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EXTRACTS FROM ADAM'S DIARY by MARK TWAIN

From "The Writings of Mark Twain Volume XX",
Copyright 1903, Samuel Clemens.

This text is placed in the Public Domain, May 1993.


MONDAY. -- This new creature with the long hair
is a good deal in the way. It is always hang-
ing 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.... Cloudy to-day,
wind in the east; think we shall have rain.
WE? Where did I get that word? -- I remember
now -- the new creature uses it.

TUESDAY. -- Been examining the great waterfall.
It is the finest thing on the estate, I think. The
new creature calls it Niagara Falls -- why, I am sure
I do not know. Says it LOOKS like Niagara Falls.
That is not a reason, it is mere waywardness and
imbecility. I get no chance to name anything my-
self. 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 the 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.

WEDNESDAY. -- 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. That sounds like a cheap fling at
the poor creature, a slur; but I do not mean it so.
I have never heard the human voice before, and any
new and strange sound intruding itself here upon the
solemn hush of these dreaming solitudes offends my
ear and seems a false note. And this new sound is so
close to me; it is right at my shoulder, right at my ear,
first on one side and then on the other, and I am used
only to sounds that are more or less distant from me.

FRIDAY. -- 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 con-
sulting 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.

SATURDAY. -- The new creature eats too much
fruit. We are going to run short, most likely.
"We" again -- that is ITS word; mine, too, now,
from hearing it so much. Good deal of fog this
morning. I do not go out in the fog myself. The
new creature does. It goes out in all weathers, and
stumps right in with its muddy feet. And talks. It
used to be so pleasant and quiet here.

SUNDAY. -- Pulled through. This day is getting
to be more and more trying. It was selected and
set apart last November as a day of rest. I had
already six of them per week before. This morning
found the new creature trying to clod apples out of
that forbidden tree.

MONDAY. -- The new creature says its name is
Eve. That is all right, I have no objections. Says
it is to call it by, when I want it to come. I said it
was superfluous, then. The word evidently raised
me in its respect; and indeed it is a large, good
word and will bear repetition. It says it is not an
It, it is a She. This is probably doubtful; yet it is
all one to me; what she is were nothing to me if she
would but go by herself and not talk.

TUESDAY. -- 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.

She says this park would make a tidy summer
resort if there was any custom for it. Summer
resort -- another invention of hers -- just words,
without any meaning. What is a summer resort?
But it is best not to ask her, she has such a rage for
explaining.

FRIDAY. -- She has taken to beseeching me to stop
going over the Falls. What harm does it do?
Says it makes her shudder. I wonder why; I
have always done it -- always liked the plunge, and
the excitement and the coolness. I supposed it was
what the Falls were for. They have no other use
that I can see, and they must have been made for
something She says they were only made for
scenery -- like the rhinoceros and the mastodon.

I went over the Falls in a barrel -- not satisfactory
to her. Went over in a tub -- still not satisfactory.
Swam the Whirlpool and the Rapids in a fig-leaf
suit. It got much damaged. Hence, tedious com-
plaints about my extravagance. I am too much
hampered here. What I need is change of scene.

SATURDAY. -- 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 cut 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 emi-
grate again when occasion offers. She engages her-
self 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 it, is called "death"; and
death, as I have been told, has not yet entered the
Park. Which is a pity, on some accounts.

SUNDAY. -- Pulled through.

MONDAY. -- I believe I see what the week is for:
it is to give time to rest up from the weariness of
Sunday. It seems a good idea.... She has been
climbing that tree again. Clodded her out of it.
She said nobody was looking. Seems to consider
that a sufficient justification for chancing any
dangerous thing. Told her that. The word justi-
fication moved her admiration -- and envy, too, I
thought. It is a good word.

TUESDAY. -- She told me she was made out of a
rib taken from my body. This is at least doubtful,
if not more than that. I have not missed any rib.
....She is in much trouble about the buzzard;
says grass does not agree with it; is afraid she can't
raise it; thinks it was intended to live on decayed
flesh. The buzzard must get along the best it can
with what it is provided. We cannot overturn the
whole scheme to accommodate the buzzard.

