Rule 1.  When approaching the bedside of one whom an all-wise President —­I mean an all-wise Providence—­well, anyway, it’s the same thing—­has seen fit to afflict with disease—­well, the rule is simple, even if it is old-fashioned.

Rule 2.  I’ve forgotten just what it is, but—­

Rule 3.  This is always indispensable:  Bleed your patient.

MISSOURI UNIVERSITY SPEECH

          Addressdelivered June 4, 1902, at Columbia, Mo.

When the name of Samuel L. Clemens was called the humorist stepped forward, put his hand to his hair, and apparently hesitated.  There was a dead silence for a moment.  Suddenly the entire audience rose and stood in silence.  Some one began to spell out the word Missouri with an interval between the letters.  All joined in.  Then the house again became silent.  Mr. Clemens broke the spell: 

As you are all standing [he drawled in his characteristic voice], I guess, I suppose I had better stand too.

[Then came a laugh and loud cries for a speech.  As the great humorist spoke of his recent visit to Hannibal, his old home, his voice trembled.]

You cannot know what a strain it was on my emotions [he said].  In fact, when I found myself shaking hands with persons I had not seen for fifty years and looking into wrinkled faces that were so young and joyous when I last saw them, I experienced emotions that I had never expected, and did not know were in me.  I was profoundly moved anal saddened to think that this was the last time, perhaps, that I would ever behold those kind old faces and dear old scenes of childhood.

[The humorist then changed to a lighter mood, and for a time the audience was in a continual roar of laughter.  He was particularly amused at the eulogy on himself read by Gardiner Lathrop in conferring the degree.] He has a fine opportunity to distinguish himself [said Mr. Clemens] by telling the truth about me.

I have seen it stated in print that as a boy I had been guilty of stealing peaches, apples, and watermelons.  I read a story to this effect very closely not long ago, and I was convinced of one thing, which was that the man who wrote it was of the opinion that it was wrong to steal, and that I had not acted right in doing so.  I wish now, however, to make an honest statement, which is that I do not believe, in all my checkered career, I stole a ton of peaches.

One night I stole—­I mean I removed—­a watermelon from a wagon while the owner was attending to another customer.  I crawled off to a secluded spot, where I found that it was green.  It was the greenest melon in the Mississippi Valley.  Then I began to reflect.  I began to be sorry.  I wondered what George Washington would have done had he been in my place.  I thought a long time, and then suddenly felt that strange feeling which comes to a man with a good resolution, and I took up that watermelon and took it back to its owner.  I handed him the watermelon and told him to reform.  He took my lecture much to heart, and, when he gave me a good one in place of the green melon, I forgave him.