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() the first day of June, 1884, General crease further. He was threatened with ac

Grant's physical condition, as well as tual need. His fellow citizens were harshly his financial situation, was deplorable. He critical, and he was charged with bringing

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could write a book, and considered himself the last man in the world to attempt anything more than a report. The article grew in his hands from a dry statement of facts to a very full account, with which the editors were delighted. From regarding it as a laborious task, he became deeply interested in it, and readily consented to continue his work by an article on Vicksburg. It took his mind off his troubles, and carried him back amid the splendid and dramatic events of 1862 and 1863.

The second article was even more successful than the first, being less controversial in effect. And now the publishers of the country, hearing that Grant was writing his memoirs, made him the most liberal offers for a book. Then it was that he realized his power to earn not merely money for his daily needs, but to provide a competency for his wife, if he should die before her. This consideration decided him to set to work in earnest upon the retrospect of his life. He had secretly resigned himself to the thought that he was an old man and an infirm man, and that any work he had to do must be done quickly.

He called in General Adam Badeau, his military biographer, and began writing with his usual single-hearted intensity upon the account of his school-days. He worked five or six hours each day, at his house in Sixty-sixth Street, not far from the Park. He did not venture down town, and the men of Wall Street never saw him again. He was done with business, and the pleasures of his life were found in the glow of his own fire, in an occasional drive, and in the light of his grandchildren's faces. He wrote busHe wrote busily with his own hand, and handed the manuscript over to his son and General Badeau for revision and preparation for the printer. He was a ready and fluent writer, and little change was necessary.

BEGINNING OF GRANT'S LAST ILLNESS.

One day in the early autumn, 1884, after eating a peach, General Grant complained of pain in his throat. The pain was slight, but it returned again when he swallowed solid food. Thereafter, eating grew each day more painful; but as the spasm passed quickly away after each effort, he gave little thought to it until there came an exterior swelling of the throat that increased perceptibly. Then the seriousness of the case became apparent to Mrs. Grant. She insisted upon his calling upon Dr. Barker, the family physician. Dr.

Barker considered it serious enough to advise the care of a specialist, and suggested Dr. J. H. Douglas. Dr. Douglas made an examination, and prescribed certain lotions and gargles, and the General went back to his work, in which he was now completely absorbed. He worked five or six hours each day, and his mind was deep in the past. He was resolute to complete his book during the winter. The publishers foresaw the great value of the book, and made him feel it, in order to encourage him to proceed.

He went every day to see his physician, using the street cars from motives of economy. But notwithstanding all the lotions and alleviating washes, the pains in the throat increased, till eating became an agony which even Grant's iron will could not conceal from the watchful eyes of Mrs. Grant. Solid foods at last became impossible to him. He kept his place at the table, but seldom had a part in the meal.

In such wise the winter wore on. Steadfast friends occasionally called. Old army officers, being in the city, dropped in to see "the old commander," and neighbors from Galena or Georgetown always found a welcome. Nevertheless, Grant's life would have been very irksome had it not been for the writing which filled much of his time and nearly all of his thoughts. He was now practically unregarded by the great world of commerce and business. His friends in Congress were trying to help him by means of a bill restoring him to his rank as General of the Army and retiring him on full pay; but each attempt met with bitter opposition. The bill had been once defeated in 1881. feated in 1881. Since then the matter had rested. A pension had been suggested, but this the General steadily refused to consider.

There now arose a new occasion of distress to him. Some of the small creditors of the firm of Grant and Ward were attempting to levy on the souvenirs and tokens which General Grant had made over to Mr. William K. Vanderbilt in security for a loan procured by General Grant in the interest of Grant and Ward. General Grant was poor, but he was not abject. He wrote to Mr. Vanderbilt and requested him to offer for sale all the property he held, including the souvenirs and trophies of peace and war. To this Mr. Vanderbilt replied, expressing a willingness to turn over all the personal articles to be held in trust by Mrs. Grant and the General during their lifetime, and to become the property of the Government after

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THE GENERAL'S LAST DREAM.-MOUNT MCGREGOR, JULY, 1885.

