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Updated: May 17, 2025
"The last time I saw him," he said with a sigh, "was at Holmes's seventieth-birthday breakfast, in Boston. But then his mind was like a splendid bridge with one span missing; he had what is it you doctors call it? aphasia, yes, that is it he had to grope for his words. But what a serene, godlike air! He was like a plucked eagle tarrying in the midst of a group of lesser birds.
So probably you are not seventy, after all, but only forty-seven!" Helen Keller was right. Mark Twain was never a pessimist in his heart. It was at the beginning of 1906 a little more than a month after the seventieth-birthday dinner that the writer of these chapters became personally associated with Mark Twain.
The last time I saw Emerson was at the Holmes seventieth-birthday breakfast in 1879. The serious break in his health had resulted in a marked aphasia, so that he could not speak the name of his nearest friend, nor answer the simplest question. Yet he was as serene as ever. Let the heavens fall what matters it to me? his look seemed to say.
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