ness in prosperity, and passed on in hope. I have known much that was commendable in them, and a good deal that was disreputable. I have taken note of births and weddings, and have been a silent observer of happy and unhappy home circles. I have known young men who went out in the world to seek their fortunes; have known of their successful and unsuccessful careers; have renewed their acquaintance when they returned to the scenes of their childhood for brief vacations, and summered and wintered them, when in old age and infirmities they have sought the place where they were born to spend the closing days of their eventful lives. Ah, yes, I have seen much of life—from the cradle to the grave—from the joy of birth, the merry bells of the wedding, to the solemn dirge of the funeral! Let me not dwell upon it.
"Having said this much, you will agree that my lot has been cast among some very strange people, and that I am qualified to dwell upon particulars were it necessary. I will only say, at this time, however, that I have had a pleasant acquaintance with men who have immortalized their names as heroes, martyrs, soldiers, statesmen, and scholars. I knew Captain Lovewell, the famous Indian fighter; I was a friend with many of the heroes who won the independence of this country—men whose names shall live in song and story. I have spent hours with the veterans who fought in the war of 1812, and with the brave of the New England regiment who trod the path of glory in Mexico. But of all my heroes I count none greater than those into whose faces I look to-day and realize that they marched and fought with Grant and Sherman, and by their courage and valor gave the nation a new birth in freedom and a free flag. I have known statesmen such as Webster, poets like Whittier, editors like Rogers, and of poets and painters not a few. Summer tourists, teachers, merchants, and mechanics, have been among my acquaintances. But of all these I never had the acquaintance of any individual who so thoroughly interested me and completely aroused my curiosity as a young man who started out to be a hermit, and who lived in a hamlet at the foot of yonder mountain.
"I will tell you about him. He came to these parts shortly after the war of the rebellion. He was, I should judge, about twenty-five years of age. Where he came from I was slow to find out, and what became of him I am not at this day in ignorance. 'P. P.,' were the initials on some of his baggage, and every thing about him indicated good circumstances in his previous condition and surroundings. He was a man of magnificent proportions, superior intelligence, and scholarly habits. He was grave or gay as humor moved him, and a gentleman under all circumstances. A good marksman, a patient fisherman, a botanist, a geologist, and a student. I could not and did not understand him, although we were on the most friendly relations. That such a man, capable of filling an honorable place in the world of business or letters, and of adorning any society, should have thus early in life become a soured recluse and desire to escape from his kind, was a mystery that puzzled me exceedingly. What was his purpose? What motive impelled him to this mode of life? Had that fickle mistress which some call 'fortune,' and others denote 'luck,' frowned on his schemes? Was he a physician without patients, a lawyer without clients, a clergyman without a parish, or an embryo statesman whom the voters of some town or county had failed to appreciate? I could not make up my mind. Sometimes I imagined the worst, and said to myself reluctantly—'He has in all probability committed some horrible crime—perhaps robbed a bank, absconded with an orphan fund, stolen the funds of a town, mill, or city, or, which is equally as bad, peddled bogus mining stocks—and is hiding from the law and his creditors.'
