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 Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, 
 
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JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 1819-1910 
 
MRS. HOWE 
 From a painting by John Elliott, 1908 
 
JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 1819-1910 
 
 BY 
 
 LAURA E. RICHARDS 
 
 AND 
 
 MAUD HOWE ELLIOTT 
 
 Boston and New York 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 Ctje £ibersitJc $«ss Cambridge 
 1925 
 
COPYRIGHT, I9IS, BY LAURA E. RICHARDS AND MAUD HOWE ELLIOTT 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Q$e JMUmbHw Press 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. 
 
To 
 HENRY MARION HOWE 
 
NOTE 
 
 Fifteen years have passed since Mrs. Howe's death, and the two- 
 volume edition of her ' Life and Letters ' is exhausted. The editors 
 feel that though her own generation has passed, the story of her life 
 and work must still appeal to thoughtful people. This volume is 
 therefore offered as containing the record of what seems most vital 
 and permanent in her ninety-one years of 'learning, teaching, 
 serving, enjoying.' 
 
 October, 1925 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. Ancestral 3 
 
 II. Little Julia Ward. 1819-1835 7 
 
 III. 'The Corner.' 1835-1839 18 
 
 IV. Girlhood. 1839-1843 27 
 V. Travel. 1843-1844 40 
 
 VI. South Boston. 1844-1851 51 
 
 Vn. 'Passion Flowers.' 1852-1858 66 
 
 VIII. Little Sammy: The Civil War. 1859-1863 85 
 
 IX. No. 13 Chestnut Street, Boston. 1864 96 
 
 X. The Wider Outlook. 1865 108 
 
 XI. No. 19 Boylston Place: 'Later Lyrics.' 1866 121 
 
 XII. Greece and Other Lands. 1867 135 
 
 XIII. Concerning Clubs. 1867-1871 147 
 
 XIV. The Peace Crusade. 1870-1872 158 
 XV. Santo Domingo. 1872-1874 171 
 
 XVI. The Last of Green Peace. 1872-1876 183 
 
 XVII. The Woman's Cause. 1868-1910 196 
 
 XVin. Europe Revisited. 1877 211 
 
 XLX. A Roman Winter. 1878-1879. 224 
 
 XX. Newport. 1879-1882 235 
 
 XXI. 241 Beacon Street: The New Orleans Exposition. 
 
 1883-1885 254 
 
 XXII. More Changes. 1886-1888 273 
 XXin. Seventy Years Young. 1889-1890 289 
 XXIV. A Summer Abroad. 1892-1893 301 
 
x CONTENTS 
 
 XXV. 'Divers Good Causes.' 1890-1896 313 
 
 XXVI. In the House of Labor. 1896-1897 328 
 
 XXVII. The Last Roman Winter. 1897-1898 341 
 
 XXVIII. Eighty Years. 1899-1900 354 
 
 XXIX. Stepping Westward. 1901-1902 368 
 
 XXX. Looking Toward Sunset. 1903-1905 383 
 
 XXXI. 'The Sundown Splendid and Serene.' 1906-1907 402 
 
 XXXII. 'Mine Eyes have Seen the Glory of the Coming 
 
 of the Lord.' 1908-1910 416 
 
 Index 443 
 
JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 1819-1910 
 
JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ANCESTRAL 
 
 These are my people, quaint and ancient, 
 Gentlefolks with their prim old ways; 
 This, their leader come from England, 
 Governed a State in early days. 
 
 I must vanish with my ancients, 
 But a golden web of love 
 Is around us and beneath us, 
 Binds us to our home above. 
 
 Julia Ward Howe. 
 
 Our mother was once present at a meeting where there was 
 talk of ancestry and heredity. One of the speakers dwelt 
 largely upon the sins of the fathers. He drew stern pictures 
 of the vice, the barbarism, the heathenism of the 'good old 
 times,' and ended by saying with emphasis that he felt him- 
 self ''bowed down beneath the burden of the sins of his 
 ancestors' 
 
 Our mother was on her feet in a flash. 
 
 'Mr. So-and-So,' she said, 'is bowed down by the sins of 
 his ancestors. I wish to say that all my life I have been 
 buoyed up and lifted on by the remembrance of the virtues 
 of mine!' 
 
 Her first known ancestor, John Ward, of Gloucester, Eng- 
 land, sometime cavalry officer in Cromwell's army, came to 
 this country after the Restoration and settled at Newport 
 in Rhode Island. His son Thomas married Amy Smith, a 
 granddaughter of Roger Williams. Thomas's son Richard 
 became Governor of Rhode Island and had fourteen children, 
 among them Samuel, who in turn became Governor of the 
 Colony, and a member of the Continental Congress. He 
 was the only Colonial governor who refused to take the oath 
 
4 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 to enforce the Stamp Act. In 1775, in the Continental Con- 
 gress, he was made Chairman of the Committee of the Whole, 
 which from 1774 to 1776 sat daily, working without inter- 
 mission in the cause of independence. But though one of 
 the framers of the 'Declaration,' he was not destined to be a 
 'signer.' John Adams says of him, 'When he was seized 
 with the smallpox he said that if his vote and voice were nec- 
 essary to support the cause of his country, he should live ; if 
 not, he should die. He died, and the cause of his country 
 was supported, but it lost one of its most sincere and punctual 
 advocates.' 
 
 The correspondence between Governor Ward and General 
 Washington has been preserved. In one letter the latter 
 says: 'I think, should occasion offer, I shall be able to give 
 you a good account of your son, as he seems a sensible, well- 
 informed young man.' 
 
 This young man was Samuel Ward, Lieutenant-Colonel 
 of the First Rhode Island Regiment, and our mother's 
 grandfather. 1 
 
 Our mother inherited many traits from the Wards, among 
 them a force and integrity of purpose, a strength of character, 
 and a certain business instinct which sometimes cropped up 
 when least expected, and which caused some of her family 
 to call her the 'banker's daughter.' 
 
 Those were also solid qualities which she inherited from 
 the Rhode Island Greenes. Greenes of Warwick, Greenes of 
 East Greenwich; all through Colonial and Revolutionary 
 history we find their names. Sturdy, active, patriotic men: 
 Generals, Colonels, and Governors of 'Rhode Island and 
 Providence Plantations,' chief among them Governor William 
 Greene, the 'War Governor,' and General Nathanael Greene 
 of glorious memory. 
 
 Our liveliest association with the name of Greene is the 
 memory of Mrs. Nancy Greene, first cousin of our grand- 
 father Ward and daughter-in-law of the General who died 
 in Middletown, Rhode Island, in 1886, at the age of one 
 
 1 Born 1756, died 1832. He graduated in 1771 from Rhode Island College 
 (now Brown University) with distinguished honors. 
 
ANCESTRAL 5 
 
 hundred and two. This lady was dear to our mother as the 
 one remaining link with her father's generation. A visit to 
 'Cousin Nancy' was one of her great pleasures, and we chil- 
 dren were happy if we were allowed to accompany her. The 
 old lady sat erect and dignified in her straight-backed chair, 
 and the two discoursed at length of days gone by. To Cousin 
 Nancy 'Julia' was always young, though the 'Battle Hymn of 
 the Republic' was already written when the old lady charged 
 her to 'cultivate a literary taste.' On another occasion — it 
 was one of the later visits — she said with emphasis, 'Julia, 
 do not allow yourself to grow old! When you feel that you 
 cannot do a thing, get up and do it!' Julia never forgot this 
 advice. 
 
 Cousin Nancy never read a novel in her life, as she 
 announced with pride. She wished to read the 'Annals of 
 the Schonberg-Cotta Family,' but, finding it to be a work of 
 fiction, decided not to break her rule. She was a fond and 
 pious mother; when her son needed chastisement, she would 
 pray over him so long that he would cry out, 'Mother, it is 
 time to begin whipping!' 
 
 If Julia Ward was part Ward and Greene, she was quite 
 as much Cutler and Marion ; it is to this descent that we must 
 turn for the best explanation of her many-sided character. 
 
 When she said of any relation, however distant, 'He is a 
 Cutler!' it meant that she recognized in that person certain 
 qualities — a warmth of temperament, a personality glowing, 
 sparkling, effervescent — akin to her own. If in addition to 
 these qualities the person had red hair, she took him to her 
 heart, and he could do no wrong. All this, and a host of 
 tender associations beside, the name of Cutler meant to her; 
 yet it may be questioned whether any of these characteristics 
 would have appeared in the descendants of Johannes Demes- 
 maker, worthy citizen of Holland, who, coming to this coun- 
 try in 1674, changed his name to Cutler for convenience' 
 sake, had not one of these descendants, Benjamin Clarke 
 Cutler, married Sarah (Mitchell) Hyrne, daughter of Thomas 
 Mitchell and Esther (or Hester) Marion. 
 
 To most people, the name of Marion suggests one person 
 
6 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 only, — General Francis Marion of Revolutionary fame. This 
 hero of history, song, and romance was childless ; our mother 
 could claim as near relationship to him as could any of her 
 generation. She was extremely proud of this kinship, and 
 no one who knew her could doubt that from the Marions she 
 inherited many vital qualities. One winter, toward the end 
 of her life, there was a meeting at the Old South Church at 
 which — as at the gathering described at the beginning of this 
 chapter — there was talk of ancestry and kindred topics. The 
 weather was stormy, our mother well on in the eighties, but 
 she was there. Being called on to speak, she made a brief 
 address in the course of which she alluded to her Southern 
 descent, and to General Francis Marion, her great-great- 
 uncle. As she spoke her eyes lightened with mirth, in the 
 way we all remember: 'General Marion,' she said, 'was 
 known in his generation as the "Swamp Fox"; and when I 
 succeed in eluding the care of my guardians, children and 
 grandchildren, and coming to a meeting like this, I think I 
 may be said to have inherited some of his characteristics!' 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 LITTLE JULIA WARD 
 1819-1835; aet. 1-16 
 
 Samuel Ward, fifth son of the Revolutionary Colonel, 
 became a New York banker, one of the most honored and 
 respected of his time. He was founder and first president 
 of the Bank of Commerce; one of the founders of the New 
 York University and of the Stuyvesant Institute, etc., etc. 
 
 In 1812 he married Julia Rush Cutler, second daughter 
 of Benjamin Clarke and Sarah Mitchell (Hyrne) Cutler, 
 Julia Cutler was sixteen years old at the time of her marriage, 
 lovely in character and beautiful in person. She had been 
 a pupil of the saintly Isabella Graham, and her literary taste 
 had been carefully cultivated in the style of the day. One of 
 her poems, found in Griswold's 'Female Poets of America,' 
 shows the deeply religious cast of her mind ; yet she was full 
 of gentle gayety, loved music, laughter, and pretty things. 
 
 During the first years of their married life, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ward lived in Marketfield Street, near the Battery. Here 
 four children were born, Samuel and Henry, and the two 
 Julias. She who was known as 'the first little Julia' lived 
 only four years. During her fatal illness her father was 
 called away by urgent business. In great distress of mind, 
 he arranged that certain tokens should inform him of the 
 child's condition. A few days later, as he was riding home- 
 ward, a messenger came to meet him and silently laid in his 
 hand a tiny shoe: the child was dead. 
 
 Not long after this, on May 27, 1819, a second daughter 
 was born, the subject of this memoir, and named Julia. 
 
 Julia was to retain through life the memories of the dear 
 mother so early lost. She remembered her first sewing- 
 lesson; how being told to take the needle in one hand she 
 straightway placed the thimble on the other. She remem- 
 bered her first efforts to say 'mother,' and how 'muzzer' was 
 
8 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 all she could produce, till 'the dear parent presently said, 
 "if you cannot do better than that, you will have to go back 
 and call me 'mamma'." The shame of going back moved 
 me to one last effort, and summoning my utmost strength of 
 tongue I succeeded in saying "mother." ' 
 
 All devices to restore the young mother's failing strength 
 were in vain: soon after giving birth to the fourth daughter, 
 Ann Eliza, she died. 
 
 Her life had been pure, happy, and unselfish; yet her last 
 hours were full of anguish. Reared in the strictest tenets of 
 Evangelical piety, she was oppressed with terror concerning 
 the fate of her soul; the sorrows of death compassed her 
 about, the pains of hell gat hold upon her. It is piteous to 
 read of the sufferings of this innocent creature, as described 
 by her mourning family; piteous, too, to realize, by the light 
 of to-day, that she was almost literally prayed to death. She 
 was twenty-seven years old when she died and had borne 
 seven children. 
 
 Mr. Ward's grief at the death of this beloved wife was so 
 extreme as to bring on a severe illness. For some time he 
 could not bear to see the child who, he thought, had cost her 
 mother's life; and though he gathered his other children 
 tenderly around him, the litde Annie was kept out of his 
 sight. 
 
 By and by his father came to make him a visit and heard 
 of this state of things. Going to the nursery, the old gende- 
 man took the baby from its nurse, and, carrying it into the 
 room where his son sat desolate, laid it gently in his arms. 
 From that moment the litde youngest became almost his 
 dearest care. 
 
 He could not live with his sorrow in the same dwelling 
 that had contained his joy. The beautiful house at Bowling 
 Green was sold, with the new furniture which had lately been 
 ordered to please his Julia, and which the children never saw 
 uncovered; and the family removed to Bond Street, then at 
 the upper end of New York City. 
 
 'Mr. Ward,' said his friends, 'you are going out of town!' 
 
 1 Reminiscences, p. 8. 
 
LITTLE JULIA WARD 9 
 
 The first settler in the street was Jonas Minturn, who 
 about 1825 built No. 22. Mr. Ward came next. The city was 
 then so remote, one could hardly see the houses to the south 
 across the woods and fields. 
 
 The Ward children saw the street grow up around them; 
 saw the dignified houses, brick or freestone, built and occu- 
 pied by Kings, Halls, Morgans, Grinnells, most of all by 
 Wards. Mr. Ward was then at No. 16; his father, the old 
 Revolutionary soldier, soon came to live at No. 7, with his 
 daughter Anne; his brother Henry was first at No. 14, then at 
 No. 23 ; while his brother John was to make No. 8 a dwelling 
 beloved by three generations. 
 
 Julia's nursery recollections were chiefly of No. 16 Bond 
 Street. Here the little Wards lived a happy but somewhat 
 sober life, under the watchful care of their father, and their 
 faithful Aunt Eliza, known in the family as 'Auntie Francis.' 
 
 The young mother, in dying, had commended her children 
 specially to the care of this, her eldest sister, whose ability 
 had been tried and proved from childhood. In 1810 her 
 father, Benjamin Clarke Cutler, died suddenly under singular 
 and painful circumstances. Her mother, crushed by this 
 event, took to her bed, leaving the care of the family to 
 Eliza, then fifteen years of age. Eliza took up the house- 
 mother's burden without question; nursed her mother, hus- 
 banded the narrow resources of the household, brought up 
 the four younger children with a strong hand. 'There were 
 giants in those days.' 
 
 Nothing could daunt Eliza Cutler's spirits, which were a 
 perpetual cordial to those around her. She was often 'bor- 
 rowed' by one member and another of the family; she threat- 
 ened to hang a sign over her door with the inscription, 'Cheer- 
 ing done here by the job by E. Cuder.' Her tongue could be 
 sharp as well as merry; witness many anecdotes. 
 
 The housekeeper of a certain millionaire, calling upon 
 her to ask the character of a servant, took occasion to enlarge 
 upon the splendors of her employer's establishment. 'Mr. 
 So-and-So keeps this; Mr. So-and-So keeps that: — ' 
 
 'Yes! yes!' said Mrs. Francis; 'it is well known that Mr. So- 
 
10 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 and-So keeps everything except the Ten Commandments!' 
 
 'Oh! Mrs. Francis, how could you?' cried the poor million- 
 aire when next they met. 
 
 In 1829 Eliza Cutler married Dr. John Wakefield Francis, 
 the historian of Old New York, the beloved physician of a 
 whole generation. He was already a member of the Ward 
 household, friend and resident physician. His tremendous 
 vitality, his quick sympathies, his amazing flow of vivid and 
 picturesque language, made him the delight of the children. 
 He called them by singular pet names, 'Cream Cheese from 
 the Dairy of Heaven,' 'Pocket Edition of Lives of the Saints,' 
 etc., etc. , 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe said of Dr. Francis that his conversation 
 was 'a sort of Roman punch, made up of tragedy, comedy, 
 and the broadest of all possible farce.' 
 
 In those days 'The Raven,' newly published, was the talk 
 of the town. Dr. Francis, meeting Poe, invited him to come 
 to his house on a certain evening, and straightway forgot the 
 matter. Poe came at the appointed time. The Doctor, sum- 
 moned to the bedside of a patient, left the drawing-room 
 hastily, and in the anteroom ran into a tall, cadaverous figure 
 in black. Seizing him in his arms, he carried him into the 
 drawing-room and set him down before his wife. 'Eliza, my 
 dear — the Raven!' and he departed, leaving guest and hostess 
 (the latter had never heard of 'The Raven'!) equally petrified. 
 
 Mrs. Francis adored her husband, yet he must sometimes 
 have tried her patience sorely. One evening they had a din- 
 ner party, eighteen covers, a state occasion. Midway in the 
 repast the Doctor rose, and begging the guests to excuse him 
 and his wife for a moment, led her, speechless with amaze- 
 ment, into the next room. Here he proceeded to bleed her, 
 removing twelve ounces of blood; replying to her piteous 
 protestations, 'Madam, I saw that you were on the point of 
 apoplexy, and I judge it best to avert it.' 
 
 In strong contrast with 'Uncle Doctor' was 'Uncle Ben,' the 
 Reverend Benjamin Clarke Cutler, for many years rector of 
 St. Anne's Church, Brooklyn. This uncle was much less to 
 Julia's taste: indeed, she was known to stamp her childish 
 
LITTLE JULIA WARD 11 
 
 foot, and cry, 'I don't care for old Ben Cutler!' Neverthe- 
 less he was a saintly and interesting person. 
 
 There are many anecdotes of Uncle Ben. Once, during 
 his early ministry, he was riding in a crowded stage-coach. 
 One of the passengers swore profusely and continuously, to 
 the manifest annoyance of the others. Presently Dr. Cutler, 
 leaning forward, addressed the swearer. 
 
 'Sir,' he said, 'you are fond of blasphemy; I am fond of 
 prayer. This is a public conveyance, and for the remainder 
 of our journey, as often as you swear aloud, I shall pray 
 aloud, and we will see who comes off best.' The swearing 
 stopped! 
 
 In his later years, he met one day a parishioner clad in 
 deep mourning for a near relative. The old clergyman laid 
 his hand on the crape sleeve. 'What!' he said sternly. 
 'Heathen mourning for a Christian saint!' 
 
 But of all the uncles (and there were many) the beloved 
 Uncle John Ward was always first. Of him, through many 
 years Julia's devoted friend and chief adviser, we shall speak 
 later on. 
 
 We have dwelt upon the generation preceding our mother's, 
 because all these people, the beautiful mother so early lost, 
 so long loved and mourned, the sternly devoted father, the 
 vivacious aunts, the stalwart uncles, were strong influences in 
 the life of Julia Ward. 
 
 The amusements of the little Wards were few, compared 
 with those of children of to-day. As a child of seven, Julia 
 was taken twice to the opera, and heard Malibran, then Sig- 
 norina Garcia, a pleasure the memory of which remained 
 with her through life. About this time Mr. Ward's views of 
 religious duty deepened in stringency and in gloom. There 
 was no more opera, nor did Julia ever attend a theatre until 
 she was a grown woman. In Low Church circles at that time, 
 the drama was considered distinctly of the devil. The burn- 
 ing of the first Bowery Theatre and of the great theatre at 
 Richmond, Virginia, were spoken of as 'judgments.' Many 
 an Evangelical pastor 'improved' the occasions from the 
 pulpit. 
 
12 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The child inherited a strong dramatic sense from the 
 Marion Cutlers. She had barely learned to read when she 
 found in an 'Annual' a tale called "The Iroquois Bride,' 
 which she dramatized and presented to the nursery audience, 
 with herself for the bride, her brother Marion for the lover, 
 and a stool for the rock they ascended to stab each other. 
 The performance was not approved by Authority, and the 
 book was promptly taken away. 
 
 Her first written drama was composed at the age of nine, 
 but even the name of it is lost. 
 
 Marion was as pious as he was warlike. His morning ser- 
 mons, delivered over the back of a chair, were fervent and 
 eloquent; he was only seven years old when he wrote to his 
 Cousin Henry Ward, who was ill with some childish 
 ailment: — 
 
 'Do not forget to say your prayers every morning and eve- 
 ning. I hope that you trust in God ; and, my dear cousin, do 
 not set your mind too much on Earthly things! And my dear 
 cousin, this is the prayer.' 
 
 Follows the Lord's Prayer carefully written out. On the 
 next page of the same sheet, the eight-year-old Julia adds her 
 exhortation : — 
 
 'Dear Cousin, I hope that you will say the Prayer which my 
 Brother has written for you. I hear with regret that you are 
 sick, and it is as necessary as ever that you should trust in 
 God ; love him, dear Henry, and you will see Death approach- 
 ing with joy. Oh, what are earthly things, which we must all 
 lose when we die — to our immortal souls which never die! I 
 cannot bear the thought of anybody who is dying without a 
 knowledge of Christ. We may die before tomorrow, and 
 therefore, we ought to be prepared for death.' 
 
 This was scarcely cheering for Henry, aged ten ; as a mat- 
 ter of fact, he was to have half a century in which to make his 
 preparations. 
 
 Some of the nursery recollections were the reverse of 
 merry. When Julia was still a little child, the old house- 
 keeper died. The children loved her, and Auntie Francis did 
 not wish them to be saddened by the funeral preparations; 
 
LITTLE JULIA WARD 13 
 
 she gave them a good dose of physic all round and put them 
 to bed for the day. 
 
 Julia was a beautiful child, but she had red hair, which 
 was then considered a sad drawback. She could remember 
 visitors condoling with her mother on this misfortune, and 
 the gentle lady deploring it also, and striving by the use of 
 washes and leaden combs to darken the over-bright locks. 
 Still, some impression of good looks must have reached the 
 child's mind ; for one day, desiring to know what she really 
 was like, she scrambled up on a chair, then on a dressing- 
 table, and took a good look in the mirror. 
 
 'Is that all?' she cried, and scrambled down again, a sadly 
 disappointed child. 
 
 Her first lessons were from governesses and masters ; when 
 she was nine years old, she was sent to a private school in 
 the neighborhood. She was placed in a class with older girls, 
 and learned by heart many pages of Paley's 'Moral Phi- 
 losophy'; memorizing from text-books formed in those days 
 a great part of the school curriculum. She did not care espe- 
 cially for Paley, and found chemistry (without experiments!) 
 and geometry far more interesting; but history and languages 
 were the studies she loved. She had learned in the nursery 
 to speak French fluendy; she soon began the study of Latin. 
 Hearing a class reciting an Italian lesson, she was enchanted 
 with the musical sound of the language; listened and marked, 
 day after day, and presently handed to the amazed principal 
 a note correctly written in Italian, begging permission to join 
 the class. 
 
 At nine years old she was reading 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and 
 seeking its characters in the people she met every day. She 
 always counted it one of the books which had most influenced 
 her. Another was Gibbon's 'Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire,' which she read at seventeen. 1 
 
 She began at an early age to write verse. A manuscript 
 volume has been preserved in which some of these early 
 poems were copied for her father. 
 
 'In later life she added to these the works of Spinoza, and of Theodore 
 Parker. 
 
14 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The title-page and dedication are here reproduced: — 
 
 Poems 
 
 Dedicated to 
 
 Samuel Ward esq 
 
 By His 
 
 affectionate daughter 
 
 Julia Ward. 
 
 LET ME BE THINE! 
 
 Regard not with a critic's eye. 
 
 New York 1831. 
 
 To Samuel Ward. 
 Beloved father, 
 
 Expect not to find in these juvenile productions the 
 delicacy and grace which pervaded the writings of that dear parent 
 who is now in glory. I am indeed conscious of the many faults 
 they contain, but my object in presenting you with these (original) 
 poems, has been to give you a little memorial of my early life, and 
 I entreat you to remember that they were written in the eleventh, 
 twelfth, and thirteenth years of my life. 
 
 Your loving daughter, Julia. 
 
 The titles show the trend of the child's thought: 'All things 
 shall pass away' ; 'We return no more' ; 'Invitation to Youth' 
 (1831!) ; 'To my dear Mother'; 'Mine is the power to make 
 thee whole'; 'To an infant's departing spirit'; 'Redeeming 
 Love' ; 'My Heavenly Home,' etc., etc. 
 
 It may have been about this time that she tried to lead 
 her sisters into the path of poesy. 
 
 Coming one day into the nursery, in serious mood, she 
 found the two little girls playing some childish game. Miss 
 Ward (she was always Miss Ward, even in the nursery!) 
 rebuked them for their frivolity; bade them turn their 
 thoughts to graver matters, and write poetry. 
 
 Louisa refused point-blank, but little Annie, always anx- 
 ious to please, went dutifully to work and produced the 
 following lines : — 
 
 He feeds the ravens when they call, 
 And stands them in a pleasant hall. 
 
LITTLE JULIA WARD IS 
 
 'Mitter Ward' (to give him his nursery tide) treasured 
 these tokens of pious and literary promise. He even re- 
 sponded in kind, as is shown by some verses which are 
 endorsed: — 
 
 "From my clearest Father. 
 
 Julia Euphrosyne Ward [sic]." 
 
 His letters are full of playful affection. He would fain 
 be father and mother both to the children who were now his 
 all. Under the austere exterior lay a tenderness which per- 
 haps they hardly comprehended at the time. It was in fact 
 this very anguish of solicitude, this passionate wish that they 
 should not only have, but be everything desirable and lovely, 
 that made him outwardly so stern. . This sterner note im- 
 pressed itself so deeply upon the minds of his children that 
 the anecdotes familiar to our own generation echo it. We 
 see the little Julia, weary with long riding in the family coach, 
 suffering her knees to drop apart childwise, and we hear Mr. 
 Ward say: 'My daughter, if you cannot sit like a lady, we 
 will stop at the next tailor's and have you measured for a 
 pair of pantaloons!' 
 
 Or we hear the child at table, remarking innocently that 
 the cheese is strong; and the deep voice replying, 'It is no 
 more so than the expression, Miss!' 
 
 The family was still at 16 Bond Street when all the chil- 
 dren had whooping-cough severely, and were confined to the 
 house for many weeks. Mrs. Mailliard writes of this time: — 
 
 'I remember the screened-off corner of the dining-room, 
 which was called the Bower, where we each retired when the 
 spasms came on, and the promises which we vainly gave 
 each other each morning to choke rather than cough whilst 
 Uncle Doctor made his visit to the nursery; for the slightest 
 sound from one of us provoked the general order of a dose 
 all round.' 
 
 It was after this illness that Julia Ward first went to New- 
 port. A change of air was prescribed for the children, and 
 they were packed off to the farmhouse of Jacob Bailey, two or 
 three miles from the town of Newport. Here they spent a 
 
16 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 happy summer, to be followed by many others. They slept 
 on mattresses stuffed with ground corncobs; the table was 
 primitive; but there was plenty of cream and curds, eggs and 
 butter, and there was the wonderful air. The children grew 
 fat and hearty, and scampered all over the island with great 
 delight. 
 
 (But when they went down to the beach, Julia must wear 
 a thick green worsted veil to preserve her ivory-and-rose 
 complexion. 
 
 'Little Julia has another freckle to-day!' a visitor was told. 
 'It was not her fault, the nurse forgot her veil!') 
 
 Julia recalled Newport in 1832 as 'a forsaken, mildewed 
 place, a sort of intensified Salem, with houses of rich design, 
 no longer richly inhabited.' She was to watch through many 
 years the growth of what was always one of the cities of her 
 heart. 
 
 But we must return to Bond Street, and take one more look 
 at No. 16. The Wards were soon to leave it for a statelier 
 dwelling, but many associations would always cling about 
 the old house. Here it was that the good old grandfather, 
 Lieutenant-Colonel Samuel Ward, used to come from No. 7 
 to talk business with his son or to play with the children. Our 
 mother had a vivid recollection of once, when still a little 
 child, sitting down at the piano, placing an open music-book 
 on the rack (though she could not yet read music), and be- 
 ginning to pound and thump the keys with might and main. 
 The Colonel was sitting by, book in hand, and endured the 
 noise patiently for some time. Finally he said in his courtly 
 way, 'Is it so set down in the book, little lady?' 'Yes, Grand- 
 papa!' said naughty Julia, and went on banging; the Colonel, 
 who indeed had little music, made no further comment. But 
 when a game of 'Tommy-come-tickle-me' was toward, the 
 children must step in to No. 7 to share that excitement with 
 their grandfather, since no cards were permitted under Mr. 
 Ward's roof. 
 
 The year of the first Newport visit, 1832, was also the 
 terrible 'cholera year.' Uncle Ben Cutler, at that time city 
 missionary, writes in his diary: — 
 
LITTLE JULIA WARD 17 
 
 "The cholera is in Quebec and Montreal. This city is be- 
 ginning to be alarmed ; Christians are waking up. My soul, 
 how stands the case with thee?' 
 
 And later: — 
 
 'I am now in the midst of the pestilence. The cholera, the 
 universal plague, arrived in this city four weeks ago. It has 
 caused the death of over nine hundred persons. This day the 
 report of the Board of Health was three hundred new cases 
 and one hundred and thirty deaths.' 
 
 Many parts of the city were entirely deserted. Dr. Cutler 
 retained through life the vivid recollection of riding down 
 Broadway in the full daylight, meeting no living soul, seeing 
 only a face here and there at an upper window, peering at 
 him as at a strange sight. 
 
 Newport took the alarm, and forbade steamboats from 
 New York to land their passengers. This behavior was con- 
 sidered very cold-blooded, and gave rise to the conundrum: 
 'Why is it impossible for Newporters to take the cholera? 
 Answer: Because they have no bowels.' 
 
 Grandma Cutler was at Newport with the Wards and Fran- 
 cises, and trembled for her only son. She implored him to 
 'flee while it was yet day.' 'My most precious son,' she cried, 
 'oh, come out from thence! I entreat you; linger not within 
 its walls, as Lot would have done, but for the friendly angels 
 that drew him perforce from it!' 
 
 The missionary stood firm at his post, and though ex- 
 hausted by his labors, came safe through the ordeal. But 
 Colonel Ward, who had not thought fit to flee the enemy, — 
 it was not his habit to flee enemies, — was stricken with the 
 pestilence, and died in New York City, August 16. His 
 death was a grievous blow to Mr. Ward. Not only had he 
 lost a loving and beloved father, but he had no assurance of 
 the orthodoxy of that father's religious opinions. The Colonel 
 was thought in the family to be of a philosophizing, if not 
 actually sceptical, turn of mind; it might be that he was not 
 'safe'! Years after, Mr. Ward told Julia of the anguish he 
 suffered from this uncertainty. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 'THE CORNER' 
 1835-1839; aet. 16-20 
 
 But well I thank my father's sober house 
 Where shallow judgment had no leave to be, 
 And hurrying years, that, stripping much beside, 
 Turned as they fled, and left me charity. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 The house which Mr. Ward huilt on the corner of Bond 
 Street and Broadway was still standing in the middle of the 
 nineteenth century; a dignified mansion of brick, with col- 
 umns and trimmings of white marble. 
 
 In her 'Reminiscences,' our mother recalls the spacious 
 rooms, hung with red, blue, and yellow silk. The yellow 
 drawing-room was reserved for high occasions, and for 'Miss 
 Ward's' desk and grand piano. This and the blue room were 
 adorned by fine sculptured mantelpieces, the work of a young 
 sculptor named Thomas Crawford, who was just coming into 
 notice. 
 
 Behind the main house, stretching along Broadway, was 
 the picture gallery, the first private one in New York, and 
 Mr. Ward's special pride. The children might not mingle in 
 frivolous gayety abroad, but they should have all that love, 
 taste, and money could give them at home; he filled his 
 gallery with the best pictures he could find. 
 
 This was the house into which the family moved in 1835, 
 Julia being then sixteen years of age ; this was the house she 
 loved, the memory of which was dear to her through all the 
 years of her life. 
 
 The family was at that time patriarchal in its dimensions: 
 Mr. Ward and his six children, Dr. and Mrs. Francis and their 
 four; often, too, 'Grandma Cutler' and other Cutlers, not to 
 speak of Wards, Greenes, and McAllisters. (Louisa, youngest 
 of the Cutler sisters, one of the most beautiful and enchanting 
 women of her time, was married to Matthew Hall McAllister.) 
 
'THE CORNER' 19 
 
 One and all were sure of a welcome at "The Comer' ; one and 
 all were received with cordial urbanity, first by Johnson, the 
 colored butler, later by Mr. Ward, the soul of dignified hos- 
 pitality. 
 
 Another inmate of the house during several years was 
 Christy Evangelides, a Greek boy, orphaned in a Turkish 
 massacre. Mr. Ward took the boy into his family, gave him 
 his education and a start in life. Fifty years later Mr. Evan- 
 gelides recalled those days in a letter to his 'sister Julia,' and 
 paid beautiful tribute to his benefactor. 
 
 To all these should be added a host of servants and re- 
 tainers ; and masters of various kinds, coming to teach music, 
 languages, even dancing, for the children were taught to 
 dance even if they never (or very seldom) were allowed to 
 go to dances. Many of these teachers were foreign patriots: 
 those were the days when one French emigre of rank dressed 
 the hair of fashionable New York, while another made its 
 salads, the two going their rounds before every festivity. 
 
 Julia's musical education began early. Her first teacher 
 was a French artist, so irritable that the terrified child could 
 remember little that he taught her. He was succeeded in her 
 tenth year by Mr. Boocock, a pupil of Cramer, to whom she 
 always felt that she owed a great deal. Not only did he train 
 her fingers so carefully that after eighty years they still re- 
 tained their flexibility, but he also trained and developed her 
 inborn taste for all that was best in music. 
 
 As she grew toward girlhood, the good master found that 
 her voice promised to be a remarkable one, and recommended 
 to her father Signor Cardini, formerly an intimate of the 
 Garcia family, and thoroughly versed in the famous Garcia 
 method. Under his care Julia's voice developed into a pure, 
 clear mezzo-soprano, of uncommon range and exquisite 
 quality. She felt all through her life the benefit of those early 
 lessons. 
 
 When she was eighty years old she attended a meeting of 
 the National Peace Society at Park Street Church, Boston. 
 The church was packed with people. When her turn came to 
 speak, the kindly chairman said: — 
 
20 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now to have the great pleas- 
 ure of listening to Mrs. Howe. I am going to ask you all to 
 be very quiet, for though Mrs. Howe's voice is as sweet as 
 ever, it is perhaps not quite so strong.' 
 
 'But it carries!' said the pupil of old Cardini. The silver 
 tone, though not loud, reached the farthest corner of the great 
 building; the house 'came down' in a thunder of applause. 
 It was a beautiful moment for the proud daughter who sat 
 beside her. 
 
 Music was one of the passions of her life. Indeed, she 
 felt that it had sometimes influenced her even too much, and in 
 recording the delight she took in the trios and quartets which 
 Mr. Boocock arranged for her, she adds : 'The reaction from 
 this pleasure, however, was very painful, and induced at 
 times a visitation of morbid melancholy, which threatened 
 to upset my health.' 
 
 She felt that 'in the training of young persons, some regard 
 should be had to the sensitiveness of youthful nerves, and 
 to the overpowering response which they often make to the 
 appeals of music' 
 
 In a later chapter of her 'Reminiscences,' she says: 'I 
 left school at the age of sixteen, and began thereafter to 
 study in good earnest. Until that time a certain over-roman- 
 tic and imaginative turn of mind had interfered much with 
 the progress of my studies. I indulged in day-dreams which 
 appeared to me far higher in tone than the humdrum of my 
 school recitations. When these were at an end, I began to 
 feel the necessity of more strenuous application, and at once 
 arranged for myself hours of study, relieved by the practice 
 of vocal and instrumental music' 
 
 These hours of study were not all passed at home. In 
 1836 she was taking certain courses at the boarding and day 
 school of Mrs. E. Smith, then in Fifth Avenue, 'first house 
 from Washington Square.' 
 
 The Italian master was a son of the venerable Lorenzo da 
 Ponte, who in his youth had written for Mozart the librettos 
 of 'Don Giovanni' and 'Le Nozze di Figaro.' 
 
 Four languages, English, French, German, and Italian, 
 
'THE CORNER' 21 
 
 Julia learned thoroughly; she spoke and wrote them through- 
 out her life correctly as well as fluently, with singularly pure 
 accent and inflection, and seldom or never was at a loss for 
 a word; nor was she less proficient in history. For mathe- 
 matics she had no gift, and was wont to say that her knowl- 
 edge of the science was limited to the fact that four quarts 
 made a gallon: yet the higher mathematics had a mysterious 
 attraction for her, as an unexplored region of wonder and 
 romance. 
 
 She was always a student. When she began the study of 
 German, she set herself a task each day; lest anything should 
 interfere to distract her mind, she had herself securely tied 
 to her armchair, giving orders that she was on no account to 
 be set free before the appointed hour. 
 
 This was characteristic of her through life. The chain 
 of habit once formed was never broken, and study was meat 
 and drink to her. Her 'precious time' (which we children 
 saucily abbreviated to 'P.T.') was as real a thing to us as 
 sunrise: we were not to break in upon it for anything short 
 of a fire — or a cut finger! 
 
 Many years later, she laid down for the benefit of the 
 younger generation these rules: — 
 
 'If you have at your command three hours per diem, you 
 may study art, literature, and philosophy, not as they are 
 studied professionally, but in the degree involved in general 
 culture. 
 
 'If you have but one hour every day, read philosophy, or 
 learn foreign languages, living or dead. 
 
 'If you can command only fifteen or twenty minutes, read 
 the Bible with the best commentaries, and daily a verse or 
 two of the best poetry.' 
 
 Breakfast at 'The Corner' was at eight in winter, and at 
 half past seven in summer, Mr. Ward reading prayers before 
 the meal, and again at bedtime. He would often wake his 
 daughters in the morning by pelting them with stockings, 
 crying, 'Come, my rosebuds!' 
 
 The young people were apt to linger over the breakfast 
 table in talk. If this were unduly prolonged, Mr. Ward 
 
22 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 would appear, 'hatted and booted for the day,' and say, 
 'Young gentlemen, I am glad that you can afford to take 
 life so easily. I am old, and must work for my living!' 
 
 Dinner was at four o'clock, supper at half past seven. 
 
 At table, Julia sat beside her father; he would often take 
 her right hand in his left, half unconsciously, and hold it for 
 some time, continuing the while to eat his dinner. Julia, her 
 right hand imprisoned, would sit dinnerless, but never 
 dreamed of remonstrating. 
 
 She had a habit of dropping her slippers off while at the 
 table. Mr. Ward one day quietly secured an empty slipper 
 with his foot, and then said: 'My daughter, I have left my 
 seals in my room. Will you be so good as to fetch them for 
 me?' A moment's agonized search, and Julia went, 'one shoe 
 off and one shoe on,' and brought the seals. Nothing was said 
 on either side, but the habit was abandoned. 
 
 Mr. Ward's anxious care for his children's welfare ex- 
 tended to every branch of their conduct. One evening, walk- 
 ing with Julia, he met his sons, Henry and Marion, each 
 with a cigar in his mouth. He was much troubled, and said: 
 'Boys, you must give this up, and I will give it up too. From 
 this time I forbid you to smoke, and I will join you in re- 
 linquishing the habit.' 
 
 He never smoked again; nor did the boys — in his 
 presence! 
 
 Three lads, young, handsome, brilliant, and eminently 
 social as were the Wards, could not be kept out of society. 
 They were popular, and would fain have had Julia, the only 
 one of the three girls who was old enough, share in their 
 pleasures; but this might not be. Mr. Ward had money and 
 sympathy to spare for every benevolent enterprise, but he 
 disliked and distrusted 'society'; he would neither entertain 
 it nor be entertained by it. Our mother quotes an argument 
 between him and his eldest son on this point: — 
 
 '"Sir," said my brother, "you do not keep in view the 
 importance of the social tie." 
 
 ' "The social what?" asked my father. 
 
 * "The social tie, sir." 
 
'THE CORNER' 23 
 
 ' "I make small account of that," said the elder gentleman. 
 
 * "I will die in defence of it!" impetuously rejoined the 
 younger. 
 
 'My father was so amused at this sally that he spoke of it 
 to an intimate friend: "He will die in defence of the social 
 tie, indeed!" ' 
 
 Julia's girlhood evenings were mosdy spent at home, with 
 books, needlework, and music, varied by an occasional lecture 
 or concert, or a visit to some one of the uncles' houses in the 
 street, which ought, one would think, to have been called 
 'Ward Street,' since at this time almost the whole family con- 
 nection lived there. 
 
 Much as Julia loved her home, her books and music, she 
 longed for some of the gayety which her brothers were enjoy- 
 ing. 'I seemed to myself,' she says, 'like a young damsel of 
 olden times, shut up within an enchanted castle. And I 
 must say, that my dear father, with all his noble generosity 
 and overweening affection, sometimes appeared to me as 
 my jailer.' 
 
 Once she expostulated with him, begging to be allowed 
 more freedom in going out, and in receiving visits from the 
 friends of her brothers. It may have been on the occasion 
 when he refused to allow the late Louis Rutherford, of ven» 
 erated memory, to be invited to the house, 'because he be- 
 longed to the fashionable world.' 
 
 Her father told her that he had early recognized in her a 
 temperament and imagination over-sensitive to impressions 
 from without, and that his wish had been to guard her from 
 exciting influences until she should appear to him fully able 
 to guard and guide herself. 
 
 Alas! the tender father meant to cherish a vestal flame in 
 a vase of alabaster; in reality, he was trying to imprison the 
 lightning in the cloud. When our mother wrote the words 
 above quoted, on the power of music over sensitive natures, 
 she was recalling these days, and perhaps remembering how, 
 denied the society of her natural mates, her sixteen-year-old 
 heart went out in sympathy and compassion to the young 
 harper who came to take part in the trios and quartets, and 
 
24 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 who fell desperately in love with her and was summarily 
 dismissed in consequence. 
 
 Yet who shall say that the father's austere regime did not 
 after all meet a need of her nature deeper than she could 
 possibly have realized at the time; that the long, lonely hours, 
 the study often to weariness, — though never to satiety, — the 
 very fires of longing and of regret, were not necessary to give 
 her mind that temper which was to make it an instrument as 
 strong as it was keen? 
 
 The result of this system was not precisely what Mr. Ward 
 had expected. One evening (it was probably after the 
 marriage of his eldest son to Emily Astor, when he joined per- 
 force in the festivities of the time) he did actually take Julia 
 to an evening party. She did not dance, but she was sur- 
 rounded by eager youths all the evening, and when her father 
 summoned her to go home, she was deep in talk with one of 
 them. There was no disobeying the summons ; as she turned 
 to take her father's arm, Miss Julia made a little gesture of 
 farewell, fluttering the fingers of her right hand over her 
 shoulder, to cheer the disconsolate swain. Mr. Ward 
 appeared unconscious of this, but a day or two later, on 
 leaving the room where Julia was sitting, he said: 'My 
 daughter, — ' and fluttered his fingers over his shoulder in 
 precise mimicry of her gesture. 
 
 Another anecdote describes an occasion singularly char- 
 acteristic of both father and daughter. 
 
 Julia was nineteen years old, a woman grown, feeling her 
 womanhood in every vein. She had never been allowed to 
 choose the persons who should be invited to the house: she 
 had never had a party of her own. The different strains in 
 her blood were singularly diverse. All through her life 
 Saxon and Gaul kept house together as peaceably as they 
 might, but sometimes the French blood boiled over. 
 
 Calling her brothers in council, she told them that she was 
 going to give a party; that she desired their help in making 
 out lists, etc., but that the occasion and the responsibility 
 were to be all her own. The brothers demurred, even Sam 
 being somewhat appalled by the prospect; but finding her 
 
'THE CORNER' 25 
 
 firm, they made out a list of desirable guests, of all ages. It 
 was characteristic of her that the plan once made, the resolve 
 taken, it became an obsession, a thing that must be done at 
 whatever cost. 
 
 She asked her father if she might invite a few friends 
 for a certain evening: he assented. She engaged the best 
 caterer in New York; the most fashionable musicians; she 
 even hired a splendid cut-glass chandelier to supplement the 
 sober lighting of the yellow drawing-room. 
 
 The evening came: Mr. Ward, coming downstairs, found 
 assembled as brilliant a gathering as could have been found 
 in any other of the great houses of New York. He betrayed 
 no surprise, but welcomed his guests with charming courtesy, 
 as if they had come at his special desire ; the music sounded, 
 the young people danced, the evening passed off delightfully, 
 to all save the young hostess. She, from the moment when the 
 thing was inevitable, became as possessed with terror as she 
 had been with desire. She could think of nothing but her 
 father's displeasure, of the words he might speak, the glances 
 he might cast upon her. During the whole evening, the cup of 
 trembling was at her lips. 
 
 The moment the last guest had departed, the three brothers 
 gathered round her. 'We will speak to him!' they cried. 
 'Let us speak to him for you!' 
 
 'No!' said Julia, 'I must go myself.' 
 
 She went at once to the room where her father sat alone. 
 For a moment she could find no words; but none were needed. 
 Gravely but kindly Mr. Ward said he was surprised to find 
 that her idea of 'a few friends' differed so widely from his 
 own; he was sorry she had not consulted him more freely, 
 and begged that in the future she would do so. Then he 
 kissed her good-night with his usual tenderness, and it was 
 over. The matter was never mentioned again. 
 
 The Wards continued to pass the summers at Newport, 
 but no longer at good Jacob Bailey's farmhouse. Mr. Ward 
 had bought a house in town, which a later generation was to 
 know as 'The Ashurst Cottage,' on the corner of Bellevue 
 Avenue and Catherine Street. 
 
26 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Here the severity of his rule relaxed somewhat, and the 
 pretty house became the centre of a sober hospitality. In- 
 deed, Newport was a sober place in those days. There were 
 one or two houses where dancing was allowed, but these were 
 viewed askance by many people. 
 
 The roses and gooseberry bushes of the Newport garden 
 once witnessed a serio-comic scene. There was a sea-captain, 
 Glover by name, who had business connections with Prime, 
 Ward & King, and who came to the house sometimes on busi- 
 ness, sometimes for a friendly call. He was a worthy man 
 of middle age and unromantic appearance; probably the 
 eighteen-year-old Julia, dreamy and poetic, took no more 
 notice of him than civility required; but he took notice of 
 her, and one day asked her to walk out in the garden with 
 him. Wondering much, she went. After some desultory 
 remarks, the Captain drew a visiting-card from his pocket, 
 wrote a few words upon it, and handed it to his young hostess. 
 She read : — 
 
 "Russell E. Glover's 
 heart is yours!" 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 GIRLHOOD 
 1839-1843; aet. 20-23 
 
 In Julia's childhood her brother Sam was her ideal and her 
 idol. She describes him as a 'handsome youth, quick of wit 
 and tender of heart, brilliant in promise, and with a great 
 and versatile power of work in him.' He had early shown 
 special proficiency in mathematics, and to the end of his life 
 rejoiced in being one of the few persons who clearly under- 
 stood the function called l Gamma.' His masters expected 
 great things from him ; but his brilliant and effervescent spirit 
 was forced into the Wall Street mould, with kindly intent but 
 disastrous effect. His life was checkered, sun and shadow; 
 but from first to last, he remained the delight of all who 
 knew him. Sam Ward ; Uncle Sam to three generations, his 
 was a name to conjure with: the soul of generosity, the 
 essence of wit, the spirit of kindliness. No one ever looked 
 in his face, ever met the kindling glance of his dark eyes, 
 ever saw the sunshine break in his smile, without forgetting 
 all else in love and admiration of one of the most enchant- 
 ing personalities that ever brightened the world. 
 
 Sam Ward returned from Europe in 1835, and took up his 
 residence under his father's roof. In 1838 he married Emily, 
 daughter of William B. Astor. The wedding was a grand 
 one. Julia was first bridesmaid, and wore a dress of white 
 moire, then a material of the newest fashion. She was now 
 nineteen, in the fulness of her early bloom. Her red-gold 
 hair was no longer regarded as a misfortune; her gray eyes 
 were large and well opened; her complexion of dazzling 
 purity. Her finely chiselled features, and the beauty of 
 her hands and arms, made an ensemble which could not fail 
 to impress all who saw her. Add to this her singing, her wit, 
 and the charm which was all and always her own, and we 
 have the Diva Julia, as she was called by some who loved 
 
28 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 her. Her sisters, also, were growing up, each exquisitely- 
 attractive in her way: they became known as the 'Three 
 Graces of Bond Street.' Louisa was like a damask rose, 
 Annie like a dark lily; dark, too, of eyes and hair were Sam 
 and Marion, while Henry was fair and blue-eyed. 
 
 At this distance of time, it may not be unpardonable to 
 touch briefly on another aspect of our mother's youth; indeed, 
 it would hardly be candid to avoid it. 
 
 'My dear,' said an intimate friend of the three, speaking 
 of these days, 'Louisa had her admirers, and Annie had hers ; 
 but when the men saw your mother, they just flopped!' 
 
 Among her papers we have found many relics of these 
 days, from the faded epistle addressed, i d Julie, la respectee, 
 la choisie, Vaimee, la cherie,' to the stern letter in which Mr. 
 Ward 'desires not to conceal from the Rev. Mr. the de- 
 liberate and dispassionate opinion, that a gentleman whose 
 sacred office commanded ready access to his roof, might well 
 have earlier ascertained the views of a widow'd Father on a 
 subject so involving the happiness of his child.' 
 
 The unhappy suitor's note to Miss Julia is enclosed, and 
 Mr. Ward trusts that 'the return will be considered by the 
 
 Rev. Mr. as finally terminating the matter therein 
 
 referred to.' 
 
 Julia had for her suitors a tender and compassionate sym- 
 pathy. She could not love them, she would not marry them, 
 but she was very sorry for them, and — it must be admitted — 
 she liked to be adored. So she sang duets with one, read Ger- 
 man with another, Anglo-Saxon with a third. 
 
 In describing life at The Corner,' we must not forget the 
 evenings at No. 23, Colonel Henry Ward's house. Uncle 
 Henry and his namesake son (the boy who was to 'see death 
 approaching with joy'!) were musical. When Mr. Ward 
 permitted (in his later and more lenient days) an informal 
 dance at 'The Corner,' the three girls sent for Uncle Henry 
 as naturally as they sent for the hair-dressing and salad- 
 making emigres; and the stately, handsome gentleman came, 
 and played waltzes and polkas with cheerful patience all the 
 evening. 
 
GIRLHOOD 29 
 
 On Sunday the whole family from The Corner' took tea 
 with Uncle Henry, and music was the order of the evening. 
 Mr. Ward delighted in these occasions, and was never ready 
 to go home. When Uncle Henry thought it was bedtime, he 
 would go to the piano and play the 'Rogue's March.' 
 
 (Twice flogged for stealing a sheep, 
 Thrice flogged for desertion ! 
 If ever I go for a soldier again, 
 The devil may be my portion! 
 
 We hear the fife shrill through the lively air!) 
 
 'No! no, Colonel!' Mr. Ward would cry. 'We won't march 
 yet; give us half an hour more!' And in affectionate mischief 
 he would stay the half -hour through before marshalling his 
 flock back to 'The Corner.' 
 
 The crisis of 1836-37 called for all the strength, wisdom, 
 and public spirit that the men of the country could show. 
 Mr. Ward labored day and night to prevent the dishonor of 
 the banks of New York. 
 
 'Individual effort, however, was vain, and the tenth of 
 May saw all the banks reduced to suspend specie payments; 
 and upon no man did that disastrous day close with deeper 
 mortification than upon him. Personally, and in his busi- 
 ness relations, this event affected Mr. Ward as little possibly 
 as any one at all connected with affairs; but, in his estima- 
 tion, it vitally wounded the commercial honor and character 
 of the city. He was not, however, a man to waste, in un- 
 availing regrets, hours that might be more advantageously 
 employed to repair the evil, and he therefore at once set about 
 the arrangement of measures for inducing and enabling the 
 banks to resume at the earliest possible moment.' 1 
 
 This was accomplished within the year. About the same 
 time the Bank of England sent to Prime, Ward & King a 
 loan of nearly five million dollars in gold. 
 
 Our mother never forgot the afternoon when Brother Sam 
 came into her study on his return from Wall Street and cried 
 out to her: — 
 
 1 The Late Samuel Ward, by Mr. Charles King. 
 
30 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'Julia, men have been going up and down the office stairs 
 all day long, carrying little wooden kegs of gold on their 
 backs, marked "Prime, Ward & King" and filled with English 
 gold!' 
 
 That English gold saved the honor of the Empire State, 
 and the fact that her father procured the loan was the greatest 
 asset in her inheritance from the old firm. 
 
 In October of the same year came another financial crisis. 
 The banks of Philadelphia and the Southern States suspended 
 specie payments, and every effort was made to induce the 
 New York banks to follow suit. Mr. Ward was ill at New- 
 port, but hearing the news he hurried back and threw himself 
 into the conflict, exhorting, sustaining, encouraging. 
 
 A friend protested, warning him of the peril to his en- 
 feebled health of such exertions. 'I should esteem life itself 
 not unworthily sacrificed,' said Mr. Ward, 'if by word or 
 deed, I could aid the banks in adhering faithfully to their 
 duty.' 
 
 For nearly two weeks he labored, till the work was done, 
 his city's honor and fair fame secure; then he went home 
 literally to die, departing this life, November 27, 1839. 
 
 Julia was with him when he died, his hand in hers. The 
 beauty of his countenance in death was such that Anne Hall, 
 the well-known miniature painter, begged permission to paint 
 it, and his descendants may still gaze on the majestic features 
 in their serene repose. 
 
 Julia's love for her father was to cease only with her life. 
 She never failed to record his birthday in her diary, with 
 some word of tender remembrance. 
 
 Shortly before Mr. Ward's death, Sam and his wife had 
 moved to a house of their own. The five unmarried children 
 would have been desolate, indeed, if left to themselves in 
 the great house: but to the joy and comfort of all, their 
 bachelor uncle, John Ward, left his own house and came to 
 live with them. From this time until his death in 1866, he 
 was a second father to them. 
 
 Uncle John! The words call up memories of our own 
 childhood. We see a tall, stalwart figure, clad in loose-fitting 
 
GIRLHOOD 31 
 
 garments; a noble head crowned by a small brown scratch 
 wig; a countenance beaming with kindliness and humor. A 
 Manila cheroot is between his lips — the fragrance of one 
 never fails to call up his image — and he caresses an un- 
 amiable little dog which he fondly loves. He offers a grand- 
 niece a silk dress if she will make it up herself. This was the 
 'Uncle John' of No. 8 Bond Street, one of the worthies of 
 Wall Street, and uncle, by courtesy, to half New York. 
 
 In his youth he had received an injury which deprived him 
 of speech for more than a year. It was feared that he would 
 never speak again; one day his mother, trying to help him in 
 some small matter, and not succeeding to her mind, cried, 
 'I am a poor, awkward, old woman!' 
 
 Wo, you are not!' exclaimed John Ward; and the trouble 
 was over. 
 
 His devotion to his orphan nieces and nephews was con- 
 stant and beautiful. He desired ardently that the three girls 
 should be good housekeepers, and grudged the amount of 
 time which one of them at least devoted to books and music. 
 To them also he was fond of giving dress-materials, with the 
 proviso that they should make them up for themselves. This 
 they managed to do, 'with a good deal of help from the family 
 seamstress.' 
 
 When Julia published her first literary venture, a trans- 
 lation of Lamartine's 'Jocelyne,' Uncle John showed her a 
 favorable notice of it in a newspaper, saying: "This is my 
 litde girl who knows about books, and writes an article and 
 has it printed, but I wish she knew more about housekeeping.' 
 
 'A sentiment,' she adds, 'which in after years I had occa- 
 sion to echo with fervor.' 
 
 While Sam was her ideal of youthful manhood, Henry 
 was her mate, the nearest to her in age and in sympathy. The 
 bond between them was close and tender; and when in 
 October, 1840, he died of typhoid fever, the blow fell on 
 her with crushing severity. 
 
 'When he closed his eyes,' she says, 'I would gladly, oh, so 
 gladly have died with him!' And again, 'I remember the 
 time as one without light or comfort.' 
 
32 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 She turned to seek consolation in religion, and — naturally 
 — in that aspect of religion which had been presented to her 
 childish mind as the true and only one. At this time a great 
 Calvinistic revival was going on in New York, and a zealous 
 friend persuaded Julia to attend some of the meetings. In 
 her anguish of grief, the gloomy doctrines of natural de- 
 pravity, of an angry and vengeful Deity, of a salvation pos- 
 sible only through certain strictly defined channels, came 
 home to her with terrible force. Her deeply religious nature 
 sought the Divine under however portentous an aspect it was 
 presented ; her poet's imagination clung to the uplifted Cross ; 
 these were days of emotion, of fervor, of exaltation alternat- 
 ing with abasement ; thought was to come later. 
 
 While under these influences, Julia, now at the head of the 
 household, enforced her Calvinistic principles with rigor. 
 The family were allowed only cold meat on Sunday, to their 
 great discomfort; the rather uninviting midday dinner was 
 named by Uncle John 'Sentiment' ; but at six o'clock they were 
 given hot tea, and this he called 'Bliss.' Pious exhortations, 
 sisterly admonitions, were the order of the day. 'The Old 
 Bird' — this nom de tendresse had now superseded 'Jolie 
 Julie,' and was to be hers while her sisters and brothers lived 
 — hovered over the younger ones with maternal anxiety. 
 
 The emotional fervor of this time was heightened by a 
 complication which arose from it. A young clergyman of 
 brilliant powers and passionate nature fell deeply in love 
 with Julia, and pressed his suit with such ardor that she 
 consented to a semi-engagement. Fortunately, a visit to 
 Boston gave her time to examine her feelings. Relieved 
 from the pressure of a twofold excitement, breathing a calmer 
 and a freer air, she realized that there could be no true union 
 
 between her and the Rev. Mr. , and the connection was 
 
 broken off. 
 
 The course of Julia's studies had for some years been 
 leading her into wider fields of thought. 
 
 In her brother's library she found George Sand and Balzac, 
 and read such books as he selected for her. In German she 
 became familiar with Goethe, Jean Paul, and Matthias 
 
GIRLHOOD 33 
 
 Claudius. She describes the sense of intellectual freedom 
 derived from these studies as 'half delightful, half alarming.' 
 
 Mr. Ward one day had undertaken to read an English 
 translation of 'Faust' and came to her in great alarm. 'My 
 daughter,' he said, 'I hope that you have not read this wicked 
 book!' She had read it and 'Wilhelm Meister,' too (though 
 in later life she thought the latter 'not altogether good read- 
 ing for the youth of our country'). Shelley was forbidden, 
 and Byron allowed only in small and carefully selected doses. 
 
 The twofold bereavement which weighed so heavily upon 
 her checked for a time the development of her thought, throw- 
 ing her back on the ideas which her childhood had received 
 without question; but her buoyant spirit could not remain 
 long submerged, and as the poignancy of grief abated, her 
 mind sought eagerly for clearer vision. 
 
 In the quiet of her own room, the bounds of thought and of 
 faith stretched wide and wider. Vision often came in a flash: 
 witness the moment when the question of Matthias Claudius, 
 'And is He not also the God of the Japanese?' changed from 
 a shocking suggestion to an eternal truth. Witness also the 
 moment when, after reading 'Paradise Lost,' she saw 'the 
 picture of an eternal evil, of Satan and his ministers sub- 
 jugated, indeed, by God, but not conquered, and able to 
 maintain against Him an opposition as eternal as his good- 
 ness. This appeared to me impossible, and I threw away, 
 once and forever, the thought of the terrible hell which till 
 then had always formed part of my belief. In its place I 
 cherished the persuasion that the victory of goodness must 
 consist in making everything good, and that Satan himself 
 could have no shield strong enough to resist permanently the 
 divine power of the divine spirit.' 
 
 New vistas were opening everywhere before her. She 
 made acquaintance with Margaret Fuller, who read her 
 poems, and urged her to publish them. 
 
 On every hand she met people who like herself were press- 
 ing forward, seeking new light. She heard Channing preach, 
 heard him say that God loves bad men as well as good; an- 
 other window opened in her squI. Again, on a journey to 
 
34 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Boston, she met Ralph Waldo Emerson. The train being 
 delayed at a wayside station, she saw the Transcendentalist, 
 whom she had pictured as hardly human, carrying on his 
 shoulder the child of a poor and weary woman; her heart 
 warmed to him, and they soon made acquaintance. She, with 
 the ardor of youth, gave him at some length the religious 
 views which she still held in the main, and with which she felt 
 he would not agree. She enlarged upon the personal presence 
 of Satan on this earth, on his power over man. Mr. Emerson 
 replied with gentle courtesy, 'Surely the Angel must be 
 stronger than the Demon!' She never forgot these words; 
 another window opened, and a wide one. 
 
 Julia Ward had come a long way from old Ascension 
 Church, where Peter Stuyvesant, in a full brown wig, carried 
 round the plate, and the Reverend Manton (afterwards 
 Bishop) Eastburn preached sermons 'remarked for their good 
 English'; and where communicants were not expected to go 
 to balls or theatres. 
 
 The years of mourning over, the Ward sisters took up the 
 pursuits natural to their age and position. Louisa was now 
 eighteen, very beautiful, already showing the rare social gift 
 which distinguished her through life. The two sisters began 
 a season of visiting, dancing, and all manner of gayeties. 
 
 The following letter illustrates this period of her girl- 
 hood: — 
 
 To her sisters 
 
 Boston (1842), 
 Friday, that's all I know about to-day. 
 
 My dearest Chicks, — 
 
 Though I have a right to be tired, having talked and danced 
 for the two last nights, yet my enjoyment is most imperfect 
 until I have shared it with you, so I must needs write to you, 
 and tell you what a very nice time I am having. Last night I 
 went to a party at Miss Shaw's, given to Boz and me, at least, I 
 was invited before he came here, so think that I will only give 
 him an equal share of the honor. I danced a good deal, with 
 
GIRLHOOD 35 
 
 some very agreeable partners, and talked as usual with Sum- 
 ner, Hillard, 1 Longo, 2 etc. I was quite pleased that Boz 
 recognized Fanny Appleton and myself, and gave us a smile 
 and bow en passant. He could do no more, being almost torn 
 to pieces by the crowd which throngs his footsteps, wherever 
 he goes. I like to look at him, he has a bright and most 
 speaking countenance, and his face is all wrinkled with the 
 lines, not of care, but of laughter. His manners are very 
 free and cordial, and he seems to be as capital a fellow as 
 one would suppose from his writings. He circulates as uni- 
 versally as small change, and understands the art of gratify- 
 ing others without troubling himself, of letting himself be 
 seen without displaying himself — now this speaks for his 
 real good taste, and shows that if not a gentleman born and 
 bred, he is at least a man, every inch of him. 
 
 ... I have had hardly the least dash of Transcendentalism, 
 and that of the very best description, a lecture and a visit 
 from Emerson, in both of which he said beautiful things, and 
 to-morrow (don't be shocked!) a conversation at Miss Ful- 
 ler's, which I shall treasure up for your amusement and 
 instruction. I have also heard (don't go into hysterics!) 
 Dr. Channing once. It was a rare chance, as he does not now 
 preach once in a year. His discourse was very beautiful — 
 and oh, such a sermon as I heard from Father Taylor! I 
 was almost disposed to say, 'surely never man spake like this 
 man.' 
 
 In these days also she first met her future husband. 
 
 Samuel Gridley Howe was at this time (1842) forty-one 
 years of age; his life had been a stirring and adventurous 
 one. After passing through Brown University, and the Har- 
 vard Medical School, in 1824 he threw in his lot with the 
 people of Greece, then engaged in their War of Independence, 
 and for six years shared their labor and hardships in the field, 
 and on shipboard, being surgeon-in-chief first to the Greek 
 army, then to the fleet. It was noted by a companion in arms, 
 that 'the only fault found with him was that he always would 
 
 1 George S. Hillard. 2 Longfellow. 
 
36 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 be in the fight, and was only a surgeon when the battle was 
 over.' He eventually found, however, that his work was to be 
 constructive, not destructive. 
 
 The people were perishing for lack of food ; he returned to 
 America, preached a crusade, and took back to Greece a ship- 
 load of food and clothing for the starving women and chil- 
 dren. Having fed them, he set them to work; built a hospital 
 and a mole (which stands to this day in iEgina), founded a 
 colony, and turned the half-naked peasants into farmers. 
 These matters have been fully related elsewhere. 1 
 
 Returning to this country in 1831, he took up the education 
 of the blind, which was to be chief among the multifarious 
 labors of his life. 
 
 When Julia Ward first met him, he had been for nine years 
 Director of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, and was 
 known throughout the civilized world as the man who had first 
 taught language to a blind deaf mute (Laura Bridgman) . 
 
 Up to this time a person thus afflicted was classed with 
 idiots, 'because,' as Blackstone says, 'his mind cannot be 
 reached.' This dictum had been recently reaffirmed by a 
 body of learned men. Dr. Howe thought otherwise. Briefly, 
 he invented a new science. 'He carefully reasoned out every 
 step of the way, and made a full and clear record of the 
 methods which he invented, not for his pupils alone, but for 
 the whole afflicted class for which he opened the way to human 
 fellowship. . . . His methods have been employed in all sub- 
 sequent cases, and after seventy years of trial remain the 
 standard.' 2 
 
 Hand in hand with Dorothea Dix, he was beginning the 
 great fight for helping and uplifting the insane ; was already, 
 with Horace Mann, considering the condition of the common 
 schools, and forging the weapons for other fights which laid 
 the foundations of the school system of Massachusetts. Later, 
 he was to take up the cause of the feeble-minded, the deaf 
 mute, the prisoner, the slave; throughout his life, no one in 
 
 1 Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Hoioe. 
 'Memoir of Dr. Samuel G, Howe, by Julia Ward Howe. 
 
GIRLHOOD 37 
 
 'trouble, sorrow, need, sickness, or any other adversity' was 
 ever to call on him in vain. 
 
 His friends called him the 'Chevalier'; partly because the 
 King of Greece had made him a Knight of St. George, but 
 more because they saw in him a good knight without fear and 
 without reproach. Charles Sumner was his alter ego, the 
 brother of his heart; others of his intimates at that time were 
 Longfellow, George Hillard, Cornelius Felton, Henry Cleve- 
 land. This little knot of friends called themselves 'The Five 
 of Clubs,' and met often to make merry and to discuss the 
 things of life. 
 
 The summer of 1842 was spent by Julia Ward and her 
 sisters at a cottage in the neighborhood of Boston, in com- 
 pany with their friend Mary Ward. 1 Here Longfellow and 
 Sumner often visited them, and here Julia first heard of the 
 Chevalier and his wonderful achievement in educating Laura 
 Bridgman. Deeply interested, she gladly accepted the offer 
 of the two friends to drive her and her sisters over to the 
 Perkins Institution. She has described how 'Mr. Sumner, 
 looking out of a window, said, "Oh! here comes Howe on his 
 black horse." I looked out also, and beheld a noble rider on 
 a noble steed.' 
 
 The slender, military figure, the jet-black hair, keen blue 
 eyes, and brilliant complexion, above all the vivid presence, 
 like the flash of a sword — all these could not fail to impress 
 the young girl deeply; the Chevalier, on his part, saw and 
 recognized the Diva Julia of his friends' description. She 
 has told us 'how acquaintance ripened into good-will' between 
 the two. 
 
 The Chevalier, eager to push the acquaintance further, 
 went to New York to call on the Diva and her family. In a 
 private journal of the time we find the following glimpse 
 of the pair: — 
 
 'Walked down Broadway with all the fashion and met the 
 pretty blue-stocking, Miss Julia Ward, with her admirer, Dr. 
 
 1 Afterward Mrs. Charles H. Dorr. This lady was of no kin to them. She 
 had been betrothed to their brother Henry, and was the lifelong friend of all 
 three sisters. 
 
38 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Howe, just home from Europe. She had on a blue satin cloak 
 and a white muslin dress. I looked to see if she had on blue 
 stockings, but I think not. I suspect that her stockings were 
 pink, and she wore low slippers, as Grandmamma does. 
 They say she dreams in Italian and quotes French verses. 
 She sang very prettily at a party last evening, and accom- 
 panied herself on the piano. I noticed how white her hands 
 were.' 
 
 During a subsequent visit to Boston in the winter of 
 1842-43, Julia Ward and Dr. Howe became engaged. The 
 engagement was warmly welcomed by the friends of both. 
 
 Charles Sumner writes to Julia : — 
 
 'Howe has told me, with eyes flashing with joy, that you 
 have received his love. May God make you happy in his 
 heart, as I know he will be happy in yours! A truer heart 
 was never offered to woman. I know him well. I know the 
 depth, strength, and constancy of his affections, as the whole 
 world knows the beauty of his life and character. And oh! 
 how I rejoice that these are all to mingle in loving harmony 
 with your great gifts of heart and mind. God bless you! 
 God bless you both! You will strengthen each other for the 
 duties of life; and the most beautiful happiness shall be 
 yours — that derived from inextinguishable mutual love, and 
 from the consciousness of duty done. 
 
 'You have accepted my dear Howe as your lover; pray let 
 me ever be 
 
 'Your most affectionate friend, 
 
 'Charles Sumner. 
 
 'P.S. Sir Huldbrand has subdued the restless Undine, 
 and the soul has been inspired into her; and her "wicked- 
 ness" shall cease.' 
 
 At the same time Diva writes to her brother Sam : — 
 'The Chevalier says truly — I am the captive of his bow and 
 spear. His true devotion has won me from the world, and 
 from myself. The past is already fading from my sight; 
 already, I begin to live with him in the future, which shall 
 be as calmly bright as true love can make it. I am perfectly 
 
GIRLHOOD 39 
 
 satisfied to sacrifice to one so noble and earnest the day 
 dreams of my youth. He will make life more beautiful to 
 me than a dream.' . . . 
 
 The wedding, a quiet one, took place at Samuel Ward's 
 house, on April 23, 1843, and four days later Chevalier and 
 Diva sailed together for Europe. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TRAVEL 
 1843-1844; aet. 24-25 
 
 ... I have been 
 In dangers of the sea and land, unseated; 
 And from the narrow gates of childbed oft 
 Have issued, bearing high my perilous prize 
 (The germ of angel-hood, from chaos rescued), 
 With steadfast hope and courage. . . . 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 In the forties it was no uncommon thing for a sister or friend 
 of the bride to form one of the wedding party when a journey 
 was to be taken; accordingly Annie Ward went with the 
 Howes and shared the pleasures of a notable year. She was 
 at this time seventeen; it was said of her that 'she looked so 
 like a lily-of-the-valley that one expected to see two long 
 green leaves spring up beside her as she walked.' 
 
 Horace Mann and his bride (Mary Peabody, sister of Mrs. 
 Nathaniel Hawthorne) sailed on the same steamer; the 
 friends met afterward in London and elsewhere. 
 
 This first visit to London was one which our mother always 
 loved to recall. Not only had the pair brought letters to 
 many notabilities, but Dr. Howe's reputation had preceded 
 him, and every reader of Dickens's 'American Notes' was 
 eager to meet the man who had brought a soul out of prison. 
 
 Julia writes to her sister Louisa (June 17) : — 
 
 'I have said something, — I can hardly say enough, of the 
 kindness we have received here. London seems already a 
 home to us, and one surrounded by dear friends. Morpeth 
 and his family, Rogers, Basil Montagu, and Sir R. H. Inglis 
 have been our best friends. Sydney Smith also has been 
 kind to us; he calls Howe "Prometheus," and says that he 
 gave a soul to an inanimate body. For four mornings, we 
 have not once breakfasted at home. Milnes gave us one very 
 nice breakfast; among the guests was Charles Buller, cele- 
 
TRAVEL 41 
 
 brated here for his wit and various endowments. The two 
 handsomest women I have seen are Mrs. Norton and the 
 Duchess of Sutherland — the former of these rather a haughty 
 beauty, with flashing eye and swelling lip, and dress too low 
 for our notions of propriety — this is common enough 
 here.' 
 
 The Doctor was lame (the result of an accident on ship- 
 board), and the Reverend Sydney Smith, one of their earliest 
 visitors, insisted on lending him his own crutches. The 
 Doctor demurred; he was tall, while Canon Smith was short 
 and stout. The crutches were sent, nevertheless. They could 
 not be used, and were returned with thanks; not so soon, 
 however, but that the kind and witty Canon made of the inci- 
 dent a peg on which to hang a jest. He had lost money by 
 American investments; in a letter published in a London 
 paper, after reflecting severely upon the failure of some of the 
 Western States to pay their debts, he added: 'And now an 
 American doctor has deprived me of my last means of 
 support!' 
 
 Sydney Smith proved genuinely kind and solicitous. He 
 writes to the Doctor: — 
 
 'You know as well as I do, or better, that nature charges 
 one hundred per cent for a bad leg used before the proper 
 time, and that if you use it a day sooner than you ought, it 
 may molest you for a month longer than you expect. This 
 being; [sic] if your ladies will trust themselves to me any 
 day, I shall have great pleasure in escorting them in their 
 sight-seeing, and will call upon them with my carriage, if 
 that be possible.' 
 
 He did take them about a great deal; they dined with him, 
 and passed more than one delightful evening at his house. 
 
 Another of their early visitors was Charles Dickens. Not 
 only did he invite them to dine, but he took them to all man- 
 ner of places unfamiliar to the ordinary tourist: to prisons, 
 workhouses, and asylums, . more interesting to the Chevalier 
 than theatre or picture-gallery. 
 
 There were even expeditions to darker places, when Julia 
 and Annie must stay at home. Dr. Howe's affair was with 
 
42 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 all sorts and conditions of men, and the creator of Joe and 
 Oliver Twist, the child of the Marshalsea, could show him 
 things that no one else could. The following note, in Dickens's 
 unmistakable handwriting, shows how these expeditions were 
 managed, and how he enjoyed them: — 
 
 My dear Howe, — Drive to-night to St. Giles's Church. Be 
 there at half -past 11 — and wait. One of Tracey's people 
 will put his head into the coach after a Venetian and myste- 
 rious fashion, and breathe your name. Follow that man. 
 Trust him to the death. 
 
 So no more at present from 
 
 The Mask. 
 
 Ninth June, 1843. 
 
 . Horace Mann was of the party on most of these 
 investigations. 
 
 Beside dinners and evening parties, there were breakfasts, 
 with Richard Monckton Milnes (afterward Lord Houghton), 
 with Samuel Rogers, — who gave them plovers' eggs, — and 
 with jovial Sir Robert Harry Inglis, who cut the loaf at 
 either end, giving the guests 'a slice or a hunch' at their desire. 
 
 This meal, our mother notes, was not 'a luncheon in dis- 
 guise,' but a genuine breakfast, at ten or even half -past nine 
 o'clock. 
 
 She writes to her sister Louisa : — 
 
 'People have been very kind to us — we have one or two 
 engagements for every day this week, and had three dinners 
 for one day, two of which we were, of course, forced to 
 decline. We had a pleasant dinner at Dickens's, on Saturday 
 — a very handsome entertainment, consisting of all manner 
 of good things. Dickens led me in to dinner — waxed quite 
 genial over his wine, and was more natural than I ever saw 
 him — after dinner we had coffee, conversation and music, to 
 which I lent my little wee voice! We did not get home until 
 half -past eleven. . . . Annie has doubtless told you how we 
 went to see Carlyle, and Mrs. was out, and I poured tea for 
 him, and he handed me the preserves with: "I do not know 
 
TRAVEL 43 
 
 what thae little things are, perhaps you can eat them — I never 
 touch them myseP." This naturally made me laugh — we had 
 a strange but pleasant evening with him — he is about forty, 
 looks young for that, drinks powerful tea, and then goes it 
 strong upon all subjects, but without extravagance — he has a 
 fine head, an earnest face, a glowing eye. . . . Furthermore, 
 we have walked into the affections of the Hon. Basil Montagu, 
 and Mrs. Basil — furthermore, Annie and I did went alone to 
 a rout at Mrs. Sydney Smith's, and were announced, "Mrs. 
 'Owe hand Miss Vord" — did not know a soul, Annie fright- 
 ened, I bored — got hold of some good people — made friends, 
 drank execrable tea, finished the evening by a crack with Sir 
 Sydney himself, and came off victorious, that is to say alive. 
 Sir S. very like old Mrs. Prime, three chins, and such a 
 corporosity! . . . 
 
 'Saturday, June 2nd. We have been too busy to write. 
 We dined on Wednesday with Kenyon — present Dickens's 
 wife, Fellows, Milnes and some others — Milnes a pert little 
 prig, but pleasant. A propos, when he came to call upon us, 
 our girl announced him as "Mr. Miller" — our conversation 
 ran upon literature, and I had the exquisite discrimination to 
 tell him that except Wordsworth, there were no great poets in 
 England now. Fortunately he soon took his departure, and 
 thus prevented me from expressing the light estimation in 
 which I hold his poetry. On Thursday Morpeth gave us a 
 beautiful dinner — thirteen servants in the hall, powdered 
 heads, Lady Carlisle very like Morpeth — Lady Mary Howard 
 not pretty; Duchess of Sutherland, beautiful, but like Lizzie 
 Hogg. They gave us strawberries, the first we have tasted, 
 green peas, pines, peaches, apricots, grapes — all very ex- 
 pensive. We stayed until nearly twelve — they were very 
 gracious — Annie and I are little people here — we are too 
 young(?) to be noticed — we are very demure, and have 
 learned humility. Chev receives a great deal of attention, 
 ladies press forward to look at him, roll up their eyes, and 
 exclaim, "Oh! he is such a wonner!" I do not like that the 
 pretty women should pay him so many compliments — it will 
 turn his little head! He is now almost well, and so hand- 
 
44 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 some! the wrinkles are almost gone — Yesterday, Sir Robert 
 Inglis gin us a treat in the shape of a breakfast — it was very 
 pleasant, albeit Sir R. is very pious, and a Tory to boot. 
 We had afterward a charming visit from Carlyle — in the eve- 
 ning we went to Lansdowne House, to a concert given by the 
 Marquis — heard Grisi, Lablache, Mario, Standigl, were much 
 pleased — I was astonished, though, to find that our little trio 
 at home was not bad, even in comparison with these stars. 
 They have, of course, infinitely better voices, but hang me 
 if they sing with half the enthusiasm and fire of our old Sam 
 and Cousi, or even of poor Dudy. Grisi's voice is beautifully 
 clear and flute-like — Mario sings si-be-mol and natural with 
 perfect ease. I was most interested in the German Standigl, 
 who sang the "Wanderer" with wonderful pathos. Lablache 
 thundered away — I must see them on the stage before I shall 
 be able to judge of them. After music we had supper. 
 Willie Wad 1 was indefatigable in our service. "Go, and 
 bring us a great deal more lemonade!" these were our oft- 
 repeated orders, and the good Geneseo trotted to the table for 
 us, till, as he expressed it, "he was ashamed to go any more." 
 Lansdowne is a devilish good fellow! ho! ho! He wears a 
 blue belt across his diaphragm, and a silver star on his left 
 breast — he jigs up and down the room, and makes himself at 
 home in his own house. He is about sixty, with Marchioness 
 to match; side dishes, I presume, but did not inquire. I 
 have just been breakfasting at the Duke of Sutherland's 
 superb palace. I will tell you next time about it. Lady 
 Carlisle says I am nice and pretty, oh! how I love her! . . .' 
 
 In another letter she says : — 
 
 'I take some interest in everything I see — especially in all 
 that throws light upon human prog. The Everetts 2 have given 
 us a beautiful and most agreeable dinner: Dickens, Mrs. 
 Norton, Moore, Landseer, and one or two others. Rogers 
 says: "I have three pleasures in the day: the first is, when 
 I get up in the morning, and scratch myself with my hair 
 mittens; the second is when I dress for dinner, and scratch 
 
 'William Wadsworth, of Geneseo. 
 
 "Edward Everett was at that time American Minister to England. 
 
TRAVEL 45 
 
 myself with my hair mittens; the third is when I undress at 
 night, and scratch myself with my hair mittens." . . .' 
 
 Beside this feast of hospitality, there was the theatre, with 
 Macready and Helen Faucit in the 'Lady of Lyons,' and the 
 opera, with Grisi and Mario, Alboni and Persiani. Julia, 
 who had been forbidden the theatre since her seventh year, 
 enjoyed to the full both music and drama, but 'the crowning 
 ecstasy of all' she found in the ballet, of which Fanny Elssler 
 and Cerito were the stars. The former was beginning to 
 wane; the dancing which to Emerson and Margaret Fuller 
 seemed 'poetry and religion' had lost, perhaps, something 
 of its magic ; the latter was still in her early bloom and grace. 
 
 Years later, our mother suggested to Theodore Parker that 
 'the best stage dancing gives the classic, in a fluent form, 
 with the illumination of life and personality.' She recalled 
 nothing sensual or even sensuous in the dances she saw that 
 season, only 'the very ecstasy and embodiment of grace.' 
 (But the Doctor thought Cerito ought to be sent to the House 
 of Correction ! ) 
 
 Among the English friends, the one to whom our parents 
 became most warmly attached was Lord Morpeth, afterwards 
 Earl of Carlisle. This gentleman proved a devoted friend. 
 Not only did he show the travellers every possible attention 
 in London, but finding that they were planning a tour through 
 Wales, Ireland, and Scotland, he made out with great care 
 an itinerary for them, giving the roads by which they should 
 travel and the points of interest they should visit. 
 
 Very reluctantly they left the London of so many delights, 
 and started on the prescribed tour, following in the main the 
 lines laid down by their kind friend. 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 Sunday, July 2. 
 
 . . . We are in Dublin, among the Paddies, and funny 
 enough they are. There are many beggars — you cannot get 
 into the carriage without being surrounded with ragged 
 women holding out their dirty hands, and clamouring for 
 ha'pence — we have just returned from Edgeworthtown ; on 
 
46 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 our way, we walked into some of the peasants' huts. I will 
 tell you about one — it was thatched, built very miserably, 
 had no floor except the native mud; there was a peat fire, 
 which filled the house with smoke — before the fire lay the 
 pig, grunting in concert with the chickens, who were picking 
 up scraps of the dinner, which consisted of potatoes and 
 salt — three families live in it. Two sets of little ragamuffins 
 are sitting in the dirt. Ch. bestows some pence: 'God kape 
 your honour — God save ye, wherever ye go, and sure and 
 it's a nice, comfortable looking young woman you have got 
 with you, an uncommon pretty girl' (that is me). Don't 
 they understand the matter, eh? We passed three delightful 
 hours with Miss Edgeworth, in the library in which she wrote 
 all her works — she was surrounded by a numerous and 
 charming family, among others, the last of her father's four 
 wives, whom she calls mother, although the lady must be some 
 ten years her junior. She is herself a most vivacious little 
 lady, about seventy-five years old, but gay and bright as a 
 young girl — she seemed quite delighted with Ch., and con- 
 versed with him on many topics in a very animated manner. 
 She has very clear and sound views of things, and takes the 
 liveliest interest in all that goes on around her, and in the 
 world. One of her younger brothers (with a nice Spanish 
 wife) has a nest of very young children, in whom she delights 
 as much as if she had not helped to bring up three sets of 
 brothers and sisters. She said to me: 'It is not only for 
 Laura Bridgman that I wanted to see Dr. Howe, but I admire 
 the spirit of all his writings.' She gave him some engrav- 
 ings, and wrote her name at the bottom. ... At one o'clock, 
 we went to luncheon which was very nice, consisting of meat, 
 potatoes, and preserves. . . . She made us laugh, and laughed 
 herself. They were saying that American lard was quite 
 superseding whale oil. 'Yes,' said she, 'and in consequence, 
 the whale cannot bear the sight of a pig.' Her little nephew 
 made a real bull. He was showing me his rat trap, 'and,' 
 said he, 'I shall kill the rat before I let him out, eh?' . . . 
 
 The end of July found the party once more in England. 
 An interesting letter tells of the unlucky visit to Wordsworth 
 
TRAVEL 47 
 
 which our mother (after forty-six years) describes from 
 memory in her 'Reminiscences' in slightly different terms. 
 
 From England the travellers had meant to go to Berlin, 
 but the King of Prussia, who eleven years before had kept 
 Dr. Howe in prison au secret for five weeks for carrying (at 
 the request of General Lafayette) succor to certain Polish 
 refugees, still regarded him as a dangerous person, and 
 Prussia was closed to him and his. This greatly amused 
 Horace Mann, who wrote to the Doctor, 'I understand the 
 King of Prussia has about 200,000 men constantly under 
 arms, and if necessary he can increase his force to two 
 millions. This shows the estimation in which he holds your 
 single self!' 
 
 Years later, the King sent Dr. Howe a gold medal in con- 
 sideration of his work for the blind: by a singular coinci- 
 dence, its money value was found to equal the sum which the 
 Doctor had been forced to pay for board and lodging in the 
 prison of Berlin. 
 
 Making a detour, the party journeyed through Switzerland 
 and the Austrian Tyrol, spent some weeks in Vienna, and a 
 month in Milan, where they met Count Gonfalonieri, one of 
 the prisoners of Spielberg. Julia had known two of these 
 sufferers, Foresti and Albinola, in New York, where they 
 lived for many years, beloved and respected. Hearing the 
 talk of these men, and seeing Italy bound hand and foot in 
 temporal and spiritual fetters, she was deeply impressed 
 by the apparent hopelessness of the outlook for the Italian 
 patriots. By what miracle, she asked herself long afterward, 
 was the great structure overthrown? She adds, 'The remem- 
 brance of this miracle forbids me to despair of any great 
 deliverance, desired and delayed. He who maketh the wrath 
 of men to serve Him can make liberty blossom out of the very 
 rod that the tyrant [wields] .' 
 
 Southward still they journeyed, by vettura, in the old 
 leisurely fashion, and came at last to Rome. 
 
 The thrill of wonder that Julia felt at the first sight of St. 
 Peter's dome across the Campagna was one of the abiding 
 impressions of her life; Rome was to be one of the cities of 
 
48 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 her heart; the charm was cast upon her in that first moment. 
 Yet she says of that Rome of 1843, 'A great gloom and 
 silence hung over it.' 
 
 The houses were cold, and there were few conveniences; 
 but Christmas found the Howes established in the Via San 
 Niccolo da Tolentino, as comfortably as might be. Here 
 they were joined by Louisa Ward, and here they soon gathered 
 round them a delightful circle of friends. Most of the 
 forestieri of Rome in those days were artists; among those 
 who came often to the house were Thomas Crawford, Luther 
 Terry, Freeman the painter and his wife, and Tormer, who 
 painted a portrait of Julia. The winter passed like a dream. 
 There were balls as gorgeous as those of London, with the 
 beautiful Princess Torlonia in place of the Duchess of Suth- 
 erland ; musical parties, at which Diva sang to the admiration 
 of all. There were visits to the galleries, where George 
 Combe was of the party, and where he and the Chevalier 
 studied the heads of statues and busts from the point of view 
 of phrenology, a theory in which both were deeply inter- 
 ested. They were presented to the Pope, Gregory XVI, who 
 wished to hear about Laura Bridgman. The Chevalier visited 
 all the 'public institutions, misnamed charitable,' 1 and the 
 schools, whose masters were amazed to find that he was an 
 American, and asked how in that case it happened that he 
 was not black! 
 
 In her 'Reminiscences' our mother records many vivid 
 impressions of these Roman days. She had forgotten, or did 
 not care to recall, a certain languor and depression of spirits 
 which in some measure dimmed for her the brightness of the 
 picture, but which were to give place to the highest joy she 
 had yet known. On March 12, her first child was born, and 
 was christened Julia Romana. 
 
 When, in the spring of 1844, she left Rome with husband, 
 sister, and baby, it seemed, she says, 'like returning to the 
 living world after a long separation from it.' 
 
 Journeying by way of Naples, Marseilles, Avignon, they 
 came at length to Paris. 
 
 1 S. G. H. to Charles Sumner. 
 
TRAVEL 49 
 
 Here Julia first saw Rachel, and Taglioni, the greatest of 
 all dancers; here, too, she tried to persuade the Chevalier to 
 wear his Greek decorations to Guizot's reception, but tried 
 in vain, he considering such ornaments unfitting a republican. 
 
 The autumn found them again in England, this time to 
 learn the delights of country visiting. Their first visit was 
 to Atherstone, the seat of Charles Nolte Bracebridge, a de- 
 scendant of Lady Godiva, a most cultivated and delightful 
 man. He and his charming wife made the party welcome, 
 and showed them everything of interest except the family 
 ghost, which remained invisible. 
 
 Another interesting visit was to the Nightingales of Embley. 
 Florence Nightingale was at this time a young woman of 
 twenty-four. A warm friendship sprang up between her and 
 our parents, and she felt moved to consult the Doctor on the 
 matter which then chiefly occupied her thoughts. Would it, 
 she asked, be unsuitable or unbecoming for a young English- 
 woman to devote herself to works of charity, in hospitals and 
 elsewhere, as the Catholic Sisters did? 
 
 The Doctor replied: 'My dear Miss Florence, it would be 
 unusual, and in England whatever is unusual is apt to be 
 thought unsuitable; but I say to you, go forward, if you 
 have a vocation for that way of life; act up to your inspira- 
 tion, and you will find that there is never anything unbecom- 
 ing or unladylike in doing your duty for the good of others. 
 Choose your path, go on with it, wherever it may lead you, 
 and God be with you!' 
 
 Among the people they met in the autumn of 1844 was 
 Professor Fowler, the phrenologist. This gentleman ex- 
 amined Julia's head, and made the following pronuncia- 
 mento : — 
 
 'You're a deep one! it takes a Yankee to find you out. 
 The intellectual temperament predominates in your char- 
 acter. You will be a central character like Henry Clay and 
 Silas Wright, and people will group themselves around you.' 
 
 Now Julia could not abide Professor Fowler. 
 
 'Oh, yes!' she snapped out angrily. 'They've always been 
 my models!' 
 
SO JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'The best things you do,' he went on, 'will be done on the 
 spur of the moment. You have enough love of order to enjoy 
 it, but you will not take the trouble to produce it. You have 
 more religion than morality. You have genius, but no music 
 in you by nature.' 
 
 Fifty years later these words were fresh in her memory. 
 
 'I disliked Mr. Fowler extremely,' she said, 'and believed 
 nothing of what he said: nevertheless, most of his predic- 
 tions were verified. I had at the time no leading in any of 
 the directions he indicated. I had been much shut up in 
 personal and family life; was a person rather of antipathies 
 than sympathies. His remarks made no impression. Yet,' 
 she added, 'I always had a sense of relation to the public, 
 but thought the connection would come through writing.' 
 
 Apropos of Mr. Fowler's 'more religion than morality,' she 
 said: 'Morality is a thing of the will; we may think differently 
 of such matters at different times. What he said may have 
 been true.' 
 
 Then the twinkle came into her eyes: 'When Mr. William 
 Astor heard of my engagement, he said, "Why, Miss Julia, I 
 am surprised! I thought you were too intellectual to marry!" ' 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 SOUTH BOSTON 
 1844-1851; aet. 25-32 
 
 In September, 1844, the travellers returned to America and 
 took up their residence at the Perkins Institution, in South 
 Boston, in the apartment known as the 'Doctor's Wing.' 
 
 Julia was now to realize fully the great change that had 
 come in her life. She had been the acknowledged queen of 
 her home and circle in New York. Up to this time, she had 
 known Boston as a gay visitor knows it. 
 
 She came now as the wife of a man who had neither leisure 
 nor inclination for 'Society* ; a man of tenderest heart, but of 
 dominant personality, accustomed to rule, and devoted to 
 causes of which she knew only by hearsay; moreover, so 
 absorbed in work for these causes, that he could only enjoy 
 his home by snatches. 
 
 She herself says: 'The romance of charity easily interests 
 the public. Its laborious details and duties repel and weary 
 the many, and find fitting ministers only in a few spirits of 
 rare and untiring benevolence. Dr. Howe, after all the laurels 
 and roses of victory, had to deal with the thorny ways of a 
 profession tedious, difficult, and exceptional. He was obliged 
 to create his own working machinery, to drill and instruct his 
 corps of teachers, himself first learning the secrets of the 
 desired instruction. He was also obliged to keep the infant 
 Institution fresh in the interest and goodwill of the public, 
 and to give it a place among the recognized benefactions of 
 the Commonwealth.' 
 
 From the bright litde world of old New York, from rela- 
 tives and friends, music and laughter, fun and frolic, she 
 came to live in an Institution, a bleak, lofty house set on a 
 hill, four-square to all the winds that blew; with high- 
 studded rooms, cold halls paved with white and gray marble, 
 echoing galleries; where three fourths of the inmates were 
 
52 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 blind, and the remaining fourth were devoting their time and 
 energies to the blind. The Institution was two miles from 
 Boston, where the friends of her girlhood lived: an un- 
 attractive district stretched between, traversed once in two 
 hours by omnibuses, the only means of transport. 
 
 This is one side of the picture; the other is different, 
 indeed. 
 
 Her girlhood had been shut in by locks and bars of Calvin- 
 istic piety; her friends and family were ready to laugh, to 
 weep, to pray with her; they were not ready to think with her. 
 It is true that surrounding this intimate circle was a wider 
 one, where her mind found stimulus in certain directions. 
 She studied German with Dr. Cogswell; she read Dante with 
 Felice Foresti, the Italian patriot; French, Latin, music, she 
 had them all. Her mind expanded, but her spiritual growth 
 dates from her early visits to Boston. 
 
 These visits had not been given wholly to gayety, even in 
 the days when she wrote, after a ball: 'I have been through 
 the burning, fiery furnace, and it is Sad-rake, Me-sick, and 
 Abed-no-go!' The friends she made, both men and women, 
 were people alive and awake, seeking new light, and finding 
 it on every hand. Moreover, at her side was now one of the 
 torch-bearers of humanity, a spirit burning with a clear 
 flame of fervor and resolve, lighting the dark places of the 
 earth. Her mind, under the stimulus of these influences, 
 opened like a flower; she too became one of the seekers for 
 light, and in her turn one of the light-bringers. 
 
 In her normal health she was a person of astounding vital- 
 ity, with a constitution of iron: as is common with such 
 temperaments, she felt a physical distaste to the abnormal 
 and defective. It required in those days all the strength of 
 her will to overcome her natural shrinking from the blind 
 and the other defectives with whom she was often thrown. 
 There is no clearer evidence of the development of her nature 
 than the contrast between this mental attitude and the deep 
 tenderness which she felt in her later years for the blind. 
 After the Doctor's death, they became her cherished friends ; 
 she could never do enough for them; with every year her 
 
SOUTH BOSTON S3 
 
 desire to visit the Perkins Institution, to talk with the pupils, 
 to give them all she had to give, grew stronger and more 
 lively. 
 
 Of the friends of this time, none had so deep and lasting 
 an influence over her as Theodore Parker, who had long 
 been a close friend of the Doctor's. She had first heard of 
 him in her girlhood, as an impious and sacrilegious person, 
 to be shunned by all good Christians. 
 
 In 1843 she met him in Rome, and found him 'one of the 
 most sympathetic and delightful of men' ; an intimacy sprang 
 up between the two families which ended only with Parker's 
 life. He baptized the baby Julia ; on returning to this coun- 
 try, she and the Doctor went regularly to hear him preach. 
 This she always considered as among the great opportunities 
 of her life. 
 
 'I cannot remember,' she says, 'that the interest of his ser- 
 mons ever varied for me. It was all one intense delight. . . . 
 It was hard to go out from his presence, all aglow with the 
 enthusiasm which he felt and inspired, and to hear him 
 spoken of as a teacher of irreligion, a pest to the community.' 
 
 She used in later years to shake her head as she recalled 
 a naughty mot of hers apropos of Parker's preaching: 'I 
 would rather,' she said, 'hear Theodore Parker preach than 
 go to the theatre; I would rather go to the theatre than go 
 to a party; I would rather go to a party than stay at home!' 
 
 During the years between 1843 and 1859, her life was 
 from time to time shadowed by the approach of a great joy. 
 Before the birth of each successive child she was oppressed 
 by a deep and persistent melancholy. Present and future 
 alike seemed dark to her; she wept for herself, but still more 
 for the hapless infant which must come to birth in so sorrow- 
 ful a world. With the birth of the child the cloud lifted and 
 vanished. Sunshine and joy — and the baby — filled the 
 world ; the mother sang, laughed, and made merry. 
 
 In her letters to her sisters, and later in her journals, both 
 these moods are abundantly evident. At first, these letters 
 are full of the bustle of arrival and of settling in the 
 Institution. 
 
54 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'I received the silver. . . . The soup-ladle is my delight, 
 and I could almost take the dear old coffee-pot to bed with 
 me. . . . But here is the most important thing. 
 
 'My tragedy is left behind! . . . My house ... in great 
 confusion, carpets not down, curtains not up, the devil to 
 pay, and not a sofa to ask him to sit down upon. . . .' 
 
 She now felt sadly the need of training in matters which 
 her girlhood had despised. (She could describe every room 
 in her father's house save one — the kitchen!) The Doctor 
 liked to give weekly dinners to his intimates, 'The Five of 
 Clubs,' and others. These dinners were something of a night- 
 mare to Julia, even with the aid of Miss Catherine Beecher's 
 cook-book. She spent weeks in studying this volume and 
 trying her hand on its recipes. This was not what her hand 
 was made for; yet she learned to make puddings, and was 
 proud of her preserves. 
 
 Much as the Doctor loved the Perkins Institution, he longed 
 for a home of his own, and in the spring of 1845 he found 
 a place entirely to his mind. 
 
 A few steps from the Institution was a plot of land, facing 
 the sun, sheltered from the north wind by the last remaining 
 bit of 'Washington Heights,' the eminence on which Wash- 
 ington planted the batteries which drove the British out of 
 Boston. Some six acres of fertile ground, an old house with 
 low, broad, sunny rooms, two towering Balm of Gilead trees, 
 and some ancient fruit trees: this was all in the beginning; 
 but the Doctor saw at a glance the possibilities of the place. 
 He bought it, added one or two rooms to the old house, 
 planted fruit trees, laid out flower gardens, and in the sum- 
 mer of 1845 moved his little family thither. 
 
 The move was made on a lovely summer day. As our 
 mother drove into the green bower, half shade, half sunshine, 
 silent save for the birds, she cried out, 'Oh! this is green 
 peace!' The name fitted and clung: 'Green Peace' was known 
 and loved as such so long as it existed. 
 
 This was the principal home of her married life, but it was 
 not precisely an abiding one. The summers were spent else- 
 where; moreover, the 'Doctor's Wing' in the Institution was 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 55 
 
 always ready for habitation, and it often happened that for 
 one reason or another the family were taken back there for 
 weeks or months. Two of the six children, Florence and 
 Maud, were born at the Institution; the former just before 
 the move to Green Peace. She was named Florence in honor 
 of Miss Nightingale. The Doctor had ardently desired a son ; 
 finding the baby a girl, 'I will forgive you,' he cried, 'if you 
 will name her for Florence Nightingale!' Miss Nightingale 
 became the child's godmother, and sent a golden cup (now 
 a precious heirloom) . 
 
 Letters to her sisters give glimpses of the life at Green 
 Peace during the years 1845-50. 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 ... I assure you it is a delightful but a terrible thing to be 
 a mother. The constant care, anxiety and thought of some 
 possible evil that may come to the little creature, too precious 
 to be so frail, whose life and well-being the mother feels God 
 has almost placed in her hands! If I did not think that angels 
 watched over my baby, I should be crazy about it. 
 
 Well, life am strange! I am again cookless. I impru- 
 dently turned old Smith off and took a young girl, who left me 
 in four days. Why? Her lover would not allow her to stay 
 in a family where she did not sit at table with the lady. I 
 had read of such things in Mrs. Trollope, and thought them 
 quite impossible. In the place from which I took her, she 
 had done all the cooking, washing and chamber work of the 
 house — was, in fine the only servant, for the compensation 
 of six dollars a month. But then, she sat at table!!! oh, ho! 
 
 To the same 1 
 
 South Boston, November, 1845. 
 My darling Wevie, — 
 
 The children have been so very obliging as to go to 
 sleep, and having worried over them all day, and part of the 
 
 'Louisa Ward married Thomas Crawford in 1844, and lived thereafter in 
 Rome. 
 
56 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 evening, I will endeavor to give you what is left of it. When 
 you become the mother of two children you will understand 
 the value of time as you never understood it before. My 
 days and nights are pretty much divided between Julia and 
 Florence. I sleep with the baby, nurse her all night, get up, 
 hurry through my breakfast, take care of her while Emily 
 gets hers, then wash and dress her, put her to sleep, drag 
 her out in the wagon, amuse Dudie, kiss, love and scold her, 
 etc., etc. . . . Oh, my dear Wevie, for one good squeeze in 
 your loving arms, for one kiss, and one smile from you, what 
 would I not give? Anything, even my box of Paris finery, 
 which I have just opened, with great edification. Oh, what 
 headdresses! what silks! what a bonnet, what a mantelet! I 
 clapped my hands and cried glory for the space of half an 
 hour, then danced a few Polkas around the study table, then 
 sat down and felt happy, then remembered that I had now 
 nothing to do save to grow old and ugly, and so turned a mis- 
 anthropic look upon the Marie Stuart garland, etc., etc. You 
 have certainly chosen my things with your own perfect taste. 
 The flowers and dresses are alike exquisite, and so are all 
 the things, not forgetting Dudie's little darling bonnet. But 
 I fear that even this beautiful toilette will hardly tempt me 
 from my nursery fireside where my presence is, in these days, 
 indispensable. I have not been ten minutes this whole day, 
 without holding one or other of the children. I have to sit 
 with Fo-f o on one knee and Dudie on the other, trotting them 
 alternately, and singing, 'Jim along Josie,' till I can't Jim 
 along any further possibly. Well, life is peculiar anyhow. 
 Dudie doesn't go alone yet — heaven only knows when she 
 will. Sunday evening. I wore the new bonnet and mantelet 
 to church, to-day: — frightened the sexton, made the minister 
 squint, and the congregation stare. It looked rather like a 
 green clam shell, some folks thought. I did not. I cocked 
 it as high as ever I could, but somehow it did plague me a 
 little. I shall soon get used to it. Sumner has been dining 
 with us, and he and Chev have been pitying unmarried 
 women. Oh, my dear friends, thought I, if you could only 
 have one baby, you would change your tune. . . . 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 57 
 
 To her sister Annie' 
 
 1846. 
 
 My poor dear little Ante-nuptial, I will write to you, and 
 I will come to you, though I can do you no good — sentiment 
 and sympathy I have none, but such insipidity as I have 
 give I unto thee. . . . Dear Annie, your marriage is to me a 
 grave and solemn matter. I hardly allow myself to think 
 about it. God give you all happiness, dearest child. Some 
 sufferings and trials I fear you must have, for after all, the 
 entering into single combat, hand to hand, with the realities 
 of life will be strange and painful to one who has hitherto 
 lived, enjoyed, and suffered, en I' air, as you have done. . . . 
 To be happily married seems to me the best thing for a 
 woman. Oh, my sweet Annie, may you be happy — your 
 maidenhood has been pure, sinless, loving, beautiful — you 
 have no remorses, no anxious thought about the past. You 
 have lived to make the earth more beautiful and bright — may 
 your married life be as holy and harmless — may it be more 
 complete, and more acceptable to God than your single life 
 could possibly have been. Marriage, like death, is a debt we 
 owe to nature, and though it costs us something to pay it, 
 yet are we more content and better established in peace, when 
 we have paid it. A young girl is a loose flower or flower seed, 
 blown about by the wind, it may be cruelly battered, may be 
 utterly blighted and lost to this world, but the matron is the 
 same flower or seed planted, springing up and bearing fruit 
 unto eternal life. . . . 
 
 The Doctor's health had been affected by the hardships and 
 exposures of his service in the Greek Revolution, and his 
 arduous labors now gave him little time for rest or recupera- 
 tion. He was subject to agonizing headaches, each of which 
 was a brief but distressing illness. In the summer of 1846 
 he resolved to try the water cure, then considered by many a 
 sovereign remedy for all human ailments, and he and our 
 mother spent some delightful weeks at Brattleboro, Vermont. 
 
 1 Before the marriage of the latter to Adolphe Mailliard. 
 
58 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 Bordentown, August, 1846. 
 
 . . . Sumner and Chev came hither with us, and passed two 
 days and nights here. Chev is well and good. Sumner is as 
 usual, funny but very good and kind. Philanthropy goes 
 ahead, and slavery will be abolished, and so shall we. 
 
 These were the days when Julia sang in her nursery: 
 
 'Rero, rero, riddlety rad, 
 
 This morning my baby caught sight of her Dad. 
 Quoth she, "Oh, Daddy, where have you been?" 
 "With Mann and Sumner a-putting down sin!" ' 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 August 17, 1846. 
 My dear darling Annie, — 
 
 . . . After seeing the frugal manner in which country people 
 live, and after deriving great benefit from hydropathic diet, 
 Chev and I thought we could get along with one servant less, 
 and so we have no cook. Lizzie 1 cooks, I make the pudding, 
 we have no tea, and live principally upon vegetables from 
 our own garden, hasty pudding, etc. I make the beds and 
 do the rooms, as well as I can. We get along quite comfort- 
 ably, and I like it very much — the fewer servants one has, the 
 more comfort, I think. ... I have plenty of occupation for 
 my fingers. My heart will be much taken up with my babies ; 
 as for my soul, that part of me which thinks and believes and 
 imagines, I shall leave it alone till the next world, for I see 
 it has litde to do in this. . . . 
 
 Good-bye. Your own, own 
 
 Dudie. 
 
 Finding that the isolation of South Boston was telling 
 seriously upon her health and spirits, the Doctor decided on a 
 change, and the winter of 1846 was spent at the Winthrop 
 House in Boston. 
 
 'The nurserymaid. 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 59 
 
 To the same 
 
 Monday morning, 1846. 
 My dearest, sweetest Annie, — 
 
 ... I have neglected you sadly this winter, and my heart 
 reproaches me for it. . . . It has been strange to me, to re- 
 turn to life and to feel that I have any sympathy with living 
 beings. ... I have been singing and writing poetry, so you 
 may know that I have been happy. Alas! am I not a selfish 
 creature to prize these enjoyments as I do, above almost 
 everything else in the world? God forgive me if I do wrong 
 in following with ardor the strongest instincts of my nature, 
 but I have been doing wrong all my life, in some way or 
 other. I have been giving a succession of little musical 
 parties on Saturday evenings, and I assure you they have 
 been quite successful. I have to be sure only my little par- 
 lour in the Winthrop House, but even that is larger than the 
 grand saloon at S. Niccolo da Tolentino which managed to 
 hold so much fun on Friday evenings. I have found some 
 musical friends to sing with me — Lizzie Cary, Mrs. Felton, 
 Mr. Pelosos and William Story, of whom more anon. . . . 
 Agassiz, the learned and charming Frenchman, is also one 
 of my habitues on Saturday evenings, and Count Pourtales, 
 a Swiss nobleman of good family, who has accompanied 
 Agassiz to this country! I illuminate my room with a chan- 
 delier and some candles, draw out the piano into the room, 
 and order some ice from Mrs. Mayer's — so that the recep- 
 tion gives me very little trouble. My friends come at half- 
 past eight and stay until eleven. I do not usually have more 
 than twenty people, but once I have had nearly sixty, and 
 those of the best people in Boston. Chev is very desirous of 
 having a house in town, and is far more pleased with my 
 success than I am. 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 May 17, 1847. 
 My sweetest beautifullest Wevie, — 
 
 ... I have not written because I have been in a studious, 
 meditative, and most uncommunicative frame of mind, and 
 
60 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 have very few words to throw at many dogs. It is quite 
 delightful to take to study again, and to feel that old and 
 stupid as one may be, there is still in one's mind a little power 
 of improvement. . . . The longer I live the more do I feel my 
 utter childlike helplessness about all practical affairs. Cer- 
 tainly a creature with such useless hands was never before 
 seen. I seem to need a dry nurse quite as much as my chil- 
 dren. What useful thing can I possibly teach these poor little 
 monkeys? For everything that is not soul I am an ass, that 
 I am. I have now been at Green Peace some six weeks, 
 and it is very pleasant and quiet, but oh! the season is so 
 backward; it is the 17th of May, and the trees are only be- 
 ginning to blossom. Every day comes a cold east wind to 
 nip off my nose, and the devil a bit of anything else comes 
 to Green Peace. I am thin and languid. I have never entirely 
 recovered from my fever, 1 but my mind is clearer than it 
 has ever been since my marriage. I am able to think, to study 
 and to pray, things which I cannot accomplish when my brain 
 is oppressed. . . . 
 
