Chapter 2

Ancient painters never succeeded in denationalizing themselves Apocryphal New Testament Astonishing talent for seeing things that had already passed Bade our party a kind good-bye, and proceeded to count spoons Base flattery to call them immoral Bones of St Denis But it is an ill-wind that blows nobody good Buy the man out, goodwill and all By dividing this statement up among eight Carry soap with them Chapel of the Invention of the Cross Christopher Colombo Clustered thick with stony, mutilated saints Commend me to Fennimore Cooper to find beauty in the Indians Conceived a sort of unwarrantable unfriendliness Confer the rest of their disastrous patronage on some other firm Creator made Italy from designs by Michael Angelo! Cringing spirit of those great men Diffident young man, mild of moustache, affluent of hair Expression Felt that it was not right to steal grapes Fenimore Cooper Indians Filed away among the archives of Russia--in the stove For dismal scenery, I think Palestine must be the prince Free from self-consciousness--which is at breakfast Fumigation is cheaper than soap Fun--but of a mild type Getting rich very deliberately--very deliberately indeed Guides Have a prodigious quantity of mind He never bored but he struck water He ought to be dammed--or leveed Holy Family always lived in grottoes How tame a sight his country's flag is at home I am going to try to worry along without it I carried the sash along with me--I did not need the sash I had a delicacy about going home and getting thrashed I was not scared, but I was considerably agitated Is, ah--is he dead? It is a hopeless, dreary, heart-broken land It is inferior--for coffee--but it is pretty fair tea It used to be a good hotel, but that proves nothing It was warm. It was the warmest place I ever was in Joshua Journals so voluminously begun Keg of these nails--of the true cross Lean and mean old age Man peculiarly and insufferably self-conceited: not seasick Marks the exact centre of the earth Nauseous adulation of princely patrons Never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language Never left any chance for newspaper controversies Never uses a one-syllable word when he can think of a longer one No satisfaction in being a Pope in those days Not afraid of a million Bedouins Not bring ourselves to think St John had two sets of ashes Old Travelers One is apt to overestimate beauty when it is rare Only solitary thing one does not smell in Turkey Oriental splendor! Original first shoddy contract mentioned in history Overflowing his banks People talk so glibly of "feeling," "expression," "tone," Perdition catch all the guides Picture which one ought to see once--not oftener Polite hotel waiter who isn't an idiot Relic matter a little overdone? Room to turn around in, but not to swing a cat Saviour, who seems to be of little importance any where in Rome Self-satisfied monarch, the railroad conductor of America Sentimental praises of the Arab's idolatry of his horse She assumes a crushing dignity Shepherd's Hotel, which is the worst on earth Smell about them which is peculiar but not entertaining Some people can not stand prosperity Somewhat singular taste in the matter of relics St Charles Borromeo, Bishop of Milan St Helena, the mother of Constantine Starving to death Stirring times here for a while if the last trump should blow Tahoe means grasshoppers. It means grasshopper soup The information the ancients didn't have was very voluminous The Last Supper There was a good deal of sameness about it They were like nearly all the Frenchwomen I ever saw --homely They were seasick. And I was glad of it Those delightful parrots who have "been here before" To give birth to an idea Toll the signal for the St Bartholomew's Massacre Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness Uncomplaining impoliteness Under the charitable moon Used fine tooth combs--successfully Venitian visiting young ladies Wandering Jew Wasn't enough of it to make a pie We all like to see people seasick when we are not, ourselves Well provided with cigars and other necessaries of life What's a fair wind for us is a head wind to them Whichever one they get is the one they want Who have actually forgotten their mother tongue in three months Worth while to get tired out, because one so enjoys resting

ROUGHING IT, by Mark Twain [MT#38][mtrit10.txt]3177

Aim and object of the law and lawyers was to defeat justice American saddle Cayote is a living, breathing allegory of Want Children were clothed in nothing but sunshine Contempt of Court on the part of a horse Feared a great deal more than the almighty Fertile in invention and elastic in conscience Give one's watch a good long undisturbed spell He was nearly lightnin' on superintending He was one of the deadest men that ever lived Hotel clerk who was crusty and disobliging I had never seen lightning go like that horse Juries composed of fools and rascals List of things which we had seen and some other people had not Man was not a liar he only missed it by the skin of his teeth Most impossible reminiscences sound plausible Native canoe is an irresponsible looking contrivance Never knew there was a hell! Nothing that glitters is gold Profound respect for chastity--in other people Scenery in California requires distance Slept, if one might call such a condition by so strong a name Useful information and entertaining nonsense Virtuous to the verge of eccentricity

