Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims
from Mark Twain's Speeches
Mark Twain, pseud. Samuel Langhorne Clemens
Harper & Brothers
New York
1910

Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims

"I rise to protest"

To me this speech, besides being my favorite, is the best
performance to look at to see what MT could and couldn't achieve
morally as a humorist. It was delivered at the first annual dinner of
Philadelphia's New England Society (the same kind of occasion as
his 1882 toast "To Woman," although New York's New England
Society was 77 years older). The various New England Societies
scattered across the country (there was even one in Charleston)
met on the anniversary of the arrival of an immigrant group -- the
landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock -- yet one of the forces
behind the spread of these Societies throughout the nineteenth
century was a reactionary resistance to the recurring waves of
immigration from non-Anglo-Saxon ethnic groups. While the
many speakers at these annual dinners paid homage to the Pilgrim
Fathers, their filio-piety also nurtured their self-righteous belief
that the descendants of such fathers were the "true" America, the
legitimate heirs to the nation's places of privilege, the guardians of
American culture across the dislocations of space and time.

This was a major theme of the keynote address at this dinner, as
you can see by reading the account of the banquet from the
Philadelphia Press. MT gave his speech last, after a number of
other toasts to New England and the "sons" who had gathered to
pay homage to the legacy of the "fathers." MT's speech was the
only one to notice all the other native sons and daughters who had
been excluded from the Society's version of America: native
Americans, slaves, women and Others. As with Huck Finn's voice,
MT here chooses to occupy and speak from a place at the
denigrated margins of society. He re-views American history in a
way that profoundly anticipates the revisionist historicism of our
times. But he does so always as a comedic performance. As
humor, this "protest" shocked and entertained its audience -- at the
same time. When they stopped laughing, would the sons of the
Puritans in his audience have felt the need to do anything else
about the pattern of injustice M.T. articulates? NEW ENGLAND'S
SONS.
FIRST FESTIVAL OF PENNSYLVANIA'S
PILGRIM DESCENDENTS
A Notable Dinner at the Continental Hotel --
Addresses by President Rollins, Senator Frye,
Gov. Hoyt, President Hopkins, and Mark Twain.
from the Philadelphia Press,
23 December 1881
[This story, which included the complete text of MT's speech,
occupied the lead position on page one. Reproduced here is about
one-third of the article. Even this is long, but it provides a
dramatic sense of the immediate context in which MT spoke his
"protest."]

The main dining-room of the Continental Hotel presented a
beautiful and picturesque scene last night on the occasion of the
First Annual Festival of the New England Society of Pennsylvania.
The society was formed a few weeks since by residents of this city
who are natives of or descendants from good old Puritan stock.
The object of the association is good-fellowship and the honoring
of a worthy ancestry, of which all the sons of New England are
justly proud. The day fixed for the annual festival, the 22nd of
December, is "Forefathers' Day," the anniversary of the landing of
the Pilgrim Fathers. The society determined to make their first
festival a notable one, and to that end invited many notable
descendants of the Eastern States, who showed their appreciation
by attending in person. The dinner hour was fixed last evening at
six o'clock, and notwithstanding the stormy weather, the members
and guests began to arrive promptly on time. They were ushered
into Parlor C, where the president of the society, E.A. Rollins, and
Gov. Hoyt, a vice-president, held an informal reception. Never was
there seen a more solid and respectable gathering of business men,
leaders of the bench and bar, newspaper editors and proprietors,
clergymen and college professors, all gathered to do honor to their
native section of country. The tall form of President Hopkins, of
Williams College, was seen in the throng as he conversed with
Admiral George H. Preble. Senator Frye, of Maine, stood chatting
with Governor Hoyt. Mark Twain stood in one corner uttering
drolleries which caused his auditors to guffaw in a manner highly
reprehensible in staid and sober citizens. John Welsh conversed
with Frederick Fraley, and Rev. H. Clay Trumbull, secretary of the
society, darted hither and thither, arranging things generally for the
event.

THE GENTLEMEN PRESENT.

