“  very great.” Another remark on another subject elicited from him the energetic assertion that the “invention of the key was the devil's masterpiece.” Alluding to a recent paragraph of his, I said I thought it the best piece of English he had ever written. “No,” he replied, “there's a bad repetition in it of the word sober in the same sentence; I can write better English than that.” I told him of the project of getting half a dozen of the best men and women of the country to join in preparing a series of school reading books. He said, “ They would be in danger of shooting over the heads of the children.” To which I replied: “No; it is common men who do that; great men are simple, and akin to children.” A little child, four years old, with long flaxen hair and ruddy cheeks, came in and said, “mother wants you up stairs.” He caught it up in his arms with every manifestation of excessive fondness, saying, “No, you rogue, it's you that want him;” and the child wriggled out of his arms and ran away. As I was going, some ladies came in, and I remained a moment longer, at his request. He made a languid and quite indescribable attempt at introduction, merely mentioning the names of the ladies with a faint bob at each. One of them asked a question about Spiritualism. He said, “I have paid no attention to that subject for two years. I became satisfied it would lead to no good. In fact, I am so taken up with the things of this world, that I have too little time to spend on the affairs of the other.” She said, “a distinction ought to be made between those who investigate the phenomena as phenomena, and those who embrace them fanatically.” “Yes,” said he, “I have no objection to their being investigated by those who have more time than I have.” “Have you heard,” asked the lady, of the young man who personates Shakspeare? “ ” No, “ he replied, ” but I am satisfied there is no folly it will not run into. Then he rose, and said, “Take off your things and go up stairs. must get some supper, for I have to go to that meeting at the Tabernacle, to-night,” (anti-Nebraska.) As I passed the hat-stand in the hall, I said, “Here is that immortal white coat.” He smiled and said, “People suppose it's the same old coat, but it is n't.” I looked questioningly, and he continued, “The original white coat came from Ireland. An emigrant brought it out; he wanted money and I wanted a coat; so I bought ”
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