I had occasion to look at Mr. Winthrop's address some little time ago, and, opening the volume containing it in the middle, I read a page or two with approval and delight thinking it was Mr. Winthrop's. But I found, on looking back to the beginning that it was Senator Daniel's.

Mr. Daniel speaks too rarely in the Senate. He is always listened to with great attention. He speaks only on important questions, to which he always makes an important contribution. He has the old-fashioned Virginia method of speech, now nearly passed away,—grave, deliberate, with stately periods and sententious phrases, such, I suppose, as were used in the Convention that adopted the Constitution, or in that which framed or revised the Constitution of Virginia.

Mr. Daniel was a Confederate soldier. He is a Virginian to his heart's core. He looks with great alarm on the possibility that the ancient culture and nobility of the South, and the lofty character of the Virginian as he existed in the time of Washington and Marshall and Patrick Henry may be degraded by raising what he thinks an inferior race to social or even political equality.

But he retains no bitterness or hate or desire for revenge by reason of the conflict of the Civil War. He delivered an address before the President of the United States, the Supreme Court, the representatives of foreign Governments, the two Houses of Congress and the Governors of twenty-one States and Territories, on the 12th of December, 1900, on the occasion of the celebration of the Centennial Anniversary of establishing the seat of Government at Washington. That remarkable address was full of wise counsel to his countrymen. Coming from a representative of Virginia, who had borne arms and been badly wounded in the Civil War, it had a double value and significance. Mr. Daniel declared the cheering and hopeful truth that great races are made of a mixture of races, and that the best and bravest blood of the world's great races is mixed in the American. He appealed eloquently to the circumstances which should stir the heart of the whole people to a new and loftier love of country. He pointed out that the differences in forty- five great Commonwealths are not greater than ought to be expected, and indeed not greater than is healthy. He pointed out the National strength, the power of our great Republic stands at the dawn of a new century, with every man under its flag a freeman and ready to defend it. He called upon his countrymen to stand by the Monroe Doctrine, to be ready to defend it, if need be, in arms. He then specially appealed to the people to foster the inventive genius of the country, and repeated Mr. Jefferson's lofty prophecy that in some future day—

"The farthest star in the heavens will bear the name of Washington, and the city he founded be the Capital of the universal Republic."

Isham G. Harris entered the Senate the same day I did. I counted him always among my friends, although we had some sharp passages. I cannot describe him better than by reprinting here what I said of him in the Senate after his death.

"Mr. President, the great career of Senator Harris is well known to his countrymen. He has been for more than a generation a striking and conspicuous figure in our public life. His colleague, his successor, the men of his own political faith, the people of the great State which he served and honored and loved so long, will, each in their own way, portray his character and record their esteem and affection.

"My tribute must be that of a political opponent. So far as I have been able to exert any influence upon the history of my country during the long conflict now happily past, it has been in opposition to him, to the party to which he belonged, to the opinions which he held, I am sure, quite as zealously and conscientiously as I hold my own.

"We entered the Senate on the same day. He was a Southerner, a Democrat and a Confederate. I was born and bred in New England, a Republican, and an Abolitionist. We rarely spoke in the same debate except on different sides. Yet I have no memory of him that is not tender and affectionate, and there is nothing that I can honestly say of him except words of respect and of honor.

"He was a typical Southerner. He had the virtues and the foibles that belonged to that character in the generation the last of whom are now passing from the stage of public action. He was a man of very simple and very high qualities. He was a man of absolute frankness in public behavior and in private dealing. The thought that was in his heart corresponded absolutely with the utterance of his lips. He had nothing to conceal. I was about to say he was a man without the gift of diplomacy; but he was a man with the gift of the highest diplomacy—directness, simplicity, frankness, courage—qualities which make always their way to their mark and to their goal over all circumlocutions and ambiguities.

"He was a man of brief, clear and compact speech. He would sum up in a few vigorous and ringing sentences the argument to which other men would give hours or days. He had an instinct for the hinge or turning point of a debate.

"He was a man of absolute integrity and steadfastness. What he said, that he would do. Where you left him, there, so long as he lived, you would find him when you came back. He was a man of unflinching courage. He was not afraid of any antagonist, whether in the hall of debate or on the field of battle.

"He was an acknowledged master of parliamentary law, a system upon which not only the convenient procedure of legislative bodies largely depends, but which has close relations to Constitutional Liberty itself. How often a few simple and clear sentences of his have dispersed the clouds and brought order out of confusion in this Chamber.

"His great legislative experience made him invaluable as a servant of his own State, of the country and as a counsellor to his younger associates.

"He was a pleasant man in private intercourse. He had great sense of humor, a gift of portraiture, a good memory. So he brought out of the treasure-house of his varied experience abundant matter for the delight of young and old. There is no man left in the Senate who was better company in hours of recreation.

"His influence will be felt here for a long time. His striking figure will still seem to be hovering about the Senate Chamber, still sitting, still deliberating, still debating.

"Mr. President, it is delightful to think how, during the lives of the men who took part in the great conflict which preceded and followed the Civil War and the greater conflict of the war itself, the old bitterness and estrangements are all gone. Throughout the whole land the word 'countryman' has at last become a title of endearment. The memory of the leaders of that great conflict is preserved as tenderly by the men who fought with them as by the men who followed them. Massachusetts joins with Tennessee in laying a wreath on the tomb of her great soldier, her great Governor, her great Senator. He was faithful to truth as he saw it; to duty as he understood it; to Constitutional Liberty as he conceived it.

"If, as some of us think, he erred, his error was that of a brave man ready to give life and health and hope to the unequal struggle.

To his loved cause he offered, free from stain, Courage and faith; vain faith and courage vain.

"And, Mr. President, when he returned to his allegiance, he offered to the service of his reunited country the same zeal and devotion he had given to the Confederacy. There was no reserved or half-hearted loyalty. We could have counted on his care for the honor and glory of his country, on his wise and brave counsel, in this hour of anxiety, with an unquestioning confidence. So Massachusetts to-day presses the hand of Tennessee and mourns with her for her great citizen who has departed."

James B. Eustis of Louisiana was of old Massachusetts stock. His father was graduated at Harvard, and went to New Orleans, where he acquired great distinction at the bar, and as Chief Justice of that State. Senator Eustis's great-uncle was General Eustis, an eminent solider of the Revolutionary War, and afterward Governor of Massachusetts.

Senator Eustis seemed somewhat indolent, and to take very little interest indeed in what was going on, except on some few occasions when he bore himself in debate with remarkable ability. I think his grave, scholarly style, and his powerful reasoning, the propriety, dignity and moderation with which he dealt with important subjects, made him nearly the finest example of Senatorial behavior I have ever known. He once made a speech in Executive session, on a topic which was suggested suddenly and he could not have anticipated, on the character and history of French diplomacy, which was marvellous alike for his profound and accurate knowledge of the subject and the beauty and grace of his discourse.

I was not intimate with him in Washington. But I met him in Paris, while he was Ambassador there under President Cleveland's Administration. I have delightful memories of his hospitality, especially of one breakfast, where there was but one other guest beside myself, in a beautiful room overlooking the Seine and the Place de la Concorde.

If I were to select the one man of all others with whom I have served in the Senate, who seems to me the most perfect example of the quality and character of the American Senator, I think it would be Edward C. Walthall of Mississippi. I knew him personally very little. I do not now remember that I ever saw him, except in the Capitol, or in the Capitol grounds. I had, I dare say, some pleasant talks with him in the Senate Chamber, or the cloak room. But I remember little of them now. He rarely took part in debate. He was a very modest man. He left to his associates the duty of advocating his and their opinions, unless he was absolutely compelled by some special reason to do it himself. When he did speak the Senate listened to a man of great ability, eloquence and dignity. I once heard him encounter William M. Evarts in debate. Evarts made a prepared speech upon a measure which he had in charge. Walthall's reply must have been unpremeditated and wholly unexpected to him. I think Evarts was in the right and Walthall in the wrong. But the Mississippian certainly got the better of the encounter.

It is a remarkable truth, which impresses itself upon me more and more the longer I live, that men who are perfectly sincere and patriotic may differ from each other on what seem the clearest principles of morals and duty, and yet both sides be conscientious and patriotic. There is hardly a political question among the great questions that have excited the American people for the last half century on which we did not differ from each other. The difference was not only as to the interpretation of the Constitution, and the welfare of the people, but seemed to go down to the very roots of the moral law.