 Boston has been greatly enlivened during the past month 
 by a really fine opera, the troupe from Havana, much better 
 than the N. Y. troupe, with a fine orchestra and chorus, all 
 Italians. The Prima Donna is an artist of the first order, and 
 has an exquisite voice. I have had season tickets, and have 
 been nearly every night. This is a great indulgence, as it is 
 very expensive, and I have one of the best boxes in the house, 
 but Chev is the most indulgent of husbands. I never knew 
 anything like it. Think of all he allows me, a house and 
 garden, a delicious carriage and pair of horses, etc., etc., 
 etc. My children are coming on famously. Julia, or as she 
 calls herself, Romana, is really a fine creature, full of sensi- 
 bility and of talent. She learns very readily, and reasons 
 about things with great gravity. She remembers every tune 
 that she hears, and can sing a great many songs. She is very 
 full of fun, and so is my sweet Flossy, my little flaxen-haired 
 wax doll. I play for them on the piano, Lizzie beats the 
 tambourine, and die two babies take hold of hands and dance. 
 1 She had had a severe attack of scarlet fever during the winter. 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 61 
 
 'Is not your heart fully satisfied with such a sight?' you will 
 ask me. I reply, dear Wevie, that the soul whose desires 
 are not fixed upon the unattainable is dead even while it 
 liveth, and that I am glad, in the midst of all my comforts, 
 to feel myself still a pilgrim in pursuit of something that is 
 neither house nor lands, nor children, nor health. What that 
 something is I scarce know. Sometimes it seems to me one 
 thing and sometimes another. Oh, immortality, thou art to 
 us but a painful rapture, an ecstatic burthen in this earthly 
 life. God teach me to bear thee until thou shalt bear me! 
 The arms of the cross will one day turn into angels' wings, 
 and lift us up to heaven. Don't think from this rhapsody 
 that I am undergoing a fit of pietistic exaltation. I am not, 
 but as I grow older, many things become clearer to me, and I 
 feel at once the difficulty and the necessity of holding fast 
 to one's soul and to its divine relationships, lest the world 
 should cheat us of it utterly. 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 June 19 [1847], Green Peace. 
 
 My dearest little Annie, — 
 
 . . . Boston has been in great excitement at the public de- 
 bates of the Prison Discipline Society, which have been 
 intensely interesting. Chev and Sumner have each spoken 
 twice, in behalf of the Philadelphia system, and against the 
 course of the Society. They have been furiously attacked by 
 the opposite party. Chev's second speech drew tears from 
 many eyes, and was very beautiful. Both of Sumner's have 
 been fine, but the last, delivered last evening, was masterly. I 
 never listened to anything with more intense interest, — he 
 held the audience breathless for two hours and a half. I have 
 attended all the debates save one — there have been seven. 
 
 • •••••••••• 
 
 The wayward moods shown in these letters sometimes 
 found other expression. In those days her wit was wayward 
 too: its arrows were always winged, and sometimes over- 
 sharp. In later life, when Boston and everything connected 
 
62 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 with it was unspeakably dear to her, she would not recall the 
 day when, passing on Charles Street the Charitable Eye and 
 Ear Infirmary, she read the name aloud and exclaimed, 'Oh! 
 I did not know there was a charitable eye or ear in Boston!' 
 Or that other day, when having dined with the Ticknors, a 
 family of monumental dignity, she said to a friend afterward, 
 'Oh! I am so cold! I have been dining with the Tete Noir, 
 the Mer(e) de Glace, and the Jungfrau!' 
 
 It may have been in these days that an incident occurred 
 which she thus describes in 'A Plea for Humour': 'I once 
 wrote to an intimate friend a very high-flown and ridiculous 
 letter of reproof for her frivolity. I presently heard of her 
 as ill in bed, in consequence of my unkindness. I imme- 
 diately wrote, "Did not you see that the whole thing was 
 intended to be a burlesque?" After a while she wrote back, 
 "I am just beginning to see the fun of it, but the next time 
 you intend to make a joke, pray give me a fortnight's notice." 
 It was now my turn to take to my bed.' 
 
 In September, 1847, a heavy sorrow came to her in the 
 death of her brother Marion, 'a gallant, gracious boy, a 
 true, upright and useful man.' She writes to her sister Louisa: 
 'Let us thank Him that Marion's life gave us as much joy as 
 his death has given us pain. . . . Our children will grow up 
 in love and beauty, and one of us will have a sweet boy who 
 shall bear the dear name of Marion and make it doubly dear 
 to us.' 
 
 This prophecy was fulfilled first by the birth, on March 2, 
 1848, of Henry Marion Howe (named for the two lost 
 brothers), and again in 1854 by that of Francis Marion 
 Crawford. 
 
 The winter of 1847—48 also was spent in Boston, at No. 
 74 Mount Vernon Street; here the first son was born. The 
 Doctor, recording his birth in the Family Bible, wrote after 
 the name, 'Dieu donne!' And, his mind full of the Revolu- 
 tion of 1848 in France, added, 'Liberie, Egalite, FraterniteF 
 
 On April 18 she writes: 'My boy will be seven weeks old 
 to-morrow, and . . . such a darling little child was never seen 
 in this world before. ... I shall have some fears lest his 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 63 
 
 temperament partake of the melancholy which oppressed me 
 during the period of his creation, but so far he is so placid 
 and gentle, that we call him the little saint. ... I have seen 
 little of the world since his birth, and thought still less. I 
 shall try to pursue my studies as I have through this last year, 
 for I am good for nothing without them. I will rather give 
 up the world and cut out Beacon Street, but an hour or two 
 for the cultivation of my poor little soul I must and will 
 have. . . .' 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 Sunday, December 15, 1849. 
 
 ... I do want to see you, best Annie, and to have a few 
 long talks with you about theology, the soul, the heart, life, 
 matrimony, and the points of resemblance between the patri- 
 arch Noah and Sir Tipsy Squinteye. Those talks, madam, 
 are not to be had, so instead of the rich creme fouettee of our 
 conversation, we will take an insipid water-ice of a letter 
 together, the two spoons being ourselves, the sugar, ice and 
 lemon representing our three husbands, all mixed up together, 
 the whole to be considered good when one can't get anything 
 better. I will be hanged, however, if you shall make me say 
 which is which. 
 
 I pass my life after a singular manner, Annie. I am in 
 the old room, in the old house, even in the old dressing- 
 gown, which is of some value, inasmuch as it furnishes my 
 rent. 1 am in the old place, but the old Dudie is not in me; 
 in her stead is a spirit of crossness and dullness, insensible to 
 all the gentler influences of life, knowing no music, poetry, 
 wit, or devotion, intent mainly upon holding on to the ropes, 
 and upon getting through the present without too much con- 
 sciousness of it. . . . 
 
 The winter of 1849-50 also was spent at No. 74 Mount 
 Vernon Street. Here, in February, 1850, a third daughter 
 was born, and named Laura for Laura Bridgman. In the 
 spring, our parents made a second voyage to Europe, taking 
 with them the two youngest children. 
 
64 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The Doctor had but six months' leave of absence; it was 
 felt by both that Julia needed a longer time of rest and re- 
 freshment; accordingly when he returned she, with the two 
 little children, joined her sisters, both now married, and the 
 three proceeded to Rome, where they spent the winter. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford was living at Villa Negroni, where Mrs. 
 Mailliard became her companion ; Julia found a comfortable 
 apartment in Via Capo le Case, with the Edward Freemans 
 on the floor above, and Mrs. David Dudley Field on that 
 below. 
 
 These were pleasant neighbors. Mrs. Freeman was Julia's 
 companion in many delightful walks and excursions; when 
 Mrs. Field had a party, she borrowed Mrs. Howe's large 
 lamp, and was ready to lend her tea-cups in return. There 
 was a Christmas tree — the first ever seen in Rome! — at Villa 
 Negroni; 'an occasional ball, a box at the opera, a drive on 
 the Campagna.' 
 
 Julia found a learned Rabbi from the Ghetto, and resumed 
 the study of Hebrew, which she had begun the year before in 
 South Boston. This accomplished man was obliged to wear 
 the distinctive dress then imposed upon the Jews of Rome, 
 and to be within the walls of the Ghetto by six in the evening. 
 There were private theatricals, too, she appearing as 'Til- 
 burina' in 'The Critic' 
 
 In the summer of 1851 she turned her face westward. The 
 call of husband, children, home, was imperative; yet so 
 deep was the spell which Rome had laid upon her that the 
 parting was fraught with 'pain, amounting almost to anguish.' 
 She was oppressed by the thought that she might never again 
 see all that had grown so dear. Looking back upon this time, 
 she says, T have indeed seen Rome and its wonders more 
 than once since that time, but never as I saw them then.' 
 
 The homeward voyage was made in a sailing-vessel, in 
 company with Mr. and Mrs. Mailliard. They were a month 
 at sea. In the long quiet mornings Julia read Swedenborg's 
 'Divine Love and Wisdom'; in the afternoons Eugene Sue's 
 'Mysteres de Paris' borrowed from a steerage passenger. 
 There was whist in the evening; when her companions had 
 
SOUTH BOSTON 65 
 
 gone to rest she would sit alone, thinking over the six months, 
 weaving into song their pleasures and their pains. The actual 
 record of this second Roman winter is found in 'Passion 
 Flowers.' 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 •PASSION FLOWERS' 
 1852-1858; aet. 33-39 
 
 We have seen that from her earliest childhood Julia Ward's 
 need of expressing herself in verse was imperative. Every 
 emotion, deep or trivial, must take metrical shape; she 
 laughed, wept, prayed — even stormed — in verse. 
 
 Walking with her one day, her sister Annie, always half 
 angel, half sprite, pointed to an object in the road. 'Dudie 
 dear,' she said; 'squashed frog! little verse, dear?' 
 
 We may laugh with the two sisters, but under the laughter 
 lies a deep sense of the poet's nature. 
 
 As in her dreamy girlhood she prayed — 
 
 'Oh! give me back my golden lyre!' — 
 
 so in later life she was to pray — 
 
 'On the Matron's time-worn mantle 
 Let the Poet's wreath be laid.' 
 
 The tide of song had been checked for a time; after the 
 second visit to Rome, it flowed more freely than ever. By 
 the winter of 1853—54, a volume was ready (the poems 
 chosen and arranged with the help of James T. Fields), and 
 was published by Ticknor and Fields under the title of 
 'Passion Flowers.' 
 
 No name appeared on the title-page; she had thought to 
 keep her incognito, but she was recognized at once as the 
 author, and the book became the literary sensation of the 
 hour. It passed rapidly through three editions; was, she 
 says, 'much praised, much blamed, and much called in 
 question.' 
 
 She writes to her sister Annie: — 
 
 'The history of all these days, beloved, is comprised in one 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 67 
 
 phrase, the miseries of proof-reading. Oh, the endless, end- 
 less plague of looking over these proof-sheets — the doubts 
 about phrases, rhymes, and expressions, the perplexity of 
 names, especially, in which I have not been fortunate. To- 
 morrow I get my last proof. Then a fortnight must be allowed 
 for drying and binding. Then I shall be out, fairly out, do 
 you hear? So far my secret has been pretty well kept. My 
 book is to bear a simple title without my name, according to 
 Longfellow's advice. Longfellow has been reading a part of 
 the volume in sheets. He says it will make a sensation. . . . 
 I feel much excited, quite unsettled, sometimes a little frantic. 
 If I succeed, I feel that I shall be humbled by my happiness, 
 devoutly thankful to God. Now, I will not write any more 
 about it.' 
 
 The warmest praise came from the poets, — the 'high, im- 
 passioned few' of her 'Salutatory.' Whittier wrote: — 
 
 Amesbury, 29th, 12 mo. 53. 
 My dear Fr'd, — 
 
 A thousand thanks for thy volume! I rec'd it some days 
 ago, but was too ill to read it. I glanced at 'Rome,' 'Newport 
 and Rome,' and they excited me like a war-trumpet. To-day, 
 with the wild storm drifting without, my sister and I have 
 been busy with thy book, and basking in the warm atmosphere 
 of its flowers of passion. It is a great book — it has placed 
 thee at the head of us all. I like its noble aims, its scorn and 
 hate of priestcraft and Slavery. It speaks out bravely, beauti- 
 fully all I have felt, but could not express, when contemplat- 
 ing the condition of Europe. God bless thee for it! 
 
 I owe an apology to Dr. Howe, if not to thyself, for putting 
 into verse 1 an incident of his early life which a friend related 
 to me. When I saw his name connected with it, in some of 
 the papers that copied it, I felt fearful that I had wounded, 
 perhaps, the feelings of one I love and honor beyond almost 
 any other man, by the liberty I have taken. I can only say 
 I could. not well help it — a sort of necessity was before me, 
 to say what I did. 
 
 14 The Hero.' See Whittier's Poems. 
 
68 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 I wish I could tell thee how glad thy volume has made me. 
 I have marked it all over with notes of admiration. I dare 
 say it has faults enough, but thee need not fear on that 
 account. It has beauty enough to save thy 'slender neck* 
 from the axe of the critical headsman. The veriest 'de'il' — 
 as Burns says — 'wad look into thy face and swear he could 
 na wrang thee.' 
 
 With love to the Doctor and thy lovely little folk, I am 
 
 Very sincerely thy friend, 
 
 John G. Whittier. 
 
 Emerson wrote: 
 
 Concord, Mass., 30 Dec, 1853. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Howe, — 
 
 I am just leaving home with much ado of happy prepara- 
 tion for an absence of five weeks, but must take a few 
 moments to thank you for the happiness your gift brings me. 
 It was very kind in you to send it to me, who have forfeited 
 all apparent claims to such favor, by breaking all the laws of 
 good neighborhood in these years. But you were entirely 
 right in sending it, because, I fancy, that among all your 
 friends, few had so earnest a desire to know your thoughts, 
 and, I may say, so much regret at never seeing you, as I. 
 And the book, as I read in it, meets this curiosity of mine, by 
 its poems of character and confidence, private lyrics, whose 
 air and words [are] all your own. I have not gone so far in 
 them as to have any criticism to offer you, and like better the 
 pure pleasure I find in a new book of poetry so warm with 
 life. Perhaps, when I have finished the book, I shall ask 
 the privilege of saying something further. At present I con- 
 tent myself with thanking you. 
 
 With great regard, 
 
 R. W. Emerson. 
 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, always generous in his welcome 
 to younger writers, sent the following poem, never before 
 printed: — 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 69 
 
 If I were one, Minstrel wild, 
 
 That held 'the golden cup,' 
 Not unto thee, Art's stolen child, 
 
 My hand should yield it up; 
 
 Why should I waste its gold on one 
 
 That holds a guerdon bright — 
 A chalice, flashing in the sun, 
 
 Of perfect chrysolite. 
 
 And shaped on such a swelling sphere 
 
 As if some God had pressed 
 Its flowing crystal, soft and clear 
 
 On Hebe's virgin breast? 
 
 What though the bitter grapes of earth 
 
 Have mingled in its wine? 
 The stolen fruits of heavenly birth 
 
 Have made its hue divine. 
 
 Oh, Lady, there are charms that win 
 
 Their way to magic bowers, 
 And they that weave them enter in 
 
 In spite of mortal powers; 
 
 And hearts that seek the chapel's floor 
 
 Will throb the long aisle through, 
 Though none are waiting at the door 
 
 To sprinkle holy dew! 
 
 I, sitting in the portal gray 
 
 Of Art's cathedral dim, 
 Can see thee, passing in to pray 
 
 And sing thy first-born hymn; — 
 
 Hold out thy hand! these scanty drops 
 
 Come from a hallowed stream, 
 Its sands, a poet's crumbling hopes, 
 
 Its mists, his fading dream. 
 
70 JULIA WARD HQWE 
 
 Pass on. Around the inmost shrine 
 A few faint tapers burn; 
 
 This altar, Priestess, shall be thine 
 To light and watch in turn; 
 
 Above it smiles the Mother Maid, 
 It leans on Love and Art, 
 
 And in its glowing depth is laid 
 The first true woman's heart! 
 
 Boston, Jan. 1, 1854. 
 
 0. W. H. 
 
 She writes her sister Annie: — 
 
 'My book came out, darling, on Friday last. You have it, 
 I hope, ere this time. The simple title, "Passion Flowers," 
 was invented by Scherb 1 and approved by Longfellow. Its 
 success became certain at once. Hundreds of copies have 
 already been sold, and every one likes it. Fields foretells a 
 second edition — it is sure to pay for itself. It has done more 
 for me, in point of consideration here, than a fortune of a 
 hundred thousand dollars. Parker quoted some of my verses 
 in his Christmas sermon, and this I considered as the greatest 
 of honors. I sat there and heard them, glowing all over. 
 The authorship is, of course, no secret now. . . .' 
 
 Speaking of the volume long after, she says, 'It was a timid 
 performance upon a slender reed.' 
 
 Three years later a second volume of verse was published 
 by Ticknor and Fields under the title of 'Words for the Hour.' 
 Of this, George William Curtis wrote, 'It is a better book 
 than its predecessor, but will probably not meet with the 
 same success.' 
 
 She had written plays ever since she was nine years old. 
 In 1857, the same year which saw the publication of 'Words 
 for the Hour,' she produced her first serious dramatic work, 
 a five-act drama entitled 'The World's Own.' It was per- 
 formed in New York at Wallack's Theatre, and in Boston 
 with Matilda Heron and the elder Sothern in the leading 
 parts. She notes that one critic pronounced the play 'full of 
 
 *A German scholar, at this time an habitue of the house. 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 71 
 
 literary merits and of dramatic defects'; and she adds, 'It 
 did not, as they say, "keep the stage." ' 
 
 Yet her brother Sam writes to her from New York: 'Lenore 
 still draws the best houses; there was hardly standing room 
 on Friday night'; and again: 'Mr. Russell went last night, a 
 second time, bought the libretto, which I send you by this 
 mail — declares that there is not a grander play in our lan- 
 guage. He says that it is full of dramatic vigor, that the 
 interest never flags — but that unhappily Miss H., with the 
 soul and self-abandonment of a great actress, lacks those 
 graces of elocution, which should set forth the beauties of 
 your verses.' 
 
 Some of the critics blamed the author severely for her 
 choice of a subject — the betrayal and abandonment of an 
 innocent girl by a villain; they thought it unfeminine, not to 
 say indelicate, for a woman to write of such matters. 
 
 At that time nothing could be farther from her thoughts 
 than to be classed with the advocates of Women's Rights as 
 they then appeared; yet in 'The World's Own' are passages 
 which show that already her heart cherished the high ideal of 
 her sex, for which her later voice was to be uplifted. 
 
 We must not forget the Comic Muse. Comparatively little 
 of her humorous verse is preserved; she seldom thought it 
 important enough to make two copies, and the first draft was 
 often lost or given away. The following was written in the 
 fifties, when Wulf Fries was a young and much-admired 
 musician in Boston. Miss Mary Bigelow had invited her to 
 her house 'at nine o'clock' to hear him play, meaning nine in 
 the morning. She took this for nine in the evening; the rest 
 explains itself: — 
 
 Miss Mary Big'low, you who seem 
 
 So debonair and kind, 
 Pray, what the devil do you mean 
 
 (If I may speak my mind) 
 
 By asking me to come and hear 
 That Wulf of yours a-Friesing, 
 
72 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Then leaving me to cool my heels 
 In manner so unpleasing? 
 
 With Mrs. Dr. Susan you 
 
 That eve, forsooth, were tea-ing: 
 
 Confess you knew that I should come, 
 And from my wrath were fleeing! 
 
 To Mrs. Dr. Susan's I 
 
 Had not invited been: 
 So when the maid said, 'Best go there!' 
 
 I answered, 'Not so green!' 
 
 Within the darksome carriage hid 
 
 I bottled up my beauty, 
 And, rather foolish, hurried home 
 
 To fireside and duty. 
 
 It's very pleasant, you may think, 
 
 On winter nights to roam; 
 But when you next invite abroad, 
 
 This wolf will freeze at home! 
 
 While she was pouring out her heart in poem and play, and 
 the Doctor was riding the errands of the hour and binding up 
 the wounds of Humanity, what, it may be asked, — it was 
 asked by anxious friends, — was becoming of the little Howes? 
 Why, the little Howes (there were now five, Maud having 
 been bom in November, 1854) were having perhaps the most 
 wonderful childhood that ever children had. Spite of the 
 occasional winters spent in town, our memories centre round 
 Green Peace; — there Paradise blossomed for us. Climbing 
 the cherry trees, picnicking on the terrace behind the house, 
 playing in the bowling-alley, tumbling into the fishpond, — 
 we see ourselves here and there, always merry, always vigor- 
 ous and robust. We were also studying, sometimes at school, 
 sometimes with our mother, who gave us the earliest lessons 
 in French and music; more often, in those years, under vari- 
 ous masters and governesses. The former were apt to be 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 73 
 
 political exiles, the Doctor always having many such on 
 hand, some learned, all impecunious, all seeking employ- 
 ment. We recall a Pole, a Dane, two Germans, one French- 
 man. The last, poor man, was married to a Smyrniote 
 woman with a bad temper; neither spoke the other's language, 
 and when they quarrelled they came to the Doctor, demanding 
 his services as interpreter. 
 
 Through successive additions, the house had grown to a 
 goodly size; the new part, with large, high-studded rooms, 
 towering above the ancient farmhouse, which nevertheless 
 seemed always the heart of the place. Between the two was 
 a conservatory, a posy of all sweet flowers: the large green- 
 house was down in the garden, under the same roof as the 
 bowling-alley. 
 
 The pears and peaches and strawberries of Green Peace 
 were like no others that ever ripened; we see ourselves 
 tagging at our father's heels, watching his pruning and graft- 
 ing with an absorption equalling his own, learning from him 
 that there must be honor in gardens as elsewhere, and that 
 fruit taken from his hand was sweet, while stolen fruit would 
 be bitter. 
 
 We see ourselves gathered in the great dining-room, where 
 the grand piano was, and the Gobelin carpet with the strange 
 beasts and fishes, bought at the sale of the ex-King Joseph 
 Bonaparte's furniture at Bordentown, and the Snyders' Boar 
 Hunt, which one of us could never pass without a shiver; see 
 ourselves dancing to our mother's playing, — wonderful 
 dances, invented by Flossy, who was always premiere 
 danseuse, and whose 'Lady Macbeth' dagger dance was a 
 thing to remember. 
 
 Then perhaps the door would open, and in would come 
 'Papa' as a bear, in his fur overcoat, growling horribly, and 
 chase the dancers into corners, they shrieking terrified delight. 
 
 Again, we see ourselves clustered round the piano while 
 our mother sang to us; songs of all nations, from the Polish 
 drinking-songs that Uncle Sam had learned in his student 
 days in Germany, down to the Negro melodies which were 
 very near our hearts. 
 
74 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Best of all, however, we loved her own songs : cradle-songs 
 and nursery nonsense made for our very selves — 
 
 '(Sleep, my little child. 
 So gentle, sweet and mild! 
 The little lamb has gone to rest, 
 The little bird is in its nest, — ' 
 
 'Put in the donkey!' cries Laura. The golden voice goes 
 on without a pause — 
 
 'The little donkey in the stable 
 Sleeps as sound as he is able; 
 All things now their rest pursue, 
 You are sleepy too ! ) ' 
 
 Again, she would sing passionate songs of love or battle, or 
 hymns of lofty faith and aspiration. One and all, we listened 
 eagerly; one and all, we too began to see visions and dream 
 dreams. 
 
 Now and then, the Muse and Humanity had to stand aside 
 and wait while the children had a party; such a party as no 
 other children ever had. What wonder, when both parents 
 turned the full current of their power into this channel? 
 
 It was one of these parties of which the Doctor wrote to 
 Charles Sumner: 'Altogether it was a good affair, a religious 
 affair; I say religious, for there is nothing which so calls 
 forth my love and gratitude to God as the sight of the happi- 
 ness for which He has given the capacity and furnished the 
 means; and this happiness is nowhere more striking than in 
 the frolics of the young.' 
 
 Among the plays given at Green Peace were the 'Three 
 Bears,' the Doctor appearing as the Great Big Huge Bear; 
 and the 'Rose and the Ring,' in which he played Kutasoff 
 Hedzoff and our mother Countess Gruffanuff, while John A. 
 Andrew, not yet Governor, made an unforgettable Prince 
 Bulbo. 
 
 It was a matter of course to us children, that 'Papa and 
 Mamma' should play with us, sing to us, tell us stories, bathe 
 our bumps, and accompany us to the dentist; these were 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 75 
 
 things that papas and mammas did! Looking back now, with 
 some realization of all the other things they did, we wonder 
 how they managed it. For one thing, both were rapid work- 
 ers ; for another, both had the power of leading and inspiring 
 others to work ; for a third, so far as we can see, neither ever 
 wasted a moment; for a fourth, neither ever reached the point 
 where there was not some other task ahead, to be begun as 
 soon as might be. 
 
 Life with a Comet-Apostle was not always easy. Some 
 one once expressed to 'Auntie Francis' wonder at the patience 
 with which she endured all the troublesome traits of her 
 much-loved husband. 'My dear,' she replied, 'I shipped as 
 Captain's mate, for the voyage!' 
 
 Our mother, quoting this, says, 'I cannot imagine a more 
 useful motto for married life.' 
 
 During the thirty-four years of her own married life the 
 Doctor was captain, beyond dispute ; yet sometimes the mate 
 felt that she must take her own way, and took it quietly. She 
 was fond of quoting the words of Thomas Garrett, 1 whose 
 house was for years a station of the Underground Railway, 
 and who helped many slaves to freedom. 
 
 'How did you manage it?' she asked him. 
 
 His reply sank deep into her mind. 
 
 'It was borne in upon me at an early period, that if I told 
 no one what I intended to do, I should be enabled to do it.' 
 
 The bond between our mother and father was not to be 
 entirely broken even by death. She survived him by thirty- 
 four years; but she never discussed with any one of us a 
 question of deep import, or national consideration, without 
 saying, 'Your father would think thus, say thus!' It has been 
 told elsewhere 2 how she once, being in Newport and waked 
 from sleep by some noise, called to him; and how he, in 
 Boston, heard her, and asked, when next they met, 'Why did 
 you call me?' To the end of her life, if startled or alarmed, 
 she never failed to cry aloud, 'Chev!' 
 
 Children were not the only guests at Green Peace. Some 
 
 1 Of Wilmington, Delaware. * Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe. 
 
76 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of us remember Kossuth's visit; our mother often told of 
 the day when John Brown knocked at the door, and she 
 opened it herself. To all of us, Charles Sumner and his 
 brothers, Albert and George, Hillard, Agassiz, Andrew, 
 Parker were familiar figures, and fit naturally into the back- 
 ground of Green Peace. 
 
 Of Whittier our mother says: — 
 
 'I shall always be glad that I saw the poet Whittier in his 
 youth and mine. I was staying in Boston during the winter 
 of 1847, a young mother with two dear girl babies, when 
 Sumner, I think, brought Whittier to our rooms and intro- 
 duced him to me. His appearance then was most striking. 
 His eyes glowed like black diamonds — his hair was of the 
 same hue, brushed back from his forehead. Several were 
 present on this occasion who knew him familiarly, and one of 
 these persons bantered him a little on his bachelor state. Mr. 
 Whittier said in reply: "The world's people have taken so 
 many of our Quaker girls that there is none left for me." A 
 year or two later, my husband invited him to dine, but was 
 detained so late that I had a tete-a-tete of half an hour with 
 Mr. Whittier. We sat near the fire, rather shy and silent, 
 both of us. Whenever I spoke to Whittier, he hitched his 
 chair nearer to the fire. At last Dr. Howe came in. I said 
 to him afterwards, "My dear, if you had been a little later, 
 Mr. Whittier would have gone up the chimney." ' 
 
 The most welcome visitor of all was Uncle Sam Ward. 
 He came into the house like light: we warmed our hands at 
 his fire and were glad. It was not because he brought us 
 peaches and gold bracelets, Virginia hams (to be boiled after 
 his own recipe, with a bottle of champagne, a wisp of new- 
 mown hay and — we forget what else!), and fine editions of 
 Horace : it was because he brought himself. 
 
 'I disagree with Sam Ward,' said Charles Sumner, 'on 
 almost every known topic: but when I have talked with him 
 five minutes I forget everything save that he is the most de- 
 lightful companion in the world!' 
 
 Hardly less dear to us than Green Peace, and far dearer to 
 her, was the summer home at Lawton's Valley, in Ports- 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 77 
 
 mouth, 1 Rhode Island. Here, as at South Boston, the Doctor's 
 genius for 'construction and repairs' wrought a lovely 
 miracle. He found a tiny farmhouse, sheltered from the sea- 
 winds by a rugged hillock; near at hand, a rocky gorge, 
 through which tumbled a wild litde stream, checked here and 
 there by a rude dam ; in one place turning the wheel of a mill, 
 where the neighboring farmers brought corn to grind. His 
 quick eye caught the possibilities of the situation. He bought 
 the place and proceeded to make of it a second earthly para- 
 dise. The house was enlarged, trees were felled here, planted 
 there ; a garden appeared as if by magic ; in the Valley itself 
 the turbulent stream was curbed by stone embankments; the 
 open space became an emerald lawn, set at intervals with 
 Norway spruces ; under the great ash tree that towered in the 
 centre rustic seats and tables were placed. Here, through 
 many years, the 'Mistress of the Valley' was to pass her 
 happiest hours; to the Valley and its healing balm of quiet 
 she owed the inspiration of much of her best work. 
 
 The following letters fill in the picture of a time to which 
 in her later years she looked back as one of the happiest of 
 her life. 
 
 Yet she was often unhappy, sometimes suffering. Human- 
 ity, her husband's faithful taskmistress, had not yet set her 
 to work, and the long hours of his service left her lonely, and 
 — the babies once in bed — at a loss. 
 
 Her eyes, injured in Rome, in 1843, by the throwing of 
 confetti (made, in those days, of lime), gave her much 
 trouble, often exquisite pain. She rarely, in our memory, 
 used them in the evening. Yet, in later life, all the miseries, 
 little and big, were dismissed with a smile and a sigh and a 
 shake of the head. 'I was very naughty in those days!' she 
 would say. 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 Green Peace, Feb. 18, 1853. 
 My dearest Louisa, — 
 
 I have kept a long silence with you, but I suppose that it 
 is too evident before this time that letter-writing is not my 
 
 J Near Newport, of which it is really a suburb. 
 
78 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 forte, to need any further explanation of such a fact. Let 
 me say, however, once for all, that I do not stand upon my 
 reputation as a letter-writer. About my poetry and my 
 music, I may be touchy and exacting — about my talents for 
 drawing, correspondence, and housekeeping, I can only say 
 that my pretensions are as small as my merits. With such 
 humility, Justice herself must be satisfied. It is Modesty 
 with her pink lining (commonly mistaken for blushes) turned 
 outside. Are you surprised, my love, at the new style of my 
 writing, and do you think I must have been taking lessons of 
 Mr. Bristow? Learn that my eyes do not allow me to look 
 attentively at my writing, and that I give a glance and a 
 scribble, in a truly frantic and indiscriminate manner. Hav- 
 ing ruined my own eyes, you see, I am doing my utmost to 
 ruin the eyes of my friends. This is human nature — all evil 
 seeks thus to propagate itself, while good is satisfied with 
 itself, and stays where it is. When I think of this, I ask 
 myself, does not the devil, then, send missionaries? You 
 will agree with me that he at least sends ambassadors. I have 
 passed, so far, a very studious winter. Never, since my youth, 
 have I lived so much in reading and writing — hence these 
 eyes! Of course, you exclaim, what madness! but, indeed, I 
 should have a worse madness if I did not cram myself with 
 books. The bareness and emptiness of life were then insup- 
 portable. . . . 
 
 Of the nearly eighteen months since my return to America, 
 I have passed fourteen at South Boston. Last winter I was 
 fresh from my travels, and had still strength enough to keep 
 up my relation with society, and to invite people a good deal 
 to my house. But this year I am more worn down, my health 
 quite impaired, and the exertion of going out or receiving 
 at home is too much for me. . . . 
 
 I have made acquaintance with the Russell Lowells, but 
 we are too far apart to profit much by it. I cannot swim 
 about in this frozen ocean of Boston life in search of friends. 
 I feel as if I had struggled enough with it, as if I could now 
 fold my arms and go down. . . . 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 79 
 
 (No year. Probably from Portsmouth, Rhode Island, to her 
 
 sister Annie) 
 
 Sunday, Aug. 5. 
 
 ... I went in town [Newport] the other day, and dined with 
 Fanny Longfellow. The L.'s, Curtis, 1 Tommo, 2 and Kensett 
 are all living together, but seem to make out tolerably. After 
 dinner Fanny took me to drive on the Beach in her Barouche. 
 I looked fine, wore my grey grapery with my drapery, and 
 spread myself out as much as possible. Curtis took Julia in 
 his one-horse affair on the Beach. Julia wore a pink silk 
 dress, a white drawn bonnet with pink ribbons, and a little 
 white shawl. Oh, she did look lovely. Mamma was not at all 
 proud, oh, no! 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 October, 1854 
 
 I will tell you how I have been living since my return from 
 Newport. I got up at seven or a little before, and am always 
 down at half -past for breakfast. After breakfast I despatch 
 the chicks to school and clear off the table; then walk in the 
 garden or around the house; then consult with the cook and 
 order dinner, and see as far as I can to all sewing and other 
 work. I get to my own room between ten and eleven, where 
 I study and write until two P.M. Dinner is at half-past two. 
 After that I take all the children in my room. I read to them 
 and fix worsted work for them. I get half an hour's reading 
 for myself sometimes, but not often, the days being so short. 
 Then I walk with dear Julia, the dearest little friend in the 
 world. The others often join us, and sometimes we have the 
 donkey for a ride. I then go in and sing for the children, or 
 play for them to dance, until tea-time. At a quarter past 
 eight I go to put Dudie and Flossy to bed. I prolong this last 
 pleasure and occupation of the day. When I come down I 
 sit with idle fingers, unable, as you know, to do the least 
 thing. Chev reads the papers to me. At ten I am thankful 
 
 'George William Curtis. 2 Thomas Gold Appleton. 
 
80 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 to retire. I do not suppose that this life is more monotonous 
 than yours in Bordentown, is it? . . . 
 
 Oct. 19th. I was not able to finish this at one sitting, my 
 best darling. I cannot write long without great pain. I had 
 to go in town on Monday and Tuesday, and yesterday, for a 
 
 wonder, Baby [Laura] was ill She is the funniest little 
 
 soul in the world. You should hear her admonishing her 
 father not to 'worry so about everything.' He is obliged to 
 laugh in spite of himself. ... I am very poor just now. I 
 furnished my Newport house with the money for my book 
 ['Passion Flowers'] . It was very little — about $200. 
 
 Spite of the troublesome eyes, and the various 'pribbles 
 and prabbles,' she was in those days editor-in-chief of 'The 
 Listener,' a 'Weekly Publication.' Julia Romana was sub- 
 editor, and furnished most of the material, stories, plays, and 
 poems pouring with astonishing ease from her ten-year-old 
 pen; but there was an Editor's Table, sometimes dictated by 
 the chief editor, often written in her own hand. 
 
 On January 14, 1855, we read: — 
 
 'Last evening began the opera season. Now, as all the 
 Somebodies were there, we would not like to have you sup- 
 pose, dear reader, that we were not, although perhaps you did 
 not see us, with our little squeezed-up hat slipping off of our 
 head, and we screwing up our eyebrows to keep it on. There 
 was a moment when we thought we felt it going down the back 
 of our neck, but a dexterous twitch of the left ear restored 
 the natural order of things. Well, to show you that we were 
 there, we'll tell you of what the Opera was composed. There 
 was love of course, and misery, and plenty of both. The slim 
 man married the lady in white, and then ran away with an- 
 other woman. She tore her hair, and went mad. One of the 
 stout gentlemen doubled his fists, the other spread out his 
 hands and looked pitiful. The mad lady sang occasionally, 
 and retained wonderful command of her voice. They all felt 
 dreadfully, and went thro' a great deal, singing all the time. 
 The thing came right at last, but we have no room to explain.' 
 
 In May, 1855, the paper died a natural death. 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 81 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 South Boston, June 1, 1855. 
 
 . . . Well, my darling, it is a very uninteresting time with 
 me. I am alive, and so are my five children. I made a vow, 
 when dear Laura was so ill, to complain never more of dul- 
 ness or ennui. So I won't, but you understand if I hadn't 
 made such a vow, I could under present circumstances in- 
 dulge in the howling in which my soul delighteth. I don't 
 know how I keep alive. The five children seem always wait- 
 ing, morally, to pick my bones, and are always quarrelling 
 over their savage feast. . . . The stairs as aforesaid kill me. 
 The Baby keeps me awake, and keeps me down in strength. 
 Were it not for beer, I were little better than a dead woman, 
 but, blessed be the infusion of hops, I can still wink my left 
 eye and look knowing with my right, which is more, God be 
 praised, than could have been expected after eight months of 
 Institution. I have seen Opera of 'Trovatore' — in bonnet 
 trimmed with grapes I went, bonnet baptized with 'oh 
 d-Cologne,' but Alexander McDonald was my escort, Chev 
 feeling very ill just at Opera time, but making himself 
 strangely comfortable after my departure with easy-chair, 
 foot-stool, and unlimited pile of papers. Well, dear, you 
 know they would be better if they could, but somehow they 
 can't — it isn't in them. . . . 
 
 To the same 
 
 South Boston, Nov. 27, 1855. 
 
 I have been having a wow-wow time of late, or you should 
 have heard from me. As it is, I shall scribble a hasty sheet of 
 Hieroglyphics, and put in it as much of myself as I can. 
 Mme. Kossuth (Kossuth's sister divorced from former hus- 
 band) has been here for ten days past; as she is much worn 
 and depressed I have had a good deal of comforting up to 
 do — very little time and much trouble. She is a lady, and 
 has many interesting qualities, but you can imagine how I 
 long for the sanctity of home. Still, my heart aches that this 
 
82 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 woman, as well bred as any one of ourselves, should go back 
 to live in two miserable rooms, with three of her four chil- 
 dren, cooking, and washing everything with her own hands, 
 and sitting up half the night to earn a pittance by sewing or 
 fancy work. Her eldest son has been employed as engineer 
 on the Saratoga and Sacketts Harbor for two years, but has 
 not been paid a cent — the R.R. being nearly or quite bank- 
 rupt. He is earning $5 a week in a Bank, and this is all they 
 have to depend upon. She wants to hire a small farm some- 
 where in New Jersey and live upon it with her children. . . . 
 
 To her sisters 
 
 Thursday, 29, 1856. 
 
 . . . We have been in the most painful state of excitement 
 relative to Kansas matters and dear Charles Sumner, whose 
 condition gives great anxiety. 1 Chev is as you might expect 
 under such circumstances ; he has had much to do with meet- 
 ings here, etc., etc. New England spunk seems to be pretty 
 well up, but what will be done is uncertain as yet. One thing 
 we have got: the Massachusetts Legislature has passed the 
 'personal liberty bill,' which will effectually prevent the 
 rendition of any more fugitive slaves from Massachusetts. 
 Another thing, the Tract Society here (orthodox) has put out 
 old Dr. Adams, who published a book in favor of slavery; 
 a third thing, the Connecticut legislature has withdrawn its 
 invitation to Mr. Everett to deliver his oration before them, 
 in consequence of his having declined to speak at the Sumner 
 meeting in Faneuil Hall. . . . 
 
 To her sisters 
 
 S. Boston, April 4, 1858. 
 
 ... I am perfectly worn out in mind, body and estate. 
 The Fair 2 lasted five days and five evenings. I was there 
 
 'In consequence of the assault upon him in the Senate Chamber by Preston 
 Brooks of South Carolina. 
 
 2 This Fair was got up by Mr. Robert C Winthrop for the benefit of the 
 poor. 
 
PASSION FLOWERS 83 
 
 every day, and nearly all day, and at the end of it I dropped 
 like a dead person. Never did I experience such fatigue — 
 the crowd of faces, the bad air, the responsibility of selling 
 and the difficulty of suiting everybody, was almost too much 
 for me. On the other hand, it was an entirely new experience, 
 and a very amusing one. My table was one of the prettiest, 
 and, as I took care to have some young and pretty assistants, 
 it proved one of the most attractive. I cleared $426.00, 
 which was doing pretty well, as I had very little given me. . . . 
 For a week after the Fair I could do nothing but lie on a 
 sofa or in an easy-chair, . . . but by the end of the week I 
 revived, and it pleased the Devil to suggest to me that this 
 was the moment to give a long promised party to the Governor 
 and his wife. All hands set to work, therefore, writing notes. 
 With the assistance of three Amanuenses I scoured the whole 
 surface of Boston society. . . . Unluckily I had fixed upon 
 an evening when there were to be two other parties, and of 
 course the cream of the cream was already engaged. I be- 
 lieve in my soul that I invited 300 people — every day every- 
 body sent word they could not come. I was full of anxiety, 
 got the house well arranged though, engaged a colored man, 
 and got a splendid supper. Miss Hunt, who is writing for 
 me, smacks her lips at the remembrance of the same, I mean 
 the supper, not the black man. Well! the evening came, and 
 with it all the odds and ends of half a dozen sets of people, 
 including some of the most primitive and some of the most 
 fashionable. I had the greatest pleasure in introducing a 
 dowdy high neck, got up for the occasion, with short sleeves 
 and a bow behind, to the most elaborate of French ball- 
 dresses with head-dress to match, and leaving them to take 
 care of each other the best way they could. As for the Gov- 
 ernor [Nathaniel P. Banks], I introduced him right and left 
 to people who had never voted for him and never will. The 
 pious were permitted to enjoy Theodore Parker, and Julia's 
 schoolmaster s^at on a sofa and talked about Carlyle. I did 
 not care — the colored man made it all right. Imagine my 
 astonishment at hearing the party then and after pronounced 
 one of the most brilliant and successful ever given in Boston. 
 
84 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The people all said, 'It is such a relief to see new faces — we 
 always meet the same people at city parties.' Well, darlings, 
 the pickings of the supper was very good for near a week 
 afterwards, and, having got through with my party, I have 
 nearly killed myself with going to hear Mr. Booth, whose 
 playing is beautiful exceedingly. Having for once in my 
 life had play enough and a great deal too much, I am going 
 to work to-morrow like an old Trojan building a new city. I 
 am too poor to come to New York this spring; still it is not 
 impossible. Farewell, Beloveds, it is church time, and this 
 edifying critter is uncommon punctual in her devotions. So 
 farewell, love much, and so far as human weakness allows 
 imitate the noble example of 
 
 Your sister, 
 
 Julia. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 
 1859-1863; aet. 40-44 
 
 There came indeed an hour of fate 
 
 By bitter war made desolate 
 
 When, reading portents in the Bky, 
 
 All in a dream I leapt on high 
 
 To pin my rhyme to my country's gown. 
 
 'T is my one verse that will not down. 
 
 Stars have grown out of mortal crown. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 I honour the author of the 'Battle Hymn,' and of 'The Flag.' She was born 
 in the city of New York. I could well wish she were a native of Massachu- 
 setts. We have had no such poetess in New England. 
 
 Emerson's Journals. 
 
 In the winter of 1859 the Doctor's health became so much 
 impaired by overwork that a change of air and scene was 
 imperative. At the same time Theodore Parker, already 
 stricken with a mortal disease, was ordered to Cuba in the 
 hope that a mild climate might check the progress of the con- 
 sumption. He begged the Howes to join him and his wife, 
 and in February the four sailed for Havana. This expedi- 
 tion is described in 'A Trip to Cuba.' 
 
 The opening chapter presents three of the little party dur- 
 ing the rough and stormy voyage: — 
 
 'The Philanthropist has lost the movement of the age, — 
 keeled up in an upper berth, convulsively embracing a 
 blanket, what conservative more immovable than he? The 
 Great Man of the party refrains from his large theories, 
 which, like the circles made by the stone thrown into the 
 water, begin somewhere and end nowhere. As we have said, 
 he expounds himself no more, the significant forefinger is 
 down, the eye no longer imprisons yours. But if you ask him 
 how he does, he shakes himself as if, like Farinata, — 
 "avesse I'inferno in gran dispetto," — 
 
 he had a very contemptible opinion of hell.' 
 
86 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Several 'portraits' follow, among them her own. 
 
 'A woman, said to be of a literary turn of mind, in the 
 miserablest condition imaginable. Her clothes, flung at her 
 by the Stewardess, seem to have hit in some places and 
 missed in others. Her listless hands occasionally make an 
 attempt to keep her draperies together, and to pull her hat 
 on her head ; but though the intention is evident, she accom- 
 plishes little by her motion. She is being perpetually lugged 
 about by a stout steward, who knocks her head against both 
 sides of the vessel, folds her up in the gangway, spreads 
 her out on the deck, and takes her upstairs, downstairs, and in 
 my lady's chamber, where, report says, he feeds her with a 
 spoon, and comforts her with such philosophy as he is master 
 of. N.B. This woman, upon the first change of weather, 
 rose like a cork, dressed like a Christian, and toddled about 
 the deck in the easiest manner, sipping her grog, and cutting 
 sly jokes upon her late companions in misery; — is supposed 
 by some to have been an impostor, and, when ill-treated, 
 announced intentions of writing a book.' 
 
 The trip to Cuba was only the beginning of a long voyage 
 for the Parkers, who were bound for Italy. The parting be- 
 tween the friends was sad. All felt that they were to meet 
 no more. Parker died in Florence fifteen months later. 
 
 'A pleasant row brought us to the side of the steamer. It 
 was dusk already as we ascended her steep gangway, and 
 from that to darkness there is, at this season, but the inter- 
 val of a breath. Dusk too were our thoughts, at parting from 
 Can Grande, the mighty, the vehement, the great fighter. How 
 were we to miss his deep music, here and at home! With his 
 assistance we had made a very respectable band; now we 
 were to be only a wandering drum and fife, — the fife particu- 
 larly shrill, and the drum particularly solemn. . . . And now 
 came silence, and tears, and last embraces; we slipped down 
 the gangway into our little craft, and looking up, saw bend- 
 ing above us, between the slouched hat and die silver beard, 
 the eyes that we can never forget, that seemed to drop back 
 in the darkness with the solemnity of a last farewell. We went 
 home, and the drum hung himself gloomily on his peg, and 
 
LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 87 
 
 the little fife shut up for the remainder of the evening.' 
 'A Trip to Cuba' appeared first serially in the 'Atlantic 
 Monthly,' then in book form. Years after, a friend, visit- 
 ing Cuba, took with her a copy of the litde volume; it was 
 seized at Havana by the customs house officers, and confis- 
 cated as dangerous and incendiary material. 
 
 To her sister Annie 
 
 Sunday, November 6, 1859. 
 
 The potatoes arrived long since and were most jolly, as 
 indeed they continue to be. Didn't acknowledge them 'cause 
 knew other people did, and thought it best to be unlike the 
 common herd. Have just been to church and heard Clarke 
 preach about John Brown, whom God bless, and will bless! 
 I am much too dull to write anything good about him, but 
 shall say something at the end of my book on Cuba, whereof 
 I am at present correcting the proof-sheets. I went to see his 
 poor wife, who passed through here some days since. We 
 shed tears together and embraced at parting, poor soul! 
 Folks say that the last number of my Cuba is the best thing 
 I ever did, in prose or verse. Even Emerson wrote me about 
 it from Concord. I tell you this in case you should not find 
 out of your own accord that it is good. I have had rather 
 an unsettled autumn — have been very infirm and inactive, but 
 have kept up as well as possible — going to church, also to 
 Opera, also to hear dear Edwin Booth, who is playing better 
 than ever. My children are all well and delightful. . . . 
 
 I have finished Tacitus' history, also his Germans. 
 . . . Chev is not at all annoyed by the newspapers, but has 
 been greatly overdone by anxiety and labor for Brown. 
 Much has come upon his shoulders, getting money, paying 
 counsel, and so on. Of course all the stories about the North- 
 ern Abolitionists are the merest stuff. No one knew of 
 Brown's intentions but Brown himself and his handful of 
 men. The attempt I must judge insane but the spirit heroic. 
 I should be glad to be as sure of heaven as that old man may 
 be, following right in the spirit and footsteps of the old 
 
88 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 martyrs, girding on his sword for the weak and oppressed. 
 His death will be holy and glorious — the gallows cannot dis- 
 honor him — he will hallow it. . . . 
 
 On Christmas Day, 1859, she gave birth to a second son, 
 who was named Samuel Gridley. This latest and perhaps 
 dearest child was for three short years to fill his parents' 
 life with a joy which came and went with him. His little life 
 was all beautiful, all bright. We associate him specially 
 with the years we spent at No. 13 Chestnut Street, Boston, a 
 spacious and cheerful house which we remember with real 
 affection. The other children were at school; little Sam 
 was the dear companion of our mother's walks, the delight of 
 our father's few leisure hours. For him new songs were made, 
 new games invented: both parents looked forward to fresh 
 youth and vigor in his sweet companionship. This was not to 
 be: litde Sam died of diphtheritic croup, May 17, 1863. 
 
 This heavy sorrow for a time crushed both these tender 
 parents to the earth. Our father became seriously ill from 
 grief; our mother, younger and more resilient, found some 
 relief in nursing him and caring for the other children; but 
 this was not enough. She could not banish from her mind 
 the terrible memory of her little boy's suffering, the anguish 
 of parting with him. While her soul lifted its eyes to the 
 hills, her heart sought some way to keep his image constantly 
 before her. Her sad thoughts must be recorded, and she 
 took up, for the first time since 1843, the habit of keeping 
 a journal. 
 
 The first journal is a slender Diary and Memorandum 
 Book. On May 13, the first note of alarm is sounded. 
 Sammy 'did not seem quite right.' From that date the record 
 goes on, the agonizing details briefly described, the loss 
 spoken of in words which no one could read unmoved. But 
 even this was not enough: grief must find further expression, 
 yet must be repressed, so far as might be, in the presence of 
 others, lest her sorrow make theirs heavier. This need of ex- 
 pression took a singular form. She wrote a letter to the child 
 himself, telling the story of his life and death; wrote it with 
 
LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 89 
 
 care and precision, omitting no smallest detail, gathering, as it 
 were a handful of pearls, every slightest memory of the brief 
 time. 
 
 The following stanzas are chosen from among many poems 
 on little Sammy's life and death: — 
 
 REMEMBRANCE 
 
 So thou art hid again, and wilt not come 
 For any knockings at the veiled door; 
 Nor mother-pangs, nor nature, can restore 
 The heart's delight and blossom of thy home. 
 
 And I with others, in the outer court, 
 
 Must sadly follow the excluding will, 
 
 In painful admiration, of the skill 
 
 Of God, who speaks his sweetest sentence short. 
 
 At this time she writes to her sister Annie : — 
 'I cannot yet write of what has come to me. Chev and I 
 feel that we are baptized into a new order of suffering — 
 those who have lost children, loving them, can never be like 
 those who have not. It makes a new heaven and a new 
 earth. The new heaven I have not yet — the blow is too rough 
 and recent. But the new earth, sown with tears, with the 
 beauty and glory gone out of it, the spring itself, that should 
 have made us happy together, grown tasteless and almost 
 hateful. All the relish of life seems gone with him. I have 
 no patience to make phrases about it — for the moment it 
 seems utterness of doubt and of loss. 
 
 'No doubt about him. "This night shalt thou be with 
 me in Paradise" was said by one who knew what he promised. 
 My precious Baby is with the Beautiful One who was so 
 tender with the children. But I am alone, still fighting over 
 the dark battle of his death, still questioning whether there 
 is any forgiveness for such a death. Something must have 
 been wrong somewhere — to find it out, I have tortured myself 
 almost out of sanity. Now I must only say, it is, and look 
 and wait for divine lessons which follow our bitter afflictions. 
 
90 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'God bless you all, darling. Ask dear Cogswell to write 
 me a few lines — tell him that this deep cut makes all my 
 previous life seem shallow and superficial. Tell him to 
 think of me a little in my great sorrow. 
 
 'Your loving 
 
 'Julia.' 
 
 She had by now definitely joined the Unitarian Church, in 
 whose doctrines her mind found full and lasting rest; 
 throughout this sorrowful time the Reverend James Freeman 
 Clarke was one of her kindest helpers. Several years before 
 this, she had unwillingly left Theodore Parker's congregation 
 at our father's request. She records in the 'Reminiscences' 
 his views on this subject: — 
 
 ' "The children (our two oldest girls) are now of an age 
 at which they should receive impressions of reverence. They 
 should, therefore, see nothing at the Sunday service which 
 militates against that feeling. At Parker's meeting individ- 
 uals read the newspapers before the exercises begin. A good 
 many persons come in after the prayer, and some go out 
 before the conclusion of the sermon. These irregularities 
 offend my sense of decorum, and appear to me undesirable in 
 the religious education of my family." ' 
 
 It was a grievous thing to her to make this sacrifice; she 
 said to Horace Mann that to give up Parker's ministry for 
 any other would be like going to the synagogue when Paul 
 was preaching near at hand; yet, once made, it was the 
 source of a lifelong joy and comfort. 
 
 Mr. Clarke was then preaching at Williams Hall ; hearing 
 Parker speak of him warmly, she determined to attend his 
 services. She found his preaching 'as unlike as possible to 
 that of Theodore Parker. He had not the philosophic and 
 militant genius of Parker, but he had a genius of his own, 
 poetical, harmonizing. In after years I esteemed myself 
 fortunate in having passed from the drastic discipline of 
 the one to the tender and reconciling ministry of the other.' 
 
 She has much to say in the 'Reminiscences' about the dear 
 'Saint James,' as his friends loved to call him. The relation 
 
LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 91 
 
 between them was close and affectionate: the Church of the 
 Disciples became her spiritual home. 
 
 These were the days of the Civil War; we must turn back 
 to its opening year to record an episode of importance to her 
 and to others. 
 
 In the autumn of 1861 she went to Washington in company 
 with Governor and Mrs. Andrew, Mr. Clarke and the Doctor, 
 who was one of the pioneers of the Sanitary Commission, 
 carrying his restless energy and indomitable will from camp 
 to hospital, from battlefield to bureau. She longed to help 
 in some way, but felt that there was nothing she could do — 
 except make lint, which we were all doing. 
 
 'I could not leave my nursery to follow the march of our 
 armies, neither had I the practical deftness which the pre- 
 paring and packing of sanitary stores demanded. Something 
 seemed to say to me, "You would be glad to serve, but you 
 cannot help anyone: you have nothing to give, and there is 
 nothing for you to do." Yet, because of my sincere desire, 
 a word was given me to say, which did strengthen the hearts 
 of those who fought in the field and of those who languished 
 in the prison.' 
 
 Returning from a review of troops near Washington, her 
 carriage was surrounded and delayed by the marching regi- 
 ments: she and her companions sang, to beguile the tedium 
 of the way, the war songs which every one was singing in 
 those days ; among them — 
 
 'John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave. 
 His soul is marching on!' 
 
 The soldiers liked this, cried, 'Good for you!' and took up 
 the chorus with its rhythmic swing. 
 
 'Mrs. Howe,' said Mr. Clarke, 'why do you not write some 
 good words for that stirring tune?' 
 
 'I have often wished to do so!' she replied. 
 
 Waking in the gray of the next morning, as she lay waiting 
 for the dawn, the word came to her. 
 
 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord — ' 
 
92 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 She lay perfectly still. Line by line, stanza by stanza, the 
 words came sweeping on with the rhythm of marching feet, 
 pauseless, resistless. She saw the long lines swinging into 
 place before her eyes, heard the voice of the nation speaking 
 through her lips. She waited till the voice was silent, till 
 the last line was ended; then sprang from bed, and groping 
 for pen and paper, scrawled in the gray twilight the 'Batde 
 Hymn of the Republic' She was used to writing thus; 
 verses often came to her at night, and must be scribbled in 
 the dark for fear of waking the baby; she crept back to bed, 
 and as she fell asleep she said to herself, 'I like this better 
 than most things I have written.' In the morning, while 
 recalling the incident, she found she had forgotten the words. 
 
 The poem was published in the 'Atlantic Monthly' for Feb- 
 ruary, 1862. 'It was somewhat praised,' she says, 'on its 
 appearance, but the vicissitudes of the war so engrossed pub- 
 lic attention that small heed was taken of literary matters. . . . 
 I knew and was content to know, that the poem soon found its 
 way to the camps, as I heard from time to time of its being 
 sung in chorus by the soldiers.' 
 
 She did not, however, realize how rapidly the hymn made 
 its way, nor how strong a hold it took upon the people. It 
 was 'sung, chanted, recited, and used in exhortation and 
 prayer on the eve of battle.' It was printed in newspapers, 
 in army hymn-books, on broadsides; it was the word of the 
 hour, and the Union armies marched to its swing. 
 
 Among the singers of the 'Battle Hymn' was Chaplain 
 McCabe, the fighting chaplain of the 122d Ohio Volunteer 
 Infantry. He read the poem in the 'Atlantic,' and was so 
 struck with it that he committed it to memory before rising 
 from his chair. He took it with him to the front, and in due 
 time to Libby Prison, whither he was sent after being cap- 
 tured at Winchester. Here, in the great bare room where 
 hundreds of Northern soldiers were herded together, came 
 one night a rumor of disaster to the Union arms. A great 
 battle, their jailers told them; a great Confederate victory. 
 Sadly the Northern men gathered together in groups, sitting 
 or lying on the floor, talking in low tones, wondering how, 
 
LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 93 
 
 where, why. Suddenly, one of the negroes who brought food 
 for the prisoners stooped in passing and whispered to one 
 of the sorrowful groups. The news was false: there had, 
 indeed, been a great battle, but the Union army had won, the 
 Confederates were defeated and scattered. Like a flame the 
 word flashed through the prison. Men leaped to their feet, 
 shouted, embraced one another in a frenzy of joy and 
 triumph; and Chaplain McCabe, standing in the middle of 
 the room, lifted up his great voice and sang aloud, — 
 
 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!' 
 
 Every voice took up the chorus, and Libby Prison rang with 
 the shout of 'Glory, glory, hallelujah!' 
 
 The victory was that of Gettysburg. When, some time 
 after, McCabe was released from prison, he told in Washing- 
 ton, before a great audience of loyal people, the story of his 
 war-time experiences; and when he came to that night in 
 Libby Prison, he sang the 'Battle Hymn' once more. The 
 effect was magical: people shouted, wept, and sang, all 
 together; and when the song was ended, above the tumult of 
 applause was heard the voice of Abraham Lincoln, exclaim- 
 ing, while the tears rolled down his cheeks, — 
 
 'Sing it again!' 
 
 (Our mother met Lincoln in 1861, and was presented to 
 him by Governor Andrew. After greeting the party, the 
 President 'seated himself so near the famous portrait of 
 Washington by Gilbert Stuart as naturally to suggest some 
 comparison between the two figures. On the canvas we saw 
 the calm presence, the serene assurance of the man who had 
 successfully accomplished a great undertaking, a vision of 
 health and of peace. In the chair beside it sat a tall, bony 
 figure, devoid of grace, a countenance almost redeemed from 
 plainness by two kindly blue eyes, but overshadowed by the 
 dark problems of the moment. . . . 
 
 'When we had left the presence, one of our number ex- 
 claimed, "Helpless Honesty!" As if Honesty could ever be 
 helpless.') 
 
 The 'Battle Hymn of the Republic' has been translated 
 
94 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 into Italian, Spanish, and Armenian. Written in the dark on 
 a scrap of Sanitary Commission paper, it has been printed in 
 every imaginable form, from the beautiful parchment edition 
 presented to the author on her seventieth birthday by the 
 New England Woman's Club, down to the cover of a tiny 
 brochure advertising a cure for consumption. It has also 
 been set to music many times, but never successfully. It is 
 inseparably wedded to the air for which it was written, an 
 air simple, martial, and dignified: no attempt to divorce the 
 two could ever succeed. 
 
 From the time of writing it to that of her death, she was 
 constantly besieged by requests for autograph copies of part 
 or the whole of the hymn. Sometimes the petitioners realized 
 what they asked, as when Edmund Clarence Stedman 
 wrote: — 
 
 'I can well understand what a Frankenstein's monster 
 such a creation grows to be — such a poem as the "Battle 
 Hymn," when it has become the sacred scroll of millions, 
 each one of whom would fain obtain a copy of it.' 
 
 Reasonable or unreasonable, she tried to meet every such 
 request; no one can ever know how many times she copied the 
 hymn, but if a record had been kept, some one with a turn 
 for multiplication might tell us whether the lines put together 
 made up a mile, or more, or less. 
 
 She wrote many other poems of the war, among them 'The 
 Flag,' which is to be found in many anthologies. As the 
 'Battle Hymn' was the voice of the nation's, so this was the 
 expression of her own ardent patriotism: — 
 
 There's a flag hangs over my threshold 
 
 Whose folds are more dear to me 
 Than the blood that thrills in my bosom 
 
 Its earnest of liberty. 
 
 And dear are the stars it harbors 
 
 In its sunny field of blue, 
 As the hope of a further Heaven 
 
 That lights all our dim lives through. 
 
LITTLE SAMMY: THE CIVIL WAR 95 
 
 This was no figure of speech, but the truth. The war and 
 its mighty issues filled her heart and mind; she poured out 
 song after song, all breathing the spirit of the time, the spirit 
 of hope, resolve, aspiration. Everything she saw connected 
 itself in some way with the great struggle. Seeing her 
 daughters among their young friends, gay as youth must be 
 gay, even in wartime, she cries out, — 
 
 Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, 
 To deck our girls for gay delights! 
 
 The crimson flower of battle blooms, 
 And solemn marches fill the night. 
 
 Weave but the flag whose bars to-day 
 Drooped heavy o'er our early dead, 
 
 And homely garments, coarse and gray, 
 
 For orphans that must earn their bread! 1 
 
 'The Jeweller's Shop in War-Time,' 'The Battle Eucharist,' 
 'The Harvard Student's Song,' all reveal the deep feeling 
 of her heart; we remember her singing of 'Left Behind' (set 
 to her own music, a wild, mournful chant) as something so 
 thrilling that it catches the breath as we think of it. 
 
 J 'Our Orders.' 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 
 1864; aet. 45 
 
 After the two real homes, Green Peace and Lawton's Valley, 
 the Chestnut Street house was nearest to our hearts; this, 
 though we were there only three years, and though it was 
 there that we children first saw the face of sorrow. It was 
 an heroic time. The Doctor was in constant touch with the 
 events of the war. He was sent by Governor Andrew to ex- 
 amine conditions of camps and hospitals, in Massachusetts 
 and at the seat of war; he worked as hard on the Sanitary 
 Commission, to which he had been appointed by President 
 Lincoln, as on any other of his multifarious labors : his knowl- 
 edge of practical warfare and his grasp of situations gave 
 him a foresight of coming events which seemed well-nigh 
 miraculous. When he entered the house, we 'all felt the 
 electric touch, found ourselves in the circuit of the great 
 current. 
 
 So, these three years were notable for us all, especially for 
 our mother; for beside these vital interests, she was entering 
 upon another phase of development. Heretofore her life had 
 been domestic, studious, social; her chief relation with the 
 public had been through her pen. She now felt the need of 
 personal contact with her audience; felt that she must speak 
 her message. She says in her 'Reminiscences': 'In the days 
 of which I now write, it was borne in upon me (as the Friends 
 say) that I had much to say to my day and generation which 
 could not and should not be communicated in rhyme, or even 
 in rhythm.' 
 
 The character of the message, too, was changing. In the 
 anguish of bereavement she sought relief in study, her life- 
 long resource. Religion and philosophy went hand in hand 
 with her. She read Spinoza eagerly: read Fichte, Hegel, 
 Schelling; finally, found in Immanuel Kant a prophet and a 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 97 
 
 friend. But it was not enough for her to receive; she must 
 also give out: her nature was radiant. She must formulate a 
 philosophy of her own, and must at least offer it to the world. 
 
 In September, 1863, she writes to her sister Louisa, 'My 
 Ethics are now the joke of my family, and Flossy or any 
 child, wishing a second helping, will say: "Is it ethical, 
 Mamma?" Too much of my life, indeed, runs in this chan- 
 nel. I can only hope that the things I write may do good to 
 somebody, how much or how little we ourselves are unable 
 to measure.' 
 
 Yet she could make fun of her philosophers : vide the fol- 
 lowing passage from one of her 'Tribune' letters : — 
 
 'We like to make a clean cut occasionally, and distinguish 
 ourselves from our surroundings. Else, we and they get so 
 wedded that we scarcely know ourselves apart. Do I own 
 these four walls, or do they own me, and detain me here for 
 their pleasure and preservation? Do I want these books, or 
 do their ghostly authors seize me wandering near the shelves, 
 impanel me by the button-hole, and insist upon pouring their 
 bottled-up wisdom into my passive mind? I once read a 
 terrible treatise of Fichte upon the me and not me, in which 
 he gave so many reasons why I could not be the washstand, 
 nor the washstand I, that I began after a while to doubt the 
 fact. Had I read further, I think I should never have known 
 myself from house-furniture again. Let me here remark that 
 many of these gymnastics of German metaphysics seem to 
 have no other office than that of harmlessly emptying the 
 brain of all its electricity. Their battery strikes no hammer, 
 turns no wheel. Fichte, having decided that he was not the 
 washstand, smoked, took beer, and walked out to meet some 
 philosophic friend, who, viewing himself inclusive, as the 
 Germans say, thought he might be that among other things. 
 Fatherland meantime going to the Devil — strong hands 
 wanted, clear, practical brains — infinitesimal oppression to 
 be undermined, the century helped on. "I am not the wash- 
 stand," says Fichte; "I am everything," says Hegel. Father- 
 land, take care of yourself. Yet who shall say that it is 
 not a vital point to know our real selves from the factitious 
 
98 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 personalities imposed upon us, and to distinguish between 
 the symptoms of our fancy and the valid phenomena of our 
 lives?' 
 
 The Journal of 1864 is a quarto volume, with a full page 
 for every day. There are many blank pages, but the record 
 is much fuller than heretofore. 
 
 'January 15. Worked all the afternoon at my Essay on Dis- 
 tinction between Philosophy and Religion. Got a bad feeling 
 from fatigue. A sort of trembling agony in my back and 
 left side.' 
 
 Yet she went to the opera in the evening, and saw 'Faust,' 
 a 'composition with more faults than merits.' She concludes 
 the entry with 'Dilige et relinque is a good motto for some 
 things.' 
 
 'Sunday, January 17. It was announced from the pulpit 
 that an Essay on the Soul and Body would be read by a 
 friend at Wednesday evening meeting. That friend was my- 
 self, that essay my Lecture on Duality. This would be an 
 honor, but for my ill-deserts. Be witness, God! that this is 
 no imaginary or sentimental exclamation, but a feeling too 
 well founded on fact.' 
 
 After the lecture she writes: 'Mr. Clarke introduced me 
 charmingly. I wore my white cap, not wishing to read in 
 my thick bonnet. I had quite a full audience. ... I consider 
 this opportunity a great honor and privilege conferred upon 
 me.' 
 
 'January 28. At a quarter before 2 p.m. finished my 
 Essay on Philosophy and Religion. I thank God for this, for 
 many infirmities, some physical, some moral, have threatened 
 to interrupt my work. It is done, and if it is all I am to do, 
 I am ready to die, since life now means work of my best 
 sort, and I value little else, except the comfort of my family. 
 Now for a little rest!' 
 
 The 'rest' of the following day consisted in paying eight 
 visits between twelve and two o'clock and going to the opera 
 in the evening. 
 
 She now began to read her philosophical essays aloud to a 
 chosen circle of friends gathered in the parlor of No. 13 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 99 
 
 Chestnut Street. After one of these occasions she says: 
 'Professor Rogers took me up sharply (not in temper), on my 
 first statement and definition of Polarity. I suffered in this, 
 but was bound to take it in good part. A thoroughbred dog 
 can bear to be lifted by the ear without squealing. Endur- 
 ance is a test of breeding. . . .' 
 
 'May 27, 1864. My birthday; forty- five years old. This 
 year, begun in intolerable distress, has been, I think, the most 
 valuable one of my life. Paralyzed at first by Sammy's 
 death, I soon found my only refuge from grief in increased 
 activity after my kind. When he died I had written two- 
 thirds of "Proteus." As soon as I was able, I wrote the re- 
 maining portion which treats of affection. At Newport I 
 wrote my Introductory Lecture on "How Not to Teach 
 Ethics," then "Duality of Character," then my first Lecture 
 on Religion. Returned from Newport, I wrote my second and 
 third essays on Religion. I read the six essays of my first 
 course to a large circle of friends at my own house, not ask- 
 ing any payment. This done, I began to write a long essay on 
 Polarity which is only partially completed, intending also 
 to write on Limitations and the three degrees, should it be 
 given to me to do so. I have read and re-read Spinoza's 
 Ethics within the last thirteen months. His method in the 
 arrangement of thought and motive has been of great use to 
 me, but I think that I have been able to give them an extended 
 application and some practical illustrations which did not 
 lie within his scope.' 
 
 She decided this spring to read some of her essays in 
 Washington. There were various difficulties in the way, and 
 she was uncertain of the outcome of the enterprise. She 
 writes: — 
 
 'I go in obedience to a deep and strong impulse which I do 
 not understand nor explain, but whose bidding I cannot 
 neglect. The satisfaction of having at last obeyed this interior 
 guide is all that keeps me up, for no one, so far as I know, 
 altogether approves of my going.' 
 
 Spite of these doubts and fears, the enterprise was success- 
 ful. Perhaps people were glad to shut their ears for a 
 
100 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 moment to the sound of cannon and the crying of 'Latest news 
 from the front!' and listen to the quiet words of philosophic 
 thought and suggestion. 
 
 Side by side with work, as usual, went play. In January 
 she records the first meeting of the new club, the 'Ladies' 
 Social,' at the home of Mrs. Josiah Quincy. This club of 
 clever people, familiarly known as the 'Brain Club,' was 
 for many years one of her great pleasures. Mrs. Quincy was 
 its first president. It may have been at this meeting that our 
 mother, being asked to present in a few words the nature and 
 object of the club, addressed the company as follows: 'Ladies 
 and Gentlemen; this club has been formed for the purpose of 
 carrying on' — she paused, and began to twinkle — 'for the 
 purpose of carrying on!' 
 
 She describes briefly a meeting of the club at 13 Chestnut 
 Street: — 
 
 'Entertained my Club with two charades. Pandemon-ium 
 was the first, Catastrophe the second. For Pan I recited some 
 verses of Mrs. Browning's "Dead Pan," with the gods she 
 mentions in the background, my own boy as Hermes. For 
 "Demon" I had a female Faust and a female Satan. Was 
 aided by Fanny McGregor, Alice Howe, Hamilton Wilde, 
 Charles Carroll, and James C. Davis, with my Flossy, who 
 looked beautifully. The entertainment was voted an entire 
 success.' 
 
 We remember these charades well. The words 
 
 'Aphrodite, dead and driven 
 
 As thy native foam thou art . . .' 
 
 call up the vision of Fanny McGregor, white and beautiful, 
 lying on a white couch in an attitude of perfect grace. 
 
 We hear our mother's voice reciting the stately verses. 
 We see her as the 'female Faust,' first bending over her book, 
 then listening entranced to the promises of Mephistopheles, 
 finally vanishing behind a curtain from which the next instant 
 sprang Florence (the one child who resembled her) in all the 
 gayety of her bright youth. 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 101 
 
 The next day she was, 'Very weary all day. Put things 
 to rights as well as I could. Read in Spinoza, Cotta, and 
 Livy.' 
 
 It was for the Brain Club that she wrote 'The Socio- 
 Maniac,' a cantata caricaturing fashionable society. She set 
 the words to music, and sang with much solemnity the 'Mad 
 Song' of the heroine whose brain had been turned by too 
 much gayety: — 
 
 'Her mother was a Shaw, 
 
 And her father was a Tompkins; 
 Her sister was a bore, 
 
 And her brother was a bumpkin; 
 Oh! Soci — oh! Soci — 
 Oh! Soci— e— ty! 
 
 'Her flounces were of gold, 
 
 And her slippers were of ermine; 
 And she looked a little bold 
 
 When she rose to lead the Germm; 
 Oh! Soci — oh! Soci — 
 Oh! Soci— e— ty! 
 
 'For my part I never saw 
 
 Where she kept her fascination; 
 But I thought she had an aw- 
 Ful conceit and affectation; 
 Oh! Soci — oh! Soci — 
 Oh! Soci— e— ty!' 
 
 New interests were constantly arising. In these days 
 Edwin Booth made his first appearance in Boston. Our 
 mother and father went to the Boston Theatre one rainy 
 evening, 'expecting to see nothing more than an ordinary 
 performance. The play was "Richelieu," and we had seen 
 but little of Mr. Booth's part in it before we turned to each 
 other and said, "This is the real thing!" ' 
 
 Then they saw him in 'Hamlet' and realized even more 
 fully that a star had risen. He seemed 
 
102 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 . . . beautiful as dreams of maidenhood, 
 
 That doubt defy, 
 Young Hamlet, with his forehead grief-subdued, 
 
 And visioning eye. 1 
 
 Mr. Booth's manager asked her to write a play for the 
 young tragedian. She gladly consented; Booth himself came 
 to see her; she found him 'modest, intelligent, and above all 
 genuine, — the man as worthy of admiration as the artist.' 
 
 In all the range of classic fiction, to which her mind 
 naturally turned, no character seemed to fit him so well as 
 that of Hippolytus; his austere beauty, his reserve and shy- 
 ness, all seemed to her the personification of the hunter- 
 prince, beloved of Artemis, and she chose this theme for her 
 
 p!ay- 
 
 The writing of 'Hippolytus' was accomplished under diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 At last the time seemed ripe for the production of the 
 play. E. L. Davenport, the actor manager of the Howard 
 Athenaeum, agreed to produce it: Charlotte Cushman was to 
 play Phaedra to Booth's Hippolytus. Rehearsals began, the 
 author's dream seemed close upon fulfilment. Then came a 
 slip never fully explained: the manager suddenly discovered 
 that the subject of the play was a painful one; other reasons 
 were given, but none that appeared sufficient to author or 
 actors. 
 
 'My dear,' said Miss Cushman, 'if Edwin Booth and I had 
 done nothing more than stand upon the stage and say "good- 
 evening" to each other, the house would have been filled.' 
 
 Briefly, the play was withdrawn. Our mother says: 'This 
 was, I think, the greatest "let down" that I ever experienced. 
 It affected me seriously for some days, after which I deter- 
 mined to attempt nothing more for the stage.' 
 
 She never forgot the play nor her bitter disappointment. 
 
 Many memories cluster about the gracious figure of Edwin 
 Booth. He came often — for so shy and retiring a man — to 
 the Chestnut Street house. We children all worshipped at 
 1 'Hamlet at the Boston,' Later Lyrics, 1866. 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 103 
 
 his shrine ; the elder girls worked his initials on the under side 
 of the chair in which he once sat, which was thereafter like no 
 other chair; the younger ones gazed in round-eyed admiration, 
 but the great man had eyes for one only of us all. We gave 
 a party for him, and Beacon Street came in force to meet the 
 brilliant young actor. Alas! the brilliant young actor, after 
 the briefest and shyest of greetings to the company, retired 
 into a corner with eight-year-old Maud, where he sat on the 
 floor making dolls and rabbits out of his pocket handkerchief! 
 
 This recalls an oft-quoted anecdote of the time. Our 
 mother wished Charles Sumner to see and know Booth. One 
 evening when the Senator was at the house, she told him of 
 her wish. The next day she writes in her Journal: 'Sumner to 
 tea. Made a rude speech on being asked to meet Booth. 
 Said : "I don't know that I should care to meet him. I have 
 outlived my interest in individuals." Fortunately, God 
 Almighty had not, by last accounts, got so far.' 
 
 Sumner was told of this in her presence. 'What a strange 
 sort of book,' he exclaimed, 'your diary must be! You ought 
 to strike that out immediately.' 
 
 She admired Charles Sumner heartily, but they disagreed 
 on many points. He disapproved of women's speaking in 
 public (as did the Doctor), and — with wholly kind inten- 
 tions — did what he could to prevent her giving the above- 
 mentioned readings in Washington. She notes this in her 
 Journal. 
 
 'I wrote him a very warm letter, but with no injurious 
 phrase, as I felt only grief and indignation, not dis-esteem, 
 towards him. Yet the fact of having written the letter be- 
 came extremely painful to me, when it was once beyond 
 recall. I could not help writing a second on the day follow- 
 ing, to apologize for the roughness of the first. This was a 
 diplomatic fault, I think, but one inseparable from my char- 
 acter. C. S.'s reply, which I dreaded to read, was very kind. 
 While I clearly saw his misapprehension of the whole matter, 
 I saw also the thorough kindliness and sincerity of his 
 nature. So we disagree, but I love him.' 
 
 Mr. Sumner did not attend the readings, but he came to 
 
104 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 see her, and was, as always, kind and friendly. After see- 
 ing him in the Senate she writes: 'Sumner looks up and 
 smiles. That smile seems to illuminate the Senate.' 
 
 Another passage in the Journal of March, 1864, is in a 
 different note: 'Maggie ill and company to dinner. I washed 
 breakfast things, cleared the table, walked, read Spinoza a 
 little, then had to "fly round," as my dinner was an early 
 one. Picked a grouse, and saw to various matters. Company 
 came, a little early. The room was cold. Hedge, Palfrey, 
 and Alger to dinner. Conversation pleasant, but dinner 
 late, and not well served. Palfrey and Hedge read Parker's 
 Latin epitaph on Chev, amazed at the bad Latinity.' 
 
 In June, 1864, a Russian squadron, sent to show Russia's 
 good-will toward the United States, dropped anchor in Bos- 
 ton Harbor, and hospitable Boston rose up in haste to receive 
 the strangers. Dr. Holmes wrote a song beginning, — 
 
 'Seabirds of Muscovy, 
 Rest in our waters,' — 
 
 which was sung to the Russian national air at a public 
 reception. 
 
 Our mother for once made no 'little verse,' but she saw a 
 good deal of the Russian officers; gave parties for them, and 
 attended various functions and festivities on board the ships. 
 On Sunday, June 22, she writes : — 
 
 'To mass on board the Oslaba. . . . The service was like the 
 Armenian Easter I saw in Rome. ... It is a sacrifice to God 
 instead of a lesson from Him, which after all makes the dif- 
 ference between the old religions and the true Christian. 
 For even Judaism is heathen compared with Christianity. 
 Yet I found this very consoling, as filling out the verities of 
 religious development. I seemed to hear in the responses a 
 great harmony in which the first man had the extreme bass 
 and the last born babe the extreme treble. Theo. Parker and 
 my dear Sammy were blended in it.' 
 
 Soon after this the 'seabirds of Muscovy' departed; then 
 came the flitting to Newport, and a summer of steady work. 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 105 
 
 'I came to the conclusion to-day that an heroic intention 
 is not to be kept in sight without much endeavor. Now that 
 I have finished at least one portion of my Ethics and Dynam- 
 ics, I find myself thinking how to get just credit for it, rather 
 than how to make my work most useful to others. The latter 
 must, however, be my object, and shall be. Did not Chev so 
 discourage it, I should feel bound to give these lectures pub- 
 licly, being, as they are, a work for the public. I do not as 
 yet decide what to do with them.' 
 
 Returning to 13 Chestnut Street, she found a multiplicity 
 of work awaiting her. Ethics had to stand aside and make 
 way for Poetry and Philanthropy. New York was to cele- 
 brate the seventieth birthday of William Cullen Bryant; she 
 was asked to write a poem for the occasion. This she did 
 joyfully, composing and arranging the stanzas mostly in the 
 train between Newport and Boston. 
 
 On the day of the celebration, she took an early train for 
 New York: Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was on the train. 
 'I will sit by you, Mrs. Howe,' he said, 'but I must not talk! 
 I am going to read a poem at the Bryant celebration, and 
 must save my voice.' 
 
 'By all means let us keep silent,' she replied. 'I also have 
 a poem to read at the Bryant Celebration.' 
 
 Describing this scene she says, "The dear Doctor, always 
 my friend, overestimated his power of abstinence from the 
 interchange of thought which was so congenial to him. He at 
 once launched forth in his own brilliant vein, and we were 
 within a few miles of our destination when we suddenly re- 
 membered that we had not taken time to eat our luncheon.' 
 
 George Bancroft met them at the station, carried her 
 trunk himself ('a small one!'), and put her into his own 
 carriage. The reception was in the Century Building. She 
 entered on Mr. Bryant's arm, and sat between him and Mr. 
 Bancroft on the platform. The Journal tells us: — 
 
 'After Mr. Emerson's remarks my poem was announced. 
 I stepped to the middle of the platform, and read my poem. 
 I was full of it, and read it well, I think, as every one heard 
 me, and the large room was crammed. The last two verses 
 
106 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 — not the best — were applauded. . . . This was, I suppose, the 
 greatest public honor of my life. I record it for my grand- 
 children.' 
 
 The November pages of the Journal are blank, but on that 
 for November 21 is pasted a significant note. It is from the 
 secretary of the National Sailors' Fair, and conveys the 
 thanks of the Board of Managers to Mrs. Howe 'for her great 
 industry and labor in editing the "Boatswain's Whistle." 
 
 Neither Journal nor 'Reminiscences' has one word to say 
 about fair or paper; yet both were notable. The great war- 
 time fairs were far more than a device for raising money. 
 They were festivals of patriotism; people bought and sold 
 with a kind of sacred ardor. This fair was Boston's contri- 
 bution toward the National Sailors' Home. It was held in 
 the Boston Theatre, which for a week was transformed into 
 a wonderful hive of varicolored bees, all 'workers,' all hum- 
 ming and hurrying. The 'Boatswain's Whisde' was the 
 organ of the fair. There were ten numbers of the paper: it 
 lies before us now, a small folio volume of eighty pages. 
 
 Title and management are indicated at the top of the first 
 column: — 
 
 The Boatswain's Whistle. 
 
 Editorial Council. 
 
 Edward Everett. A. P. Peabody. 
 
 John G. Whittier. J. R. Lowell. 
 
 0. W. Holmes. E. P. Whipple. 
 
 Editor. 
 Julia Ward Howe. 
 
 Each member of the Council made at least one contribution 
 to the paper; but the burden fell on the Editor's shoulders. 
 She worked day and night; no wonder that the pages of the 
 Journal are blank. Beside the editorials and many other 
 unsigned articles, she wrote a serial story, 'The Journal of a 
 Fancy Fair,' which brings back vividly the scene it describes. 
 In those days the raffle was not discredited. Few people real- 
 
NO. 13 CHESTNUT STREET, BOSTON 107 
 
 ized that it was a crude form of gambling; clergy and laity 
 alike raffled merrily. Our mother, however, in her story 
 speaks through the lips of her hero a pungent word on the 
 subject: — 
 
 'The raffle business is, I suppose, the great humbug of occa- 
 sions of this kind. It seems to me very much like taking a 
 front tooth from a certain number of persons in order to make 
 up a set of teeth for a party who wants it and who does not 
 want to pay for it.' 
 
 We should like to linger over the pages of the 'Boatswain's 
 Whistle'; to quote from James Freeman Clarke's witty dia- 
 logues, Edward Everett's stately periods, Dr. Holmes's 
 sparkling verse ; to describe General Grant, the prize ox, white 
 as driven snow and weighing 3900 pounds, presented by the 
 owner to President Lincoln and by him to the fair. Did we 
 not see him drawn in triumph through Boston streets on 
 an open car, and realize in an instant — fresh from our 'Won- 
 der-Book' — what Europa's bull looked like? 
 
 But of all the treasures of the little paper, we must content 
 ourselves with this dispatch: — 
 
 Allow me to wish you a great success. With the old fame 
 of the navy made bright by the present war, you cannot fail. I 
 name none lest I wrong others by omission. To all, from 
 Rear Admiral to honest Jack, I tender the nation's admiration 
 and gratitude. 
 
 A. Lincoln. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE WIDER OUTLOOK 
 1865; aet. 46 
 
 The war was nearly over, and all hearts were with Grant and 
 Lee in their long duel before Richmond. Patriotism and 
 philosophy together ruled our mother's life in these days; 
 the former more apparent in her daily walk among us, the 
 latter in the quiet hours with her Journal. 
 
 The Journal for 1865 is much fuller than that of 1864; 
 the record of events is more regular, and we find more and 
 more reflection, meditation, and speculation. The influence 
 of Kant is apparent; the entries become largely notes of 
 study, to take final shape in lectures and essays. 
 
 'A morning visit received in study hours is a sickness from 
 which the day does not recover. I can neither afford to be 
 idle, nor to have friends who are so.' 
 
 'Man is impelled by inward force, regulated by outward 
 circumstance. He is inspired from within, moralized from 
 without. ... A man may be devout in himself, but he can be 
 moral only in his relation with other men. . . .' 
 
 'Early to Mary Dorr's, to consult about the Charade. Read 
 Kant and wrote as usual. Spent the afternoon in getting up 
 my costumes for the Charade. The word was Au-thor-ship. . . . 
 Authorship was expressed by my appearing as a great com- 
 poser, Jerry Abbott performing my Oratorio — a very comical 
 thing, indeed. The whole was a success.' 
 
 No one who saw the 'Oratorio' can forget it. Mr. Abbott, 
 our neighbor in Chestnut Street, was a comedian who would 
 have adorned any stage. The 'book' of the Oratorio was a 
 simple rhyme of Boston authorship. 
 
 'Abigail Lord, 
 Of her own accord, 
 Went down to see her sister, 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 109 
 
 When Jason Lee, 
 As brisk as a flea, 
 He hopped right up and kissed her.' 
 
 With these words, an umbrella, and a chair held before 
 him like a violoncello, Mr. Abbott gave a truly Handelian 
 performance. Fugue and counterpoint, first violin and bass 
 tuba, solo and full chorus, all were rendered with a verve and 
 spirit which sent the audience into convulsions of laughter. 
 — This was one of the 'carryings-on' of the Brain Club. After 
 another such occasion our mother writes: — 
 
 'Very weary and aching a litde. I must keep out of these 
 tomfooleries, though they have their uses. They are much 
 better than some other social entertainments, as after all 
 they present some aesthetic points of interest. They are better 
 than scandal, gluttony, or wild dancing. But the artists and 
 I have still better things to do.' 
 
 'January 23. It is always legitimate to wish to rise above 
 one's self, never above others. In this, however, as in other 
 things, we must remember the maxim: "Natura nil facit per 
 saltum." All true rising must be gradual and laborious, in 
 such wise that the men of to-morrow shall look down almost 
 imperceptibly upon the men of to-day. All sudden elevations 
 are either imaginary or factitious. If you had not a kingly 
 mind before your coronation, no crown will make a king of 
 you. The true king is somewhere, starving or hiding, very 
 like. For the true value which the counterfeit represents 
 exists somewhere. The world has much dodging about to pro- 
 duce the real value and escape the false one.' 
 
 Throughout the Journal, we find a revelation of the conflict 
 in this strangely dual nature. Her study was, she thought, 
 her true home; yet no one who saw her in society would have 
 dreamed that she was making an effort: nor was she! She 
 gave herself up entirely to the work or the play of the hour. 
 She was a many-sided crystal: every aspect of life met its 
 answering flash. The glow of human intercourse kindled 
 her to flame; but when the flame had cooled, the need of soli- 
 tude and study lay on her with twofold poignancy. She went 
 
110 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 through life in double harness, thought and feeling abreast; 
 though often torn between the two, in the main she gave free 
 rein to both, trusting the issue to God. 
 
 The winter of 1864-65 was an arduous one. She was 
 writing new philosophical essays, and reading them before 
 various circles of friends. The larger audience which she 
 craved was not for the moment attainable. She was studying 
 deeply, reading Latin by way of relaxation, going somewhat 
 into society (Julia and Florence being now of the dancing 
 age), and entertaining a good deal in a quiet way. In Feb- 
 ruary she writes: 'Much tormented by interruptions. Could 
 not get five quiet minutes at a time. Everybody torments me 
 with every smallest errand. And I am trying to study 
 philosophy!' 
 
 Probably we were troublesome children and made more 
 noise than we should. Her accurate ear for music was often a 
 source of distress to her, as one of us can witness, an indolent 
 child who neglected her practising. As this child drummed 
 over her scales, the door of the upstairs study would open, 
 and a clear voice come ringing down, 'B flat, dear, not B 
 natural!' 
 
 It seemed to the child a miracle ; she, with the book before 
 her, could not get it right: 'Mamma,' studying Kant upstairs 
 behind closed doors, knew what the note should be. 
 
 'Few of us consider the wide and laborious significance of 
 the simplest formulas we employ. "I love you!" opens out a 
 long vista of labor and endeavor; otherwise it means: "I love 
 myself and need you." . . .' 
 
 'Played all last evening for Laura's company to dance. My 
 heart flutters to-day. It is a feeling unknown to me until 
 lately.' 
 
 Now, Laura would have gone barefoot in snow to save her 
 mother pain or fatigue; yet she has no recollection of ever 
 questioning the inevitability of 'Mamma's' playing for all 
 youthful dancing. Grown-up parties were different; for them 
 there were hired musicians, who made inferior music; but 
 for the frolics of the early 'teens, who should play except 
 'Mamma'? 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 111 
 
 On March 10, she writes: 'I have now been too long in my 
 study. I must break out into real life, and learn some more 
 of its lessons.' 
 
 Two days later a lesson began: 'I stay from church to-day 
 to take care of Maud, who is quite unwell. This is a sacri- 
 fice, although I am bound and glad to make it. But I shall 
 miss the church all the week.' 
 
 The child became so ill that 'all pursuits had to be given 
 up in the care of her.' The Journal gives a minute account 
 of this illness, and of the remedies used, among them 'long- 
 continued and gentle friction with the hand.' The words 
 bring back the touch of her hand, which was like no other. 
 There were no trained nurses in our nursery, rarely any 
 doctor save 'Papa,' but 'Mamma' rubbed us, and that was a 
 whole pharmacopoeia in itself. 
 
 At this time she gave her first public lecture before the 
 Parker Fraternity. This was an important event to her; she 
 had earnesdy desired yet greatly dreaded it. She found the 
 hall pleasant, the audience attentive. 'When I came to read 
 the lecture,' she says, 'I felt that it had a value.' 
 
 'All these things in my mind point one way, viz.: towards 
 the adoption of a profession of Ethical exposition, after my 
 sort.' 
 
 She had been asked to give a lecture at Tufts College, and 
 says of this: 'The difficulties are great, the question is to me 
 one of simple duty. If I am sent for, and have the word to 
 say, I should say it.' 
 
 She declined the invitation, 'feeling unable to decide in 
 favor of accepting it.' 
 
 'But I was sorry,' she says, 'and I remembered the words: 
 "He that hath put his hand to the plough and looketh back is 
 not fit for the kingdom of heaven." God keep me from so 
 looking back!' 
 
 The Journal of this spring is largely devoted to philo- 
 sophic speculations and commentaries on Kant, whose 
 theories she finds more and more luminous and convincing; 
 now and then comes a note of her own: — 
 
 ' "I am God!" says the fool. "I see God!" says the wise 
 
112 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 man. For while you are your own supreme, you are your 
 own God, and self -worship is true atheism.' 
 
 'It is better to use a bad man by his better side than a 
 good man by his worse side.' 
 
 'Christ said that he was older than Abraham. I think that 
 he used this expression as a measure of value. His thoughts 
 were further back in the primal Ideal necessity. He did not 
 speak of any personal life antedating his own existence. . . . 
 In his own sense, Christ was also newer than we are, for his 
 doctrine is still beyond the attainment of all and the apprecia- 
 tion of most of us.' 
 
 'There is no essential religious element in negation.' 
 
 'Saw Booth in "Hamlet" — still first-rate, I think, although 
 he has played it one hundred nights in New York. "Hamlet" 
 is an aesthetic Evangel. I know of no direct ethical work 
 which contains such powerful moral illustration and instruc- 
 tion.' 
 
 'James Freeman [Clarke] does not think much of Sam's 
 book, probably not as well as it deserves. But the knowledge 
 of Sam's personality is the light behind the transparency in 
 all that he does.' 1 
 
 These were the closing months of the Civil War. All hearts 
 were lifted up in thankfulness that the end was near. She 
 speaks of it seldom, but her few words are significant. 
 
 'Monday, April 3. . . . Richmond was taken this morning. 
 Laus Deo!' 
 
 On April 10, after 'Maud's boots, $3.00, Vegetables, .12, 
 Bread, .04,' we read, 'Ribbons for victory, .40. To-day we 
 have the news of Lee's surrender with the whole remnant of 
 his army. The city is alive with people. All flags hung out 
 — shop windows decorated — processions in the street. All 
 friends meet and shake hands. On the newspaper bulletins 
 such placards as "Gloria in excelsis Deo," "Thanks be to 
 God!" We all call it the greatest day of our lives. 
 
 'Apples, half -peck, .50.' 
 
 That week was one of joy and thankfulness for all. Thurs- 
 day was Fast Day; she 'went to church to fatigue Satan. 
 
 1 Lyrical Ventures, by Samuel Ward. 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 113 
 
 Afterwards made a visit to Mrs. who did not seem to 
 
 have tired her devil out.' 
 
 The joy bells were soon to be silenced. Saturday, April 
 15 was 
 
 'A black day in history, though outwardly most fair. 
 President Lincoln was assassinated in his box at the theatre, 
 last evening, by J. Wilkes Booth. This atrocious act, which 
 was consummated in a very theatrical manner, is enough to 
 ruin not the Booth family alone, but the theatrical profession. 
 Since my Sammy's death, nothing has happened that has 
 given me so much personal pain as this event. The city is 
 paralyzed. But we can only work on, and trust in God.' 
 
 Our father's face of tragedy, the anguish in his voice, as 
 he called us down to hear the news, come vividly before us 
 to-day, one of the clearest impressions of our youth. 
 
 Wednesday, April 19, was 
 
 'The date of President Lincoln's funeral. A sad, discon- 
 nected day. I could not work, but strolled around to see the 
 houses, variously draped in black and white. Went to Bartol's 
 church, not knowing of a service at our own. Bartol's re- 
 marks were tender and pathetic. I was pleased to have heard 
 them. 
 
 'Wrote some verses about the President — pretty good, per- 
 haps, — scratching the last nearly in the dark, just before 
 bedtime.' 
 
 This is the poem called 'Parricide.' 
 
 On April 27 she 'heard of Wilkes Booth's death — shot on 
 refusing to give himself up — the best thing that could have 
 happened to himself and his family'; and wrote a second 
 poem entitled 'Pardon,' embodying her second and perma- 
 nent thought on the subject: 
 
 Pains the sharp sentence the heart in whose wrath it was uttered, 
 
 Now thou art cold; 
 Vengeance, the headlong, and Justice, with purpose close muttered, 
 
 Loosen their hold, etc. 
 
 Brief entries note the closing events of the war. 
 
114 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'May 13. Worked much on Essay. ... In the evening 
 said to Laura: "Jeff Davis will be taken to-morrow." Was 
 so strongly impressed with the thought that I wanted to say 
 it to Chev, but thought it was too silly.' 
 
 'May 14. The first thing I heard in the morning was the 
 news of the capture of Jeff Davis. This made me think of 
 my preluding the night before. . . .' 
 
 Other things beside essays demanded work in these days. 
 The great struggle was now over, and with it the long strain 
 on heart and nerve, culminating in the tragic emotion of the 
 past weeks. The inevitable reaction set in. Her whole nature 
 cried out for play, and play meant work. 
 
 'Working all day for the Girls' Party, to-morrow evening. 
 Got only a very short reading of Kant, and of Tyndall. Tea 
 with the Bartols. Talk with [E. P.] Whipple, who furiously 
 attacked Tacitus. Bartol and I, who know a good deal more 
 about him, made a strong fight in his behalf.' 
 
 The party proved 'very gay and pleasant.' 
 
 Now came a more important event: the Musical Festival 
 celebrating the close of the war, which was given by the 
 Handel and Haydn Society, at its semi-centennial, in May, 
 1865. Our mother sang alto in the chorus. The Journal 
 records daily, sometimes semi-daily, rehearsals and per- 
 formances, Kant squeezed to the wall, and getting with diffi- 
 culty his daily hour or half -hour. Mendelssohn's 'Hymn of 
 Praise' and 'Elijah'; Haydn's 'Creation,' Handel's 'Messiah' 
 and 'Israel in Egypt'; she sang in them all. 
 
 Here is a sample Festival day: — 
 
 'Attended morning rehearsal, afternoon concert, and sang 
 in the evening. We gave "Israel in Egypt" and Mendels- 
 sohn's "Hymn of Praise." I got a short reading of Kant, 
 which helped me through the day. But so much music is 
 more than human nerves can respond to with pleasure. This 
 confirms my belief in the limited power of our sensibilities 
 in the direction of pure enjoyment. The singing in the 
 choruses fatigues me less than hearing so many things.' 
 
 After describing the glorious final performance of the 
 'Messiah,' she writes: — 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 115 
 
 'So farewell, delightful Festival! I little thought what 
 a week of youth was in store for me. For these things car- 
 ried me back to my early years, and their passion for music. 
 I remembered the wholeness with which I used to give myself 
 up to concerts and oratorios in New York, and the intense 
 reaction of melancholy which always followed these occa- 
 sions.' 
 
 On May 31 we find a significant entry. The evening be- 
 fore she had attended the Unitarian Convention, and 'heard 
 much tolerable speaking, but nothing of any special value 
 or importance.' She now writes: — 
 
 'I really suffered last evening from the crowd of things 
 which I wished to say, and which, at one word of command, 
 would have flashed into life and, I think, into eloquence. 
 It is by a fine use of natural logic that the Quaker denomina- 
 tion allows women to speak, under the pressure of religious 
 conviction. "In Christ Jesus there is neither male nor 
 female," is a good sentence. Paul did not carry this out in 
 his church discipline, yet, one sees, he felt it in his religious 
 contemplation. I feel that a woman's whole moral responsi- 
 bility is lowered by the fact that she must never obey a 
 transcendent command of conscience. Man can give her 
 nothing to take the place of this. It is the divine right of the 
 human soul.' 
 
 The fatigue and excitement of the Festival had to be paid 
 for: the inevitable reaction set in. 
 
 'June 3. Decidedly I have spleen in these days. Through- 
 out my whole body, I feel a mingled restlessness and feeble- 
 ness, as if the nerves were irritated, and the muscles power- 
 less. I feel puzzled, too, about the worth of what I have 
 been doing for nearly three years past. There is no one to 
 help me in these matters. I determine still to work on and 
 hope on. Much of the work of every life is done in the dark.' 
 
 At this time there was some question of selling Lawton's 
 Valley for economic reasons. The exigency passed, but the 
 following words show the depth of her feeling on the subject: 
 'If I have any true philosophy, any sincere religion, these 
 must support me under the privation of the Valley. I feel 
 
116 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 this, and resolve to do well, but nature will suffer. That place 
 has been my confidante, — my bosom friend, — intimate to me 
 as no human being ever will be — dear and comforting also 
 to my children ' 
 
 Wednesday, June 21. Attended the meeting at Faneuil 
 Hall, for the consideration of reconstruction of the Southern 
 States. Dana made a statement to the effect that voting was a 
 civic, not a natural, right, and built up the propriety of negro 
 suffrage on the basis first of military right, then of duty to 
 the negro, this being the only mode of enabling him to pro- 
 tect himself against his late master. His treatment was 
 intended to be exhaustive, and was able, though cold and 
 conceited. Beecher tumbled up on the platform immediately 
 after, not having heard him, knocked the whole question to 
 pieces with his great democratic power, his humor, his pas- 
 sion, and his magnetism. It was Nature after Art, and his 
 nature is much greater than Dana's art.' 
 
 A few days after this she writes: '. . . Sumner in the eve- 
 ning — a long and pleasant visit. He is a very sweet-hearted 
 man, and does not grow old.' 
 
 The Musical Festival had not yet exacted full arrears of 
 payment; she was too weary even to enjoy the Valley at first; 
 but after a few days of its beloved seclusion she shook off 
 fatigue and was herself again, reading Kant and Livy, teach- 
 ing the children, and gathering mussels on the beach. 
 
 'Finished reading over "Polarity" [her essay]. Reading 
 to the children, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have 
 nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head" — 
 my little Maud's eyes filled with tears.' 
 
 'Much worried by want of preparedness for to-day's picnic. 
 Managed to get up three chickens killed on short notice, a 
 pan of excellent gingerbread, two cans of peaches, and a little 
 bread and butter. Went in the express wagon. ... At the 
 picnic I repeated my Cambridge poem, . . . and read 
 "Amanda's Inventory" and my long poem on Lincoln's death. 
 . . . Duty depends on an objective, happiness upon a subjec- 
 tive, sense. The first is capable of a general and particular 
 definition, the second is not.' 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 117 
 
 'In the afternoon mended Harry's shirt, finished Maud's 
 skirt, read Livy and Tyndall, and played croquet, which made 
 me very cross.' 
 
 'Exhumed my French story and began its termination. 
 Mended a sheet badly torn.' 
 
 After a long list of purchases — 
 
 'Worked like a dog all day. Went in town, running about 
 to pick up all the articles above mentioned. . . . Came home 
 — cut bread and butter and spread sandwiches till just within 
 time to slip off one dress and slip on another. My company 
 was most pleasant, and more numerous than I had antici- 
 pated. . . .' 
 
 'Legal right is the universal compulsion which secures 
 universal liberty.' 
 
 'I feel quite disheartened when I compare this summer with 
 the last. I was so happy and hopeful in writing my three 
 Essays and thought they should open such a vista of useful- 
 ness to me, and of good to others. But the opposition of my 
 family has made it almost impossible for me to make the 
 use intended of them. My health has not allowed me to con- 
 tinue to produce so much. I feel saddened and doubtful of 
 the value of what I have done or can do. . . .' 
 
 'August 23. . . . Rights and duties are inseparable in 
 human beings. God has rights without duties. Men have 
 rights and duties. If a slave have not rights, he also has not 
 duties. . . .' 
 
 'With the girls to a matinee at Bellevue Hall. They danced 
 and I was happy.' 
 
 'My croquet party kept me busy all day. It was pleasant 
 enough. . . .' 
 
 '. . . "My peace I give unto you" is a wonderful saying. 
 What peace have most of us to give each other? But Christ 
 has given peace to the world, peace at least as an ideal 
 object, to be ever sought, though never fully attained.' 
 
 'To Zion church, to hear preach. Text, "Son, remem- 
 ber that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things." 
 Sermon as far removed from it as possible, weak, senti- 
 mental, and illiterate. He left out the "d" in "receivedst," 
 
118 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 and committed other errors in pronunciation. But to sit with 
 the two aunts 1 in the old church, so familiar to my childhood, 
 was touching and impressive. Hither my father was careful 
 to bring us. Imperfect as his doctrine now appears to me, 
 he looks down upon me from the height of a better life than 
 mine, and still appears to me as my superior.' 
 
 'A little nervous about my reading. Reached Mrs. 
 [Richard] Hunt's at twelve. Saw the sweet little boy. Mrs. 
 Hunt very kind and cordial. At one Mr. Hunt led me to the 
 studio which I found well filled, my two aunts in the front 
 row, to my great surprise; Bancroft, too, quite near me. I 
 shortened the essay somewhat. It was well heard and re- 
 ceived. Afterwards I read my poem called "Philosophy," 
 and was urged to recite my "Battle Hymn," which I did. I 
 was much gratified by the kind reception I met with and the 
 sight of many friends of my youth. A most pleasant lunch 
 afterwards at Mrs. Hunt's, with Tweedys, Tuckermans, and 
 Laura.' 
 
 'I see no outlook before me. So many fields for activity, 
 but for passivity, which seems incumbent upon me, only 
 uselessness, obscurity, deterioration. Some effort I must 
 make.' 
 
 Many efforts were impending, though not precisely in the 
 direction contemplated. First, a new abode must be found 
 for the winter, as the owners of 13 Chestnut Street claimed it 
 for themselves. She and the Doctor added house-hunting to 
 their other burdens, and found it a heavy one. 
 
 The move to Boylston Place was in November. Early in 
 the month a 'frisking' took place, with amusing results. Our 
 mother went with Governor and Mrs. Andrew and a gay 
 party to Barnstable for the annual festival and ball. The 
 Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company acted as escort, 
 and — according to custom — the band of die Company fur- 
 nished the music. For some reason — the townspeople thought 
 because the pretty girls were all engaged beforehand for the 
 dance — the officer in command stopped the music at twelve 
 o'clock, to the great distress of the Barnstable people who 
 
 1 Mrs. Francis and Mrs. McAllister. 
 
THE WIDER OUTLOOK 119 
 
 had ordered their carriages at two or later. The party broke 
 up in disorder far from 'admired,' and our mother crystal- 
 lized the general feeling in the following verses, which the 
 Barnstableites promptly printed in a 'broadside,' and sang 
 to the then popular tune of 'Lanigan's Ball': — 
 
 THE BARNSTABLE BALL 
 
 A Lyric 
 
 (Appointed to be sung in all Social Meetings on the Cape) 
 
 March away with your old artillery; 
 
 Don't come back till we give you a call. 
 Put your Colonel into the pillory; 
 
 He broke up the Barnstable Ball. 
 
 Country folks don't go a-pleasuring 
 
 Every day, as it doth befall; 
 They with deepest scorn are measuring 
 
 Him who broke up the Barnstable Ball. 
 
 He came down with his motley company, 
 
 Stalking round the 'cultural hall; 
 Couldn't find a partner to jump any, 
 
 So broke up the Barnstable Ball. 
 
 Warn't it enough with their smoking and thundering 
 
 Sweeping about like leaves in a squall, 
 But they must take to theft and plundering, — 
 
 Steal the half of the Barnstable Ball? 
 
 Put the music into their pocket, 
 
 Order the figure-man not to bawl, 
 Twenty jigs were still on the docket, 
 
 When they adjourned the Barnstable Ball. 
 
 Gov'nor A. won't hang for homicide, 
 
 That's a point that bothers us all; 
 He must banish ever from his side 
 
 Such as murdered the Barnstable Ball. 
 
120 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 When they're old and draw'd with rheumatiz, 
 
 Let them say to their grandbabes small, 
 'Deary me, what a shadow of gloom it is 
 
 To remember the Barnstable Ball!' 
 
 This autumn saw the preparation of a new volume of 
 poems, 'Later Lyrics.' Years had passed since the appear- 
 ance of 'Words for the Hour,' and our mother had a great 
 accumulation of poems, the arrangement of which proved a 
 heavy task. 
 
 'The labor of looking over the manuscript nearly made me 
 ill. . . . Had a new bad feeling of intense pressure in the 
 right temple.' 
 
 And again: — 
 
 'Nearly disabled by headaches. . . . Determine to push on 
 with my volume.' 
 
 'Almost distracted with work of various sorts — my book 
 — the new house — this one full of company, and a small 
 party in the evening.' 
 
 'All these days much hurried by proofs. Went in the 
 evening to the opening of the new wards in the Women's 
 Hospital — read two short poems, according to promise. 
 These were kindly received. . . .' 
 
 The next day she went with a party of friends to the Boys' 
 Reform School at Westboro. 'In the yard where the boys 
 were collected, the guests were introduced. Quite a number 
 crowded to see the Author of the "Battle Hymn." Two or 
 three said to me: "Are you the woman that wrote that 'Batde 
 Hymn'?" When I told them that I was, they seemed much 
 pleased. This I felt to be a great honor.' 
 
 'Friday, November 3. Moving all day. This is my last 
 writing in this dear house, No. 13 Chestnut Street, where I 
 have bad three years of good work, social and family en- 
 joyment. Here I enjoyed my dear Sammy for six happy 
 months — here I mourned long and bitterly for him. Here I 
 read my six lectures on Practical Ethics. Some of my best 
 days have been passed in this house. God be thanked for 
 the same!' 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE: 'LATER LYRICS' 
 1866; aet. 47 
 
 After the wide sunny spaces of No. 13 Chestnut Street, the 
 new house seemed small and dark; nor was Boylston Place 
 even in those days a specially cheerful cul de sac; yet we 
 remember it pleasantly enough as the home of much work 
 and much play. 
 
 'November 19. Had the comforts of faith from dear 
 James Freeman [Clarke] to-day. Felt restored to some- 
 thing like the peace I enjoyed before these two tasks of 
 printing and moving broke up all leisure and all study. De- 
 termined to hold on with both hands to the largeness of philo- 
 sophical pursuit and study, and to do my utmost to be useful 
 in this connection and path of life. . . .' 
 
 'Comforting myself with Hedge's book. Determined to 
 pass no more godless days. . . .' 
 
 She began to read Grote's Plato, and the Journal contains 
 much comment on the Platonic philosophy. Another interest 
 which came to her this autumn was that of singing with the 
 Handel and Haydn Society. She and Florence joined the 
 altos, while 'Harry,' then in college (Harvard, 1869), sang 
 bass. We find her also, in early December, rehearsing with 
 a small chorus the Christmas music for the Church of the 
 Disciples, and writing and rehearsing a charade for the 
 Club. 
 
 'December 12. Saw my new book at Tilton's. It looks 
 very well, but I am not sanguine about its fate.' 
 
 'Later Lyrics' made less impression than either of the 
 earlier volumes. It has been long out of print; our mother 
 does not mention it in her 'Reminiscences'; even in the 
 Journal, the book once published, there are few allusions 
 to it, and those in a sad note: 'Discouraged about my book,' 
 and so forth; yet it contains much of her best work. 
 
122 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The Journal for 1866 opens with a Latin aspiration: 'Quod 
 bonus, felix, faustusque sit hie annus mihi et meis amicis 
 dilectis et generi humano!' 
 
 February finds her in New York, going to a 'family party 
 at Aunt Maria's. 1 I enjoyed this family gathering more 
 than anything since leaving home. It is so rare a pleasure 
 for me. Family occasions are useful in bringing people 
 together on the disinterested ground of natural affection, 
 without any purpose of show or self-advancement. Re- 
 lations should meet on more substantial ground than that 
 of fashion and personal ambition. Nature and self-respect 
 here have the predominance. In my youth I had no notion 
 of this, though I always clung to those of my own blood.' 
 
 From New York she went to Washington, where she gave 
 a series of philosophical readings. Here, while staying at 
 the house of Mrs. Eames, she had a violent attack of malarial 
 fever, but struggled up again with her usual buoyancy. 
 
 'February 19. Weather rainy, so stayed at home; eyes 
 weak, so could do little but lie in my easy-chair, avoid cold, 
 and hang on to conversation. To-day the President 2 vetoed 
 the bill for the Freedmen's Bureau. The reading of the 
 veto was received by the Senate with intense, though sup- 
 pressed, excitement. Governor Andrew read it to us. It 
 was specious, and ingeniously overstated the scope and 
 powers demanded for the Bureau, in order to make its 
 withholdment appear a liberal and democratic measure. 
 Montgomery Blair is supposed to have written this veto.' 
 
