 This is Section 6 of How to Tell a Story and Other Essays by Mark Twain. Last spring I went out to Chicago to see the fair. And although I did not see it, my trip was not wholly lost. There were compensations. In New York I was introduced to a major in the regular army who said he was going to the fair, and we agreed to go together. I had to go to Boston first, but that did not interfere. He said he would go along, and put in the time. He was a handsome man, and built like a gladiator. But his ways were gentle, and his speech was soft and persuasive. He was companionable, but exceedingly reposeful. Yes, and holy destitute of the sense of humour. He was full of interest in everything that went on around him, but his serenity was indestructible. Nothing disturbed him. Nothing excited him. But before the day was done I found that deep down in him somewhere he had a passion, quiet as he was, a passion for reforming petty public abuses. He stood for citizenship. It was his hobby. His idea was that every citizen of the Republic ought to consider himself an unofficial policeman, and keep unsalaried watch and ward over the laws and their execution. He thought that the only effective way of preserving and protecting public rights was for each citizen to do his share in preventing or punishing such infringements of them as came under his personal notice. It was a good scheme, but I thought it would keep a body in trouble all the time. It seemed to me that one would be always trying to get offending little officials discharged, and perhaps getting laughed at for all reward. But he said no. I had the wrong idea, that there was no occasion to get anybody discharged, that in fact you mustn't get anybody discharged, that that would itself be a failure. No, one must reform the man, reform him, and make him useful where he was. Must one report the offender and then beg his superior not to discharge him, but reprimand him and keep him? No, that is not the idea. You don't report him at all. For then you risk his bread and butter. You can act as if you are going to report him, when nothing else will answer. But that's an extreme case. That is a sort of force, and force is bad. Diplomacy is the effective thing. Now if a man has tacked, if a man will exercise diplomacy, for two minutes we had been standing at a telegraph wicket, and during all this time the Major had been trying to get the attention of one of the young operators, but they were all busy sky-larking. The Major spoke now and asked one of them to take his telegram. He got for reply, I reckon you can wait a minute, can't you? And the sky-larking went on. The Major said yes, he was not in a hurry. Then he wrote another telegram, President Western Union Telegram Company. Come and dine with me this evening. I can tell you how business is conducted in one of your branches. Presently the young fellow who had spoken so pertly a little before, reached out and took the telegram, and when he read it he lost color and began to apologize and explain. He said he would lose his place if this deadly telegram was sent, and he might never get another. If he could be let off this time he would give no cause of complaint again. The compromise was accepted. As we walked away the Major said, now you see that was diplomacy, and you see how it worked. It wouldn't do any good to bluster the way people are always doing. That boy can always give you as good as you send, and you'll come out defeated and ashamed of yourself, pretty nearly always, but you see he stands no chance against diplomacy. Gentle words and diplomacy. Those are the tools to work with. Yes, I see, but everybody wouldn't have had your opportunity. It isn't everybody that is on those familiar terms with the President of the Western Union. Oh, you misunderstand! I don't know the President. I only use him diplomatically. It is for his good and for the public good. There's no harm in it. I said with hesitation and diffidence, but is it ever right or noble to tell a lie? He took no note of the delicate self-righteousness of the question, but answered with undisturbed gravity and simplicity. Yes, sometimes lies told to injure a person and lies told to profit yourself are not justifiable, but lies told to help another person and lies told in the public interest. Oh, well, that is quite another matter. Anybody knows that, but never mind about the methods you see the result. That youth is going to be useful now and well behaved. He had a good face. He was worth saving. Why, he was worth saving on his mother's account, if not his own. Of course, he has a mother, sisters too. Damn these people who are always forgetting that. Do you know I've never fought a duel in my life, never once, and yet have been challenged, like other people. I could always see the other man's unoffending women folks or his little children standing between him and me. They hadn't done anything. I couldn't break their hearts, you know. He corrected a good many little abuses in the course of the day, and always without friction, always with a fine and dainty diplomacy which left no sting behind. And he got such happiness and such contentment out of these performances that I was obliged to envy him his trade, and perhaps would have adopted it if I could have managed the necessary deflections from fact as confidently with my mouth as I believe I could with a pen behind the shelter of print after a little practice. Away late that night we were coming uptown in a horse-car when three boisterous ruffs got aboard, and began to fling hilarious obscenities and profanities right and left among the timid passengers, some of whom were women and children. Nobody resisted or retorted. The conductor tried soothing words and moral suasion, but the ruffs only called him names and laughed at him. Very soon I saw that the Major realized that this was a matter which was in his line. Evidently he was turning over his stock of diplomacy in his mind and getting ready. I felt that the first diplomatic remark he made in this place would bring down a landslide of ridicule upon him, and maybe something worse. But before I could whisper to him and check him, he had begun, and it was too late. He said in a level and dispassionate tone, Conductor, you must put these swine out. I will help you. I was not looking for that. In a flash the three ruffs plunged at him, but none of them arrived. He delivered three such blows as one could not expect to encounter outside the prize-ring, and neither of the men had life enough left in him to get up from where he fell. The Major dragged them out and threw them off the car, and we got under way again. I was astonished. Astonished to see a lamb act so. Astonished at the strength displayed, and the clean and comprehensive result. Astonished at the brisk and business-like style of the whole thing. The situation had a humorous side to it, considering how much I had been hearing about mild persuasion and gentle diplomacy all day from this pile driver, and I would have liked to call his attention to that feature and do some sarcasms about it. But when I looked at him I saw that it would be of no use. His placid and contented face had no ray of humor in it. He would not have understood. When we left the car I said, that was a good stroke of diplomacy. Three good strokes of diplomacy, in fact. That? That wasn't diplomacy. You are quite in the wrong. Diplomacy is a wholly different thing. One cannot apply it to that sort. They would not understand it. No, that was not diplomacy. It was force. Now that you mention it, I—yes, I think perhaps you are right. Right? Of course I am right. It was just force. I think myself it had the outside aspect of it. Do you often have