He became a student in the steel works at Troy, and here he met his fate. Our cousin, Mary Ward, gave him a letter of introduction to Mr. Willard Gay, a leading banker of Troy. The Gays received him hospitably at their pleasant home over the bank where Mr. Gay was the presiding genius. It soon became evident to him that young Howe and his elder daughter, Fannie, had become interested in each other. Mr. Gay wrote to his kinsman, Doctor Gay of Boston for advice. Doctor Gay answered somewhat in this fashion. “I don’t know the young man, but I know his father. If Doctor Howe’s son wanted to marry my daughter, I should say ‘yes.’” Speaking of my brother at this time, Doctor Rossiter Raymond said in a recent address, “His father was Doctor Samuel G. Howe, famous for his service for Greece in her war for independence, from 1824 to 1830, and later for his labors in the instruction of the blind. His mother was Julia Ward Howe, author of the ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’ and leader in many reforms. It was a good stock on both sides, making him heir to intellectual keenness and refinement, the capacity for both enthusiasm and perseverance, a passion for the pursuit of knowledge, and a gift of clear and felicitous statement.” In 1874 Harry Howe and Fannie Gay were married and have lived happily together ever since.[2] Our parents held that the only “prudent” marriage is a love match, and were well satisfied with their children’s choice of life partners. At this time the husband of an unattractive daughter of a rich man said to me: “Take my advice, Maud, marry for love. You may get something out of it. If you marry for money,--you won’t!” We all married for love, and we all have got as much happiness out of life as our several natures allowed. The third generation followed the same rule. To-day there is not a criminal, a degenerate, or a slacker among my parent’s descendants; not one who is not straight and sound in wind and limb. In 1871, when I was left the only bird in the nest, I was seventeen. For several years Florence had relieved Mama of housekeeping duties; these cares now devolved upon me. We kept open house for relatives, friends, and distinguished travelers, few of whom came to Boston without breaking our bread. No one can have as keen a sense of my shortcomings as a housekeeper as I have myself; I did the best I could with the means at my disposal, and however conscious of my defects our guests were, I do not think my dear mother was troubled by them. My father, for whose sake I learned to make bread, to care for the milk, and make the butter for the table, did his best to help me. While I wanted to be a good daughter, to make my parents happy, mine was a pleasure-loving nature. Mama was indulgent, accepted her youngest as she was. A sentence at this time expressed her attitude: “Maud, you are frivolous; but your salads are divine.”