Among the many interesting personalities whom I have at various times met, there comes to my mind the remembrance of Mark Twain. The society of the great American humorist was always greatly sought after--a very natural circumstance--for, unlike many famous wits who keep all their brilliancy exclusively at the points of their pens, Mark Twain was sociable and talkative and seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of delightful anecdotes, ever ready and at the disposition of his friends. He called on me one day, and, speaking of his approaching departure on some pleasure trip with his wife and two daughters, remarked with a humorous twinkle in his eye: {83} "It is fortunate that we have no courier to make a muddle with our tickets----" "Why should couriers make muddles?" I asked. "Have you had tragic experiences of that kind?" "Not personally," he answered; "but there was a millionaire who travelled with all his huge family, the kind of family that is described in the Old Testament. They gave themselves great airs, and of course arrived at the station one minute before the departure of the train, having left everything to their courier. The latter, however, had evidently been otherwise occupied, and was late too, arriving almost at the same moment as the family. "'How late you are!' shouted the irate millionaire. 'Give me the tickets--quick!' The courier, in great haste, fumbled nervously among a confusion of papers in his pocket-book, and thrust into his employer's hand a packet of tickets. The engine was already getting up steam, and there was not a moment to be lost. My poor friend passed the packet on to a guard and asked excitedly for his reserved carriage, only to receive in reply a questioning stare. Alas! The tickets turned out to be of little use on the railway, for they were--concert tickets! The courier, you see, was a singer, and had been thinking too much about his own affairs!" Mark Twain often amused his hearers by describing in the most humorous manner his own past jokes. "Some time ago," he told me on one occasion, "everyone went mad about table turning! I wrote a long article on the subject, but in spite of the remonstrances of my publisher, refused to sign it. "Don't you see?" he added, "I wanted to be {84} taken seriously--had I disclosed my identity, everyone would have taken all I said for a joke!" So there is something in a name after all, in spite of Shakespeare! I have, indeed, seen Mark Twain very much in earnest. That was on the Negro question. What seemed to me a great prejudice, represented, in his eyes, a regular danger to the civilised world. Not long ago, a very cultivated woman, just arrived from America, spoke to me with dread about the impudence and self-conceit of the negroes. How different her pictures were from those of Mrs. Beecher-Stowe in _Uncle Tom's Cabin_!