THE GILDED AGE, by Twain and Warner [MT#39][mtgld10.txt]3178

Accidental murder resulting from justifiable insanity Always trying to build a house by beginning at the top Appropriation Beautiful credit! The foundation of modern society Believed it; because she desired to believe it Best intentions and the frailest resolution Big babies with beards Cheap sentiment and high and mighty dialogue Conscious superiority Does your doctor know any thing Enjoy icebergs--as scenery but not as company Erie RR: causeway of cracked rails and cows, to the West Fever of speculation Final resort of the disappointed of her sex, the lecture platform Geographical habits Get away and find a place where he could despise himself Gossips were soon at work Grand old benevolent National Asylum for the Helpless Grief that is too deep to find help in moan or groan or outcry Haughty humility Having no factitious weight of dignity to carry Imagination to help his memory Invariably advised to settle--no matter how, but settle Invariably allowed a half for shrinkage in his statements Is this your first visit? It had cost something to upholster these women Large amount of money necessary to make a small hole Later years brought their disenchanting wisdom Let me take your grief and help you carry it Life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death Mail train which has never run over a cow Meant no harm they only wanted to know Money is most difficult to get when people need it most Never sewed when she could avoid it. Bless her! Nursed his woe and exalted it Predominance of the imagination over the judgment Question was asked and answered--in their eyes Riches enough to be able to gratify reasonable desires Road, which did not seem to know its own mind exactly Sarcasms of fate Sleep that heals all heart-aches and ends all sorrows Small gossip stood a very poor chance Sun bothers along over the Atlantic Think a Congress of ours could convict the devil of anything Titles never die in America Too much grace and too little wine Understood the virtues of "addition, division and silence" Unlimited reliance upon human promises Very pleasant man if you were not in his way Wasn't worth a cent two years ago, and now I owe two millions "We must create, a public opinion," said Senator Dilworthy We'll make you think you never was at home before We've all got to come to it at last, anyway! Widened, and deepened, and straightened--(Public river Project) Wished that she could see his sufferings now Your absence when you are present

THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT, by Mark Twain [MT#40][mtacl10.txt]3179

He's a kind of an aristocrat, his father being a doctor, and you know what style that is--in England, I mean, because in this country a doctor ain't so very much, even if he's that.

Hasn't any culture but the artificial culture of books, which adorns but doesn't really educate.

A discriminating irreverence is the creator and protector of human liberty.

The exercise of an extraordinary gift is the supremest pleasure in life.

Oh, just to work--that is life! No matter what the work is--that's of no consequence. Just work itself is bliss when a man's been starving for it.

What right has Goethe, what right has Arnold, what right has any dictionary, to define the word Irreverence for me? What their ideals are is nothing to me. So long as I reverence my own ideals my whole duty is done, and I commit no profanation if I laugh at theirs. I may scoff at other people's ideals as much as I want to. It is my right and my privilege. No man has any right to deny it.

No throne was ever set up by the unhampered vote of a majority of any nation; and that hence no throne exists that has a right to exist, and no symbol of it, flying from any flagstaff, is righteously entitled to wear any device but the skull and crossbones of that kindred industry which differs from royalty only business-wise--merely as retail differs from wholesale.

DOUBLE BARRELLED DETECTIVE, by Mark Twain [MT#41][mtdbd10.txt]3180

"We ought never to do wrong when people are looking."

"The regularest man that ever was," said Jake Parker, the blacksmith: "you can tell when it's twelve just by him leaving, without looking at your Waterbury."

The sheriff that lets a mob take a prisoner away from him is the lowest- down coward there is. By the statistics there was a hundred and eighty- two of them drawing sneak pay in America last year. By the way it's going, pretty soon there 'll be a new disease in the doctor-books-- sheriff complaint." That idea pleased him--any one could see it. "People will say, 'Sheriff sick again?' 'Yes; got the same old thing.' And next there 'll be a new title. People won't say, 'He's running for sheriff of Rapaho County,' for instance; they'll say, 'He's running for Coward of Rapaho.' Lord, the idea of a grown-up person being afraid of a lynch mob!"

THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT, by Mark Twain [MT#42][mtswe10.txt]3181

Left out of A Tramp Abroad, because it was feared that some of the particulars had been exaggerated, and that others were not true. Before these suspicions had been proven groundless, the book had gone to press. --M. T.]

"Well, as to what he eats--he will eat anything. He will eat a man, he will eat a Bible--he will eat anything between a man and a Bible."--"Good very good, indeed, but too general. Details are necessary--details are the only valuable things in our trade. Very well--as to men. At one meal--or, if you prefer, during one day--how man men will he eat, if fresh?"--"He would not care whether they were fresh or not; at a single meal he would eat five ordinary men.

Elephant arrived here from the south and passed through toward the forest at 11.50, dispersing a funeral on the way, and diminishing the mourners by two.

RAMBLING IDLE EXCURSION, by Mark Twain [MT#43][mtrid10.txt]3182

Straight roads reveal everything at a glance and kill interest.

