Such extracts might be extended almost indefinitely, for with Mrs. Moulton's very large circle of friends the number of letters which naturally came to her after the appearance of a new volume was inevitably large, and "In the Garden of Dreams" was so notable an achievement as to make this especially true. The closing decade found her rich in fame and in friends with an acknowledged and indeed undisputed place in the literary world, not only on this side of the water but the other, and the consciousness that it had been won not alone by her great natural gifts and marked personal charm, but by sincere and conscientious devotion, untiring and unselfish, to her art. A pleasant closing note was a Christmas card adorned with violets, on the back of which William Sharp had written the graceful lines: TO L.C.M. From over-sea Violets (for memories) I send to thee. Let them bear thought of me, With pleasant memories To touch the heart of thee, From over-sea. A little way it is for love to flee. Love winged with memories, Hither to thither over-sea. CHAPTER VI 1890-1895 And this is the reward. That the ideal shall be real to thee, and the impressions of the actual world shall fall like summer rain, copious, but not troublesome.... Doubt not, O Poet, but persist.--EMERSON. Onward the chariot of the Untarrying moves; Nor day divulges him nor night conceals. WILLIAM WATSON. They are winged, like the viewless wind, These days that come and go.--L.C.M. Mrs. Moulton's morning-room was on the second floor, its windows looking into the green trees of Rutland Square. In one corner was her desk, in the centre a table always piled with new books, many of which were autographed copies from their authors, and around the walls were low bookcases filled with her favorite volumes. Above these hung pictures, and on their tops were photographs and mementos. The mantel was attractive with pretty bric-a-brac, largely gifts. Between the two front windows was her special table filled with the immediate letters of the day, and by it her own chair in which, on mornings, she was quite sure to be found by the little group of friends privileged to familiar intimacy.