This autumn saw the preparation of a new volume of poems, "Later Lyrics." Years had passed since the appearance of "Words for the Hour," and our mother had a great accumulation of poems, the arrangement of which proved a heavy task. "The labor of looking over the manuscript nearly made me ill.... Had a new bad feeling of intense pressure in the right temple." And again:-- "Nearly disabled by headaches.... Determine to push on with my volume." "Almost distracted with work of various sorts--my book--the new house--this one full of company, and a small party in the evening." "All these days much hurried by proofs. Went in the evening to the opening of the new wards in the Women's Hospital--read two short poems, according to promise. These were kindly received...." The next day she went with a party of friends to the Boys' Reform School at Westboro. "In the yard where the boys were collected, the guests were introduced. Quite a number crowded to see the Author of the 'Battle Hymn.' Two or three said to me: 'Are you the woman that wrote that "Battle Hymn"?' When I told them that I was, they seemed much pleased. This I felt to be a great honor." The next day again she is harassed with correcting proofs and furnishing copy. "Ran to Bartol for a little help, which he gave me." The Reverend C. A. Bartol was our next-door neighbor in Chestnut Street, a most kind and friendly one. His venerable figure, wrapped in a wide cloak, walking always in the middle of the road (we never knew why he eschewed the sidewalk), is one of the pleasant memories of Chestnut Street. We were now to leave that beloved street; a sorrowful flitting it was. "_Friday, November 3._ Moving all day. This is my last writing in this dear house, No. 13 Chestnut Street, where I have had three years of good work, social and family enjoyment. Here I enjoyed my dear Sammy for six happy months--here I mourned long and bitterly for him. Here I read my six lectures on Practical Ethics. Some of my best days have been passed in this house. God be thanked for the same!" CHAPTER XI NO. 19 BOYLSTON PLACE: "LATER LYRICS" 1866; _aet._ 47 IN MY VALLEY From the hurried city fleeing, From the dusty men and ways, In my golden sheltered valley, Count I yet some sunny days. Golden, for the ripened Autumn Kindles there its yellow blaze; And the fiery sunshine haunts it Like a ghost of summer days. Walking where the running water Twines its silvery caprice, Treading soft the leaf-spread carpet, I encounter thoughts like these:-- "Keep but heart, and healthful courage, Keep the ship against the sea, Thou shalt pass the dangerous quicksands That ensnare Futurity; "Thou shalt live for song and story, For the service of the pen; Shalt survive till children's children Bring thee mother-joys again. "Thou hast many years to gather; And these falling years shall bring The benignant fruits of Autumn, Answering to the hopes of Spring.