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specimen to the Zoological Gardens。
It is not a bird。 It is not a man。 It is not a fish。 It does not seem
to be in all respects a reptile。 It has the body and features of a man；
but scarcely any of the instincts that belong to such a structure。。。。 I
am sure that this singular little creature is the missing link between
the man and the hyena。
Hotten had preyed upon explorer Stanley and libeled him in a so…called。
biography to a degree that had really aroused some feeling against
Stanley in England。 Only for the momentthe Queen invited Stanley to
luncheon； and newspaper criticism ceased。 Hotten was in general
disrepute； therefore； so it was not worth while throwing a second brick
at him。
In fact； now that Clemens had expended his venom； on paper； Hotten seemed
to him rather an amusing figure than otherwise。 An incident grew out of
it all； however； that was not amusing。 E。 P。 Hingston； whom the reader
may remember as having been with Artemus Ward in Virginia City； and one
of that happy group that wined and dined the year away； had been engaged
by Hotten to write the introductory to his edition of The Innocents
Abroad。 It was a well…written； highly complimentary appreciation。
Hingston did not dream that he was committing an offense； nor did Clemens
himself regard it as such in the beginning。
But Mark Twain's views had undergone a radical change； and with
characteristic dismissal of previous conditions he had forgotten that he
had ever had any other views than those he now held。 Hingston was in
London； and one evening； at a gathering； approached Clemens with
outstretched hand。 But Clemens failed to see Hingston's hand or to
recognize him。 In after…years his conscience hurt him terribly for this。
He remembered it only with remorse and shame。 Once； in his old age； he
spoke of it with deep sorrow。
LXXXVII
THE BOOK THAT WAS NEVER WRITTEN
The book on England； which he had prepared for so carefully； was never
written。 Hundreds of the stylographic pages were filled； and the
duplicates sent home for the entertainment of Olivia Clemens； but the
notes were not completed； and the actual writing was never begun。 There
was too much sociability in London for one thing； and then he found that
he could not write entertainingly of England without introducing too many
personalities； and running the risk of offending those who had taken him
into their hearts and homes。 In a word； he would have to write too
seriously or not at all。
He began his memoranda industriously enough； and the volume might have
been as charming and as valuable as any he has left behind。 The reader
will hardly fail to find a few of the entries interesting。 They are
offered here as examples of his daily observation during those early
weeks of his stay； and to show somewhat of his purpose：
AN EXPATRIATE
There was once an American thief who fled his country and took
refuge in England。 He dressed himself after the fashion of the
Londoners； and taught his tongue the peculiarities of the London
pronunciation and did his best in all ways to pass himself for a
native。 But he did two fatal things： he stopped at the Langham
Hotel； and the first trip he took was to visit Stratford…on…Avon and
the grave of Shakespeare。 These things betrayed his nationality。
STANLEY AND THE QUEEN
See the power a monarch wields！ When I arrived here； two weeks ago；
the papers and geographers were in a fair way to eat poor Stanley up
without salt or sauce。 The Queen says； 〃Come four hundred miles up
into Scotland and sit at my luncheon…table fifteen minutes〃； which；
being translated； means； 〃Gentlemen； I believe in this man and take
him under my protection〃； and not another yelp is heard。
AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM
What a place it is！
Mention some very rare curiosity of a peculiar naturea something
which you have read about somewhere but never seenthey show you a
dozen！ They show you all the possible varieties of that thing！
They show you curiously wrought jeweled necklaces of beaten gold；
worn by the ancient Egyptians； Assyrians； Etruscans； Greeks；
Britonsevery people of the forgotten ages； indeed。 They show you
the ornaments of all the tribes and peoples that live or ever did
live。 Then they show you a cast taken from Cromwell's face in
death； then the venerable vase that once contained the ashes of
Xerxes。
I am wonderfully thankful for the British Museum。 Nobody comes
bothering around menobody elbows meall the room and all the
light I want； under this huge domeno disturbing noisesand people
standing ready to bring me a copy of pretty much any book that ever
was printed under the sunand if I choose to go wandering about the
long corridors and galleries of the great building the secrets of
all the earth and all the ages axe laid open to me。 I am not
capable of expressing my gratitude for the British Museumit seems
as if I do not know any but little words and weak ones。
WESTMINSTER ABBEY BY NIGHT
It was past eleven o'clock and I was just going to bed。 But this
friend of mine was as reliable as he was eccentric； and so there was
not a doubt in my mind that his 〃expedition〃 had merit in it。 I put
on my coat and boots again； and we drove away。
〃Where is it？ Where are we going？〃
〃Don't worry。 You'll see。〃
He was not inclined to talk。 So I thought this must be a weighty
matter。 My curiosity grew with the minutes； but I kept it manfully
under the surface。 I watched the lamps； the signs； the numbers as
we thundered down the long street。 I am always lost in London； day
or night。 It was very chilly； almost bleak。 People leaned against
the gusty blasts as if it were the dead of winter。 The crowds grew
thinner and thinner； and the noises waxed faint and seemed far away。
The sky was overcast and threatening。 We drove on； and still on；
till I wondered if we were ever going to stop。 At last we passed by
a spacious bridge and a vast building； and presently entered a
gateway； passed through a sort of tunnel； and stopped in a court
surrounded by the black outlines of a great edifice。 Then we
alighted； walked a dozen steps or so； and waited。 In a little while
footsteps were heard； a man emerged from the darkness； and we
dropped into his wake without saying anything。 He led us under an
archway of masonry； and from that into a roomy tunnel； through a
tall iron gate； which he locked behind us。 We followed him down
this tunnel； guided more by his footsteps on the stone flagging than
by anything we could very distinctly see。 At the end of it we came
to another iron gate； and our conductor stopped there and lit a
bull's…eye lantern。 Then he unlocked the gate； and I wished he had
oiled it first； it grated so dismally。 The gate swung open and we
stood on the threshold of what seemed a limitless domed and pillared
cavern； carved out of the solid darkness。 The conductor and my
friend took off their hats reverently； and I did likewise。 For the
moment that we stood thus there was not a sound； and the stillness
seemed to add to the solemnity of the gloom。 I looked my inquiry！
〃It is the tomb of the great dead of England…Westminster Abbey。〃。。。
We were among the tombs； on every hand dull shapes of men； sitting；
standing； or stooping； inspected us curiously out of the darkness
reached out their hands toward ussome appealing； some beckoning；
some warning us away。 Effigies they werestatues over the graves；
but they looked human and natural in the murky shadows。 Now a
little half…grown black and white cat squeezed herself through the
bars of the iron gate and came purring lovingly about us； unawed by
the time or the place； unimpressed by the marble pomp that
sepulchers a line of mighty dead that ends with a great author of
yesterday and began with a sceptered monarch away back in the dawn
of history； more than twelve hundred years ago 。 。 。 。
Mr。 Wright flashed his lantern first upon this object and then upon
that； and kept up a running commentary that showed there was nothing
about the venerable Abbey that was trivial in his eyes or void of
interest。 He is a man in authority； being superintendent； and his
daily business keeps him familiar with every nook and corner of the
great pile。 Casting a luminous ray now here； now yonder； he would
say：
〃Observe the height of the Abbeyone hundred and three feet to the
base of the roof； I measured it myself the other day。 Notice the
base of this columnold； very oldhundreds and hundreds of years
and how well they knew how to build in those old days！ Notice it
every stone is laid horizontally； that is to say； just as nature