 At her first reading, she had 'an excellent audience. The 
 rooms were well filled and there were many men of note 
 there. . . . Governor Andrew brought me in. Sam Hooper 
 was there. I read "The Fact Accomplished." They re- 
 ceived it very well. I was well pleased with my reception.' 
 
 The next day she was so weary that she fell asleep while 
 the Marquis de Chambrun was talking to her. 
 
 'February 23. To-day we learned the particulars of Presi- 
 dent Johnson's disgraceful speech, which awakens but one 
 
 1 The widow of her uncle, William G. Ward, z Andrew Johnson. 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 123 
 
 roar of indignation. To the Senate at 11.30. When the 
 business hour is over, Fessenden moves the consideration of 
 the House Resolution proposing the delay in the admission 
 of members for the Southern States until the whole South 
 shall be in a state of readmission. Sherman, of Ohio, moves 
 the postponement of the question, alleging the present ex- 
 citement as a reason for this. (He probably does this in the 
 Copperhead interest.) At this Fessenden shows his teeth 
 and shakes the Ohio puppy pretty well. Howe of Wisconsin 
 also speaks for the immediate discussion of the question. 
 
 Doolittle, of , speaking against it, Trumbull calls him 
 
 to order. Reverdy Johnson pitches in a little. The Ayes and 
 Noes are called for and the immediate consideration receives 
 a good majority. Fessenden now makes his speech, reads 
 the passage from the President's speech, calling the com- 
 mittee of fifteen a directory, — comments fully on the powers 
 of Congress, the injustice of the President and his defiant 
 attitude. ... He has force as debater, but no grasp of thought. 
 ... In the evening I read the first half of "Limitations" to a 
 very small circle. A Republican caucus took all the mem- 
 bers of Congress. Garrison also lectured. I was sorry, but 
 did my best and said, "God's will be done." But I ought 
 to have worked harder to get an audience.' 
 
 'February 25. . . . Rode with Lieber 1 as far as Baltimore. 
 He heard Hegel in his youth and thinks him, as I do, de- 
 cidedly inferior to Kant, morally as well as philosoph- 
 ically. . . . 
 
 'The laws and duties of society rest upon a supposed com- 
 pact, but this compact cannot deprive any set of men of rights 
 and limit them to duties, for if you refuse them all rights, 
 you deprive them even of the power to become a party to this 
 compact, which rests upon their right to do so. Our slaves 
 had no rights. Women have few.' 
 
 After leaving Washington, she spent several days with 
 her sister Annie in Bordentown, and there and in New York 
 
 1 Dr. Francis Lieber, the eminent German-American publicist. 
 
124 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 gave readings which seem to have been much more successful 
 than those in Washington. After the New York reading she 
 is 'glad and thankful.' 
 
 The visits in Bordentown were always a delight and refresh- 
 ment to her. She and her 'little Hitter' frolicked, once more 
 two girls together: e.g., the following incident: — 
 
 The Reverend Bishop was the Mailliards' pastor; a 
 
 kindly gentleman, who could frolic as well as another. One 
 day our Aunt Annie, wishing to ask him to dine, sat down at 
 her desk and wrote: — 
 
 'My dear Mr. Bishop, 
 To-day we shall dish up 
 At one and a half 
 The hind leg of a calf — ' 
 
 At this point she was called away on household business. 
 Our mother sat down and wrote: — 
 
 'Now B., if he's civil, 
 May join in our revel; 
 But if he is not, 
 He may go to the devil!' 
 
 During the days that followed, Kant and charades divided 
 her time pretty evenly. 
 
 'Kant's "Anthropologia" is rather trifling, after his great 
 works. I read it to find out what Anthropology is.' 
 
 'Good is a direction; virtue is a habit.' 
 
 In this year she met with a serious loss in the death of her 
 uncle, John Ward. He had been a second father to her and 
 her sisters; his kindly welcome always made No. 8 Bond 
 Street a family home. 
 
 ' April 4. The contents of uncle's will are known to-day. 
 He had made a new one, changing the disposition of his 
 property made in a previous will which would have made my 
 sisters and me much richer. This one gives equally to my 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 125 
 
 cousins, Uncle William's four sons, and to us; largely to 
 Uncle Richard, and most kindly to Brother Sam and Wardie. 
 We know not why this change was made, but once made, it 
 must be acquiesced in, like other events past remedy. My 
 cousins are wealthy already — this makes little difference 
 to them, but much to us. God's will be done, however. I 
 must remember my own doctrine, and build upon "The Fact 
 Accomplished." ' 
 
 This passage explains the financial worries which, from 
 now on, often oppressed her. She was brought up in wealth 
 and luxury; sober wealth, unostentatious luxury, but enough 
 of both to make it needless for her ever to consider questions 
 of ways and means. Her whole family, from the adoring 
 father down to the loving youngest sister, felt that she must be 
 shielded from every sordid care or anxiety; she was tended 
 like an orchid, lest any rough wind check her perfect blos- 
 soming. 
 
 Her father left a large fortune, much of which was invested 
 in blocks of real estate in what is now the heart of New York. 
 Uncle John, best and kindest of men, had no knowledge of 
 real estate and none of the foresight which characterized 
 his elder brother. After Mr. Ward's death, he made the 
 mistake of selling out the Manhattan real estate, and invest- 
 ing the proceeds in stocks and bonds. Later, realizing his 
 grave error, he resolved to mitigate the loss to his three nieces 
 by dividing among them the bulk of his property. 
 
 This failing, the disappointment could not but be a sensible 
 one, even to the least money-loving of women. The Doctor's 
 salary was never a large one: the children must be given 
 every possible advantage of education and society; no door 
 that was open to her own youth should be closed to them; 
 again, to entertain their friends (albeit in simple fashion), 
 to respond to every call of need or distress, was matter of 
 necessity to both our parents: small wonder that they were 
 often pressed for money. All through the Journals we find 
 this note of financial anxiety: not for herself, but for her 
 children, and later for her grandchildren. She accepted the 
 restricted means; she triumphed over them, and taught us to 
 
126 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 hold such matters of little account compared with the real 
 things of life ; but they never ceased to bewilder her. 
 
 Yet to-day, realizing of what vital importance this seeming 
 misfortune was to her; how but for this, her life and other 
 lives might have lacked 'the rich flavor of hope and toil' ; how 
 but for this she might have failed to lock hands with human- 
 ity in a bond as close as it was permanent, who can seriously 
 regret Uncle John's devastating yet fruitful mistake? 
 
 In April again she writes: — 
 
 'Feel better to-day. Made the acquaintance of Aldrich and 
 Howells and their wives, at Alger's last evening. I enjoyed 
 the evening more than usual. Aldrich has a very refined 
 face. Howells 1 is odd-looking, but sympathetic and intelli- 
 gent. Alger was in all his glory.' 
 
 'April 11. . . . Between a man governed by inner and one 
 governed by outer control, there is the difference which we 
 find between a reptile in a shell and a vertebrate. The one 
 has his vertebrae within to support him, the other has them 
 without to contain him.' 
 
 ' April 19. Very busy all day. Ran about too much, and 
 was very tired. Had friends, in the evening, to meet young 
 Perabo. I did not wish to give a party, on account of Uncle's 
 death, but could not help getting together quite a lovely com- 
 pany of friends. Aldrich and wife were here, Alger, Bartol, 
 
 1 Mr. Howells, in his Literary Boston Thirty Years Ago, thus speaks of her 
 (1895) : 'I should not be just to a vivid phase if I failed to speak of Mrs. Julia 
 Ward Howe and the impulse of reform which she personified. I did not 
 sympathize with this then so much as I do now, but I could appreciate it on 
 the intellectual side. Once, many years later, I heard Mrs. Howe speak in 
 public, and it seemed to me that she made one of the best speeches I had ever 
 heard. It gave me for the first time a notion of what women might do in that 
 sort if they entered public life; but when we met in those earlier days I was 
 interested in her as perhaps our chief poetess. I believe she did not care to 
 speak much of literature; she was alert for other meanings in life, and I 
 remember how she once brought to book a youthful matron who had perhaps 
 unduly lamented the hardships of housekeeping, with the sharp demand, 
 "Child, where is your religion?" After the many years of an acquaintance 
 which had not nearly so many meetings as years, it was pleasant to find her, 
 not long ago, as strenuous as ever for the faith or work, and as eager to aid 
 Stepniak as John Brown. In her beautiful old age she survives a certain 
 literary impulse of Boston, but a still higher impulse of Boston she will not 
 survive, for that will last while the city endures.' 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 127 
 
 Professor Youmans, Perabo, Dresel, Louisa D. Hunt, and 
 
 others. It was a good time . Saw my last cent go — 
 
 nothing now till May, unless I can earn something.' 
 
 'April 20. Began to work over and correct my poem for 
 the Church Festival, which must be licked into shape, for 
 the Gods will give me none other. So I must hammer at 
 it slowly, and a good deal. ... To write purely for money is 
 to beg, first telling a story.' 
 
 In these days the Doctor was very weary through excess of 
 work. He longed for a change, and would have been glad 
 to receive the mission to Greece, of which some prospect 
 had been held out to him. She writes: 'Chev full of the 
 Greek mission, which I think he cannot get. I wish he might, 
 because he wishes it. Surely a man so modest and merito- 
 rious in his public career might claim so small an acknowl- 
 edgment as this. But as we are, he represents Charity, I 
 the study of Philosophy — we cannot be more honored than 
 by standing for these things.' 
 
 It was thought that she might have some influence in obtain- 
 ing the mission : accordingly she went to Washington, anxious 
 to help if she might. She saw the President of the Senate, 
 who promised support. While there she writes: 'Governor 
 Andrew took me to General Grant's, where I saw the General, 
 with great satisfaction. Prayed at bedtime that I might not 
 become a superficial sham and humbug.' 
 
 Hearing that Charles Sumner had sought her at the house 
 of Mrs. Eames, she sent a message to him by a common 
 friend. She writes: 'Sumner cannot make a visit at the 
 hotel, but will see me at the Capitol. I know of nothing 
 which exempts a man in public life from the duty of having, 
 in private, some human qualities.' Mr. Sumner did come to 
 see her later, when she was staying with Mrs. Eames. She 
 saw Secretary Seward, who was very ungracious to her; and 
 President Johnson, whom she found 'not one inclined to much 
 speech.' Before the latter interview her prayer was : 'Let me 
 be neither unskilful nor mean!' 
 
 'May 27. Boston. My birthday. Forty-seven years old. 
 
128 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 J. F. C. preached on "The seed is the word," and gave a 
 significant statement of the seminal power of Christianity. 
 They sang also a psalm tune which I like, so that the day (a 
 rainy one) seems to me auspicious. I have little to show for 
 the past year's work, having produced no work of any length 
 and read but little in public. The doctrine of the seed does, 
 however, encourage us to continue our small efforts. The 
 most effectual quickening of society is through that small 
 influence which creeps like the leaven through the dough. . . .' 
 
 '. . . Roman piety was the duteous care of one's relatives. 
 It follows from this that the disregard of parents and elders 
 common in America is in itself an irreligious trait, and one 
 which education should sedulously correct.' 
 
 On May 29 she attended the Unitarian Festival. She 
 recalls the fact that at the last festival she was 'tormented 
 by the desire to speak. But I am now grown more patient, 
 knowing that silence also is valuable. . . .' 
 
 The Chevalier was not to receive the only reward he had 
 ever sought for his labors. On May 31 she writes: 'To-day 
 the blow fell. A kind letter from Vice-President Foster in- 
 formed me that Charles T. Tuckerman had been nominated 
 for the Greek mission. This gave me an unhappy hour. 
 Chev was a good deal overcome by it for a time, but rallied 
 and bears up bravely. The girls are rather glad. I am con- 
 tent, but I do not see what can take the place of this cherished 
 object to Chev. . . .' 
 
 'Divide et impera is an old maxim of despotism which 
 does not look as if States' rights pointed in the direction of 
 true freedom.' 
 
 'It is only in the natural order that the living dog is better 
 than the dead lion. Will any one say that the living thief is 
 better than the dead hero? No one, save perhaps the thief 
 himself, who is no judge.' 
 
 In these years the Doctor and our sister Julia were in 
 summer time rather visitors than members of the family. The 
 former was, as Governor Bullock said of him, 'driving all the 
 Charities of Massachusetts abreast,' and could enjoy the 
 Valley only by snatches, flying down for a day or a week as he 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 129 
 
 could. Julia, from her early girlhood, had interested her- 
 self deeply in all that concerned the blind, and had become 
 more and more the Doctor's companion and workfellow at 
 the Perkins Institution, where much of his time was neces- 
 sarily spent. She had classes in various branches of study, 
 and in school and out gave herself freely to her blind pupils. 
 A friend said to her mother, many years later, 'It was one of 
 the sights of Boston in the days of the Harvard Musical con- 
 certs to see your Julia's radiant face as she would come into 
 Music Hall, leading a blind pupil in either hand.' 
 
 This was a summer of arduous work. The 'Tribune' de- 
 manded more letters; Kant and Maine could not be neglected, 
 and soon Fichte was added to them. 
 
 Moreover, the children must have every pleasure that she 
 could give them. 
 
 'Worked hard all the morning for the croquet party in the 
 afternoon, which was very pleasant and successful. 
 
 'Took Julia to the party on board the Rhode Island. She 
 looked charmingly, and danced. I was quite happy because 
 she enjoyed it.' 
 
 To church at St. Mary's. X. preached. The beginning 
 of his sermon was liberal, — the latter half sentimental and 
 sensational. "The love of Christ constraineth us," but he 
 dwelt far too much on the supposition of a personal and emo- 
 tional relation between the soul and Christ. It is Christian 
 doctrine interpreted by human sympathy that reclaims us. 
 Christ lives in his doctrine, influences us through that, and 
 his historical personality. All else is myth and miracle. 
 What Christ is to-day ideally we may be able to state, of what 
 he is really, Mr. X. knows no more than I do, and I know 
 nothing. 
 
 'He is there for us as the sun is there and the brightness of 
 his deed and doctrine penetrates the recesses of our mind and 
 consciousness. But that he knows each one of us cannot and 
 need not be affirmed. 
 
 'The moon looks 
 On many brooks: 
 The brook can see no moon but this.' 
 
130 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 So that we see him, it matters not whether he sees us or no. 
 
 'Spinoza's great word; — if we love God, we shall not 
 trouble ourselves about his loving us.' 
 
 'I yesterday spoke to Joseph Coggeshall, offering to give a 
 reading at the schoolhouse, in order to start a library fund. 
 He appeared pleased with the idea. I proposed to ask .50 
 for each ticket.' 
 
 'I cannot study Fichte for more than forty-five minutes at 
 a time. Reading him is not so bad as translating, which 
 utterly overpowers my brain, although I find it useful in com- 
 prehending him.' 
 
 'Spent most of the afternoon in preparing for a tea party, 
 cutting peaches and preparing bread and butter.' 
 
 'Read 11th and 12th chapters of Mark in the Valley. At 
 some moments one gets a clearer and nearer perception of 
 the thought and personality of Christ than that which we 
 commonly carry with us.' 
 
 Early in October came the move 'home to Boylston Place, 
 leaving the Valley with great regret, but feeling more the 
 importance of being with the children, as I draw nearer to 
 them.' 
 
 Our mother had remained after the rest of us, to close 
 the house. In Boston she had the great pleasure of welcom- 
 ing to this country her nephew, Francis Marion Crawford, 
 then a boy of twelve years. Born and bred in Rome, a beauti- 
 ful and petted child, he was now to learn to be an American 
 schoolboy. She took him herself to St. Paul's School in 
 Concord, New Hampshire; and for a year or two he spent 
 most of his holidays with us, to the delight of us all. 
 
 In this autumn of 1866 she undertook a new task, of which 
 the first mention in the Journal reads: 'I will here put the 
 names of some writers of stories whom I may employ for 
 the magazine.' 
 
 A list of writers follows: and the next day she writes: 'I 
 saw J. R. Gilmour and agreed with him to do editorial service 
 for thirty dollars per week for three months.' 
 
 This magazine was the 'Northern Lights.' The first num- 
 ber appeared in January, 1867. It contained two articles by 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 131 
 
 Mrs. Howe: the 'Salutation' and a thoughtful poem called 
 The Two R's' (Rachel and Ristori). Later, we find her in 
 the 'Sittings of the Owl Club,' making game of the studies 
 she loved. 
 
 This owl went to Germany, 
 This owl stayed at home; 
 This owl read Kant and Fichte, 
 This owl read none. 
 This owl said To-whit! I can't understand 
 the dogmatic categorical! 
 
 The 'Northern Lights' gleam fitfully in the Journal. 
 
 'October 26. To write Henry James for story, Charles T. 
 Brooks for sketches of travel. Saw and talked with Gilmour, 
 who confuses my mind.' 
 
 'October 29. Chev went with me to Ristori's debut, which 
 was in Medea.' 
 
 'November 3. All of these days have been busy and inter- 
 rupted. Maggi 1 has been reading Ristori's plays in my 
 parlor every day this week and my presence has been com- 
 pulsory. I have kept on with Fichte whose "Sittenlehre" I 
 have nearly finished. Have copied one or two poems, written 
 various letters in behalf of the magazine, have seen Ristori 
 thrice on the stage and once in private.' 
 
 'November 10. Finished copying and correcting my edi- 
 torial for the first number of my weekly. Finished also 
 Fichte's "Sittenlehre" for whose delightful reading I thank 
 God, praying never to act quite unworthily of its maxims.' 
 
 'November 11. Called on Mrs. Charles Sumner, and saw 
 both parties, who were very cordial and seemed very happy.' 
 
 'November 15. Crackers, .25, eggs, .43, rosewater for 
 Frank Crawford, .48. Very weary and overdone. The 
 twelve apostles shall judge the twelve tribes in that the Chris- 
 tian doctrine judges the Jews. 
 
 'I lead a weary life of hurry and interruption.' 
 
 'November 18. Weary hearts must, I think, be idle hearts, 
 for it is cheery even to be overworked. My studies and ex- 
 
 1 Count Alberto Maggi, an Italian litterateur. 
 
132 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 perience have combined to show me the difficulty of moral 
 attainment, but both have made me feel that with every aver- 
 age human being there is a certain possible conjunction of 
 conviction, affection, and personality which, being effected, 
 the individual will see the reality of the ethical aspects of 
 life and the necessary following of happiness upon a good 
 will and its strenuous prosecution. 
 
 'I began Fichte's "Wissenschaftslehre" two or three days 
 ago. 
 
 'Gave a small party to Baron Osten Sacken. . . . Peaceably 
 if we can, forcibly if we must, makes the difference between 
 the beggar and the thief.' 
 
 'November 26. Very unwell; a good day's work, neverthe- 
 less.' 
 
 'November 27. Better. Last week was too fatiguing for 
 a woman of my age. I cannot remember my forty-seven 
 years, and run about too much. The oratorio should, I fear, 
 be given up.' 
 
 'December 9. Heard J. F. C. as usual. "She hath done 
 what she could" — a good text for me at this moment. Inde- 
 pendendy of ambition, vanity, pride, — all of which prompt 
 all of us, I feel that I must do what my hand finds to do, 
 taking my dictation and my reward from sources quite above 
 human will and approbation.' 
 
 'December 19. . . . Vicomte de Chabreuil came. We had a 
 long, and to me splendid, conversation. Were I young this 
 person would occupy my thoughts somewhat. Very intelli- 
 gent, simple, and perfectly bred, also a rosso, — a rare fea- 
 ture in a Frenchman.' 
 
 'December 27. Let me live until to-morrow, and not be 
 ridiculous! I have a dinner party and an evening party 
 to-day and night, and knowing myself to be a fool for my 
 pains, am fain to desire that others may not find it out and 
 reproach me as they discover it. 
 
 'Got hold of Fichte a little which rested my weary brain. 
 
 'My party proved very pleasant and friendly.' 
 
 'December 29. ... I read last night at the Club a poem, 
 "The Rich Man's Library," which contrasts material and 
 
NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE 133 
 
 mental wealth, much to the disparagement of the former. I 
 felt as if I ought to read it, having inwardly resolved never 
 again to disregard that inner prompting which leaves us no 
 doubt as to the authority of certain acts which present them- 
 selves to us for accomplishment. Having read the poem, 
 however, I felt doubtful whether after all I had done well to 
 read it in that company. I will hope, however, that it may 
 prove not to have been utterly useless. The imperfection 
 of that which we try to do well sometimes reacts severely upon 
 us and discourages us from further effort. It should not.' 
 
 i December 31. Ran about all day, but studied and wrote 
 also. 
 
 'Farewell, old Diary, farewell, old Year! Good, happy 
 and auspicious to me and mine, and to mankind, I prayed 
 that you might be, and such I think you have been. To me 
 you have brought valued experience and renewed study. 
 You have introduced me to Fichte, you have given me the 
 honor of a new responsibility, you have made me acquainted 
 with some excellent personages, among them Baron McKaye, 
 a youth of high and noble nature; Perabo, an artist of real 
 genius. . . . You have taught me new lessons of the true mean- 
 ing and discipline of life, — the which should make me more 
 patient in all endurance, more strenuous in all endeavor. 
 You have shown me more clearly the line of demarcation be- 
 tween different talents, pursuits, and characters. So I thank 
 and bless your good days, looking to the Supreme from whom 
 we receive all things. The most noticeable events of the 
 year just passed, so far as I am concerned, are the following: 
 the invitation received by me to read at the Century Club in 
 New York. This reading was hindered by the death of my 
 brother-in-law, J. N. Howe. The death of dear Uncle John. 
 My journey to Washington to get Chev the Greek appoint- 
 ment. Gurowski's death. Attendance at the American Acad- 
 emy of Science at Northampton in August. The editorship 
 of the new weekly. My study of Fichte's "Sittenlehre" and 
 the appearance of my essay on the "Ideal State" in the 
 "Christian Examiner." My reading at Lexington for the 
 Monument Association. My being appointed a delegate from 
 
134 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 the Indiana Place Church to the Boston Conference of Uni- 
 tarian and other Christian Churches. My readings at North- 
 ampton, Washington, and elsewhere are all set down in their 
 place. The bitter opposition of my family renders this ser- 
 vice a very difficult and painful one for me. I do not, there- 
 fore, seek occasions of performing it, not being quite clear 
 as to the extent to which they ought to limit my efficiency; 
 but when the word and the time come together I always try 
 to give the one to the other and always shall. God instruct 
 whichever of us is in the wrong about this. And may God 
 keep mean and personal passions far removed from me in 
 the coming years. The teaching of life has of late done much 
 to wean me from them, but the true human requires culture 
 and the false human suppression every day of our lives and 
 as long as we live.' 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 
 1867; aet. 48 
 
 In January, 1867, a new note is sounded. 
 
 'In the evening attended meeting in behalf of Crete, at 
 which Chev presided and spoke. Excellent as to matter, but 
 always with a defective elocution, not sending his voice out. 
 He was much and deservedly glorified by other speakers, and, 
 indeed, his appearance on this occasion was most touching 
 and interesting. Phillips was very fine; Huntington was 
 careful, polished, and interesting. Andrew read the resolu- 
 tions, with a splendid compliment to Chev.' 
 
 Some months before this, in August, 1866, the Cretans had 
 risen against their Turkish oppressors, and made a valiant 
 struggle for freedom. Erom the first the Doctor had been 
 deeply interested in the insurrection: now, as reports came 
 of the sufferings of the brave mountaineers, and of their 
 women and children, who had been sent to the mainland for 
 safety, he felt impelled to help them as he had helped their 
 fathers forty years before. 
 
 He was sixty-six years old, but looked much younger. 
 When, at the first meeting called by him, he rose and said, 
 'Forty-five years ago I was much interested in the Greek 
 Revolution,' the audience was amazed. His hair was but 
 lightly touched with silver; his eyes were as bright, his figure 
 as erect and martial, as when, in 1826, he had fought and 
 marched under the Greek banner, and slept under the Greek 
 stars, wrapped in his shaggy capote. 
 
 His appeal in behalf of Crete roused the ever-generou9 
 heart of Boston. Committees were formed, and other meet- 
 ings were held, among them that just described. Governor 
 Andrew's 'splendid compliment' to him was given thus: — 
 
 'I venture, Mr. Chairman, to make one single suggestion 
 ■ — that if all of us were dumb to-night, if the eloquent voices 
 
136 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 which have stimulated our blood and inspired our hearts 
 had been silent as the tomb, your presence, sir, would have 
 been more eloquent than a thousand orations; when we re- 
 member that after the life-time of a whole generation of 
 men, he who forty years ago bared his arm to seize the Suliote 
 blade, speaks again with the voice of his age in defence of 
 the cause of his youth.' 
 
 Thirty-seven thousand dollars were raised for Crete, and 
 in March, 1867, Dr. Howe sailed again for Greece on an 
 errand of mercy. The Journal gives an outline of the busy 
 winter: — 
 
 'The post is the poor man's valet. . . .' 
 
 'January 12. A busy and studious day; had the neighbors 
 in after tea. Want clamors for relief, but calls for cure, 
 which begins in discipline. . . .' 
 
 'January 24. N. P. Willis's funeral. Chev came home 
 quite suddenly and asked me to go with him to the church, 
 St. Paul's. The pallbearers were Longfellow and Lowell, 
 Drs. Holmes and Howe, Whipple and Fields, T. B. Aldrich 
 and I don't know who. Coffin covered with flowers. Appear- 
 ance of the family interesting: the widow bowed and closely 
 shrouded. Thus ends a man of perhaps first-rate genius, 
 ruined by the adoption of an utterly frivolous standard of 
 labor and of life. George IV and Bulwer have to answer for 
 some of these failures. 
 
 'My tea party was delightful, friendly, not fashionable. 
 We had a good talk, and a lovely, familiar time. 
 
 'Heard J. F. C. Took my dear Francesco [Marion Craw- 
 ford] at his request, with great pleasure, feeling that he 
 would find there a living Jesus immortal in influence, instead 
 of the perfumed and embalmed mummy of orthodoxy. . . . 
 
 'Of that which is not clear one cannot have a clear idea. 
 My reading in Fichte to-day is of the most confused.' 
 
 'February 7. Chev came dancing in to tell me that Flossy 
 is engaged to David Hall. His delight knew no bounds. I 
 am also pleased, for David is of excellent character and ex- 
 cellent blood, the Halls being first-rate people and with no 
 family infirmity (insanity or blindness). My only regret is 
 
GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 137 
 
 that it must prove a long engagement, David being a very 
 young lawyer.' 
 
 'February 14. All's up, as I feared, with "Northern 
 Lights" in its present form. Gilmour proposes to go to New 
 York and to change its form and character to that of a weekly 
 newspaper. I of course retire from it and, indeed, despite 
 my title of editor, have been only a reader of manuscripts 
 and contributor — nothing more. I have not had power of 
 any sort to make engagements.' 
 
 The tenth number of 'Northern Lights' was also the last, 
 and we hear no more of the ill-fated magazine. 
 
 The Journal says nothing of the proposed trip to Greece, 
 until February 15: — 
 
 'I had rather die, it seems to me, than decide wrongly 
 about going to Europe and leaving the children. And yet I 
 am almost sure I shall do so. Chev clearly wishes me to go. 
 . . . Whether I go or stay, God help me to make the best of 
 it. My desire to help Julia is a strong point in favor of the 
 journey. It would be, I think, a turning-point for her.' 
 
 Later she writes : — 
 
 'Chev has taken our passage in the Asia, which sails on 
 the 13th proximo. So we have the note of preparation, and 
 the prospect of change and separation makes us feel how 
 happy we have been, in passing this whole winter together.' 
 
 The remaining days were full of work of every kind. She 
 gave readings here and there in aid of the Cretans. 
 
 'Ran about much: saw Miss Rogers's deaf pupils at Mrs. 
 Lamson's, very interesting. . . .For the first time in three days 
 got a peep at Fichte. Finished Jesse's "George the Third." 
 
 'Went to Roxbury to read at Mrs. Harrington's for the 
 benefit of the Cretans. It was a literary and musical enter- 
 tainment. Tickets, one dollar. We made one hundred dol- 
 lars. My poems were very kindly received. Afterwards, in 
 great haste, to Sophia WhitwelPs, 1 where I received a great 
 ovation, all members greeting me most affectionately. Pres- 
 ently Mr. [Josiah] Quincy, with some very pleasant and 
 complimentary remarks on Dr. Howe and myself, introduced 
 
 1 This was evidently a meeting of the 'Brain Club.' 
 
138 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Mrs. Silsbee's farewell verses to me, which were cordial and 
 feeling. Afterwards I read my valedictory verses, strung 
 together in a very headlong fashion, but just as well liked as 
 though I had bestowed more care upon them. A bouquet of 
 flowers crowned the whole, really a very gratifying occasion.' 
 
 Julia and Laura were the happy two chosen to join this 
 expedition, the other children staying with relatives and 
 friends. From first to last the journey was one of deepest 
 interest. The Journal keeps a faithful record of sight-seeing, 
 which afterward took shape in a volume, 'From the Oak to the 
 Olive,' published in 1868, and dedicated 'To S. G. H., the 
 strenuous champion of Greek liberty and of human rights.' 
 
 It is written in the light vein of 'A Trip to Cuba.' In the 
 first chapter she says: 'The less we know about a thing, the 
 easier it is to write about it. To give quite an assured and 
 fluent account of a country, we should lose no time on our 
 first arrival. The first impression is the strongest. Famil- 
 iarity constantly wears off the edge of observation. The face 
 of the new country astonishes us once, and once only.' 
 
 Though much that she saw during this trip was already 
 familiar to her, there is no lack of strength in the impression. 
 She sees things with new eyes; the presence of 'the neophytes,' 
 as she calls the daughters, gives an atmosphere of 'first sight' 
 to the whole. 
 
 In London she finds 'the old delightful account reopened, 
 the friendly visits frequent, and the luxurious invitations to 
 dinner occupy every evening of our short week.' 
 
 'Dined at Argyll Lodge, found the Duchess serene and 
 friendly; the Duke seemed hard and sensible, Lord Lome, 
 the eldest son, very pleasant, and Hon. Charles Howard and 
 son most amiable, with more breeding, I should say, than 
 the Duke. Chev was the hero of this occasion; the Duchess 
 always liked him.' 
 
 During this brief week, the Doctor had been in close com- 
 munication with the Greeks of London, who one and all were 
 eager to welcome him, and to bid him Godspeed on his 
 errand. His business transacted, he felt that he must hurry- 
 on toward Greece. Some stay must be made in Rome, where 
 
GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 139 
 
 our Aunt Louisa (now Mrs. Luther Terry) was anxiously- 
 expecting the party; but even this tie of affection and friend- 
 ship could not keep the Doctor long from his quest. On 
 May 1 he and Julia went to Greece, the others remaining for 
 some weeks in Italy. 
 
 Sixteen years had passed since our mother's last visit to 
 Rome. She found some changes in the city, but more vital 
 ones in herself. 
 
 'I left Rome,' she says, 'after those days, with entire de- 
 termination, but with infinite reluctance. America seemed 
 the place of exile, Rome the home of sympathy and com- 
 fort. . . . And now I must confess that, after so many intense 
 and vivid pages of life, this visit to Rome, once a theme of 
 fervent and solemn desire, becomes a mere page of embellish- 
 ment in a serious and instructive volume.' 
 
 Here follows a disquisition on 'the Roman problem for the 
 American thinker'; the last passage gives her conclu- 
 sion: — 
 
 'A word to my countrymen and countrywomen, who, linger- 
 ing on the edge of the vase, are lured by its sweets, and fall 
 into its imprisonment. It is a false, false superiority to 
 which you are striving to join yourself. A prince of puppets 
 is not a prince, but a puppet; a superfluous duke is no dux, 
 a titular count does not count. Dresses, jewels, and equip- 
 ages of tasteless extravagance ; the sickly smile of disdain for 
 simple people; the clinging together, by turns eager and 
 haughty, of a clique that becomes daily smaller in intention, 
 and whose true decline consists in its numerical increase — 
 do not dream that these lift you in any true way — in any 
 true sense. For Italians to believe that it does, is natural; 
 for Englishmen to believe it, is discreditable; for Americans, 
 disgraceful!' 
 
 The Terrys were at this time living in Palazzo Odescalchi. 
 Our mother observes that 'the whole of my modest house in 
 Boylston Place would easily, as to solid contents, lodge in 
 the largest of those lofty rooms. The Place itself would 
 equally lodge in the palace. I regard my re-found friends 
 with wonder, and expect to see them execute some large and 
 
140 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 stately manoeuvre, indicating their possession of all this 
 space.' 
 
 It was Holy Week when they arrived in Rome, and she was 
 anxious that the 'neophytes' should see as much as possible 
 of its impressive ceremonies. She took them to St. Peter's 
 to see the washing of the pilgrims' feet by noble Roman 
 ladies, and to hear the 'Miserere' in the Sistine Chapel. 
 These functions are briefly chronicled in the Journal and 
 more fully in 'From the Oak to the Olive.' 
 
 In the Journal she writes, April 19: 'It is the golden calf 
 of old which has developed into the papal bull.' 
 
 At a concert she saw the Abbe Liszt, 'whose vanity and 
 desire to attract attention were most apparent.' 
 
 Though the sober light of middle age showed Rome less 
 magical than of old, yet the days were full of delight. 
 
 'In these scarce three weeks,' she cries, 'how much have 
 we seen, how little recorded and described! So sweet has 
 been the fable, that the intended moral has passed like an 
 act in a dream — a thing of illusion and intention, not of fact. 
 Impotent am I, indeed, to describe the riches of this Roman 
 world, — its treasures, its pleasures, its flatteries, its lessons. 
 Of so much that one receives, one can give again but the 
 smallest shred, — a leaf of each flower, a scrap of each gar- 
 ment, a proverb for a sermon, a stave for a song. So be it; 
 so, perhaps, it is best.' 
 
 On May 26 she writes in her Journal: — 
 
 'I remembered the confusion of my mind when I was here 
 sixteen years ago and recognized how far more than equiva- 
 lent for the vivacity of youth, now gone, is the gain of a 
 steadfast standard of good and happiness. To desire 
 supremely ends which are incompatible with no one's happi- 
 ness and which promote the good of all — this even as an 
 ideal is a great gain from the small and eager covetousness 
 of personal desires. Religion gives this steadfast standard 
 whose pursuit is happiness. Therefore let him who seeks 
 religion be glad that he seeks the only true good of which, 
 indeed, we constantly fail, and yet in seeking it are constantly 
 renewed. . . .' 
 
GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 141 
 
 Greece was before her. On June 17 the Journal says: — 
 
 'Acroceraunian mountains, shore of Albania. Nothing 
 strikes me — I have been struck till I am stricken down. 
 Sirocco and head wind — vessel laboring with the sea, I with 
 Guizot's "Meditations," which also have some head wind in 
 them. They seem to me inconclusive in statement and com- 
 monplace in thought, yet presenting some facts of interest. 
 A little before 2 p.m. we passed Fano, the island on which 
 Calypso could not console herself, and no wonder. At 2 we 
 enter the channel of Corfu.' 
 
 Here she was met by Mr. Evangelides, the 'Christy' of her 
 childhood, the Greek boy befriended by her father. He was 
 now a prosperous man in middle life, full of affectionate 
 remembrance of the family at 16 Bond Street, and of grati- 
 tude to 'dear Mr. Ward.' He welcomed her most cordially, 
 and introduced her not only to the beauties of Syra, but to its 
 principal inhabitants, the governor of the Cyclades, the arch- 
 bishop, and Doctor Hahn, the scientist and antiquary. She 
 conversed with the archbishop in German. 
 
 'He deplored the absence of a state religion in America. I 
 told him that the progress of religion in our country seemed 
 to establish the fact that society attains the best religious 
 culture through the greatest religious liberty. He replied that 
 the members should all be united under one head. "Yes," 
 said I, "but the Head is invisible"; and he repeated after 
 me, "Indeed, the Head is invisible." I will here remark that 
 nothing could have been more refreshing to the New England 
 mind than this immediate introduction to the theological opin- 
 ions of the East.' 
 
 A few hours later his Grace returned the visit, seeking in 
 his turn, it would appear, the refreshment of a new point of 
 view. 
 
 'We resumed our conversation of the morning, and the 
 celibacy of the clerical hierarchy came next in order in our 
 discussion. The father was in something of a strait between 
 the Christian dignification of marriage and its ascetic de- 
 preciation. The arrival of other visitors forced us to part, 
 with this interesting point still unsettled.' 
 
142 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Arrived in Athens, the travellers found the 'veteran' (as 
 the Doctor is called throughout her book) in full tide of 
 work. The apartment in the pleasant hotel swarmed with 
 dark-eyed patriots, with Cretan refugees, with old men who 
 had known 'Xaos' in the brave days of old, with young men 
 eager to see and greet the old Philhellene. Among the latter 
 came Michael Anagnostopoulos, who was to become his secre- 
 tary, and later his son-in-law and his successor at the Perkins 
 Institution for the Blind. The ladies of Athens came too, 
 full of hospitable feeling. There were visits, deputations, 
 committee meetings, all day long, and in the evening parties 
 and receptions. 
 
 Spite of all this, her first impression of Athens was melan- 
 choly. She was oppressed and depressed at sight of the havoc 
 wrought by Time and war upon monuments that should have 
 been sacred. Speaking of the Parthenon, she exclaims: — 
 
 'And Pericles caused it to be built; and this, his marble 
 utterance, is now a lame sentence, with half its sense left 
 out. . . . 
 
 'Poor as these relics are, in comparison with what one 
 would wish them to be, they are still priceless. This Greek 
 marble is the noblest in descent; it needs no eulogy. These 
 forms have given the models for a hundred familiar and 
 commonplace works, which caught a little gleam of their 
 glory, squaring to shapeliness some town-house of the West, 
 or Southern bank or church. So well do we know them in 
 the prose of modern design that we are startled at seeing them 
 transfigured in the poetry of their own conception. Poor old 
 age! poor old columns!' 
 
 There was a colony of Cretan refugees at Nauplia, another 
 at Argos, both in dire need of food and clothing. The Doctor 
 asked the Government for a steamer, and received the Para- 
 dos, in which he promptly embarked with wife, daughters, 
 and supplies, and sailed for Nauplia. 
 
 The travelling library of this expedition was reduced to 'a 
 copy of Machiavelli's "Principe" a volume of Muir's 
 "Greece," and a Greek phrase-book on Ollendorff's princi- 
 ple.' Our mother also took some worsted work, but she 
 
GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 143 
 
 suffered such lively torment from the bites of mosquitoes and 
 sand-fleas on her hands and wrists that she could make litde 
 use of this. To one recalling the anguish of this visitation, it 
 seems amazing that she could even write in her Journal; 
 indeed, the entries, though tolerably regular, are brief and 
 condensed. 
 
 'June 24. . . . We arrived in the harbor of Nauplia by 
 7 p.m. . . . Crowd in the street. Bandit's head just cut off and 
 brought in. We go to the prefect's house, ... he offers us 
 his roof — sends out for mattresses. ... I mad with my mos- 
 quito bites. Mattresses on the floor. We women lie down 
 four in a row, very thankfully. . . .' 
 
 At the fortress of Nauplia, she was deeply touched by the 
 sight of a band of prisoners waiting, in an inner court, for 
 the death to which they had been condemned. 
 
 ' "Do not pity them, madam!" said the major; "they have 
 all done deeds worthy of death." 
 
 'But how not to pity them,' she cries, 'when they and we 
 are made of the same fragile human stuff, that corrupts so 
 easily to crime, and is always redeemable, if society would 
 only afford the costly process of redemption! 
 
 'As I looked at them, I was struck by a feeling of their 
 helplessness. What is there in the world so helpless as a 
 disarmed criminal? No inner armor has he to beat back 
 the rude visiting of society; no secure soul-citadel, where 
 scorn and anger cannot reach him. He has thrown away 
 the jewel of his manhood; human law crushes its empty 
 case. But the final Possessor and Creditor is unseen.' 
 
 After Nauplia came Argos, where the Cretan refugees were 
 gathered in force. Here the travellers had the great pleasure 
 of helping to clothe the half -naked women and children. 
 
 The Journal describes briefly the distribution among the 
 Cretans, 'some extremely bare and ragged, with suffering 
 litde children. Our calico skirts and sacks made a creditable 
 appearance. We gave with as much judgment as the short 
 time permitted. Each name was called by a list, and as they 
 came in we hastily selected garments: the dresses, however, 
 gave out before we had quite finished. . . . Ungrateful old 
 
144 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 woman, who wanted a gown and would hardly take a chemise. 
 Meddlesome lady of the neighborhood bringing in her 
 favorites out of order.' 
 
 Generous as the supplies from America were, they did not 
 begin to meet the demand. After visiting Crete (in spite — 
 perhaps partly because — of the fact that a high price was 
 set on his head) and the various colonies of refugees, the 
 Doctor felt that further aid must be obtained. Accordingly, 
 the journey ings of the little party after leaving Greece were 
 for the most part only less hurried than the earlier ones, the 
 exception being a week of enchantment spent in Venice, 
 awaiting the Doctor, who had been called back to Athens at 
 the moment of departure. 
 
 The Journal tells of Verona, Innsbruck, Munich. Then 
 came flying glimpses of Switzerland, with a few days' rest 
 at Geneva, where she had the happiness of meeting her sister 
 once more; finally, Paris and the Exposition of 1867. 
 
 After a visit to Napoleon's tomb, she writes: 'Spent much 
 of the afternoon in beginning a piece of tapestry after a 
 Pompeiian pattern copied by me on the spot.' 
 
 Worsted work was an unfailing accompaniment of her 
 journeyings in those days; indeed, until age and weariness 
 came upon her, she never failed to have some piece of work 
 on hand. When her eyes could no longer compass cross- 
 stitch embroidery, she amused herself with knitting, or with 
 'hooking' small rugs. 
 
 Her sketchbook was another resource while travelling. 
 She had no special talent for drawing, but took great pleas- 
 ure in it, and was constantly making pencil sketches of per- 
 sons and things that interested her. We even find patterns of 
 Pompeiian mosaic or of historic needlework reproduced in 
 the Journal. 
 
 From Paris the travellers hurried to Belgium, and after 
 a glance at Brussels, spent several days in Antwerp with 
 great contentment. Both here and in Brussels she had been 
 much interested in the beautiful lace displayed on every 
 hand. She made several modest purchases, not without 
 visitings of conscience. 
 
GREECE AND OTHER LANDS 145 
 
 'I went to the Cathedral. ... I saw to-day the Elevation of 
 the Cross [Rubens] to special advantage. As I stood before it, 
 I felt lifted for a moment above the mean and foolish pleas- 
 ures of shopping, etc., on which I have of late dwelt so 
 largely. The heroic face before me said, "You cannot have 
 those and these, cannot have Christian elevation with heathen 
 triviality." That moment showed me what a picture can 
 do. I hope I shall remember it, though I do plead guilty of 
 late to an extraordinary desire for finery of all sorts. It is 
 as if I were going home to play the part of Princess in some 
 great drama, which is not at all likely to be the case.' 
 
 Yet the same day she went to the beguinage and bought 
 'Flossy's wedding hdkf, 22 frc — lace scarf, 3 fr., piece of 
 edging, 4 fr.' 
 
 Among the notabilities of Antwerp in those days was 
 Charles Felu, the armless painter. He was to be seen every 
 day in the Museum, copying the great masters with skill and 
 fidelity. He interested the Doctor greatly, and the whole 
 party made acquaintance with him. A letter from one of 
 them describes the meeting with this singular man : — 
 
 'As we were looking round at the pictures, I noticed a 
 curious painting arrangement. There was a platform raised 
 about a foot above the floor, with two stools, one in front of 
 the other, and an easel. Presently the artist entered. The 
 first thing he did, on stepping on the platform, was to kick off 
 his shoes. He then seated himself (Heaven knows how) on 
 one stool and placed his feet in front of him on the other, 
 close before the easel. I was surprised to see that his stock- 
 ings had no toes to them. But my surprise was much greater 
 when I saw him take the palette in one foot and the brush in 
 the other, and begin to paint. The nicety with which he 
 picked out his brushes, rubbed the paints, erased with his 
 great toe, etc., was a mystery to me. ... In a few minutes he 
 put his foot into his pocket, drew out a paper from which he 
 took his card, and footed it politely to papa. ... He shaves 
 himself, plays billiards (and well, too), cards, and dominoes, 
 cuts up his meat and feeds himself, etc' 
 
 'October 1. By accident went to the same hotel [in 
 
146 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Bruges] to which I went twenty-four years ago, a bride. I 
 recognized a staircase with a balustrade of swans each hold- 
 ing a stiff bulrush in its mouth. . . . Made a little verse there- 
 upon.' 
 
 From Belgium the way led to London; thence, after a 
 brief and delightful visit to the Bracebridges at Atherstone, 
 to Liverpool, where the China awaited her passengers. The 
 voyage was long and stormy, thirteen days: the Journal 
 speaks chiefly of its discomforts; but on the second Sunday 
 we read: 'X. preached a horrible sermon — stood up and 
 mocked at philosophy in good English and bad Christianity. 
 He failed alike of satire and of sense, and talked like a small 
 Pharisee of two thousand years ago. "Not much like the 
 Sermon on the Mount," quoth I; not theology enough to stand 
 examination at Andover. Bluejackets in a row, unedified, 
 as were most of us.' 
 
 On October 25 the travellers landed in Boston, thankful 
 to be again on firm land, and to see the family unit once more 
 complete. 
 
 'The dear children came on board to greet us — all well, 
 and very happy at our return.' 
 
 Thus ends the story, seven months of wonder and of 
 delight. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CONCERNING CLUBS 
 1867-1871; aet. 48-52 
 
 'Behold,' he said, 'Life's great impersonate, 
 
 Nourished by labor! 
 Thy Gods are gone with old-time faith and fate; 
 Here is thy Neighbor.' 
 
 J. W". H, 'A New Sculptor.' 
 
 After such a rush of impression and emotion, the return 
 to everyday life could not fail to bring about a correspond- 
 ing drop in our mother's mental barometer. Vexations 
 awaited her. The Boylston Place house had been let for a 
 year, and — Green Peace, being also let on a long lease — the 
 reunited family took refuge for the winter in the 'Doctor's 
 Wing' of the Perkins Institution. 
 
 Again, an extremely unfavorable critique of 'Later Lyrics' 
 in a prominent review distressed her gready; her health was 
 more or less disturbed; above all, the sudden death of John 
 A. Andrew, the beloved and honored friend of many years, 
 saddened both her and the Doctor deeply. 
 
 All these things affected her spirits to some extent, so that 
 the Journal for the remainder of 1867 is in a minor key. 
 
 '. . . In despair about the house. . . .' 
 
 On hearing of the separation of Charles Sumner from his 
 wife: — 
 
 'For men and women to come together is nature — for them 
 to live together is <- jU ' . Sljfc ' Sa ys, "Hear at these mee 
 
 'November 2 > .f ve " ""mated me. The disposition ^ oorl y 
 
 Church of ]imit ^ f 8u ™k* a i^ T T? gaiZe es P^ally^ 
 
 J ^oane of all relSons-Sf J, ntoler . an <* which have' 
 In the w u religions— this disposition, which was 
 
 to do a" 
 so drf 
 amuf 
 
148 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 '. . . I believe in God, but am utterly weary of man.' 
 
 After a disappointment: — 
 
 '. . . To church, where my mental condition speedily im- 
 proved. Sermon on the Good Samaritan. Hymns and prayers 
 all congenial and consoling. Felt much consoled and up- 
 lifted out of all petty discords and disappointments. A dis- 
 appointment should be digested in patience, not vomited in 
 spleen. Bitter morsels nourish the soul, not less perhaps than 
 sweet. Thought of the following: Moral philosophy begins 
 with the fact of accepting human life.' 
 
 In November came a new interest which was to mean much 
 to her. 
 
 /Early in town to attend the Free Religious Club. Weiss's 
 essay was well written, but encumbered with illustrations 
 rarely pertinent. It was neither religion, philosophy, nor 
 cosmology, but a confusion of all three, showing the encyclo- 
 paedic aim of his culture. It advocated the natural to the 
 exclusion of the supernatural. Being invited to speak, I sug- 
 gested real and ideal as a better antithesis for thought than 
 natural and supernatural. Weiss did all that his method 
 would allow. He is a man of parts. I cannot determine how 
 much, but the Parkerian standard, or a similar one, has de- 
 formed his reasoning powers. He seeks something better 
 than Christianity without having half penetrated the inner, 
 significance of that religion. / 
 
 'Alcott spoke in the idealistic direction. Also Wasson 
 very well. Lucretia Mott exceptionally well, a little 
 rambling, but with true womanly intuitions of taste and of 
 morality.' 
 
 This a r rds known as the 
 
 'Bo ' ' about it in her 
 
 much that 
 
 ^eek out- 
 
 ' inspir- 
 
 within 
 
 been 
 
 fre- 
 
CONCERNING CLUBS 149 
 
 quently manifested both in the essays presented and in their 
 discussion, offended not only my affections, but also my sense 
 of justice. . . . 
 
 'Setting this one point aside, I can but speak of the Club 
 as a high congress of souls, in which many noble thoughts 
 were uttered. Nobler than any special view or presentation 
 was the general sense of the dignity of human character and 
 of its affinity with things divine, which always gave the master 
 tone to the discussions.' 
 
 'To Dickens's second reading, which I enjoyed very much. 
 The "wreck" in "David Copperfield" was finely given. His 
 appearance is against success; the face is rather common- 
 place, seen at a distance, and very red if seen through a 
 glass : the voice worn and blase.' 
 
 '. . . Club in the evening, at which my nonsense made 
 people laugh, as I wished. . . .' 
 
 'A little intoxicated with the pleasure of having made 
 people laugh. A fool, however, can often do this better than 
 a wise man. I look earnestly for a higher task. Yet innocent, 
 intelligent laughter is not to be despised.' 
 
 'Was taken with verses in church. They did not prove 
 nearly as good as I had hoped. . . .' 
 
 'Made three beds, to help Bridget, who had the washing 
 alone. Read a difficult chapter in Fir>*~ ' 
 
 'Studied an''. ,- „ n f thinkers was afterwa. £ reeL _ # * 
 F ' H ^ n RaSctab/'she has much to say ^ Cretan 
 
 pained and even "J^^f , a ll that is noble and, 
 
 r^wsrsi di^on, ** « 
 
ISO JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Easter Week, at the Boston Music Hall, and recalled on a 
 smaller scale the glories of the war-time fairs. Of the great 
 labor of preparation, the Journal gives a lively impression; 
 and 'speaking for Crete' was added to the other burdens borne 
 by her and the Doctor. 
 
 She could not give up her studies; the entries for the 
 winter of 1867-68 are a curious mingling of Fichte and 
 committees, with here and there a prayer for spiritual help 
 and guidance, which shows her over-wrought condition. 
 
 Another interest had come to her from the visit to Greece: 
 the study of ancient Greek. Latin had been her lifelong 
 friend, but she had always longed for the sister classic ; now 
 the time was ripe for it. She made a beginning in Athens, not 
 only picking up a good deal of modern Greek, but attacking 
 the ancient language with the aid of primer and phrase-book. 
 A valuable teacher was at hand in Michael Anagnos, 1 who was 
 aiding the Doctor as secretary, and preparing himself for the 
 principal work of his life. Anagnos encouraged and assisted 
 her in the new study, which became one of her greatest de- 
 lights. She looked forward to a Greek lesson as girls do to a 
 ball; in later life she was wont to say, 'My Greek is my 
 diamond necklace!' 
 
 'January 1, 1868. May I this year have energy, patience, 
 good-will and good faith. May I be guilty of no treason 
 against duty and my best self. May I acquire more system, 
 order, and wisdom in the use of things. May I, if God wills, 
 carry out some of my plans for making my studies useful to 
 others. This is much to ask, but not too much of Him who 
 giveth all.' 
 
 'January 24. A dreadfully busy day. Meeting of Gen- 
 eral Committee on Cretan Fair. . . . Felt overcome with 
 fatigue, and nervous and fretful, but I am quite sure that I 
 do not rave as I used to do. . . .' 
 
 'January 26. Some mental troubles have ended in a deter- 
 mination to hold fast till death the liberty wherewith Christ 
 
 1 Formerly Anagnostopoulos. He dropped the last three syllables soon after 
 coming to this country. 
 
CONCERNING CLUBS 151 
 
 has made me free. The joyous belief that his doctrine of 
 influences can keep me from all that I should most greatly 
 dread, lifts me up like a pair of strong wings. "I shall run 
 and not be weary. I shall walk and not faint." At church 
 the first hymn contained this line: — 
 
 * "Her fathers' God before her moved" — 
 
 which quite impressed me, for my father's piety and the ex- 
 cellence of other departed relatives have always of late years 
 been a support and pledge to me of my own good behavior.' 
 
 'The thief's heart, the wanton's brow, may accompany high 
 talent and geniality of temperament; but thanks be to God 
 they need not.' 
 
 \ . . Wished I could make a fine poetic picture of Paul 
 preaching at Mars Hill. On one side, the glittering statues 
 and brilliant mythology — on the other, the simplicity of the 
 Christian life and doctrine. But to-day no pictures came.' 
 
 'Got Anagnos to help me read two odes of Anacreon. This 
 was a great pleasure.' 
 
 • •••••••• 
 
 'Much business — no Greek lesson. I was feeble in mind 
 and body, and brooded over the loss of the lesson in a silly 
 manner. Habit is to me not second, but first nature, and I 
 easily become mechanical and fixed in my routine. ... I con- 
 fess that to lay down Greek now would be to die, like Moses, 
 in sight of the promised land. All my life I have longed for 
 this language. . . .' 
 
 'All of these days are mixed of satisfaction and dissatis- 
 faction. I am pretty well content with my work, not as well 
 with myself. I feel the need of earnest prayer and divine 
 help. . . .' 
 
 'I have heard the true word of God to-day from Frederick 
 Hedge — a sermon on Love as the true bond of society, which 
 lifted my weak soul as on the strong wings of a cherub. The 
 immortal truths easily lost sight of in our everyday weakness 
 
152 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 and passion stood out to-day so strong and clear that I felt 
 their healing power as if Christ had stood and touched my 
 blinded eyes with his divine finger. So be it always! Esto 
 perpetual' 
 
 On April 13 the fair opened; a breathless week followed. 
 She was much exhausted after it, but in a few days 'began to 
 rehearse for Festival.' 1 
 
 'After extreme depression, I begin to take heart a little. 
 Almighty God help me! 
 
 'Greek lesson — rehearsal in the evening — choral sym- 
 phony and Lobgesang.' 
 
 During the summer of 1868 she had great pleasure in 
 reading some of her essays at Newport, in the Unitarian 
 Church. She notes in her 'Reminiscences' that one lady 
 kissed her after the reading, saying, 'This is the way I want 
 to hear women speak' ; and that Mrs. P S , on hear- 
 ing the words, 'If God works, madam, you can afford to work 
 also!' rose and went out, saying, 'I won't listen to such stuff 
 as this!' 
 
 The parlor readings brought her name into wider promi- 
 nence. She began to receive invitations to read and speak 
 in public. 
 
 Mr. Emerson wrote to her concerning her philosophical 
 readings: 'The scheme is excellent — to read thus — so new 
 and rare, yet so grateful to all parties. It costs genius to 
 invent our simplest pleasures.' 
 
 The winter of 1867-68 saw the birth of another institution 
 which was to be of lifelong interest to her: the New England 
 Woman's Club. This, one of the earliest of women's clubs, 
 was organized on February 16, 1868, with Mrs. Caroline M. 
 Severance, in whose mind the idea had first taken shape, as 
 president. Its constitution announces the objects of the 
 association as 'primarily, to furnish a quiet, central resting- 
 place, and place of meeting in Boston, for the comfort and 
 convenience of its members: and ultimately to become an 
 organized social centre for united thought and action.' 
 
 How far the second clause has outdone and outshone the 
 
 1 The Handel and Haydn Festival. 
 
CONCERNING CLUBS 153 
 
 first, is known to all who know anything of the history of 
 women's clubs. From the New England Woman's Club and 
 its cousin Sorosis, founded a month later in New York, has 
 grown the great network of clubs which, like a beneficent 
 railway system of thought and good-will, penetrates every 
 nook and corner of this country. 
 
 Our mother was one of the first vice-presidents of the Club, 
 and from 1871 to her death in 1910, with two brief intervals, 
 its president. Among all the many associations with which 
 she was connected this was perhaps the nearest to her heart. 
 'My dear Club!' no other organization brought such a tender 
 ring to her voice. She never willingly missed a meeting; the 
 monthly teas were among her great delights. The Journal 
 has much to say about the Club: 'a good meeting'; 'a thought- 
 ful, earnest meeting' are frequent entries. 'Why!' she cried 
 once, 'we may be living in the Millennium without knowing 
 it!' 
 
 In her 'Reminiscences,' after telling how she attended the 
 initial meeting, and 'gave a languid assent to the measure 
 proposed,' she adds: — 
 
 'Out of this small beginning was gradually developed 
 the plan of the New England Woman's Club, a strong and 
 stately association, destined, I believe, to last for many years, 
 and having behind it, at this time of my writing, a record of 
 three decades of happy and acceptable service.' 
 
 The Club movement was henceforth to be one of her widest 
 interests. To thousands of elder women in the late sixties and 
 early seventies it came like a new gospel of activity and 
 service. They had reared their children and seen them take 
 flight; moreover, they had fought through the war, their 
 hearts in the field, their fingers plying needle and thread. 
 They had been active in committees and commissions the 
 country over; had learned to work with and beside men, 
 finding joy and companionship and inspiration in such work. 
 How could they go back to the chimney-corner life of the 
 fifties? In answer to their question — an answer from 
 Heaven, it seemed — came the women's clubs, with their 
 opportunities for self -culture and for public service. 
 
154 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 At first Society looked askance at the movement. What? 
 Women's clubs? They would take women away from the 
 Home, which was their Sphere! Shocking! Besides, it 
 might make them Strong-Minded! Horrible! ('But,' said 
 J. W. H., 'I would rather be strong-minded than weak- 
 minded!') 
 
 Possibly influenced in some measure by such plaints as 
 these, the early clubs devoted themselves for the most part 
 to study, and their range of activities was strictly limited 
 and defined. This, however, could not last. The Doctor 
 used to say, 'You may as well refuse to let out the growing 
 boy's trousers as refuse larger and larger liberty to his grow- 
 ing individuality!' Even so the club petticoats had to be 
 lengthened and amplified. 
 
 Our mother, with all her love of study, realized that no 
 individual or group of individuals must neglect the present 
 with its living issues for any past, however beautiful. She 
 threw her energies into widening the club horizon. 'Don't tie 
 too many nots in your constitution!' she would say to a young 
 club; and then she would tell how Florence Nightingale cut 
 the Gordian knots of red tape in the Crimea. 
 
 Did the constitution enforce such and such limits? Ah! 
 but committees were not thus limited; let a committee be 
 appointed, to do what the club could not! (This was what 
 the Doctor called 'whipping the devil round the stump!') 
 
 Many and many a reform had its beginning in one of 
 those quiet Park Street rooms of the 'N. E. W. C 'When I 
 want anything in Boston remedied,' said Edward Everett 
 Hale, 'I go down to the New England Woman's Club!' 
 
 When the General Federation of Women's Clubs was 
 formed in 1892, our mother served on the board of directors 
 for four years, and was then made an honorary vice-presi- 
 dent. She was also president of the Massachusetts State 
 Federation from 1893 to 1898, and thereafter honorary 
 president. 
 
 Dr. Holmes once said to her, 'Mrs. Howe, I consider you 
 eminently clubable'; and he added that he himself was not. 
 He told us why, when he adopted the title of 'Autocrat of 
 
CONCERNING CLUBS 155 
 
 the Breakfast-Table.' The most brilliant of talkers, he did 
 not care to listen, as a good club member must. Now, she 
 too loved talking, but perhaps she loved listening even more. 
 No one who knew her in her later years can forget how 
 intently she listened, how joyously she received information 
 of any and every kind. She never was tired; she always 
 wanted more. All human experience thrilled her; the chore- 
 man, the dressmaker, the postman, the caller; one and all, 
 she hung on their words. After a half -hour with her, seeing 
 her face alight with sympathy, her delicate lips often actually 
 forming the words as he spoke them, the dullest person might 
 go away on air, feeling himself a born raconteur. What she 
 said once of Mr. Emerson, 'He always came into a room as 
 if he expected to receive more than he gave!' was true of 
 herself. 
 
 The three following years were important ones to the 
 Howe family. 
 
 Lawton's Valley was sold, to our great and lasting grief: 
 and — after a summer spent at Stevens Cottage near Newport 
 — the Doctor bought the place now known as 'Oak Glen,' 
 scarce half a mile from the Valley; a place to become only 
 less dear to the family. No. 19 Boylston Place was also 
 sold, and he bought No. 32 Mount Vernon Street, a sunny, 
 pleasant house whose spacious rooms and tall windows re- 
 called the Chestnut Street house, always regretted. 
 
 Here life circled ever faster and faster, fuller and fuller. 
 Our father, though beginning to feel the weight of years, had 
 not yet begun to 'take in sail,' but continued to pile labor on 
 labor, adding the new while never abandoning the old. For 
 our mother clubs, societies, studies were multiplying, while 
 for both family cares and interests were becoming more and 
 more complicated. The children were now mostly grown. 
 To the mother's constant thought and anxiety about their 
 teeth, their hair, their eyes, their music, their dancing — to 
 say nothing of the weightier matters of the law — was added 
 the consideration of their ball dresses, their party slippers, 
 their partners. She went with the daughters to ball and 
 assembly; if they danced, she was happy; if not, there was 
 
156 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 grief behind the cheerful smile, and a sigh was confided to 
 the Journal next day. 
 
 Romance hovered over No. 32 Mount Vernon Street. 
 The Greek lessons which were to mean so much to Julia and 
 Laura were brought to a sudden end by the engagement of 
 Julia to the Greek teacher, Michael Anagnos. Florence 
 (who was now housekeeper, lightening our mother's cares 
 greatly) was already engaged to David Prescott Hall; while 
 Laura's engagement to Henry Richards was announced shortly 
 after Julia's. 
 
 The three marriages followed at intervals of a few months. 
 Meantime Harry, whose youthful pranks had been the terror 
 of both parents, had graduated from Harvard, and was now, 
 after two years 1 at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 
 beginning his chosen work as a metallurgist. 
 
 She wrote of this beloved son: — 
 
 God gave my son a palace, 
 
 And a kingdom to control; 
 The palace of his body, 
 
 The kingdom of his soul. 
 
 In childhood and boyhood this 'palace' was inhabited by 
 a tricksy sprite. At two years Harry was pulling the tails of 
 the little dogs on the Roman Pincio; at eighteen he was filling 
 the breasts of the college authorities with the same emotions 
 inspired by his father in the previous generation. 
 
 'Howe,' said the old President of Brown University, when 
 the Chevalier called to pay his respects on his return from 
 Greece, 'I am afraid of you now! There may be a fire- 
 cracker under my chair at this moment!' 
 
 Once out of college, it fared with the son as with the 
 father. The current of restless energy hitherto devoted to 
 'monkey shines' (as the Doctor called them) was now turned 
 into another channel. Work, hardly less arduous and unre- 
 mitting than his father's, became the habit of his life. 
 Science claimed him, and her he served with the same single- 
 ness of purpose, the same intensity of devotion with which 
 
 1 1869-1871. He took the course of geology and mining engineering, 
 graduating at the head of his class. 
 
CONCERNING CLUBS 157 
 
 his parents served the causes that claimed them. He mar- 
 ried, in 1874, Fannie, daughter of Willard Gay, of Troy, 
 New York. 
 
 We love to recall the time at this house on Beacon Hill. 
 We remember it as a cheerful house, ringing with song and 
 laughter, yet with a steady undercurrent of work and thought; 
 the 'precious time,' not to be interrupted; the coming and 
 going of grave men and earnest women, all bent on high and 
 hopeful errands, all seeking our two Wise Ones for counsel, 
 aid, sympathy; the coming and going also of a steady stream 
 of 'lame ducks' of both sexes and all nationalities, all requir- 
 ing help, most of them getting it; yet, as ever, the father leav- 
 ing State Charities and Reforms, the mother flying from 
 Fichte or Xenophon, at any real or fancied need of any 
 child. It is thus that we love to think of No. 32 Mount 
 Vernon Street, the last of the many homes in which we were 
 all together. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE PEACE CRUSADE 
 1870-1872; aet. 51-53 
 
 When a branch is cut from a vigorous tree, Nature at once 
 sets to work to adjust matters. New juices flow, new tissues 
 form, the wound is scarfed over, and after a time is seen 
 only as a scar. Not here, but elsewhere, does the new 
 growth take place, the fresh green shoots appear, more 
 vigorous for the pruning. 
 
 Thus it was with our mother's life, as one change after 
 another came across it. Little Sam died, and her heart 
 withered with him: then religion and study came to her aid, 
 and through them she reached another blossoming time of 
 thought and accomplishment. Now, with the marriage and 
 departure of the children, still another notable change was 
 wrought, rather joyful than sorrowful, but none the less 
 marking an epoch. 
 
 Up to this time (1871) the wide, sunny rooms of the 
 house on Beacon Hill had been filled with young, active 
 life. The five children, their friends, their music, their 
 parties, their talk and laughter, kept youth and gayety at 
 full tide: the green branches grew and blossomed. 
 
 For all five she had been from their cradle not only mis- 
 tress of the revels and chief musician, but spur and beacon of 
 mind and soul. 
 
 Now four of the five were transplanted to other ground 
 Many women, confronting changes like these, say to them 
 selves, 'It is over. For me there is no more active life 
 instead, the shelf and the chimney corner.' This woman, lift 
 ing her eyes from the empty spaces, saw Opportunity beckon 
 ing from new heights, and moved gladly to meet her. Now, 
 as ever, she 'staked her life upon the red.' 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 159 
 
 The empty spaces must be filled. Study no longer sufficed : 
 the need of serving humanity actively, hand and foot, pen 
 and voice, was now urgent. 
 
 Her first work under this new impulse was for peace. The 
 Franco-Prussian War of 1870 made a deep and painful 
 impression upon her. She had felt a bitter dislike for Louis 
 Napoleon ever since the day when he 'stabbed France in 
 her sleep' by the Coup d'Etat of December, 1851; but she 
 loved France and the French people; the overwhelming de- 
 feat, the bitter humiliation suffered by them filled her with 
 sorrow and indignation. In a lecture on Paris she says : 'The 
 great Exposition of 1867 had drawn together an immense 
 crowd from all parts of the world. Among its marvels, my 
 recollection dwells most upon the gallery of French paint- 
 ings, in which I stood more than once before a full-length 
 portrait of the then Emperor. 1 I looked into the face which 
 seemed to say: "I have succeeded. What has any one to 
 say about it?" And I pondered the slow movements of that 
 heavenly Justice whose infallible decrees are not to be 
 evaded.' 
 
 Her 'Reminiscences' say: 'As I was revolving these mat- 
 ters in my mind, while the war was still in progress, I was 
 visited by a sudden feeling of the cruel and unnecessary 
 character of the contest. It seemed to me a return to bar- 
 barism, the issue having been one which might easily have 
 been settled without bloodshed. The question forced itself 
 upon me, "Why do not the mothers of mankind interfere in 
 these matters, to prevent the waste of that human life of 
 which they alone bear and know the cost?" I had never 
 thought of this before. The august dignity of motherhood 
 and its terrible responsibilities now appeared to me in a 
 new aspect, and I could think of no better way of expressing 
 my sense of these than that of sending forth an appeal to 
 womanhood throughout the world, which I then and there 
 composed.' 
 
 This appeal is dated Boston, September, 1870. 
 
 'Napoleon III. 
 
160 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 APPEAL TO WOMANHOOD THROUGHOUT THE WORLD 
 
 Again, in the sight of the Christian world, have the skill and 
 power of two great nations exhausted themselves in mutual murder. 
 Again have the sacred questions of international justice been com- 
 mitted to the fatal mediation of military weapons. In this day of 
 progress, in this century of light, the ambition of rulers has been 
 allowed to barter the dear interests of domestic life for the bloody 
 exchanges of the battle-field. Thus men have done. Thus men will 
 do. But women need no longer be made a party to proceedings 
 which fill the globe with grief and horror. Despite the assumptions 
 of physical force, the mother has a sacred and commanding word 
 to say to the sons who owe their life to her suffering. That word 
 should now be heard, and answered to as never before. 
 
 Arise, then, Christian women of this day! Arise, all women who 
 have hearts, whether your baptism be that of water or of tears! 
 Say firmly: 'We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant 
 agencies. Our husbands shall not come to us, reeking with carnage, 
 for caresses and applause. Our sons shall not be taken from us to 
 unlearn all that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy 
 and patience. We, women of one country, will be too tender of 
 those of another country, to allow our sons to be trained to injure 
 theirs.' From the bosom of the devastated earth a voice goes up 
 with our own. It says: 'Disarm, disarm! The sword of murder is 
 not the balance of justice. 9 Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor 
 violence indicate possession. As men have often forsaken the 
 plough and the anvil at the summons of war, let women now leave 
 all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel. 
 
 Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the 
 dead. Let them then solemnly take counsel with each other as to 
 the means whereby the great human family can live in peace, man 
 as the brother of man, each bearing after his own kind the sacred 
 impress, not of Caesar, but of God. 
 
 In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that 
 a general congress of women, without limit of nationality, may be 
 appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient, and at 
 the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alli- 
 ance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of 
 international questions, the great and general interests of peace. 
 
 The appeal was translated into French, Spanish, Italian, 
 German, and Swedish, and sent broadcast far and wide. 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 161 
 
 The next step was to call together those persons supposedly 
 interested in such a movement. In December, 1870, it was 
 announced that a meeting 'for the purpose of considering 
 and arranging the steps necessary to be taken for calling a 
 World's Congress of Women in behalf of International 
 Peace' would be held in Union League Hall, Madison 
 Avenue and Twenty-sixth Street, New York, on Friday, De- 
 cember 23. The announcement, which sets forth the need 
 for and objects of such a congress, is signed by Julia Ward 
 Howe, William Cullen Bryant, and Mary F. Davis. 
 
 The meeting was an important one: there were addresses 
 by Lucretia Mott, Octavius Frothingham, and Alfred Love, 
 the Peace prophet of Philadelphia; letters from John Stuart 
 Mill, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and William Howard Furness, 
 who adjures peace-lovers to 'labor for the establishment of 
 a Supreme Court to which all differences between nations 
 shall be referred for settlement.' 
 
 Mrs. Howe made the opening address, from which we quote 
 these words: — 
 
 'So I repeat my call and cry to women. Let it pierce 
 through dirt and rags — let it pierce through velvet and cash- 
 mere. It is the call of humanity. It says: "Help others, 
 and you help yourselves." ' 
 
 The New York meeting was followed by one in Boston. In 
 the spring of 1871 the friends of peace met in the rooms of 
 the New England Woman's Club, and formed an American 
 Branch of the Women's International Peace Association: 
 Julia Ward Howe, president. It took five meetings to accom- 
 plish this ; the minutes of these meetings are curious and inter- 
 esting. 
 
 Mr. Moncure D. Conway wrote objecting strongly to the 
 movement being announced as Christian: his objections were 
 courteously considered. 
 
 'Mrs. Howe gave her reasons for making her Appeal in 
 the name of Christianity. She found the doctrine of peace and 
 forgiveness of injuries the most fundamental of the Chris- 
 
162 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 tian doctrines. She thought it proper to say so, but did not 
 by this prevent the believers in other religions from assert- 
 ing the same doctrine, if considered as existing in those 
 religions.' 
 
 Mr. Conway's objection was overruled. 
 
 The object of the association was 'to promote peace, by the 
 study and culture of its conditions.' A 'notice' appended to 
 the constitution announced, 'This Association proposes to 
 hold a World's Congress of Women, in London, in the sum- 
 mer of 1872, in which undertaking the cooperation of all 
 persons is earnestly invited.' 
 
 Before continuing the story of this peace crusade, we re- 
 turn to the Journal. The volume for 1871 is fragmentary, 
 the entries mostly brief and far apart. Written and blank 
 pages are alike significant of the movement going on in her 
 mind, the steadily growing desire and resolve to dedicate her 
 life, as her husband had dedicated his, to the highest needs 
 of humanity. 
 
 ''January 20. Have been ill all these days. Had a divine 
 glimpse this day, between daylight and dusk, of something 
 like this — a beautiful person splendidly dressed entering a 
 theatre as I have often done with entire delight and f orgetful- 
 ness of everything else, and the restraining hand of Christ 
 holding me back in the outer darkness — the want and woe 
 of the world, and saying, "The true drama of life is here." 
 Oh! that restraining hand had in it the true touch, com- 
 municating knowledge of human sorrow and zeal for human 
 service. Never may I escape it to my grave! 
 
 'I confess that I value more those processes of thought 
 which explain history than those which arraign it. I would 
 not therefore in my advocacy of peace strip one laurel leaf 
 from the graves so dear and tender in our recollection. Our 
 brave men did and dared the best which the time allowed. 
 The sorrow for their loss was none the less brought upon us 
 by those who believed in the military method. It is not in 
 injustice to them that I listen while the Angel of Charity 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 163 
 
 says: "Behold, I show you a more excellent way." Again, 
 "Come now, let us reason together, saith the Lord. Though 
 your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool." This treat- 
 ing of injuries from the high ground of magnanimity is the 
 action that shall save the world.' 
 
 'The special faults of women are those incidental to a 
 class that has never been allowed to work out its ideal.' 
 
 'Must work to earn some money, but will not sacrifice 
 greater ends to this one.' 
 
 'Civil liberty is that which the one cannot have without 
 the many, or the many without the one. The liberty of the 
 State, like its solvency, concerns and affects all its citizens. 
 Equal sacredness of rights is its political side, equal strin- 
 gency of duties its moral side. The virtue of single individ- 
 uals will not give them civil liberty in a despotic state, but 
 the only safeguard of civil liberty to all is the virtue of each 
 individual.' 
 
 'May 27. I am fifty-two years old this day and must 
 regard this year as in some sense the best of my life. The 
 great joy of the Peace Idea has unfolded itself to me. ... I 
 have got at better methods of working in the practical mat- 
 ters at which I do work, and believe more than ever in 
 patience, labor, and sticking to one's own idea of work. 
 Study, book-work, and solitary thinking and writing show us 
 only one side of what we study. Practical life and inter- 
 course with others supply the other side. If I may sit at 
 work on this day next year, I hope that my peace matter will 
 have assumed a practical and useful form, and that I may 
 have worked out my conception worthily. ... I pray that 
 neither Louis Napoleon nor the Bourbons may return to feed 
 upon France, but that merciful measures, surely of God's 
 appointing, may heal her deadly wounds and uplift her 
 
164 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 prostrate heart. She must learn that the doctrine of self is 
 irreligious. The Commune surely knew this just as little as 
 did Louis Napoleon. I want to keep eyesight enough to read 
 Greek and German, and my teeth for clear speaking and good 
 digestion.' 
 
 'Peace meeting at the Club. Read in Greek first part of the 
 eighth chapter of Matthew; the account given of the centurion 
 seems very striking in the Greek. The contrast of his Western 
 mind with the Eastern subtleties of Jew and Greek seems to 
 have struck Christ. He supposed Christ's power over unseen 
 things to be like his own control over things committed to 
 his authority. Then Christ began, perhaps, to see that the 
 other nations of the world would profit by his work and 
 doctrine before his Jewish brethren.' 
 
 'My first presidency at the New England Woman's Club. 
 ... I do not shine in presiding over a business meeting and 
 some others can do much better than I. Still I think it best 
 to fulfil all expected functions of ordinary occasions, living 
 and learning.' 
 
 '. . . Negro Christianity. It is something of a very definite 
 and touching character — all forgiving, all believing, making 
 a decided religious impression of its own — the heart so 
 ripe, the intellectual part so little made out, like a fruit 
 which might be all pulp and no fibre.' 
 
 'On Sunday we bring back the worn and dim currency 
 of our active life to be redeemed by the pure gold of the 
 Supreme Wisdom. I bring to church my coppers and small 
 pieces and take away a shining gold piece. Self is the talent 
 buried in the napkin no matter with how much of culture 
 and natural capacity. Till we get out of self we are in the 
 napkin. Hospitable entertainment of other people's opinions, 
 brotherly promotions of their interests — these acts make our 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 165 
 
 five talents ten in use to others and in enjoyment and profit 
 to ourselves. . . .' 
 
 'Christ's teaching about marriage. Its tender and sacred 
 reciprocity. Adultery among the Jews was only recognized 
 as crime when committed by a woman. The right of con- 
 cubinage was too extensive to bring condemnation for 
 unchastity. The man might not steal another man's wife, but 
 any woman's husband might have intercourse with other 
 women. Christ showed how men did offend against this 
 same law which worked so absolutely and partially against 
 women. An unchaste thought in the breast of the man 
 infringed the high law of purity. This teaching of the tender 
 mutual obligations of married life was probably new to many 
 of his hearers. 
 
 'The present style of woman has really been fashioned 
 by man, and is only quasi feminine.' 
 
 In the spring of 1872 she went to England, hoping to 
 hold a Woman's Peace Congress in London. She also hoped 
 to found and foster 'a Woman's Apostolate of Peace.' These 
 hopes were not then to be fulfilled; yet she always felt that 
 this visit, with all its labors and its disappointments, was 
 well worth while, and that much solid good came of it, to 
 herself and to others. 
 
 We have seen her in London as a bride, enjoying to the 
 full its gayeties and hospitality, as bright a vision as any 
 that met her eyes, with a companion to whom all doors 
 opened eagerly. This was the picture of 1843; that of 1872 
 is different, indeed. 
 
 A woman of middle age, quiet in dress and manner, with 
 a serene and constant dignity; a face in which the lines of 
 thought and study were deepening year by year; eyes now 
 flashing with mirth, now tender with sympathy, always bright 
 with the 'high resolve and hardihood' for which, but a few 
 years before, she had been sighing: this was the woman who 
 came to London in 1872, alone and unaided; who, standing 
 before the Dark Tower of established Order and Precedent, 
 might say with Childe Roland, — 
 
166 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'Dauntless the slug horn to my lips I set, 
 And blew.' 
 
 She spoke at the banquet of the Unitarian Association. 
 'The occasion was to me a memorable one.' She hired the 
 Freemasons' Tavern and preached there on five or six suc- 
 cessive Sundays. 
 
 'My procedure was very simple, — a prayer, the reading of 
 a hymn, and a discourse from a Scripture text. . . . The attend- 
 ance was very good throughout, and I cherished the hope 
 that I had sown some seed which would bear fruit hereafter.' 
 
 She was asked to address meetings in various parts 
 of England, speaking in Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds, 
 Bristol, Carlisle, with good acceptance. In Cambridge 
 she talked with Professor J. R. Seeley, whom she found 
 most sympathetic. She was everywhere welcomed by thought- 
 ful people, old friends and new, whether or no they sym- 
 pathized with her quest. 
 
 'June 9. My first preaching in London. Worked pretty 
 much all day at sermon, intending, not to read, but to talk 
 it — for me, a difficult procedure. At 4.30 p.m. left off, but 
 brain so tired that nothing in it. Subject, the kingdom of 
 heaven. . . . Got a bad cup of tea — dressed (in my well-worn 
 black silk) and went to the Drawing-Room at Freemasons' 
 Tavern. God knows how I felt. "Cast down but not for- 
 saken." ... I got through better than I feared I might. Felt 
 the method to be the right one, speaking face to face and 
 heart to heart.' 
 
 'June 10. Small beer going out of fashion leaves women 
 one occupation the less. Fools are still an institution; and 
 will remain such.' 1 
 
 'June 16. ... A good attendance in spite of the heat. . . . 
 Agonized over my failure to come up to what I had designed 
 to do in the discourse.' 
 
 'June 18. . . . Saw the last of my dear friend E. Twisleton, 
 who took me to the National Gallery, where we saw many 
 precious gems of art. ... At parting, he said: "The good 
 Father above does not often give so great a pleasure as I 
 
 x 'To suckle fools and chronicle small beer.' Othello. 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 167 
 
 have had in these meetings with you." Let me enshrine this 
 charming and sincere word in my most precious recollection, 
 from the man of sixty-three to the woman of fifty-three.' 
 
 ''June 27. Left Leeds at 7 A.M., rising at 4.30. ... To Miss 
 [Frances Power] Cobbe's, where met Lady Lyall, Miss 
 Clough, Mrs. Gorton, Jacob Bright, et al. Then to dinner 
 with the dear Seeleys. An unceremonious and delightful 
 meal. Heart of calf. Then to John Ridley's. . . . Home late, 
 almost dead — to bed, having been on foot twenty hours.' 
 
 'July 4. . . . Saw a sight of misery, a little crumb of a boy, 
 barefoot, tugging after a hand-organ man, also very shabby. 
 Gave the little one a ha'penny, all the copper I had. But in 
 the heartache he gave me, I resolved, God helping me, that 
 my luxury shall henceforth be to minister to human misery, 
 and to redeem much time and money spent on my own 
 fancies, as I may. . . .' 
 
 She had been asked to attend two important meetings as 
 American delegate: a peace congress in Paris, and a great 
 prison reform meeting in London. 
 
 The French meeting came first. She crossed the Channel, 
 reaching Paris in time to attend the principal seance of the 
 congress. She presented her credentials, asked leave to 
 speak, and was told 'with some embarrassment' that she might 
 speak to the officers of the society, when the public meeting 
 should be adjourned! She makes no comment on this pro- 
 ceeding, but says, 'I accordingly met a dozen or more of these 
 gentlemen in a side room, where I simply spoke of my en- 
 deavors to enlist the sympathies and efforts of women in be- 
 half of the world's peace.' 
 
 Returning to London, she had 'the privilege of attending 
 as a delegate one of the great Prison Reform meetings of 
 our day.' 
 
 In 1843, Julia the bride would not have considered it a 
 privilege to attend a meeting for prison reform. She would 
 have shrugged her shoulders, would perhaps have pouted be- 
 cause the Chevalier cared more for these things than for the 
 opera, with Grisi, Mario, and Lablache: she might even have 
 written some funny verses about the windmill-tilting of her 
 
168 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Don Quixote. Now, she stood in the place that failing health 
 forbade him to fill, with a depth of interest, an earnestness of 
 purpose, equal to his own. She, too, now heard the sorrow- 
 ful sighing of the prisoners. 
 
 At one of the meetings of this congress, a jailer of the old 
 school spoke in defence of the system of flogging refractory 
 prisoners, and described in brutal fashion a brutal incident. 
 Her blood was on fire: she asked leave to speak. 
 
 'It is related,' she said, 'of the famous Beau Brummel that 
 a gentleman who called upon him one morning met a valet 
 carrying away a tray of neckcloths, more or less disordered. 
 "What are these?" asked the visitor; and the servant replied, 
 "These are our failures!" When I see the dark coach which 
 in our country carries the criminal to his place of detention, 
 I say, "Society, here are your failures." ' 
 
 Her words were loudly applauded, and the punishment 
 was voted down. 
 
 The Journal gives her further speech on this occasion: 
 'Spoke of justice to women. They had talked of fallen 
 women. I prayed them to leave that hopeless phrase. Every 
 fallen woman represents a man as guilty as herself, who 
 escapes human detection, but whose soul lies open before 
 God. Speak of vicious, dissolute women, but don't speak of 
 fallen women unless you recognize the fall of man, the old 
 doctrine.' 
 
 Two days before this she had preached her last sermon 
 in London. The Journal says: 'All Sunday at work upon my 
 sermon, the last in London. "Neither height nor depth, nor 
 any other creature." The sermon of high and low, and the 
 great unity beyond all dimensions. A good and to me a most 
 happy delivery of opinions and faith which I deeply hold. 
 ... So ended my happy ministration in London, begun in 
 fear and anxiety, ended in certainty and renewed faith, which 
 God continue to me.' 
 
 August found her back at Oak Glen, exhausted in body and 
 mind. She is almost too tired to write in the Journal, and 
 such entries as there are only accentuate her fatigue. 
 
 'I am here at my table with books and papers, but feel 
 
THE PEACE CRUSADE 169 
 
 very languid. My arms feel as if there were no marrow in 
 their bones. I suppose this is reaction after so much work, 
 but unless I can get up strength somehow I shall not accom- 
 plish anything. Weakness in all my limbs. Have had my 
 Greek lesson and begun to read the Maccabees and the Apoc- 
 rypha. I shall probably come up after a few days, but feel 
 at present utterly incapable of exertion. I must help Maud 
 — have helped her with music to-day. . . .' 
 
 'Walked about with dear Chev, whose talk is always in- 
 structive. Every break in our long-continued habits shows 
 us something to amend in our past lives. What do I see in 
 mine after this long break? That I must endeavor to have 
 more real life and more religion. The passive and contem- 
 plative following of thought, my own or other people's, must 
 not de-energize my sympathies and my will. I must daily 
 consult the divine will and standard which can help us to 
 mould our lives aright without running from one extreme to 
 another. My heart's wish would now be to devote myself to 
 some sort of religious ministration. God can open a way for 
 this in which the spirit of my desire may receive the form of 
 his will. I must lecture this winter to earn some money and 
 spread, I hope, some good doctrine. . . .' 
 
 Such was the beginning of her work for peace, which was 
 to end only with her life. Disappointed in her hope of a 
 world congress, she turned the current of her effort in a new 
 direction. She would have a festival, a day which should be 
 called Mothers' Day, and be devoted to the advocacy of peace 
 doctrines. She chose the second day of June; for many 
 years she and her friends and followers kept this day reli- 
 giously, with sweet and tender observances which were un- 
 speakably dear to her. 
 
 In 1876 there was a great peace meeting in Philadelphia. 
 The occasion is thus described by the Reverend Ada C. 
 Bowles: 'There were delegates from France, Italy, and Ger- 
 many, each with a burning desire to be heard, and all worth 
 hearing, but none able to speak English. The audience looked 
 to the anxious face of the President with sympathy; then a 
 
170 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 voice was heard, "Call for Mrs. Howe." Those present will 
 never forget how her presence changed the meeting from a 
 threatened failure to a noble success. The German, French- 
 man, and Italian stood in turn by her side. At the proper 
 moment she lifted a finger, and then gave in her perfect Eng- 
 lish each speech in full to the delight of the delegates and 
 the admiration of all.' 
 
 The last celebration of her Mothers' Day was held in 
 Riverton, New Jersey, on June 1, 1912, by the Pennsyl- 
 vania Peace Society, in conjunction with the Universal Peace 
 Union. On the printed invitation to this festival we read 
 
 'Aid it, paper, aid it, pen, 
 Aid it, hearts of earnest men. 
 
 Julia Ward Howe, 1874.' 
 
 And further on, 'Thirty-nine years ago Julia Ward Howe 
 instituted this festival for peace, — a time for the women and 
 children to come together; to meet in the country, invite the 
 public, and recite, speak, sing and pray for "those things 
 that make for peace." ' 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 SANTO DOMINGO 
 1872-1874; aet. 53-56 
 
 We must go back a little to tell another story. 
 
 In the winter of 1870-71 the Republic of Santo Domingo 
 sent through its president an urgent request for annexation 
 to the United States. President Grant appointed a commis- 
 sion to visit this island republic, to inquire into its conditions 
 and report upon the question. Of this commission Dr. Howe 
 was one, the others being Messrs. Benjamin Wade and 
 Andrew D. White. 
 
 The prayer of Santo Domingo was not to be answered, 
 spite of the favorable report of the commission: but the 
 Doctor had been so delighted with the island that when, a 
 year later, he was asked to visit it in the interests of the 
 Samana Bay Company, he gladly accepted the commission. 
 
 This time our mother went with him, together with Maud 
 and a party of friends. She had been loth to go, for she had 
 already planned her peace crusade in England, but finding 
 how much he desired it, she compromised on part of the time. 
 
 They sailed from New York early in February, 1872, in 
 the steamer Tybee. The voyage was rough and stormy. 
 The companion daughter of the time remembers how the 
 wretched little Tybee pitched and heaved; even more vividly 
 she recalls the way in which our mother from the first made 
 society out of the strangely assorted company on board. 
 She was the magnet, and drew them all to her: the group of 
 conventional ladies who had never before been at sea, the knot 
 of naval officers going to join their ship, — among them 
 George W. DeLong, the hero of the ill-fated Jeannette ex- 
 pedition; a colonel, and a judge, the former interested in 
 the Samana Bay Company. She made out of this odd com- 
 pany and the gruff old captain a sort of court which she 
 
172 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 ruled in a curious way. She did not seem to compel their 
 admiration so much as to compel each to give his best. 
 
 The Tybee cast anchor in the harbor of Puerto Plata, and 
 the voyagers saw Mont Isabel towering above them, its foot 
 in the clear beryl water where the palms grew down to the 
 very edge of the yellow sea sand, its head wrapped in the 
 clouds. The Doctor came to the stateroom, crying, 'Come up 
 and see the great glory!' 
 
 Our mother's delight can be imagined when they sailed 
 into the harbor of Santo Domingo and landed near an im- 
 mense and immemorial tree, where, they were told, Columbus 
 had landed. 
 
 The party lodged in a fine old Spanish palacio, built round 
 a courtyard. It had been originally a convent. The nuns 
 were gone, and their place was now taken by the gay com- 
 pany of American ladies, who possibly gave the sleepy little 
 city more new ideas than it had ever received in so short a 
 space of time. President Baez put the palace at the Doctor's 
 disposal; he was an important person to the President and 
 to the Dominicans, for at that time the hope of annexation 
 had not died out. All the party were treated with extra- 
 ordinary courtesy. Not only were they given the presidential 
 palace to live in, but a guard of honor was kept in the court- 
 yard. Their horses were lodged, Spanish fashion, on the 
 ground floor. The trampling, the neighing, and the fleas 
 made them rather uncomfortable neighbors. Our mother 
 soon found out that the only way she could see the country, 
 or enjoy its life, was by riding. At first she was a little 
 nervous, but she soon regained her courage and her seat. 
 This was her first riding since the days of Cora, the wicked 
 little mare, when she read her Bible and said her prayers 
 before every ride. 
 
 It was Carnival. All the cabinet officers and their wives de- 
 voted themselves to the entertainment of the party. The 
 Minister of War, Senor Curiel, a little twinkling fiery man, 
 devoted himself especially to our mother, and was her right 
 hand in the many expeditions she arranged. The Secretary 
 of State, Senor Gautier, a grave person with more culture 
 
SANTO DOMINGO 173 
 
 than most of the Dominicans, was the Doctor's chosen friend. 
 To return the many attentions showered upon them, a ball 
 in the old convent was arranged. The Doctor once said to 
 her, 'If you were on a desert island with nobody there but 
 one old darkey, you would give a party.' (But it was from 
 Cuba that he wrote, 'Julia knows three words of Spanish, 
 and is constantly engaged in active conversation.') 
 
 To find herself at Carnival, the leader of a gay party, liv- 
 ing in a spacious palace, supported by the guns and the 
 officers of an American warship (the Narragansett, with De 
 Long and other officers on board), was an opportunity not 
 to be missed. She thus describes the entertainment: — 
 
 ''Hans Breitmann gife a barty. 
 
 'So did we. To see Santo Domingo was little, without 
 seeing the Dominicans also. Some diplomatic overtures were 
 made. Would the first families come and pass an evening 
 with us at the Palacio? Yes, they would. Which were the 
 first families? That would have been for us a point very 
 difficult to determine. The family of the President and 
 those of the heads of departments would certainly stand in 
 that prominence. For the necessary beaux we were referred 
 to a society recently established here, calling itself "La 
 Juventad" "the young people." This body of philan- 
 thropists, being appealed to, consented to undertake the man- 
 agement of our party. The occasion was announced as a 
 bailecita, "little ball." We asked them to provide such re- 
 freshments as are customary in this place. Thirty dollars' 
 worth of sweet cake and a bottled ocean of weak beer formed 
 the principal items of the bill, as brought to us. The friends 
 came at 5 p.m., to decorate the room with flowers, also to 
 arrange two tables, on one of which las dulces were arrayed, 
 while the other was made to display a suspicious-looking 
 group of glasses. A band, we were told, would be indispens- 
 able. We demurred at this, having intended to musicate upon 
 our own grand piano. Hearing, however, that the band 
 could be had for the sum of twelve dollars, we gave in on 
 this point. . . . 
 
 'The company began to arrive at 8 p.m. The young ladies 
 
174 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 were mostly attired in colored tarlatans, prettily trimmed with 
 lace and flowers. Some of them were not over fourteen years 
 of age. All were quite youthful in their appearance, and 
 unaffected in their manners. The young men, mostly em- 
 ployed in the various shops of the city, were well-dressed 
 and polite. The band was somewhat barbaric in its aspect. 
 A violin, a 'cello, a tambourine, and a clarinet. The clarinet- 
 player was of uncommon size, with wild, dark eyes, which 
 seemed to dilate as he played. . . . 
 
 'We were much pleased with our party, and with the 
 simple and unaffected gayety of our guests. It was really 
 a party in the open air, one whole side of our ballroom be- 
 ing unenclosed, save by the infrequent colonnade. We looked 
 from the dancers to the stars, and back again to the dancers. 
 It was all fairylike and dreamlike. The favorite "dansa" 
 much resembles, not a ballet, but a stage dance, such as is 
 introduced in the course of the drama. The beer flowed, and 
 the couples flew. One innovation we introduced, a Virginia 
 reel, which the clever clarinet-player caught and accompanied. 
 The figures much amazed the natives.' 
 
 The Journal gives pleasant glimpses of the Santo Domingo 
 days. 
 
 'M. Marne, a Frenchman ninety-seven years old, paid us a 
 visit. Had been secretary of Joseph Buonaparte in Madrid — 
 praised him much. Talked very copiously and not ill. En- 
 joys full mental and physical activity. Lives at a. small 
 village in sight of our windows, but on the other side of the 
 river. Talked much of the Roi Cristophe.' 
 
 The mention of this old gentleman recalls her visit to a 
 Dominican padre, himself in extreme age, who told her that 
 he had known a negress who lived to the age of one hundred 
 and forty-three; he had confessed and buried her. 'She had 
 her teeth and her hair still.' 
 
 'Not to market to-day, but breakfast early — then all hands 
 to the cathedral to see the high mass performed — to-day in 
 honor of the independence of the island. . . . 
 
 'Baez' face, cunning, pretty strong, enjoue, as if he must 
 be, or seem, a bon enfant. . . . The noise at die elevation of 
 
SANTO DOMINGO 175 
 
 the Host a perfect Babel. Music, "Ernani," "Fra Diavolo," 
 with some similar things. A single trumpet shrieked at some 
 high moments. The bells rang like a thousand tin pans 
 Orchestra and chorus not together and both out of tune 
 The ceremony otherwise perhaps as well as usual. A priest 
 made a brief address in Spanish, praising the day and com 
 plimenting the President. . . .' 
 
 'Studied Baur, Aristophanes, and "Etudes sur la Bible.' 
 
 Music lesson to Maud. O'Sullivan to dine Baez sent 
 
 word that he would visit us between 5 and 6 p.m. We accord 
 ingly put things in the best order possible under the circum 
 stances. Ung puo de tualetta for the ladies seemed proper. At 
 dinner received Baez' card with a great dish of fine sapotes 
 Baez arrived. He speaks French quite tolerably, is affable 
 and has an intelligent face; in fact looks like a person of 
 marked talent. We talked of things in the United States. 
 He has made fourteen voyages to Europe. ... I sang "Una 
 Barchetta" for him. He came with one servant, who stayed 
 outside — no ceremony and no escort. . . .' 
 
 After the beauty of the place — indeed possibly before it — 
 she valued the opportunity that came to her of preaching. 
 On the voyage to Santo Domingo she had learned of a shep- 
 herdless flock of colored Protestants, their minister dead, 
 their 'elder' disabled by lameness. Here was an oppor- 
 tunity not to be lost. She engaged to hold Sunday evening 
 services in their church, a small wooden building with a mud 
 floor and a mahogany pulpit. The 'Reminiscences' describe 
 these services; the tattered hymn-books whose leaves were 
 turned mechanically while the congregation (few of whom 
 could read) sang with a will the hymns they knew by heart; 
 the humble, devout people with their attentive faces. 
 
 When Holy Week came, the congregation begged her to 
 hold special services. They wished their young people to un- 
 derstand that these sacred days meant as much to them as to 
 the surrounding Catholics. Accordingly she and her compan- 
 ion 'dressed the little church with flowers. It looked charm- 
 ingly. Flowers all along the railing [here follows in the 
 Journal a pen-and-ink sketch], flowers in the pulpit over my 
 
176 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 head. Church was crowded. Many people outside and at 
 the windows.' 
 
 She always remembered with pleasure one feature of her 
 Easter sermon, her attempt to describe Dante's vision of a 
 great cross in the heavens, formed of star clusters, each 
 cluster bearing the name of Christ. 'The thought,' she says, 
 'that the mighty poet of the fourteenth century should have 
 something to impart to these illiterate negroes was very dear 
 to me.' 
 
 One of the party has an undying impression of this Easter 
 service: the shabby little chapel crowded with dark faces, and 
 the preacher, standing touched by a ray of sunlight, speak- 
 ing to that congregation of simple black people. In her notes 
 she speaks of these services. 
 
 'A pastoral charge bringing me near to the hearts and 
 sympathies of the people. I have preached five times in the 
 little church, including Good Friday and Easter Monday. 
 This service, which has not been without its difficulties, is so 
 much better to me in remembrance than anything else I have 
 done here that I must make a little break and pause before I 
 speak of other things. 
 
 'In this pause I remember my prayer at Puerto Plata, that 
 I and mine might come to this new region with a reverent and 
 teachable spirit. That prayer was an earnest one to me. I 
 hope it has, as all prayers should, accomplished its own 
 fulfilment. I have been here among dear people. I find 
 all the human varieties in this society, not digested and har- 
 monized by noble culture, but existing and asking for the 
 centralizing and discriminating agencies which in civilization 
 sort out the different tastes, characters, and capacities, and 
 assign to each its task, giving devotion its wings and crime its 
 treadmill. This little population in a great country, a coun- 
 try in which Nature allows no one to starve, has lived and so 
 shown its right to live and maintain itself. It has accom- 
 plished its political division from a state antipathetic to it, 
 having its dark face turned fixedly toward barbarism 
 [Hayti]. 
 
 'I stood in a little church in the city and island of Santo 
 
SANTO DOMINGO 177 
 
 Domingo, to preach the glad tidings of the gospel of Peace. 
 It was a humble little temple, with a mud floor, and plastered 
 walls, and a roof which scarcely kept out the rain, but it was 
 a place full of comfort to me and to others. The seats and 
 spaces were all filled, for it had no aisles. The small win- 
 dows and doors were cushioned, so to speak, with human 
 countenances, wearing an expression of curiosity or atten- 
 tion. The way to the church was lined on both sides with the 
 simple people, who held their service at night because the 
 poverty of their attire made them ashamed to hold it by day. 
 And this crowd came together, Sunday after Sunday, because 
 a woman from a distant country stood in that little church to 
 tell them what a woman can tell about the kingdom of 
 heaven.' 
 
 Loth as she had been to go to Santo Domingo, she was 
 far more loth to leave it; but the time appointed for her 
 peace crusade in London was at hand, and she could tarry no 
 longer. On April 5 she writes: — 
 
 'Ah! my time is nearly out. Dear Santo Domingo, how I 
 do love you, with your childish life, and your ancestral streets 
 — a grandam and a babe! To-day I read my last in Baur 
 and Greek for some time, probably, as must pack to-morrow. 
 As at present advised, God grant that we may come here 
 again.' 
 
 'April 6. Here to-day and gone to-morrow, literally. 
 Mostly packed — have left out my books for a last sweet 
 morsel. . . . Did not get that sweet morsel. Was busy all 
 day — farewell calls from friends, little talks, and the fear 
 of sitting down and forgetting my preparations in my books. 
 In the evening the Gautiers came and I played for them to 
 dance. So, one last little gayety in common.' 
 
 'Sunday, April 7. Got up at 4 a.m. Dressed and got off 
 pretty easily. . . . The parting from Maud was very hard. 
 Oh! when the line was drawn in, and my darling and I were 
 fairly sundered, my old heart gave way, and I cried 
 bitterly. . . . 
 
 'Henry Blackwell is a dear, comforting man, most kind 
 and companionable. A woman on board with a wretched 
 
178 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 baby of six months, he in a muslin gown and nothing else, 
 crying with cold. I got out a cotton flannel dressing-sack, and 
 wrapped him up in it and tended him a good deal. . . . 
 
 'May the purpose for which I undertake this painful and 
 solitary journey be ever strong enough in my thoughts to 
 render every step of it pure, blameless and worthy. Great 
 God, do not let me desert thee! For that is the trouble. Thou 
 dost not desert us. I dread unspeakably these dark days of 
 suffering and confusion. To go is like being hanged. . . . 
 
 'Captain said something about my preaching on Sunday, so 
 I have been laying out some points for a sermon. . . . But it 
 is not very likely that the Captain will really ask me to hold 
 service. 
 
 'Talk with purser about Homer. He has a vivacious mind, 
 and might easily learn Greek, or anything else he would have 
 a mind to.' 
 
 'Sunday. It turned out that the Captain and passengers 
 did wish me to hold a little service to-day, so at 10.30 A.M. 
 I met them in the dining-saloon. I had a Bible, from which 
 I read the 116th Psalm — a prayer followed — then the mis- 
 sionary hymn, "From Greenland's icy mountains" — then my 
 little sermon, of which I have the headings. I am so very 
 glad to have been able and enabled to do this. 
 
 'Began to teach the purser to read from notes with a leaf 
 of music out of some periodical. Copied Baur a little — 
 talked and heard much talk.' 
 
 ' April 17. . . . Expect to get in to-morrow, not very late, 
 unless another contrary gale. Frigate birds and petrels 
 yesterday — to-day, whales, blackfish, and an immense num- 
 ber of porpoises. Revelation cannot go beyond human con- 
 sciousness. 
 
 'The Western mind has taken Christ's metaphorical 
 illustrations literally, and his literal moral precepts meta- 
 phorically.' 
 
 As at the beginning of this chapter we took a step back- 
 ward, so we must now take one forward and speak briefly 
 of the second visit to Santo Domingo in 1874. 
 
SANTO DOMINGO 179 
 
 The Doctor's health was failing; he had suffered from 
 the winter's cold, and longed for the warm sunshine of the 
 beloved island. Would she go with him? he asked. She 
 should preach to her colored folks as much as she liked. 
 
 They sailed together in the Tybee in March. After a brief 
 visit to the capital (where Revolution had been before them, 
 expelling the friendly Baez, and putting in his place a man 
 opposed to the Samana Bay Company), they took up their 
 quarters at Samana, in a litde hillside cottage about a mile 
 from the town. 
 
 Our mother writes in her Journal: — 
 
 ''March 20. In Santo Domingo as glad as a child. . . . 
 Went to Garcia's and foolishly bargained for the gold neck- 
 lace and emerald ring I fancied the last time I was here. The 
 necklace is for Maud.' 
 
 The love of jewelry was one of the 'little passions' of her 
 whole life. Speaking once of this as her 'besetting sin,' she 
 said: 'It is rather respectable to have a besetting sin, as it 
 shows one must have had an ancestor from whom it was 
 inherited!' She enjoyed a jewel as she did a flower or a 
 song: she loved to deck her dear ones and herself with 
 trinkets; a jeweller's window was a thing of delight to her, 
 not to be passed without the tribute of a pause and a glance at 
 its treasures. Yet a purchase of this kind seldom failed to 
 bring its retributive pang the day after. 
 
 'Was sorry to have made so foolish a use of the money. 
 Resolve never to do so again, unless some new light should 
 make it seem right. God will not have my mind occupied 
 with such nonsense. Have written my sermon for to- 
 morrow evening.' 
 
 They spent two months in Samana in almost absolute retire- 
 ment. The Doctor read 'Don Quixote' in Spanish, she 
 Aristotle in Greek and Baur in German. The former "was 
 early and late in the saddle, and dashed up and down the 
 steep hillsides of Samana with all his old fearlessness.' The 
 latter followed as she might, 'in perils and dangers, in terrors 
 often.' 
 
 'I had never been a bold rider, and I must confess that 
 
180 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 I suffered agonies of fear in following him on these expedi- 
 tions. If I lagged behind, he would cry, "Come on! it's as 
 bad as going to a funeral to ride with you." And so, I 
 suppose, it was. I remember one day when a great palm 
 branch had fallen across our path. I thought that my horse 
 would certainly slip on it, sending me to the depths below. 
 That very day, while Dr. Howe took his siesta, I went to the 
 place where this impediment lay, and with a great effort threw 
 it over the steep mountain-side. The whole neighborhood 
 of Samana is very mountainous, and I sometimes found it 
 impossible to obey the word of command. One day my hus- 
 band spurred his horse and made a gallant dash at a very 
 steep ascent, ordering me to follow him. I tried my best, 
 but only got far enough to find myself awkwardly at a stand- 
 still, and unable to go either backward or forward. The 
 Doctor was obliged to dismount and to lead my horse down 
 to the level ground. This, he assured me, was a severe 
 mortification for him.' 1 
 
 In spite of the permission given, she spoke only a few times 
 in Samana. She tells of an open-air service in which she 
 took part. She arrived late, and found a zealous elder hold- 
 ing forth and 'reading' from a Bible held upside down. At 
 sight of her he said, 'And now dat de lady hab come, I will 
 obdunk from de place!' 
 
 One day she spoke to the pupils of a litde school kept by an 
 English carpenter, who studied Greek in order to understand 
 the New Testament, yet allowed his pupils to use the small 
 i for the personal pronoun. The schoolhouse was perched 
 on a hill so steep that she was thankful to mount astride on 
 a huge white steer furnished with a straw saddle, and be led 
 up by a friendly neighbor. 
 
 In these days the ill-fated Samana Bay Company, of which 
 the Doctor and many others had had high hopes, came to an 
 end, and the Dominican Government insisted that its flag 
 should be officially withdrawn. Our mother describes the 
 incident: — 
 
 'To town early to be present at the taking down of the 
 1 Reminiscences, p. 362. 
 
SANTO DOMINGO 181 
 
 Samana Company's flag by the commission sent on board the 
 Dominican war schooner. I went in the boat and found Chev 
 in the custom-house with the commission seated around. A 
 good many of our people present. Chev read his protest, 
 which was strong and simple. . . . We then went out of the 
 building; the employes of our Company marched up in their 
 best clothes, their hats stuck full of roses, and stood in order 
 on either side the flagstaff. The man ordered by the com- 
 mission lowered the flag. Just before, Chev got our people to 
 stand in a circle around him, made a lovely little address. 
 The old Crusader never appeared nobler or better than on 
 this occasion, when his beautiful chivalry stood in the great- 
 est contrast to the barbarism and ingratitude which dictated 
 this act. My mind was full of cursing rather than blessing. 
 Yet finding myself presently alone with the superseded flag I 
 laid my hand upon it and prayed that if I had power to bless 
 anything, my prayers might bless the good effort which has 
 been made here.' 
 
 On April 2 she adds: 'The blacks here say that the taking 
 down of our flag was like the crucifixion of our Lord. We 
 are assured that they would have offered forcible resistance, 
 if we had authorized their so doing.' 
 
 'May 9. The last day of our last week in Samana. . . . God 
 knows when I shall have so much restful leisure again. My 
 rides on horseback, too, are ended for the present, though 
 I may mount once more to-day or to-morrow. All these 
 pleasures have been mixed with pains — my fear on horse- 
 back . . . but far more than all, my anxiety about the dearest 
 ones at home. The affairs of the Company, too, have given me 
 many sad thoughts, but in spite of all this the time has been 
 a blessed one. I have improved in mind and body, if not 
 in estate — have had sweet leisure for thought and study, 
 opportunity to preach the gospel (three times), and most 
 invigorating air and exercise. Over the door of the little 
 parlor here hangs a motto: "God bless our Home." I think, 
 indeed, He has blessed this little home, though, at first 
 when I looked at the motto, I always thought of my own 
 home.' 
 
182 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The next day they saw the 'last of beautiful Samana for 
 the present,' and ten days later found them in New York. 
 Her final word on this brief and lovely episode is given in 
 the Journal for May 24: 'My heart sinks whenever Chev says 
 he will never go to Samana again. "There are my young 
 barbarians all at play." ' 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 
 1872-1876; aet. 53-57 
 
 He who launched thee a bolt of fire 
 Strong in courage and in desire 
 Takes thee again a weapon true 
 In heaven's armory ever new. 
 
 Still shall the masterful fight go on, 
 Still shall the battle of Right be won 
 And He who fixed thee in upper air 
 Shall cany thy prowess otherwhere. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 As our father's health failed more and more, his heart turned 
 to the home he had made. He longed for Green Peace; and 
 — the lease falling in about this time — in the spring of 1872 
 he and our mother and Maud moved thither, and took up 
 their quarters in the 'new part,' while Laura and her husband 
 came to occupy the old. Here the first grandchild (Alice 
 Maud Richards) was born; here and at Oak Glen the next 
 four years were mainly passed. 
 
 The Doctor's ardent spirit longed for new fields of work, 
 new causes to help ; the earthly part could not follow. How 
 he struggled, toiling, suffering, fighting the good fight to his 
 last breath, has been told elsewhere: 1 suffice it to say that 
 these years were grave ones for the household, spite of new 
 joys that dawned for all. 
 
 The grandchildren opened a new world for both our 
 parents: a world which one was to enjoy for a space all too 
 brief, the other through long years, in which she was to be 
 to the youngest generation a lamp of wisdom, a flame of 
 warmth and tenderness, a fountain of joy. 
 
 Among the memory pictures of this time is one of her sit- 
 ting at her desk, laboring at her endless correspondence; 
 beside her, on the floor, the baby of the period, equally 
 absorbed in the contents of the waste-paper basket. 
 
