discipline was excellent; I doubt if equally good results could have been 

 obtained in any other way. 



Though, as I have said, I liked school and the school work, just as at 

 home, I had no playmates and was a very lonely child, for I did not feel 

 at liberty to ask any boys to my Uncle's house and was rarely invited 

 anywhere myself. Under these circumstances, it is not surprising that I 

 made no friendships or even lasting acquaintances among my school- 

 mates. The only exception was Dr. Howard Kelly, the eminent surgeon 

 of Baltimore; we had kept track of each other, but did not actually meet 

 until a few years ago. 



My Uncle and Cousin Len were so absorbed in their profession that 

 they seemed to have no social life, though they may have had much of 

 which I knew nothing. They Uved in the simplest way, though, from the 

 modest standpoint of that period, they were quite wealthy and extremely 

 generous men. As was very general in Philadelphia at that time, dinner 

 was at three and an extremely light "tea" at seven. The abomination of 

 five o'clock tea was still practically unknown on this side of the 

 Atlantic, but I would have welcomed it then, for, having eaten very 

 little of the distastefully simple dinner, I was ravenous by "tea" time. 



From this time I date my acquaintance with Punch and The Illustrated 

 London News, which not only came to the house every week, but were 

 also represented by long rows of bound volumes, though Punch's car- 

 toons of our Civil War drove me to fury. Uncle, and especially Cousin 

 Len, were great admirers of the English and I remember the latter's 

 once saying to me, in reply to a savage remark of mine against the hated 

 Britishers: "They are a noble people and we have much to learn from 

 them." Little as I liked the implied rebuke, the reply had a useful and 

 lasting effect. 



The presidential election of 1868, which resulted in the choice of 

 General Grant, caused great excitement in Philadelphia. Innumerable 

 were the parades by day and torchlight processions by night, a custom 

 of long standing which seems to have completely disappeared from our 

 poUtics, at least so far as the torchlight is concerned. The memory of the 

 Civil War was still strong and gave the processions a decidedly military 

 character. The marching clubs wore uniforms of light oilcloth, with 

 forage caps of the French type and capes over the shoulders. I never 

 shall forget a torchlight procession of Republican clubs, miles in length, 

 which marched down Broad Street. That street was not then blocked 

 by the hideous monstrosity of the City Hall, but permitted an un- 

 broken view. The endless vista of blazing and smoking torches was a 



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