While Barnum was in Hamburg in November, 1873, he received a cablegram from his son-in-law, S. M. Hurd, informing him that his wife, Charity Hallett Barnum, had died on November 17, 1873. Barnum wrote in his autobiography that it was difficult for any one to imagine the anguish he suffered by thus being suddenly separated from a companion of forty-four years. “But when the intelligence,” he continued, “is not only unlooked for, but, as in my case, it finds the sorrowing husband four thousand miles away from the bedside of his dead wife, alone, in a strange land, where his native tongue is not spoken: when he reflects that children, grandchildren, and other kindred are mourning over the coffin where he is needed, and where his poor stricken heart is breaking to be, the utter loneliness of that mourner cannot be truly comprehended. Long accustomed as I have been to feel that God is good, and that His ways are always right, that He overcometh evil with good, and chastens us ‘for our profit,’ I confess the ‘cloud’ seemed so utterly black that it was hard to realize it _could_ have a silver ‘lining’; and my tongue ceased to move when I attempted to say, as surely we all ought unhesitatingly at all times to say, ‘Not my will, but Thine be done.’” But apparently there was a silver lining even to this black cloud, for, less than one year later, Barnum married Nancy Fish, the young daughter of his English friend and traveling companion.[21] II When he returned to New York, the show, which had opened as the Great Roman Hippodrome at Madison Square Garden, was larger than ever, and he was greeted with cheers by the crowd assembled in the immense building. This applause Barnum took as a gratifying tribute to his enterprise as manager of a monster exhibition. President Grant and his cabinet, governors of states, and judges visited the great show and congratulated Barnum on a stupendous achievement. When he arrived home in Bridgeport, his friends and neighbors gave him a complimentary dinner to place on record their “esteem for his liberality and energy in private enterprise and in promoting the industries and public improvement of our city.” In his speech of gratitude Barnum said that night would “ever stand out a red letter day on the calendar of my history.”[22]