 1 Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe. 
 
184 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Or we see the tall figure of the Doctor, stooping in the 
 doorway between the two houses, a crowing child on his 
 shoulders, old face and young alight with merriment. These 
 were Richards grandbabes; the Hall children were the sum- 
 mer delight of the grandparents, as they and their mother 
 usually spent the summer at Oak Glen. 
 
 'Friday, September 13. Before I open even my New 
 Testament to-day, I must make record of the joyful birth of 
 
 Flossy's little son [Samuel Prescott Hall]. God bless this 
 
 dear little child! May he bring peace and love. . . . 
 
 'During the confinement I could not think of anything 
 divine or spiritual. It was Nature's grim, mechanical, tra- 
 ditional task. But now that it is over, my heart remembers 
 that Life is not precious without God, and the living soul 
 just given stands related to the quickening spirit.' 
 
 '. . . I can get little time for study, as I must help nurse 
 dear Flossy. My mind is strangely divided between my 
 dear work and my dear child and grandchild. I must try 
 to keep along with both, but on no account to neglect the 
 precious grandchild.' 
 
 'October 1. year! thou art running low. The last 
 trimester.' 
 
 'October 2. This day, thirty-two years ago, my dearest 
 brother Henry died in my arms, the most agonizing expe- 
 rience. Never again did Death so enter into my heart, until 
 my lovely son of three years departed many years later, leav- 
 ing a blank as sad and bitter. Henry was a rare and delicate 
 person. . . . His life was a most valuable one to us for help 
 and counsel, as well as for affection. Perhaps no one today 
 thinks about his death except me, his junior by two years, 
 wearing now into the decline of life. Dear brother, I look 
 forward to the reunion with you, but wish my record were 
 whiter and brighter.' 
 
 She was giving Maud music lessons this autumn, reading 
 Plutarch with her, taking her to parties and giving parties 
 for her. Later, we find her holding mission services at 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 185 
 
 Vineyard Haven; addressing the Saturday Morning Club 
 ('Subject — Object: I smile at this antithesis') ; delivering a 
 lecture at Albany — with the lecture left behind. 
 
 'Got to work at once making abstracts from memory. . . . 
 Spoke more than an hour. . . . Got my money — would rather 
 have paid it than have had such an experience. Felt as if 
 my inner Guide had misled and deserted me. But some good 
 to some one may come of what I said and tried to say.' 
 
 She returned from this trip very weary, only to find 'my 
 lecture advertised, not one line of it written — subject, 
 "Men's Women and Women's Women." Set to work at once, 
 almost overpowered by the task, and the shortness of the 
 time.' 
 
 The lecture was finished in the morning, delivered in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 'Warm congratulations at the close. . . . Such a sense of 
 relief!' 
 
 On December 19 she notes the departure of 'dear Flossy 
 and her dearest little Boy. . . . House very desolate without 
 them. This boy is especially dear to Doctor Howe and 
 myself.' 
 
 'December 28. Maria Mitchell's Club lecture to-day was 
 beautiful exceedingly. I might have envied her the steady 
 grasp and unbroken advance of scientific study, did I not 
 feel sure that God gives to each his own work. Mine, such 
 as it is, would be helped and beautified by the knowledge 
 which she imparts so easily, but perhaps all of her that I shall 
 remember and try to follow is her spirit. Her silver hair 
 seems lustrous with spiritual brightness, as do her dark eyes. 
 Her movements are full of womanly grace, not ballroom 
 grace.' 
 
 From now on the movement is sempre crescendo. Work 
 for peace, work for clubs; lecturing, preaching, tending the 
 Doctor in his days of illness ; taking the youngest daughter to 
 balls and parties; founding a club for her, too. She felt 
 that the young girls of Maud's age needed the onward impulse 
 as much as their elders; accordingly, in November, 1871, 
 
186 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 she called together a meeting of young women, and with 
 their aid and good-will formed the Saturday Morning Club 
 of Boston. The energy with which this organization sprang 
 into being showed that the time was ripe for it. That energy, 
 handed on through two generations, is no less lively to-day; 
 the name of the club recalls a hundred beautiful and inter- 
 esting occasions. 
 
 The Journal hurries us on from day to arduous day. Even 
 the aspiration of New Year's Day, 1873, breathes the note 
 of hurry: 'Dear Lord, let me this year be worthy to call upon 
 thy name!' 
 
 February 5 finds her on another quest: 'Mem. Never to 
 come by this route again. Had to turn out at Utica at 4 A.M. 
 Three hours in depot. . . .' 
 
 'March 1. Went to Saturday Morning Club. Found that 
 John Fiske had failed them. Was told to improvise a lec- 
 ture on the spot. Did so. . . .' 
 
 'March 10. A morning for work in my own room, so rare 
 a luxury that I hardly know how to use it. Begin with my 
 Greek Testament. . . .' 
 
 'March 17. Radical Club. ... It was an interesting sit- 
 ting, but I felt as if the Club had about done its work. People 
 get to believing that talk turns the world: it is much, but it 
 is nothing without work. . . .' 
 
 'May 27. Fifty-four years old to-day. Thank God for 
 what I have had and hope to have. ... In the afternoon my 
 dear children had a beautiful birthday party for me, includ- 
 ing most of my old friends and some of the newer ones. 
 Agassiz came, and his wife ; he brought a bouquet and kissed 
 me. I had beautiful flowers. . . . Poor Chev was ill with a 
 frightful headache. I was much touched by the dear chil- 
 dren's affectionate device and shall remember this birthday.' 
 
 This was the first of the Birthday Receptions, which were 
 to be our happiest festivals through many happy years. 
 
 Monday, June 2, was the day she had appointed as 
 Mothers' Peace Day, her annual Peace Festival. 
 
 'The day of many prayers dawned propitious, and was as 
 bright and clear as I could have wished.' 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 187 
 
 She was up early, and found the hall 'beautifully decorated 
 with many fine bouquets, wreaths, and baskets, the white 
 dove of Peace rising above other emblems.' There were 
 two services, morning and evening, and many speakers. 
 'Mr. Tilden and Mr. Garrison both did nobly for me. . . . 
 Thank God for so much!' 
 
 She had the great joy of hearing that the day was cele- 
 brated in other countries besides her own. In London, 
 Geneva, Constantinople, and various other places, services 
 were held, and men and women prayed and sang in behalf 
 of peace: this she counted among the precious things of the 
 year, and of several years to come. 
 
 'June 6. Quiet at last, and face to face with the eternal 
 Gospel. Weary and confused, anxious to wind up my busi- 
 ness well, and begin my polyglot sheet. . . .' 
 
 Yet on June 10 she is arriving in New York at 5.40 a.m., 
 bound for a peace meeting. 
 
 'June 11. I got two bricks from the dear old house at the 
 corner of Broadway and Bond Street, now all down and re- 
 building. Will have one enamelled for myself. Ah, Lord, 
 what a bitter lesson is in this tearing-down! How I was 
 wanting in duty to the noble parent who built this grand 
 home for me! I hope to help young people to understand 
 something of parental love and its responsibilities. But 
 parents also must study children, since each new soul may 
 require a new method.' 
 
 'Dear Dr. Hedge came out to make a morning visit. I 
 kept him as long as I could. We talked of Bartol, Rubinstein, 
 Father Taylor, and Margaret Fuller, whom he knew when she 
 was fourteen years old. He urged me to labor for dress 
 reform, which he considered much needed. Had preached 
 two sermons on the subject which his dressy parishioners 
 resented, telling him that their husbands approved of their 
 fine clothes. I begged him to unearth these sermons and 
 give them to us at the club. We spoke of marriage, and I 
 unfolded rapidly my military and moral theory of human 
 relations. Thought of a text for a sermon on this subject: 
 "Arise, take up thy bed and walk." This because the ills of 
 
188 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 marriage which are deemed incurable are not. We must 
 meet them with the energetic will which converts evil into 
 good, and without which all good degenerates into evil.' 
 
 July finds her at Oak Glen. She is full of texts and ser- 
 mons, but makes time to write to Fanny Perkins, 1 proposing 
 'Picnics with a Purpose, sketching, seaside lectures, astronom- 
 ical evenings.' This thought may have been the germ from 
 which grew the Town and Country Club, of which more here- 
 after. 
 
 The writing of sermons seems to have crowded serious 
 poetry out of sight in these days, but the Comic Muse was 
 always at hand with tambourine and flageolet, ready to strike 
 up at a moment's notice. There was much coming and going 
 of young men and maidens at Oak Glen in those days, and 
 much singing of popular songs of a melancholy or desperate 
 cast. The maiden was requested to take back the heart she 
 had given; what was its anguish to her? There were hand- 
 fuls of earth in a coffin hid, a coffin under the daisies, the 
 beautiful, beautiful daisies; and so on, and so on, ad 
 lachrymam. She bore all this patiently; but one day she 
 said to Maud, 'Come! You and these young persons know 
 nothing whatever of real trouble. I will make you a song 
 about a real trouble!' And she produced, words and tune, 
 the following ditty: — 
 
 COOKERY BOOKERY, OH! 
 
 My Irish cook has gone away 
 Upon my dinner-party day; 
 I don't know what to do or say — 
 Cookery bookery, oh! 
 
 Chorus: 
 Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire! 
 Sing, coals are high and always higher! 
 Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire! 
 Cookery bookery, oh! 
 
 1 Mrs. Charles C. Perkins. 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 189 
 
 She could cook every kind of dish, 
 'Wittles' of meat and 'wittles' of fish, 
 And soup as fancy as you wish — 
 And she is gone away! 
 
 She weighed two hundred pounds of cheek, 
 She had a voice that made me meek, 
 I had to listen when she did speak — 
 Cookery bookery, oh! 
 
 My husband comes, a saucy elf, 
 And eyes the saucepan on the shelf; 
 Says he, 'Why don't you cook yourself?' 
 Cookery bookery, oh! 
 
 Chorus: 
 Sing, saucepan, range, and kitchen fire! 
 Sing, coals are high and always higher! 
 Sing, crossed and vexed, till you expire! 
 Cookery bookery, oh! 
 
 Jocosa Lyra! one chord of its gay music suggests another. 
 It may have been in this summer that she wrote 'The Newport 
 Song,' which also has its own lilting melody. 
 
 Non sumus fetshionabiles : 
 Non darn us dapes s plead 'ides: 
 But in a modest way, you know, 
 We like to see our money go; 
 Et gaudeamus igitur, 
 Our soul has nought to fidget her! 
 
 We do not care to quadrigate 
 
 On Avenues in gilded state: 
 
 No gold-laced footmen laugh behind 
 
 At our vacuity of mind: 
 
 But in a modest one-horse shay 
 
 We rumble, tumble as we may, 
 
 Et gaudeamus igitur, 
 
 Our soul has nought to fidget her! 
 
190 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 When aestivation is at end, 
 
 We've had our fun and seen our friend. 
 
 No thought of payment makes us ill, 
 
 We don't know such a word as 'bill': 
 
 Et gaudeamus igitur, 
 
 Our soul has nought to fidget her! 
 
 She always tried to go at least once in the summer to see 
 the old people at the Town Farm, a pleasant, gray old house, 
 not far from Oak Glen. 
 
 'In the afternoon visited the poorhouse with J. and F. and 
 found several of the old people again: old Nancy who used 
 to make curious patchwork; old Benny, half-witted; Elsteth, 
 Henrietta, and Harriet, very glad to see us. Julia read them 
 a Psalm, then Harriet and Elsteth sang an interminable 
 Methodist hymn, and I was moved to ask if they would like 
 to have me pray with them. They assented, and I can only 
 say that my heart was truly lifted up by the sense of the 
 universality of God's power and goodness, to which these 
 forlorn ones could appeal as directly as could the most 
 powerful, rich, or learned people.' 
 
 Later she writes: — 
 
 'The summer seems to me to have been rich in good and in 
 interest as I review it. Sweet, studious days, pleasant inter- 
 course with friends, the joy of preaching, and very much in 
 all this the well-being of my dear family, children and grand 1, 
 children, their father and grandfather enjoying them with 
 me. This is much to thank God for.' 
 
 'November 26. Saw Salvini's "Othello." As wonderful 
 as people say it is. The large theatre [the Boston] packed, 
 and so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. From 
 the serene majesty of the opening scenes to the agony of the 
 end, all was grand and astounding even to us to whom the 
 play is familiar. The Italian version seemed to me very 
 fine, preserving all the literary points of the original. In fact 
 it seemed as if I had always before heard the play through 
 an English translation, so much did the Italian speech and 
 action light it up.' 
 
 She found Salvini's 'Hamlet' 'not so good for him as 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 191 
 
 "Othello," yet he was wonderful in it, and made a very 
 strong impression.' 
 
 She met the great actor, and found his manner 'cordial, 
 natural, and high-toned.' She gave a dinner-party for him, 
 and found him to improve more and more on further 
 acquaintance. He became a valued friend, always greeted 
 with delight. 
 
 In December, 1873, Richard Ward, her last surviving 
 uncle, died. He had lived on at No. 8 Bond Street after the 
 death of Uncle John, and had kept up the traditions of that 
 hospitable house, always receiving her most affectionately. 
 
 'December 11. Uncle Richard's funeral. A quiet one, 
 but on the whole satisfactory and almost pleasant, he having 
 lived out his life and dying surrounded by his children and 
 other relatives, and the family gathering around his remains 
 wearing an aspect of cordiality and mutual good- will. I put 
 a sprig of white daphne in the folds of the marble drapery 
 of dear father's bust and kissed the bust, feeling that it had 
 taken all of these years to teach me his value and the value 
 of the moral and spiritual inheritance which I had from him 
 and could not wholly waste with all the follies which checker 
 the better intentions of my life. I went to Greenwood and 
 into the vault, and saw the sacred names of the dear departed 
 on the slabs which sealed the deposit of their remains. It 
 was all like a dream, and a sad one.' 
 
 'December 12. No. 8 Bond Street. I came down here to 
 write the records of yesterday and to-day in this dear old 
 house, whose thronging memories rise up to wring my heart, 
 in the prospect of its speedy dismantlement and the division 
 of its dear contents. Here I came on my return from Europe 
 in 1844, bringing my dear Julia, then an infant of six 
 months. Uncle John had just bought and fitted it up. Here 
 I came to attend Sister Louisa's wedding, Uncle John being 
 rather distant to me, supposing that I had favored the mar- 
 riage. Here I saw dear Brother Marion for the last time. 
 Here I came in my most faulty and unhappy period. Here, 
 after my first publication; here, to see my play acted at 
 Wallack's. Here, when death had taken my dearest Sammy 
 
192 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 from me. Uncle John was so kind and merciful at that time, 
 and always except that once, when indeed he did not express 
 displeasure, but I partly guessed it and learned it more fully 
 afterwards. God's blessing rest upon the memory of this 
 hospitable and unstained house. It seems to me as if neither 
 words nor tears could express the pain I feel in closing this 
 account with my father's generation.' 
 
 The most important episode of 1874, the visit to Samana, 
 has already been described. Turning the leaves of the 
 Journal for this year, we feel that the change and break were 
 necessary to her as well as to the Doctor. There were limits 
 even to her strength. 
 
 'January, 1874. A sort of melancholy of confusion, not 
 knowing how I can possibly get through with the various 
 requisitions made upon my time, strength, thought and sym- 
 pathy. Usually I feel, even in these moods, the nearness 
 of divine help. To-day it seems out of my consciousness, but 
 is not on that account out of my belief. . . .' 
 
 'The past week one dreadful hurry. Things look colorless 
 when you whirl so fast past them.' 
 
 'The month ending to-day seems the most hurried of my 
 life. Woman's Club, Saturday Club, Philosophical group, 
 Maud's music, ditto party, and all her dressing and gayety, 
 beside writing for [the Woman's] Journal, . . . two lectures 
 [Salem and Weston], both gratuitous, and the care of getting 
 up and advertising Bishop Ferrette's lectures. And in all 
 these things I seem not to do, rather than to do, the dissipa- 
 tion of effort so calls me away from the quiet, concentrated 
 sort of work which I love.' 
 
 It was time for the Doctor to say 'Come!' and to carry her 
 off to those tropical solitudes they had learned to love so 
 well. Yet the departure was painful, for Maud must be 
 left behind. On March 1 we read : — 
 
 'Of to-day I wish to preserve the fact that, waking early in 
 painful perplexity about Maud, Santo Domingo, etc., and 
 praying that the right way might open for me and for all of 
 us, my prayer seemed answered by the very great comfort 
 I had in hearing the prayer and sermon of Henry Powers of 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 193 
 
 New York. The decided spiritual tone of the prayer made 
 me feel that I must try to take, every day, this energetic atti- 
 tude of moral will and purpose, even if I fail in much that I 
 wish to do.' 
 
 On May 27 she writes: — 
 
 'My birthday. Fifty-five years old. Still face to face with the 
 mercies of God in health and sanity, enjoying all true pleas- 
 ures more than ever and weaned from some false ones. I 
 feel a great lassitude, probably from my cold and yesterday's 
 fatigue. I have not worked this year as I did the year be- 
 fore, yet I have worked a good deal, too, and perhaps have 
 tried more to fulfil the duty nearest at hand. ... I thank God 
 for my continued life, health, and comfort. ... I ask to see 
 Samana free before I go. . . . "Thy will be done" is the true 
 prayer.' 
 
 Samana was not to be free, spite of the efforts of its 
 friends, and she was not to see it again. 
 
 The record of this year and the next is a chronicle of ardu- 
 ous work, with the added and ever-deepening note of anxiety; 
 it was only for a time that the visit to Samana checked the 
 progress of the Doctor's physical failure. He was able in the 
 summer of 1874 to write the forty-third report of the Perkins 
 Institution : an important one in which he reviewed his whole 
 work among the blind. He felt that this would probably be 
 his last earthly task; yet the following summer found him 
 again taking up the familiar work, laboring with what litde 
 strength was left him, and when eyes and hand refused to 
 answer the call of the spirit, dictating to his faithful secretary. 
 It has been told elsewhere how in this last summer of his life 
 he labored to make more beautiful and more valuable the 
 summer home which had become very dear to him. 
 
 Returned to Green Peace, he had some happy days in his 
 garden, but for gardener and garden they were the last days. 
 The city had decided to put a street through Green Peace: 
 already workmen were digging trenches and cutting trees. 
 Our mother went to the authorities, and told them of his 
 feeble condition. The work was stopped at once, and not 
 resumed during his lifetime. 
 
194 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Through these years her time was divided between the 
 invalid and the many public duties which had already taken 
 possession of her life. Little by little these were crowded 
 out: instead of lecture or concert came the ever-shortening 
 walk with the Doctor, the evening game of whist or back- 
 gammon which lightened a little his burden of pain and 
 weariness. 
 
 Yet she was preparing, on January 4, 1876, to keep a 
 lecture engagement of long standing, when the blow fell. He 
 was stricken down, and lay for some days insensible, waiting 
 the final summons. 
 
 There was no hope of his recovery: those around him 
 waited patiently, any violence of grief held in check by the 
 silent rebuke of the serene face on the pillow. 
 
 The day after his death she writes : — 
 
 'I awoke at 4.30, but lay still to bear the chastening hand 
 of God, laid upon me in severe mercy. . . . 
 
 'Some good words came to me: "Let not your heart be 
 troubled," etc. "He doth not willingly afflict," etc. 
 
 'Before breakfast went into Chev's room, so sweet and 
 peaceful. ... I laid my lace veil, my bridal veil, upon the 
 head of his bedstead. ... In place of my dear husband I have 
 now my foolish papers. Yet I have often left him for them. 
 God accept the poor endeavor of my life!' 
 
 On the day after the funeral she writes : 'Began my new life 
 to-day. Prayed God that it might have a greatly added use 
 and earnestness.' 
 
 And several weeks later, after the memorial meeting in his 
 honor: — 
 
 'Yesterday seems to have filled the measure of the past. 
 To-day I must forward in the paths of the future. My dear 
 love is sometimes with me, at least as an energizing and 
 inspiring influence, but how shall I deserve ever to see him 
 again?' 
 
 The paths of the future! She was to tread them with cheer- 
 ful and willing feet through many long years, never wholly 
 losing the sense of companionship with her good comrade. 
 
 She devoted the spring of 1876 to the writing of a brief 
 
THE LAST OF GREEN PEACE 195 
 
 memoir of him, which was printed in pamphlet form and in 
 raised type for the use of die blind. With the latter object 
 in view the memoir was necessarily brief. The labor of con- 
 densing into a small space the record of a long and super- 
 active life was severe, but it was the tonic she needed. The 
 days of quiet at Green Peace, the arduous work, with a page 
 of Greek or a chapter of Baur for relaxation, brought mind 
 and nerves back to their normal condition. 
 
 The work speaks for itself. As it is litde known today 
 outside the schools for the blind, we quote the concluding 
 paragraph: — 
 
 'In what is said, to-day, concerning the motherhood of the 
 human race, the social and spiritual aspects of this great 
 office are not wholly overlooked. It must be remembered that 
 there is also a fatherhood of human society, a vigilance and 
 forethought of benevolence recognized in the individuals who 
 devote their best energies to the interests of mankind. The 
 man to whose memory the preceding pages are dedicated is 
 one of those who have best filled this relation to their race. 
 Watchful of its necessities, merciful to its shortcomings, 
 careful of its dignity, and cognizant of its capacity, may the 
 results of his labor be handed down to future generations, and 
 may his name and example be held in loving and lasting 
 remembrance.' 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 
 1868-1910 
 
 We have seen that after the Doctor's death our mother felt 
 that another chapter of life had begun for her. It was a 
 changed world without that great and dominant personality. 
 She missed the strength on which she had leaned for so many- 
 years, the weakness which through the past months she had 
 tended and cherished. Henceforth she must lead, not follow; 
 must be captain instead of mate. 
 
 In another sense, the new life had actually begun for her 
 some years before, when she first took up public activities; 
 to those activities she now turned the more ardently for the 
 great void that was left in heart and home. We must now go 
 back to the later sixties, and speak of her special interests at 
 that time. 
 
 Looking back over her long life, we see her in three aspects, 
 those of the student, the artist, the reformer. First came 
 youth, with its ardent study; then maturity, with its output 
 of poems, plays, essays. So far she had followed the natural 
 course of creative minds, which must absorb and assimilate 
 in order that they may give out. It is in the third phase that 
 we find the aspect of her later life, a' clear vision of the needs 
 of humanity, and a profound hospitality which made it 
 imperative for her to give with both hands not only what she 
 had inherited, but what she had earned. 
 
 She writes of this new departure : — 
 
 'In an unexpected hour a new light came to me, showing 
 me a world of thought and character. The new domain was 
 that of true womanhood, woman no longer in her ancillary 
 relation to man, but in direct relation to the divine plan and 
 purpose, as a free agent fully sharing with man every human 
 right and every human responsibility. This discovery was 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 197 
 
 like the addition of a new continent to the map of the 
 world. 
 
 When this new world of thought, this new continent of sym- 
 pathy was opened to her, she was nearly fifty years old. 'Oh! 
 had I earlier known,' she exclaims, 'the power, the nobility, 
 the intelligence which lie within the range of true woman- 
 hood, I had surely lived more wisely and to better purpose.' 
 
 Speaking of this new interest in her life, her old friend 
 Tom Appleton (who had not the least sympathy with it) once 
 said, 'Your mother's great importance to this cause is that 
 she forms a bridge between the world of society and the 
 world of reform.' 
 
 She soon found that she was not alone in her questioning; 
 similar thoughts to hers were germinating in the minds of 
 many women. In our own and other countries a host of ear- 
 nest souls were awake, pressing eagerly forward. In quick 
 succession came the women's clubs and colleges, the renewed 
 demand for woman suffrage, the Association for the Advance- 
 ment of Women, the banding together of women ministers. 
 The hour had come, and the women. In all these varying 
 manifestations of one great forward and upward movement 
 in America, Julia Ward Howe was pars magna. Indeed, the 
 story of the latter half of her life is the story of the Advance 
 of Woman and the part she played in it. 
 
 The various phases may be taken in order. Oberlin, the 
 first coeducational college, was chartered in 1834. Vassar, 
 the first college for women only, was chartered in 1861, 
 opened in 1865. Smith and Wellesley followed in 1875. 
 Considering this brave showing, it is strange to recall the 
 great fight before the barred doors of the great universities. 
 The women knocked, gently at first, then strongly: our 
 mother, Mrs. Agassiz, and the rest. They were greeted by a 
 storm of protest. Learned books were written, brilliant lec- 
 tures delivered, to prove that a college education was ruinous 
 to the health of women, perilous to that of future generations. 
 The friends of Higher Education replied in words no less 
 ardent. Blast and counterblast rang forth. Still the patient 
 hands knocked, the earnest voices called: till at length — there 
 
198 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 being friends as well as foes inside — slowly, with much creak- 
 ing and many forebodings, the great doors opened ; a crack, 
 then a space, till to-day they swing wide, and the Higher 
 Education of Women now stands firm as the Pyramids. 
 
 The idea of woman suffrage had long been repugnant to 
 our mother. The demand for it seemed unreasonable ; she was 
 inclined to laugh both at the cause and at its advocates; yet 
 when, in November, 1868, Colonel Thomas Wentworth Hig- 
 ginson asked her to give her name to a call for a meeting in 
 behalf of woman suffrage she did not refuse. It would be 'a 
 liberal and friendly meeting,' the Colonel said, 'without bit- 
 terness and extravagance.' 
 
 On the day of the meeting she 'strayed into Horticultural 
 Hall' in her 'rainy-day suit, with no idea of taking any active 
 part in the proceedings.' Indeed, she had hoped to remain 
 unnoticed, until summoned by an urgent message to join 
 those who sat upon the platform; reluctantly she obeyed the 
 summons. With this simple action the old order changed for 
 her. On the platform were gathered the woman suffrage 
 leaders, some of whom she already knew: William Lloyd 
 Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 
 James Freeman Clarke; veteran captains of Reform, her 
 husband's old companions-in-arms. Looking in their stead- 
 fast faces, she felt that she belonged with them; that she 
 must help to draw the car of progress, not drag like a brake 
 on its wheel. 
 
 Besides these were some unknown to her. She saw now 
 for the first time the sweet face of Lucy Stone, heard the 
 silver voice which was to be dear to her through many 
 years. 'Here stood the true woman, pure, noble, great- 
 hearted, with the light of her good life shining in every fea- 
 ture of her face.' These men and women had been the cham- 
 pions of the slave. They now asked for wives and mothers 
 those civil rights which had been given to the negro; 'that 
 impartial justice for which, if for anything, a Republican 
 Government should stand.' Their speech was earnest; she 
 listened as to a new gospel. When she was asked to speak, 
 she could only say, 'I am with you.' 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 199 
 
 With the new vision came the call of a new duty. 'What 
 can I do?' she asked. The answer was ready. The New 
 England Woman Suffrage Association was formed, and she 
 was elected its first president. This office she held, with 
 some interruptions, through life. It is well to recall the 
 patient, faithful work of the pioneer suffragists, who, with- 
 out money or prestige, spent themselves for the cause. Their 
 efforts, compared to the well-organized and well-financed 
 campaigns of to-day, are as a 'certain upper chamber' com- 
 pared with the basilica of St. Peter, yet it was in that quiet 
 room that the tongues of Pentecost spoke. 
 
 'I am glad,' she often said, 'to have joined the suffrage 
 movement, because it has brought me into such high com- 
 pany.' 
 
 It was no small thing for her to take up this burden. The 
 Doctor, although a believer in equal suffrage, was strongly 
 opposed to her taking any active part in public life. He 
 felt as Grandfather Howe had felt forty years before when 
 his son Sam spoke in public for the sake of Greece; it 
 jarred on his traditions. Others of the family also deplored 
 the new departure, and her personal friends almost with one 
 accord held up hands of horror or deprecation. These 
 things were inexpressibly painful to her; she loved approba- 
 tion ; the society and sympathy of 'kent folk,' whose traditions 
 corresponded with her own ; but her hand was on the plough ; 
 there was no turning back. 
 
 Suffrage worked her hard. The following year the New 
 England Woman Suffrage Association issued a call for the 
 formation of a national body; the names signed were Lucy 
 Stone, Caroline M. Severance, Julia Ward Howe, T. W. 
 Higginson, and G. H. Vibbert. Representatives from twenty- 
 one States assembled in Cleveland, November 24, 1869, and 
 formed the American Woman Suffrage Association. There 
 was already a 'National Woman Suffrage Association,' 
 formed a few months earlier; the new organization differed 
 from the other in some points of policy, notably in the fact 
 that men as well as women were recognized among the 
 leaders. Colonel Higginson was its president at one time, 
 
200 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher, Bishop Gilbert Haven, and Dudley 
 Foulke at others. The New England Woman's Club also 
 admitted men to membership : it was a point our mother had 
 much at heart. She held that the Quaker organization was 
 the best, with its separate meetings of men and women, sup- 
 plemented by a joint session of both. She always insisted 
 upon the salutary influence that men and women exercise 
 upon one another. 
 
 'The two sexes police each other,' she often said. She 
 always maintained the importance of their united action in 
 matters of public as of private interest. She was essentially 
 a humanist in contradistinction to a feminist. 
 
 She worked for the American Association during the 
 twenty-one years of its separate existence, first as foreign cor- 
 responding secretary, afterward as president, and in various 
 other capacities. When, in 1890, the two societies united 
 to form the National American Woman Suffrage Association, 
 she became and continued through life one of the vice- 
 presidents of that body. From the first, she was recognized 
 as an invaluable leader. The years of philosophical study 
 had made her mind supple, alert, quick to grasp and to re- 
 spond, even as the study of languages brought her the gift 
 of ready speech and pure diction. Her long practice in 
 singing had given her voice strength, sweetness, and carry- 
 ing power ; above all, she was a natural orator, and speaking 
 was a joy to her. The first time she ever made a speech in 
 public was to a group of soldiers of the Army of the Potomac 
 on the occasion of a visit to Washington during the war. 
 She had driven out to visit the camp outside the Capital. 
 Colonel William B. Greene disconcerted her very much by 
 saying, 'Mrs. Howe, you must speak to my men.' 
 
 She refused, and ran away to hide in an adjacent tent. 
 The Colonel insisted, and finally she managed to make a 
 very creditable little speech to the soldiers. 
 
 Much of her most important work for woman suffrage was 
 done at the State House, Boston. In Massachusetts, the 
 custom of bringing this subject before the legislature every 
 year long prevailed. She always went to these hearings. 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 201 
 
 She considered it a privilege to take part in them; counted 
 them 'among her most valued recollections.' They extended 
 over forty years or more. 
 
 These occasions were often exasperating as well as fati- 
 guing. She never wearied of presenting the arguments for 
 suffrage; she often suffered vexation of spirit in refuting 
 those brought against it, but she never refused the battle. 'If 
 I were mad enough,' she said once, 'I could speak in 
 Hebrew!' 
 
 'Revere the religion of home. Keep its altar flame bright 
 in your heart. . . . The vestals of ancient Rome were at once 
 guardians of the hearth and custodians of the archives of 
 the Roman State. So, in every time, the home conserves the 
 sacred flame of life, and the destiny of the nation rests with 
 those who keep it.' 
 
 'Go abroad with the majesty and dignity of your home 
 about you. . . . Let the modest graces of the fireside adorn 
 you in the great gathering. This is a new sort of home 
 missionary, one who shall carry the blessed spirit of home 
 wherever she goes, a spirit of rest, of healing, of reconcilia- 
 tion and good-will.' 
 
 Her last service to the cause of woman suffrage was to 
 send a circular letter to all the editors and to all the ministers 
 of four leading denominations in the four oldest suffrage 
 States, Wyoming, Colorado, Utah, and Idaho, asking whether 
 equal suffrage worked well or ill. She received 624 answers, 
 62 not favorable, 46 in doubt, and 516 in favor. A letter 
 from her to the London 'Times,' stating these results, 
 appeared on the same day that the news of her death was 
 cabled to Europe. 
 
 Thinking of the long years of effort which followed her 
 
202 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 adoption of the cause of woman suffrage, a word of the 
 Doctor's, spoken in 1875, comes vividly to mind. 
 
 'Your cause,' said he, 'lacks one element of success, and 
 that is opposition. It is so distinctly just that it will slide into 
 popularity.' He little thought that the cause was to wait forty 
 years for that slide! 
 
 Side by side with the suffrage movement, growing along 
 with it and with the women's clubs, and in time to be 
 absorbed by them, was another movement which was for 
 many years very dear to her, the Association for the 
 Advancement of Women. 
 
 This Association had its beginning in 1873, when Sorosis, 
 then a sturdy infant, growing fast and reaching out in every 
 direction, issued a call for a Congress of Women in New 
 York in the autumn of that year. She says of this call : — 
 
 'Many names, some known, others unknown to me, were 
 appended to the document first sent forth. My own was 
 asked for. Should I give or withhold it? Among the signa- 
 tures already obtained, I saw that of Maria Mitchell, 1 and 
 this determined me to give my own.' 
 
 She went to the Congress, and 'viewed its proceedings a 
 little critically at first,' its plan appearing to her 'rather vast 
 and vague.' 
 
 Yet she felt the idea of the Association to be a good one ; 
 and when it was formed, with the above title, and with Mrs. 
 Livermore as president, she was glad to serve on a sub-com- 
 mittee, charged with selecting topics and speakers for the 
 first annual Congress. 
 
 The object of the Association was 'to consider and present 
 practical methods for securing to women higher intellectual, 
 moral, and physical conditions, with a view to the improve- 
 ment of all domestic and social relations.' 
 
 The meetings of the Congress grew more and more impor- 
 tant to her. That of 1875 found her 'much tossed in mind' 
 about going, on account of the Doctor's ill health. She con- 
 
 'She had a great regard and admiration for Miss Mitchell. Scientific 
 achievement seemed to her well-nigh miraculous, and roused in her an almost 
 childlike reverence. 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 203 
 
 suited Mr. Clarke, but felt afterward that this was a mistake. 
 
 'My daemon says: "Go and say nothing. Nobody can 
 help you bear your own child." ' 
 
 She went. 
 
 No matter how fatiguing these journeys were, she never 
 failed to find some enjoyment in them; many were the pleas- 
 ant 'fruits of friendship' gathered along the way. Some one 
 of the sisters was sure to have a tiny teapot in her basket; 
 another would produce a spirit-lamp; they drank their tea, 
 shared their sandwiches, and were merry. 
 
 The Reverend Antoinette Blackwell, describing one of 
 these journeys, says: — 
 
 'As we went onward I was ready to close my eyes and 
 "loll" or look lazily out to see the flying landscape seem to 
 be doing the work. When I roused enough to look at Mrs. 
 Howe she was reading. Later, I looked again, she was still 
 reading. This went on mile after mile till I was enough 
 interested to step quietly across the aisle and peep over Mrs. 
 Howe's shoulder without disturbing her. She was reading a 
 Greek volume, apparendy with as much enjoyment as most 
 of us gain from reading in plain English when we are not 
 tired. . . . With apparent unwearied enjoyment, she told us 
 anecdotes, repeated the litde stories and rhymes and sang 
 the litde songs which she had given to her children and grand- 
 children. . . . 
 
 'We lingered at the breakfast table in the morning and 
 among other things came to comparing social likes and dis- 
 likes. "I never can bring myself to destroy the least bit of 
 paper," said Mrs. Howe, meaning paper written on, contain- 
 ing the record of human thought and feeling which might be 
 of worth, and its only record. To her these were the chief 
 values of life.' 
 
 The following notes are taken from the record of 'A.A.W.' 
 journeys in the eighties : — 
 
 'Buffalo, October 22, 1881. I felt quite distracted about 
 leaving home when I came this way for the Congress, but 
 have felt clear about the good of it, ever since. I rarely 
 have much religious meditation in these days, except to be 
 
204 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 very sorry for a very faulty life. I will therefore record 
 the fact that I have felt an unusual degree of religious com- 
 fort in these last days. It seemed a severe undertaking to 
 preach to-day after so busy a week, and with litde or no time 
 for preparation. But my text came to me as it usually does, 
 and a hope that the sermon would be given to me, which, 
 indeed, it seemed to be. I thought it out in bed last night 
 and this morning. . . .' 
 
 'Minnesota in Winter 
 
 The twistings and turnings of a lecture trip have brought 
 me twice, in the present season, to Minnesota. . . . 
 
 'To an Easterner, a daily walk or two is the first condition 
 of health. Here, the frost seemed to enter one's very bones, 
 and to make locomotion difficult. . . . Life at the hotel was 
 mosdy an anxious tete-a-tete with an air-tight stove. Some- 
 times you roasted before it, sometimes you froze. As you 
 crammed it with wood at night, you said, "Will you, oh! will 
 you burn till morning?" Finally, on the coldest night of all, 
 and at that night's noon, you bade it farewell, on your way 
 to the midnight train, and wondered whether you should be 
 likely to go further and fare worse. . . . 
 
 'Minneapolis 
 'Twenty years ago, a small collection of wooden houses, 
 of no particular account, except for the natural beauties of 
 the spot on which they stood. Now, a thriving and well-built 
 city, whose manufacturers have settled the controversy be- 
 tween use and beauty, by appropriating the Falls of St. 
 Anthony to the running of their saw- and flour-mills. My 
 first sensation of delight here was at finding myself standing 
 on Hennepin Avenue. To a reader of Parkman's histories, 
 the spot was classic. ... To refresh my own recollections, I 
 had recourse to the Public Library of die town, where I soon 
 found Parkman's "Discovery of the Great West." Armed 
 with this volume, with the aid of a cheap and miserable rail- 
 road map, I traced out something of the movements of those 
 hardy French explorers. It was like living part of a 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 205 
 
 romance, to look upon the skies and waters which had seen 
 them wandering, suffering, yet undaunted. . . . 
 
 'St. Paul 
 'But I cannot rest so near St. Paul without visiting this 
 famous city also. I contemplate a trip in the cars, but my 
 friendly host leaves his business for a day, and drives me 
 over in an open sleigh. I do not undertake this jaunt with- 
 out Bostonian fears of death of cold, but Minnesota cold is 
 highly stimulating, and with the aid of a bottle of hot water, 
 I make the journey without a shiver. . . . Numbers of Indian 
 squaws from Mendota walk the streets in groups. I follow 
 three of them into a warehouse. One of them has Asiatic 
 features — the others are rather pretty. They are Sioux. I 
 speak to them, but they do not reply. The owner of the ware- 
 house asks what he can show me. I tell him that I desire 
 to see what the squaws will buy. He says that they buy very 
 little, except beads, and have only come into the store to 
 warm themselves. They smile, and obviously understand 
 English. We dine at the hotel, a very pleasant one. There 
 is no printed bill of fare, but the waiter calls off "beefsteak, 
 porksteak," etc., and we make a comfortable meal. I desire 
 to purchase some dried buffalo meat, and find some, not 
 without difficulty, as the season for selling it is nearly over. 
 The crowning romance of the day is a sleighride of five miles 
 on the Mississippi, giving us a near view of its fluted bluffs 
 and numerous islets. We visit also the Falls of Minnehaha, 
 now sheeted in ice, but very beautiful, even in this disguise. 
 We talk of "Hiawatha," and my companion says, "If Mr. 
 Longfellow had ever seen a Sioux Indian, he would not have 
 written 'Hiawatha.' " The way to the bottom of the falls is 
 so slippery with ice that I conclude not to attempt it. The 
 day, which was one of great exposure, passed in great pleas- 
 ure, and without chill or fatigue ' 
 
 'Kansas 
 Travel in Minnesota was living romance. Travel in 
 Kansas is living history. I could not cross its borders, new 
 
206 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 as these are, without unlocking a volume of the past, written 
 in blood and in prayer, and sealed with the forfeit of noble 
 lives. A ghostly army of warriors seemed to escort me as 
 I entered the fair, broad territory. John Brown, the captain 
 of them, stretched his hand to the Capitol, and Sumner, and 
 Andrew, and Howe were with him. Here was the stand 
 made, here the good fight begun, which, before it was well 
 under way, divided the thought and sentiment of Europe, as 
 well as those of America. 
 
 'My tired spirit sought to shake off at this point the com- 
 mon-place sense of weariness and annoyance. To be in Kan- 
 sas, and that for work, not for pastime. To bring the woman's 
 word where the man's rough sword and spade had once 
 wrought together, this was poetry, not prose. To be cold, and 
 hungry, and worn with journeying, could not efface the great 
 interest and pleasure. . . .' 
 
 The Association for the Advancement of Women was a 
 pioneer society, and did vital work for twenty-five years. 
 During the greater part of that time she was its president. 
 She never missed (save when in Europe) one of its annual 
 congresses, or one of the mid-year conferences (of officers 
 only) which she considered of high moment. She worked 
 for the Association with a loving enthusiasm that never 
 varied or faltered; and it was a real grief to her when the 
 changing of the old order resolved it into its elements, to 
 take new shape in the larger and farther-reaching work of 
 the General Federation of Clubs, and other kindred societies. 
 
 Many of these may be called the children of 'A.A.W.' The 
 greatest service of the latter was in founding women's clubs 
 throughout the country. Wherever they went, to conferences 
 or conventions, its leaders called about them the thoughtful 
 women of the neighborhood, and helped them to plan local 
 associations for study and work. 
 
 There was still another aspect of the Woman Question, 
 dearer to her even than 'A.A.W.' 
 
 A woman minister once said, 'My conviction that Mrs. 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 207 
 
 Howe was a divinely ordained preacher was gained the first 
 time that she publicly espoused the question of woman suf- 
 frage in 1869.' 
 
 We have seen that little Julia Ward began her ministrations 
 in the nursery. At eight years old she was adjuring her little 
 cousin to love God and he would see death approaching with 
 joy. At eleven she was writing her 'Invitation to Youth': — 
 
 Oh! let thy meditations be of God, 
 Who guides thy footsteps with unerring eye; 
 And who, until the path of life is trod, 
 Will never leave thee by thyself to die. 
 
 When morning's rays so joyously do shine, 
 And nature brightens at the face of day, 
 Oh! think then on the joys that shall be thine 
 If thou wilt early walk the narrow way. 
 
 We have followed her through the Calvinistic period of 
 religious gloom and fervor; through the intellectual awaken- 
 ing that followed; through the years when she could say to 
 Philosophy, — 
 
 '. . . The world its plenitude 
 May keep, so I may share thy beggary.' 
 
 These various phases were like divers-colored shades cov- 
 ering a lamp: through them all the white flame of religion 
 burned clear and steady, fostered by a natural piety which 
 was as much a part of her as the breath she drew. 
 
 In the year 1865 came the call to preach. She was asked 
 to speak before the Parker Fraternity in Boston. She chose 
 for her discourse a paper on 'Ideal Causation,' which she 
 had thought 'the crown of her endeavor hitherto.' 
 
 'To my sorrow, I found that it did not gready interest my 
 hearers, and that one who was reported to have wondered 
 "what Mrs. Howe was driving at" had spoken the mind of 
 many of those present. 
 
 'I laid this lesson much to heart, and, becoming convinced 
 that metaphysics did not supply the universal solvent for 
 
208 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 human evils, I determined to find a pou sto nearer to the 
 sympathies of the average community, from which I might 
 speak for their good and my own. 
 
 'From my childhood the Bible had been dear and familiar 
 to me, and I now began to consider texts and sermons, in 
 place of the transcendental webs I had grown so fond of 
 spinning. The passages of Scripture which now occurred to 
 me filled me with a desire to emphasize their wisdom by a 
 really spiritual interpretation. From this time on, I became 
 more and more interested in the religious ministration of 
 women. . . .' 
 
 Her first sermon was preached at Harrisburg in 1870. 
 Then followed the sermons in Santo Domingo, and those of 
 the Peace Crusade in London; from this time, the Woman 
 ministry was one of the causes dearest to her heart. 
 
 On February 16, 1873, after hearing a powerful sermon, 
 she feels awakened to take up the work over which she has 
 dreamed so much, and talks with her friend, Mary Graves, 
 herself an ordained minister of the Unitarian Church, about 
 'our proposed Woman's Mission here in Boston.' A few 
 days later she writes: 'Determine that my Sunday services 
 must be held and to see Redpath 1 in this connection.' 
 
 The result of this determination was the organization of 
 the Woman's Liberal Christian Union, which held Sunday 
 afternoon meetings through the spring. She preached the 
 first sermon, on March 16. 'I meant,' she says, 'to read my 
 London sermon, but found it not suitable. Wrote a new one 
 as well as I could. Had a very good attendance. Was 
 forced to play the hymn tunes myself. Am thankful that the 
 occasion seemed to meet with acceptance.' 
 
 In 1873, a number of women ministers having come to 
 Boston to attend the May Anniversaries, she conceived the 
 idea of bringing them together in a meeting all their own. 
 She issued a call for a Woman Preachers' Convention, and 
 this convention, the first held in any country, met on May 29, 
 1873. She was elected president, the Reverends Mary H. 
 1 Of the Redpath Bureau. 
 
THE WOMAN'S CAUSE 209 
 
 Graves and Olympia Brown vice-presidents, Mrs. Bruce 
 secretary. The Journal describes this meeting as 'most har- 
 monious and happy.' 
 
 The society thus formed was first called 'The Woman's 
 Church,' later, "The Woman's Ministerial Conference.' A 
 second meeting was held, June 1, 1874, but it was not till 
 1892 that this Conference was finally organized and estab- 
 lished, to her great satisfaction. She was elected its presi- 
 dent, and held the office till death. 
 
 The secretary, Reverend Ada C. Bowles, says of this Con- 
 ference : 'As its main object was to promote a sense of fellow- 
 ship, rather than to expect associated labor, owing to the 
 scattered membership, meetings were not always regularly 
 held, or possible. But it has held together because Mrs. 
 Howe loved it, and had a secretary as loyal to her as she was 
 to all the women ministers.' 
 
 She herself has said: 'I was impressed with the importance 
 of religious life, and believed in the power of association. 
 I believed that women ministers would be less sectarian 
 than men; and I thought that if those of different denomina- 
 tions could meet occasionally and compare notes, it would 
 be of value.' 
 
 After the formal conference, she welcomed the members 
 at her own house, talked with them, and heard of their doings. 
 Her eyes kindled as she heard of the Wayside Chapel (of 
 Maiden, Massachusetts) built by its pastor, Mrs. E. M. 
 Bruce, who was also its trustee, janitor, choir, and preacher; 
 heard how for thirteen years this lady had rung the bell every 
 evening for vesper service, and had never lacked a congrega- 
 tion: or of the other woman who was asked 'very diffidently' 
 if she would conduct the funeral services of an honest and 
 upright man who had died of drink, owing to an inherited 
 tendency. 
 
 'They had expected to have it in the undertaker's rooms,' 
 said the Reverend Florence Buck, of Wisconsin, 'but we had 
 it m my own church. It was packed with people of all sorts, 
 who had been interested in him; and the Bartenders' Union 
 were there in a body It was an opportunity that I would 
 
210 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 not have given up to preach to the President and Senate of 
 the United States. Next day . . . they said, "We expected 
 she'd wallop us to hell; but she talked to us like a mother!" ' 
 
 Then she turned to the president, and said, 'The woman 
 minister is often lonely. I want to thank Mrs. Howe, who 
 welcomed me at the beginning of my ministry. Her hand- 
 clasp has stayed with me ever since.' 
 
 Our mother was never ordained: it is doubtful whether 
 she ever contemplated such a step ; but she felt herself conse- 
 crated to the work; wherever she was asked to preach, she 
 went as if on wings, feeling this call more sacred than any 
 other. She preached in all parts of the country, from 
 Maine to California, from Minnesota to Louisiana; but the 
 pulpit in which she felt most truly at home was that of the 
 Church of the Disciples. Mr. Clarke had first welcomed her 
 there: his successor, Charles Gordon Ames, became in turn 
 her valued friend and pastor. 
 
 The congregation were all her friends. On Sundays they 
 gathered round her after service, with greetings and kind 
 words. She was ready enough to respond. 'Congregation- 
 ing,' as she called this little function, was her delight; after 
 listening devoutly to the sermon, there was always a reaction 
 to her gayest mood. Her spirit came to church with folded 
 hands of prayer, but departed on dancing feet. Sometimes 
 she reproached herself with over-f riskiness ; but mostly she 
 was too wise for this, and let the sun shine when and where 
 it would. 
 
 She preached many times in the Church of the Disciples. 
 The white-clad figure, the clasped hands, the upturned face 
 shining with the inner light, will be remembered by some 
 who read these pages. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 EUROPE REVISITED 
 1877; aet. 58 
 
 From the time of the Doctor's death till her marriage in 
 1887, the youngest daughter was her mother's companion and 
 yoke-fellow. In all records of travel, of cheer, of merriment, 
 she can say thankfully: 'Et ego in Arcadia vixi.' 
 
 The spring of 1877 found the elder comrade weary with 
 much lecturing and presiding, the younger somewhat out of 
 health. Change of air and scene was prescribed and the two 
 sailed for Europe early in May. 
 
 Throughout the journeyings which followed, our mother 
 had two objects in view: to see her own kind of people, the 
 seekers, the students, the reformers, and their works; and to 
 give Maud the most vivid first impression of all that would 
 be interesting and valuable to her. These objects were not 
 always easy to combine. 
 
 After a few days at Chester (where she laments the 
 'restoration' of the fine old oak of the cathedral, 'now shin- 
 ing like new, after a boiling in potash') and a glimpse of 
 Hawarden and Warwick, they proceeded to London and 
 took lodgings in Bloomsbury (a quarter of high fashion 
 when she first knew London, now given over to lodgings). 
 Once settled, she lost no time in establishing relations with 
 friends old and new. The Unitarian Association was hold- 
 ing its annual conference; one of the first entries in the 
 Journal tells of her attending the Unitarian breakfast where 
 she spoke about 'the poor children and the Sunday schools.' 
 
 Among her earliest visitors was Charles Stewart Parnell, 
 of whom she says : — 
 
 'Mrs. Delia Stewart Parnell, whom I had known in 
 America, had given me a letter of introduction to her son, 
 Charles, who was already conspicuous as an advocate of 
 Home Rule for Ireland. He called upon me and appointed 
 
212 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 a day when I should go with him to the House of Commons. 
 He came in his brougham and saw me safely deposited in 
 the ladies' gallery. He was then at the outset of his stormy 
 career, and his sister Fanny told me that he had in Parliament 
 but one supporter of his views, "a man named Biggar." He 
 certainly had admirers elsewhere, for I remember having 
 met a disciple of his, O'Connor by name, at a "rout" given 
 by Mrs. Justin McCarthy. I asked this lady if her husband 
 agreed with Mr. Parnell. She replied with warmth, "Of 
 course; we are all Home Rulers here." ' 
 
 Whistler was of the party that evening. His hair was 
 then quite black, and the curious white forelock which he 
 wore combed high like a feather, together with his striking 
 dress, made him one of the most conspicuous figures in the 
 London of that day. Henry Irving came in late: 'A rather 
 awkward man, whose performance of "Hamlet" was much 
 talked of at that time.' She met the Schliemanns often, and 
 heard Mrs. Schliemann speak before the Royal Geograph- 
 ical Society, where she made a plea for the modern pro- 
 nunciation of Greek. In order to help her husband in his 
 work, Mrs. Schliemann told her, she had committed to mem- 
 ory long passages from Homer which proved of great use to 
 him in his researches at Mycenae and Tiryns. 
 
 'June 2. Westminster Abbey at 2 p.m. ... I enjoyed the 
 service, Mendelssohn's "Hymn of Praise," Dean Stanley's 
 sermon, and so on, very unusually. Edward Twisleton 
 seemed to come back to me, and so did dear Chev, and a 
 spiritual host of blessed ones who have passed within the 
 veil. . . .' 
 
 'June 14. Breakfast with Mr. Gladstone. Grosvenor 
 Gallery with the Seeleys. Prayer meeting at Lady Gains- 
 borough's. 
 
 'We were a little early, for Mrs. Gladstone complained 
 that the flowers ordered from her country seat had but just 
 arrived. A daughter of the house proceeded to arrange 
 them. Breakfast was served at two round tables, exactly 
 alike. 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 213 
 
 'I was glad to find myself seated between the great man and 
 the Greek minister, John Cennadius. The talk ran a good 
 deal upon Hellenics, and I spoke of the influence of the 
 Greek in the formation of the Italian language, to which 
 Mr. Gladstone did not agree. I know that scholars differ on 
 the point, but I still retain the opinion I expressed. I ven- 
 tured a timid remark regarding the number of Greek deriva- 
 tives used in our common English speech. Mr. Gladstone 
 said very abruptly, "How? What? English words derived 
 from Greek?" and almost 
 
 ' "Frightened Miss Muffet away." 
 
 'He is said to be habitually disputatious, and I thought 
 that this must certainly be the case; for he surely knew 
 better than most people how largely and familiarly we 
 incorporate the words of Plato, Aristotle, and Xenophon in 
 our everyday talk.' 1 
 
 Mr. Gladstone was still playing the first role on the stage 
 of London life. Our mother notes hearing him open the 
 discussion that followed Mrs. Schliemann's address before 
 the Royal Geographical Society. Lord Rosebery, who was 
 at that time Mr. Gladstone's private secretary, talked much 
 of his chief, for whom he expressed impassioned devotion. 
 Rosebery, though he must have been a man past thirty at 
 the time, looked a mere boy. His affection for 'Uncle 
 Sam' Ward was as loyal as that for his chief, and it was on 
 his account that he paid our mother some attention when she 
 was in London. 
 
 She always remembered this visit as one of the most 
 interesting of the many she made to the 'province in brick.' 
 She was driving three horses abreast, — her own life, Maud's 
 life, the life of London. She often spoke of the great inter- 
 est of seeing so many different circles of London society; 
 likening it to a layer cake, which a fortunate stranger is able 
 to cut through, enjoying a little of each. Her modest Blooms- 
 bury lodgings were often crowded by the leaders of the world 
 1 Reminiscences, pp. 411 and 412. 
 
214 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of letters, philanthropy, and art, and some even of the 
 world of fashion. The little lodging-house 'slavey' was 
 often awed by the titles on the cards she invariably presented 
 between a work-worn thumb and finger. It is curious to 
 contrast the brief record of these days with that of the Peace 
 Crusade. 
 
 She remembered with pleasure an evening spent with the 
 Duke and Duchess of Devonshire at Devonshire House. A 
 ball at Mr. Goschen's was another evening of enchantment, 
 as was also the dinner given for her at Greenwich by Edmund 
 Yates, where she had a good talk with Mr. Mallock, whose 
 'New Republic' was one of the books of that season. She 
 managed, too, sometimes to be at home; among her visitors 
 were William Black, John Richard Green, and Mr. Knowles, 
 editor of the 'Nineteenth Century.' 
 
 The London visit lasted nearly two months; as the engage- 
 ments multiply, its records grow briefer and briefer. There 
 are many entries like the following: — 
 
 'Breakfast with Lord Houghton, where met Lord Granville 
 and M. Waddington, late Minister of Education in France. 
 Garden party at Chiswick in the afternoon. Prince of Wales 
 there with his eldest son, Prince Albert Victor. Mrs. Julian 
 Goldsmith's ball in the evening.' 
 
 It is remembered that she bravely watched the dancers 
 foot it through the livelong night, and drove home by day- 
 light, with her 'poor dancing Maud' ! 
 
 Madame Waddington was formerly Miss King, the grand- 
 daughter of Mr. Ward's old partner. Our mother was always 
 interested in meeting any descendants of Prime, Ward & 
 
 King- . 
 
 With all this, she was writing letters for the Chicago 
 
 'Tribune' and the 'Woman's Journal.' This year of 1877 
 saw the height of the ^Esthetic movement. Mrs. Langtry, the 
 'Jersey Lily,' was the beauty and toast of the season. Gil- 
 bert and Sullivan's 'Patience' was the dramatic hit of the 
 year, and 'Greenery yallery, Grosvenor Gallery' the most 
 popular catch of the day. 
 
 She found it hard to tear herself away from England; the 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 215 
 
 visit (which she likened to one at the house of an adored 
 grandmother) was over all too soon. But July was almost 
 gone; and the two travellers finally left the enchanted island 
 for Holland, recalling Emerson's advice to one going abroad 
 for the first time: 'A year for England, and a year for the 
 rest of the world!' 
 
 The much neglected Journal now takes up the story. 
 
 The great Franz Hals pictures delighted her beyond 
 measure. She always bought the best reproductions she 
 could afford, and valued highly an etching that she owned 
 from his Bohemienne. She never waited for any authority 
 to admire either a work of art or a person. She had much 
 to say about the influence of the Dutch blood both in our 
 own family and in our country, which was to her merely a 
 larger family connection. All through Holland she was con- 
 stantly noting customs and traditions which we seemed to 
 have inherited; and she felt a great likeness and sympathy 
 between herself and some of the Dutch people she knew. 
 
 'The Hague. To the old prison where the instruments of 
 torture are preserved. The prison itself is so dark and bare 
 that to stay therein was a living death. To this was often 
 added the most cruel torture. The poor wretch was stretched 
 on a cross, on which revolving wheels, turned by a crank, 
 agonized and destroyed his spinal column — or, by another 
 machine, his head and feet were drawn in opposite direc- 
 tions — or, his limbs were stretched out and every bone broken 
 with an iron bar. Tortures of fire and water were added. 
 Through all these horrors, I saw the splendors of faith and 
 conscience which illuminated these dungeons, and which 
 enabled frail humanity to bear these inflictions without 
 flinching.' 
 
 She always wanted to see the torture chambers. She 
 listened to all the detailed explanations and looked at all the 
 dreadful instruments, buoyed up by the thought of the splen- 
 dors she speaks of, when mere shrinking flesh-and-blood 
 creatures like her companion, who only thought of the poor 
 tortured bodies, could not bear the strain of it. 
 
216 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 From The Hague they went to Amsterdam, where they 
 'worked hard at seeing the rich museum, which contains 
 some of the largest and best of Rembrandt's pictures, and 
 much else of interest'; thence to Antwerp. Here she writes: — 
 
 'To the Museum, where saw the glorious Rubens and Van 
 Dycks, together with the Quentin Matsys triptych. Went 
 to the Cathedral, and saw the dear Rubens pictures — my 
 Christ in the Elevation of the Cross seemed to me as wonder- 
 ful as ever. The face asks, "Why hast thou forsaken me?" 
 but seems also to reflect the answer, from the very counte- 
 nance of the Father. Education of the Virgin by Rubens — 
 angels hold a garland above the studious head of the young 
 Madonna. This would be a good picture for Vassar.' 
 
 This journey across Europe was undertaken solely for 
 the pleasure of seeing her sister, always her first object in 
 visiting Europe. The bond between them was very strong, 
 spite of the wide difference of their natures and the dissimi- 
 larity of their interests. Mrs. Terry was now visiting her 
 eldest daughter, Annie Crawford, married to Baron Eric von 
 Rabe and living at Lesnian in German Poland. Baron Eric 
 had served in the Franco-Prussian War with distinction, 
 had been seriously wounded, and obliged to retire from 
 active service. Here was an entirely new social atmosphere, 
 the most conservative in Europe. Even before the travellers 
 arrived, the shadow of formality had fallen upon them; for 
 Mrs. Terry had written begging that they would arrive by 
 'first class'! At that time the saying was, 'Only princes, 
 Americans, and fools travel first-class,' and our mother's rule 
 had been to travel second. The journey was already a great 
 expense, and the added cost seemed to her useless. Accord- 
 ingly, she bought second-class tickets to a neighboring station 
 and first-class ones from there to Czerwinsk. This entailed 
 turning out in the middle of the night and waiting an hour 
 for the splendid express carrying the stiff and magnificently 
 upholstered first-class carriages, whose red plush seats and 
 cushions were nothing like so comfortable as the old grey, 
 cloth-lined, second-class carriages! 
 
 Still, the travellers arrived looking as proud as they could, 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 217 
 
 wearing their best frocks and bonnets. They travelled with 
 the Englishwoman's outfit. Three suits. Hightum, tightum, 
 and scrub.' 'Hightum' was for any chance festivity, 'tightum' 
 for the table d'hote, 'scrub' for everyday travelling. The 
 question of the three degrees was anxiously discussed on 
 this occasion; it was finally decided that only 'hightum' 
 would come up to the Von Rabe standard. 
 
 ' August 4. Arrived at Czerwinsk, where sister L. and 
 Baron von Rabe met us. He kissed my hand in a courtly 
 manner. My sister looks well, but has had a hard time. We 
 drove to Lesnian where Annie von R. and her mother-in-law 
 made us welcome.' 
 
 'August 12. Up early — to Czerwinsk and thence by 
 Dirschau to Marienburg to see the famous Ritterschloss of 
 
 the Teutonic Knights Marien-Kirch. . . . Angel Michael 
 
 weighing the souls, a triptych — the good in right wing re- 
 ceived by St. Peter and clothed by angels, the wicked in the 
 other wing going down. The beautiful sheen of the Arch- 
 angel — like peacock brightness — a devil with butterfly wings.' 
 
 ' August 14. In the church yesterday we were shown five 
 holes in a flat tombstone. They say that a parricide was 
 buried beneath this stone, and the fingers of his hand forced 
 themselves through these holes. They showed us this hand, 
 dried, and hung up in a chapel. Here also we saw a piece 
 of embroidery in fine pearls, formerly belonging to the 
 Catholic service, and worth thousands of dollars. Some 
 very ancient priests' garments, with Arabic designs, were said 
 to have been brought from the East by the Crusaders. An 
 astronomic clock is shown in the church. The man who made 
 it set about making another, but was made blind lest he should 
 do so. By and by, pretending that he must repair or regulate 
 something in the clock, he so puts it out of order that it 
 never goes again. 
 
 'The amber-merchant — the felt shoes — views of America 
 — the lecture — the Baltic' 
 
 She was enchanted with Dantzig. The ancient Polish 
 Jews in their long cloth gabardines, with their hair dressed 
 
218 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 in two curls worn in front of the ear and hanging down on 
 either side of the face, showed her how Shylock must have 
 looked. She was far more interested in the relics of the old 
 Polish civilization than in the crude, brand-new Prussian 
 regime which was replacing it; but this did not suit her hosts. 
 The peasants who worked on the estate were all Poles; the 
 relations between them and their employer smacked strongly 
 of serfdom. 
 
 One of the picturesque features of the visit was the celebra- 
 tion of Baron Eric's birthday. It was a general holiday, and 
 no work was done on the estate. After breakfast family and 
 guests assembled in front of the old chateau; the baron, a fine, 
 soldierly-looking man, his wife, the most graceful of women, 
 and the only daughter, a lovely little girl with the well- 
 chiselled Crawford features. The peasants, dressed in their 
 best, assembled in procession in the driveway; one by one, 
 in order of their age or position, they came up the steps, 
 presented the Baroness with a bouquet, bent the knee and 
 kissed the hand of Baron and Baroness. To most of the 
 guests the picture was full of Old- World romance and charm. 
 To one it was an offence. That the granddaughter of her 
 father, the child of her adored sister, should have been 
 placed by fate in this feudal relationship to the men and 
 women by whose labor she lived outraged her democratic 
 soul. 
 
 The Journal thus describes the days at Lesnian: — 
 'The Baron talked much last evening, first about his crops, 
 then about other matters. He believes duelling to be the 
 most efficient agency in promoting a polite state of society. 
 Would kill any one whom he suspected of great wrong much 
 sooner than bring him to justice. The law, he says, is slow 
 and uncertain — the decision of the sword much more effect- 
 ual. The present Government favors duelling. If he should 
 kill some one in a duel, he would have two months of im- 
 prisonment only. He despises the English as a nation of 
 merchants. The old German knights seem to be his models. 
 With these barbarous opinions, he seems to be personally an 
 amiable and estimable man. Despises University education, 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 219 
 
 in whose course he might have come in contact with the son 
 of a carpenter, or small shopkeeper — he himself went to a 
 Gymnase, with sons of gentlemen. . . .' 
 
 'Everything in the Junkerschaft 1 bristles for another war. 
 Oscar von Rabe's room, in which I now write, contains only 
 books of military drill. 
 
 In one of her letters to the Chicago 'Tribune' is a significant 
 passage written from Lesnian: — 
 
 'Having seen in one of the Dantzig papers the announce- 
 ment that a certain Professor Blank would soon deliver a 
 lecture upon America, showing the folly of headlong emigra- 
 tion thither and the ill fortune which many have wrought for 
 themselves thereby, one of us remarked to a Dantziger that 
 in such a lecture many untruths would probably be uttered. 
 Our friend replied, with a self-gratulatory laugh, 'Ah, 
 Madame! We Germans know all about the women of 
 America. A German woman is devoted to her household, 
 its care and management; but the American women all force 
 their husbands to live in hotels in order that they may have 
 no trouble in housekeeping." ' 
 
 She was as sensitive to criticism of her country as some 
 people are to criticism of their friends. Throughout her stay 
 in Germany she suffered from the captious and provoking 
 tone of the Prussian press about things American. 
 
 The stab was from a two-edged sword; she loved pro- 
 foundly the great German writers and composers. She was 
 ever conscious of the debt she owed to Germany's poets, 
 philosophers, and musicians. Goethe had been one of her 
 earliest sources of inspiration, Kant her guide through many 
 troublous years; Beethoven was like some great friend whose 
 hand had led her along the heights, when her feet were 
 bleeding from the stones of the valley. These were the Ger- 
 mans she knew; her Germany was theirs. Now she came 
 in contact with this new Junker Germany, this harsh, military, 
 unlovely country where Bismarck was the ruling spirit, and 
 Von Moltke the idol of the hour. It was a rough awakening 
 x Tlie Prussian aristocracy. 
 
220 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 for one who had lived in the gentler Fatherland of Schiller 
 and of Schubert. 
 
 'August 31, Berlin. Up early, and with carriage to see 
 
 the review A great military display. The Emperor 
 
 punctual at 10. "Guten Morgen!" shouted the troops when 
 he came. The Crown Princess on horseback with a blue 
 badge, Hussar cap. The kettle-drum man had his reins 
 hitched, one on either foot, guiding his horse in this way, and 
 beating his drums with both hands. . . .' 
 
 The Crown Princess, later the Empress Frederick, 
 daughter of Queen Victoria, and mother of the present 
 German Emperor, was the honorary colonel of the hussar 
 regiment whose uniform she wore, with the addition of a 
 plain black riding-skirt. Civilization owes this lady a debt 
 that cannot be paid save in grateful remembrance. Dur- 
 ing the Franco-Prussian War she frequently telegraphed to 
 the German officers commanding in France, urging them to 
 spare the works of art in the conquered country. Through 
 her efforts the studios of Rosa Bonheur and other famous 
 painters escaped destruction. 
 
 The early part of September was spent in Switzerland. 
 Chamounix filled the travellers with delight. They walked 
 up the Brevant, rode to the Mer de Glace on muleback. The 
 great feature, however, of this visit to Switzerland was the 
 Geneva Congress, called by Mrs. Josephine Butler to protest 
 against the legalizing of vice in England. 
 
 'At the Congress to-day — spoke in French. ... I spoke of 
 the two sides, active and passive, of human nature, and of 
 the tendency of the education given to women to exaggerate 
 the passive side of their character, whereby they easily fall 
 victims to temptation. Spoke of the exercise of the intellect- 
 ual faculties as correcting these tendencies — education of 
 women in America — progress made. Coeducation and the 
 worthier relations it induces between young men and women. 
 Said, where society thinks little of women, it teaches them 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 221 
 
 to think of themselves. Said Milton of marriage, that Milton's 
 doctrine, "He for God only, she for God in him," was partial 
 and unjust. "Ce Dieu, il faut le mettre entre les deux, de 
 maniere que chacun des deux appartienne premierement a 
 Dieu, puis tous les deux I'un a V autre" ' 
 
 'Congress. . . . Just before the end of the meeting Mr. 
 Stuart came to me and said that Mrs. Butler wished me to 
 speak for five minutes. After some hesitation I said that I 
 would try. Felt much annoyed at being asked so late. Went up 
 to the platform and did pretty well in French. The audience 
 applauded, laughing a little at some points. In fact, my 
 little speech was a decided success with the French-speaking 
 part of the audience. Two or three Englishwomen who un- 
 derstood very little of it found fault with me for occasioning 
 laughter. To the banquet. . . .' 
 
 In spite of some slight criticisms on the management of 
 this Congress, she was heart and soul in sympathy with its 
 object; and until the last day of her life, never ceased to 
 battle for the higher morality which at all costs protests 
 against the legalizing of vice. 
 
 Before leaving Geneva she writes : — 
 
 'To Ferney in omnibus. The little church with its inscrip- 
 tion "Deo erexit Voltaire," and the date. ... I remember 
 visiting Ferney with dear Chev; remember that he did not 
 wish me to see the model [of Madame Du Chatelet's monu- 
 ment] lest it should give me gloomy thoughts about my con- 
 dition — she died in childbirth, and the design represents her 
 with her infant bursting the tomb.' 
 
 October found the travellers in Paris, the elder still intent 
 on affairs of study and reform, the younger grasping eagerly 
 at each new wonder or beauty. 
 
 There were meetings of the Academy of Fine Arts, the 
 Institute of France, the Court of Assizes: teachers' meetings, 
 too, and dinners with deaconesses (whom she found a pleas- 
 ant combination of cheerfulness and gravity), and with 
 friends who took her to the theatre. 
 
222 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 An essay on Paris, written soon after, recalls further 
 memories. She visited the French Parliament, and was sur- 
 prised at the noise and excitement which prevailed. 
 
 'The presiding officer agitates his bell again and again, to 
 no purpose. He constantly cries, in piteous tone: "Gentle- 
 men, a little silence, if you please." ' 
 
 She tells how 'one of the ushers with great pride pointed 
 out Victor Hugo in his seat,' and says further: 
 
 'I have seen this venerable man of letters several times, 
 — once in his own house. . . . We were first shown into an 
 anteroom, and presently into a small drawing-room. The 
 venerable viscount kissed my hand . . . with the courtesy be- 
 longing to other times. He was of middle height, reasonably 
 stout. His eyes were dark and expressive, and his hair and 
 beard were snow-white. Several guests were present. . . . 
 Victor Hugo seated himself alone upon a sofa, and talked 
 to no one. While the rest of the company kept up a desultory 
 conversation, a servant announced M. Louis Blanc, and our 
 expectations were raised only to be immediately lowered, for 
 at this announcement Victor Hugo arose and withdrew into 
 another room, from which we were able to hear the two 
 voices in earnest conversation. . . .' 
 
 'November 27. Packing to leave Paris to-night for Turin. 
 The blanks left in my diary do not mark idle days. I have 
 been exceedingly busy, . . . have written at least five news- 
 paper letters, and some other correspondence. Grieved this 
 morning over the time wasted at shop windows, in desiring 
 foolish articles which I could not afford to buy, especially 
 diamonds, which I do not need for my way of life. Yet I 
 have had more good from my stay in Paris than this empty 
 Journal would indicate. Have seen many earnest men and 
 women — have delivered a lecture in French — have started a 
 club of English and American women students, for which 
 Dea gratias! Farewell, dear Paris, God keep and save thee!' 
 
 During this visit to Paris, our mother consorted largely 
 with the men and women she had met at the Geneva Congress. 
 She takes leave of Paris with these words: 'Better than the 
 
EUROPE REVISITED 223 
 
 filled trunk and empty purse, which usually mark a return 
 from Paris, will be a full heart and a hand clasping across 
 the water another hand pure and resolute as itself.' 
 
 The two comrades journeyed southward by way of Turin, 
 Milan, and Verona. Of the last place the Journal says : — 
 
 'Busy in Verona — first, amphitheatre, with its numerous 
 cells, those of the wild beasts wholesomely lighted and aired, 
 those of the prisoners, dark and noisome and often without 
 light of any kind. . . . Then to the tombs of the Scaligers — 
 grim and beautiful. Can Signoria who killed his brother 
 was the last. Can Grande, Dante's host.' 
 
 In Verona she was full of visions of the great poet whose 
 exile she describes in the poem called, "The Price of the 
 Divina Commedia.' One who met her there remembers the 
 extraordinary vividness of her impressions. It was as if she 
 had seen and talked with Dante, had heard from his own lips 
 how hard it was to eat the salt and go up and down the stairs 
 of others. 
 
 From Verona to Venice, thence to Bologna. Venice was 
 an old friend always revisited with delight. Bologna was new 
 to her; here she found traces of the notable women of its 
 past. In the University she was shown the recitation room 
 where the beautiful female professor of anatomy is said 
 to have given her lectures from behind a curtain, in order 
 that the students' attention should not be distracted from her 
 words of wisdom by her beauty. In the picture gallery she 
 found out the work of Elisabetta Sirani, one of the good 
 painters of the Bolognese school. 
 
 And now, after twenty-seven years, her road led once more 
 to Rome. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A ROMAN WINTER 
 1878-1879; aet. 59-60 
 
 The travellers arrived in Rome in good time for the 
 Christmas dinner at Palazzo Odescalchi, where they found 
 the Terrys and Marion Crawford. On December 31 our 
 mother writes : — 
 
 'The last day of a year whose beginning found me full of 
 work and fatigue. Beginning for me in a Western railway 
 car, it ends in a Roman palace — a long stretch of travel lying 
 between. Let me here record that this year has brought me 
 much good and pleasure, as well as some regrets. My 
 European tour was undertaken for dear Maud's sake. It 
 took me away from the dear ones at home, and from oppor- 
 tunities of work which I should have prized highly. I was 
 President of the Woman's Congress, and to be absent not 
 only from its meeting, but also from its preparatory work, 
 caused me great regret. On the other hand, I saw delightful 
 people in England, and have seen, besides the old remem- 
 bered delights, many places which I never visited before. . . . 
 I am now with my dear sister, around whom the shadows 
 of existence deepen. I am glad to be with her; though I can 
 do so little for her, she is doing very much for me.' 
 
 This was a season of extraordinary interest to one who 
 had always loved Italy and pleaded for a generous policy 
 toward her. Early in January it became known that King 
 Victor Emanuel was dying. At the Vatican his life-long 
 adversary Pius IX was wasting away with a mortal disease. 
 It was a time of suspense. The two had fought a long and 
 obstinate duel: which of them, people asked, would yield 
 first to the conqueror on the pale horse? There were those 
 among the 'Blacks' of Rome, who would have denied the 
 last sacrament to the dying King. 'No!' said Pio Nono; 'he 
 
A ROMAN WINTER 225 
 
 has always been a good Catholic; he shall not die without the 
 sacrament!' On the 9th of January the King died, and 
 'the ransomed land mourned its sovereign as with one heart.' 1 
 
 'January 12. Have just been to see the new King 
 [Umberto I] review the troops, and receive the oath of 
 allegiance from the army. The King's horse was a fine light 
 sorrel — he in full uniform, with light blue trousers. In 
 Piazza del Independenza. We at the American Consulate. 
 Much acclamation and waving of handkerchiefs. Went at 5 
 in the afternoon to see the dead King lying in state. His 
 body was shown set on an inclined plane, the foreshortening 
 disfigured his poor face dreadfully, making his heavy mous- 
 tache to look as if it were his eyebrows. Behind him a beauti- 
 ful ermine canopy reached nearly to the ceiling — below him 
 the crown and sceptre on a cushion. Castellani's beautiful 
 gold crown is to be buried with him.' 
 
 She says of the funeral : — 
 
 'The monarch's remains were borne in a crimson coach of 
 state, drawn by six horses. His own favorite war-horse fol- 
 lowed, veiled in crape, the stirrups holding the King's boots 
 and spurs, turned backward. Nobles and servants of great 
 houses in brilliant costumes, bareheaded, carrying in their 
 hands lighted torches of wax. ... As the cortege swept by, I 
 dropped my tribute of flowers. 1 . . .' 
 
 'January 19. To Parliament, to see the mutual taking of 
 oaths between the new King and the Parliament. Had diffi- 
 culty in getting in. Sat on carpeted stair near Mrs. Carson. 
 Queen came at two in the afternoon. Sat in a loggia orna- 
 mented with red velvet and gold. Her entrance much 
 applauded. With her the little Prince of Naples, 2 her son; 
 the Queen of Portugal, her sister-in-law; and Prince of 
 Portugal, son of the latter. The King entered soon after two 
 — he took the oath standing bareheaded, then signed some 
 record of it. The oath was then administered to Prince 
 Amadeo and Prince de Carignan, then in alphabetical order 
 to the Senate and afterwards to the Deputies.' 
 
 1 Reminiscences, p. 423. "The present King, Victor Emanuel III. 
 
226 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 A month later, Pio Nono laid down the burden of his years. 
 She says of this: — 
 
 'Pope Pius IX had reigned too long to be deeply mourned 
 by his spiritual subjects, one of whom remarked in answer 
 to condolence, "I should think he had lived long enough!" ' 
 
 The winter passed swift as a dream, though not without 
 anxieties. Roman fever was then the bane of American 
 travellers, and while she herself suffered only from a slight 
 indisposition, Maud was seriously ill. 
 
 One of the great pleasures of this Roman visit was the 
 presence of her nephew Francis Marion Crawford. He was 
 then twenty-three years old, and extremely handsome; some 
 people thought him like the famous bas-relief of Antinous at 
 the Villa Albano. The most genial and companionable of 
 men, he devoted himself to his aunt and was her guide to the 
 trattoria where Goethe used to dine, to Tasso's Oak, to the 
 innumerable haunts dedicated to the poets of every age, who 
 have left their impress on the Eternal City. 
 
 Our mother always loved acting. Her nearest approach 
 to a professional appearance took place this winter. Madame 
 Ristori was in Rome, and had promised to read at an enter- 
 tainment in aid of some charity. She chose for her selection 
 the scene from 'Maria Stuart' where the unhappy Queen of 
 Scots meets Elizabeth and after a fierce altercation triumphs 
 over her. At the last moment the lady who was to imperson- 
 ate Elizabeth fell ill. What was to be done? Some one sug- 
 gested, 'Mrs. Howe!' The 'Reminiscences' tell how she was 
 'pressed into the service,' and how the last rehearsal was 
 held while the musical part of the entertainment was going 
 on. 'Madame Ristori made me repeat my part several times, 
 insisting that my manner was too reserved and would make 
 hers appear extravagant. I did my best to conform to her 
 wishes, and the reading was duly applauded.' 1 
 
 Another performance was arranged in which Madame 
 Ristori gave the sleep-walking scene from 'Macbeth.' The 
 question arose as to who should take the part of the attendant. 
 
 1 Reminiscences, p. 425. 
 
A ROMAN WINTER 227 
 
 'Why not your sister?' said Ristori to Mrs. Terry. 'No one 
 could do it better!' 
 
 In the spring, the travellers made a short tour in southern 
 Italy. 
 
 The summer was spent in France; in November they sailed 
 for Egypt. 
 
 'We were to have had an audience from the third Princess 1 
 this afternoon, and were nearly dressed for the palace when 
 we were informed that the reception would take place to- 
 morrow, when there will be a general reception, it being the 
 first day of Bairam. Visit on donkey-back to the bazaars, and 
 gallop; sunset most beautiful.' 
 
 'Up early, and all agog for the palace. I wore my black 
 velvet and all my [few] diamonds, also a white bonnet made 
 by Julia McAllister 2 and trimmed with her lace and Miss 
 Irwin's white lilacs. General Stone sent his carriage with 
 sais richly dressed. Reception was at Abdin Palace — row of 
 black eunuchs outside, very grimy in aspect. Only women 
 inside — dresses of bright pink and yellow satin, of orange 
 silk, blue, lilac, white satin. Lady in waiting in blue silk 
 and diamonds. In the hall they made us sit down, and 
 brought us cigarettes in gilt saucers. We took a whiff, then 
 went to the lady in waiting who took us into the room where 
 the three princesses were waiting to receive us. They shook 
 hands with us and made us sit down, seating themselves also. 
 First and second Princesses on a sofa, I at their right in a 
 fauteuil, on the left the third Princess. First in white bro- 
 caded satin, pattern very bright, pink flowers with green 
 leaves. Second wore a Worth dress of corn brocade, trimmed 
 with claret velvet; third in blue silk. All in stupendous 
 diamonds. Chibouks brought which reached to the floor. 
 We smoke, I poorly, — mine was badly lighted, — an attendant 
 in satin brought a fresh coal and then the third Princess told 
 me it was all right. Coffee in porcelain cups, the stands all 
 studded with diamonds. Conversation rather awkward. Car- 
 ried on by myself and the third Princess, who interpreted to 
 
 1 A favorite wife of the Khedive. 2 A cousin who was at the party. 
 
228 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 the others. Where should we go from Cairo? Up the Nile, 
 in January to Constantinople.' 
 
 'Achmed took me to see the women dance, in a house 
 where a wedding is soon to take place. Dancing done by a 
 one-eyed woman in purple and gold brocade — house large, 
 but grimy with dirt and neglect. Men all in one room, 
 women in another — several of them one-eyed, the singer blind 
 — only instruments the earthenware drum and castanets 
 worn like rings on the upper joints of the fingers. Arab cafe 
 — the story-teller, the one-stringed violin. . . .' 
 
 'To the ball at the Abdin Palace. The girls looked charm- 
 ingly. Maud danced all the night. The Khedive 1 made me 
 quite a speech. He is a short, thickset man, looking about 
 fifty, with grizzled hair and beard. He wore a fez, Frank 
 dress, and a star on his breast. Tewfik Pasha, his son and 
 heir, was similarly dressed. Consul Farman presented me 
 to both of them. The suite of rooms is very handsome, but 
 this is not the finest of the Khedive's palaces. Did not get 
 home much before four in the morning. In the afternoon had 
 visited the mosque of Sultan Abdul Hassan. . . .' 
 
 After Cairo came a trip up the Nile, with all its glories and 
 discomforts. Between marvel and marvel she read Herod- 
 otus and Mariette Bey assiduously. 
 
 'Christmas Day. Cool wind. Native reis of the boat has 
 a brown woollen capote over his blue cotton gown, the hood 
 drawn over his turban. A Christmas service. Rev. Mr. 
 Stovin, English, read the lessons for the day and the litany. 
 We sang "Nearer, my God, to Thee," and "Hark, the herald 
 angels sing." It was a good little time. My thoughts flew 
 back to Theodore Parker, who loved this [first] hymn, and 
 in whose "meeting" I first heard it. Upper deck dressed 
 with palms — waiters in their best clothes. . . .' 
 
 'To-day visited Assiout, where we arrived soon after ten 
 in the morning. Donkey-ride delightful, visit to the bazaar. 
 Two very nice youths found us out, pupils of the American 
 Mission. One of these said, "I also am Christianity." Chris- 
 
 1 Ismail Pasha. 
 
A ROMAN WINTER 229 
 
 tian pupils more than one hundred. Several Moslem pupils 
 have embraced Christianity. . . . This morning had a very 
 sober season, lying awake before dawn, and thinking over 
 this extravagant journey, which threatens to cause me serious 
 embarrassment.' 
 
 And again: — 
 
 'The last day of the year in which I have enjoyed many 
 things, wonderful new sights and impressions, new friends. 
 I have not been able to do much useful work, but hope to do 
 better work hereafter for what this year has shown me. Still 
 I have spoken four times in public, each time with labor and 
 preparation — and have advocated the causes of woman's edu- 
 cation, equal rights and equal laws for men and women. 
 My heart greatly regrets that I have not done better, during 
 these twelve months. Must always hope for the new year.' 
 
 The record of the new year (1879) begins with the usual 
 aspirations : — 
 
 'May every minute of this year be improved by me! This 
 is too much to hope, but not too much to pray for. And I 
 determine this year to pass no day without actual prayer, the 
 want of which I have felt during the year just past. Busy all 
 day, writing, washing handkerchiefs, and reading Herodotus.' 
 
 On January 2, she 'visited Blind School with General 
 Stone — Osny Effendi, Principal. Many trades and handi- 
 crafts — straw matting, boys — boys and girls weaving at hand 
 loom — girls spinning wool and flax, crochet and knitting — 
 a lesson in geography. Turning lathe — bought a cup of 
 rhinoceros horn.' 
 
 On January 4 she is 'sad to leave Egypt — dear beautiful 
 country!' 
 
 'Jerusalem, January 5. I write in view of the Mount of 
 Olives, which glows in the softest sunset light, the pale 
 moon showing high in the sky. Christ has been here — here 
 — has looked with his bodily eyes on this fair prospect. The 
 thought ought to be overpowering — is inconceivable.' 
 
 ' January 9. In the saddle by half past eight in the morn- 
 ing. Rode two hours, to Bethlehem. Convent — Catholic. 
 Children at the school. Boy with a fine head, Abib. In the 
 
230 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 afternoon mounted again and rode in sight of the Dead Sea. 
 Mountains inexpressibly desolate and grand. Route very 
 rough, and in some places rather dangerous. . . . Grotto of the 
 Nativity — place of the birth — manger where the little Christ 
 was laid. Tomb of St. Jerome. Tombs of two ladies who 
 were friends of the Saint. Later the plains of Boaz, which 
 also [is] that where the shepherds heard the angels. En- 
 camped at Marsaba. Greek convent near by receives men 
 only. An old monk brought some of the handiwork of the 
 brethren for sale. I bought a stamp for flat cakes, curiously 
 cut in wood. We dined luxuriously, having a saloon tent 
 and an excellent cook. . . . Good beds, but I lay awake a good 
 deal with visions of death from the morrow's ride.' 
 
 'January 10. [In camp in the desert near Jericho.] 
 "Shoo-fly" 1 waked us at half past five banging on a tin pan 
 and singing "Shoo-fly." We rose at once and I felt my terrors 
 subside. Felt that only prayer and trust in God could carry 
 me through. We were in the saddle by seven o'clock and 
 began our perilous crossing of the hills which lead to the 
 Dead Sea. Scenery inexpressibly grand and desolate. Some 
 frightful bits of way — narrow bridle paths up and down very 
 steep places, in one place a very narrow ridge to cross, with 
 precipices on either side. I prayed constantly and so felt up- 
 lifted from the abjectness of animal fear. After a while we 
 began to have glimpses of the Dead Sea, which is beauti- 
 fully situated, shut in by high hills, quite blue in color. After 
 much mental suffering and bodily fatigue on my part we 
 arrived at the shores of the sea. Here we rested for half 
 an hour, and I lay stretched on the sands which were very 
 clean and warm! Remounted and rode to Jordan. Here, I 
 had to be assisted by two men [they lifted her bodily out of 
 the saddle and laid her on the ground] and lay on my shawl, 
 eating my luncheon in this attitude. Fell asleep here. Could 
 not stop long enough to touch the water. We rested in the 
 shade of a clump of bushes, near the place where the baptism 
 of Christ is supposed to have taken place. Our cans were 
 filled with water from this sacred stream, and I picked up a 
 
 'A negro attendant. 
 
A ROMAN WINTER 231 
 
 little bit of hollow reed, the only souvenir I could find. Re- 
 mounted and rode to Jericho. Near the banks of the Jordan 
 we met a storm of locusts, four-winged creatures which 
 annoyed our horses and flew in our faces. John the Baptist 
 probably ate such creatures. Afternoon ride much better as 
 to safety, but very fatiguing. Reached Jericho just after 
 sunset, a beautiful camping-ground. After dinner, a Bedouin 
 dance, very strange and fierce. Men and women stood in a 
 semicircle, lighted by a fire of dry thorns. They clapped 
 their hands and sang, or rather murmured, in a rhythm which 
 changed from time to time. A chief danced before them, 
 very gracefully, threatening them with his sword, with which 
 he played very skilfully. They sometimes went on their 
 knees as if imploring him to spare them. He came twice to 
 our tent and waved the sword close to our heads, saying, 
 "Taih backsheesh." The dance was like an Indian war- 
 dance — the chief made a noise just like a war-whoop of our 
 Indians. The dance lasted half an hour. The chief got his 
 backsheesh and the whole troop departed. Lay down and 
 rested in peace, knowing that the dangerous part of our 
 journey was over.' 
 
 'In Camp in the Desert. January 11. In the saddle by 
 half past seven. Rode round the site of ancient Jericho, of 
 which nothing remains but some portions of the king's high- 
 way. Ruins of a caravanserai, which is said to be the inn 
 where the good Samaritan lodged his patient. Stopped for 
 rest and luncheon, at Beth — and proceeded to Bethany, where 
 we visited the tomb of Lazarus. I did not go in — then rode 
 round the Mount of Olives and round the walls of Jerusalem, 
 arriving at half past three in the afternoon. I became very 
 stiff in my knees, could hardly be mounted on my horse, and 
 suffered much pain from my knee and abrasions of the skin 
 caused by the saddle. Did not get down at the tomb of Laza- 
 rus because I could not have descended the steps which led to 
 it, and could not have got on my horse again. When we 
 reached our hotel, I could not step without help, and my 
 strength was quite exhausted. I say to all tourists, avoid 
 Cook's dreadful hurry, and to all women, avoid Marsaba! 
 
232 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 This last day, we often met little troops of Bedouins travelling 
 on donkeys — sometimes carrying with them their cattle and 
 household goods. I saw a beautiful white and black lamb 
 carried on a donkey. Met three Bedouin horsemen with 
 long spears. One of these stretched his spear across the way 
 almost touching my face, for a joke.' 
 
 'Jerusalem. Sunday, January 12. English service. Com- 
 munion, interesting here where the rite was instituted. I was 
 very thankful for this interesting opportunity.' 
 
 'January 15. Mission hospital and schools in the morning. 
 Also Saladin's horse. Wailing place of the Jews and some 
 ancient synagogues. In the afternoon walked to Gethsemane 
 and ascended the Mount of Olives. In the first-named place, 
 sang one verse of our hymn, "Go to dark Gethsemane." Got 
 some flowers and olive leaves. . . .' 
 
 After Jerusalem came Jaffa, where she delivered an 
 address to a 'circle' at a private house. She says : — 
 
 'In Jaffa of the Crusaders, Joppa of Peter and Paul, I find 
 an American Mission School, kept by a worthy lady from 
 Rhode Island. Prominent among its points of discipline is 
 the clean-washed face, which is so enthroned in the prejudices 
 of Western civilization. One of her scholars, a youth of 
 unusual intelligence, finding himself clean, observes himself 
 to be in strong contrast with his mother's hovel, in which filth 
 is just kept clear of fever point. "Why this dirt?" quoth he; 
 "that which has made me clean will cleanse this also." So 
 without more ado, the process of scrubbing is applied to the 
 floor, without regard to the danger of so great a novelty. 
 This simple fact has its own significance, for if the innova- 
 tion of soap and water can find its way to a Jaffa hut, where 
 can the ancient, respectable, conservative dirt-devil feel him- 
 self secure?' 
 
 Apropos of mission work (in which she was a firm be- 
 liever), she loved to tell how one day in Jerusalem she was 
 surrounded by a mob of beggars, unwashed and unsavory, 
 clamoring for money, till she was well-nigh bewildered. 
 Suddenly there appeared a beautiful youth in spotless white, 
 
A ROMAN WINTER 233 
 
 who scattered the mob, took her horse's bridle, and in good 
 English offered to lead her to her hotel. It was as if an 
 angel had stepped into the narrow street. 
 
 'Who are you, dear youth?' she cried. 
 
 'I am a Christian!' was the reply. 
 
 In parting she says, 'Farewell, Holy Land! Thank God 
 that I have seen and felt it! All good come to it!' 
 
 From Palestine the way led to Cyprus ('the town very 
 muddy and bare of all interest') and Smyrna, thence to Con- 
 stantinople. Here she visited Robert College with great de- 
 light. Returning, she saw the 'Sultan going to Friday's 
 prayers. A melancholy, frightened-looking man, pale, with 
 a large, face-absorbing nose. . . .' 
 
 'February 3. Early at Piraeus. Kalopothakis 1 met us 
 there, coming on board. ... To Athens by carriage. Acrop- 
 olis as beautiful as ever. It looks small after the Egyptian 
 temples, and of course more modern — still very impres- 
 sive. . . .' 
 
 Athens, with its welcoming faces of friends, seemed almost 
 homelike after the Eastern journeyings. The Journal tells of 
 sight-seeing for the benefit of the younger traveller, and of 
 other things beside. 
 
 'Called on the Grande Maitresse at the Palace in order to 
 have cards for the ball. Saw the Schliemann relics from 
 Mycenae, and the wonderful marbles gathered in the Museum. 
 Have been writing something about these. To ball at the 
 palace in my usual sober rig, black velvet and so forth. 
 Queen very gracious to us. . . . Home by three in the morning.' 
 
 'February 12. At ten in the morning came a committee of 
 Cretan officers of the late insurrection, presenting a letter 
 through Mr. Rainieri, himself a Cretan, expressing the grati- 
 tude of the Cretans to dear Papa for his efforts in their be- 
 half. . . . Mr. Rainieri made a suitable address in French — 
 to which I replied in the same tongue. Coffee and cordial 
 were served. The occasion was of great interest. ... In the 
 1 A Gieek Protestant minister. 
 
234 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 afternoon spoke at Mrs. Felton's of the Advancement of 
 Women as promoted by association. An American dinner 
 of perhaps forty, nearly all women, Greek, but understand- 
 ing English. A good occasion. To party at Madame 
 Schliemann's.' 
 
 ''February 15. Miserable with a cold. A confused day in 
 which nothing seemed to go right. Kept losing sight of 
 papers and other things. Felt as if God could not have made 
 so bad a day — my day after all; I made it.' 
 
 'February 18. To ball at the Palace. King took Maud out 
 in the German.' 
 
 'February 21. The day for eating the roast lamb with 
 the Cretan chiefs. Went down to the Piraeus warmly wrapped 
 up. . . . Occasion most interesting. Much speech-making and 
 toasting. I mentioned Felton.' 
 
 'February 22. Dreadful day of departure. Packed 
 steadily but with constant interruptions. The Cretans called 
 upon me to present their photographs and take leave. Tried 
 a poem, failed. Had black coffee — tried another — suc- 
 ceeded. . . .' 
 
 The spring was spent in Italy. In May they came to 
 London. 
 
 'May 29. Met Mr. William Speare He told me of 
 
 his son's death, and of that of William Lloyd Garrison. Gal- 
 lant old man, unique and enviable in reputation and char- 
 acter. Who, oh! who can take his place? "Show us the 
 Father." ' 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 NEWPORT 
 1879-1882; aet. 60-63 
 
 July, 1879, found our mother at home at Oak Glen, unpack- 
 ing trunks and reading a book on the Talmud. She had met 
 the three married daughters in Boston ('We talked inces- 
 santly for seven hours,' says the Journal), and Florence and 
 Maud accompanied her to Newport, where Florence had 
 established her summer nursery. There were three Hall 
 grandchildren now, and they became an important factor in 
 the life at Oak Glen. All through the records of these sum- 
 mer days runs the patter of children's feet. 
 
 She kept only one corner of the house for her private use ; 
 a room with the north light which she then thought essential. 
 This was at once bedroom and workroom: she never had a 
 separate study or library. Here, as in Green Peace days, 
 she worked quietly and steadily. Children and grandchil- 
 dren might fill the house, might have everything it con- 
 tained: she asked only for her 'precious time.' When she 
 could not have an hour she took half an hour, a quarter, ten 
 minutes. No fragment of time was too small for her to save, 
 to invest in study or in work; and as her mind concentrated 
 instantly on the subject in hand, no such fragment was 
 wasted. The rule of mind over body was relentless: sick or 
 well, she must finish her stint before the day closed. 
 
 This summer of 1879 was a happy one. After the feverish 
 months of travel and pleasure, her delight in the soft New- 
 port climate was deeper than ever. She always felt the change 
 from the air of the mainland to that of the island, and never 
 crossed the bridge from Tiverton to Bristol Ferry without an 
 exclamation of pleasure. She used to say that the soft, cool 
 air of Newport smoothed out the tired, tangled nerves 'like 
 a silver comb'! 
 
 'July 29. To my Club, where, better than any ovation, an 
 
236 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 affectionate greeting awaited me. . . . Thucydides is very diffi- 
 cult.' 
 
 This was the Town and Country Club, for some years a 
 great interest to her. In her 'Reminiscences' she tells how in 
 a summer of the late sixties or early seventies, when Bret 
 Harte and Dr. J. G. Holland, Professors Lane and Goodwin 
 of Harvard were spending the season at Newport: 'A little 
 band of us combined to improve the beautiful summer sea- 
 son by picnics, sailing parties and household soirees, in all 
 of which these brilliant literary lights took part. Helen Hunt 
 and Kate Field were often of our company, and Colonel 
 Higginson was always with us.' 
 
 Among the frolics of that summer was the mock Com- 
 mencement, arranged by her and Professor Lane. 
 
 'I acted as President, Colonel Higginson as my aide; we 
 both marched up the aisle in Oxford caps and gowns. I 
 opened the proceedings by an address in Latin, Greek, and 
 English; and when I turned to Colonel Higginson and called 
 him "fili mihi dilectissime," he wickedly replied with three 
 bows of such comic gravity that I almost gave way to un- 
 becoming laughter. Not long before this he had published 
 a paper on the Greek goddesses. I therefore assigned as his 
 theme the problem, "How to sacrifice an Irish bull to a Greek 
 goddess." Colonel George Waring, the well-known engineer, 
 being at that time in charge of a valuable farm in the neigh- 
 borhood, was invited to discuss "Social small potatoes: how 
 to enlarge their eyes." An essay on rhinoscopy was given by 
 Fanny Fern, the which I, chalk in hand, illustrated on the 
 blackboard by the following equation : — 
 'Nose-|-nose-f-noser=proboscis. 
 Nose — nose — nose=snub. 
 
 'A class was called upon for recitations from Mother Goose 
 in seven different languages. At the head of this Professor 
 Goodwin honored us with a Greek version of the "Man in 
 the Moon." A recent Harvard graduate, Dr. Gorham Bacon, 
 recited the following, also of her composition: — 
 
NEWPORT 237 
 
 ' "Heu iterum didulum, 
 Felis cum fidulum, 
 Vacca transiluit lunam, 
 Caniculus ridet, 
 Quum tale videt, 
 Et dish ambulavit cum spoonam." 
 
 "The question being asked whether this last line was in 
 strict accordance with grammar, the scholar gave the follow- 
 ing rule: "The conditions of grammar should always give 
 way to the exigencies of rhyme." 
 
 'The delicious fooling of that unique summer was never 
 repeated. Out of it came, however, the more serious and 
 permanent association known as the Town and Country Club 
 of Newport. I felt the need of upholding the higher social 
 ideals and of not leaving true culture unrepresented, even in 
 a summer watering-place.' 
 
 With the help and advice of Professor and Mrs. William B. 
 Rogers, Colonel Higginson and Mr. Samuel Powell, a num- 
 ber of friends were called together in the early summer of 
 1874 and she laid before them the plan of the proposed club. 
 After speaking of the growing predominance of the gay and 
 fashionable element in Newport society, she said : — 
 
 'But some things can be done as well as others. Newport 
 . . . has also treasures which are still unexplored. . . . 
 
 'The milliner and the mantua-maker bring here their costly 
 goods and tempt the eye with forms and colors. But the great 
 artist, Nature, has here merchandise far more precious, 
 whose value and beauty are understood by few of us. I re- 
 member once meeting a philosopher in a jeweller's shop. 
 The master of the establishment exhibited to us his choicest 
 wares, among others a costly diamond ornament. The philos- 
 opher [we think it was Emerson] said, "A violet is more 
 beautiful." I cannot forget the disgust expressed in the 
 jeweller's face at this remark.' 
 
 She then outlined the course laid out by the 'Friends in 
 Council,' lectures on astronomy, botany, natural history, all 
 by eminent persons. They would not expect the Club to 
 meet them on their own ground. They would come to that 
 
238 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of their hearers, and would unfold to them what they were 
 able to understand. 
 
 Accordingly, Weir Mitchell discoursed to them on the 
 Poison of Serpents, John La Farge on the South Sea Islands, 
 Alexander Agassiz on Deep-Sea Dredging and the Panama 
 Canal; while Mark Twain and 'Hans Breitmann' made merry, 
 each in his own inimitable fashion. 
 
 The Town and Country Club had a long and happy career. 
 No matter what heavy work she might have on hand for the 
 summer, no sooner arrived at Newport than our mother 
 called together her Governing Committee and planned out 
 the season's meetings. 
 
 The time came when some of the other officers of the Town 
 and Country Club felt unable to keep the pace set by her. She 
 would still press forward, but they hung back, feeling the 
 burden of the advancing years which sat so lightly on her 
 shoulders. The Club was disbanded; its fund of one thou- 
 sand dollars, so honorably earned, was given to the Redwood 
 Library, one of the old institutions of Newport. 
 
 The Town and Country Club was succeeded by the 
 Papeterie, a smaller club of ladies only, more intimate in its 
 character. The exchange of 'paper novels' furnished its 
 name and its raison d'etre. The members were expected to 
 describe the books taken home from the previous meeting. 
 'What have you to tell us of the novel you have been reading?' 
 the president would demand. Then followed a report, seri- 
 ous or comic, as the character of the volume or the mood of 
 the meeting suggested. A series of abbreviated criticisms 
 was made and a glossary prepared: for example, — 
 
 'B.P. — By the pound. 
 
 M. A. S. — May amuse somebody. 
 
 P. B. — Pot-boiler. 
 
 F. W. B. — For waste-basket. 
 
 U. I. — Uplifting influence. 
 
 W. D. — Wholly delightful. 
 
 U.T. — Utter trash.' 
 
NEWPORT 239 
 
 The officers consisted of the Glossarian, the Penologist, 
 whose duty it was to invent penalties for delinquents, the 
 Cor. Sec. and the Rec. Sec. (corresponding and recording sec- 
 retaries) and the Archivist, who had charge of the archives. 
 During its early years a novel was written by the Club, each 
 member writing one chapter. It still exists, and part of the 
 initiation of a new member consists in reading the manu- 
 script. The 'delicious fooling' that marked the first year 
 of the Town and Country Club's existence was the animating 
 spirit of the Papeterie. A friend christened it 'Mrs. Howe's 
 Vaudeville.' Merrymaking was her safety-valve. Brain fag 
 and nervous prostration were practically unknown to her. 
 When she had worked to the point of exhaustion, she turned 
 to play. Fun and frolic went along with labor and prayer; 
 the power of combining these kept her steadily at her task 
 till the end of her life. The last time she left her house, six 
 days before her death, it was to preside at the Papeterie, 
 where she was as usual the life of the meeting! The Club 
 still lives, and, like the New England Woman's Club, seems 
 still pervaded by her spirit. 
 
 To return to 1879. She preached many times this summer 
 in and around Newport. 
 
 ''Sunday, September 28. Hard at work. Could not look 
 at my sermon until this day. Corrected my reply to Park- 
 man. 1 Had a very large audience for the places — all seats 
 full and benches put in.' 
 
 'My sermon at the Unitarian Church in Newport. A most 
 unexpected crowd to hear me.' 
 
 'September 29. Busy with preparing the dialogue in 
 "Alice in Wonderland" for the Town and Country Club 
 occasion. . . .' 
 
 In the autumn came a lecture tour, designed to recoup the 
 heavy expenses of the Eastern trip. Never skilful in matters 
 of money-making, this tour was undertaken with less prepara- 
 tion than the modern lecturer could well imagine. She 
 
 'Francis Parkman had written an article opposing woman suffrage. 
 
240 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 corresponded with one and another Unitarian clergyman 
 and arranged her lectures largely through them. Though she 
 did not bring back so much money as many less popular 
 speakers, she was, after all, her own mistress, and was not 
 rushed through the country like a letter by ambitious man- 
 agers. 
 
 The Journal gives some glimpses of this trip. 
 
 'Twenty minutes to dress, sup, and get to the hall. Swal- 
 lowed a cup of tea and nibbled a biscuit as I dressed myself.' 
 
 'Found the miserablest railroad hotel, where I waited all 
 day for trunk, in distress! . . . Had to lecture without either 
 dress or manuscript. Mrs. Blank hastily arrayed me in her 
 black silk, and I had fortunately a few notes.' 
 
 She never forgot this lesson, and in all the thirty-odd 
 years of speaking and lecturing that remained, made it an 
 invariable rule to travel with her lecture and her cap and 
 laces in her handbag. As she grew older, the satchel grew 
 lighter. She disliked all personal service, and always wanted 
 to carry her hand-luggage herself. The light palm-leaf knap- 
 sack she brought from Santo Domingo was at the end re- 
 placed by a net, the lightest thing she could find. 
 
 The Unitarian Church in Newport was second in her heart 
 only to the Church of the Disciples. The Reverend Charles 
 T. Brooks, the pastor, was her dear friend. In the spring of 
 1880 a Channing memorial celebration was held in New- 
 port, for which she wrote a poem. She sat on the platform 
 near Mr. Emerson, heard Dr. Bellows's discourse on Chan- 
 ning, 'which was exhaustive, and as it lasted two hours, ex- 
 hausting.' The exercises, W. H. Channing's eulogium, etc., 
 etc., lasted through the day and evening, and in the intervals 
 between addresses she was 'still retouching' her poem, which 
 came last of all. 'A great day!' says the Journal. 
 
 'July 23. Very busy all day. Rainy weather. In the eve- 
 ning I had a mock meeting, with burlesque papers, etc. I 
 lectured on Ism- Is-not-m, on Asm-spasm-plasm.' 
 
 'July 24. Working hard, as usual. Marionettes at home 
 
NEWPORT 241 
 
 in the evening. Laura had written the text. Maud was 
 Julius Caesar; Flossy, Cassius; Daisy, Brutus.' 
 
 'July 28. Read my lecture on "Modern Society" in the 
 Hillside Chapel at Concord. . . . The comments of Messrs. 
 Alcott and W. H. Channing were quite enough to turn a 
 sober head.' 
 
 'To the poorhouse and to Jacob Chase's with Joseph Cog- 
 geshall. Old Elsteth, whom I remember these many years, 
 died a few weeks ago. One of the pauper women who has 
 been there a long time told me that Elsteth cried out that she 
 was going to Heaven, and that she gave her, as a last gift, 
 a red handkerchief. Mrs. Anna Brown, whom I saw last 
 year, died recently. Her relatives are people in good posi- 
 tion and ought to have provided for her in her declining years. 
 They came, in force, to her funeral and had a very nice coffin 
 for her. Took her body away for burial. Such meanness 
 needs no comment. 
 
 'Jacob was glad to see me. Asked after Maud and 
 doubted whether she was as handsome as I was when he first 
 saw me (thirty or more years ago). His wife said to me in 
 those days : "Jacob thinks thee's the only good-looking woman 
 in these parts." She was herself a handsome woman and a 
 very sweet one. I wish I had known I was so good-looking.' 
 
 Of the writing of letters there was no end. Correspond- 
 ence was rather a burden than a delight to her; yet, when all 
 the 'duty letters' were written, she loved to take a fresh sheet 
 and frolic with some one of her absent children. Laura, 
 being the furthest removed, received perhaps more than her 
 share of these letters ; yet, as will appear from them, she never 
 had enough. 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, October 10, 1880. 
 
 Dearest, Dearest L. E. R., — 
 
 How I wonder how you R! Cause of silence not hardness 
 of heart, but the given necessity of scribbling for dear life, 
 to finish a promised paper for the Woman's Congress, sedebit 
 
242 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 next week. I in Boston Wed., Thurs., and Fri. — day being 
 understood. Mowski [Adamowski] left us yesterday morn- 
 ing. . . . We had him here a fortnight, and enjoyed his visit 
 extremely. At table, between the courses, he played on every 
 instrument of the orchestra. I asked once for the bass drum, 
 which he imitated, adding thereunto the cymbals. We had a 
 lunch party last week, for the bride, Maud Appleton, and 
 'invited quite fashionable,' and after all she didn't come. 
 'Sick in bed with diphtheria.' May by some be considered 
 an excuse, but then, it's very rude to be sick, and it's very 
 troublesome to other people. (This to make you feel badly 
 about your own shortcomings.) We had a little dance, too, 
 on Friday evening. An omnibus party came out and a few 
 others. I pounded the Lancers and some ancient waltzes and 
 polkas, ending with the Virginia reel, in which last I thought 
 my floor would give way, the young men stamped so. I have 
 no paper left except some newspaper wrappers, so can't 
 write any more. Got up and found this scrap, then hunted 
 for my pen, which, after some search, I found in my mouth. 
 This is what it is to be lit'ry. Oh, my! I sometimes wish I 
 wasn't! . . . 
 
 In October, while visiting Julia at the Institution, she 
 missed her footing and fell down the two steps leading to the 
 dining-room, breaking the ligaments of her knee. A letter to 
 Laura makes the first mention of this serious accident, whose 
 effects she felt all her life. 
 
 Oak Glen, November 9, 1880. 
 
 Dearest Laura Child, — 
 
 Behold the mum-jacket, sitting clothed and in her chair, 
 confronting you after long silence, with comforting words of 
 recovery. I am now in the fourth week of my infirmity, and 
 I really think that the offending, or rather offended, muscles 
 have almost recovered their natural power of contraction. 
 My exercise is still restricted to a daily walk from my bed 
 in the small parlor to my chair in the large parlor, and 
 
NEWPORT 243 
 
 back again. But this walk, which at first was an impotent 
 limp, with bones clicking loosely, is now a very respectable 
 performance, not on the tight rope, indeed, but, let us say, on 
 the tight garter. . . . The only break in the general uniformity 
 of my life was dear Uncle Sam's arrival on Sunday last. He 
 remained with us a couple of hours, and was as delightful as 
 ever. Oh! more news. With his kind help, I have taken Mrs. 
 Lodge's small house for the winter and this opens to me a 
 comfortable prospect, though, even with his help, the two 
 ends will have to be pulled a little in order to meet 
 
 The furnished house in lower Mount Vernon Street proved 
 a pleasant habitat. It was nine years since she had had a 
 house in Boston; in spite of her lameness, perhaps partly 
 because of it, she enjoyed entertaining her family and friends. 
 Mrs. Terry and her daughter spent part of the winter with 
 them. 
 
