Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune, June 22, 1873, Page 7

Newspaper of Chicago Daily Tribune dated June 22, 1873 Page 7
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PRESIDENT LINCOLN. fjjxee Interviews with Him. u oid Abe ” as a Military Strategist, a Diplomatist, and a Politician. J. if. Winehell in the Galaxy for July. ifr first interview with Hr. Lincoln was early [n January, ISG3. It was a season of deep de pression in loyal Washington circles, owing, lo recent reverses of the Union arms.. We had well-nigh forgotten the splendors of Grant’s ear ir campaigns, in our impatience - with gje slowness of his later operations; we bad lost faith in McClellan, finally, after the gjeape of Lee back into Tirginia, out of our very clutches at Antietam; and the dismal December that brought us the cruel disaster at Fredericks burg had closed feverishly with the beginning of ft great battle in Tennessee, the details of *bicb the public found it impossible to obtain, jbe new year opened with a feeling of wild anx iety in regard to the fate of Eosecrans and his jrniy in the encounter wo know ho had forced frith Bragg on the banks of Stone River; Since had gallantly marched forth from Nashville to meet the advancing enemy, the Army of the Cumberland had been the immediate subject of ocr hopes and fears; and though the Govern ment baa permitted us to know that the hostile to=ts had sustained the first shock of an fucounter, it had, beyond this pregnant an nouncement, maintained an impenetrable and cminous silence. Sunday, Jan. 4, was a day cf intense solicitude to the public, as it ins morally certain that the great battle then been fought to the end; and p the evening of that day, moved by ipedal motives, and using influences not necessary to be named, I obtained an interview rith the President for the purpose of ascertain ing &s much as possible of the truth. I was accompanied by one of his personal friends ; and ■when we entered the well-known reception-room a very tall, lanky man came quickly forward to meet us. His manner scorned to me the perfection of courtesy. I was struck irith the simplicity, kindness, and dignity of his deportment, so different from the clownish man ner with which it was then customary to invest him. His face was a pleasant surprise, formed is my expectations had been from the poor pho tographs then in vogue, and the general belief la bis ugliness. I remember thinking how much better looking he was than I had anticipated,and rendering that anyone should consider him His expression was grave and careworn, but ,tfll enlivened with a cheerfulness that gave me bet&nt hope. After a brief interchange of com monplace, 1 stated my precise errand, and could scarcely credit my senses when he told me that the Government was no better informed than the public in regard to the result at Stone river. I was prepared for my answer but this; for good news or bad news, or a refusal to give any answer at all; for anything but ignorance. It did not seem possible that a contest of the magnitude of this could have raged for days in a region of railways and telegraphs, and the Government he unin formed as to the issue. Mr. Lincoln, however, proceeded at once to express bis belief that our forces had won a de cisive victory. His mere assertion seemed to Be of but slight importance—so shaken had my confidence been in Federal success, and so ac customed bad I become to the sanguine auguries of officials, generally contradicted by the event. I suppose he noticed this incredulity, for he at once undertook to give the reasons for his faith. With surprising readiness, he entered on a de scription of the situation, giving the numbers Of tho contending armies, their movements previous to the beginning of the battle, and the general strategical purposes which should govern them both. Taking from the wall a large map of .the United States, and laying it on the table, he pointed out with his long finger the geographical fea tures of the vicinity, clearly describing the vari ous movements so far as known, reasoning rigidlv from step to stop, and creating a chain of probaii Allies too strong for serious dispute. His apparent knowledge of military science, and bis familiarity with the special features of the present campaign, were surprising in a man who had been all his life a civilian, on grossed with-politics and the practice of the law, and whose attention must necessarily be so tnuch occupied with the perplexing detail of duties incident to bis position. The fact once comprehended that he had profoundly studied ihs war in its military aspect, tho less aston ishing, though not lees admirable, was the logic in which be involved his facts, arguing steadily on to the hopeful conclusion which he had an nounced at tne outs )t. It is beyond my power of recollection t* recall any part of his argument. I only know . :ho made a demonstrauon that justified'his nupos, and which filled me with a confidence equal to his own, and excited admiration of an intellec tual power so different from any which I bad supposed him to possess. It was clear that he made the various campaigns of the war a sub ject of profound and intelligent study, forming opinions thereon as positive and clear as those he held in regard to civil affairs. When I left him it wa& with a cheerfulness suite In contrast with the anxiety I had felt be fore. The news of the next day fully verified the correctness of his judgement by giving us the most decisive announcement of the brilliant end complete success of the Army of the Cum berland, in spite of the many and almost fatal misfortunes which bad attended the early stages 0/ the battle. My next interview was several weeks later, *nd with a very different purpose. Gen. Sher otn, then commanding a division iu the West, under Gen. Grant, had taken extreme measures against a newspaper correspondent at his bead quarters, and had procured his arrest and trial by a court-martial, and his banishment beyond the army lines. It was generally felt that the proceeding was harsh and unjust; and several prominent - officers having represented that the alleged offence was technical, a memorial dicing the President to set aside the sentence was prepared and generally signed by the journalists in ’Washington. A Sunday evening was selected for the presentation of this memo xial, audl was invited by the gentleman having it in charge to accompany him to the Executive Mansion for that purpose. We were throe per sons in aB, the third being a member of the House of Representatives, and we had the good fortune to find the President alone—a general *ad a Congressman having just left him—and quite well disposed toward the request which we preferred. After presenting the memorial, its bearer en tered into a detailed history of the case, show ing its injustice and inexpediency. Mr. Lincoln evidently considered it a delicate question, and disposed to give it a careful investigation, tie was resolved, I think, to conciliate the press, sod equally resolved not to absolutely annul the of the military authorities. The precise which he was willing to do did not sppear _ till after a prolonged discus eiou, in which ho participated with pshent interest. My friend asked that he poativeiy restore to the injured correspondent 7 s * privileges; while the President, not ab wintely refusing at first, endeavored to satisfy os With a recommendation to Gen. Grant to him the sentence. But my friend believed JJS? Grant would stand stubbornly by the *** Gen. Sherman, unless the President pve b is wishes tko force of an actual order. _e discussion was long and animated. .A inen( l ,waa a master of argument * ® 6rsllae^on » and inspired by a t**SL P 61 "® 011 *! regard for the banished cor “ponaent; and Mr. Lincoln seemed bent on boil? _f*Ss that would measurably satisfy •wFn* 100, . A-t times I thought our point sub- gained; but on defining the exact 7 proposed arrangement, there was indJ? 6 en <* a reference of the case to the of General Grant. Seeming to codpSL much, we finally found that he n °t n mg at all. Many ingenious ex onu:v®.' H 5 r ® proposed and rejected, and I was skill the display of diplomatic • f ti unexpectedly become a wit tkm V ii- **ad Tei 7little part in the conversa ciSn. tenod groat interest to the dis- CGnei-i??