of the night before. I can see him yet sitting in a barber’s chair with his odd mannish face, white hair (he was only 25) and shrunken body, trying be(sic) appear as a man of ordinary passions & desires, to the great delight of his hearers.
    With Delos Hanna it was a lack of friends. His mental peculiarities only formed around him an impassible barrier; he has not even acquaintances. The wits chided him because he had no friends. Presently he commenced to relate enthusiastically of letters from friends in imaginary towns; some times he would disappear for short intervals, & coming forth again would relate of visits to his friends in distant places. Gradually he took to stopping unsuspecting strangers in the street &