The winter passed away without any untoward event to our friends at Woodburn, Ion, Fairview, and the vicinity; March and April succeeded, then early in May came the news that Admiral Watson was ordered to proceed to Manila and relieve Admiral Dewey. He sailed from San Francisco on the 16th. It was not until late in June that he reached his destination, but Admiral Dewey had left there for Hong-Kong on the 23d of May, and placed the Olympia in dry-dock for the ten days he thought best to stay at that point in order to recruit his own health and that of his men. He left Hong-Kong on June 6, and reached Singapore June 11. On the 23d he was at Colombo, on the island of Ceylon. He touched at various points on his homeward route—Port Said, Trieste, Naples, Leghorn—at every place being received with highest honors. On August 28 he was in the neighborhood of Nice and Villefranche, enjoying the delightful climate and beautiful scenery of that part of the world. On the 4th of September he reached Gibraltar. His vessel gave the usual salute, heartily acknowledged by the garrison, and the admiral was warmly welcomed by its commander-in-chief, General Biddulph. He seems to have stayed there six days, as it was on the 10th he sailed for New York by way of the Azores. On Tuesday morning, September 26, he anchored inside Sandy Hook—three days earlier than he was expected.

A reception committee in New York City had been busily making ready to give him a grand "Welcome Home," which they intended should eclipse in gorgeous pageantry everything that had preceded it in the way of public demonstration. They had written to Admiral Dewey to know when he would arrive in order that they might fix a date for the grand display, and he had written them from Leghorn, more than a month before: "I shall, without fail, reach the Lower Bay on Friday, September 29."

The glad news of his arrival quickly spread by telegraph, and cannon were fired and bells rung in many cities throughout the country. The New York Reception Committee hastened to welcome him as soon as they knew of the arrival of the Olympia. Rear-Admirals Philip and Sampson came also; but first of all came Sir Thomas Lipton, the British challenger for the cup which has been so long in our possession, his vessel lying near where the Olympia anchored.

But presently another yacht came steaming rapidly down the river, and Max recognized it with an exclamation of delight, for it was the Dolphin, and in a few minutes more Captain Raymond was on the deck of the Olympia, grasping his son's hand, while his eyes shone with fatherly pride and affection.

"My boy, my dear boy!" he said, in tones tremulous with emotion; "thank God that we are permitted to meet again."

"Father, my dear, dear father, how I have longed for this meeting with you!" was Max's answering exclamation. "Oh, tell me, are all our dear ones alive and well?"

"Yes, my son, and waiting yonder in the yacht for you. Surely the admiral will allow you to go aboard her with me for a little visit."

The admiral and the captain were not strangers to each other. A cordial greeting passed between them, they chatted as old friends for a few minutes, then Captain Raymond carried his son off to the Dolphin, where he was received most joyfully, and exchanged loving embraces with his affianced, his sisters, "Mamma Vi," "Grandma Elsie," and little brother.

They told him they had spent the greater part of the summer at Crag Cottage—which they still considered their temporary home—but for the present were on board the yacht, as the best place from which to view the naval welcome to Admiral Dewey.

Time flew fast in the glad mutual intercourse they had lacked for so many months. Max had many questions to ask in regard to friends and relatives and all that had been going on in the neighborhood of his home and theirs. But his short leave had soon expired, and his father conveyed him back to the Olympia and left him there with the warmly expressed hope that they would soon be able to be together constantly for a time.

At the naval anchorage at Tompkinsville a fleet was gathered to welcome Dewey's return, and his vessel steamed thither on Wednesday—the day after her arrival at Sandy Hook. As she swept up the bay the salute due to an Admiral of the United States Navy rang out over the harbor from the forts and the assembled fleet for the first time in many years. There were also the music of marine bands, the pealing of naval bugles, the shrill whistles of numerous small craft, the cheering of excursion parties, and the rapid dash of the steam launches, all combining to make the scene a very lively one.

During that day and the next the admiral and his officers had little rest, for their time was devoted to receiving the hurried visits of State and city officials, of naval and military officers, and of thousands of private citizens. One of the calls was that of a committee from Washington, to tell Dewey of the arrangements for his reception and the sword presentation there, and of an invitation to dine with President McKinley on October 3d.

On Thursday, Captain Lamberton of the Olympia had a pleasant task—that of pinning upon the breast of each man of Dewey's fleet who had taken part in the fight at Manila the bronze medal of honor voted him by Congress. That was followed by the presentation to Admiral Dewey of the first American admiral's flag ever flung to the breeze, the flag first hoisted to the mast-head of Farragut's flagship, the Hartford, before New Orleans.

