Текст книги "Julia Ward Howe"

Автор книги: Laura E. Richards

Соавторы: Maud Howe Elliott
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"April 1. Very much tossed up and down about my poem...."

"April 2. Was able at last, D.G., to make the poem explain itself. Rosalind, my incorruptible critic, was satisfied with it. I think and hope that all my trouble has been worth while. I bestowed it most unwillingly, having had little hope that I could make my figure of speech intelligible. I am very thankful for this poem, cannot be thankful enough."

This was her third tribute to the beloved Minister, and is, perhaps, the best of the three. The thought which she found so difficult of conveyance is thus expressed:—

Lifting from the Past its veil,

What of his does now avail?

Just a mirror in his breast

That revealed a heavenly guest,

And the love that made us free

Of the same high company.

These he brought us, these he left,

When we were of him bereft.

*        *        *        *        *        *

She thus describes the occasion:—

"Coughed in the night, and at waking suffered much in mind, fearing that a wild fit of coughing might make my reading unacceptable and even ridiculous. Imagine my joy when I found my voice clear and strong, and read the whole poem [forty-four lines] without the slightest inclination to cough. This really was the granting of my prayer, and my first thought about it was, 'What shall I render to the Lord for all His goodness to me?' I thought, 'I will interest myself more efficiently in the great questions which concern Life and Society at large.' If I have 'the word for the moment,' as some think, I will take more pains to speak it."

A little later came a centenary which—alas!—she did not enjoy. It was that of Margaret Fuller, and was held in Cambridge. She was asked to attend it, and was assured that she "would not be expected to speak." This kindly wish to spare fatigue to a woman of ninety-one was the last thing she desired. She could hardly believe that she would be left out—she, who had known Margaret, had talked and corresponded with her.

"They have not asked me to speak!" she said more than once as the time drew near.

She was reassured; of course they would ask her when they saw her!

"I have a poem on Margaret!"

"Take it with you! Of course you will be asked to say something, and then you will be all ready with your poem in your pocket."

Thus Maud, in all confidence. Indeed, if one of her own had gone with her, the matter would have been easily arranged; unfortunately, the companion was a friend who could make no motion in the matter. She returned tired and depressed. "They did not ask me to speak," she said, "and I was the only person present who had known Margaret and remembered her."

For a little while this incident weighed on her. She felt that she was "out of the running"; but a winning race was close at hand.

The question of pure milk was before the Massachusetts Legislature, and was being hotly argued. An urgent message came by telephone; would Mrs. Howe say a word for the good cause? Maud went to her room, and found her at her desk, the morning's campaign already begun.

"There is to be a hearing at the State House on the milk question; they want you dreadfully to speak. What do you say?"

"Give me half an hour!" she said.

Before the half-hour was over she had sketched out her speech and dressed herself in her best flowered silk cloak and her new lilac hood, a birthday gift from a poor seamstress. Arrived at the State House, she sat patiently through many speeches. Finally she was called on to speak; it was noticed that no oath was required of her. As she rose and came forward on her daughter's arm,—"You may remain seated, Mrs. Howe," said the benevolent chairman.

"I prefer to stand!" was the reply.

She had left her notes behind; she did not need them. Standing in the place where, year after year, she had stood to ask for the full rights of citizenship, she made her last thrilling appeal for justice.

"We have heard," she said, "a great deal about the farmers' and the dealers' side of this case. We want the matter settled on the ground of justice and mercy; it ought not to take long to settle what is just to all parties. Justice to all! Let us stand on that. There is one deeply interested party, however, of whom we have heard nothing. He cannot speak for himself; I am here to speak for him: the infant!"

The effect was electrical. In an instant the tired audience, the dull or dogged or angry debaters, woke to a new interest, a new spirit. No farmer so rough, no middle-man so keen, no legislator so apathetic, but felt the thrill. In a silence charged with deepest feeling all listened as to a prophetess, as, step by step, she unfolded the case of the infant as against farmers and dealers.