 The year 1880 was marked by the publication of her first 
 book since 'Later Lyrics': a tiny volume entitled 'Modern 
 Society,' containing, beside the tide essay, a kindred one on 
 'Changes in American Society.' The Journal makes little or 
 no mention of this booklet, but Thomas Wentworth Higginson 
 says of it: 'It would be hard to find a book in American 
 literature better worth reprinting and distributing. ... In 
 wit, in wisdom, in anecdote, I know few books so racy.' 
 
 ' 'January 1, 1881. I have now been lame for twelve weeks, 
 in consequence of a bad fall which I had on October 17. I 
 am still on crutches with my left knee in a splint. Have had 
 much valuable leisure in consequence of this, but have suf- 
 fered much inconvenience and privation of preaching, social 
 intercourse, etc. Very little pain since the first ten days. 
 Farewell, Old Year! Thank the Heavenly Father for many 
 joys, comforts and opportunities.' 
 
 Her physician insisted upon her keeping quiet, but she 
 could not obey him, and continued to travel about on crutches 
 to keep her many engagements. Her faithful coachman, 
 Frank McCarthy, was her companion on these journeys. 
 
244 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'January 28. Busy all day with my address for woman's 
 suffrage meeting in the evening. . . . When I entered with my 
 crutches the audience applauded quite generally. . . . Wen- 
 dell Phillips made the concluding speech of the evening. He 
 was less brilliant than usual, and kept referring to what I 
 had said. I thanked him for this afterwards, and he said 
 that my speech had spoiled his own ; that I had taken up the 
 very points upon which he had intended to dwell.' 
 
 'February 11. Lecture at Groton, Massachusetts. As I 
 went down the steps to the carriage, one of my crutches 
 slipped and the careless hackman on my right let me fall, 
 Frank catching me, but not until I had given my knee a severe 
 wrench which gave me great pain. I suffered much in my 
 travel, but got through, Frank helping me. . . . My knee 
 seemed much inflamed and kept me awake much of the night. 
 My lecture on "Polite Society" was well received. The good 
 people of the house brought me their new ledger, that my 
 name might be the first recorded in it.' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 129 Mount Vernon Street, 
 February 27, 1881. 
 
 My dearest Laura, — 
 
 . . . Mr. Longfellow came to see us yesterday, and told us 
 his curious dreams. In one of them, he went to London and 
 found James Russell Lowell keeping a grocery. In another, 
 people were vituperating the bad weather, and dear Papa 
 said: 'Remember, gentlemen, who makes it!' This impressed 
 us as very characteristic of our dear one. My lameness is de- 
 creasing very slowly, and I have now been a week without the 
 splint. The knee, however, still swells if I attempt to use it, 
 and my life is still much restricted as to movement. . . . 
 
 'February 28 A cloud seems to lift itself from that part 
 
 of my mind which concerns, or should concern, itself with 
 spiritual things. Sometimes a strong unwillen seizes me in 
 
NEWPORT 245 
 
 this direction. I feel in myself no capacity to comprehend 
 any features of the unseen world. My belief in it does not 
 change, but my imagination refuses to act upon the basis of 
 the "things not seen." * 
 
 To Laura 
 
 129 Mount Vernon Street, 
 March 24, 1881. 
 My darling Laura, — 
 
 The March wind blows, and gives me the spleen. I don't 
 care about anything, don't want my books, nor my friends, 
 nor nothing. But you, poor child, may not be in this wicked, 
 not caring condition, and so I will write you, having oughted 
 to for a considerable time. Nothing stays put, not even put-ty. 
 Letters don't stay answered, faces don't stay washed, clothes 
 don't stay either clean or new. Children won't stay the young- 
 est. The world won't stay anywhere, anyhow. Forty years 
 ago was good enough for me. Why couldn't it stay? Now, 
 I see you undertaking to comfort me in good earnest, and 
 know just how you would begin by saying: 'Well, it 
 should!' . . . 
 
 'April 7. Finished Carlyle's "Reminiscences" to-day. 
 Perhaps nothing that he has left shows more clearly what he 
 was, and was not. A loyal, fervent, witty, keen man. . . . His 
 characterizations of individuals are keenly hit off with 
 graphic humor. But he could make sad mistakes, and could 
 not find them out, as in the case of what he calls our 
 "beautiful Nigger Agony"!!' 
 
 'I went out to the Cambridge Club, having had chills and 
 fever all the night before. Read my lecture on Paris, which 
 was well received, and followed by a good discussion with 
 plenty of differences of opinion. Evening at home; another 
 chill and fever.' 
 
246 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To Laura 
 
 129 Mount Vernon Street, 
 April 24, 1881. 
 
 Bad old party, is and was. Badness mostly of heart, 
 though head has a decided crack in it. Unfeeling old Beast! 
 Left Laura so long without a word. Guess 'tisn't worth 
 while for her to write anything more. 
 
 Darling, I have got some little miserable mean excuses. 
 Want 'em? Have had much writing to do, many words for 
 little money. For 'Critic' (N.Y.) and for 'Youth's Compan- 
 ion' and other things. Then, have kept up great correspond- 
 ence with Uncle Sam, who has given me a house in Beacon 
 Street! oh gonniac! 1 
 
 We had lit'ry party last week. Dr. Holmes and William 
 Dean Howells read original things. James Freeman Clarke 
 recited and we had ices and punch. Maud thought it frumpy, 
 but others liked it very much. Have been to church to-day, 
 heard J. F. C. 'Most off crutches now and hobble about the 
 house with a cane. Use crutches to go up and down stairs and 
 to walk in the street. . . . Have heard much music and have 
 seen Salvini once, in the 'Gladiator,' and hope to see him on 
 Thursday, in 'Macbeth.' How are the dear children? I do 
 want to see them, 'specially July Ward. . . . 
 
 'May 27. Soon after 7 A.M. arrived Uncle Sam with my 
 dear sister Annie Mailliard from California; the whole in- 
 tended as a birthday surprise. My sister is very little 
 changed; always a most tender, sensitive woman. Sister 
 Louisa didn't know of this and came at 11 A.M. to bring my 
 greetings and gifts, with Mr. Terry, Daisy, and Uncle Sam. 
 When Sister Annie appeared, Sister Louisa almost fainted 
 with delight and astonishment.' 
 
 ' August 30. My first performance at the Casino Theatre. 
 It went off very successfully, and I was much applauded, as 
 were most of the others. Supper afterwards at Mrs. Richard 
 
 'Welsh for 'glory': a favorite exclamation of hers, learned in childhood 
 from a Welsh servant. 
 
NEWPORT 247 
 
 Hunt's, where I had to appear in "plain clothes," having been 
 unable to accomplish evening dress after the play. Dear 
 Flossy went with me.' 
 
 Another 'performance' of that summer is not noted in the 
 Journal ; an impromptu rendering of 'Horatius at the Bridge,' 
 in the 'green parlor' at Oak Glen, with the following cast: — 
 
 Horatius F. Marion Crawford. 
 
 Spurius Lartius J. W. H. 
 
 Herminius Maud Howe. 
 
 The green parlor was an oval grass plot, thickly screened 
 by tall cedars. Laura recited the ballad, keeping her voice as 
 she could while the heroes waged desperate combat, but 
 breaking down entirely when Horatius 'plunged headlong in 
 the tide,' and swam with magnificent action across — the 
 greensward! 
 
 'September 18. Preached in Tiverton to-day. Text: "The 
 fashion of this world passeth away." Subject: Fashion, an 
 intense but transient power; in contradistinction, the eternal 
 things of God.' 
 
 'September 25. Spent much of this day in composing a 
 poem in commemoration of President Garfield's death. 
 Spared no pains with this and succeeded better than I had 
 expected.' 
 
 'September 26. The President's funeral. Services held 
 in most cities of the United States, I should judge. Solemn 
 services also in London and Liverpool.' 
 
 To Samuel Ward 
 
 241 Beacon Street, 
 
 December 22, 1881. 
 
 Dearest Brother, — 
 
 . . . Your house, darling, was bright and lovely, yesterday. 
 I had my old pet, Edwin Booth, to lunch — we were nine at 
 table, the poet Aldrich disappointing us. From three to four 
 
248 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 we had a reception for Mr. Booth, quite the creme de la 
 creme, I assure you. Among others, Dr. Holmes came. The 
 rooms and furniture were much admired. We gave only tea 
 at the levee, but had some of your good wine at the luncheon. 
 P.S. Mr. Booth in 'Lear' last night was sublime! 
 
 To the same 
 
 Edwin Booth had sent us his box for the evening. The 
 play was 'Hamlet,' the performance masterly. People's tastes 
 about plays differ, but I am sure that no one on the boards 
 can begin to do what Booth does. I saw him for a moment 
 after the play, and he told me that he had done his best for 
 me. Somehow, I thought that he was doing his very best, 
 but did not suppose that he was thinking of me partic- 
 ularly. . . . 
 
 'January 29, 1882. Frank [Marion Crawford] had met 
 Oscar Wilde the evening before at Dr. Chadwick's ; said that 
 he expressed a desire to make my acquaintance. Wrote 
 before I went to church to invite him to lunch. He accepted 
 and Maud and Frank, or rather Marion, flew about to get 
 together friends and viands. Returning from a lifting and 
 delightful sermon of J. F. C.'s, I met Maud at the door. She 
 cried: "Oscar is coming." Mrs. Jack Gardner, Madame 
 Braggiotti, and Julia completed our lunch party. Perhaps 
 ten or twelve friends came after lunch. We had what I 
 might call a "lovely toss-up," i.e., a social dish quickly com- 
 pounded and tossed up like an omelet.' 
 
 During this year and the next, Crawford made his home 
 at 241 Beacon Street. Here he wrote his first three books, 
 'Mr. Isaacs,' 'Dr. Claudius,' and 'A Roman Singer.' He 
 was a delightful inmate, and the months he spent under our 
 mother's roof were happy ones. A tender camaraderie 
 existed between aunt and nephew. During his first winter in 
 Boston he thought of going on the stage as a singer, and 
 studied singing with Georg Henschel. He had a fine voice, a 
 dramatic manner, full of fire, but an imperfect ear. This 
 
NEWPORT 249 
 
 fault Henschel at first thought could be remedied: for months 
 they labored together, trying to overcome it. Crawford de- 
 lighted in singing, and 'Auntie' in playing his accompani- 
 ments. At dusk the two would repair to the old Chickering 
 grand to make music — Schubert, Brahms, and arias from 
 the oratorios they both loved. In the evening the three guitars 
 would be brought out, and aunt and nephew, with Maud or 
 Brother Harry, would sing and play German students' songs, 
 or the folk-songs of Italy, Ireland, and Scotland. Our 
 mother was sure to be asked for Matthias Claudius's 'Ah 
 Noah aus dem Kasten war': Crawford would respond with 
 'Im schwarzen Wallfisch zu Ascalon.' 
 
 This was the first of thirty happy years passed at 241 
 Beacon Street, the house Uncle Sam bought for her. The 
 day she moved in, a friend asked her the number of her new 
 house. 
 
 '241,' she answered. 'You can remember it because I'm 
 the two-forty one.' 
 
 Oscar Wilde was at this time making a lecture tour through 
 the United States. This was the heyday of his popularity; 
 he had been heralded as the apostle of the aesthetic movement. 
 At his first lecture, given at the old Boston Music Hall, he 
 appeared in a black velvet court suit with ruffles, and black 
 silk stockings, his hair long and curling on his shoulders. A 
 few moments after he had taken his place on the platform, 
 a string of Harvard students filed into the hall, dressed in 
 caricature of the lecturer's costume, each with a sunflower in 
 his coat and a peacock feather in his hand. Our mother, who 
 was in the audience, recognized near the head of the pro- 
 cession her favorite grand-nephew, Winthrop Chanler. Wilde 
 took this interruption in good part, welcoming the lads and 
 turning the laugh against them. 'Imitation is the sincerest 
 flattery,' he said, 'though this is a case where I might say, 
 "Save me from my friends." ' 
 
 Wilde came several times to the house in Boston; later 
 Uncle Sam brought him to spend a day or two at Oak Glen, 
 where the household was thrown into a flutter by the advent 
 of his valet. It was one thing to entertain the aesthete, another 
 
250 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 to put up the gentleman's gentleman. In spite of all the 
 affectation of the aesthetic pose, Wilde proved a rarely en- 
 tertaining guest. He talk amazingly well; in that company 
 all that was best in the man came to the surface. He recited 
 his noble poem, 'The Ode to Albion,' under the trees of Oak 
 Glen, and told endless stories of Swinburne, Whistler, and 
 other celebrities of the day. The dreadful tragedy came 
 later; at this time he was one of the most brilliant figures in 
 the literary world. 
 
 'March 4. To Saturday Morning Club with Mrs. [John] 
 Sherwood; very busy; then with her to Blind Asylum in a 
 carriage. Drove up to front entrance and alighted, when 
 the gale took me off my feet and threw me down, spraining 
 my left knee so badly as to render me quite helpless. I 
 managed to hobble into the Institution and to get through 
 Julia's lunch, after which I was driven home. Sent for Dr. 
 Beach and was convicted of a bad sprain, and sentenced to 
 six weeks of (solitary) confinement.' 
 
 ''March 5. In bed all day.' 
 
 'March 6. On the lounge; able to work.' 
 
 'March 8. Day of mid-year conference of A.A.W. Busi- 
 ness meeting at the N.E.W.C., where I, of course, could not 
 be present. Afternoon meeting was in my room. On the 
 whole satisfactory.' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 241 Beacon Street, 
 
 March 18, 1882. 
 
 Whereupon, my dearest, let there be no further pribbles 
 and prabbles, which I conjugate thus: I pribble, thou prab- 
 blest, he, she, or it pribble prabbles. Maud leaveth on a 
 Tuesday, come thou on that same Tuesday, taking care to 
 keep thy nose in front of thy countenance, and not other- 
 wisely, which were neither wisely nor too well. I hope thou 
 wilt not fail to come on Tuesday. And pray don't forget the 
 baby, as the nurse might find it lonesome to be here without 
 
NEWPORT 251 
 
 her. During the period of thy visit, I will change my name 
 to Jinkins, we will have such high Jinks! . . . Beacon Street 
 looks as though it wanted something. I think thou beest it. . . . 
 
 Am ever thy lame game Mother. 
 
 'March 24. Longfellow died at about 3.30 p.m. to-day. 
 He will be much and deservedly lamented. The last of dear 
 Chev's old set, the Five of Clubs, nick-named by Mary 
 Dwight the "Mutual Admiration Society." On hearing of 
 this event, I put off my reception for the Zufii chiefs, which 
 should have been on Monday, when the funeral will probably 
 take place.' 
 
 'March 26. Dear Brother Sam came on very unexpectedly 
 to attend the funeral service held at the Longfellow [house] 
 for relatives and intimates. I also was bidden to this, but 
 thought it impossible for me to go, lame as I am. Sent 
 word out to Julia Anagnos, who came in, and went in my 
 place with Uncle Sam. The dear old fellow dined with us. 
 I got downstairs with great difficulty and fatigue. We had 
 a delightful evening with him, but he would go back to New 
 York by the night train.' 
 
 'March 30. To-day the Zufii chiefs and Mr. Cushing, 
 their interpreter and adopted son, came to luncheon at 1.45. 
 There were twelve Indian chiefs in full Indian dress. Re- 
 ception afterwards.' 
 
 The Zufii Indians live in Arizona. Once in the year they 
 make a pilgrimage to the seashore, and wading into the 
 ocean at sunrise, offer prayer to the Great Spirit, and fill 
 their vessels of woven grass with water to be used through 
 the year in their religious exercises. This pilgrimage had 
 always been made to the Pacific; but in the hearts of the 
 tribe lingered a tradition that once in a hundred years the 
 'Water of Sunrise' should be visited, and they dreamed of 
 the Eastern ocean. The tradition was now confirmed, the 
 dream fulfilled, through the friendly offices of Mr. Cushing. 
 
 The ceremony was one of touching interest; hundreds 
 of people gathered at City Point to watch it. Most of the 
 
252 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 spectators felt the beauty and solemnity of the service (for 
 such it was), but a few were inclined to jeer, till they were 
 sternly rebuked by Phillips Brooks. 
 
 As our mother could not go to see the Zufiis, they must 
 come to see her, and Mr. Cushing gladly brought them. They 
 were grave, stalwart men, with a beautiful dignity of carriage 
 and demeanor. A picture not to be forgotten is that of her in 
 her white dress, bending eagerly forward to listen while 
 the chiefs, sitting in a circle on the floor, told stories, Mr. 
 Cushing interpreting for her benefit. At parting, each man 
 took her hand, and raised it to his forehead with a gesture of 
 perfect grace. The eldest chief, before this salute, held 
 her hand a moment, and blew across the palm, east and west. 
 'Daughter,' he said, 'our paths have crossed here. May 
 yours be bright hereafter!' 
 
 ''April 27. Made to-day a good start in writing about 
 Margaret Fuller. This night at 8.50 p.m. died Ralph Waldo 
 Emerson, i.e., all of him that could die. I think of him as 
 a father gone — father of so much beauty, of so much modern 
 thought.' 
 
 'May 7. To church, going out for the first time without 
 a crutch, using only my cane. 
 
 'J. F. C.'s sermon was about Emerson, and was very 
 interesting and delicately appreciative. I think that he ex- 
 aggerated Emerson's solid and practical effect in the pro- 
 motion of modern liberalism. The change was in the air 
 and was to come. It was in many minds quite independently 
 of Mr. Emerson. He was the foremost literary man of his 
 day in America, philosopher, poet, reformer, all in one. 
 But he did not make his age, which was an age of great men 
 and of great things.' 
 
 'July 22. Commemoration of Mr. Emerson at Concord 
 Town Hall. Several portraits of him and very effective 
 floral decorations; no music. Prayer by Rev. Dr. Holland; 
 introductory remarks by F. B. Sanborn in which he quoted 
 a good part of a poem by W. E. Channing, R. W. E. its 
 theme. Then came an unmercifully long paper by Dr. X., 
 much of which was interesting and some of which was irrele- 
 
NEWPORT 253 
 
 vant. He insisted upon Mr. Emerson's having been an evolu- 
 tionist, and unfolded a good deal of his own tablecloth along 
 with the mortuary napkin.' 
 
 ''July 29. Had a studious and quiet day. Was in good 
 time for the performance [at the Casino] . . . .' 
 
 In a letter to 'Uncle Sam' she speaks of 'the labor and 
 fatigue of preparing for the theatricals, which are happily 
 over. We had rehearsals every day last week. My part 
 was a short one, but I took great pains to make it as good 
 as I could. Some points which I thought of on the spur of 
 the moment added greatly to the fun of the impersonation. 
 We had a fine house, and an enthusiastic reception. I had 
 a floral tribute — only think of it! — a basket of beautiful 
 roses. . . .' 
 
 'September 18. Left Newport to attend Saratoga Con- 
 vention, being appointed a delegate from the Channing Mem- 
 orial Church, with its pastor, Reverend C. W. Wendte.' 
 
 ''November 8. Cousin Nancy Greene, my father's cousin, 
 enters to-day upon her ninety-ninth year. I called to see her, 
 going first to town to buy her some little gift. . . . Had a very 
 interesting talk with her. She was nicely dressed in black, 
 with a fresh cap and lilac ribbon, and a little silk handker- 
 chief. For her this was quite an unusual toilette. I wished 
 her a good year to come, but she said: "Why should I want 
 to live another year? I can do nothing." I suggested that 
 she should dictate her reminiscences to the girl who waits 
 upon her and who writes, she says, a good hand.' 
 
 'November 11. I went to see the old Seventh Day Baptist 
 Church, now occupied by the Newport Historical Society, 
 in which my great-grandfather, Governor Samuel Ward, 
 used to attend service. . . .' 
 
 'December 24, Boston. Spoke at the Home for Intemper- 
 ate Women at 6 p.m. I did my best. Text: "Of whom the 
 whole family in heaven and earth are named." Subject: 
 The Christian family; God, its father, all mankind brothers 
 and sisters. . . . Afterwards went to the Christmas "Messiah." 
 Felt more sure than ever that no music so beautiful as this 
 has ever been written.' 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 241 BEACON STREET: THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION 
 1883-1885; aet. 64-66 
 
 The full outpouring of power that stops at no frontier, 
 But follows / would with / can, and / can with / do it! 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 The winter of 1882-83 found her once more with a family 
 of some size, her son and his wife joining forces with her 
 at 241 Beacon Street. In Harry's college days, mother and 
 son had made much music together; now the old music books 
 were unearthed, and the house resounded with the melodies 
 of Rossini and Handel. It was a gay household, with Craw- 
 ford living in the reception room on the ground floor; play 
 was the order of the evening, as work was of the day. 
 
 The new inmates brought new friends to the circle, men 
 of science, the colleagues of her beloved 'Bunko,' now Pro- 
 fessor Howe of the Institute of Technology, Italians, and 
 other Europeans introduced by Crawford. There was need 
 of these new friends, for old ones were growing fewer. 
 Side by side in the Journal with the mention of this one or 
 that comes more and more frequently the record of the pass- 
 ing of some dear companion on life's journey. Those who 
 were left of the great band that made New England glorious 
 in the nineteenth century held closely to each other, and 
 the bond between them had a touching significance. Across 
 the street lived Oliver Wendell Holmes; in Cambridge was 
 Thomas Wentworth Higginson; in Dorchester, Edward 
 Everett Hale. 
 
 In a letter to her brother she speaks of 'the constant "tear 
 and trot" of my Boston life, in which I try to make all ends 
 meet, domestic, social, artistic, and reformatory, and go 
 about, I sometimes think, like a poor spider who spins no 
 web. . . . Marion has been very industrious, and is full of 
 good work and of cheer. His book ['Mr. Isaacs'] has been 
 such a success as to give him at once a recognized position, 
 
241 BEACON STREET 255 
 
 of which the best feature, economically, is that it enables 
 him to command adequate and congenial employment at 
 fairly remunerative prices. . . .' 
 
 To Laura 
 My darling Child, — 
 
 Your letter makes me say that I don't know anything, 
 whether I have written or not, or ought to write, or not. 
 Mammy's poor old head is very much worse than ever, and 
 I don't get time even to read letters, some days. I can't 
 tell why, except that there are many points and people to 
 be reached, in one way and another, and I rush hither and 
 thither, accomplishing, I fear, very little, but stirring many 
 stews with my own spoon. It seems to me that I could not 
 bear another winter of this stress and strain, which is diffi- 
 cult to analyze or account for, as 'she needn't have done it, 
 you know.' Why she must do it, notwithstanding, is hard 
 to tell, or what it is in doing it which so exhausts all nervous 
 energy and muscular strength. Now, darling, after this 
 prelude in a minor key, let me thank heaven that, after all, 
 I am well in health, and comfortable. 
 
 Wednesday, 10th, 2.20 p.m. I wrote the above at noon, 
 yesterday, expecting Salvini to lunch. . . . Mrs. Appleton came 
 in, and kept me, until 2 minus 20 minutes, at which time, 
 nearly beside myself with anxiety, I tumbled upstairs, out of 
 one garment and into another. Such was my dressing. 
 Salvini came and was charming. After luncheon came a 
 reception. Your little girls were there, looking delightfully. 
 Porter was pleased to say that the little ones, hanging around 
 the (old) grandmother made a pleasing picture. ... No more 
 from 'fection 
 
 Mar. 
 
 To 'Uncle Sam' 
 
 March 28, 1883. 
 
 My darling Brother, — 
 
 I owe you two good long letters, and am ashamed to think 
 how long it is since you have seen my crabbed chirography. 
 
256 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Of course, it is the old story. I have been dreadfully busy 
 with all sorts of work, in all of which I take delight, while yet 
 to quote St. Paul, 'The good that I would I do not.' To give 
 you a few items, I have just finished a short memoir of 
 Maria Mitchell, Professor of Astronomy at Vassar College. 
 This was an interesting task, but had to be very carefully 
 done. At the same time, I had to correct Maud's memoir 
 of me, which is to be published in the same collection of 
 biographies of eminent women! I think I am eminent for 
 undertaking ten times more than I can do, and doing about 
 one tenth of it. Well — I have given three Sunday preach- 
 ments at a sort of Woman's church which they have here. 
 My themes were: 'The Order of the Natural and the Spirit- 
 ual,' Tares and Wheat,' and 'The Power of Religion in the 
 Life.' 
 
 I was in New York last Wednesday, to preside over the 
 mid-year Conference of the Woman's Congress. ... I had a 
 visit from Salvini the other day. He was most charming, 
 and sent me a box for last evening's performance of 'The 
 Outlaw,' in Italian: 'Morte Civile.' I went, with my Harry 
 and Laura, I in my best attire. I had received some very 
 beautiful roses, which I threw upon the stage, at the recall 
 after the third Act. To-day I met Wendell Phillips in the 
 street, and made him come in to see Marion, whose letter 
 on English rule in India, printed in the New York 'Tribune,' 
 he had liked very much. Phillips asked me how I came to 
 live in this part of the city, and I told him about your gift 
 of the house. . . . Marion is sitting by my fire, with Brown- 
 ing's 'Jocoseria' in his hands, from which he has been read- 
 ing passages. It sounds strange and silly. . . . 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, August 21, 1883. 
 
 My Much Neglected Darling, — 
 
 I give you to-day my first hour, or half -hour, as the case 
 may be, feeling that my long silence has been abominable, 
 
241 BEACON STREET 257 
 
 and must be broken, even if you should feel it to be your 
 duty to throw an inkstand at my head, in return for my letter. 
 It is partly Backbone's fault. Backbone has been so scrouged 
 and put upon by the summer's work that he sometimes cuts 
 up amazing. Said work is pretty well out of hand at this 
 moment, the last chapters of 'Margaret Fuller' being ready 
 for the press. ... I have so much felt the shocking uncharity 
 of things in the way of diaries and letters which have been 
 published within the last few years. Not the least bad exhi- 
 bition in this kind has been made by Carlyle and his wife. 
 I have just finished reading the three volumes of her letters 
 and memorials, which were indeed interesting to me by the 
 mention in them of persons whom I myself have known. 
 Still, the spirit of the book is painful. It is sad to see how 
 she adopted, at times, her husband's harsh creed. I should 
 think Froude, the editor, must be wanting in common taste 
 and decency, to have allowed the letters to appear in all this 
 crudeness. I am so glad that I never went near them, after 
 that one tea-drink, a very bad one, forty years ago. Is this 
 enough about the Carlyles? And is it strictly charitable? I 
 dunno ; I'm getting very old to know anything. . . . 
 
 The 'Life of Margaret Fuller' (in Roberts Brothers' series 
 of 'Famous Women') was a small book, yet it stood for 
 much careful work, and was so recognized and received. 
 The recognition sometimes took a singular form, e.g., a letter 
 from a gentleman styling himself 'Prof. Nat. & Geol.,' who 
 desires two copies of the 'Margaret Fuller,' and asks her to 
 'accept for them a choice selection of "Lithological," Cabinet 
 of Geological Mineral specimens, representing the Glacial, 
 and Emptus period, also the Crystalline formation of the 
 Earth's Strata, in Coolings, Rubbings, and Scratchings of 
 the Drift Age.' 
 
 The exchange was not effected. 
 
258 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To 'Uncle Sam' 
 
 December 15, 1883. 
 
 Darling Bro' Sam, — 
 
 I must write you at once, or my silence will expand into 
 a broad ocean which I shall be afraid to cross. ... I have had 
 a very laborious year, now screwed to my desk, and working 
 at timed tasks, now travelling widely, and scattering my 
 spoken words. . . . Well, so much for desk-work, now for 
 the witch broomstick on which I fly. The Congress was held 
 in Chicago, in mid-October. From this place, I went to 
 Minneapolis Harry and his wife are here, paying hand- 
 somely their share of our running expenses. The little house 
 looks friendly and comfortable, and I hope, after a few 
 more flights, to enjoy it very much. These will now be very 
 short. . . . Boston is all alive with Irving's acting, Matthew 
 Arnold's lectures, Cable's readings, and the coming opera. 
 Pere Hyacinthe also has been here, and a very eminent 
 Hindoo, named Mozumdar. I have lost many of these doings 
 by my journeys, but heard Arnold's lecture on Emerson last 
 evening. I have also heard one of Cable's readings. Arnold 
 does not in the least understand Emerson, I think. He has 
 a positive, square-jawed English mind, with no super-sensible 
 apergus. His elocution is pitiable, and when, after his lec- 
 ture, Wendell Phillips stepped forward and said a few grace- 
 ful words of farewell to him, it was like the Rose compli- 
 menting the Cabbage. . . . 
 
 The year 1883 closed with a climax of triumphant fatigue 
 in the Merchants' and Mechanics' Fair, in which she was 
 president of the Woman's Department. This was to lead to a 
 far more serious undertaking in the autumn of 1884, that 
 of the Woman's Department of the New Orleans Exposition. 
 The Journal may bridge the interval between the two. 
 
 'February 3, 1884. Wendell Phillips is dead. 
 
 'To speak at the meeting in memory of Cheshub Chunder 
 Sen at Parker Memorial Hall. Heard T. W. Higginson and 
 Mrs. Cheney. H. spoke at length of Phillips and said too 
 much about his later mistakes, I thought, saying nothing 
 
241 BEACON STREET 259 
 
 about his suffrage work, of which I took care to speak, when 
 it was my turn. Several persons thanked me for my words, 
 which treated very briefly of Phillips's splendid services to 
 humanity.' 
 
 [She spoke of him as 'the most finished orator of our time,' 
 and as 'the Chrysostom of modern reform.'] 
 
 'February 6. Wendell Phillips's funeral. I am invited to 
 attend memorial services at Faneuil Hall on Friday evening. 
 I accept.' 
 
 'February 9. ... I was very glad that I had come to this, 
 the People's meeting, and had been able to be heard in 
 Faneuil Hall, the place of all others where the People should 
 commemorate Wendell Phillips. My task was to speak of 
 his services to the cause of Woman. Others spoke of him 
 in connection with Labor Reform, Anti-Slavery, Ireland, and 
 Temperance.' 
 
 'February 12. Hearing at State House, Committee of Pro- 
 bate, etc., on the petition of Julia Ward Howe and others that 
 the laws concerning married women may be amended in three 
 respects. We had prepared three separate bills, one provid- 
 ing that the mother shall have equal rights with the father 
 in their children, especially in determining their residence 
 and their education. A second ruling that on the wife's death, 
 the husband, who now gets all her real estate, may have one 
 half, and the children the other, and that the widow shall 
 have the same right to half the husband's real estate after 
 his death. A third bill was devised to enable husband and 
 wife to contract valid money obligations toward each other.' 
 
 Through the untiring efforts of the Suffragists these bills 
 were all passed. 
 
 To Laura 
 
 March 29, 1884. 
 
 My dearest Darling, — 
 
 Dunno why I hain't wrote you, 'cept that, while I was lame, 
 the attitude of reclining with my foot extended was very 
 fatiguing to me. The injury was very slight. I only knocked 
 
260 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 my left foot pretty hard (anglice, stubbed my toe) hurrying 
 upstairs, but the weak left knee gave way, and turned, let- 
 ting me down, and feloniously puffing itself up, which Charity 
 never does. It could not be concealed from Maud, and so 
 Beach was sent for, and a fortnight of stay still ordered 
 and enforced. On Tuesday last I broke bounds and railed 
 it to Buffalo, New York, with my crutches, which were no 
 longer needed. This was for the mid-year Conference of 
 our Congress. Before I say more under this head, let me 
 tell you that I returned from Buffalo this morning, much the 
 better for my trip. I had a lovely visit there, in a most 
 friendly and comfortable house, with carriages at my dispo- 
 sition. A beautiful luncheon was given to us Congressers 
 and I gave a lecture on Thursday evening, price $50, and 
 sat in a high chair, thinking it not prudent to stand so long. . . . 
 
 'April 7. General Armstrong called last evening. He 
 spoke of the negroes as individually quick-witted and capa- 
 ble, but powerless in association and deficient in organizing 
 power. This struck me as the natural consequence of their 
 long subjection to despotic power. The exigencies of slavery 
 quickened their individual perceptions, and sharpened their 
 wits, but left them little opportunity for concerted action. 
 Freedom allows men to learn how to cooperate widely and 
 strongly for ends of mutual good. Despotism heightens 
 personal consciousness through fear of danger, but itself 
 fears nothing so much as association among men, which it 
 first prohibits and in time renders impossible.' 
 
 'April 17. Sam Eliot was in a horse-car, and told me that 
 Tom Appleton had died of pneumonia in New York. The 
 last time I spoke with him was in one of these very cars. He 
 asked me if I had been to the funeral, meaning that of 
 Wendell Phillips. I was sure that he had been much im- 
 pressed by it. I saw him once more, on Commonwealth 
 Avenue on a bitter day. He walked feebly and was much 
 bent. I did not stop to speak with him, which I now regret. 
 He was very friendly to me, yet the sight of me seemed to 
 rouse some curious vein of combativeness in him. He had 
 
241 BEACON STREET 261 
 
 many precious qualities, and had high views of character, 
 although he was sometimes unjust in his judgments of other 
 people, particularly of the come-outer reformers.' 
 
 A heavy affliction was soon to drive all other thoughts from 
 her mind. On May 19, a telegram arrived from Italy saying, 
 'Samuel Ward expired peacefully.' 
 
 She writes: 'Nothing could be more unexpected than this 
 blow. Dear Bro' Sam had long since been pronounced out 
 of danger. . . . Latterly we have heard of him as feeble, and 
 have felt renewed anxiety, but were entirely unprepared for 
 his death.' 
 
 'May 20. Dark days of nothingness these, to-day and 
 yesterday. Nothing to do but be patient and explore the past.' 
 
 'May 21. Had a sitting all alone with dear Uncle Sam's 
 picture this afternoon. I thought it might be the time of his 
 funeral. I read the beautiful 90th Psalm and a number of 
 his bright, sweet lyrics. A sympathetic visit from Winthrop 
 Chanler.' 
 
 'May 27. . . . Dear Brother Sam's death has brought me 
 well in sight of the farther shore. May I be ready when it 
 is my turn to cross.' 
 
 To her sister Louisa 
 
 Dearest Sister, — 
 
 I was already in debt to you for one good letter when this 
 later one arrived, giving me the full, desired particulars of 
 our dear one's last days on earth. You and Annie both 
 write as though the loss were heaviest to me, and I only feel 
 that I cannot feel it half enough. The pathos of a life of 
 such wonderful vicissitudes! I cannot half take it in. What 
 must he not have suffered in those lonely days of wandering 
 and privation, while I was comfortable in my household! 
 . . . God knows, I had every reason to love him, for he 
 was heroically faithful to his affection for me. Now, I feel 
 how little I appreciated his devotion, and how many chimeras, 
 
262 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 in my foolish wool-gathering head, crowded upon this most 
 precious affection, which was worthy of a much larger place 
 in my thoughts. His death is a severe loss to Maud and me. 
 . . . We were always hoping to rejoin him, and to pass some 
 happy years with him. A great object is withdrawn from 
 our two lives. Nothing can take his place to either of us. . . . 
 As I write, the tears come. Like you, I long to sit and talk it 
 all over with the two who are all I have left of my own gen- 
 eration. To our children, the event cannot be at all what it 
 is to us. They are made for the future, and our day is not 
 theirs. I was comforted, in your first letter, in reading of 
 that pleasant, quiet talk you had with him, when, among 
 other things, you read to him the lovely verses from St. 
 John's Gospel, which have become a classic of consolation 
 among Christian people. I believe that he is in the heaven 
 accorded to those who have loved their fellow-men, for who 
 ever coined pure kindness into acts as he did? One of the 
 lessons I learn from his life is that it is very hard for us to 
 judge rightly the merits and demerits of others. Here was a 
 man with many faults on the surface, and a heart of pure 
 gold beneath. . . . The thought of his lonely funeral and 
 solitary grave has wrung my heart at times, but sometimes 
 I think of it as a place where one might be glad to be at rest. 
 . . . But now, dear, I have had all the heart-break I can bear, 
 writing this letter. Let me now speak of the living and tell 
 
 you where and how we are .1 left very unwillingly to 
 
 come down here, and try to get my poor wrecked place in 
 order. You know, of course, that the dam which was built 
 to cut off my water, and against which I obtained an injunc- 
 tion, burst this spring, and destroyed my two ponds, my 
 carriage, and a good part of my barn. I have tried, in a 
 lumbering way, to get justice, but have not yet succeeded. I 
 have had, too, a great deal of trouble in my presidency of 
 the Woman's Congress, this year. Almost as soon as I open 
 my eyes in the morning, these black dogs of worry spring 
 upon me. I long to be free from them. . . . 
 
241 BEACON STREET 263 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Newport, August 15, 1884. 
 
 Haven't I written to you? I have an idea of some long 
 letter of mine not answered by you. But this may be one 
 of those imaginary good actions which help to puff me up. 
 Life, you see, gallops on to such a degree with me that I 
 don't know much difference between what I have intended to 
 do and what I have done. . . . 
 
 I think novels is humbug. What you think? They don't 
 leave you anything but a sort of bad taste. . . . 
 
 'August 27. Simply good for nothing, but to amuse the 
 little Hall children. A strange dead level of indifference. 
 Do not see any difference between one thing and another. 
 This, I should think, must come from a vagary of the liver. 
 Worst sort of nervous prostration — to prostrate one's self 
 before one's nerves. To town in the afternoon, when the 
 dead indifference and lassitude went off somewhat.' 
 
 ''August 29. We dined at the Booths' to-day, meeting 
 Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Jefferson and William Warren. A 
 rare and delightful occasion. Jefferson talked much about 
 art. He, Booth, and Warren all told little anecdotes of 
 forgetfulness on the stage. Jefferson had told a love-story 
 twice. Booth had twice given the advice to the players [in 
 'Hamlet'], Warren, in "Our American Cousin," should have 
 tried to light a match which would not light. He inadvert- 
 ently turned the ignitable side, which took fire, and so dis- 
 concerted him that he forgot where he was in the play and 
 had to ask some one what he had last said, which being told 
 him enabled him to go on.' 
 
 'September 25. Finished to-day my Congress paper. I 
 have written this paper this week instead of going to the 
 Unitarian Convention, which I wished much to attend. ... I 
 did not go because I thought I ought neither to leave home un- 
 necessarily, to spend so much money, nor to put off the 
 writing of die A.A.W. paper. 
 
 'I shall look a little to see whether circumstances hereafter 
 will not show that it was best for me to follow this course. 
 
264 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 My Daemon did not say "go," but he sometimes plays me 
 false. I have certainly had the most wonderful ease in writ- 
 ing this paper, which, I thought, would occupy a number of 
 weary days, and lo! it has all written itself, currente calamo.' 
 'October 5. Is the law of progress one of harmony or 
 of discord? Do the various kinds of progress, moral, intel- 
 lectual, political, and economic or industrial, agree or dis- 
 agree? Do they help or hinder each other?' 
 
 To Laura 
 Newport, Rhode Island, October 9, 1884. 
 
 My darling Laura, — 
 
 My poor wits, in these days, are like bits of sewing silk 
 wound on a card. You unwind a little and straightway come 
 to an end. The wonder is, there are so many ends. Here is 
 a precise picture of our days as passed at present. Morn- 
 ing, I wake early, lie and think over my past life, with little 
 satisfaction. Bathe. Breakfast. Walk with Maud, Sonny 1 
 tugging alongside. Maud goes much further than I do. 
 Sonny and I return, take a basket and gather dry twigs to 
 brighten the evening fire. I visit my mare in her stable — a 
 good custom, as my man is not overcareful of her stall. 
 Maud comes back, I exercise her voice. I go to books, she to 
 desk. Study Greek a good deal, reading Thucydides and 
 Aristophanes. Dinner, coffee, more reading and writing, 
 unless we go to town. Evening, music, reading or cards, 
 
 worrying about , bed. I have not mentioned my own 
 
 much writing, because you will understand it. I am trying to 
 compass a story, but have my fears about it. My paper for 
 the Woman's Congress is entitled 'How to broaden the Views 
 of Society Women.' Darling dear, what more can I tell you? 
 Isn't this too much already? Now, do spunk up and have 
 some style about you. ... Be cheerful and resolute, my love, 
 life comes but once, and is soon over. . . . 
 
 'October 13. To New Bedford, for the Suffrage meet- 
 
 ^ohn Howe Hall. 
 
THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION 265 
 
 ing; trains did not connect at Myricks, where, after some 
 delay and negotiation, I with difficulty persuaded the con- 
 ductor of a freight train to take me to New Bedford in his 
 caboose. This saved me time enough to go to the Delano 
 Mansion, restore my strength with food, and put on my cap 
 and ruche. The Delanos were very kind. I read my Con- 
 gress paper on "Benefits of Suffrage to Women." ' 
 
 Now came the New Orleans Exposition, in which she was 
 to be chief of the Woman's Department. 
 
 It was already late when she received the appointment, 
 but she lost no time. Establishing her headquarters at No. 
 5 Park Street (for many years the home of the 'Woman's 
 Journal' and the New England Woman's Club), she sent 
 out circulars to every State in the Union, asking for exhibits, 
 and appealed to the editors of newspapers all over the coun- 
 try to send women correspondents for a month or more to 
 the Exposition. She called meetings in Boston, New York, 
 Providence, Philadelphia, and Hartford, at all of which she 
 spoke, imploring the women to bestir themselves, and, late 
 as it was, to make an effort to get together a proper showing 
 of women's work for the great Fair. 
 
 Beside all this, she kept up through the autumn an active 
 correspondence with the Exposition authorities at New 
 Orleans. 
 
 The Exposition was scheduled to open on the 1st of De- 
 cember: it did actually open on the 16th. 
 
 Maud was with her, and shared her labors, as- did her 
 devoted friend Isabel Greeley. At this time the floor of the 
 gallery destined for the women's exhibit was not laid. By 
 December 29 the officers of the department were able to 
 hold a meeting in 'an enclosure without doors or suitable 
 furniture.' When all was supposed to be ready for the ex- 
 hibits, it was found that the roof leaked badly, the timber 
 having so shrunk under the action of the sun as to tear away 
 the waterproof felting. Moreover, there was not enough 
 money to carry on the business of the Department. Funds 
 had been promised by the Board of Management, but these 
 
266 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 funds were not forthcoming, the Board itself being in diffi- 
 culties. Our mother had foreseen this contingency. 
 
 'Ladies,' she said, 'we must remember that women have 
 sometimes built churches with no better instruments than 
 thimbles and a teapot! If the worst comes to the worst, we 
 must come before the public and endeavor with its aid to 
 earn the money necessary to complete our enterprise.' 
 
 This foreboding soon became a fact, and early in January 
 she found herself in rather a 'tight corner.' She had sent 
 out the call for exhibits to every State in the Union; with 
 great effort the women of the country had responded most 
 generously. She now felt herself personally responsible 
 for these exhibits, and determined that, covZe que coute, 
 they should be well displayed and the Woman's Department 
 properly installed. 
 
 There was no money: very well! she would earn some. 
 She arranged a series of entertainments, beginning with a 
 lecture by herself. There followed a time of great stress 
 and anxiety, which taxed to the utmost her mother-wit and 
 power of invention. Faculties hitherto dormant awoke to 
 meet the task; she devised practical, hard, common-sense 
 methods, far removed from her life habit of intellectual 
 labor. She had moved into a new apartment in the house of 
 life, one nearer the earth and not quite so near the stars. 
 She often quoted during these months Napoleon's saying, 
 on being told that something he wished to do was impossible, 
 We me dites pas ce bete de mot!' 
 
 In spite of endless vexations, it was a time of tremendous 
 enjoyment; every nerve was strained, every gift exercised; 
 the cup of life was brimming over, even if it was not all 
 filled with honey. 
 
 'January 13, 1885. Preparing for my lecture this eve- 
 ning. Subject, "Is Polite Society Polite?" Place, Werlein 
 Hall. I was very anxious — the lecture appeared to me very 
 homely for a Southern audience accustomed to rhetorical pro- 
 ductions. My reception was most gratifying. The house 
 was packed and many were sent away. Judge Gayarre intro- 
 
THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION 267 
 
 duced me. Joaquin Miller came first, reciting his "Fortunate 
 Isles." I said in opening that even if my voice should not 
 fill the hall, my good-will embraced them all. Every point 
 in the lecture was perceived and applauded, and I felt more 
 than usually in sympathy with my audience.' 
 
 'The second entertainment devised for the relief of the 
 Woman's Department was a "Soiree Creole," the third and 
 last "a grand musical matinee" at the French Opera House, 
 for which we were indebted to the great kindness of Colonel 
 Mapleson, who granted us the use of the house, and by whose 
 permission several of his most distinguished artists gave 
 their services. Monsignor Gillow, Commissioner for Mexico, 
 also allowed his band to perform.' 
 
 The difficulty of persuading the different artists to sing, 
 of pacifying their separate agents in the matter of place on 
 the programme and size of the letters in which names were 
 advertised, of bringing harmony out of all the petty rivalries 
 and cabals between the different members of the troupe, re- 
 quired a patience worthy of a better cause. Meanwhile there 
 were other troubles. Most of the women commissioners 
 appointed by the different States proved loyal comrades to 
 their chief in her great and distressful labor; but there were 
 others who gave her endless trouble. 
 
 These entertainments brought in over two thousand dollars. 
 This money enabled the women to install such exhibits as 
 were ready, to pay for a time the necessary workmen, and 
 to engage a special police force for the protection of their 
 goods. The United States ships in the harbor also espoused 
 the cause, Admiral Jouett, of the flagship Tennessee, and Cap- 
 tain Kane, of the Galena, sending experienced craftsmen 
 whose ready and skilful work soon changed the somewhat 
 desolate aspect of the gallery. 
 
 The arrangements were as simple as might be, the greatest 
 expense being the purchase of showcases. The tables were 
 of rough pine boards covered with cambrics and flannels, 
 the draperies of the simplest and cheapest, the luxury of a 
 carpet was enjoyed only here and there; but the excellence 
 
268 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of the exhibits, and the taste with which they were displayed, 
 made the department a pleasant place. The winter was cold; 
 the wooden walls of the Government Building let in many 
 a chilling blast; but there was a stove in the office of the chief 
 of installation, and with its help the daily cup of tea was 
 made which kept the workers alive. 
 
 Each State and Territory had a separate opening day 
 for its exhibit. These days were marked by public meetings 
 at which compliments were exchanged, addresses made, and 
 the exhibits turned over to the management. It was con- 
 sidered obligatory for all the commissioners to attend these 
 meetings, and the women spent many weary hours trying 
 to hear the addresses of distinguished individuals whose 
 voices contended in vain with the din of the machinery. The 
 Mexican Band played, and relieved the tedium of the long 
 sittings; but the women commissioners were upheld chiefly 
 by the feeling that they were drawn together from all parts 
 of the country, and were taking an honored part in a great 
 industrial and peaceful pageant, whose results would be 
 important to the country and to mankind at large. 
 
 The Journal tells in February of the 'opening of the 
 colored people's department; very interesting. A numerous 
 assemblage of them showed a wide range of types. Music, 
 military, drumming especially good. Saw in their exhibit 
 a portrait of John A. Andrew which looked like a greeting 
 from the old heroic time.' 
 
 The Woman's Department was formally opened on March 
 3, though it had really been open to the public since early 
 January. The day was one of the gayest in the history of 
 the Exposition. The gallery of the Government Building 
 was bright with flowers and gay with flags. Admiral Jouett 
 had sent the ship's band as a special compliment; the music 
 was delightful, the speeches excellent. 
 
 One of her most arduous tasks was the arranging of a 
 course of twenty-four 'Twelve-o'Clock Talks,' which were 
 given every Saturday from the middle of February till the 
 close of the Exposition. How she labored over them her 
 
THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION 269 
 
 companion daughter well remembers: remembers too what 
 success crowned the effort. The subjects varied widely. 
 Captain Bedford Pym, R.N., discoursed on Arctic explora- 
 tions; Charles Dudley Warner told the story of the Elmira 
 Reformatory; the Japanese Commissioner spoke of woman's 
 work in Japanese literature. These talks were free to the 
 public, and proved so popular that eight years later the same 
 plan was carried out in the Woman's Department of the 
 Chicago World's Fair, and again proved its excellence and 
 value. 
 
 As if all this were not enough, she must found a Literary 
 Association among the young people of New Orleans. She 
 named them the Pans, and among their number were several 
 whose names have since become well known in literature. 
 Grace King, Elizabeth Bisland, and others will remember 
 those evenings when their bright youth flashed responsive to 
 the call of thejelder woman of letters. 
 
 In all the stf^ss and hurry, we find this entry: — 
 'My dear father's birthday. I left the Exposition early 
 and walked to visit dear Marion's grave in Girard Street 
 Cemetery. A lovely place it was. He is buried above ground 
 in a sort of edifice formed of brick, the rows of coffins be- 
 ing laid on stone floors, each single one divided from those 
 on either side of it by a stone partition. "Francis Marion 
 Ward, died September 3rd, 1847." Erected by William 
 Morse, dear Marion's friend.' 
 
 'May 16. Gave my talk to the colored people, soon after 
 two in the afternoon in their department. A pretty hex- 
 agonal platform had been arranged. Behind this was a 
 fine portrait of Abraham Lincoln, with a vase of beautiful 
 flowers [gladiolus and white lilies] at its base. I spoke 
 of Dr. Channing, Garrison, Theodore Parker, Charles Sum- 
 ner, John A. Andrew, Lucretia Mott, and Wendell Phillips, 
 occupying about an hour. They gave me a fine basket of 
 flowers and sang my "Battle Hymn." Afterwards the Ala- 
 bama cadets visited us. We gave them tea, cake and biscuits 
 and I made a little speech for them.' 
 
270 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The difficulties with which the unfortunate managers were 
 struggling made it impossible for them to keep their prom- 
 ises of financial support to the Woman's Department. Things 
 went from bad to worse. Finally she realized that she her- 
 self must find the money to pay the debts of her department 
 and to return the exhibits to the various States. She wrote 
 a letter to John M. Forbes, of Boston, urging him to help 
 her and her assistants out of their alarming predicament. 
 Through Mr. Forbes, the Honorable George F. Hoar, Sen- 
 ator from Massachusetts, learned the state of the case. The 
 sum of $15,000 had been named as that necessary to pay all 
 just claims and wind up the affairs of the Department. At 
 this time a bill was before Congress for an appropriation to 
 aid the Exposition. Thanks to the efforts of Mr. Hoar, a 
 sum of $15,000 was added to this bill with the express 
 clause, 'For the Relief of the Woman's Department.' The 
 bill was passed without discussion. The news was received 
 with great rejoicing in New Orleans, especially in the 
 Woman's Department, 'where our need was the sorest.' The 
 promise brought new life to the weary workers; but they were 
 to be far more weary before the end. The Exposition 
 closed on the last day of May. Summer was upon them ; the 
 Northern women, unused to the great heats of New Orleans, 
 longed to close up their business and depart, but the money 
 had not come from Congress, and they could not leave their 
 post. Days dragged on; days of torrid, relentless heat. 
 Our mother must borrow money for the Department here and 
 there to bridge over the gap between promise and fulfilment. 
 Worn out by fatigue, anxiety, and die great heat, she fell 
 seriously ill. Those nearest her begged her to go home 
 and leave to others the final setdement of affairs, but she 
 would not hear of this. She would get well: she must get 
 well! Rallying her forces, mental and physical, she did 
 get well, though her illness for a time seemed desperate. 
 
 At long last, when June was nearly half over, the money 
 came, and with it the end of her long task. Accounts were 
 audited, checks drawn, exhibits despatched; and with fare- 
 well greetings and congratulations, 'the whole weary matter 
 
THE NEW ORLEANS EXPOSITION 271 
 
 ended.' Her report as President of the Woman's Depart- 
 ment tells the story: 
 
 'The business of the Woman's Department having thus 
 been brought successfully to a close, it only remains for its 
 President to resign the office she has filled, with some pain 
 and much pleasure, for more than six months, — to thank the 
 officers of her staff for their able and faithful services, the 
 vice-presidents, and the lady commissioners in general, for 
 the friendly support she has had from them almost without 
 exception. . . . 
 
 'Finally, she would say that she considers herself happy 
 in having taken part in an Exposition of so high and useful 
 a character as that which has latterly made New Orleans a 
 centre of interest in the civilized world. She takes leave 
 with regret of a city in which she has enjoyed much friendly 
 intercourse and hospitality; a city in whose renewed pros- 
 perity she must henceforth feel a deep and lasting interest.' 
 
 So ended one of the most interesting and arduous ex- 
 periences of her life. She always held in affectionate remem- 
 brance the city where she had enjoyed and suffered so much, 
 and the friends she made there. 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, November 4, 1885. 
 
 YOU LITTLE HATEFUL THING ! 
 
 Herewith returned is the letter you wrote for. I had a 
 mind to send it to you, beast that you are, without one word, 
 just to pay you for that postal. Of course, I meant to write 
 you immediately afterward in a separate envelope, telling 
 you that I still love you. But there! I reflected that you 
 could have a bad feeling if you opened the envelope and 
 found no greeting from me. For the sake of posterity, 
 Madam, I declined to give you this bad feeling. I do also 
 retain some proprietorship in a certain pair of eyes which are 
 like Sapphira's. Oh! I mean sapphires, and I don't want 
 to dim them with any tear diamonds. 'You flatter yourself,' 
 
272 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 replies the Good-Natured One, 1 'to think of my shedding 
 tears about anything that you could say or do, or leave unsaid 
 or undone.' Just so. All right. I have got beefsteak for 
 dinner to-day. What do you think of the weather, and does 
 your husband know when your blacking is out? 
 
 Now, my sweet darling, your old Mammy is just back 
 from a tremendous jaunt. I had a beautiful time in Iowa, 
 and am as well as possible. Only think, travelling and at 
 work for one calendar month, and not a finger ache, 'cept one 
 day, when I had a slight headache. And I brought home over 
 $200 earned by lectures. . . . 
 
 1 Laura had once been told that she 'would not amount to much without 
 her good nature.' 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MORE CHANGES 
 1886-1888; aet. 67-69 
 
 The years 1886 and 1887 were marked by two events which 
 changed materially the course of her private life: the death 
 of Julia, the beloved eldest daughter, and the marriage of 
 Maud, the house-mate and comrade. 
 
 During the winter of 1885-86 she made her headquarters 
 in New York. Lecture engagements, conferences, and ser- 
 mons took her hither and thither, and much of the time that 
 should have been 'precious' was passed in trains and boats. 
 
 In the last days of February, Julia was stricken with 
 rheumatic fever, which soon developed into typhoid. The 
 weather was 'direful: bitter cold and furious wind.' Our 
 mother went at once to South Boston, where 'arriving, found 
 my dear child seriously but not dangerously ill. Her joy 
 at my coming was very pathetic' 
 
 On the 28th she writes : — 
 
 'I cannot be sure whether it was on this day that she said 
 to me: "Mamma, don't you remember the dream you had 
 when Flossy and I were little children, and you were in 
 Europe? You dreamed that you saw us in a boat and that 
 the tide was carrying us away from you. Now the dream has 
 come true, and the tide is bearing me away from you.' 
 
 A few days later she writes to Mary Graves: — 
 
 'I am not wild, nor melancholy, nor inconsolable, but I 
 feel as America might if some great, fair State were blotted 
 from its map, leaving only a void for the salt and bitter sea 
 to overwhelm. I cannot, so far, get any comfort from other 
 worldly imaginings. If God says anything to me now, he 
 says, "Thou fool." The truth is that we have no notion of 
 the value and beauty of God's gifts until they are taken from 
 us. Then He may well say: "Thou fool," and we can only 
 answer to our name.' 
 
274 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The Journal says: — 
 
 'This is the last day of this sorrowful March which took 
 my dear one from me. I seem to myself only dull, hard, 
 and confused under this affliction. I pray God to give me 
 comfort by raising me up that I may be nearer to the higher 
 life into which she and her dear father have passed. And 
 thou? eleison. . . .' 
 
 'Have had an uplifting of soul to-day. Have written to 
 Mary Graves: "I am at last getting to stand where I can 
 have some spiritual outlook." The confusion of "is not" 
 is giving place to the steadfastness of "is." Have embodied 
 my thoughts in a poem to my dear Julia and in some pages 
 which I may read at the meeting intended to commemorate 
 her by the New England Woman's Club.' 
 
 The Journal of this spring is full of tender allusions to 
 the beloved daughter. The dreams of night often brought 
 back the gracious figure; these visions are accurately de- 
 scribed, each detail dwelt on with loving care. 
 
 She considered Julia the most gifted of her children. The 
 'Reminiscences' speak of her at some length, making men- 
 tion of her beneficent life, and of her published works, a 
 volume of poems entitled 'Stray Chords,' and 'Philosophise 
 Quaestor,' a slender volume in which she described the Con- 
 cord School of Philosophy 1 and her pleasure therein. 
 
 In our mother's house of life, each child had its special 
 room, though no door was locked to any. In all things per- 
 taining to philosophy, Julia was her special intimate. For 
 help and sympathy in suffrage and club doings, she turned 
 naturally to Florence, an ardent worker in these fields; with 
 Harry she would specially enjoy music; with Laura would 
 talk of books; while Maud was the 'Prime Minister' in social 
 and household matters. So, till the very lastj we gray-haired 
 children leaned on her, clung to her, as in the days when we 
 were children indeed. 
 
 In the quiet of Oak Glen she wrote this summer a careful 
 study of Dante and Beatrice, for the Concord School of 
 
 1 This was a summer school of ten years (1879-88) in which Emerson, 
 Alcott, and W. T. Harris took part. 
 
MORE CHANGES 275 
 
 Philosophy. July 20 found her at Concord, where she and 
 Julia had been wont to go together. She says, 'I cannot 
 think of the sittings of the School without a vision of the rapt 
 expression of her face as she sat and listened to the various 
 speakers.' 1 
 
 We are told by the last living representative of the School 
 of Philosophy, Mr. F. B. Sanborn, that she was the most 
 attractive, and sometimes the most profound, of its lec- 
 turers; 'had the largest audiences, and gave the most pleas- 
 ure; especially when she joined delicate personal criticism 
 or epigrammatic wit with high philosophy.' 
 
 The meetings of the School were always a delight to her; 
 the papers written for it were among her most valuable 
 essays; indeed, we may look upon them as the flowering of 
 all her deep and painful toil in the field of philosophy. 2 
 
 September finds her planning an 'industrial circle' in each 
 State; a woman's industrial convention hereafter; and attend- 
 ing a Suffrage Convention at Providence. 
 
 'Spoke of the divine right, not of kings or people, but 
 of righteousness. Spoke of Ouida's article in the "North 
 American Review." It had been reported that I declined to 
 answer it. I said: "You cannot mend a stocking which is 
 all holes. If you hold it up it will fall to pieces of itself." 
 
 'In the afternoon spoke about the Marthas, male and 
 female, who see only the trouble and inconvenience of re- 
 form: of the Marys who rely upon principle.' 
 
 After this we have 'a day of dreadful hurry, preparing 
 to go West and also to shut up this house. Had to work 
 tight every minute. . . .' 
 
 This Western lecture trip was like many others, yet it 
 had its own peculiar pleasures and mishaps. 
 
 'October 12. Dunkirk, lecture. ... No one must know that 
 I got off at the wrong station — Perrysburg, a forlorn ham- 
 let. No train that would bring me to Dunkirk before 6.30 
 p.m. Ought to have arrived at 1.30. Went to the "hotel," 
 persuaded the landlord to lend his buggy and a kindly old 
 
 1 Reminiscences, p. 440. 
 
 ' These essays were published in a volume entitled Is Polite Society Polite? 
 
276 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 fellow to harness his horses to it, and drove twenty miles or 
 more over the mountains, reaching Dunkirk by 5.10 p.m.' 
 
 On this trip she saw the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, 
 taking the seven-mile walk; went as far as Kansas City; was 
 received everywhere with delightful warmth. 
 
 To Laura 
 
 December 1, 1886. 
 
 You see, I was waiting for the winter to begin, in order 
 to write you, and that you ought to have known. But bless 
 you, in Gardiner, Maine, you don't know when real Winter 
 begins, 'cause you have so much sham winter. Well, better 
 late than never. Here's thanking you very much for the de- 
 lightful [tea] cozy. Maud said, 'What are you going to 
 do with it?' sarcastic-like. I replied, 'Put it on my head'; 
 to which she inquit, 'Most natural thing for you to do.' The 
 sight of the monogram gave me real satisfaction and a sense 
 of inborn dignity. You boil down to your monogram, after 
 all, and this one was beyond my highest expectations. I am 
 only thinking, dear, whether you would not have shown more 
 respect by putting the crimson satin bow on the monogram 
 side, and thus, as it were, calling attention to the distinguished 
 initials. ... I am grinding now in all of my mills, of which 
 one is a paper for the 'Woman's Suffrage Bazaar,' which 
 paper I am doing my best to edit. I cannot in conscience 
 ask you to send me anything for its columns, because, poor 
 dear, you have to do so much work on your own account. 
 At the same time, a trifling overflow into the hat would be 
 very welcome. . . . 
 
 Winter brought another grave anxiety. Florence in her 
 turn developed rheumatic fever and became alarmingly ill. 
 The mother-bird flew to her in terror. On the way she met 
 Henry Ward Beecher and told him of her deep distress, made 
 still more poignant by the thought of the litde children who 
 might be left motherless. She was scarcely comforted by 
 his assurance that he 'had known stepmothers who were 
 very good to their stepchildren' ! 
 
MORE CHANGES 277 
 
 It was Christmas time, and she divided her time between 
 the beloved patient and the children who must not lack their 
 holiday cheer. 
 
 ''December 27. The day was a very distressing one to me. 
 I sat much of the time beside Flossy with a strange feeling 
 that I could keep her alive by some effort of my will. I 
 seemed to contend with God, saying, "I gave up Julia, I 
 can't give up Flossy — she has children." . . .' 
 
 Throughout the illness she fought against the use of 
 narcotics. 
 
 The cloud of danger and anxiety passed, and the year 
 closed in happiness and deep thankfulness. The last entry 
 reads : — 
 
 'God bless all my dear people, sisters, children, grand- 
 children, and cousins. God grant me also to serve while I 
 live, and not to fail of the high and holy life. Amen!' 
 
 Maud was now engaged to John Elliott, a young Scottish 
 painter, whose acquaintance they had made in Europe in 
 1878. The marriage took place on February 7, 1887. 
 Though there were many periods of separation, the Elliotts, 
 when in this country, made their home for the most part with 
 our mother. The affection between her and her son-in-law 
 was deep; his devotion to her constant. Through the years 
 that were to follow, the comradeship of the three was hardly 
 less intimate than that of the two had been. 
 
 The Journal carries us swiftly onward. In place of the 
 long meditations on philosophy and metaphysics, we have 
 brief notes of comings and goings, of speaking and preach- 
 ing, writing and reading. She works hard to finish her 
 paper on 'Women in the Three Professions, Law, Medicine, 
 and Theology,' for the 'Chautauquan.' 'Very tired after- 
 wards.' 
 
 She speaks at the Newport Opera House with Mrs. Liver- 
 more (who said she did not know Mrs. Howe could speak so 
 well) ; she takes part in the Authors' Reading for the Long- 
 fellow Memorial in the Boston Museum, reciting 'Our Orders' 
 and the 'Battle Hymn,' with her lines to Longfellow recently 
 composed. 
 
278 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'I wore my velvet gown, my mother's lace, Uncle Sam's 
 Saint Esprit, and did my best, as did all the others.' 
 
 The next day she speaks at a suffrage meeting in Provi- 
 dence, and makes this comment: — 
 
 'Woman suffrage represents individual right, integral 
 humanity, ideal justice. I spoke of the attitude and action 
 of Minerva in the "Eumenides" ;* her resistance to the Furies, 
 who I said personified popular passion fortified by ancient 
 tradition ; her firm stand for a just trial, and her casting the 
 decisive ballot. I hoped that this would prefigure a great life- 
 drama in which this gracious prophecy would be realized.' 
 
 In a 'good talk with Miss Eddy,' 2 she devises a correspond- 
 ence and circular to obtain information concerning art-clubs 
 throughout the country. 'I am to draft the circular.' 
 
 She makes an address at the Unitarian Club in Providence. 
 
 'The keynote to this was given me yesterday, by the sight 
 of the people who thronged the popular churches, attracted, 
 in a great measure no doubt, by the Easter decoration and 
 music. I thought: "What a pity that everybody cannot hear 
 Phillips Brooks." I also thought: "They can all hear the 
 lesson of heavenly truth in the great Church of All Souls and 
 of All Saints ; there is room enough and to spare." ' 
 
 She writes a poem for the Blind Kindergarten at Jamaica 
 Plain. 
 
 'I worked at my poem until the last moment and even 
 changed it from the manuscript as I recited it. The occasion 
 was most interesting. Sam Eliot presided, and made a fine 
 opening address, in which he spoke beautifully of dear 
 Julia and her service to the blind; also of her father. I was 
 joined by Drs. Peabody and Bartol, Brooke Herford and 
 Phillips Brooks. They all spoke delightfully and were de- 
 lightful to be with. I recited my poem as well as I could. 
 I think it was well liked, and I was glad of the work I be- 
 stowed on it.' 
 
 *Cf. .Eschylus. 
 
 "Miss Sarah J. Eddy, then of Providence, a granddaughter of Francis 
 Jackson. 
 
MORE CHANGES 279 
 
 She preaches at Parker Fraternity 1 on "The Ignorant 
 Classes.' 
 
 Small wonder that at the Club Tea she finds herself 'not 
 over-bright.' Still, she had a 'flash or two. The state of 
 Karma [calmer], orchestral conversation, and solo speaking.' 
 
 She goes to conferences of women preachers, to peace 
 meetings; to jubilee meetings, in honor of Queen Victoria; 
 she conducts services at the Home for Intemperate Women, 
 and thinks it was a good time. 
 
 She 'bites into' her paper on Aristophanes, 'with a very 
 aching head'; finishes it, delivers it at Concord before the 
 School of Philosophy. 
 
 'Before I began, I sent this one word to Davidson, 2 eleison. 
 This because it seemed as if he might resent my assuming 
 to speak at all of the great comedian. He seemed, however, 
 to like what I said, and in the discussion which followed, he 
 took part with me, against Sanborn, who accuses Aristophanes 
 of having always lent his wit to the service of the old 
 aristocratic party. Returned to Boston and took train for 
 Weirs, New Hampshire, where arrived more dead than 
 alive.' 
 
 She is at Newport now, and there are tender notes of 
 pleasure with the Hall grandchildren, of 'reading and 
 prayers' with them on Sunday, of picnics and sailing parties. 
 
 Still, in dreams, she calls back the lost daughter; still 
 records with anxious care each visionary word and gesture. 
 
 'Dreamed this morning of Charles Sumner and dearest 
 Julia. She was talking to me; part of the time reclining on 
 a sort of lounge. I said to some one, "This is our own 
 dear Julia, feel how warm she is." ... I think I said some- 
 thing about our wanting to see her oftener. She said 
 pathetically, "Can't you talk of me?" I said, "We do, 
 darling." "Not very often," I think was her reply. Then 
 she seemed to come very near me, and I said to her, "Darling, 
 do they let you come here as often as you want to?" She 
 
 1 Boston. 
 
 "Thomas Davidson, founder of the 'New Fellowship' (London and New 
 York) and of the 'Breadwinners' College.' 
 
280 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 said, "Not quite." I asked why, and she answered almost 
 inaudibly, "They are afraid of my troubling people." I 
 stirred and woke; but the dear vision remains with me, 
 almost calling me across the silent sea.' 
 
 She writes innumerable letters; date and address of each 
 is carefully noted, and now and then an abstract of her words. 
 
 The bane of all representative action is that the spur of 
 personal ambition will carry people further than larger and 
 more generous considerations of good are apt to do. So the 
 mean-hearted and ambitious are always forward in politics; 
 while those who believe in great principles are perhaps too 
 much inclined to let the principles do all the work. . . .' 
 
 The following extracts hurry the year to its close: — 
 
 'November 7. Left for Boston by 10.20 a.m. train, to at- 
 tend the celebration of Michael's [Anagnos] fiftieth birthday 
 at the Institution, and the opening meeting of the N.E.W.C. 
 . . . Arriving in Boston, I ran about somewhat, fatiguing 
 myself dreadfully. Reached the Institution by 4.30 p.m., 
 when, throwing myself on the bed for necessary rest, the 
 desired rhymes for Anagnos's birthday flashed upon me, "all 
 of a sudden," and instead of napping, I called for pen and 
 ink and wrote them. The meeting was very good ; I presided. 
 Dwight and Rodocanachi made speeches, the latter present- 
 ing the beautiful chain given to Michael by the teachers of 
 the Institution. Michael was much moved and could not but" 
 be much gratified. I proposed three cheers at the end.' 
 
 'November 27. Finished my lecture on "Woman in the 
 Greek Drama." It was high time, as my head and eyes are 
 tired with the persistent strain. . . . All the past week has 
 been hard work. No pleasure reading except a very litde in 
 the evening.' 
 
 'December 1. . . . Took 2.30 train for Melrose. ... I read 
 my new lecture — "Woman as shown by the Greek Drama- 
 tists": of whom I quoted from iEschylus, Sophocles, and 
 Aristophanes. A Club Tea followed: a pleasant one. I 
 asked the mothers present whether they educated their 
 daughters in hygiene and housekeeping. The response was 
 not enthusiastic, and people were more disposed to talk of the 
 
MORE CHANGES 281 
 
 outer world, careers of women, business or profession, than 
 to speak of the home business. One young girl, however, 
 told us that she was a housekeeping girl; a very pleasant 
 lady, Mrs. Burr, had been trained by her mother, to her own 
 great advantage.' 
 
 'December 18. For the [Parker] Fraternity a text occurs 
 to me, "Upon this rock I will build my church." Will speak 
 of the simple religious element in human nature, the loss of 
 which no critical skill or insight could replace. Will quote 
 some of the acts and expressions of the true religious zeal of 
 other days, and ask why this means nothing for us of to-day.' 
 
 Her first act of 1888 was to preach this sermon before the 
 Parker Fraternity. It was one of those best liked by herself 
 and others. 
 
 The great event of this year was her visit to California. 
 She had never seen the Pacific Coast; the Elliotts were going 
 to Chicago for an indefinite stay; her sister Annie, whom she 
 had not seen in many years, begged earnestly for a visit from 
 the 'Old Bird.' 
 
 She decided to make the journey, and arranged a lecture 
 tour to cover its expenses. 
 
 The expedition was throughout one of deepest interest. 
 It began with 'a day of frightful hurry and fatigue. I had 
 been preparing for this departure for some time past; yet 
 when the time came, it seemed as if I could hardly get off. 
 Maud worked hard to help me. She insisted upon arranging 
 matters for me; went to the bank; got my ticket. We parted 
 cheerfully, yet I felt the wrench. God knows whether she will 
 ever be in my house again, as my partner in care and re- 
 sponsibility. ' 
 
 After an 'A.A.W.' conference in Boston, and a Woman's 
 Council in Washington, she took the road. Her first stop was 
 at Chicago. Here she was 'very busy and not quite well. 
 Divided the day between Maud and some necessary business. 
 At 3.15 p.m. the dreadful wrench took place. Maud was 
 very brave, but I know that she felt it as I did. ' 
 
282 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To Maud 
 
 Merchants' Hotel, 
 St. Paul, Minnesota, April 10. 
 
 So far, so good, my dear sweet child. I got me off as well 
 as possible, though we had many complications and delays 
 as to the ticket. My section was very comfortable. I had 
 supper in the dining-car, and slept well, no theatre-troupe 
 nor D. T. being aboard. I have now got my ticket all straight 
 to 'Frisco, and won't I frisk oh! when I get there! 
 
 The next stop was at Spokane Falls. Here she had 'a bron- 
 chial attack; very hoarse and sore in my throat and chest. 
 Went over my lecture carefully, leaving out some pages. 
 Felt absolute need of tea-stimulant, and went downtown, 
 finding some in a grocer's shop. The good servant Dora made 
 me a hot cup which refreshed me greatly. Very hoarse at 
 my lecture. Opera House a good one enough; for a desk, 
 a box mounted on a barrel, all covered with a colored paper; 
 decent enough. Lecture: "Polite Society"; well received.' 
 The Spokane of to-day may smile at the small things of 
 yesterday; yet our mother always spoke with pleasure of her 
 cordial reception there. 
 
 Walla Walla, Walula, Paser. In the last-named place she 
 'found a tavern with many claimants for beds. Mrs. Isaacs, 
 who came with me from Walla Walla for a little change of 
 air, could not have a separate room, and we were glad to 
 share not only a small room but also a three-quarters bed. 
 I was cramped and slept miserably. She was very quiet and 
 amiable.' 
 
 At Tacoma again (on the way whither she felt as if her 
 life hung by a thread while crossing the Notch), there was 
 but one room for the two ladies, but they occupied it 'very 
 peacefully.' 
 
 After Tacoma came 'hospitable Seatde'; where she lec- 
 tured and attended a meeting of the Seatde Emerson Club; 
 then to Olympia, by a small Sound steamer. 
 
 'A queer old bachelor on board, hearing me say that I 
 should like to live in Washington Territory, said he would 
 
MORE CHANGES 283 
 
 give me a handsome house and lot if I would live in Olympia, 
 at which several Olympians present laughed.' 
 
 She left Olympia by train, en route for Portland. The 
 conductor, 'Brown by name,' saw the name on her valise, and 
 claimed acquaintance, remembering her when she lived in 
 Boylston Place. Soon after, passing a lovely little mill- 
 stream, with a few houses near it, by name Tumwater, she 
 consulted him as to the value of land there, with the result 
 that she bought several acres of 'good bottom land.' 
 
 This was one of several small purchases of land made dur- 
 ing her various journeyings. She always hoped that they 
 would bring about large results: the Tumwater property was 
 specially valued by her, though she never set foot in the place. 
 The pioneer was strong in her, as it was in the Doctor; the 
 romance of travel never failed to thrill her. Speeding hither 
 and thither by rail, her eye caught beauty and desirable- 
 ness in a flash; the settler stirred in her blood, and she 
 longed to possess and to develop. Tumwater she fondly 
 hoped was to bring wealth to the two eldest grandchildren, 
 to whom she bequeathed it. 
 
 In Portland she spent several days, lectured three times, 
 and was most hospitably entertained. On her one disengaged 
 evening she went down into the hotel parlor, played for the 
 guests to dance, played accompaniments for them to sing. 
 She spoke to the school children; 'she made slight acquaint- 
 ance with various people,' most of whom told her the story of 
 their lives. Briefly, she touched life at every point. 
 
 Finally, on May 5, she reached San Francisco, and a few 
 hours later the ranch of San Geronimo, where the Mailliards 
 had been living for some years. 
 
 'Situation very beautiful,' she says; 'a cup in the moun- 
 tains.' Here she found her beloved sister Annie, the 'little 
 Hitter' of her early letters; here she spent happy days, warm 
 with outer and inner sunshine. 
 
 California was a-tiptoe with eagerness to see and hear 
 the author of the 'Batde Hymn'; many lectures were planned, 
 in San Francisco and elsewhere. The Journal gives but brief 
 glimpses of this California visit, which she always recalled 
 
284 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 with delight as one of the best of all her 'great good times.' 
 In the newspaper clippings, preserved in a scrapbook, we 
 find the adjectives piled mountain high in praise and appre- 
 ciation. Though not yet seventy, she was already, in the eye 
 of the youthful reporter, 'aged'; her silver hair was dwelt 
 on lovingly; people were amazed at her activity. One of the 
 great occasions was the celebration of Decoration Day by 
 die Grand Army of the Republic in the Grand Opera House, 
 at which she was the guest of honor. The house was packed; 
 the stage brilliant with flowers and emblems. Her name was 
 cheered to the echo. She spoke a few words of acknowledg- 
 ment. 
 
 'I join in this celebration with thrilled and uplifted heart. 
 I remember those camp-fires, I remember those dreadful 
 batdes. It was a question with us women, "Will our men 
 prevail? Until they do they will not come home." How we 
 blessed them when they did; how we blessed them with our 
 prayers when they were in the batdefield. Those were times 
 of sorrow; this is one of joy. Let us thank God, who has 
 given us these victories.' 
 
 The audience rose en masse, and stood while the 'Batde 
 Hymn' was sung, author and audience joining in the chorus. 
 
 After her second lecture in Santa Barbara, she 'sauntered 
 a little, and spent a litde money. Bought some imperfect 
 pearls which will look well when set. Wanted a handsome 
 brooch which I saw; thought I had best conquer my desire, 
 and did so.' 
 
 At Ventura: 'Got so tired that I could hardly dress for 
 lecture.' The next day she proposed to Mrs. S. at dinner 
 (1 p.m.) to invite some young people for the evening, prom- 
 ising to play for them to dance. 'She [Mrs. S.] ordered a 
 buggy and drove about the village. Her son stretched a 
 burlap on the straw matting and waxed it. About thirty 
 came. We had some sweet music, singers with good voices, 
 and among others a pupil of Perabo, who was really interest- 
 ing and remarkable.' 
 
 At one of the hospitable cities, a gentleman asked her to 
 drive with him, drove her about for a couple of hours, 
 
MORE CHANGES 285 
 
 descanting upon the beauties of the place, and afterwards 
 proclaimed that Mrs. Howe was the most agreeable woman he 
 had ever met. 'And I never once opened my lips!' she said. 
 On June 10 she preached in Oakland: 'the one sermon 
 which I have felt like preaching in these parts: "Thou art 
 Peter, and upon this rock." The house was well filled. . . . 
 After service as I leaned over to speak to those who stopped 
 to greet me, I saw one of our old church-members, who told 
 me, with eyes full of tears, that our dear James Freeman 
 Clarke is no more. This was like an ice-bolt; I could not 
 realize it at first. 
 
 ' "A very tender history 
 Did in your passing fall." 
 
 'Years of sweet converse, of following and dependence, end 
 with this event.' 
 
 So we come to the last day at the ranch, the parting with 
 the dear sister; the departure for San Francisco, laden with 
 roses and good wishes. 
 
 So, through 'bowery and breezy Nebraska; such a relief to 
 eyes and nerves!' to Chicago, where Maud kept and com- 
 forted her as long as might be, and sent her refreshed on her 
 way; finally to Boston, where she arrived half-starved, and 
 so to Newport. 
 
 To Maud 
 
 July 8, 1888. 
 
 Oh! the dust of it, and the swirl, in which the black porter 
 and the white babies all seemed mixed up together. A few 
 dried and withered old women, like myself, were thrown in, 
 an occasional smoky gent, and the gruel 'thick and slab,' 
 was what is called Human Nature! This is the spleeny vein, 
 and I indulge it to make you laugh, but really, my journey 
 was as comfortable as heat and speed would allow. Imagine 
 my feelings on learning that there was no dining or buffet 
 ear! Do not grieve about this, the biscuits and bananas 
 which you put up carried me quite a way. We got a tolerable 
 
286 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 breakfast at Cleveland, and a bad dinner at Buffalo, but 
 dry your eyes, the strawberry shortcake was uncommonly 
 good. And think how good it is that I have got through with 
 it all and can now rest good and handsome. 
 
 The summer entries in the Journal are varied and pic- 
 turesque. 'My cow, of which I was fond, was found dead this 
 morning. . . . My neighbor Almy was very kind. ... I feel 
 this a good deal, but complaining will not help matters.' 
 
 'Mr. Bancroft [George], historian, brought Dr. Hedge 
 to call after dinner. Mr. B. kissed me on both cheeks for 
 the first time in his life. We had a very pleasant and rather 
 brilliant talk, as might have been expected where such men 
 meet.' 
 
 She writes to Maud : — 
 
 'Mr. Alger seized upon my left ear metaphorically and 
 emptied into it all the five-syllable words that he knew, and 
 the result was a mingling of active and passive lunacy, for I 
 almost went mad and he had not far to go in that direction.' 
 
 And again: apropos of : 'How the great world does 
 
 use up a man! It is not merely the growing older, for that 
 is a natural and simple process; but it is the coating of 
 worldliness which seems to varnish the life out of a man; 
 dead eyes, dead smile, and (worst of all) dead breath.' 
 
 ''September 23. To church in Newport. A suggestive 
 sermon from Mr. Alger on "Watching," i.e., upon all the 
 agencies that watch us, children, foes, friends, critics, authori- 
 ties, spirits, God himself. 
 
 'As we drove into town [Newport] I had one of those 
 momentary glimpses which in things spiritual are so infinitely 
 precious. The idea became clear and present to my mind 
 that God, an actual presence, takes note of our actions and 
 intentions. I thought how helpful it would be to us to pass 
 our lives in a sense of this divine supervision. After this 
 inward experience I was almost startled by the theme of 
 Alger's sermon. I spoke to him of the coincidence, and he 
 said it must have been a thought wave. The thought is one 
 to which I have need to cling. I have at this moment mental 
 
MORE CHANGES 287 
 
 troubles, obsessions of imagination, from which I pray to 
 be delivered. While this idea of the divine presence was 
 clear to me, I felt myself lifted above these things. May this 
 lifting continue.' 
 
 'November 4. In my prayer this morning I thanked God 
 that I have come to grieve more over my moral disappoint- 
 ments than over my intellectual ones. With my natural tal- 
 ents I had nothing to do: with my use or abuse of them, 
 everything. 
 
 'I have thought, too, lately, of a reason why we should not 
 neglect our duty to others for our real or supposed duty to 
 ourselves. It is this: ourselves we have always with us; our 
 fellows flit from our company, or pass away, and we must 
 help them when and while we can.' 
 
 On December 5 she hears 'the bitter news of Abby May's 
 death. Alas! and alas! for the community, for her many 
 friends, and for the Club and the Congress in which she 
 did such great silent service. God rest her in His sweet 
 peace!' 
 
 On Christmas Day she went to 'Trinity Church, where I 
 enjoyed Phillips Brooks's sermon. Felt much drawn to go 
 to communion with the rest; but thought it might occasion 
 surprise and annoyance. Going into a remote upper gallery 
 I was present at the scene, and felt that I had my communion 
 without partaking of the "elements." These lines also sug- 
 gested themselves as I walked home: — 
 
 "The Universal bread, 
 
 The sacrificial wine, 
 
 The glory of the thorn-crowned head, 
 
 Humanity divine.' 
 
 'The last day of the year dawned upon me, bringing 
 solemn thoughts of the uncertainty of life, and sorrow for 
 such misuse of its great gifts and opportunities as I am well 
 conscious of. This has been a good year to mo. It carried 
 me to the Pacific slope, and showed me indeed a land of 
 promise. It gave me an unexpected joy in the harmonious 
 feelings toward me and the members of A.A.W. at the 
 
288 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Detroit Congress. It has, alas! taken from me my dear 
 pastor, most precious to me for help and instruction, and 
 other dear and valued friends, notably Sarah Shaw Russell, 1 
 Abby W. May and Carrie Tappan. 2 I desire to set my house 
 in order, and be ready for my departure; thankful to live, 
 or willing to cease from my mortal life when God so 
 wills. . . .' 
 
 1 Mrs. George Russell, widow of the Doctor's friend and college chum. 
 
 "Caroline Tappan was Caroline Sturgis, daughter of Captain William 
 Sturgis, and sister of Ellen (Sturgis) Hooper, — member of the inmost Tran- 
 scendentalist circle, and friend of Emerson, Ellery Channing and Margaret 
 Fuller. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 
 1889-1890; aet. 70-71 
 
 The seven decades of my years 
 
 I figure like those Pleiad spheres 
 
 Which, thro' the heaven's soft impulse moved, 
 
 Still seek a sister star beloved. 
 
 Thro' many sorrows, more delight, 
 Thro' miracles in sound and sight, 
 Thro' battles lost and battles won, 
 These star-spaced years have led me on. 
 
 Though long behind me shows the path, 
 The future still its promise hath, 
 For tho' the past be fair and fond, 
 The perfect number lies beyond. 
 
 J. W". H. 
 
 She was dissatisfied with herself in these days. 
 
 'January 1, 1889. In my prayer this night I asked for 
 weight and earnestness of purpose. I am too frivolous and 
 frisky.' 
 
 'On waking I said, "If God does not help me this day, I 
 shall not be able to finish my address" [for a Washington's 
 Birthday celebration at Newport].' 
 
 She thinks He did help her, as she found the vein of what 
 she wished to say, and finished it to her 'tolerable satisfac- 
 tion.' 
 
 'As I entered the hall in the evening, the thought of 
 Cinderella struck me, and I used it by comparing the fashion, 
 of which we make so much account, to Cinderella with her 
 rat horses and pumpkin carriage, so resplendent until her 
 hour came; then the horses would not carry her, the golden 
 coach would not hold her, her illusory grandeur was at an 
 end. Our cause of truth and justice I compared to the 
 Princess in her enchanted sleep, who lies spellbound until 
 the true champion comes to rescue her, and the two go forth 
 together, to return to sleep and diversion, oh, never more.' 
 
290 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 This is the note throughout the Journal; the record of 
 work, the prayer for strength. Yet the f riskiness was there; 
 no one but herself would have had less of it. 
 
 She had already entered the happy estate of grandmother- 
 hood, and enjoyed it to the full. New songs must be made 
 for the little new people, new games invented. We see her 
 taking a grandchild's hands in hers, and improvising thus: — 
 
 'We have two hands, 
 To buckle bands! 
 We have ten fingers, 
 To make clotheswringers! 
 We have two thumbs, 
 To pick up crumbs! 
 We have two heels, 
 To bob for eels ! 
 We have ten toes, 
 To match our nose!' 
 
 If the child be tired or fretful, 'Hush!' says the grand- 
 mother. 'Be good, and I will play you the "Canarybird's 
 Funeral." Off they go to the piano, and the 'Canarybird's 
 Funeral' is improvised, and must be played over and over, 
 for this and succeeding grandchildren. For them, too, she 
 composed the musical drama of 'Flibbertigibbet,' which she 
 was to play and recite for so many happy children, and grown 
 folks too. Flibbertigibbet was a black imp who appeared 
 one day in the market-place, and playing a jig on his fiddle, 
 set all the people dancing whether they would or no. She 
 played the jig, and one did not wonder at the people. Next 
 came Flibbertigibbet's march, which he played on his way 
 to prison; his melancholy, as he sat in durance; the cats on 
 the roof of his prison; finally, entrance of the benevolent 
 fairy, who whisks him off in a balloon to fairyland. All 
 these, voice and piano gave together: nobody who heard 
 'Flibbertigibbet' ever forgot it. She set Mother Goose to 
 music for the grandchildren ; singing of Little Boy Blue, and 
 the Man in the Moon. She thought these nursery melodies 
 among her best compositions; from time to time, however, 
 other and graver airs came to her, dreamed over the piano on 
 
SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 291 
 
 summer evenings, or in twilight walks among the Newport 
 meadows. Some of these airs were gathered and published 
 in later years. 1 
 
 In May of this year she notes the closing of a life long 
 associated with hers. 
 
 'May 24. Laura Bridgman died to-day at about 12 M. 
 This event brings with it solemn suggestions, which my over- 
 crowded brain cannot adequately follow. Her training was 
 a beautiful out-blossoming from the romance of my hus- 
 band's philanthropy. She has taught a great lesson in her 
 time, and unfortunates of her sort are now trained, without 
 question of the result. This was to S. G. H. an undiscovered 
 country in the first instance. I cannot help imagining him 
 as standing before the face of the Highest and pointing to 
 his work: happy, thrice happy man, with all his sorrow!' 
 
 The close of her seventieth year was a notable milestone 
 on the long road. May found her still carrying full sail; 
 a little more tired after each exertion, a little puzzled at the 
 occasional rebellion of 'Sister Body,' her hard-worked 
 'A.B.'; but not yet dreaming of taking in a reef. 
 
 The seventieth birthday was a great festival. Maud, invit- 
 ing Oliver Wendell Holmes to the party, had written, 
 'Mamma will be seventy years young on the 27th. Come and 
 play with her!' 
 
 The Doctor in his reply said, 'It is better to be seventy 
 years young than forty years old!' 
 
 Dr. Holmes himself was now eighty years old. It was in 
 these days that she went with Laura to call on him, and 
 found him in his library, a big, bright room, looking out on 
 the Charles River, books lining the walls, a prevailing impres- 
 sion of atlases and dictionaries open on stands. The greet- 
 ing between the two was pleasant to see, their talk something 
 to remember. 'Ah, Mrs. Howe,' said the Autocrat, 'you at 
 seventy have much to learn about life. At eighty you will 
 find new vistas opening in every direction!' 
 
 1 Song Album. Published by G. Schinner & Co. 
 
292 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Ten years later she was reminded of this. 'It is true!' she 
 said. 
 
 At parting he kissed her, which touched her deeply. 
 
 He was in another mood when they met at a reception 
 shortly after this. 'Ah! Mrs. Howe,' he said, 'you see I still 
 hang on as one of the old wrecks!' 
 
 'Yes, you are indeed Rex!' was the reply. 
 
 'Then, Madam,' he cried, with a flash, 'you are Regina!' 
 
 To return to the birthday! Here are a few of the letters 
 received: — 
 
 From George William Curtis 
 
 West New Brighton, Staten Island, N.Y., 
 May 9, 1889. 
 My dear Mrs. Elliott, — 
 
 I shall still be too lame to venture so far away from home 
 as your kind invitation tempts me to stray, but no words of 
 my regard and admiration for Mrs. Howe will ever limp 
 and linger. I doubt if among the hosts who will offer their 
 homage upon her accession to the years of a ripe youth there 
 will be many earlier friends than I, and certainly there will 
 be none who have watched her career with more sympathy 
 in her varied and humane activities. Poet, scholar, philan- 
 thropist, and advocate of true Democracy, her crown is more 
 than triple, and it is her praise as it may well be her pride 
 to have added fresh lustre to the married name she bears. 
 
 I am sincerely sorry that only in this inadequate way can I 
 join my voice to the chorus of friendly rejoicing and con- 
 gratulation on the happy day, which reminds us only of the 
 perpetual youth of the warm heart and the sound mind. 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 George William Curtis. 
 
 From W. W. Story 
 
 My dear Julia, — 
 
 (I suppose I may still call you so — we are both so young 
 and inexperienced) I cannot let this anniversary of your 
 
SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 293 
 
 birth go by, without stretching out my hands to you across 
 the ocean, and throwing to you all they can hold of good 
 wishes, and affectionate thought, and delightful memories. 
 Though years have gone by since I have seen you, you are 
 still fresh, joyous, and amusing, and charming as ever. Of 
 this I am fully persuaded, and often I look into that anxious 
 mirror of my mind, and see you and wander with you, and 
 jest with you and sing with you, as I used in the olden days ; 
 and never will I be so faithless as to believe that you are any 
 older than you were — and I hope earnestly you are no wiser 
 and that a great deal of folly is still left in you — as it is, I 
 am happy to say, in me. 
 
 For, after all, what is life worth when its folly is all de- 
 parted? When we have grown wise and sad as well as old 
 — it is time to say Good-bye. But that time has not come for 
 us yet. So let us still shout Evviva! 
 
 I do not mention the fact of your age, — I don't know it, — 
 but if I should guess, from what I know I should say twenty- 
 five. I was twenty-eight when I left America — and that is 
 such a few months ago — and I know you were born somewhat 
 about the same time. 
 
 You will receive a great many congratulations and ex- 
 pressions of friendship, but none more sincere than those of 
 Your old friend — I mean 
 
 Your young friend, 
 
 W. W. Story. 
 
 Rome, Palazzo Barberini, 
 May 10, 1889. 
 
 From James Russell Lowell 
 
 68 Beacon Street, 
 
 13th May, 1889. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Howe, — 
 
 I shouldn't have suspected it, but if you say so, I am 
 bound to believe this improbability, as absurd as Leporello's 
 Catalogue for its numerals. If it be so — I beg pardon — since 
 it is so, I am glad that you are going to take it cheerfully as 
 who should say to Time, 'Another turn of the glass, please, 
 
294 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 my young friend, I'm writing.' But alas, I can't be there 
 to take a glass with you. You say, 'if there be no obstacle.' 
 No less than a couple of thousand miles of water, harder to 
 get over than the years themselves, which indeed get behind 
 more swiftly than they ought. I can at least wish you many 
 happy returns of the day and will drink to your health on 
 the 27th. I sail on the 18th. 
 
 Pray accept my thanks and regrets and make them accept- 
 able to your children. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 James Russell Lowell. 
 
 The Journal thus notes the occasion. 
 
 'My seventieth birthday. A very busy day for all of us. 
 . . . My head was dressed at eleven. All my children were 
 here, with daughter- and sons-in-law. I had many lovely 
 gifts. The house was like a garden of costly flowers. Break- 
 fast was at 12.30; was in very good style. Guests: General 
 Walker, John S. Dwight, E. E. Hale, Mrs. Jack Gardner, 
 Mmes. Bell, Pratt, and Agassiz. Walker made the first 
 speech at the table, H. M. H. 1 being toastmaster. Walker 
 seemed to speak very feelingly, calling me the first citizeness 
 of the country; stood silent a little and sat down. Dwight 
 read a delightful poem; Hale left too soon to do anything. 
 H. introduced J. S. D. thus : "Sweetness and light, your name 
 is Dwight." While we sat at table, baskets and bouquets of 
 wonderful flowers kept constantly arriving; the sweet grand- 
 daughters brought them in, in a sort of procession lovely to 
 see. It rained in the afternoon, but the house was thronged 
 with visitors, all the same.' 
 
 A sober entry, written the next day, when she was 'very 
 tired, with a delightful fatigue' : but on the day itself she was 
 gay, enjoying her 'party' to the full, treasuring every flower, 
 wondering why people were so good to her. 
 
 The festivities lasted several days, for every one wanted 
 to 'play Birthday' with her. The New England Woman's 
 Club gave her a luncheon, which she valued next to the home 
 1 Henry Marion Howe. 
 
SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 295 
 
 celebration; the blind children of the Perkins Institution 
 must hear her speak, and in return sing some of her songs, 
 and give her flowers, clustering round her with tender, grop- 
 ing fingers that sought to clasp hers. Moreover, the last 
 week of May is Anniversary Week in Boston. Suffragists, 
 women ministers, Unitarians, 'uplifters' of every description, 
 held their meetings (traditionally in a pouring rain) and 
 one and all wanted Mrs. Howe. 
 
 'I have said to God on every morning of these busy days: 
 "Give me this day," and He has given them all: i.e., He has 
 given me power to fulfil the task appointed for each.' 
 
 When she finally got to Newport, she was 'dazed with the 
 quiet after the strain of heart and fatigue.' 
 
 The ministry was much in her mind this summer. 
 
 'I take for my guidance a new motto: "I will ascend"; 
 not in my ambition, but in my thoughts and aims.' 
 
 'A dry Sunday, i.e., no church, it being the women's turn 
 to go. I shelled peas for dinner. Began Rambaud's "His- 
 tory of Russia." ... I think of two sermons to write, one, 
 "A spirit of Power"; one, "Behold, I show you a more 
 excellent way." ' 
 
 'Thought a book or article about "Fooleries" would be 
 entertaining and instructive. The need of this element in 
 human society is shown by the ancient jesters and court fools. 
 ... In Bible times Samson made sport for the Philistines. 
 People now do their own dancing and their own fooling: 
 some of it very dull. Query: What ancient jests have been 
 preserved? "The Fools of old and of all time" would not be 
 a bad title.' 
 
 In October came the Woman's Congress in Denver; she 
 was there, 'attending all meetings and sessions.' 
 
 After the Congress 'the visiting ladies enjoyed a drive 
 about the city of Denver. I went early to the High School 
 with A. A. B. 1 Found Mrs. Cheney speaking to the pupils 
 assembled. She did not notice our entrance and spoke of 
 me very warmly. Presendy, turning round, she saw us and 
 
 J The Reverend Antoinette Black well. 
 
296 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 we all laughed. I spoke to them of my "drink of youth"; 
 compared the spirits of youth to steam given to carry them 
 on a celestial railroad ; compared youth to wine in a beautiful 
 vase; spoke of ancient libations to the gods; our libation to 
 be poured to the true Divine; urged them not to starve their 
 studies in order to feed their amusements. "Two ways of 
 study, one mean, the other generous." Told them not to 
 imitate savages, who will barter valuable land for worthless 
 baubles; not so to barter their opportunities for barren 
 pleasures.' 
 
 She preached at Unity Church Sunday morning. 
 
 'At Grace Church [Methodist] in the afternoon. Spoke 
 to the text, "God hath not left himself without a witness." 
 This witness is in every human heart; which, with all its 
 intense desires, desires most of all, law, order, religion. . . . 
 I applied my text to the coming out into the new territories; 
 a rough Exodus stimulated by the love of gold; but with the 
 army of fortune-seekers go faithful souls, and instead of 
 passing out of civilization, they extend its bounds. "Praise 
 waiteth for thee in Zion" — yes, but the Prophet says: "The 
 solitary places shall be glad for them," et cetera. I set this 
 down for future use.' 
 
 The Denver people were most friendly, and she enjoyed 
 the visit greatly. Thence she stepped westward once more, 
 lecturing and preaching as she went, everywhere welcomed 
 with cordial warmth, everywhere carrying her ministry with 
 her. 
 
 California was once more her goal. This second visit was 
 brief and hurried. 
 
 'Hurry, scurry to dress for the Forefathers' Day celebra- 
 tion. Oakley was my squire. I was taken down to dinner 
 by Professor Moore, President of the occasion. ... I was 
 suddenly and unexpectedly called for, and all were requested 
 to rise, which was a great honor done me. I spoke of two 
 Congregationalists whom I had known, Antoinette Blackwell, 
 of whose ordination I told ; then of Theodore Parker, of whom 
 
SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 297 
 
 I said, "Nothing that I have heard here is more Christian 
 than what I heard from him." I told of his first having 
 brought into notice the hymn, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," 
 and said that I had sung it with him; said that in advising 
 with all women's clubs, I always urged them to include in 
 their programmes pressing questions of the day. Was much 
 applauded. . . . They then sang the "Battle Hymn" and we 
 adjourned.' 
 
 She spent Christmas with Sister Annie, in great content- 
 ment; her last word before starting for home is, 'Thank 
 God for much good!' 
 
 In January, 1890, she 'heard young Cram 1 explain "Tris- 
 tram and Iseult," and young Prescott execute some of the 
 music. It seemed to me like broken china, no complete 
 chord; no perfect result; no architectonic' 
 
 She never learned to like what was in those days 'the 
 new music' Wagner and Brahms were anathema to her, 
 as to many another music-lover of her time, notably John 
 Sullivan Dwight, long-time Boston's chief musical critic. 
 Many a sympathetic talk they had together; one can see him 
 now, his eyes burning gentle fire, head nodding, hands wav- 
 ing, as he denounced what seemed to him wanton cacophony. 
 She avoided the Symphony Concerts at which 'the new 
 music' was exploited ; but it was positive pain to her to miss 
 a symphony of Beethoven or Schubert. 
 
 In March of this year the Saturday Morning Club of 
 Boston gave a performance of the 'Antigone' of Sophocles. 
 
 'In afternoon to the second representation of the "Antig- 
 one." ... On the whole very pathetic and powerful. Mrs. 
 Tilden full of dramatic fire; Sally Fairchild ideally beautiful 
 in dress, attitude, and expression. The whole a high feast 
 of beauty and of poetry. The male parts wonderfully illu- 
 sive, especially that of Tiresias, the seer. . . .' 
 
 'Ralph Adams Cram, architect and litterateur. 
 
298 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To Laura 
 
 241 Beacon Street, Boston, 
 April 26, 1890. 
 
 Fse very sorry for unhandsome neglect complained of in 
 your last. What are we going to do about it? I have now 
 and then made efforts to reclaim the old Party, but have 
 long considered her incorrigible. What shall we say, then? 
 'Where sin doth abound, Grace shall much more abound,' or 
 words to that effect, are recorded of one Paul, of whom I 
 have no mean opinion. So, there's Scripture for you, do 
 you see? As I wrote you yes'day or day before, things have 
 been hoppy here since my return. The elder Agassiz used 
 to mention in his lectures the Lepidoptera, and I think that's 
 the creature (insect, I b'lieve) which infests Boston. What 
 I have hopped for, and whither to, I cannot in the least re- 
 member. Flossy was here, as you know, and I hop't for 
 her. I also 'tended two of the festival Oratorios, which were 
 fine, but to me very fatiguing. I find that I must take public 
 amusements, when I do take them, in the afternoon, as in 
 the evening bodily fatigue overmasters even the aesthetic 
 sense, and it is not worth while to pay a large price for the 
 pleasure of wishing one's self at home. . . . The benefit at 
 Boston Museum for the Vincent Hospital netted over $1600. 
 It was a brilliant success, but I caught there the first cold I 
 have had since my return from the Far West. Maud is very 
 busy with the flower table, which she has undertaken, having 
 nothing to do. This is for the Vincent Fair, which will take 
 place on Tuesday, 29th. . . . Have got a few lovely books from 
 Libbie's sale of the Hart collection — among other things, a 
 fine French edition of 'Les Miserables,' which I am at last 
 glad never to have read, as I shall enjoy it, D.V., in some of 
 the long reading days of summer. . . . 
 
 Your ownty donty 
 
 Ma. 
 
 P.S. Before the Libbie sale I wickedly bid $25 upon a 
 small but very precious missal. It brought $825!! 
 
SEVENTY YEARS YOUNG 299 
 
 When she reached Oak Glen in mid- June, she felt a 'con- 
 stant discouragement'; was lonely, and missed the cheerful 
 converse of her club and suffrage friends. 'My work seems 
 to me to amount to nothing at all.' She soon revived, and 
 'determined to fulfil in due order all the tasks undertaken 
 for this summer; so attacked the Kappa poem and wrote at a 
 stretch twenty-two verses, of four lines each, which was pretty 
 much my day's work. Read in Martineau, in J. F. C, a little 
 Greek, and the miserable "Les Miserables." ' 
 
 In August she preached to the women in Sherborn Prison, 
 choosing a 'text of cheer and uplifting: "Thine is the king- 
 dom, and the power, and the glory." Read part of Isaiah 
 40th. Said that I had wished to bring them some word of 
 comfort and exhilaration. Pointed out how the Lord's 
 Prayer begins with solemn worship and ascription, aspiring 
 to God's Kingdom, praying for daily bread and for deliver- 
 ance from temptation and all evil; at the close it rises into 
 this joyous strain, "Thine is the kingdom," et cetera. Tried 
 to show how the kingdom is God, the great providential order, 
 before and beyond all earthly government; then the power, 
 that of perfect wisdom and goodness, the power to know and 
 rule all things, to be everywhere and ever present, to regulate 
 the mighty sweep of stars and planets, and, at the same time, 
 to take note of the poorest and smallest of us ; the glory first 
 of the visible universe, glory of the day and night, of the 
 seasons, glory of the redeeming power of truth, glory of the 
 inexhaustible patience, of boundless compassion and love.' 
 
 She enjoyed the visit to the prison and was thankful for it. 
 
 A few days later, at a meeting in Newport, she heard a 
 lady demand that the children of genius should be set apart 
 from others for special education and encouragement, re- 
 ceiving a pension even in their early years. She demanded 
 colleges of genius, and a retreat for people of genius. By 
 thus fostering juvenile promise, we should produce giants 
 and demigods. 
 
 'I, being called upon, gave the card house a tolerable 
 shaking, and, I think", brought it down, for which several 
 people thanked me.' 
 
300 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Vividly as she lived in the present, the past was never far 
 from her. 
 
 'Had in the morning at first waking a very vivid mind- 
 picture of my sweet young mother lying dead, with two or 
 three of us litde ones standing about her. My brother Henry, 
 two years my senior, laid his litde hand upon her forehead 
 and said : "It is as cold as a stone," or some such comparison. 
 I felt strangely, this morning, the very pain and agony of that 
 moment, preceding the tragical vision of a life in which that 
 central point of nurture, a mother's affection and wisdom, has 
 been wanting. The scene in my mind was only a vivid rem- 
 iniscence of what actually took place, which I never forgot, 
 but I had not felt it as I did to-day in many years.' 
 
 Perhaps at heart she was always the little child who used to 
 say to herself at night, 'Now I will stretch out and make my- 
 self as long as I can, so that the robbers will think I am a 
 grown-up person, and perhaps then they will not touch me!' 
 'Then,' she told us, 'I would stretch myself out at full length, 
 and go to sleep.' 
 
 She was reading Martineau's 'Study of Religion' this sum- 
 mer with close attention and deep interest. His writings gave 
 her unfailing delight. His portrait hung in her room; on her 
 desk lay always a slender volume of his 'Prayers,' her 
 favorite passages marked in pencil. When Louise Chandler 
 Moulton lay dying, the best comfort she could devise for her 
 was the loan of this precious little volume. 
 
 September brought 'alarums and excursions.' 
 
 'Awoke and sprang at once into the worry saddle.' 
 
 Another Congress was coming, another 'A.A.W.' paper to 
 be written, beside an opening address for the Mechanics' 
 Fair, and '1500 words for Bok,' on some aspect of the 
 American woman. 
 
 She went to Boston for the opening of the Mechanics' Fair, 
 and sat beside Phillips Brooks in the great hall. 'They will 
 not hear us!' she said. 'No,' replied Brooks. 'This is the 
 place where little children are seen and not heard.' 
 
 'Mayor Hart backed up the Tariff while I praised Free 
 Trade. My text was two words of God: "Use and Beauty." 
 My brief address was written carefully though hastily.' 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A SUMMER ABROAD 
 1892-1893; aet. 73-74 
 
 Methinks my friends grow beauteous in my sight, 
 As the years make their havoc of sweet things; 
 Like the intenser glory of the light 
 When the sad bird of Autumn sits and sings. 
 
 Ah! woe is me! ah! Memory, 
 Be cheerful, thanking God for things that be. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 The longing to revisit England and enjoy another 'whiff 
 of a London season was gratified in the summer of 1892. 
 Accompanied by the Elliotts and a granddaughter, she sailed 
 for Liverpool on the 4th of June; 'a day of almost incon- 
 ceivable pressure and labor. I could not waste one minute, 
 yet could not do some of the simplest things which I intended 
 to do. Our departure was tolerably decorous and comforts 
 able.' - — / 
 
 ''June 16. Chester. Attended service in the Cathedral. I 
 first came to Chester as a bride, forty-nine years ago ; then in 
 1867 with dear Chev, Julia, and Laura; in 1877 with dear 
 Maud; and now with Maud and her husband and my dear 
 grandchild, Alice Richards. These three periods in my 
 woman's life gave me much to think of.' 
 
 June 18 found the party established in pleasant lodgings 
 in Albion Street, Hyde Park, where they were soon sur- 
 rounded by friends old and new. 
 
 'June 21. ... In the afternoon Lady Aberdeen, Arthur 
 Mills, and Henry Harland visited me. A. M.'s hair is quite 
 white. It was only iron grey when we last met, thirteen 
 years ago.' 
 
 'June 22. Mrs. Brooke Herford wrote to ask me to come 
 out this afternoon to meet Mrs. Humphry Ward. The Albert 
 Hall performance very interesting. Lord Aberdeen sent his 
 
302 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 carriage for us. My seat was next to that of the Countess, 
 who appeared in a very fine dress of peach-blossom corded 
 silk, with white lace draperies — on my left was Lord Brooke. 
 Lady Aberdeen introduced me to Lord Kenmare and Dr. 
 Barnardo. The singing of the children, a band of rescued 
 waifs, moved me to tears. The military drill of the boys and 
 the Maypole dance of the girls were very finely done. There 
 are more than 4000 of these children in Barnardo Homes.' 
 
 'June 23. To the first view of the Society of English 
 Portrait Painters. Portraits on the whole well worth seeing 
 — Herkomers very good, also Mrs. Anna Lea Merritt's and 
 others. A superb portrait of Cardinal Manning, in full red 
 and ermine. In the evening Lady Aberdeen sent her carriage 
 for me and I went with her to a meeting of the Liberal League, 
 at which she spoke with a pleasant playfulness, dwelling 
 somewhat upon the position that Home Rule, if given to Ire- 
 land, would do away with the ill-feeling of the Irish in 
 America towards England. To lunch with Lady Aberdeen. 
 Lief Jones came into the meeting while Lady Aberdeen was 
 speaking, and with him Lady Carlisle. She shook hands 
 with me very cordially. Presently Lief Jones began his 
 address, which was quite lengthy, presenting the full plat- 
 form of the Liberal Party. He is a brisk, adroit speaker, and 
 made points in favor of Woman Suffrage, of Home Rule, of 
 the disestablishment of the Anglican Church in Wales and 
 Scotland, of the eight-hour labor law, of the purchase of the 
 waterworks, now owned by eight companies in the city.' 
 
 'June 25. Went to Toynbee Hall by Whitechapel 'bus. 
 Had received a note, which I supposed to be from a lady, 
 offering to show me over the institution. We were shown 
 into a large room, bare of carpet, but with some pictures 
 and bric-a-brac. After waiting half an hour, a young gentle- 
 man made his appearance, a Mr. Ames — the letter had been 
 from him. He showed me Mr. Charles [not General] Booth's 
 map of gradations of wealth and poverty in London. The 
 distinctions are marked by colors and shades of color — 
 criminal centres designated by black. In the afternoon to 
 Sarasate's concert, all violin and piano-forte, but very fine.' 
 
A SUMMER ABROAD 303 
 
 'June 28. To Westminster Abbey. To Alice, its interest 
 seemed inexhaustible. It is so, indeed, had one time to be 
 "strewing violets all the time," as E. B. B. said. Longfellow's 
 bust has been placed there since my last visit; the likeness is 
 good. I wandered about as long as my feet would carry me, 
 thinking sometimes of Gray's question, "Can storied urn," 
 etc. The Harlands came later and brought the composer of 
 "Twickenham Ferry." With Alice to dine at Toynbee Hall. 
 A pleasant dinner. A bright young man, Bruce by name, 
 related to Abyssinian Bruce, took Alice in to dinner — sit- 
 ting afterwards in Ames's room, where we met an alderman, 
 a bricklayer, a trades' unionist; later, we heard a lecture from 
 Commander Gladstone, on the Norman-Breton churches, with 
 fine stereoscopic plates. A violent storm came on, but we 
 managed to " 'bus it" home, taking a cab only at Marble 
 Arch.' 
 