Another thing very pleasing to the admiral was the receipt of an order from Washington granting special permission to the thirty-four Chinamen on board of the Olympia who had taken part in the battle at Manila to land and have a share in the great parade. The city was a blaze of flags and bunting by day, and of electric lights by night. On the Brooklyn Bridge over eight thousand electric bulbs were arranged to form the words "Welcome Dewey"; powerful searchlights flashed from the towers over city and bay, and red fire burned along shores on the vessels at night.

The naval parade on Friday was the most magnificent display of the kind ever seen in this country. The Olympia led the way, followed by battleships, cruisers, revenue cutters, torpedo boats, and innumerable craft of all descriptions. Over three million people lined the river banks to see the magnificent pageant. At Riverside—where Grant is buried—a salute was fired in his honor. Two beautiful allegorical floats were anchored there, representing "Victory" and "Peace." Here the Olympia and her consorts dropped anchor, while the long fleet passed in review. In the evening there was a fine electric and pyrotechnic display throughout the city and along the river.

The next day, Saturday, September 30, came the land parade, which was as interesting as had been the naval one. At five o'clock the admiral was up, and personally inspected his men. A committee of gentlemen escorted him to the City Hall, where he was met by Admiral Schley, Captain Walker, Captain Coghlan, Captain Dyer, Governor Roosevelt, and others who had won distinction in the war. It was observed that he greeted Schley with marked cordiality. From there the party went to a stand in front of the Hall, and Dewey was presented by Mayor Van Wyck, on behalf of the City of New York, with a handsome and costly loving cup of fine gold.

The admiral and his party then hastened to the pier to take the boat to Grant's tomb, where the procession formed. It was a great one, and every step of the way was an ovation. First came Sousa's immense band of musicians, then the sailor boys of Manila, the bluejackets of Santiago, and the boys from fifteen States, who had taken part in the Spanish-American war. The immense crowds along the sidewalks cheered them lustily; none more so than the "Fighting Tenth" of Pennsylvania.

But the part of the procession which attracted the most attention was the carriage drawn by four beautiful bay horses in which rode Admiral Dewey and Mayor Van Wyck. Dewey rode with uncovered head bowing right and left until he reached the reviewing stand. The triumphal arch with its marble-like colonnade made a beautiful picture. On its top was a heroic figure of Farragut—who gave Dewey his first lesson in sailing over hidden mines and destructive torpedoes—seeming to look down upon his brave and successful pupil with admiration and approval. The celebration was a great success, showing how heartily the American people appreciated their gallant hero. The next day, being the Sabbath, was spent in rest and comparative quiet. On Monday, October 2, Dewey went by rail from New York to Washington, his journey thither proving a continual ovation. It was in the early evening he reached that city, and as the train neared the station a battery boomed out the admiral's salute, announcing his arrival to the waiting multitudes. The Third Cavalry was there to receive him, and he was driven to the White House to pay his respects to the Chief of the Nation. He was warmly welcomed by the President and his Cabinet and many naval officers.

After that the entire party went to review the civic parade which had been planned in honor of the admiral.

The next day Admiral Dewey was presented with the sword voted him by Congress. A vast concourse of people assembled to witness the imposing and impressive ceremony, which took place in front of the Capitol, in the presence of the President and his Cabinet and the principal officers of the several departments of the government. General Miles was grand marshal of the escort, attended by a large staff of officers of the army and navy, all in full dress uniform and superbly mounted.

Just as the meridian gun sounded high noon, Admiral Dewey, leaning upon the President's arm, walked upon the platform. Following them were judges of the Supreme Court, governors of States, senators, and members of Congress, and the general officers of the army and navy.

Congress had directed that the sword should be presented by the Secretary of the Navy, and he did so in most appropriate and eloquent language.

"No captain," he said, "ever faced a more crucial test than when, that morning, bearing the fate and the honor of your country in your hand, thousands of miles from home, with every foreign port in the world shut to you, nothing between you and annihilation but the thin sheathing of your ships, your cannon, and your devoted officers and men, you moved upon the enemy's batteries on shore and on sea with unflinching faith and nerve, and before the sun was halfway up in the heavens had silenced the guns of the foe, sunk the hostile fleet, demonstrated the supremacy of the American sea power, and transferred to the United States an entire of the islands of the Pacific."

In closing his speech the Secretary handed the sword to the President as Commander-in Chief of the Army and Navy, and the President, speaking a few appropriate words as he did so, handed it to the admiral, who took it, saving:

"I thank you, Mr. President, for this great honor you have conferred upon me. I thank the Congress for what it has done. I thank the Secretary of the Navy for his gracious words. I thank my country for this beautiful gift, which shall be an heirloom in my family forever, as an evidence that republics are not ungrateful. And I thank you, Mr. Chairman and gentlemen of the committee, for the gracious, kindly, and cordial welcome which you have given me to my home."