As Arthur Dehon Hill, counsel for the Pure Milk Association, led her from the room, he said, "Mrs. Howe, you have saved the day!"

This incident was still in her mind on her ninety-first birthday, a few days later.

"My parlors are full of beautiful flowers and other gifts, interpreted by notes expressive of much affection, and telegrams of the same sort. What dare I ask for more? Only that I may do something in the future to deserve all this love and gratitude. I have intended to deserve it all and more. Yet, when in thought I review my life, I feel the waste and loss of power thro' want of outlook. Like many another young person, I did not know what my really available gifts were. Perhaps the best was a feeling of what I may call 'the sense of the moment,' which led a French friend to say of me: 'Mme. Howe possède le mot à un dégré remarquable.' I was often praised for saying 'just the right word,' and I usually did this with a strong feeling that it ought to be said."

Early in June, just as she was preparing for the summer flitting, she had a bad fall, breaking a rib. This delayed the move for a week, no more, the bone knitting easily. She was soon happy among her green trees, her birds singing around her.

The memories of this last summer come flocking in, themselves like bright birds. She was so well, so joyous, giving her lilies with such full hands; it was a golden time.

As the body failed, the mind—or so it seemed to us—grew ever clearer, the veil that shrouds the spirit ever more transparent. She "saw things hidden."

One day a summer neighbor came, bringing her son, a handsome, athletic fellow, smartly dressed, a fine figure of gilded youth. She looked at him a good deal: presently she said suddenly,—

"You write poetry!"

The lad turned crimson: his mother 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,[152] 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 number of the galley, the phrase, and her suggested emendations. This was her invariable custom: the writer must be perfectly free to retain her own phrase, if she preferred it.

Walking tired her that summer, but she was very faithful about it.

"Zacko," she would command John Elliott, "take me for a walk."

The day before she took to her bed, he remembers that she clung to him more than usual and said,—

"It tires me very much." (This after walking twice round the piazza.)

"Once more!" he encouraged.

"No—I have walked all I can to-day."

"Let me take you back to your room this way," he said, leading her back by the piazza. "That makes five times each way!"

She laughed and was pleased to have done this, but he thinks she had a great sense of weakness too.

Her favorite piece on the "Victor" that summer was "The Artillerist's Oath." The music had a gallant ring to it, and there was something heroic about the whole thing, something that suggested the Forlorn Hope—how many of them she had led! When nine o'clock came, she would ask for this piece by the nickname she had given it, taken from one of its odd lines,—

"I'll wed thee in the battle's front!"

While the song was being given, she was all alert and alive, even if she may have been sleepy earlier in the evening. She would get up with a little gesture of courage, and take leave of us, always with a certain ceremony, that was like the withdrawing of royalty. The evening was then over, and we too went to bed!

As we gather up our treasures of this last summer, we remember that several things might have prepared us for what was coming, had not our eyes been holden. She spoke a great deal of old times, the figures of her childhood and girlhood being evidently very near to her. She quoted them often; "My grandma used to say—" She spoke as naturally as the boy in the next room might speak of her.

She would not look in the glass; "I don't like to see my old face!" she said. She could not see the beauty that every one else saw. Yet she kept to the very last a certain tender coquetry. She loved her white dresses, and the flowered silk cloak of that last summer. She chose with care the jewels suited to each costume, the topaz cross for the white, the amethysts for the lilac. She had a great dread of old people's being untidy 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 we and she partly believed it.

The doctor had insisted strongly that she should keep, through the summer at least, the trained nurse who had ministered to her after her fall. She "heard what he said, but it made no difference." In early August she records "a passage at arms with Maud, in which I clearly announced my intention of dispensing with the services of a trained nurse, my good health and simple habits rendering it entirely unnecessary."

She threatened to write to her man of business.

"I would rather die," she said, "than be an old woman with a nurse!"

Maud and Florence wept, argued, implored, but the nurse was dismissed. The Journal acknowledges that "her ministrations and Dr. Cobb's diagnosis have been very beneficial to my bodily health." On the same day she records the visit of a Persian Prince, who had come to this country chiefly to see two persons, the President of the United States and Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. "He also claims to be a reincarnation of some remarkable philosopher; and to be so greatly interested in the cause of Peace that he declines to visit our ships now in the harbor here, to which he has been invited."

