I remember the early years of the new century as a time of inspiration; the spirit of hope was abroad, the whole world seemed to have received a new impulse; good resolutions blossomed into good works. Men felt their strength to be as the strength of ten, and women that the twentieth century was theirs as no other had ever been. Like everybody else, I felt the impetus and finally finished, in collaboration with my sister Florence Hall, our long-delayed book, “Dr. Howe and his Famous Pupil, Laura Bridgman.” * * * * * [To my Mother.] January 9, 1904. Twenty-eight years ago to-day Papa died. For the first time since I began to work on the Laura Bridgman book, I can think of the day without smiting myself. Now another stunt will be to see that a statue, or some appropriate monument, is set up to his memory. I suppose one might trust his grandchildren, but I remember your old slogan: “If you want a thing done you must do it yourself.” I am tearing away at my Roman papers; they are acting like the devil. I may have to go to Margaret Deland to consult about them. I seemed to get a fine start; now the work grows stodgy, dull, soulless! Have had a letter from the _Century_, accepting my “St. John’s Eve in Rome” and offering me $100 for it. I have finished another paper for the Lippincotts; that will make five. The Roman papers were published in book form in two volumes, “Roma Beata” and “Two in Italy.” Of the many letters received about the Laura Bridgman book, two seem best worth preserving. [From Henry James.] Lamb House, Rye, Sussex, November 9th, 1903. My dear Maud Howe.