as a child, but it was because the play was in him and it was time
for play. When our brother was pastor of the North Church, in
Newburyport, it was our custom to meet every Monday morning in
Boston. On one occasion, a brother-in-law of mine, a boy in his
teens, accompanied me to Boston, where we were to meet Mr. Powell. We
soon found ourselves tramping about the city on errands. Mr. Powell
was effervescing with fun. At such seasons, and they were very
frequent, he took great pleasure in making me the victim of his
frolicsomeness. On this occasion, I found that Mr. Powell had
enlisted the boy in the scheme of hiding away from me every chance
they could get. Passing through a crowd, I would look around and
discover that they had absconded; and then it devolved on me to hunt
them up, I never shall forget how this manoeuvering interested that
boy. He came up to me and whispered the first opportunity he had, "He
is the funniest minister that I ever saw in my life." That was his
first visit with Mr. Powell, but it was not the last. On that day an
attachment was formed which has lasted through all these years. A
little boy, four years old, in Oak Park, where Mr. Powell resided for
some time, was asked by his father, what he wanted to do when he got
to be a man, and answered: "Be a minister and go hunting like Mr.
Powell." He was a man for the boys. He touched a responsive chord in
their nature. He could enjoy what they enjoyed with as keen a relish
as they themselves.

He was the very soul of friendship; he had a genius for it. The
friends that he made are only limited by the want of personal contact
with him. In the making of them it may be said "He came, he saw, he
conquered." How wide he opened his arms to receive us! There were no
partition walls to be levelled before we approached him. It required
no studied effort to get at him. The way was always clear; the door
was without a latch-string even; it was open. You never had to ask,
Is Mr. Powell in a proper mood to see his friends to-day? Why, it was
worth a journey of fifty miles just to meet that man and receive a
grasp of his hand! I remember going to a depot in Chicago to meet him
as he came in on the train. As soon as he singled me out from the
crowd, he rushed towards me, exclaiming in his bantering way: "Well,
well, well, this is the first sensible thing I ever knew you to do,
come on old fellow;" and he grasped my arm and hurried me away,
saying, "I am just glad