1887-90
AN INTERESTING LETTER FROM GENERAL GRANT--SHERMAN LIVING IN NEW
YORK--HIS IMMENSE POPULARITY WITH ALL AMERICANS--LETTERS
FROM HIM--EXHIBITED LIKE A CIRCUS--NO UNION MAN LEFT IN
FOREIGN SERVICE BY CLEVELAND--HE WRITES FOR THE MAGAZINES--
MAGAZINES AGAIN--APPROVES MY ARTICLE IN THE NORTH AMERICAN
REVIEW ON THE MARCH TO THE SEA--HUMBLEST UNION MAN BETTER
PATRIOT THAN THE PROUDEST SOUTH CAROLINA REBEL--SHERIDAN
DYING--CONGRESS SHOULD MAKE RANK OF LIEUTENANT GENERAL
PERMANENT--HIS RECEPTION AT COLUMBUS--DEATH OF MRS. SHERMAN--
ABOUT HIS MEMOIRS--NO PROFIT--THE ARMY OF THE TENNESSEE AT
CINCINNATI--MY POEM THERE--AN ODD INTERVIEW AT THE WHITE
HOUSE--CONVERSATIONS WITH SECRETARY BLAINE--DEATH OF THE
GREAT GENERAL--SPEECHES ABOUT HIM IN THE SENATE--I AM AGAIN
APPOINTED TO SWITZERLAND.
I was now in the West working on my “Iowa in War Times” and sometimes
writing an article for the magazines.
Many documents and important autograph letters were put in my hands
from all over the country. One of the most interesting of these was
from General Grant. It has never been printed and I give it here
because it was possibly the only letter he ever wrote during a battle.
It was at Black River bridge, Grant was sitting on his horse, Lawler’s
brigade had just made a successful charge on the intrenchments. An
officer from the Headquarters at Washington rides up to the General
with an important order. It is for him to abandon his Vicksburg
campaign, and join Banks with his army. “Do you see that charge?” said
the General. “You are too late.” He wrote this letter sitting there on
his saddle, and the Vicksburg battles and successes followed. Had Grant
gone to Banks, the latter would have been chief in command. Grant’s
great career would not have had even a beginning. This very minute was
the great crisis in General Grant’s life!
May 17th, 10:30 A. M.
DEAR GEN.:
Lawler’s brigade stormed the enemy’s works a few minutes since,
carried it, capturing from 2,000 to 3,000 prisoners, 10 guns so
far as heard from, and probably more will be found. The enemy
have fired both bridges.
A. J. Smith captured 10 guns this morning, with teams, men and
ammunition.
I send you a note from Col. Wright.
Yours,
U. S. GRANT,
_Maj. Gen_.
Maj. Gen. Sherman,
Com’d’g 17th Army Corps.
I still received an occasional letter from General Sherman. As these
were often strong, characteristic and interesting, I copy a number.
He was now living in the Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York, so far as it
could be said that he was living anywhere, for his presence was in
such demand at public occasions, all over the country, as to make any
lengthy stay at home an impossibility. He was beyond all doubt the
most loved man at this time in the United States. No American knew so
many people by face, and by name. No face was so familiar to almost
everybody as was the face of “Uncle Billy Sherman.” The soldiers of
the Civil War, of whom a million were still alive, absolutely adored
their leader. There was no place so high, no post so honored, that
his people would not have pressed it upon him, had he been willing to
accept it. To no other living American was the Presidency ever offered
without the seeking. No other American was ever great enough to turn
aside from the proffered gift.
With all this great place in the hearts of a whole people, he went
about his daily life with a simplicity that astonished all; a
simplicity of which only true greatness is capable. In the great army
processions at the reunions, where he might have led the van, borne on
the shoulders of his victorious veterans, he marched afoot in the dust,
along with the boys he had led from Atlanta to the sea.
Political glory had no charm for him, and the huzzahs of the multitude
he measured for what they were worth. It was my good fortune to know
him in his real heart, his inside life, and a man less moved by hopes
of applause it seemed to me could not be imagined. He constantly saw
before him the vanity of human greatness. To him, a modest life of
simple things, well done, was as great as a life glowing with renown.
The glory that comes from achievement counted as little. The good that
follows doing right for right’s sake, to him was everything. Everything
he ever did, or said, or wrote, confirmed this.
