On a dinner in 1903 with Horace H. Lurton, a federal judge from Tennessee.

There were perhaps a dozen people at the table, and my husband, being in the best of spirits, began to tell the company some of his experiences in the Civil War.

He was describing a hurried and exciting march which he and his regiment made through Tennessee and Kentucky in pursuit of the daring Confederate raider, John Morgan. He came to a point in his story where he and the advance guard of the pursuing Union troops had nearly overtaken the rear-guard of Morgan's men, who had just crossed a little stream near Hartsville, Tenn., and were being fired upon by the Union men from the opposite shore.

Suddenly, Judge Lurton . . . laid down his knife and fork, leaned back in his chair, his face aglow with surprise and wonder, and called out to my husband in a voice of great excitement, ''Harlan, is it possible I am just finding out who it was that tried to shoot me on that never-to-be-forgotten-day?''

In a tone of equal surprise . . . my husband said, ''Lurton, do you mean to tell me that you were with Morgan on that raid? Now I know why I did not catch up with him; and I thank God I didn't hit you that day.''

The whole company was thrilled by the belated but dramatic sequel to my husband's story, as they realized afresh how completely the wounds of that fratricidal war had been healed; for there were those two men, fellow citizens of this one and united country, serving together as Judges on the Federal Bench. It was as if there had been no Civil War.

In Venice, on her first trip to Italy.

I shall not attempt to describe my impressions of that wonderful city where the sound of horses' hoofs are never heard, nor speak of the matchless works of art that are the pride and glory of Venice.

The picture that especially stands out in my memories of Venice is Titian's ''Assumption of the Virgin Mary.'' . . . The guide, as if to emphasize the wonder of it, led us through a side passage and suddenly brought us in awed silence before that immortal symbol of Universal Motherhood. The picture was so exactly what my imagination had painted that I felt for the moment that I had seen it before. . . . I had just the same feeling on my first visit to Westminster Abbey; it was as if I had grown up under its very shadows. I suppose we have all had these curious feelings at times, in which we seem to live over again the experiences of a former existence, and I sometimes wonder if that is what Life Everlasting may mean.