Third, don’t marry–I mean, to excess.
Honesty is the best policy. That is an old proverb; but you don’t want
ever to forget it in your journey through life.
TAXES AND MORALS
ADDRESS DELIVERED IN NEW YORK, JANUARY 22, 1906
At the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of Tuskeegee
Institute by Booker Washington, Mr. Choate presided, and in
introducing Mr. Clemens made fun of him because he made play
his work, and that when he worked hardest he did so lying in
bed.
I came here in the responsible capacity of policeman to watch Mr. Choate.
This is an occasion of grave and serious importance, and it seems
necessary for me to be present, so that if he tried to work off any
statement that required correction, reduction, refutation, or exposure,
there would be a tried friend of the public to protect the house. He has
not made one statement whose veracity fails to tally exactly with my own
standard. I have never seen a person improve so. This makes me thankful
and proud of a country that can produce such men–two such men. And all
in the same country. We can’t be with you always; we are passing away,
and then–well, everything will have to stop, I reckon. It is a sad
thought. But in spirit I shall still be with you. Choate, too–if he
can.
Every born American among the eighty millions, let his creed or
destitution of creed be what it may, is indisputably a Christian–to this
degree that his moral constitution is Christian.
There are two kinds of Christian morals, one private and the other
public. These two are so distinct, so unrelated, that they are no more
akin to each other than are archangels and politicians. During three
hundred and sixty-three days in the year the American citizen is true to
his Christian private morals, and keeps undefiled the nation’s character
at its best and highest; then in the other two days of the year he leaves
his Christian private morals at home and carries his Christian public
morals to the tax office and the polls, and does the best he can to
damage and undo his whole year’s faithful and righteous work. Without a
blush he will vote for an unclean boss if that boss is his party’s Moses,
without compunction he will vote against the best man in the whole land
if he is on the other ticket. Every year in a number of cities and
States he helps put corrupt men in office, whereas if he would but throw
away his Christian public morals, and carry his Christian private morals
to the polls, he could promptly purify the public service and make the
possession of office a high and honorable distinction.
Once a year he lays aside his Christian private morals and hires a ferry-
boat and piles up his bonds in a warehouse in New Jersey for three days,
and gets out his Christian public morals and goes to the tax office and
holds up his hands and swears he wishes he may never–never if he’s got a
cent in the world, so help him. The next day the list appears in the
papers–a column and a quarter of names, in fine print, and every man in
the list a billionaire and member of a couple of churches. I know all
those people. I have friendly, social, and criminal relations with the
whole lot of them. They never miss a sermon when they are so’s to be
around, and they never miss swearing-off day, whether they are so’s to be
around or not.
I used to be an honest man. I am crumbling. No–I have crumbled. When
they assessed me at $75,000 a fortnight ago I went out and tried to
borrow the money, and couldn’t; then when I found they were letting a
whole crop of millionaires live in New York at a third of the price they
were charging me I was hurt, I was indignant, and said: “This is the last
feather. I am not going to run this town all by myself.” In that
moment–in that memorable moment–I began to crumble. In fifteen minutes
the disintegration was complete. In fifteen minutes I had become just a