Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1881-01-06
The Living ObelIsk.

Under ordinary circumstances, says
the Hartford correspondent of the New
York Sun, under date of Dec. 26th, 1t
would no doubt be judiciOus to with
hold from the public the information
which I am about to comm unicate.
But as exaggerated accounts Of Mr..
Mark Twain's present condition are
already in circulation in Hartford,
Conn.,, and as these false reports are
likely, sooner or later, to reach the ears
of the humorist's friends in other parts
of the country, causing them greater
solcitude than the true facts warrant,
it seems best to publish an accurate and
authentic statement of the case.
1t is we'll known that Mr.. Clemens is
subject to protracted spells of profound
melancholy, usually eliminating in
hallucinations of the most bizarre char
acter. After one of these attacks he
was seized with a sudden and unac-
countable but intense hatred for a bust
of Calvin, presented to Mrs. Clemens Oh
her wedding day by her uncle, a cler-
gyman. Mark Twain fancied that this
harmless image meant to do him evil;
and after heaping contumely on his foe
by disfiguring the plaster face with
linked mustachious and goatee, he at
last put an end to the imaginary feud
and to the bust by demOlishing it with
a poker. At another time Twain be-
lieved himself to be the real editor of
Gen. Joe Hawley's newspaper. the
Courant, and his illusion led to some
complications that would have been
amusing if they had not been Sc
rious. Again, it is said, he tried to
take up collection along the middle
aisle of the Rev Joe Twitchell's church,
at the moment fancying himself dea-
con. By similar illusions he has been
led at times to attempt an active part
in politics.
Although aware that ever since his
speech at the Grant reception Mr..
Clemens has been suffering from mel
ancholia, I did not know until this
morning what form the attack had TAX
en-. I met Mr.. j, common friend
Of mine and Clemens's in front of the
Post Office. "Have you been up to
Twain's lately?" he asked. "No" said
I. SIS anything tho natter" "Well,
you had better go up and see," he re-
piled with significant motion of his
right forefinger.
So proceeded through the damp,
chilly air and slushy mud of Christmas
morning to Twain's bright red mansion
and rang the door bell. Was Mr..
Clemens at home? No, not exactly.
That was to say, he wasn't in the
house: / might find him yonder i'm the
north yard, behind the barn. 1 turned
up the bottoms of my trousers, and
trudged through the mud and snow to
the place indicated by the domestic.
There discovered the humorist, stand
ing on an empty dry goods box. His
posture was very erect. His arms were
tightly pressed against his sides. He
wore long ulster, reaching to his an
kles, and on his head high peaked
hat, procured during his travels in the
Tyrol. His face was solemn.
.sHello, Mark" said 1: "what are
you doing on that box? Merry Christ
mas"
He stifly inclined his head. Didn't
you know" he demanded, in slow,
grave tones, "that I antedate the
Christian era by many centuries?
What in thunder you mean by talking
Christmas in my presence?"
"Come, come," said /, mo joking.
Get down off the box and go in where
it's warm"
"If you refer to the pedestal" he re-
piled. Il can't get down unless I'm
lowered. And as to the temperature,
it has little effect on a monolith, season.
ed as am seasoned"
"You look like a monolith," }" admit
ted, "in that ulster and that hat"
"You really think SOP" he eagerly
asked, His features relaxed to an ex-
preston something like complacency,
and he sat down upon the edge of the
box and began to drum against the side
with his heels. "You really believe
I'm the genuine, only original obe-
lisk?"