description]

curing a cold as anything in the world. I hardly thought I had room for it,
but I tried it anyhow. The result was surprising. I believed I had thrown up
my immortal soul.

Now, as I am giving my experience only for the benefit of those who are
troubled with the distemper I am writing about, I feel that they will see the
propriety of my cautioning them against following such portions of it as proved
inefficient with me, and acting upon this conviction, I warn them against warm
salt water. It may be a good enough remedy, but I think it is too severe. If I
had another cold in the head, and
there were no course left me but
to take either an earthquake or a
quart of warm salt water, I would
take my chances on the earthquake.

After the storm which had been
raging in my stomach had subsided,
and no more good Samaritans
happening along, I went on borrowing
handkerchiefs again and blowing
them to atoms, as had been my custom
in the early stages of my cold,
until I came across a lady who had
just arrived from over the plains,
and who said she had lived in a part
of the country where doctors
were scarce, and had from necessity acquired considerable skill in the treatment
of simple “family complaints.” I knew she must have had much experience,
for she appeared to be a hundred and fifty years old.

She mixed a decoction composed of molasses, aquafortis, turpentine, and
various other drugs, and instructed me to take a wine-glass full of it every fifteen
minutes. I never took but one dose; that was enough; it robbed me of all
moral principle, and awoke every unworthy impulse of my nature. Under its
malign influence my brain conceived miracles of meanness, but my hands were

[figure description] Page 303.[end figure description]

too feeble to execute them; at that time, had it not been that my strength had
surrendered to a succession of assaults from infallible remedies for my cold, I
am satisfied that I would have tried to rob the graveyard. Like most other
people, I often feel mean, and act accordingly; but until I took that medicine I
had never revelled in such supernatural depravity, and felt proud of it. At the
end of two days I was ready to go to doctoring again. I took a few more
unfailing remedies, and finally drove my cold from my head to my lungs.

I got to coughing incessantly, and my voice fell below zero; I conversed in a
thundering base, two octaves below my natural tone; I could only compass my
regular nightly repose by coughing myself down to a state of utter exhaustion,
and then the moment I began to talk in my sleep, my discordant voice woke me
up again.

My case grew more and more serious every day. Plain gin was recommended;
I took it. Then gin and molasses; I took that also. Then gin and onions; I
added the onions, and took all three. I detected no particular result, however,
except that I had acquired a breath like a buzzard's.

I found I had to travel for my health. I went to Lake Bigler with my reportorial
comrade, Wilson. It is gratifying to me to reflect that we traveled in
considerable style; we went in the Pioneer coach, and my friend took all his
baggage with him, consisting of two excellent silk handkerchiefs and a daguerreotype
of his grandmother. We sailed and hunted and fished and danced all
day, and I doctored my cough all night. By managing in this way, I made out
to improve every hour in the twenty-four. But my disease continued to grow
worse.

A sheet-bath was recommended. I had never refused a remedy yet, and it
seemed poor policy to commence then; therefore I determined to take a sheet-bath,
notwithstanding I had no idea what sort of arrangement it was. It was
administered at midnight, and the weather was very frosty. My breast and back
were bared, and a sheet (there appeared to be a thousand yards of it) soaked in
ice-water, was wound around me until I resembled a swab for a Columbiad.

It is a cruel expedient. When the chilly rag touches one's warm flesh, it
makes him start with sudden violence, and gasp for breath just as men do in the

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 304. Image of an African-American minister conducting a baptism in the river. His arms are out at his sides and the youth being baptized is swimming away.[end figure description]

death agony. It froze the marrow in my bones, and stopped the beating of my
heart. I thought my time had come.

Young Wilson said the circumstance reminded him of an anecdote about a
negro who was being baptized, and who slipped from the parson's grasp, and
came near being drowned. He floundered around, though, and finally rose up
out of the water considerably strangled, and furiously angry, and started ashore
at once, spouting water like a whale, and remarking, with great asperity, that
“one o' dese days some gen'l'man's nigger gwyne to get killed wid jis' such
dam foolishness as dis!”

Never take a sheet-bath—never.
Next to meeting a lady acquaintance,
who, for reasons best known to herself,
don't see you when she looks at
you, and don't know you when
she does see you, it is the most uncomfortable
thing in the world.

But, as I was saying, when the
sheet-bath failed to cure my cough,
a lady friend recommended the application
of a mustard plaster to my
breast. I believe that would have
cured me effectually, if it had not
been for young Wilson. When I
went to bed, I put my mustard plaster—
which was a very gorgeous one, eighteen inches square—where I could
reach it when I was ready for it. But young Wilson got hungry in the night,
and—here is food for the imagination.

After sojourning a week at Lake Bigler, I went to Steamboat Springs, and
beside the steam baths, I took a lot of the vilest medicines that were ever concocted.
They would have cured me, but I had to go back to Virginia City,
where, notwithstanding the variety of new remedies I absorbed every day, I
managed to aggravate my disease by carelessness and undue exposure.

[figure description] 503EAF. Page 305. End of chapter image of Twain standing with one hand on a pitcher as the other holds a glass of the cure.[end figure description]