NOTEBOOK
spires and domes and roofs and far-stretching thorough-
fares which gave to the spectacle the daintiness and deli-
cacy of a picture and reminded one of airy unreal cities
in the glimpses of a dream. Yes, the changes are great
and marvelous and for number are past enumeration.
And last night as I went to my room in the hotel when my
missionary work on the platform was done, I struck the
crowning blessed innovation of all, apparently—six fat
green bottles in a wire frame hanging on the wall by my
door. Gratis refreshment for the weary instructor in place
of having to go to the bar and lie. I took that frame down
and carried it into my room and got out my lemons and
sugar and calculated to have a good solitary sociable time
all to myself, and says I—"Here's to prohibition—for the
next man that comes along the hall." But sorrow and
disappointment must come to all; and thus also came it
even to me, when I examined the labels to see what
brand of sourmash it was, and found that those homely
bottles were to put out another kind of fire.
The electric lights hung in the sky were the
old arc lamps, and it is not likely that the tele-
phone mentioned was in his room—not in 1884.
Mark Twain lived to enjoy a great many innova-
tions—those of the next 25 years: the automo-
bile, for instance, and the phonograph, but he
died too soon for the radio and the talking-
pictures, and it is unlikely that he ever got a
glimpse of a flying-machine.
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