little adaptation of the teaching to the circumstances of the case.
But one method of instruction widely adopted was, so far as I can
learn, quite unique. It was the "loud method" of teaching reading
and spelling. The whole school spelled in unison. The passer-by
on the street would hear in chorus from the inside of the building,
"B-R-E-A-D--BREAD!" all at the top of the voice of the speakers.
Schools in which this method was adopted were known as "loud schools."

A queer result of this movement once fell under my notice. I called
at a friend's house in Georgetown. In the course of the conversation,
it came out that the sable youngster who opened the door for me
filled the double office of scullion to the household and tutor in
Latin to the little boy of the family.

Probably the Senate of the United States never had a member more
conscientious in the discharge of his duties than Charles Sumner.
He went little into society outside the circles of the diplomatic
corps, with which his position as chairman of the Foreign Affairs
Committee placed him in intimate relations. My acquaintance with
him arose from the accident of his living for some time almost
opposite me. I was making a study of some historic subject,
pertaining to the feeling in South Carolina before the civil war,
and called at his rooms to see if he would favor me with the loan of
a book, which I was sure he possessed. He received me so pleasantly
that I was, for some time, an occasional visitor. He kept bachelor
quarters on a second floor, lived quite alone, and was accessible
to all comers without the slightest ceremony.

One day, while I was talking with him, shortly after the surrender
of Lee, a young man in the garb of a soldier, evidently fresh from
the field, was shown into the room by the housemaid, unannounced,
as usual. Very naturally, he was timid and diffident in approaching
so great a man, and the latter showed no disposition to say anything
that would reassure him. He ventured to tell the senator that he
had come to see if he could recommend him for some public employment.
I shall never forget the tone of the reply.

"But _I_ do not know _you_." The poor fellow was completely
dumfounded, and tried to make some excuses, but the only reply he
got was, "I cannot do it; I do not know you at all." The visitor
had nothing to do but turn round and leave.

At the time I felt some sympathy with the poor fellow. He had
probably com