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[277]
although I did not guess at the new experiences which then lay before me.
While the war was still at its height, I received a kind letter from Hon. George Bancroft, conveying an invitation to attend a celebration of the poet Bryant's seventieth birthday, to be given by the New York Century Club, of which Mr. Bancroft was the newly-elected president.
He also expressed the hope that I would bring with me something in verse or in prose, to add to the tributes of the occasion.
Having accepted the invitation and made ready my tribute, I repaired to the station on the day appointed, to take the train for New York.
Dr. Holmes presently appeared, bound on the same errand.
As we seated ourselves in the car, he said to me, ‘Mrs. Howe, I will sit beside you, but you must not expect me to talk, as I must spare my voice for this evening, when I am to read a poem at the Bryant celebration.’
‘By all means let us keep silent,’ I replied.
‘I also have a poem to read at the Bryant celebration.’
The dear Doctor, always my friend, overestimated his power of abstinence from the interchange of thought which was so congenial to him. He at once launched forth in his ever brilliant vein, and we were within a few miles of our destination when we suddenly remembered that we had not taken time to eat our luncheon.
I find in my diary
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