He came on and stood quite alone. A little table, with the traditional
water-bottle and tumbler, was by his side. His appearance was not
impressive, not very unlike the representation of him in the various
pictures in his 'Tramp Abroad'. He spoke more slowly than any other man
I ever heard, and did not look at his audience quite enough. I do not
think that he felt altogether at home with us, nor we with him. We
never laughed loud or long; no one went into those irrepressible
convulsions which used to make Artemus pause and look so hurt and
surprised. We sat throughout expectant and on the _qui vive_, very well
interested, and gently simmering with amusement. With the exception of
one exquisite description of the old Magdalen ivy--covered collegiate
buildings at Oxford University, I do not think there was one thing worth
setting down in print. I got no information out of the lecture, and
hardly a joke that would wear, or a story that would bear repeating.
There was a deal about the dismal, lone silver--land, the story of the
Mexican plug that bucked, and a duel which never came off, and another
duel in which no one was injured; and we sat patiently enough through
it, fancying that by and by the introduction would be over, and the
lecture would begin, when Twain suddenly made his bow and went off! It
was over.
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