exulted in it a little to the
folks at home. There never lived a more modest, less pretentious, less
aggressive man than Mark Twain, but there never lived a man who took a
more childlike delight in genuine appreciation; and, being childlike, it
was only human that he should wish those nearest to him to share his
happiness. After one memorable affair he wrote:

I have been received in a sort of tremendous way to-night by the
brains of London, assembled at the annual dinner of the sheriffs of
London; mine being (between you and me) a name which was received
with a thundering outburst of spontaneous applause when the long
list of guests was called.

I might have perished on the spot but for the friendly support and
assistance of my excellent friend, Sir John Bennett.

This letter does not tell all of the incident or the real reason why he
might have perished on the spot. During the long roll-call of guests he
had lost interest a little, and was conversing in whispers with his
"excellent friend," Sir John Bennett, stopping to applaud now and then
when the applause of the others indicated that some distinguished name
had been pronounced. All at once the applause broke out with great
vehemence. This must be some very distinguished person indeed. He
joined in it with great enthusiasm. When it was over he whispered to Sir
John:

"Whose name was that we were just applauding?"

"Mark Twain's."

Whereupon the support was needed.

Poor little pirate Hotten did not have a happy time during this visit. He
had reveled in the prospect at first, for he anticipated a large increase
to be derived from his purloined property; but suddenly, one morning, he
was aghast to find in the Spectator a signed letter from Mark Twain, in
which he was repudiated, referred to as "John Camden Hottentot," an
unsavory person generally. Hotten also sent a letter to the Spectator,
in which he attempted to justify himself, but it was a feeble
performance. Clemens prepared two other communications, each worse than
the other and both more destructive than the first one. But these were
only to relieve his mind. He did not print them. In one of them he
pursued the fancy of John Camden Hottentot, whom he offers as a specimen
to the Zoological Gardens.

It is not a bird. It is not a man. It is not a fish. It does not seem
to be in all respects a reptile. It has the body and features of a man,
but scarcely any of the instincts that belo