“But I’m not going to make any—­stay where you are—­I’ll get you to make it for me.”

General Sherman came on the platform wearing the uniform of a full General, and you should have heard the cheers.  Gen. Logan was going to introduce me, but I didn’t want any more conspicuousness.

When the head of the procession passed it was grand to see Sheridan, in his military cloak and his plumed chapeau, sitting as erect and rigid as a statue on his immense black horse—­by far the most martial figure I ever saw.  And the crowd roared again.

It was chilly, and Gen. Deems lent me his overcoat until night.  He came a few minutes ago—­5.45 P.M., and got it, but brought Gen. Willard, who lent me his for the rest of my stay, and will get another for himself when he goes home to dinner.  Mine is much too heavy for this warm weather.

I have a seat on the stage at Haverley’s Theatre, tonight, where the Army of the Tennessee will receive Gen. Grant, and where Gen. Sherman will make a speech.  At midnight I am to attend a meeting of the Owl Club.

I love you ever so much, my darling, and am hoping to
get a word from you yet. 
                                   SAML.

Following the procession, which he describes, came the grand ceremonies of welcome at Haverley’s Theatre.  The next letter is written the following morning, or at least soiree time the following day, after a night of ratification.

To Mrs. Clemens, in Hartford: 

Chicago, Nov. 12, ’79.  Livy darling, it was a great time.  There were perhaps thirty people on the stage of the theatre, and I think I never sat elbow-to-elbow with so many historic names before.  Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Schofield, Pope, Logan, Augur, and so on.  What an iron man Grant is!  He sat facing the house, with his right leg crossed over his left and his right boot-sole tilted up at an angle, and his left hand and arm reposing on the arm of his chair—­you note that position?  Well, when glowing references were made to other grandees on the stage, those grandees always showed a trifle of nervous consciousness—­and as these references came frequently, the nervous change of position and attitude were also frequent.  But Grant!—­he was under a tremendous and ceaseless bombardment of praise and gratulation, but as true as I’m sitting here he never moved a muscle of his body for a single instant, during 30 minutes!  You could have played him on a stranger for an effigy.  Perhaps he never would have moved, but at last a speaker made such a particularly ripping and blood-stirring remark about him that the audience rose and roared and yelled and stamped and clapped an entire minute—­Grant sitting as serene as ever—­when Gen. Sherman stepped to him, laid his hand affectionately on his shoulder, bent respectfully down and whispered in his ear.  Gen. Grant got up and bowed, and the storm of applause swelled into a hurricane.  He sat down, took