to reform people in that way? Far from it. It hardly ever happens. Not oftener than once in half a year at the outside. Those men will get well? Get well? Why, certainly they will. They are not in any danger. I know how to hit and where to hit. You notice that I did not hit them under the jaw. That would have killed them. I believed that. I remarked rather wittily as I thought that he had been a lamb all day, but now had all of a sudden developed into a ram—a battery ram. But with dulcet frankness and simplicity he said no. A battering ram was quite a different thing, and not in use now. This was maddening, and I came near bursting out and saying he had no more appreciation of wit than a jackass. In fact I had it right on my tongue, but did not say it, knowing there was no hurry, and I could say it just as well some other time over the telephone. We started to Boston the next afternoon. The smoking compartment in the parlor car was full, and we went into the regular smoker. Across the aisle in the front seat sat a meek, farmer-looking old man with a sickly pallor in his face, and he was holding the door open with his foot to get the air. Presently a big breakman came rushing through, and when he got to the door he stopped, gave the farmer an ugly scowl, then wrenched the door to with such energy as to almost snatch the old man's boot off. Then on he plunged about his business. Several passengers laughed, and the old gentleman looked pathetically shamed and grieved. After a little the conductor passed along, and the major stopped him and asked him a question in his habitually courteous way. Conductor, where does one report the misconduct of a breakman? Does one report to you? You can report him at New Haven if you want to. What has he been doing? The major told the story. The conductor seemed amused. He said, with just a touch of sarcasm in his bland tones, as I understand you, the breakman didn't say anything. No, he didn't say anything. But he scowled, you say. Yes. And snatched the door loose in a rough way. Yes. That's the whole business, is it? Yes, that is the whole of it. The conductor smiled pleasantly and said, Well, if you want to report him all right, but I don't quite make out what it's going to amount to, you'll say, as I understand you, that the breakman insulted this old gentleman. They'll ask you what he said. And you'll say he didn't say anything at all. I reckon they'll say, how are you going to make out an insult when you acknowledge yourself that he didn't say a word? There was a murmur of applause at the conductor's compact reasoning, and it gave him pleasure. You could see it in his face. But the major was not disturbed, he said. There, now you have touched upon a crying defect in the complaint system. The railway officials, as the public think and as you also seem to think, are not aware that there are any kind of insults except spoken ones. So nobody goes to headquarters and reports insults of manner, insults of gesture, look, and so forth, and yet these are sometimes harder to bear than any words. They are bitter hard to bear, because there is nothing tangible to take hold of. And the insulter can always say, if called before the railway officials, that he never dreamed of intending any offence. It seems to me that the officials ought to specially and urgently request the public to report unworded affronts and incivilities. The conductor laughed and said, well, that would be trimming it pretty fine, sure. But not too fine, I think. I will report this matter at New Haven, and I have an idea, that I'll be thanked for it. The conductor's face lost something of its complacency. In fact, it settled to quite a sober cast, as the owner of it moved away. I said, you are not really going to bother with that trifle, are you? It isn't a trifle. Such things ought always to be reported. It is a public duty, and no citizen has a right to shirk it. But I shan't have to report this case. Why, it won't be necessary. Diplomacy will do the business. You'll see. Presently the conductor came on his rounds again, and when he reached the major he leaned over and said, that's all right, you needn't report him. He's responsible to me, and if he does it again, I'll give him a talking to. The major's response was cordial. Now that is what I like. You mustn't think that I was moved by any vengeful spirit, for that wasn't the case. It was duty. Just a sense of duty, that was all. My brother-in-law is one of the directors of the road, and when he learns that you are going to reason with your breakman the very next time he brutally insults an unoffending old man, it will please him. You may be sure of that. The conductor did not look as joyous as one might have thought he would, but on the contrary looked sickly and uncomfortable. He stood around a little, then said, I think something ought to be done to him now. I'll discharge him. Discharge him? What good would that do? Don't you think it would be better wisdom to teach him better ways and keep him? Well, there's something in that. What would you suggest? He insulted the old gentleman in presence of all these people. How would it do to have him come and apologize in their presence? I'll have him here right off, and I want to say this. If people who do as you've done and report such things to me, instead of keeping mum and going off and blackguarding the road, you'd see a different state of things pretty soon. I'm much obliged to you. The breakman came and apologized. After he was gone the major said, Now you see how simple and easy that was. The ordinary citizen would have accomplished nothing. The brother-in-law of a director can accomplish anything he wants to. But are you really the brother-in-law of a director? Always. Always when the public interests require it, I have a brother-in-law on all the boards, everywhere. It saves me a world of trouble. It is a good wide relationship. Yes, I have over three hundred of them. Is the relationship never doubted by a conductor? I have never met with a case. It is the honest truth. I never have. Why didn't you let him go ahead and discharge the breakman, in spite of your favorite policy? You know he deserved it. The major answered with something which really had a sort of distant resemblance to impatience. If you would stop and think a moment, you wouldn't ask such a question as that. Is a breakman a dog that nothing but dog's methods will do for him? He is a man, and has a man's fight for life. And he always has a sister or a mother or wife and children to support. Always there are no exceptions. When you take his living away from him, you take theirs away too. And what have they done to you? Nothing. And where is the profit in discharging an uncourteous breakman and hiring another just like him? It's unwisdom. Don't you see that the rational thing to do is to reform the breakman and keep him? Of course it is. Then he quoted with admiration the conduct of a certain division superintendent of the consolidated road, in a case where a switchman of two years' experience was negligent once and threw a train off the track and killed several people. Citizens came in a passion to urge the man's dismissal, but the superintendent said, No. You are wrong. He has learned his lesson. He will throw no more trains off the track. He is twice as valuable as he was before. I shall keep him. We had only one more adventure on the trip. Between Hartford and Springfield the train boy came shouting in with an arm full of literature and dropped a sample into a slumbering gentleman's lap, and the man woke up with a start. He was very angry, and he and a couple of his friends discussed the outrage with much heat. They sent for the parlor-car