[108] _Song Album._ Published by G. Schirmer & Co. In May of this year she notes the closing of a life long associated with hers. "_May 24._ Laura Bridgman died to-day at about 12 M. This event brings with it solemn suggestions, which my overcrowded brain cannot adequately follow. Her training was a beautiful out-blossoming from the romance of my husband's philanthropy. She has taught a great lesson in her time, and unfortunates of her sort are now trained, without question of the result. This was to S. G. H. an undiscovered country in the first instance. I cannot help imagining him as standing before the face of the Highest and pointing to his work: happy, thrice happy man, with all his sorrow!" The close of her seventieth year was a notable milestone on the long road. May found her still carrying full sail; a little more tired after each exertion, a little puzzled at the occasional rebellion of "Sister Body," her hard-worked "A.B.,"; but not yet dreaming of taking in a reef. The seventieth birthday was a great festival. Maud, inviting Oliver Wendell Holmes to the party, had written, "Mamma will be _seventy years young_ on the 27th. Come and play with her!" The Doctor in his reply said, "It is better to be seventy years young than forty years old!" Dr. Holmes himself was now eighty years old. It was in these days that she went with Laura to call on him, and found him in his library, a big, bright room, looking out on the Charles River, books lining the walls, a prevailing impression of atlases and dictionaries open on stands. The greeting between the two was pleasant to see, their talk something to remember. "Ah, Mrs. Howe," said the Autocrat, "you at seventy have much to learn about life. At eighty you will find new vistas opening in every direction!" Ten years later she was reminded of this. "It is true!" she said. At parting he kissed her, which touched her deeply. He was in another mood when they met at a reception shortly after this. "Ah! Mrs. Howe," he said, "you see I still hang on as one of the old wrecks!" "Yes, you are indeed _Rex_!" was the reply. "Then, Madam," he cried with a flash, "you are _Regina_!" To return to the birthday! Here are a few of the letters received:-- _From George William Curtis_ WEST NEW BRIGHTON, STATEN ISLAND, N.Y., May 9, 1889. MY DEAR MRS. ELLIOTT,--