triple underscore: Doctor Taft.

Sir: It would seem that the personality of a man is like a landscape, in this respect: its general aspect is the same to all viewers, but its details are not; one eye seeing particularly the factories & the railroads in the valley, another the slumbrous fields & the rustic homes, another whatever of rich coloring is offered, another the swamp, the stony ways, the sterile patches & the graveyard, & another only mainly the majestic features, the giant summits wrapped in clouds & snow.

I have read a number of articles, long & short, concerning Dr. Taft, & have been struck by the correctness of the general portrait of him drawn by the writers, & interested to observe, at the same time, how each writer, in turn, gives special emphasis to one or another feature of the character, and touches the others with lighter strokes, as being less important. We may take from tThese sketches, taken together, place Dr Taft before us as he was—the general view, & also the details; so that we see him, not from near or far alone, or from above or below, but from all points of observation. The result is a true portrait, of a man of fine make, justly proportioned & complete.

Outwardly—if one may apply the term to a man—he was beautiful; a stately figure, faultlessly clothed, an intellectual face, white hair & the long white beard of a sage, an eye that could be severe but preferred to be kind, a carriage & bearing full of courteous grace & dignity. And the inner man was companion to the outer; for his heart was firm & strong, but it was also warm & compassionate, & freighted with human sympathies. He was so decided a man that where his dislike fell, it must have fallen with force—as to that, I have no knowledge; but this I know, that where he loved he worshiped.

All know how, when he was a young man, the physicians numbered his days; & how he threw out their verdict & refused to surrender, but stood his ground & began a hand-to-hand fight with death which lasted forty years. All know this, for all have spoken of it & written about it; it is household history in Hartford. All know how well st◊◊ equipped was his magazine of humor, of all kinds & calibres—the gentle, the sarcastic, the sardonic; how brilliant his sallies, how disabling his retorts—for these things also have been spoken of & written about; they are Hartford history. And all know how when he was at his best, he was prompt he was to come at the call, in the night or day, & in any weather, & what hope & cheer were in his step, what healing in his mere presence; how his serenity imparted itself to troubled spirits, & courage flowed from him by mysteroiousⒶemendation unspoken ways, refreshing & reviving hearts that were ready to sink before. These things are known, & are printed upon many grateful memories, & are sacred, & will not be forgotten.

The portrait which has been drawn of him by the several writers is right & good; & yet the general result, as it seems to me, makes him too grave—not to say grim—too absorbed, driving, unrelaxed, almost unsocial. This was Dr. Taft in one aspect, & in uninspiring surroundings; but among his friends he was th not this, he was never this; he was the opposite of it. He was expressly companionable, social, ready to talk, ready for a duel duel of chaff, anecdote, or serious matter, according to circumstances or & the occasion. Although his practice was so prodigious, he did not give one the sense of his being hurried. After serving his patient, he frequently remained twenty or thirty minutes to talk. He was himself the best medicine he ever brought to the sick room. The only subject he was never likely to perfectly entirely sure to not introduce, was the patient’s case. If he was not asked, he was not likely to make any remark about it, or state what the matter was, or say what the chances were. He merely inquired after the symptoms, dealt out the remedies, gave the proper directions, changed the subject, & presently took his leave. If asked about the case, he answered; but except it was serious, those who knew him best did not ask. They knew he would mend it if he could, & they believed that if if he could not nobody could; & so they were satisfied, & content to leave the matter undiscussed. After he had visited a patient & gone, such remarks as these were common: “Did you ask the doctor what was the matter?” “No; did you?” “No; I did not think about it.” “Neither did I; however, it is no matter.”

If I may make one more remark, it is this: that the gentler side of the doctor’s nature was furtively shown in his love for little children. I say furtively for want of a better word. I mean that while it was deep & strong, it was not evinced not exhibited through marked demonstration, & so its existence was apt to remain unsuspected for a considerable time, & its discovery come at last by accident. Perhaps not many knew he was fond of children; but he was, though not indiscriminately. He liked some, he loved the others.

When he was stricken down, all the town felt it. He was a familiar & conspicuous figure, & he was missed two or three words canceled from his place as a city bottom edge of page torn, apparently in order to cancel a line of text misses some fair tower of refuge & defence, grown reverend through grateful associations, when it is smitten & laid in ruins.

Elmira, July 18.