conductor and described the matter, and were determined to have the boy expelled from his situation. The three complainants were wealthy Holyoke merchants, and it was evident that the conductor stood in some awe of them. He tried to pacify them and explain that the boy was not under his authority, but under that of one of the news companies. But he accomplished nothing. Then the major volunteered some testimony for the defense. He said, I saw it all. You gentlemen have not meant to exaggerate the circumstances, but still that is what you have done. The boy has done nothing more than all train boys do. If you want to get his ways softened down and his manners reformed, I am with you and ready to help. But it isn't fair to get him discharged without giving him a chance. But they were angry, and would hear of no compromise. They were well acquainted with the President of the Boston and Albany, they said, and would put everything aside next day and go up to Boston and fix that boy. The Major said he would be on hand too, and would do what he could to save the boy. One of the gentlemen looked him over and said, apparently it is going to be a matter of who can wield the most influence with the President. Do you know Mr. Bliss personally? The Major said with composure, yes, he is my uncle. The effect was satisfactory. There was an awkward silence for a minute or more. Then the hedging and the half confessions of overhaste and exaggerated resentment began, and soon everything was smooth and friendly and sociable, and it was resolved to drop the matter and leave the boy's bread and butter unmolested. It turned out as I had expected, the President of the road was not the Major's uncle at all, except by adoption, and for this day and train only. We got into no episodes on the return journey. Probably it was because we took a night train and slept all the way. We left New York Saturday night by the Pennsylvania road. After breakfast, the next morning, we went into the parlor car but found it a dull place and dreary. There were but few people in it and nothing going on. Then we went into the little smoking compartment of the same car and found three gentlemen in there. Two of them were grumbling over one of the rules of the road, a rule which forbade card-playing on the trains on Sunday. They had started an innocent game of High Low Jack and been stopped. The Major was interested. He said to the third gentleman, did you object to the game? Not at all. I am a Yale Professor and a religious man, but my prejudices are not extensive. Then the Major said to the others, you are at perfect liberty to resume your game, gentlemen. No one here objects. One of them declined the risk, but the other one said he would like to begin again if the Major would join him, so they spread an overcoat over their knees and the game proceeded. Pretty soon the parlor car conductor arrived and said brusquely, there, there, gentlemen, that won't do. Put up the cards. It's not allowed. The Major was shuffling. He continued to shuffle and said, by whose order is it forbidden? It's my order. I forbid it. The dealing began. The Major asked, did you invent the idea? What idea? The idea of forbidding card-playing on Sunday. No, of course not. Who did? The company. Then it isn't your order after all, but the company's. Is that it? Yes, but you don't stop playing. I have to require you to stop playing immediately. Nothing is gained by hurry and often much is lost. Who authorized the company to issue such an order? My dear sir, that is a matter of no consequence to me, and but you forget that you are not the only person concerned. It may be a matter of consequence to me. It is indeed a matter of very great importance to me. I cannot violate a legal requirement of my country without dishonoring myself. I cannot allow any man or corporation to hamper my liberties with illegal rules, a thing which railway companies are always trying to do, without dishonoring my citizenship. So I come back to that question. By whose authority has the company issued this order? I don't know. That's their affair. Mine too. I doubt if the company has any right to issue such a rule. This road runs through several states. Do you know what state we are in now, and what its laws are in matters of this kind? Its laws do not concern me, but the company's orders do. It is my duty to stop this game, gentlemen, and it must be stopped. Possibly. But still there is no hurry. In hotels they post certain rules in the rooms, but they always quote passages from the state law as authority for these requirements. I see nothing posted here of this sort. Please produce your authority and let us arrive at a decision, for you see yourself that you are marring the game. I have nothing of the kind, but I have my orders, and that is sufficient. They must be obeyed. Let us not jump to conclusions. It will be better all around to examine into the matter without heat or haste, and see just where we stand before either of us makes a mistake. For the curtailing of the liberties of a citizen of the United States is a much more serious matter than you and the railroads seem to think, and it cannot be done in my person until the curtailer proves his right to do so. Now, my dear sir, will you put down those cards? All in good time, perhaps. It depends. You say this order must be obeyed. Must. It is a strong word. You see yourself how strong it is. A wise company would not arm you with so drastic an order as this, of course, without appointing a penalty for its infringement. Otherwise it runs the risk of being a dead letter and a thing to laugh at. What is the appointed penalty for an infringement of this law? Penalty? I never heard of any. Unquestionably you must be mistaken. Your company orders you to come here and rudely break up an innocent amusement and furnishes you no way to enforce the order. Don't you see that that is nonsense? What do you do when people refuse to obey this order? Do you take the cards away from them? No. Do you put the offender off at the next station? Well, no. Of course we couldn't if he had a ticket. Do you have him up before a court? The conductor was silent and apparently troubled. The major started a new deal and said, you see that you are helpless and that the company has placed you in a foolish position. You are furnished with an arrogant order and you deliver it in a blustering way, and when you come to look into the matter you find you haven't any way of enforcing obedience. The conductor said with chilly dignity, gentlemen, you have heard the order and my duty is ended. As to obeying it or not, you will do as you think fit, and he turned to leave. But wait! The matter is not yet finished. I think you are mistaken about your duty being ended, but if it really is, I myself have a duty to perform. How do you mean? Are you going to report my disobedience at headquarters in Pittsburgh? No, what good would that do? Well, you must report me, or I will report you. Report me for what? For disobeying the company's orders in not stopping this game. As a citizen it is my duty to help the railway companies keep their servants to their work. Are you in earnest? Yes, I am in earnest. I have nothing against you as a man, but I have this against you as an officer that you have not carried out that order, and if you do not report me, I must report you, and I will. The conductor looked puzzled, and was thoughtful for a moment. Then he burst out with, I seem to be getting myself into a scrape. It's all a muddle. I can't make head or tail of it. It's never happened before. They all was knocked under and never said a word, and so I never saw how ridiculous that stupid order with no penalty is. I don't