[Instead of an editorial, the paper reprinted this poem, which seems to have been written by Clark McAdams, who edited the column "Just a Minute," although that isn't explicitly established by the layout of the feature. It isn't a very good poem, but it's worth reading. Of all the accounts of where the name "Mark Twain" came from, this is the only one I know that acknowledges that the leadsmen who sang out "Mark Twain" on the Mississippi when Clemens was a pilot would all have been African American.]

"MARK TWAIN!" What a monument -- better than granite!
Better than marble, though master should plan it.
Simply "Mark Twain!" for a life of endeavor,
Sung on the old Mississippi forever!

His and no other's -- and how everlasting!
Think of the darky his sounding line casting
Out from the bow till the heavens shall totter,
Singing "Mark Twain!" for his twelve feet of water.

Years in their trooping and nights in their glory
Guarding forever that beautiful story --
Silvery bells, and the darkies the while at
Singing their water-marks up to the pilot.

Sung when the humorist long has departed --
When the new channels for old ones are charted --
While the great river sings soft as a child could,
And the sweet echo resounds in the wildwood.

Sung when the hoot-owl calls out of the bottom --
When the night air has the crispness of Autumn --
When are new captains in old places whereon
Stood the old boatman gone boating with Charon.

Sung while the river by blest hills is flowing --
Out where the whistles are moltenly blowing --
Out where the paddles are hollowly pounding,
And the black stevedore sings at his sounding.

"Mark Twain!" What a monument -- better than granite!
Better than marble, though master should plan it.
Simply "Mark Twain" for a life of endeavor
Sung on the old Mississippi forever.