to the men of chief importance; for them the trumpets have sounded
sufficiently and I came into personal contact with only one or two.
Grant, I saw once, after he was Lieutenant-General, on the platform of
a railroad station submitting stoically to the compliments of a lively
crowd of women. Once again I saw him, in academic surroundings, sturdy
and impassive, an incongruous element among the caps and gowns; but it
was among such men that he won what is to my mind one of his greatest
victories. What triumph of Grant's was greater than his subjugation
of Matthew Arnold! I rode once on the railroad-train for some hours
immediately behind Sheridan, and had a good chance to study the sinewy
little man in his trim uniform which showed every movement of his
muscles. Though the ride was hot and monotonous I was impressed with
his vitality. He seemed to have eyes all around his head. The man was
in repose, but it was the repose of a leopard; at a sudden call, every
fibre would evidently become tense, the servant of a nimble brain, and
an instant pounce upon any opposition could be depended upon. What a
pity, I found myself thinking, that the fellow has no longer a chance
for his live energy (the war was then well over), and I had to check
an incipient wish that a turmoil might arise that would again give a
proper scope to his soldierly force. Happily there was no longer need
for such service, but I feel that Sheridan was really more than a good
sword. One finds in his memoirs unexpected outbursts of fancy and high
sentiment, and he could admire the fine heroism of a character like
Charles Russell Lowell. It is fair to judge a man by what he admires.

At the Harvard commemoration of 1865, standing under the archway at
the northern end of Gore Hall, I encountered the thin, plainly clad
figure of Ralph Waldo Emerson. I was in soldier's dress and as he gave
me a nod of recognition he said, looking at my chevrons, very simply
but with feeling, "This day belongs to you." Passing around then