SATURDAY. -- She fell in the pond yesterday when
she was looking at herself in it, which she is always
doing. She nearly strangled, and said it was most
uncomfortable. This made her sorry for the crea-
tures which live in there, which she calls fish, for
she continues to fasten names on to things that don't
need them and don't come when they are called by
them, which is a matter of no consequence to her,
she is such a numskull, anyway; so she got a lot of
them out and brought them in last night and put
them in my bed to keep warm, but I have noticed
them now and then all day and I don't see that they
are any happier there than they were before, only
quieter. When night comes I shall throw them
outdoors. I will not sleep with them again, for I
find them clammy and unpleasant to lie among when
a person hasn't anything on.

SUNDAY. -- Pulled through.

TUESDAY. -- She has taken up with a snake now.
The other animals are glad, for she was always ex-
perimenting with them and bothering them; and I
am glad because the snake talks, and this enables me
to get a rest.

FRIDAY. -- She says the snake advises her to try
the fruit of that tree, and says the result will be a
great and fine and noble education. I told her there
would be another result, too -- it would introduce
death into the world, That was a mistake -- it had
been better to keep the remark to myself; it only
gave her an idea -- she could save the sick buzzard,
and furnish fresh meat to the despondent lions and
tigers. I advised her to keep away from the tree.
She said she wouldn't. I foresee trouble. Will
emigrate.

WEDNESDAY. -- I have had a variegated time. I
escaped last night, and rode a horse all night as fast
as he could go, hoping to get clear out of the Park
and hide in some other country before the trouble
should begin; but it was not to be. About an hour
after sun-up, as I was riding through a flowery plain
where thousands of animals were grazing, slumber-
ing, or playing with each other, according to their
wont, all of a sudden they broke into a tempest of
frightful noises, and in one moment the plain was a
frantic commotion and every beast was destroying
its neighbor. I knew what it meant -- Eve had
eaten that fruit, and death was come into the world.
....The tigers ate my horse, paying no attention
when I ordered them to desist, and they would have
eaten me if I had stayed -- which I didn't, but went
away in much haste.... I found this place, out-
side the Park, and was fairly comfortable for a few    t
days, but she has found me out. Found me out,
and has named the place Tonawanda -- says it LOOKS
like that. In fact I was not sorry she came, for
there are but meagre pickings here, and she brought
some of those apples. I was obliged to eat them, I
was so hungry. It was against my principles, but I
find that principles have no real force except when
one is well fed.... She came curtained in boughs
and bunches of leaves, and when I asked her what
she meant by such nonsense, and snatched them
away and threw them down, she tittered and
blushed. I had never seen a person titter and blush
before, and to me it seemed unbecoming and idiotic.
She said I would soon know how it was myself.
This was correct. Hungry as I was, I laid down
the apple half-eaten -- certainly the best one I ever
saw, considering the lateness of the season -- and
arrayed myself in the discarded boughs and
branches, and then spoke to her with some severity
and ordered her to go and get some more and not
make such a spectacle of herself. She did it, and
after this we crept down to where the wild-beast
battle had been, and collected some skins, and I
made her patch together a couple of suits proper for
public occasions. They are uncomfortable, it is
true, but stylish, and that is the main point about
clothes.... I find she is a good deal of a com-
panion. I see I should be lonesome and depressed
without her, now that I have lost my property.
Another thing, she says it is ordered that we work
for our living hereafter. She will be useful. I will
superintend .

TEN DAYS LATER. -- She accuses ME of being the
cause of our disaster! She says, with apparent
sincerity and truth, that the Serpent assured her that
the forbidden fruit was not apples, it was chestnuts.
I said I was innocent, then, for I had not eaten any
chestnuts. She said the Serpent informed her that
"chestnut" was a figurative term meaning an aged
and mouldy joke. I turned pale at that, for I have
made many jokes to pass the weary time, and some
of them could have been of that sort. though I had
honestly supposed that they were new when I made
them. She asked me if I had made one just at the
time of the catastrophe. I was obliged to admit that
I had made one to myself, though not aloud. It
was this. I was thinking about the Falls, and I said
to myself, "How wonderful it is to see that vast
body of water tumble down there!" Then in an
instant a bright thought flashed into my head, and I
let it fly, saying, "It would be a deal more wonderful
to see it tumble UP there!" -- and I was just about
to kill myself with laughing at it when all nature
broke loose in war and death and I had to flee for
my life. "There," she said, with triumph, "that
is just it; the Serpent mentioned that very jest, and
called it the First Chestnut, and said it was coeval
with the creation." Alas, I am indeed to blame.
Would that I were not witty; oh, that I had never
had that radiant thought!