Reading Theodore Parker's sermon on "Wisdom and Intellect," she found it so full of notable sayings that she thought "a little familiar book of daily inspiration and aspiration" might be made from his writings: she wrote to Mr. Francis J. Garrison suggesting this, and suggesting also, what had been long in her mind, the collecting 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 Papéterie, 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, Bro' 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 College, for my degree, but think I won't do so any more."

She started accordingly with daughter and maid, for Northampton, Massachusetts. It was golden weather, and she was in high spirits. Various college dignitaries met her at the station; one of these had given up a suite of rooms for her use; she was soon established in much peace and comfort.

Wednesday, October 5, was a day of perfect autumn beauty. She was early dressed in her white dress, with the college gown of rich black silk over it, the "mortar-board" covering in like manner her white lace cap. Thus arrayed, a wheeled chair conveyed her to the great hall, already packed with visitors and graduates, as was the deep platform with college officials and guests of honor. Opposite the platform, as if hung in air, a curving gallery was filled with white-clad girls, some two thousand of them; as she entered they rose like a flock of doves, and with them the whole audience. They rose once more when her name was called, last in the list of those honored with degrees; and as she came forward, the organ pealed, and the great chorus of fresh young voices broke out with

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord—"

It was the last time.

Later in the day the students of Chapin House brought their guest-book, begging for her autograph. She looked at Laura with a twinkle.

"Do you think they would like me to write something?"

Assured on that point, she waited a moment, and then wrote after her signature,—

Wandered to Smith College

In pursuit of knowledge;

Leaves so much the wiser,

Nothing can surprise her!

She reached home apparently without undue fatigue. "She will be more tired to-morrow!" we said; but she was not. Her son came for the week-end, and his presence was always a cordial. Sunday was a happy day. In the evening we gathered round the piano, she playing, son and daughters singing the old German student songs brought by "Uncle Sam" from Heidelberg seventy years before.

On the Tuesday she went to the Papéterie, and was the life and soul of the party, sparkling with merriment. Driving home, it was so warm that she begged to have the top of the carriage put back, and so she enjoyed the crowning pageant of the autumn, the full hunter's moon and the crimson ball of the sun both visible at once.

Wednesday found her busy at her desk, confessing to a slight cold, but making nothing of it. The next day bronchitis developed, followed by pneumonia. For several days the issue seemed doubtful, the strong constitution fighting for life. Two devoted physicians were beside her, one the friend of many years, the other a young assistant. The presence of the latter puzzled her, but his youth and strength seemed tonic to her, and she would rest quietly with her hand in his strong hand.

On Sunday evening the younger physician thought her convalescent; the elder said, "If she pulls through the next twenty-four hours, she will recover."

But she was too weary. That night they heard her say, "God will help me!" and again, toward morning, "I am so tired!"

Being alone for a moment with Maud, she spoke one word: a little word that had meant "good-bye" between them in the nursery days.

So, in the morning of Monday, October 17, her spirit passed quietly on to God's keeping.

Those who were present at her funeral will not forget it. The flower-decked church, the mourning multitude, the white coffin borne high on the shoulders of eight stalwart grandsons, the words of age-long wisdom and beauty gathered into a parting tribute, the bugle sounding Taps, as she passed out in her last earthly triumph, the blind children singing round the grave on which the autumn sun shone with a final golden greeting.

We have told the story of our mother's life, possibly at too great length; but she herself told it in eight words.

"Tell me," Maud asked her once, "what is the ideal aim of life?"

She paused a moment, and replied, dwelling thoughtfully on each word,—

"To learn, to teach, to serve, to enjoy!"

THE END

INDEX

Abbott, J., I, 214, 215; II, 99.

Abdin Palace, II, 35, 36.

Abdul Hamid II, II, 42.

Abdul Hassan, mosque of, II, 36.

