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.

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