remember that Felton, commenting upon this, said, "This shows what a
mistake it is not to read the numbers as they are issued. He has thereby
lost the whole of this story when he might have enjoyed a part of it."

One other singular figure comes back to me across the wide waste of
years, and seems to ask some mention at my hands.

The figure is that of Thomas Gold Appleton, a man whom, in his own
despite, the old Boston dearly cherished. In appearance he was of rather
more than medium height, and his countenance, which was not handsome,
bore a curious resemblance to that of his beautiful sister Fanny, the
beloved wife of the poet Longfellow. He wore his hair in what might have
been called elf locks, and the expression of his dark blue eyes varied
from one of intense melancholy to amused observation.

[Illustration: THOMAS GOLD APPLETON

_From a photograph lent by Mrs. John Murray Forbes._]

Tom Appleton, as he was usually called, was certainly a man of parts and
of great reputation as a wit, but I should rather have termed him a
humorist. He cultivated a Byronic distaste for the Puritanic ways of New
England. In truth, he was always ready for an encounter of arms
(figuratively speaking) with institutions and with individuals, while
yet in heart he was most human and humane. Born in affluence, he did not
embrace either business or profession, but devoted much time to the
study of painting, for which he had more taste than talent. It was as a
word artist that he was remarkable; and his graphic felicities of
expression led Mr. Emerson to quote him as "the first conversationalist
in America," an eminence which I, for my part, should have been more
inclined to accord to Dr. Holmes.

He loved European life, and had many friends among the notabilities of
English society. He was a fellow passenger on the steamer which carried
Dr. Howe and myself as far as Liverpool on our wedding journey. People
in our cabin were apt to call for a Welsh rabbit before turning in for
the night. Apropos of this, he remarked to me, "You eat a rabbit before
going to bed, and presently you dream that you are a shelf with a large
cheese resting upon it."

He was much attached to his father, of whom he once said to me, "We
don't dare to mention anything pathetic at our table. If we did, father
would be sure to spoil the soup" (with his tears, being understood). The
elder Appleton belonged to the congregation of the Federal Street
Church. I aske