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 when the guests had stayed long enough—­usually three days—­and their departure was desired.  We were to listen for one shrill note which was imperative.  No one would care or dare to remain after that.

Dr. Doremus showed me one evening a watch he was wearing, saying: 

In Ole Bull’s last illness when he no longer had strength to wind his watch, he asked his wife to wind it for him, and then send it to his best friend, saying:  ’I want it to go ticking from my heart to his.’

That watch magnetized by human love passing through it is now in the possession of Arthur Lispenard Doremus, to whom it was left by his father.  It had to be wound by a key in the old fashion, and it ran in perfect time for twenty-nine years.  Then it became worn and was sent to a watchmaker for repairs.  It is still a reliable timekeeper, quite a surprising story, as the greatest length of time before this was twenty-four years for a watch to run.

I think of these rare souls, Ole Bull and Dr. Doremus, as reunited, and with their loved ones advancing to greater heights, constantly receiving new revelations of omnipotent power, which “it is not in the heart of man to conceive.”

          LINES

Read at the Celebration of the Seventieth Birthday of DOCTOR R. OGDEN DOREMUS, January 11th, 1894, at 241 Madison Avenue, by LUTHER R. MARSH.

          What shall be said for good Doctor Doremus? 
          To speak of him well, it well doth beseem us. 
          Not one single fault, through his seventy years,
          Has ever been noticed by one of his peers.

          How flawless a life, and how useful withal! 
          Fulfilling his duties at every call! 
          Come North or come South, come East or come West,
          He ever is ready to work for the best.

          In Chemics, the Doctor stands first on the list;
          The nature, he knows, of all things that exist. 
          He lets loose the spirits of earth, rock or water,
          And drives them through solids, cemented with mortar.