Yet what I have just said about him is without exaggeration. I have the right to believe that he entertained the kindliest and most cordial feeling of regard for me. Not long before he died, President McKinley sent for me to come to the White House. He wished to talk with me about what he should do in dealing with Cuba. He was then holding back the popular feeling, and resisting a demand which manifested itself among Republicans in both Houses of Congress for immediate and vigorous action which would without doubt have brought on the war with Spain without delay. He hoped then that the war might be avoided. I had to go to the Capitol before complying with the President's request, as it was shortly before the time for the session. As I was leaving the Capitol to go to the White House, I met Senator Walthall. He said, "You seem to be going the wrong way this morning," or something like that. I said, "Yes, I am going to see the President." Senator Walthall said; "I wish you would be good enough to say to him from me that he may depend upon the support of the Democrats in the Senate, with only one or two exceptions," whom he named, "to support him in his efforts to avoid war, and to accomplish a peaceful solution of the difficulties in regard to Cuba." I undertook to give the message. And just as we were parting, Senator Walthall turned and said to me that he wished to tell me how highly he regarded me, and how sensible he was, notwithstanding my very strong Northern feeling, of my appreciation of the character of the Southern people, and my desire to do them full justice. He added that he regarded it one of the most pleasant things that had happened to him in life that he had had the pleasure of serving with me. I do not now remember that I ever spoke to him again. He did not come to the Senate Chamber very often afterward. I have thought since that this unwonted expression of deep feeling from a gentleman not wont to wear his heart upon his sleeve toward his political opponent, and a man with whom he so often disagreed, was due to a premonition, of which he was perhaps unconscious, that the end of his life was near, and to the kindly and gentle emotions which in a brave and affectionate heart like his the approach of death is apt to bring.

I could hardly venture to repeat this story, to which there is no other witness than my own, but for some letters in my possession from Mr. Walthall's daughter and friends in which the writers quote even stronger expressions of his regard.

I heard a great deal of him from Senator Lamar, who loved him as a brother, and almost worshipped him as a leader. Senator Lamar told me that he thought Walthall the ablest military genius of the Confederacy, with the exception of Lee, and, I think, of Stonewall Jackson. Indeed, I think he expressed doubt whether either exception could be made. He said that if anything had happened to Lee, Walthall would have succeeded to the chief command of the Confederate forces. General Walthall seemed to me the perfect type of the gentleman in character and speech. He was modest, courteous and eager to be of service to his friends or his country. The description of the young Knight given us by Chaucer, the morning star of English poetry, still abides as the best definition of the gentleman.

Curteis he was, lowly and serviceable.

His colleague, Mr. Williams of Mississippi, after Walthall's death, described the Southern gentleman of our time in a sentence which deserves to stand by the side of Chaucer's:

"The ideal gentleman was always honest; spoke the truth; faced his enemy; fought him, if necessary; never quarrelled with him nor talked about him; rode well; shot well; used chaste and correct English; insulted no man—bore no insult from any; was studiously kind to his inferiors, especially to his slaves; cordial and hospitable to his equals; courteous to his superiors, if he acknowledged any; he scorned a demagogue, but loved his people."

I do not undertake to draw his portraiture. I suppose that whoever does that must describe a great soldier and a great lawyer, as well as a great Senator. I only state what I saw of him in the Senate Chamber. It was said of him by an eminent Republican Senator, his associate on the Committee on Military Affairs, that in dealing with questions which affected the right of Union soldiers, or growing out of service to the Union during the Civil War, no stranger could have discovered on which side of that great war he had ranged himself.

CHAPTER XVII CUSHMAN KELLOGG DAVIS

I reprint here a paper read before the American Antiquarian Society shortly after Mr. Davis's death.

Cushman Kellogg Davis was born at Henderson, Jefferson County, New York, June 16, 1838, and died at St. Paul, Minnesota, November 27, 1900. On his mother's side he was descended from Robert Cushman and Mary Allerton, the last survivor of the company which came over in the Mayflower. He was graduated at the University of Michigan in 1857, and admitted to the Bar shortly before the breaking out of the Civil War. He enlisted at the beginning of the War and served as First Lieutenant of Company B, Eighth Wisconsin Regiment, until 1864, when he was compelled by physical infirmity to resign his commission. He was an excellent soldier. He sustained an injury to one of his eyes, which caused him much pain through life, until a few years before his death he lost the sight of that eye altogether.

After his return from the war, he began the practice of the law anew, in which he gained great distinction. For many years, and until his death, he was the acknowledged leader of the Bar of his State. He was a member of the State Legislature of Minnesota in 1867, United States District Attorney from 1868 till 1873, and Governor of the State in 1874 and 1875. He was one of the Regents of the State University of Minnesota from 1892 to 1898. In 1887 he was elected United States Senator, and reelected in 1893 and 1899. He held the office of Senator until his death. He was Chairman of the Committee on Foreign Relations from March, 1897, till his death. He was one of the Commissioners who negotiated the Treaty of Paris with Spain.

He was a great lover of books, of which he had a costly collection. He knew Shakespeare very thoroughly, and was the author of a book called "The Law of Shakespeare."

He was also a zealous and thorough student of the career of Napoleon, whose civic and military career he greatly admired. His mind was a marvellous storehouse of literary gems which were unknown to most scholars, but rewarded his diligent search and loving study of his books.

Many good stories are told by his companions of the Bar and in public life of his apt quotations. It is said that he once defended a Judge in an impeachment case. The point involved was the power of the court to punish for contempt, and Davis quoted in support of his position the splendid and well-known lines of Henry the Fourth, in the famous scene where the Chief Justice punishes the Prince of Wales for contempt of the judicial office and authority. For this anecdote, the writer is indebted to Senator Lodge. In the Senate, during the Hawaiian debate, he quoted this passage from Juvenal:

Sed quo cecidit sub crimine; quisnam Delator? quibus judiciis; quo teste probavit? Nil horum; verbosa et grandis epistola venit A Capreis. Bene habet; nul plus interrogo.

He then proceeded:

"My friend from Massachusetts (Mr. Hoar) requests me to translate that. He does not need it, of course. But another Senator (Mr. Washburn) suggests that some of the rest of us do. I will not attempt to give a literal translation, but I will give an accurate paraphrase, which will show its application. 'Into what crime has he fallen? By what informer has he been accused? What judge has passed upon him? What witness has testified against him? Not one or any of these. A verbose and turgid message has come over from Capri. That settles it. I will interrogate no further.'"

The most ardent admirers of the then President, Mr. Cleveland, could not help joining in the laugh.

Mr. Davis took great delight in his descent from the early settlers of Plymouth, and valued exceedingly the good will of the people of Massachusetts. The members of the Society who were fortunate enough to meet him will not forget their delight in his pleasant companionship, when he visited Massachusetts a few years ago to attend our meeting and contribute a paper to our Proceedings. He had hoped to repeat the visit.

I prefer, instead of undertaking to complete this imperfect sketch by a new portraiture of my honored friend, to add what I said in the Senate, when the loss of Mr. Davis was still recent:—

"Mr. President: There is no Senator who would not be glad to lay a wreath of honor and affection on the monument of Cushman K. Davis. That, however, is more especially the right of his colleague and his successor and the members of the great Committee where he won so much of his fame. I ought to say but a few words.

"The Senate, as its name implies, has been from the beginning, with few exceptions, an assembly of old men. In the course of nature many of its members die in office. That has been true of thirty-eight Senators since I came to the Capitol. Others, a yet larger number, die soon after they leave office. Of the men with whom I have served in this Chamber fifty- eight more are now dead, making in all ninety-six, enough and to spare to organize another Senate elsewhere. To that number has been added every Vice-President but two. Upon those who have died in office eulogies have been pronounced in this Chamber and in the House. The speakers have obeyed the rule demanded by the decencies of funeral occasions—nil de mortuis nisi bonum—if not the command born of a tenderer pity for human frailty—jam parce sepulto. But in general, with scarcely and exception, the portraitures have been true and faithful. They prove that the people of the American States, speaking through their legislative assemblies, are not likely to select men to represent them in this august assembly who are lacking in high qualities either of intellect or of character. However that may be, it is surely true of Mr. Davis that whatever has been or will be said of him to- day, or was said of him when the news of his death first shocked the country, is just what would have been said when he was alive by any man who knew him. I have served with him here nearly fourteen years. I have agreed with him and I have differed from him in regard to matters of great pith and moment which deeply stirred the feelings of the people, as they did mine, and doubtless did his own. I never heard any man speak of him but with respect and kindness.

"Of course, Mr. President, in this great century which is just over, when our Republic—this infant Hercules—has been growing from its cradle to its still youthful manhood, the greatest place for a live man has been that of a soldier in time of war and that of a statesman in time of peace. Cushman K. Davis was both. He did a man's full duty in both. No man values more than I do the function of the man of letters. No man reveres more than I do the man of genius who in a loving and reverent way writes the history of a great people, or the poet from whose lyre comes the inspiration which induces heroic action in war and peace. But I do not admit that the title of the historian or that of the poet to the gratitude and affection of mankind is greater than that of the soldier who saves nations, or that of the statesman who creates or preserves them, or who makes them great. I have no patience when I read that famous speech of Gladstone, he and Tennyson being together on a journey, when he modestly puts Mr. Tennyson's title to the gratitude of mankind far above his own. Gladstone, then Prime Minister, declared that Tennyson would be remembered long after he was forgotten. That may be true. But whether a man be remembered or whether he be forgotten; whether his work be appreciated or no; whether his work be known or unknown at the time it is accomplished, is not the test of its greatness or its value to mankind. The man who keeps this moral being, or helps to keep this moral being we call a State in the paths of justice and righteousness and happiness, the direct effect of whose action is felt in the comfort and happiness and moral life of millions upon millions of human lives, who opens and constructs great highways of commerce, who makes schools and universities not only possible but plenty, who brings to pass great policies that allure men from misery, and poverty, and oppression, and serfdom in one world, to free, contented, happy, prosperous homes in another, is a great benefactor to mankind, whether his work be accomplished with sounding of trumpets, or stamping of feet, or clapping of hands, or the roar and tumult of popular applause, or whether it be done in the silence of some committee room, and no man know it but by its results.

