and well cared for." Both Dr. Doremus and his wife were devoted to
music, always of the best. He was the first president of the
Philharmonic Society who was not a musician by profession. All the
preceding presidents had been selected from the active musicians in
the society. One evening he was serenaded by the Philharmonic Society
under the leadership of Carl Bergman, the recently elected president
of the society. After the classic music had ceased, Dr. Doremus
appeared and thanked the society for the compliment. All were invited
into the house, where a bountiful collation was served and speeches
made. If you could see the photograph of the Philharmonic Society
serenading Dr. and Mrs. Doremus at their home, you would get a rare
insight into the old New York life, as compared with the present, in
which such a thing would be impossible. He said that his mother used
to take a cup of tea at the Battery afternoons with her sons.

He was a lifelong friend of Christine Nilsson whom he considered the
greatest vocal and dramatic genius of the age. He wrote: "Never did
mortal woman sing as she sang that simple song that begins:

'Angels, Angels, bright and fair,
Take, O take me to thy care!'"

I saw Nilsson and Parepa introduced there, who were to sail on the
same steamer in a few days. Nilsson made the banjo fashionable in New
York society, accompanying herself charmingly. All the famous opera
singers regarded the house of Dr. Doremus a place where they were
thoroughly at home, and always welcome. Ole Bull was for many years
his most devoted friend. Dr. Doremus writes:

I recall that once when I was dining with Ole Bull, at the
house of a friend, our host said: 'Doctor, I don't think much
of Ole Bull's fiddling; you know what I mean--I don't think
much of his fiddling as compared with his great heart.'

Mr. Edwin Booth, once walking with me, dropped my arm and exclaimed
with a dramatic gesture: "Ole Bull wasn't a man--he was a god!"

The last time I had the privilege of listening to Ole Bull's witchery
with his violin, he gave an hour to Norwegian folk-songs, his wife at
the piano. She played with finish, feeling, and restraint. She first
went through the air, then he joined in with his violin with
indescribable charm. Critics said he lacked technique. I am glad he
did: his music went straight to the heart. At the last he told us he
would give the tune always played after a wedding