son, he stayed there long after what he was pleased to
regard as his convictions had ceased to possess even a Unitarian degree
of religious quality. He was always apostolic in his manner, and his
utterances were ex cathedra, and yet his whole long life was a story
of changing views on the subjects he had chosen to be the theme of his
career.

He was the great opponent of orthodoxy in his day, yet he led his
followers to no goal more explicit than might be surmised from a study
of Kant and Hegel. He was, however, sincere in his devotion to
the will-o'-the-wisp that he conceived to be the truth, and he was
courageous enough to admit that he never satisfied himself. There was
chilly and austere attraction about the man; he was so elevated
and superior that one could hardly help believing that he must know
something of value, and this illusion was the easier because he did know
so much in the way of scholarly learning. My father felt respect for
his character, but was bored by his metaphysics--a form of intellectual
athletics which he had exhausted while still a young man. James's sister
Harriet was also of the company. She was so deaf as to be obliged to use
an ear-trumpet, and she was as positive in her views (which had become
avowedly atheistic) as her brother, and whenever any one began to
utter anything with which she disagreed, she silenced him by the simple
expedient of dropping the ear-trumpet. In herself, she was an agreeable
old lady; but she seldom let her opinions rest long enough for one to
get at her on the merely human side, and she cultivated a retired life,
partly on account of her deafness, partly because her opinions made
society shy of her, and partly because she did not think society worth
her time and attention. She was a good woman, with a mind of exceptional
caliber, but the world admired more than it desired her.

As a relief from the consideration of these exalted personages, I am
disposed to relate a tragic anecdote about our friend Henry Bright.
Early in our Rock Ferry residence he came to dine with us--or I rather
think it was to supper. At any rate, it was an informal occasion, and
the children were admitted to table. My mother had in the cupboard a jar
of excellent raspberry jam, and she brought it forth for the delectation
of our guest. He partook of it liberally, and said he had never eaten
any jam so good; it had a particular tang to it, he declared, which
outdid his best recollections of