Aberdeen, Countess of, II, 165, 166.

Aberdeen, J. C. H. Gordon, Earl of, II, 165.

Abolitionists, I, 177, 305; II, 171.

Academy of Fine Arts, French, II, 23.

Acroceraunian Mountains, I, 272.

Acropolis, II, 43.

Adamowski, Timothée, II, 55, 58.

Adams, Charles Follen, II, 270, 273;

verse by, II, 335.

Adams, Mrs. C. F., I, 266.

Adams, John, I, 4.

Adams, John Quincy, II, 312.

Adams, Nehemiah, I, 168.

Advertiser, Boston, II, 195, 222.

Ægina, I, 73.

Æschylus, II, 130, 282, 348, 372.

Agassiz, Alexander, II, 50.

Agassiz, Elizabeth Cary, I, 124, 345, 361; II, 228, 287, 292.

Agassiz, Louis, I, 124, 151, 251, 345; II, 150, 158.

Aidé, Hamilton, II, 251.

Airlie, Lady, II, 254.

Alabama, II, 108.

Albania, I, 272.

Albany, I, 342.

Albert of Savoy, II, 303.

Albert Victor, II, 9.

Albinola, Sig., I, 94.

Alboni, Marietta, I, 87.

Alcott, A. Bronson, I, 285, 290; II, 57, 120.

Aldrich, Mrs. Richard, II, 367.

Aldrich, T. B., I, 244, 262; II, 70, 354, 357, 358.

Aldrich, Mrs. T. B., I, 245.

Alger, Wm. R., I, 207, 244, 245; II, 127, 139, 140.

Allston, John, I, 12.

Alma-Tadema, Lady, II, 168, 169.

Alma-Tadema, Laurence, II, 168, 169, 171.

Almy, Mr., II, 139.

Amadeo, II, 31, 278.

Amalfi, II, 33.

Amberley, Lady, I, 266.

Amélie, Queen, II, 30.

America, I, 7, 11, 207, 247, 267, 273, 320, 344; II, 18, 21, 189.

American Academy of Arts and Letters, II, 399.

American Academy of Science, I, 251, 259.

American Authors, Society of, II, 355.

American Branch, International Peace Society, I, 306.

American Civil War, I, 176, 186, 219-22; II, 253.

American Institute of Education, II, 68.

American Notes, I, 81.

American Peace Society, I, 303.

American Revolution, I, 6.

American School of Archæology, Athens, II, 243.

American Woman Suffrage Association, I, 365.

Ames, Mr., II, 166, 167.

Ames, Charles Gordon, I, 392; II, 187,193, 216, 229, 273, 280, 287, 288, 298, 324, 328, 358, 361.

Ames, Fanny, II, 297.

Ames, Mrs. Sheldon, II, 22.

Amsterdam, II, 11.

Anacreon, I, 289.

Anagnos, Julia R., I, 96, 104, 106, 114, 115, 116, 119, 122, 126, 128, 133, 159-63, 172, 181, 216, 249-51, 264, 265, 267, 297, 349, 350, 352; II, 46, 59, 65, 70, 73, 74, 115-20, 123, 127, 128, 129, 164, 349.

Anagnos, Michael, I, 273, 281, 288-90, 297, 331, 332; II, 116-18, 129, 228, 229, 293, 300, 347, 348, 349, 357, 360.

Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company, I, 232.

Anderson, Hendrik, II, 240, 243, 244, 248, 252.

Anderson, Isabel, II, 233.

Anderson, Larz, I, 169; II, 233, 287.

Andrew, John A., I, 150, 151, 186, 189, 195, 220, 231, 233, 238, 239, 246, 261, 283, 381; II, 105, 265, 323.

Andrew, Mrs. J. A., I, 186, 231.

Andrews, E. B., II, 187.

Anniversary Week, I, 389; II, 151.

Anthony, Susan, II, 344.

Antioch College, I, 169.

Antonayades, Mr., II, 34.

Antwerp, I, 279; II, 11, 172.

Antwerp Cathedral, II, 11, 172.