 'June 29. To dine with the Greek Minister at eight o'clock, 
 and to the soiree of the Academy. 
 
 'To Chelsea, to call upon Mrs. Oscar Wilde. ... He showed 
 me with pride a fine boy of five years. We had some talk of 
 old times, of his visit to America; I reminded him of the 
 vermilion balcony at which he laughed.' [Wilde had com- 
 plained that the usual pronunciation of these words was 
 prosaic] 
 
 'June 30. . . . Mrs. Oscar Wilde asks us to take tea on 
 Thursday; she has invited Walter Pater. . . . Have writ to 
 James Bryce.' 
 
 'July 4. Mrs. [Edmund] Gosse came and took us to Alma- 
 Tadema's beautiful house and garden. He met us very 
 cordially. Mrs. Smalley came. She was Wendell Phillips's 
 adopted daughter. I had a pleasant talk with her and with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hughes, whom I charged with a friendly mes- 
 sage to Thomas himself. After this to Minister Lincoln's 
 Fourth of July reception. Harry White, Daisy Rutherford's 
 husband, was introduced.' 
 
 Elsewhere she says of this visit to Alma-Tadema: — ■ 
 
 'His charming wife, once seen, explains some of the fea- 
 tures of his works. She has yellow hair of the richest color; 
 
304 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 her eyes also have a primrose tint, while her complexion has 
 a pale bloom of its own, most resembling that of a white 
 rose. She gave us tea from lozenge-shaped cups, with sau- 
 cers to match. In the anteroom below we admired a painting 
 by her own hand, of yellow jonquils and a yellow fan, on a 
 dark background. Her husband seemed pleased when we 
 praised this picture. So these two artists occupy their golden 
 nest peaceably, and do not tear each other's laurels. 
 
 'Let me say here that the passion for the golden color still 
 prevails. In dress, in furniture, in porcelain, it is the pre- 
 vailing favorite. Long banished from the social rainbow, it 
 now avenges itself for years of neglect, and, as every dog 
 must have his day, we will say that the yellow dog is now to 
 have his, and that the dog-star of this coming August will 
 certainly be of his color.' 
 
 ''July 6. With Maud to Liberty's, where she beguiled me, 
 alas! into buying a fine black silk mantle for six guineas. 
 To Nutt's in the Strand for my Greek books. He had only 
 the "Nicomathean Ethics," a fine edition which I bought for 
 twelve shillings. Then to Poole's in Hallowell Street, where 
 bought two editions of Aristotle's "Government," with Eng- 
 lish notes. At Poole's found a copy of Schiller's "Robbers," 
 which I bought for threepence.' 
 
 'July 8. I had rashly promised to lunch with the Brooke 
 Herfords at Hampstead, and to take five-o'clock tea with 
 Mrs. Rebecca Moore at Bedford Place. The Herfords were 
 delightful, and Hampstead is a charming suburb. We saw 
 the outside of Mrs. Barbauld's house. Herford said much 
 good of Cookson, a farmer's son whom he had known in 
 England from his beginnings, a dignified, able, excellent man 
 in his esteem. From this a long distance to Mrs. Moore. We 
 reached her in good time, however. Found her alone, in a 
 pleasant little dwelling. Three ladies came to tea, which was 
 served quite in state — Stepniak 1 came also.' 
 
 'July 10. To the Temple Church. The organ voluntaries, 
 strangely, I thought, were first Chopin's "Funeral March," 
 
 1 Sergius Stepniak, a Russian author, then a political exile living in 
 England. 
 
A SUMMER ABROAD 305 
 
 second the "Dead March" in "Saul." A notahle sermon 
 from Dr. Vaughan. The discourse was really concerned 
 with the political situation of the moment: the strong division 
 of feeling throughout the country, and the fears of many lest 
 the doctrine in which they believe should be overthrown. He 
 said that the real Ark of God was the Church Universal, 
 which has been defined as the whole company of believing 
 Christian people throughout the world. Many changes would 
 occur, but the vital principle of religion would prove itself 
 steadfast — a truly noble sermon, worthy of Phillips Brooks.' 
 
 'July 12. To the New Gallery in which were two fine 
 portraits by Herkomer, a superb one of Paderewski by 
 Tadema, and one of Walter Crane by Watts, also of dis- 
 tinguished excellence. Later, called upon the Duchess of 
 Bedford, a handsome woman, sister to Lady Henry Somerset. 
 We talked of her sister's visit to the United States. I was 
 well able to praise her eloquence and her general charm. 
 She has known Lowell well. We talked of the old London, 
 the old Boston, both past their palmiest literary days. She 
 had heard Phillips Brooks at Westminster Abbey; admired 
 him much, but thought him optimistic' 
 
 'July 14. Was engaged to spend the afternoon at Mrs. 
 Moulton's reception and to dine with Sebastian Schlesinger. 
 . . . Many people introduced to me — Jerome, author of 
 "Three Men in a Boat"; Molloy, song-writer; Theodore 
 Watts, poetical critic of the "Athenaeum." ... At the dinner I 
 met Mrs. O'Connor, who turned out to be a Texan, pretty and 
 very pleasant, an Abolitionist at the age of six. . . .' 
 
 'July 15. ... To the Harlands', where met Theodore Watts 
 again, and had some good talk with him about Browning and 
 other friends. Also Walter Besant, whom I greeted very 
 warmly as "our best friend." ' 
 
 'July 17. A sermon of surpassing beauty and power from 
 the dear Bishop of Massachusetts [Phillips Brooks] .... The 
 power and spirit of the discourse carried me quite away. We 
 waited to speak with him. I had a dear grasp of the hand 
 from him. I shook my finger at him and said, "Is this rest- 
 ing?" He laughed and said, "This is the last time. I shall 
 
306 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 not speak again until I reach Massachusetts." I wrote some 
 lines on coming home, only half expressing my thought, 
 which was that the mother of so brave a son could not have 
 had one coward drop of blood in her veins — another little 
 scrap, too, about the seven devils that Christianity can cast 
 out. General Walker in the afternoon and the Harlands to 
 dinner.' 
 
 They left London to join Mrs. Terry at Schwalbach, linger- 
 ing for a litde on the way in Holland and Belgium. 
 
 'July 28. Antwerp. Visited Cathedral and Musee. Saw 
 my picture, Rubens's Elevation of the Cross, but felt that my 
 eyesight has dimmed since I last saw it. Found Felu, the 
 armless artist, in the Musee copying a picture of Godiva. 
 He was very glad to see us. Much talk with him about 
 Flemish art. A little ramble after dinner and a nibble at 
 a bric-a-brac shop, which, however, did not become a bite.' 
 
 'August 3. Reached Schwalbach at three. My dear sister 
 [Mrs. Terry] came out to greet us. The meeting was a little 
 tearful, but also cheerful. Much has passed and passed 
 away in these eventful years. . . . Presently Louisa and I were 
 as though we had not been parted at all. She is litde changed, 
 and retains her old grace and charm of manner.' 
 
 'August 4. Out early with my sister. We have a regular 
 and restful plan of living. Meet after dinner, coffee with my 
 sister at half -past four, supper at half -past seven, in the eve- 
 ning reading aloud and conversation. I am miserable with 
 pain, probably rheumatic, in my left hip. Think I must have 
 got a chill on the Rhine boat. I say nothing about this. 
 Daisy and Wintie [Mr. and Mrs. Winthrop Chanler] came 
 this afternoon.' 
 
 'August 7. My dreadful hip joint does not ache to-day, 
 and I am ready to skip about with joy at the relief even if it 
 prove but temporary. The pain has been pretty severe and 
 I have said nought about it, fearing treatment.' 
 
 'August 9. Read Aristotle, as I have done all these days. 
 Took up St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans, with a more distinct 
 view than heretofore of his attitude relative to them, and 
 
A SUMMER ABROAD 307 
 
 theirs to him. Walked out with my sister, and saw at the 
 bric-a-brac booth near the Stahlbrunnen a ring composed of 
 a fine garnet, set with fine diamonds, wonderfully cheap, 136 
 marks — I foolishly wanted it.' 
 
 'August 16. Heidelberg. To the Castle — an endless walk 
 and climb. I was here in 1843, a bride, with dear Chev, my 
 dearest brother Marion, and my cousin, Henry Hall Ward. 
 We went to the Wolfbrunnen to breakfast — went on ponies to 
 the Castle, where we wandered at will, and saw the mighty 
 tun. Some French people were wandering there also, and 
 one of them, a lady with a sweet soprano voice, sang a song 
 of which the refrain was: "Comme une etoile au firmament." 
 H. H. Ward long after found this song somewhere. His voice 
 has now been silent for twenty years, dear Marion's for forty- 
 six, and here I come to-day, with my grown-up granddaughter, 
 whom dear Chev only knew as a baby. How long the time 
 seems, and yet how short! Two generations have grown up 
 since then in our family. My sister Louisa, then a young 
 beauty, is here with me, a grandmother with grandchildren 
 nearly grown. "So teach us to number our days." 
 
 'August 24. Sonnenberg. ... At breakfast an elderly lady 
 seemed to look at me and to smile. I supposed her to be 
 one of my Club ladies, or some one who had entertained me, 
 so presently I asked her if she were "one of my acquaint- 
 ances." She replied that she was not, but would be pleased 
 to make my acquaintance. We met soon after in one of 
 the corridors; having incautiously mentioned my name, I 
 asked for hers, she replied, "Sforza — Duchess Sforza Cesar- 
 ini." She had been attracted by my Breton caps, and espe- 
 cially by Daisy's beautiful version of this simple adornment. 
 She is a reader of Rosmini.' 1 
 
 The Duchess confessed afterward that she had requested 
 her maid to observe and copy the cap, and had been somewhat 
 troubled in mind lest she had been guilty of a constructive 
 discourtesy. 
 
 1 Rosmini-Serbati, a noted philosopher and founder of the order of the 
 Brothers of Charity. 
 
308 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'September 3. Received and answered a letter from Jen- 
 kin Lloyd Jones, informing me of my election to an Advis- 
 ory Board to hold a World's Unitarian Congress at Chicago 
 in September, 1893. I have accepted this.' 
 
 'September 4. My last day at Sonnenberg. . . . Gave my 
 sister my little old Greek Lexicon, long a cherished compan- 
 ion. I had thought of reading the family one of my sermons, 
 but my throat was troublesome and no one asked me to do 
 anything of the kind. They wished to hear "Pickwick," and 
 a long reading was held in my room, the fire in the grate help- 
 ing to cheer us.' 
 
 'September 22. Liverpool. Embarked at about ten in the 
 morning. Edward Atkinson, wife, and daughter on board, a 
 valuable addition to our resources.' 
 
 'September 29. At sea. I said in my mind: "There is 
 nothing in me which can redeem me from despair over my 
 poor life and wasted opportunities. That redemption which 
 I seek must be in Thee. There is no progress in the mere 
 sense of ill-desert. I must pass on from it to better effort 
 beyond, self-reproach is negative: woe is me that I was born! 
 Amendment must have positive ground." I wrote some lines 
 in which a bit of sea-weed shining in the sun seemed as an 
 illustration of the light which I hope to gain.' 
 
 'October 7. Newport. I begin my life here with a prayer 
 that the prolongation of my days on earth may be for good 
 to myself and others, that I may not sink into senile folly or 
 grossness, nor yet wander into aesthetic conceit, but carry the 
 weight of my experience in humility, in all charity, and in a 
 loving and serviceable spirit.' 
 
 The last entry in the Journal for 1892 strikes the keynote 
 of what was to prove the most absorbing interest of the com- 
 ing year. 
 
 'December 31. Farewell, dear 1892. You were the real 
 quattro centenary of Columbus's discovery, although we have 
 been so behind time as not to be ready to celebrate this before 
 1893. 1492 was indeed a year momentous to humanity.' 
 
 To her many cares was added now work for the Columbian 
 
A SUMMER ABROAD 309 
 
 Exhibition at Chicago. The Woman's Department of the 
 World's Fair was ably administered by Mrs. Potter Palmer, 
 who consulted her frequently, her experiences in the New 
 Orleans Cotton Centennial proving useful in the Columbian 
 Exhibition. The 'Twelve-o'Clock Talks,' so successful in the 
 Crescent City, were, at her suggestion, repeated at Chicago, 
 and proved most valuable. 
 
 'January 7. [Boston.] To speak to the Daughters of the 
 American Revolution at the house of Miss Rebecca W. Brown. 
 I had dreaded the meeting, feeling that I must speak of 
 suffrage in connection with the new womanhood, and antici- 
 pating a cold or angry reception. What was my surprise at 
 finding my words, which were not many, warmly welcomed! 
 Truly, the hour is at hand!' 
 
 'January 8. To speak for Dr. Clisby at Women's Educa- 
 tional and Industrial Union. I had dreaded this, too, fearing 
 not to interest my audience. The occasion was very pleasant 
 to me, and, I think, to them; Mrs. Waters endorsed my esti- 
 mate of Phillips Brooks as a perfectly disinterested worker. 
 Mrs. Catlin of New York agreed in my praise of Bishop 
 Henry C. Potter on the same grounds; both also spoke well 
 in relation to my most prominent point — emancipation from 
 the slavery of self.' 
 
 'January 23. Oh! and alas! dear Phillips Brooks died 
 suddenly this morning at half-past six. Alas! for Christen- 
 dom, which he did so much to unite by redeeming his domain 
 in it from superstition, formalism, and uncharity. Oh! to 
 have such a reputation, and deserve it!' 
 
 'March 4. To-day have been allowed to visit the study of 
 the late dear Bishop of Massachusetts. I took this pin from 
 his pincushion, to keep for a souvenir. Made Rosalind write 
 down the names of a number of the books. The library is a 
 very generous one, comprising a large sweep of study and 
 opinion. A charming frieze over the large window had been 
 painted by Mrs. Whitman. We entered with a reverent feel- 
 ing, as if in a sacred place. . . . The dining-room, and his seat 
 thereat, with portraits of his parents and grandfather. The 
 mother was of his color, dark of eyes and hair, strong tern- 
 
310 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 perament, otherwise no special resemblance. His father 
 looked substantial but not remarkable.' 
 
 In mid-May she went to Chicago, to take part in the World's 
 Congress of Representative Women, and in many of the other 
 congresses and conferences of that notable year. 
 
 'May 17. Going to the Art Palace this afternoon I found 
 an audience waiting in one of the small halls with no speaker. 
 Madame C. had engaged to speak on musical education. I 
 was requested to fill the breach, which I did, telling of the 
 Boston Conservatory of Music, early music in Boston, and 
 down to our time. Had an ovation afterwards of friendly 
 handshaking.' 
 
 'May 19. Meeting of National Alliance of Unitarian 
 Women.' 
 
 'May 27. My seventy-fourth birthday. Thank God for 
 my continued life, health, and bodily and mental powers. 
 My prayer to Him is that, whether I am to have a year, a 
 month, a week, or a day more, it may be for good to myself 
 and others. 
 
 'Went to the Columbian Exhibition. Thomas's Orchestra 
 playing for Mrs. Potter Palmer's reception given to the 
 women of the Press Association. Later I went into the model 
 kitchen where tea was served by the Cingalese. Mrs. Palmer 
 asked me to follow her brief address with a few words. I did 
 this and told of its being my birthday, at which Mrs. Palmer 
 gave me her bouquet of carnations, and the ladies present 
 rose and waved handkerchiefs. Read my sermon for to-mor- 
 row twice and feared it might not strike a keynote here.' 
 
 'May 28. Rather nervous about getting to town in time for 
 my service at the Unitarian Church, — we were in good time. 
 My mind was much exercised about my prayer, I having de- 
 cided to offer the longer one, which I did, I hope, acceptably. 
 I don't think that the sermon told as it did in Boston. The 
 church is not easy to speak in. Mr. Fenn said a few words 
 very tenderly about his pleasure in receiving me into his 
 pulpit. The pulpit roses were given me.' 
 
 Early June found her back in Boston and hard at work. 
 
A SUMMER ABROAD 311 
 
 'June 8. Finished my screed for the July "Forum." Sub- 
 ject, "A Proper Observance of the Fourth of July." I have 
 prayed over this piece of work as over all the others which 
 have been strung, one after another, in this busiest of years 
 for me. I have also despaired of it, and am not yet sure of 
 its acceptance.' 
 
 Next day she felt that she 'must see the last of dear Edwin 
 Booth.' The Journal describes his funeral at length; 'the sun 
 perfectly golden behind the trees.' She brought away a bit 
 of evergreen from the grave, and at church, two days later, 
 'had the sexton slide it in among the pulpit flowers ; afterward 
 brought it home. Perhaps a silly fancy, but an affectionate 
 one.' She wrote a poem in memory of Mr. Booth, 'not alto- 
 gether to my satisfaction.' She felt his death as a real loss ; he 
 remained always to her a beautiful and heroic figure, con- 
 nected with a great time. 
 
 She went to Harvard Class Day this summer, her eldest 
 grandson, Samuel Prescott Hall, being of the graduating 
 class ; drove out to Cambridge in a pouring rain, and enjoyed 
 the occasion. 'I saw my Boy march with his fellows; when 
 they cheered Weld, I waved a napkin.' 
 
 The summer sped by en wings of study and work; she was 
 lame, but that gave her the more time for writing. The 
 Journal records many letters; among other things, 'a short 
 screed for the man who asks to be convinced that there is such 
 a thing as soul.' In September she spread other wings and 
 flew back to Chicago for the Parliament of Religions, and 
 some last impressions of the Dream City of the World's 
 Fair. 
 
 'September 23. Went to the Parliament of Religions where 
 Jenkin Lloyd Jones put me on the platform. Heard Dr. 
 Momery, who gave a pleasant, liberal, and spirited address, a 
 little elementary, as he closed by reciting "Abou Ben Adhem," 
 which is as familiar to Americans as A B C. In the evening 
 went to meet, or rather find, the women ministers. Miss 
 Chapin excused herself from attending and asked me to run 
 the meeting. ... I read my short screed, briefly narrating my 
 efforts to found an association of women ministers. Miss 
 
312 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Putnam and Mary Graves were appointed as a committee to 
 consult with me as to a plan of organization.' 
 
 'September 26. Up early Visited the German village, 
 
 castle and museum, the mining, agricultural, shoe and 
 leather buildings for a brief space. Made a turn in the 
 Ferris Wheel. . . . Mary Graves came for me, and we started 
 for the Parliament in good time. The first speaker was intol- 
 erably narrow and out of place, insisting upon the hostility 
 of Christ to all ethnic religions. I could not refrain from 
 taking him up a little, very mildly. I was received with 
 applause and the Chautauqua salute, and my brief speech 
 (fourteen minutes without notes) was much applauded. I 
 was very thankful for this opportunity.' 
 
 This impromptu speech made a deep impression. In the 
 newspaper reports great stress was laid on it, with singular 
 result. She was amazed next day to hear her name roared 
 out in the Midway Plaisance by a touter who stood at the 
 gateway of one of the side-shows where some Orientals were 
 at prayer. 
 
 'Come in, all ye Christian people,' the man cried. 'Come 
 in and see these devout Mohammedans at their devotions. 
 Julia Ward Howe has knocked the orthodoxy into a cocked 
 hat.' 
 
 The quiet little figure, passing in the modey throng, paused 
 for a moment and looked with astonishment into the touter's 
 face, which gave no sign of recognition. 
 
 'This,' said a friend, who happened to come up at the 
 moment, — 'this is fame!' 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 •DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 
 1890-1896; aet. 71-77 
 
 In the closing decade of the nineteenth century a new growth 
 of 'causes' claimed her time and sympathy. The year 1891 
 saw the birth of the Society of American Friends of Russian 
 Freedom; modelled on a similar society which, with 'Free 
 Russia' as its organ, was doing good work in England. 
 
 The object of the American society was 'to aid by all 
 moral and legal means the Russian patriots in their efforts 
 to obtain for their country political freedom and self-govern- 
 ment.' Its circular was signed by Thomas Wentworth Hig- 
 ginson, Julia Ward Howe, John Greenleaf Whittier, James 
 Russell Lowell, George Kennan, William Lloyd Garrison, 
 Henry I. Bowditch, F. W. Bird, Alice Freeman Palmer, 
 Charles G. Ames, Edward L. Pierce, Frank B. Sanborn, 
 Annie Fields, E. Benjamin Andrews, Lillie B. Chace Wy- 
 man, Samuel L. Clemens, and Joseph H. Twitchell. 
 
 It was through this society that she made the acquaintance 
 of Mme. Breschkovskaya, 1 the Russian patriot whose suffer- 
 ings and sacrifices have endeared her to all lovers of free- 
 dom. The two women felt instant sympathy with each other. 
 Mme. Breschkovskaya came to 241 Beacon Street more than 
 once, and they had much talk together. On one of these 
 occasions our mother was asked to play some of her own 
 compositions. Her fingers strayed from one thing to an- 
 other; finally, on a sudden impulse, she struck the opening 
 chords of the Russian National Hymn. Mme. Breschkov- 
 skaya started forward. 'Ah, madame!' she cried, 'do not 
 play that! You cannot know what that air means to us 
 Russians!' 
 
 At a great meeting in Faneuil Hall the two spoke, in Eng- 
 lish and Russian respectively, while other addresses were in 
 
 'Now (1915) a political prisoner in Siberia: she escaped, but was recap- 
 tured and later removed to a more remote place of imprisonment. 
 
314 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Yiddish and Polish. All were frantically applauded by the 
 polyglot audience which filled the hall to overflowing. Wil- 
 liam Dudley Foulke presided at this meeting. Speaking with 
 our mother several years later, he reminded her of the occa- 
 sion, which he thought might have been of a somewhat an 
 archistic tendency. He was not sure, he said, that they had 
 not made fools of themselves. 'One can afford,' she replied, 
 'to make a very great fool of one's self in such a cause as that 
 of Russian liberty!' 
 
 The year 1891 saw the birth of another society in which 
 she was deeply interested, the Women's Rest Tour Associa- 
 tion, whose object was 'simply to make it easier for women 
 who need a trip abroad to take one.' 
 
 It was proved 'that the sum of $250 was sufficient to en- 
 able a woman of simple tastes to enjoy a summer's vacation 
 in Europe'; a travelling fund was established from which 
 women could borrow, or — in certain cases — receive gifts; a 
 handbook was issued, etc., etc. 
 
 In an unobtrusive way, the Women's Rest Tour Associa- 
 tion did and continues to do much good. She was its presi- 
 dent to the close of her life, and in silent and lovely tribute 
 to her memory the office has since then remained vacant. 
 
 In the early nineties all Christendom was aroused by the 
 outrages committed by the Turks in Armenia. From almost 
 every Christian country rose a cry of horror: indignation 
 meetings were called ; protest, denunciation, and appeal were 
 the order of the day. In Boston a meeting was held at 
 Faneuil Hall (November 26, 1894), called together by the 
 Boston Armenian Relief Committee. She was on the plat- 
 form, and spoke from her heart. 
 
 'I could not,' she says, 'stay away from this meeting. 
 My heart was here, and I came, not so much to speak, as to 
 hear what is to be done about this dreadful trouble. For 
 something must be done. I have to pray God night and morn- 
 ing that He would find some way to stay this terrible tide of 
 slaughter 
 
 'I recall the first action of Florence Nightingale when she 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 315 
 
 went to take care of the sick and wounded in the Crimean 
 War. She found many things wanting for the comfort of 
 the soldiers in the hospitals, but she could not get at them. 
 Some seal or mandate was waited for. "The men are suffer- 
 ing," Florence Nightingale said. "Break in the doors — 
 open the boxes — give me the blankets and medicines. I 
 must have them!" — and so she did. Now, the fleets of the 
 Western nations are waiting for some diplomatic develop- 
 ment which shall open the way for action. I think that we, 
 the United States of America, are now called upon to play 
 the part of Florence Nightingale; to take our stand and 
 insist upon it that the slaughter shall cease. Oh! let us 
 give money, let us give life, but let us stand by our principles 
 of civil and religious liberty. I am sure that if we do so, 
 we shall have behind us, and with us, that great spirit which 
 has been in the world for nineteen centuries past, with ever- 
 increasing power. Let us set up in these distant lands the 
 shelter of the blessed Cross, and of all that it stands for, and 
 let us make it availing once and forever.' 
 
 Soon after this the Friends of Armenia organized as a 
 society, she being its president. Among its members were 
 William Lloyd Garrison, Henry Blackwell and his devoted 
 daughter Alice, and M. H. Gulesian. Singly or in com- 
 pany they went about, through Massachusetts, holding meet- 
 ings, rousing the people to aid in the protest of Christen- 
 dom against heathendom, of mercy against cruelty. 'Spoke 
 for Armenia,' is a frequent entry in the Journal of these 
 days. 
 
 The Friends of Armenia did active and zealous service 
 through a number of years, laboring not only for the saving 
 of life, but for the support and education of the thousands 
 of women and orphans left desolate. Schools and hospitals 
 were established in Armenia, and many children were placed 
 in American homes, where they grew up happily, to citizen- 
 ship. 
 
 Nearly ten years later, a new outbreak of Turkish feroc- 
 ity roused the 'Friends' to new fervor, and once again 
 her voice was lifted up in protest and appeal. She wrote 
 
316 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 to President Roosevelt, imploring him to send some one 
 from some neighboring American consulate to investigate 
 conditions. He did so, and his action prevented an impend- 
 ing massacre. 
 
 In 1909, fresh persecutions brought the organization once 
 more together. The Armenians of Boston reminded her of the 
 help she had given before, and asked her to write to President 
 Taft. This she promptly did. Briefly, this cause with so 
 many others was to be relinquished only with life itself. 
 
 'Boston. Attended Mrs. Mary Hemenway's funeral in 
 the morning. ... A great loss she is, but her life has been a 
 great gain. Would that more rich men had such daughters! 
 That more rich women had such a heart! . . .' 
 
 'C. G. A. preached a funeral sermon on Mrs. Hemenway. 
 As he opened his lips, I said to myself, "What can he teach 
 us that her life has not taught us?" The sermon, however, 
 was most instructive. Such a life makes an epoch, and 
 should establish a precedent. If one woman can be so dis- 
 interested and so wise, others can emulate her example. I, 
 for one, feel that I shall not forget this forcible presenta- 
 tion of the aspect of such a character, of such a history. 
 God send that her mantle may fall upon this whole com- 
 munity, stimulating each to do what he or she can for 
 humanity.' 
 
 To Maud 
 241 Beacon Street, April 21, 1894. 
 
 My dearest dear Child, — 
 
 . . . Let me tell you of the abolition of the old Fast Day 
 and of the new holiday, April 19, ordained in its stead. This, 
 you may remember, is the anniversary of the Battle of 
 Lexington. The celebration here was quite on a grand 
 scale. The bells of the old North Church were rung and the 
 lanterns hung out. A horseman, personating Paul Revere, 
 rode out to rouse the farmers of Concord and Lexington, 
 and a sham fight, imitating the real one, actually came off 
 with an immense concourse of spectators. The Daughters 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' - 317 
 
 of the American Revolution had made me promise to go to 
 their celebration at the Old South, where I sat upon the 
 platform with Mrs. Sam Eliot, Regent, and with the two 
 orators of the day, Professor Channing and Edward Hale. 
 I wore the changeable silk that Jenny Nelson made, the 
 Gardner cashmere, and the bonnet which little you made for 
 me last summer. McAlvin refreshed it a little, and it looked 
 most proud. Sam Eliot, who presided, said to me, 'Why, 
 Julia, you look like the queen that I said you were, long 
 ago. If I could do so, I would introduce you as the Queen.' 
 I tell you all this in order that you may know that I was 
 all right as to appearance. I was to read a poem, but had 
 not managed to compose one, so I copied out 'Our Country' 
 from 'Later Lyrics,' and read it as I was never able to read 
 it before. For the first time, it told upon the audience. 
 This was because it was especially appropriate to the occa- 
 sion. . . . 
 
 'May 11. Opposed the dispensing with the reading of 
 State Reports. The maker of the motion said that we could 
 read these at home. I said, "Yes, and we can read the Bible 
 at home, but we like to go to church and hear it read." 
 Finished my screed for this evening and licked my Colum- 
 bus poem into shape, the dear Lord helping me.' 
 
 To Maud 
 
 Plainfield, N.J., May 16, 1894. 
 My dearest Maud, — 
 
 . . . First place, I had a visit from Laura. We threw the 
 ball daily, and had lunches and punches. We went to hear 
 de Koven's 'Robin Hood,' the music of which is strongly 
 reminiscent, and also saw Mounet-Sully's 'Hamlet,' a very 
 wonderful piece of acting. Flossy and I had three days of 
 conventioning in Philadelphia, last week. Flossy's little 
 speech was one of the best at the convention, and was much 
 applauded. I was received on all hands with affectionate 
 good-will. . . . There seemed to be, among the Eastern women, 
 a desire to make me president [of the General Federation 
 
318 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of Women's Clubs]. This I immediately put out of the 
 question and Mrs. Cheney stood by me, saying that Massa- 
 chusetts would not see me killed with work. It would indeed 
 have been out of the question, as the position is probably one 
 of great labor and responsibility. . . . 
 
 Your motherest Mother. 
 
 The Seventy-fifth Birthday brought the customary festivi- 
 ties. The newspapers sent reporters; she had a word for 
 each. To the representative of the 'Advertiser,' she said, 
 'I think that I enjoy the coming of old age with its peaceful- 
 ness, like the going down of the sun. It is very lovely! I 
 am so glad to be remembered by so many. The twilight of 
 life is indeed a pleasant season!' 
 
 To Maud 
 
 241 Beacon Street, May 31, 1894. 
 My dearest Child, — ■ 
 
 I send you a budget of tributes to my birthday. The 
 'Springfield Republican' has a bit about it, with a good and 
 gratifying poem from Sanborn. Really, dear, between you 
 and me what a old humbug it is! But no matter — if people 
 will take me for much better than I am, I can't help it, and 
 must only try to live up to my reputation. ... I received a 
 good letter from you, 'a litde scolding at first,' but 'soft re- 
 bukes with blessings ended,' as Longfellow describes the 
 admonitions of his first wife. ... At the Suffrage Festival, 
 Governor Long presided, and in introducing me waved a 
 branch of lilies, saying, 'In the beauty of the lilies she is 
 still, at seventy-five.' Now that I call handsome, don't 
 you? . . . 
 
 Flossy had a very successful afternoon tea while I was 
 with her. She had three ladies of the Civitas Club and in- 
 vited about one hundred of her neighbors to hear them read 
 papers. It wasn't suffrage, but it was good government, 
 which is about the same thing. The parlors looked very 
 pretty. I should think seventy or eighty came and all were 
 delighted. Did I write you that at Philadelphia she made 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 319 
 
 the most admired speech of the occasion? She wore the 
 brocade, finely made over, with big black velvet top sleeves, 
 and rhinestone comb, and they 'plauded and 'plauded, and I 
 sat, grinning like a chessy cat, oh! so welly pleased. 
 
 To the same 
 
 Oak Glen, August 27, 1894. 
 
 . . . An interesting French gentleman has been giving read- 
 ings at Mrs. Coleman's. He read us Corneille's 'Cid' last 
 evening with much dash and spirit. It is a famous play, but 
 the sentiment is very stilted, like going up a ladder to shave 
 one's self. I was at Providence on Friday to meet a literary 
 club of ladies. I read to them the greater part of my play, 
 'Hippolytus,' written the summer before Sammy was born, 
 for Edwin Booth. It seemed very ghostly to go back to the 
 ambitions of that time, but the audience, a parlor one, ex- 
 pressed great satisfaction. ... I 'fesses that I did attend the 
 Bryant Centenary Festival at Cummington, Mass. I read a 
 poem written for the occasion. Charles Dudley Warner and 
 Charles Eliot Norton were there, and Parke Godwin presided. 
 
 'August 31. To Newport with Flossy, taking my screed 
 with me, to the meeting of Colonial Dames, at the rooms 
 of the Historical Society, one of which is the old Seventh- 
 Day Baptist Church, which my great-grandfather, Governor 
 Samuel Ward, used to attend. . . . Bishop Clarke made the 
 closing address, full of good sense, sentiment and wit — a 
 wonderful man for eighty-two years of age.' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, September 6, 1894. 
 
 Q. What has been your mother's treatment of you lat- 
 terly? 
 
 Ans. Quite devilish, thank you. 
 
 Q. Has her conduct this past season been worse than 
 usual? 
 
320 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Ans. Much as usual. I regret to say, couldn't be worse. 
 
 (Family Catechism for 1894.) 
 
 Oh! I've got a day to myself, and I've got some chillen, 
 and I'm going to write to 'em, you bet. 
 
 You see, Laura E., of the plural name of Dick, there 
 warn't no summer, only one of those patent, boiled-down 
 contrivances, all shrivelled up, which if you puts them in 
 water, they swells out, but there warn't no water (Encycl. 
 Brit., Article 'Drought') ; and so the dried-up thing didn't 
 swell, and there warn't no summer, and that is why you 
 haven't heard from me. . . . I'm sorry, anyhow, that I can't 
 allow you the luxury of one moment's grievance against 
 me, but I can't; I may, now and then, forget to write ('! ! ! !' 
 says L. E. R.), but I 'dores you all the same. I carry the 
 sweet cheer of your household through all my life. Am 
 drefful glad that you have been to camp this season; wish I 
 could go myself. Only think of Celia Thaxter's death! I 
 can hardly believe it, she always seemed so full of life. . . . 
 
 'September 28. Here begins for me a new period. I have 
 fufUled as well as I could the tasks of the summer, and 
 must now have a little rest, a day or so, and then begin in 
 good earnest to prepare for the autumn and winter work, 
 in which A.A.W. comes first, and endless correspondence.' 
 
 To Maud 
 241 Beacon Street, December 19, 1894. 
 
 Last Sunday evening I spoke in Trinity Church, having 
 been invited to do so by the rector, Dr. Donald. Wonders 
 will never cease. The meeting was in behalf of the colored 
 school at Tuskegee, which we A.A.W.'s visited after our 
 Congress. I dressed myself with unusual care. Dr. Donald 
 gave me the place of honor and took me in and upon the 
 platform in the chancel where we all sat. Governor Green- 
 halge was the first speaker. I came about fourth, and to my 
 surprise was distinctly heard all over the house. You may 
 easily imagine that I enjoyed this very much, although it 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 321 
 
 was rather an anxious moment when I stepped forward to 
 speak. . . . We are all much shocked at the death of dear 
 Robert Louis Stevenson of which you will have heard before 
 this reaches you. What a loss to literature! 
 
 'January 1, 1895. I was awake very early and made the 
 prayer that during this year I might not say one uncharitable 
 word, or be guilty of one ungenerous action.' 
 
 'January 6. . . . My afternoon service at the Women's Edu- 
 cational and Industrial Union. . . . The day was very stormy 
 and Mrs. Lee met me at the carriage, offering to excuse me 
 from speaking to the five persons who were in attendance. I 
 felt not to disappoint those five, and presently twenty-three 
 were present, and we had a pleasant talk, after the reading 
 of the short sermon.' 
 
 'January 25. I awoke this morning overwhelmed by the 
 thought of my lecture at Salem, which I have not written. 
 Suddenly a line of my own came to me, "Had I one of thy 
 words, my Master," and this brought me the train of thought, 
 which I shall endeavor to present. The one word which we 
 all have is "charity." I wrote quite a screed and with that 
 and some speaking shall get through, I hope. . . . Got a good 
 lead of thought and felt that I could supply extempore what 
 I had not time to write. Harry and Fanny had a beautiful 
 dinner for Lady Henry Somerset.' 
 
 'January 26. Lunch and lecture in Salem. A dreadful 
 storm ; I felt that I must go. The hackman and I rolled down 
 the steps of the house, he, fortunately for me, undermost and 
 quite stout of person; otherwise the shock would have been 
 severe and even dangerous. . . .' 
 
 [N.B. The terrified hackman, picking himself up, found 
 her already on her feet. 
 
 'Oh! Mrs. Howe,' he cried, 'let me help you into the house!' 
 
 'Nonsense!' was the reply. 'I have just time to catch my 
 train!'] 
 
322 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To Maud 
 
 241 Beacon Street, February 24, 1895. 
 
 I lost a good lecture engagement at Poughkeepsie through 
 a blizzard. Did not start, finding that roads were badly 
 blocked. My engagement at Brooklyn was a good one — a 
 hundred dollars. I stayed at Chanler house, which was Chan- 
 leresque as usual. Peter Marie gave me a fine dinner. 
 Margaret went with me, in white satin. I wore my black and 
 white which you remember well. It still looks well enough. 
 I wore some beautiful lace which I got, through dear sister 
 Annie, from some distressed lace woman in England. I 
 went to New York by a five-hova train, Godkin of the 'Nation' 
 taking care of me. He remembers your kind attentions to 
 him when you met him in the Pullman with a broken ankle. 
 
 'April 8. In the late afternoon Harry, my son, came, and 
 after some little preparation told me of the death of my dear 
 sister Annie. I have been toiling and moiling to keep the 
 engagements of this week, but here comes the great silence, 
 and I must keep it for some days at least. . . .' 
 
 'April 10. ... It suddenly occurred to me that this might 
 be the hour, as this would surely be the day of dear Annie's 
 funeral. So I found the 90th Psalm and the chapter in 
 Corinthians, and sat and read them before her picture, re- 
 membering also Tennyson's lines: — 
 
 ' "And Ave, Ave, Ave said, 
 Adieu, adieu, forever more." ' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 241 Beacon Street, April 14, 1895. 
 
 Buona Pasqua, dear Child! — 
 
 ... I feel thankful that my darling died in her own home, 
 apparently without suffering, and in the bosom of her beloved 
 family. She has lived out her sweet life, and while the loss 
 to all who loved her is great, we must be willing to commit 
 our dear ones to God, as we commit ourselves. The chill of 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 323 
 
 age, no doubt, prevents my feeling as I should once have done, 
 and the feeling that she has only passed in a little before me, 
 lessens the sense of separation. 
 
 12.25. I have been to our Easter service, which I found 
 very comforting and elevating, though it brought some tears, 
 of which I have not shed many, being now past the age at 
 which they flow freely. I thought a good deal of the desolate 
 Easter at the ranch. For them, too, let us hope that the 
 blessed season has brought comforting thoughts. ... I went too 
 to a Good Friday service at the new old South, at which Dr. 
 Donald of Trinity, Cuckson of Arlington [Unitarian] and 
 Gordon, orthodox [Congregational], each took part. It was 
 such an earnest, a reconciled and unified Christendom as I 
 am thankful to have lived to see. 
 
 Love and blessings to you and yours, dear child. 
 
 Affect., 
 
 Mother. 
 
 'May 27. . . . Suffrage meeting in the evening. I presided 
 and began with, "Sixty years ago to-day I was sixteen years 
 old. If I only knew now what I thought I knew then"!' 
 
 'June 2. ... To communion in afternoon. The minister 
 asked whether I would speak. I told what I had felt as I 
 entered the church that afternoon, "a sort of realization of 
 the scene in that upper chamber, its gloom and its glory. 
 What was in that great heart whose pulsations have made 
 themselves felt down to our own time, and all over the world? 
 What are its sorrows? It bore the burthen of the sorrows and 
 distresses of humanity, and we who pledge him here in this 
 cup are bound to bear our part of that burthen. Only thus 
 shall we attain to share in that festival of joy and of revealed 
 power which followed the days of doubt and despair." 
 
 'All this came to me like a flash. I have written it down 
 from memory because I value the thought.' 
 
 'July 14. . . . When I lay down to my rest before dinner, 
 I had a momentary sense of the sweetness and relief of the 
 last lying down. This was a new experience to me, as I have 
 been averse to any thought of death as opposed to the activity 
 
324 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 which I love. I now saw it as the termination of all fight and 
 struggle, and prayed that in the life beyond I might pay some 
 of the debts of affection and recompense which I have failed 
 to make good in this life. Feeling a little like my old self 
 to-day, I realize how far from well I have been for days past.' 
 
 'July 27. Woke with an aching head Prayed that even 
 
 in suffering I might still have "work and worship." Allitera- 
 tion is, I know, one of my weaknesses. I thought afterwards 
 of a third W — , work, worship, welcome. These three words 
 will do for a motto of the life which I now lead, in which these 
 words stand for my ruling objects, "welcome" denoting "hos- 
 pitality," in which I should be glad to be more forward than 
 I have been of late. . . .' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, August 2, 1895. 
 Dearest Pidge, also Midge, — 
 
 ... I will condescend to inform you that I am well, that 
 Flossy is very faithful in taking care of me, and that we are 
 reading Bulwer's 'Pelham,' the stupidest of novels. We are 
 two thirds through with it, and how the author of 'Rienzi' 
 could have offered the public so dull a dish, even in his un- 
 ripe youth, passes my understanding. 
 
 You must not get too tired. Remember that no one will 
 have mercy upon you unless you will have mercy upon your- 
 self. We sit out a good deal, and enjoy our books, all but 
 'Pelham,' our trees, birds, and butterflies. 
 
 Affectionate 
 
 Ma. 
 
 'September 30. My dearest Maud left me this morning 
 for another long absence; she is to sail for Europe. She had 
 forbidden me to see her off, but I could not obey her in this 
 and sat with her at breakfast, and had a last kiss and greeting. 
 My last words called after her were: "Do not forget to say 
 your prayers." May God keep my dearest child and permit 
 us to meet again, if it is best that I should live until her return, 
 of which at present the prospect seems very good. . . .' 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 325 
 
 The Association for the Advancement of Women met in 
 New Orleans this year, but first she must go with Florence 
 to the Council of the General Federation of Women's Clubs 
 at Atlanta, Georgia, where a great exposition was also being 
 held. The expedition began with disaster. 
 
 'October 31. Left Boston by Colonial train at 9 A.M. 
 Rolled down my front steps, striking my forehead and bruis- 
 ing myself generally, in getting to the carriage. . . .' 
 
 After taking her part in the Council and visiting the Ex- 
 position, she proceeded to New Orleans, where a warm wel- 
 come awaited her. A few days after her arrival, she was 
 driving to some function when a trolley car ran into the car- 
 riage, shaking her up badly and bruising her lame knee 
 severely. It seemed imperative that she should rest for a 
 few days, and hostess and daughter pleaded with her. Flor- 
 ence begged in particular that she would cancel her engage- 
 ment to preach in the Unitarian Church; begged a little too 
 insistently. 'I wouldn't, dear mother!' 'Flossy,' was the 
 reply, 'you are you, and I am I! I shall preach on Sunday!' 
 
 'December 28. . . . Mrs. Barrows dined tete-a-tete with me, 
 and we had much talk about Armenia. I said: "If we two 
 should go to England, would it do any good?" I spoke only 
 half in earnest. She said: "If you would only go, I would go 
 with you as your henchman." This set me thinking of a 
 voyage to England and a crusade such as I made for Peace in 
 1872. I am, however, held forcibly here by engagements, 
 and at my age, my bodily presence might be, as St. Paul says, 
 "contemptible." I must try to work in some other way.' 
 
 To Laura 
 241 Beacon Street, December 29, 1895. 
 
 . . . The mince pie was in the grand style, and has been 
 faithfully devoured, a profound sense of duty forbidding me 
 to neglect it. ... I went to a fine musical party at Mrs. Mon- 
 tie Sears's on Thursday evening, 26th. Paderewski played, 
 at first with strings a Septet or Septuor of Brahms', and then 
 many things by himself. Somehow, I could not enjoy him 
 
326 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 much; he played miraculously, but did not seem to be in it. 
 I am more than ever stirred up about the Armenians. The 
 horrible massacres go on, just the same, and Christendom 
 stands still. Oh! a curse on human selfishness! . . . We are 
 to have a dramatic entertainment for the Red Cross on Jan. 
 7th at Boston Theatre. . . . 
 
 'December 29. ... I determined to-day to try to work more 
 systematically for the Armenians. Think I will write to Clara 
 Barton and Senator Hoar, also to Lady Henry Somerset, an 
 arraignment of Christendom for its supineness . towards the 
 Turks, an allusion to Coeur de Lion and the ancient 
 Crusaders. . . .' 
 
 'December 30. . . . Clara Barton held a meeting for the 
 Red Cross. ... I was the last speaker and I think that, as 
 sometimes happens, my few words brought things to a crisis, 
 for the moment only, indeed, but even that may help.' 
 
 'December 31. Rising early and with a mind somewhat 
 confused and clouded, I went to my window. As I looked 
 out, the gray clouds parted, giving me a moment's sight of 
 a star high up in the heavens. This little glimpse gave me 
 hope for the day and great comfort. It was like an answer- 
 ing glance to my many troubled questions. . . .' 
 
 'We have stood for that which was known to be right in 
 theory, and for that which has proved to be right in practice. 
 (From my suffrage address at State House in 1894.)' 
 
 In December, 1895, appeared her first volume since 'Mar- 
 garet Fuller,' a collection of essays, published under the tide 
 of the opening one, 'Is Polite Society Polite?' 
 
 Of the title essay she says: — 
 
 'I remember that I was once invited to read this essay 
 to a village audience in one of the New England States. My 
 theme was probably one quite remote from the general 
 thought of my hearers. As I went on, their indifference be- 
 gan to affect me, and my thought was that I might as well 
 have appealed to a set of wooden tenpins as to those who were 
 present on that occasion. 
 
'DIVERS GOOD CAUSES' 327 
 
 'In this, I afterwards learned that I was mistaken. After 
 the conclusion of the evening's exercise, a young man, well 
 known in the community, was heard to inquire urgently 
 where he could find the lecturer. Friends asked, what did 
 he want of her? He replied: "Well, I did put my brother in 
 the poorhouse, and now that I have heard Mrs. Howe, I 
 suppose that I must take him out." ' 
 
 Another personal reminiscence goes back to her childhood 
 days: — 
 
 'I had a nursery governess when I was a small child. She 
 came from some country town, and probably regarded her 
 position in my father's family as a promotion. One eve- 
 ning, while we little folks gathered about her in our nursery, 
 she wept bitterly. "What is the matter?" we asked; and 
 she took me up in her lap, and said: "My poor old father 
 came here to see me to-day, and I would not see him. I bade 
 them tell him that he had mistaken the house, and he went 
 away, and as he went I saw him looking up at the windows 
 so wistfully!" Poor woman! We wept with her, feeling 
 that this was indeed a tragical event, and not knowing what 
 she could do to make it better. 
 
 'But could I see that woman now, I would say to her: "If 
 you were serving the king at his table, and held his wine-cup 
 in your hand, and your father stood without, asking for you, 
 you should set down the cup, and go out from the royal 
 presence to honor your father, so much the more if he is 
 poor, so much the more if he is old." And all that is really 
 polite in polite society would say so too.' 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 
 1896-1897; aet. 77-78 
 
 On the fly-leaf of the Journal for 1896 is written: — 
 
 'That it may please Thee, to have mercy upon all men, we 
 beseech Thee to hear us, Good Lord.' 
 
 'January 1. I ask for this year, or for so much of it as 
 God may grant me, that I may do some service in the war of 
 civilization against barbarism, in my own country and else- 
 where.' 
 
 'February 9. Another inspired sermon from C. G. Ames. 
 Miss Page asked, "Why is he so earnest? What does it 
 mean?" I replied, "He is in one of those waves of inspira- 
 tion which come sometimes. The angel has certainly troubled 
 the pool and we can go to it for healing." Returning home, 
 I wrote some lines about my sister Annie's picture. I had 
 in church a momentary glimpse of the meaning of Christ's 
 saying, "I am the vine and ye are the branches." I felt 
 how the source of our spiritual love is in the heavenly father- 
 hood, and how departing from our sense of this we become 
 empty and barren. It was a moment of great comfort. . . .' 
 
 'February 10. . . . Gulesian last evening said that the 
 Armenians want me to go to England, as a leader in advocacy 
 of their cause. The thought brought me a new feeling of 
 energy and enthusiasm. I think I must first help the cause 
 in Washington, D.C 
 
 'February 26. Hearing at State House on Suffrage. 
 Worked at it [her address] somewhat in the early morning. 
 Was tolerably successful in making my points. Was rather 
 disappointed because no one applauded me. Considered 
 that this was a lesson that we must learn, to do without 
 praise. It comforted me to take it in this way. Soon the 
 interest of what the others said put my own matters quite out 
 of my mind. The hearing was a good one, all except a dread- 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 329 
 
 ful woman, calling herself a Socialist, full of insufferable 
 conceit and affectation of knowledge. An English labor man 
 spoke well.' 
 
 'March 22. ... As I left church, Mrs. James Freeman 
 Clarke stopped me, took both of my hands in hers and said 
 she was sure that the world was better for my having been 
 in it. This from so undemonstrative a person moved me a 
 good deal and consoled me somewhat for my poor deserts 
 and performances in the past — a burden which often weighs 
 heavily upon me. . . .' 
 
 'April 2. Conservatory of Music, 3 p.m. I went in fear 
 and trembling with a violent bronchial cold and cough, in a 
 miserable storm. I prayed all the way there that I might 
 be pleasant in my demeanor, and I think that I was, for my 
 trouble at having to run such a risk soon went out of my 
 mind, and I enjoyed the occasion very much; especially meet- 
 ing pupils from so many distant States, and one or two from 
 Canada.' 
 
 'April 8. ... I asked in my prayer this morning, feeling 
 miserably dull and weak, that some deed of help and love 
 might be given me to accomplish to-day. At noon came three 
 gentlemen, Hagop Bogigian, Mr. Blanchard, and Mr. Breed, 
 of Lynn, praying me to make an appeal to the women of 
 America for their Armenian sisters, who are destroying them- 
 selves in many instances to avoid Turkish outrage. The 
 funds subscribed for relief are exhausted and some new 
 stimulus to rouse the public is much needed. ... I felt that 
 I had had an answer to my prayer. . . .' 
 
 To Maud 
 241 Beacon Street, April 18, 1896. 
 
 ... If you go to Russia, be careful to go as Mrs. John 
 Elliott, not as Maud Howe Elliott. Your name is probably 
 known there as one of the friends of 'Free Russia,' and you 
 might be subjected to some annoyance in consequence. You 
 had better make acquaintance with our minister, whoever 
 he may be. The Russians seem now to have joined hands 
 
330 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 with the Turks. If the American missionaries can only 
 be got rid of, Russia, it is said, will take Armenia under 
 her so-called protection, and will compel all Christians to 
 join the Greek Church. There is so much spying in Russia 
 that you will have to be very careful what you talk about. I 
 rather hope you will not go, for a dynamite country is espe- 
 cially dangerous in times of great public excitement, which 
 the time of the coronation cannot fail to be. . . . 
 
 'April 20. F. J. Garrison called and made me an offer, 
 on the part of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, that they should 
 publish my "Reminiscences.". . . I accepted, but named a 
 year as the shortest time possible for me to get such a book 
 ready. . . .' 
 
 As a matter of fact, it took three years for her to com- 
 plete the 'Reminiscences.' During these years, while she 
 made it her principal literary work, it still had to take its 
 chance with the rest, to be laid down at the call of the hour 
 and taken up again when the insistence of 'screed' or poem 
 was removed: this while in Boston or Newport. During the 
 Roman winter, soon to be described, she wrote steadily day 
 by day; but here she must still work at disadvantage, hav- 
 ing no access to journals or papers, depending on memory 
 alone. 
 
 'I wish to record this thought which came to me on my 
 birthday: As for individuals, no bettering of fortunes com- 
 pares in importance with the bettering of character; so 
 among nations, no extension of territory or aggregation of 
 wealth equals in importance the fact of moral growth. So 
 no national loss is to be deplored in comparison with loss of 
 moral earnestness.' 
 
 'July 12. . . . I pray this morning for courage to undertake 
 and fervor to accomplish something in behalf of Christian 
 civilization against the tide of barbarism, which threatens 
 to over-sweep it. This may be a magazine article; some- 
 thing, at any rate, which I shall try to write. 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 331 
 
 '1 p.m. Have made a pretty good beginning in this task, 
 having writ nine pages of a screed under the heading: "Shall 
 the frontier of Christendom be maintained and its domain 
 extended?" ' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, July 25, 1896. 
 
 Oh, yes! you now and then do lend me a daughter, and so 
 you'd ought to. Which, didn't I profit by Alice's visit? My 
 
 good woman (as poor, dear used to say when she was 
 
 in wrath), I should think so. Clear comfort the wretch was 
 to me, wretch because she had such an old miserable to 
 look after. I sometimes catch myself thinking that, how- 
 ever it may be with other families, your family, madam, 
 came into this world for my especial pleasure and comfort. 
 What do you think of this view? No matter what you 
 think, dear, it won't make any difference as to facts. ... I 
 miss even the youth in Alice's voice. I would like, mum, 
 if you please, mum, to enjoy about sixty years more of 
 grandmotherhood, with fresh crops of grandchildren coming 
 up at reasonable intervals. Our life here, this summer, is 
 even unusually quiet. We have few visitors. ... I am, as 
 usual, well content with my books, and busy with my papers. 
 Flossy reads aloud Green's 'History of the English People' 
 about half an hour daily, after breakfast. The boys reluc- 
 tantly submit to listen, fidgeting a good deal. It is less 
 readable for youth than I supposed it to be. We play 
 whist in the evening, and had a wood fire last evening, the 
 weather being suddenly cold. I learned yesterday, from 
 the ' "User,' the death of Adolphe Mailliard [her brother-in- 
 law] which has brought me many sober thoughts, despite the 
 trifling tone of this letter. I had waked the day before, 
 thinking that some one said to me 'Mailliard is dying.' I 
 recorded it in my Diary, but had no idea that I should so 
 soon hear of it as a reality. What a chapter ends with him! 
 
 'August 15. To-day is mercifully cool. I have about 
 finished my A.A.W. screed, D.G. The great heats have 
 
332 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 affected me very much; my brain has been full of fever 
 fancies and of nonsense. I prayed earnestly this morning 
 that I might not survive my wits. I have great hope that I 
 shall not. . . .' 
 
 'August 17. Have read in Minot J. Savage's "Four Great 
 Questions," and in the long biography of my uncle, Rev. 
 B. C. Cutler. His piety and faithfulness appear to me most 
 edifying. His theology at the present time seems impossible. 
 I am sorry that I saw so very little of him after my marriage, 
 but he was disposed to consider me as one of the lost, and I 
 could not have met him on any religious ground. I could 
 do this better now, having learned something of the value 
 which very erroneous opinions may have, when they serve, 
 as in his case, to stimulate right effort and true feeling.' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, August 21, 1896. 
 
 Being in a spleeny and uncomfortable mood to-day, what 
 resource so legitimate as to betake myself to my own family? 
 No particular reason for growling, growly so much the more. 
 If I only had a good grievance now, how I would improve 
 it! Well, you see, trouble is some of us have not any money 
 to speak of, and in consequence we ain't nobody, and so 
 on. There I hear the voice of my little mother Laura, say- 
 ing: 'Well, well!' in her soothing way. The truth is, darling, 
 that first I was roasted out, and then it 'friz horrid,' and my 
 poor old 'conshushion' couldn't quite stand it. . . . D'ye see? 
 'Well, no,' says Laura: 'I don't exactly see.' Well, s'pose 
 you don't — what then? You sweetheart, this is just the way 
 this old, unthankful sinner was taken, just now. But I've got 
 bravely over it, and I submit to health, comfort, delightful 
 books, young company and good friends. Edifying, ain't 
 it?... 
 
 'September 15. In the cars, reading the Duke of Argyll's 
 fine opuscule, "Our [England's] Responsibilities for Tur- 
 key," my heart was lifted up in agonizing prayer. I said, "0 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 333 
 
 God! give me a handwriting on the wall, that I may truly know 
 what I can do for these people." And I resolved not to go 
 back from the purpose which prompted this prayer. 
 
 'Arrived at St. John [New Brunswick] and was made very 
 welcome. Reception in the evening by the ladies of the 
 Council. Speeches: Rev. Mr. De Wars, Anglican minister, 
 spoke of our taking A.A.W. to England. I wondered if this 
 was my handwriting on the wall.' 
 
 'November 1. The Communion service was very delight- 
 ful. I prayed quite earnestly this morning that the dimness 
 of sight, which has lately troubled me, might disappear. My 
 eyes are really better to-day. I seemed at one moment 
 during the service to see myself as a little child in the 
 Heavenly Father's Nursery, having played my naughty 
 pranks (alas!) and left my tasks unperformed, but coming, 
 as bedtime draws near, to kiss and be forgiven.' 
 
 To Maud 
 Rokeby, Barrytown, N.Y., December 25, 1896. 
 
 My own Dearest, — 
 
 I am here according to promise to spend Christmas with 
 Daisy. 1 I occupy Elizabeth Chanler's room, beautifully 
 adorned with hangings of poppy-colored silk. . . . All of us 
 helped to dress the tree, which was really beautiful. The 
 farm people came in at about six o'clock, also the old tutor, 
 Bostwick, and the Armstrong cousins. After dinner, we 
 had a fiddler in the hall. Alida danced an Irish jig very 
 prettily, and we had a Virginia reel, which I danced, if you 
 please, with Mr. Bostwick. Then we snuggled up to the fire 
 in the library and Wintie read aloud from Mark Twain's 
 'Huckleberry Finn.' . . . 
 
 The year 1897 brought new activities. The Lodge Immi- 
 gration Bill roused her to indignation and protest; there 
 were 'screeds' and letters to the powers that were. 
 
 In the early spring came another crisis in the East, Greece 
 
 1 Mrs. Winthrop Chanler. 
 
334 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 and Crete bearing this time the brunt of Turkish violence. 
 Thirty years had passed since Crete made her first stand 
 for independence; years of dumb suffering and misery. 
 Now her people rose again in revolt against their brutal 
 masters, and this time Greece felt strong enough to stand 
 openly by her Cretan brothers. 
 
 Our mother was deeply moved by this new need, which 
 recalled so many precious memories. The record of the 
 spring of 1897 is much concerned with it. 
 
 Written on the fly-leaf of the Journal: 'The good God make 
 me grateful for this new year, of which I am allowed to 
 see the beginning. Thy kingdom come! I have many 
 wishes, but this prayer will carry them all. January 1, 
 1897. 
 
 'Oh, dear!' 
 
 'January 4. . . . Went in the evening to see the Smith 
 College girls, Class of '95, play "Midsummer Night's 
 Dream." A most lovely and ideal performance. Their 
 representation of the Athenian clowns was incredibly good, 
 especially of Nick Bottom.' 
 
 'January 5. . . . Was grieved and shocked to learn early 
 this morning that my brilliant neighbor, General Francis A. 
 Walker, had died during the night. He always greeted me 
 with chivalrous courtesy, and has more than once given me 
 his arm to help me homeward, when he has found me batding 
 with the high winds in or near Beacon Street. . . .' 
 
 To Maud 
 241 Beacon Street, Boston, January 18, 1897. 
 
 About the life 'a deux seulement,' I agree with you in 
 thinking that it is not good for either party. It is certainly 
 very narrowing both to the mind and to the affections, and 
 is therefore to be avoided. A reasonable amount of outside 
 intercourse is a vital condition of good living, even in the 
 most sympathetic and intimate marriages, and the knowledge 
 of this is one of the strong points in the character of women 
 generally, who do nine tenths of what is done to keep up 
 social intercourse. . . . 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 335 
 
 'April 2. Evening; celebration of twenty-fifth year of 
 Saturday Morning Club. Have writ draft of an open letter 
 regarding Greek matters; also finished a very short screed 
 for this evening. . . .' 
 
 'April 18. . . . I determined to work more for the Greeks 
 and to try and write something about the craze prevailing 
 just now for the Eastern religions, which are rather systems 
 of speculation than of practical religion.' 
 
 To Maud 
 
 April 18, 1897. 
 
 . . . Mrs. Berdan made a visit here, and I gave a reception 
 for her, and took her to the great occasion of the Saturday 
 Morning Club, celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary. 
 The whole thing was very beautiful — the reception was in 
 the tapestry room of the Art Museum. I was placed in a sort 
 of throne chair, with the president and ex-presidents in a 
 line at my left, and the cream of Boston was all brought up 
 and presented to me. In another of the large rooms a stage 
 had been arranged, and from this I made my little speech. 
 Then came some beautiful singing by Mrs. Tebbets, with a 
 small orchestral accompaniment, and then was given one act 
 of Tennyson's 'Princess' and Browning's 'In a Balcony.' 
 The place, the performances, and the guests made this a 
 very distinguished occasion. I had gone just before this to 
 see Louisa Cushing's wonderful acting in a French play of 
 the Commune. She possesses great tragic power and re- 
 minds one of Duse and of Sarah Bernhardt. I suppose that 
 H. M. H. has written you of his appointment as Professor 
 of Metallurgy, etc., at Columbia College, New York. He 
 and Fannie are much pleased with this, and it is considered 
 a very important step for him. I shall miss him a good deal, 
 but am glad of it for his sake. Michael 1 and I went yester- 
 day to the annual breakfast of the Charity Club. Greece had 
 been made the topic of the day. Michael made a splendid 
 speech, and sang three stanzas of the Greek National Hymn, 
 
 * Anagnos. 
 
336 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 albeit he cannot sing at all — he intoned it. I also made a 
 little speech, and some money was given to aid the Greek 
 cause. Hezekiah Butterworth was present, and I offered the 
 following conundrum: 'What's butter worth?' Answer, 'The 
 cream of everything.' Adieu, my dearest. 
 
 Ever your loving 
 
 Mother. 
 
 'April 26. Received permission to use Faneuil Hall for 
 a Woman's Meeting of Aid and Sympathy for Greece. . . .' 
 
 'May 3. Working at sending out notices of the Faneuil 
 Hall meeting.' 
 
 'May 4. The day was auspicious for our meeting. 
 Although very tired with the preparations, I wrote my little 
 screed, dressed, and went betimes to the Hall, where I was 
 expected to preside. I found it prettily arranged, though at 
 very small expense. I wore as a badge a tiny Greek flag 
 made of blue and white ribbon, and brought badges of these 
 colors for the young ladies who were to take up the collection. 
 Many whom I had requested to come were present. Sarah 
 Whitman, Lizzie Agassiz, Mrs. Cornelius Felton, Mrs. Fields, 
 Mrs. Whitney, besides our Committee and Mrs. Barrows. 
 M. Anagnos gave us the band of the Institution, which was a 
 great help. They played several times. I introduced C. G. 
 Ames, who made a prayer. My opening address followed. 
 Mmes. Livermore and Woolson, and Anagnos made the 
 most important addresses. As the band played "America," 
 a young Greek came in, bearing the Greek flag, which had 
 quite a dramatic effect. The meeting was enthusiastic and 
 the contribution unusual for such a meeting, three hundred 
 and ninety-seven dollars and odd cents. Thank God for 
 this success.' 
 
 'May 13. . . . Head desperately bad in the morning . 
 
 Have done no good work to-day, brain being unserviceable. 
 Did, however, begin a short screed for my speech at Uni- 
 tarian Festival.' 
 
 'May 25. My knee was very painful in the night, and 
 almost intolerable in the morning, so sent for Wesselhoeft, 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 337 
 
 who examined it and found the trouble to proceed from an 
 irritation of a muscle, probably rheumatic in character. He 
 prescribed entire rest and threatened to use a splint if it 
 should not soon be better. I must give up some of my many 
 engagements, and cannot profit by the doings of this week, 
 alas!' 
 
 'May 27. I am to speak at the Unitarian Festival; dinner 
 at 5 p.m. 
 
 'This is my seventy-eighth birthday. If the good God 
 sees fit to grant me another year, may He help me to fill it 
 with good work. I am still very lame, but perhaps a litde 
 better for yesterday's massage. Gifts of flowers from many 
 friends began early to arrive, and continued till late in the 
 evening. The house was resplendent and fragrant with them. 
 I worried somewhat about the evening's programme and 
 what I should say, but everything went well. Kind Dr. 
 Baker Flynt helped me, cushion and all, into Music Hall, 
 and several gentlemen assisted me to the platform, where 
 I was seated between the Chairman of the Festival Committee 
 and Robert Collyer. ... I desired much to have the word for 
 the occasion, but I am not sure whether I had.' 
 
 'June 2. My first day of "solitary confinement." . . .' 
 
 To Maud 
 241 Beacon Street, June 4, 1897. 
 Dearest dear Child, — 
 
 First place, darling, dismiss from your mind the idea that 
 reasonable people to-day believe that the souls of men in 
 the pre-Christian world were condemned and lost. The old 
 religions are generally considered to-day as necessary steps 
 in the religion of the human race, and therefore as part of 
 the plan of a beneficent Providence. The Jews were people 
 of especial religious genius, producing a wonderful religious 
 literature, and Christianity, which came out of Judaism, is, 
 to my belief, the culmination of the religious sense of man- 
 kind. But Paul himself says, speaking to the Athenians, that 
 'God hath not left himself without a witness,' at any time. 
 I was brought up, of course, in the old belief, which I soon 
 
338 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 dismissed as irreconcilable with any idea of a beneficent 
 Deity. As for the doctrine of regeneration, I think that by 
 being born again the dear Lord meant that we cannot appre- 
 hend spiritual truths unless our minds are earnestly set 
 upon understanding them. To any one who has led a 
 simple, material life, without aspiration or moral reflection, 
 the change by which his attention becomes fastened upon 
 the nobler aspect of character and of life is really like a 
 new birth. We may say the same of the love of high art 
 and great literature. Some people turn very suddenly from 
 a frivolous or immoral life to a better and more thoughtful 
 way. They remember this as a sudden conversion. In most 
 of us, I think the change is more gradual and natural. The 
 better influences win us from the evil things to which most 
 of us are in some way disposed. We have to seek the one 
 and to shun the other. I, for example, am very thankful 
 that my views of many things are unlike what they were 
 twenty or thirty or forty years ago. I attribute this change 
 mostly to good influences, reading, hearing sermons and 
 high conversation. These things often begin in an effort 
 of will to 'move up higher.' If I write more about this, I 
 shall muddle myself and you. Only don't distress yourself 
 about regeneration. I think it mostly comes insensibly, like 
 a child's growth. . . . 
 
 I attended the memorial meeting at the unveiling of the 
 Shaw Monument. You can't think how beautiful the work is. 
 The ceremonies took place Monday, beginning with a pro- 
 cession which came through Beacon Street. Governor Wol- 
 cott, in a barouche and four, distinctly bowed to me. The 
 New York Seventh Regiment came on and marched beauti- 
 fully; our Cadets marched about as well. There was also 
 a squad from our battleships, two of which were in the 
 harbor. At twelve o'clock we all went to Music Hall where 
 they sang my 'Battle Hymn.' The Governor and Mayor and 
 Colonel Harry Lee spoke. Willie James gave the oration 
 and Booker Washington really made the address of the day, 
 simple, balanced, and very eloquent. I had a visit yesterday 
 from Larz and Isabel [Anderson] . He told me much about 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF LABOR 339 
 
 you. Darling, this is a very poor letter, but much love goes 
 with it. 
 
 Affectionate 
 
 Mother. 
 
 'June 6. . . . Have writ a note to little John Jeffries, aet. 
 six years, who sent me a note in his own writing, with a 
 dollar saved out of five cents per week, for the "poor 
 Armenians." He writes: "I don't like the Turks one bit. I 
 think they are horrid." Have sent note and dollar to A. S. B. 
 for the Armenian orphans.' 
 
 'June 27, Oak Glen. My first writing in this dear place. 
 Carrie Hall yesterday moved me down into dear Chev's bed- 
 room on the first floor, Wesselhoeft having forbidden me to 
 go up and down stairs. I rebelled inwardly against this, but 
 am compelled to acknowledge that it is best so. Carrie 
 showed great energy in moving down all the small objects to 
 which she supposed me to be attached. I have now had an 
 exquisite sitting in my green parlor, reading a sermon of 
 dear James Freeman Clarke's.' 
 
 'July 22. . . . Dearest Maud and Jack arrived in the eve- 
 ning. So welcome! I had not seen Jack in two years. I 
 had begun to fear that I was never to see Maud again.' 
 
 'July 26. Had a little time of quiet thought this morning, 
 in which I seemed to see how the intensity of individual de- 
 sire would make chaos in the world of men and women if 
 there were not a conquering and reconciling principle of 
 harmony above them all. This to my mind can be no other 
 than the infinite wisdom and infinite love which we call God.' 
 
 'August 18. I prayed this morning for some direct and 
 definite service which I might render. At noon a reporter 
 from the "New York Journal" arrived, beseeching me to 
 write something to help the young Cuban girl who is in 
 danger of being sent to the Spanish Penal Colony [Ceuta] 
 in Africa. I wrote an appeal in her behalf and suggested 
 a cable to the Pope. This I have already written. The 
 Hearsts will send it. This was an answer to my prayer. 
 Our dear H. M. H. arrived at 3 p.m. . . .' 
 
340 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'August 29. Had a little service for my own people, 
 Flossy and her four children. Spoke of the importance of 
 religious culture. Read the parable of the wise and foolish 
 virgins. Flossy thought the wise ones unkind not to be 
 willing to share with the foolish. I suggested that the oil 
 pictured something which could not be given in a minute. 
 Cited Beecher's saying, which I have so long remembered, 
 that we cannot get religion as we order a suit of clothes. If 
 we live without it, when some overwhelming distress or 
 temptation meets us, we shall not find either the consolation 
 or the strength which true faith gives.' 
 
 'September 23. Have just learned by cable from Rome 
 that my dearest sister Louisa died yesterday morning. Let 
 me rather hope that she awoke from painful weakness and 
 infirmity into a new glory of spiritual life. Her life here 
 has been most blameless, as well as most beautiful. Trans- 
 planted to Rome in her early youth and beauty, she became 
 there a centre of disinterested hospitality, of love and of 
 charity. She was as rare a person in her way as my sweet 
 sister Annie. Alas! I, of less desert than either, am left, 
 the last of my dear father's and mother's children. God 
 grant that my remaining may be for good! And God uelp 
 me to use faithfully my little remnant of life in setting my 
 house in order, and in giving such completeness as I can to 
 my life-work, or rather, to its poor efforts.' 
 
 'September 25. Was sad as death at waking, pondering 
 my many difficulties. The day is most lovely. I have read 
 two of Dr. Hedge's sermons and feel much better. One is 
 called "The Comforter," and was probably written in view of 
 the' loss of friends by death. It speaks of the spirit of a 
 true life, which does not pass away when the life is ended, 
 but becomes more and more dear and precious to loving 
 survivors. The text, from John xvi, 7: "It is expedient for 
 you that I go away." Have writ a good screed about the 
 Rome of 1843-44.' 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 
 1897-1898; aet. 78 
 
 The closing verse of her early poem, 'The City of My 
 Love,' expresses the longing that, like Shelley's, her heart 
 'might buried lie' in Rome. Some memory of this wish, 
 some foreboding that the wish might be granted, possibly 
 darkened the first days of her last Roman winter. In late 
 November of the year 1897 she arrived in Rome with the 
 Elliotts to pass the winter at their apartment in the ancient 
 Palazzo Rusticucci of the old Leonine City across the Tiber; 
 in the shadow of St. Peter's, next door to the Vatican. The 
 visit had been planned pardy in the hope that she might once 
 more see her sister Louisa. In this we know she was dis- 
 appointed. They reached Rome at the beginning of the 
 rainy season, which fell late that year. All these causes 
 taken together account for an unfamiliar depression that 
 creeps into the Journal. She missed, too, the thousand inter- 
 ests of her Boston life; her church, her club, her meetings, 
 all the happy business of keeping a grandmother's house 
 where three generations and their friends were made wel- 
 come. At home every hour of time was planned for, every 
 ounce of power well invested in some 'labor worthy of her 
 metal.' In Rome her only work at first was the writing 
 of her 'Reminiscences' for the 'Atlantic Monthly.' Happily, 
 the depression was short-lived. Gradually the ancient spell 
 of the Great Enchantress once more enthralled her, but it 
 was not until she had founded a club, helped to found a 
 Woman's Council, begun to receive invitations to lecture 
 and to preach, that the accustomed joie de vivre pulses 
 through the record. The sower is at work again, the ground 
 is fertile, the seed quickening. 
 
 'December 1. The first day of this winter, which God 
 
342 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 help me to live through! Dearest Maud is all kindness and 
 devotion to me, and so is Jack, but I have Rome en grippe; 
 nothing in it pleases me.' 
 
 'December 6. Something, perhaps it is the bright weather, 
 moves me to activity so strongly that I hasten to take up 
 my pen, hoping not to lapse into the mood of passive de- 
 pression which has possessed me ever since my arrival in 
 Rome.' 
 
 'December 7. We visited the [William J.] Stillmans — 
 S. and I had not met in thirty years, not since '67 in Athens. 
 Went to afternoon tea at Miss Leigh Smith's. She is a 
 cousin of Florence Nightingale, whom she resembles in ap- 
 pearance. Mme. Helbig was there, overflowing as ever with 
 geniality and kindness.' 
 
 Mr. Stillman was then the Roman correspondent of the 
 London 'Times,' a position only second in importance to 
 that of the British Ambassador. His tall, lean figure, stoop- 
 ing shoulders, — where a pet squirrel often perched, — his 
 long grey beard and keen eyes were familiar to the Romans 
 of that day. His house was a meeting-place for artists and 
 litterati. Mrs. Stillman our mother had formerly known 
 as the beautiful Marie Spartali, the friend of Rossetti and 
 Du Maurier, the idol of literary and artistic London. A 
 warm friendship grew up between them. Together they 
 frequented the antiquaries, gleaning small treasures of an- 
 cient lace and peasant jewels. 
 
 'I bought this by the Muse Stillman's advice': this ex- 
 planation guaranteed the wisdom of purchasing the small 
 rose diamond ring set in black enamel. 
 
 'December 9. Dined with Daisy Chanler. We met there 
 one Brewster and Hendrik Anderson. After dinner came 
 Palmer [son of Courtland] and his sister. He is a pianist 
 of real power and charm — made me think of Paderewski, 
 when I first heard him. . . .' 
 
 'December 10. Drove past the Trevi Fountain and to the 
 Coliseum, where we walked awhile. Ladies came to hear me 
 talk about Women's Clubs. This talk, which I had rather 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 343 
 
 dreaded to give, passed off pleasandy. . . . Most of the ladies 
 present expressed the desire to have a small and select club 
 of women in Rome. Maud volunteered to make the first 
 effort, with Mme. DesGrange and Jessie Cochrane to help 
 her.' 
 
 'December 14. In the afternoon drove with Jack to visit 
 Villegas. Found a splendid house with absolutely no fire 
 — the cold of the studio was tomb-like. A fire was lighted 
 in a stove and cakes were served, with some excellent 
 Amontillado wine, which I think saved my life.' 
 
 'December 18. When I lay down to take my nap before 
 dinner, I had a sudden thought-vision of the glory of God in 
 the face of Jesus Christ. I seemed to see how the human 
 could in a way reflect the glory of the divine, giving not a 
 mechanical, but an affectional and spiritual re-showing of 
 the great unfathomable glory. I need not say that I had no 
 sleep — I wish the glimpse then given me might remain in 
 my mind.' 
 
 'December 21. Feeling much better in health, I deter- 
 mined to take up my "Reminiscences" again. Mme. Rose 
 passed the evening with me. She told me that Pio Nono 
 had endorsed the Rosminian philosophy, which had had quite 
 a following in the Church, Cardinal Hohenlohe having been 
 very prominent in this. When Leo XIII was elected, the 
 Jesuits came to him and promised that he should have a 
 Jubilee if he would take part against the Rosminian ideas, 
 and put the books on the Index Expurgatorius, the which he 
 prompdy did. Hohenlohe is supposed to have been the 
 real hero of the poisoning described in Zola's "Rome" — 
 his servant died after having eaten of something which had 
 been sent from the Vatican.' 
 
 'December 25. Blessed Christmas Day! Maud and I 
 went to St. Peter's to get, as she said, a whiff of the mass. 
 We did not profit much by this, but met Edward Jackson, of 
 Boston, and Monsignor Stanley, whom I had not seen in 
 many years. We had a pleasant foregathering with him. 
 
 'In St. Peter's my mind became impressed with the 
 immense intellectual force pledged to the upbuilding and 
 
344 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 upholding of the Church of Rome. As this thought almost 
 overpowered me, I remembered our dear Christ visiting the 
 superb temple at Jerusalem and foretelling its destruction 
 and the indestructibility of his own doctrine.' 
 
 On fair days she took her walk on the terrace, feasting her 
 eyes on the splendid view. In the distance the Alban and 
 the Sabine Hills, Mount Soracte and the Leonessa; close at 
 hand the Tiber, Rome's towers and domes, St. Peter's with 
 the colonnade, the Piazza, and the sparkling fountains. She 
 delighted in the flowers of the terrace, which she called her 
 'hanging garden'; she had her own litde watering-pot, and 
 faithfully tended the white rose which she claimed as her 
 special charge. From the terrace she looked across to the 
 windows of the Pope's private apartment. Opposed as she 
 was to the Pontiff's policy, she still felt a sympathy with 
 the old man, whose splendid prison she often passed on her 
 way to St. Peter's, where in bad weather she always took her 
 walk. 
 
 'December 31. I am sorry to take leave of this year, 
 which has given me many good things, some blessings in 
 disguise, as my lameness proved, compelling me to pass 
 many quiet days, good for study and for my "Reminis- 
 cences," which I only began in earnest after Wesselhoeft 
 condemned me to remain on one floor for a month.' 
 
 'January 3, 1898. I feel that my "Reminiscences" will 
 be disappointing to the world in general, if it ever troubles 
 itself to read them, — I feel quite sure that it has neglected 
 some good writing of mine, in verse and in prose. I cannot 
 help anticipating for this book the same neglect, and this 
 discourages me somewhat. 
 
 'In the afternoon drove to Monte Janiculo and saw the 
 wonderful view of Rome, and the equestrian statue of Gari- 
 baldi crowning the height. We also drove through the Villa 
 Pamfili Doria, which is very beautiful.' 
 
 The Winthrop Chanlers were passing the winter in Rome; 
 this added much to her pleasure. The depression gradually 
 disappeared, and she found herself once more at home there. 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 345 
 
 She met many people who interested her: Hall Caine, 
 Bjornstjerne Bjornson, many artists too. Don Jose Villegas, 
 the great Spanish painter (now Director of the Prado 
 Museum at Madrid), who was living in his famous Moorish 
 villa on the Monte Parioli, made a brilliant, realistic portrait 
 of her, and Hendrik Anderson, the Norwegian-American 
 sculptor, modelled an interesting terra-cotta bust. While 
 the sittings for these portraits were going on, her niece said 
 to her: — 
 
 'My aunt, I can expect almost anything of you, but I had 
 hardly expected a succes de beaute.' 
 
 Among the diplomats who play so prominent a part in 
 Roman society, the Jonkheer John Loudon, Secretary of the 
 Netherlands Legation, was one of her favorite visitors; there 
 are frequent mentions of his singing, which she took pleasure 
 in accompanying. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. J. C. Heywood lived a few doors from the 
 Rusticucci in the Palazzo Giraud Torlonia, one of the finest 
 Roman palaces. Mr. Heywood held an office in the Papal 
 Court, and had a papal title which he was wise enough not 
 to use in general society. He was an American, a Harvard 
 graduate of the class of 1855. His chief occupation, out- 
 side of his duties at the Vatican, was the collection of a fine 
 library. His house was a rendezvous of Black 1 society. He 
 lived in much state and entertained with brilliant formality. 
 Among the great social events of that winter was his recep- 
 tion given for Cardinal Satolli, who arrived dressed in splen- 
 did vestments, escorted by his suite. The hostess courtesied 
 to the ground and kissed the ring on his finger. All the other 
 Catholic ladies followed suit. Sitting very straight in her 
 chair, our mother bided her time; finally the Cardinal was 
 brought to her. He was a genial, courteous man and very 
 soon they were deep in friendly talk. Though she disliked 
 the Roman hierarchy as an institution, she counted many 
 friends among the priests of Rome. 
 
 'January 18. To St. Peter's. The Festival of St. Peter's 
 
 1 /.e., Clerical. 
 
346 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Chair. Vespers in the usual side chapel. Music on the 
 whole good, some sopranos rather ragged, but parts beauti- 
 fully sung. Was impressed as usual by the heterogeneous 
 attendance — tourists with campstools and without, ecclesi- 
 astics of various grades, students, friars; one splendid work- 
 ing-man in his corduroys stood like a statue, in an attitude 
 of fixed attention. Lowly fathers and mothers carrying small 
 children. One lady, seated high at the base of a column, 
 put her feet on the seat of my stool behind me. Saw the 
 gorgeous ring on the finger of the statue of St. Peter.' 
 
 'January 19. Have composed a letter to Professor Lan- 
 ciani, asking for a talk on the afternoon of February 9, pro- 
 posing "Houses and Housekeeping in Ancient Rome," and 
 "The Sibyls of Italy." Mr. Baddeley came in, and we had 
 an interesting talk, mostly about the ancient Caesars, Mrs. 
 Hollins asking, "Why did the Romans put up with the bad 
 Caesars?" He thought the increase of wealth under Augustus 
 was the beginning of a great deterioration of the people and 
 the officials.' 
 
 'January 21. Went in the afternoon to call upon Baroness 
 Giacchetti. Had a pleasant talk with her husband, an en- 
 lightened man. He recognizes the present status of Rome as 
 greatly superior to the ancient order of things — but laments 
 the ignorance and superstition of the common people in 
 general, and the peasantry in particular. A sick woman, re- 
 stored to health by much trouble taken at his instance, 
 instead of thanking him for his benefactions, told him that 
 she intended to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of a certain 
 Madonna, feeling sure that it was to her that she owed her 
 cure.' 
 
 'January 26. The day of my reading before the Club, at 
 Jessie Cochrane's rooms. I read my lecture over very care- 
 fully in the forenoon and got into the spirit of it. The 
 gathering was a large one, very attentive, and mostly very 
 appreciative. The paper was "Woman in the Greek 
 Drama."' 
 
 'January 31. Have made a special prayer that my mind 
 may be less occupied with my own shortcomings, and more 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 347 
 
 with all that keeps our best hope alive. Felt little able to 
 write, but produced a good page on the principle "nulla dies 
 sine linea." ' 
 
 'February 4. Hard sledding for words to-day — made 
 out something about Theodore Parker.' 
 
 'February 7. Wrote some pages of introduction for the 
 Symposium — played a rubber of whist with L. Terry; then 
 to afternoon tea with Mrs. Thorndike, where I met the first 
 Monsignor [Dennis] O'Connell, with whom I had a long 
 talk on the woman question, in which he seems much inter- 
 ested. He tells me of a friend, Zahm by name, now gone to 
 a place in Indiana, who has biographies of the historical 
 women of Bologna.' 
 
 'February 16. To Mrs. Hurlburt's reception. — Talked 
 with Countess Blank, an American married to a Pole. She 
 had much to say of the piety of her Arab servant, who, she 
 says, swallows fire, cuts himself with sharp things, etc., as 
 acts of devotion!! Met Mr. Trench, son of the late Arch- 
 bishop, Rev. Chevenix Trench. He has been Tennyson's 
 publisher. Did not like T. personally — said he was often 
 rude — read his own poems aloud constantly and very badly; 
 said, "No man is a hero to his publisher." Told about his 
 sale of Henry George's book, a cheap edition, one hundred 
 and fifty thousand copies sold in England.' 
 
 'February 18. Have done a good morning's work and 
 read in the "Nineteenth Century" an article on Nelson, and 
 one on the new astronomy. St. Thomas Aquinas's advice 
 regarding the election of an abbot from three candidates: — 
 
 ' "What manner of man is the first?" 
 
 ' "Doctissimus" 
 
 ' "Doceat" says St. Thomas. "And the second?" 
 
 ' "Sanctissimus." 
 
 ' "Oretl and the third?" 
 
 ' "Prudentissimus!" 
 
 ' "Regat! Let him rule!" says the Saint.' 
 
 'February 26. To tea at Mrs. Hazeltine's where met Wil- 
 liam Allen Butler, author of "Nothing to Wear" — a bright- 
 eyed, conversable man. Have a sitting to Anderson. When 
 
348 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 I returned from Mrs. Hazeltine's I found Hall Caine. . . . 
 He told me much about Gabriel Rossetti, with whom he had 
 much to do. Rossetti was a victim of chloral, and Caine was 
 set to keep him from it, except in discreet doses.' 
 
 'March 4. Went to see the King and Queen, returning 
 from the review of troops. They were coldly received. She 
 wore crimson velvet — he was on horseback and in uni- 
 form. . . .' 
 
 'March 9. Club at Jessie Cochrane's; young Loyson, son 
 of Pere Hyacinthe, gave an interesting lecture on the religion 
 of Ancient Rome, which he traced back to its rude Latin 
 beginning; the Sabines, he thought, introduced into it one 
 element of spirituality. Its mythology was borrowed from 
 Greece and from the Etruscans — later from Egypt and the 
 East. The Primitive Aryan religion was the worship of 
 ancestors. This also we see in Rome. A belief in immor- 
 tality appears in the true Aryan faith. Man, finding him- 
 self human, and related to the divine, felt that he could not 
 die.' 
 
 'March 15. . . . Mme. Helbig gave us an account of the 
 Russian pilgrimage which came here lately. Many of the 
 pilgrims were peasants. They travelled from Russia on 
 foot, wearing bark shoes, which are very yielding and soft. 
 These Russian ladies deprecated the action of Peter the 
 Great in building St. Petersburg, and in forcing European 
 civilization upon his nation, when still unprepared for it.' 
 
 As the winter wore away and the early Roman spring 
 broke, the last vestige of the discomfort of the first weeks 
 vanished. The daily drives to the country in search of wild 
 flowers were an endless delight, as well as the trips to the 
 older quarters of the city. She found that, while during the 
 first weeks she had lost the habit of looking keenly about 
 at the sights, the old joy soon came back to her, and now she 
 was quick to see every picturesque figure in the crowd, every 
 classic fragment in the architecture. 'The power of seeing 
 beautiful things, like all other powers, must be exercised 
 to be preserved,' she once said. 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 349 
 
 'March 19. I have not dared to work to-day, as I am to 
 read this afternoon. The reading was well attended and was 
 more than well received. Hall Caine came afterwards, and 
 talked long about the Bible. He does not appear to be 
 familiar with the most recent criticism of either Old or New 
 Testament.' 
 
 'March 24. "There is a third silent party to all our bar- 
 gains." [Emerson.] 
 
 'I find this passage in his essay on "Compensation" to-day 
 for the first time, having written my essay on "Moral Tri- 
 angulation of the Third Party" some thirty years ago.' 
 
 'March 26. Dined with Mrs. McCreary — the Duke of San 
 Martino took me in to dinner — Monsignor Dennis O'Connell 
 sat on the other side of me. I had an interesting talk with 
 him. Mrs. McCreary sang my "Battle Hymn." They begged 
 me to recite "The Flag," which I did. Mrs. Pearse, daughter 
 of Mario and Grisi, sang delightfully.' 
 
 'March 30. A fine luncheon party given by Mrs. Iddings, 
 wife of the American Secretary of Embassy at the Grand 
 Hotel. Mme. Ristori was there; I had some glimpses of 
 reminiscence with her. I met her with "La terribil' Medea," 
 which I so well remember hearing from her. I presently 
 quoted her toast in "La Locandiera," of which she repeated 
 the last two lines. Maud had arranged to have Mrs. Hurl- 
 burt help me home. Contessa Spinola also offered, but I 
 got off alone, came home in time to hear most of Professor 
 Pansotti's lecture on the Gregorian music, which, though 
 technical, was interesting.' 
 
 'March 31. I woke up at one, after vividly dreaming of 
 my father and Dr. Francis. My father came in, and said to 
 me that he wished to speak to Miss Julia alone. I trembled, 
 as I so often did, lest I was about to receive some well- 
 merited rebuke. He said that he wished my sister and me 
 to stay at home more. I saw the two faces very clearly. My 
 father's I had not seen for fifty-nine years.' 
 
 'April 6. Went in the afternoon with Mrs. Stillman to 
 the Campo dei Fiori, where bought two pieces of lace for 
 twenty lire each, and a little cap-pin for five lire. Saw a 
 
350 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 small ruby and diamond ring which I very much fancied.' 
 
 'April 10. Easter Sunday, passed quietly at home. Had 
 an early walk on the terrace. ... A good talk with Hamilton 
 Ai'de, who told me of the Spartali family. In the afternoon 
 to Lady Kenmare's reception and later to dine with the Lin- 
 dall Winthrops.' 
 
 'April 11. In the afternoon Harriet Monroe, of Chicago, 
 came and read her play — a parlor drama, ingenious and 
 well written. The audience were much pleased with it.' 
 
 'April 24. To Miss Leigh Smith's, where I read my ser- 
 mon on the "Still Small Voice" to a small company of 
 friends, explaining that it was written in the first instance 
 for the Concord Prison, and that I read it there to the con- 
 victs. I prefaced the sermon by reading one of the parables 
 in my "Later Lyrics," "Once, where men of high pre- 
 tension," etc. . . .' 
 
 This was one of several occasions when she read a ser- 
 mon at the house of Miss Leigh Smith, a stanch Unitarian, 
 who lived at the Trinita de' Monti in the house near the 
 top of the Spanish Steps, held by generations of English 
 and American residents the most advantageous dwelling in 
 Rome. On Sunday mornings, when the bells of Rome 
 thrilled the air with the call to prayer, a group of exiles 
 from many lands gathered in the pleasant English-looking 
 drawing-room. From the windows they could look down 
 upon the flower-decked Piazza di Spagna, hear the song of 
 the nightingales in the Villa Medici, breathe the perfume 
 of violets and almond blossoms from the Pincio. This 
 morning, or another, Paul Sabatier was among the listen- 
 ers, a grave, gracious man, a Savoyard pastor, whose 'Life 
 of Saint Francis of Assisi' had set all Rome talking. 
 
 'April 25. To lunch with the Drapers. Had some good 
 talk with Mr. D. [the American Ambassador], He was 
 brought up at Hopedale in the Community, of which his 
 father was a member, his mother not altogether acquiescing. 
 He went into our Civil War when only twenty years of age, 
 having the day before married a wife. He was badly 
 wounded in the battle of the Wilderness. Mosby [guerilla] 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 351 
 
 met the wounded train, and stripped them of money and 
 watches, taking also the horses of their conveyances. A 
 young Irish lad of fourteen saved Draper's life by running 
 to Bull Plain for aid.' 
 
 'April 26. Lunch at Daisy Chanler's, to meet Mrs. San- 
 ford, of Hamilton, Canada, who is here in the interests of 
 the International Council of Women. She seems a nice, 
 whole-souled woman. ... I have promised to preside at a 
 meeting, called at Daisy's rooms for Thursday, to carry 
 forward such measures as we can and to introduce Mrs. 
 Sanford and interpret for her.' 
 
 'April 27. Devoted the forenoon to a composition in 
 French, setting forth the objects of the meeting. . . .' 
 
 'April 28. Went carefully over my French address. In 
 the afternoon attended the meeting at Daisy's where I pre- 
 sided.' 
 
 This was the first time the Italian women had taken part 
 in the International Council. 
 
 'April 30. To Contessa di Taverna at Palazzo Gabrielli, 
 where I met the little knot of newly elected officers of the 
 Council of Italian Women that is to be. Read them my re- 
 port of our first meeting — they chattered a great deal. Mrs. 
 Sanford was present. She seemed grateful for the help I 
 had tried to give to her plan of a National Council of 
 Italian Women. I induced the ladies present to subscribe 
 a few lire each, for the purchase of a book for the secretary, 
 for postage and for the printing of their small circular. 
 Hope to help them more further on. . . .' 
 
 'May 1. . . . I gave my "Rest" sermon at Miss Leigh 
 Smith's. . . . Afterwards to lunch with the dear Stillman 
 Muse. Lady Airlie and the Thynne sisters were there. Had 
 a pleasant talk with Lady Beatrice. . . . Wrote a letter to be 
 read at the Suffrage Festival in Boston on May 17. . . .' 
 
 Lady Beatrice and Lady Katherine Thynne; the latter 
 was married later to Lord Cromer, Viceroy of Egypt. The 
 Ladies Thynne were passing the winter with their cousin, 
 the Countess of Kenmare, at her pleasant apartment in the 
 Via Gregoriana. Among the guests one met at Lady Ken- 
 
352 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 mare's was a dark, handsome Monsignore who spoke Eng- 
 lish like an Oxford Don, and looked like a Torquemada. 
 Later he became Papal Secretary of State and Cardinal 
 Merry del Val. 
 
 'May 2. Have worked as usual. A pleasant late drive. 
 Dined with Eleutherio, 1 Daisy Chanler, and Dr. Bull; whist 
 afterwards; news of an engagement and victory for us off 
 Manila.' 
 
 'May 4. . . . We dined with Marchese and Marchesa de 
 Viti de Marco at Palazzo Orsini. Their rooms are very fine, 
 one hung with beautiful crimson damask. An author, Pas- 
 carello, was present, who has written comic poems in the 
 Romanesque dialect, the principal one a mock narrative of 
 the discovery of America by Columbus. Our host is a very 
 intelligent man, much occupied with questions of political 
 economy, of which science he is professor at the Collegio 
 Romano. His wife, an American, is altogether pleasing. 
 He spoke of the present Spanish War, of which foreigners 
 understand but little.' 
 
 'May 8. An exquisite hour with dear Maud on the terrace 
 — the roses in their glory, red, white, and yellow; honeysuckle 
 out, brilliant. We sat in a sheltered spot, talked of things 
 present and to come. Robert Collyer to lunch. I asked him 
 to say grace, which he did in his lovely manner. He en- 
 joyed Maud's terrace with views of St. Peter's and the moun- 
 tains. In the afternoon took a little drive. 
 , 'Several visitors called, among them Louisa Broadwood, 
 from whom I learned that the little Committee for a Woman's 
 Council is going on. The ladies have decided not to join 
 the International at present, but to try and form an Italian 
 Council first. Some good results are already beginning to 
 appear in the cooperation of two separate charities in some 
 part of their work.' 
 
 A few years after this, the Association which she did so 
 much to found, held the first Woman's Congress ever given 
 in Italy, at the Palace of Justice in Rome. It was an impor- 
 tant and admirably conducted convention. The work for 
 
 1 Her brother-in-law, Luther Terry. 
 
THE LAST ROMAN WINTER 353 
 
 the uplift of the sex is going on steadily and well in Italy 
 to-day. 
 
 'May 12. Sat to Villegas all afternoon. Had a little time 
 on the terrace. Thought I would christen it the "Praise 
 God." The flowers seem to me to hold their silent high 
 mass, swinging their own censers of sweet incense. Went 
 to Jack's studio and saw his splendid work. 1 In the after- 
 noon went with my brother-in-law to the cemetery to visit 
 dear Louisa's grave. Jack had cut for me many fine roses 
 from the terrace. We dropped many on this dear resting- 
 place of one much and justly beloved. . . . Dear old Majesty 
 of Rome, this is my last writing here. I thank God most 
 earnestly for so much.' 
 
 1 Elliott was at work upon his Triumph of Time, a ceiling decoration for 
 the Boston Public Library. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 EIGHTY YEARS 
 1899-1900; aet. 80-31 
 
 The winter of 1898-99 saw the publication of 'From Sunset 
 Ridge; Poems Old and New.' This volume contained many 
 of the poems from 'Later Lyrics' (long out of print), and 
 also much of her later work. It met with a warm recognition 
 which gave her much pleasure. 
 
 Later in 1899 appeared the 'Reminiscences,' on which 
 she had been so long at work. These were even more 
 warmly received, though many people thought them too 
 short. Colonel Higginson said the work might have been 
 'spread out into three or four interesting octavos ; but in her 
 hurried grasp it is squeezed into one volume, where groups 
 of delightful interviews with heroes at home and abroad are 
 crowded into some single sentence.' 
 
 The book was written mostly from memory, with little 
 use of the Journals, and none of the family letters and 
 papers, which she had carefully preserved through many 
 years ; she needed none of these things. Her past was always 
 alive, and she went hand in hand with its dear and gracious 
 figures. 
 
 But we have outstripped the Journals and must go back 
 to the beginning of 1899. 
 
 '[Boston.] January 1, 1899. I begin this year with an 
 anxious mind. I am fighting the Wolf, hand to hand. I am 
 also confused between the work already done on my "Remi- 
 niscences," and that still wanting to give them some com- 
 pleteness. May the All-Father help me!' 
 
 'January 9. Dined with the Massachusetts Press Club 
 Association. I made a little speech pardy thought out be- 
 forehand. The best bit in it — "Why should we fear to pass 
 from the Old Testament of our own liberties, to the New 
 Testament of liberty for all the world?" — came to me on 
 the spur of the moment. . . .' 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 355 
 
 'January 16 Dickens Party at the New England 
 
 Woman's Club. I despaired of being able to go, but did 
 manage to get up a costume and take part. Many very 
 comical travesties, those of Pickwick and Captain Cutde 
 remarkably good; also Lucia M. Peabody as Martin Chuz- 
 zlewit, and Mrs. Godding in full male dress suit. I played a 
 Virginia reel and finally danced myself.' 
 
 The part she herself took on this occasion was that of 
 Mrs. Jellyby, a character she professed to resemble. At 
 another club party she impersonated Mrs. Jarley, with a fine 
 collection of celebrities, which she exhibited proudly. She 
 always put on her best motley for her 'dear Club'; and in 
 those days its fooling was no less notable than its wisdom. 
 Among other things, she instituted the Poetical Picnics, pic- 
 nic suppers to which every member must bring an original 
 poem : some of her best nonsense was recited at these suppers. 
 
 It has been said that she had the gift of the word in season. 
 This was often shown at the Club; especially when, as some- 
 times happened, a question of the hour threatened to become 
 'burning.' It is remembered how one day a zealous sister 
 thundered so loud against corporal punishment that some 
 mothers and grandames were roused to equally ardent rejoin- 
 der. The President was appealed to. 
 
 'Dear Mrs. Howe, I am sure that you never laid a hand on 
 your children!' 
 
 'Oh, yes,' said dear Mrs. Howe. 'I cuffed 'em a bit when 
 I thought they needed it!' 
 
 Even 'militancy' could be touched lightly by her. Talk 
 was running high on the subject one day; eyes began to 
 flash ominously, voices took on 'a wire edge,' as she ex- 
 pressed it. Again the appeal was made. 
 
 'Can you imagine, Mrs. Howe, under any circum- 
 stances — ' 
 
 The twinkle came into the gray eyes. 'Well!' she said. 
 'I am pretty old, but I think I could manage a broomstick!' 
 
 The tension broke in laughter, and the sisters were sisters 
 once more. 
 
 'January 23. Worked as usual. Attended the meeting in 
 
3 56 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 favor of the Abolition of the Death Penalty, which was 
 interesting. ... I spoke on the ground of hope.' 
 
 'March 21. Tuskegee benefit, Hollis Street Theatre. 
 
 'This meeting scored a triumph, not only for the perform- 
 ers, but for the race. Bishop Lawrence presided with much 
 good grace and appreciation. Paul Dunbar was the least dis- 
 tinct. Professor Dubois, of Atlanta University, read a fine 
 and finished discourse. Booker Washington was eloquent 
 as usual, and the Hampton quartet was delightful. At the 
 tea which followed at Mrs. Whitman's studio, I spoke with 
 these men and with Dunbar's wife, a nearly white woman 
 of refined appearance. I asked Dubois about the negro vote 
 in the South. He thought it better to have it legally taken 
 away than legally nullified.' 
 
 'April 17. Kindergarten for the Blind. ... I hoped for a 
 good word to say, but could only think of Shakespeare's "The 
 evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred 
 with their bones," intending to say that this does not com- 
 mend itself to me as true. Mr. Eels spoke before me and 
 gave me an occasion to use this with more point than I had 
 hoped. He made a rather flowery discourse, and eulogized 
 Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller as a new experience in 
 human society. In order to show how the good that men do 
 survives them, I referred to Dr. Howe's first efforts for the 
 blind and to his teaching of Laura Bridgman, upon whom 
 I dwelt somewhat. . . .' 
 
 'April 25. To Alliance, the last meeting of the season. 
 
 Mrs. spoke, laying the greatest emphasis on women 
 
 acting so as to express themselves in freedom. This ideal 
 of self-expression appears to me insufficient and dangerous, 
 if taken by itself. I mentioned its insufficiency, while recog- 
 nizing its importance. I compared feminine action under 
 the old limitations to the touching of an electric eel, which 
 immediately gives one a paralyzing shock. I spoke also 
 of the new woman world as at present constituted, as like 
 the rising up from the sea of a new continent. In my own 
 youth women were isolated from each other by the very 
 intensity of their personal consciousness. I thought of myself 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 357 
 
 and of other women in this way. We thought that superior 
 women ought to have been born men. A blessed change 
 is that which we have witnessed.' 
 
 As her eightieth birthday drew nigh, her friends vied 
 with one another in loving observance of the time. The 
 festivities began May 17 with a meeting of the New Eng- 
 land Women's Press Association, where she gave a lecture 
 on 'Patriotism in Literature' and received 'eighty beautiful 
 pink roses for my eighty years.' 
 
 Next came the 'annual meeting and lunch of the New 
 England Woman's Club. This took the character of a pre- 
 celebration of my eightieth birthday, and was highly honorific. 
 I can only say that I do not think of myself as the speakers 
 seemed to think of me. Too deeply do I regret my seasons 
 of rebellion, and my shortcomings in many duties. Yet am I 
 thankful for so much good-will. I only deserve it because 
 I return it.' 
 
 She was already what she used to call 'Boston's old 
 spoiled child!' All through the birthday flowers, letters, and 
 telegrams poured into the house. From among the tokens of 
 love and reverence may be chosen the quatrain sent by 
 Richard Watson Gilder: — 
 
 'How few have rounded out so full a life! 
 
 Priestess of righteous war and holy peace, 
 Poet and sage, friend, sister, mother, wife, 
 
 Long he it ere that noble heart shall cease!' 
 
 The 'Woman's Journal' issued a special Birthday number. 
 It was a lovely and heart-warming anniversary, the pleasure 
 of which long remained with her. 
 
 Three days later came an occasion which stirred patriotic 
 Boston to its depths. The veterans of the Grand Army of 
 the Republic had invited Major-General Joseph Wheeler to 
 deliver the Memorial Day oration in Boston Theatre. Our 
 mother was the second guest of honor. She has nothing to 
 say of this occasion beyond the fact that she 'had a great 
 time in the morning,' and that in the open carriage with 
 
3 58 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 her sat 'General Wheeler's two daughters — very pleasing 
 girls'; but pasted in the Journal is the following clipping 
 from the 'Philadelphia Press': — 
 
 BOSTON WARMED UP 
 
 The Major has just returned from Boston, where he was present 
 at the Memorial Day services held in Boston Theatre. 
 
 It was the real thing. I never imagined possible such a genuine 
 sweeping emotion as when that audience began to sing the 'Battle 
 Hymn.' If Boston was cold, it was thawed by the demonstration on 
 Tuesday. Myron W. Whitney started to sing. He bowed to a box, 
 in which we first recognized Mrs. Howe, sitting with the Misses 
 Wheeler. You should have heard the yell. We could see the splen- 
 did white head trembling; then her voice joined in, as Whitney sang, 
 'In the beauty of the lilies,' and by the time he had reached the 
 words, — 
 
 'As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,' — 
 
 the whole vast audience was on its feet, sobbing and singing at the 
 top of its thousands of lungs. If volunteers were really needed for 
 the Philippines, McKinley could have had us all right there. 
 
 The same evening she went 'to Unitarian meeting in Tre- 
 mont Temple, where read my screed about Governor Andrew, 
 which has cost me some work and more anxiety. Rev. S. A. 
 Eliot, whom I saw for the first time, was charmingly hand- 
 some and friendly. I was introduced as "Saint Julia" and 
 the whole audience rose when I came forward to read. Item: 
 I had dropped my bag with my manuscript in the carriage, 
 but Charles Fox telephoned to the stable and got it for me.' 
 
 The spring of this year saw an epidemic of negro lynching, 
 which roused deep indignation throughout the country. On 
 May 20 the Journal records 'a wonderful meeting at Chick- 
 ering Hall, called by the colored women of Boston, to pro- 
 test against the lynching of negroes in the South. Mrs. 
 Butler M. Wilson presided, an octoroon and a woman of 
 education. Her opening address was excellent in spirit and 
 in execution. A daughter of Mrs. Ruffin also wrote an 
 excellent address: Mrs. Cheney's was very earnest and im- 
 pressive. Alice Freeman Palmer spoke as I have never 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 359 
 
 before heard her. My rather brief speech was much 
 applauded, as were indeed all of the others. Mrs. Richard 
 Hallowell was on the platform and introduced Mrs. Wilson.' 
 This brief speech brought upon her a shower of letters, 
 mostly anonymous, from persons who saw only the anti-negro 
 side of this matter, so dreadful in every aspect. These let- 
 ters were often denunciatory, sometimes furious in tone, 
 especially one addressed to 
 
 Mrs. Howe, Negro Sympathizer, 
 
 Boston. 
 
 This grieved her, but she did not cease to lift up her voice 
 against the evil thing whenever occasion offered. 
 
 'September 4. Discouraged over the confusion of my 
 papers, the failure of printers to get on with my book, and 
 my many bills. Have almost had an attack of the moral 
 sickness which the Italians call Achidia. I suppose it to 
 mean indifference and indolence. . . .' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, September 6, 1899. 
 
 . . . Here's a question. Houghton and Mifflin desire to 
 print 1 the rough draft of my 'Batde Hymn,' which they bor- 
 rowed, with some difficulty, from Charlotte Whipple, who 
 begged it of me, years ago. I hesitate to allow it, because it 
 contains a verse which I discarded, as not up to the rest of 
 the poem. It will undoubtedly be an additional attraction 
 for the volume. . . . 
 
 'September 7. Have attacked my proofs fiercely. . . .' 
 
 To Laura 
 
 Oak Glen, September 16, 1899. 
 Yours received, tres chere. Why not consult Hays Gardi- 
 ner 2 about printing the original draft of the 'Hymn'? Win's 8 
 
 1 In the Reminiscences. 
 
 'The late John Hays Gardiner, author of The Bible as Literature, The 
 Forms of Prose Literature, and Harvard. 
 
 'Edwin Arlington Robinson, author of Captain Craig, etc. 
 
360 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 opinion would be worth having, also. I think I shall consult 
 E. E. Hale, albeit the two just named would be more 
 fastidious. 1 
 
 'October 21. My last moments in this dear place. The 
 past season appears to me like a gift of perfect jewels. I 
 pray that the winter may have in store for me some good 
 work and much dear and profitable companionship. I must 
 remember that this may be my last summer here, or any- 
 where on earth, but must bear in mind that it is best to act 
 with a view to prolonged life, since without this outlook, it 
 is very hard for us to endeavor or to do our best. Peace be 
 with you, beautiful summer and autumn. Amen.' 
 
 She was never ready to leave Oak Glen; the town house 
 always seemed at first like a prison. 
 
 'October 23. Boston. A drizzly, dark day. I struggled 
 out twice, saying to myself: "It is for your life." . . .' 
 
 'October 24. Have had two days of chaos and discourage- 
 ment. . . .' 
 
 'October 27. A delightful and encouraging conference 
 of A.A.W. held in my parlors. The prevailing feeling was 
 that we should not disband, but should hold on to our asso- 
 ciation and lie by, hoping to find new innings for work. 
 Florida was spoken of as good ground for us. I felt much 
 cheered and quickened by tbe renewal of old friendships. . . .' 
 
 A Western lecture trip had been planned for this autumn, 
 but certain untoward symptoms developed and Dr. Wessel- 
 hoeft said, 'No! no! not even if you had not had vertigo.' 
 She gave it up most reluctantly, confiding only to the Journal 
 the hope that she might be able to go later. 
 
 'November 9. Celebration of dear Chev's birthday at 
 the Institution. I spoke of the New Testament word about 
 the mustard seed, so small but producing such a stately 
 tree. I compared this little seed to a benevolent impulse 
 in the mind of S. G. H. and the Institution to a tree.' 
 
 'December 16. I had greatly desired to see the "Barber." 
 Kind Mrs. [Alfred] Batcheller made it possible by inviting 
 
 x The facsimile printed in the Reminiscences contains the discarded stanza. 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 361 
 
 me to go with her. The performance was almost if not quite 
 bouffe. Sembrich's singing marvellous, the acting of the 
 other characters excellent, and singing very good, especially 
 that of De Reszke and Campanari. I heard the opera in 
 New York more than seventy years ago, when Malibran, then 
 Signorina Garcia, took the part of Rosina.' 
 
 'December 31. . . . "Advertiser" man came with a query: 
 "What event in 1899 will have the greatest influence in the 
 world's history?" I replied, "The Czar's Peace Manifesto, 
 leading to the Conference at The Hague." ' 
 
 November, 1899, saw the birth of another institution from 
 which she was to derive much pleasure, the Boston Authors' 
 Club. Miss Helen M. Winslow first evolved the idea of 
 such a club. After talking with Mmes. May Alden Ward 
 and Mabel Loomis Todd, who urged her to carry out the 
 project, she went to see the 'Queen of Clubs.' 'Go ahead!' 
 said our mother. 'Call some people together here, at my 
 house, and we will form a club, and it will be a good one 
 too.' 
 
 The Journal of November 23 says: — 
 
 'Received word from Helen Winslow of a meeting of 
 literary folks called for to-morrow morning at my house.' 
 
 This meeting was 'very pleasant: Mrs. Ward, Miss Win- 
 slow, Jacob Strauss, and Hezekiah Butterworth attended — 
 later Herbert Ward came in.' 
 
