re well enough satisfied; some were anyway."

"Were there any who expressed dissatisfaction?"

"I would not pry into it, stranger; there wasn't much said against it
anyhow."

"Now you have aroused my curiosity. I must beg you to let me know. Who
criticized it, and what did they say? It might help me to hear it."

"Well, Squire Jones was the man; he does not say much one way or
other. But I'll tell you he always gets the gist of it."

"And what was his verdict?"

"If you must know, Squire Jones he said, said he, he thought
'twas--awful shaller."

Doctor Ben's Goffstown Muster was a quicker tempo and had a better
climax. 'Twas the great occasion of the annual military reviews. He
graphically described boys driving colts hardly broken; mothers
nursing babies, very squally; girls and their beaux sitting in the
best wagon holding hands and staring about (as Warner said to me,
"Young love in the country is a solemn thing"); the booths for sale of
gingerbread, peanuts, cider, candies, and popcorn; the marshal of the
day dashing here and there on his prancing steed. All was excitement,
great crowds, and the blare of the band. Suddenly an aged pair,
seemingly skeletons, so bony and wan were they, were seen tottering
toward the fence, where they at last stopped. They had come from the
direction of the graveyard. The marshal rushed forward calling out,
"Go back, go back; this is not the general resurrection, it is only
the Goffstown Muster."

Doctor Ben Crosby was one of the most admirable mimics ever known and
without a suspicion of ill-nature. Sometimes he would call on us
representing another acquaintance, who had just left, so perfectly
that the gravest and stiffest were in danger of hysterics. This power
his daughter inherited.

John Lord, the historical lecturer, was always a "beacon light" (which
was the name he gave his lectures when published) as he discussed the
subjects and persons he took for themes before immense audiences
everywhere. His conversation was also intensely interesting. He was a
social lion and a favourite guest. His lectures have still a large
annual sale--no one who once knew him or listened to his pyrotechnic
climaxes could ever forget him or them. It was true that he made nine
independent and distinct motions simultaneously in his most intense
delivery. I once met him going back to his rooms at his hotel carrying
a leather bag. He stopped, opened it, showing a bottle of Scotch
whiskey, and