In the midst of the chaos that seemed to threaten the civilization I knew and loved, I had the feeling that, like the coral insect, my duty was to sit tight in my own little cell and work at it for all I was worth. The impulse to toil at the building of this particular cell--the Newport Art Association--was more like a blind instinct than a conscious exercise of will power. It was borne in upon me from the first that I could do my best war work in my own country. Though often tempted to depart from this decision, I managed to resist the ever-returning impulse to go overseas. The lure of active adventure was ever present and I constantly felt the urge of it, but my better judgment told me that my task was to “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” Some of my contemporaries accomplished great things by “going across”; more of them were sadly in the way of the younger people and gave endless trouble by falling ill and having to be taken care of. Only great wealth or very exceptional qualifications excused a woman of sixty for trying to throw in her lot with the field workers. There was enough to do at home between transforming my own particular charge, the Art Association, into a nerve center of patriotic activity, raising money for the war sufferers, and holding meetings to rouse public opinion and combat the enemy propaganda so insidiously spread in our community! In the spring of 1915, one of the earliest of these meetings was held with the double purpose of raising money for the British War Relief, and of rousing the public to a better understanding of the great struggle overseas. It was part of our policy to bring speakers from the larger cities on all such occasions, as well as to give our own people the opportunity of expressing their convictions. In the last days of 1916, my husband and I called together an influential group of persons and with their help organized a citizens’ meeting to protest against the deportations of the Belgians by Germany. This meeting followed close upon the great gathering in Carnegie Hall, and was the second of the kind to be held in the United States. Mr. Daniel Fearing, the genial and popular president of the Historical Society, presided at the meeting, which took place December 22 in the Auditorium of the Historical Society, a beautiful ancient hall piously preserved by the society and formerly the old Seventh Day Baptist Meeting House, where my ancestor, Governor Ward, worshipped. After the long series of patriotic functions I attended during the war, this gathering still remains as clear to me as if it had happened yesterday. Our fellow citizens made a good showing, and two distinguished speakers from out of town came to join in our protest, William Roscoe Thayer, and Major Louis Livingston Seaman. It was a glowing meeting. Major Seaman’s flaming indignation roused the audience to a white-hot heat, and Thayer’s graver, but not less ardent, appeal led the way to the final feature of the programme,