Antwerp Musée, II, 11, 172, 173.

Ap Thomas, Mr., I, 266.

Apocrypha, I, 317.

Appleton, Fanny. See Longfellow.

Appleton, Maud, II, 58.

Appleton, T. G., I, 159, 359; II, 92, 93.

Argos, I, 275, 277.

Argyll, Elizabeth, Duchess of, I, 267.

Argyll, G. D., Campbell, Duke of, I, 267.

Argyll, ninth Duke of, I, 267; II, 223.

Arion Musical Society, II, 173.

Aristophanes, I, 329; II, 98, 128, 130.

Aristotle, I, 335; II, 7, 169, 174, 348, 372.

Armenia, II, 189, 190, 209, 215.

Armenia, Friends of, II, 190, 191.

Armstrong, S. C., II, 91.

Army Register, I, 344.

Arnold, Benedict, I, 5.

Arnold, Matthew, II, 87.

Arthur, Chester A., II, 101.

Ascension Church, I, 70.

Assiout, II, 36.

Association for the Advancement of Women, I, 361, 373-76, 383, 384; II, 29, 58, 73, 84, 90, 91, 95, 97, 98, 131, 141, 152, 162, 178, 180, 183, 199, 200, 207, 209, 268.

Astor, Emily. See Ward.

Astor, John, I, 121.

Astor, Wm. B., I, 57, 99.

Athens, I, 273, 274, 275, 278, 287; II, 43, 243.

Athens Museum, II, 43.

Atherstone, I, 97, 280.

Athol, I, 119.

Atkinson, Edward, II, 62, 177.

Atlanta, II, 207, 208.

Atlantic, II, 75.

Atlantic Monthly, I, 176, 188; II, 295.

Augusta, Empress, II, 22.

Austria, I, 94.

Authors Club, Boston, II, 270, 271, 320, 334, 340, 341, 354, 357.

Avignon, I, 97.

Babcock, Mrs. C. A., II, 215.

Bacon, Gorham, II, 49.

Baddeley, Mr., II, 246.

Baez, Buenaventura, I, 323, 325, 328, 329, 334.

Bailey, Jacob, I, 37, 52.

Bairam, feast of, II, 34.

Baker, Lady, I, 267.

Baker, Sir Samuel, I, 266.

Baltimore, I, 169, 240; II, 343, 344.

Baluet, Judith. See Marion.

Balzac, Honoré de, I, 67.

Bancroft, George, I, 46, 209, 230; II, 139.

Bank of Commerce, I, 17, 63.

Bank of England, I, 62.

Bank of the United States, I, 62.

Banks, N. P., I, 172.

Barlow, Gen. Francis, I, 192; II, 61.

Barlow, Mrs. Francis, I, 192.

Barnardo, T. J., II, 165.

Barnstable, I, 231, 232, 233.

Barrows, S. J., II, 229.

Barrows, Mrs. S. J., II, 209, 228.

Bartenders' Union, I, 391.

Bartol, C. A., I, 221, 222, 234, 245, 286, 346; II, 127.

Barton, Clara, II, 210, 215.

Batcheller, Mrs. Alfred, II, 269.

Batcheller, Mrs. Frank, II, 292.

Battle Abbey, I, 4.

Battle Hymn, I, 9, 173, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 230, 234; II, 108, 125, 136, 155, 191, 233, 250, 265, 273, 279, 311, 327, 349, 351, 354, 365, 381, 392, 411, 412.

Baur, F. C., I, 329, 332, 333, 335, 356.

Bayard, T. F., II, 96.

Beach, H. P., II, 61, 73, 76, 90.

Beal, J. A., II, 322.

Bedford, Duchess of, II, 171.

Bedford Hills, II, 364.

Beecher, Catherine, I, 110.

Beecher, H. W., I, 226, 365; II, 123, 235.

Beethoven, L. van, II, 19, 157, 351.

Belgium, I, 279, 280; II, 172.

Belknap, Jane, I, 128.

Bell, Helen, II, 150.

