it was singular that they should canonize all the subjects of
the institution. But, as a rule, all controversy with the indignant zeal
of our relative was avoided; in his eyes any approach to a philosophical
attitude on the burning question was a crime. Nor were his convictions
less pronounced on the subject of total abstinence from liquor and
tobacco. Now, my father smoked an occasional cigar, and it once came
about that he was led to mention the fact in Horace Mann's hearing. The
reformer's bristles were set in a moment. "Do I understand you to say,
Mr. Hawthorne, that you actually use tobacco?" "Yes, I smoke a cigar
once in a while," replied my father, comfortably. Horace Mann could not
keep his seat; he started up and paced the room menacingly. He had a
high admiration for my father's genius, and a deep affection for him
as a man, and this infidelity to the true faith seemed to him the more
appalling. But he would be true to his colors at all costs, and after
a few moments he planted himself, tall and tragic, before his
interlocutor, and spoke, in a husky voice, to this effect: "Then, Mr.
Hawthorne, it is my duty to tell you that I no longer have the same
respect for you that I have had." Then he turned and strode from the
room, leaving the excommunicated one to his reflections. Faithful are
the wounds of a friend, and my father was as much touched as he was
amused by this example of my uncle's candor. Of course, there was a
great vacuum in the place where my uncle's sense of humor might have
been; but there are a time and place for such men as he, and more than
once the men without sense of humor have moved the world.

In addition to the Manns, there were visitors--the succession of whom,
indeed, was henceforth to continue till the end of my father's earthly
pilgrimage. Among the earliest to arrive was Grace Greenwood, wading
energetically to our door through the December snow. She was one of the
first, if not the first, of the tribe of women correspondents; she had
lately returned, I think, from England, and the volume of her letters
from that strange country was in everybody's hands. She was then a young
woman, large and handsome, with dark hair and complexion, and large,
expressive eyes, harmonious, aquiline features, and a picturesque
appearance. She wore her hair in abundant curls; she exhaled an
atmosphere of romance, of graceful and ardent emotions, and of almost
overpowering sentiment. In fact, she had a gen