At seven o'clock the line was formed, and headed by President
E.A. Rollins and Professor Hopkins, of Williams College, the
members and guests proceeded to the dining-room. President
Rollins took his seat at the centre of the north table. On his right
were Professor Hopkins, Professor Daniel E. Goodwin, D.D., LL.
D., one of the society's vice-presidents; John Welsh, Rear-Admiral
Geo. H. Preble, Frederick Fraley, Henry Winsor, Clayton
McMichael, James L. Claghorn, Calvin Wells, of Pittsburg;
Charles Emory Smith, of THE PRESS, and Rev. H. Clay
Trumbull, secretary. On his left were Senator W.P. Frye, of Maine;
Governor Hoyt, Samuel L. Clemens (Mark Twain), Lieutenant
Thackara, U.S.N.; Rev. W.N. McVickar, Judge Allison, Rev.
George Dana, Boardman Chaplain, and Clarence H. Clark,
treasurer of the society.

Among the other prominent persons seated at the tables were E.
Dunbar Lockwood, who talked reform with Amos R. Little. H.W.
Pitkin and other members of the Committee of One Hundred; Rev.
Charles G. Amos, the noted Unitarian clergyman; Francis D.
Lewis, A.G. Heaton. The Reading Railroad was represented by
President Frank S. Bond, Secretary Kinsley, Receiver Stephen A.
Caldwell, directors George F. Tyler, E.W. Clark, and the company
attorneys, Samuel Dickson, Judge Asbhel Green, of New Jersey,
the McCalmont brothers' counsel also chatted with the party. Some
of the others were: A.C. Hetherington, General McCartney, E.P.
Borda, George Russell, H.W. Bartol, B.H. Atwood, N.P. Storey,
Joseph P. Mumford, Dr. H.M. Howe, John P. Thayer, Sidney
Tyler, Dr. Forrest, E.W. Clark and B.B. Comegys, the bankers,
Chas. M. Jackson, C.A. Kingsbury, J.C. Collins, T.B. Merrick,
Frank O. Allen, G.A. Bigelow, C.E. Morgan, Jr., Walter
McMichael, Nelson F. Evans, C.F. Richardson, G. Cornish, John
Welsh Dulles, C.H. Brush, Robert N. Wilson, Walter H. Tilden,
Charles P. Turner, Dr. J.F. Stone, and J.E. Graff. Altogether one
hundred and fifty gentleman sat down.

THE BANQUETTING ROOM.

The room was elegantly and most appropriately decorated. The
chandeliers were festooned with smilax. Hanging-baskets were
suspended along the walls and before the windows. At the eastern
end of the room were stately palms, graceful camelias and rare
plants perfuming the air with fragrance. A magnificent design
composed of immortelles in red, yellow and purple, was prominent
at this end of the hall. It bore in large letters the inscription:

December 22,
1620-1881

Along the north end of the hall a long table was ranged, at which
the officers and distinguished guests were seated as given above.
Extending transversely from this were several other long tables,
around which were placed the members.

Beside each plate lay a toast list, printed on hand-made paper of
the style of two centuries ago. There was also a menu of the most
artistic and original design. It was printed in chocolate-colored ink,
and bore on the first page a representation of the Mayflower
making her perilous voyage, with the Pilgrim Fathers on board. On
the last page was a portrait of John Alden's Priscilla, one of whose
descedants was present at the festival. The bill of fare was printed
in antique type, and was as follows:

THE FIRST ANNUAL FESTIVAL
-- OF --
THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY
-- OF --
PENNSILVANIA,
Thursday Eveninge, December 22, 1881.
YE LISTE OF DISHES FOR YE FESTIVAL.
Oysters from Chasepack Bay in their Shells.
Green Turtle Soupe.
Boyled Salmon with Sauce of Shrimps.
Cucumbers.
*Pates a la Reine.
Fillet of Beef Garnyshed with Mushrooms.
Roaste Turkey from Cape Cod, with Cranberries.
Potatoes. Strynge Beans. Pease.
Pork and Beans. Stewed Terrapin.
1620 1881
Sherbot. Cigarettes.
Canvas-back Duck. Partridge.
Lettuce Salading Dressed in Oyle.
Puddings with Plumbs.
Mince Pie. Pumpkin Pie.
Frozen Sweete Thynges, also Jellies and Cakes.
Several Sorts of Nuts and Fruits.
Coffee.

*Lyttle Pies such as the Queen of France doth love.

PRESIDENT ROLLINGS' ADDRESS.

