May strength come to you out of the Infinite resources of the Universe to bear this blow. The world was made better by him! In deep sympathy,
Wednesday, November, 
My dear old man,—I am sitting alone in my den having come down stairs to write a line on my report, but instead have been lured into an evening of delight with Robert Louis Stevenson, whose letters, in four volumes, I advise you to read for the spirit of the man. Much like your own, my brave fine fellow! He went through tortures with a smile and a merry imagination which made him great, and makes all of us, and many more to come, his debtor. I know how little you read. The birds have been yours and the trees and the dogs and fishes, but there are men in the world, or have been, whom one can know through their writings. Did you ever read Trevelyan’s three volumes on Garibaldi? No,—well get it before you are a week older and you will thank me for ever and a day.
All of this, however, I had not intended to write, rather to tell you ... how emotional I have been all day with the old soldiers passing by on parade—the last that many of them will ever have.
Fifty years ago, Andrew Johnson received Grant’s returned forces on the same spot. There were 180,000, or so, then—and 20,000 now —crippled, lame, one-legged, bent, halting most of them, but determined to make the long journey from the Capitol to the White House, and prove that they had lived this long time and were still good for a longer journey. There was little of gaiety among them, tho’ some were swinging flags, torn, tattered, be-shot ... and raised their hats to the President as they passed, tho’ most of them, doubtless, were sorry that he was not a Republican. It was a time to remember.
... Nancy is back after her tour of glory—larger than ever but not less tender or playful. She is the brightest spirit I have ever met—and all her vanities are so dear and human and lie so frankly exposed. I thank you for your kindness to her, she loves you very much; yes, really recognizes those qualities which some cannot see, poor blind things! But I can, and she can, and Frances can, and many more when you give them a look in. May your grass grow and soul keep warm and your spirit lift itself in song at morning and at night. Affectionately always,
TO M. A. MATHEW
Washington, November 3, 1919
My dear Mr. Mathew,—I have your letter of October 27th, and I appreciate very much its kind words. The Industrial Conference was not a success because we got into the steel strike at first, and people talked about their rights instead of talking of their duties. We will have another conference, however, which I think will do some real work and lay a foundation for the future. The coal strike is a bad one, but the people are not in sympathy with it, and sooner or later, in my judgment, it will come to an adjustment situation in which the President will be perfectly willing to participate. He, by the way, is getting along very well, but I expect it will be many weeks before he is himself again. ... Cordially yours,