"The natives' language is soft and liquid and flexible, and in every way efficient and satisfactory till you get mad; then, there you are; there isn't anything in it to swear with. Good judges all say it is the best Sunday language there is; but then all the other six days of the week it just hangs idle on your hands; it isn't any good for business, and you can't work a telephone with it. Many a time the attention of the missionaries has been called to this defect, and they are always promising they are going to fix it; but no, they go fooling along and fooling along, and nothing is done. Speaking of education, everybody there is educated, from the highest to the lowest; in fact, it is the only country in the world where education is actually universal. And yet every now and then you run across instances of ignorance that are simply revolting, simply revolting to the human race. Think of it, there the ten takes the ace. But let us not dwell on such things. They make a person ashamed. Well, the missionaries are always going to fix that, but they put it off, and put it off, and put it off, and so that nation is going to keep on going down, and down, until some day you will see a pair of jacks beat a straight flush. "Well, it is refreshment to the jaded, water to the thirsty, to look upon men who have so lately breathed the soft air of these Isles of the Blest, and had before their eyes the inextinguishable vision of their beauty. No alien land in all the world has any deep, strong charm for me but that one; no other land could so longingly and beseechingly tempt me, sleeping and waking, through half a life-time, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but that abides; other things change, but that remains the same. For me, its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun, the pulsing of its surfbeat is in my ears. I can see its garlanded crags, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore, its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud rack. I can hear the spirits of its woodland solitudes, I can hear the splash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breath of the flowers that perished twenty years ago. And these world wanderers that sit before me here have lately looked upon these things, and with eyes of the flesh, not the unsatisfying vision of the spirit. I envy them that." "Mark Twain" may have been better than he was that night, but if so I should like some one to mention the time and place. To be sure he make a mistake in taking it for granted that we had played ball there, but then it was not our fault that we had not: It was all the fault of the horrid blue laws that prevented us from making an honest dollar. Digby Bell and DeWolf Hopper gave recitations in response to the loud demand made for them, and it was not until long after midnight that an adjournment was finally made.