His birthday, 7th of February, was spent in Washington, and on the 9th
of the month he sent this little note from Baltimore:--
Baltimore, Sunday, February 9, 1868.
My Dear Fields: I thank you heartily for your pleasant note (I can
scarcely tell you _how_ pleasant it was to receive the same) and for
the beautiful flowers that you sent me on my birthday. For
which--and much more--my loving thanks to both.
In consequence of the Washington papers having referred to the
august 7th of this month, my room was on that day a blooming garden.
Nor were flowers alone represented there. The silversmith, the
goldsmith, the landscape-painter, all sent in their contributions.
After the reading was done at night, the whole audience rose; and it
was spontaneous, hearty, and affecting.
I was very much surprised by the President's face and manner. It is,
in its way, one of the most remarkable faces I have ever seen. Not
imaginative, but very powerful in its firmness (or perhaps
obstinacy), strength of will, and steadiness of purpose. There is a
reticence in it too, curiously at variance with that first
unfortunate speech of his. A man not to be turned or trifled with. A
man (I should say) who must be killed to be got out of the way. His
manners, perfectly composed. We looked at one another pretty hard.
There was an air of chronic anxiety upon him. But not a crease or a
ruffle in his dress, and his papers were as composed as himself.
(Mr. Thornton was going in to deliver his credentials, immediately
afterwards.)
This day fortnight will find me, please God, in my "native Boston."
I wish I were there to-day.
Ever, my dear Fields, your affectionate friend,