NEXT YEAR. -- We have named it Cain. She
caught it while I was up country trapping on the
North Shore of the Erie; caught it in the timber a
couple of miles from our dug-out -- or it might have
been four, she isn't certain which. It resembles us
in some ways, and may be a relation. That is what
she thinks, but this is an error, in my judgment.
The difference in size warrants the conclusion that
it is a different and new kind of animal -- a fish, per-
haps, though when I put it in the water to see, it
sank, and she plunged in and snatched it out before
there was opportunity for the experiment to deter
mine the matter. I still think it is a fish, but she is
indifferent about what it is, and will not let me have
it to try. I do not understand this. The coming
of the creature seems to have changed her whole
nature and made her unreasonable about experi-
ments. She thinks more of it than she does of any
of the other animals, but is not able to explain why.
Her mind is disordered -- everything shows it.
Sometimes she carries the fish in her arms half the
night when it complains and wants to get to the
water. At such times the water comes out of the
places in her face that she looks out of, and she pats
the fish on the back and makes soft sounds with her
mouth to soothe it, and betrays sorrow and solicitude
in a hundred ways. I have never seen her do like
this with any other fish, and it troubles me greatly.
She used to carry the young tigers around so, and
play with them, before we lost our property, but it
was only play; she never took on about them like
this when their dinner disagreed with them.

SUNDAY. -- She doesn't work, Sundays, but lies
around all tired out, and likes to have the fish wallow
over her; and she makes fool noises to amuse it,
and pretends to chew its paws, and that makes it
laugh. I have not seen a fish before that could
laugh. This makes me doubt.... I have come
to like Sunday myself. Superintending all the week
tires a body so. There ought to be more Sundays.
In the old days they were tough, but now they
come handy.

WEDNESDAY. -- It isn╒t a fish. I cannot quite
make out what it is. It makes curious devilish
noises when not satisfied, and says "goo-goo"
when it is. It is not one of us, for it doesn't walk;
it is not a bird, for it doesn't fly; it is not a frog,
for it doesn't hop; it is not a snake, for it doesn't
crawl; I feel sure it is not a fish, though I cannot
get a chance to find out whether it can swim or not.
It merely lies around, and mostly on its back, with
its feet up. I have not seen any other animal do
that before. I said I believed it was an enigma; but
she only admired the word without understanding it.
In my judgment it is either an enigma or some kind
of a bug. If it dies, I will take it apart and see what
its arrangements are. I never had a thing perplex
me so.

THREE MONTHS LATER. -- The perplexity aug-
ments instead of diminishing. I sleep but little. It
has ceased from lying around, and goes about on its
four legs now. Yet it differs from the other four-
legged animals, in that its front legs are unusually
short, consequently this causes the main part of its
person to stick up uncomfortably high in the air, and
this is not attractive. It is built much as we are,
but its method of traveling shows that it is not of
our breed. The short front legs and long hind ones
indicate that it is of the kangaroo family, but it is a
marked variation of the species, since the true kan-
garoo hops, whereas this one never does. Still it is
a curious and interesting variety, and has not been
catalogued before. As I discovered it, I have felt
justified in securing the credit of the discovery by
attaching my name to it, and hence have called it
KANGAROORUM ADAMIENSIS.... It must have been
a young one when it came, for it has grown exceed-
ingly since. It must be five times as big, now, as it
was then, and when discontented it is able to make
from twenty-two to thirty-eight times the noise it
made at first. Coercion does not modify this, but
has the contrary effect. For this reason I discon-
tinued the system. She reconciles it by persuasion,
and by giving it things which she had previously told
it she wouldn't give it. As already observed, I was
not at home when it first came, and she told me she
found it in the woods. It seems odd that it should
be the only one, yet it must be so, for I have worn
myself out these many weeks trying to find another
one to add to my collection, and for this one to play
with; for surely then it would be quieter and we
could tame it more easily. But I find none, nor any
vestige of any; and strangest of all, no tracks. It
has to live on the ground, it cannot help itself;
therefore, how does it get about without leaving a
track? I have set a dozen traps, but they do no
good. I catch all small animals except that one;
animals that merely go into the trap out of curiosity,
I think, to see what the milk is there for. They
never drink it.