As soon as the members and guests reached their places President
Rollins requested Rev. W. Nelson McVikar to offer up prayer,
which he did in an impressive manner. The dinner was then served
and full justice done to it. After an unlucky member had been
threatened with expulsion because he preferred stewed terrapin to
pork and beans President Rollins arose to welcome those present.
He stood in an easy, graceful attitude, and spoke without using
notes. His neat, humorous remarks were frequently interrupted by
loud laughter and his patriotic sentiments were heartily applauded.
He spoke as follows:

Fathers, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins, as descendants of New
England, we are all relatives. I congratulate you heartily upon the
comfortable landing we have made here this evening. Upon my
honor I do half believe, that if the Pilgrim Fathers had known of
this good hostelry with its canvas back and terrapin, they would
themselves have landed here. But I will not do them this rank
injustice -- never were men lured less by love of pleasure or
constrained by higher motives.

We here in Philadelphia, in connection with local politics, have
heard much of a Committee of a Hundred, but that Committee of a
Hundred men, women and children which sailed from Plymouth,
in September, 1620, and which in journeying often, in perils of
waters, in perils of their own countrymen, in perils by the heathen,
in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in weariness and
painfulness in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings
often, in cold and nakedness, gave its politics to this North
American continent, and for all time and through their
descendants, largely to that of South America as well, was the
grandest committee of which history has made record.

On the 22d of November, in the harbor of Provincetown, in the
cabin of the Mayflower, they adopted their form of Government --
signed their compact, and chose John Carver Governor. At that
election every man who was authorized to do so cast his ballot I
believe -- cast it once and had it counted. That was the New
England "idea" and it remains so unto this day.

On Monday, the 22d of December, 261 years ago, when the sun
had just entered its winter solstice and the days were the shortest
and the nights the longest and the cold the bitterest of all the year,
having rested Sunday that they might not descecrate it but keep it
holy unto the Lord, the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, placed
for their feet, apparently, by the hand of God himself, for their was
not another like it -- not of the same material even, for miles and
miles -- a stone of only a few tons weight -- a few feet only this
was, and this a stepping-stone -- but not the philosopher's stone --
nor the Moabite stone -- nor Jacob's stone in the chapel of Ednam,
the confessor in Westminster Abbey, on which the Kings of
Scotland and afterwards the United Kingdom, have received their
crowns for a thousand years, nor that wondrous stone, which
travelers kiss, high up in Blarney Castle -- not one or all of them
together, have enriched this world so much as Plymouth Rock.

THE COMPACT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT.

The compact which the Pilgrims signed, and with which they
landed and under which they lived, and which they have
transmitted to their children and their children's children, was that
of self-government, the government of the people by the people for
the people. Out of that grand principle the Constitution of the
United States was builded and when in after years the rains
descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat
upon that house -- it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock. My
friends, here is a piece of Plymouth Rock, which was kindly given
to me by an old resident of Plymouth, and now a member of this
society and present with us, Mr. T.E. Cornish. For three and a half
months from that landing and during all the perils and horrors of
that awful winter the Mayflower rocked at anchor in the harbor,
and when, on the 5th of April following, she
"Took the wind upon her quarter, and stood for the open Atlantic,"
not one of the 100 pilgrims returned in her.

Why?

Possibly John Alden staid because of his Priscilla -- mayhap also
on her account. Miles Standish also and Priscilla may have stayed
for both. In saying this I trust that our member, Mr. Watters, would
remember that I would not speak lightly of his country. Probably,
however, few were sea-sick coming over, and so wisely enough
determined to make the rest of their earthly pilgrimage by land.
But making due allowance for all this, when we remember that of
the one hundred who were living in December almost one-half,
from exposure and disease, were dead; that all the living who had
strength enough gathered on the bluff and saw the little ship go
back without one thought of going back themselves; that food,
strength, health, life itself gave out, but courage, heroism, devotion
to their great cause, never -- we remember that not at
Thermopylae, nor Marathon, nor Bannochburn, nor Marston Moor,
nor any other battlefield, has the world witnessed such a marvelous
exhibition of the grandeur of human nature as on that day at
Plymouth.

THE MARCH OF PIE.

