"December 27. The day was a very distressing one to me. I sat much of the time beside Flossy with a strange feeling that I could keep her alive by some effort of my will. I seemed to contend with God, saying, 'I gave up Julia, I can't give up Flossy—she has children.'..."
"December 28. Most of the day with dear Flossy, who seems a little better. I sat up with her until 1.30 A.M., and made a great effort of will to put her to sleep. I succeeded—she slept well for more than an hour and slept again for a good while without any narcotic."
Throughout the illness she fought against the use of narcotics.
The cloud of danger and anxiety passed, and the year closed in happiness and deep thankfulness. The last entry reads:—
"God bless all my dear people, sisters, children, grandchildren, and cousins. God grant me also to serve while I live, and not to fail of the high and holy life. Amen!"
To Laura
Monday, January 31, 1887.
Now, you just look here.
Daughter began her school and music to-day. Nobody's a-neglecting of her. What you mean? Grandma took her to Clarke church, prouder than a peacock,—Grandma, I mean.
Congregation inquit: "Whose child is that?"
"Laura's," responsa sum.
"Id cogitavi" was the general answer. And she's pop'lar, she is. Little fourteen-year-olds keep a-coming and a-coming. And I draws her bath, and tucks her up in bed. And she's having a splendid time. And I want some more of this paper. And my feelings won't allow me to say any more. No—my dearest sweetest pug pie, your darling won't be forgotten for a moment. We couldn't get at the lessons before, and last week, like strong drink, was raging.
'Fectionate
Ma.
Maud was now engaged to John Elliott, a young Scottish painter, whose acquaintance they had made in Europe in 1878. The marriage took place on February 7, 1887. Though there were many periods of separation, the Elliotts, when in this country, made their home for the most part with our mother. The affection between her and her son-in-law was deep; his devotion to her constant. Through the years that were to follow, the comradeship of the three was hardly less intimate than that of the two had been.
The Journal carries us swiftly onward. In place of the long meditations on philosophy and metaphysics, we have brief notes of comings and goings, of speaking and preaching, writing and reading. She works hard to finish her paper on "Women in the Three Professions, Law, Medicine, and Theology," for the "Chautauquan." "Very tired afterwards."
She speaks at the Newport Opera House with Mrs. Livermore (who said she did not know Mrs. Howe could speak so well); she takes part in the Authors' Reading for the Longfellow Memorial in the Boston Museum, reciting "Our Orders" and the "Battle Hymn," with her lines to Longfellow recently composed.