The years which had brought me such interesting work were full years also to my dear general. In June, 1888, he delivered an address to the graduating class at the Albany Law School—an address so inspiring, so highly commended at the time, that it should not be lost. He had been all his life intimately acquainted with the great legal lights abroad. They had given him his first aspirations, and been his inspired teachers ever after. And yet he could truthfully tell the American student:—

"Nor need we travel abroad for examples and illustrations of forensic oratory in its highest perfection; for in the sublime passion of Patrick Henry, in the gorgeous vehemence of Choate, in the brilliant and abounding fancy of Prentiss, and in the majestic simplicity of Webster, we find at home every beauty and every power of eloquence displayed with an effect not inferior to the achievements of the mighty masters of antiquity."

Diligently as he studied his profession, he found time for lighter, but not perhaps really more congenial, occupations. From time to time he addressed college societies on literary themes. He wrote for the North American Review, the Forum, and the "EncyclopÆdia Britannica." Like his public addresses, his writing was said to display ripe scholarship and a clear, polished style. The highest note was never too high for him!

He would have had to be "made all over again," had he felt no interest in politics. He was born, as he often declared, "a Presbyterian and a Democrat," and he never faltered in allegiance to either. "Oh, God guide us aright," prayed a member of the body that framed the Westminster Catechism, "for thou knowest we are very determined." Having set out in one direction, the worthy brother doubted the power of the Almighty himself to alter his course!

Although my Husband refrained from political talk or discussion, he was glad to be sent to the convention that nominated Mr. Tilden. But probably his first conspicuous appearance on the political theatre was the Gubernatorial Convention at Syracuse, of which he drew the platform, and which resulted in the candidacy of Mr. Cleveland. That platform was acknowledged to have aided materially in the election of Mr. Cleveland. Its author's address in presenting it was much applauded.

Just as I closed my Jacksonville work, my general argued and won his great Sugar Trust case. "Had he done nothing else," said one whose word means much, "he could point to this case as an enduring monument." His rapid rise to fame at the bar is well known. "His legal victories would make a long list," says a contemporary writer, "but he never shrank from a suit because it was unpopular or because the legal odds were many against its success, however just it might be. His deep knowledge of law, his readiness of resource, his care in preparing his case, his unfailing good humor, his pluck, ardor, and clearness in pleading, have made him influential and successful in the courts." Beginning with the Tilton-Beecher suit, he was counsel in the Morey Letter case and the Holland murder trial. He was also engaged in the suits against Governor Sprague in Rhode Island, and the Ames impeachment proceedings in Mississippi. He was the first to win a suit against the Elevated Railroad Company for damages to adjoining property. He was also counsel in the Hoyt will case, the Chicago anarchist trials, and now in the Sugar Trust suit, in which he was successful in the New York City courts as well as in the Court of Appeals. At the time of his direst distress he refused a suit against the good Peter Cooper.

It was in 1889 that my husband suggested and conducted the suit against the Sugar Trust, the first litigation in any court or any state against combinations in restraint of trade; and as he was successful against powerful opposition, he acquired a prestige which was the immediate occasion of his appointment to the bench.

On October 9, 1890, Mr. John Russell Young gave a dinner in his honor at the Astor House—a dinner notable for the number of distinguished guests. Among them, Hon. Grover Cleveland, General Sherman, General Sickles, Henry George, Daniel Dougherty, Daniel Lamont, W. J. Florence, Mark Twain, John B. Haskin, Joseph Jefferson, Thomas Nast, Judge Brady, Judge Joseph F. Daly, Murat Halsted, Senator Hearst,—was ever such a company? Laying his hand on my husband's shoulder, General Sherman said: "We would have done all this for him long ago, but he had to be such a rebel!"

He had been appointed to fill the unexpired term of a retiring judge. The next year he came before the people for election, and was chosen by a great majority of many thousand votes to be judge of the Court of Pleas, and soon afterwards became judge of the Supreme Court of New York.

He was welcomed to the bench by every possible expression of cordial good-will, confidence, admiration. Again there was no dissenting voice. At a celebration, not long after, of Grant's birthday, he was one of those invited to speak, and was thus introduced by General Horace Porter: "Gentlemen, we have a distinguished general here to-night who fought with us in the war—but not on the same side. It has been said that it is astounding how you like a man after you fight him! That is the reason we have him here to-night to give him a warm reception. He always gave us a warm reception. He used to take us, and provide for us, and was willing to keep us out of harm's way while hostilities lasted—unless sooner exchanged. He was always in the front, and his further appearance in the front to-night is a reflection upon the accuracy of our marksmanship. Not knowing how to punish him there, we brought him up to New York, and sentenced him to fourteen years' hard labor on the bench."

