taken so many of our Quaker
girls that there is none left for me.’
A year or two later, my husband invited him to dine, but was detained so late that I had a tete-a-tAte of half an hour with Mr. Whittier
We sat near the fire, rather shy and silent, both of us. Whenever I spoke to Whittier
, he hitched his chair nearer to the fire.
At last Dr. Howe
came in. I said to him afterwards, ‘My dear, if you had been a little later, Mr. Whittier
would have gone up the chimney.’
The most welcome visitor of all was Uncle Sam Ward
He came into the house like light: we warmed our hands at his fire and were glad.
It was not because he brought us peaches and gold bracelets, Virginia
hams (to be boiled after his own recipe, with a bottle of champagne, a wisp of new-mown hay and -we forget what else!), and fine editions of Horace: it was because he brought himself.
“I disagree with Sam Ward
,” said Charles Sumner
, “on almost every known topic: but when I have talked with him five minutes I forget everything save that he is the most delightful companion in the world!”
A volume might be filled with Uncle Sam's mots
and jests; but print would do him cold justice, lacking the kindling of his eyes and smile, the mellow music of his laugh.
Memory pictures rise up, showing him and our mother together in every variety of scene.
We see them coming out of church together after a long and dull sermon, and hear him whisper to her, “Ce pauvre Dieu
Again, we see them driving together after some function at which the address of one Potts