All the journeyings I had ever done had been purely in the way of business. The pleasant May weather suggested a novelty namely, a trip for pure recreation, the bread-and-butter element left out. The Reverend said he would go, too; a good man, one of the best of men, although a clergyman.

We went ashore and found a novelty of a pleasant nature: there were no hackmen, hacks, or omnibuses on the pier or about it anywhere, and nobody offered his services to us, or molested us in any way. I said it was like being in heaven. The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly advised me to make the most of it, then.

There's cats around here with names that would surprise you. "Maria" (to his wife), "what was that cat's name that eat a keg of ratsbane by mistake over at Hooper's, and started home and got struck by lightning and took the blind staggers and fell in the well and was 'most drowned before they could fish him out?"--"That was that colored Deacon Jackson's cat. I only remember the last end of its name, which was Hold-The-Fort- For-I-Am-Coming Jackson."

CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN CT., by Mark Twain [MT#44][mtccc10.txt]3183

Yes, but you did; you lied to him."--I felt a guilty pang--in truth, I had felt it forty times before that tramp had traveled a block from my door--but still I resolved to make a show of feeling slandered; so I said: "This is a baseless impertinence. I said to the tramp--"-- "There--wait. You were about to lie again. I know what you said to him. You said the cook was gone down-town and there was nothing left from breakfast. Two lies. You knew the cook was behind the door, and plenty of provisions behind her."

I never did a thing in all my life, virtuous or otherwise, that I didn't repent of in twenty-four hours.

In conclusion, I wish to state, by way of advertisement, that medical colleges desiring assorted tramps for scientific purposes, either by the gross, by cord measurement, or per ton, will do well to examine the lot in my cellar before purchasing elsewhere, as these were all selected and prepared by myself, and can be had at a low rate; because I wish to clear, out my stock and get ready for the spring trade.

ALONZO FITZ AND OTHERS, by Mark Twain [MT#45][mtlaf10.txt]3184

It was well along in the forenoon of a bitter winter's day. The town of Eastport, in the state of Maine, lay buried under a deep snow that was newly fallen. The customary bustle in the streets was wanting. One could look long distances down them and see nothing but a dead-white emptiness, with silence to match. Of course I do not mean that you could see the silence--no, you could only hear it.

"That clock's wrong again. That clock hardly ever knows what time it is; and when it does know, it lies about it--which amounts to the same thing. Alfred!"

THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS, by Mark Twain [MT#46][mtext10.txt]3185

A man who is born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a locality. He knows these people, he knows the selected locality, and he trusts that he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No--that is a thought which comes later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a little tale; a very little tale; a six-page tale. But as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.

I didn't know what to do with her. I was as sorry for her as anybody could be, but the campaign was over, the book was finished, she was sidetracked, and there was no possible way of crowding her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there, of course; it would not do. After spreading her out so, and making such a to-do over her affairs, it would be absolutely necessary to account to the reader for her. I thought and thought and studied and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw plainly that there was really no way but one--I must simply give her the grand bounce. It grieved me to do it, for after associating with her so much I had come to kind of like her after a fashion, notwithstanding she was such an ass and said such stupid irritating things and was so nauseatingly sentimental. Still it had to be done. So, at the top of Chapter XVII, I put in a "Calendar" remark concerning July Fourth, and began the chapter with this statistic: "Rowena went out in the back yard after supper to see the fireworks and fell down the well and got drowned." It seemed abrupt, but I thought maybe the reader wouldn't notice it, because I changed the subject right away to something else.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, by Mark Twain [MT#47][mtmst10.txt]3186

It was in 1590--winter. Austria was far away from the world, and asleep; it was still the Middle Ages in Austria, and promised to remain so forever. Some even set it away back centuries upon centuries and said that by the mental and spiritual clock it was still the Age of Belief in Austria. But they meant it as a compliment, not a slur, and it was so taken, and we were all proud of it. I remember it well, although I was only a boy; and I remember, too, the pleasure it gave me.

When we were finishing our house, we found we had a little cash left over, on account of the plumber not knowing it.

I will explain that whenever I want a thing, and Mrs. McWilliams wants another thing, and we decide upon the thing that Mrs. McWilliams wants-- as we always do--she calls that a compromise.

What an ass you are!" he said. "Are you so unobservant as not to have found out that sanity and happiness are an impossible combination? No sane man can be happy, for to him life is real, and he sees what a fearful thing it is. Only the mad can be happy, and not many of those. The few that imagine themselves kings or gods are happy, the rest are no happier than the sane. Of course, no man is entirely in his right mind at any time, but I have been referring to the extreme cases.

