His talk was delightfully genial. I asked him if his journey had been wearisome. "Not at all," he replied; "I have enjoyed it all." The scenery seemed to have impressed him deeply. "When one crosses your mountains," he said, "and sees their wonderful arches, one discovers how architecture came to be invented." When asked if he could favor us with some lectures, he smiled and said: "Well, my daughter thought you might want something of that kind, and put a few in my trunk, in case of an emergency." When it came to dates, it was found that he was to leave the next day for a short trip to the Geysers, and it was difficult to arrange the course of three, which had been fixed upon, after his return. It was about eleven o'clock when we called. I asked him if he could give us one of the lectures that evening. He smiled and said, "Oh, yes," adding, "I don't know what you can do here, but in Boston we could not expect to get an audience on such short notice." We assured him that we felt confident in taking the chances on that. Going at once to the office of the Evening Bulletin, we arranged for a good local notice, and soon had a number of small boys distributing announcements in the business streets.
The audience was a good one in point of numbers, and a pleased and interested one. His peculiar manner of reading a few pages, and then shuffling his papers, as though they were inextricably mixed, was embarrassing at first, but when it was found that he was not disturbed by it, and that it was not the result of an accident, but a characteristic manner of delivery, the audience withheld its sympathy and rather enjoyed the novelty and the feeling of uncertainty as to what would come next. One little incident of the lecture occasioned an admiring smile. A small bunch of flowers had been placed on the reading-desk, and by some means, in one of his shuffles, they were tipped over and fell forward to the floor. Not at all disconcerted, he skipped nimbly out of the pulpit, picked up the flowers, put them back in the vase, replaced it on the desk, and went on with the lecture as though nothing had happened.
He was much interested in the twenty-dollar gold pieces in which he was paid, never before having met with that form of money. His encouraging friendliness of manner quite removed any feeling that a great man's time was being wasted through one's intercourse. He gossiped pleasantly of men and things as though talking with an equal. On one occasion he seemed greatly to enjoy recounting how cleverly James Russell Lowell imitated Alfred Tennyson's reading of his own poems. Over the Sunday-school of our church Starr King had provided a small room where he could retire and gain seclusion. It pleased Emerson. He said, "I think I should enjoy a study beyond the orbit of the servant girl." He was as self-effacing a man as I ever knew, and the most agreeable to meet.
After his return from his short trip he gave two or three more lectures, with a somewhat diminishing attendance. Dr. Stebbins remarked in explanation, "I thought the people would tire in the sockets of their wings if they attempted to follow him."
At this distance, I can remember little that he said, but no distance of time or space can ever dim the delight I felt in meeting him, or the impression formed of a most attractive, penetrating, and inspiring personality.
His kindliness and geniality were unbounded. During our arrangement of dates Mr. Davis smiled as he said of one suggested by Mr. Emerson, "That would not be convenient for Mr. Murdock, for it is the evening of his wedding." He did not forget it. After the lecture, a few days later, he turned to me and asked, "Is she here?" When I brought my flattered wife, he chatted with her familiarly, asking where she had lived before coming to California, and placing her wholly at ease.
Every tone of his voice and every glance of his eye suggested the most absolute serenity. He seemed the personification of calm wisdom. Nothing disturbed him, nothing depressed him. He was as serene and unruffled as a morning in June. He radiated kindliness from a heart at peace with all mankind. His gentleness of manner was an illustration of the possibility of beauty in conduct. He was wholly self-possessed—to imagine him in a passion would be impossible. His word was searching, but its power was that of the sunbeam and not of the blast. He was above all teapot tempests, a strong, tender, fearless, trustful man.
JULIA WARD HOWE
Julia Ward Howe is something more than a noble memory. She has left her impress on her time, and given a new significance to womanhood. To hear the perfect music of the voice of so cultivated a woman is something of an education, and to have learned how gracious and kindly a great nature really is, is an experience well worth cherishing. Mrs. Howe was wonderfully alive to a wide range of interests—many-sided and sympathetic. She could take the place of a minister and speak effectively from deep conviction and a wide experience, or talk simply and charmingly to a group of school-children.
When some years later than her San Francisco visit she spoke at a King's Chapel meeting in Boston, growing feebleness was apparent, but the same gracious spirit was undimmed. Later pictures have been somewhat pathetic. We do not enjoy being reminded of mortality in those of pre-eminent spirit, but what a span of events and changes her life records, and what a part in it all she had borne! When one ponders on the inspiring effect of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and of the arms it nerved and the hearts it strengthened, and on the direct blows she struck for the emancipation of woman, it seems that there has been abundant answer to her prayer,