He was an American, too, all over, and a loyal one. When an English
General attempted to belittle the North, and to foist Lee onto the top
of the victor’s column, Sherman answered him.
The following letters refer to this and to his article on “The Grand
Strategy of the War:”
“NEW YORK, May 1, 1887.
“DEAR BYERS:--I received your letter of April 24th some days ago,
and kept it for Sunday’s answering. Of course I could not go to
Dubuque on the occasion of the meeting of the G. A. R. and of the
remnant of the 13th Infantry. To them, it may seem a neglect,
but were I to accept one invitation in the hundred, I would have
to abandon family, friends and all peace, to become a vagrant.
I am now advertised like Barnum’s circus, at Cincinnati, May 4;
at Philadelphia _same day_, and at Washington May 11-12, for
the dedication of the Garfield statue, all _a la_ Pickwick, at
my own expense. As soon as I had become domiciled in New York,
I was assailed by all the magazines and newspapers to become
a regular contributor, at a compensation represented by the
algebraic expression x/2, but of course I declined with thanks.
Yet when General Lord Wolseley’s article in Macmillan’s March
number was published, claiming for Lee the maximum honors, to
tower high above every man of this country, I could not resist
the temptation to reply, and this is in the May number of the
North American. I suppose you are a subscriber, or can obtain
a copy. I would like to have your judgment. Also the Century
Magazine wanted an article on ‘The Grand Strategy of the War,’
which I prepared with some care, and they may publish in the June
number, or may withhold as a kind of preface to their intended
publication of all the military publications of the past four
years. In the multitude of counsels there may be wisdom, at all
events we had better put forth all we have, lest the Rebels
succeed in their claims to have been the simon pure patriots
and ‘Union Men’ of our day and generation. They have partially
succeeded, and may completely succeed, for to-day not a single
Union man represents the United States in foreign lands, and
the logical conclusion is that we were wrong, and our opponents
right. So Lord Wolseley is not to be blamed for assuming Lee as
the great hero of the Civil War in America. The war of muskets
long since subsided, now the war of the pen must begin, else the
remnant of the Union Army must pass down to history as barbarians.
“Your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
* * * * *
“ARMY BUILDING, NEW YORK, May 21, 1887.
“DEAR BYERS:--I have received your letter of May 5th, and have
seen Thorndike Rice about your articles, but did not tell him all
you wrote. I think Rice is too much engrossed with social life to
give much of his personal attention to the North American. All
that I could extricate out of him was that your article would
appear as early as possible. I sometimes pity these magazine
men who have to read cords of manuscript, and out of the mass
choose that which will pay. The great mass of work devolves on
subordinates, and the editor finally indicates what shall be
‘set up.’ Even after that, articles are kept hanging fire. You
had better let what you have done stand, and in future watch the
current of the public thought, prepare your papers, and deal with
that magazine which you consider fairest.
“Now as to my May number, it was suggested by Thorndike Rice in
a telegram from Washington. I at first positively declined, but
when I got the full text of Wolseley’s article in Macmillan’s
Magazine, I saw somebody must answer, and all turned to me. I
wrote it one Sunday, and gave it to Rice for $500. If I had
charged a thousand, he would have paid it. In like manner my
article on the Grand Strategy of the War is longer, better, and
I charged the Century Magazine $1,000 for it. It was designed
to comprehend the whole series of War Articles to be bound in a
volume.[10] It may appear in the August number of the Century.
“I am besieged by the magazines, but shall reserve myself for
chance shots like this of Wolseley’s. I am not willing to rake
among old embers for new fire.
“Mrs. Sherman and Rachel are now at Detroit, on a visit to Tom.
Lizzie and I are at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. All go to Lake
Hotel, Lake George, N. Y., early in June. I will retain my
room, and circulate generally. I ordered the Appletons to send
you my second edition, in the theory that Mrs. S. had not done
so. Please inscribe it to your son, on the blank page. You can
substitute therefor at some time one of my letters, which will
answer for an autograph. It is a good deal of trouble to go to
the Appletons to do this in person.
“Love to all
“Yours truly,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
Shortly, I was gratified to receive from him a letter complimentary to
my article in the North American Review, describing his great campaign.
“NEW YORK, Aug. 26, 1887.