"I am not ready to admit that even Shakespeare worked on a higher plane, or was a greater power on earth, than King Alfred or George Washington, even if it be that he will survive them both in the memory of man. The name of every man but one who fought with Leonidas at Thermopylae is forgotten. But is AEschylus greater than Leonidas, or Miltiades, or Themistocles? The literature of Athens preserves to immortality the fame of its great authors. But it was Solon, and Pericles, and Miltiades that created and saved and made great the city, without which the poets could not have existed. Mr. Tennyson himself came nearer the truth than his friend, Mr. Gladstone, when he said:

He That, through the channels of the state, Conveys the people's wish, is great; His name is pure; his fame is free.

"There have been soldiers whose courage saved the day in great decisive battles when the fate of nations hung in the scale, yet whose most enduring monument was the column of smoke which rose when their death shot was fired. There have been statesmen whose silent influence has decided the issue when the country was at the parting of the ways, of whose service history takes no heed. The great Ohio Territory, now six imperial States, was twice saved to freedom by the almost unnoticed action of a single man. With all respect for the man of letters, we are not yet quite ready to admit that the trumpeter is better than the soldier, or the painter greater than the lion.

"There is no need of many words to sum up the life and character of Cushman Davis. His life was in the daylight. Minnesota knew him. His country knew him and loved him. He was a good soldier in his youth, and a great Senator in his maturer manhood. What can be said more, or what can be said better, to sum up the life of an American citizen? He offered his life for his country when life was all before him. His State and his country rewarded him with their highest honor. The great orator and philosopher of Rome declared in his youth, and repeated in his age, that death could not come prematurely to a man who had been Consul. This man surely might be accounted ready to die. He had discharged honorably life's highest duty, and his cup of honor and of glory was full.

"We are thinking to-day of something more than a public sorrow. We are mourning the loss of a close and delightful companionship, a companionship which lightened public care and gave infinite pleasure to private intercourse. If he had never held office, if his name had never been heard even beyond the boundaries of a single municipality, he would have been almost anywhere a favorite and foremost citizen. He was, in the first place, always a gentleman; and a true gentleman always gives tone to any company in which he is found, whether it be among the rulers of States or the humblest gathering of friendly neighbors. Lord Erskine said on a great occasion:

"'It is impossible to define in terms the proper feelings of a gentleman; but their existence has supported this country for many ages, and she might perish if they were lost,'

"Certainly our friend had this quality. He was everywhere a gentleman. He met every occasion in life with a simple and quiet courtesy. There was not much of deference in it. There was no yielding or supplication or timidity in it. I do not think he ever asked favors, though no man was more willing to grant them. But there is something more than this in the temper of which I am speaking. The man who possesses it gives unconsciously to himself or his associates tone to every circle, as I just said, in which he is found. So, wherever he was, his manner or behavior prevailed, whatever might have happened to the same men if they had been left alone.

"Senator Davis was a man who kept well his own counsel. He was a man to whom it was safe for other men to trust their counsel. His conversation, to which it was always a delight to listen, had no gossip in it. Still less had it ever anything of ill nature or sarcasm. He liked to share with a friend the pleasure he took in finding some flower or gem of literature which, for long ages till he found it in some out-of-the- way nook, had—

Blushed unseen, And wasted its sweetness on the desert air.

"He had what Jeremy Taylor calls, 'the great endearment of prudent and temperate speech.'

"His conversation was sparkling and witty and full of variety, but no spark from him was ever a cinder in the eye of his friend.

"He had a learning rare among public men, and, for its variety, rare, I think, among scholars. He would bring out bits of history, full of interest and instruction, from the most obscure sources, in common conversation. He was an excellent Latin scholar. He had read and mastered Tacitus, and a man who has mastered Tacitus has had the best gymnastic training of the intellect, both in vigor and style, which the resources of all literature can supply.

"One secret of his great popularity with his companions here— a popularity I think unexcelled, indeed, I incline to think unequalled by that of any other man with whom I have served— is that to which the late Justin Morrill owed so much. He never debated. He rarely answered other men's arguments, never with warmth or heat. But he was exceedingly tenacious of his own opinion. He was, in the things he stood for, as unyielding as flint and true as steel. But his flint or steel never struck out a spark by collision with any other. He spoke very rarely in debate in general; only when his official place on his committee, or something which concerned his own constituents especially, made speaking absolutely imperative. Then he gave his opinion as a judge gives it, or as a delegate to some great international council might be supposed to give it; responsible for it himself, but undertaking no responsibility for other men's opinion or conduct; never assuming that it was his duty or within his power to convert, or change, or instruct them, still less to chastise them. Whether that way be the best way for usefulness in a deliberative body, especially in a legislative body of a great popular government, I will not undertake now to say. Certainly it is not the common way here or elsewhere. It is very rare indeed, that any man possessing the great literary and oratorical power of Mr. Davis, especially a man to whom nobody ever thought of imputing timidity or undue desire to enjoy public favor, or want of absolute confidence in his own opinions, will be found to refrain from employing these qualities to persuade or convince other men.

"He had a rare and exquisite gift which, if he had been a man of letters and not a man engaged in a strenuous public life, would have brought him great fame. Once in a while he said something in private, and more rarely, though once or twice, in a public speech, which reminded you of the delicate touch of Hawthorne. His likening President Cleveland and Mr. Blount, looking upon the late royalty of the Sandwich Island with so much seriousness, to Don Quixote and Sancho Panza taking in great earnest the spectacle of a theatrical representation at a country fair and eager to rescue the distressed damsel, was one of the most exquisite felicities of the literature of the Senate.

"He had great pride in his ancestry, and was a great lover of the history of New England and Plymouth, from which they came, though he never gave himself airs on account of it. He was a descendant of Robert Cushman, the preacher of the Pilgrims, whose service was in a thousand ways of such value to the little colony at Plymouth. Yet it had never happened to him to visit the scenes with which the feet of his ancestors had been so familiar, until a few years ago he did me the honor to be my guest in Massachusetts, and spent a few days in visiting her historic places. He gazed upon Boston and Plymouth and Concord reverently as ever Moslem gazed upon Mecca or the feet of palmer stood by the holy sepulchre. That week to him was crowded with a delight with which few other hours in his life could compare. I had hoped that it might be my fortune and his that he might visit Massachusetts again, that her people might gather in their cities to do him honor, and might learn to know him better, and might listen to the sincere eloquence of his voice. But it was ordered otherwise.

"There are other things his country had hoped for him. She had hoped a longer and higher service, perhaps the highest service of all. But the fatal and inexorable shaft has stricken him down in the full vigor of a yet strenuous manhood. The great transactions in which he had borne so large a part still remain incomplete and their event is still uncertain.

"There is a painting which a great Italian master left unfinished. The work was taken up and completed by a disciple. The finished picture bears this inscription: 'What Titian left unfinished, Palma reverently completed, and dedicated to God.' So may our beloved Republic find always, when one servant leaves his work unfinished, another who will take it up and dedicate it to the country and to God."

CHAPTER XVIII GEORGE BANCROFT

One of the most delightful friendships of my life was with George Bancroft, the famous historian. I never knew him until I went to Washington in 1877. But we established at once, as a matter of course, the relation of an intimate friendship. He was born in Worcester, to which he was much attached, though he had spent little of his life there after he had left college. Mrs. Bancroft had known my oldest brother and sister intimately, when she lived in Boston. I had learned from Mr. Emerson, who rarely gave his praise lightly, as well as from my own study, to value Mr. Bancroft very highly as a historian, which he soon found out.

I almost always found him waiting for me on the doorstep of my dwelling when I came from church the first Sunday after I reached Washington, at the beginning of a session. I have enjoyed many hours at his table, rendered delightful by the conversation of the eminent guests whom he gathered there, but by no conversation more delightful than his own.

Mr. Bancroft had two enthusiasms which made him a great historian— an enthusiasm for truth which spared no labor and left no stores of information unsearched, and an enthusiastic love of country. He believed that the great emotions and motives which move a free people are the noble, not the mean motives. He has written and interpreted the history of the United States in that faith. I believe his work will endure so long as the love of liberty shall endure. I gave my estimate of him at a meeting of the American Antiquarian Society, of which we were both chosen Vice-Presidents, in October, 1880, just after the completion of his eightieth year and of his "History of the United States," as follows:

"It is not usual to discuss the report of the committee to propose a list of officers. But one of the names reported gives special interest to the occasion. On the third of this month of October, our honored associate Mr. Bancroft completed his eightieth year. At the same time he completed his 'History of the United States' to the formation of the Federal Constitution.

"This Society, while it is national and continental in the scope of its investigations, strikes down its roots into the soil of this locality, where its founder dwelt, and where its collections are kept.

