Of small
conversation, conversational pleasantries, and what is called
table-talk, he happily knew nothing. He had no sharp wit or repartee,
but plenty of genial humor, and could of course tell a story to
perfection. His imitations of other orators were highly amusing,
especially what he called Webster's Rochester speech: "The public debt;
it must be paid; and it _shall_ be paid;--how much is it?" He would
go through the performance and then resume his seat at the table,
laughing like a child. When Emerson and Phillips dined together they
would look at one another, as it seemed, with a kind of awe, as if they
were more wonderful to each other than to ordinary mortals. It was after
such an occasion that Emerson said, "This man is such a perfect artist
that he ought to be walking all the galleries of Europe, and yet here he
is fighting these hard questions." He did not appear to care much for
society however, and always declined an invitation where he was in
danger of being lionized, or otherwise made use of.
A characteristic anecdote is told of him during the expedition of the
abolitionists to England in 1853. They were entertained there by their
British allies, and also by members of the nobility. A certain duchess
(or countess perhaps) invited them to a lawn-party, and while they were
engaged in drinking coffee on her lawn, an uncomfortable drizzling mist
came down on the company.
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