ireplace conversing with Mr. Washington, the operator, who was
by my side. Presently one of the instruments commenced writing and Mr.
Washington listened and smiled. I asked him why he smiled. 'Oh!' said he,
'that is Zantzinger of the Philadelphia office, but he is operating from
Wilmington.' 'How do you know that?' 'Oh! I know his touch, but I must
ask him why he is in Wilmington.' He then went to the instrument and
telegraphed to Zantzinger at Wilmington, and the reply was that he had
been sent from Philadelphia to regulate the relay magnet for the
Wilmington operator, who was inexperienced in operating....

"I give this instance, not because it was the _first_, but because it is
one which I had specially treasured in my memory and frequently related
as illustrative of the practicality of reading by _sound_ as well as by
the written record. This must have occurred about the year 1846."

A serious accident befell the aged inventor, now seventy-nine years old,
in July, 1869. He slipped on the stairs of his country house and fell
with all his weight on his left leg, which was broken in two places. This
mishap confined him to his bed for three months, and many feared that,
owing to his advanced age, it would be fatal. But, thanks to his vigorous
constitution and his temperate life, he recovered completely. He bore
this affliction with Christian fortitude. In a letter to his brother
Sidney, of August 14, he says: "The healing process in my leg is very
slow. The doctor, who has just left me, condemns me to a fortnight more
of close confinement. I have other troubles, for they come not singly,
but all is for the best."

Troubles, indeed, came not singly, for, in addition to sorrows of a
domestic nature, his friends one by one were taken from him by death, and
on November 12, 1869, he writes to William Stickney, Esq., son-in-law of
Amos Kendall:--

"Although prepared by recent notices in the papers to expect the sad
news, which a telegram this moment received announces to me, of the death
of my excellent, long-tried friend Mr. Kendall, I confess that the
intelligence has come with a shock which has quite unnerved me. I feel
the loss as of a _father_ rather than of a brother in age, for he was one
in whom I confided as a father, so sure was I of affectionate and sound
advice....

"I need not tell you how deeply I feel this sad bereavement. I am truly
and severely bereaved in the loss of such a friend, a friend, indeed,
up