"For both these reasons we cherish our relations to Mr. Bancroft. He was born within a few rods of this spot. He is descended by the mother's side from an old Worcester County family who were conspicuous in the administration of its public affairs long before the Revolution. His father was one of the six persons who petitioned for the act of incorporation of this Society, and one of its first members. His brother by marriage, Governor Davis, was your predecessor in the President' chair.

"These reasons would be enough to induce us to value our relation. But he has filled a highly honorable and conspicuous place in public life. He is, I believe, the senior person living who has been a member of the Cabinet. He is the senior among living persons who have filled important diplomatic stations. He has represented the United States at Berlin and at St. James.

"His history is, and doubtless will be, the great standard authority upon the important period which it covers. He is the only person living whose judgment would change the place in public estimation held by any of the great statesmen of the Revolutionary times. He has had the rare good fortune among men of letters, to have proposed to himself a great task, requiring a lifetime for its accomplishment, the successful achievement of which is enough to make any life illustrious, and to have lived to complete it with powers of body and mind undiminished. It is his fate to know, while alive, the estimate in which he will be held by posterity. In his case, that knowledge can be only a source of pleasure and satisfaction.

"In this Mr. Bancroft resembles Gibbon. We all remember Gibbon's delightful account of the completion of his great work.

"In another thing, alone among great historians, Mr. Bancroft resembles Gibbon. As an artist he has accomplished that most difficult task of composing a history made up of many separate threads, which must keep on side by side, yet all be subordinate to one main and predominant stream. But his narrative never loses its constant and fascinating interest. No other historian, I believe, except Gibbon, has attempted this without becoming insufferably dull.

"Mr. Bancroft tells the story of thirteen States, separate, yet blending into one National life. It is one of the most wonderful things in our history, that the separate States having so much in common, have preserved so completely, even to the present time, their original and individual characteristics. Rhode Island, held in the hollow of the hand of Massachusetts; Connecticut, so placed that one would think it would become a province of New York; Delaware, whose chief city is but twenty-five miles from Philadelphia, yet preserve their distinctive characteristics as if they were states of the continent of Europe, whose people speak a different language. This shows how perfectly state rights and state freedom are preserved in spite of our National union, how little the power at the centre interferes with the important things that affect the character of a people. Why is it that little Delaware remains Delaware in spite of Pennsylvania, and little Rhode Island remains Rhode Island notwithstanding her neighbor Massachusetts?

What makes the meadow flower its bloom unfold? Because the lovely little flower is free Down to its roots, and in that freedom bold. And so the grandeur of the forest tree Comes, not from casting in a formal mould, But from its own divine vitality.

"But Mr. Bancroft is more fortunate than Gibbon. Gibbon wrote of decline, of decay, of dissolution, and death; of the days, to use his own words, 'when giants were becoming pigmies.' Bancroft tells the story of birth, and growth, and youth, and life. His name is to be inseparably associated with a great and interesting period in the world's history; with what in the proud imagination of his countrymen must ever be the greatest and most interesting of all periods, when pigmy villages were becoming giant States. I am sure that it is a delight to this assembly of distinguished scholars, assembled near his birthplace, to send him, at the completion of his great work, and of his eightieth year, their cordial salutation."

I went to see Mr. Bancroft on the evening of the last Sunday in December, 1890. He was sitting in his library up stairs. He received me in his usual emphatic manner, taking both my hands and saying, "My dear friend, how glad I am to see you!" He was alone. He evidently knew me when I went in, and inquired about Worcester, as he commonly did, and expressed his amazement at its remarkable growth.

I stayed with him about twenty or thirty minutes. The topics of our conversation were, I believe, suggested by me, and the whole conversation was one which gave evidence of full understanding on his part of what we were talking about. It was not merely an old man's memory of the past, but the fresh and vigorous thought on new topics which were suggested to him in the course of the conversation. I think he exhibited a quickness and vigor of thought and intelligence and spoke with a beauty of diction that no man I know could have surpassed.

I asked him if he could account for the interest in historical study among the older Harvard graduates, and mentioned the fact that the principal historians of this country, including himself, Prescott, Sparks, Motley, Palfrey and Parkman, were all Harvard men and were eminent at a time when there were scarcely any other eminent historical scholars in America. He did not directly answer this question, but said that his own inclination toward history, he thought, was due very much to the influence of his father. He said his father would have been a very eminent historian, if he had had material at his command, and that he had a remarkably judicious mind.

He spoke of some clergymen, especially the Unitarian clergymen, so many of whom belonged to Harvard at his time. He said he had little sympathy for the Unitarianism of his day, "for its theology, no; for its spirituality, yes."

He asked me about the Election Bill pending in the Senate. I spoke of the great storm of abuse I had had to encounter for advocating it, but said I thought on the whole the feeling between the different sections of the country and different political parties was better than it ever had been before in this country, and much better than that which now existed between different political parties in foreign countries. He cordially agreed to this, and made some observations which I do not now recall, but which were interesting and bright.

After we had talked together for some time, he said: "My memory is very poor: I cannot remember your first name." I said: "It is the same as yours, Mr. Bancroft—George." He paused a moment with an amused and puzzled look, and said: "What is your last name?" He had evidently known me very well during most of the preceding part of the interview.

I told his son about this conversation the day after Mr. Bancroft's death. He said that the presence of a visitor acted in this way as a stimulant, but that he had not lately shown much intelligence in the family, seeming lost and feeble.

CHAPTER XIX VISITS TO ENGLAND [1860, 1868, 1871]

I was born within a mile of the spot where the War of the Revolution began. My ancestors and other kindred on both sides took an active and prominent part in the struggle with England. I am descended from the early Puritans of Massachusetts in every line of descent. So it will readily be believed that all my feeling and sympathy have been on the side of my country in the great controversy with England, which began with the exile of the Pilgrims in 1620 and continued, with little interruption, until our last great quarrel with her, which ended with the arbitration at Geneva. Yet I am a passionate lover of England. Before I ever went abroad, I longed to visit the places famous in her history, as a child longs to go home to his birthplace.

I have visited Europe six times. On each occasion I devoted the largest part of my time to Great Britain. The desire to see England again has increased with every visit. Certainly there is nothing like England, and there never has been anything like England in the world. Her wonderful history, her wonderful literature, the beauty of her architecture, the historic and poetic associations which cluster about every street and river and mountain and valley, her vigorous life, the sweetness and beauty of her women, the superb manhood of her men, her navy, her gracious hospitality, her courage and her lofty pride—although some single race of people may have excelled here in a single particular—make up a combination never equalled in the world. I am, of course, not to be understood to bring my own country into the comparison.

The first time I went abroad was in 1860. I had for a companion my friend from infancy, George M. Brooks, of Concord. We travelled like a couple of Bohemians, never riding where we could walk; lunching or dining where he happened to find ourselves when we were hungry; taking second or third class carriages on the railroads, and getting into conversation with anybody who would talk to us. I doubt whether I shall ever have in this world, or in another, a sensation more delicious than that I had when the old steamer, "America," steamed up the Channel toward the mouth of the Mersey, with the green shores of Ireland on one side and England on the other. I am afraid if I were to relate the story of that journey, it would be only to please myself by reviving its recollections, and not for the delight of my readers, so many of whom have a similar memory of their own.

We heard John Bright and Lord John Russell and Lord Palmerston in a great debate in the House of Commons on the paper duties, and saw Lord Brougham walking backward and forward on the terrace by Brougham Castle, near Penrith. We saw Edinburgh and the Trosachs, and Abbotsford and Stirling. I had been a loving reader of Scott from my childhood, and was almost as much at home in Scotland as if I had been born in the Canongate or the Saltmarket. I had had a special fancy for reading and studying topographical books on London, and found myself, pretty soon, so much at home there that I think I could have made a very decent living as a guide.

We spent a month in Switzerland. I made the journey over the mountain passes on foot, keeping up with my companion, who had a horse or a mule. I could walk twenty-five or thirty miles a day without great fatigue.

Augustus Flagg of the famous book-selling firm of Little & Brown, with whom I had dealt a great deal, was on the ship when I went out. He went abroad to purchase books for his house. In those days the book-stalls in London were mines of rare treasures. They had not been much examined by collectors or dealers, and the men who kept them did not know the value of books that were almost priceless in the eyes of virtuosos. Mr. Flagg and I spent together a good many days in ransacking the old book-stalls and shops, some of them in out-of-the- way places in the old city, even below the Tower. I could not afford to buy a great many books then. But I knew something about them, and the experience was like having in my hands the costliest rubies or diamonds.

The journey each way, which now takes six or seven days, then took fourteen. The Cunard steamer, whose successor, with its bilge keel and its vastly greater size, is as comfortable, even in very rough weather, as the first class city hotel, was as disagreeable in rough weather, to a man unaccustomed to the ocean, as a fishing smack. But the passengers got well acquainted with one another. There was agreeable society on board, and the days passed pleasantly.

