rom his prospective publishers and
placed it in the hands of the firm that Mark Twain headed. All the
provisions were amply fulfilled; for when Mark Twain paid his last
visit to the stricken author at the place of sojourn on Mount
McGregor, he brought to the now speechless sufferer the smile of
happiness and satisfaction by saying: "General, there is in the bank
now royalties on advanced sales aggregating nearly $300,000. It is at
Mrs. Grant's order."

The anecdote is given at this length because, taken in connection
with subsequent events dealing with General Grant's benefactor, it
points a forceful illustration of the irony of fortune. There came a
day when the very instrument by which Mark Twain was enabled to
provide a peaceful close to the life of a brave warrior, and to
guarantee affluence for his family, delivered himself a stroke that
dissipated his own fortune at a time when age is supposed to have
absorbed the vigor for a new grapple with destinies.

In 1884 the publishing firm of C.L. Webster and Company was organized
to publish the works of Mark Twain. Of this firm Mark Twain was
president; but he took little active part in the management of its
affairs. Able to conceive in broad outlines successful policies, he
was singularly deficient in the power to handle the details of their
execution. On April 18, 1894, the firm whose business enterprises had
always figured in large sums through the immense popularity of the
author-publisher's own works, the _Memoirs of General Grant_, and the
_Life of Pope Leo_, made an assignment for the benefit of its
creditors. The bankrupt firm acknowledged liabilities approximating
$80,000. What in the ordinary view of commercial affairs would have
furnished but one item in the list of failures which record the
misfortunes of ninety per cent who engage in business, became in this
instance a notable case through the eminence of the chief actor.

What might he have done?

The law could lay claim upon his personal assets. To surrender these
possessions proved no act of self-sacrifice, considering his wife's
fortune, upon which the law had no claim. His wife, however, joined
him in the act of renunciation, and they stood together penniless.
Beyond this point there could be no legal, and, to many minds, no
moral responsibility for the debts of his firm. One can speculate upon
the force of the temptation to take advantage of the position. Mark
Twain was sixty years old, and ill at