To remember the Barnstable Ball!"

This autumn saw the preparation of a new volume of poems, "Later Lyrics." Years had passed since the appearance of "Words for the Hour," and our mother had a great accumulation of poems, the arrangement of which proved a heavy task.

"The labor of looking over the manuscript nearly made me ill.... Had a new bad feeling of intense pressure in the right temple."

And again:—

"Nearly disabled by headaches.... Determine to push on with my volume."

"Almost distracted with work of various sorts—my book—the new house—this one full of company, and a small party in the evening."

"All these days much hurried by proofs. Went in the evening to the opening of the new wards in the Women's Hospital—read two short poems, according to promise. These were kindly received...."

The next day she went with a party of friends to the Boys' Reform School at Westboro. "In the yard where the boys were collected, the guests were introduced. Quite a number crowded to see the Author of the 'Battle Hymn.' Two or three said to me: 'Are you the woman that wrote that "Battle Hymn"?' When I told them that I was, they seemed much pleased. This I felt to be a great honor."

The next day again she is harassed with correcting proofs and furnishing copy. "Ran to Bartol for a little help, which he gave me."

The Reverend C. A. Bartol was our next-door neighbor in Chestnut Street, a most kind and friendly one. His venerable figure, wrapped in a wide cloak, walking always in the middle of the road (we never knew why he eschewed the sidewalk), is one of the pleasant memories of Chestnut Street. We were now to leave that beloved street; a sorrowful flitting it was.

"Friday, November 3. Moving all day. This is my last writing in this dear house, No. 13 Chestnut Street, where I have had three years of good work, social and family enjoyment. Here I enjoyed my dear Sammy for six happy months—here I mourned long and bitterly for him. Here I read my six lectures on Practical Ethics. Some of my best days have been passed in this house. God be thanked for the same!"

CHAPTER XI

NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE: "LATER LYRICS"

1866; aet. 47

IN MY VALLEY

From the hurried city fleeing,

From the dusty men and ways,

In my golden sheltered valley,

Count I yet some sunny days.

Golden, for the ripened Autumn

Kindles there its yellow blaze;

And the fiery sunshine haunts it

Like a ghost of summer days.

Walking where the running water

Twines its silvery caprice,

Treading soft the leaf-spread carpet,

I encounter thoughts like these:—

"Keep but heart, and healthful courage,

Keep the ship against the sea,

Thou shalt pass the dangerous quicksands

That ensnare Futurity;

"Thou shalt live for song and story,

For the service of the pen;

Shalt survive till children's children

Bring thee mother-joys again.

"Thou hast many years to gather;

And these falling years shall bring

The benignant fruits of Autumn,

Answering to the hopes of Spring.

"Passing where the shades that darken

Grow transfigured to thy mind,

Thou shalt go with soul untroubled

To the mysteries behind;

"Pass unmoved the silent portal

Where beatitude begins,

With an equal balance bearing

Thy misfortunes and thy sins."

Treading soft the leaf-spread carpet,

Thus the Spirits talked with me;

And I left my valley, musing

On their gracious prophecy.

To my fiery youth's ambition

Such a boon were scarcely dear;

"Thou shalt live to be a grandame,

Work and die, devoid of fear."

"Now, as utmost grace it steads me,

Add but this thereto," I said:

"On the matron's time-worn mantle

Let the Poet's wreath be laid."

J. W. H.

"My first writing in the new house, where may God help and bless us all. May no dark action shade our record in this house, and if possible, no surpassing sorrow."

After the wide sunny spaces of No. 13 Chestnut Street, the new house seemed small and dark; nor was Boylston Place even in those days a specially cheerful cul de sac; yet we remember it pleasantly enough as the home of much work and much play.

"November 19. Had the comforts of faith from dear James Freeman [Clarke] to-day. Felt restored to something like the peace I enjoyed before these two tasks of printing and moving broke up all leisure and all study. Determined to hold on with both hands to the largeness of philosophical pursuit and study, and to do my utmost to be useful in this connection and path of life...."

"Comforting myself with Hedge's book. Determined to pass no more godless days...."

She began to read Grote's Plato, and the Journal contains much comment on the Platonic philosophy. Another interest which came to her this autumn was that of singing with the Handel and Haydn Society. She and Florence joined the altos, while "Harry," then in college (Harvard, 1869), sang bass. We find her also, in early December, rehearsing with a small chorus the Christmas music for the Church of the Disciples, and writing and rehearsing a charade for the Club.

"December 12. Saw my new book at Tilton's. It looks very well, but I am not sanguine about its fate."

"Later Lyrics" made less impression than either of the earlier volumes. It has been long out of print; our mother does not mention it in her "Reminiscences"; even in the Journal, the book once published, there are few allusions to it, and those in a sad note: "Discouraged about my book," and so forth; yet it contains much of her best work.