It was on the 4th of June, 1902, that Mark Twain received his doctor of laws degree from the State University at Columbia, Missouri.  James Wilson, Secretary of Agriculture, and Ethan Allen Hitchcock, Secretary of the Interior, were among those similarly honored.  Mark Twain was naturally the chief attraction.  Dressed in his Yale scholastic gown he led the procession of graduating students, and, as in Hannibal, awarded them their diplomas.  The regular exercises were made purposely brief in order that some time might be allowed for the conferring of the degrees.  This ceremony was a peculiarly impressive one.  Gardner Lathrop read a brief statement introducing “America’s foremost author and best-loved citizen, Samuel Langhorne Clemens—­Mark Twain.”

Clemens rose, stepped out to the center of the stage, and paused.  He seemed to be in doubt as to whether he should make a speech or simply express his thanks and retire.  Suddenly, and without a signal, the great audience rose as one man and stood in silence at his feet.  He bowed, but he could not speak.  Then that vast assembly began a peculiar chant, spelling out slowly the word Missouri, with a pause between each letter.  It was dramatic; it was tremendous in its impressiveness.  He had recovered himself when they finished.  He said he didn’t know whether he was expected to make a speech or not.  They did not leave him in doubt.  They cheered and demanded a speech, a speech, and he made them one—­one of the speeches he could make best, full of quaint phrasing, happy humor, gentle and dramatic pathos.  He closed by telling the watermelon story for its “moral effect.”

He was the guest of E. W. Stevens in Columbia, and a dinner was given in his honor.  They would have liked to keep him longer, but he was due in St. Louis again to join in the dedication of the grounds, where was to be held a World’s Fair, to celebrate the Louisiana Purchase.  Another ceremony he attended was the christening of the St. Louis harbor-boat, or rather the rechristening, for it had been decided to change its name from the St. Louis—­[Originally the Elon G. Smith, built in 1873.]—­to the Mark Twain.  A short trip was made on it for the ceremony.  Governor Francis and Mayor Wells were of the party, and Count and Countess Rochambeau and Marquis de Lafayette, with the rest of the French group that had come over for the dedication of the World’s Fair grounds.

Mark Twain himself was invited to pilot the harbor boat, and so returned for the last time to his old place at the wheel.  They all collected in the pilot-house behind him, feeling that it was a memorable occasion.  They were going along well enough when he saw a little ripple running out from the shore across the bow.  In the old days he could have told whether it indicated a bar there or was only caused by the wind, but he could not be sure any more.  Turning to the pilot languidly, he said:  “I feel a little tired.  I guess you had better take the wheel.”