THE LAST YEARS 371 
Nahant, August 24, 1898 
Yes, it is a very intangible, inexplicable ripening of 
life that makes itself felt as we near the end, and which 
is very consoling and reassuring. It is difficult to say 
(even to one’s self) exactly what it means, but one 
rests in it with a certain quiet acceptance that brings 
strength. 
December 14, 1898. — “Queens” [a small club of 
old friends] at Clem Crafts’. It was very pleasant; 
our relation to each other is so simple and affectionate 
and the talk is very refreshing. The women are so 
bright and interested in all sorts of good things. 
February 9, 1899. — Went to the concert in the 
evening. Aus der Ohe played and then we had the en- 
chanting Brahms waltzes. The best waltz is like life, — 
a touch of pathos surging to the surface, mingled 
constantly with the gaiety and the movement. 
February 26, Sunday. — Tomorrow will be just a 
year since Sallie passed out of sight. The real anni- 
versary was the twenty-seventh, but Sunday seemed 
more like it, because she died on Sunday. I had 
just risen this morning and let in the daylight, when 
just outside my chamber door rose the sweetest, 
softest music — voices singing the trio, “Lift up thine 
eyes unto the mountains.” Sallie and Mary and I 
used to sing it so much together, especially at the 
Channing Hospital. At first the surprise was so 
absolute, the music so low and far away it seemed to 
me to come from heaven —as if I were half there. 
It was overwhelming — but it is well to have the 
