An article published that autumn in the press, declaring that protestantism was on the decline, troubled her. She desired to make some reply, not in a controversial spirit, however. Her interest in religion was too broad to be confined to any sect. We were glad to have her preach whenever invited to do so, provided her strength permitted, but unreasonable requests were sometimes made. Thus when the zealous pastor of a negro church invited us, in the course of an afternoon call, to go down on our knees in prayer, I protested successfully. If he had not carried a large umbrella in his hand I might have yielded. But how impossible would have been any approach to solemnity in the presence of that most unecclesiastical object! The memorial exercises after her death were held in Symphony Hall. Tickets had been issued to persons having a special claim to be present, but as soon as the doors were opened the great public, who also loved her, would not be denied admittance. They surged in, tickets or no tickets, and took possession of the great auditorium. The varied nature of the program corresponded with her diversified talents. A haunting-chorus of her own composition was sung by the blind pupils of the Institution founded by her husband. Many were the beautiful tributes paid to her by men and women of national reputation. None, however, equaled in heartfelt eloquence the speech of Lewis, the distinguished negro lawyer, as he poured out the gratitude of his race to the woman who had written the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” I suddenly realized what the words meant to the colored people. The appeal, “Let us die to make men free,” was for all men and for all time, yet in a special sense it was meant for the despised slave for whose freedom the soldiers of the Union laid down their lives in those dark days of the ’sixties. Sister Laura and I were already rejoicing in several grandchildren while our mother was still with us. People sometimes feel sorry for the grandmothers whom they see in the streets in charge of little children. The first impulse is to exclaim, “That old woman has earned a right to rest. It is too bad she should still be burdened with the care of babies.” The second and saner impulse is to rejoice that she still has strength for the day’s work. Our civilization should be so ordered that a well-spent life may bring a certain degree of freedom toward its close. But to have no responsibilities, to be an idle and frivolous elderly woman, would be a sad fate. No one need sink into it if she has grandchildren, the loveliest of all flowers, who bloom in the evening of life. If she has grandchildren of assorted ages she is especially fortunate, for she can then enjoy the various stages of babyhood and childhood at the same time.