[Boston—Thursday, 22 November 1866]
Thursday morning Mr Beecher came to breakfast. He was full of jollity. His hair is greyer and thinner and his very gayety leads me to see what a gulf of depression has opened before him. He gave an amusing description of his house having been entered of late (He began by speaking of the sad increase of crime but as if it would never do to dwell on the clouded side one instant proceeded). The family was yet in the country but his son Harry and himself would come by turns or perhaps together to pass the night in Brooklyn; that day Harry had left the house at eleven he was there at four and between those hours several hundred dollars worth of property had been carried off. It was all done so coolly too; the men took a clothes basket and packed it and then taking all the bread and cheese they could find sat down on the best couch in the drawing-room and made a hearty meal “doubtless thinking I was very mean to have nothing better in the house for them. I never suspected burglars and went into the house as usual to change my linen. I was going to speak that night. On going to my drawer I found two others half open with the things all pulled about—soap, matches, collars, and trifles which I like to take when I travel. Hullo, I said getting very indignant, it’s very well for Harry to borrow my things if he will come and ask me but I won’t have him pulling my things out and leaving them in this fashion. Getting over this as best I might I went to the shirt drawer—there were no shirts. Now Harry I said this is too bad—then I bethought me he couldn’t wear a dozen at once—but I remembered his brother officers had passed the previous night there. Yes that explains all.” And so he went on from point to point until the broken glass and ultimately the discovery of valuables missing persuaded him. It was not until nearly the end of his visit that he spoke of politics—of Johnson having made such a fool of himself—nobody could have counted on that—if he had only kept still all might have been arranged—but some day Mr Beecher will see with the rest of us who are farther from the scene of action and can judge more dispassionately that God means to have the wrong rooted out and the South have yet alas! to suffer perhaps the North also. When he was going I asked when we should see him here again. He said not much this winter “you know I’m not the lecturer this year.” Nevertheless last night he spoke in aid of the Freed people. $5,000 was raised in the house, the meeting was enthousiastic “that cause lies nearest my heart now. The course of education—to bring up the fibre of the brain—this is what will help the world along more than anything.”
Roars and peals of laughter went up from our breakfast table. He told us how curiously electric audiences were sometimes and how once he was greeted for some reason as the “funny fellow” and everything he said even when most tender and pathetic caused peals of laughter until he took the cue and made as much of his matter in that way as he could until they were laughed out.
He has yielded to Bonner and has promised to write him a novel for the unexampled price of $25,000 paid down. As yet the world does not know this.
He is pleased with the feeling which has prompted the article upon his church in the A.M. by Parton. He says the man understands me and my aim. “I don’t care a damn for theology but where a man is in need I preach to him and through him the whole congregation is affected.”
