For a time, until she regained her health, she lived _incognito_; later, she produced a letter from our U. S. Minister Washburn, then at the Court of Paris. When her identity became known she was overwhelmed with attentions from the natives, as well as from Americans, and attended many receptions given in her honor by that most hospitable people. Her experiences there were so numerous and sensational as worthy to become the basis for a great novel. From the back door of her hotel a path led out into a forest of wildness and rare beauty. Describing the wood, by way of comparison, Clara Barton said: “The wood of Cuba is beautiful in quality, but hard to burn; in Corsica, one may take the green, wet wood and make a blazing fire.” By the side of the house were terraces on which were orange trees, loaded with the golden fruit. A little strategy secured what oranges Miss Barton wanted. She would take her blue bandana, put a franc in it, tie the ends of the bandana with a stone mason’s cord, then let it down from her room on the fourth story of the hotel to a little girl living in a rude hut. The back of the hut was against a precipitous stone cliff, the living quarters of the girl’s family being partly in the hut and partly in a chamber blasted out of the rock, as frequently occurs on the island. The girl would fill the bandana with fruit then, the signal given, Miss Barton would pull the fruit through the side window to her sick room. All Americans in Europe are supposed to have money. Clara Barton there alone, unsuspecting and unguarded, was not protected against theft. A native bandit one evening sneaked into her room and demanded her money, or her life. With her usual presence of mind, and fearlessness in imminent danger, Clara Barton at the top of her voice cried out: “Now, boys, come on; I’ve got him!” Quicker than it takes to tell it, the bandit jumped through an open window in one corner of the room, and escaped into the forest. LXXIV Clara Barton, beloved by every one who knew her. HON. PETER VOORHEES DEGRAW, U. S. Fourth Postmaster General. And memory turns to him fondly Whom we call by the name of Friend!— CARL F. ROSECRANS. The chiefest of human virtues,—loyalty to friends. C. S. YOUNG in _The Richmond Terminal_. The better part of one’s life consists of his friendships. A. LINCOLN. Friendship and love Take second place to loyalty and honor. CALDERON. Friendship is necessary to life. BISHOP WM. F. MCDOWELL. Friendship’s the wine of life. YOUNG’S _Night Thoughts_. Friendship is a sheltering tree. S. T. COLERIDGE. No man is useless while he has a friend. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. Our wisest friends are life’s best book. CALDERON.