“She is a very nice lady that saw me through her window when I was playing on the pavement, and we talked to each other, and she asked me to come into her house. She’s such a kind lady, and she paints beautiful cups and saucers. She’s my friend. And her cook is a nice lady too. She lives in the basemen’ and she talks to me through the window. She likes little boys. I have two friends in that house.” “My friend Mrs. Wilkins” became one of his cherished intimates. His visits to her were frequent and prolonged. “I’ve just been to see my friend Mrs. Wilkins,” he would say; or, “My friend Mrs. Wilkins’s husband is very kind to me. We go to his store, and he gives me oranges.” It is not improbable that he also painted china during his calls upon his friend Mrs. Wilkins. It is certain that, if he did not otherwise assist, his attitude was that of an enthusiastic admirer of the art. That his conversation with the lady embraced many subjects, we have evidence in an anecdote frequently related with great glee by those to whom the incident was reported. I myself was not present during the ingenuous summing up of the charm of social life, but I have always mentally seen him taking his part in the scene in one of his celebrated conversational attitudes, in which he usually sat holding his plump knee in a manner which somehow seemed to express deep, speculative thought. “Are you in society, Mrs. Wilkins?” he inquired, ingenuously. “What _is_ being in society, Vivvie?” Mrs. Wilkins replied, probably with the intention of drawing forth his views. “It’s—well—there are a great many carriages, you know, and a great many ladies come to see you. And they say, ‘How _are_ you, Mrs. Burnett? So glad to find you at home.’ Gabble, gabble, gabble, gabble. ‘_Good_ morning!’ And they go away. That’s it.” I am not quite sure that I repeat the exact phrasing, but the idea is intact, and the point which inspired the hearers with such keen joy was that he had absolutely no intention of making an unfriendly criticism. He was merely painting an impressionist’s picture. On his own part he was fond of society. It delighted him to be allowed to come into the drawing-room on the days when his mamma was “at home.” This function impressed him as an agreeable festivity. As he listened to the “gabble, gabble, gabble,” he beamed with friendly interest. He admired the ladies, and regarded them as beautiful and amiable. It was his pleasure to follow the departing ones into the hall and render them gallant assistance with their wraps. “I like ladies, dearest,” he would say. “They are so pretty.” At what age he became strongly imbued with the stanchest Republican principles, it would be difficult to say. He was an unflinching Republican.