Among the passengers was Joseph Coolidge of Boston, father of Thomas Jefferson Coolidge, late Minister to France. Mr. Coolidge had been a great traveller in his day; had had some commercial occupations in the East, and was very pleasant company. His wife was a granddaughter of Mr. Jefferson. He told me that two of Mr. Jefferson's daughters—or granddaughters, I am not now absolutely sure which—had kept school and earned money, which they had applied to the payment of Mr. Jefferson's debts. The story was highly creditable to these Virginia ladies, who might well have thought that their illustrious ancestor's service might excuse his family from making sacrifices in discharge of such an obligation, if his countrymen at large did not feel its force.

I went over pretty much the same ground in 1868 with three ladies. I made both these journeys as an ordinary sightseer. I took few letters of introduction. I did not deliver those, except in one or two cases to American gentlemen living abroad.

One experience in this latter journey, however, it may be worth while to tell. I had a very pleasant friendship with Henry T. Parker, a Boston man and a graduate of Harvard, who had a comfortable property and had married an English lady and had settled in London. He found an occupation, congenial to his own taste, in buying books, as agent of some of the great libraries in the United States, including the Harvard Library and the Boston City Library. He was an intimate friend of Mr. Cox, the accomplished Librarian of the Bodleian, to whom he gave us letters.

Mr. Cox treated us with special courtesy and showed us many treasures of the Library, especially some wonderful illuminated manuscripts. One of them, the Duc de Monpensier, who had been at Oxford shortly before and who was an authority in such matters, felt confident was illustrated by Raphael. Mr. Cox had discovered, just before I was there, in some crypt where it had lain unknown for two hundred years, a touching letter from Clarendon, who was Chancellor of the University, which I think will move the heart of every man who loves the college where he was educated. The letter was written by Lord Clarendon just after he had landed at Calais, a hopeless exile, on his last flight from the country to which he was never again to return. The great orator, statesman, historian, lawyer, judge,—counsellor, companion and ancestor of monarchs,— flying for his life, in his old age, into a foreign land, from the court of which, for a generation, he had been the ornament and head, soon as his feet touch a place of safety, thinks of his University. See the noble heart through the simple and stately rhetoric:

GOOD MR. VICE-CHANCELLOR;

Having found it necessary to transport myselfe out of England, and not knowing when it shall please God that I shall returne againe, it becomes me to take care that the University may not be without the service of a person better able to be of use to them than I am like to be, and I doe therefore hereby surrender the office of chancellor into the hand of said University, to the end that they may make choyce of some other person better qualified to assist and protect them, than I am. I am sure he can never be more affectionate to it. I desire you as the last suite I am likely to make to you, to believe that I doe not fly my country for guilt, and how passionately soever I am pursued, that I have not done anything to make the University ashamed of me, or to repent the good opinion they had once of me, and though I must have no mention in your publique devotions, (which I have always exceedingly valued,) I hope I shall always be remembered in your private prayers, as

Good Mr. Vice-Chancellor, Your affectionate servant, CLARENDON. CALAIS, this 7-17 Dec., 1667.

In 1871 I went abroad alone. I spent the whole time in England, except for a brief visit to Scotland. My purpose in going away was to get a vacation. I meant to do some studying in the British Museum, especially to make a thorough study of the conditions and economic principles affecting the strife between capital and labor, which then threatened both this country and England. I got a collection of the authorities and the references. But I did not find that I got a great deal of light from anything that had been written or said so far. I made a few very agreeable acquaintances. I had a letter to Thomas Hughes, and visited at his house. I found George W. Smalley, who had been a pupil in my office, established in a delightful house near London. He seemed to be on terms of intimacy with the famous Englishmen who were the leaders of both political parties, and with many eminent men of letters. I spent a delightful evening with Mr. Hughes at a club which I think was called the European Club, or something like that, where the members smoked clay pipes and drank beer. There seemed to be no other provision for the refreshment of the body or soul. But the conversation was very pleasant. The members sat together about a table, and the conversation was quite general and very bright. The talk turned, during the evening, on Scotsmen. The Englishmen present seemed to have something left of the old prejudice about Scotland with which Dr. Johnson was possessed. They imputed to the modern Scotsmen the same thrifty habit and capacity for looking after himself that prevailed a hundred years before, when Dr. Johnson and John Wilkes, who quarrelled about everything else, became reconciled when they united in abuse of their Northern neighbors. Sir Frederick Pollock cited a marginal note from the report of some old criminal case, to the following effect: "Possession of property in Scotland evidence of stealing in England."

I was guilty of one piece of stupid folly. Mr. Hughes kindly proposed to take me to see Carlyle. This was not very long after our war, when our people were full of indignation at Carlyle's bitter and contemptuous speech about us, especially his "American Iliad in a Nutshell." I was a little doubtful about what sort of a reception I should get, and declined the invitation. I have bitterly regretted this ever since. My brother visited Carlyle about 1846, bearing with him a letter from Emerson. Carlyle was very civil to him, and liked him very much, as appears by a letter from him to Mr. Emerson.

During the visit I heard a great debate between Gladstone and Disraeli. A brief account of it will be found in the chapter on "Some Famous Orators I have Heard."

A friend in Worcester gave me a letter to Mr. Wornum, the Director of the National Gallery, with whom he had been a fellow-pupil at Kensington. Mr. Wornum received me with great cordiality. He asked me to come to the Gallery the next day, when it would be closed to the public. He said he would be glad to show it to me then, when we would be free of interruption. He was the author of what I understand to be an excellent history of painting, and was regarded as the most competent judge in Europe of the value and merit of paintings. I suppose Parliament would at any time, on his sole recommendation, have given ten or twenty or perhaps fifty thousand guineas for a masterpiece. I shall never forget the delight of that day. He told me the history of the great paintings in the National Gallery, some of which had belonged to monarchs, popes, noblemen or famous merchants of almost all the countries in Europe. He said that while there were many larger galleries, the National Gallery was the best in the world as affording the best and most characteristic examples of every school of painting. I cannot remember much that was said in that long day, interrupted only by a pleasant lunch together. But it was a day full of romance. It was as if I had had in my hand the crown jewels of every potentate in the world, and somebody had told me the history of each gem. For this picture Francis the First, or Charles V., or Henry VIII. had been bidders. This had belonged to Lorenzo de Medici, or Pope Leo X. This had come from the famous collection of Charles I., scattered through Europe on his death; and this had belonged to some nobleman whose name was greater than that of monarchs.

Mr. Wornum spoke of his treasures with an enthusiasm which no worshipper at the throne of any Saint or Divinity could surpass. That day was among the few chiefest delights of my life.

CHAPTER XX VISITS TO ENGLAND 1892

My next visit to England was in the spring of 1892. The winter before, I had a severe attack of iritis, which left my eyes in a very demoralized condition. I did not find much relief in this country, not, I suppose, because of want of skill in our ophthalmic surgeons, but because of the impossibility of getting any rest anywhere where I could be reached by telephone or telegraph. To a person who can bear an ordinary voyage there is no retreat like an ocean steamer. Telephone, telegraph, daily paper; call or visit of friend, client, or constituent; daily mail—sometimes itself, to a busy public man, enough for a hard day's work—all these are forgotten. You spend your ten days in an infinite quiet like that of Heaven. You sit in your deck-chair with the soft sea breeze on your forehead, as the mighty ocean cradle rocks you, and see the lace of an exquisite beauty that no Tyrian weaver ever devised, breaking over the blue or purple waves, with their tints that no Tyrian dye ever matched. Ah! Marconi, Marconi, could not you let us alone, and leave the tired brain of humanity one spot where this "hodge-podge of business and trouble and care" could not follow us and find us out?

On this journey I visited England, France and Switzerland. It so happened that I had had a good deal to do with the appointment of our Ministers to these three countries. Colonel John D. Washburn, a very accomplished and delightful gentleman, now dead, had been a pupil of mine as a law student. He lived in Worcester and had been a very eminent member of the Massachusetts Legislature. I think he would have been Governor of the State and had a very brilliant career but for a delicacy of organization which made him break down in health when under any severe strain of responsibility, especially such as involved antagonism and conflict. He was of a very friendly, gentle disposition, and disliked to be attacked or to attack other men. I told Mr. Blaine, the Secretary of State when Mr. Harrison's Administration came in, that I had but one favor to ask of it; that was, that he should send Washburn as Minister to Switzerland. I had two or three very pleasant days with him at Berne. But he had sent his family away and was preparing to resign his place. So I had not much opportunity of seeing Switzerland under his guidance.

Thomas Jefferson Coolidge, then Minister to France, had also been appointed on my very earnest recommendation. He was a great-grandson of Thomas Jefferson, a very able business man, highly esteemed throughout the country. His guidance was implicitly followed by many people in important business transactions. He had had the charge of the financial affairs of some large manufacturing corporations, and was understood to have extricated the Northern Pacific Railroad out of some serious difficulties, into which it fell again after he left its control. He had been a Democrat. But he had seen the importance of the protective policy to American interests, as would naturally be expected of a descendant of that high protectionist, Thomas Jefferson. He had no sympathies with any measures that would debase or unsettle the currency, and set his face and gave his powerful influence against all forms of fiat or irredeemable paper money, and the kindred folly of the free coinage of silver by this country alone, without the concurrence of the commercial nations of the world.