PAINTED BY B. J. ROSENMEIER.

With acknowledgments to a sketch published in "Frank Leslie's Weekly" of April 18, 1885.

their death. This General Grant declined to accept, and the articles were turned over directly to the Government, and placed in the museum at Washington.

aid of General Grant should pass, and interest was again revived in it.

At last, just in the final hour of the session, an agreement was reached whereby On February 20, 1885, the first bulletin of a vote was taken. Congressman Randall General Grant's condition reached the public: moved that, by unanimous consent, the bill "The action of Congress in refusing to pass be taken up, and to this the Democratic the bill restoring him to his honors, has been majority of the House agreed, provided a very depressing to him," the physicians said; certain contested election case was taken "but he is feeling very comfortable other- up and voted upon. Thereupon Mr. Wilson wise." They were making the best of a of Iowa, the holder of the contested seat, very bad case, for Grant was already reduced who had thus far successfully filibustered in weight from nearly two hundred pounds against his opponent, generously rose and to barely one hundred and forty-five, though said: "In order that this Congress shall do his face did not show this emaciation. By justice to the hero of Donelson and AppoFebruary 17th he had nearly ceased to mattox, I yield to the request of the gentlework on his book. The first volume was man from Pennsylvania.' It cost him his finished, and the second was begun; but the seat and his salary, but the bill restoring resolution of even his indomitable soul could Grant to his military rank and placing him not master the growing weakness and lassi- on the retired list was passed. President tude of his body. He became silent and Arthur was in the Capitol, waiting to sign distrait, and sat amidst his family in abstrac- the bill. He affixed his signature, the fortion which filled them with terror. When mal nomination of Grant went immediately alone, he lay stretched out on his reclining- to the Senate, and the Senate at once conchair, facing the fire, with eyes which saw neither flame nor wall. Occasionally, when The honor came almost too late for the roused by some friend, he spoke of his book, old commander." When the telegram anand expressed a desire to finish it. He nouncing it was read to him, his eyes did not spoke of it as one might who wished to brighten, and he uttered no word of pleasure complete some task before going on an in- nor even of interest. He had gone beyond evitable journey. He was waiting the sum- the reach of acts of Congress. He had mons of the bugle, and was ready to obey. loosened his hold on life. "I am a very sick man," he said to a friend; and in his eyes was the look of a hunted creature, weary and hopeless of rest.

He

His activity of mind was enormous. could do nothing but think. His great brain, filled with innumerable scenes, conceptions, plans, and deeds, kept up its ceaseless whirl, turning night into day, and day into a phantasmagoric dream of the past. The writing of the book had recalled and made present all his changeful and epic history; and as the external lost power and interest, his mind turned back upon itself.

RESTORATION TO HIS OLD RANK.

He was confined not merely to the house, but to his room. To walk around the hall and back was a long walk. Visitors were at last denied him, but he had around him nearly his entire family. His sons were with him constantly, and his daughter Nellie had been sent for. Little by little the details of the General's condition became public, and the returning regard of the world began to make itself felt. Resolutions of sympathy began to come in from State legislatures and other bodies. The Assembly of New York expressed to the New York delegation in Congress its wish that the bill in

firmed it.

A FATAL DIAGNOSIS.

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During all this time the disease never rested. The ulcer ate its way deep into his throat, sapping his vitality and undermining his superb courage. It was recognized at last to be a very grave matter indeed, and the friends of the General began to allude to it as cancer. Up to this time the ulceration had not been considered incurable. Dr. Douglas and Dr. Barker grew alarmed at last, and called in other physicians for consultation. Even then no decision as to the character of the disease was reached. About the 10th of March a piece of the diseased tissue was placed before Dr. G. R. Elliot, an expert microscopist, who also submitted it to Dr. George F. Shrady. Dr. Shrady, who was afterwards called into the case as one of the consulting surgeons, corroborated the opinion of Dr. Elliot. Without know ing whence the tissue came nor anything of the case at the time, he made an examina

tion, and immediately reported: "This tissue comes from the throat and base of the tongue, and is affected with cancer."

