at the identical moment to feel tired, and the idea occurred to me that it would be a relief to get in and ride home. Then, I was about to stop the omnibus which was passing, but, at the moment, I saw another coming, and instantly determined to wait for it; and, finally, I entered the very vehicle where my lost instrument was waiting for me. I leave to the metaphysicians and natural philosophers to determine whether there may not have been a secret chord between me and my violin, which vibrated as we came near each other again, and drew us unconsciously together. All I can say is, that I feel mystified as these coincidences pass me in review, but that is the way I found my violin.' "He puzzled us still more when he said, touching his violin, 'This is a lifeless body, and this,' holding up his bow, 'is the soul that animates it.' In the hands of an ordinary performer they are nothing but a fiddle and a fiddle-stick. It was said of such a one, 'Old Orpheus played so well he moved old Nick, "In the hands of a skilful performer it is a living body; it is capable of producing sounds which express all the passions as clearly as they could be expressed by the human voice-joy, grief, anger, hope, resignation, reverence. But to accomplish this the performer must give his whole soul to it; he must be animated by the highest enthusiasm; he must feel that there is between him and his instrument an interchange of intelligence. The sounds his violin brings forth at the solicitation of the performer sometimes seem to him a part of his own being; and it is natural that he should feel toward it as toward an old and valued friend." The closing years of my father's life were spent, partly at his town residence, No. 3 West Twenty-first Street, and partly at Seafield, his country home. In town he was surrounded by works of art and literary treasures collected about him dur ing a long life. His classical studies afforded him never-failing pleasure; and he carried his admiration for the Latin language to such an extent as to use it in his daily devotions. He had a version of the Book of Common Prayer in that tongue, the Oxford edition of the "Liber Precum Publicarum Ecclesia Anglicana," which was always within his reach. Sometimes he was overheard at night reciting the Psalms, or, when in great pain from his disease, repeating his prayers or uttering ejaculations in that language. On the 29th of May, 1876, we kept the fiftieth anniversary of the wedding of our beloved parents. It was a very quiet family gathering at the house in town. On that occasion a silver vessel made its appearance: a miniature galley, with mast and sail, steered by a fair little maiden, and loaded with new gold-pieces fresh from the Mint. The following verses explained the arrival and mission of the tiny ship; they were in an envelope, addressed to my mother, and endorsed with the words, "Sent ashore by the Pilot:" "Dear Kate, how blest our wedded life Through half a century has been! Devoid of discord and of strife, Our days how peaceful and serene! "If all I owe to you were told, How poor would seem the gift I bring! "The pilot sits in soft repose, Her forehead drooping o'er her breast; And all betokens peace and rest. "This bark may serve to symbolize That which has borne us on our way, "May 29, 1876. "Oh! do not fancy all my heart Unbosomed with this gift of gold; If I possessed a wizard's art "Twould be increased a thousand-fold. "This bark may meet some transient need, "Then on until the voyage is o'er, And we descry the wished-for land, A great sorrow came in the following year-the death of my dear brother, John W. Dix, who departed this life April 20, 1877. Constantly with his father, he had made himself indispensable to him, as agent and manager of his private affairs. At Paris he was his Secretary of Legation, at Albany his private secretary; and by his devotion to him, his watchful care of him as strength failed, his perfect knowledge of business, his honesty and integrity, and his fine literary taste and culture, he had made himself a place which no other could fill. His death was a terrible blow to the General; it was worse than the loss of a right arm. The sorrow struck deep, and cast a heavy shadow on the final years. He said to a friend at that time, "I pray God that I may not live to see the death of another of my children." The summers were spent at Seafield; and I must say a few words about that place before bringing my narrative to a close. I have spoken elsewhere of my father's love for the "south side" of Long Island. His wish to have a country home there was carried out in the year 1870, when he bought and built at West Hampton. The choice of a site was determined by his habits as a sportsman. In the town of West Hampton, in Suffolk County, there is a little bit of a hamlet known as Ketchabonneck; in front of it a neck runs down to the ocean, washed on the right by the farthest waters of the Great South Bay, and on the left by those of the Shinnecock and other bays to the eastward. He bought the lower end of that neck, and built his house on the very verge of the solid land, as near as a house can stand to the sea without the risk of being occasionally touched by the highest tides. IIis first intention was to construct a little shooting-box, or mere cottage for sportsmen; but it ended in the erection of a mansion large enough to hold us all, and furnished with every requisite for a comfortable summer home. The place, by successive additional purchases, grew to the dimensions of some fifty acres. The General appears to have concentrated in it all the local attachments of his life; he would, if encouraged, have spent the entire year there. He actually became a resident of the place and a voter in that district, and in his last will and testament he described himself as of West Hampton. A lane runs down from the public highway at Ketchabonneck to the sea, past the house, and over a bridge between the salt meadows and the beach hills. On the left, and close to the bridge, the General had his shooting-place. It was arranged with the severest simplicity, and not with the luxury falsely imputed to it by a recent writer in one of our public journals. A few armfuls of boughs of scrub oaks, stuck up in the meadow, formed a partial screen, semicircular in shape; and behind these was placed, at first, a candle-box for a seat, which subsequently disappeared to make room for a couple of rough chairs. Outside stood the decoys, stuck fast in a little sedgy pond; and thence opened an immeasurable breadth of sky, in which approaching flocks of birds must inevitably be descried long before their arrival. The General's costume can hardly be described in adequate terms. A more amazing, a more disreputable figure, was nowhere else presented on Long Island, which is to say all that can be said. Obliged to be half the time in the water, wading after fallen birds or adjusting his decoys, he usually wore a suit of India-rubber overalls, to which, when it rained, he added other articles of |