oint of my life--a new link. On my way down, I had made
the acquaintance of a pilot. I begged him to teach me the river, and he
consented. I became a pilot.

By and by Circumstance came again--introducing the Civil War, this
time, in order to push me ahead another stage or two toward the literary
profession. The boats stopped running, my livelihood was gone.

Circumstance came to the rescue with a new turning-point and a fresh
link. My brother was appointed secretary to the new Territory of Nevada,
and he invited me to go with him and help him in his office. I accepted.

In Nevada, Circumstance furnished me the silver fever and I went into
the mines to make a fortune, as I supposed; but that was not the idea.
The idea was to advance me another step toward literature. For amusement
I scribbled things for the Virginia City ENTERPRISE. One isn't a printer
ten years without setting up acres of good and bad literature, and
learning--unconsciously at first, consciously later--to discriminate
between the two, within his mental limitations; and meantime he is
unconsciously acquiring what is called a "style." One of my efforts
attracted attention, and the ENTERPRISE sent for me and put me on its
staff.

And so I became a journalist--another link. By and by Circumstance and
the Sacramento UNION sent me to the Sandwich Islands for five or
six months, to write up sugar. I did it; and threw in a good deal of
extraneous matter that hadn't anything to do with sugar. But it was this
extraneous matter that helped me to another link.

It made me notorious, and San Francisco invited me to lecture. Which
I did. And profitably. I had long had a desire to travel and see the
world, and now Circumstance had most kindly and unexpectedly hurled me
upon the platform and furnished me the means. So I joined the "Quaker
City Excursion."

When I returned to America, Circumstance was waiting on the pier--with
the LAST link--the conspicuous, the consummating, the victorious link:
I was asked to WRITE A BOOK, and I did it, and called it THE INNOCENTS
ABROAD. Thus I became at last a member of the literary guild. That was
forty-two years ago, and I have been a member ever since. Leaving the
Rubicon incident away back where it belongs, I can say with truth that
the reason I am in the literary profession is because I had the measles
when I was twelve years old.

III

Now what interests me, as regards these details, is not the details
themselves, b