“Nevertheless,” said Muriel, “Mr. Webster shocked me, like a torpedo fish, and I’ll tell you how. There was a grand party, at which he was present. Mother and I were there, and I, who was a girl of fourteen, had no eyes for anybody but Mr. Webster. My great desire was to hear him say something, for I thought anything he said would be remarkable, and worth putting in an album, so I followed him whenever he went through the crowded drawing-rooms, with my ears wide open, eagerly listening for the golden sentence. But Mr. Webster was in a very silent humor, and wandered about without speaking to anybody. By and by he went up-stairs to the supper room, and I followed him, in reverent admiration and expectancy. He approached the supper-table, bowed solemnly to some ladies near by, took a fork, and began to eat from a dish of pickled oysters. After he had eaten three or four, he paused, with an oyster on his fork, turned his great head slowly and majestically to the ladies, and opened his lips. The golden sentence was coming, and I listened breathlessly. Now what do you think he said?” “Well, what?” inquired Harrington, after a hushed pause. “Said he, in his deep, grum, orotund, bass voice, like the low rolling of distant summer thunder, ‘What nice little oysters these are!’” Every one burst into hearty laughter, as Muriel mimicked the tones of the Websterian ejaculation. “That was my reward for so long waiting,” she continued, when the laughter had subsided. “That was my golden sentence, which, of course, never went from the tablets of memory to the album. It was an immense shock to know that great statesmen said such things as common people say.” “And you heard nothing else?” said Wentworth, vastly amused at the anecdote. “Not another word. He devoured the oyster, and wandered down-stairs again, leaving with me the ponderous sprat which the flavor of the mollusc had conjured from the ocean depths of his mighty mind.” They began to laugh again, when a ring at the door-bell was heard. “That’s papa!” cried Julia. Papa it was—come for his family. He came in presently, robust and decisive, purseproud, as usual, and smiling, made his salutations with a certain rude courtesy, and took a chair. “Well, young ladies,” he burst out presently, “so you went to hear Phillips harangue this evening.” “Yes, uncle,” returned Muriel, sportively, “we had you to keep us in countenance you know.” “Indeed! Well, I’m sorry if my example incited you. Lafitte, our Southern visitor, thought it would be amusing to hear some of the fanatical blather, and so I took him along, and, just by chance, he got a dose of Phillips.” “I hope the dose did him good, Lemuel, and you also,” said Mrs. Eastman, with some spirit. “Oh, I don’t deny Phillips’s power, Serena,” replied the merchant, carelessly. “It’s all very fine, and if he were in the Whig party, he’d be a man of mark. It’s a pity, as I always say, to see such wonderful ability wasted.”