- 1115 on * Air. Lincoln’s manner was all .S*' 401 ? kindness and sympathy; hut feblc* a firmness that seemed immov he^iJ e ?^ l, 3 Vr ? l^o walking about the room, which “ e rclaimed: trig. T -**3* to make an order setting iAilpht th® Court. I wish to do whac from ail fu ask; for it seems townie, fia I*.* i-??^ ence »'tkat our newspaper friend lianSlJ?? 0 t0 Bev ®rely dealt with. Still, •on the spot to judge of all circum stances, and Gen. Grant is; and I do not see now X can properly grant yoor request without being sustained byliis consent. But let us see what we can. do; I will write something to put our ideas into shape; and, with a pleasant laugh, he began at once to search for papers and pen. He was aided in this effort by little ‘‘Tad, 1 ’ who was present—and, I must sav, somewhat troublesome—and toward whom his father frequently manifested the most anxious and considerate affection. He found a piece of paper with some difficulty on the table (Uttered with documents lying in complete and a very poor pen, with which he at once set to work. The draft which he made was quite satisfac tory. It was brief, clear, and precise ; it stated the -case truly, revoked the sentence of the court, and gave a correspondent the privilege of returning to Gen, Grant’s headquarters. We were delighted with the document, and, of course, said so. “But,” said the President, “I had, better make this conditional on the approval of Gen. Grant. You see it would not seem right for me to send hack a correspondent to the General’s headquarters in case he knew of any reason why the man should not be there. I will just add «• few words;” and so he did, making the order close as follows; “And to remain if Gen. Grant shall give his express assent; and to again leave the department if Gen. Grant shall refuse said assent.’’ “There,” he remarked, “I think about right, and I have no doubt Gen. Grant will assent.” And so he did. It was useless to contend further with this firm but flexible will, which always gave you an impression that it was about to yield, but which, when once resolved, was absolutely immovable. The document thus prepared was, iu fact, a military * order, and X wondered if ho made any record of its * exist ence. He had not called in the aid of any of his Secretaries, and I afterward inquired of Mr. Nicolay if any record of it had been mode. He said not, and was even ignorant of its existence; and added a feeling remark on the President's official habits, which wore reckless of all order, and gave his Secretaries no end of trouble. This affair concluded, the President seemed disposed to prolong the interview. Our conver sation took a military direction, and embraced the various movements being made or known to bo in contemplation. Mr. Lincoln seemed pleased to discuss the war; in fact, the informal nature of our conversation was a re lief to his mind, overworked and jaded as he was by all the cares, official aud political, to which he was daily subjected. Presently he startled us by declaring ho saw no hope of suc cess for. any of the campaigns now being opened. - Having gone thus far, and seeing our surprise and perplexity, he seemed animated by a desire to justify his statement. Going to the wall, and again taking down the largo map which be had pressed into service on the previous occasion, he proceeded to inform us, which wo did not posi tively know before, that there were now throe important movements being attempted by our forces toward points against which our efforts had previously proved unsuc cessful. One of those, he said, was against Richmond, on the same general plan substan tially attempted by Burnside $ one against Charleston, from the sea, by the combined land and naval forces; and one against Vicksburg, by way of the Yazoo Pass and the network of bayous and small streams by which the Missis sippi is flanked, and through some of which it was hoped to transfer Gen. Grant's forces to a point from which a successful assault might be made on that great stronghold, which had thus far defied our most determined attacks. “ And 1 cannot see how either of these plans can succeed,” said he; and. forthwith throwing aside all reserve, and speaking with as much apparent frankness as though conversing with his confidential advisors, he freely criticised the conduct of the campaigns in question, going into all the details of a military argument, ana lo gically demonstrated in advance that Grant would again be foiled in bis strategy against Vicksburg, that Hooker would fail to reach Richmond, and that Du Pont and Hunter would be compelled to retire baffled from before Charleston. Ido not now re member the reason* he gave for bis judgment in regard to the two movements-last named, but I recollect well his clear description of the narrow and winding water-courses through which Grant was endeavoring to conduct his gunboats, gen erally impassable for large craft, either through too high or low water, and capable of fatal ob struction in the forests which they penetrate, by an enemy intimately acquainted with every fea ture of the country, and who had only proved himself too well informed of all our and equally active and successful in opposing our progress into his own country. It was - known that Mr. Lincoln entertained military opinions quite independent of and often at variance with those of his advisers ; and I had before had a striking proof ol the correctness of his judgment. I confess, however, that I was os much astonished as disheartened by this un reserved condemnation of the conduct of the war on the part of the Government of which be was the bead; and X scarcely knew whether I was moat astonished by bis remarkable frankness or annoyed at his convincing argument. I said: ** If you feel so confident of disaster in all these movements, Mr, President, why do you permit them to be made ? ** Because I cannot prevent it,” he replied. “ But you are Commander-in-Cldef,” I re joined. “My dear sir,', he replied, “ lam as power less an any private citizen to shape the military plans of the Government. I have my generals and my War Department, end my subordinates are supposed to be more capable than lam to decide what movements shall or shall not bo un dertaken. I have onco or twice attempted to act on my own convictions, and found that it was impracti cable to do so. I see campaigns undertaken in which I have no faith, and nave no power to pre vent them ; and I tell you that sometimes, when I reflect on the management of our forces, I am tempted to despair ; my heart goes clear down into my boots.” ' With this characteristic climax he practically closed the discussion. Rising from his chair he moved-uneasily about the room, as though to shake off some feeling chat oppressed him. Sud denly he seemed to realize that he had been speaking too freely. “Of course, gentlemen,” said ho, “we are talkingin conndence; and