incorporation like that—­or if you could, it would only keep you in trouble all the time.  The other denominations would abuse it, and “bear” it, and “sell it short,” and break it down.  They would do with it just as they would with one of your silver-mines out there—­they would try to make all the world believe it was “wildcat.”  You ought not to do anything that is calculated to bring a sacred thing into disrepute.  You ought to be ashamed of yourselves that is what I think about it.  You close your petition with the words:  “And we will ever pray.”  I think you had better you need to do it. 
                    “’Very truly, etc.,
“’Mark Twain,
“‘For James W. N-----, U. S. Senator.’

“That luminous epistle finishes me with the religious element among my constituents.  But that my political murder might be made sure, some evil instinct prompted me to hand you this memorial from the grave company of elders composing the board of aldermen of the city of San Francisco, to try your hand upon a, memorial praying that the city’s right to the water-lots upon the city front might be established by law of Congress.  I told you this was a dangerous matter to move in.  I told you to write a non-committal letter to the aldermen—­an ambiguous letter—­a letter that should avoid, as far as possible, all real consideration and discussion of the water-lot question.  If there is any feeling left in you—­any shame—­surely this letter you wrote, in obedience to that order, ought to evoke it, when its words fall upon your ears: 

’Washington, Nov. 27

     ’The Honorable Board of Aldermen, etc.

’Gentlemen:  George Washington, the revered Father of his Country, is dead.  His long and brilliant career is closed, alas! forever.  He was greatly respected in this section of the country, and his untimely decease cast a gloom over the whole community.  He died on the 14th day of December, 1799.  He passed peacefully away from the scene of his honors and his great achievements, the most lamented hero and the best beloved that ever earth hath yielded unto Death.  At such a time as this, you speak of water-lots! what a lot was his!

’What is fame!  Fame is an accident.  Sir Isaac Newton discovered an apple falling to the ground—­a trivial discovery, truly, and one which a million men had made before him—­but his parents were influential, and so they tortured that small circumstance into something wonderful, and, lo! the simple world took up the shout and, in almost the twinkling of an eye, that man was famous.  Treasure these thoughts.

     ’Poesy, sweet poesy, who shall estimate what the world owes to
     thee!

     “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow—­
     And everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to go.”

                    “Jack and Gill went up the hill
                    To draw a pail of water;
                    Jack fell down and broke his crown,
                    And Gill came tumbling after.”