“Yes, madam, it is the first time I ever had the pleasure of visiting your beautiful city,” courteously replied the Southerner. “I was sorry not to be able to get here in time to hear Mr. Webster, who spoke, they tell me, in your Faneuil Hall, last Saturday. Dear Webster! I positively love him as if he were my brother. He is doing such a good work for our common country.” “Oh, isn’t he splendid!” lisped Miss Atkins, with a languishing air. “So statesmanlike! We were all there to hear him, Mr. Lafitte. Oh, it was beautiful!” “I can well imagine that, Miss Atkins,” replied Mr. Lafitte, smiling blandly at her; “and it was really patriotic in you to lend the grace and beauty of your presence, ladies, to ornament such an occasion. Dear Webster is giving abolition fanaticism its death-blow. By the way, speaking of fanaticism, Mr. Atkins pointed out two of your notorieties to me in the street to-day—Garrison and Wendell Phillips.” “Horrid wretches!” murmured Mrs. Atkins, in a die-away tone. “Be Jove!” blurted Thomas, “I’d just like to put an ounce of lead into them two. I would, be Jove!” “Very patriotic,” said Mr. Lafitte, with a courteous inclination of his head toward the speaker, “and spoken in the true Southern spirit.” “Those two men ought to be hung,” said Horatio, solemnly, emulous of Southern approbation. “They make me think of that anecdote of Charles Lamb, Mr. Lafitte. You remember, sir, a stranger called on Lamb at the West Indy House. ‘Are you Mr. Lamb?’ said he. ‘Well,’ said Charles, feeling the grey whisker on his cheek, ‘I think I’m old enough to be a sheep.’ Now, Garrison and Wendell Phillips,” continued Horatio, making the exquisitely felicitous application, “they’re old enough to be sheep, and I go for making them dead mutton.” “Ha, ha, capital!” exclaimed Mr. Atkins, with a mild bellow, looking around on the company, with a smiling, open mouth of satisfaction in his son’s wit. “Very good, be Jove!” said Thomas, with a grin. Mrs. Atkins feebly clapped her hands, and said, “good, good,” and Caroline giggled, and softly murmured, “Oh, Horatio, you’re so funny!” What a set of damned boobies! thought Mr. Lafitte; then aloud: “Yes, that’s a capital story, and your application of it, Mr. Horatio, is one of the best things I’ve heard. But I was surprised to see that Garrison is quite a mild, benevolent-looking man. We think of him down South, you know, as a red-faced brawler, and I was struck with the contrast between the original and the fancy portrait. Phillips, too, surprised me still more, for he has the air of a high-bred gentleman. I’ll tell you who he reminded me of. You are aware, ladies, that the Mobilians are famous for their polished grace and high breeding. Now, the flower of them all is Tom Lafourcade. In fact his elegance and dignity of manner and bearing are town-talk down there. Well, if you’ll believe me, Phillips, though he has a graver and less pronounced air, actually reminded me of Tom Lafourcade.”