as friends. None of this most got into print, or be repealed.” We took our leave soon after, but I was long haunted with the recollection of what I hod heard. . My admiration for the man and his high moral and intellectual qualities were increased, and my confidence in our military chieftains, never very high previously, was proportionately diminished. As before, the events Justified his prediction. Our attacking forces wore beaten off from Charleston ; the Army of the Potomac was hurled hack upon the north at Chancellora villo; and Grant and Porter were completely baffled in their ill-judged experiment in the hos tile swamps of the Mississippi, which they at tempted to penetrate through streams too nar row to turn a gunboat in, and surrounded by a restless foe ever ready to exhaust all the means of impediment and destruction. And though Mr. Lincoln's opinions may have owed their cor rectness to accident, yet I could not resist a feeling that he had a strength of brain and soundness of judgment which measurably sup plied the want of military training, and which utted him better to plan campaigns than any of the professional soldiers to whose views he felt himself compelled to yield. My last interview was of a political nature, and occurred during the spring of IG6L The great political question of the day was the approaching Presidential election. The friends of the various aspirants were at work ascertaining and shaping public sentiment, hut no candidate had yet been actually put forward for the Republican nomination. The movement in favor of the Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Chase, had cul minated in disaster; that gentleman’s chief sup porters, including his Senatorial son-in-law, hav ing manifested a painful lack of nerve or zeal, when the critical question became public of ar raying him against his official chief, and made haste to take him at his word of declination, diplomatically spoken in order to rouse their flag ging spirits. And yet Mr. Lincoln was not known as a candidate. It was believed that ho would not decline a renomination. and his enemies affirmed that he was intriguing to procure one; but there was no jot of evidence before the public that he had given the subject a moment’s thought. Yet so strong was his prestige with the people, so greatly was his power of patronage feared by Bio politicians, and such was the awe of his per sonal ability which weighed on those trimming patriots who regard it as a point of conscience never to be committed to the losing side, that by a sort of consent the wire-pullers were all wait ing to discover his purposes and wishes before committing themselves strongly to any competi tor. It chanced , at this time that a member of the' Senate who claimed me as a constituent was anxiously looking forward to his own ro-eloction, which was somewhat in peril. The Legislature which was to determine his destiny was to be elected at the same time vvitu the President; and as he was a warm friend of Hr. Lincoln, with " whom he had great in fluence, ho had resolved to beono of the fore most champions for the renomination and ro THE CHICAGO DAILY TRIBUNE: SUNDAY, JUNE 22,1873. election of the, latter, and to Inake common cause with him in his • State, and thereby increase, as he thought, his own popularity and chances of success. The Senator had always flattered mo with assurances that I had some influence in our State politics, and had used many and, thus far, unsuccessful means to attach me to his political fortunes. Hence, I was not greatly surprised when he came to me one day and invited a confidential conversation on National and State politics. I had no reason for refusing, and bo proceeded to unfold a plan which had for its object the promotion of the' interests of President Lincoln, of him self, and—flattering conjunction!—of the humble and unofficial individual who *«vritcs this chronicle. As both the other parties involved are dead, their ambitions cut short by the ballets and their scheminge of no more .ac count now than a last year’s almanac, I violate - no confidence in. the vague sketch I am attempt ing. The preliminary conditions of secrecy and good faith being settled, the Senator proceeded te de velop his plans. Mr. Lincoln, he assured me, was and would continue to be a candi date for renomination, aud on grounds of private friendship and of patriotism he, the Sen ator, was most auxioua for his success; Of this ho entertained very little doubt, believing that the President had a growing strength that would carry him over all obstacles, both before the Convention, aud at the polls in November. Hav ing made up his mind to this effect, ho was most abxious to carry for Mr. Lincoln our State, both to Increase his own power as a Lincoln man therein, and to still further strengthen himself with the President during the second term. In -fact, if the State could be thus carried in conven tion and at the polls, the Senator assured mo that a most influential position (namlng-it) awaited fils acceptance in the new Cabinet; and. coming plumply to the point, he promised mo then and there, if I would enter the canvass in our State for both candidates, to give mo the choice of a high diplomatic position in Europe or an office in Washington, “in which [bis exact words] the present incumbent says ho has made a million of dollars and has wronged nobody.” Notwithstanding my geneialhumility of spirit, and an absence of strong aspiration for offices which either require more money than the salary to support them, os our foreign diplomatic ones do, or depend on a system of stealing to com pensate the incumbent for the very arduous and responsible duties required, I was not quite overcome by the brilliancy of- this proffer. Not to claim extraordinary philosophy or virtue. I will say that I had no very intense faith in poli tical promises, and especially in those made by the gentleman with whom I was conversing. Kcitherdid I desire to become his political sup porter ; and neither, for that matter, had I con cluded that President Lincoln ought to bo re nominated. I had been a Chase man, and bad shared with a great many Republicans a profound dissatisfaction with the mode in which Mr. Lin coln had allowed the war to be conducted. Hence, when I saw the point towards which the purpose of the Senator tended, I began to seek some easy means of escape from the dilemma in which I was becoming involved. Therefore, not believing his statement in regard to his under standing with the President, I introduced, cun ningly as I thought, a diplomatic hint that the ser vice ho proposed to me was auch as required mo to learn from Mi. Lincoln himself that it would be acceptable, and to satisfy myself of the reality of the close relations existing between the two. Much to my surprise, the Senator, after a little reflection, assented to my suggestion as being reasonable and proper. He promised me a pri vate interview with Mr. Lincoln in a day or two. and, to my amazement, kept his promise. Of course I n&d no alternative but to keep on my part the appointment be bad made for mo, though with the distinct understanding that it should in no way commit mo to any further action. At the time appointed, therefore, the Senator took me to the White House, and ushered mo formally into the Executive presence. This done, and with a phrase or two of compliment, and without even seating himself, he retired with great dignity and in good order, leav ing me to my fate, and content, apparently, with having stamped on my visit the seal of his Sena torial sanction. Mr. Lincoln