A lady, who had never before seen him,
voiced the sentiment of all present, saying in a whisper: "Why, he is
the ideal President! How grand he is! How can they speak about him so?
What a magnificent gentleman he is! Talk about your canal boys!"
He was well dressed, of splendid figure, his coat buttoned over his
massive chest, his dome-like head erect, adequately supported
by immense shoulders, and he looked the President indeed, and an
embodiment of power. He was feeling that the dark days were behind
him, that he was equal to his high fortune, that the world was wide
and fair before him. It was a supreme hour--and only an hour--for the
occasion was informal, and there was a feeling that the lady of the
White House should not be detained from her rest; and the good-night
words were trustful that she would be well next morning; but then she
was in a fever, and after some weeks was taken to Long Branch, and
returned to her husband, called, to find him stricken unto death.
It happened on the last day of June, 1881, that I stopped in
Washington on the way to New York; and in the evening--it was
Thursday--walked from the Arlington to the White House, and sent my
card to the President, who was out.
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