"Farewell, dear St. Paul. I shall never forget you, nor this delightful visit, which has renewed (almost) the dreams of youth. In the car a kind old grandmother, with two fine little boy grands....
"The dear old grandmother and her boys got out at the Soo. Other ladies in the Pullman were very kind to me, especially a lady from St. Paul, with her son, who I thought might be a young husband. She laughed much at this when I mentioned it to her. Had an argument with her, regarding hypnotism, I insisting that it is demoralizing when used by a strong will to subdue a weak one."
"May 25. [Boston.] Went in the afternoon to Unitarian meeting at Tremont Temple. S. A. Eliot made me come up on the platform. He asked if I would give a word of benediction. I did so, thanking God earnestly in my heart for granting me this sweet office, which seemed to lift my soul above much which has disturbed it of late. Why is He so good to me? Surely not to destroy me at last."
"June 3.... Before church had a thought of some sweet spirit asking to go to hell to preach to the people there. Thought that if he truly fulfilled his office, he would not leave even that forlorn pastorate...."
"June 10.... Could not find the key to my money bag, which distressed me much. Promised St. Anthony of Padua that if he would help me, I would take pains to find out who he was. Found the key immediately...."
"June 18.... The little lump in my right breast hurts me a little to-day. Have written Wesselhoeft about it. 4.50 P.M. He has seen it and says that it is probably cancerous; forbids me to think of an operation; thinks he can stop it with medicine. When he told me that it was in all probability a cancer, I felt at first much unsettled in mind. I feared that the thought of it would occupy my mind and injure my health by inducing sleeplessness and nervous excitement. Indeed, I had some sad and rather vacant hours, but dinner and Julia's[131] company put my dark thought to flight and I lay down to sleep as tranquilly as usual."
[Whatever this trouble was, it evidently brought much suffering, but finally disappeared. We learn of it for the first time in this record; she never spoke of it to any of her family.]
"Oak Glen. June 21. Here I am seated once more at my old table, beginning another villeggiatura, which may easily be my last. Have read a little Greek and a long article in the 'New World.' I pray the dear Heavenly Father to help me pass a profitable season here, improving it as if it were my last, whether it turns out to be so or not."
[She was not in her usual spirits this summer. She felt the heat and the burden of years. The Journal is mostly in a minor key.]
"July 16. Took up a poem at which I have been working for some days, on the victims in Pekin; a strange theme, but one on which I feel I have a word to say. Wrote it all over...."