received mo, as ever, kindly and courteously ; but bis maimer was quite changed. It was not now tho country about which his anxiety prevailed, but himself. There was an embarrassment about him which he could not quite conceal. I thought it proper to state in the outset (not knowing what the Senator might have said) that I wished simply to know what ever ho was free to tell me in regard to his own willingness or unwillingness to accept a re nomination, and also as to the extent to which the Senator was authorized to speak for him. Tho reply was a monologue of an hour's duration, and one that wholly absorb ed me, as it seemed to absorb himself. There was very little for me to say, and I was only too willing to listen. He remained seated nearly all the time. He was restless, often changing position, and occa sionally, in some intense moment, wheeling his body around in bis chair, and throwing a leg over the arm. This was the only grotesque thing I recollect about him; his voice and man ner were very earnest, and he uttered no jokes, and told no anecdotes. Ha began by eaying that, &a yet, he was not a candidate for renomination.. He distinctly de nied that ho was a party to any effort to that end, notwithstanding f knew that there were movements in his favor in all parts of the North ern States. These movements were, of course, without his prompting, as ho positively assured mo that with one or two exceptions ho had scarcely conversed on the subject with his most intimate friends. Ho was not quite sure whether he desired a renominatioa. Such had been the responsibility of the office—so oppres sive had he found its cares, so terrible its per plexities—that he felt as though the moment when he could relinquish the burden and retire to private life would be the sweetest ho could possibly experience. But, bo said, he would not deny that a re-election would also nave its grati fication to his feelings. Ho did not seek it, nor would he do so; ho did not desire it for any am bitious or selfish purpose; hut, after the crisis the country was passing through under his Presidency, and the efforts he had made conscientiously to discharge the duties imposed upon him, it would be a very swoet satisfaction to mm to know that he had secured the approval of his fellow-citi zens and earned the highest testimonial of con fidence they could bestow. This was the gist of the hour's monologue; and I believe ho spoke sincerely. His voice, hla manner, armed ms modest and sensible words with & power of conviction. He seldom looked mo in the face while he was talkingj he seemed almost to be gazing into the future. lam sure it was not a pleasant thing for him to seem to be speaking in his own interest. He furthermore assured me that the Senator had bis full confidence, and that ho should re spect any proper promises the latter might make, lor himself, he affirmed (gratuitnoaly, for I had not said anything to lead in that direction) that he should make no promises of office to any one, as an inducement for support. If nominated and elected, he should be grateful to his friends, and consider that they had claims on him ; but the interests of the country must always be first considered. Meantime, he supposed ho should be a candidate ; things seemed to be work!?? in that direction ; and u I could assist him and his friend the Senator in my State, he should not fail to remember the service with gratitude. I think I may be justified in remembering my interview with this remarkable man as one of the most memorable of many impressive recol lections. I voted for him with greater satisfac tion for it, though I cannot see my way clear to adopt the programme made by the Senator. I could not identify the two interests according to his wish, without a violation of conscience and consistency, which I valued more than I did the prospective rewards with which he sought to dazzle my feeble eyes. To him I excused my self as delicately as 1 was able; thanking him m my heart only for the glimpse he had enabled me to get of a loftier nature and greater intel lect than often nsoa into view in our muddy politics. THE FERTILE TEARS. Unbroken sunshine and perpetual heal Make deserts only. Clouds that bring no rain Shelter no gardens ; and thine eye*, my sweet. Must know what tears are, fond eyes to remain. —r. IT. Pawns Xt r hy Ex-Gov. Jenkins was Given the Seal of Georgia. The reason why a gold fac simile of the seal of Georgia has been presented to ex-Gov. Jenkins, by a vote of the Legislature, is thus explained by the Savannah 2Veto* : “In 18G7, when Jenkins was Governor, the Congressional reconstruction troubles'set in. After the meeting of the convention which adopted the Constitution of ISGS, its members; began to hunger and thirst after the money in the State Treasury. Gen. Pope called on Got. Jenkins to draw his warrant on, the Treasury for a sufficient sum of money to- pay the per diem and mileage of the members of the Con vention. He declined to do so, as no appropria tion for such a -purpose had been made bv the' Legislature.' The then and now State-Treasurer,, another noble Boman, would not pay the money without Executive warrant. About this tune Popo was removed and Meade took his place. Meade made another effort to get funds out of tho Governor and Treasurer, failing in which he removed them and pat military officials in their places. Jones left no money in the Treasury, and Jenkins carried the seal of the Executive Department with him into private life, retaining it until the elevation of Gov. Smith, when he returned it ‘to his first honest and rightfully elected successor,* as be stylos Gov. Smith in his remarkable letter written at the time, which has become part of the history of Jenkins and of Georgia.” TKE SHIP-BELLS. The out-bound ships pass on and on, And wane upon the sea, And o’er tho billow’s broken breast, Their boils steal hack to me— And break a trembling, sobbing throng, Upon the sands in dim, sweet song, Of riven melody. And.satling o’er sweet fields of gold, ■ And clouds, and summer Hue, Through slanting sun, and shadows don. The sails slip through and through, And throbbing bells that tremble back. Upon the fair ships’ fading track, The waves with echoes strew. And still the ships go oh and on,. Out gates pf hazy gray. As dreams upon the slumbering sense, Pose unfulfilled sway;. . And leave but memory’s grieving bells, - Thai sob and moan Ufo* ocean shells, Ever and alway. And thus our lives go on and on. Like ships unceasingly, Through morning’s gold, and shadows cold, That check time’s varied sea. God grant that like the sweet ship bells, The good that in my being dwells, May echo after me. Chicago. Cobnte Laws St. John. The foregoing poem appeared in the Chicago Times of Sunday, June 8. The l&st time we eaw this poem was in the columns of Our Fireside Friend of April 20, 1872. In tho latter publica tion it stands without signature, and the first line reads : The tall white ships pass on and on, Instead of The outbound ships pass on and on. No other difference is noticed. FIRST WHITE MAN AT CHICAGO. To the Editor of The Chicago Tribune Sib : Not many days ago, there appeared in the columns of yonr paper a communication from a gentleman, •who, with commendable taste, fjtllw the attention of Chicagoans to an interesting chapter in the history of early exploration in the region of Lake Michigan, and heads the attract ive article “ Chicago and Father Marquette.' 1 .Col. Foster recites briefly the beautiful story of Marquette's jonxneyings hereabout; of the cour age, zeal, and patience of the toiling, gentle, sick, and dying missionary. Sparks, Perkins, and Bancroft, as well also as Mr. Shea (who quotes touching details by Dubjon, the contemporary of Marquette), have subsequently told us of tbo good French Father. Bancroft, more than thir ty years fiince ; closed a brilliant paragraph about Marquette, with the following prophecy: *' Tha people of the West will build ins monument." Now, as Chicago may be considered the repre sentative city, the heart, soul, and head-centre of the Great West, it wouldindeed befitting that Marquette's monument should be erected here, agreeably to Col. Foster's suggestion, in com memoration of his discoveries, and of the second centennial of his first visit here. And,