Soon after Mr. Harrison's Administration began, I received a message about nine o'clock one evening, asking me to go to the White House at once. I obeyed the summons. The President said he desired, if I had no objection, to send in the name of Dr. Loring of Massachusetts, as Minister to Portugal. I told him that I had no objection whatever; that Dr. Loring was an able man of agreeable manners, and had performed admirably every public duty he had undertaken. I said that the Doctor had felt a little disturbed, I thought, that I had refused to call a meeting of the Massachusetts delegation to press his name upon the President for a Cabinet office, to which President Harrison replied, "I put my foot on that pretty quick." Dr. Loring had been a great friend and supporter of Mr. Blaine, the Secretary of State. I conjectured, although the President did not say so, that the choice of Dr. Loring had been made at the Secretary's instance.

The President then said that he wanted to talk with me about the English Mission, which had troubled him a good deal. He mentioned the names of several prominent men in different parts of the country, including Robert Lincoln and Mr. Jewett, an eminent lawyer in Chicago, whose name was earnestly pressed upon him by the Senators from Illinois. I said that I had known Mr. Lincoln pretty well when he was in President Garfield's and Mr. Arthur's Cabinet, and thought very highly of him. He was a very modest man indeed, never pressing any claim to public consideration or office, either on his own account or as his father's son, and never seeking responsibility. But I had noticed that when he had anything to say or anything to do, he always said or did the wisest and best thing to be said or done under the circumstances. I do not know how much influence what I said had, but it seemed to gratify President Harrison exceedingly, and he stated that he was strongly inclined to appoint Mr. Lincoln.

I was told the next morning he sent for the two Illinois Senators, and told them that he had made up his mind to nominate Mr. Lincoln, and that one of them, Senator Farwell, was exceedingly offended. He was also much disturbed by President Harrison's attitude in regard to the appointment of the postmaster at Chicago. The result was that when President Harrison's name came up for another nomination, Mr. Farwell was opposed to him, and when he was with difficulty nominated for reelection, the State of Illinois voted for Cleveland. Senator Cullom, though not liking very well to have his opinion disregarded, was more discreet. He did not see fit to make the exercise of the President's rightful and Constitutional prerogative a reason for breaking off his friendly relations with the Administration, with whose principles he was in full accord. This is an instance of President Harrison's want of tact. I have little doubt that if, before finally announcing his intention, he had sent for the Illinois Senators—as Abraham Lincoln would have done, or as President McKinley would have done—gone over the whole ground with them, and told them his reasons and desire, they would have cheerfully acquiesced in the conclusion to which he had come, and their friendship with him would have been strengthened and not weakened.

After saying what was to be said about the English Mission, I said to President Harrison: "We have a gentleman in Massachusetts, whom I think it is very desirable indeed to place in some important public service; that is Thomas Jefferson Coolidge. He is a great-grandson of Mr. Jefferson." I said to the President the substance of what I have just stated above, about Mr. Coolidge. I added that while Mr. Coolidge would be an excellent person for the English Mission, which his uncle Mr. Stevenson had held, yet, of course, I did not think, under the circumstances, that it would be proper to make another important diplomatic appointment from Massachusetts just then; but I hoped that an opportunity might come later. President Harrison seemed to be much impressed with the suggestion, and said that he would bear it in mind.

When I went back to my room, it occurred to me that I had better speak to Mr. Blaine about it. If he first heard of it from the President he might think that I was trying to deal with the President about matters in his Department over his head and without consulting him. So I went round to the State Department early the next morning, and told Mr. Blaine what I had said to the President. I found that he knew all about Mr. Coolidge. I inadvertently spoke of him as grandson of Mr. Jefferson. Blaine immediately corrected me by saying, "great-grandson." He seemed to like the plan very well.

Nothing came of the matter at that time. But later, when the Pan-American Commission was appointed, the President, of his own motion, appointed Mr. Coolidge as one of the American representatives. Later, I happened to be one day at the White House, and President Harrison told me that Whitelaw Reid had announced his intention of resigning the French Mission before long. I reminded him of our conversation about Mr. Coolidge, and urged his name very strongly on him. He hesitated a good deal. I got the approval of every New England Senator but one to the proposal. The President still hesitated and seemed inclined to appoint Mr. Andrew D. White. But he finally yielded to the urgency for Mr. Coolidge. I should have been sorry if anything I had done had resulted in depriving the country of the service of Andrew D. White. I suppose him to be one of the very best representatives we ever had abroad. But an opportunity came soon after, to send him first to Russia, and then to Germany, where he has represented what is best in the character, ability, desire, interest and scholarship of the American people.

So we had two first-rate representatives abroad instead of one. Mr. Coolidge discharged his functions to the satisfaction of the Administration, and to the universal approval of his countrymen.

He received me when I visited Paris with a very cordial and delightful hospitality. I had the pleasure of meeting at his house at dinner M. Ribot, then Prime Minister of France and afterward President of the French Republic, and several others of the leading men in their public life. But I spoke French very imperfectly indeed, and understood it much less, when spoken by a Parisian. The conversation was, in general, in French. So I got very little knowledge of them by being in their society.

My visit in England gave me a good deal more to remember. Mr. Lincoln also received me with great cordiality. He gave a dinner at which several of the leaders of the Liberal Party were present; among them, Sir William Vernon Harcourt. I had letters to Sir William Vernon Harcourt, and to Lord Rosebery, and to Lord Coleridge, Lord Chief Justice of England. Sir William Vernon Harcourt and Lord Rosebery each called on me, and spent an hour at my room. But Parliament was dissolved just at that time, so the Liberal leaders had at once to begin the campaign which resulted in Mr. Gladstone's victory. So I had no opportunity to make an intimate acquaintance with either of them. I owed to Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes an introduction to John Bellows, a Quaker, a most delightful gentleman, the first authority in his time on the Roman antiquities of Great Britain, a fine classical scholar and learned in old English literature and in the languages from which came the roots of our English tongue. I formed with him a close friendship which ended only with his death, in 1902. A year before he died he visited me in my home at Worcester, and received the degree of Master of Arts from Harvard. Mr. Bellows is the author of the wonderful French Dictionary.

I spent a few days with Lord Coleridge in Devon. His house at Ottery St. Mary's is close to the spot where Samuel Taylor Coleridge was born. I met there several of the race. I do not know whether they were living in the neighborhood or happened to be there on a visit.

I found in the church, close by, the tomb of John Sherman, one of my own kindred, I have no doubt, of the race which came from Colchester and Dedham in Essex, and Yaxley in Suffolk.

The Lord Chief Justice was much distressed lest he had done wrong in complying with General Butler's invitation to visit him at Lowell. He said that many of his American friends had treated him coldly afterward, and that his friend Richard Dana, whom he highly esteemed, had refused to call upon him for that reason.

I told him he did absolutely right, in my opinion. I said that General Butler was then Governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and that an eminent person, holding a high official character, from a foreign country, could not undertake to question the personal character, or the title to be considered gentlemen, of the men whom the American people put into their high places.

Lord Coleridge said he received fifty guineas every morning for his services in the Tichborne trial. "But," he added, "my general practice in my profession was so much interrupted by it that I could not have got along that year but for my salary as Attorney-General."

He spoke with great pride of his cross-examination of the Claimant. He said one of the papers had complained that his cross-examination did no good to his case whatever. "But I made him admit that he sent his photograph to some person, as the photograph of Arthur Orton." He said the common people in England still held to the belief that the Claimant was the genuine Sir Roger Tichborne, and, by a curious contradiction, this feeling was inspired largely by their sympathy with him as a man of humble birth. I said, "Yes, I think that is true. I heard somebody, a little while ago, say that they heard two people talking in the cars, and one of them said to the other, 'They wouldn't give him the estate, because he was the son of a poor butcher.'" This very much amused the Lord Chief Justice.

I asked him about the story I had heard and had verified some time before, of the connection, in the person of Lady Rolle, between two quite remote periods. Lady Rolle was alive until 1887, maintaining her health so that she gave dinner parties in that year, shortly before she died. She was the widow of Mr. Rolle, afterward Lord Rolle, who made a violent attack on Charles James Fox in 1783. He was then thirty-two years old. From him the famous satire, the Rolliad, took its name. When he went to pay his homage to Queen Victoria at her Coronation in Westminster Abbey, he was quite feeble, and rolled down the steps of the throne. The young Queen showed her kindness of heart by jumping up and going to help him in person. Some of the English told the foreigners present at the ceremonial that that was part of the ceremony, and that the Rolles held their lands on the tenure of going through that performance at every coronation. Lady Rolle was married to her husband in 1820. He was then sixty-nine, and she a young girl of twenty years old. He was eighty or ninety years old when he died, and she survived as his widow for many years. Something came up on the subject of longevity which induced me to refer to this story and ask Lord Coleridge if it were true. We were then riding out together; "Yes," said he, "there," pointing to a dwelling-place in full sight, "is the house where she lived."

His Lordship asked me about an American Judge with whom he had some acquaintance. I told him that I thought his reputation was rather that of a jurist than a Judge. "Oh, yes," said he, "a jurist is a man who knows something about the law of every country but his own."

