from Mr. Locke
, author of the ‘Beloved Vagabond,’ a book which I have enjoyed.”
.... I learned to-day that my dear friend of many years [the Reverend Mary H. Graves
] passed away last night very peacefully.... This is a heart sorrow for me. She has been a most faithful, affectionate and helpful friend.
I scarcely know whether any one, outside of my family, would have pained me more by their departure....”
This was indeed a loss.
“Saint Mouse,” as we called her, was a familiar friend of the household: a little gray figure, with the face of a plain angel.
For many years she had been the only person who was allowed to touch our mother's papers.
She often came for a day or two and straightened out the tangle.
She was the only approach to a secretary ever tolerated.
We used to grieve because our mother had no firstrate “Crutch” ; it seemed a waste of power.
Now, we see that it was partly the instinct of selfpreservation,--keeping the “doing” muscles tense and strong, because action was vital and necessary to her — partly the still deeper instinct of giving her self
, body and mind.
She seldom failed in any important thing she undertook; the “chores” of life she often left for others to attend to or neglect.
services, the Christmas oratorio, brought her the usual serene joy and comfort.
She insists that Handel
wrote parts of the “Messiah” in heaven itself.
“Where else could he have got ‘Comfort ye,’ ‘Thy rebuke,’ ‘Thou shalt break them,’ and much besides?”