Yes, as a missionary I’ve sung my songs of praise.
And yet I think that England sinned when she got
herself into a war in South Africa which she could
have avoided, just as we sinned in getting into a similar
war in the Philippines. Mr. Churchill, by his
father, is an Englishman; by his mother he is an American—no
doubt a blend that makes the perfect man. England
and America; yes, we are kin. And now that we
are also kin in sin, there is nothing more to be desired.
The harmony is complete, the blend is perfect.
The
New Vagabonds Club of London, made up of the leading
younger
literary men of the day, gave a dinner in honor of
Mr.
and
Mrs. Clemens, July 8, 1899.
It has always been difficult—leave that
word difficult—not exceedingly difficult,
but just difficult, nothing more than that, not the
slightest shade to add to that—just difficult—to
respond properly, in the right phraseology, when compliments
are paid to me; but it is more than difficult when
the compliments are paid to a better than I—my
wife.
And while I am not here to testify against myself—I
can’t be expected to do so, a prisoner in your
own country is not admitted to do so—as
to which member of the family wrote my books, I could
say in general that really I wrote the books myself.
My wife puts the facts in, and they make it respectable.
My modesty won’t suffer while compliments are
being paid to literature, and through literature to
my family. I can’t get enough of them.
I am curiously situated to-night. It so rarely
happens that I am introduced by a humorist; I am generally
introduced by a person of grave walk and carriage.
That makes the proper background of gravity for brightness.
I am going to alter to suit, and haply I may say some
humorous things.
When you start with a blaze of sunshine and upburst
of humor, when you begin with that, the proper office
of humor is to reflect, to put you into that pensive
mood of deep thought, to make you think of your sins,
if you wish half an hour to fly. Humor makes
me reflect now to-night, it sets the thinking machinery
in motion. Always, when I am thinking, there
come suggestions of what I am, and what we all are,
and what we are coming to. A sermon comes from
my lips always when I listen to a humorous speech.
I seize the opportunity to throw away frivolities,
to say something to plant the seed, and make all better
than when I came. In Mr. Grossmith’s remarks
there was a subtle something suggesting my favorite
theory of the difference between theoretical morals
and practical morals. I try to instil practical
morals in the place of theatrical—I mean
theoretical; but as an addendum—an annex—something
added to theoretical morals.
When your chairman said it was the first time he had
ever taken the chair, he did not mean that he had
not taken lots of other things; he attended my first
lecture and took notes. This indicated the man’s
disposition. There was nothing else flying round,
so he took notes; he would have taken anything he
could get.
