ry element was there in force, but Mark had not forgotten to ask
to have placed near him the multi-millionaire, Mr. H.H. Rogers, one
who had been his friend in need. Just like Mark. Without exception,
the leading literary men dwelt in their speeches exclusively upon the
guest's literary work. When my turn came, I referred to this and asked
them to note that what our friend had done as a man would live as long
as what he had written. Sir Walter Scott and he were linked
indissolubly together. Our friend, like Scott, was ruined by the
mistakes of partners, who had become hopelessly bankrupt. Two courses
lay before him. One the smooth, easy, and short way--the legal path.
Surrender all your property, go through bankruptcy, and start afresh.
This was all he owed to creditors. The other path, long, thorny, and
dreary, a life struggle, with everything sacrificed. There lay the two
paths and this was his decision:

"Not what I owe to my creditors, but what I owe to myself is the
issue."

There are times in most men's lives that test whether they be dross or
pure gold. It is the decision made in the crisis which proves the man.
Our friend entered the fiery furnace a man and emerged a hero. He paid
his debts to the utmost farthing by lecturing around the world. "An
amusing cuss, Mark Twain," is all very well as a popular verdict, but
what of Mr. Clemens the man and the hero, for he is both and in the
front rank, too, with Sir Walter.

He had a heroine in his wife. She it was who sustained him and
traveled the world round with him as his guardian angel, and enabled
him to conquer as Sir Walter did. This he never failed to tell to his
intimates. Never in my life did three words leave so keen a pang as
those uttered upon my first call after Mrs. Clemens passed away. I
fortunately found him alone and while my hand was still in his, and
before one word had been spoken by either, there came from him, with a
stronger pressure of my hand, these words: "A ruined home, a ruined
home." The silence was unbroken. I write this years after, but still I
hear the words again and my heart responds.

One mercy, denied to our forefathers, comes to us of to-day. If the
Judge within give us a verdict of acquittal as having lived this life
well, we have no other Judge to fear.

"To thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man."

Eternal punishment, because of a few y