whole matter to pass out of my thoughts.
It may have been a year or more later that Dr. Howe said to me: Do you remember that man of whom I spoke to you,—the one who wished to be a saviour for the negro race?
I replied in the affirmative.
That man, said the doctor, will call here this afternoon.
You will receive him. His name is John Brown.
Thus admonished, I watched for the visitor, and prepared to admit him myself when he should ring at the door.
This took place at our house in South Boston, where it was not at all infra dig. for me to open my own door.
At the expected time I heard the bell ring, and, on answering it, beheld a middle-aged, middle-sized man, with hair and beard of amber color, streaked with gray.
He looked a Puritan of the Puritans, forceful, concentrated, and self-contained.
We had a brief interview, of which I only remember my great gratification at meeting one of whom I had heard so good an account.
I saw him once again at Dr. Howe's office, and then h