though the search would probably be a fruitless one, yet let his remains be looked for at “ Old Mackinaw,” whither they were conveyed, having been exhumed from the bank of the Biver “Marquette" (the “ Pierre Marquette ” is a misnomer), where ho breathed his last, May 18, 1675. There is one item in the proposed inscription offered by Col. P., however, which I think should be reconstructed. The evidence is no doubt reliable, and it can be shown, that Mar quette, who, with Joliet, fonnd his way to Chi cago from Green Bay, via the Rivers Wisconsin, Missisrippi, Illinois, and X)es Plaines, was not the first white man to stand upon the site of Chicago. Nicholas Perrot, a French white man, the agent of Courcelles, Intendant of New France (in place of Talon, who had gone to Paris), was au ambassador to call a congress of various nations of red men at the Falls of St. Mary, to meet in May or June, 1671; and he was escorted from Green Bay by the Pottawotamiea ; on this mission of friendship, to the Mianua at Chicago. This was in the spring of 1671, more than two years before Marquette passed over the Chicago portage, from hxs discovery of the Upper Mississippi. We are told that Sieur Nicolet (not a missionary, and “Father," as some times sale), an interpreter for the Canadian Government, visited Green Bay as early as 1639; but we have no advice- that ho extended his jonmey to Chicago. To Nicholas Perrot, then, belongs the renown of being ihe first white man at Chicago. Yours, Ac., Hfxby H. Huelbct. Chicago, Jose 17,1873. FASHIONS. From the Seta York MaxL Bronze jewelry is one of the latest novelties. —Croakers predict a doll season at the large watering-places. —Very brilliant jewelry is made of the heads of Brazilian humming-birds set in gold. —The most beautiful tortoise-shell jewelry in the world is made in Naples. —The most stylish young ladies in town have struck against the tyranny of the milliners, and make their own bonnets. —Croquet still continues In favor, and surrep titious hoops still entrap the feet of unwary wanderers on shady lawns. —A New York ladv wears a set of Etruscan jewelry made over a thousand years ago, which is pronounced superior in design and finish to anything made at present. —Some very slanderous person asserts that five New York ladies have gone to Paris this spring for the express purpose of having their faces enameled. —Pearls require airing as much as hones and babies. Unless they are constantly worn, they change color, and finally crumble to pieces. This is not the case with diamonds, though many New York ladies act as if they thought it was. —The latest thing in glove boxes is the exact fac-aimile of a glove in Bussia leather. It is deep, opens on the side, and the glove fits the box “ exactly like a glove.” These unique af fairs hare just been introduced here, and are made in Vienna. A Japanese Fire* Teddo Correspondence of the Few Tori Tribune, On Monday night, at 2 o’clock, a fire broke out in the Mikado’s palace. In 10 minutes the .whole structure was in flames, and in less than an hour it was burned to the ground. The native troops and firemen were promptly on hand and preserv ed order. They could do little else, as the build ings burned too fast to be saved, the moats stopped the progress of the fire. The Emperor, accompanied by 'hia own body-guard of lancers, went to his mother’s palace near by, and there the Empress and the Court joined bim the next The palace and outbuildings were totally destroyed. It is said that e. new on© will be built from the plana of a foreign architect, io coat about $3, £?d,000. These fires come inveryconveo j iently for the purpose of restoration. Where the great fire swept clean a year ago, the streets have been straightened .and widened, and rows of two-story brick buildings* are being erected. These are built after foreign mdd*l?i two miles, the principal street of Yodtlc looks like that of any largo city in America or Eu rope. It only needs a horse-railroad track in the centre, and that will be there very shortly. Some evil-disposed persons are giving publicity to the rumor that the pul ace was set on fire by incendiaries, for political reasons. Such a story is totally untrue. The fire was caused by one of the Empress’ ladies, who, as the night was chilly, had taken a brazier of charcoal into her bed. During the night thin fair voung damsel, this high-born maid of honor, selected for her beauty and her rank to serve the Emperor s bride, - kicked, upset the brazier, scattered the lighted charcoal over the cotton quilts, and a new palace will be the result. A slice of turnip too much —possibly a fish Done in the throat —wiU cost $2,600,000. A Charitable Soul* From a Paris Letter. IT. Audibert, Director of the Paris, Lyons & Mediterranean Bailway, was buried yesterday. Ho was a capable administrator, and an homme du monde. Many stories are now told of him. It is said he always emptied his pockets or money before getting home at night in deeds of charity, and one day left his cab with a single piece of money. As'he put his foot to the ground one of ius habitual beggars held oat his hand and received the piece. M. Audibert had 1 nothing left to pay the cabman, who remarked that when one could not pay his faro one went on foot. - A scene, followed. Just then Uio beg gar came tip and offered to loan his earn ings,- four francs fifty centimes. = H. Andibert accepted it with a hearty laugh, paid man, and the next* day sent the beggar ow francs. MR. MILL’S FUNERAL SERVICE. BY XAUOABET B. BUCHANAN. It is not creditable to the exactness of modern philosophy that, when a great man dies, -hia best friends cannot agree regarding the school of philosophy in which he is to be classified. The debate as to whether Mr. Mill was or was not a Utilitarian, onght to be considered practic ally settled, notwithstanding the efforts that are still being made to make him one; and notwithstanding tho error of so sharp a writer as tho Bov. Honcuro D. .Conway, who, in • .tho Cincinnati Commercial, says: “ The England of to-day will be known to posterity as the age of Darwin and Mill, who have done the same work in different directions. Darwin has proved that the organic world is the sum of an immeasur able series of selected utilities; and, Mill has shown that the moral world is the sum of a like series of moral and religious utilities.” Mr. Conway, in his desire to eulogize Mr. Mill, has thrown Jeremy Bent ham’s cloak upon him, to bring ont his figure better. It is of no moment now to add that Mr. Darwin is likewise credited with more than is his, for surely no man has yet proved what Sir. Conway attributes to Mr. Darwin, and the most extrava gant statement Mr. Darwin has himself yet made npon the subject is,. that ho believes that animals have descended from, at most, only fonr or fivo progenitors; and that, while analogy would lead one step farther, to the belief that animals and