 It was voted to form the Boston Authors' Club, and at a 
 second meeting in December the club was duly organized. 
 
 In January the Authors' Club made its first public appear- 
 ance in a meeting and dinner at Hotel Vendome, Mrs. Howe 
 presiding, Colonel Higginson (whom she described as her 
 'chief Vice') beside her. 
 
 The brilliant and successful course of the Authors' Club 
 need not be dwelt on here. Her connection with it was to 
 continue through life, and its monthly meetings and annual 
 dinners were among her pet pleasures. She was always 
 ready to 'drop into rhyme' in its service, the Muse in cap 
 and bells being oftenest invoked. 
 
362 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 She and her 'chief Vice' were always making merry to- 
 gether; when their flint and steel struck, the flash was 
 laughter. It may have been at the Authors' Club that the 
 two, with Edward Everett Hale and Dr. Holmes, were receiv- 
 ing compliments and tributes one afternoon. 
 
 'At least,' she cried, 'no one can say that Boston drops 
 itsffV 
 
 This was in the winter of 1900. It was the time of the 
 Boer War, and all Christendom was sorrowing over the con- 
 flict. On January 3 the Journal says: — 
 
 "This morning before rising, I had a sudden thought of 
 the Christ-Babe standing between the two armies, Boers and 
 Britons, on Christmas Day. I have devoted the morning 
 to an effort to overtake the heavenly vision, with but a 
 mediocre result.' 
 
 These lines are published in 'At Sunset.' 
 
 On the 11th the cap and bells are assumed once more. 
 
 '. . . To reception of the College Club, where I was to pre- 
 side over the literary exercises and to introduce the readers. 
 I was rather at a loss how to do this, but suddenly I thought of 
 Mother Goose's "When the pie was opened, the birds began 
 to sing." So when Edward Everett Hale came forward 
 with me and introduced me as the "youngest person in the 
 hall," I said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I shall prove the truth 
 of what our reverend friend has just said, by citing a quota- 
 tion from Mother Goose ["When the pie was opened," etc.], 
 and the first bird that I shall introduce will be Rev. E. E. 
 Hale." Beginning thus, I introduced T. W. Higginson as the 
 great American Eagle; Judge [Robert] Grant as a mocking- 
 bird; C. F. Adams as the trained German canary who sings 
 all the songs of Yawcob Strauss; C. G. Ames said, "You 
 mustn't call me an owl." I brought him forward and said, 
 "My dear minister says that I must not call him an owl, and 
 I will not; only the owl is the bird of wisdom and he is very 
 wise." I introduced Mrs. Moulton as a nightingale. For 
 Trowbridge I could think of nothing and said, "This bird will 
 speak for himself." Introduced N. H. Dole as "a bird 
 rarely seen, the phoenix." At the close E. E. H. said, "You 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 363 
 
 have an admirable power of introducing." This little device 
 pleased me foolishly.' 
 
 'February 4. Wrote a careful letter to W. F. Savage. He 
 had written, asking an explanation of some old manuscript 
 copy of my "Battle Hymn" and of the theft perpetrated of 
 three of its verses in "Pen Pictures of the War," only lately 
 brought to my notice. He evidently thought these matters 
 implied doubt at least of my having composed the "Hymn." 
 To this suspicion I did not allude, but showed him how the 
 verses stolen had been altered, probably to avoid detec- 
 tion. . . .' 
 
 'March 3. Count di Campello's lecture, on the religious 
 life in Italy, was most interesting. His uncle's movement 
 in founding a National Italian Catholic Church seemed to 
 me to present the first solution I have met with, of the abso- 
 lute opposition between Catholic and Protestant. A Catholi- 
 cism without spiritual tyranny, without ignorant superstition, 
 would bridge over the interval between the two opposites and 
 bring about the unification of the world-church. . . .' 
 
 'March 13. . . . Passed the whole morning at State House, 
 with remonstrants against petition forbidding Sunday eve- 
 ning concerts. T. W. H. spoke remarkably well. . . .' 
 
 'March 30. . . . Had a special good moment this morning 
 before rising. Felt that God had granted me a good deal 
 of heaven, while yet on earth. So the veil lifts sometimes, 
 not for long.' 
 
 April found her in Minneapolis and St. Paul, lecturing 
 and being 'delightfully entertained.' 
 
 'May 8. Minneapolis. Spoke at the University, which I 
 found delightfully situated and richly endowed. Was re- 
 ceived with great distinction. Spoke, I think, on the fact 
 that it takes the whole of life to learn the lessons of life. 
 Dwelt a little on the fact that fools are not necessarily under- 
 witted. Nay, may be people of genius, the trouble being 
 that they do not learn from experience ' 
 
 'May 25. [Boston.] Went in the afternoon to Unitarian 
 meeting at Tremont Temple. S. A. Eliot made me come up 
 
364 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 on the platform. He asked if I would give a word of bene- 
 diction. I did so, thanking God earnestly in my heart for 
 granting me this sweet office, which seemed to lift my soul 
 above much which has disturbed it of late. Why is He so 
 good to me? Surely not to destroy me at last.' 
 
 'June 3. . . . Before church had a thought of some sweet 
 spirit asking to go to hell to preach to the people there. 
 Thought that if he truly fulfilled his office, he would not 
 leave even that forlorn pastorate. . . .' 
 
 'June 10. . . . Could not find the key to my money bag, 
 which distressed me much. Promised St. Anthony of Padua 
 that if he would help me, I would take pains to find out who 
 he was. Found the key immediately. . . .' 
 
 'June 18. . . . The little lump in my right breast hurts me a 
 little to-day. Have written Wesselhoeft about it. 4.50 P.M. 
 He has seen it and says that it is probably cancerous ; forbids 
 me to think of an operation; thinks that he can stop it with 
 medicine. When he told me that it was in all probability a 
 cancer, I felt at first much unsettled in mind. I feared that 
 the thought of it would occupy my mind and injure my health 
 by inducing sleeplessness and nervous excitement. Indeed, 
 I had some sad and rather vacant hours, but dinner and 
 Julia's 1 company put my dark thought to flight and I lay 
 down to sleep as tranquilly as usual.' 
 
 [Whatever this trouble was, it evidently brought much 
 suffering, but finally disappeared. We learn of it for the 
 first time in this record; she never spoke of it to any of her 
 family.] 
 
 'Oak Glen. June 21. Here I am seated once more at my 
 old table, beginning another villeggiatura, which may easily 
 be my last. Have read a little Greek and a long article in 
 the "New World." I pray the dear Heavenly Father to help 
 me pass a profitable season here, improving it as if it were 
 my last, whether it turns out to be so or not.' 
 
 [She was not in her usual spirits this summer. She felt 
 the heat and the burden of years. The Journal is mostly in 
 a minor key. J 
 
 1 Julia Ward Richards. 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 365 
 
 'July 16. Took up a poem at which I have been working 
 for some days, on the victims in Pekin; a strange theme, but 
 one on which I feel I have a word to say. Wrote it all 
 over. . . .' 
 
 'July 19. Was much worn out with the heat. In after- 
 noon my head gave out and would not serve me for anything 
 but to sit still and observe the flight of birds and the freaks 
 of yellow butterflies. . . .' 
 
 'August 17. ... In the evening I was seized with an attack 
 of verse and at bedtime wrote a rough draft of a Te Deum 
 for the rescue of the ministers in Pekin.' 
 
 'August 20. . . . Got my poem smooth at some expense of 
 force, perhaps. I like the poem. I think that it has been 
 given me.' 
 
 This Te Deum was printed in the 'Christian Herald' in 
 September, 1900. 
 
 A week later, she went to New York to attend a reception 
 given to the Medal of Honor Legion at Brooklyn Academy. 
 She writes: — 
 
 'Last evening's occasion was to me eminently worth the 
 trouble I had taken in coming on. To meet these veterans, 
 face to face, and to receive their hearty greeting, was a 
 precious boon vouchsafed to me so late in life. Their recep- 
 tion to me was cordial in the extreme. The audience and 
 chorus gave me the Chautauqua salute, and as I left the 
 platform, the girl chorus sang the last verse of my "Hymn" 
 over again, in a subdued tone, as if for me alone. The 
 point which I made, and wished to make, was that "Our flag 
 should only go forth on errands of justice, mercy, etc., and 
 that once sent forth, it should not be recalled until the work 
 whereunto it had been pledged was accomplished." This 
 with a view to Pekin. . . .' 
 
 'September 13. . . . The Galveston horror 1 was much in 
 my mind yesterday. I could not help asking why the dear 
 Lord allowed such dreadful loss of life. . . .' 
 
 'October 25. My last writing at this time in this dear 
 place. The season, a very busy one, has also been a very 
 
 'A terrible storm and tidal wave which had nearly destroyed the city. 
 
366 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 blessed one. I cannot be thankful enough for so much calm 
 delight — my children and grandchildren, my books and my 
 work, although this last has caused me many anxieties. I 
 cannot but feel as old John Forbes did when he left Naushon 
 for the last time and went about in his blindness, touching 
 his writing materials, etc., and saying to himself, "Never 
 again, perhaps." If it should turn out so in my case, 
 God's will be done. He knows best when we should depart 
 and how long we should stay. . . .' 
 
 'On the way home and afterwards, these lines of an old 
 hymn ran in my mind: — 
 
 ' "Fear not, I am with thee, oh, be not afraid. 
 I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid." 
 
 This comforted me much in the forlorn exchange of my 
 lovely surroundings at Oak Glen for the imprisonment of a 
 town house.' 
 
 'November 4. 241 Beacon Street. The dear minister 
 preached on "All Saints and All Souls," the double festival 
 of last week. At Communion he said: "Dear Sister Howe, 
 remember that if you are moved to speak, you have freedom 
 to do so." I had not thought of speaking, but presendy rose 
 and spoke of the two consecrated days. I said: "As I en- 
 tered this church to-day, I thought of a beautiful cathedral 
 in which one after another the saints whom I have known 
 and loved, appeared on either side; first, the saints of my 
 own happy childhood, then the excellent people whom I 
 have known all my life long. The picture of one of them 
 hangs on these walls. 1 His memory is fresh in all our hearts. 
 Surely it is a divine glory which we have seen in the faces 
 of these friends, and they seem to lead us up to that dearest 
 and divinest one, whom we call Master" ; and so on. I record 
 this to preserve this vision of the cathedral of heart 
 saints. . . .' 
 
 'December 25. I was awake soon after five this morning, 
 and a voice, felt, not heard, seemed to give me a friendly 
 warning to set my house in order for my last departure from 
 
 1 James Freeman Clarke. 
 
EIGHTY YEARS 367 
 
 it. This seems to bring in view my age, already long past 
 the scriptural limit, suggesting also that I have some symp- 
 toms of an ailment which does not trouble me much, but 
 which would naturally tend to shorten my life. In my mind 
 I promised that I would heed the warning given. I only 
 prayed God to make the parting easy for me and my dear 
 ones, of whom dear Maud would be the most to be pitied, 
 as she has been most with me and has no child to draw her 
 thoughts to the future. After this, I fell asleep.' 
 
 'December 31. . . . Here ends a year of mercies, of more 
 than my usual health, of power to speak and to write. It 
 has been a year of work. God be thanked for it.' 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 STEPPING WESTWARD 
 1901-1902; aet. 82-53 
 
 But here the device of the spiral can save us. We must make the round, 
 but we may make it with an upward inclination. 'Let there be light!' is 
 sometimes said in accents so emphatic, that the universe remembers and can- 
 not forget it. We carry our problems slowly forward. With all the ups and 
 downs of every age, humanity constantly rises. Individuals may preserve all 
 its early delusions, commit all its primitive crimes; but to the body of 
 civilized mankind, the return to barbarism is impossible. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 'January 7. I have had a morning of visioning, lying in 
 bed. "Be still and know that I am God," seemed to be my 
 sentence. I thought of the Magdalen's box of spikenard, 
 whose odor, when the box was broken, filled the house. The 
 separate religious convictions of the sects seemed to me like 
 so many boxes of ointment, exceedingly precious while shut 
 up, but I thought also that the dear Lord would one day 
 break these separate boxes, and that then their fragrance 
 would fill the whole earth, which is His house. 
 
 'This is my first writing in this book. From this thought 
 and the "Be still," I may try to make two sermons. 
 
 'In afternoon came William Wesselhoeft, Sr., and pre- 
 scribed entire quiet and rest for some days to come. Oh! I 
 do long to be at work.' 
 
 'January 9. To-day for the first time since January 3, 
 I have opened a Greek book. I read in my .SCschylus 
 ['Eumenides'] how Apollo orders the Furies to leave his 
 shrine, to go where deeds of barbarity, tortures, and mutila- 
 tions are practised.' 
 
 At this time she heard of her son's receiving from the 
 Czar the cross of the Order of St. Stanislas. She writes to 
 him: — 
 
 'Goodness gracious me! 
 
 'Are you sure it isn't by mistake? Do you remember that 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 369 
 
 you are my naughty little imp? . . . Well, well, it takes away 
 my breath! Dearest Boy, my heart is lifted up with grati- 
 tude. If your father were only here, to share our great 
 rejoicing! Joy! joy! . . .' 
 
 She had always taken a deep interest in Queen Victoria, 
 whose age was within three days of her own. Many people 
 fancied a resemblance between the two; indeed, when in 
 England as a bride, she was told more than once: 'You look 
 like our young Queen!' It is remembered how one of her 
 daughters, knocking at the door of a Maine farmhouse to 
 inquire the way, was met by a smiling, 'I know who you are! 
 You are the daughter of the Queen of America!' 
 
 The Queen's death, coming as it did during her own ill- 
 ness, gave her a painful shock. 
 
 'January 23. The news of Queen Victoria's death quite 
 overcame me for a moment this morning. Instead of settling 
 to my work, I wrote a very tiny "bust of feeling" about her, 
 which I carried to the "Woman's Journal" office, where I 
 found a suffrage meeting in progress. I could only show 
 myself and say that I was not well enough to remain. . . .' 
 
 'Bust of feeling' was a favorite expression of hers. Old 
 Bostonians will recall its origin. 'A certain rich man,' see- 
 ing a poor girl injured in a street accident, offered to pay 
 her doctor's bill. This being presented in due time, he dis- 
 claimed all responsibility in the affair; and when reminded 
 of his offer, exclaimed, 'Oh, that was a bust of feeling!' 
 
 On January 31, she was 'in distress of mind all day lest 
 Maud should absolutely refuse to let me give my lecture at 
 Phillips Church this evening.' Later she writes: 'Maud was 
 very kind and did nothing to hinder my going to South Bos- 
 ton.' She went and enjoyed the evening, but was not so well 
 after it. 
 
 'February 18. Have been out, first time since February 
 3, when I went to church and was physically the worse for it. 
 . . . Last night had a time of lying awake with a sort of calm 
 comfort. Woke in the morning full of invalid melancholy, 
 intending to keep my bed. Felt much better when in motion. 
 Must make a vigorous effort now to get entirely well.' 
 
370 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 These days of seclusion were hard for her, and every effort 
 was made to bring the 'mountains' to her, since she could not 
 go to them. 
 
 A club was formed among her friends in Boston for the 
 study and speaking of Italian: this became one of her great 
 pleasures, and she looked forward eagerly to the meetings, 
 delighted to hear and to use the beautiful speech she had 
 loved since childhood. 
 
 'February 22. The new club, II Circolo Italiano, met at 
 our house. Count Campello had asked me to say a few 
 words, so I prepared a very little screed in Italian, not daring 
 to trust myself to speak extempore in this language. We had 
 a large attendance; I thought one hundred were present. My 
 bit was well received, and the lecture by Professor Speranza, 
 of New York, was very interesting, though rather difficult 
 to follow. The theme was D'Annunzio's dramas, from which 
 he gave some quotations and many characterizations. He 
 relegates D'Annunzio to the Renaissance when Virtu had no 
 real moral significance. Compared him with Ibsen. The 
 occasion was exceedingly pleasant.' 
 
 'March 1. The first day of spring, though in this climate 
 this is a wintry month. I am thankful to have got on so far 
 in this, my eighty-second year. My greatest trouble is that 
 I use so poorly the precious time spared to me. Latterly I 
 have been saying to myself, "Can you not see that the drama 
 is played out?" This partly because my children wish me 
 to give up public speaking.' 
 
 'March 4. ... To New England Woman's Club; first time 
 this year, to my great regret and loss. I was cordially wel- 
 comed. ... A thought suddenly came to me, namely, that the 
 liberal education of women would give the death-blow to 
 superstition. I said, "We women have been the depositaries 
 of religious sensibility, but we have also furnished the im- 
 pregnable storehouse of superstition, sometimes gracious, 
 sometimes desperately cruel and hurtful to our race." No 
 one noticed this, but I hold fast to it. . . .' 
 
 'March 8 To Symphony Concert in afternoon, which 
 
 I enjoyed but little, the music being of the multi-muddle 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 371 
 
 order so much in vogue just now. An air of Haydn's 
 sounded like a sentence of revelation in a chatter. . . .' 
 
 'March 17. Before lying down for a needed rest, I must 
 record the wonderful reception given to-day to Jack Elliott's 
 ceiling. 1 The day was fine, clear sunlight. Many friends 
 congratulated me, and some strangers. Vinton, the artist, 
 Annie Blake, Ellen Dixey were enthusiastic in their com- 
 mendation of the work, as were many others. I saw my old 
 friend, Lizzie Agassiz, my cousin Mary Robeson and her 
 daughter, and others too numerous to mention. . . . This I 
 consider a day of great honor for my family. . . . Deo gratias 
 for this as well as for my son's decoration.' 
 
 'April 7. A really inspired sermon from C. G. A., "The 
 power of an unending life." . . . The Communion which fol- 
 lowed was to me almost miraculous. Mr. Ames called it a 
 festival of commemoration, and it brought me a mind vision 
 of the many departed dear ones. One after another the dear 
 forms seemed to paint themselves on my inner vision: first, 
 the nearer in point of time, last my brother Henry and Sam- 
 uel Eliot. I felt that this experience ought to pledge me 
 to new and more active efforts to help others. In my mind I 
 said, the obstacle to this is my natural inertia, my indolence ; 
 then the thought, God can overcome this indolence and give 
 me increased power of service and zeal for it. Those present, 
 I think, all considered the sermon and Communion as of spe- 
 cial power and interest. It almost made me fear lest it 
 should prove a swan song from the dear minister. Perhaps 
 it is I, not he, who may soon depart.' 
 
 Later in April she was able to fulfil some lecture engage- 
 ments in New York State with much enjoyment, but also 
 much fatigue. After her return she felt for a little while 
 'as if it was about time for her to go,' but her mind soon 
 recovered its tone. 
 
 On April 27 she writes: — 
 
 'I have had a great gratification to-day. Mrs. Fiske War- 
 ren had invited us to afternoon tea and to hear Coquelin 
 deliver some monologues. I bethought me of my poem en- 
 J The Triumph of Time, at the Public library. ,~ 
 
372 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 tided "After Hearing Coquelin." Maud wrote to ask Mrs. 
 Warren whether she would like to have me read it and she 
 assented. I procured a fresh copy of the volume in which 
 it is published, and took it with me to this party, which was 
 large and very representative of Boston's most recognized 
 people. Miss Shedlock first made a charming recitation in 
 French, which she speaks perfectly. Then Coquelin gave 
 three delightful monologues. The company then broke up 
 for tea and I thought my chance was lost, but after a while 
 order was restored. M. Coquelin was placed where I could 
 see him, and I read the poem as well as I could. He seemed 
 much touched with the homage, and I gave him the book. 
 People in general were pleased with the poem and I was 
 very glad and thankful for so pleasant an experience. 
 Learned with joy of the birth of a son to my dear niece, 
 Elizabeth Chapman.' 
 
 Another happy birthday came and passed. After record- 
 ing its friendly festivities, she writes: — 
 
 'I am very grateful for all this loving kindness. Solemn 
 thoughts must come to me of the long past and of the dim, 
 uncertain future. I trust God for His grace. My life has 
 been poor in merit, in comparison to what it should have 
 been, but I am thankful that to some it has brought comfort 
 and encouragement, and that I have been permitted to cham- 
 pion some good causes and to see a goodly number of my 
 descendants, all well endowed physically and mentally, and 
 starting in life with good principles and intentions; my chil- 
 dren all esteemed and honored for honorable service in their 
 day and generation.' 
 
 '!\Lay 30. Decoration Day. ... In the afternoon Maud 
 and I drove out to Mount Auburn to visit the dear graves. 
 We took with us the best of the birthday flowers, beautiful 
 roses and lilies. I could not have much sense of the pres- 
 ence of our dear ones. Indeed, they are not there, but 
 where they are, God only knows.' 
 
 'May 31. Free Religious meeting. . . . The fears which 
 the bold programme had naturally aroused in me, fears lest 
 the dear Christ should be spoken of in a manner to wound 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 373 
 
 those who love him — these fears were at once dissipated by 
 the reverent tone of the several speakers. . . .' 
 
 She managed to do a good deal of writing this summer: 
 wrote a number of 'screeds,' some to order, some from 
 inward leading: e.g., a paper on 'Girlhood Seventy Years 
 Ago,' a poem on the death of President McKinley. 
 
 'October 8. The cook ill with rheumatism. I made my 
 bed, turning the mattress, and put my room generally to 
 rights. When I lay down to take my usual obligato rest, a 
 fit of verse came upon me, and I had to abbreviate my lie- 
 down to write out my inspiration' 
 
 The 'obligato rest'! How she did detest it! She recog- 
 nized the necessity of relaxing the tired nerves and muscles; 
 she yielded, but never willingly. The noon hour would 
 find her bending over her desk, writing 'for dear life,' or 
 plunged fathoms deep in Grote's 'Greece,' or some other light 
 and playful work. Daughter or granddaughter would appear, 
 watch in hand, countenance steeled against persuasion. 'Time 
 for your rest, dearest!' 
 
 The rapt face looks up, breaks into sunshine, melts into 
 entreaty. 'Let me finish this note, this page; then I will go!' 
 Or it may be the sprite that looks out of the gray eyes. 
 'Get out!' she says. 'Leave the room! I never saw you 
 before!' 
 
 Finally she submits to the indignity of being tucked in for 
 her nap; but even then her watch is beside her on the bed, 
 ticking away the minutes till the half-hour is over, and she 
 springs to her task. 
 
 'November 3. 241 Beacon Street. My room here has 
 been nicely cleaned, but I bring into it a great heap of books 
 and papers. I am going to try hard to be less disorderly than 
 in the past.' 
 
 How hard she did try, we well remember. The book trunk 
 was a necessity of the summer flitting. It carried a full load 
 from one book-ridden house to the other, and there were cer- 
 tain books — the four-volume Oxford Bible, the big-print 
 Horace, the Greek classics, shabby of dress, splendid of 
 
374 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 type and margin — which could surely have found their way 
 to and from Newport unaided. 
 
 One book she never asked for — the English dictionary! 
 Once Maud, recently returned from Europe, apologized for 
 having inadvertently taken the dictionary from 241 Beacon 
 Street. 
 
 'How dreadful it was of me to take your dictionary! 
 What have you done? Did you buy a new one?' 
 
 'I did not know you had taken it!' 
 
 'But — how did you get along without a dictionary?' 
 
 The elder looked her surprise. 
 
 'I never use a word whose meaning I do not know!' 
 
 'But the spelling?' 
 
 There was no answer to this, save a whimsical shrug of the 
 shoulders. 
 
 'November 11. The day of the celebration of dear Chev's 
 one hundredth birthday. Before starting for the Temple I 
 received three beautiful gifts of flowers, a great bunch of 
 white roses from Lizzie Agassiz, a lovely bouquet of violets 
 from Mrs. Frank Batcheller, and some superb chrysan- 
 themums from Mrs. George H. Perkins. The occasion was 
 to me one of solemn joy and thankfulness. Senator Hoar 
 presided with beautiful grace, preluding with some lovely 
 reminiscences of Dr. Howe's visit to his office in Worcester, 
 Massachusetts, when he, Hoar, was a young lawyer. San- 
 born and Manatt excelled themselves, Humphreys did very 
 well. Hoar requested me to stand up and say a few words, 
 which I did, he introducing me in a very felicitous manner. 
 I was glad to say my word, for my heart was deeply touched. 
 With me on the platform were my dear children and Jack 
 Hall and Julia Richards; Anagnos, of course; the music 
 very good.' 
 
 Part of her 'word' was as follows: — 
 
 'We have listened to-day to very heroic memories ; it almost 
 took away our breath to think that such things were done in 
 the last century. I feel very grateful to the pupils and 
 graduates of the Perkins Institution for the Blind who have 
 planned this service in honor of my husband. It is a story 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 375 
 
 that should be told from age to age to show what one good 
 resolute believer in humanity was able to accomplish for the 
 benefit of his race. . . . The path by which he led Laura 
 Bridgman to the light has become one of the highways of 
 education, and a number of children similarly afflicted are 
 following it, to their endless enlargement and comfort. What 
 an encouragement does this story give to the undertaking 
 of good deeds ! 
 
 'I thank those who are with us to-day for their sympathy 
 and attention. I do this, not in the name of a handful of 
 dust, dear and reverend as it is, that now rests in Mount 
 Auburn, but in the name of a great heart which is with us 
 to-day and which will still abide with those who work in its 
 spirit.' 
 
 'November 26. Thursday. A day of pleasant agitation 
 from beginning to end. I tried to recognize in thought the 
 many mercies of the year. My fortunate recoveries from 
 illness, the great pleasures of study, friendly intercourse, 
 thought and life generally. Our Thanksgiving dinner was 
 at about 1.30 p.m., and was embellished by the traditional 
 turkey, a fine one, to which David, Flossy, Maud, and I did 
 justice. The Richards girls, Julia and Betty, and Chug 1 and 
 Jack Hall, flitted in and out, full of preparation for the eve- 
 ning event, the marriage of my dear Harry Hall to Alice 
 Haskell. I found time to go over my screed for Maynard 
 very carefully, rewriting a little of it and mailing it in 
 the afternoon. 
 
 'In the late afternoon came Harry Hall and his best man, 
 Tom McCready, to dine here and dress for the ceremony. 
 Maud improvised a pleasant supper: we were eight at table. 
 Went to the church in two carriages. Bride looked very 
 pretty, simple white satin dress and tulle veil. Six brides- 
 maids in pink, carrying white chrysanthemums. H. M. H. 2 
 seemed very boyish, but looked charmingly. . . .' 
 
 'December 31. The last day of a blessed year in which 
 I have experienced some physical suffering, but also many 
 comforts and satisfactions. I have had grippe and bron- 
 
 1 Dr. Lawrence J. Henderson. ' The bridegroom, Henry Marion HalL 
 
376 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 chitis in the winter and bad malarial jaundice in the summer, 
 but I have been constantly employed in writing on themes of 
 great interest and have had much of the society of children 
 and grandchildren. Of these last, two are happily married, 
 i.e., in great affection. My dear Maud and her husband 
 have been with me constantly, and I have had little or no 
 sense of loneliness. . . .' 
 
 The beginning of 1902 found her in better health than the 
 previous year. 
 
 She records a luncheon with a distinguished company, 
 at which all agreed that 'the "Atlantic" to-day would not 
 accept Milton's "L' Allegro," nor would any other magazine.' 
 
 At the Symphony Concert 'the Tschaikowsky Symphony 
 seemed to me to have in it more noise than music. Felt that 
 I am too old to enjoy new music' 
 
 'February 13. . . . Felt greatly discouraged at first waking. 
 It seemed impossible for me to make a first move under so 
 many responsibilities. A sudden light came into my soul at 
 the thought that God will help me in any good undertaking* 
 and with this there came an inkling of first steps to be taken 
 with regard to Sig. Leoni's parchment. 1 I went to work again 
 on my prize poem, with better success than hitherto. . . .' 
 
 'February 15. ... A day of great pleasure, profit and 
 fatigue. . . . Griggs's lecture. . . . The address on "Erasmus 
 and Luther" was very inspiring. Griggs is in the full tide 
 of youthful inspiration and gives himself to his audience 
 without stint. He did not quite do justice to the wonderful 
 emancipation of thought which Protestantism has brought to 
 the world, but his illustration of the two characters was mas- 
 terly. I said afterwards to Fanny Ames : "He will burn him- 
 self out." She thinks that he is wisely conservative of his 
 physical strength. I said, "He bleeds at every pore." I 
 used to say this of myself with regard to ordinary social 
 life. Went to the Club, where was made to preside. Todd 
 and Todkinee 2 both spoke excellently. Then to Symphony 
 
 1 That is, to have it bought by some public society. 
 
 'Professor Todd, of Amherst, and his wife, Mabel Loomis Todd. 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 377 
 
 Concert to hear Kreisler and the "Pastoral Symphony." ' 
 
 'February 21 My dearest Maud left by 1 p.m. train 
 
 to sail for Europe to-morrow. I could not go to the hearing. 
 Was on hand to think of small details which might have been 
 overlooked. Gave them my fountain pen, to Jack's great 
 pleasure. Julia Richards came to take care of me. I suf- 
 fered extreme depression in coming back to the empty house, 
 every corner of which is so identified with Maud's sweet and 
 powerful presence. The pain of losing her, even for a short 
 time, seemed intolerable. I was better in the evening. Chug 
 amused me with a game of picquet.' 
 
 'March 25. I received in one day three notes asking me 
 regarding the "Life of Margaret Shepard," and "Secret 
 Confessions of a Priest." One writer had seen in some paper 
 
 that she could have the books by applying to me; Miss 
 
 wrote to the same intent; Miss wrote and enclosed forty 
 
 cents' worth of stamps for one of the books. I have replied 
 to all that I know nothing of the books in question, and that 
 I am neither agent nor bookseller.' 
 
 'March 30. Lunch with Mrs. Fields after church. Heard 
 a very inspiring sermon from Samuel A. Eliot. This young 
 man has a very noble bearing and a stringent way of present- 
 ing truth. He has that vital religious power which is rare 
 and most precious. Before he had spoken I had been asking 
 in my mind, how can we make the past present to us? The 
 Easter service and Lent also seem intended to do this, but our 
 imaginations droop and lag behind our desires. . . .' 
 
 'April 2. . . . Went in the evening to see "Ben-Hur" with 
 kind Sarah Jewett — her treat, as was my attendance at the 
 opera. The play was altogether spectacular, but very good 
 in that line. . . .' 
 
 'April 3. . . . Went to the celebration of E. E. Hale's 
 eightieth birthday, in which the community largely partici- 
 pated. Senator Hoar was the orator and spoke finely. . . . 
 Hale's response was manly, cheery, and devout. He has 
 certainly done much good work, and has suggested many 
 good things.' 
 
 'April 12. Lunch with Mrs. Wheelwright. I found Agnes 
 
378 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Repplier very agreeable. She had known the wife of Green, 
 the historian, "very, almost too brilliant." Told me some- 
 thing about his life. I enjoyed meeting her.' 
 
 'May 16. In the evening the Italian supper at the Hotel 
 Piscopo, North End. I recited Goldoni's toast from the 
 "Locandiera," and also made a little speech at the end of 
 the banquet. Padre Roberto, a Venetian priest, young and 
 handsome, sat near me. . . .' 
 
 'May 18 I had prayed that this might be a real Whit- 
 sunday to me and I felt that it was. Notice was given of a 
 meeting at which Catholic, Jew, Episcopalian, and Unitarian 
 are to speak regarding the Filipinos. This seemed like the 
 Millennium. It is the enlargement of religious sympathy; 
 not, as some may think, the progress of critical indiff erentism. 
 
 'During this morning's service my desire to speak to 
 prisoners reasserted itself strongly; also my thought of one 
 of my sermons which I wish to write. One should be to the 
 text: "The Glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ," the 
 reflection of divine glory in God's saints, like the reflection 
 of the sun's light in the planets. Another about Adam being 
 placed in Eden to tend the flowers and water them. This 
 should concern our office in the land of our birth, into which 
 we are born to love and serve our country. Will speak of 
 the self -banished Americans, Hale's "Man without a Coun- 
 try," etc. This day has been so full of thought and sugges- 
 tion that I hardly know how to let it go. I pray that it may 
 bear some fruit in my life, what is left of it.' 
 
 'May 24. The annual Club luncheon in honor of my 
 birthday. I felt almost overwhelmed by the great attention 
 shown me and by the constant talk of speakers with refer- 
 ence to myself. ... I don't find in myself this charm, this 
 goodness, attributed to me by such speakers, but I know that 
 I love the Club and love the world of my own time, so far as 
 I know it. They called me Queen and kissed my hand. 
 When I came home I fell in spirit before the feet of the dear 
 God, thanking Him for the regard shown me, and praying 
 that it might not for one moment make me vain. I read my 
 translation of Horace's ode, "Quis Desiderio," and it really 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 379 
 
 seemed to suit the mention made by Mrs. Cheney of our de- 
 parted members, praecipue, Dr. Zack; Dr. Hoder [?] of 
 England was there, and ex-Govemor Long and T. W. Higgin- 
 son, also Agnes Irwin. It was a great time.' 
 
 Maud and Florence were both away in the early part of 
 this summer, and various grandchildren kept her company at 
 Oak Glen. There were other visitors, among them Count 
 Salome di Campello, a cheery guest who cooked spaghetti 
 for her, and helped the granddaughter to set off the Fourth 
 of July fireworks, to her equal pleasure and terror. During 
 his visit she invited the Italian Ambassador 1 to spend a 
 couple of days at Oak Glen. On July 14 she writes: — 
 
 'Not having heard from the Italian Ambassador, the Count 
 and I supposed that he was not coming. In the late after- 
 noon came a letter saying that he would arrive to-morrow. 
 We were troubled at this late intelligence, which gave me no 
 time to invite people to meet the guest. I lay down for my 
 afternoon rest with a very uneasy mind. Remembering St. 
 Paul's words about "Angels unawares," I felt comforted, 
 thinking that the Angel of Hospitality would certainly visit 
 me, whether the guest proved congenial or not.' 
 
 'July 15. . . . The Ambassador arrived as previously an- 
 nounced. He proved a most genial and charming person; a 
 man still in the prime of life, with exquisite manners, as 
 much at home in our simplicity as he doubtless is in scenes 
 of luxury and magnificence. Daisy Chanler drove out for 
 afternoon tea, at my request, and made herself charming. 
 After her came Emily Ladenberg, who also made a pleasing 
 impression. Our guest played on the piano and joined in 
 our evening whist. We were all delighted with him.' 
 
 The Journal tells of many pleasures, among them 'a de- 
 lightful morning in the green parlor with Margaret Deland 
 and dear Maud.' 
 
 On August 24 she writes: — ■ 
 
 'This day has been devoted to a family function of great 
 1 Count Mayer des Planches. 
 
380 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 interest, namely, the christening of Daisy and Wintie's boy 
 baby, Theodore Ward, the President 1 himself standing god- 
 father. Jack Elliott and I were on hand in good time, both 
 of us in our best attire. We found a very chosdn company, 
 the Sydney Websters, Owen Wister, Senator Lodge and wife, 
 the latter standing as godmother. Mr. Diman, of the School, 2 
 officiated, Parson Stone being ill. The President made his 
 response quite audibly. The Chanler children looked lovely, 
 and the baby as dear as a baby can look. His godfather gave 
 him a beautiful silver bowl lined with gold. I gave a silver 
 porringer, Maud a rattle with silver bells; lunch followed. 
 President Roosevelt took me in to the table and seated me 
 on his right. This was a very distinguished honor. The 
 conversation was rather literary. The President admires 
 Emerson's poems, and also Longfellow and Sienkiewicz. 
 He paid me the compliment of saying that Kipling alone had 
 understood the meaning of my "Battle Hymn," and that he 
 admired him therefor. Wister proposed the baby's health, 
 and I recited a quatrain which came to me early this morn- 
 ing. Here it is : — 
 
 Roses are the gift of God, 
 Laurels are the gift of fame; 
 Add the beauty of thy life 
 To the glory of thy name. 
 
 'I said, "Two lines for the President and two for the 
 baby"; the two first naturally for the President. As I sat 
 waiting for the ceremony, I called the dear roll of memory, 
 Uncle Sam and so on back to Grandpa Ward. I was very 
 thankful to participate in this beautiful occasion. But the 
 service and talk about the baby's being born in sin, etc., etc., 
 seemed to me very inconsistent with Christ's saying that he 
 who would enter into the Kingdom of Heaven must become 
 "as a little child." He also said, "of such is the kingdom 
 of heaven." ' 
 
 1 Theodore Roosevelt. 'St. George's, Newport. 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 381 
 
 She had a high admiration for Colonel Roosevelt, and a 
 regard so warm that she would never allow any adverse criti- 
 cism of him in her presence. 
 
 On September 12, a notice of the death of William Allen 
 Butler is pasted in the Diary. Below it she writes: — 
 
 'A pleasant man. I met him at the Hazeltines' in Rome in 
 1898 and 1899. His poem ['Nothing to Wear'] was claimed 
 by one or two people. I met his father [a Cabinet Minister] 
 at a dinner at the Bancrofts' in New York, at which ex- 
 President Van Buren was also present, and W. M. Thackeray, 
 who said to me across the table that Browning's "How They 
 Brought the Good News" was a "good jingle." 
 
 On the 29th she spoke at a meeting of the New England 
 Woman's Club in memory of Dr. Zakrzewska, and records 
 her final words : — 
 
 'I pray God earnestly that we women may never go back 
 from the ground which has been gained for us by our noble 
 pioneers and leaders. I pray that these bright stars of 
 merit, set in our human firmament, may shine upon us and 
 lead us to better and better love and service for God and man.' 
 
 'In the afternoon to hear reports of delegates to Biennial 
 at Los Angeles. These were very interesting, but the activity 
 shown made me feel my age, and its one great infirmity, 
 loss of power of locomotion. I felt somehow the truth of 
 the line which Mr. Robert C. Winthrop once quoted to me: — 
 4 "Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage." ' 
 
 Yet a few days later she writes: — 
 
 'I had this morning so strong a feeling of the goodness 
 of the divine Parent in the experience of my life, especially 
 of its most trying period, that I had to cry out, "What shall 
 I, who have received so much, give in return?" I felt that 
 I must only show that forbearance and forgiveness to others 
 which the ever blessed One has shown to me. My own family 
 does not call for this. I am cherished by its members with 
 great tenderness and regard. I thought later in the day of 
 a sermon to prisoners which would brighten their thoughts of 
 the love of God. Text from St. John's Epistle, "Behold what 
 
382 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 manner of love is this that we should be called the sons of 
 God." ' 
 
 This was the year of the coal strike in Pennsylvania, which 
 made much trouble in Boston. She notes one Sunday that 
 service at the Church of the Disciples was held in the church 
 parlors 'on account of the shortage of coal.' This recalls 
 vivid pictures of the time; distracted coal merchants dealing 
 out promises, with nothing else to deal; portly magnates and 
 stately dames driving down Beacon Street in triumph with 
 coals in a paper bag to replenish the parlor fire: darker 
 pictures, too, of poverty and suffering. 
 
 At 241 Beacon Street the supply was running low, and the 
 coal dealer was summoned by telephone. 'A load of coal? 
 Impossible, madam! We have no — I beg your pardon! 
 Mrs. Julia Ward Howe? Mrs. Howe's house is cold? You 
 shall have some within the hour!' 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 
 1903-1905; aet. 84r-86 
 
 The year 1903 began with the celebration at Faneuil Hall 
 of the fortieth anniversary of Lincoln's Emancipation 
 Proclamation. She was one of the speakers. 'I felt much 
 the spirit of the occasion, and spoke, I thought, better than 
 usual, going back to the heroic times before and during the 
 war, and to the first celebration forty years ago, at which 
 I was present.' 
 
 Work of all kinds poured in, the usual steady stream. 
 
 'January 6. Wrote a new circular for Countess.' 
 
 Who the Countess was, or what the circular was about, is 
 not known. By this time it had become the custom (or so it 
 seemed to exasperated daughters and granddaughters) for 
 any one who wanted anything in the literary line, from a 
 proverb to a pamphlet, to ask her for it. 
 
 It is remembered how on a certain evening, when she was 
 resting after a weary day, a 'special delivery' note was re- 
 ceived from a person whom she scarcely knew, asking for 
 'her thoughts on the personality of God, by return mail.' 
 This was one of the few requests she ever denied. People 
 asked her to give them material for their club papers (some- 
 times to write them!), to put them through college, to read 
 their manuscripts, to pay the funeral expenses of their rela- 
 tives. A volume of the letters conveying these requests would 
 be curious reading. 
 
 The petition for a 'little verse' was rarely refused. Her 
 notebooks are full of occasional poems, only a small pro- 
 portion of which ever appeared in print. Many of them are 
 'autographs.' She always meant to honor every request of 
 this kind; the country must be full of volumes inscribed by 
 her. 
 
 The verses in the notebooks are by no means all 'by re- 
 
384 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 quest.' The rhyming fit might seize her anywhere, at any 
 time. She wrote the rough draft on whatever was at hand, 
 often on the back of note, circular, or newspaper wrapper. 
 She could never forget the wartime days when paper cost 
 half a dollar a pound. 
 
 Nor were people content with writing: they came singly, 
 in pairs, in groups, to proffer requests, to pay respects, to 
 ask counsel. The only people she met unwillingly were 
 those who came to bewail their lot and demand her sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 No one will ever know the number of her benefactions. 
 They were mostly, of necessity, small, yet we must think 
 they went a long way. At the New England Woman's Club, 
 whenever a good new cause came up, she would say, 'I will 
 start the subscription with a dollar!' Many noble and en- 
 during things began with the 'President's dollar.' If she 
 had had a hundred dollars to give, it would have been joy- 
 fully given: if she had had but ten cents, it would not have 
 been withheld. She had none of the false pride which 
 shrinks from giving a small sum. 
 
 Beggars and tramps were tenderly dealt with. A dis- 
 charged criminal in particular must never be refused help. 
 Work must be found for him if possible; if not, it is to be 
 feared that he got a dollar, 'to help him find work' ! 
 
 'January 10. At 11.30 received message from "New 
 York World" that it would pay for an article sent at once on 
 "Gambling among Society People." Wrote this in a little 
 more than an hour.' 
 
 'January 20. . . . Some little agitation about my appear- 
 ance at the Artists' Festival to-night, as one of the patronesses. 
 I had already a white woollen dress quite suitable for the 
 prescribed costume. Some benevolent person or persons 
 ordered for me and sent a cloak of fine white cloth, beautiful 
 to look at but heavy to wear. A headdress was improvised 
 out of one of my Breton caps, with a long veil of lawn. Jack 
 Elliott made me a lovely coronet out of a bit of gold braid 
 with one jewel of dear Maud's. Arriving, to my surprise, 
 I found the Queen's chair waiting for me. I sat thereon very 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 385 
 
 still, the other patronesses being most kind and cordial, and 
 saw the motley throng and the curious pageants. Costumes 
 most beautiful, but the hall too small for much individual 
 effect. Adele Thayer wore the famous Thayer diamonds.' 
 
 'January 27. Woke early and began to worry about the 
 hearing. . . . Dressed with more care than usual and went be- 
 times to State House. Had a good deliverance of my paper. 
 The opposition harped upon our bill as an effort to obtain 
 class legislation, saying also that they knew it to be an enter- 
 ing wedge to obtain suffrage for all women ; the two positions 
 being evidently irreconcilable. When our turn for rebuttal 
 came, I said : "Many years ago John Quincy Adams presented 
 in Congress a petition for the abolition of slavery in the Dis- 
 trict of Columbia, but none of the Southerners imagined that 
 this petition was intended to keep the other negroes of the 
 South in slavery! Are we, who, for thirty years past, and 
 more, have been coming here to ask for full suffrage for all 
 women, to be accused of coming here now with a view to the 
 exclusion of our former clients from suffrage? How can we 
 be said to contemplate this and at the same time to be putting 
 in an entering wedge for universal suffrage?" ' 
 
 'March 3. My dear Maud returned this evening from 
 New York. She has been asked to speak at to-morrow's 
 suffrage hearing. I advised her to reflect before embarking 
 upon this new voyage. . . . When she told me what she had 
 in mind to say, I felt that a real word had been given her. 
 I said: "Go and say that!" . . .' 
 
 'April 17. Winchendon lecture. ... A day of anguish for 
 me. I was about to start for Winchendon when my dearest 
 Maud so earnestly besought me not to go, the weather being 
 very threatening, I could not deny her. Words can 
 hardly say how I suffered in giving up the trip and dis- 
 appointing so many people. — As I lay taking my after- 
 noon rest, my heart said to God, "You cannot help me in 
 this"; but He did help me, for I was able soon after this to 
 interest myself in things at hand.' 
 
 'April 21. In the afternoon attended anniversary of the 
 Blind Kindergarten, where I made, as usual, a brief address, 
 
386 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 beginning with "God said, Let there be light," a sentence 
 which makes itself felt throughout the human domain, where 
 great-hearted men are stirred by it to combat the spirits of 
 darkness. Spoke also of the culture of the blind as vindicat- 
 ing the dignity of the human mind, which can become a 
 value and a power despite the loss of outward sense. Alluded 
 to dear Chev's sense of this and his resolve that the blind, 
 from being simply a burden, should become of value to the 
 community. The care of them draws forth tender sympathy 
 in those whose office it is to cherish and instruct them. 
 Spoke of the nursery as one of the dearest of human institu- 
 tions. Commended the litde blind nursery to the affectionate 
 regard of seeing people. The children did exceedingly 
 well, especially the orchestra. The litde blind 'cellist was 
 remarkable.' 
 
 'May 28. My prayer for the new year of my life begin- 
 ning to-day is, that in some work that I shall undertake I 
 may help to make clear the goodness of God to some who 
 need to know more of it than they do. . . .' 
 
 'June 22. Mabel Loomis Todd wrote asking me for a 
 word to enclose in the corner-stone of the new observatory 
 building at Amherst [Massachusetts]. I have just sent her 
 the following: — 
 
 The stars against the tyrant fought 
 In famous days of old; 
 The stars in freedom's banner wrought 
 Shall the wide earth enfold. 
 
 'June 23. Kept within doors by the damp weather. Read 
 in William James's book, "Varieties of Religious Experi- 
 ence." . . . Had a strange fatigue — a restlessness in my brain.' 
 
 'June 25. . . . The James book which I finished yesterday 
 left in my mind a painful impression of doubt; a God who 
 should be only my better self, or an impersonal pervading 
 influence. These were suggestions which left me very lonely 
 and forlorn. To-day, as I thought it all over, the God of 
 Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob seemed to come back to me; the 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 387 
 
 God of Christ, and his saints and martyrs. I said to myself: 
 "Let me be steeped in the devotion of the Psalms, and of 
 Paul's Epistles!" I took up Coquerel's sermons on the Lord's 
 Prayer, simple, beautiful, positive. . . .' 
 
 'July 30. Oak Glen. Rose at 6.15 A.M. and had good 
 luck in dressing quickly. With dear Flossy took 9 a.m. train 
 for Boston. At Middletown station found the teachers from 
 the West [Denver and Iowa], who started the "Battle Hymn" 
 when they saw me approaching. This seemed to me charm- 
 ing. My man Michael, recognizing the rune, said: "Mrs. 
 Howe, this is a send-off for you!" . . .' 
 
 She was going to keep a lecture engagement in Concord, 
 Massachusetts; her theme, 'A Century from the Birth of 
 Emerson.' She was anxious about this paper, and told Mr. 
 Sanborn (the inevitable reporter calling to borrow her manu- 
 script) that she thought the less said about the address the 
 better. 'I have tried very hard to say the right thing, but 
 doubt whether I have succeeded.' Spite of these doubts, the 
 lecture was received with enthusiasm. 
 
 'September 6. I was very dull at waking and dreaded the 
 drive to church and the stay to Communion. The drive partly 
 dissipated my "megrims"; every bright object seemed to 
 me to praise God. . . . The Communion service was very 
 comforting. Especially did Christ's words come to me, 
 "Abide in me," etc. I felt that if I would abide in Him, 
 old as I am, I could still do some good work. "Yes! my 
 strong friend," my heart said, "I will abide in thee," and a 
 bit of the old Easter anthem came back to me, "He sitteth at 
 the right hand of God, in the glory of the Father." No, it is a 
 verse of the Te Deum.' 
 
 In October a lecture in South Berwick gave her the oppor- 
 tunity, always greatly enjoyed, of a visit to Sarah Orne 
 Jewett and her sister Mary. 
 
 'November 1. South Berwick. A delightful drive. Mary 
 Jewett, Annie Fields, and I to visit Mrs. Tyson in the Ham- 
 ilton House described by Sarah in her "Tory Lover." . . . 
 Most interesting. Mrs. Tyson very cordial and delightful. 
 . . . She came over later to dinner and we had such a pleas- 
 
388 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 ant time! In afternoon copied most of my screed for the 
 "Boston Globe." ' 
 
 It surely was not on this occasion that she described dinner 
 as 'a thing of courses and remorses!' 
 
 'November 2. Took reluctant leave of the Jewett house 
 and the trio, Sarah, Mary, and Annie Fields. We had a 
 wonderful dish of pigeons for lunch. . . .' 
 
 It was delightful to see our mother and Miss Jewett to- 
 gether. They were the best of playmates, having a lovely 
 intimacy of understanding. Their talk rippled with light 
 and laughter. Such stories as they told! such songs as they 
 sang! who that heard will ever forget our mother's story 
 of Edward Everett in his youth? He was to take three young 
 ladies to drive, and had but the one horse ; he wished to please 
 them all equally. To the first he said, /The horse is perfectly 
 fresh now; you have him in his best condition.' To the sec- 
 ond he said, 'The horse was a little antic at first, so you will 
 have the safer drive.' To the third he said, 'Now that the 
 other two have had their turn, we need not hasten back. You 
 can have the longest drive.' 
 
 It is recalled that during this visit, when Laura felt bound 
 to remonstrate in the matter of fruitcake, 'Sarah' took sides 
 with ardor. 'You shall have all you want, Mrs. Howe, and 
 a good big piece to take home besides! Put it somewhere 
 where the girls can't find it!' 
 
 She nodded. 'There is a corner in my closet, which even 
 Maud dare not explore!' 
 
 The fruitcake was duly packed, transported, and eaten — 
 we are bound to say without ill effect. 
 
 Always a moderate eater, she never could be made to see 
 that age demanded a careful diet. 'I have eaten sausages all 
 my life,' she would say. 'They have always agreed with 
 me perfectly!' Indeed, till the very latest years, her digestion 
 had never failed her. It was in the eighties that she said to 
 one of us, 'I have a singular sensation that I have never felt 
 before. Do you think it might possibly be indigestion?' She 
 described it, and it was indigestion. We are reminded of 
 a contemporary of hers who, being gently rebuked for giv- 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 389 
 
 ing rich food to a delicate grandchild, replied with lofty 
 scorn, 'Stuff and nonsense! Teach his stomach!' 
 
 'November 28 To Wellesley College William But- 
 ler Yeats lectured on the revival of letters in Ireland. We 
 dined with him afterwards at Miss Hazard's house. He is a 
 man of fiery temperament, with a slight, boyish figure: has 
 deep-set blue eyes and dark hair; reminds me of John 
 O'Sullivan 1 in his temperament; is certainly, as Grandpa 
 Ward said of the Red Revolutionists, with whom he dined 
 in the days of the French Revolution, "very warm." ' 
 
 'November 29. . . . This came into my mind, apropos of 
 reformers generally: "Dost thou so carry thy light as to throw 
 it upon thyself, or upon thy theme?" This appears to me a 
 legitimate question. . . .' 
 
 'December 21. Put the last touches to my verses for 
 Colonel Higginson's eightieth birthday. Maud went with me 
 to the celebration held by the Boston Authors' Club at the 
 Colonial Club, Cambridge. T. W. H. seemed in excellent 
 condition; I presided as usual. Bliss Perry, first speaker, 
 came rather late, but made a very good address. Crothers 
 and Dean Hodges followed, also Clement. Judge Grant 
 read a simple, strong poem, very good, I thought. Then 
 came my jingle, intended to relieve the strain of the occa- 
 sion, which I think it did. Maud says that I hit the bull's 
 eye; perhaps I did. Then came a pretty invasion of mum- 
 mers, bearing the gifts of the Club, a fine gold watch and a 
 handsome bronze lamp. I presented these without much talk, 
 having said my say in the verses, to which, by the bye, Colonel 
 H. responded with some comic personal couplets, addressed 
 to myself.' 
 
 The early days of 1904 brought 'a very severe blizzard. 
 Sent tea to the hackmen on Dartmouth Street corner.' 
 
 She never forgot the hackmen in severe weather. 'They 
 must have something hot!' and tea or coffee would be de- 
 spatched to the shivering men. They were all her friends; 
 the Journal has many allusions to 'Mr. Dan' Herlihy, the 
 owner of the cab stand, long her faithful helper. 
 
 1 Hawthorne's friend of the Democratic Review. 
 
390 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'January 27, 1904. I was so anxious to attend to-day's 
 [suffrage] meeting, and so afraid of Maud's opposition to my 
 going, that my one prayer this morning was, "Help me." To 
 my utter surprise she did not oppose, but went with me and 
 remained until our part of the hearing was finished, when 
 she carried me off. I read my little screed, written yester- 
 day. When I said, "Intelligence has no sex, no, gendemen, 
 nor folly either!" laughter resounded, as I meant it 
 should. . . .' 
 
 'March 6. In the evening to hear "Elijah" finely given. 
 Some of the music brought back to me the desolate scenery 
 of Palestine. It is a very beautiful composition. . . . The alto 
 was frightened at first, coming out stronger in "Woe unto 
 them," and better still in "Oh, rest in the Lord." The 
 audience seemed to me sleepy and cold. I really led the 
 applause for the alto.' 
 
 'March 13. . . . Wrote to John A. Beal, of Beal's Island, 
 offering to send instructive literature to that benighted re- 
 gion, where three mountebanks, pretending to teach re- 
 ligion, robbed the simple people and excited them to acts 
 of frenzy.' 
 
 'March 17. Mrs. Allen's funeral. ... I had a momentary 
 mental vision of myself in the Valley of the Shadow, with a 
 splendid champion in full armor walking beside me, a cham- 
 pion sent by God to make the dread passage easy and 
 safe. . . .' 
 
 'April 2. . . . Learned the deaths of X. and Abby Morton 
 Diaz. Poor X., her conduct made her impossible, but I 
 always thought she would send flowers to my funeral. Mrs. 
 Diaz is a loss — a high-strung, public-spirited woman with an 
 heroic history.' 
 
 'April 4. To the carriage-drivers' ball. They sent a car- 
 riage for me and I took Mary, the maid. . . . Mr. Dan was 
 waiting outside for me, as was another of the committee who 
 troubled me much, pulling and hauling me by one arm, very 
 superfluous. My entrance was greeted with applause, and I 
 was led to the high seats, where were two aides of the Gov- 
 ernor, Dewey and White, the latter of whom remembers 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 391 
 
 Governor Andrew. The opening march was very good. I 
 was taken in to supper, as were the two officers just men- 
 tioned. We had a cozy little talk. I came away at about 
 10.30.' 
 
 'April 14. Mr. Butcher came to breakfast at nine o'clock. 
 He told me about the man Toynbee, whom he had known 
 well. He talked also about Greeks and Hebrews, the ani- 
 mosity of race which kept them apart until the flourishing 
 of the Alexandrian school, when the Jews greedily absorbed 
 the philosophy of the Greeks.' 
 
 This was Mr. S. H. Butcher, the well-known Greek scholar. 
 She enjoyed his visit greatly, and they talked 'high and dis- 
 posedly' of things classical and modern. 
 
 'May 28. My meeting of Women Ministers. They 
 gathered very slowly and I feared that it would prove a fail- 
 ure, but soon we had a good number. Mary Graves helped 
 me very much. . . . Afterwards I felt a malignant fatigue 
 and depression, not caring to do anything.' 
 
 In June she received the first of her collegiate honors, the 
 degree of Doctor of Laws, conferred by Tufts College. This 
 gratified her deeply, and she describes the occasion at length, 
 noting that she was 'favored with the Tufts yell twice.' 
 
 'Lawrence Evans came, and Harry Hall. ... I read the 
 part of my speech about which I had hesitated, about our try- 
 ing to put an end to the Turkish horrors. It was the best of 
 the speech. Seeking divine aid before I made my remarks, 
 I suddenly said to myself, "Christ, my brother!" I never 
 felt it before.' 
 
 'June 29. Heard to my sorrow of the death of delightful 
 Sarah Whitman. Wrote a little screed for "Woman's 
 Journal" which I sent. . . .' 
 
 In early July, she went to Concord for a memorial meeting 
 in honor of Nathaniel Hawthorne. 
 
 'July 11. . . . Alice Blackwell, some days ago, wrote be- 
 seeching me to write to President Roosevelt, begging him to 
 do something for the Armenians. I said to myself, "No, I 
 won't; I am too tired and have done enough." Yesterday's 
 sermon gave me a spur, and this morning I ha've writ the 
 
392 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 President a long letter, to the effect desired. God grant that 
 it may have some result!' 
 
 'July 17. I despaired of being able to write a poem as 
 requested for the Kansas semi-centennial celebration in Octo- 
 ber, but one line came to me: "Sing us a song of the grand 
 old time!" and the rest followed. . . .' 
 
 This poem is printed in 'At Sunset.' 
 
 'September 25. I could not go to church to-day, fearing 
 to increase my cold, and not wishing to leave my dear family, 
 so rarely united now. Have been reading Abbe Loisy's 
 "Autour d'un petit Livre," which is an apologetic vindication 
 of his work "L'Evangile et l'Eglise," which has been put 
 upon the Index [Expurgatorius] . I feel sensibly all differ- 
 ences between his apologetic wobbly vindication of the Church 
 of Rome, and the sound and firm faith of Thomas Hill.' 
 
 'October 2. Mr. Fitzhugh Whitehouse, having left here a 
 copy of my "From Sunset Ridge" for me to furnish with a 
 "sentiment," I indited the following: — 
 
 From Sunset Ridge we view the evening sky, 
 Blood red and gold, defeat and victory; 
 If in the contest we have failed or won, 
 'Twas ours to live, to strive and so pass on. 
 
 'October 5. ... To Peace Congress, where Albert Smiley 
 was presiding. A wonderful feature came in the person of 
 a Hindu religionist, who came to plead the cause of the 
 Thibetan Llama. He said that the Thibetans are not fighting 
 people: are devoted to religious contemplation, prayer, and 
 spiritual life. He spoke valorously of the religions in the 
 East as by far the most ancient. "You call us heathen, but 
 we don't call you heathen" ; a good point. He concluded by 
 giving to the assemblage a benediction in the fashion of his 
 own religion. It was chanted in a sweet, slightly musical 
 strain, ending with the repetition of a word which he said 
 meant "peace." So much was said about peace that I had to 
 ask leave for a word, and spoke of justice as that without 
 which peace cannot be had. ... I said : — 
 
 'Mr. President and dear friends, assembled in the 
 
 t "i» 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 393 
 
 blessed cause of Peace, let me remind you that there is one 
 word even more holy than peace, namely, justice. It is 
 anterior in our intellectual perceptions. The impulse which 
 causes men to contend against i/ijustice is a divine one, 
 deeply implanted in the human breast. It would be wrong 
 to attempt to thwart it. I hope that The Hague Tribunal will 
 bear in mind that it is sacredly pledged to maintain justice. 
 The brightest intellects, the most profound study, should 
 be devoted to the promotion of this end." The Greek bishop 
 met me in the ante-room and said, "We always pray for 
 you." 
 
 'October 9. I have felt more strongly than ever of late 
 that God is the only comforter. . . . These great serious things 
 were always present to work for in days in which I exerted 
 myself to amuse others and myself too. It is quite true that 
 I have never given up serious thought and study, but I have 
 not made the serious use of my powers which I ought to have 
 made. The Peace Congress has left upon my mind a strong 
 impression of what the lovers of humanity could accom- 
 plish if they were all and always in earnest. I seem to hope 
 for a fresh consecration, for opportunities truly to serve, 
 and for the continuance of that gift of the word which is 
 sometimes granted me.' 
 
 'November 12. I to attend meeting of Council of Jewish 
 Women; say something regarding education. . . . 
 
 'I was warmly received and welcomed, and recited my 
 "Battle Hymn" by special request. »This last gave me an un- 
 expected thrill of satisfaction. The president said: "Dear 
 Mrs. Howe, there is nothing in it to wound us." I had feared 
 that the last verse might trouble them, but it did not.' 
 
 'November 19. Was busy trying arrange bills and 
 papers so as to go to Gardiner to-morrow with my Richards 
 son-in-law, when in the late afternoon Rosalind told me that 
 dear noble Ednah Cheney had died. This caused me much 
 distress. My first word was: "The house of God is closed! 
 Such a friend is indeed a sanctuary to which one might re- 
 tire for refuge from all mean and unworthy things." 
 
 'A luminous intellect, unusual powers of judgment and 
 
394 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 of sympathy as well. She has heen a tower of strength to 
 me. I sent word by telephone to Charles G. Ames, begging 
 that her hymn might be sung at church to-morrow. . . .' 
 
 'November 21. Dear E. D. C.'s funeral. ... I spoke of 
 her faith in immortality, which I remember as unwavering. 
 I said: "No, that lustrous soul is not gone down into darkness. 
 It has ascended to a higher light, to which our best affec- 
 tions and inspirations may aspire." ' 
 
 'We saw the year out; a year of grace to me, if ever I 
 had one.' 
 
 The new year (1905) found her in full health and activity. 
 On its first day she writes: — 
 
 'I begin this book by thanking God most deeply that He 
 has permitted me to see the dawn of this New Year, and 
 by praying that I may not wilfully waste one of its precious 
 days. I am now about half through my eighty-sixth year and 
 must feel no surprise if the mandate to remove should come 
 suddenly or at any time. But while I live, dear Lord, let me 
 truly live in energetic thought and rational action. Bless, I 
 pray Thee, my own dear family, my blessed country, Chris- 
 tendom, and all mankind. This is my daily prayer and I 
 record it here. Is it amiss that in this prayer my own people 
 come first? No! for family affection is the foundation of 
 all normal human relations. We begin with the Heavenly 
 Father and open out to the whole human brotherhood.' 
 
 'January 20. . . . You can't do good with a bad action.' 
 [Apropos of the shot fired at the Czar.] 
 
 'The reason why a little knowledge is dangerous is that 
 your conceit of it may make you refuse to learn more.' 
 
 She was writing a paper on Mrs. Stowe and 'Uncle Tom's 
 Cabin,' and worked hard over it. The pace began to tell. 
 
 She spoke for the friends of Russian freedom, 'a warm 
 speech, almost without preparation. I knew that I should 
 find my inspiration in the occasion itself. I had almost a 
 spasm of thankfulness to Almighty God for the opportunity 
 to speak for such a cause at such a time.' 
 
 At the suffrage hearing soon after, she 'spoke of the force 
 of inertia as divinely ordained and necessary, but ordained, 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 395 
 
 too, to be overcome by the onward impulse which creates 
 worlds, life, and civilization. Said it was this inertia which 
 opposed suffrage, the dread of change inherent in masses, 
 material or moral, etc., etc' 
 
 Among her winter delights were the 'Longy' concerts of 
 instrumental music. She writes of one: — 
 
 'Was carried away by the delight of the musi<5 — all wind 
 instruments. A trio of Handel for bassoon and two oboes 
 was most solid and beautiful. ... I could think of nothing 
 but Shakespeare's "Tempest" and "Midsummer Night's 
 Dream." The thought that God had set all human life and 
 work to music overpowered me, and coming home I had a 
 rhapsody of thanksgiving for the wonderful gift ' 
 
 The next day came an entertainment in aid of Atlanta 
 University and Calhoun School; she 'enjoyed this exceed- 
 ingly, especially the plantation songs, which are of profound- 
 est pathos, mixed with overpowering humor. It was pleasant, 
 too, to see the audience in which descendants of the old anti- 
 slavery folk formed quite a feature. I had worked hard at 
 the screed, which was, I think, good. Heard interesting re- 
 ports of mission work in our entire South.' 
 
 She had been for some time toiling over a paper on the 
 'Noble Women of the Civil War,' finding it hard and fatigu- 
 ing work. On April 5 she writes: — 
 
 'At 12 m. I had finished my screed on the "Noble Women 
 of the Civil War" which has been my nightmare ever since 
 March 24, when I began it, almost despairing of getting it 
 done. ... I have written very carefully and have had some 
 things to say which may, I hope, do good. I can now take 
 up many small tasks which have had to give way to this 
 one. . . .' 
 
 'April 9. The Greek celebration. The Greek Papa, in 
 full costume, intoned the Doxology and the assembly all sang 
 solemn anthems. Michael introduced me first. My speech 
 was short, but had been carefully prepared. At the request 
 of the Papa I said at the end: "Zeto ton Ellenikon ethnos." 
 My speech and Greek sentence were much applauded. A 
 young Greek lady presented me with a fine bouquet of white 
 
396 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 carnations with blue and white ribbons, the colors of Greece. 
 Sanborn read from dear Chev's letters of 1825. Michael 
 spoke at great length, with great vehemence and gesticulation. 
 I understood many words, but could only guess at the general 
 drift. I imagine that it was very eloquent, as he was much 
 applauded.' 
 
 'April 30. Lorin Deland called to talk about the verses 
 which I am to write and read at his theatre. The thought 
 of Cassandra seized me. She, coming to the house of the 
 Atridse, had a vision of its horrors; I, coming to this good 
 theatre, have a vision of the good things which have been 
 enjoyed there and which shall still be enjoyed. Wrote down 
 some five or six lines, "lest I forget." ' 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Deland were among her best friends of the 
 second generation. Indeed, there was such a sympathy and 
 comprehension between her and 'Margaret' that the latter 
 playfully declared herself a daughter abandoned in infancy, 
 and was wont to sign herself, 'Your doorstep Brat'! 
 
 In these years an added burden was laid upon her, in the 
 general and affectionate desire for her presence on all 
 manner of occasions. The firemen must have her at their 
 ball, the Shoe and Leather Trade at their banquet, the Paint 
 and Oils Association at their dinner. Their festivities would 
 not be complete without her; she loved them, went to their 
 parties, had the right word to say, and came home happy, 
 her arms full of flowers. 
 
 It was all beautiful and heart-warming, but it had to be 
 paid for. May 10 brought the punishment for this season. 
 
 'Annual Woman Suffrage supper. I was to have spoken 
 at this occasion and to have recited the poem which I wrote 
 for Castle Square Theatre, but it was otherwise ordained. I 
 rose as usual, my head a little misty. A mighty blow of 
 
 vertigo seized me The elder Wesselhoeft pronounced it 
 
 a "brain fag," not likely to have serious results, but em- 
 phatically a warning not to abuse further my nervous 
 strength. Got up in afternoon and finished "Villa Claudia"; 
 was bitterly sad at disappointing the suffragists and Deland.' 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 397 
 
 Dr. Wesselhoeft was asked on this occasion why, at her 
 age, so severe an attack as this had not resulted in paralysis. 
 'Because,' he replied, 'she brought to receive it the strength 
 of forty years of age!" 
 
 Sure enough, the next day she felt as if her 'nervous bal- 
 ance was very well restored,' and in a week she was at work 
 again. 
 
 'May 18. ... In the evening had word of a Decoration 
 Day poem needed. At once tried some lines.' 
 
 'May 19. Doubted much of my poem, but wrote it, spend- 
 ing most of the working hours over it; wrote and rewrote, 
 corrected again and again. Julia Richards mailed it at 
 about 4 p.m. . . . Just as I went to bed I remembered that in 
 the third verse of my poem I had used the words "tasks" and 
 "erect" as if they rhymed. This troubled me a good deal. 
 My prayer was, "God help the fool." ' 
 
 'May 20. My trouble of mind about the deficient verse 
 woke me at 6.30 A.M. I tossed about and wondered how I 
 could lie still until 7.30, my usual time for rising. The time 
 passed somehow. I could not think of any correction to 
 make in my verse. Hoped that I should find that I had not 
 written it as I feared. When I came to look at it, there it 
 was. Instantly a line with a proper rhyme presented itself 
 to my mind. To add to my trouble I had lost the address to 
 which I had sent the poem. My granddaughter, Julia Rich- 
 ards, undertook to interview the Syndicate by long-distance 
 telephone ; and, failing this, to telegraph the new line for me. 
 So I left all in her hands. When I returned, she met me with 
 a smile and said, "It is all right, Grandmother." She had 
 gone out, found a New York directory, guessed at the Syndi- 
 cate, got the correspondent, and put her in possession of the 
 new line. I was greatly relieved. I have been living lately 
 with work running after me all the time. Must now have 
 a breathing spell. Have still my "Simplicity" screed to 
 complete.' 
 
 The Authors' Club celebrated her eighty-sixth birthday 
 by a charming festival, modelled on the Welsh Eistedfodd, 
 
398 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 'at which every bard of that nation brought four lines of 
 verse — a sort of four-leaved clover — to his chief.' 1 Sixty 
 quatrains made what she calls 'an astonishing testimonial of 
 regard.' Colonel Higginson, who presided most charmingly, 
 read many of these tributes aloud, and the Birthday Queen 
 responded in a rhyme scribbled hastily the day before. Here 
 are a few of the tributes, together with her 'reply': — 
 
 EISTEDFODD 
 Each bard of Wales, who roams the kingdom o'er, 
 Each year salutes his chief with stanzas four; 
 Behold us here, each bearing verse in hand 
 To greet the four-leaved clover of our band. 
 
 Thomas Wentworth Higginson. 
 
 FIVE O'CLOCK WITH THE IMMORTALS 
 The Sisters Three who spin our fate 
 Greet Julia Ward, who comes quite late; 
 How Greek wit flies! They scream with glee, 
 Drop thread and shears, and make the tea. 
 
 E. H. Clement. 
 
 If man could change the universe 
 By force of epigrams in verse, 
 He'd smash some idols, I allow, 
 But who would alter Mrs. Howe? 
 
 Robert Grant. 
 
 Dot oldt Fader Time must be cutting some dricks, 
 Vhen he calls our goot Bresident's age eighty-six. 
 An octogeranium! Who would suppose? 
 My dear Mrs. Julia Ward Howe der time goes! 
 
 Yawcob Strauss (Charles Follen Adams). 
 
 You, who are of the spring, 
 To whom Youth's joys must cling. 
 May all that Love can give 
 Beguile you long to live — 
 Our Queen of Hearts. 
 
 Louise Chandler Moulton. 
 
 1 T. W. Higginson, The Outlook, January 26, 1907. 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 399 
 
 MRS. HOWE'S REPLY 
 
 Why, bless you, I ain't nothing, nor nobody, nor much, 
 If you look in your Directory, you'll find a thousand such; 
 I walk upon the level ground, I breathe upon the air, 
 I study at a table, and reflect upon a chair. 
 
 I know a casual mixture of the Latin and the Greek, 
 I know the Frenchman's parlez-vous, and how the Germans speak; 
 Well can I add, and well subtract, and say twice two is four, 
 But of those direful sums and proofs remember nothing more. 
 
 I wrote a pretty book one time, and then I wrote a play, 
 
 And a friend who went to see it said she fainted right away. 
 
 Then I got up high to speculate upon the Universe, 
 
 And folks who heard me found themselves no better and no worse. 
 
 Yes, I've had a lot of birthdays and I'm growing very old, 
 That's why they make so much of me, if once the truth were told. 
 And I love the shade in summer, and in winter love the sun, 
 And I'm just learning how to live, my wisdom's just begun. 
 
 Don't trouble more to celebrate this natal day of mine, 
 But keep the grasp of fellowship which warms us more than wine. 
 Let us thank the lavish hand that gives world beauty to our eyes, 
 And bless the days that saw us young, and years that make us wise. 
 
 'May 27. My eighty-sixth birthday. I slept rather late, 
 yesterday having been eminently a "boot-and-saddle" day. 
 . . . The Greeks, mostly working-people, sent me a superb 
 leash of roses with a satin ribbon bearing a Greek inscrip- 
 tion. My visitors were numerous, many of them the best 
 friends that time has left me. T. W. H. was very dear. My 
 dear ones of the household bestirred themselves to send 
 flowers, according to my wishes, to the Children's Hospital 
 and to Charles Street Jail.' 
 
 'May 28. ... A great box of my birthday flowers orna- 
 mented the pulpit of the church. They were to be distributed 
 afterwards to the Sunday-School children, some to the 
 Primary Teachers' Association ; a bunch of lilies of the valley 
 to Reverend Hayward's funeral to-morrow. I suddenly be- 
 
400 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 thought me of Padre Roberto, and with dear Laura's help 
 sent him a box of flowers for the afternoon service, with a few 
 lines of explanation, to which I added the motto: "Units deus, 
 una fides, unum baptisma." This filled the cup of my 
 satisfaction regarding the disposal of the flowers. They 
 seemed to me such sacred gifts that I could not bear merely 
 to enjoy them and see them fade. Now they will not fade 
 for me.' 
 
 Among the many 'screeds' written this season was one on 
 'The Value of Simplicity,' which gave her much trouble. She 
 takes it to pieces and rewrites it, and afterwards is 'much 
 depressed ; no color in anything.' From Gardiner she 'writes 
 to Sanborn' for the Horatian lines she wishes to quote. 
 ('Whenever,' she said once to Colonel Higginson, 'I want to 
 find out about anything difficult, I always write to Sanborn;' 
 'Of course!' replied Higginson. 'We all do!' At this writ- 
 ing the same course is pursued, there is a reason to believe, 
 by many persons in many countries.) 
 
 'July 2. Unusually depressed at waking. Feared that 
 I might be visited by "senile melancholia," against which I 
 shall pray with all my might. . . . Began Plato's "Laws." ' 
 
 Plato seems to have acted as a tonic, for on the same day 
 she writes to her daughter-in-law, expressing her joy in 
 'Harry's' latest honor, the degree of Doctor of Laws con- 
 ferred by Harvard College. 
 
 She was proud of all her son's honors; of any success 
 of child or grandchild; yet she would pretend to furious jeal- 
 ousy. 'I see your book is praised, Sir!' (or, 'Madam!') 
 'It probably does not deserve it. H'm! nobody praises my 
 books!' etc., etc. And all the time her face so shining with 
 pleasure and tenderness under the sternly bended brows that 
 the happy child needed no other praise from any one. 
 
 'July 23. ... I feel to-day the isolation consequent upon 
 my long survival of the threescore and ten apportioned as the 
 term of human life. Brothers and sisters, friends and fel- 
 low-workers, many are now in the silent land. I am praying 
 for some good work, paying work, so that I may efficiently 
 
LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET 401 
 
 help relatives who need help, and good causes whose demand 
 for aid is constant. . . .' 
 
 'October 5. ... I had a moment of visioning, in which 
 I seemed to see Christ on the cross refusing to drink the 
 vinegar and gall, and myself to reach up a golden cup con- 
 taining "the love pledge of humanity." Coming home I 
 scrawled the verses before lying down to rest.' 1 
 
 'October 25. Meeting of Boston Authors' Club. . . . 
 Worked all the morning at sorting my letters and papers. 
 . . . Laura, Maud, and I drove out to Cambridge. I had 
 worked hard all the morning, but had managed to put to- 
 gether a scrap of rhyme in welcome of Mark Twain. A 
 candle was lit for me to read by, and afterwards M. T. 
 jumped upon a chair and made fun, some good, some mid- 
 dling, for some three quarters of an hour. The effect of my 
 one candle lighting up his curly hair was good and my rhyme 
 was well received. 
 
 'Mark the gracious, welcome guest, 
 Master of heroic jest; 
 He who cheers man's dull abodes 
 With the laughter of the gods; 
 To the joyless ones of earth 
 Sounds the reveille of mirth. 
 
 'Well we meet, to part with pain, 
 But ne'er shall he and we be Twain.' 
 
 1 These verses are printed in At Sunset, under the title of 'Humanity.' 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 •THE SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 
 1906-1907; aet. 87-88 
 
 'I pray for many things this year. For myself, I ask con- 
 tinued health of mind and body, work, useful, honorable, 
 remunerative, as it shall please God to send; for my dear 
 family, work of the same description with comfortable wages, 
 faith in God, and love to each other; for my country, that 
 she may keep her high promise to mankind ; for Christendom, 
 that it may become more Christ-like; for the struggling 
 nationalities, that they may attain to peace and justice.' 
 
 'Such a wonderful dream in the early morning. I was in 
 some rural region alone; the clear blue sky was over my 
 head. I looked up and said, "I am fed from God's table. I 
 am sheltered under His roof." While I still felt this joy, 
 a lone man, passing by, broke into a complaint on the hard- 
 ness of things. I wanted in my dream to call him back, but 
 he passed too rapidly. I still see in my "mind's eye" that 
 blue sky and the lone man passing by. I still recall the 
 thrill of that meditation, literally in Dreamland, as I was 
 quite asleep when it visited me. . . .' 
 
 The great event of this winter was a trip to Baltimore for 
 a Woman's Suffrage Convention. 
 
 This Convention came near being her last. Tonsillitis 
 was epidemic in the city; the halls were draughty; at one 
 meeting a woman with a severe cold, a stranger, kissed her 
 effusively. She took the infection, was prostrated for some 
 days, and made the return journey while still too weak to 
 travel. Florence, who was with her, protested in vain. 'I 
 would go,' she said, 'if the hearse was at the door!' A seri- 
 ous illness followed on her return. A month and more 
 passed before she began to regain strength and spirits. 1 
 
 , * It may be noted that this epidemic of tonsillitis was actually fatal to Miss 
 Susan B. Anthony, who never recovered from the illness contracted in 
 Baltimore. 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 403 
 
 In April she records 'a delightful visit from Robert 
 Collyer, accompanied by Annie Fields. I asked him: "Rob- 
 ert, what is religion?" He replied, "To love God with all 
 one's heart, Christ helping us." He began his prayer last 
 Sunday thus: "Our Father who art in heaven, on earth, and 
 in hell!" ' 
 
 On April 13, she was 'out for the first time since February 
 14, when I returned sick from Baltimore ' 
 
 Another week and she was at her church, for the first time 
 since January 18. 
 
 It had been a long and weary time, yet one remembers 
 not so much the suffering and confinement as the gayety of 
 it. There was a sigh for the Journal, but for the family, and 
 the faithful nurse, — 
 
 'Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles.' 
 
 This nurse was known to others as Lucy Voshell, but her 
 patient promptly named her 'Wollapuk.' She was as merry 
 as she was skillful, and the two made much fun together. 
 Even when the patient could not speak, she could twinkle. As 
 strength gradually returned, the ministrations of Wollapuk 
 became positively scenes of revelry; and the anxious guard- 
 ian below, warding off would-be interviewers or suppliants, 
 might be embarrassed to hear peals of laughter ringing down 
 the stair. 
 
 She had a wheel-chair, and on pleasant days it was her 
 delight to be wheeled through the Public Garden, now in full 
 May beauty, to see the flowers and the children. She 
 was able to attend several meetings, and to write several 
 papers. 
 
 'May 18. Have read part of the recital of Anna Tick- 
 nor's achievement in her society to encourage studies at 
 home. Her work is really heroic. I wish that I had better 
 understood it. Still I did admire it a great deal, but had 
 little idea of the great benevolence and sympathy developed 
 in her work, which was a godsend to thousands of women.' 
 
 'May 26. My dear son arrived in the evening to celebrate 
 
404 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 my birthday. He seems well and happy. I was thankful to 
 see him. Flowers kept arriving all day.' 
 
 'May 27. Attended church and carried some of my birth- 
 day flowers for the pulpit. ... In the afternoon a beautiful 
 reception which the rain kept from being the over-crowd 
 which I had rather feared. Colonel Higginson came and 
 gave me some lovely verses written for the occasion. Wil- 
 liam R. Thayer did likewise. Arthur Upson had already sent 
 me some. I enjoyed it all very much ; dined downstairs with 
 my dear family, who drank my health standing. H. M. H., 
 being called upon for a word, said, "The dear old girl!" 
 and could not have said better. I thanked and blessed them 
 all. We passed the evening together. The Greeks of Boston 
 sent splendid red roses and ribbons with motto. The Italians 
 sent flowers.' 
 
 After this she wrote an essay on 'How to Keep Young,' 
 in which she says: — 
 
 'Try to keep in touch with the best spirits of your time, 
 with those who are raising instead of lowering the tone of 
 the atmosphere in which they live. 
 
 'Avoid the companionship of those who deride sacred 
 things and are inclined to ignore the limits of refinement 
 and good taste. 
 
 'Remember that ignoble amusements react upon character. 
 
 'Never forget that we grow like to that we contemplate. 
 
 'Keep it always in mind that it must be through our own 
 efforts that our progress through life shall bring with it the 
 fulfilment of the best promise of our youth.' 
 
 In these days she met with a grave loss in the death of 
 Michael Anagnos. 
 
 'I am deeply grieved at his death, which is a real loss to 
 me and my family, and almost irreparable to the Institution 
 which he has served nobly with entire devotion and disinter- 
 est and has enriched by his great and constant efforts. He 
 built three Kindergartens for the blind. God rest his soul! 
 
 'I pray that my great pain at the death of my son-in-law 
 may inspire me to help the blind as I never have helped 
 them!' 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 405 
 
 'My strength has failed so much of late that my strong 
 love of life begins to waver. I should be glad to live to 
 print some of my studies in Philosophy, and to have some 
 of my musical compositions taken down by dictation.' 
 
 'August 31. . . . The last day of a summer which brought 
 a serious grief in the death of Michael Anagnos, who, ever 
 since my visit to Greece in 1867, has been an important fac- 
 tor in my life. I am much troubled in the effort to compose a 
 poem to be read at the memorial services to be held for him 
 in late October. . . .' 
 
 A photograph taken at this time shows her sitting in her 
 hooded chair on the piazza, her Greek books and her canary 
 beside her, a serene and lovely picture. It was so she used to 
 sit every morning. First she read her Testament, and a 
 prayer of James Martineau, or some other good saint; this 
 she called 'taking the altitude'; then she turned to her 
 ^Eschylus or Aristotle. 
 
 Before thus settling down, there would be a walk on the 
 piazza, or along the highway. Sheltered by a broad hat, 
 the friend of many years, wrapped in the 'passionate pil- 
 grim,' as she named a certain ancient purple cloak, leaning 
 on her ebony stick — who that passed that way has not seen 
 her? Bits of her talk, as we strolled together, come back 
 to us; as when the clouds parted suddenly at the close of a 
 gray day, then shutting in again. 'Oh!' she cried, 'it is like 
 being engaged to the man you love, for five minutes!' 
 
 'September 16. . . . I had had much hesitation about under- 
 taking to speak at Shiloh Baptist Church [colored] this 
 afternoon; but it came to me as something which I ought to 
 do, and so I gave the promise, and, with some studying, wrote 
 the sermon. The result fully justified the effort. I spoke to 
 a large and very attentive congregation, in which a number 
 of white outsiders were mingled in with the people of the 
 church . Mrs. Jeter sang my "Battle Hymn," the congre- 
 gation joining in the "Glory Hallelujah." I then read my 
 screed, which was heard with profound attention, one and 
 another crying out at intervals, "Amen!" and "Glory be to 
 God!" ... I was very thankful for the good issue of what 
 
406 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 had seemed an almost wild undertaking at eighty-seven years 
 of age.' 
 
 'October 23. Have prayed and worked over the poem for 
 Michael's memorial services — think that I have made it as 
 good as I can, but not good enough. Alas! I am too old.' 
 
 She went up to Boston for this meeting in Tremont Temple, 
 which was a most impressive one, Greeks and Americans 
 uniting to do honor to a good man. 
 
 'October 24 I read my verse, my voice serving me 
 
 very well. Bishop Lawrence helped me both to rise and to 
 return to my seat. He made a most touching allusion to my 
 dearest dear Julia's devotion to the blind, and said where 
 a man was engaged in a noble work there usually rose up a 
 noble woman to help him.' 
 
 'October 26. Had a sudden blessed thought this morn- 
 ing, viz.: that the "Tabernacle eternal in the heavens" is the 
 eternity of truth and right. I naturally desire life after 
 death, but if it is not granted me, I have yet a part in the 
 eternal glory of this tabernacle.' 
 
 'October 29. Dear H. M. H. left us this morning, after 
 a short but very pleasant visit. He brought here his decora- 
 tions of his Russian order to show us; they are quite splen- 
 did. He is the same dear old simple music- and mischief- 
 loving fellow, very sensitive for others, very modest for 
 himself, and very dear.' 
 
 'November 7. . . . Prayed hard this morning that my 
 strength fail not.' 
 
 During this summer, an electric elevator had been put 
 into the Boston house, and life was made much easier for 
 her. From this time we became familiar with the vision 
 of her that still abides, flitting up or down in her gilded 
 car. Watching her ascent, clad in white, a smile on her lips, 
 her hand waving farewell, one could only think of 'The 
 chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof.' 
 
 Another good gift was a Victor machine. When the after- 
 dinner reading was over, she would say, 'Now bring my 
 opera-box!' 
 
 The white armchair was wheeled into the passage between 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 407 
 
 the two parlors. Here she sat in state, while the great 
 singers poured out their treasures before her, while violinist 
 and pianist gave her their best. She listened with keen and 
 critical enjoyment, recalling how Malibran gave this note, 
 how Grisi and Mario sang that duet. Then she would go to 
 the piano and play from memory airs from 'Tancredi,' 'II 
 Pirata,' 'Richard Coeur de Lion,' and other operas known 
 to us only through her. Or she would — always without 
 notes — play the 'Barber of Seville' almost from beginning 
 to end, with fingers still deft and nimble. 
 
 She loved the older operas best. After an air from 'Don 
 Giovanni,' she would say, 'Mozart must be in heaven: they 
 could never get on without him!' She thought Handel's 
 'Messiah' the most divine point reached by earthly music. 
 Beethoven awed and swayed her deeply, and she often 
 quoted his utterance while composing, 'Ich trat in der Nahe 
 Gottes!' She thrilled with tender pleasure over Verdi's 
 'Non ti scordar,' or 'Ai nostri monti' and over 'Martha.' She 
 enjoyed Chopin 'almost too much.' 'He is exquisite,' she 
 would say, 'but somehow — rotten!' 
 
 Among the pleasures of this winter was a visit to New 
 York. She writes after it: — 
 
 'My last day in my dear son's house. He and Fannie have 
 been devotedly kind to me. They made me occupy their 
 room, much to my bodily comfort, but to the great disquiet 
 of my mind, as I hated much to inconvenience them. My son 
 has now a very eminent position. . . . God bless the house and 
 all in it.' 
 
 'December 17. The Old South Chapter of DA.R.'s met in 
 the real Old South Church; there was much good speaking. 
 I recited my "Battle Hymn" and boasted my descent from 
 General Marion, the Swamp Fox, saying also, "When, elud- 
 ing the vigilance of children and grandchildren, I come to 
 such a meeting as this, without a previous promise not to 
 open my lips, I think that I show some of the dexterity of 
 my illustrious relative." I also had to spring up and tell 
 them that my grandmother, niece to General Marion, gave 
 
408 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 her flannel petticoat to make cartridges for the soldiers of 
 the Revolution.' 
 
 The path of the guardian (or jailer, as she sometimes 
 put it) was not always plain. The wayfaring woman might 
 easily err therein. 
 
 After some severe fatigue, convention or banquet, she 
 might say, 'This is the last time. Never let me do this again!' 
 
 Now and then Greek met Greek. One snowy afternoon 
 she encountered the resident granddaughter, cloaked and 
 hooded, preparing to brave the storm. 
 
 'Dear child,' said the grandmother, 'I do not often use 
 authority with you young people, but this time I must. I 
 cannot allow you to go out in this blizzard!' 
 
 'Dearest grandmother,' replied the maiden, 'where are you 
 going yourself?' 
 
 There was no reply. The two generations dissolved in 
 laughter, and started out together. 
 
 She bids farewell to 1906 as 'dear Year that hast brought 
 me so many comforts and pleasures!' and thus hails the New 
 Year:— 
 
 'I earnestly pray for God's blessing on this year! ... I 
 might possibly like one more European journey to see the 
 Gallery at Madrid, and the chateaux of Touraine, but I do 
 not ask it, as I may have more important occupation for 
 my time and money. . . . Du reste, the dear Father has done 
 so much better for me, in many ways, than I have ingenuity 
 to wish, that I can only say, "Thy will be done, only desert 
 me not." ' 
 
 'January 12. Copied and completed my lines for the eve- 
 ning. Found a large assemblage of members and invited 
 guests [of the Authors' Club] ; a dais and chair prepared 
 for me, Colonel Higginson standing on my right. Many 
 presentations — Gilder and Clyde Fitch, Owen Wister, Nor- 
 man Hapgood. Aldrich [T. B.] took me in to dinner and 
 sat on my right, Hon. John D. Long on my left; next beyond 
 A. sat Homans Womans. 1 I despaired of making my jingle 
 tell in so large and unfamiliar a company. At last I took 
 
 'Mrs. Charles Homans. 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 409 
 
 courage and read it, bad as I thought it. To my surprise, it 
 told, and created the merriment which had been my object 
 so far as I had any. My "Battle Hymn" was sung finely by 
 a male quartette. Colonel Higginson and I were praised 
 almost out of our senses. A calendar, got up with much 
 labor, was presented to each of us.' 
 
 'January 13. To church, to take down my vanity after last 
 evening's laudations. . . .' 
 
 'January 15. Made a final copy of my lines on Robert 
 E. Lee, — read them to Rosalind — the last line drew a tear 
 from each of us, so I concluded that it would do and sent it. 
 
 'To Tuesday Club, where the effort which I made to hear 
 speakers tired my head badly. Themes: "Whether and how 
 to teach Ethics in Public Schools"; also, "The English Edu- 
 cation Bill." Socrates having been mentioned as an ex- 
 emplar, I suddenly cried out that I thought he did wrong 
 to stay and suffer by unjust laws and popular superstition. 
 A first-class American would have got away and would have 
 fought those people to the bitter death. This fiery little 
 episode provoked laughter, and several privately told me 
 they were glad of it.' 
 
 'February 14. Luncheon at 3 Joy Street. . . . My seat 
 was between T. W. H. and President Eliot, with whom I had 
 not spoken in many years. He spoke to me at once and we 
 shook hands and conversed very cordially. I had known his 
 father quite well — a lover of music, who had much to do 
 with the early productions of Beethoven's Symphonies in 
 Boston, collecting money in aid of the undertaking. Presi- 
 dent Eliot made a good speech for Berea; others followed. 
 . . . When my name was called, I had already a good thought 
 to express.' 
 
 'February 27. ... In evening went with the Jewett sisters 
 to the celebration of Longfellow's Centennial. I had copied 
 my verses written for the first Authors' Reading in re Long- 
 fellow, rather hoping that I might be invited to read them. 
 This did not happen. I had had no reason to suppose that 
 it would, not having been thereunto invited. Had a seat on 
 the platform among the poet's friends, myself one of the 
 
410 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 oldest of them. It seemed as if I could hardly hold my 
 tongue, which, however, I did. I remembered that God has 
 given me many opportunities of speaking my thoughts. If 
 He withheld this one I am bound to suppose it was for the 
 best. I sat on the platform, where Sarah Jewett and I were 
 the only women in the charmed circle. 
 
 'Item. The audience rose and greeted me as I ascended 
 to the platform at Sanders Theatre.' 
 
 'March 14. The banquet of the Circolo at Lombardy Inn. 
 . . . My seat was at the head of the table with Novelli on my 
 right and Tosti, the consul, on my left. Had some pleasant 
 talk with each. Then I had a good inspiration for part of 
 my speech, in which I mentioned the egg used by Columbus, 
 and made to stand, to show that things held to be impossible 
 often proved possible. I said that out of this egg "was 
 hatched the American Eagle." Madame Novelli shed tears 
 at this, and Novelli kissed my hand. The Italian servants 
 listened eagerly to all the speaking, and participated in the 
 applause. President Geddes, Secretary Jocelyn, and others 
 spoke well and rather briefly. Dear Padre Roberto was really 
 eloquent.' 
 
 'March 16. . . . In the evening to see Novelli in "Morte 
 Civile"; his personation wonderfully fine, surpassing even 
 Salvini in the part. . . .' 
 
 'March 17. . . . Went to South Boston to say a word at the 
 presentation of dear Michael's portrait to the Perkins Insti- 
 tution by the Howe Memorial Club. . . . Also had a wonder- 
 ful fit of verse — wrote two sonnets to Dante and a versifica- 
 tion of my conceit about the hatching of the American Eagle 
 from the egg of Columbus.' 
 
 'March 23. A "boot-and-saddle" day I found that 
 
 my Authors' Club will meet to-day in Cambridge. Higgin- 
 son telephoned, asking me to speak of Aldrich; I asked per- 
 mission to leave the College Club after the speaking. Ordered 
 a carriage at 4.30, sprang into it, and reached the Authors' 
 meeting in good time to say something about Aldrich. . . . 
 Found a man who has studied the Berber races in Africa. 
 Had a good talk with him. Came home dreadfully tired. 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 411 
 
 To bed by 9.30. At the College Club I said that to give 
 women the vote in this State would not double the illiterate 
 vote — proposed a census of comparative illiteracy of the 
 sexes in Massachusetts at least.' 
 
 We had long besought her to have her musical composi- 
 tions written down, and now this was done in part. Once 
 or twice a week Mr. John M. Loud came to the house and 
 took down her melodies, she singing and playing them to 
 him. She always enjoyed the hour with the young composer. 
 A number of the melodies thus preserved were published in 
 a 'Song Album' by G. Schirmer some months later. 
 
 'April 8. Great trouble of mind about attending the Peace 
 Convention in New York, which I have promised to do. 
 Laura dead against it, reinforced by Wesselhoeft, Sr., who 
 pronounces it dangerous for me. I at last wrote to ask my 
 dear minister about it.' 
 
 'April 9. ... A violent snowstorm keeps me at home. Min- 
 ister and wife write, "Don't go to Peace Convention." I 
 asked God in my prayer this morning to make going possible 
 or impossible for me. I took C. G. A.'s letter as making it 
 impossible, as I had decided to abide by his decision. Wrote 
 a letter of explanation to Anna Garlin Spencer. I am much 
 disappointed, but it is a relief not to cause Laura such pain- 
 ful anxiety as she would have felt if I had decided to go. 
 She wept with joy when I gave it up.' 
 
 She was glad afterward that she had not gone; but a 
 significant corollary to the matter appears on April 25: — 
 
 'Providence — a pleasant trip, made possible by dear 
 Laura's departure.' 
 
 (That is, 'dear Laura' knew nothing about it till afterward. 
 How often we recalled the old Quaker's saying to her, 'It was 
 borne in upon me at an early period that if I told no one 
 what I intended to do, I should be enabled to do it!') 
 
 In the last week of April ('dear Laura' being still absent) 
 she spoke four times in public, on four successive days. 
 
 After this bout she was glad to rest a day or two, but in 
 another week was ready for the Woman Suffrage Festival. 
 'I to open it, evening, Faneuil Hall. A day of rushing. 
 
412 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 Lady Mary and Professor Gilbert Murray to breakfast 9 A.M., 
 which I much enjoyed. Then my little music man, who took 
 three tunes; then a snatch at preparation for the evening's 
 exercises. Jack and Elizabeth Chapman in the afternoon. 
 At 4.45 got a little rest and sleep. At 5.40 drove to Faneuil 
 Hall, which I found not so full as sometimes. Thought mis- 
 erably of my speech. Light to read it very dim. I called 
 to order, introduced Mr. White and the ladies' quartette, 
 then read my poor little scribble. ... I was thankful to get 
 through my part, and my speech in print wasn't bad at all.' 
 
 In May she preached at the Church of the Disciples. 
 
 'A culmination of anxiety for this day, desired and yet 
 dreaded. My head growled a little at waking, but not badly. 
 My voice seemed all right, but how about the matter of my 
 sermon? Was it all worth while, and on Whitsunday too? 
 I wore my white cashmere dress. Laura went with me to 
 church. C. G. A. was there. As he led me to the pulpit, 
 the congregation rose. The service was very congenial and 
 calming to my anxiety. I read the sermon quite audibly 
 from beginning to end. It was listened to with profound 
 attention, if I may say so.' 
 
 'May 20 . Marion Crawford arrived soon after three 
 
 for a little visit. He looks greatly improved in health since 
 I last saw him. He must have passed through some crisis 
 and come out conqueror. He has all his old charm. . . .' 
 
 She was lamenting the death of her cousin and childhood 
 playfellow, Dr. Valentine Mott Francis, when 'a much greater 
 affliction' fell upon her in the death of her son-in-law, David 
 Prescott Hall. "This hurts me,' she writes, 'like a physical 
 pain.' 
 
 Much work was on hand this summer: a poem for Old 
 Home Week in Boston, another for the Cooperstown Cen- 
 tennial, a paper on the 'Elegant Literature of Fifty Years 
 Since,' one for the 'Delineator' on 'The Three Greatest Men 
 I Have Known.' These were Ralph Waldo Emerson, Theo- 
 dore Parker, and Dr. Howe. She spent much time and pains 
 on this article. She read Elliot Cabot's 'Life of Emerson,' 
 which she thought 'certainly a good piece of work, but de- 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 413 
 
 ficient, it seems to me, in the romantic sympathy which is 
 the true interpretation of Emerson and of all his kind.' 
 
 She 'hammered' hard on the two poems, with good results. 
 
 'July 14. I can hardly believe it, but my miserable verses, 
 re-read to-day, seemed quite possible, if I can have grace to 
 fill out their sketchiness. Last word to-night: I think I have 
 got a poem. Nil desperandum!' 
 
 'July 24. Difficult to exaggerate the record of my worry 
 this morning. I feel a painful uncertainty about going to 
 Boston to read my poem for Old Home Week. Worse than 
 this is my trouble about two poems sent me while in Boston, 
 with original music, to be presented to the committee for 
 Home Week, which I have entirely forgotten and neglected. 
 To do this was far from my intention, but my old head fairly 
 gave out in the confusion of the various occasions in which 
 I was obliged to take an active part.' 
 
 She yielded to entreaty and stayed at home, and was re- 
 warded by 'a most gratifying letter from Edward Everett 
 Hale, telling me that Josian Quincy read my poem with real 
 feeling, and that it was warmly received.' 
 
 'My prayer is answered. I have lived to see my dear girl 
 again. ... I give thanks earnestly and heartily, but seem for 
 a time paralyzed by her presence.' 
 
 With the early autumn came a great pleasure in a visit to 
 the new 'Green Peace,' the house which her son had built at 
 Bedford Hills, New York. She was delighted with the 
 house and garden. 
 
 'October 25. Wrote to a very bumptious child, thirteen 
 years old, who proffers me her friendship and correspond- 
 ence, claiming to have written poems and magazine contribu- 
 tions praised by "noted authors." I sent her back her letter, 
 with three or four corrections and a little advice, kindly 
 meant, but which may not be so taken. . . . She will probably 
 turn and rend me, but I really felt it might do her good.' 
 
 'November 14. Gardiner. A good meditation. The 
 sense of God in the universe seems to be an attribute of 
 normal humanity. We cannot think of our own personal 
 identity without at the same time imagining a greater self 
 
414 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 from which we derive. This idea may be crude and barbar- 
 ous, great minds have done much to make it otherwise; 
 Christ most of all with His doctrine of divine love, provi- 
 dence, and forgiveness. The idea of a life beyond this one 
 seems also to appertain to normal humanity. We had best 
 accept this great endowment which philosophy seeks to ana- 
 lyze much as a boy will take a watch to pieces, but cannot 
 put it together again so that it will work.' 
 
 'November 15. Another long sitting and meditation. What 
 have individual philosophers done for religion? ... It occurs 
 to me that it might be more blessed to help the souls in hell 
 than to luxuriate with saints in heaven.' 
 
 'November 20. Boston. Began my screed on the "Joys 
 of Motherhood" for the "Delineator." Wrote currente 
 calamo. . . .' 
 
 'November 23. Rather an off day. Found T. W. Higgin- 
 son's little volume of verses, presented to me on my seventieth 
 birthday, and read a good deal in it. When the Colonel 
 gave it to me, he read a little poem, "Sixty and Six," very 
 charmingly. Seems to me that I ought to have read this 
 little book through long before this time. One of the sweetest 
 poems in it is about the blue-eyed baby that they lost after 
 some six weeks' happy possession. I sent a pretty little baby 
 wreath for it, feeling very sorry for them both.' 
 
 'November 28. Much troubled about my Whittier poem.' 
 
 'December 3. Thanks be to God! I have written my 
 Whittier rhyme. It has cost me much labor, for I have felt 
 that I could not treat a memory so reverend with cheap and 
 easy verses. I have tried to take his measure, and to present 
 a picture of him which shall deserve to live.' 1 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cobden-Sanderson, the English suffragists, 
 were in Boston this winter. They dined with her, and proved 
 'very agreeable. Mrs. Sanderson's visit ought to help suf- 
 frage mightily, she is in such dead earnest for it. After 
 dinner I proposed that each one should name his favorite 
 Browning poem. I named "Pippa," Mrs. Sanderson "Para- 
 
 1 This poem appears in At Sunset. 
 
'SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE' 415 
 
 celsus," Mr. S., "The Grammarian's Funeral," etc., etc. The 
 talk was so good that we could not stop it to hear die Victor, 
 which I regretted.' 
 
 Another delightful dinner of this winter was one given 
 in her honor by her niece, Mrs. Richard Aldrich (Margaret 
 Chanler), in New York. Among the guests were Kneisel, 
 the violinist, and Schelling, the pianist. Mrs. Aldrich 
 demanded 'Flibbertigibbet,' and our mother played and 
 recited it in such a manner that the two musicians were 
 inspired to play, as the people in the story were to dance. 
 Kneisel flew home for his violin, Schelling sat down at the 
 piano, and the two played Bach for her and to her delight. 
 
 'The occasion was memorable!' she says. 
 
 Returning from New York, she was able to attend the 
 Whittier Centennial at Haverhill. 
 
 'December 17. . . . Sanborn came to take me. ... I have 
 been praying to be well for this occasion, my last public 
 engagement for some weeks. I am thankful to have been 
 able, at my advanced age, to read this poem at the Whittier 
 Celebration and to be assured by one present that I had never 
 been in better voice, and by others that I was generally heard 
 without difficulty by the large audience.' 
 
 'December 31. Oh, blessed year 1907! It has been 
 granted me to write four poems for public occasions, all of 
 which have proved acceptable; also three fatiguing magazine 
 articles, which have for the time bettered my finances. I 
 have lived in peace and good-will with all men, and in great 
 contentment with my own family, to which this year added 
 a promising little great-grandson, taking away, alas! my 
 dear son-in-law, David Prescott Hall. I found a very compe- 
 tent and friendly young musician who has taken down nearly 
 all my songs. ... A word was given me to speak, namely, 
 "Thanks for the blessed, wonderful year just past." ' 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 •MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE GLORY OF THE COMING 
 OF THE LORD' 
 
 1908-1910; aet. 89-91 
 
 I have made a voyage upon a golden river, 
 
 'Neath clouds of opal and of amethyst. 
 Along its banks bright shapes were moving ever, 
 
 And threatening shadows melted into mist. 
 
 The eye, unpractised, sometimes lost the current, 
 When some wild rapid of the tide did whirl, 
 
 While yet a master hand beyond the torrent 
 Freed my frail shallop from the perilous swirL 
 
 Music went with me, fairy flute and viol, 
 
 The utterance of fancies half expressed, 
 And with these, steadfast, beyond pause or trial, 
 
 The deep, majestic throb of Nature's breast. 
 
 My journey nears its close — in some still haven 
 
 My bark shall find its anchorage of rest, 
 When the kind hand, which ever good has given, 
 
 Opening with wider grace, shall give the best. 
 
 J. W. H. 
 
 The grandchildren were her chief playmates when Maud 
 was in Europe. To them, the grave tone of the Journal, the 
 tale of her public work, is almost unbelievable, recalling, 
 as they do, the household life, so warm, so rich, so intimate, 
 it seemed enough in itself to fill the cup to overflowing. She 
 had said of herself that in social activities she 'bled at every 
 pore': but in these later years it was light and warmth that 
 she shed around her, kindling whatever she touched. At her 
 fire, as at Uncle Sam's, we warmed our hands and our hearts. 
 When she entered a room, all faces lighted up, as if she 
 carried a lamp in her hand. 
 
 Day in, day out, she was the Guter Camerad. The desire 
 not to irritate had become so much a second nature that she 
 was the easiest person in the world to live with. If the domes- 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 417 
 
 tic calm were disturbed, 'Don't say anything!' was her word. 
 Wait a little!' 
 
 She might wake with the deep impression so often men- 
 tioned in the Journal. Pausing at her door to listen, one 
 might hear a deep sigh, a plaintive ejaculation; but all this 
 was put out of sight before she left her room, and she came 
 down, as one of the grandchildren put it, 'bubbling like a 
 silver tea-kettle.' 
 
 Then came the daily festival of breakfast, never to be 
 hurried or 'scamped.' The talk, the letters, some of which 
 we might read to her, together with the newspaper. We 
 see her pressing some tidbit on a child, watching intently the 
 eating of it, then, as the last mouthful disappeared, exclaim- 
 ing with tragic emphasis, 'I wanted it!' Then, at the startled 
 face, would come peals of laughter; she would throw herself 
 back in her chair, cover her face with her hands, and tap the 
 floor with her feet. 
 
 Sometimes there were guests at breakfast, a famous actor, 
 a travelling scholar, caught between other engagements for 
 this one leisure hour. 
 
 It was a good deal, perhaps, to ask people to leave a warm 
 hotel on a January morning; but it was warm enough by 
 the soft-coal blaze of the dining-room fire. Over the coffee 
 and rolls, sausages and buckwheat cakes, leisure reigned 
 supreme; not the poet's 'retired leisure,' but a friendly and 
 laughter-loving deity. Everybody was full of engagements, 
 harried with work, pursued by business and pleasure: no 
 matter! the talk ranged high and far, and the morning was 
 half gone before they separated. 
 
 Soon after breakfast came the game of ball, played 
 a deux with daughter or grandchild ; the ball was tossed back 
 and forth, the players counting meanwhile up to ten in various 
 languages. She delighted in adding to her vocabulary of 
 numerals, and it was a good day when she mastered those 
 of the Kutch-Kutch Esquimaux. 
 
 Then came the walk, gallantly taken in every weather save 
 the very worst. She battled with the west wind, getting the 
 matter over as quickly as might be. '/f is for my life!' she 
 
418 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 would say. But on quiet, sunny days she loved to linger 
 along Commonwealth Avenue, watching the parade of babies 
 and little children, stopping to admire this one or chat with 
 that. 
 
 This function accomplished, she went straight to her desk, 
 and 'P.T.' reigned till noon. It was a less rigorous 'P.T.' 
 than that of our childhood. She could break off in a moment 
 now, give herself entirely, joyously, to the question of dinner 
 for the expected guest, of dress for the afternoon reception, 
 then drop back into Aristotle or iEschylus with a happy sigh. 
 It was less easy to break off when she was writing ; we might 
 be begged for 'half a moment,' as if our time were fully as 
 precious as her own; but there was none of the distress that 
 interruption brought in earlier years. Perhaps she took her 
 writing less seriously. She often said, 'Oh, my dear, I am 
 beginning to realize at last that I shall never write my book 
 now, my Magnum Opus, that was to be so great!' 
 
 She practised her scales faithfully every day, through the 
 later years. Then she would play snatches of forgotten 
 operas, and the granddaughter would hear her — if she 
 thought no one was near — singing the brilliant arias in 'a 
 sweet thread of a voice.' 
 
 After her practising, if she were alone, she would sit at 
 the window and play her Twilight Game: counting the 'pass- 
 ing,' one for a biped, two for a quadruped, ten for a white 
 horse, and so on. 
 
 In the evening, before the 'Victor' concert, came the read- 
 ing aloud : this was one of her great pleasures. No history or 
 philosophy for the evening reading; she must have a novel 
 (not a 'problem novel'; these she detested!) — a good stirring 
 tale, with plenty of action in it. She thrilled over 'With 
 Fire and Sword,' 'Kim,' 'The Master of Ballantrae.' She 
 could not bear to hear of financial anxieties or of physical 
 suffering. Tt gives me a pain in my knee!' 
 
 We see her now, sitting a little forward in her straight- 
 backed chair, holding the hand of the reading granddaughter, 
 alert and tense. When a catastrophe appears imminent, 
 'Stop a minute!' she cries. 'I cannot bear it!' — and the 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 419 
 
 reader must pause while she gathers courage to face disaster 
 with the hero, or dash with him through peril to safety. 
 
 She would almost be sorry when the doorbell announced 
 a visitor; almost, not quite, for flesh and blood were better 
 than fiction. If the caller were a familiar friend, how her 
 face lighted up ! 
 
 'Oh! now we can have whist!' 
 
 The table is brought out, the mother-of-pearl counters (a 
 Cutler relic: we remember that Mr. Ward did not allow cards 
 in his house!), and the order for the rest of the evening is 
 'A clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigor of the game!' — 
 
 It was a happy day when, as chanced once or twice, Mr. 
 Ernest Schelling, coming on from New York to play with 
 the Boston Symphony Orchestra, offered to come and play to 
 her, 'all by herself, whatever she wanted, and for as long as 
 she liked.' She never forgot this pleasure, nor the warm kind- 
 ness of the giver. 
 
 One day Mr. Abel Lefranc, the French lecturer of the 
 year at Harvard, came to lunch with her. He apologized for 
 only being able to stay for the luncheon hour, owing to a press 
 of engagements and work that had grown overpowering. He 
 stayed for two hours and a half after luncheon was over, and 
 during all that time the flow of poignant, brilliant talk, 
 a deux, held the third in the little company absorbed. She 
 was entirely at home in French, and the Frenchman talked 
 over the problems of his country as if to a compatriot. 
 
