rbles. 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