1904.

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 G.o.d earnestly that we women may never go back from the ground which has been gained for us by our n.o.ble 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 G.o.d 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:--

"'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 G.o.d. Text from St. John's Epistle, 'Behold what manner of love is this that we should be called the sons of G.o.d.'"

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 XIII

LOOKING TOWARD SUNSET

1903-1905; _aet._ 84-86

IN MUSIC HALL

_Looking down upon the white heads of my contemporaries_

Beneath what mound of snow Are hid my springtime roses?

How shall Remembrance know Where buried Hope reposes?

In what forgetful heart As in a canon darkling, Slumbers the blissful art That set my heaven sparkling?

What sense shall never know, Soul shall remember; Roses beneath the snow, June in November.

J. W. H.

The year 1903 began with the celebration at Faneuil Hall of the fortieth anniversary of Lincoln's Emanc.i.p.ation 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 received from a person whom she scarcely knew, asking for "her thoughts on the personality of G.o.d, by return mail." This was one of the few requests she ever denied. People asked her to give them material for their club papers (sometimes to write them!), to put them through college, to read their ma.n.u.scripts, to pay the funeral expenses of their relatives. A volume of the letters conveying these requests would be curious reading.

The pet.i.tion for a "little verse" was rarely refused. Her notebooks are full of occasional poems, only a small proportion 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. Here are a few of them.

_For Francis C. Stokes, Westtown School, Pennsylvania_

Auspicious be the rule Of love at Westtown School, And happy, mid his youthful folks The daily task of Master Stokes!

[When this gentleman's note came, she was "tired to death." The granddaughter said, "You _can't_ do it. Let me write a friendly note, and you shall sign it!"

"You're right," she said, "I can't: I am too tired to think!" But when she saw the note taken away, "No, no!" she cried, "I can! He is probably a most hard-working man, and a little word may cheer him. Here, I have a line already!"]

Wealth is good, health is better, character is best.

Citizens of the new world, Children of the promise, So let us live!

Love to learn, and learn to love.

Remember to forget your troubles, but don't forget to remember your blessings.

For Mr. Charles Gallup, who had written to her several times without receiving a reply, she wrote--

If one by name Gallup Desires to wallop A friend who too slowly responds, She will plead that her age Has attained such a stage She is held hand and foot in its bonds.

Here, again, are a few sentences, gathered from various calendars.

The little girls on the school bench, using or misusing their weekly allowance, are learning to build their future house, or pluck it down.

No gift can make rich those who are poor in wisdom.

In whatever you may undertake, never sacrifice quality for quant.i.ty, even when quant.i.ty pays and quality does not.

For so long, the body can perform its functions and hold together, but what term is set for the soul? Nothing in its make-up foretokens a limited existence. Its sentence would seem to be, "Once and always."

The verses in the notebooks are by no means all "by request." 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 war-time 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 sympathy.

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 n.o.ble and enduring things began with the "President's dollar." If she had had a hundred dollars to give, it would have been joyfully 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 discharged 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."