February 3, 1913. Opening of J.’s Red Cross exhibition. A terrific blizzard--a large attendance for such a day. The pictures looked fine. The first to be sold was Mrs. Kendall’s landscape, bought by Miss Ellery, perhaps the person who could afford it least of all who visited the show. Mr. Cantrell read Byron’s “Isles of Greece”, then Whittier’s “Hero.” Mr. Merrill explained the connection, how the first poem had aroused the Philhellenes of England and America, how S. G. H. had gone out to help the Greeks, and how Whittier’s poem described an incident of which Papa was the hero, in the Greek campaign. George Merrill also recited a lovely poem in French by his brother, “La Pluie.” The rain drumming on the roof made it very real. * * * * * March 23, 1913. News of the killing of poor King George of Greece came two days since. I danced with him more than once at the court balls in Athens years ago. The murderer seems to have been a crank; how many such murders there have been, and how near we have been to some of them. We were in Rome at the time of the murder of King Umberto; in Madrid when poor Don Carlos of Portugal was killed, and when the attempt on the life of the King and Queen of Spain was made on their wedding day. How uncomfortable to be a crowned head! They are fast becoming real martyrs to the cause of monarchy, as they must think. * * * * * February 14, 1914. I had a wonderful visitation (I cannot use another word) in the night. Mother was with me, looking in every way like herself. It was a dream of course, but a more vivid one than any I remember. We had a good deal of talk. I asked her, “Are you happy?” Her answer, in her most energetic and characteristic way, “Very happy.” I asked her if she had suffered much, referring to her end. She said, with the same optimistic cheerfulness: “No, not much.” She went on to say that she had rather expected to be left to the care of nurses, “but when I saw my dear Maud’s face”, meaning, as I thought, that she had been aware of the agony my face must have expressed. She seemed to be accompanied by a tall silent figure like Dante. At the end of the interview the side of the house melted away, and the two figures seemed just wafted from me. A most comforting and glorified vision! If I could believe such things, I should believe that her spirit had sought to reach and animate mine. I am none the less comforted and animated. * * * * *