The Prince and the Pauper

by Mark Twain

No author in history did more to help create a distinctly American literature, one that parted ways from the British model that had dominated U.S. arts and letters for centuries, than Mark Twain.

enjoyed a success that most authors only dream of. At one point he achieved the distinction of being the richest author in the United States.

There was no talk in all England but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that great lords and ladies were tending him and watching over him—and not caring, either. But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had just come to trouble with his presence.

"When I am king, they shall not have bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, and the heart. I will keep this diligently in my remembrance, that this day's lesson be not lost upon me, and my people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the heart and breedeth gentleness and charity.[2]

"The reign of blood is ended! Long live Edward, King of England!"

I beseech the King to grant to me but this one grace and privilege—to my more than sufficient reward—and none other, to wit: that I and my heirs, for ever, may sit in the presence of the Majesty of England!"

"Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight," said the King, gravely—giving the accolade with Hendon's sword—"rise, and seat thyself. Thy petition is granted. Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilege shall not lapse."

"Thou art King?" "Yes," was the response, drowsily uttered. "What King?" "Of England." "Of England? Then Henry is gone!" "Alack, it is so. I am his son."

"The late King is to be buried at Windsor in a day or two—the 16th of the month—and the new King will be crowned at Westminster the 20th."

Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favourites of the King, all through his brief reign, and his sincere mourners when he died.

Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, white-haired old fellow, of grave and benignant aspect.

"Doff thy hat, it is the King's Ward!"—and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in return—and they valued it, too, for his was an honourable history.