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July 9th, 1909 AD (search for this): chapter 32
istressed her. Let this be. A lesson! she said. Never print a poem or speech till it has been delivered; always give the eleventh hour its chance! This eleventh hour brought a very special chance; a few days before, the world had been electrified by the news of Peary's discovery of the North Pole: it was the general voice that cried through her lips,-- The Flag of Freedom crowns the Pole! The following letter was written while she was at work on the poem:-- To Laura Oak Glen, July 9, 1909. Why, yes, I'm doing the best I know how. Have written a poem for the Hudson and Fulton celebration, September 28. Worked hard at it. Guess it's only pretty good, if even that. Maud takes me out every day under the pine tree, makes me sit while she reads aloud Freeman's shorter work on Sicily. I enjoy this. ... I have just read Froude's Ceesar, which Sanborn says he hates, but which I found as readable as a novel. Am also reading a work of Kuno Fischer on Philosophy, especially re
October 1st, 1909 AD (search for this): chapter 32
sult H. Richards about some of these particulars. He is a man of some sense. You are, bless you, not much wiser than your affectionate Ma. Returned to Oak Glen, after the celebration, she writes:-- To her son and his wife Oak Glen, October 1, 1909. .. I found my trees still green, and everything comfortable. I did not dare to write to any one yesterday, my head was so full of nonsense. Reaction from brain-fatigue takes this shape with me, and everything goes higgle-wiggledy, hi-cfor kindest entertainment, and best of love, Your very affectionate Mother and Ditto-in-law. To George H. Richards Her man of business and faithful friend. Though of her children's generation, she had adopted him as an uncle. Oak Glen, October 1, 1909. Dear Uncle George,-- I got through all right, in spite of prospective views, of fainting fits, apoplexy, what not? Trouble is now that I cannot keep calling up some thousands of people, and saying: Admire me, do. I wrote it all my li
1910 AD (search for this): chapter 32
Chapter 15: mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord 1908-1910; aet. 89-91 I have made a voyage upon a golden river, 'Neath clouds of opal and of amethyst. Along its banks bright shapes were moving ever, And threatening shadows melted into mist. The eye, unpractised, sometimes lost the current, When some wild rapid of the tide did whirl, While yet a master hand beyond the torrent Freed my frail shallop from the perilous swirl. Music went with me, fairy flute and viol, Theyhood and Maternity! Two infants, grown to man's estate, govern the civilized world to-day, Christ and Moses. I am still thankful to be here in the flesh, as they were once, and oh! that I may never pass where they are not! The winter of 1909-10 was a severe one, and she was more or less housed; yet the days were full and bright for her. Life, she cried one day, is like a cup of tea; all the sugar is at the bottom! and again, Oh! I must go so soon, and I am only just ready to go to colle
Aeschylus (search for this): chapter 32
y days she loved to linger along Commonwealth Avenue, watching the parade of babies and little children, stopping to admire this one or chat with that. This function accomplished, she went straight to her desk, and P. T. reigned till noon. It was a less rigorous P. T. than that of our childhood. She could break off in a moment now, give herself entirely, joyously, to the question of dinner for the expected guest, of dress for the afternoon reception, then drop back into Aristotle or Aeschylus with a happy sigh. It was less easy to break off when she was writing; we might be begged for half a moment, as if our time were fully as precious as her own; but there was none of the distress that interruption brought in earlier years. Perhaps she took her writing less seriously. She often said, Oh, my dear, I am beginning to realize at last that I shall never write my book now, my Magnum Opus, that was to be so great She practised her scales faithfully every day, through the later
Henri Bergson (search for this): chapter 32
ohn said to me, You singed good! Poor Huti played the 'cello. Now, I listened for the familiar bits, and recognized the drinking chorus in Act 1st, the Rataplan in Act 2d. Valentine's prayer, if given, was so overlaid with fioritura that I did not feel sure of it. The page's pretty song was all right, but I suffered great fatigue, and the reminiscences were sad. Through the winter she continued the study of economics with some fifteen members of the New England Woman's Club. She read Bergson too, and now and then got completely bogged in him, finding no central point that led anywhere. About this time she wrote:-- Some rules for everyday life 1. Begin every day with a few minutes of retired meditation, tending to prayer, in order to feel within yourself the spiritual power which will enable you to answer the demands of practical life. 2. Cultivate systematic employment and learn to estimate correctly the time required to accomplish whatever you may undertake. 3.
