Animals talk to each other, of course. There can be no question about that; but I suppose there are very few people who can understand them. I never knew but one man who could. I knew he could, however, because he told me so himself. He was a middle-...
Will the reader please to cast his eye over the following verses , and see if he can discover anything harmful in them? Conductor, when you receive a fare,Punch in the presence of the passenjare! A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,A buff trip sl...
I was feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to my cigar, and just then the morning's mailwas handed in. The first superscription I glanced at was in a handwriting that sent a thrill ofpleasure through and through me. It was aunt Mary's; and sh...
A True Story Repeated Word for Word as I Heard ItIt was summer time, and twilight. We were sitting on the porch of the farm-house, on the summit of the hill, and Aunt Rachel was sitting respectfully below our level, on the steps, for she was our serv...
Here I was interrupted and informed that a stranger wished to see me down at the door. I went and confronted him, and asked to know his business, struggling all the time to keep a tight rein on my seething political economy ideas, and not let them br...
I did not take the temporary editorship of an agriculture paper without misgivings. Neither would a landsman take, command of a ship without misgivings. But I was in circumstances that made the salary an object. The regular editor of the paper was go...
[The following has been written at the instance of several literary friends, who thought that if the history of The Bad Little Boy who Did not Come to Grief (a moral sketch which I published five or six years ago) was worthy of preservation several w...
The editor of the Memphis Avalanche swoops thus mildly down upon a correspondent who posted him as a Radical: While he was writing the first word, the middle, dotting his i's, crossing his t's, and punching his period, he knew he was concocting a sen...
Cannibalism In The Cars by Mark TwainI visited St. Louis lately, and on my way West, after changing cars at Terre Haute, Indiana, a mild, benevolent-looking gentleman of about forty-five, or maybe fifty, came in at one of the way-stations and sat dow...
Once there was a bad little boy, whose name was Jim -- though, if you will notice, you will find that bad little boys are nearly always called James in your Sunday-school books. It was very strange, but still it was true, that this one was called Jim...