Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1

“Before I began, I sent this one word to Davidson,¹ 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 something 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 said, ‘Not quite.’ I asked ”