ext day for Columbia, where the university is located. At
each station a crowd had gathered to cheer and wave as the train pulled
in and to offer him flowers. Sometimes he tried to say a few words, but
his voice would not come. This was more than even Tom Sawyer had
dreamed.

Certainly there is something deeply touching in the recognition of one's
native State; the return of the boy who has set out unknown to battle
with life and who is called back to be crowned is unlike any other
home-coming--more dramatic, more moving. Next day at the university Mark
Twain, summoned before the crowded assembly-hall to receive his degree,
stepped out to the center of the stage and paused. He seemed in doubt as
to whether he should make a speech or only express his thanks for the
honor received. Suddenly and without signal the great audience rose and
stood in silence at his feet. He bowed but he could not speak. Then the
vast assembly began a peculiar chant, spelling out slowly the word
M-i-s-s-o-u-r-i, with a pause between each letter. It was tremendously
impressive.

Mark Twain was not left in doubt as to what was required of him when the
chant ended. The audience demanded a speech--a speech, and he made them
one--such a speech as no one there would forget to his dying day.

Back in St. Louis, he attended the rechristening of the St. Louis harbor
boat; it had been previously called the "St. Louis," but it was now to be
called the "Mark Twain."

LVII.

THE CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL LIFE

Life which had begun very cheerfully at Riverdale ended sadly enough. In
August, at York Harbor, Maine, Mrs. Clemens's health failed and she was
brought home an invalid, confined almost entirely to her room. She had
been always the life, the center, the mainspring of the household. Now
she must not even be consulted--hardly visited. On her bad days--and
they were many--Clemens, sad and anxious, spent most of his time
lingering about her door, waiting for news, or until he was permitted to
see her for a brief moment. In his memorandum-book of that period he
wrote:

"Our dear prisoner is where she is through overwork--day and night
devotion to the children and me. We did not know how to value it.
We know now."

And on the margin of a letter praising him for what he had done for the
world's enjoyment, and for his triumph over debt, he wrote:

"Livy never gets her share of those applauses, but it is because the
people do not kn