Life went on in the General’s family very much as at Washington. It was a happy, hospitable home. “Tom,” the father now being reconciled to the idea of his being a priest, came up often from the college down town, and many were the interesting conversations I heard between the great soldier and his intellectual son. It seemed to me the same fire of intellect was in each, only it was all different in flame and purpose. Mrs. Sherman had a little office of her own upstairs, just as at her Washington home, where she devoted her energy to planning for the poor. She was a noble, unselfish woman, and her charities, unheralded to the world, did much to soften the hard lines of the unfortunate. The General’s health was not the very best. He was often taking such severe colds as even threatened his life. The doctors were uneasy, and Mrs. Sherman was on one or two occasions much alarmed. “Should such a misfortune occur,” she said to me one morning after the breakfast, “should I survive him, I want you to undertake the publication of all my husband’s papers and correspondence. He has told me of his affection for you many times, and you know my own.” I was greatly touched by this new proof of confidence in me, but I could not but think that General Sherman had many years to live. The General, simple in public life, was still simpler in his home. He came to breakfast mornings in his comfortable old slippers and wearing a shiny little morning coat that was more comfortable than decorative. After lunch at noon, he usually took an hour’s nap and then went down in the basement to his work of answering letters. He answered everybody, and gave himself as much labor in this imposed letter writing as if he were well paid for it. Hundreds and hundreds of people asked him to help them get office, and hundreds asked him for money. He gave a great deal, and the giving helped to keep him a comparatively poor man. Mrs. Sherman told me how he kept accounts at certain Washington stores, and sent needy men there almost daily with orders for hats, coats, etc. His daughter Lizzie was one of the kindest and sweetest spirits I ever knew. She was almost a constant companion of her father in his many travels. We had pleasant chats every morning at the breakfast table, though it was nearly impossible to get the General away from the basement and his newspaper, till Mrs. S. had the papers put on the table with the coffee. Then the General would read and comment. He regarded the press almost as a necessary evil. Few of his comments were complimentary to it. He had a horror of reporters.