He brought to the bench the habits of self-denial and unremitting study he had practised for twenty years. During all that time, and after, nobody ever saw him at a place of amusement, theatre, ball, or opera, and very rarely at a dinner-party. He knew no part of New York except the streets he traversed to and from his office or court room. His brief summer holidays were spent at the White Sulphur Springs in Virginia, where his studies continued. In 1895 he there addressed the Virginia Bar Association on the influence of Virginia in the formation of the Federal Constitution, and I venture to say that whoever reads it in its printed form will find interesting historical facts not generally known. In accordance with my plan to permit his contemporaries to tell the story of his public life, I copy one testimonial from a Richmond paper: "Judge Pryor made a splendid address. It was an ornate, learned, and eminently instructive production, and attested the jealous devotion of a distinguished son of Virginia for the old commonwealth, and his careful study of her political history. It did honor to the gentleman who made the address and to the profession of which he is a shining light."

Whatever he wrote was always read aloud and copied at home, until my daughter Gordon left us, even the legal arguments so dimly understood by her. Apart from the technical difficulties, she could always receive some impression from his argument, and the impression upon her singularly clear, unprejudiced mind was what he wished to know. Our own turn in reading aloud gave him a delicious opportunity to correct our pronunciation. His patience could never brook a mispronounced word—and alas, after Gordon married I found myself too old that I might learn. However, he patiently continues to struggle with me.

Once, at the White Sulphur Springs, a beautiful Virginia girl was under my care. My general was absorbed,—it was the summer he made his speech,—and did not render the homage to which the pair of blue eyes was accustomed. "I don't think the judge likes me," she complained; "he never has a word to say to me. He looks as if he's always thinking about something else."

"Lizzie," I suggested, "you must mispronounce a word or two, and we'll see what effect that will have." We put our heads together and made out a list for her to commit to memory. At dinner she fastened her eye upon our victim, and commenced,—offering a flower,—" It's not very pretty, but the perfume´,—" "I beg your pardon, Miss—, per´fume, accent on first syllable!" he exclaimed. "Oh, you're so kind, Judge! This just il´lustrates—" "Illus´trate, my dear young lady!—accent on second syllable, but pray go on." "I've never had anybody to tell me any of these things," she moaned. "If you only would—" "With pleasure! A beautiful young lady should be perfect in speech, as in all things." The little minx played her part to perfection. Presently, overcome with the ludicrous situation, she excused herself, and my dear innocent remarked, as his admiring eyes followed her, "An uncommonly sensible girl that!"

I enjoyed a bit of newspaper gossip about this peculiarity of my dear general. A physician was testifying before him in a malpractice case, and repeatedly used the word "pare´sis," accenting the second syllable. The judge exhibited extreme restlessness, and finally ventured, "Excuse me—the word you mean is possibly par´esis?" As the witness proceeded, the offence was repeated and again corrected. "Now, your Honor," said the offender, "I concede all wisdom to the bench in legal matters, but I am a physician, and in the profession the word is pare´sis." "It is par´esis in my court," was the decision promptly handed down, with an emphasis that forbade appeal.

I am sorry I cannot record his services to his country and his profession during the seven years before he was overtaken by the age-limit prescribed by New York law—his championship of maligned women, his decision that divorce cases should not be tried secretly but must be held in open court—now become a law—his restriction of the right of naturalization to at least knowledge of the English language. I cannot go into these learned subjects as I trust some one of the profession will do some day. I only record that my dear general, as was conceded by every one, fulfilled the sacred trust—"he was a father to the poor, and the cause that he knew not he searched out."

This public recognition of his ability and worth, with its opportunity for larger usefulness, came at last as the crown of his long and heroic struggle. The war had left him with nothing but a ragged uniform, his sword, a wife, and seven children,—his health, his occupation, his place in the world, gone; his friends and comrades slain in battle; his Southern home impoverished and desolate. He had no profession, no rights as a citizen, no ability to hold office. That he conquered the fate which threatened to destroy him,—and conquered it through the appreciation awarded by his sometime enemies,—is a striking illustration of the possibilities afforded by our country; where not only can the impoverished refugee from other lands find fortune and happiness, but where her own sons, prostrate and ruined after a dreadful fratricidal strife, can bind their wounds, take up their lives again, and finally win reward for their labors.