But the summer came, August came, and after a lecture tour through the
far West I was amazed and delighted to find there a tremendous harvest
in the grain fields. I had seen immense crops there about to start on
their way to the Eastern sea-boundary of our continent. I saw then that
our prosperity as a nation would depend upon our agriculture. It didn't
make any difference what the Greenback party, or the Republican and
Democratic parties, or the Communists were croaking about; the immense
harvests of the West indicated that nothing was the matter. What we
needed in the fall of 1878 was some cheerful talk.

During this summer two of the world's celebrities died: Charles Mathews,
the famous comedian, and the great American poet, William Cullen Bryant.
Charles Mathews was an illustrious actor. He was born to make the world
laugh, but he had a sad life of struggle.

While Charles Mathews was performing in London before immense audiences,
one day a worn-out and gloomy man came into a doctor's shop, saying,
"Doctor, what can you do for me?" The doctor examined his case and said,
"My advice is that you go and see Charles Mathews." "Alas! Alas!" said
the man, "I myself am Charles Mathews."

In the loss of William Cullen Bryant I felt it as a personal bereavement
of a close friend. Nowhere have I seen the following incident of his
life recorded, an incident which I still remember as one of the great
events in my life.

In the days of my boyhood I attended a meeting at Tripler Hall, held as
a memorial of Fenimore Cooper, who at that time had just died.
Washington Irving stepped out on the speaker's platform first,
trembling, and in evident misery. After stammering and blushing and