Knowing Mr. Robert to be a man of deep sincerity and thought, I once asked him “if he thought the dead ever returned to be near us?” This was when out walking in the fields of Switzerland. “Most assuredly I do,” was his answer. “My lost ones are near me now--there in those roses, in the sweet grass, in all beautiful things. They come near to us when we are in a mood to want them to come. They don’t speak--but they hear our inward breathings--and when we worship beautiful nature, we are talking with them.” I could not help thinking of that beautiful custom in certain parts of India, where at funerals a vacant place is left in the procession for the dead one who is supposed to be invisibly walking along with them. _On December 16_, we had left New York on the “Elysia” and had tempests all the way across the ocean. On Christmas night, a hurricane set in, such as is not seen outside of the Indian seas. Everything on the outside of the ship was torn to pieces--not a life boat, nor bridge, nor boom pole, nor sail left. Everything gone. We were blown back thirty miles towards New York. The sea was churned into mountains of milk, and the thunder and lightning at midnight was something perfectly terrific. The ship’s hatches were all battened down with tarpaulins, and we were fastened in below. Spite of the precautions, water rushed down the ship’s stairways by hogsheads full. Two or three passengers lost their minds. Many said farewell to each other, including the ship’s officers, and we all thought ourselves lost. _On New Year’s Day_ we reached England, just ahead of another storm such as Britain had not seen in a hundred years. Hundreds and hundreds of coast vessels went to the bottom, carrying unnumbered British sailors and passengers with them. As we passed the great pier of Dover, we saw how the mighty rocks composing it had been hurled in vast piles by the storm, as if they were boxes made of straw. The work of the engineers had been as nothing. Man marks the earth with ruin; his control Stops with the shore. * * * * * While I had been in Washington, the contest was going on over the election of Governor Hayes and Samuel Tilden to the Presidency.