and of men. A fashionable lady invited him to dine without his wife.
Sherman, on arriving, found other ladies present; to his hostess, who
came forward to receive him with effusion, he said: "Madam, I dine
with Mrs. Sherman to-night," and the party went forward without the
lion who was to have given it distinction. He would not have his wife
slighted; nor in more important things would he endure to see a
lame outcome when he might set things in better shape. He encouraged
schools and worthy charities by giving them his hearty countenance.
No arm was more potent than his in saving the country, nor was his
patriotism selfish. He saved his country because he believed it was
for the good of the world.

Sherman has been criticised for his ruthlessness, but no one can say
that he was not effective. He bore on hard but with the belief that
only such action could bring the war to a close. No one could come in
contact with him without feeling that he was a soft-hearted man. It
was one of the most interesting evenings of my life when, as a guest
of N.O. Nelson, the philanthropic captain of industry in St. Louis,
I was one of a company of a dozen to hear Sherman tell John Fiske his
story of the war. We sat at table from seven o'clock until midnight,
the two illustrious figures with their heads together exchanging a
rapid fire of question and answer, but the rest of us were by no means
silent. Sherman was full of affability and took good-naturedly the
sharp inquiries. "How was it, General, at Shiloh; was not your line
quite too unguarded on the Corinth side, and was not the coming on of
Sidney Johnston a bad surprise for you?" "Oh, later in the war," said
Sherman, "we no doubt should have done differently, but we got ready
for them as they came on." "Was there not bad demoralisation," I
said, "ten thousand or more skulkers huddled under the bluff on the
Tennessee?" "Oh," said Sherman, "the rear of an army in battle is