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A monologue from the book by Mark Twain
NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Extracts From Adam’s Diary. Mark Twain. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1904.
This new creature with the long hair is a good deal in the way. It is always hanging around and following me about.
I don’t like this; I am not used to company. I wish it would stay with the other animals. I get no chance to name anything myself.
The new creature names everything that comes along, before I can get in a protest. And always that same pretext is offered–it LOOKS like the thing.
There is a dodo, for instance. Says the moment one looks at it one sees at a glance that it “looks like a dodo.”
It will have to keep that name, no doubt. It wearies me to fret about it, and it does no good, anyway. Dodo! It looks no more like a dodo than I do.
I built me a shelter against the rain, but could not have it to myself in peace. The new creature intruded.
When I tried to put it out it shed water out of the holes it looks with, and wiped it away with the back of its paws,
and made a noise such as some of the other animals make when they are in distress. I wish it would not talk; it is always talking.
The naming goes recklessly on, in spite of anything I can do. I had a very good name for the estate, and it was musical and pretty–GARDEN OF EDEN.
Privately, I continue to call it that, but not any longer publicly. The new creature says it is all woods and rocks and scenery, and therefore has no resemblance to a garden.
Says it LOOKS like a park, and does not look like anything BUT a park. Consequently, without consulting me, it has been new-named NIAGARA FALLS PARK.
This is sufficiently high-handed, it seems to me. And already there is a sign up: KEEP OFF THE GRASS. My life is not as happy as it was.
She has littered the whole estate with execrable names and offensive signs: THIS WAY TO THE WHIRLPOOL; THIS WAY TO GOAT ISLAND; CAVE OF THE WINDS THIS WAY.
I escaped last Tuesday night, and traveled two days, and built me another shelter in a secluded place, and obliterated my tracks as well as I could,
but she hunted me out by means of a beast which she has tamed and calls a wolf, and came making that pitiful noise again, and shedding that water out of the places she looks with.
I was obliged to return with her, but will presently emigrate again when occasion offers. She engages herself in many foolish things;
among others; to study out why the animals called lions and tigers live on grass and flowers, when, as she says,
the sort of teeth they wear would indicate that they were intended to eat each other.
This is foolish, because to do that would be to kill each other, and that would introduce what, as I understand, is called “death”;
and death, as I have been told, has not yet entered the Park. Which is a pity, on some accounts.
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