“DEAR BYERS:--In coming from my office in the Army Building,
I stopped at the office of the North American Review, to see
Thorndike Rice, but he was away at Newport, and his partner,
Redpath, gave me an advance copy of the September number, which
contains your article, ‘March to the Sea.’ It reads to me very
well, condensed, strong and well sustained by proofs. I think
it will command large attention, and I trust it will lead to
profitable employment for your pen. The leading events of the
war are now accepted, are crystallizing into pages, and even
paragraphs. The public is tired of minute details, especially to
bolster up this or that man. You have, in the compress of six or
eight pages, given all that the memory of the ordinary reader can
retain. I have already put it in a sealed envelope, addressed to
my daughter Lizzie, who reads and appreciates everything from
you. She, with her mamma, Rachel and Cump, has been up at Lake
George since June. I have been up three times. Spent last week
there, but am now here preparing for the Detroit meeting, Sept.
14-15, as also the G. A. R. Encampment at St. Louis, Sept.
25-28. If you come to St. Louis then, you will find me at Henry
Hitchcock’s, corner of Fifteenth and Lucas Place.
“As always your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
In February of 1888, General Sherman wrote me some very decided views
he had, as to the difference between loyal men and disloyal men.
“NEW YORK, Feb. 10, 1888.
“DEAR BYERS:--I have your letter of the 5th, and as I have staid
indoors to-day for the express purpose of answering a batch of
kind messages sent me on my sixty-eighth birthday, I answer yours
in its turn.
“Of course I am pleased to know that you approve my Century
article. It would have seemed more opportune had it been printed
a year in advance, as it was written at the same time as my
Wolseley article. But the editors paid me for it, and could use
it for their interests, and at their own time. It looks to me
as if the Southern men will succeed, not only in controlling
the history of the war, but in achieving the government of
this country, notwithstanding we won the battles. Our Northern
people split up on questions of minor interest, whereas they
have skilled leaders who control ‘their people,’ and by throwing
their vote into one or other of the Northern factions, actually
govern both. This is none of my business, and I cannot help it.
So long as I live, I will hold the most humble Union man as a
better patriot than the proudest Carolinian of South Carolina.
Wade Hampton is out in another blast against me for cruelty
and inhumanity during the ‘March.’ The people of Georgia bore
their affliction with some manliness, but in South Carolina from
the Savannah River to the State line, the people whined like
Curs, and Wade Hampton’s resistance was so feeble as to excite
our contempt. I shall not notice his paper, meant for home
consumption, but if he attempt to enlarge his sphere, I will
give him a blast of the truth, as you and hundreds know it.
“I shall be glad if you come East, and it may be you can secure
a better audience here than from Iowa. The time will come when
the Mississippi Valley States will assert their supremacy in
literature, as now in the products of the soil, but the time is
not yet, and may not be in my day.
“We are all reasonably well except Mrs. Sherman. Wishing you and
yours all the happiness possible, I am truly
“Your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
In June, General Sheridan was dying, and his great comrade in arms sent
me this little note. My book, “Iowa in War Times,” had just appeared,
and a copy was sent to him.
“NEW YORK, June 2, 1888.
“DEAR BYERS:--I received by due course of mail your letter of
May 27th and yesterday came to me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel the
volume, ‘Iowa in War Times.’ I have cast my eye over it, and
recognize most of the illustrations. The print, paper, etc., all
seem good, and I know the text will be even better. It is hardly
possible that I can read this volume in the whole, but I will
have occasion to refer to parts, to compare with other accounts
of the same general events.
“General Sheridan’s extreme illness has caused universal grief. I
hear daily by telegraph from his brother, Colonel Sheridan, and
have just sent a message of congratulations at his promotion to
the full rank of ‘General.’ But honestly I feel that it was too
late to carry with it much compliment. All hope of his recovery
seems to be abandoned, and every morning I wake, expecting to
find the papers in mourning.
“Congress ought to make the rank of Lieutenant General permanent.
It is simply dishonest for the country to compel a Major General
to do the work of a Lieutenant General, just as in the war
hundreds of Colonels had to command brigades and divisions.
“Mrs. Sherman is not so well, but went yesterday to make a
month’s visit to our daughter Elly near Philadelphia. Rachel and
Lizzie are with me at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
“Give my best love to Mrs. Byers and the family.
