Mr. President,—­I do not know why I should have been singled out to receive the greatest distinction of the evening—­for so the office of replying to the toast to woman has been regarded in every age. [Applause.] I do not know why I have received this distinction, unless it be that I am a trifle less homely than the other members of the club.  But, be this as it may, Mr. President, I am proud of the position, and you could not have chosen any one who would have accepted it more gladly, or labored with a heartier good—­will to do the subject justice, than I. Because, Sir, I love the sex. [Laughter.] I love all the women, sir, irrespective of age or color. [Laughter.]

Human intelligence cannot estimate what we owe to woman, sir.  She sews on our buttons [laughter]; she mends our clothes [laughter]; she ropes us in at the church fairs; she confides in us; she tells us whatever she can find out about the private affairs of the neighbors; she gives good advice, and plenty of it; she gives us a piece of her mind sometimes —­and sometimes all of it; she soothes our aching brows; she bears our children. (Ours as a general thing.)—­[this last sentence appears in Twain’s published speeches and may have been added later.  D.W.]

In all relations of life, sir, it is but just and a graceful tribute to woman to say of her that she is a brick. [Great laughter.]

Wheresoever you place woman, sir—­in whatsoever position or estate—­she is an ornament to that place she occupies, and a treasure to the world. [Here Mr. Twain paused, looked inquiringly at his hearers, and remarked that the applause should come in at this point.  It came in.  Mr. Twain resumed his eulogy.] Look at the noble names of history!  Look at Cleopatra!  Look at Desdemona!  Look at Florence Nightingale!  Look at Joan of Arc!  Look at Lucretia Borgia! [Disapprobation expressed.  “Well,” said Mr. Twain, scratching his head, doubtfully, “suppose we let Lucretia slide.”] Look at Joyce Heth!  Look at Mother Eve!  I repeat, sir, look at the illustrious names of history!  Look at the Widow Machree!  Look at Lucy Stone!  Look at Elizabeth Cady Stanton!  Look at George Francis Train! [Great laughter.] And, sir, I say with bowed head and deepest veneration, look at the mother of Washington!  She raised a boy that could not lie—­could not lie. [Applause.] But he never had any chance.  It might have been different with him if he had belonged to a newspaper correspondents’ club. [Laughter, groans, hisses, cries of “put him out.”  Mark looked around placidly upon his excited audience, and resumed.]

I repeat, sir, that in whatsoever position you place a woman she is an ornament to society and a treasure to the world.  As a sweetheart she has few equals and no superior [laughter]; as a cousin she is convenient; as a wealthy grandmother with an incurable distemper she is precious; as a wet nurse she has no equal among men! [Laughter.]

What, sir, would the people of this earth be without woman?  They would be scarce, sir. (Mighty scarce.)—­[another line added later in the published ‘Speeches’.  D.W.] Then let us cherish her, let us protect her, let us give her our support, our encouragement, our sympathy—­ourselves, if we get a chance. [Laughter.]