“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.”
.... 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 XEschylus 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 stickwho 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.
she cried, “it is like being engaged to the man you love, for five minutes!”
.... I had had much hesitation about ”