A harvest of letters followed the wedding:  a general congratulatory expression, mingled with admiration, affection, and good-will.  In his interview Clemens had referred to the pain in his breast; and many begged him to deny that there was anything serious the matter with him, urging him to try this relief or that, pathetically eager for his continued life and health.  They cited the comfort he had brought to world-weary humanity and his unfailing stand for human justice as reasons why he should live.  Such letters could not fail to cheer him.

A letter of this period, from John Bigelow, gave him a pleasure of its own.  Clemens had written Bigelow, apropos of some adverse expression on the tariff: 

    Thank you for any hard word you can say about the tariff.  I guess
    the government that robs its own people earns the future it is
    preparing for itself.

Bigelow was just then declining an invitation to the annual dinner of the Chamber of Commerce.  In sending his regrets he said: 

    The sentiment I would propose if I dared to be present would be the
    words of Mark Twain, the statesman: 

“The government that robs its own people earns the future it is
preparing for itself.”

Now to Clemens himself he wrote: 

Rochefoucault never said a cleverer thing, nor Dr. Franklin a wiser
one . . . .  Be careful, or the Demos will be running you for
President when you are not on your guard.

Yours more than ever,
John Bigelow.

Among the tributes that came, was a sermon by the Rev. Fred Window Adams, of Schenectady, New York, with Mark Twain as its subject.  Mr. Adams chose for his text, “Take Mark and bring him with thee; for he is profitable for the ministry,” and he placed the two Marks, St. Mark and Mark Twain, side by side as ministers to humanity, and characterized him as “a fearless knight of righteousness.”  A few weeks later Mr. Adams himself came to Stormfield, and, like all open-minded ministers of the Gospel, he found that he could get on very well indeed with Mark Twain.

In spite of the good-will and the good wishes Clemens’s malady did not improve.  As the days grew chillier he found that he must remain closer indoors.  The cold air seemed to bring on the pains, and they were gradually becoming more severe; then, too, he did not follow the doctor’s orders in the matter of smoking, nor altogether as to exercise.

To Miss Wallace he wrote: 

I can’t walk, I can’t drive, I’m not down-stairs much, and I don’t see company, but I drink barrels of water to keep the pain quiet; I read, and read, and read, and smoke, and smoke, and smoke all the time (as formerly), and it’s a contented and comfortable life.