Lord Coleridge had a good reputation as a story-teller. It was pleasant to get an auditor who seemed to like to hear the stories which have got rather too commonplace to be worth telling over here. He had a great admiration for President Lincoln, and was eager to hear anything anybody had to tell of him. I told him the famous story of Lincoln's reply to the man who had left with him his poem to read, when he gave it back. "If anybody likes that sort of thing, it's just the sort of thing they'd like." I overheard his Lordship, as he circulated about the room, a little while afterward, repeating the story to various listeners.

He thought Matthew Arnold the greatest living Englishman. He spoke with great respect of Carlyle. He said: "Emerson was an imitator of Carlyle, and got his thoughts from him." I could not stand that. It seemed to me that he had probably never read a page of Emerson in his life, and had got his notion from some writer for a magazine, before either of these great men was well known. I took the liberty of saying, with some emphasis, "Emerson was a far profounder and saner intellect than Carlyle." To which he said, "Why, what do you say?" I repeated what I had said, and he received the statement with great politeness, but, of course, without assent.

During this summer I paid a visit to Moyle's Court, near Southampton, formerly owned by Lady Alice Lisle, whose daughter married Leonard Hoar, President of Harvard College. Leonard Hoar was the brother of my ancestor, John Hoar of Concord, and the son of Charles Hoar, Sheriff of Gloucester. There is a statement in an old account of some Puritan worthies that I have seen, to the effect that John Hoar and Leonard married sisters. If that be true, John Hoar's wife, Alice, was a daughter and namesake of Lady Alice Lisle. Although I should like to believe it, I am afraid that the claim cannot be made good. Lady Alice Lisle was a lady of large wealth and good lineage. Her husband was John Lord Lisle, who was Lord Justice under Cromwell, and one of the Judges in the trial of Charles I. He drew the indictment and sentence of the King, and sat next to Bradshaw at the trial, and directed and prompted him in difficult matters. He was murdered one Sunday morning on his way to church when in exile at Lausanne, Switzerland, on the Lake of Geneva, by three ruffians, said to be sent for that purpose by Queen Henrietta. Lady Alice Lisle was a victim of the brutality of Jeffries. After Monmouth's rebellion and defeat, she gave shelter and food to two fugitives from Monmouth's army. The report of her trial is in Howell. There was no proof that she knew that they were fugitives from Monmouth's army, although she supposed one of them was a Dissenting minister. There had been no conviction of the principals, which the English law required before an accessory after the fact could be found guilty. She suggested this point at the trial, but it was overruled by Jeffries. He conducted the case with infinite brutality. She was a kindly old lady, of more than seventy years. She slept during part of the trial, probably being fatigued by the journey, in which she had been carried on horseback from Moyle's Court to Winchester, and the sleepless nights which would naturally have followed. She was sentenced to be burned at the stake. But the sentence was commuted to beheading, at the intercession of the gentry of the neighborhood. She had disapproved of the execution of the King; said she had always prayed for him, and had a son in the King's army. Macaulay's account of the story is familiar to all readers of English history.

I was received at the old house with great kindness by Mrs. Fane, wife of the present proprietor. It is a beautiful old house with carved oak partitions, with a dining room rising to the roof. Lady Lisle's chamber and the place where the two fugitives were concealed are still shown. Mrs. Fane had gathered some local traditions which are not found in print. One old lady, who had been well known to persons now living, had received some of them from her grandmother, who was cotemporary with Lady Alice.

The lady was very popular with her tenants in the neighborhood. The messenger who came from Winchester to arrest her took her on horseback behind him, according to the custom of the time. The horse cast a shoe. The messenger was for pressing on without regard to the suffering of the animal. She insisted that he should stop and have the horse shod. The man roughly refused. She said: "I have made no outcry, on my own account. But everybody here loves me. If you do not stop, I shall cry out. You will never get away with me alive." The fellow was frightened and consented to stop at a smithy. When the smith had finished his work, Lady Lisle said: "I will be back this way in two or three days, and I will pay you." To this the messenger said: "Yes, you will be back this way in two or three days, but without your head."

The headless body was brought back from Winchester after the trial. The next day, when the household were at dinner, a man came to the outside and thrust into the dining room window a basket, containing her head. This was said to be for "greater indignity."

Lady Lisle had known Hicks, one of the persons whom she relieved, before. When the court was sitting for the trial of Charles I., she went up to London to expostulate with her husband. She arrived at his lodgings just as he was setting out in a procession, with some state, for Westminster Hall, where the trial was held. As she approached to speak to him, he did not recognize her in the soiled dress in which she had travelled, and motioned her away rather roughly. It was said that she was overcome by the press in the crowd and fell to the ground. Hicks, who was a Dissenting minister, raised her up and took her to his own lodging near by in the Strand. She said to him that she could not recompense him there, but if he would come to Hampshire, or to the Isle of Wight, where she had property, she would be glad to repay him.

Saturday, October 22, 1892, with Mrs. Hoar and her sister, Mrs. Rice, I went from Southampton to Ringwood, about twenty miles, and thence drove to Ellingham Church, about two miles and a half. The church is a small but very beautiful structure of stone, with a small wooden belfry. The tomb of Lady Alice Lisle is a heavy, flat slab of gray stone, raised about two or three feet from the ground, bearing the following inscription:

Here lies Dame Alicia Lisle and her daughter Ann Harfeld who dyed the 17th of Feb. 1703-4 Alicia Lisle dyed the second of Sept. 1685.

It is close to the wall of the church, on the right of the porch. In the church is seen the old Lisle pew of carved oak, now the pew of the Earl of Normanton. Opposite the pew is the pulpit, also of carved black oak, apparently ancient. The church contains a tablet to the memory of the former owner of Moyle's Court, who died in 1622.

Moyle's Court is about a mile and a half from Ellingham Church. The drive is along a beautiful lane shaded by trees whose branches meet from the two sides, through a beautiful and fertile country, adorned by herds of fine cattle. Moyle's Court is a large two-story building, consisting of two square wings connected by the main building. The wings project from the main building in front, but the whole forms a continuous line in the rear. As you approach it, you pass numerous heavy, brick outbuildings, including several farmhouses, one of which is quite large, and apparently of great antiquity. We were received by Mrs. Fane with the greatest courtesy. She said that the landed estate connected with Moyle's Court is very large, now or recently yielding the Earl of Normanton seven thousand pounds a year.

The present occupant of Moyle's Court, Frederick Fane, Esq., came there about twenty-one years before. The house was then much dilapidated, but he has restored it in a style in keeping with the ancient architecture. The principal room is a dining hall, rising from the ground some twenty-five feet in height, with a gallery at one end, on a level with the second story. The walls of this room are of beautiful, carved oak, the front of the gallery being ancient, and as it existed in the time of Lady Alice Lisle. The staircase, also of fine, carved oak, is of equal antiquity. The carved oak in the passages and some of the other rooms has been restored by Mr. Fane from material found in the attic. There is also a curious old kitchen, with a large fireplace, with a closet in the chimney where it is said one of the persons succored by Lady Alice Lisle was found hidden. In the cellar is a curiously carved head on a stone beam, which seemed as if it might formerly have supported a mantel-piece or shelf. It is said that this portion of the cellar was once a chapel.

Some of the chambers have been named by Mr. Fane from persons connected with the tragedy—Dame Alicia, Monmouth, Nelthrop, Hicks, Tryphena—these names being inscribed on the doors. The room is shown where Lady Lisle is said to have been seized.

The old tombstone over the grave of Leonard Hoar and his wife, at the Quincy burial-ground, in Massachusetts, is almost an exact copy of that over Lady Alice Lisle, at Ellerton near Moyle's Court. They were doubtless selected by the same taste. Mrs. Leonard Hoar, whose maiden name was Bridget Lisle, was connected quite intimately with three of the great tragedies in the history of English liberty. Her father, as has been said, was murdered at Lausanne. Her mother was murdered under the form of the mock judgment of Jeffries, at Winchester. Her niece married Lord Henry Russell, son of the Duke of Bedford, and brother of Lord William Russell, the story of whose tragic death is familiar to every one who reads the noble history of the struggle between liberty and tyranny which ended with the Revolution of 1688.

Bridget Hoar married again after the death of her husband, President Hoar. Her second husband was a Mr. Usher, who seems to have been insane. She lived with him very unhappily, then separated from him and went back to England, staying there until he died. She then came back to Boston and died, May 25, 1723. At her own request she was buried at the side of her first husband. A great concourse of the clergy and the principal citizens, including the Governor, attended her funeral.

It was my good fortune to be instrumental, after this visit, in correcting an evil which had caused great annoyance to our representatives abroad for a good many years.

The Americans have never maintained their representatives abroad with a dignity becoming a great power like the United States. The American Minister is compelled by our rules to wear a dress which exposes him to be mistaken for a waiter at any festive gathering. Distinctions of rank are well established in the diplomatic customs of civilized nations. It is well understood that whether a representative of a county shall be an Ambassador, a Minister Plenipotentiary, a Minister Resident, or a Charge' d'affaires, depends on the sense of its rank among the nations of the world of the country that sends him. For many years all argument was lost on Congress. The United States representative must not adopt the customs as to dress of the effete monarchies of the old world. To send an Ambassador instead of a Minister was to show a most undemocratic deference to titles, abhorrent to every good republican. There had been several attempts to make a change in this matter, always unsuccessful, until I went abroad in 1892.