want to report anybody, and I don't want to be reported. Why, it might do me no end of harm. Now, do go on with the game. Play the whole day if you want to, and don't let's have any more trouble about it. No, I only sat down here to establish this gentleman's rights. He can have his place now, but before you go, won't you tell me what you think the company made this rule for? Can you imagine an excuse for it? I mean a rational one, an excuse that is not on its face silly, and the invention of an idiot. Why, surely I can. The reason it was made is plain enough. It is to save the feelings of the other passengers, the religious ones amongst them, I mean. They would not like it to have the Sabbath desecrated by card playing on the train. I just thought as much. They are willing to desecrate it themselves by travelling on Sunday, but they are not willing that other people by gracious you've hit it. I never thought of that before. The fact is, it is a silly rule when you come to look into it. At this point the train conductor arrived, and was going to shut down the game in a very high-handed fashion, but the parlor-car conductor stopped him, and took him aside to explain. Nothing more was heard of the matter. I was ill in bed eleven days in Chicago, and got no glimpse of the fare, for I was obliged to return east, as soon as I was able to travel. The major secured and paid for a state room in a sleeper the day before we left, so that I could have plenty of room and be comfortable. But when we arrived at the station a mistake had been made, and our car had not been put on. The conductor had reserved a section for us. It was the best he could do, he said. But the major said we were not in a hurry, and would wait for the car to be put on. The conductor responded with pleasant irony. It may be that you are not in a hurry, just as you say, but we are. Come, get aboard, gentlemen, get aboard. Don't keep us waiting. But the major would not get aboard himself, nor allow me to do it. He wanted his car, and said he must have it. This made the hurried and perspiring conductor impatient, and he said, it's the best we can do. We can't do impossibilities. You will take the section, or go without. A mistake has been made and can't be rectified at this late hour. It's the thing that happens now and then, and there is nothing for it, but to put up with it and make the best of it. Other people do. Ah, that is just it, you see. If they had stuck to their rights and enforced them, you wouldn't be trying to trample mine underfoot in this bland way now. I haven't any disposition to give you unnecessary trouble. But it is my duty to protect the next man from this kind of imposition, so I must have my car. Otherwise, I will wait in Chicago and sue the company for violating its contract. Sue the company for a thing like that? Certainly. Do really mean that? Indeed I do. The conductor looked the major over, wonderingly, and then said, it beats me. It's brand new. I've never struck the mate to it before. But I swear I think you'd do it. Look here, I'll send for the station master. When the station master came, he was a good deal annoyed. At the major. Not at the person who had made the mistake. He was rather brusque, and took the same position which the conductor had taken in the beginning. But he failed to move the soft-spoken artillery man who still insisted that he must have his car. However, it was plain that there was only one strong side in this case, and that that side was the majors. The station master banished his annoyed manner, and became pleasant and even half apologetic. This made a good opening for a compromise, and the major made a concession. He said he would give up the engaged state room, but he must have a state room. After a deal of ransacking, one was found whose owner was persuadable. He exchanged it for our section, and we got away at last. The conductor called on us in the evening, and was kind and courteous and obliging, and we had a long talk and got to be good friends. He said he wished the public would make trouble oftener. It would have a good effect. He said that the railroads could not be expected to do their whole duty by the traveller, unless the traveller would take some interest in the matter himself. I hoped that we were done reforming for the trip now, but it was not so. In the hotel car, in the morning, the major called for broiled chicken. The waiter said, it's not in the bill of fare, sir. We do not serve anything but what is in the bill. That gentleman yonder is eating a broiled chicken. Yes, but that is different. He is one of the superintendents of the road. Then all the more must I have broiled chicken. I do not like these discriminations. Please hurry. Bring me a broiled chicken. The waiter brought the steward, who explained in a low and polite voice that the thing was impossible. It was against the rule, and the rule was rigid. Very well. Then you must either apply it impartially, or break it impartially. You must take that gentleman's chicken away from him, or bring me one. The steward was puzzled, and did not quite know what to do. He began an incoherent argument, but the conductor came along just then and asked what the difficulty was. The steward explained that here was a gentleman who was insisting on having a chicken when it was dead against the rule and not in the bill. The conductor said, stick by your rules, you haven't any option. Wait a minute, is this the gentleman? Then he laughed and said, never mind your rules, it's my advice and sound. Give him anything he wants. Don't get him started on his rights. Give him whatever he asks for, and if you haven't got it, stop the train and get it. The major ate the chicken, but said he did it from a sense of duty, and to establish a principle, for he did not like chicken. I missed the fair, it is true, but I picked up some diplomatic tricks which I, and the reader, may find handy and useful as we go along. Chapter 5 Private History of the Jumping Frog Story Read by John Greenman Private History of the Jumping Frog Story Five or six years ago a lady from Finland asked me to tell her a story in our Negro dialect so that she could get an idea of what that variety of speech was like. I told her one of Hopkinson Smith's Negro stories and gave her a copy of Harper's Monthly containing it. She translated it for a Swedish newspaper, but by an oversight named me as the author of it, instead of Smith. I was very sorry for that, because I got a good lashing in the Swedish press, which would have fallen to his share but for that mistake, for it was shown that Boccaccio had told that very story in his curt and meager fashion five hundred years before Smith took hold of it and made a good and tellable thing out of it. I have always been sorry for Smith, but my own turn has come now. A few weeks ago Professor Van Dyke of Princeton asked this question, Do you know how old your jumping frog story is? And I answered, Yes, forty-five years. The thing happened in Calaveras County in the spring of 1849. No, it happened earlier, a couple of thousand years earlier. It is a Greek story. I was astonished and hurt. I said, I am willing to be a literary thief if it has been so ordained. I am even willing to be caught robbing the ancient dead alongside of Hopkinson Smith, for he is my friend and a good fellow, and I think would be as honest as anyone if he could do it without occasioning remark. But I am not willing to antidate his crimes by 1500 years. I must ask you to knock off part of that. But the Professor was not chafing. He was in earnest and could not abate a century. He named the Greek author and offered to get the book and send it to me and the college textbook