plants are descended from some one prototype, nevertheless “ analogy may be a deceitful guide.” Indeed, it is very doubtful whether evolution, in its pure sense, is susceptible of proof or dis proof. It is destined to remain a theory, unless geological discoveries occur of tho most mo mentous character; and of these Mr. Darwin is not the most sanguine prophet. It is undoubtedly true that Mr. Mill believed himself a Utilitarian; but it is equally true that be was not one, if the principles laid down by Locke are to be accepted against Mr. Mill’s utter ances. It is tme that Mr. Mill, os stated in Tub Tribune a few days ago, sought to bo an apostle as well as a disciple of Utilitarianism, and suc ceeded in demonstrating that not only was he not a believer in the vicious principles of that ism, but that its principles were too manifestly vicious for any Christian mind to admit. His attempt to identify “interest” and “duty,” in his examination of Sir William Hamilton’s phi losophy, led him to tho remarkable declaration, quoted by The Tbzbune, that, if goodness be one thing in man and another in God, and the goodness of God be irreconcilable with goodness in man, and he most go to Hell if he did not worship this sort of a God, to Hell ho would go. On this, St. George Mivart, in his “ Genesis of Species,” in which ho combats Darwin, says, in the chapter on “ Evolution and Ethics:” “This is unqnestion- ably an admirable sentiment on the part of Mr. Mill (with which every absolute moralist will agree); but it contains a complete refutation of his own position, and is a capital instance of the vigorous life of moral intuition in one who pro fesses to have eliminated any fundamental dis tinction between the * right' and the ‘ expedi ent.’ ” It is difficult to classify Mr. Mill as a philoso pher. If philosophy be thought divergent from 'exact principles, and not speculations divergent from speculations, Mr. Mill was not a philoso pher, in the technical sense, at all. He was a humanitarian-politician. It is conspicuously in thin capacity that he has been powerful in his country and in his time. It is for his philoso phy of politics, and not for his philosophy of morals, that the world owes him a debt; and it is this fact which lends extraordinary significance to a volume just from the press, which constitutes another of the many discourses poured over Mr. Mill*’ coffin. He did not need to live to answer the book. It is entitled “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,” and is written by James Fitzjames Stephen, a Queen’s Councilor, who was one of Her Majes ty’s civil servants in India. It is violent in tone; but its denunciation is not so senseless as wholly to deprive its logic of force. He selects Mr. Mill specifically for his target, “ because,’ he says, “no writer of the present day has ex pressed himself upon these subjects with any thing like the same amount either of sys tem or of ability.” He professes to agree sufficiently with Mr. Mill to differ from him profitably; and dissents from his views on hu man nature and human affairs.” Tbo fault he finds with Hr. Mill, under the first bead, maybe briefly stated, and needs only to be stated to bo forgiven and forgotten. He says that Mr. Mill overestimates the goodness of human nature. He elaborates this with much persistence. It is of one of those crimes of which mankind convict a man for the purpose of covering him with greater honor than an ac quittal. Mr, Stephen attacks Mr. Mill as a political economist, or, as it is better to say, as a politi cian, with decided Vehemence. Mr. Mill tras * theoretical democrat, Mr. Stephen is. a theo retical Pessimist. From the temper of his book, it is not easy to understand why he consents to live in a world which is going with so rapid ( speed, and so awful certainty, to the devlL To understand clearly what Mr. Stephen assails, it is well to quote from Mr. Mill himself a succinct statement of the essence of his political dreams. His sensitiveness concerning the rights of minorities, and the individual rights of con science, draw him at once within the ranks of pure democracy and of pure Christianity. There is no truer political principle than this to be found in the dissertations of ancient or Ameri can republicans: “ There is a limit to the legitimate Interference of collective opinion with individual independence ; and to find that limit, and it against encroachment, is as indispensable to a condition of human affairs, as protection against political despotism.” And, concerning the rights of conscience, Mr. Yin gays: 11 Yet so natural to mankind is intol erance in whatever they really care about, that religious freedom has hardly anywhere been re alized, except where religious indifference, which dislikes to have Its peace disturbed by theo logical quarrels, has added its weight to the scale. In the minds of almost all religious per sons, the duty of toleration, even in the moat tolerant countries, is admitted with tacit reserves. One person will bear with dis sent in matters of church-government, but not of dogma; another can tolerate everybody short of a Papist or an Unitarian Wherev er the sentiment of the majority is still gen uine and intense, it is found to have abated little of its claim to be obeyed.” Indfid extracts are taken from Mr. Mill’s essay on “ Liberty,” which is literally the text of Mr. Stephen’s book. In the same volume, Mr. Mill lays down the principle which, in hia judg ment, is to govern absolutely the dealings of society with the individual: “ That prin ciple is, that the sole end for which mankind are warranted, individually or collectively, in inter fering with the liberty of any of their number, is self-protection; that the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community against his will, is to prevent harm to others.” In other words, Mr. Mill would reduce politi cal government to a mere police-system, elim inating from it every vestige of the “paternal” theory. The gravest charge that can bo brought against Mr. Mill fairly is, that ho is vague and un practical. But, if the history of the American Bepuhlic, and the present condition of the Ger man Empire, do not prove that in the simplest police-system, in the utter absence of “pater nity " in government, lies the only possible safety for individual rights and rights of conscience, surely nothing is demonstrable. . Bat it is especially in this that Mr. Stephen attacks Mr. Mill. Hr. Stephen believes in religious coercion-' He does not say whether, had he been a Protestant in Mary’s days, or a Catholic in Cromwell’s, he would have been likely tp hold the same opinion. But he defends Hemy Yin. and Elizabeth on the ground of expediency. He condemns ; universal suffrage. He thinks - the success of America is due to sudden wealth,— not to sound political principles, of which, in his opinion, we have precisely the' reverse. He laughs at Tmmanitarianfam, and maintains that equality dwarfs men. Ho appears to be willing to be despot or serf, as the case may require. The book is one of the most marvelous eccen tricities of the age. If it bo difficult to classify Hr. Mill as a philosopher, it is mnoh more diffi cult to classify Hr. Stephen. . It is of little consequence that Macaulay, as Mr. Conway reminds us, pronounced Mill’s phi losophy harmless cant,—“not much more laughable than phrenology, and immeasurably more humane than cock-fighting.” The influ ence of what Min has said and done in British politics may not cause monuments to bo erected to him in - public squares devoted to the emblazonment of great. British