"When reminded that the dinner-bell had rung, he rose and went to the table, still with his book in his hand. He asked the blessing with a tremor in his voice, which showed the intense excitement under which he was laboring. We were alone at the table, and there was nothing to distract his thoughts. He drank his coffee, ate but little, and returned to his reading, with no thought of indulging in his usual nap. His almost uncontrollable excitement revealed itself in frequent half-suppressed sobs.
"Mr. Beecher was a very slow reader. I was getting uneasy over the marks of strong feeling and excitement, and longed to have him finish the book. I could see that he entered into the whole story, every scene, as if it were being acted right before him, and he himself were the sufferer. He had always been a pronounced Abolitionist, and the story he was reading roused intensely all he had felt on that subject.
"The night came on. It was growing late, and I felt impelled to urge him to retire. Without raising his eyes from the book, he replied:
"'Soon; soon; you go; I'll come soon.'
"Closing the house, I went to our room; but not to sleep. The clock struck twelve, one, two, three; and then, to my great relief, I heard Mr. Beecher coming up-stairs. As he entered, he threw Uncle Tom's Cabin on the table, exclaiming: 'There; I've done it! But if Hattie Stowe ever writes anything more like that I'll—well! She has nearly killed me.'
"And he never picked up the book from that day."
Any one who knew Henry Ward Beecher at all knew of his love of books. He was, however, most prodigal in lending his books and he always forgot the borrowers. Then when he wanted a certain volume from his library he could not find it. He would, of course, have forgotten the borrower, but he had a unique method of tracing the book.
One evening the great preacher suddenly appeared at a friend's house and, quietly entering the drawing-room without removing his overcoat, he walked up to his friend and said:
"Rossiter, why don't you bring back that Ruskin of mine that I lent you?"
The man colored to the roots of his hair. "Why, Mr. Beecher," he said, "I'll go up-stairs and get it for you right away. I would not have kept it so long, only you told me I might."