Only six months and a little more and after that the Plymouth
Colonists celebrate their first Thanksgiving. I don't know what pies
they had nor what pork and beans on that occasion, but these
things and Thanksgiving Day itself are the gift of the Pilgrims, and
through their descendants they have spread all over the land. I
think it was Mark Twain, and if it were not I hope nobody will
correct me, who first called the attention of the moral and hygenic
world to the great pie zone which then extended from about where
we sit due west to the Pacific. North of it was one vast sea of pie.
South of it there was not one sporadic pie, but the zone moved on
and Sherman's triumphant march to the sea was not more certain
and inevitable than the march of pie and beans from the Canadas
to the Gulf. The Pilgrims' Thanksgiving has become the National
festival of the mightiest, freest, and, thanking God, I believe most
united people the sun shines on.

The hundred Pilgrims headed the procession of 20,000 English
men and English women who came to New England in the next
twenty years, and before the meeting of the Long Parliament, and
there were only about a thousand afterwards for nearly one
hundred and fifty years, nor until the Revolutionary War. Those
20,000 made New England what she was and largely what she is.
As late as 1858 Dr. Palfrey in a carefully prepared statement in his
first volume of the History of New England, in speaking of New
Englanders and their modes says: "There is probably not a county
in England occupied by a population of purer English blood than
theirs, and I presume there is one-third of the people of these
United States, wheresoever now residing, who could peruse this
volume without reading the history of his own progenitors."

The sons of New England are scattered throughout our wide
domain and everywhere they are at home: for over the home of
every man in this broad land, seen or unseen, floats the dear old
flag of his childhood. They have carried with them not alone a love
for their peculiar food, and of their honored feast-day, but as well
their enterprise, their courage and power of endurance, their school
system and their high estimate of education, their conscience and
their freedom to worship God according to its dictates, and their
worship of Him also, and to-day the people of every State and
territory, and every town and hamlet in these United States are a
better people, and their Government is a better Government,
because of the Pilgrim Fathers. To the casual observer it might
seem that in something I have said, I have trenched somewhat
upon the first subject in our intellectual menu, which is, "The
Pilgrims and Their Creation, New England," but I haven't, for the
subject is as inexhaustible as filial affection, and its aspects are as
various and numberless as the leaves of an autumnal forest in the
good old State of Maine.

[Between Rollins' address and MT's there were six toasts, mostly
quoted in full:
"New England," given by Senator Frye;
"Pennsylvania," Governor Hoyt;
"The Army and Navy of the United States," Rear-Admiral George
Henry Peble;
"New England and Education," Rev. Mark Hopkins;
"The Mission of New England," Rev. George Dana Boardman;
"The Press of New England," Charles Emory Smith.
There were humorous moments in all these toasts, though the
dominant tone was sanctimonious. The account concluded with
MT's address, introduced in this way:]

MARK TWAIN'S SPEECH.

Mr. Rollins said that the next speaker, while not born in New
England, had done the best he could, for he had his children born
there and thus had made himself a New England ancestor. He thus
introduced Mark Twain, who sat to the left of Governor Hoyt. Mr.
Clemens rose and in a peculiar, sleepy manner began his remarks
by thanking the company for the deserved compliment to himself
and to his posterity. "I shall continue to do my best," drawled out
the speaker, who continued as follows: PLYMOUTH ROCK AND
THE PILGRIMS
ADDRESS AT THE FIRST ANNUAL DINNER, N. E. SOCIETY
PHILADELPHIA, DECEMBER 22, 1881

On calling upon Mr. Clemens to make response, President Rollins
said:

"This sentiment has been assigned to one who was never exactly
born in New England, nor, perhaps, were any of his ancestors. He
is not technically, therefore, of New England descent. Under the
painful circumstances in which he has found himself, however, he
has done the best he could -- he has had all his children born there,
and has made of himself a New England ancestor. He is a
self-made man. More than this, and better even, in cheerful,
hopeful, helpful literature he is of New England ascent. To ascend
there in anything that's reasonable is difficult, for -- confidentially,
with the door shut -- we all know that they are the brightest, ablest
sons of that goodly land who never leave it, and it is among and
above them that Mr. Twain has made his brilliant and permanent
ascent -- become a man of mark."

