g which was not meant as it sounded. One evening,
at a great political meeting at Cooper Union, Mr. Beecher was at his
brightest and wittiest. In the course of his remarks he had occasion to
refer to ex-President Hayes; some one in the audience called out: "He
was a softy!"

"No," was Mr. Beecher's quick response. "The country needed a poultice
at that time, and got it."

"He's dead now, anyhow," responded the voice.

"Not dead, my friend: he only sleepeth."

It convulsed the audience, of course, and the reporters took it down in
their books.

After the meeting Edward drove home with Mr. Beecher. After a while he
asked: "Well, how do you think it went?"

Edward replied he thought it went very well, except that he did not like
the reference to ex-President Hayes.

"What reference? What did I say?"

Edward repeated it.

"Did I say that?" he asked. Edward looked at him. Mr. Beecher's face was
tense. After a few moments he said: "That's generally the way with
extemporaneous remarks: they are always dangerous. The best impromptu
speeches and remarks are the carefully prepared kind," he added.

Edward told him he regretted the reference because he knew that General
Hayes would read it in the New York papers, and he would be nonplussed
to understand it, considering the cordial relations which existed
between the two men. Mr. Beecher knew of Edward's relations with the
ex-President, and they had often talked of him together.

Nothing more was said of the incident. When the Beecher home was reached
Mr. Beecher said: "Just come in a minute." He went straight to his desk,
and wrote and wrote. It seemed as if he would never stop. At last he
handed Edward an eight-page letter, closely written, addressed to
General Hayes.

"Read that, and mail it, please, on your way home. Then it'll get there
just as quickly as the New York papers will."

It was a superbly fine letter,--one of those letters which only Henry
Ward Beecher could write in his tenderest moods. And the reply which
came from Fremont, Ohio, was no less fine!

IX. Association with Henry Ward Beecher

As a letter-writer, Henry Ward Beecher was a constant wonder. He never
wrote a commonplace letter. There was always himself in it--in whatever
mood it found him.

It was not customary for him to see all his mail. As a rule Mrs. Beecher
opened it, and attended to most of it. One evening Edward was helping
Mrs. Beecher handle an unusually large number