ess waved his hand back at him, and went on.
Elevating his voice, said he, "Do you refuse to speak to me, sir?"
Still a wave of the hand--nothing more. This was too much for the
hot-headed gentleman. His raving and abuse attracted the attention of
everybody about there to the hand, which still waved, as "grandpa"
walked on, and said, too plainly to be mistaken, in its silent
contempt, " I can't lower myself by speaking to such a dirty fellow as
you are."

Without a word or circumstance from your grandfather, it
circulated from mouth to mouth, with considerable gusto; from which, I
need not say, Mr. M. had the worst of it.

It has given me some pain, my dear children, to speak of these
incidents; and, indeed, there are many things (some very sweet to me)
that I feel constrained to write which I would gladly keep secret and
sacred in my soul, but for a firm conviction that such a halo of light
as has shone about my path, from the pure life of your beloved
grandfather, should not be allowed to go out. And the faithful
historian cannot give the light without the shadows.

Affectionately yours, GRANDMA.

Belmont, February, 1861.

Letter Nine

My Dear Grandchildren:

Before the fire companies were properly organized in St. Louis,
or, perhaps, before there were any at all, I was perfectly miserable
whenever a fire occurred, for "grandpa" would be sure to rush to the
spot, and up, probably, to the most dangerous places on the tops of
houses, or anywhere else, to assist in protecting life or property.
Besides the fear that he might lose his life in this way, I felt
considerable anxiety on account of his health; for, after these
extraordinary exertions, he would return home nearly exhausted. No
entreaties or arguments, in urging him to desist, had any weight, until
he found that his services were no longer needed.

With this impetuosity of character, he possessed a large share of
moral courage. He dared to do right, or what he deemed right, always,
and that without display or fear, and entirely indifferent to the
opinion of the world. With a modest estimate of himself was blended a
quiet satisfaction in the discharge of duty. But not over-careful
about what others did or did not do, or at all dictatorial, he
cheerfully accorded to all what he claimed for himself, viz:
independence of thought and action. No one was more willing to give
advice, when asked; none more free from obtruding it uninvite