CHAPTER XIV

"THE SUNDOWN SPLENDID AND SERENE"

1906-1907; _aet._ 87-88

HYMN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS OF RELIGIOUS LIBERALS

_Held in Boston, 1907_

Hail! Mount of God, whereon with reverent feet The messengers of many nations meet; Diverse in feature, argument, and creed, One in their errand, brothers in their need.

Not in unwisdom are the limits drawn That give far lands opposing dusk and dawn; One sun makes bright the all-pervading air, One fostering spirit hovers everywhere.

So with one breath may fervent souls aspire, With one high purpose wait the answering fire. Be this the prayer that other prayers controls,-- That light divine may visit human souls.

The worm that clothes the monarch spins no flaw, The coral builder works by heavenly law; Who would to Conscience rear a temple pure Must prove each stone and seal it, sound and sure.

Upon one steadfast base of truth we stand, Love lifts her sheltering walls on either hand; Arched o'er our head is Hope's transcendent dome, And in the Father's heart of hearts our home.

J. W. H.

"I pray for many things this year. For myself, I ask continued 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 hardness 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 Suffrage Convention.

"_February 4._ I had not been able to think of anything to say in Baltimore, but this morning it seemed to come to me. I have just written out my screed, ... taking a point of view which I do not think I have presented before, viz.: that inferior education and restricted activity made women the inferiors of men, as naturally as training, education, and free agency make civilized men the superior of the savage. I think that the dear Lord gave me this screed, which is short and simple enough, but, I think, convincing...."

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 serious illness followed on her return. A month and more passed before she began to regain strength and spirits.[148]

[148] 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.

"_March 31._ Had a happy lighting up when I lay down for afternoon rest. Felt the immensity of God's goodness and took heart for the future."

In April she records "a delightful visit from Robert Collyer, accompanied by Annie Fields. I asked him: 'Robert, 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 wreathéd 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 guardian below, warding off would-be interviewers or suppliants, might be embarrassed to hear peals of laughter ringing down the stair.

Early in May she has "young J. W. Hurlburt to dine; a pleasant young playwright, grandson to General Hurlburt of the Civil War...."

"I had lent my play of 'Hippolytus' to young Hurlburt to read. He brought it back yesterday with so much praise of parts of it as to revive the pang which I felt when, Charlotte Cushman and Edwin Booth having promised to fill the principal parts, the manager's wife suddenly refused to fill her part, and the whole fell through. This with much other of my best literary work has remained a dead letter on my own shelves. I am glad as well as sad to feel that it deserved better treatment."

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 Ticknor'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 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 birthday 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. William 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."

* * * * *

"_July 2. Oak Glen._ Nurse Voshell, nicknamed by me Wollapuk, left this morning. I have become so dependent upon her that I shall miss her very much. I have been impatient of having her so long, but now see how very helpful she has been to me.

"I began to write a retrospect of my essay on 'Distinctions between Philosophy and Religion,' but feel that this will be of little value. Oh! that I had taken Dr. Hedge's advice and published these papers soon after they were written. As it is I have lost two of the best of them, viz.: this one just mentioned and 'Moral Triangulation of the Third Party,' in obligations and contrasts."

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 disinterest 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!"

"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 factor 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 Æschylus 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 pilgrim," 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 undertaking 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 congregation 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 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 morning, 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 decorations of his Russian order to show us; they are quite splendid. 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 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," "Il 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 Nähe 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 D.A.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, eluding 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 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!"

Thereupon a promise would be exacted and made. The fatigue would pass and be forgotten, and the next occasion be joyously prepared for.

"You told me not to let you go!" the poor jailer would say.

"Oh, I didn't mean it!"

"But you promised!"

"That was two weeks ago. Two weeks is a long time for me to keep a promise!"

If the jailer still persisted, she played her last card and took the trick.

"I can't talk about it. You tire my head!"

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 châteaux 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.'"

She determines "at last to be more prompt in response to letters and bills. I am now apt to lose sight of them, to my great inconvenience and that of other people."

It was pain to her to destroy even a scrap of paper that bore writing: the drifts of notes and letters grew higher and higher among the piles of books, new and old. The books were not all her own choice. Many a firstling of verse found its way to her, inscribed with reverent or loving words by the author. Would Mrs. Howe send a few lines of appreciation or criticism? She would; mostly she did. She wrote in the autograph albums, and on the pieces of silk and cotton for "autograph quilts": she signed the photographs: she tried to do everything they asked.

"_January 11._ Having hammered at some verses for General Lee, when I lay down to rest a perfect flood of rhymes seized me. Nonsense verses for to-morrow's festival; there seemed to be no end to them. I scrawled some of them down as it was late and dark. Sanborn to dine--unexpected, but always welcome."

"_January 12._ Copied and completed my lines for the evening. 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, Norman 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.[149] I despaired of making my jingle tell in so large and unfamiliar a company. At last I took 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."

[149] Mrs. Charles Homans.

"_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 Education Bill.' Socrates having been mentioned as an exemplar, 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."

"_January 25...._ Read Colonel Higginson's account of me in the 'Outlook.' Wrote him a note of thanks, saying that he has written beautifully, with much tact and kindness. It remains true that he has not much acquaintance with the serious side of my life and character, my studies of philosophy, etc. He has described what he has seen of me and has certainly done it with skill and with a most kind intention."

She said of the Colonel's paper, "He does not realize that my _life_ has been here, the four walls of my room."

"_February 5...._ Began a sermon on the text, 'I saw Satan like lightning fall from heaven.'..."

"_February 6._ Wrote a good bit on the sermon begun yesterday--the theme attracts me much. If I give it, I will have Whittier's hymn sung: 'Oh! sometimes gleams upon our sight--'

"Wrote to thank Higginson for sending me word that I am the first woman member of the society of American Authors...."

"_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. President Eliot made a good speech for Berea; others followed.... When my name was called, I had already a good thought to express."

"_February 18._ To N.E.W.C., where Colonel Higginson and I spoke of Longfellow; I from long and intimate acquaintance, he from a literary point of view. He said, I thought rightly, that we are too near him to be able to judge his merits as a poet; time must test them."

"_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_ Longfellow, 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 oldest of them. It seemed as if I could hardly hold my tongue, which, however, I