I RISE to protest. I have kept still for years, but really I think there
is no sufficient justification for this sort of thing. What do you
want to celebrate those people for ?-those ancestors of yours of
1620 -- the Mayflower tribe, I mean. What do you want to
celebrate them for? Your pardon: the gentleman at my left assures
me that you are not celebrating the Pilgrims themselves, but the
landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock on the 22d of December.
So you are celebrating their landing. Why, the other pretext was
thin enough, but this is thinner than ever; the other was tissue,
tinfoil, fish-bladder, but this is gold-leaf. Celebrating their landing!
What was there remarkable about it, I would like to know? What
can you be thinking of? Why, those Pilgrims had been at sea three
or four months. It was the very middle of winter: it was as cold as
death off Cape Cod there. Why shouldn't they come ashore? If they
hadn't landed there would be some reason for celebrating the fact.
It would have been a case of monumental leatherheadedness which
the world would not willingly let die. If it had been you,
gentlemen, you probably wouldn't have landed, but you have no
shadow of right to be celebrating, in your ancestors, gifts which
they did not exercise, but only transmitted. Why, to be celebrating
the mere landing of the Pilgrims -- to be trying to make out that
this most natural and simple and customary procedure was an
extraordinary circumstance -- a circumstance to be amazed at, and
admired, aggrandized and glorified, at orgies like this for two
hundred and sixty years -- hang it, a horse would have known
enough to land; a horse -- Pardon again; the gentleman on my right
assures me that it was not merely the landing of the Pilgrims that
we are celebrating, but the Pilgrims themselves. So we have struck
an inconsistency here one says it was the landing, the other says it
was the Pilgrims. It is an inconsistency characteristic of your
intractable and disputatious tribe, for you never agree about
anything but Boston. Well, then, what do you want to celebrate
those Pilgrims for? They were a mighty hard lot -- you know it. I
grant you, without the slightest unwillingness, that they were a
deal more gentle and merciful and just than were the people of
Europe of that day; I grant you that they are better than their
predecessors. But what of that? -- that is nothing. People always
progress. You are better than your fathers and grandfathers were
(this is the first time I have ever aimed a measureless slander at the
departed, for I consider such things improper). Yes, those among
you who have not been in the penitentiary, if such there be, are
better than your fathers and grandfathers were; but is that any
sufficient reason for getting up annual dinners and celebrating
you? No, by no means -- by no means. Well, I repeat, those
Pilgrims were a hard lot. They took good care of themselves, but
they abolished everybody else's ancestors. I am a border-ruffian
from the State of Missouri. I am a Connecticut Yankee by
adoption. In me, you have Missouri morals, Connecticut culture;
this, gentlemen, is the combination which makes the perfect man.
But where are my ancestors? Whom shall I celebrate? Where shall
I find the raw material?

My first American ancestor, gentlemen, was an Indian -- an early
Indian. Your ancestors skinned him alive, and I am an orphan. Not
one drop of my blood flows in that Indian's veins today. I stand
here, lone and forlorn, without an ancestor. They skinned him! I do
not object to that, if they needed his fur; but alive, gentlemen --
alive! They skinned him alive -- and before company! That is what
rankles. Think how he must have felt; for he was a sensitive person
and easily embarrassed. If he had been a bird, it would have been
all right, and no violence done to his feelings, because he would
have been considered "dressed." But he was not a bird, gentlemen,
he was a man, and probably one of the most undressed men that
ever was. I ask you to put yourselves in his place. I ask it as a
favor; I ask it as a tardy act of justice; I ask it in the interest of
fidelity to the traditions of your ancestors; I ask it that the world
may contemplate, with vision unobstructed by disguising
swallow-tails and white cravats, the spectacle which the true New
England Society ought to present. Cease to come to these annual
orgies in this hollow modern mockery -- the surplusage of raiment.
Come in character; come in the summer grace, come in the
unadorned simplicity, come in the free and joyous costume which
your sainted ancestors provided for mine.

Later ancestors of mine were the Quakers William Robinson,
Marmaduke Stevenson, et al. Your tribe chased them out of the
country for their religion's sake; promised them death if they came
back; for your ancestors had forsaken the homes they loved, and
braved the perils of the sea, the implacable climate, and the savage
wilderness, to acquire that highest and most precious of boons,
freedom for every man on this broad continent to worship
according to the dictates of his own conscience -- and they were
not going to allow a lot of pestiferous Quakers to interfere with it.
Your ancestors broke forever the chains of political slavery, and
gave the vote to every man in this wide land, excluding none! --
none except those who did not belong to the orthodox church.
Your ancestors -- yes, they were a hard lot; but, nevertheless, they
gave us religious liberty to worship as they required us to worship,
and political liberty to vote as the church required; and so I the
bereft one, I the forlorn one, am here to do my best to help you
celebrate them right.

