"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.

On the way eastward she stopped at Salt Lake City, and went to the Mormon Tabernacle; "an enormous building with a roof like the back of a turtle; many tourists present. The Mormons mostly an ill-looking and ill-smelling crowd. Bishop Whitney, a young man, preached a cosmopolite sermon, quoting Milton and Emerson. He spoke of the Christian Church with patronizing indulgence; insisted upon the doctrine of immediate and personal revelation, and censured the Mormons for sometimes considering their families before their church. Communion, bread in silver baskets and water in silver cups, handed to every one, children partaking with the rest; no solemnity."

"_June 26._ To visit the penitentiary, where thirty Mormon bishops are imprisoned for polygamy. Spoke with one, Bishop of Provo, a rather canny-looking man, whom we found in the prison library, reading. The librarian (four years' term for forgery) told me it was the result of liquor and bad company. I said a few motherly words to him and presently proposed to speak to the prisoners, to which the jailer gladly a.s.sented.

I began by saying, 'I feel to speak to you, my brothers.' Said that all of us make mistakes and many of us do wrong at times. Exhorted them to give, in future, obedience to the laws upon which the existence of society depends. The convict Montrose sent to me a little chain and ornaments of his own making. I promised to send one or two books for the library...."

So, through "bowery and breezy Nebraska; such a relief to eyes and nerves!" to Chicago, where Maud kept and comforted 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.

Grumble, grumble--tumble, tumble, For something to eat, Fast-y fast-y nasty, nasty, At last, at last-y, Ma's dead beat!

"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 car! Do not grieve about this, the biscuits and bananas which you put up carried me quite a way.

We got a tolerable 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 picturesque. "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 pa.s.sive 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, authorities, spirits, G.o.d 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 G.o.d, an actual presence, takes note of our actions and intentions. I thought how helpful it would be to us to pa.s.s 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 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 G.o.d that I have come to grieve more over my moral disappointments than over my intellectual ones. With my natural talents 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 pa.s.s 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. G.o.d 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 suggested 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 me. 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 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,[106] Abby W. May and Carrie Tappan.[107] 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 G.o.d so wills...."

[106] Mrs. George Russell, widow of the Doctor's friend and college chum.

[107] Caroline Tappan was Caroline Sturgis, daughter of Captain William Sturgis, and sister of Ellen (Sturgis) Hooper,--member of the inmost Transcendentalist circle, and friend of Emerson, Ellery Channing, and Margaret Fuller.

CHAPTER VI

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-s.p.a.ced 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 G.o.d 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 satisfaction."

"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."

This is the note throughout the Journal; the record of work, the prayer for strength. Yet the friskiness was there; no one but herself would have had less of it.

She had already entered the happy estate of grandmotherhood, 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 grandmother. "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: n.o.body 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 summer evenings, or in twilight walks among the Newport meadows. Some of these airs were gathered and published in later years.[108]

[108] _Song Alb.u.m._ Published by G. Schirmer & Co.