Bellini, Vincenzo, II, 313.

Bellows, H. W., II, 57.

Benzon, Mrs., I, 265, 266.

Berdan, Mrs., II, 227.

Bergson, Henri, II, 401.

Berlin, I, 93, 94; II, 12, 19.

Bernhardt, Sarah, II, 227.

Besant, Walter, II, 171.

Bethany, II, 40.

Bethlehem, II, 38.

Bible, I, 46, 53, 109, 208, 254, 310, 323, 336, 340, 344, 385; II, 95, 174, 231.

Bigelow, Mary, I, 145.

Bigelow, Susan, I, 145; II, 231.

Birckhead, Caroline, II, 233.

Birckhead, Christopher, II, 407.

Birckhead, Hugh, II, 410.

Bird, F. W., Sr., II, 187.

Bishop, Mr., I, 240, 241.

Bisland, Elizabeth, II, 108.

Bismarck, Otto von, II, 19, 303.

Björnson, Björnstjerne, II, 243, 247.

Black, Wm., II, 9.

Blackstone, Wm., I, 73.

Blackwell, Alice, II, 190, 233, 325.

Blackwell, Antoinette, I, 375; II, 152, 154.

Blackwell, Henry, I, 332; II, 190.

Blair, Montgomery, I, 238.

Blanc, Louis, II, 24.

Blind, work for the, I, 73; II, 347. See also Perkins Institution and Kindergarten.

Bloomsbury, II, 4, 7.

Boatswain's Whistle, I, 210, 211.

Boer War, II, 272.

Bologna, II, 27.

Bonaparte, Joseph, I, 147, 328.

Bond Street, I, 22.

Bonheur, Rosa, II, 20.

Boocock, Mr., I, 43, 44.

Booth, Charles, II, 166.

Booth, Edwin, I, 172, 177, 203-05, 219, 327; II, 69, 70, 97, 183, 198, 345.

Booth, J. Wilkes, I, 220, 221.

Booth, Mary, I, 200, 204.

Boppart, I, 133.

Boston, I, 67, 70, 74, 75, 102-04, 111, 123, 126, 127, 129, 130, 132, 156, 176, 203, 207, 249, 261, 294; II, 60, 87, 92, 130, 168, 171, 181, 363.

Boston Armenian Relief Committee, II, 189.

Boston Conservatory of Music, II, 181, 217.

Boston Museum, I, 166; II, 158.

Boston Symphony Orchestra, II, 373.

Boston Theatre, I, 203, 210, 350; II, 210.

Bostwick, Mr., II, 225.

Bottomore, Billy, I, 53, 54.

Bourbon dynasty, I, 310.

Bowditch, H. I., II, 187.

Bowles, Ada C., I, 318, 390.

Boys' Reform School, I, 233.

Bracebridge, C. N., I, 97, 280.

Bracebridge, Mrs. C. N., I, 97, 280.

Brahms, Johannes, II, 71, 156, 210.

Brain Club, I, 201, 202, 215, 257, 264, 281.

Brattleboro, I, 118, 119.

Breadwinners' College, II, 128.

Breschkovskaya, Catherine, II, 187, 188.

Bridgman, Laura, I, 73, 74, 89, 95, 101, 102, 133; II, 8, 145, 262, 293.

Bright, Jacob, I, 314.

Broadwood, Louisa, II, 247, 255.

Brontë, Charlotte, I, 170.

Brooke, Lord, II, 165.

Brooke, Stopford, II, 167.

Brooklyn, I, 27; II, 202.

Brooks, C. T., I, 255; II, 56.

Brooks, Phillips, II, 75, 126, 127, 141, 162, 171, 172, 179.

Brooks, Preston, I, 168.

Brown, Anna, II, 57.

Brown, Charlotte Emerson, II, 182.

Brown, John, I, 151, 177, 179, 187, 381; II, 234.

Brown, Mrs. John, I, 177.

Brown, Olympia, I, 389.

Brown University, I, 72, 297; II, 392.

Browning, E. B., I, 201, 266; II, 167.