“Always your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
By September the Shermans were in their new home in New York, at
Seventy-first Street. After all, they were keeping house again. The
General had had enough of expensive and fashionable hotels. He had been
homeless longer than he cared to be. He describes this house in his
letter of the 16th. I was also glad to have his approval of my “Iowa in
War Times.”
“No. 75 West 71st St.
“NEW YORK, Sept. 16, 1888.
“DEAR BYERS:--When at Columbus, your letter of Sept. 1st was
handed me by Maj. Loring, at a time when I was chased from corner
to corner as though I had just escaped the penitentiary. I fear
the Major thought me neglectful of him and his letter. Let him
put himself in my place. Forty thousand ex-soldiers and sixty
thousand strangers were added to the resident population, all
bent on seeing the sights, of which I was one. Instead of dying
out, the interest in the war and its actors seems to grow with
time. I was not allowed time to eat or sleep, much less read and
write letters, but I escaped alive and should be grateful.
“I am now in our new house, not as large as that in St. Louis,
but better located, near Central Park and near the Sixth Avenue
Elevated R.R. Four full stories and basement, in which I have my
office with all my books and papers. Not divided as they were
when I was at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.
“The interior arrangements are not yet complete, so the family is
away, but by the middle of next week it will be all ready and the
family will come. I hope this is my last change on earth.
“I have at intervals found time to read your volume, ‘Iowa in
War Times,’ and congratulate you in having succeeded in giving
to each regiment and organization a fair measure of space, and
yet preserved the general authenticity of events. I hope the
book pays you proportionately to your labor and expense. As now
established with Mr. Barrett I can always supply you dates, facts
and figures, should you still pursue your literary labors.
“With love to the family, I am, etc.,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
Mrs. Sherman’s health had been failing somewhat for months, but nothing
absolutely serious was anticipated till, unexpectedly, she was worse in
the mid-winter. Then the end came so suddenly that some of her children
could not reach New York in time to see her passing away.
I was in California, and shortly received this reply to my letter of
sympathy:
“NEW YORK, Dec. 19, 1888.
“MY DEAR BYERS:--Your letter of sympathy is here. Mrs. Sherman
had long been ailing from heart trouble and general disability,
and everything that could be done for her relief was willingly
offered by me and the children. I did not realize any danger
until the day before her death, when she began to fail very
perceptibly, and I at once telegraphed to the absent members
of the family to join us at once. Neither Mrs. Fitch, Mrs.
Thackera, or Tom reached home in time to see their mother alive.
The remainder of us were at the death-bed, and were witnesses of
a painless and peaceful end. We had learned that there was no
possibility of her ever fully recovering, and as she therefore
must have contended with much pain and suffering, our anguish at
her demise was somewhat assuaged.
“Every courtesy was extended the funeral party on its sorrowful
journey to and from St. Louis, Mr. Roberts, President of the
Penn. R. R., excelling in his kind and accepted offer of his
private car. At St. Louis, all preliminaries had been carefully
attended to by Messrs. Jas. Yeatman and Geo. D. Capen, so that we
were enabled to start on the return trip the same evening.
“I well know the respect and honor with which Mrs. Sherman held
you at all times, and in which we all shared, and I beg you now
to be assured of our continued affection and deep interest in all
that concerns you and yours.
“Sincerely your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
In September of 1889 the Army of the Tennessee was to hold its reunion
and banquet at Cincinnati. I was elected to deliver an original poem
for the occasion. As General Sherman was president of the Association,
I sent a copy of my poem to him in advance. It was called “The Tramp of
Sherman’s Army.” I was greatly interested to receive the copy back from
him, with marginal notes and suggestions for changes written over it,
and even a couple of new lines of his _own composition_. Possibly, it
was the only time General Sherman ever indulged in _writing poetry_.
When the reunion took place, many great characters sat upon the
stage--Cox, Logan, Dodge, Howard, Sherman and many others of the great
war heroes. At the tables sat hundreds whose names had been known in
the Civil War.
The toasts consisted of stanzas from “Sherman’s March to the Sea.” They
were elegantly painted by hand on white satin, on which also was traced
in gold the route of that famous March. Each toast was responded to by
the particular General who had commanded at the point described in the
verse. General Sherman, as president, made the first speech.