THREE MONTHS LATER. -- The Kangaroo still
continues to grow, which is very strange and per-
plexing. I never knew one to be so long getting its
growth. It has fur on its head now; not like
kangaroo fur, but exactly like our hair except that
it is much finer and softer, and instead of being
black is red. I am like to lose my mind over the
capricious and harassing developments of this un-
classifiable zoological freak. If I could catch
another one -- but that is hopeless; it is a new
variety, and the only sample; this is plain. But I
caught a true kangaroo and brought it in, thinking
that this one, being lonesome, would rather have
that for company than have no kin at all, or any
animal it could feel a nearness to or get sympathy
from in its forlorn condition here among strangers
who do not know its ways or habits, or what to do
to make it feel that it is among friends; but it was
a mistake -- it went into such fits at the sight of the
kangaroo that I was convinced it had never seen one
before. I pity the poor noisy little animal, but there
is nothing I can do to make it happy. If I could
tame it -- but that is out of the question; the more
I try the worse I seem to make it. It grieves me to
the heart to see it in its little storms of sorrow and
passion. I wanted to let it go, but she wouldn't
hear of it. That seemed cruel and not like her; and
yet she may be right. It might be lonelier than
ever; for since I cannot find another one, how could
IT?

FIVE MONTHS LATER. -- It is not a kangaroo.
No, for it supports itself by holding to her finger,
and thus goes a few steps on its hind legs, and then
falls down. It is probably some kind of a bear;
and yet it has no tail -- as yet -- and no fur, except
on its head. It still keeps on growing -- that is a
curious circumstance, for bears get their growth
earlier than this. Bears are dangerous -- since our
catastrophe -- and I shall not be satisfied to have this
one prowling about the place much longer without a
muzzle on. I have offered to get her a kangaroo if
she would let this one go, but it did no good -- she
is determined to run us into all sorts of foolish risks,
I think. She was not like this before she lost her
mind.

A FORTNIGHT LATER. -- I examined its mouth.
There is no danger yet: it has only one tooth. It
has no tail yet. It makes more noise now than it
ever did before -- and mainly at night. I have
moved out. But I shall go over, mornings, to
breakfast, and see if it has more teeth. If it gets a
mouthful of teeth it will be time for it to go, tail or
no tail, for a bear does not need a tail in order to be
dangerous.

FOUR MONTHS LATER. -- I have been off hunting
and fishing a month, up in the region that she calls
Buffalo; I don't know why, unless it is because there
are not any buffaloes there. Meantime the bear has
learned to paddle around all by itself on its hind
legs, and says "poppa" and "momma." It is
certainly a new species. This resemblance to words
may be purely accidental, of course, and may have
no purpose or meaning; but even in that ease it is
still extraordinary, and is a thing which no other
bear can do. This imitation of speech, taken
together with general absence of fur and entire
absence of tail, sufficiently indicates that this is a
new kind of bear. The further study of it will be
exceedingly interesting. Meantime I will go off on
a far expedition among the forests of the north and
make an exhaustive search. There must certainly be
another one somewhere, and this one will be less
dangerous when it has company of its own species.
I will go straightway; but I will muzzle this one
first.

THREE MONTHS LATER. -- It has been a weary,
weary hunt, yet I have had no success. In the
meantime, without stirring from the home estate, she
has caught another one! I never saw such luck.
I might have hunted these woods a hundred years; I
never would have run across that thing.

NEXT DAY. -- I have been comparing the new one
with the old one, and it is perfectly plain that they
are the same breed. I was going to stuff one of
them for my collection, but she is prejudiced against
it for some reason or other; so I have relinquished
the idea, though I think it is a mistake. It would
be an irreparable loss to science if they should get
away. The old one is tamer than it was and can
laugh and talk like the parrot, having learned this,
no doubt, from being with the parrot so much, and
having the imitative faculty in a highly developed
degree. I shall be astonished if it turns out to be
a new kind of parrot; and yet I ought not to be
astonished, for it has already been everything else it
could think of since those first days when it was
a fish. The new one is as ugly now as the old one
was at first; has the same sulphur-and-raw-meat
complexion and the same singular head without any
fur on it. She calls it Abel.

TEN YEARS LATER. -- They are BOYS; we found it
out long ago. It was their coming in that small,
immature shape that puzzled us; we were not used
to it. There are some girls now. Abel is a good
boy, but if Cain had stayed a bear it would have
improved him. After all these years, I see that I
was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better
to live outside the Garden with her than inside it
without her. At first I thought she talked too
much; but now I should be sorry to have that voice
fall silent and pass out of my life. Blessed be the
chestnut that brought us near together and taught
me to know the goodness of her heart and the sweet-
ness of her spirit!

END.