Had a sudden thought that the sense and spirit of government is responsibility.”
.... Wrote a poem on ‘The Dead Century,’ which has in it some good lines, I hope.”
. 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
rest” l How she did detest it!
She recognized 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
,” 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.
“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 halfhour 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.”