 A few days afterwards a Baptist minister from Texas, a 
 powerfully built and handsome man, came to wait on her. 
 He also stayed two hours: and we heard his 'Amen!' and 
 'Bless the Lord for that!' and her gentler, 'Bless the Lord, 
 indeed, my brother!' as their voices, fervent and grave, 
 mingled in talk. 
 
 She never tried to be interested in people. She was inter- 
 ested, with every fibre of her being. Little household doings : 
 the economies and efforts of brave young people, she thrilled 
 to them all. Indeed, all human facts roused in her the same 
 absorbed and reverent interest. 
 
 These are Boston memories, but those of Oak Glen are no 
 
420 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 less tender and vivid. There, too, the meals were festivals, 
 the midday dinner being now the chief one, with its follow- 
 ing hour on the piazza; 'Grandmother' in her hooded chair, 
 with her cross-stitch embroidery or 'hooked' rug, daughters 
 and grandchildren gathered round her. Horace and Xeno- 
 phon were on the little table beside her, but they must wait till 
 she had mixed and enjoyed her 'social salad.' 
 
 At Oak Glen, too, she had her novel and her whist, bezique 
 or dominoes, as the family was larger or smaller. She 
 never stooped to solitaire; a game must be an affair of com- 
 panionship, of the 'social tie' in defence of which 'Bro' Sam,' 
 in his youth, had professed himself ready to die. Instead 
 of the 'Victor' concert, she now made music herself, playing 
 four-hand pieces with Florence, the 'music daughter,' trained 
 in childhood by Otto Dresel. This was another great pleas- 
 ure. (Did any one, we wonder, ever enjoy pleasures as she 
 did?) These duets were for the afternoon; she almost never 
 used her eyes in the evening. They were perfectly good, 
 strong eyes; in the latter years she rarely used glasses; but 
 the habit dated back to the early fifties, and might not be 
 shaken. 
 
 We see her, therefore, in the summer afternoons, sitting 
 at the piano with Florence, playing, 'Galatea, dry thy tears!' 
 'Handel's old tie-wig music,' as she called his operas. Or, 
 if her son were there, she would play accompaniments from 
 the 'Messiah' or 'Elijah' ; rippling through the difficult music, 
 transposing it, if necessary to suit the singer's voice, with 
 ease and accuracy. Musicians said that she was the ideal 
 accompanist, never asserting herself, but giving perfect sym- 
 pathy and support to the singer. 
 
 We return to the Journal. 
 
 'January, 1908. I had prayed the dear Father to give me 
 this one more poem, a verse for this year's Decoration Day, 
 asked for by Amos Wells, of Christian Endeavor belonging. 
 I took my pen and the poem came quite spontaneously. It 
 seemed an answer to my prayer, but I hold fast the thought 
 that the great Christ asked no sign from God and needed 
 none, so deeply did he enter into life divine. I also thought, 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 421 
 
 regarding Christ and Moses, that we must be content that a 
 certain mystery should envelop these heroic figures of human 
 history. Our small measuring tape or rod is not for them. 
 If they were not exactly in fact what we take them to be, let 
 us deeply reverence the human mind which has conceived 
 and built up such splendid and immortal ideals. Was not 
 Christ thinking of something like this when he made the sin 
 against the Holy Ghost and its manifestations the only un- 
 pardonable error? He surely did not mean to say that it 
 was beyond the repentance which is the earnest of forgiveness 
 to every sin.' 
 
 A day or two after this she met at luncheon 'a young Rev- 
 erend Mr. Fitch. ... He is earnest and clear-minded, and 
 should do much good. I spoke of the cup [of life], but ad- 
 vised him to use the spoon for stirring up his congregation.' 
 
 One night she woke 'suddenly and something seemed to 
 say, "They are on the right tack now." This microscopic and 
 detailed study of the causes of evil on society will be much 
 forwarded by the direct agency of women. They too will 
 supply that inexhaustible element of hopefulness, without 
 which reforms are a mere working back and forth of machin- 
 ery. These two things will overcome the evil of the world by 
 prevention first, and then by the optimistic anticipation of 
 good. This is a great work given to Woman now to do. Then 
 I caught at various couplets of a possible millennial poem, 
 but feared I should not write it. Have scrawled these on a 
 large pad. This line kept coming back to me, "Living, not 
 dying, Christ redeemed mankind." . . . This my first day at 
 my desk since Saturday, March 28. I may try some prose 
 about the present patient analysis of the evil of society, the 
 patient intelligent women associated in all this work. To 
 reclaim waste earth is a glory. Why not a greater to reclaim 
 the moral wastes of humanity?' 
 
 This midnight vision impressed her deeply, and through 
 the succeeding days she wrote it out in full, bit by bit. On 
 the envelope containing it is written, 'An account of my 
 vision of the world regenerated by the combined labor and 
 love of Men and Women.' In it she saw 'men and women of 
 
422 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 every clime working like bees to unwrap the evils of society 
 and to discover the whole web of vice and misery and to 
 apply the remedies, and also to find the influences that should 
 best counteract the evil and its attendant suffering. 
 
 'There seemed to be a new, a wondrous, ever permeating 
 light, the glory of which I cannot attempt to put into human 
 words — the light of the newborn hope and sympathy — 
 blazing. The source of this light was born of human 
 endeavor. . . .' 
 
 She saw 'the men and the women, standing side by side, 
 shoulder to shoulder, a common lofty and indomitable pur- 
 pose lighting every face with a glory not of this earth. All 
 were advancing with one end in view, one foe to trample, one 
 everlasting goal to gain. . . . 
 
 'And then I saw the victory. All of evil was gone from 
 the earth. Misery was blotted out. Mankind was emanci- 
 pated and ready to march forward in a new Era of human 
 understanding, all-encompassing sympathy and ever-present 
 help, the Era of perfect love, of peace passing under- 
 standing.' 
 
 Mrs. Humphry Ward was in Boston this spring, and there 
 were many pleasant festivities in her honor. 
 
 A 'luncheon with Mrs. Humphry Ward at Annie Fields'; 
 very pleasant. Edward Emerson there, easy and dejight- 
 ful. 
 
 A fine reception at the Vendome where she and Mrs. Ward 
 stood under 'a beautiful arch of roses' and exchanged greet- 
 ings. 
 
 'A delightful call from Mrs. Humphry Ward. We had 
 much talk of persons admired in England and America. 
 She has great personal attraction, is not handsome, but very 
 "simpatica" and is evidently whole-souled and sincere, with 
 much "good-fellowship." We embraced at parting.' 
 
 In strong contrast to this is her comment on a writer 
 whose work did not appeal to her. 'But she has merit; yes, 
 she certainly has merit. In fact — ' with a flash — 'she is 
 meret-ricious!' 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 423 
 
 May brought the Free Religious Banquet, at which she 
 'compared the difference of sect to the rainbow which divides 
 into its beauty the white light of truth'; and the State Fed- 
 eration of Women's Clubs, where another apt comparison 
 occurred to her. 
 
 'I compared the old order among women to the juxta- 
 position of squares set cornerwise to each other; the intensity 
 of personal feeling and interest infusing an insensible an- 
 tagonism into our relations with each other. "Now," I said, 
 "the comparison being removed, we no longer stand corner- 
 wise to each other, but so that we can fit into line, and stand 
 and act in concert." . . .' 
 
 'Newport. I begin to feel something of the "labor and 
 sorrow" of living so long. I don't even enjoy my books as 
 I used to. My efforts to find a fit word for the Biennial [of 
 the General Federation of Women's Clubs, to meet in Boston, 
 June 22 and 23] are not successful. . . .' 
 
 She soon revived under her green trees, and enjoyed her 
 books as much as ever: 'got hold of her screed, wrote it, 
 went up to Boston to deliver it, came back to meet an ex- 
 cursion party of 'Biennial' ladies visiting Newport. (N.B. 
 She was late for the reception, and her neighbor, Bradford 
 Norman, drove her into Newport in his automobile 'at a 
 terrific clip.' On alighting, 'Braddie,' she said, 'if I were 
 ten years younger, I would set up one of these hell-wagons 
 myself!') 
 
 She enjoyed all this hugely, but the fatigue was followed 
 by distress so great that the next morning she 'thought she 
 should die with her door locked.' (She would lock her door: 
 no prayers of ours availed against this. In Boston, an 
 elaborate arrangement of keys made it possible for her room 
 to be entered ; at Oak Glen there was but the one stout door. 
 On this occasion, after lying helpless and despairing for some 
 time, she managed to unlock the door and call the faithful 
 maid.) 
 
 On June 30 she writes: — 
 
 'Oh, beautiful last day of June! Perhaps my last June 
 
424 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 on earth. ... I shall be thankful to live as long as I can be 
 of comfort or help to any one .' 
 
 'November 3. Oak Glen. Yesterday and to-day have had 
 most exquisite sittings in front of my house in the warm 
 sunshine; very closely wrapped up by the dear care of my 
 daughters.' 
 
 These sittings were on what she called her boulevard, a 
 grassy space in front of the house, bordering on the road, 
 and taking the full strength of the morning sun. Here, with 
 the tall screen of cedars behind her, and a nut tree spread- 
 ing its golden canopy over her head, she would sit for hours, 
 drinking in the sweet air that was like no other to her. 
 
 A companion picture to this is that of the twilight hour, 
 when she would sit alone in the long parlor, looking out on 
 the sunset. Black against the glowing sky rose the pines of 
 the tiny forgotten graveyard, where long-ago neighbors slept, 
 with the white rose tree drooping over the little child's grave; 
 a spot of tender and melancholy beauty. All about were the 
 fields she loved, fragrant with clover and wormwood, vocal 
 with time-keeping crickets. Here she would sit for an hour, 
 meditating, or repeating to herself the Odes of Horace, or 
 some familiar hymn. Horace was one of her best friends, 
 all her life long. She knew many of the Odes by heart, and 
 was constandy memorizing new ones. They filled and bright- 
 ened many a sleepless or weary hour. Here, when the chil- 
 dren came back from their walk, they would find her, quiet 
 and serene, but ready instantly to break into laughter with 
 them, to give herself, as always, entirely and joyously. 
 
 "November 6. Expecting to leave this dear place to-mor- 
 row before noon, I write one last record in this diary to say 
 that I am very thankful for the season just at end, which has 
 been busy and yet restful. I have seen old friends and new 
 ones, all with pleasure, and mostly with profit of a social and 
 spiritual kind. I have seen dear little Eleanor Hall, the 
 sweetest of babies. Have had all of my dear children with 
 me, some of my grandchildren, and four of my great-grands. 
 
 'Our Papeterie has had pleasant meetings. ... I am full 
 of hope for the winter. Have had a long season of fresh air, 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 425 
 
 delightful and very invigorating Utinam! Gott in Him- 
 
 mel sei Dank!' 
 
 'November 28. Boston. Have been much troubled of late 
 by uncertainties about life beyond the present. Quite sud- 
 denly, very recently, it occurred to me to consider that Christ 
 understood that spiritual life would not end with death, and 
 that His expressed certainty as to the future life was founded 
 upon His discernment of spiritual things. So, in so far as 
 I am a Christian, I must believe in the immortality of the 
 soul, as our Master surely did. I cannot understand why I 
 have not thought of that before. I think now that I shall 
 nevermore lose sight of it. . . . Had a very fine call from Mr. 
 Locke, author of the "Beloved Vagabond," a book which I 
 have enjoyed.' 
 
 'December 5. ... I learned to-day that my dear friend of 
 many years [the Reverend Mary H. Graves] passed away 
 last night very peacefully. . . . This is a heart sorrow for me. 
 She has been a most faithful, affectionate and helpful friend. 
 I scarcely know whether any one, outside of my family, would 
 have pained me more by their departure. . . .' 
 
 This was indeed a loss. 'Saint Mouse,' as we called her, 
 was a familiar friend of the household: a little gray figure, 
 with the face of a plain angel. For many years she had been 
 the only person who was allowed to touch our mother's 
 papers. She often came for a day or two and straightened 
 out the tangle. She was the only approach to a secretary 
 ever tolerated. 
 
 Our mother had several tasks on hand this winter, among 
 them a poem for the Centenary of Lincoln's birth. On 
 February 7 she writes: — 
 
 'After a time of despair about the poem for the Lincoln 
 Centenary some lines came to me in the early morning. I 
 arose, wrapped myself warmly, and wrote what I could, 
 making quite a beginning.' 
 
 She finished the poem next day, and on the 12th she went 
 'with three handsome grandchildren' to deliver it at Sym- 
 phony Hall before the Grand Army of the Republic and 
 their friends. 
 
426 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 The police had to make an entrance for us. I was pres- 
 ently conducted to my seat on the platform. The hall was 
 crammed to its utmost capacity. I had felt doubts of the 
 power of my voice to reach so large a company, but strength 
 seemed to be given to me at once, and I believe that I was 
 heard very well. T. W. H. [Colonel Higginson] came to me 
 soon after my reading and said, "You have been a good girl 
 and behaved yourself well." ' 
 
 The next task was an essay on 'Immortality,' which cost 
 her much labor and anxious thought. 
 
 'March 3. . . . Got at last some solid ground for my screed 
 on "Immortality." Our experience of the goodness of God 
 in our daily life assures us of His mercy hereafter, and 
 seeing God everywhere, we shall dwell in the house of the 
 Lord forever.' 
 
 'March 27. I am succeeding better with my "Immortality" 
 paper. Had to-day a little bit of visioning with which I 
 think that I would willingly depart, when my time comes. 
 The dreadful fear of being buried alive disappeared for a 
 time, and I saw only the goodness of God, to which it seemed 
 that I could trust all question of the future life. I said to 
 myself — "The best will be for thee and me." ' 
 
 It was in this mood that she wrote: — 
 
 T, for one, feel that my indebtedness grows with my years. 
 And it occurred to me the other day that when I should de- 
 part from this earthly scene, "God's poor Debtor" might be 
 the fittest inscription for my gravestone, if I should have one. 
 So much have I received from the great Giver, so little have 
 I been able to return.' 
 
 'April 8. . . . My prayer for this Easter is that I may not 
 waste the inspiration of spring. . . .' 
 
 In these days came another real sorrow to her. 
 
 'April 10. To-day brings the sad news of Marion Craw- 
 ford's death at Sorrento. His departure seems to have been 
 a peaceful one. He comforted his family and had his 
 daughter Eleanor read Plato's "Dialogues" to him. Was 
 unconscious at the last. Poor dear Marion! The end, in 
 his case, comes early.' 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 427 
 
 Later in the month she writes: — 
 
 'In the early morning I began to feel that I must attempt 
 some sort of tribute to my dear friend of many years, Dr. 
 Holmes, the centenary of whose birth is to be celebrated on 
 Tuesday next. I stayed at home from church to follow some 
 random rhymes which came to me in connection with my re- 
 membrance of my ever affectionate friend. I love to think 
 of his beautiful service to his age and to future ages. I fear 
 that my rhymes will fail to crystallize, but sometimes a bad 
 beginning leads to something better ' 
 
 The ninetieth birthday was a festival, indeed. Letters 
 and telegrams poured in, rose in toppling piles which almost 
 — not quite — daunted her; she would hear every one, would 
 answer as many as flesh and blood could compass. Here is 
 one of them: — 
 
 Most hearty congratulations on your ninetieth birthday 
 from the boy you picked up somewhere in New York and 
 placed in the New York Orphan Asylum on April 6th, 1841. 
 Sorry I have never been able to meet you in all that time. 
 You [were] one of the Board of Trustees at that time. 
 Respectfully and Thankfully, 
 
 Wm. Davidson. 
 I was then about five years old, now seventy-three. 
 
 Close upon the Birthday came another occasion of the 
 kind which we — in these later years — at once welcomed and 
 deplored. She enjoyed nothing so much as a 'function' and 
 nothing tired her so much. 
 
 On June 16, Brown University, her husband's alma mater 
 and her grandfather's, conferred upon her the degree of 
 Doctor of Laws. She went to Providence to receive it in 
 person, and thus describes the commencement exercises to 
 Mrs. Mitchell: — 
 
 'The ordeal of the Doctorate was rather trying, but was 
 made as easy as possible for me. The venerable old church 
 was well filled, and was quite beautiful. I sat in one of the 
 front pews — two learned people led me to the foot of the 
 
428 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 platform from which President Faunce, with some laudatory 
 remarks, handed me my diploma, while some third party 
 placed a picturesque hood upon my shoulders. The band 
 played the air of my "Battle Hymn," and applause followed 
 me as I went back to my seat. So there!' 
 
 She was asked for a Fourth of July message to the Sunday- 
 School children of the Congregational Church, and wrote: — 
 
 'I want them to build up character in themselves and in 
 the community, to give to the country just so many men and 
 women who will be incapable of meanness or dishonesty, 
 who will look upon life as a sacred trust, given to them for 
 honorable service to their fellow men and women. I would 
 have them feel that, whether rich or poor, they are bound to 
 be of use in their day and generation, and to be mindful of 
 the Scripture saying that "no man liveth unto himself." We 
 all have our part to do in keeping up the character and credit 
 of our country. For her sake we should study to become 
 good and useful citizens.' 
 
 In the summer of 1909 the Cretan question came up again. 
 Once more Turkey attempted to regain active possession of 
 Crete; once more the voice of Christendom was raised in 
 protest. She had no thought this time of being 'too old.' 
 Being called upon for help, she wrote at once to President 
 Taft, 'praying him to find some way to help the Cretans in 
 the terrible prospect of their being delivered over, bound 
 hand and foot, to Turkish misrule.' She was soon glad- 
 dened by a reply from the President, saying that he had 
 not considered the Cretans as he should, but promising to 
 send her letter to the Secretary of State. 'I thank God most 
 earnestly,' she writes, 'for even thus much. To-day, I feel 
 that I must write all pressing letters, as my time may be 
 short.' 
 
 Accordingly she composed an open letter on the Cretan 
 question. 'It is rather crude, but it is from my heart of 
 hearts. I had to write it.' 
 
 Late September brought an occasion to which she had 
 looked forward with mingled pleasure and dread: the cele- 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 429 
 
 bration of the Hudson-Fulton Centennial in New York. 
 She had been asked for a poem, and had taken great pains 
 with it, writing and re-writing it, hammering and polishing. 
 She thought it finished in July, yet two days before the cele- 
 bration she was still re-touching it. 
 
 'I have been much dissatisfied with my Fulton poem. Lying 
 down to rest this afternoon, instead of sleep, of which I felt 
 no need, I began to try for some new lines which should 
 waken it up a little, and think that I succeeded. I had brought 
 no manuscript paper, so had to scrawl my amendments on 
 Sanborn's old long envelope.' 
 
 Later in the day two more lines came to her, and again 
 two the day after. Finally, on the morning of the day itself, 
 on awakening, she cried out, — 
 
 'I have got my last verse!' 
 
 The occasion was a notable one. The stage of the Metro- 
 politan Opera House was filled with dignitaries, delegates 
 from other States, foreign diplomats in brilliant uniforms. 
 The only woman among them was the little figure in white, 
 to greet whom, as she came forward on her son's arm, the 
 whole great assembly rose and stood. They remained stand- 
 ing while she read her poem in clear unfaltering tones; the 
 applause that rang out showed that she had once more 
 touched the heart of the public. 
 
 This poem was printed in 'Collier's Weekly,' unfortunately 
 from a copy made before the 'last verse' was finished to her 
 mind. This distressed her. 'Let this be a lesson!' she said. 
 'Never print a poem or speech till it has been delivered; 
 always give the eleventh hour its chance!' 
 
 This eleventh hour brought a very special chance; a few 
 days before, the world had been electrified by the news of 
 Peary's discovery of the North Pole: it was the general voice 
 that cried through her lips, — 
 
 The Flag of Freedom crowns the Pole! 
 
430 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 To George H. Richards 1 
 
 Oak Glen, October 1, 1909. 
 Dear Uncle George, — 
 
 I got through all right, in spite of prospective views, of 
 fainting fits, apoplexy, what not? Trouble is now that I 
 cannot keep calling up some thousands of people, and say- 
 ing: 'Admire me, do. I wrote it all my little own self.' 
 Seriously, there is a little reaction from so much excite- 
 ment. But I hope to recover my senses in time. I improved 
 the last two stanzas much when I recited the poem. The last 
 line read 
 
 The Flag of Freedom crowns the Pole! 
 
 I tell you, I brought it out with a will, and they all [the 
 audience] made a great noise. . . . 
 
 In this autumn she was elected a member of the American 
 Academy of Arts and Letters, and in December she wrote 
 for its first meeting a poem called 'The Capitol.' She greatly 
 desired to read this poem before the association, and Maud, 
 albeit with many misgivings, agreed to take her on to Wash- 
 ington. This was not to be. On learning of her intention, 
 three officers of the association, William Dean Howells, 
 Robert Underwood Johnson, and Thomas Nelson Page, sent 
 her a 'round-robin' telegram, begging her not to run the risk 
 of the long winter journey. The kindly suggestion was not 
 altogether well taken. 'Ha!' she flashed out. 'They think 
 I am too old, but there's a little ginger left in the old blue 
 jar. 
 
 She soon realized the wisdom as well as the friendliness of 
 the round robin, and confided to the Journal that she had been 
 in two minds about it. 
 
 On Christmas Day she writes : — 
 
 'Thanks to God who gave us the blessed Christ. What a 
 birth was this! Two thousand years have only increased our 
 gratitude for it. How it has consecrated Babyhood and 
 
 'Her man of business and faithful friend. Though of her children's 
 generation, she had adopted him as an 'uncle.' 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 431 
 
 Maternity! Two infants, grown to man's estate, govern the 
 civilized world to-day, Christ and Moses. I am still thank- 
 ful to be here in the flesh, as they were once, and oh! that I 
 may never pass where they are not!' 
 
 The winter of 1909-10 was a severe one, and she was more 
 or less housed; yet the days were full and bright for her. 
 'Life,' she cried one day, 'is like a cup of tea ; all the sugar 
 is at the bottom!' and again, 'Oh! I must go so soon, and I am 
 only just ready to go to college!' 
 
 When it was too cold for her to go out, she took her walk 
 in the house, with the windows open, pacing resolutely up 
 and down her room and the room opposite. She sat long 
 hours at her desk, in patient toil. She was always picking 
 up dropped stitches, trying to keep every promise, answer 
 every note. 
 
 Through the winter she continued the study of economics 
 with some fifteen members of the New England Woman's 
 Club. She read Bergson too, and now and then 'got com- 
 pletely bogged' in him, finding no 'central point that led 
 anywhere.' 
 
 About this time she wrote : — 
 
 'Some Rules for Everyday Life 
 
 '1. Begin every day with a few minutes of retired medita- 
 tion, tending to prayer, in order to feel within yourself the 
 spiritual power which will enable you to answer the demands 
 of practical life. 
 
 '2. Cultivate systematic employment and learn to esti- 
 mate correctly the time required to accomplish whatever you 
 may undertake. 
 
 '3. Try to occupy both your mind and your muscles, 
 since each of these will help the other, and both deteriorate 
 without sufficient exercise. 
 
 '4. Remember that there is greata inherent selfishness in 
 human nature, and train yourself to consider adequately the 
 advantage and pleasure of others. 
 
 '5. Be thankful to be useful. 
 
 '6. Try to ascertain what are real uses, and to follow such 
 
432 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 maxims and methods as will stand the test of time, and not 
 fail with the passing away of a transient enthusiasm. 
 
 '7. Be neither over distant nor over familiar in your inter- 
 course; friendly rather than confidential; not courting re- 
 sponsibility, but not declining it when it of right belongs to 
 you. 
 
 '8. Be careful not to falsify true principles by a thought- 
 less and insufficient application of them. 
 
 '9. Though actions of high morality ensure in the end the 
 greatest success, yet view them in the light of obligation, not 
 in that of policy. 
 
 '10, Whatever your talents may be, consider yourself as 
 belonging to the average of humanity, since, even if superior 
 to many in some respects, you will be likely to fall below 
 them in others. 
 
 '11. Remember the Christian triad of virtues. Have faith 
 in principles, hope in God, charity with and for all mankind.' 
 
 A windy March found her 'rather miserably ailing.' Dr. 
 Langmaid came, and pronounced her lungs 'sound as a bass 
 drum'; nothing amiss save a throat irritated by wind and 
 dust. Thereupon she girded herself and buckled to her next 
 task, a poem for the centenary of James Freeman Clarke. 
 
 'I have despaired of a poem which people seem to expect 
 from me for the dear James Freeman's centennial. To-day 
 the rhymes suddenly flowed, but the thought is difficult to 
 convey — the reflection of heaven in his soul is what he gave, 
 and what he left us.' 
 
 'April 1. Very much tossed up and down about my 
 poem. . . .' 
 
 'April 2. Was able at last, D.G., to make the poem ex- 
 plain itself. Rosalind, my incorruptible critic, was satisfied 
 with it. I think and hope that all my trouble has been worth 
 while. I bestowed it most unwillingly, having had little 
 hope that I could make my figure of speech intelligible. I 
 am very thankful for this poem, cannot be thankful enough.' 
 
 This was her third tribute to the beloved Minister, and 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 433 
 
 is, perhaps, the best of the three. The thought which she 
 found so difficult of conveyance is thus expressed: — 
 
 Lifting from the Past its veil, 
 What of his does now avail? 
 Just a mirror in his hreast 
 That revealed a heavenly guest, 
 And the love that made us free 
 Of the same high company. 
 These he brought us, these he left, 
 When we were of him bereft. 
 
 She thus describes the occasion: — 
 
 'Coughed in the night, and at waking suffered much in 
 mind, fearing that a wild fit of coughing might make my read- 
 ing unacceptable and even ridiculous. Imagine my joy 
 when I found my voice clear and strong, and read the whole 
 poem [forty-four lines] without the slightest inclination to 
 cough. This really was the granting of my prayer, and my 
 first thought about it was, "What shall I render to the Lord 
 for all His goodness to me?" I thought, "I will interest 
 myself more efficiently in the great questions which concern 
 Life and Society at large." If I have "the word for the 
 moment," as some think, I will take more pains to speak it.' 
 
 A little later came a centenary which — alas! — she did not 
 enjoy. It was that of Margaret Fuller, and was held in 
 Cambridge. She was asked to attend it, and was assured 
 that she 'would not be expected to speak.' This kindly wish 
 to spare fatigue to a woman of ninety-one was the last thing 
 she desired. She could hardly believe that she would be 
 left out — she, who had known Margaret, had talked and 
 corresponded with her. 
 
 'They have not asked me to speak!' she said more than 
 once as the time drew near. 
 
 She was reassured; of course they would ask her when 
 they saw her! 
 
 'I have a poem on Margaret!' 
 
 'Take it with you! Of course you will be asked to say 
 
434 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 something, and then you will be all ready with your poem in 
 your pocket.' 
 
 Thus Maud, in all confidence. Indeed, if one of her own 
 had gone with her, the matter would have been easily 
 arranged; unfortunately, the companion was a friend who 
 could make no motion in the matter. She returned tired 
 and depressed. 'They did not ask me to speak,' she said, 
 'and I was the only person present who had known Margaret 
 and remembered her.' 
 
 For a little while this incident weighed on her. She felt 
 that she was 'out of the running' ; but a winning race was close 
 at hand. 
 
 The question of pure milk was before the Massachusetts 
 Legislature, and was being hotly argued. An urgent mes- 
 sage came by telephone; would Mrs. Howe say a word for 
 the good cause? Maud went to her room, and found her at 
 her desk, the morning's campaign already begun. 
 
 'There is to be a hearing at the State House on the milk 
 question; they want you dreadfully to speak. What do you 
 say?' 
 
 'Give me half an hour!' she said. 
 
 Before the half -hour was over she had sketched out her 
 speech and dressed herself in her best flowered silk cloak 
 and her new lilac hood, a birthday gift from a poor seam- 
 stress. Arrived at the State House, she sat patiently through 
 many speeches. Finally she was called on to speak; it was 
 noticed that no oath was required of her. As she rose and 
 came forward on her daughter's arm, — 'You may remain 
 seated, Mrs. Howe,' said the benevolent chairman. 
 
 'I prefer to stand!' was the reply. 
 
 She had left her notes behind; she did not need them. 
 Standing in the place where, year after year, she had stood 
 to ask for the full rights of citizenship, she made her last 
 thrilling appeal for justice. 
 
 'We have heard,' she said, 'a great deal about the farmers' 
 and the dealers' side of this case. We want the matter 
 settled on the ground of justice and mercy; it ought not to 
 take long to settle what is just to all parties. Justice to all! 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 435 
 
 Let us stand on that. There is one deeply interested party, 
 however, of whom we have heard nothing. He cannot speak 
 for himself; I am here to speak for him: the infant!' 
 
 The effect was electrical. In an instant the tired audience, 
 the dull or dogged or angry debaters, woke to a new interest, 
 a new spirit. No farmer so rough, no middle-man so keen, 
 no legislator so apathetic, but felt the thrill. In a silence 
 charged with deepest feeling all listened as to a prophetess, 
 as, step by step, she unfolded the case of the infant as against 
 farmers and dealers. 
 
 As Arthur Dehon Hill, counsel for the Pure Milk Associa- 
 tion, led her from the room, he said, 'Mrs. Howe, you have 
 saved the day!' 
 
 This incident was still in her mind on her ninety-first birth- 
 day, a few days later. 
 
 'My parlors are full of beautiful flowers and other gifts, 
 interpreted by notes expressive of much affection, and tele- 
 grams of the same sort. What dare I ask for more? Only 
 that I may do something in the future to deserve all this love 
 and gratitude. I have intended to deserve it all and more. 
 Yet, when in thought I review my life, I feel the waste and 
 loss of power thro' want of outlook. Like many another 
 young person, I did not know what my really available gifts 
 were. Perhaps the best was a feeling of what I may call "the 
 sense of the moment," which led a French friend to say of 
 me: "Mme. Howe possede le mot a un degre remarquable." 
 I was often praised for saying "just the right word," and 
 I usually did this with a strong feeling that it ought to be 
 said.' 
 
 Early in June, just as she was preparing for the summer 
 flitting, she had a bad fall, breaking a rib. This delayed 
 the move for a week, no more, the bone knitting easily. She 
 was soon happy among her green trees, her birds singing 
 around her. 
 
 Among the visitors of this summer none was more welcome 
 than her great-grandson, Christopher Birckhead, 1 then an 
 infant in arms. She loved to hold and watch the child, 
 
 1 Son of Caroline Minturn (Hall) and the Reverend Hugh Birckhead. 
 
436 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 brooding over him with grave tenderness: it was a beautiful 
 and gracious picture of Past and Future. 
 
 Maud had just written a book on Sicily, and, as always, 
 our mother read and corrected the galley proofs. She did 
 this with exquisite care and thoughtfulness, never making 
 her suggestions on the proof itself, but on a separate sheet of 
 paper, with the number of the galley, the phrase, and her 
 suggested emendations. This was her invariable custom: 
 the writer must be perfectly free to retain her own phrase, if 
 she preferred it. 
 
 Her favorite piece on the 'Victor' that summer was 'The 
 Artillerist's Oath.' The music had a gallant ring to it, and 
 there was something heroic about the whole thing, something 
 that suggested the Forlorn Hope — how many of them she had 
 led! When nine o'clock came, she would ask for this piece 
 by the nickname she had given it, taken from one of its odd 
 lines, — 
 
 'I'll wed thee in the battle's front!' 
 
 While the song was being given, she was all alert and alive, 
 even if she may have been sleepy earlier in the evening. 
 She would get up with a little gesture of courage, and take 
 leave of us, always with a certain ceremony, that was like the 
 withdrawing of royalty. The evening was then over, and we 
 too went to bed! 
 
 She would not look in the glass ; 'I don't like to see my old 
 face!' she said. She could not see the beauty that every one 
 else saw. Yet she kept to the very last a certain tender 
 coquetry. She loved her white dresses, and the flowered silk 
 cloak of that last summer. She chose with care the jewels 
 suited to each costume, the topaz cross for the white, the 
 amethysts for the lilac. She had a great dread of old people's 
 being untidy or unprepossessing in appearance, and never 
 grudged the moments spent in adjusting the right cap and 
 lace collars. 
 
 There was an almost unearthly light in her face, a trans- 
 parency and sweetness that spoke to others more plainly 
 than to us: Hugh Birckhead saw and recognized it as a look 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 437 
 
 he had seen in other faces of saintly age, as their translation 
 approached. But we said joyously to her and to each other, 
 'She will round out the century; we shall all keep the Hun- 
 dredth Birthday together!' And we and she partly believed 
 it. 
 
 The doctor had insisted strongly that she should keep, 
 through the summer at least, the trained nurse who had 
 ministered to her after her fall. She 'heard what he said, hut 
 it made no difference.' In early August she records 'a 
 passage at arms with Maud, in which I clearly announced 
 my intention of dispensing with the services of a trained 
 nurse, my good health and simple habits rendering it entirely 
 unnecessary.' 
 
 She threatened to write to her man of business. 
 
 7 would rather die,' she said, 'than be an old woman with 
 a nurse.' 
 
 Maud and Florence wept, argued, implored, but the nurse 
 was dismissed. The Journal acknowledges that 'her ministra- 
 tions and Dr. Cobb's diagnosis have been very beneficial to 
 my bodily health.' On the same day she records the visit of 
 a Persian Prince, who had come to this country chiefly to see 
 two persons, the President of the United States and Mrs. 
 Julia Ward Howe. 'He also claims to be a reincarnation of 
 some remarkable philosopher; and to be so greatly interested 
 in the cause of Peace that he declines to visit our ships now 
 in the harbor here, to which he has been invited.' 
 
 In late September, she was 'moved to write one or more 
 open letters on what religion really is, for some one of the 
 women's papers'; and the next day began upon 'What is 
 Religion?' or rather, 'What Sort of Religion makes Religious 
 Liberty possible?' 
 
 A day or two later, she was giving an 'offhand talk' on the 
 early recollections of Newport at the Papeterie, and going 
 to an afternoon tea at a musical house, where, after listen- 
 ing to Schumann Romances and Chopin waltzes, and to the 
 'Battle Hymn' on the 'cello, she was moved to give a perform- 
 ance of 'Flibbertigibbet.' This occasion reminded her hap- 
 pily of her father's house, of Henry 'playing tolerably on 
 
438 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 the 'cello, Marion studying the violin, Bro' Sam's lovely tenor 
 voice.' 
 
 Now came the early October days when she was to receive 
 the degree of Doctor of Laws from Smith College. She hesi- 
 tated about making the tiresome journey, but finally, 'Grudg- 
 ing the trouble and expense, I decided to go to Smith College, 
 for my degree, but think I won't do so any more.' 
 
 She started accordingly with daughter and maid, for 
 Northampton, Massachusetts. It was golden weather, and 
 she was in high spirits. Various college dignitaries met her 
 at the station; one of these had given up a suite of rooms 
 for her use ; she was soon established in much peace and com- 
 fort. 
 
 Wednesday, October 5, was a day of perfect autumn 
 beauty. She was early dressed in her white dress, with the 
 college gown of rich black silk over it, the 'mortar-board' 
 covering in like manner her white lace cap. Thus arrayed, a 
 wheeled chair conveyed her to the great hall, already packed 
 with visitors and graduates, as was the deep platform with 
 college officials and guests of honor. Opposite the platform, 
 as if hung in air, a curving gallery was filled with white-clad 
 girls, some two thousand of them; as she entered they rose 
 like a flock of doves, and with them the whole audience. 
 They rose once more when her name was called, last in the 
 list of those honored with degrees ; and as she came forward, 
 the organ pealed, and the great chorus of fresh young voices 
 broke out with 
 
 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord — ' 
 
 It was the last time. 
 
 Later in the day the students of Chapin House brought 
 their guest-book, begging for her autograph. She looked at 
 Laura with a twinkle. 
 
 'Do you think they would like me to write something?' 
 
 Assured on that point, she waited a moment, and then 
 wrote after her signature, — 
 
 Wandered to Smith College 
 In pursuit of knowledge; 
 
BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 439 
 
 Leaves so much the wiser, 
 Nothing can surprise her! 
 
 She reached home apparently without undue fatigue. 
 'She will be more tired to-morrow!' we said; but she was not. 
 Her son came for the week-end, and his presence was always 
 a cordial. Sunday was a happy day. In the evening we 
 gathered round the piano, she playing, son and daughters 
 singing the old German student songs brought by 'Uncle Sam' 
 from Heidelberg seventy years before. 
 
 On the Tuesday she went to the Papeterie, and was the 
 life and soul of the party, sparkling with merriment. Driv- 
 ing home, it was so warm that she begged to have the top of 
 the carriage put back, and so she enjoyed the crowning 
 pageant of the autumn, the full hunter's moon and the crim- 
 son ball of the sun both visible at once. 
 
 Wednesday found her busy at her desk, confessing to a 
 slight cold, but making nothing of it. The next day bron- 
 chitis developed, followed by pneumonia. For several days 
 the issue seemed doubtful, the strong constitution fighting 
 for life. Two devoted physicians were beside her, one the 
 friend of many years, the other a young assistant. The pres- 
 ence of the latter puzzled her, but his youth and strength 
 seemed tonic to her, and she would rest quietly with her hand 
 in his strong hand. 
 
 On Sunday evening the younger physician thought her 
 convalescent; the elder said, 'If she pulls through the next 
 twenty-four hours, she will recover.' 
 
 But she was too weary. That night they heard her say, 
 'God will help me!' and again, toward morning, 'I am so 
 tired!' 
 
 Being alone for a moment with Maud, she spoke one word: 
 a little word that had meant 'good-bye' between them in the 
 nursery days. 
 
 So, in the morning of Monday, October 17, her spirit 
 passed quietly on to God's keeping. 
 
 Those who were present at her funeral will not forget it. 
 The flower-decked church, the mourning multitude, the white 
 coffin borne high on the shoulders of eight stalwart grand- 
 
440 JULIA WARD HOWE 
 
 sons, the words of age-long wisdom and beauty gathered into 
 a parting tribute, the bugle sounding Taps, as she passed out 
 in her last earthly triumph, the blind children singing round 
 the grave on which the autumn sun shone with a final golden 
 greeting. 
 
 We have told the story of our mother's life, possibly at 
 too great length; but she herself told it in eight words. 
 
 'Tell me,' Maud asked her once, 'what is the ideal aim of 
 life?' 
 
 She paused a moment, and replied, dwelling thoughtfully 
 on each word, — 
 
 'To learn, to teach, to serve, to enjoy!' 
 
 THE END 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Abbott, J., 108, 109. 
 
 Abdin Palace, 227, 228. 
 
 Abdul Hamid II, 233. 
 
 Abdul Hassan, mosque of, 228. 
 
 Aberdeen, Countess of, 301, 302. 
 
 Aberdeen, J. C. H. Gordon, Earl of, 
 302. 
 
 Abolitionists, 87, 305. 
 
 Academy of Fine Arts, French, 221. 
 
 Acroceraunian Mountains, 141. 
 
 Acropolis, 233. 
 
 Adamowski, Timothee, 242. 
 
 Adams, Charles Follen, 361, 362, 398. 
 
 Adams, John, 4. 
 
 Adams, John Quincy, 385. 
 
 Adams, Nehemiah, 82. 
 
 Advertiser, Boston, 318, 331. 
 
 /Egina, 36. 
 
 ./Eschylus, 280, 368, 405, 418. 
 
 Agassiz, Alexander, 238. 
 
 Agassiz, Elizabeth Cary, 59, 186, 197, 
 336, 371, 374. 
 
 Agassiz, Louis, 59, 76, 186, 294, 298. 
 
 Aide, Hamilton, 350. 
 
 Airlie, Lady, 351. 
 
 Alabama, 269. 
 
 Albania, 141. 
 
 Albany, 185. 
 
 Albert Victor, 214. 
 
 Albinola, Sig., 47. 
 
 Alboni, Marietta, 45. 
 
 Alcott, A. Bronson, 148, 241, 274. 
 
 Aldrich, Mrs. Richard, 415. 
 
 Aldrich, T. B., 126, 136, 247, 408, 410. 
 
 Aldrich, Mrs. T. B., 126. 
 
 Alger, William R., 104, 126, 286. 
 
 Alma-Tadema, Lady, 303, 304. 
 
 Alma-Tadema, Laurence, 303, 304, 
 305. 
 
 Almy, Mr., 286. 
 
 Amadeo, 225. 
 
 Amelie, Queen, 225. 
 
 America, 128, 139, 141, 219, 220, 315. 
 
 American Academy of Arts and Let- 
 ters, 430. 
 
 American Academy of Science, 133. 
 
 American Branch, International Peace 
 Association, 161. 
 
 American Civil War, 91, 112-14, 350. 
 
 American Notes, 40. 
 
 American Woman Suffrage Associa- 
 tion, 200. 
 
 Ames, Mr., 302, 303. 
 
 Ames, Charles Gordon, 210, 313, 316, 
 328, 336, 362, 366, 371, 394, 411, 
 412. 
 
 Ames, Fanny, 376. 
 
 Amsterdam, 216. 
 
 Anacreon, 151. 
 
 Anagnos, Julia R., 48, 53, 56, 60, 79, 
 80, 83, 110, 128, 129, 137-39, 156, 
 190, 191, 242, 248, 250, 251, 273, 
 274, 277-80, 301, 406. 
 
 Anagnos, Michael, 142, 150, 151, 156, 
 280, 335, 336, 374, 404, 405, 406. 
 
 Ancient and Honorable Artillery Com- 
 pany, 118. 
 
 Anderson, Hendrik, 342, 345, 347. 
 
 Anderson, Isabel, 338. 
 
 Anderson, Larz, 338. 
 
 Andrew, John A., 74, 76, 91, 93, 96, 
 118, 119, 122, 127, 135, 147, 206, 
 268, 358. 
 
 Andrew, Mrs. J. A., 91, 118. 
 
 Andrews, E. B., 313. 
 
 Anthony, Susan B., 402. 
 
 Antwerp, 144, 216, 306. 
 
 Apocrypha, 169. 
 
 Appleton, Fanny. See Longfellow. 
 
 Appleton, Maud, 242. 
 
 Appleton, T. G., 79, 260, 261. 
 
 Argos, 142, 143. 
 
 Argyll, ninth duke of, 138, 332. 
 
 Argyll, Elizabeth, Duchess of, 138. 
 
 Argyll, G. D. Campbell, Duke of, 138. 
 
 Aristophanes, 175, 264, 279, 280. 
 
 Aristotle, 179, 213, 304, 306, 405, 418. 
 
 Armenia, 314, 316, 325. 
 
 Armenia, Friends of, 315. 
 
 Armstrong, S. C, 260. 
 
 Arnold, Matthew, 258. 
 
 Ascension Church, 34. 
 
 Assiout, 228. 
 
 Association for the Advancement of 
 Women, 197, 202, 203, 206, 224, 241, 
 250, 256, 260, 262, 263, 264, 281, 
 287, 295, 300, 310, 320, 325, 360. 
 
 Astor, Emily. See Ward. 
 
 Astor, William B., 27, 50. 
 
 Athens, 142, 144, 150, 233. 
 
 Athens Museum, 233. 
 
 Atherstone, 49, 146. 
 
 Atlanta, 325. 
 
 Atlantic Monthly, 87, 92, 376. 
 
444 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Austria, 47. 
 
 Authors' Club, Boston, 361, 362, 389, 
 
 397-99, 401, 408, 410. 
 Avignon, 48. 
 
 Bacon, Gorham, 236. 
 
 Baddeley, Mr., 346. 
 
 Baez, Buenaventura, 172, 174, 175, 
 
 179. 
 Bailey, Jacob, 15, 25. 
 Bairam, feast of, 227. 
 Baltimore, 402. 
 Balzac, HonorS de, 32. 
 Bancroft, George, 105, 118, 286. 
 Bank of Commerce, 7. 
 Bank of England, 29. 
 Banks, N. P., 83. 
 Barnardo, T. J., 302. 
 Barnstable, 118, 119. 
 Barrows, Mrs. S. J., 325, 336. 
 Bartenders' Union, 209. 
 Bartol, C. A., 113, 114, 126, 187, 278. 
 Barton, Clara, 326. 
 Batcheller, Mrs. Alfred, 360. 
 Batcheller, Mrs. Frank, 374. 
 Battle Hymn, 5, 92-94, 118, 120, 269, 
 
 277, 284, 297, 338, 349, 358, 363, 
 
 365, 393, 405, 407, 409, 428, 437, 
 
 438. 
 Baur, F. C, 175, 177, 178, 179, 195. 
 Beach, H. P., 250, 260. 
 Beal, J. A., 390. 
 Bedford, Duchess of, 305. 
 Bedford Hills, 413. 
 Beecher, Catherine, 54. 
 Beecher, H. W., 116, 200, 276, 340. 
 Beethoven, L. van, 219, 297, 407. 
 Belgium, 144-46, 306. 
 Bell, Helen, 294. 
 Bellows, H. W., 240. 
 Berdan, Mrs., 335. 
 Bergson, Henri, 431. 
 Berlin, 47. 
 
 Bernhardt, Sarah, 335. 
 Besant, Walter, 305. 
 Bethany, 231. 
 Bethlehem, 229. 
 Bible, 21, 130, 164, 172, 180, 184, 186, 
 
 187, 208, 262, 306, 337. 
 Bigelow, Mary, 71. 
 Bigelow, Susan, 72. 
 Birckhead, Caroline, 339. 
 Birckhead, Christopher, 435. 
 Birckhead, Hugh, 435, 436. 
 Bird, F. W., Sr., 313. 
 Bishop, Bev. Mr., 124. 
 Bisland, Elizabeth, 269. 
 
 Bismarck, Otto von, 219. 
 
 Bjornson, Bjonostjerne, 345. 
 
 Black, William, 214. 
 
 Blackstone, William, 36. 
 
 Blackwell, Alice, 315, 339, 391. 
 
 Blackwell, Antoinette, 203, 295, 296. 
 
 Blackwell, Henry, 177, 315. 
 
 Blair, Montgomery, 122. 
 
 Blanc, Louis, 222. 
 
 Blind, work for the, 36, 404. See also 
 
 Perkins Institution and Kinder- 
 garten. 
 Bloomsbury, 211, 213. 
 Boatswain's Whistle, 106, 107. 
 Boer War, 362. 
 Bologna, 223. 
 Bonaparte, Joseph, 73. 
 Bond Street, 8, 9, 15, 16. 
 Bonheur, Bosa, 220. 
 Boocock, Mr., 19, 20. 
 Booth, Charles, 302. 
 Booth, Edwin, 84, 87, 101-03, 112, 
 
 247, 248, 263, 311, 319. 
 Booth, J. Wilkes, 113. 
 Boston, 32, 34, 37, 38, 51, 52, 54, 59- 
 
 63, 78, 104, 129, 135, 154, 243, 258, 
 
 310, 412. 
 Boston Armenian Belief Committee, 
 
 314. 
 Boston Conservatory of Music, 310, 
 
 329. 
 Boston Museum, 298. 
 Boston Theatre, 101, 106, 190, 326. 
 Bostwick, Mr., 333. 
 Bourbon dynasty, 163. 
 Bowditch, H. I., 313. 
 Bowles, Ada C, 169, 209. 
 Boy's Beform School, 120. 
 Bracebridge, C. N., 49, 146. 
 Bracebridge, Mrs. C. N., 49, 146. 
 Brahms, Johannes, 249, 297, 325. 
 Brain Club, 100, 101, 109, 132, 137. 
 Brattleboro, 57. 
 Breadwinners' College, 279. 
 Breschkovskaya, Catherine, 313. 
 Bridgman, Laura, 36, 37, 46, 48, 63, 
 
 291,356,375. 
 Bright, Jacob, 167. 
 Broadwood, Louisa, 352. 
 Brooke, Lord, 302. 
 Brooklyn, 10, 322. 
 Brooks, C. T., 131, 240. 
 Brooks, Phillips, 252, 278, 287, 300, 
 
 305, 309. 
 Brooks, Preston, 82. 
 Brown, Anna, 241. 
 Brown, John, 76, 87, 91, 206. 
 
INDEX 
 
 445 
 
 Brown, Mrs. John, 87. 
 
 Brown, Olympia, 209. 
 
 Brown University, 4, 35, 156, 427. 
 
 Browning, E. B., 100, 303. 
 
 Browning, Robert, 256, 305, 335, 381, 
 
 414. 
 Bruce, Mr., 303. 
 Bruce, Mrs. E. M., 209. 
 Bruges, 146. 
 Brummel, Beau, 168. 
 Brussels, 144. 
 
 Bryant, W. C, 105, 161, 319. 
 Bryce, James, 303. 
 Buck, Florence, 209. 
 Buffalo, 203, 260, 286. 
 Buller, Charles, 40. 
 Bullock, A. H., 128. 
 Bulwer-Lytton, E., 136, 324. 
 Burns, Robert, 68. 
 Burr, Mrs., 281. 
 Butcher, S. H., 391. 
 Butler, Josephine, 221. 
 Butler, William Allen, 347, 381. 
 Butterworth, Hezekiah, 336, 361. 
 Byron, George Gordon, Lord, 33. 
 
 Cable, G. W., 258. 
 
 Cabot, Elliot, 412. 
 
 Caine, Hall, 345, 348, 349. 
 
 Cairo, 227, 228. 
 
 California, 281, 283-85, 296. 
 
 Calypso, 141. 
 
 Cambridge Club, 245. 
 
 Campagna, 47, 64. 
 
 Campanari, Sig., 361. 
 
 Campello, Count Salome di, 363, 370, 
 
 379. 
 Cardini, Sig., 19. 
 Carignan, Prince de, 225. 
 Carlisle, Lady, 43, 44, 302. 
 Carlisle, G. W. F. Howard, Earl of, 40, 
 
 43 45. 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 42, 44, 83, 245, 257. 
 Casino Theatre, 246, 253. 
 Catlin, Mrs., 309. 
 Century Club, 133. 
 Cerito, 45. 
 Ceuta, 339. 
 
 Chabreuil, Vicomte de, 132. 
 Chambrun, Marquis de, 122. 
 Chamounix, 220. 
 Chanler, Alida, 333. 
 Chanler, Margaret. See Aldrich, Mrs. 
 
 Richard. 
 Chanler, Margaret Terry, 243, 306, 
 
 322, 333, 342, 344, 351, 352, 379. 
 Chanler, T. W., 380. 
 
 Chanler, Winthrop, 249, 261, 306, 333, 
 
 344. 
 Charming, W. E., 33, 35, 240, 252, 269, 
 
 288. 
 Channing, W. H., 240, 317. 
 Channing Memorial Church, 253. 
 Chapman, Elizabeth, 372, 412. 
 Chapman, J. J., 412. 
 Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary, 62. 
 Charity Club, 335. 
 Chase, Jacob, 241. 
 Chase, Mrs. Jacob, 241. 
 Chatelet, Mme. du, 221. 
 Cheney, E. D., 258, 295, 318, 358, 379, 
 
 393, 394. 
 Chester, 211, 301. 
 
 Chicago, 258, 281, 285, 309, 310, 311. 
 Chopin, Frederic, 304, 407. 
 Christian Herald, 365. 
 Church of Rome, 343, 344. 
 Church of the Disciples, 91, 121, 147, 
 
 210, 240. 
 City Point, 251. 
 Clarke, Bishop, 319. 
 Clarke, J. F., 87, 90, 91, 98, 107, 112, 
 
 121, 128, 132, 136, 198, 203, 210, 
 
 246, 248, 252, 285, 299, 339, 366, 
 
 432, 433. 
 Clarke, Mrs. J. F., 329. 
 Claudius, Matthias, 32, 33, 249. 
 Clay, Henry, 49. 
 Clemens, S. L., 238, 313, 401. 
 Clement, E. H., 389; verse by, 398. 
 Cleveland, 199, 286. 
 Cleveland, Henry, 37. 
 Cobb, Dr., 437. 
 Cobbe, Frances P., 167. 
 Cobden-Sanderson, Mr., 414. 
 Cobden-Sanderson, Mrs., 414. 
 Cochrane, Jessie, 343, 346, 348. 
 Coggeshall, Joseph, 130, 241. 
 Cogswell, J. G., 52, 90. 
 Collegio Romano, 352. 
 Collyer, Robert, 337, 352, 403. 
 Colonial Dames, 319. 
 Colorado, 201. 
 Columbia University, 335. 
 Columbian Exposition, 268, 269, 308- 
 
 11. 
 Columbus, Christopher, 172, 308, 317, 
 
 410. 
 Combe, George, 48. 
 Concord, Mass., 87, 247, 252, 279, 316. 
 Concord, N.H., 130. 
 Concord Prison, 350. 
 Concord School of Philosophy, 274, 
 
 275, 279. 
 
446 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Constantinople, 187, 228, 233. 
 
 Continental Congress, 3, 4. 
 
 Conway, M. D., 161, 162. 
 
 Cook's agency, 231. 
 
 Cookson, Mr., 304. 
 
 Copperheads, 123. 
 
 Coquelin, B. C, 371, 372. 
 
 Coquerel, Athanase, 387. 
 
 Corfu, 141. 
 
 Cotta, J. F., 101. 
 
 Council of Italian Women, 351, 352. 
 
 Cram, R. A., 297. 
 
 Cramer, J. B., 19. 
 
 Crawford, Annie. See Rabe. 
 
 Crawford, Eleanor, 426. 
 
 Crawford, F. Marion, 62, 130, 131, 
 
 136, 224, 226, 247, 248, 249, 254, 
 
 256, 412, 426. 
 Crawford, Louisa W., 14, 28, 34, 48, 
 
 62, 64. Letters to, 40, 42, 45, 55, 58, 
 
 59, 77. See also Terry, Louisa. 
 Crawford, Thomas, 18, 48, 55. 
 Crete, 135, 136, 137, 142-44, 149, 233, 
 
 234, 334, 428. 
 Crimea, 154. 
 Crimean War, 315. 
 Critic, N.Y., 246. 
 Crothers, S. McC, 389. 
 Crusaders, 217. 
 Cuba, 85, 87. 
 Cuckson, Mr., 323. 
 Curiel, Sefior, 172. 
 
 Curtis, G. W., 70, 79. Letter of, 292. 
 Cushing, Mr., 251, 252. 
 Cushing, Louisa, 335. 
 Cushman, Charlotte, 102. 
 Cutler, B. C, Sr., 5, 7, 9. 
 Cutler, B. C, 2d, 10, 11, 16, 17, 332. 
 Cutler, Eliza. See Francis. 
 Cutler, John, 5. 
 Cutler, Julia. See Ward. 
 Cutler, Louisa. See McAllister. 
 Cutler, Sarah M. H., 5, 7, 17, 18. 
 Cyclades, 141. 
 Cyprus, 233. 
 Czerwinsk, 216, 217. 
 
 Dana, R. H., Jr., 116. 
 D'Annunzio, 370. 
 
 Dante Alighieri, 85, 176, 223, 274, 410. 
 Dantzig, 217, 219. 
 
 Daughters of the American Revolu- 
 tion, 309, 316, 317, 407. 
 Davenport, E. L., 102. 
 Davidson, Thomas, 279. 
 Davidson, William, letter of, 427. 
 Davis, James C, 100. 
 
 Davis, Jefferson, 114. 
 
 Davis, Mary F., 161. 
 
 Dead Sea, 230. 
 
 Declaration of Independence, 4. 
 
 DeKoven, Reginald, 317. 
 
 Deland, Lorin, 396. 
 
 Deland, Margaret, 379, 396. 
 
 DeLong, G. W., 171, 173. 
 
 Demesmaker. See Cutler, John. 
 
 Denver, 295, 296. 
 
 Desgrange, Mme., 343. 
 
 Detroit, 288. 
 
 Devonshire, Duchess of, 214. 
 
 Devonshire, William Cavendish, Duke 
 
 of, 214. 
 De Wars, Mr., 333. 
 Diaz, Abby Morton, 390. 
 Dickens, Catherine, 43. 
 Dickens, Charles, 34, 35, 40, 41, 42, 
 
 44 149. 
 Diman, Mr., 380. 
 Dirschau, 217. 
 Dix, Dorothea, 36. 
 Dole, N. H., 362. 
 Donald, Dr., 320, 323. 
 Doolittle, Senator, 123. 
 Dorr, Mary W., 37, 108. 
 Draper, Governor, 350, 351. 
 Dresel, Otto, 127, 420. 
 Dublin, 45. 
 Dubois, Prof., 356. 
 Du Maurier, George, 342. 
 Dunbar, P. L., 356. 
 Dunbar, Mrs. P. L., 356. 
 Dunkirk, 275. 
 
 Dwight, J. S., 280, 294, 297. 
 Dwight, Mary, 251. 
 
 Eames, Mrs., 122, 127. 
 
 Eastburn, Manton, 34. 
 
 Eddy, Sarah J., 278. 
 
 Edgeworth, Maria, 46. 
 
 Edgeworthtown, 45. 
 
 Edward VII, 214. 
 
 Eels, Mr., 356. 
 
 Egypt, 227-29. 
 
 Eliot, Charles W., 409. 
 
 Eliot, Samuel, 260, 278, 317, 371. 
 
 Eliot, Mrs. Samuel, 317. 
 
 Eliot, S. A., 358, 363, 377. 
 
 Elliott, John, 277, 301, 339, 342, 343, 
 353, 371, 376, 377, 380, 384. 
 
 Elliott, Maud Howe, 55, 72, 81, 103, 
 111, 112, 116, 169, 171, 175, 177, 
 179, 183, 184, 185, 188, 192, 211, 
 213, 214, 224, 226, 228, 234, 241, 
 246, 247, 248, 250, 256, 260, 262, 
 
INDEX 
 
 447 
 
 264, 265, 273, 274, 276, 277, 281, 
 291, 298, 301, 304, 324, 339, 342. 
 Letters to, 282, 285, 316, 317, 318, 
 319, 320, 322, 329, 333, 334, 335, 
 337. 
 
 Elmira Reformatory, 269. 
 
 Elssler, Fanny, 45. 
 
 Elsteth, 190, 241. 
 
 Embley, 49. 
 
 Emerson, Edward, 422. 
 
 Emerson, R. W., 34, 35, 45, 68, 85, 87, 
 105, 215, 237, 240, 252, 253, 274, 
 349, 380, 412. Letter of, 68. 
 
 England, 165, 214, 215, 220, 301. 
 
 Evangelides, Christy, 19, 141. 
 
 Evans, Lawrence, 391. 
 
 Everett, Edward, 44, 82, 106, 107, 388. 
 
 Fairchild, Sarah, 297. 
 
 Faneuil Hall, 259. 
 
 Fano, 141. 
 
 Farinata, 85. 
 
 Farman, Mr., 228. 
 
 Fast Day, abolition of, 316. 
 
 Faucit, Helen, 45. 
 
 Fellows, Sir Charles, 43. 
 
 Felton, Cornelius, 37, 234. 
 
 Felton, Mrs. Cornelius, 59, 234, 336. 
 
 Felu, Charles, 145, 306. 
 
 Female Poets of America, 7. 
 
 Fenn, Mr., 310. 
 
 Fern, Fanny, 236. 
 
 Ferney, 221. 
 
 Ferrette, Bishop, 192. 
 
 Fessenden, W. P., 123. 
 
 Fichte, J. G., 97, 129, 130, 131, 132, 
 
 133, 136, 149, 157. 
 Field, Mrs. D. D., 64. 
 Field, Kate, 236. 
 Fields, Annie, 313, 336, 377, 387, 403, 
 
 422. 
 Fields, J. T., 66, 70, 136. 
 Fiske, John, 187. 
 Fitch, Mr., 421. 
 Fitch, Clyde, 408. 
 Five of Clubs, 37, 54, 251. 
 Flibbertigibbet, 290, 415. 
 Florence, 86. 
 Flynt, Baker, 337. 
 Forbes, John, 366. 
 Forbes, John M., 270. 
 Foresti, Felice, 47, 52. 
 forum, 311. 
 Foster, L. S., 128. 
 Foulke, William Dudley ,[200, 314. 
 Fowler, 0. S., 49, 50. 
 Fox, Charles, 358. 
 
 France, 159, 163, 164, 220, 222, 227. 
 Francis, Eliza C, 9, 10, 12, 18, 75. 
 Francis, J. W., 10, 15, 18, 75, 349. 
 Francis, V. M., 412. 
 Franco-Prussian War, 159, 216, 220. 
 Free Religious Club. See Radica 
 
 Club. 
 Freeman, Edward, 48, 64. 
 Freeman, Mrs. Edward, 48, 64. 
 Fries, Wulf, 71. 
 
 From the Oak to the Olive, 138, 140. 
 Frothingham, Octavius, 161. 
 Froude, J. A., 257. 
 Fuller, Margaret, 33, 35, 45, 187,' 252, 
 
 257, 288, 433, 434. 
 Furness, W. H., 161. 
 
 Gainsborough, Lady, 212. 
 
 Galveston, 365. 
 
 Garcia method, 19. 
 
 Gardiner, 276, 400. 
 
 Gardiner, J. H., 359. 
 
 Gardner, Mrs. Jack, 248, 294. 
 
 Garfield, J. A., 247. 
 
 Garibaldi, Giuseppe, 34. 
 
 Garrett, Thomas, 75. 
 
 Garrison, F. J., 330. 
 
 Garrison, W. L., 123, 187, 198, 234, 
 
 269, 313, 315. 
 Gautier, SeSor, 172, 177. 
 Gay, Willard, 157. 
 GayarrS, Judge, 266. 
 Geddes, Pres., 410. 
 General Federation of Women's Clubs, 
 
 154, 155, 206, 317, 318, 325, 423. 
 Geneva, 144., 187, 220, 221, 222. 
 Gennadius, John, 213. 
 George IV, 136. 
 George, Henry, 347. 
 Germany, 219. 
 Gethsemane, 232. 
 Gettysburg, 93. 
 Giachetti, Baron, 346. 
 Giachetti, Baroness, 346. 
 Gilbert, W. S., 214. 
 Gilder, R. W., 357, 408. 
 Gillow, Mgr., 267. 
 Gilmour, J. R., 130, 131. 
 Gladstone, Commander, 303. 
 Gladstone, W. E., 212, 213. 
 Gladstone, Mrs. W. E., 212. 
 Glover, Russell E., 26. 
 Godiva, 49, 306. 
 Godkin, Mr., 322. 
 Godwin, Parke, 319. 
 Goethe, J. W. von, 32, 33,1226. 
 Goldsmith, Mrs. Julian, 214. 
 
448 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Gonfalonieri, Count, 47. 
 
 Goodwin, W. W., 236. 
 
 Gordon, G. A., 323. 
 
 Goschen, Edward, 214. 
 
 Gosse, Mrs. Edmund, 303. 
 
 Graham, Isabella, 7. 
 
 Grand Army of the Republic, 284, 
 
 425. 
 Grant, Robert, 389; verse by, 398. 
 Grant, U. S., 108, 127, 171. 
 Granville, G. G. Leveson-Gower, Earl, 
 
 214. 
 Graves, Mary H., 208, 209, 273, 274, 
 
 312, 391, 425. 
 Gray, Thomas, 303. 
 Greece, 35, 36, 127, 128, 136, 137, 138, 
 
 141, 142, 144, 156, 199, 334. 
 Greek Revolution, 35, 57, 135. 
 Greeley, Isabel, 265. 
 Green, J. R., 214. 
 Green, Mrs. J. R., 378. 
 Green Peace, 54, 55, 60, 72-77, 96, 147, 
 
 183, 193, 195. 
 Green Peace, new, 413. 
 Greene, Nancy, 4, 5. 
 Greene, Nathanael, 4. 
 Greene, Gov. William, 4. 
 Greene, William B., 200. 
 Greenhalge, Frederick, 320. 
 Gregory XVI, 48. 
 Griggs, E. H., 376. 
 Grisi, Giulia, 44, 45, 167, 349, 407. 
 Griswold, Rufus, 7. 
 Groton, 244. 
 
 Guizot, F. P. G., 49, 141. 
 Gulesian, M. H., 315, 328. 
 Gurowski, Count, 133. 
 
 Hague, 215, 216. 
 
 Hahn, Dr., 141. 
 
 Hale, E. E., 154, 254, 294, 317, 360, 
 362, 377, 413. 
 
 Hall, Alice, 375. 
 
 Hall, Anne, 30. 
 
 Hall, Caroline. See Birckhead. 
 
 Hall, D. P., 136, 156, 375, 412, 415. 
 
 Hall, Eleanor, 424. 
 
 Hall, Florence Howe, 55, 56, 60, 73, 79, 
 97, 100, 110, 121, 136, 145, 156, 184, 
 185, 190, 235, 241, 247, 273, 274, 
 276, 277, 298, 317, 318, 324, 325, 
 331, 340, 375, 379, 387, 402, 420, 
 437. 
 
 Hall, H. M., 375, 391. 
 
 Hall, J. H., 264, 374. 
 
 Hall, S. P., 184, 185, 311. 
 
 Hallowell, Mrs. Richard, 359. 
 
 Hals, Franz, 215. 
 
 Hampstead, 304. 
 
 Handel, G. F., 407. 
 
 Handel and Haydn Society, 121. 
 
 Hapgood, Norman, 408. 
 
 Harland, Henry, 301, 305. 
 
 Harland, Mrs. Henry, 305. 
 
 Harrisburg, 208. 
 
 Hart, Mayor, 300. 
 
 Harte, Bret, 236. 
 
 Harvard, 121, 156, 249, 311, 400. 
 
 Harvard Medical School, 35. 
 
 Harvard Musical Concerts, 129. 
 
 Havana, 87. 
 
 Haven, Gilbert, 200. 
 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 40, 391. 
 
 Haydn, Joseph, 371. 
 
 Hayti, 176. 
 
 Hazeltine, Mrs., 347, 348. 
 
 Hedge, Frederick, 104, 121, 151, 187, 
 
 286, 340. 
 Hegel, G. W. F., 96, 97, 123. 
 Heidelberg, 307. 
 Helbig, Mme., 342, 348. 
 Hemenway, Mary, 316. 
 Henderson, L. J., 375, 377. 
 Henschel, Georg, 248, 249. 
 Heredity, influence of, 3, 6. 
 Herford, Brooke, 278, 304. 
 Herford, Mrs. Brooke, 301, 304. 
 Herkomer, Hubert, 302, 305. 
 Herlihy, Dan, 389, 390. 
 Herodotus, 228, 229. 
 Heron, Matilda, 70, 71. 
 Heywood, J. C, 345. 
 Heywood, Mrs. J. C, 345. 
 Higginson, T. W., 198, 199, 236, 237, 
 
 243, 254, 258, 313, 354, 361-63, 379, 
 
 389, 398-400, 404, 408-10, 414, 426. 
 Higher education of women, 197, 198, 
 
 220. 
 Hill, Arthur D., 435. 
 Hill, Thomas, 392. 
 Hillard, George, 35, 37, 76. 
 Hippolylus, 102. 
 Hoar, G. F., 270, 326, 374, 377. 
 Hodges, George, 389. 
 Hohenlohe, Cardinal, 343. 
 Holland, 215, 306. 
 Holland, J. G., 236. 
 Holmes, O. W., 68-70, 104-07, 136, 
 
 154, 246, 248, 254, 291, 292, 362, 
 
 427; verses by, 68-70. 
 Homans, Mrs. Charles, 408. 
 Home Rule, 211, 212, 302. 
 Homer, 212. 
 Hooper, Ellen, 288. 
 
INDEX 
 
 449 
 
 Hooper, Samuel, 122. 
 
 Hopedale, 350. 
 
 Horace, 420, 424. 
 
 Houghton, R. M. Milnes, Lord, 40, 42, 
 43, 214. 
 
 Howard, Charles, 138. 
 
 Howard, Lady Mary, 43. 
 
 Howard Athenaeum, 102. 
 
 Howe, Senator, 123. 
 
 Howe, Fannie, 157, 254, 258, 321, 335, 
 407. 
 
 Howe, Florence. See Hall. 
 
 Howe, H. M., 62, 121, 156, 157, 249, 
 254, 256, 258, 274, 294, 321, 322, 
 335, 339, 368, 400, 404, 406, 407, 
 439. 
 
 Howe, J. N., Sr., 199. 
 
 Howe, J. N., Jr., 133. 
 
 Howe, Julia R. See Anagnos. 
 
 Howe, Julia Ward, ancestry, 3-6; 
 birth, 7; childhood, 7-17; early 
 verse, 13, 14; girlhood, 18-28; 
 father's death, 29, 30; first published 
 writing, 31; brother Henry's death, 
 31; first philosophical studies, 32- 
 34; engagement and marriage, 35- 
 39; trip to Europe, 40-50; birth of 
 first child, 48; settles at South 
 Boston, 51-53; at Green Peace, 54; 
 birth of second daughter, 55; 
 brother Marion's death, 62; birth of 
 first son, 62; of third daughter, 63; 
 second trip to Europe, 63-65; publi- 
 cation of Passion Flowers, 66-70; of 
 Words for the Hour, 70; and of The 
 World's Own, 70, 71; edits paper for 
 her children ; 80; trip to Cuba, 85, 
 86; publication of A Trip lo Cuba, 
 87; birth and death of second son, 
 88, 89; writing of Battle Hymn, 91- 
 94; removal to Chestnut St., 96; 
 philosophical studies and essays, 96- 
 101, 104, 105, 108-12, 114, 116, 118, 
 121, 129, 130-33; writing of Hip- 
 polytus, 102; edits Boatswain's 
 Whistle, 106, 107; purchase of Boyl- 
 ston Place house, 118; publication of 
 Later Lyrics, 120, 121; death of 
 Uncle John, 124; edits Northern 
 Lights, 130, 131, 137; trip to Greece, 
 137-46; From the Oak to the Olive, 
 138; Radical Club, 148, 149; takes 
 up study of Greek, 150; club life, 
 152-55; removal to Mt. Vernon St., 
 and purchase of Oak Glen, 155; 
 marriage of three daughters, 156; 
 work for peace, 158-65, 169, 170, 
 
 186, 187, 214, 392, 393; trip to 
 London and Paris, 165-68; two 
 visits to Santo Domingo, 171-81; 
 return to Green Peace, 183; forms 
 Saturday Morning Club, 186; illness 
 and death of husband, 193-95; work 
 for suffrage, 196-201, 244, 259, 265, 
 278, 328, 390, 402; work for A.A.W., 
 202, 206, 234, 263, 295, 352; work 
 for woman ministry, 206-10; ex- 
 tended European tour, 211-27; 
 Egypt, 227-29; Palestine, 229-33; 
 Europe, 233, 234; return to Oak 
 Glen, 235; forms Town and Country 
 Club, 235-38; and the Papeterie, 
 238, 239; incurs permanent lame- 
 ness, 242; returns to Boston, 243; 
 publication of Modern Society, 243; 
 settles at 241 Beacon St., 248; 
 writes memoir of Maria Mitchell, 
 256; publication of Margaret Fuller, 
 257; death of brother Samuel, 261, 
 262; manages Woman's Department 
 at New Orleans Exposition, 265-71 ; 
 death of daughter Julia, 273, 274; 
 visit to California, 281-85; publica- 
 tion of song album, 290, 411; second 
 visit to California, 296; trip to 
 Europe, 301-08; attends Columbian 
 Exposition, 308-10; work for Rus- 
 sian Freedom, 313, 394; and for 
 Armenia, 314-16, 325, 326, 328-30, 
 391; death of sister Annie, 322; pub- 
 lication of Is Polite Society Polite? 
 326, 327; writing of Reminiscences, 
 330; work for Greece, 333-36; death 
 of sister Louisa, 340; winter in 
 Rome, 341-53; publication of From 
 Sunset Ridge, 354; and of Reminis- 
 cences, 354; work for prevention of 
 lynching, 358, 359; receives degree 
 from Tufts, 391; death of Michael 
 Anagnos, 404; of D. P. Hall, 412; 
 and of Marion Crawford, 426; re- 
 ceives degree from Brown, 427; de- 
 cline of health, 435-37; receives de- 
 gree from Smith, 438; illness and 
 death, 439. 
 
 Lectures and readings, 98, 99, 105, 
 111, 116, 118, 122, 123, 137, 147, 
 152, 185, 186, 190, 207, 239-41, 244, 
 245, 258, 259, 260, 265, 266, 275, 
 
 280, 282, 284, 319, 321, 336, 346, 
 347, 357, 363, 369, 371, 387, 425, 429. 
 
 Sermons, 166, 168, 175-78, 180, 
 208, 210, 239, 247, 253, 256, 279, 
 
 281, 285, 310, 412. 
 
4S0 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Religious views, 11, 14, 32-34, 52, 
 53, 90, 104, 129, 337, 338, 368. 
 Home life, 54, 72-77, 109-11, 155, 
 157, 188-90, 264, 290. Sense of rela- 
 tion to the public, 50, 96, 158, 159, 
 196. Linguistic ability, 13, 20, 21, 
 28, 170. Dramatic ability, 12, 226, 
 227, 246, 247, 253. Fondness for 
 study, 13, 20, 21, 32, 52, 60, 64, 78, 
 149, 150. Love for music, 19, 20, 114, 
 115, 121, 395; compositions, 74, 290, 
 291, 411. Love of fun, 71, 72, 417. 
 Patriotism, 91-95, 112-14. Fondness 
 for society, 23-25. 
 
 Grandchildren, 183, 184, 185, 246, 
 264, 279, 375, 408. 
 
 Journal extracts, 88, 98-100, 103- 
 06, 108-18, 120-52, 162-69, 174-82, 
 184-88, 190-94, 202, 203, 208, 211, 
 212, 215-35, 239-41, 243-48, 250- 
 53, 255, 258-61, 263-69, 273-75, 
 277-89, 291, 294-97, 299-312, 316, 
 317, 319-37, 339-56, 358-81, 384- 
 97, 399-415, 420-27, 429-33, 435. 
 
 Extracts from works of, 3, 18, 21, 
 40, 51, 53, 62, 66, 71, 80, 85, 86, 89- 
 91, 94, 95, 101, 107, 113, 139, 147, 
 153, 156, 159, 160, 170, 173, 183, 
 188-90, 195, 196, 201, 204-07, 219, 
 222, 226, 236, 237, 254, 271, 289, 
 301, 314, 315, 326, 327, 368, 399, 
 401, 404, 416, 422, 428, 431-33. 
 
 Letters of, 12, 34, 40, 42-46, 53-63, 
 
 66, 70, 77-84, 89, 97, 241, 242, 244- 
 48, 250, 253, 255-64, 271, 272, 276, 
 282, 285, 298, 316-26, 329, 331-39, 
 430. 
 
 Howe, Laura E. See Richards. 
 
 Howe, Maud. See Elliott. 
 
 Howe, S. G., 35^,3, 45-49, 51-62, 64, 
 
 67, 72-77, 79, 81, 82, 85, 87, 88, 89, 
 91, 96, 101, 103, 105, 111, 113, 114, 
 118, 125, 127-29, 131, 133, 135-38, 
 142, 144, 145, 147, 150, 167, 169, 
 171-73, 179-86, 192-96, 199, 203, 
 211, 212, 221, 233, 244, 251, 286, 
 291, 301, 307, 339, 360, 374, 392, 
 412. Letters and Journals of, 183. 
 
 Howe, S. G., Jr., 88, 89, 99, 104, 113, 
 
 120, 191, 319. 
 Howe Memorial Club, 410. 
 Howells, W. D., 126, 246, 430. 
 Hudson-Fulton Centennial, 429, 430. 
 Hughes, Thomas, 303. 
 Hugo, Victor, 222. 
 Hunt, Helen, 236. 
 Hunt, Louisa, 118, 127, 246,£247. 
 
 Hunt, Richard, 118. 
 Hurlburt, Mrs., 347, 349. 
 Hyacinthe, Pere, 258. 
 Hyrne, Dr. Thomas M., 5. 
 Hyrne, Sarah. See Cutler. 
 
 Ibsen, Henrik, 370. 
 
 Idaho, 201. 
 
 Iddings, Mrs., 349. 
 
 II Circolo Italiano, 370, 410. 
 
 Index Expurgatorius, 343. 
 
 India, English rule in, 256. 
 
 Indiana Place Church, 134. 
 
 Inglis, R. H, 40, 42, 44. 
 
 Innsbruck, 144. 
 
 Institute of France, 221. 
 
 Intemperate Women, Home for, 253, 
 
 279. 
 International Council of Women, 351, 
 
 352. 
 Iowa, 272. 
 
 Ireland, 45, 46, 211, 302, 389. 
 Irving, Henry, 212. 
 Irwin, Agnes, 227, 379. 
 Ismail Pasha, 228. 
 Italy, 47, 86, 224, 226, 234, 261, 340, 353. 
 
 Jackson, Edward, 343. 
 
 Jaffa, 232. 
 
 James, Henry, 131. 
 
 James, William, 338, 386. 
 
 Jeannette, 171. 
 
 Jefferson, Joseph, 263. 
 
 Jeffries, John, 339. 
 
 Jericho, 230, 231. 
 
 Jerome, J. K., 305. 
 
 Jerusalem, 229, 231, 232. 
 
 Jeter, Mrs., 405. 
 
 Jewett, Mary R., 387, 388, 409. 
 
 Jewett, Sarah Orne, 377, 387, 388, 
 
 409, 410. 
 Jews, 131, 164. 
 Jocelyn, Mr., 410. 
 Johnson, Andrew, 122, 123, 127. 
 Johnson, Reverdy, 123. 
 Johnson, Robert U., 430. 
 Jones, J. L., 308, 311. 
 Jones, Lief, 302. 
 Jordan River, 230, 231. 
 Jouett, Admiral, 267, 268. 
 
 Kalopothakis, Mr., 233. 
 Kane, Capt., 267. 
 Kansas, 82, 205, 206, 392. 
 Kansas City, 276. 
 
 Kant, Immanuel, 96, 108, 110, 111, 
 114, 116, 123, 124, 129,1131,|219. 
 
INDEX 
 
 451 
 
 Keller, Helen, 356. 
 
 Kenmare, Lady, 350, 351. 
 
 Keninare, Lord, 302. 
 
 Kennan, George, 313. 
 
 Kensett, J. F., 79. 
 
 Kentucky, 276. 
 
 Kenyon, John, 43. 
 
 Kindergarten for the Blind, 278, 385, 
 
 386. 
 King, Charles, 29, 214. 
 King, Grace, 269. 
 Kipling, Rudyard, 380. 
 Kneisel, Herr, 415. 
 Knowles, James, 214. 
 Kossuth, Louis, 76. 
 Kossuth, Mme., 81. 
 Kreisler, Fritz, 377. 
 
 Lablache, Luigi, 44, 167. 
 
 Ladenberg, Emily, 379. 
 
 La Farge, John, 238. 
 
 Lafayette, Marquis de, 47. 
 
 Lanciani, Prof., 346. 
 
 Landseer, Edwin, 44. 
 
 Lane, Prof., 236. 
 
 Langmaid, Dr., 432. 
 
 Langtry, Lily, 214. 
 
 Lansdowne, Marchioness of, 44. 
 
 Lansdowne, Henry Petty-Fitzmaurice, 
 
 Marquis of, 44. 
 Later Lyrics, 120, 121. 147, 243, 317. 
 Lawrence, Bishop, 356, 406. 
 Lawrence, Sarah E., 149. 
 Lawton's Valley, 76, 96, 115, 116, 128, 
 
 130, 155. 
 Lee, Mrs., 321. 
 Lee, Harry, 338. 
 Lee, R. E., 108, 112, 409. 
 Lefranc, Abel, 419. 
 Leigh Smith, Miss, 342, 350, 351. 
 Leland, C. G., 238. 
 Leo XIII, 343, 344. 
 Leoni, Sig., 376. 
 Lesnian, 216, 217. 
 Lexington, 133, 316. 
 Libby Prison, 92, 93. 
 Lieber, Francis, 123. 
 Lincoln, Abraham, 93, 96, 107, 113, 
 
 116, 269, 383, 425. 
 Lincoln, R. T., 303. 
 Listener, 80. 
 Liszt, Franz, 140. 
 Livermore, Mary A., 277, 336. 
 Livy, 101, 116, 117. 
 Locke, W. J., 425. 
 Lodge, H. C, 380. 
 Lodge, Mrs. H. C, 380. 
 
 Loisy, AbbS, 392. 
 
 London, 40, 138, 165, 211, 301, 302. 
 Long, J. D., 318, 379, 408. 
 Longfellow, Fanny, 35, 79. 
 Longfellow, H. W., 35, 37, 67, 70, 79, 
 
 136, 205, 244, 251, 277, 303, 318, 
 
 380, 409. 
 Longy, M., 395. 
 
 Lome. See Argyll, ninth duke of. 
 Loud, J. M., 411. 
 Loudon, John, 345. 
 Love, Alfred, 161. 
 Lowell, J. R., 78, 106, 136, 244, 305, 
 
 313. Letter of, 293. 
 Loyson, M., 348. 
 
 McAllister, Julia, 227. 
 
 McAllister, Louisa, 18, 118. 
 
 McAllister, M. H., 18. 
 
 McAlvin, Miss, 317. 
 
 McCabe, C. C., 92, 93. 
 
 McCarthy, Frank, 243, 244. 
 
 McCarthy, Mrs. Justin, 212. 
 
 McCreary, Mrs., 349. 
 
 McDonald, Alexander, 81. 
 
 McGregor, Fanny, 100. 
 
 Machiavelli, Niccolo, 142. 
 
 McKaye, Baron, 133. 
 
 McKinley, William, 358, 373. 
 
 Macready, W. C, 45. 
 
 Maggi, Count Alberto, 131. 
 
 Mailliard, Adolphe, 57, 64, 331. 
 
 Mailliard, Annie, 8, 14, 15, 28, 40, 
 41-43, 64, 66, 70, 123, 124, 246, 261, 
 281, 283, 297, 322, 328, 340. Letters 
 to, 57, 58, 59, 61, 63, 79, 81, 87, 89. 
 
 Maine, Sir H. J. Sumner, 129. 
 
 Malibran, Mme. de (Maria Felicita 
 Garcia). 11, 361, 407. 
 
 Mallock, W. H., 214. 
 
 Mammoth Cave, 276. 
 
 Manatt, E., 374. 
 
 Manila, battle of, 352. 
 
 Mann, Horace, 36, 40, 42, 47, 58, 90. 
 
 Mann, Mary P., 40. 
 
 Manning, Cardinal, 302. 
 
 Mapleson, Col., 267. 
 
 Margherita, Queen, 225, 348. 
 
 Marie\ Peter, 322. 
 
 Marienburg, 217. 
 
 Mariette, A. E., 228. 
 
 Mario (Marchesa di Candia), 44, 45, 
 167, 349, 407. 
 
 Marion, Esther, 5. 
 
 Marion, Francis, 6, 407. 
 
 Marne, M., 174. 
 
 Marsaba, 230, 231. 
 
452 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Marseilles, 48. 
 
 Marshalsea, 42. 
 
 Martineau, James, 299, 300, 405. 
 
 Massachusetts Institute of Tech- 
 nology, 156, 254. 
 
 Massachusetts Legislature, 82, 200, 
 434. 
 
 Massachusetts Press Club, 354. 
 
 Massachusetts State Federation of 
 Women's Clubs, 154, 423. 
 
 Matsys, Quentin, 216. 
 
 May, Abby W., 149, 288. 
 
 Mayor des Planches, Count, 379. 
 
 Mechanics' Fair, 300. 
 
 Medal of Honor Legion, 365. 
 
 Mendota, 205. 
 
 Mer de Glace, 220. 
 
 Merritt, Anna Lea, 302. 
 
 Mexican Band, 267, 268. 
 
 Middletown, R.I., 4. 
 
 Milan, 47, 223. 
 
 Mill, J. S., 161. 
 
 Miller, Joaquin, 267. 
 
 Mills, Arthur, 301. 
 
 Milnes. See Houghton. 
 
 Milton, John, 221. 
 
 Minneapolis, 204, 258, 363. 
 
 Minnehaha, Falls of, 205. 
 
 Minnesota, 204, 205. 
 
 Minturn, Jonas, 9. 
 
 Mississippi River, 205. 
 
 Mitchell^ Maria, 185, 202, 256. 
 
 Mitchell, S. Weir, 238. 
 
 Mitchell, Thomas, 5. 
 
 Modern Society, 243. 
 
 Molloy, J. F., 305. 
 
 Moltke, Count Hellmuth von, 219. 
 
 Momery, Dr., 311. 
 
 Monroe, Harriet, 350. 
 
 Mont Isabel, 172. 
 
 Montagu, Basil, 40, 43. 
 
 Montagu, Mrs. Basil, 43. 
 
 Montreal, 17. 
 
 Moore, Prof., 296. 
 
 Moore, Rebecca, 304. 
 
 Moore, Thomas, 44. 
 
 Morpeth. See Carlisle, Earl of. 
 
 Morse, William, 269. 
 
 Mosby, John, 350, 351. 
 
 Mothers' Peace Day, 169, 170, 186 
 
 Mott, Lucretia, 148, 161, 269. 
 
 Moulton, Louise C, 300, 305, 362, 
 Verse by, 398. 
 
 Mounet-Sully, Jean, 317. 
 
 Mt. Auburn, 372, 375. 
 
 Mozart, W. A., 20, 407. 
 
 Mozumdar, 258. 
 
 Munich, 144. 
 
 Murray, Gilbert, 412. 
 
 Murray, Lady Mary, 412. 
 
 Music, power of, 20. 
 
 Musical Festivals, Boston, 114, 115, 
 
 116, 152. 
 Mycenae, 212, 233. 
 
 Naples, 48, 225. 
 
 Napoleon I, 144, 266. 
 
 Napoleon III, 159, 163, 164. 
 
 National American Woman Suffrage 
 Association, 200. 
 
 National Gallery, 166. 
 
 National Peace Society, 19. 
 
 National Sailors' Home, 106. 
 
 National Woman Suffrage Association, 
 199. 
 
 Nativity, Grotto of the, 230. 
 
 Nauplia, 142, 143. 
 
 Nebraska, 285. 
 
 Nelson, Horatio, Lord, 347. 
 
 Nelson, Jenny, 317. 
 
 New Bedford, 264, 265. 
 
 New England, 82, 254. 
 
 New England Woman's Club, 94, 152- 
 54, 161, 164, 192, 200, 239, 250, 265, 
 274, 280, 287, 294, 355, 357, 370, 
 378, 384, 431. 
 
 New England Woman Suffrage As- 
 sociation, 199. 
 
 New England Women's Press As- 
 sociation, 357. 
 
 New Gallery, 305. 
 
 New Orleans, 265, 269-71, 309, 325. 
 
 New Orleans Exposition, 258, 265- 
 71. 
 
 New York City, 8, 10, 17, 30, 51, 123, 
 125, 273. 
 
 New York University, 7. 
 
 Newport, 3, 16, 17, 25, 26, 30, 75, 79, 
 80, 99, 152, 155, 189, 235-40, 253, 
 279, 285, 286, 289, 291, 299, 308, 
 319. 
 
 Newport Historical Society, 253. 
 
 Nicholas II, 368. 
 
 Nightingale, Florence, 49, 55, 154, 
 314, 315, 342. 
 
 Nile, 228. 
 
 Nineteenth Century, 347. 
 
 Norman, Bradford, 423. 
 
 North American Review, 275. 
 
 North Church, 316. 
 
 Northampton, 133. 
 
 Northern Lights, 130, 131, 137. 
 
 Norton, Mrs., 41, 44. 
 
 Norton, Charles Eliot, 319. 
 
INDEX 
 
 453 
 
 Novell!, E., 410. 
 Novelli, Mme., 410. 
 
 Oak Glen, 155, 168, 183, 184, 188, 
 190, 235, 247, 249, 274, 299, 419, 
 420. 
 
 Oakland, 285. 
 
 Oakley, Mr., 296. 
 
 Oberlin, 197. 
 
 O'Connell, Dennis, 347, 349. 
 
 O'Connor, F. E., 212. 
 
 O'Connor, Mrs. T. P., 305. 
 
 Old South Church, 6, 317. 
 
 Olga, Queen, 233. 
 
 Olives, Mount of, 229, 231, 232. 
 
 Olympia, 282, 283. 
 
 Osny Effendi, 229. 
 
 O'Sullivan, John, 175, 389. 
 
 Ouida (Louise de la Ramee), 275. 
 
 Pacific 251. 
 
 Paderewski, Ignace, 305, 325, 342. 
 
 Page, Miss, 328. 
 
 Page, T. N., 430. 
 
 Palestine, 233, 390. 
 
 Paley's Moral Philosophy, 13. 
 
 Palfrey, J. G., 104. 
 
 Palmer, Alice Freeman, 313, 358. 
 
 Palmer, Courtland, 342. 
 
 Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 309, 310. 
 
 Panama Canal, 238. 
 
 Pansotti, Prof., 349. 
 
 Papeterie, 238, 239, 424, 437, 439. 
 
 Paris, France, 48, 56, 144, 159, 167, 
 
 221-23, 245. 
 Park St. Church, 19. 
 Parker, Theodore, 13, 45, 53, 70, 76, 
 
 83, 85, 86, 90, 104, 148, 228, 269, 
 
 296, 347, 412. 
 Parker, Mrs. Theodore, 85, 86. 
 Parker Fraternity, 111, 207, 279, 281. 
 Parkman, Francis, 204, 239. 
 Parliament of Religions, 311. 
 Parnell, C. S., 211, 212. 
 Parnell, Delia, 211. 
 Parnell, Fanny, 212. 
 Parthenon, 142. 
 Pascarello, Sig., 352. 
 Passion Flowers, 65, 66-70, 80. 
 Pater, Walter, 303. 
 Paul, Jean, 32. 
 Peabody, A. P., 106. 
 Peabody, F. G., 278. 
 Peabody, Lucia, 355. 
 Peabody, Mary. See Mann. 
 Peace, 158-65, 169, 170, 177, 186, 187, 
 
 214, 392, 393, 411. 
 
 Pearse, Mrs., 349. 
 
 Peary, R. E., 429. 
 
 Pecci. See Leo XIII. 
 
 Pekin, 365. 
 
 Pelosos, Ernest, 59. 
 
 Pennsylvania Peace Society, 170. 
 
 Perabo, Mr., 127, 284. 
 
 Pericles, 142. 
 
 Perkins, Mrs. C. C, 188. 
 
 Perkins, G. H., 374. 
 
 Perkins Institution for the Blind, 36, 
 
 37, 51-55, 81, 129, 142, 147, 193, 
 
 242, 250, 280, 295, 360, 374, 404, 
 
 410. 
 Perry, Bliss, 389. 
 Perrysburg, 275. 
 
 Persiani (Fanny Pacchinardi), 45. 
 Peter the Great, 348. 
 Philadelphia, 30, 169, 317, 318. 
 Philippines, 358. 
 Phillips, Wendell, 135, 198, 244, 256, 
 
 258, 259, 260, 269, 303. 
 Pierce, E. L., 313. 
 Piraus, 233, 234. 
 Pius IX, 224, 226, 343. 
 Plato, 213, 400, 426. 
 Plutarch, 184. 
 Poe, E. A., 10. 
 Pompeii, 144. 
 Ponte, Lorenzo da, 20. 
 Porter, F. A., 255. 
 Portland, Ore., 283. 
 Portsmouth, R.I., 76, 77. 
 Potomac, Army of the, 200. 
 Potter, H. C, 309. 
 Pourtales, Count, 59. 
 Powell, Samuel, 237. 
 Powers, Henry, 192. 
 Prime, Ward & King, 26, 29, 30, 
 
 214. 
 Prison Discipline Soceity, 61. 
 Prison reform, 61, 167, 168. 
 Providence, 275, 278, 319. 
 Prussia, 47, 220. 
 Puerto Plata, 172. 
 Pym, Bedford, 269. 
 
 Quaker denomination, 115, 200. 
 Quebec, 17. 
 
 Quincy, Josiah, 137, 413. 
 Quincy, Mrs. Josiah, 100. 
 
 Rabe, Annie von, 216, 217, 218. 
 Rabe, Eric von, 216, 217, 218. 
 Rabe, Oscar von, 219. 
 Rachel, Elisa, 49, 131. 
 
454 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Radical Club, 148, 149, 186, 372, 423. 
 
 Rainieri, Mr., 233. 
 
 Red Cross, 326. 
 
 Redpath, James, 208. 
 
 Redwood Library, 238. 
 
 Rembrandt (R. H. van Rijn), 216. 
 
 Reminiscences, 18, 20, 47, 90, 96, 106, 
 121, 148, 152, 153, 159, 175, 225, 
 226, 236, 274, 330, 341, 354. 
 
 Repplier, Agnes, 377, 378. 
 
 Representative Women, Congress of, 
 310. 
 
 Republican, Springfield, 318. 
 
 Reszke, Jean de, 361. 
 
 Revere, Paul, 316. 
 
 Rhine, 306. 
 
 Richards, Alice, 183, 301, 303, 307, 
 331. 
 
 Richards, Elizabeth, 375. 
 
 Richards, G. H., letter to, 430. 
 
 Richards, Henry, 156, 183. 
 
 Richards, Julia W., 246, 364, 374, 375, 
 377, 397. 
 
 Richards, Laura E., 63, 74, 80, 81, 
 110, 114, 118, 138, 156, 183, 241, 
 247, 274, 291, 301, 317, 400, 401, 
 411, 438. Letters to, 241, 242, 244- 
 46, 250, 255-57, 259, 263, 264, 271, 
 272, 276, 298, 319, 331, 332, 359. 
 
 Richards, Rosalind, 309, 393, 409, 
 432. 
 
 Richmond, 11, 108, 112. 
 
 Ridley, John, 167. 
 
 Ristori, Adelaide, 131, 226, 349. 
 
 Ritterschloss, Marienburg, 217. 
 
 Riverton, 170. 
 
 Robert College, 233. 
 
 Roberto, Father, 378, 400, 410. 
 
 Robeson, Mary, 371. 
 
 Robinson, Edwin A., 359. 
 
 Rodocanachi, Mr., 280. 
 
 Rogers, Samuel, 40, 42, 44. 
 
 Rogers, W. A., 99, 237. 
 
 Rogers, Mrs. W. A., 237. 
 
 Roman fever, 226. 
 
 Rome, 47, 48, 53, 64, 66, 77, 104, 130, 
 138-^0, 224, 236, 340-53. 
 
 Roosevelt, Theodore, 316, 380, 381, 
 391, 392. 
 
 Rose, Mme., 343. 
 
 Rosebery, A. P. Primrose, Earl of, 
 213. 
 
 Rosmini, Serbati, 307. 
 
 Rossetti, D. G., 342, 348. 
 
 Royal Geographic Society, 212, 213. 
 
 Rubens, P. P., 145, 216, 306. 
 
 Rubenstein, Anton, 187. 
 
 Russell, George, 288. 
 
 Russell, Sarah S., 288. 
 
 Russia, 104, 313, 329, 330. 
 
 Russian Freedom, Friends of, 313, 
 
 394. 
 Rutherford, Louis, 23. 
 
 Sabatier, Paul, 350. 
 
 Sacken, Baron Osten, 132. 
 
 St. Anthony, Falls of, 204. 
 
 St. Anthony of Padua, 364. 
 
 St. George, Knight of, 37. 
 
 St. Jerome, tomb of, 230. 
 
 St. Paul, 90, 115, 151, 298, 337. 
 
 St. Paul, Minn., 205, 363. 
 
 St. Paul's School, 130. 
 
 St. Peter's, 47, 140, 199, 343, 345, 
 
 346. 
 St. Petersburg, 348. 
 St. Stanislas, Order of, 368. 
 St. Thomas Aquinas, anecdote of, 
 
 347. 
 Salem, 16, 192, 321. 
 Salvini, Alessandro, 255, 256. 
 Salvini, Tomaso, 190, 191, 246. 
 Samana, 179-82, 192, 193. 
 Samana Bay Company, 171, 179-81. 
 San Francisco, 282, 283, 285. 
 San Geronimo, 283. 
 San Martino, Duke of, 349. 
 Sanborn, F. B., 252, 275, 279, 313, 
 
 318, 374, 396, 400, 415. 
 Sand, George, 32. 
 Sanford, Mrs., 351. 
 Sanitary Commission, 91, 94. 
 Santa Barbara, 284. 
 Santo Domingo, 171-82, 192, 208, 
 
 240. 
 Sarasate, Pablo, 302. 
 Saratoga, 253. 
 SatoUi, 345. 
 Saturday Morning Club, 185, 186, 
 
 192, 250, 297, 335. 
 Savage, M. J., 332. 
 Savage, W. F., 363. 
 Scala, Cane Grande della, 223. 
 Scala, Cane Signoria della, 223. 
 Schelling, Ernest, 415, 419. 
 Schelling, F. W. J. von, 96. 
 Scherb, Mr., 70. 
 Schiller, J. C. F. von, 220, 304. 
 Schlesinger, Sebastian, 305. 
 Schliemann, Heinrich, 212, 233. 
 Schliemann, Mrs., 212, 213, 234. 
 Schubert, Franz, 220, 249, 297. 
 Schwalbach, 306. 
 Sears, Mrs. M., 325. 
 
INDEX 
 
 455 
 
 Seattle, 282. 
 
 Seeley, J. R., 166, 167, 212. 
 
 Sembrich, Marcella, 361. 
 
 Severance, Caroline M., 152. 
 
 Seward, W. H., 127. 
 
 Sforza Cesarini, Duchess, 307. 
 
 Shakespeare, William, 356, 395. 
 
 Shedlock, Miss, 372. 
 
 Shelley, P. B., 33, 341. 
 
 Sherborn Prison, 299. 
 
 Sherman, John, 123. 
 
 Sherwood, Mrs. John, 250. 
 
 Siberia, 313. 
 
 Sicily, 436. 
 
 Sienkiewicz, Henryk, 380. 
 
 Silsbee, Mrs., 138. 
 
 Sioux, 205. 
 
 Sirani, Elisabetta, 223. 
 
 Sistine Chapel, 140. 
 
 Smalley, Mrs., 303. 
 
 Smiley, Albert, 392. 
 
 Smith, Amy, 3. 
 
 Smith, Mrs. E., 20. 
 
 Smith, Sydney, 40, 41. 
 
 Smith, Mrs. Sydney, 43. 
 
 Smith College, 197, 438. 
 
 Smyrna, 233. 
 
 Snyders, Franz, 73. 
 
 Socrates, 409. 
 
 Somerset, Lady Henry, 305, 321, 326. 
 
 Sonnenberg, 307. 
 
 Sophocles, 280, 297. 
 
 Sorosis Club, 202. 
 
 Sothern, E. A., 70. 
 
 South Berwick, 387, 388. 
 
 South Boston, 51, 58, 77, 78, 81, 
 
 273. 
 Spanish-American War, 352. 
 Speare, William, 234. 
 Spencer, Anna G., 411. 
 Speranza, Prof., 370. 
 Spielberg, 47. 
 Spinola, Contessa, 349. 
 Spinoza, Baruch, 13, 96, 99, 101, 
 
 104, 130. 
 Spokane, 282. 
 Stamp Act, 4. 
 Standigl, Herr, 44. 
 Stanley, Mgr., 343. 
 Stanley, A. P., 212. 
 Stedman, E. C, 94. 
 Stepniak, Sergius, 304. 
 Stevenson, R. L., 321. 
 Stillman, W. J., 342. 
 Stillman, Mrs. W. J., 342, 349, 351. 
 Stone, C. P., 227, 229. 
 Stone, Lucy, 198, 199. 
 
 Story, William W., 59. Letter of, 292, 
 
 293. 
 Stovin, Rev. Mr., 228. 
 Stowe, Harriet B., 161, 394. 
 Stuart, Gilbert, 93. 
 Sturgis, William, 288. 
 Stuyvesant, Peter, 34. 
 Stuyvesant Institute, 7. 
 Sue, Eugene, 64. 
 Suffrage, equal, 198-202, 244, 259, 278, 
 
 295, 302, 328, 390, 402. 
 Sullivan, Annie (Mrs. Macy), 356. 
 Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 214. 
 Sumner, Albert, 76. 
 Sumner, Charles, 35, 37, 38, 48, 56, 58, 
 
 61, 74, 76, 82, 103, 104, 116, 127, 
 
 147, 206, 269, 279. Letter of, 38. 
 Sumner, Mrs. Charles, 131, 147. 
 Sumner, George, 76. 
 Sutherland, Duchess of, 41, 43, 48. 
 Sutherland, Duke of, 44. 
 Swedenborg, Emanuel, 64. 
 Swinburne, A. C, 250. 
 Switzerland, 47, 144, 220. 
 Syra, 141. 
 
 Tacitus, 87, 114. 
 
 Tacoma, 282. 
 
 Taft, W. H., 316, 428. 
 
 Taglioni, Marie, 49. 
 
 Talbot, Emily, 149. 
 
 Talmud, 236. 
 
 Tappan, Caroline, 288. 
 
 Tasso, Torquato, 226. 
 
 Taverna, Contessa di, 351. 
 
 Taylor, Father, 35, 187. 
 
 Tebbets, Mrs., 335. 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 322, 335, 347. 
 
 Terry, Louisa, 139, 191, 216-18, 224, 
 
 227, 243, 246, 306, 307, 340, 341, 
 
 353. Letter to, 261. 
 Terry, Luther, 48, 246, 347, 352. 
 Terry, Margaret. See Chanler. 
 Tewfik Pasha, 228. 
 Thackeray, W. M., 381. 
 Thaxter, Celia, 320. 
 Thayer, Adele, 385. 
 Thayer, W. R., 404. 
 Thorndike, Mrs., 347. 
 Thucydides, 264. 
 Thynne, Lady Beatrice, 351. 
 Thynne, Lady Katherine, 351. 
 Ticknor, Anna, 403. 
 Ticknor & Fields, 66, 70. 
 Tilden, Mr., 187. 
 Tilden, Mrs., 297. 
 Times, London, 201. 
 
456 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Tiryns, 212. 
 
 Tiverton, 235, 247. 
 
 Todd, Prof., 376. 
 
 Todd, Mabel Loomis, 361, 376, 386. 
 
 Torlonia, Princess, 48. 
 
 Tormer, , 48. 
 
 Tosti, Sig., 410. 
 
 Touraine, 408. 
 
 Town and Country Club, 188, 236-39. 
 
 Toynbee, Arnold, 391. 
 
 Toynbee Hall, 302. 
 
 Transcendentalism, 35. 
 
 Trench, Mr., 347. 
 
 Trench, Chevenix, 347. 
 
 Tribune, Chicago, 214, 219. 
 
 Tribune, N.Y., 97, 129, 256. 
 
 Trinity Church, Boston, 289, 320. 
 
 Trip to Cuba, 85-87, 138. 
 
 Trollope, Frances M., 55. 
 
 Trowbridge, J. T., 362. 
 
 Trumbull, Senator, 123. 
 
 Tschaikowsky, Peter, 376. 
 
 Tuckerman, C. T., 128. 
 
 Tuesday Club, 409. 
 
 Tufts College, 111, 391. 
 
 Tumwater, 283. 
 
 Turin, 222, 223. 
 
 Turkey, 135, 428. 
 
 Tuskegee, 320. 
 
 Twelve o'Clock Talks, 268, 309. 
 
 Twisleton, Edward, 166, 212. 
 
 Twitehell, Joseph, 313. 
 
 Tybee, 171, 179. 
 
 Tyndall, William, 114, 117. 
 
 Umberto I, 225, 348. 
 Unitarian Association, 211. 
 Unitarian Women, Alliance of, 310. 
 Unitarianism, 90, 134, 208. 
 Universal Peace Union, 170. 
 Upson, Arthur, 404. 
 Utica, 186. 
 
 Val, Cardinal Merry del, 352. 
 Van Buren, Martin, 381. 
 Van Dyck, Anthony, 216. 
 Vassar College, 197, 216, 256. 
 Vaughan, Dr., 305. 
 Venice, 144, 223. 
 Ventura, 284. 
 Vermont, 57. 
 Verona, 144, 223. 
 Vibbert, G. H., 199. 
 Victor Emanuel I, 224, 225. 
 Victor Emanuel III, 225. 
 Victoria, Queen, 220, 279, 369. 
 Victoria, Empress (Frederick), 220. 
 
 Vienna, 47. 
 
 Villegas, Jose, 343, 345, 353. 
 
 Vincent Hospital, 298. 
 
 Vineyard Haven, 185. 
 
 Vinton, Mr., 371. 
 
 Viti de Marco, Marchesa de, 352. 
 
 Viti de Marco, Marchese de, 352. 
 
 Voshell, Lucy, 403. 
 
 Waddington, Mary K., 214. 
 
 Waddington, William, 214. 
 
 Wade, Benjamin, 171. 
 
 Wadsworth, William, 44. 
 
 Wagner, Richard, 297. 
 
 Walker, Francis, 294, 306, 334. 
 
 Wallack's Theatre, 70, 191. 
 
 Ward, name of, 4. 
 
 Ward, Anne, 9. 
 
 Ward, Annie. See Mailliard. 
 
 Ward, Emily A., 24, 27. 
 
 Ward, F. Marion, 12, 22, 23, 28, 62, 
 
 191, 269, 307, 438. 
 Ward, Henry, 28. 
 Ward, Henry, 12, 28, 29, 307. 
 Ward, Henry, 7, 9, 22, 28, 31, 37, 184, 
 
 300, 371, 437. 
 Ward, Herbert D., 361. 
 Ward, Mrs. Humphry, 301, 422. 
 Ward John 3 9. 
 Ward! John', 11,' 30-32, 124-26, 133, 
 
 191, 192. 
 Ward, Julia, 7. 
 
 Ward, Julia Rush, 7, 8, 11, 300. 
 Ward, Louisa. See Crawford and 
 
 Terry. 
 Ward, Mary. See Dorr. 
 Ward, May Alden, 361. 
 Ward, Gov. Richard, 3. 
 Ward, Richard, 125, 191. 
 Ward, Gov. Samuel, 3, 4, 253, 319. 
 Ward, Col. Samuel, 4, 9, 16, 17, 380, 
 
 389. 
 Ward, Samuel, 7-9, 11, 14, 15, 17-19, 
 
 21-25, 28-30, 33, 125, 141, 151, 191, 
 
 214, 218, 269, 349, 419. 
 Ward, Samuel, 7, 8, 9, 22, 24, 27-31, 
 
 38, 39, 71, 73, 76, 112, 125, 213, 243, 
 
 246, 249, 251, 253, 261, 278, 380, 
 
 416, 420, 438, 439. Letters to, 247, 
 
 248, 254, 255. 
 Ward, Thomas, 3. 
 Ward, W. G., 122, 125. 
 Ward, Mrs. W. G., 122. 
 Waring, George, 236. 
 Warner, C. D., 269, 319. 
 Warren, Mrs. Fiske, 371, 372. 
 Warren, William, 263. 
 
INDEX 
 
 457 
 
 Warwick, R.I., 4. 
 
 Washington, 282, 283. 
 
 Washington, D.C., 91, 93, 99, 103, 122, 
 
 123, 127, 133, 134, 200, 281. 
 Washington, Booker, 338, 356. 
 Washington, George, 4, 54, 93, 289. 
 Washington Heights, 54. 
 Wasson, Mr., 148. 
 Waters, Mrs., 309. 
 Watts, Theodore, 305. 
 Webster, Sydney, 380. 
 Weiss, John, 148. 
 Wells, Amos R., 420. 
 Wendte C. W. 253. 
 Wesselhoeft, William, Sr., 336, 344, 
 
 360, 364, 368, 396, 397. 
 Westminster Abbey, 212, 303, 305. 
 Wheeler, Joseph, 357. 
 Wheelwright, Mrs., 377. 
 Whipple, Charlotte, 359. 
 Whipple, E. P., 106, 114, 136. 
 Whistler, J. McN., 212, 250. 
 White, Mr., 390, 412. 
 White, A. D., 171. 
 White, Daisy R., 303. 
 White, Harry, 303. 
 Whitehouse, Fitzhugh, 392. 
 Whitman, Sarah, 309, 336, 356, 
 
 391. 
 Whitney, Mrs., 336. 
 Whitney, M. W., 358. 
 Whittier, J. G., 68, 76, 106, 313, 414, 
 
 415. Letter of, 67. 
 Wilde, Hamilton, 100. 
 Wilde, Oscar, 248-50, 303. 
 Wilde, Mrs. Oscar, 303. 
 Wilderness, Battle of the, 350. 
 William I (Prussia), 220. 
 Williams, Roger, 3. 
 Williams Hall, 90. 
 
 Willis, N. P., 136. 
 
 Wilson, Mrs. B. M., 358. 
 
 Winchendon, 385. 
 
 Winchester, 92. 
 
 Winslow, Helen M., 361. 
 
 Winthrop, Lindall, 350. 
 
 Winthrop, R. C, 82, 381. 
 
 Winthrop House, 58, 59. 
 
 Wister, Owen, 380, 408. 
 
 Wolcott, Roger, 338. 
 
 Woman Ministry, 208. 
 
 Woman's Church, 209. 
 
 Woman's Journal, 192, 214, 265. 
 
 Woman's Liberal Christian Union, 
 
 208. 
 Woman's Ministerial Conference, 209. 
 Woman's Mission, 208, 256. 
 Women's Educational and Industrial 
 
 Union, 309, 321. 
 Women's Hospital, 120. 
 Women's Rest Tour Association, 314. 
 Woolson, Mrs., 336. 
 Words for the How, 70, 120. 
 Wordsworth, William, 43, 46. 
 World, N.Y., 384. 
 World's Own, 70, 71. 
 Wright, Silas, 49. 
 Wyman, Lillie B. C, 313. 
 
 Xenophon, 157, 213, 420. 
 
 Yates, Edmund, 214. 
 Yeats, W. B., 389. 
 Youmans, E. L., 127. 
 Youth's Companion, 246. 
 
 Zahm, Father, 347. 
 Zakrzewska, Dr., 379, 381. 
 Zola, Smile, 343. 
 Zuni chiefs, 251, 252. 
 
UVH ' 39 
 
 928 
 
 H5 
 
 ^ichprfs, Laura E. 
 
 Jul if Ward Howe, 1819-1910.