His wife, Margaret, had died, and he was passing through Washington with the little brood of children she had left him.
It made the saddest spectacle I had ever seen.

As I recall it after more than sixty years, the scene of silent grief, of unutterable helplessness, has still a haunting power over me, the oldest lad not eight years of age, the youngest a girl baby in arms, the young father aghast before the sudden tragedy which had come upon him.

There must have been something in my sympathy which drew him toward me, for on his return a few months later he sought me out and we fell into the easy intercourse of established relations.
I was recovering from an illness, and every day he would come and read by my bedside.

I had not then lost the action of one of my hands, putting an end to a course of musical study I had hoped to develop into a career.

He was infinitely fond of music and sufficiently familiar with the old masters to understand and enjoy them.