some other person, he generally selects Mark Twain."

Now here's the compliment of a little Montana girl which came to me
indirectly. She was in a room in which there was a large photograph of
me. After gazing at it steadily for a time, she said:

"We've got a John the Baptist like that." She also said: "Only ours has
more trimmings."

I suppose she meant the halo. Now here is a gold-miner's compliment. It
is forty-two years old. It was my introduction to an audience to which
I lectured in a log school-house. There were no ladies there. I wasn't
famous then. They didn't know me. Only the miners were there, with their
breeches tucked into their boottops and with clay all over them.
They wanted some one to introduce me, and they selected a miner, who
protested, saying:

"I don't know anything about this man. Anyhow, I only know two things
about him. One is, he has never been in jail, and the other is, I don't
know why."

There's one thing I want to say about that English trip. I knew his
Majesty the King of England long years ago, and I didn't meet him for
the first time then. One thing that I regret was that some newspapers
said I talked with the Queen of England with my hat on. I don't do that
with any woman. I did not put it on until she asked me to. Then she told
me to put it on, and it's a command there. I thought I had carried my
American democracy far enough. So I put it on. I have no use for a hat,
and never did have.

Who was it who said that the police of London knew me? Why, the police
know me everywhere. There never was a day over there when a policeman
did not salute me, and then put up his hand and stop the traffic of the
world. They treated me as though I were a duchess.

The happiest experience I had in England was at a dinner given in the
building of the Punch publication, a humorous paper which is appreciated
by all Englishmen. It was the greatest privilege ever allowed a
foreigner. I entered the dining-room of the building, where those men
get together who have been running the paper for over fifty years. We
were about to begin dinner when the toastmaster said: "Just a minute;
there ought to be a little ceremony." Then there was that meditating
silence for a while, and out of a closet there came a beautiful little
girl dressed in pink, holding in her hand a copy of the previous week's
paper, which had in it my cartoon. It broke me all up. I could not even
say "Thank you." That was the prettiest