with the knowledge that nature had made free to all creatures and not go
prying into the august secrets of the Deity.
MY LATE SENATORIAL SECRETARYSHIP –[Written about 1867.]
I am not a private secretary to a senator any more I now. I held the
berth two months in security and in great cheerfulness of spirit, but my
bread began to return from over the waters then–that is to say, my works
came back and revealed themselves. I judged it best to resign. The way
of it was this. My employer sent for me one morning tolerably early,
and, as soon as I had finished inserting some conundrums clandestinely
into his last great speech upon finance, I entered the presence. There
was something portentous in his appearance. His cravat was untied, his
hair was in a state of disorder, and his countenance bore about it the
signs of a suppressed storm. He held a package of letters in his tense
grasp, and I knew that the dreaded Pacific mail was in. He said:
“I thought you were worthy of confidence.”
I said, “Yes, sir.”
He said, “I gave you a letter from certain of my constituents in the
State of Nevada, asking the establishment of a post-office at Baldwin’s
Ranch, and told you to answer it, as ingeniously as you could, with
arguments which should persuade them that there was no real necessity for
as office at that place.
I felt easier. “Oh, if that is all, sir, I did do that.”
“Yes, you did. I will read your answer for your own humiliation:
WASHINGTON, Nov. 24
“Messrs. Smith, Jones, and others.
“‘GENTLEMEN: What the mischief do you suppose you want with a
post-office at Baldwin’s Ranch? It would not do you any good.
If any letters came there, you couldn’t read them, you know; and,
besides, such letters as ought to pass through, with money in them,
for other localities, would not be likely to get through, you must
perceive at once; and that would make trouble for us all. No, don’t
bother about a post-office in your camp. I have your best interests
at heart, and feel that it would only be an ornamental folly. What
you want is a nice jail, you know–a nice, substantial jail and a
free school. These will be a lasting benefit to you. These will
make you really contented and happy. I will move in the matter at
once.
“‘Very truly, etc.,
Mark Twain,
“‘For James W. N——, U. S. Senator.’
“That is the way you answered that letter. Those people say they will
hang me, if I ever enter that district again; and I am perfectly
satisfied they will, too.”
“Well, sir, I did not know I was doing any harm. I only wanted to
convince them.”
“Ah. Well, you did convince them, I make no manner of doubt. Now, here
is another specimen. I gave you a petition from certain gentlemen of
Nevada, praying that I would get a bill through Congress incorporating
the Methodist Episcopal Church of the State of Nevada. I told you to
say, in reply, that the creation of such a law came more properly within
the province of the state legislature; and to endeavor to show them that,
in the present feebleness of the religious element in that new
commonwealth, the expediency of incorporating the church was
questionable. What did you write?
“‘WASHINGTON, Nov. 24.
“‘Rev. John Halifax and others.
“‘GENTLEMEN: You will have to go to the state legislature about that
speculation of yours–Congress don’t know anything about religion.
But don’t you hurry to go there, either; because this thing you
propose to do out in that new country isn’t expedient–in fact, it
is ridiculous. Your religious people there are too feeble, in
intellect, in morality, in piety in everything, pretty much. You
had better drop this–you can’t make it work. You can’t issue stock
on an incorporation like that–or if you could, it would only keep
you in trouble all the time. The other denominations would abuse
it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down. They
would do with it just as they would with one of your silver-mines
out there–they would try to make all the world believe it was