Mention has already been made of Mark Twain’s natural leaning toward ministers of the gospel, and the explanation of it is easier to realize than to convey.  He was hopelessly unorthodox—­rankly rebellious as to creeds.  Anything resembling cant or the curtailment of mental liberty roused only his resentment and irony.  Yet something in his heart always warmed toward any laborer in the vineyard, and if we could put the explanation into a single sentence, perhaps we might say it was because he could meet them on that wide, common ground sympathy with mankind.  Mark Twain’s creed, then and always, may be put into three words, “liberty, justice, humanity.”  It may be put into one word, “humanity.”

Ministers always loved Mark Twain.  They did not always approve of him, but they adored him:  The Rev. Mr. Rising, of the Comstock, was an early example of his ministerial friendships, and we have seen that Henry Ward Beecher cultivated his company.  In a San Francisco letter of two years before, Mark Twain wrote his mother, thinking it would please her: 

I am as thick as thieves with the Reverend Stebbins.  I am laying for the Reverend Scudder and the Reverend Doctor Stone.  I am running on preachers now altogether, and I find them gay.

So it may be that his first impulse toward Joseph Twichell was due to the fact that he was a young member of that army whose mission is to comfort and uplift mankind.  But it was only a little time till the impulse had grown into a friendship that went beyond any profession or doctrine, a friendship that ripened into a permanent admiration and love for “Joe” Twichell himself, as one of the noblest specimens of his race.

He was invited to the Twichell home, where he met the young wife and got a glimpse of the happiness of that sweet and peaceful household.  He had a neglected, lonely look, and he loved to gather with them at their fireside.  He expressed his envy of their happiness, and Mrs. Twichell asked him why, since his affairs were growing prosperous, he did not establish a household of his own.  Long afterward Mr. Twichell wrote: 

Mark made no answer for a little, but, with his eyes bent on the floor, appeared to be deeply pondering.  Then he looked up, and said slowly, in a voice tremulous with earnestness (with what sympathy he was heard may be imagined):  “I am taking thought of it.  I am in love beyond all telling with the dearest and best girl in the whole world.  I don’t suppose she will marry me.  I can’t think it possible.  She ought not to.  But if she doesn’t I shall be sure that the best thing I ever did was to fall in love with her, and proud to have it known that I tried to win her!”

It was only a brief time until the Twichell fireside was home to him.  He came and went, and presently it was “Mark” and “Joe,” as by and by it would be “Livy” and “Harmony,” and in a few years “Uncle Joe” and “Uncle Mark,” “Aunt Livy” and “Aunt Harmony,” and so would remain until the end.