great crowds, and the blare of the band. Suddenly an aged pair,
seemingly skeletons, so bony and wan were they, were seen tottering
toward the fence, where they at last stopped. They had come from the
direction of the graveyard. The marshal rushed forward calling out,
"Go back, go back; this is not the general resurrection, it is only
the Goffstown Muster."

Doctor Ben Crosby was one of the most admirable mimics ever known and
without a suspicion of ill-nature. Sometimes he would call on us
representing another acquaintance, who had just left, so perfectly
that the gravest and stiffest were in danger of hysterics. This power
his daughter inherited.

John Lord, the historical lecturer, was always a "beacon light" (which
was the name he gave his lectures when published) as he discussed the
subjects and persons he took for themes before immense audiences
everywhere. His conversation was also intensely interesting. He was a
social lion and a favourite guest. His lectures have still a large
annual sale--no one who once knew him or listened to his pyrotechnic
climaxes could ever forget him or them. It was true that he made nine
independent and distinct motions simultaneously in his most intense
delivery. I once met him going back to his rooms at his hotel carrying
a leather bag. He stopped, opened it, showing a bottle of Scotch
whiskey, and explained "I am starting in on a lecture on Moses." There
was a certain simplicity about the man. Once when his right arm was in
a sling, broken by a fall from a horse, he offered prayer in the old
church. And unable to use his arm as usual, he so balanced his
gyrations that he in some way drifted around until when he said "Amen"
his face fronted the whitewashed wall back of his pulpit. He turned to
the minister standing by him, saying in a very audible whisper, "Do