At St. Petersburg Clara Barton and party were received by all the royalty of Russia; entertained by them at dinners, luncheons, on excursions, given free transportation with an escort, everywhere. At Carlsruhe she received signal honors at the hands of the Emperor and Empress of Germany, Grand Duke and Duchess of Baden, Grand Duchess Luise, Bismarck, Von Moltke, and other statesmen and military officers. At the palace of the Grand Duchess Louise, she had attendants liveried in “scarlet and gold”; received all the honors accorded to royalty; and on leaving for America all Royalty stood hat in hand wishing her _Bon Voyage_ and _Dieu Vous Benisse_!
Clara Barton is the greatest woman in the world.
Greatness is the courage to exercise common sense in high places.
General Shafter, while in Santiago as he had been at all other times, was the kind and courteous officer and gentleman.
In Cuba General Leonard Wood—alert, wise and untiring, with an eye single to the good of all—toiled day and night.
Take whatever three or four years of my existence you will, but leave the old army life _untouched_. CLARA BARTON.
THREE CHEERS—WILD SCENES IN BOSTON—TIGER!! NO, SWEETHEART
It was on the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Grand Army of the Republic, held at Atlanta, Georgia. Mrs. W. M. Scott, of O. M. Mitchell No. 2, W. R. C., was the President. At that meeting the President described the scene occurring at one of the sessions in Boston the previous year.
Mrs. Annie Wittenmeyer was the President of the W. R. C. at the session in Boston. As President she said: “I have the pleasure and the honor to introduce to you”—and hundreds of lips ejaculated “Clara Barton!” Then there occurred an ovation seldom witnessed. Handkerchiefs waved from every part of the hall, and loving little tears of tenderness streamed down the faces in that vast throng of admirers of the beloved woman. And Clara Barton talked. She, describing a former meeting, said (her voice tremulous): “They showed me the wounds they said _I_ had helped to heal, and the stubs of the limbs they said _I_ had tried to save, and they clustered around me like loving boys, and I—I cried, and they cried too; and we talked of those terrible times, and then we talked of those glorious times. They were grateful to me for what I had done for them, and I was grateful that I had the privilege of doing it.” “And,” says Mrs. Scott, “as Clara Barton told the simple story of her experiences with her soldier boys every one of us women, gazing at her, thought that if we did not have a sweetheart, or husband, at that time to nurse, well,—we wish we had.”