When I was in London in that year, I saw a great deal of Mr. Lincoln. He told me how vexatious he found his position. When the Minister for Foreign Affairs received the diplomatic representatives of other countries at the Foreign Office, Ambassadors were treated as belonging to one rank, or class, and the Ministers as to a lower one. The members of each class were received in the order of their seniority. We change our Ministers with every Administration. So the Minister of the United States is likely to be among the juniors. He might have to wait all day, while the representatives of insignificant little States were received one after another. If, before the day ended, his turn came, some Ambassador would arrive, who would get there, perhaps, five minutes before it was time for Mr. Lincoln to go in, he had precedence at once. So the representative of the most powerful country on earth might have to lose the whole day, only to repeat the same experience on the next.

An arrangement was made which partly cured the trouble by the Minister for Foreign Affairs receiving Mr. Lincoln, on special application, informally, at his residence, on some other day. But that was frequently very inconvenient. And, besides, it was not always desirable to make a special application for an audience, which would indicate to the English Government that we attached great importance to the request he might have to make, so that conditions of importance would be likely be attached to it by them. It was quite desirable, sometimes, to mention a subject incidentally and by the way, rather than to make it matter of a special appointment.

When I got to Paris, I found Mr. Coolidge complaining of the same difficulty. I told our two Ministers that when I got home I would try to devise a remedy. Accordingly I proposed and moved as an amendment to the Consular and Diplomatic Appropriation Bill, the following clause:

"Whenever the President shall be advised that any foreign government is represented, or is about to be represented in the United States, by an Ambassador, Envoy Extraordinary, Minister Plenipotentiary, Minister Resident, Special Envoy, or Charge' d'affairs, he is authorized, in his discretion, to direct that the representatives of the United States to such government shall bear the same designation. This provision shall in no wise affect the duties, powers, or salary of such representative."

This had the hearty approval of Senators Allison and Hale, the leading members of the Committee on Appropriations, and was reported favorably by that Committee.

Senator Vest was absent when the matter came up, and it passed without opposition. Mr. Vest announced, the next day, that he had intended to oppose it. I am afraid if he had, he would have succeeded in defeating it.

When it went to the House, the Committee on Appropriations consented to retain the amendment, and it was favored by Mr. Hitt of Illinois, who had, himself, represented the country abroad and knew all about such matters. There was a little opposition in the House. But it was quieted without great difficulty. Vice-President Morton, who had, himself, represented the country at Paris, went personally to the House and used his great influence in favor of the proposition. Mr. Blount of Georgia, a very influential Democrat, threatened to make a strong opposition. But the gentlemen who favored it said to him: "Now you are going out of the House, but your countrymen will not long let you stay in retirement. You will be summoned to important public service somewhere. It is quite likely that your political friends will call you to one of these important diplomatic places, where you will be in danger of suffering the inconvenience yourself, if the present system continue." Mr. Blount was pacified. And the measure which I think would have been beaten by a pugnacious opposition in either House of Congress, got through.

Among the most impressive recollections of my life is the funeral of Tennyson in Westminster Abbey. I got a seat at the request of the American Minister by the favor of Archdeacon Farrar, who had charge of the arrangements. It was a most impressive scene. I had a seat near the grave, which was in the Poets' Corner, of which the pavement had been opened. The wonderful music; the stately procession which followed the coffin through the historic West entrance, in the most venerable building in the world, to lay the poet to sleep his last sleep with England's illustrious dead of more than a thousand years,

In those precincts where the mighty rest, With rows of statesmen and with walks of Kings,

to which

Ne'er since their foundation came a nobler guest,

was unspeakably touching and impressive. The solemn burial service was conducted by the aged Dean, doomed, not long after, to follow the beloved poet to his own final resting-place near by.

The choir sang two anthems, both by Tennyson—"Crossing the Bar" and "Silent Voices"—the music of the latter by Lady Tennyson.

The grave lay next to Robert Browning's, hard by the monument to Chaucer. I looked into it and saw the oaken coffin with the coronet on the lid.

The pall-bearers were the Duke of Argyle, Lord Dufferin, Lord Selbourne, Lord Rosebery, Mr. Jowett, Mr. Lecky, Mr. Froude, Lord Salisbury, Dr. Butler, Head of Trinity, Cambridge, Sir James Paget, Lord Kelvin and the United States Minister. The place of Mr. Lincoln, who had gone home on leave of absence, was taken by Mr. Henry White.

After depositing the body, the bearers passed the seat where I sat, one by one, pressing through between two rows of seats, so that their garments touched mine as they went by.

The day was cloudy and mournful, blending an unusual gloom with the dim religious light of the Abbey. But just as the body was let down into the earth, the sun came out for a moment from the clouds, cheering and lightening up the nave and aisles and transepts of the mighty building. As the light struck the faces of the statues and the busts, it seemed for a moment that the countenances changed and stirred with a momentary life, as if to give a welcome to the guest who had come to break upon their long repose. Of course it was but an idle imagination, begot, perhaps, of the profound excitement which such a scene, to the like of which I was so utterly unaccustomed, made upon me. But as I think of it now, I can hardly resist the belief that it was real.

It was my good fortune during this journey to become the purchaser of Wordsworth's Bible. It was presented to him by Frederick William Taber, the famous writer of hymns. While it is absolutely clean, it bears the mark of much use. It was undoubtedly the Bible of Wordsworth's old age. On my next visit to England I told John Morley about it. He said, if it had been known, I never should have been allowed to take it out of England. It bears the following inscription in Taber's handwriting:

William Wordsworth From Frederick Wm Taber, In affectionate acknowledgment of his many kindnesses, and of the pleasure and advantage of his friendship. Ambleside. New Year's Eve. 1842. A. D. Be stedfast in thy Covenant, and be conversant therein, and wax old in thy work. Ecclesiasticus XI. 20.

CHAPTER XXI VISITS TO ENGLAND 1896

In 1896 I found myself again utterly broken down in health and strength. I had, the November before, a slight paralysis in the face, which affected the muscles of the lower lid of one of my eyes, causing a constant irritation in the organ itself. After a time this caused a distortion of the lips, which I concealed somewhat by a moustache. But it operated, for a little while, as an effective disguise. When I came home during the winter, an old conductor on the Boston & Albany Railroad, whom I had known quite well, when he took my ticket looked at me with some earnestness and said, "Are you not related to Senator Hoar?" To which I answered, "I am a connection of his wife, by marriage."

I found I must get rid of the work at home, if I were to get back my capacity for work at all. So I sailed for Southampton before the session of Congress ended. It was the only time I had absented myself from my duties in Congress, except for an urgent public reason, for twenty-seven years and more.

I saw a good many interesting English people. It is not worth while to give the details of dinners and lunches and social life, unless something of peculiar and general interest occur. Almost every American who can afford it goes abroad now. Our English kinsmen are full of hospitality. They have got over their old coldness with which they were apt to receive their American cousins, although they were always the most delightfully hospitable race on earth when you had once got within the shield of their reserve.

I remember especially, however, a very pleasant Sunday spent on the Thames, at the delightful home of William Grenfell, Esq., which I mention because, by a fortunate accident, the visit had some very interesting consequences. There I met Sir John Lubbock, now Baron Avebury, famous for his writings on financial questions and on Natural History, especially for his observations of the habits of ants. He told me, if I am not mistaken, that he had personally watched the conduct and behavior of more than fifteen thousand individual ants. There was a company of agreeable English ladies and gentlemen. They played games in the evening after dinner, as you might expect of a company of American boys and girls of sixteen or eighteen years old.

Mr. Grenfell was a famous sportsman. His house was filled with the trophies of his skill in hunting. I was told that he had crossed the Channel in a row-boat.

Sir John Lubbock invited me to breakfast with him a few days afterward in St. James Square. There I met a large number of scientific men, among them the President of the Geographical Society, and the Presidents or Heads of several other of the important British Societies. I was presented to all these gentlemen. But I found I could not easily understand the names, when they were presented. Englishmen usually, even when they speak the language exactly as we do, have a peculiar pronunciation of names, which makes it very hard for an American ear to catch them. I could not very well say, "What name did you say?" or ask the host to repeat himself. So I was obliged to spend the hour in ignorance of the special dignity of most of the illustrious persons whom I met.

Just behind my chair hung a full-length portrait of Admiral Boscawen, a famous naval officer connected with our early history. For him was named the town of Boscawen in New Hampshire, where Daniel Webster practised law. The house where we were had been his. I think he was in some way akin to the host.

I sailed for home on Wednesday. The Friday night before, I dined with Moreton Frewen, Esq., an accomplished English gentleman, well known on this side of the Atlantic. Mr. Frewen had been very kind and hospitable to me, as he had been to many Americans. He deserves the gratitude of both nations for what he has done to promote good feeling between the two countries by his courtesy to Americans of all parties and ways of thinking. He has helped make the leading men of both countries know each other. From that knowledge has commonly followed a hearty liking for each other.