Julia Ward Howe

The ninetieth birthday was a festival, indeed. Letters and telegrams poured in, rose in toppling piles which almost—not quite—daunted her; she would hear every one, would answer as many as flesh and blood could compass. Here is one of them:—

Most hearty congratulations on your ninetieth birthday from the boy you picked up somewhere in New York and placed in the New York Orphan Asylum on April 6th, 1841. Sorry I have never been able to meet you in all that time. You [were] one of the Board of Trustees at that time.

Respectfully and Thankfully,

Wm. Davidson.

I was then about five years old, now seventy-three.

Writing to her friend of many years, Mrs. Ellen Mitchell, she says:—

"Your birthday letter was and is much valued by me. Its tone of earnest affection is an element in the new inspiration recently given me by such a wonderful testimony of public and private esteem and goodwill as has been granted me in co

To Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford

Dear Mrs. Spofford,—

You wrote me a lovely letter on my ninetieth birthday. I ca

Wishing that I might sometimes see you, believe me

Yours with affectionate regard,

Julia Ward Howe.

Close upon the Birthday came another occasion of the kind which we—in these later years—at once welcomed and deplored. She enjoyed nothing so much as a "function," and nothing tired her so much.

On June 16, Brown University, her husband's alma mater and her grandfather's, conferred upon her the degree of Doctor of Laws. She went to Providence to receive it in person, and thus describes the commencement exercises to Mrs. Mitchell:—

"The ordeal of the Doctorate was rather trying, but was made as easy as possible for me. The venerable old church was well filled, and was quite beautiful. I sat in one of the front pews—two learned people led me to the foot of the platform from which President Faunce, with some laudatory remarks, handed me my diploma, while some third party placed a picturesque hood upon my shoulders. The band played the air of my 'Battle Hymn,' and applause followed me as I went back to my seat. So there!"

Her companion on that occasion writes:—

"She sat listening quietly to the addresses, watched each girl and boy just starting on the voyage of life as they marched to the platform and received from the President's hand the scrap of paper, the parchment diploma, reward of all their studies. Her name was called last. With the deliberate step of age, she walked forward, wearing her son's college gown over her white dress, his mortar-board cap over her lace veil. She seemed less moved than any person present; she could not see what we saw, the tiny gallant figure bent with fourscore and ten years of study and hard labor. As she moved between the girl students who stood up to let her pass, she whispered, 'How tall they are! It seems to me the girls are much taller than they used to be.' Did she realize how much shorter she was than she once had been? I think not.

"Then, her eyes sparkling with fun while all other eyes were wet, she shook her hard-earned diploma with a gay gesture in the faces of those girls, cast on them a keen glance that somehow was a challenge, 'Catch up with me if you can!'

"She had labored long for the higher education of women, suffered estrangement, borne ridicule for it—the sight of those girl graduates, starting on their life voyage equipped with a good education, was like a sudden realization of a life-long dream; uplifted her, gave her strength for the fatigues of the day. At the di

She was asked for a Fourth of July message to the Sunday-School children of the Congregational Church, and wrote:—

"I want them to build up character in themselves and in the community, to give to the country just so many men and women who will be incapable of mea

In the summer of 1909 the Cretan question came up again. Once more Turkey attempted to regain active possession of Crete; once more the voice of Christendom was raised in protest. She had no thought this time of being "too old." Being called upon for help, she wrote at once to President Taft, "praying him to find some way to help the Cretans in the terrible prospect of their being delivered over, bound hand and foot, to Turkish misrule." She was soon gladdened by a reply from the President, saying that he had not considered the Cretans as he should, but promising to send her letter to the Secretary of State. "I thank God most earnestly," she writes, "for even thus much. To-day, I feel that I must write all pressing letters, as my time may be short."

Accordingly she composed an open letter on the Cretan question. "It is rather crude, but it is from my heart of hearts. I had to write it."

Suffrage, too, had its share of her attention this summer. There were meetings at "Marble House" [Newport] in which she was deeply interested. She attended one in person; to the next she sent the second and third generations, staying at home herself to amuse and care for the fourth.

On the last day of August she records once more her sorrow at the departure of the summer. She adds, "God grant me to be prepared to live or die, as He shall decree. It is best, I think, to anticipate life, and to cultivate forethought.... I think it may have been to-day that I read the last pages of Martineau's 'Seat of Authority in Religion,' an extremely valuable book, yet a painful one to read, so entirely does it do away with the old-time divinity of the dear Christ. But it leaves Him the divinity of character—no theory or discovery can take that away."

Late September brought an occasion to which she had looked forward with mingled pleasure and dread; the celebration of the Hudson-Fulton Cente