rded--though each shade,
treading the Celestian way, as most of them do, and recurring to
those Noctes Ambrosianae, might e'en repeat to the other the words on a
memorable occasion addressed by Curran to Lord Avonmore:

_"We spent them not in toys or lust or wine;
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence and poesy--
Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine."_

V

Mark Twain was the life of every company and all occasions. I remember a
practical joke of his suggestion played upon Murat Halstead. A party of
us were supping after the theater at the old Brevoort House. A card was
brought to me from a reporter of the World. I was about to deny myself,
when Mark Twain said:

"Give it to me, I'll fix it," and left the table.

Presently he came to the door and beckoned me out.

"I represented myself as your secretary and told this man," said he,
"that you were not here, but that if Mr. Halstead would answer just as
well I would fetch him. The fellow is as innocent as a lamb and doesn't
know either of you. I am going to introduce you as Halstead and we'll
have some fun."

No sooner said than done. The reporter proved to be a little bald-headed
cherub newly arrived from the isle of dreams, and I lined out to him a
column or more of very hot stuff, reversing Halstead in every opinion.
I declared him in favor of paying the national debt in greenbacks.
Touching the sectional question, which was then the burning issue of the
time, I made the mock Halstead say: "The 'bloody shirt' is only a kind
of Pickwickian battle cry. It is convenient during political campaigns
and on election day. Perhaps you do not know that I am myself of
dyed-in-the-wool Southern and secession stock. My father and grandfather
came to Ohio from South Carolina just before I was born. Naturally
I have no sectional prejudices, but I live in Cincinnati and I am a
Republican."

There was not a little more of the same sort. Just how it passed through
the World office I know not; but it actually appeared. On returning
to the table I told the company what Mark Twain and I had done. They
thought I was joking. Without a word to any of us, next day Halstead
wrote a note to the World repudiating the interview, and the World
printed his disclaimer with a line which said: "When Mr. Halstead
conversed with our reporter he had dined." It was too good to keep. A
day or two later, John Hay wrote an amusing story for the Tribune, which
se