My first impression of Uncle Sam is characteristic of the man. We had come to New York in the hope of distracting my mother from the black grief that consumed her after little Sam’s death. She received a message from her brother that we must all be ready at a certain hour when he would call for us and take us down to Islip, Long Island, to pass a few days at an hotel,--a new experience for me! Punctual to the minute he arrived in a smart carriage, with a large bouquet for Mama and a small bouquet for me. I have forgotten the name of the hotel, but I remember certain splendors of the table, certain luxuries in the way of handsome carriages, fine horses, and a confusing number of servants. All these seemed in some magical manner to be attached to Uncle Sam, to come and [Illustration: UNCLE SAM WARD From a photograph by W. & D. Downey] [Illustration: MY FATHER, DR. SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE From a photograph by Whipple] go at his nod, purvey flowers, afternoon tea, sparkling wines, and other luxuries unknown at home, which give to this memory of my first hotel a rich flavor of careless expenditure in strong contrast to the New England thrift I knew. Uncle Sam was the most agreeable man I have ever known. He threw a spell over me in those days at Islip that still holds, though he has been dead more than thirty years. I knew, even then, that on most subjects his views were directly opposed to my father’s. He was suspected of having southern sympathies, and if not an out-and-out “copperhead”, he was equally far from being an abolitionist. He was rather French than American in appearance and manner, sparkling, effervescent, full of laughter, motion, gesture. His dress was striking. He wore handsome rings and scarfpins, checked trousers, superb waistcoats, an overcoat of pale gray box cloth with large white pearl buttons, unmistakably from London. I have heard men of fashion say that his brilliant cravats suited him to a T, but could not have been worn by any other living man. On the train a gentleman spoke to him, calling him by name. “You must excuse me, Sir,” said my uncle, “if I cannot remember your name.” “I am ----, to whom you were so kind in London.” Still Uncle Sam could not remember. “But, Mr. Ward, you must remember me--you saved my life!” This was no help. Embarrassed and annoyed, the stranger pulled a gold watch from his pocket. “If you don’t remember me--you may remember this watch that you gave me.” Uncle Sam patted him on the shoulder and nodded with his wonderful smile: “Well, well! I shall know you next time: may it not be so many years between meetings.” “I can’t remember anything about that man!” he told us later. The scene was characteristic of Uncle Sam: he seemed under some compulsion to give, give, give,--expensive watches to strangers, jewels to all his female relatives, flowers to every pretty woman he met, golden smiles to all the world!