containing the English translation also. I thought I would like the translation best because Greek makes me tired. January thirtieth he sent me the English version and I will presently insert it in this article. It is my jumping frog tale in every essential. It is not strung out as I have strung it out, but it is all there. To me this is very curious and interesting, curious for several reasons. For instance, I heard the story told by a man who was not telling it to his hearers as a thing new to them, but as a thing which they had witnessed and would remember. He was a dull person and ignorant. He had no gift as a storyteller and no invention. In his mouth this episode was merely history, history and statistics, and the gravest sort of history too. He was entirely serious, for he was dealing with what to him were austere facts, and they interested him solely because they were facts. He was drawing on his memory, not his mind. He saw no humor in his tale. Neither did his listeners. Neither he nor they ever smiled or laughed. In my time I have not attended a more solemn conference. To him and to his fellow gold-miners there were just two things in the story that were worth considering. One was the smartness of the stranger in taking in its hero, Jim Smiley, with a loaded frog, and the other was the stranger's deep knowledge of a frog's nature, for he knew, as the narrator asserted and the listeners conceded, that a frog likes shot and is always ready to eat it. Those men discussed those two points, and those only. They were hearty in their admiration of them, and none of the party was aware that a first rate story had been told in a first rate way, and that it was brimful of a quality whose presence they never suspected humor. Now then, the interesting question is, did the frog episode happen in Angel's Camp in the spring of 49, as told in my hearing that day in the fall of 1865? I am perfectly sure that it did. I am also sure that its duplicate happened in Biotia a couple of thousand years ago. I think it must be a case of history actually repeating itself, and not a case of a good story floating down the ages and surviving because too good to be allowed to perish. I would now like to have the reader examine the Greek story and the story told by the dull and solemn Californian, and observe how exactly alike they are in essentials. TRANSLATION The Athenian and the Frog Sedgwick, Greek prose composition page 116 An Athenian once fell in with a Boetian who was sitting by the roadside looking at a frog. Seeing the other approach, the Boetian said, His was a remarkable frog, and asked if he would agree to start a contest of frogs on condition that he whose frog jumped farthest should receive a large sum of money. The Athenian replied that he would if the other would fetch him a frog, for the lake was near. To this he agreed, and when he was gone the Athenian took the frog, and opening its mouth poured some stones into its stomach so that it did not indeed seem larger than before, but could not jump. The Boetian soon returned with the other frog, and the contest began. The second frog first was pinched, and jumped moderately. Then they pinched the Boetian frog, and he gathered himself for a leap, and used the utmost effort, but he could not move his body the least, so the Athenian departed with the money. When he was gone the Boetian, wondering what was the matter with the frog, lifted him up and examined him, and being turned upside down, he opened his mouth and vomited out the stones. And here is the way it happened in California, from the celebrated jumping frog of Calaveras County. Well, this year Smiley had rat terriers, and chicken cocks, and tomcats, and all of them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on, but he'd match you. He catched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he calculated to educate him. And so he never done nothing for three months, but sat in his backyard, and learned that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a donut. See him turn one summer slot, or maybe a couple if he got a good start, and come down flatfooted and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in practice so constant that he'd nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all the frog wanted was education, and he could do most anything, and I didn't believe him. Why, I've seen him sat Daniel Webster down here on this floor. Daniel Webster was the name of the frog, and seeing out flies, Daniel flies, and quick and you could wink, he'd spring straight up and snake a fly off in the counter there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot, as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doing any more than any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightforward as he was for all he was so gifted, and when it comes to fire and squire jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand, and when it came to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be. For fellers that had traveled and been everywhere all said he laid over any frog that ever they see. Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him downtown sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller, a stranger in the camp, he was, come across to him with his box and says, what might it be that you got in the box? And Smiley says, sort of indifferent like, it might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't. It's only just a frog. And the feller took it and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, hmm, so it is. Well, what's he good for? Well, Smiley says, easy and careless. He's good enough for one thing, I should judge. He can out jump any frog in Calvarez County. The feller took the box again and took another long particular look and gave it back to Smiley and says, very deliberate. Well, he says, I don't see no pints about that frog, that's any better than any other frog. Maybe you don't, Smiley says. Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you don't understand them. Maybe you've had experience and maybe you ain't only amateur as it were. Anyways, I got my opinion and I'll risk $40 that he can out jump any frog in Calvarez County. And the feller studies a minute and then says, kinder, sad, like, wow, I'm only a stranger here and I ain't got no frog, but if I had a frog I'd betcha. Then Smiley says, that's all right, that's all right. If you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog. And so the feller took the box and put up his $40 along with Smiley's and sat down to wait. So he sat there a good while thinking and thinking to his self. Then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full of a quail shot, filled him pretty near up to his chin and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time. And finally he catched a frog and fetched him in and give him to this feller and says, now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Daniel with his fore paws just even with Daniel's and I'll give the word. Then he says, one, two, three, get! And him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind and the new frog hopped off lively. But Daniel gave a heave and heisted up his shoulders so, like a Frenchman, but it weren't no use. He couldn't budge. He was planted as solid as a church and he couldn't no more stir and he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course. The feller took the money and started away and when he was going out at the door he sort of jerked his thumb over his shoulder, so at Daniel and says again, very deliberate, wow, he says, I don't see no pints about that frog, that's any better than any other frog. Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Daniel a long time and at last he says, I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for. I wonder if there ain't something to matter with him. He appears to look mighty baggy somehow and he catched Daniel by the nap of the neck and hefted him and says, why, blame my cats if he don't weigh five pound and turned him upside down and he belched out a double handful of shot. Then he see how it was and he was the maddest man. He set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never catched him. The resemblances are deliciously exact. There you have the wily Boetian and the wily Jim Smiley waiting two thousand years apart and waiting, each equipped with his frog and laying for the stranger. A contest is proposed for money. The Athenian would take a chance if the other would fetch him a frog. The Yankee says, I'm only a stranger here and I ain't got no frog but if I had a frog I'd bet you. The wily Boetian and the wily Californian with that vast gulf of two thousand years between retire eagerly and go frogging in the marsh. The Athenian and the Yankee remain behind and work a base advantage. The one with pebbles, the other with shot. Presently the contest began. In the one case they pinched the Boetian frog. In the other him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind. The Boetian frog gathered himself for a leap. You can just see him. But could not move his body in the least. The Californian frog give a heave, but it warn't no use. He couldn't budge. In both the ancient and the modern cases the strangers departed with the money. The Boetian and the Californian wonder what is the matter with their frogs. They lift them and examine. They turn them upside down and out spills the informing ballast. Yes, the resemblances are curiously exact. I used to tell the story of the jumping frog in San Francisco and presently Artemis Ward came along and wanted it to help fill out a little book which he was about to publish. So I wrote it out and sent it to his publisher, Carlton. But Carlton thought the book had enough matter in it, so he gave the story to Henry Clap as a present and Clap put it in his Saturday press, and it killed that paper with a suddenness that was beyond praise. At least the paper died with that issue, and none but envious people have ever tried to rob me of the honor and credit of killing it. The jumping frog was the first piece of writing of mine that spread itself through the newspapers and brought me into public notice. Consequently the Saturday press was a cocoon and I the worm in it. Also I was the gay colored literary moth which its death set free. This simile has been used before. Early in 66 the jumping frog was issued in book form with other sketches of mine. A year or two later Madame Blanc translated it into French and published it in the Revue des Demons. But the result was not what should have been expected, for the Revue struggled along and pulled through and is alive yet. I think the fault must have been in the translation. I ought to have translated it myself. I think so because I examined into the matter and finally re-translated the sketch from the French back into English to see what the trouble was, that is to see just what sort of a focus the French people got upon it. Then the mystery was explained. In French the story is too confused and chaotic and unreposeful and ungrammatical and insane. Consequently it could only cause grief and sickness. It could not kill. A glance at my re-translation will show the reader that this must be true. My re-translation. The frog jumping of the county of Calaveras. Eh bien! This smiley nourished some terriers, ah rats, and some cocks of combat, and some cats, and all sort of things. And with his rage of betting one no had more of repose. He trapped one day a frog and had him imported with him a l'importeur chéri, saying that he pretended to make his education. You, me, believe, if you will, but during three months he not has nothing done but to him apprehend to jump, apprendre à sauter, in a court retired of her mansion de sa maison, and I, you respond, that he have succeeded. He him gives a small blow by behind, and the instant after you shall see the frog turn in the air like a grease biscuit, make one somersault, sometimes two, when she was well started, and refall upon his feet like a cat. He him had accomplished in the art of to gobble the flies, gobet de mouche, and him there exercised continually, so well that a fly at the most far that she appeared was a fly lost. Smiley had custom to say that all which lacked to a frog it was the education, but with the education she could do nearly all, and I him believe. Tene, I him have seen pose Daniel Webster there upon this plank. Daniel Webster was the name of the frog, and him sing, Some flies, Daniel, some flies. In a flash of the eye Daniel had bounded and seized a fly here upon the counter, then jumped anew at the earth, where he rested truly to himself. Scratch the head with his behind foot, as if he no had not the least idea of his superiority. Never you not have seen frog as modest, as natural, sweet as she was. And when he himself agitated to jump purely and simply upon plain earth, she does more ground in one jump than any beast of his species than you can know. To jump plain this was his strong. When he himself agitated for that, Smiley multiplied the bets upon her as long as there to him remained a red. It must to know Smiley was monstrously proud of his frog, and he of it was right. For some men who were traveled, who had all seen, said that they to him would be injurious to him compared to another frog. Smiley guarded Daniel in a little box lattice, which he carried betimes to the village for some bet. One day an individual stranger at the camp, him arrested with his box and him said, What is this that you have then shot up there within? Smiley said, with an air indifferent. That could be a paracet, or a syringe, but this no is nothing of such. It not is, but a frog. The individual it took, it regarded with care. It turned from one side and from the other. Then he said, Tia, in effect, at what is she good? My God! responded Smiley, always with an air disengaged. She is good for one thing to my notice, Amunavi. She can batter in jumping. Elle peut batter en sautant. All frogs of the county of Calaveras. The individual retook the box, it examined of new longly, and it rendered to Smiley in saying, with an air deliberate, Eh bien! I know saw not that that frog had nothing of better than each frog. Je me vois pas que cette grenouille est rien de mieux qu'aucune grenouille. If that isn't grammar gone to seed, then I count myself no judge. M. T. Possible that you not, it saw not. Said Smiley. Possible that you, you comprehend frogs. Possible that you, not you there, comprehend nothing. Possible that you had of the experience, and possible that you not be but an amateur. Of all manner, de toute manière, I bet forty dollars that she batter in jumping no matter which frog of the county of Calaveras. The individual reflected a second, and said, like sad, I not am but a stranger here. I know have not a frog. But if I of it had one, I would embrace the bet. Strong well, responds Smiley. Nothing of more facility. If you will hold my box a minute, I go you to search a frog. Behold, then, the individual who guards the box, who puts his forty dollars upon those of Smiley, and who attends, a qui attend. He attended enough long times, reflecting all solely, and figure you that he takes Daniel. Him opens the mouth by force, and with a teaspoon him fills with shot of the hunt. Even him fills just to the chin. Then he him puts by the earth. Smiley, during these times, was at