Europe and elsewhere, by Mark Twain [pseud.] [with an appreciation by Brander Matthews and an introduction by Albert Bigelow Paine]

EUROPE AND ELSEWHERE
cannot remember back to a time when I could let
him alone in an after-dinner speech if he was present,
nor to a time when he did not take my extravagances
concerning him and misstatements about him in good
part, nor yet to a time when he did not pay them
back with usury when his turn came. The last
speech he made was at my birthday dinner at the
end of November, when naturally I was his text; my
last word to him was in a letter the next day; a day
later I was illustrating a fantastic article on Art with
his portrait among others-a portrait now to be laid
reverently away among the jests that begin in humor
and end in pathos. These things happened only
eight days ago, and now he is gone from us, and the
nation is speaking of him as one who was. It seems
incredible, impossible. Such a man, such a friend,
seems to us a permanent possession; his vanishing
from our midst is unthinkable; as unthinkable as
was the vanishing of the Campanile, that had stood
for a thousand years, and was turned to dust in a
moment.
I have no wish, at this time, to enter upon light
and humorous reminiscences connected with yachting voyages with Mr. Reed in northern and southern
seas, nor with other recreations in his company in
other places-they do not belong in this paper, they
do not invite me, they would jar upon me. I have
only wished to say how fine and beautiful was his
life and character, and to take him by the hand and
say good-by, as to a fortunate friend who has done
well his work and goes a pleasant journey.

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