"Now there is the history of that burglar alarm--everything just as it happened; nothing extenuated, and naught set down in malice. Yes, sir,-- and when I had slept nine years with burglars, and maintained an expensive burglar alarm the whole time, for their protection, not mine, and at my sole cost--for not a d---d cent could I ever get THEM to contribute--I just said to Mrs. McWilliams that I had had enough of that kind of pie; so with her full consent I took the whole thing out and traded it off for a dog, and shot the dog.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE, by Mark Twain [MT#48][mtcsc10.txt]3187

This last summer, when I was on my way back to Vienna from the Appetite- Cure in the mountains, I fell over a cliff in the twilight, and broke some arms and legs and one thing or another, and by good luck was found by some peasants who had lost an ass, and they carried me to the nearest habitation, which was one of those large, low, thatch-roofed farm-houses, with apartments in the garret for the family, and a cunning little porch under the deep gable decorated with boxes of bright colored flowers and cats; on the ground floor a large and light sitting-room, separated from the milch-cattle apartment by a partition; and in the front yard rose stately and fine the wealth and pride of the house, the manure-pile. That sentence is Germanic, and shows that I am acquiring that sort of mastery of the art and spirit of the language which enables a man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.

"I do not understand it. I believe she has not diagnosed the case with sufficient care. Did she look like a person who was theorizing, or did she look like one who has fallen off precipices herself and brings to the aid of abstract science the confirmations of personal experience?"-- "Bitte?" --It was too large a contract for the Stubenmadchen's vocabulary; she couldn't call the hand. I allowed the subject to rest there, and asked for something to eat and smoke, and something hot to drink, and a basket to pile my legs in; but I could not have any of these things.

Does she seem to be in full and functionable possession of her intellectual plant, such as it is?"--"Bitte?"--"Do they let her run at large, or do they tie her up?"

MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES, by Mark Twain [MT#49][mtmts10.txt]3188

A little pride always goes along with a teaspoonful of brains Ain't any real difference between triplets and an insurrection Chastity, you can carry it too far Classic: everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read Don't know anything and can't do anything Dwell on the particulars with senile rapture Future great historian is lying--and doubtless will continue to Head is full of history, and some of it is true, too Humor enlivens and enlightens his morality I shall never be as dead again as I was then If can't make seventy by any but an uncomfortable road: don't go Kill a lot of poets for writing about "Beautiful Spring" Live upon the property of their heirs so long Morality is all the better for his humor Morals: rather teach them than practice them any day Never been in jail, and the other is, I don't know why Never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake Patriotism is usually the refuge of the scoundrel Please state what figure you hold him at--and return the basket Principles is another name for prejudices She bears our children--ours as a general thing Some civilized women would lose half their charm without dress The Essex band done the best it could Time-expired man, to use Kipling's military phrase To exaggerate is the only way I can approximate to the truth Two kinds of Christian morals, one private and the other public What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman? When in doubt, tell the truth Women always want to know what is going on

SKETCHES NEW AND OLD, by Mark Twain [MT#50][mtsno10.txt]3189

A wood-fire is not a permanent thing Accessory before the fact to his own murder Aggregate to positive unhappiness Always brought in 'not guilty' Apocryphal was no slouch of a word, emanating from the source Assertion is not proof Early to bed and early to rise I am useless and a nuisance, a cumberer of the earth I never was so scared before and survived it If I had sprung a leak now I had been lost Just about cats enough for three apiece all around Looked a look of vicious happiness Lucid and unintoxicated intervals No matter how absurd and unreasonable their demands No public can withstand magnanimity Not because I was afraid, but because I wanted to (go out the window) Permanent reliable enemy Science only needed a spoonful of supposition to build a mountain State of mind bordering on impatience Walking five miles to fish Was a good deal annoyed when it appeared he was going to die

1601, by Mark Twain [MT#51][mtsxn10.txt]3190

But suppose a literary artist ventured to go into a painstaking and elaborate description of one of these grisly things--the critics would skin him alive. Well, let it go, it cannot be helped; Art retains her privileges, Literature has lost hers. Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the wherefores and the consistencies of it--I haven't got time."

Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain's biographer, likewise acknowledged its greatness, when he said, "1601 is a genuine classic, as classics of that sort go. It is better than the gross obscenities of Rabelais, and perhaps in some day to come, the taste that justified Gargantua and the Decameron will give this literary refugee shelter and setting among the more conventional writing of Mark Twain. Human taste is a curious thing; delicacy is purely a matter of environment and point of view."

Suppose Sir Walter [Scott] instead of putting the conversation into the mouths of his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for themselves? We should have had talk from Rebecca and Ivanhoe and the soft lady Rowena which would embarrass a tramp in our day. However, to the unconsciously indelicate all things are delicate."

GOLDSMITH'S FRIEND ABROAD AGAIN, by Twain [MT#52][mtgfa10.txt]3191