slopping in a swamp. Finally he trapped a trap, a frog. Him carried to that individual, and said, Now, if you be ready, put him all against Daniel, with their before feet upon the same line. And I give the signal. Then he added, One, two, three, advance. Him and the individual touched their frogs by behind, and the frog knew, put to jump smartly. But Daniel, himself lifted ponderously, exalted the shoulders thus like a Frenchman. To what good? He could not budge. He is planted solid, like a church. He not advance no more than if one him had put at the anchor. Smiley was surprised, and disgusted, but he not himself doubted not of the turn being intended. The individual, and pocketed the silver, himself with it went, and of it himself, in going, is that he now gives not a jerk of thumb over the shoulder, like that, at the poor Daniel, in saying, with his air deliberate. Eh bien! I know, see not, that that frog has nothing of better than another. Smiley himself scratched long time the head, the eyes fixed upon Daniel, until that which at last he said, I me demand how the devil it makes itself that this beast has refused. Is it that she had something? One would believe that she is stuffed. He grasped Daniel by the skin of the neck, him lifted and said, the wolf may bite if he know way not five pounds. He him reversed, and the unhappy belched two handfuls of shot. When Smiley recognized how it was, he was like mad. He deposited his frog by the earth and ran after that individual, but he not him caught never. It may be that there are people who can translate better than I can, but I am not acquainted with them. So ends the private and public history of the jumping frog of Calaveras County, an incident which has this unique feature about it, that it is both old and new, a chestnut and not a chestnut, for it was original when it happened two thousand years ago, and was again original, when it happened in California, in our own time. End of Chapter 5 Private History of the Jumping Frog Story, read by John Greenman. Section 8 of How to Tell a Story and Other Essays by Mark Twain. I have three or four curious incidents to tell about. They seem to come under the head of what I named Mental Telegraphy in a paper written seventeen years ago and published long afterwards. The paper entitled Mental Telegraphy, which originally appeared in Harper's Magazine for December 1893, is included in the volume entitled The American Claimant and Other Stories and Sketches. Several years ago I made a campaign on the platform with Mr. George W. Cable. In Montreal we were honored with a reception. It began at two in the afternoon in a long drawing room in the Windsor Hotel. Mr. Cable and I stood at one end of this room, and the ladies and gentlemen entered it at the other end, crossed it at that end, then came up the long left-hand side, shook hands with us, said a word or two, and passed on in the usual way. My sight is of the telescopic sort, and I presently recognized a familiar face among the throng of strangers drifting in at the distant door, and I said to myself, with surprise and high gratification, that is Mrs. R. I had forgotten that she was a Canadian. She had been a great friend of mine in Carson City, Nevada, in the early days. I had not seen her or heard of her for twenty years. I had not been thinking about her. There was nothing to suggest her to me, nothing to bring her to my mind. In fact to me she had long ago ceased to exist, and had disappeared from my consciousness. But I knew her instantly, and I saw her so clearly that I was able to note some of the particulars of her dress, and did note them, and they remained in my mind. I was impatient for her to come. In the midst of the handshakings I snatched glimpses of her and noted her progress with the slow-moving file across the end of the room. Then I saw her start up the side, and this gave me a full front view of her face. I saw her last when she was within twenty-five feet of me. For an hour I kept thinking she must still be in the room somewhere and would come at last. But I was disappointed. When I arrived in the lecture hall that evening, someone said, Come into the waiting-room. There's a friend of yours there who wants to see you. You'll not be introduced. You are to do the recognizing without help, if you can. I said to myself, It is Mrs. R. I shan't have any trouble. There were perhaps ten ladies present, all seated. In the midst of them was Mrs. R. as I had expected. She was dressed exactly as she was when I had seen her in the afternoon. I went forward and shook hands with her and called her by name and said, I knew you the moment you appeared at the reception this afternoon. She looked surprised and said, But I was not at the reception. I have just arrived from Quebec and have not been in town an hour. It was my turn to be surprised now. I said, I can't help it. I give you my word of honor that it is as I say. I saw you at the reception and you were dressed precisely as you are now. When they told me a moment ago that I should find a friend in this room, your image rose before me, dress and all, just as I had seen you at the reception. Those are the facts. She was not at the reception at all, or anywhere near it. But I saw her there nevertheless, and most clearly and unmistakably. To that I could make an oath. How is one to explain this? I was not thinking of her at the time, had not thought of her for years. But she had been thinking of me, no doubt. Did her thoughts flit through leagues of air to me and bring with it that clear and pleasant vision of herself? I think so. That was, and remains, my sole experience in the matter of apparitions—I mean, apparitions that come when one is ostensibly awake. I could have been asleep for a moment. The apparition could have been the creature of a dream. Still, that is nothing to the point. The feature of interest is the happening of the thing just at that time, instead of at an earlier or later time, which is argument that its origin lay in thought transference. My next incident will be set aside by most persons as being merely a coincidence, I suppose. Years ago I used to think sometimes of making a lecturing trip through the antipodes and the borders of the Orient, but always gave up the idea, partly because of the great length of the journey, and partly because my wife could not well managed to go with me. Towards the end of last January, that idea, after an interval of years, came suddenly into my head again, forcefully too, and without any apparent reason. Whence came it? What suggested it? I will touch upon that presently. I was, at that time, where I am now, in Paris. I wrote at once to Henry M. Stanley, London, and asked him some questions about his Australian lecture tour, and inquired who had conducted him and what were the terms. After a day or two his answer came. It began, the lecture agent for Australia and New Zealand is par excellence Mr. R. S. Smythe of Melbourne. He added his itinerary, terms, sea expenses, and some other matters, and advised me to write Mr. Smythe, which I did February 3. I began my letter by saying in substance that, while he did not know me personally, we had a mutual friend in Stanley, and that would answer for an introduction. Then I proposed my trip, and asked if he would give me the same terms which he had given Stanley. I mailed my letter to Mr. Smythe February 6, and three days later I got a letter from the self-same Smythe dated Melbourne December 17. I would as soon have expected to get a letter from the late George Washington. The letter began, somewhat as mine to him had begun, with a self-introduction. Dear Mr. Clemens, it is so long since Archibald Forbes and I spent that