[Boston—Tuesday, 24 November 1868]
Tuesday. A brilliant night. There is a sloop just setting sail towards the west—the moon is in the sky.
Jamie told me an anecdote of Halleck last night which delighted us both. A gentleman who came to see him during the day told him that the year of Mr. Halleck’s death, he and his wife chanced to be coming to Boston in the same car with Mr. H. who was returning from New York to his house in Stamford. As they were acquainted they all three sat together & Mr Halleck being in a conversational mood, he and his wife sat and listened attentively to his interesting talk all the way to S. When they arrived at that station to their surprise Mr. Halleck did not move. Presently the lady said, Are you not to stop at Stamford then today? He looked up in amazement, gathered up his bag saying as he took his friend by the hand “the conversation of your wife has so interested and absorbed me that I have been, what never occurred before in the course of my long life, unconscious of the journey.”
The good lady had scarcely opened her lips;—but what genius for listening!
Another visitor lately from Washington described to him a late visit to the theatre with two of Gen. Grant’s children. His son is fourteen years old. When Pres. Johnson came into his box the people applauded at which he came forward and waved his hat; this disgusted them (or the manner of it) and they hissed at which he retired into the back of the box; the applause being renewed he advanced and waved a newspaper, then they hissed again and the whole scene so affected young Grant that he retired from the theatre altogether. This showed sensitiveness certainly, yet what son in that position (remembering the great tragedy) could feel other than a horror at a Washington theatre.
