Rule 1. When approaching the bedside of one
whom an all-wise President —I mean an all-wise
Providence—well, anyway, it’s the
same thing—has seen fit to afflict with
disease—well, the rule is simple, even if
it is old-fashioned.
Rule 2. I’ve forgotten just what it is,
but—
Rule 3. This is always indispensable: Bleed
your patient.
Addressdelivered June 4, 1902, at Columbia,
Mo.
When the name of Samuel L. Clemens
was called the humorist stepped forward,
put his hand to his hair, and apparently hesitated.
There was a dead silence for a moment. Suddenly
the entire audience rose and stood in silence.
Some one began to spell out the word Missouri
with an interval between the letters.
All joined in. Then the house again became silent.
Mr. Clemens broke the spell:
As you are all standing [he drawled in his characteristic
voice], I guess, I suppose I had better stand too.
[Then came a laugh and loud cries for a speech.
As the great humorist spoke of his recent visit to
Hannibal, his old home, his voice trembled.]
You cannot know what a strain it was on my emotions
[he said]. In fact, when I found myself shaking
hands with persons I had not seen for fifty years
and looking into wrinkled faces that were so young
and joyous when I last saw them, I experienced emotions
that I had never expected, and did not know were in
me. I was profoundly moved anal saddened to think
that this was the last time, perhaps, that I would
ever behold those kind old faces and dear old scenes
of childhood.
[The humorist then changed to a lighter mood, and
for a time the audience was in a continual roar of
laughter. He was particularly amused at the
eulogy on himself read by Gardiner Lathrop in conferring
the degree.] He has a fine opportunity to distinguish
himself [said Mr. Clemens] by telling the truth about
me.
I have seen it stated in print that as a boy I had
been guilty of stealing peaches, apples, and watermelons.
I read a story to this effect very closely not long
ago, and I was convinced of one thing, which was that
the man who wrote it was of the opinion that it was
wrong to steal, and that I had not acted right in
doing so. I wish now, however, to make an honest
statement, which is that I do not believe, in all my
checkered career, I stole a ton of peaches.
One night I stole—I mean I removed—a
watermelon from a wagon while the owner was attending
to another customer. I crawled off to a secluded
spot, where I found that it was green. It was
the greenest melon in the Mississippi Valley.
Then I began to reflect. I began to be sorry.
I wondered what George Washington would have done
had he been in my place. I thought a long time,
and then suddenly felt that strange feeling which
comes to a man with a good resolution, and I took up
that watermelon and took it back to its owner.
I handed him the watermelon and told him to reform.
He took my lecture much to heart, and, when he gave
me a good one in place of the green melon, I forgave
him.