pleasant afternoon in your comfortable house at Hartford that you have probably quite forgotten the occasion. In the course of his letter this occurs. I am willing to give you—here he named the terms which he had given Stanley—for an Antipodian tour to last, say, three months. Here was the single essential detail of my letter answered three days after I had mailed my inquiry. I might have saved myself the trouble and the postage, and a few years ago I would have done that very thing, for I would have argued that my sudden and strong impulse to write and ask some question of a stranger, on the underside of the globe, meant that the impulse came from that stranger and that he would answer my questions of his own motion if I would let him alone. Mr. Smythe's letter probably passed under my nose on its way to lose three weeks travelling to America and back and gave me a whiff of its contents as it went along. Letters often act like that. Instead of the thought coming to you in an instant from Australia, the apparently unsensient letter imparts it to you as it glides invisibly past your elbow in the mail-bag. Next incident, in the following month, March, I was in America. I spent a Sunday at Irvington on the Hudson with Mr. John Brisbane Walker of the Cosmopolitan Magazine. We came into New York next morning and went to the Century Club for luncheon. He said some praiseful things about the character of the club and the orderly serenity and pleasantness of its quarters and asked if I had never tried to acquire membership in it. I said I had not, and that New York clubs were a continuous expense to the country members without being of frequent use or benefit to them. And now I've got an idea, said I. There's the Lotus. The first New York club I was ever a member of, my very earliest love in that line. I have been a member of it for considerably more than twenty years, yet have seldom had a chance to look in and see the boys. They turn gray and grow old while I am not watching. And my dues go on. I am going to Hartford this afternoon for a day or two, but as soon as I get back I will go to John Elderkin, very privately, and say, remember the veteran and confer distinction upon him for the sake of old times. Make me an honorary member and abolish the tax. If you haven't any such thing as honorary membership, all the better. Create it for my honor and glory. That would be a great thing. I will go to John Elderkin as soon as I get back from Hartford. I took the last express that afternoon, first telegraphing Mr. F. G. Whitmore to come and see me next day. When he came he asked, did you get a letter from Mr. John Elderkin, Secretary of the Lotus Club, before you left New York? No. Then it just missed you. If I had known you were coming, I would have kept it. It is beautiful, and will make you proud. The Board of Directors, by unanimous vote, have made you a life member, and squelched those dues. And you are to be on hand and receive your distinction on the night of the thirtieth, which is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of the club. And it will not surprise me if they have some great times there. What put the honorary membership in my head that day in the Century Club? For I had never thought of it before. I don't know what brought the thought to me at that particular time, instead of earlier, but I am well satisfied that it originated with the Board of Directors, and had been on its way to my brain through the air ever since the moment that saw their vote recorded. Another incident. I was in Hartford two or three days as a guest of the Reverend Joseph H. Twitchell. I have held the rank of honorary uncle to his children for a quarter of a century, and I went out with him in the trolley-car to visit one of his nieces, who is at Miss Porter's famous school in Farmington. The distance is eight or nine miles. On the way, talking, I illustrated something with an anecdote. This is the anecdote. Two years and a half ago I and the family arrived at Milan on our way to Rome and stopped at the Continental. After dinner I went below and took a seat in the stone-paved court where the customary lemon-trees stand in the customary tubs, and said to myself, now this is comfort, comfort and repose, and nobody to disturb it. I do not know anybody in Milan. Then a young gentleman stepped up and shook hands, which damaged my theory. He said in substance, you won't remember me, Mr. Clemens, but I remember you very well. I was a cadet at West Point when you and Reverend Joseph H. Twitchell came there some years ago and talked to us on the hundredth night. I am a lieutenant in the regular army now, and my name is H. I am in Europe all alone for a modest little tour. My regiment is in Arizona. We became friendly and sociable, and in the course of the talk he told me of an adventure which had befallen him about to this effect. I was at Bellagio stopping up the big hotel there, and ten days ago I lost my letter of credit. I did not know what in the world to do. I was a stranger. I knew no one in Europe. I hadn't a penny in my pocket. I couldn't even send a telegram to London to get my lost letter replaced. My hotel bill was a week old, and the presentation of it imminent, so imminent that it could happen at any moment now. I was so frightened that my wits seemed to leave me. I tramped and tramped back and forth, like a crazy person. If anybody approached me, I hurried away, for no matter what a person looked like, I took him for the head waiter with the bill. I was at last in such a desperate state that I was ready to do any wild thing that promised even the shadow of help, and so this is the insane thing that I did. I saw a family lunching at a small table on the veranda and recognized their nationality, Americans, father, mother, and several young daughters, young, tastefully dressed, and pretty, the rule with our people. I went straight there in my civilian costume, named my name, said I was a lieutenant in the army, and told my story and asked for help. What do you suppose the gentleman did, but you would not guess in twenty years. He took out a handful of gold coin and told me to help myself, freely. That is what he did. The next morning the lieutenant told me his new letter of credit had arrived in the night, so we strolled to Cook's to draw money, to pay back the benefactor with. We got it, and then went strolling through the great arcade. Presently he said, yonder they are, come and be introduced. I was introduced to the parents and the young ladies. Then we separated, and I never saw him or them anymo— Here we are at Farmington, said Twitchell, interrupting. We left the trolley-car, and tramped through the mud a hundred yards or so to the school, talking about the time we and Warner walked out there years ago and the pleasant time we had. We had a visit with my niece in the parlor, then started for the trolley again. Outside the house we encountered a double rank of twenty or thirty of Miss Porter's young ladies arriving from a walk, and we stood aside, ostensibly to let them have room to file past, but really to look at them. Presently one of them stepped out of the rank and said, you don't know me, Mr. Twitchell, but I know your daughter, and that gives me the privilege of shaking hands with you. Then she put out her hand to me and said, and I wish to shake hands with you too, Mr. Clemens. You don't remember me, but you were introduced to me in the arcade in Milan, two years and a half ago, by Lieutenant H. What had put that story into my head after all that stretch of time? Was it just the proximity of that young girl, or was it merely an odd accident? End of Chapter 6 Mental Telegraphy again, read by John Greenman.