He then introduced me to the audience, and I recited my poem, “The
Tramp of Sherman’s Army,” with bugle strain accompaniment. Its
reception showed that the enthusiasm for war ballads had not died out.
Each morning of the reunion the officers of the Army of the Tennessee,
preceded by a drum corps or a band, walked in line from the Burnett
House over to the hall where they held their meetings. Though Sherman
was there, and many other distinguished men, it was almost a sad and
pathetic sight as they walked together in the middle of the street,
death had so thinned the line and reduced the number! Some of the
onlookers did not realize what men were marching there, what names for
history, or that among that peaceful looking little band were veterans
who had led great armies to battle.
* * * * *
_March, 1888._--With Mr. Harrison’s installation at the White House,
I resolved to again, if possible, enter the service abroad. In the
meantime, my military book of Iowa had not been a source of profit.
One large edition sold, that was all. It seemed I was not alone in
receiving no great income from war books. General Sherman, speaking of
his own experience, wrote the following letter:
“NEW YORK, June 14, 1890.
“DEAR BYERS:--I have just received your letter, enclosing the
programme of exercises for the 18th. I see so many boys nowadays,
who were born after the war, that I am hardened. It so happens
that my youngest, Cump, born at St. Louis, since the war, is
being examined to-day for admission to the bar. I am also just
back from West Point, where I saw the corps of cadets, about
three hundred, strong, brawny boys, all born since the war, who
now look up to me as a stray souvenir of a bygone age.
“I am sorry to learn that your book, ‘Iowa in War Times,’ has
not proven more profitable. Your case is not _exceptional_, as
I have good reason to know. So many expect me to present copies
of my ‘Memoirs,’ ignorant of the fact that the publisher gets
nine-tenths, the author one-tenth, so that when I present a copy
it amounts to my buying it at 80 cents less than the common
purchaser. My annual receipts from Sherman’s Memoirs don’t pay
one-quarter of traveling expenses _demanded_ at the Army Reunion
each year. The same is true of Sheridan’s and other war books.
Grant’s case is exceptional, because purchasers believe they
contribute to the support of his family.
“Of course I know nothing of your prospects for a mission or
consulate. I infer the present administration, like all others,
must use offices to pay for active political work.
“Present me kindly to Mrs. Byers. Lizzie is now absent on a visit
to her sister, Mrs. Thackera, at Cape May. Rachel is at home, and
we generally have visitors.
“Sincerely your friend,
W. T. SHERMAN.”
Senator James F. Wilson, who had been a true friend in all the years
that I had been in Europe, took me to the Executive Mansion one day, to
introduce me to the President. It was a curious meeting that morning.
I had never seen Mr. Harrison, and we waited with interest in the
anteroom of his private office. The place was full of grave looking
Senators. It might have been a funeral.
Mr. W. and I stood half an hour waiting among the rest. I wondered why
the President’s door did not open. All the time there was a little low
buzzing going on among some of the waiting ones, and I noticed a few
slip up and whisper to a very sober looking little man, in a corner by
the window. I supposed him to be a Senator. There would be some low
talk with him, a stiff bow, and then some other Senator would slip
up and go through the same performance. At last I whispered to Mr.
Wilson, “Who is that man by the window?” “Why, that is the President,”
he answered, to my complete astonishment. We had been in his presence
all the time, and I had not known it. Now my attention was doubly
fixed on him. Here was a quiet little man in the corner, ruling seventy
millions of people. He seemed to indicate, by an extra glance, who
might approach him next. I thought the Senators were all afraid of him,
judging from the humble way in which they walked to the corner, and the
very prompt manner in which they went away. There was not a smile on
anybody’s face, and all was silence. Had they all been stepping up to
take a last look at somebody’s corpse, the scene could not have been
very different. If he actually promised some Senator something, there
was no sign of the promise on his face.
After a while, he glanced over to Senator Wilson. We were but a few
feet away. Mr. W. went up and spoke in a low voice, telling him, as I
now know, something of the propriety of appointing men of experience
to the service, and suggesting my name. Not a muscle moved on the
President’s face. It is no go for me, I said to myself. Then Mr. Wilson
said, a little louder: “Now, Mr. President, let me present Mr. Byers.”