batchers* But that influence has been signifi cant in every constitutional widening -of British ' government..' Tt ' has been signifi cant—tho most significant influence of all—in the gradual attempts, comparatively suc cessful as they have been and must be within a commonwealth that moves by conservative marches only, toward universal suffrage. It has been significant m repudiating English precedents in Ireland, substituting religion almost free, and education somewhat less so. It has been significant in famishing schools and building railroads in India, at the cost, in-’ deed, of a greater demand for artillery there, and with the consequence of raising up Mr. James Stephen, who. to carry out his political principles consistently, and not Mr. Mill’s, must close the schools, devote the railroads solely to tho transportation of British troops, and, follow ing tho example of an illustrious conservative predecessor, constitute the artillery the teacher of the Sepoys, and finiah their curriculum by a single lesson from the cannon’s month. It is not surprising that Macaulay should have failed to comprehend Mill, or to measure bis influence upon the fnture of English politics. It is natural for contemporaries in the same field to undervalue each other. They are personally too near to ob tain a mutual perspective. Macaulay failed to appreciate Mill, not because he was a rival hus bandman tilling the same philosophical field, but because he sat on the fence of the field in which Mill worked; and hfs field-glass, under such circumstances, never faded to diminish the object at which it was leveled. It mag nified dead men only. But Macaulay is not to be tried by special in dictment for his ridicule of Mill. Johnson saw Utile merit in tha writings of any man of his time except his own, and was very bitter upon Gray for being u trifling and dull.” Churchill’s lino, Who rules o’er freeznen must himself be free, he declared rank nonsense ; as sensible as to say: Who slays fat oxen must himself be fat. Corneille was certain thatßacine should aban don tragedy. Sir Walter Scott was admonished to stop writing; and criticisms of Washington Irwing, written during his life, declare the 44 Sketch-Book ” 44 heavy and disagreeable." It is not far from the truth to say that Macaulay’s ponderous laughter at Mill reads as well in England to-day as does the gravity of the English critic who rebuked Mark Twain’s irreverence in 44 Innocents Abroad.” Whatever is good, whatever is robust, in the hu mane speculations of the gentle mind asleep in Avignon, has taken permanent hold of English soil; and from thence shall grow great oaks of English liberty, whose leases will garland the sightless eyes of John Stuart Mill. THE FRIEND’S BURIAL. My thoughts are all in yonder town. Where, wept by many tears. To-day my mother’s friendlays down The burden of her years. True u in life, no poor disguise Of death with her is teen. And on her simple casket lies No wreath of bloom and green. O not for her the florist’s art. The mocking weeds of woe. But blessings of the voiceless heart. The love that puaetb show! • Tot all about the softening air Of new-born sweetness tells. And the ungathered May-flowers wear The tints of ocean shells. The old, assuring miracle Is fresh as heretofore; And earth takes up its parable Of life from death once more. Here organ swell and church-bell toll Methinks but discord were, The prayerful silence of the soul Is best befitting her. No sound should break the qnletade Alike of earth and sky;— O wandering wind In Beabrook wood, .V- Breathe but a half-heard sigh! Sing softly, spring-bird, for her sake. And thou not distant sea, Lapse lightly as if Jesus spake. And thou wort Galilee I Tor all her quiet life flowed on As meadow streamlets flow. Where fresher green reveals alone The noiseless ways they go. From her loved place of prayer X see The plain-robed mourners pass. With slow feet treading reverently The graveyard’s, spring grass. VaVn room, O mourning ones for me, Where, like the friends of Paul, That you no more her face shall see You sorrow most of all. Her path shall brighten more and more Unto the perfect day; She cannot fail of peace who bore Such peace with her away. O sweet, calm face that seemed to wear The look of sins forgiven 1 O voice of prayer that seemed to bear Our own needs up to heaven ! How reverent in our midst she stood. Or knelt in grateful praise I What grace of Christian womanhood Was In her household ways I For still her holy living meant No duty left undone; The heavenly and the human blent Their kindred lovea in one. And if her life small leisure found For feasting ear and eye, And pleasure, on her dally round. She passed unpausing by, Yet with her went a sacred sense Of all things sweet and fair. And beauty’s greatest providence Befreehed her unaware. She kept her line of recti tuds With love’s unconscious ease; Her kindly instincts understood AH gentle courtesies. An inborn charm of gradousnesa Hade sweet her smile and tone. And glorified her farm-wife dress With beauty not Us own. The dear Lord’s beet interpreters Are humble human souls; The Gospel of a life like ben Is more than books and scrolls. From scheme and creed the light goes out, The saintly fact survives’; The blessed Master none can doubt Revealed in holy lives. —John (?. Whittier in the Atlantic Monthly. A. Lady-Lectorcr’i Experience. Kata Field’s Loaves from a Lecturer’s Note- Book,” are from beginning to end amusing. She begins by taking & carriage, and sitting down, in the dork, upon what she supposed was a seat, bet which proved itself, by howls blended with attempts at aasault<and battery, to be a boy. In this carriage she 'is driven to a hotel, where a young lady in greemailk and red ribbons, and a pink yonng man, with bis hair parted in the middle, are singing “Days of Absence ” together in the parlor; and in the guest’s own . room, - the landlord’s daughter sits and knits, like another Madame Defarge, as she watches the supper and toilet of the young lady lecturer. In the cars, next morn ings a friend who ioo» leave cf her alluded to her lecture of the evening.beforo, and a severe woman, in spectacles, inquired in stentorian tones, “Bo you a lecturer ?" K. F. was silent— but the catechism proceeded. “Isay, be you a lecturer?” again demanded tho awful person. 44 That’s twice I’ve asked you the same question.” Dumb with amazement, wondering where tha; “ womanly tact” was about which we hear ec much and see so little, I bowed a “Yea” that would have done no discredit to the Common da tore in “Don Giovanni.” “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place ? Might I inquire your name ?” Give my name? No; I would have gone •* a Martha to the stakes ” first. How every neigh boring ear elongated and grow into an interro gation mark! Even the cars as they sped along seemed to echo, “What’s your name? what’a your name ? what’a your name ?” “ Might X inquire your name ? " “ No, madam, you may not.” “ Well, that beats all* I didn’t mean no harm. I thought you might write for the Becoto'ion. What’s your opinion about matters and things in general ? ” Good Americans who read Dickens’“Ameri can Notes ” and “ Martin Chuzzlewit,” virtuous ly brand immortal Boz as—as —well, *as a liar, father was he tho lyre played upon, making such musio as tho players invoked. Here baforo mo sat one of Dickens' characters, drawn to tho life. Matters.and things in general! What was I to say? Where should I begin? With tho creation of the world? 