Can it be that our Harriet did not see that wonderful procession of two thousand Cincinnati school children? We do not believe it. And is it not strange to think that these two great Harriets of the Old and the New World should have stood together to watch this flaming sign of promise for the future of the English-speaking people, and should not have looked into each other’s eyes to know each other? At any rate, Harriet of America forgot all about the visit of her British sister; but a long time after, Harriet of England sent an invitation to her American contemporary to visit her in her English home. She remembered the older Beecher girl, Catherine, very well; she had a clear recollection of Dr. Lyman Beecher; but--“Did I see you,” she asked, “in a white frock and a black silk apron?... I believe and hope you were the young lady in the black silk apron.” Of such unseen links as this is history made; the lives of the actors and leaders of thought cross each other and interweave, making a continuous onflow of life. Before we leave the more general things that were happening in Cincinnati during the years that Harriet Beecher lived there, we must recur once more to that Buckeye Dinner that took place the year after she came. I do not know whether any of the theologues from the Seminary were present or not; but if they were, they heard a wonderful speech from one of the great men of the nation’s history. That was General Harrison, son of a patriot of Revolutionary fame, and himself a conspicuous patriot. A French guest of the city relates that he saw in the hotel a noticeable man of about fifty years old, of medium height, and of muscular build, with an open and cheerful countenance and with a certain air of command; and when he asked who that was he was told that that was General Harrison, Clerk of the Cincinnati Court of Common Pleas. “What! General Harrison of the Tippecanoe and the Thames?” he cried. The answer was: “The same; the ex-Governor, the conqueror of Tecumseh and Proctor; the avenger of our disasters of the Raisin and at Detroit; the ex-Governor of the Territory of Indiana; the ex-Senator in Congress, and the ex-Minister to one of the South American Republics. He has grown old in the service of his country,” continued the informant; “he has passed twenty years of his life in those fierce wars with the Indians, in which there was less glory to be won but more danger to be encountered than at Rivoli and Austerlitz. He is now poor with a numerous family, and is neglected by the Federal Government, although yet vigorous, because he has the independence to think for himself. His friends got the place of clerk as a sort of retiring pension. So we have him as clerk of an inferior court.” This great man, then, was living at Cincinnati. In the Roman and the American fashion he was in retirement after a time of political activity and was living as a farmer; but he was to be recalled in a few years to the nation’s