Dr. Elliot, though this was also his own conclusion, said: "This is a very important matter; are you sure?"

"Perfectly sure. The patient from whom this tissue comes has epithelial cancer."

Almost in a whisper the other said: "That tissue comes from the throat of General Grant."

Dr. Shrady replied slowly: "Then General Grant is doomed."

This appalling verdict of the men of science was made public after a consultation at General Grant's house, and the news was flashed round the world that General Grant was attacked by cancer and was fighting his last battle. The nation awoke to sympathy. All criticism of the great General was for the time laid aside, and the Christian public offered daily prayers for his recovery. But he grew daily weaker. He could not sleep without morphia, and yet he fought against its use. He feared becoming a victim to its power, and endured to the utmost the agonies of sleeplessness before asking for relief. He was the most docile of patients. "You are in command here," he would say to Dr. Shrady.

In order to take even liquid food, he was forced to fling the contents of the bowl down his throat at one gulp, before the spasm closed his throat. It required all his resolution to do this. Yet he seldom uttered a word of complaint. He never forgot to be courteous and mindful of others. He obeyed his nurses like a child, at the same time that his great brain pondered upon questions national in scope. He concealed his despondency with studied care from his wife, and was careful that she should not see him at his worst. His son Frederick and his physicians perceived the whole truth of his condition. The expediency of performing a radical surgical operation was discussed early in the case, but the surgeons considered the cancer too deeply rooted to be removed by the knife.

The anodyne and the disease combined at times to produce a dazing effect, and his mind wandered. Once he said: "I am detailed from four to six." He was back at West Point, a ruddy youth again. Once he clutched his throat, and cried out, "The cannon did it," thinking, perhaps, of the officer whose head was blown away by solid shot at Palo Alto. He longed for spring to come, and thought if he could get out

and see the green grass and the budding. trees it would help him. His illness brought out the purely human side of the great historical character. He became as gentle and patient as a woman.

The 27th of March being a fine, warm day, he was taken to ride in the Park, and seemed brightened by the change. Upon his return he was met by several attorneys engaged in the trial of Fish, the former president of the Marine Bank. General Grant's testimony was needed; and though emaciated, worn with loss of sleep, and speaking with great difficulty, the General went to his duty resolutely and with a certain readiness. He told all he knew concerning the case, sparing neither Fish nor Ward. He said that he had no knowledge of any speculation in government contracts, and that he had distinctly charged Ward not to have any such business, and had informed him that if the firm of Grant and Ward was concerned in any way with such business, he must retire.

The examination occupied less than an hour, but it exhausted him, and he had a very bad night. Three days later he had a choking spell so deadly in its sudden seizure that he rose from his chair in agony, crying out to his nurse: "Oh, I can't stand it! I must die! I must go!" But the spasm passed away, and under the ministrations of the physicians he became easier.

It was now certain that General Grant was dying, and the usually quiet street swarmed with reporters and with curious and sympathetic people, who walked slowly past, looking up at the windows shining with the flare of gas-jets at full flame.

AN INSTANCE OF GRANT'S UNSELFISHNESS.

The 31st of March was made memorable by a strange incident. A professed astrologer had cast the General's horoscope, and predicted that he would die on the 31st of March. The family were anxious to keep all such matters from the General, and papers containing them were excluded from his chamber. But one morning, when the family returned to the General's room from breakfast, they found him intent on the astrologer's prediction.

They made no remark about it, but tried to keep his mind off the thought of death, and yet he seemed to dwell upon it. As the date set in the prediction drew near, he seemed to be asking very often, "What day of the month is to-day?" He sometimes

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