I heard him and stepped forward. I expressed the honor done me, and
he mechanically took my hand; but, as if taking a second thought on
the matter, he looked over my shoulder at somebody else, and, without
saying a word, simply let go. My interview with the President of the
United States was over. I laugh about it yet. “It did not promise much,
did it?” I said to the Senator, as we went out. “Well, no, nothing
extremely definite, or to count on,” replied Mr. Wilson. “But he never
says much, and means much more than he says. He is icy with everybody,
you saw that?” Yes, I _thought I did_. A year went by and I did not
try it again. A place was offered me in South America, but I did not
care for it. Then one morning Mr. Wilson said, “We will go and see Mr.
Blaine.” The interview was absolutely the opposite of the one at the
White House. Secretary Blaine had great esteem for the Iowa Senator,
as did every one who knew him. He invited us both to come and visit
him the next morning, at his private house. It was at the corner
of Lafayette Square, opposite the Treasury. While we waited in the
drawing-room I forgot for the moment what I had come for. I was only
thinking of the singular history of that house.
Upstairs was the room where the attempt on Secretary Seward’s life was
made, the night Lincoln was assassinated. Out there in front of the
door, Key was killed by General Sickles. At this moment, the house was
the home of the most noted living American statesman.
Shortly Mr. Blaine entered, all cheer and sunshine. He was a handsome
man, with his fine erect form, his intellectual face, his genial smile,
his great, big heart. He did not need the Presidency to make him great.
Though able for very hard work still, he was looking very white in the
face, his hair was quite gray. He talked to us for a time about the
need of keeping well. Did he have premonitions then? “Never sleep in
a room without a window raised, be it ever so little,” he said, “and
don’t go to late night banquets in crowded rooms. Secretary Windom,”
he went on, “has been murdered by trying to please crowds, speaking to
them when he ought to have been in bed. I am done letting people make
an exhibition of me. I will never, never sit in a room full of smokers
again, and sacrifice health for others’ curiosity. That’s all they want
of public men in such places, and one can die at it just as Windom has
done.”[11]
After a while I wondered if the Secretary had forgotten the object of
our call. Senator Wilson hinted at it at last, and Mr. Blaine got up,
walked about the room and said: “Really, now, I have been too busy
to keep my promise.” He asked us to come to him again, and fixed the
morning. “Bring with you the consular list and we will go all over it
together.” He also spoke of a kind letter on file in my interests from
General Sherman, who was then very ill in New York.
That afternoon, while on a street car going over to the Capitol, I
heard the conductor tell a passenger that General Sherman was dead. I
was greatly moved and pained. A thousand instances of his friendship
for me rushed through my mind. In a few minutes I heard, from a seat
in the Senate Gallery, the eulogiums pronounced by Senators Evarts,
Hawley and Manderson. Hawley almost broke down in tears. The Senate
adjourned, and probably every loyal heart in America was in sorrow.
The Southerners in the Senate that afternoon, sat still, and heard the
eulogies on Sherman in perfect silence. I wondered that not one of them
had the nobility to rise in his seat and speak of the great dead.
I went to New York and on the morning of the funeral was with the
family at the Sherman home. In the little back parlor, in the full
uniform of his highest rank, lay the commander of the March to the Sea.
Candles burned around his coffin in the darkened chamber. While I was
standing there, looking at his face, his son, Father Thomas E. Sherman,
who had that moment reached home from Europe, came into the room. He
embraced me, for we had many mutual memories.
A short Catholic service was held by the children that morning over
all that was left of their illustrious father. They were all sincere
Catholics. The mother, devoted to the same church, had died in the
room upstairs. The father had been reconciled to his children’s kind
of religion. He was not a professor of any creed himself, and for his
children to have this farewell ceremony, conducted by his own son,
seemed in every way appropriate.
That afternoon, New York City and the people of America buried General
Sherman. A more imposing funeral was never seen in the United States,
not even at the death of Washington.
Shortly, Senator Wilson and I, on invitation, went to Secretary
Blaine’s home again. There was a bright “Good morning, Mr. Wilson,”
as the Secretary again entered the drawing-room. Seeing me, he walked
across the room, took me by the hand and congratulated me on my
reappointment. “Your name goes to the Senate this afternoon for St.
Gall,” he continued, “the post shall shortly be increased in rank, and
you will be made Consul General for Switzerland.” He offered me my old
post at Zurich, however, if I preferred it. I never saw Mr. Blaine
again.