Christopher Birckhead (search for this): chapter 32
looked dumfounded. It proved that he had lately written a prize poem, and that literature was the goal of his ambition. Another day she found a philosopher hidden in what seemed to the rest of the family merely a callow boy in pretty white duck clothes. So she plucked out the heart of each man's mystery, but so tenderly that it was yielded gladly, young and old alike feeling themselves understood. Among the visitors of this summer none was more welcome than her great-grandson, Christopher Birckhead, Son of Caroline Minturn (Hall) and the Reverend Hugh Birckhead. then an infant in arms. She loved to hold and watch the child, brooding over him with grave tenderness: it was a beautiful and gracious picture of Past and Future. Maud had just written a book on Sicily, and, as always, our mother read and corrected the galley-proofs. She did this with exquisite care and thoughtfulness, never making her suggestions on the proof itself, but on a separate sheet of paper, with the
Hugh Birckhead (search for this): chapter 32
o tenderly that it was yielded gladly, young and old alike feeling themselves understood. Among the visitors of this summer none was more welcome than her great-grandson, Christopher Birckhead, Son of Caroline Minturn (Hall) and the Reverend Hugh Birckhead. then an infant in arms. She loved to hold and watch the child, brooding over him with grave tenderness: it was a beautiful and gracious picture of Past and Future. Maud had just written a book on Sicily, and, as always, our mother or unprepossessing in appearance, and never grudged the moments spent in adjusting the right cap and lace collar. There was an almost unearthly light in her face, a transparency and sweetness that spoke to others more plainly than to us: Hugh Birckhead saw and recognized it as a look he had seen in other faces of saintly age, as their translation approached. But we said joyously to her and to each other, She will round out the century; we shall all keep the Hundredth Birthday together And
Blank (search for this): chapter 32
on, and I am only just ready to go to college! When it was too cold for her to go out, she took her walk in the house, with the windows open, pacing resolutely up and down her room and the room opposite. She sat long hours at her desk, in patient toil. She was always picking up dropped stitches, trying to keep every promise, answer every note. Went through waste-paper basket, redeeming some bits torn to fragments, which either should be answered or recorded. Wrote an autograph for Mr. Blank. It was asked for in 1905. Had been put away and forgotten. She got too tired that morning, and could not fully enjoy the Authors' Club in the afternoon. Colonel Higginson and I sat like two superannuated old idols. Each of us said a little say when the business was finished. It is not recalled that they presented any such appearance to others. She went to the opera, a mingled pleasure and pain. It was the Huguenots, much of which was known to me in early youth, when I us
Carty (search for this): chapter 32
it while she reads aloud Freeman's shorter work on Sicily. I enjoy this. ... I have just read Froude's Ceesar, which Sanborn says he hates, but which I found as readable as a novel. Am also reading a work of Kuno Fischer on Philosophy, especially relating to Descartes. Now you know, Miss, or should know, that same had great fame, and sometimes blame, as a philosopher. But he don't make no impression on my mind. I never doubted that I was, so don't need no cogito, ergo sum, which is what Carty, old Boy, amounts to. Your letter, dear, was a very proper attention under the circumstances. Should n't object to another. Lemme see! objects cannot be subjects, nor vice versa. How do you know that you washed your face this morning? You don't know it, and I don't believe that you did. You might consult H. Richards about some of these particulars. He is a man of some sense. You are, bless you, not much wiser than your affectionate Ma. Returned to Oak Glen, after the celebration,
Frederic Chopin (search for this): chapter 32
and publishing of her Occasional poems. In late September, she was moved to write one or more open letters on what religion really is, for some one of the women's papers ; and the next day began upon What is religion? or rather, What Sort of Religion makes Religious Liberty possible? A day or two later, she was giving an offhand talk on the early recollections of Newport at the Papeterie, and going to an afternoon tea at a musical house, where, after listening to Schumann Romances and Chopin waltzes, and to the Battle Hymn on the 'cello, she was moved to give a performance of Flibbertigibbet. This occasion reminded her happily of her father's house, of Henry playing tolerably on the 'cello, Marion studying the violin, Broa Sam's lovely tenor voice. Now came the early October days when she was to receive the degree of Doctor of Laws from Smith College. She hesitated about making the tiresome journey, but finally, Grudging the trouble and expense, I decide to go to Smith Coll
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