"I can't talk like Sherman," he used to say, with his rare smile; and, indeed, nobody could.
I happened to see him twice when his character shone out free of adventitious circumstances. The first time was at West Point, just after the war was ended, in 1865. He came to his old Alma Mater, bringing Mrs. Grant, without whom life had no charm for him. We were in the library. The examination was going on, and Professor Bartlett left the room, coming back with Grant on his arm. What an intense moment it was to us all! The professors rose to receive him. I think poor General Grant nearly sank through the floor; he winced as he never had done in the face of the enemy. "Those dreaded professors rising to do me honor! Why, I felt all the cadet terror all over me," he afterwards said. He was more comfortable when he got outside and commenced shaking hands with all mankind and womankind, but no one who saw that notable scene can forget his modesty.
Again I happened to be in Washington during his second term of office, and with my husband and son took the boat for Mount Vernon. To our delight and surprise, General and Mrs. Grant, Miss Nellie Grant, and Miss Edith Fish were on board, the two latter young school-girls of seventeen.
When we reached Mount Vernon, finding the President was expected, we tried to efface ourselves, but General Grant asked us to dine with him, and especially drank wine with my young son, the youngest member of the party. Nothing could be so kind as he was, and after dinner, as we sat looking at the Potomac, Mrs. Grant said, "Oh! I wish I had a house on the Potomac!" "Do you?" said he. "Well, I can buy one cheap." Then they had their little badinage about the improb-
