"AIX LES BAINES, April 8th, 1885.--To Mrs. General Grant, New York :The Queen, who feels deeply for you in your anxieties, commands me to inquire after General Grant.

"(Signed) DOWAGER MARCHIONESS OF ELY."

April 9th, 1885.-To Marchioness of Ely, Aix les Baines:-Mrs. Grant thanks the Queen for her sympathy, and directs me to say General Grant is no better.

"COLONEL GRANT."

The light of April 9th, the anniversary of Appomattox, broke on a people prepared to solemnize with tears a day which twenty years before their chieftain had made joyful and glorious with final victory and surrender. Dying to-day, his death, his final victory and surrender, would hallow an event which had for twenty years stood out in martial and political history as the greatest of all in its results to mankind. Every memory of the old times of war and heroism would have become sweetly and solemnly impressive. The satisfaction of victory would have been mellowed by grief. The lessons of a glorious epoch would have been read o'er in the refined light of national bereavement, when the heart was without resentment and the factional tongue was dumb.

But,

"The Great Commander

Of the undiscovered land,"

did not demand the old hero's sword. He had respite-unexpected, surprising, thankful respite.

Amid this quiet waiting, this constitutional suspense, this hovering between life and death, lasting for many weary, anxious days, there came a compulsory change in the treatment. Use of opiates was relaxed and, whenever possible, remitted. They had partially lost their power of soothing and sustaining, or in his reduced and diseased condition had become a source of aggravation. The rest of apathy and prostration must come to his rescue, or nothing. Gradually

it came. There was still physical power in reserve, whose presence had not been suspected, and back of it was that wonderful force of will, which in this desperate strait seemed almost super-human. As the days passed the General came back to us to his family, friends, the nation. By April 15th, the bulletins told cheerful stories. "The General was better, was improving;" "He is feeling better to-day than for weeks,"

was the grateful announcement of his physician as he left the bedside. "He does not require so much morphia now. Only six grains were injected to-day instead of the customary ten. If he continues to improve I believe he will get out again," was another welcome announcement.

On the 16th, Dr. Newman gave it out that "his condition

had greatly changed for the better. He is buoyed up by faith. The prayers of the people of the whole country, of Protestants, of Catholics, of Hebrews, have been offered up for him and they are being answered. He believes he will now get well. He feels, and I feel, that the supplications of so many people for such consummation will be answered. To-day as I parted from him he pressed my hand and said: 'Thrice have I been in the valley of the shadow of death, and thrice have I come out again."" The physicians took advantage of the improvement to make a critical examination of the disease in the tongue and throat, an opportunity which had been denied them for some time. They found it less irritated, the suppuration easier and not so likely to choke the patient, the danger from further hemorrhage reduced. But the diminished intensity of the disease was occasioned by its general spread backward into the throat. This of itself might make it more treatable; at any rate, it would for a time generalize the pain and free the patient from those paroxysms of coughing and choking which had threatened death at any moment.

Each day now added to his general strength and increased the hope of, at least, temporary recovery. By April 27th, his sixty-fourth birthday, he was well enough to take a carriage ride in the park, and to enter into the spirit which pervaded the day, for the country had largely agreed to celebrate his anniversary. Flags were hoisted on private and public buildings in New York and other cities. Grand Army posts sent their resolutions of gratitude that the old hero's life had been spared. Congratulatory telegrams and letters came from all sources. Floral tributes, without number, were sent by admiring friends.

All day there was a surge of carriages around his house on Sixty-sixth street, and the glad visitors left their rich tokens of esteem and warm words of congratulation at the door, or delivered them in person in the reception-room. But it was

not until the afternoon that the scene in the street took the shape of a popular demonstration. The hour in which he had been used to taking an afternoon walk was at hand. It was thought that he might appear. The crowd became dense, and anxious to assure themselves of the invalid's convalescence, as well as to make known their thanks and give fresh evidence of their appreciation. They were not disappointed. The old General appeared, closely wrapped, and in the company of several friends. The crowd broke out in lusty cheers and congratulatory acclaims, which the General, leaning heavily on his cane, returned with raised hat and a cheerful bow. He walked an entire block and returned. Returning life was establishing itself in his veins. That walk, without the hardship of extraordinary fatigue, was immunity from death for many days at least. In his own household the day was one of thankful rejoicing, and the General was bright and happy as any member. Said Rev. Louis C. Tiffany who called in the afternoon: "General Grant came down to the receptionroom to see me. I am surprised at the improvement he has made since I saw him two weeks ago. He seems to be perfectly satisfied with the prospect of clinging to life for months to come, though he has no hope of recovery."

In the evening the entire family ate the anniversary dinner, to which many of the General's closest friends were invited. Sixty-three wax candles were placed around the table, and the party did their best to make the occasion agreeable to the sick man. After dinner, devotional exercises were held, and these closed the home celebration of a day, which for nearly a month no member of the family, nor any other person, had expected the General would live to see.

As strength returned the General again found employment for his mind, and consequent forgetfulness of pain, by giving as much time as his strength permitted to the preparation of his memoirs, which he was anxious to complete. His mind