tion, and immediately reported: "This tissue comes from the throat and base of the tongue, and is affected with cancer."
Dr. Elliot, though this was also his own conclusion, said: "This is a very important matter; are you sure?"
"Perfectly sure. The patient from whom this tissue comes has epithelial cancer." Almost in a whisper the other said: "That tissue comes from the throat of General Grant."
Dr. Shrady replied slowly: "Then General Grant is doomed."
This appalling verdict of the men of science was made public after a consultation at General Grant's house, and the news was flashed round the world that General Grant was attacked by cancer and was fighting his last battle. The nation awoke to sympathy. All criticism of the great General was for the time laid aside, and the Christian public offered daily prayers for his recovery. But he grew daily weaker. He could not sleep without morphia, and yet he fought against its use. He feared becoming a victim to its power, and endured to the utmost the agonies of sleeplessness before asking for relief. He was the most docile of patients. "You are in command here," he would say to Dr. Shrady.
In order to take even liquid food, he was forced to fling the contents of the bowl down his throat at one gulp, before the spasm closed his throat. It required all his resolution to do this. Yet he seldom uttered a word of complaint. He never forgot to be courteous and mindful of others. He obeyed his nurses like a child, at the same time that his great brain pondered upon questions national in scope. He concealed his despondency with studied care from his wife, and was careful that she should not see him at his worst. His son Frederick and his physicians perceived the whole truth of his condition. The expediency of performing a radical surgical operation was discussed early in the case, but the surgeons considered the cancer too deeply rooted to be removed by the knife.
The anodyne and the disease combined at times to produce a dazing effect, and his mind wandered. Once he said: " I am detailed from four to six." He was back at West Point, a ruddy youth again. Once he clutched his throat, and cried out, "The cannon did it," thinking, perhaps, of the officer whose head was blown away by solid shot at Palo Alto. He longed for spring to come, and thought if he could get out and see the green grass and the budding trees it would help him. His illness brought out the purely human side of the great historical character. He became as gentle and patient as a woman.
The 27th of March being a fine, warm day, he was taken to ride in the Park, and seemed brightened by the change. Upon his return he was met by several attorneys engaged in the trial of Fish, the former president of the Marine Bank. General Grant's testimony was needed; and though emaciated, worn with loss of sleep, and speaking with great difficulty, the General went to his duty resolutely and with a certain readiness. He told all he knew concerning the case, sparing neither Fish nor Ward. He said that he had no knowledge of any speculation in government contracts, and that he had distinctly charged Ward not to have any such business, and had informed him that if the firm of Grant and Ward was concerned in any way with such business, he must retire.
The examination occupied less than an hour, but it exhausted him, and he had a very bad night. Three days later he had a choking spell so deadly in its sudden seizure that he rose from his chair in agony, crying out to his nurse: "Oh, I can't stand it! I must die! I must go!" But the spasm passed away, and under the ministrations of the physicians he became easier.
It was now certain that General Grant was dying, and the usually quiet street swarmed with reporters and with curious and sympathetic people, who walked slowly past, looking up at the windows shining with the flare of gas-jets at full flame.
AN INSTANCE OF GRANT'S UNSELFISHNESS.
The 31st of March was made memorable by a strange incident. A professed astrologer had cast the General's horoscope, and predicted that he would die on the 31st of March. The family were anxious to keep all such matters from the General, and papers containing them were excluded from his chamber. But one morning, when the family returned to the General's room from breakfast, they found him intent on the astrologer's prediction.
They made no remark about it, but tried to keep his mind off the thought of death, and yet he seemed to dwell upon it. As the date set in the prediction drew near, he seemed to be asking very often, "What day of the month is to-day?" He sometimes
