The Countess de Rochambeau christened the St. Louis harbor-boat
          ‘Mark Twain’ in honor of Mr. Clemens, June 6, 1902.  Just
          before the luncheon he acted as pilot.

          “Lower away lead!” boomed out the voice of the pilot.

          “Mark twain, quarter five and one-half-six feet!” replied the
          leadsman below.

          “You are all dead safe as long as I have the wheel—­but this is
          my last time at the wheel.”

          At the luncheon Mr. Clemens made a short address.

First of all, no—­second of all—­I wish to offer my thanks for the honor done me by naming this last rose of summer of the Mississippi Valley for me, this boat which represents a perished interest, which I fortified long ago, but did not save its life.  And, in the first place, I wish to thank the Countess de Rochambeau for the honor she has done me in presiding at this christening.

I believe that it is peculiarly appropriate that I should be allowed the privilege of joining my voice with the general voice of St. Louis and Missouri in welcoming to the Mississippi Valley and this part of the continent these illustrious visitors from France.

When La Salle came down this river a century and a quarter ago there was nothing on its banks but savages.  He opened up this great river, and by his simple act was gathered in this great Louisiana territory.  I would have done it myself for half the money.

SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY

          Addressat A dinner given by colonel George Harvey at
          Delmonico’s, December 5, 1905, to celebrate the seventieth
          anniversary of Mr. Clemens’ birth

          Mr. Howells introduced Mr. Clemens: 

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, and Colonel Harvey, I will try not to be greedy on your behalf in wishing the health of our honored and, in view of his great age, our revered guest.  I will not say, ‘Oh King, live forever!’ but ’Oh King, live as long as you like!’” [Amid great applause and waving of napkins all rise and drink to Mark Twain.]

Well, if I made that joke, it is the best one I ever made, and it is in the prettiest language, too.—­I never can get quite to that height.  But I appreciate that joke, and I shall remember it—­and I shall use it when occasion requires.

I have had a great many birthdays in my time.  I remember the first one very well, and I always think of it with indignation; everything was so crude, unaesthetic, primeval.  Nothing like this at all.  No proper appreciative preparation made; nothing really ready.  Now, for a person born with high and delicate instincts—­why, even the cradle wasn’t whitewashed—­nothing ready at all.  I hadn’t any hair, I hadn’t any teeth, I hadn’t any clothes, I had to go