“
[390]
is to be celebrated on Tuesday next.
I stayed at home from church to follow some random rhymes which came to me in connection with my remembrance of my ever affectionate friend.
I love to think of his beautiful service to his age and to future ages.
I fear that my rhymes will fail to crystallize, but sometimes a bad beginning leads to something better....”
The poem was finished, more or less to her satisfaction, but she was weary with working over it, and with “reading heavy books, Max Muller on metaphysics, Blanqui on political economy.”
“May 10. I began this day the screed of ‘Values’ which I mentioned the other day. I have great hopes of accomplishing something useful, remembering, as I do, with sore indignation, my own mistakes, and desiring to help young people to avoid similar ones.”
The ninetieth birthday was a festival, indeed.
Letters and telegrams poured in, rose in toppling piles which almost — not quite — daunted her; she would hear every one, would answer as many as flesh and blood could compass.
Here is one of them:--
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