TOBACCO LEAVES 



From that day, I have never seen that 

 broker. 



One morning, early in 1893, I was walk- 

 ing up Tremont Street, in Boston, when* 

 just opposite to the Boston Museum, I 

 saw a gentleman approaching. We had 

 the sidewalk to ourselves, as it was so 

 early. He carried a grip. He was so tall, 

 and such a grand-looking man, with such 

 a divine face and great, dark, sympathetic 

 eyes, with the fire of genius in them, that 

 I looked, and looked, and looked, feeling 

 sure that he must be Somebody. After I 

 had passed, I turned to look again, and I 

 found him looking my way. I started to 

 go to him, and speak, but I lost my nerve, 

 and he turned into Beacon Street, and was 

 lost to view. Some months after, I stood 

 in line at Trinity Church, in Boston, for 

 an hour, in order to drop a flower on the 

 coffin of Phillips Brooks, whom I had never 

 heard preach, but whose sermons and good 



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