The Quaker woman Elizabeth Hooton was an ancestress of mine.
Your people were pretty severe with her -- you will confess that.
But, poor thing! I believe they changed her opinions before she
died, and took her into their fold; and so we have every reason to
presume that when she died she went to the same place which your
ancestors went to. It is a great pity, for she was a good woman.
Roger Williams was an ancestor of mine. I don't really remember
what your people did with him. But they banished him to Rhode
Island, anyway. And then, I believe, recognizing that this was
really carrying harshness to an unjustifiable extreme, they took
pity on him and burned him. They were a hard lot! All those Salem
witches were ancestors of mine! Your people made it tropical for
them. Yes they did; by pressure and the gallows they made such a
clean deal with them that there hasn't been a witch and hardly a
halter in our family from that day to this, and that is one hundred
and eighty-nine years. The first slave brought into New England
out of Africa by your progenitors was an ancestor of mine -- for I
am of a mixed breed, an infinitely shaded and exquisite Mongrel.
I'm not one of your sham meerschaums that you can color in a
week. No, my complexion is the patient art of eight generations.
Well, in my own time, I had acquired a lot of my kin -- by
purchase, and swapping around, and one way and another -- and
was getting along very well. Then, with the inborn perversity of
your lineage, you got up a war, and took them all away from me.
And so, again am I bereft, again am I forlorn; no drop of my blood
flows in the veins of any living being who is marketable.

O my friends, hear me and reform! I seek your good, not mine.
You have heard the speeches. Disband these New England
societies -- nurseries of a system of steadily augmenting laudation
and hosannaing, which, if persisted in uncurbed, may some day in
the remote future beguile you into prevaricating and bragging. Oh,
stop, stop, while you are still temperate in your appreciation of
your ancestors! Hear me, I beseech you; get up an auction and sell
Plymouth Rock! The Pilgrims were a simple and ignorant race.
They never had seen any good rocks before, or at least any that
were not watched, and so they were excusable for hopping ashore
in frantic delight and clapping an iron fence around this one. But
you, gentlemen, are educated; you are enlightened; you know that
in the rich land of your nativity, opulent New England,
overflowing with rocks, this one isn't worth, at the outside, more
than thirty-five cents. Therefore, sell it, before it is injured by
exposure, or at least throw it open to the patent-medicine
advertisements, and let it earn its taxes.

Yes, hear your true friend -- your only true friend -- list to his
voice. Disband these societies, hotbeds of vice, of moral decay --
perpetuators of ancestral superstition. Here on this board I see
water, I see milk, I see the wild and deadly lemonade. These are
but steps upon the downward path. Next we shall see tea, then
chocolate, then coffee-hotel coffee. A few more years -- all too
few, I fear -- mark my words, we shall have cider! Gentlemen,
pause ere it be too late. You are on the broad road which leads to
dissipation, physical ruin, moral decay, gory crime and the
gallows! I beseech you, I implore you, in the name of your anxious
friends, in the name of your suffering families, in the name of your
impending widows and orphans, stop ere it be too late. Disband
these New England societies, renounce these soul-blistering
saturnalia, cease from varnishing the rusty reputations of your
long-vanished ancestors -- the super-high-moral old iron-clads of
Cape Cod, the pious buccaneers of Plymouth Rock-go home, and
try to learn to behave! However, chaff and nonsense aside, I think I
honor and appreciate your Pilgrim stock as much as you do
yourselves, perhaps; and I endorse and adopt a sentiment uttered
by a grandfather of mine once -- a man of sturdy opinions, of
sincere make of mind, and not given to flattery. He said: "People
may talk as they like about that Pilgrim stock, but, after all's said
and done, it would be pretty hard to improve on those people; and,
as for me, I don't mind coming out flatfooted and saying there ain't
any way to improve on them -- except having them born in
Missouri!" Plymouth Rock and the Pilgrims ~ Mark Twain ~ David Harrison Levi ~ David Levi Communications, Inc. All Rights Reserved Copyright 2005 printed on 100% recycled paper