Commenting on the “wash-tub custom” her old physician said as she became so very tired after a hard day’s washing at first he used to protest, then facetiously remarked, But her spirits always rose Like the bubbles in the clothes; and therefore he concluded that Miss Barton knew better than he did what was good for her. LII Clara Barton—The millions she has blest. KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD. With the gleam of the scarlet she walks with the immortals now. Haverhill (Mass.) _Gazette_. One of the few immortal names. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. Oh! the love of woman, the love of woman! no coldness, no neglect, no harshness, no cruelty can extinguish thee! Like the fabled lamp in the sepulchre, thou sheddest thy pure light in the human heart, where everything around thee is dead forever. WILL CARLETON. Will Carleton—author of “The New Church Organ,” “Betsy and I are Out,” “Over the Hill to the Poor-house,” and many others. THE AUTHOR. Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. IMMORTAL WORDS—A MILLION THANKS The following correspondence occurred between two beloved Americans: On the occasion of Memorial Day, May 30, 1895, at Arlington, Will Carleton delivered the poem. It was so fine that at its close I felt a great desire to reach him with some word of appreciation and, tearing a scrap from an envelope which I had, I wrote this upon it: Thanks: Immortal thanks for immortal words. Arlington, 1895. (_Signed_) CLARA BARTON. Folding and addressing the scrap to Mr. Will Carleton, Miss Barton passed it to the next person, who graciously passed it to the next, and so on, through possibly a hundred hands, until finally it was lodged with Mr. Carleton. In due course of time, another little scrap with the following words came back to Miss Barton, through the same hands: To Miss Clara Barton, A million thanks to one, Who hath a million plaudits won, For deeds of love to many millions done. (Signed) WILL CARLETON. LIII Wherever flowers cannot be reared, there man cannot live. NAPOLEON. A rose to the living is sweet. CLARA BARTON. The roses are sweet, and blessed be they who bring them into one’s life. CLARA BARTON. A heaven-sent gift, and blessing, is the rose, Its grace inspireth aspirations high. E. G. BROWNE.