Browning, Robert, I, 266; II, 5, 84, 171, 227, 306, 367.

Bruce, Mr., II, 167.

Bruce, Mrs. E. M., I, 389, 391.

Bruges, I, 280.

Brummel, G. B., I, 316.

Brussels, I, 279.

Bryant, W. C., I, 209, 304; II, 197, 198.

Bryce, James, II, 168.

Buck, Florence, I, 391.

Buffalo, I, 376; II, 90, 139.

Buller, Charles, I, 82.

Bullock, A. H., I, 249.

Bulwer-Lytton, E., I, 262; II, 206.

Burne-Jones, Mrs. E., II, 169.

Burns, Robert, I, 139.

Burr, Mrs., II, 130.

Burt, Mr., II, 248.

Busoni, Sig., II, 192.

Butcher, S. H., II, 323.

Butler, Josephine, II, 21.

Butler, W. A., II, 248, 306.

Butterworth, Hezekiah, II, 228, 270.

Byron, G. Gordon, Lord, I, 68; II, 296.

Cable, G. W., II, 87.

Cabot, Elliot, II, 363.

Caine, Hall, II, 243, 248, 250.

Cairo, II, 34, 35, 36, 182.

California, II, 131, 135, 154.

Calypso, I, 272.

Cambridge Club, II, 66.

Campagna, I, 95, 134.

Campanari, Sig., II, 270.

Campbell, Dudley, II, 8.

Campello, Count Salome di, II, 273, 285, 302.

Cardini, Sig., I, 43, 44.

Carignan, Prince de, II, 31.

Carlisle, Lady, I, 85, 87; II, 166.

Carlisle, G. W. F. Howard, Earl of, I, 81, 85, 88.

Carlyle, Thomas, I, 84, 86, 172; II, 65, 85, 86.

Carlyle, Mrs. Thomas, I, 84; II, 85, 86.

Cary, Mrs., I, 159.

Casino Theatre, II, 54, 68, 77.

Catlin, Mrs., II, 179.

Catucci, Count, II, 243.

Catucci, Countess, II, 243.

Century Club, I, 258.

Cerito, I, 87, 88.

Ceuta, II, 234.

Chabreuil, Vicomte de, I, 257.

Chambrun, Marquis de, I, 239.

Chamounix, II, 20.

Chanler, Alida, II, 225.

Chanler, Margaret. See Aldrich, Mrs. Richard.

Chanler, Margaret Terry, II, 55, 57, 60, 65, 67, 174, 176, 202, 220, 224, 240, 243, 244, 253, 254, 303.

Chanler, T. W., II, 303, 304.

Chanler, Winthrop, II, 72, 94, 174, 225, 243, 303.

Channing, Eva, II, 208.

Channing, W. E., I, 70, 72, 200; II, 56, 57, 77, 108, 142.

Channing, W. H., I, 286; II, 57, 194.

Channing Memorial Church, II, 78.

Chapman, Elizabeth, II, 215, 224, 289.

Chapman, J. J., II, 361.

Charitable Eye and Ear Infirmary, I, 129.

Charity Club, II, 228.

Charleston, I, 11.

Chase, Jacob, II, 57, 58.

Chase, Mrs. Jacob, II, 57.

Châtelet, Mme. du, II, 23.

Chaucer, Geoffrey, II, 271.

Cheney, E. D., I, 341, 375; II, 88, 119, 152, 195, 208, 266, 302, 324, 328.

Chester, II, 4, 164.

Chicago, I, 374; II, 87, 131, 138, 178, 180, 184.

Chickering, Mr., I, 120.

Chopin, Frédéric, II, 55, 170, 351.

Christian Herald, II, 278.

Christian Register, II, 62.

Church of Rome, II, 241.

Church of the Disciples, I, 186, 237, 284, 346, 392; II, 56.

Cincinnati, I, 169.

City Point, II, 75.

Clarke, Bishop, II, 198.

