Such was the beginning of her work for peace, which was to end only with her life. Disappointed in her hope of a world congress, she turned the current of her effort in a new direction. She would have a festival, a day which should be called Mothers' Day, and be devoted to the advocacy of peace doctrines. She chose the second day of June; for many years she and her friends and followers kept this day religiously, with sweet and tender observances which were unspeakably dear to her. In 1876 there was a great peace meeting in Philadelphia. The occasion is thus described by the Reverend Ada C. Bowles: "There were delegates from France, Italy, and Germany, each with a burning desire to be heard, and all worth hearing, but none able to speak English. The audience looked to the anxious face of the President with sympathy; then a voice was heard, 'Call for Mrs. Howe.' Those present will never forget how her presence changed the meeting from a threatened failure to a noble success. The German, Frenchman, and Italian stood in turn by her side. At the proper moment she lifted a finger, and then gave in her perfect English each speech in full to the delight of the delegates and the admiration of all." The last celebration of her Mothers' Day was held in Riverton, New Jersey, on June 1, 1912, by the Pennsylvania Peace Society, in conjunction with the Universal Peace Union. On the printed invitation to this festival we read "Aid it, paper, aid it, pen, Aid it, hearts of earnest men. "Julia Ward Howe, 1874." And further on, "Thirty-nine years ago Julia Ward Howe instituted this festival for peace,--a time for the women and children to come together; to meet in the country, invite the public, and recite, speak, sing and pray for 'those things that make for peace.'" CHAPTER XV SANTO DOMINGO 1872-1874; _aet._ 53-56 A PARABLE "I sent a child of mine to-day; I hope you used him well." "Now, Lord, no visitor of yours Has waited at my bell. "The children of the Millionnaire Run up and down our street; I glory in their well-combed hair, Their dress and trim complete. "But yours would in a chariot come With thoroughbreds so gay; And little merry maids and men To cheer him on his way." "Stood, then, no child before your door?" The Lord, persistent, said. "Only a ragged beggar-boy, With rough and frowzy head. "The dirt was crusted on his skin, His muddy feet were bare; The cook gave victuals from within; I cursed his coming there." What sorrow, silvered with a smile, Slides o'er the face divine? What tenderest whisper thrills rebuke? "The beggar-boy was mine!" J. W. H. We must go back a little to tell another story.