He
frequently 'gave way to his pocket-handkerchief,' to use one of his old
humorous remarks, in a most vigorous manner. In return for his teasing
me for reading the work weekly, I could not refrain from saying
demurely, as I passed him once: 'You seem to have a severe cold, Henry.
How could you have taken it?' But what did I gain? Not even a
half-annoyed shake of the head, or the semblance of a smile. I might as
well have spoken to the Sphinx.
"When reminded that the dinner-bell had rung, he rose and went to the
table, still with his book in his hand. He asked the blessing with a
tremor in his voice, which showed the intense excitement under which he
was laboring. We were alone at the table, and there was nothing to
distract his thoughts. He drank his coffee, ate but little, and returned
to his reading, with no thought of indulging in his usual nap. His
almost uncontrollable excitement revealed itself in frequent
half-suppressed sobs.
"Mr. Beecher was a very slow reader. I was getting uneasy over the marks
of strong feeling and excitement, and longed to have him finish the
book. I could see that he entered into the whole story, every scene, as
if it were being acted right before him, and he himself were the
sufferer. He had always been a pronounced Abolitionist, and the story he
was reading roused intensely all he had felt on that subject.
"The night came on. It was growing late, and I felt impelled to urge him
to retire.
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