Clarke, J. F., I, 177, 185, 186, 187, 198, 211, 219, 236, 239, 247, 257, 263, 286, 290, 346, 362, 375, 392; II, 66, 67, 70, 76, 137, 159, 234, 280, 402, 403.

Clarke, Mrs. J. F., II, 217.

Clarke, Sarah, I, 237.

Claudius, Matthias, I, 67, 68; II, 71.

Clay, Henry, I, 98.

Clemens, S. L., II, 50, 187, 341.

Clement, E. H., II, 320;

verse by, 335.

Cleveland, I, 365, 377; II, 139.

Cleveland, Henry, I, 74.

Cobb, Dr., II, 410.

Cobbe, Frances P., I, 266, 314; II, 62.

Cobden-Sanderson, Mr., II, 367.

Cobden-Sanderson, Mrs., II, 367.

Cochrane, Jessie, II, 240, 246, 249.

Coggeshall, Joseph, I, 253; II, 57.

Cogswell, J. G., I, 46, 104, 184.

Colby, Clara, II, 180.

Cole, Thomas, I, 42.

Colfax, Schuyler, I, 378.

Collegio Romano, II, 255.

Colliers' Weekly, II, 391.

Collyer, Robert, II, 62, 230, 255, 344.

Cologne, I, 92; II, 173.

Colonial Dames, II, 198.

Colorado, I, 372.

Columba Kang, II, 91.

Columbia University, II, 227.

Columbian Exposition, II, 107, 178, 181, 182, 184.

Columbus, Christopher, I, 323; II, 178, 194, 244, 357.

Combe, George, I, 95.

Commonwealth, I, 141, 142.

Concord, Mass., I, 152, 177; II, 57, 61, 77, 128, 194.

Concord, N.H., I, 254.

Concord Prison, II, 252.

Concord School of Philosophy, II, 118, 119, 120, 128.

Constantinople, I, 345; II, 35, 42.

Continental Congress, I, 4.

Conway, M. D., I, 306.

Cook's agency, II, 34, 41.

Cookson, Mr., II, 170.

Coolidge, Joseph, II, 313.

Copperheads, I, 239.

Coquelin, B. C., II, 288, 289.

Coquerel, Athanase, I, 286; II, 315.

Corday, Charlotte, I, 12.

Cordés, Charlotte, I, 12.

Corea, II, 91.

Corfù, I, 272.

Corné, Father, I, 53, 54.

Corot, J. B. C., II, 172.

Corse, Gen., II, 380.

Cotta, J. F., I, 202.

Council of Italian Women, II, 254, 255.

Cowell, Mary, I, 13.

Crabbe, George, I, 13.

Cram, R. A., II, 156.

Cramer, J. B., I, 43.

Crawford, Annie. See Rabé.

Crawford, Eleanor, II, 389.

Crawford, F. Marion, I, 130, 254, 255, 362; II, 28, 31, 65, 69-71, 80, 81, 84, 240, 362, 376, 389.

Crawford, Mrs. F. M., II, 240.

Crawford, Harold, II, 240.

Crawford, Louisa W., I, 18, 19, 30, 34, 35, 58, 59, 70, 78, 79, 95, 103, 115, 118, 130, 134.

Letters to, I, 81, 84, 88, 92, 110, 111, 113-17, 119-22, 125-29, 130, 131, 155-59, 168, 170-72.

See also Terry, Louisa.

Crawford, Thomas, I, 41, 95, 115; II, 55, 389.

Crete, I, 260-62, 264, 275-77, 278, 287; II, 43, 44, 225, 394.

Crimea, I, 294.

Crimean War, II, 189.

Critic, N.Y., II, 66.

Crothers, S. McC., II, 320.

Crusaders, II, 15.

Cuba, I, 173, 176, 177, 326.

Cuckson, Mr., II, 203.

Cumberland Lakes, I, 92.

Curiel, Señor, I, 324.

Curtis, G. W., I, 143, 159, 160; II, 93.

Letter of, II, 147.

Cushing, Mr., II, 74, 75.

Cushing, Louisa, II, 227.

Cushman, Charlotte, I, 204; II, 345.