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extent at the result。 We simply claim the right to deny the truth
of every statement made by him in yesterday's paper； to annul all
apologies he coined as coming from us； and to hold him up to public
commiseration as a reptile endowed with no more intellect； no more
cultivation； no more Christian principle than animates and adorns
the sportive jackass…rabbit of the Sierras。 We have done。
These were the things that enlivened Comstock journalism。 Once in a
boxing bout Mark Twain got a blow on the nose which caused it to swell to
an unusual size and shape。 He went out of town for a few days； during
which De Quille published an extravagant account of his misfortune；
describing the nose and dwelling on the absurdity of Mark Twain's ever
supposing himself to be a boxer。
De Quille scored heavily with this item but his own doom was written。
Soon afterward he was out riding and was thrown from his horse and
bruised considerably。
This was Mark's opportunity。 He gave an account of Dan's disaster； then；
commenting； he said：
The idea of a plebeian like Dan supposing he could ever ride a
horse！ He！ why； even the cats and the chickens laughed when they
saw him go by。 Of course； he would be thrown off。 Of course； any
well…bred horse wouldn't let a common； underbred person like Dan
stay on his back！ When they gathered him up he was just a bag of
scraps； but they put him together； and you'll find him at his old
place in the Enterprise office next week； still laboring under the
delusion that he's a newspaper man。
The author of 'Roughing It' tells of a literary periodical called the
Occidental； started in Virginia City by a Mr。 F。 This was the silver…
tongued Tom Fitch； of the Union； an able speaker and writer； vastly
popular on the Coast。 Fitch came to Clemens one day and said he was
thinking of starting such a periodical and asked him what he thought of
the venture。 Clemens said：
〃You would succeed if any one could； but start a flower…garden on the
desert of Sahara； set up hoisting…works on Mount Vesuvius for mining
sulphur； start a literary paper in Virginia City； hl！〃
Which was a correct estimate of the situation； and the paper perished
with the third issue。 It was of no consequence except that it contained
what was probably the first attempt at that modern literary abortion； the
composite novel。 Also； it died too soon to publish Mark Twain's first
verses of any pretension； though still of modest merit〃The Aged Pilot
Man〃which were thereby saved for 'Roughing It。'
Visiting Virginia now； it seems curious that any of these things could
have happened there。 The Comstock has become little more than a memory；
Virginia and Gold Hill are so quiet； so voiceless； as to constitute
scarcely an echo of the past。 The International Hotel； that once so
splendid edifice； through whose portals the tide of opulent life then
ebbed and flowed； is all but deserted now。 One may wander at will
through its dingy corridors and among its faded fripperies； seeking in
vain for attendance or hospitality； the lavish welcome of a vanished day。
Those things were not lacking once； and the stream of wealth tossed up
and down the stair and billowed up C Street； an ebullient tide of metals
and men from which millionaires would be struck out； and individuals
known in national affairs。 William M。 Stewart who would one day become a
United States Senator； was there； an unnoticed unit； and John Mackay and
James G。 Fair； one a senator by and by； and both millionaires； but poor
enough thenFair with a pick on his shoulder and Mackay； too； at first；
though he presently became a mine superintendent。 Once in those days
Mark Twain banteringly offered to trade businesses with Mackay。
〃No；〃 Mackay said； 〃I can't trade。 My business is not worth as much as
yours。 I have never swindled anybody； and I don't intend to begin now。〃
Neither of those men could dream that within ten years their names would
be international property； that in due course Nevada would propose
statues to their memory。
Such things came out of the Comstock； such things spring out of every
turbulent frontier。
XLIII
ARTEMUS WARD
Madame Caprell's warning concerning Mark Twain's health at twenty…eight
would seem to have been justified。 High…strung and neurotic； the strain
of newspaper work and the tumult of the Comstock had told on him。 As in
later life； he was subject to bronchial colds； and more than once that
year he found it necessary to drop all work and rest for a time at
Steamboat Springs； a place near Virginia City； where there were boiling
springs and steaming fissures in the mountain…side； and a comfortable
hotel。 He contributed from there sketches somewhat more literary in form
than any of his previous work。 〃Curing a Cold〃 is a more or less
exaggerated account of his ills。
＇Included in Sketches New and Old。 〃Information for the Million；〃
and 〃Advice to Good Little Girls；〃 included in the 〃 Jumping Frog〃
Collection； 1867； but omitted from the Sketches； are also believed
to belong to this period。＇
A portion of a playful letter to his mother； written from the springs；
still exists。
You have given my vanity a deadly thrust。 Behold； I am prone to
boast of having the widest reputation as a local editor of any man
on the Pacific coast； and you gravely come forward and tell me 〃if I
work hard and attend closely to my business； I may aspire to a place
on a big San Francisco daily some day。〃 There's a comment on human
vanity for you！ Why； blast it； I was under the impression that I
could get such a situation as that any time I asked for it。 But I
don't want it。 No paper in the United States can afford to pay me
what my place on the Enterprise is worth。 If I were not naturally a
lazy； idle； good…for…nothing vagabond； I could make it pay me
20；000 a year。 But I don't suppose I shall ever be any account。 I
lead an easy life； though； and I don't care a cent whether school
keeps or not。 Everybody knows me； and I fare like a prince wherever
I go； be it on this side of the mountain or the other。 And I am
proud to say I am the most conceited ass in the Territory。
You think that picture looks old？ Well； I can't help itin reality
I'm not as old as I was when I was eighteen。
Which was a true statement； so far as his general attitude was concerned。
At eighteen； in New York and Philadelphia； his letters had been grave；
reflective； advisory。 Now they were mostly banter and froth； lightly
indifferent to the serious side of things； though perhaps only
pretendedly so； for the picture did look old。 From the shock and
circumstance of his brother's death hehad never recovered。 He was
barely twenty…eight。 From the picture he might have been a man of forty。
It was that year that Artemus Ward （Charles F。 Browne） came to Virginia
City。 There was a fine opera…house in Virginia； and any attraction that
billed San Francisco did not fail to play to the Comstock。 Ward intended
staying only a