44 Madam,” I at last answered in an undertone, looking like a rock, and feeling like a disembodied gooseberry, “I have no opinions.” “No opinions!” exclaimed tho awful person with severity in her ©ye and contempt sharply playing about the comers of her mouth. “If you’ve no opinions, how un airth can you lec ture ?” Had I been a worm, the awful person would have crushed me beneath her foot. Being nothing moro than human, she turned her back upon me as a creature lost to all sense of her mission on earth. THOMAS CARLYLE. An Interview with the Author of “ Sartor Kesartas,” From the Golden A (je. Tho strongest literary enthusiasm of my teens was for Tennyson’s poetry; next to him in my mind, but proximi longo interzaUo, wore Emer son and Carlyle. Of Carlyle’s works 44 Sartor Resartus” was the one which impressed me most. The ragged impetuosity of the style carried, me along as if upon a torrent, and its portrayal of the wrestling of a human soul with tho grand fatal issues was extremely fascinating to mo. So it naturally happened that when, somewhat liter, 1 found myself in London, one of my most ardent wishes was to meet the anthor. This was in 1862, when spring was opening into sum mer, and the city swarmed with foreigners who hid come to attend tho exposition. A young tdbji falls occasionally into a sentiment al frame of mind, narrowly bordering upon mel ancholy, when solitude oppresses him, and he experiences the need of companionship and guidance. Very often he seeks these in a re mote quarter, discarding the sympathies which are freely afforded him nearer home. Thus it was at that time with mo; and the strange idea took possession of mo of attempting to obtain an interview with the author of “Sartorße sartus,” in order to consult him with reference to my future plans. I accordingly wrote him a gushing note, of which, recalling it now, I feel ashamed, hut which brought a prompt reply, fix ing an evening to go to his house. The reply was brief and characteristic. I kept it for some time, and lost it at last; but I re member Hr. Carlyle’s writing that it would be cruel in him to refuse my modest request, and that, if I would come on the following Thursday evening, I could have * 4 a half hour of him. This expressive use of the preposition struck me as highly peculiar, and has remained tenaciously in my memory. It was early in the week when tho response reached me, which document (the handwriting being indistinct) I misread, taking Thursday for Monday. Wondering that he should desire me to wait until tho next week, I nevertheless quietly submitted, as a matter of course, and, on tho following Monday, was punctual. The time fixed was, I think, half- My expectations of tho author’s mode of liv ing were, it seems, formed on too worldly a bisis. The part of the town inhabited by him was disagreeable, and bis boose meao, external ly and internally. Jnst before I attained the door, I had reread the invitation and finally de ciphered it aright; so that, aa I rang, I was a prey to some indecision. A maid opened the door and told mo that Mr. Carlyle was not at home. At this moment he arrived, looking rather shabby, bnt behaving' frankly and cor dially. He said ho had- expected me on th« Thursday preceding, and had nearly con cluded that his note had gone astray, a not unprecedented occurrence with him. owing to the indistinctness of his writing. A door from tho entry led directly into a front room containing bookshelves filled with books. He asked me in and introduced mo to Mrs. Carlyle. Tea and toast were ready on a table in the middle of the room. Without cer emony he asked me to take a Beat, and then himself sat down opposite me, his wife, with the tea-tray before her, being at my left and his right. ■ • • ■ Carlyle inquired what part of tho United States I was from, and showed astonishingly intimate acquaintance with onr colonial and revolution ary history, knowing tho military events of small sections. Ho spoke with the broadest Scotch accent I had over heard, and, for a little while, it was difficult for me to understand him. I had to listen with all my ears. Ho began to speak of onr war then going on, and professed no sym pathy either with the North or.South. He con sidered that the slavery of the South and the relation of the laborer to his eraploysr i- ' North were both false relations be*- - tna and man. “I have opinions o»> *' --reon man “ said, with conceited to-- - t.m fiTniiaiiW #>« * .u6WQ minner, which in England to hold.” ”,“1* ■ 0 merest in or for tho American war, eic to wish that we would leave off catting each other’s throats. He expressed great ad miration for the shads of Benjamin Franklin, who. when be waa in London, knew well hou much more nntricions bread was than beer, and who has drawn the lightning from the clouds. But his remarks concerning America were, in the main, offensive. “ All nations In history up to America.” ho said, “have been governed bj wise men.” Here he abruptly ceased. Wishing to draw him out further, I suggested, “ But Mr. Lincoln does v-ay well until the wise men can be found.” 44 Mr. Lincoln does as well as he can,” he con tinued: 44 but that is not much. Hitherto, when the fools have got the upper hand, the peoples have risen in their might, overthrown them, and put the wise men in their place.” "A wise man drinks his tea,” interposed Mrs. Carlyle, 44 before it gets cold.” Carlyle smiled a grim smile, sipped his tea. and insulted mo as follows: 44 1 might as well stop talking; for poor Mr. H. over there doesn’t understand one word of what I am saying.” Afterward (for I bad tamely swallowed the in sult with the tea, and still remained) we sat in the same room, md T. O. luxuriated in the re cital of his manner in snubbing various young men who had miittaksnly sought his fatherly ad vice. He put on a long, hideous woolen dressing gown,—a regular German Bchlafrock } —took a long pine filled with tobacco, lighted it, and re quested me to follow him for some conversation. 41 1 fear you are busy.” I said. 44 1 am busy; but, as’ I told you you might come, I will speak with you.” This waa bluffly brought out, but did not affect me unpleasantly, as a fore going remark had done. It merely re freshingly frank, and a not objectionable cnange from the social platitudes. So I followed him into a little, dank back-yard, where he placed two chairs, and smoked and harangued for a long time. Undeniably, ha hud an exceptional power in oral speech, and I sat the while as it were under a spoil. He did not wish any interruption. Whenever I timidly volunteered an annotation on his verbal cata ract, he almost fiercely recaptured the right ol way. He kpoke'of Emerson in high terms, but singled out Franklin as the greatest man Amer ica had produced. “America,he said, 44 1 a not so respectable as when it belonged to England, and even Eng land is not as respectable as she used to be.” When wc arose to re-enter the house, he said: 44 Let me give you a hit of etymology for fare well. Eooig, king, is from konnen, to be able. He is the true king of men who can do the most.” It seems strange tome that, at mo ment, I fail to recall more of his actual words. The general impression survives far more vividly. - It waa'one of great power. In spite of his bearishness, I would havo been glad to go to see him again, had'ho, at parting, given me the slightest encouragement. Mrs. Carlyle, no longer in the land of the living, was of small Stature. Her'voice was soft and her accent clear,, delicate,, and purely- English, falling cu my ear in agreeable contrast to his Caledonian harshness.-’ --- Buna G. Hosms. Bbooxltw, June 9,1879. 7

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