and private. He
returned to Boston in the autumn, and seemed at first benefited by the
change. He felt, however, and we felt, that a change was impending.

"On Christmas day he was able to dine with his family, and to converse
with one or two invited guests. On the first of January he said to an
intimate friend: 'I have told my people that they will bury me this
month.' This was merely a passing impression, as in fact he had not so
spoken to any of us. On January 4th, while up and about as usual, he was
attacked by sudden and severe convulsions, followed by insensibility;
and on January 9th he breathed his last, surrounded by his family, and
apparently without pain or consciousness. Before the end Laura Bridgman
was brought to his bedside, to touch once more the hand that had
unlocked the world to her. She did so, weeping bitterly."

A great mourning was made for Dr. Howe. Eulogies were pronounced before
the legislature of Massachusetts, and resolutions of regret and sympathy
came to us from various beneficent associations. From Greece came back a
touching echo of our sorrow, and by an order, sent from thence, a floral
tribute was laid upon the casket of the early friend and champion of
Greek liberties. A beautiful helmet and sword, all of violets, the
parting gift of the household, seemed a fitting recognizance for one
whom Whittier has named "The Modern Bayard."

Shortly after this sad event a public meeting was held in Boston Music
Hall in commemoration of Dr. Howe's great services to the community. The
governor of Massachusetts (Hon. Alexander H. Rice) presided, and
testimonials were offered by many eminent men.

Poems written for the occasion were contributed by Oliver Wendell
Holmes, William Ellery Channing, and Rev. Charles T. Brooks. Of these
exercises I will only say that, although my husband's life was well
known to me, I listened almost with amazement to the summing up of its
deeds of merit. It seemed almost impossible that so much good could be
soberly said of any man, and yet I knew that it was all said truthfully
and in grave earnest.

My husband's beloved pupil, Laura Bridgman, was seated upon the
platform, where a friend interpreted the proceedings to her in the
finger language. The music, which was of a high order, was furnished by
the pupils of the institution for the blind at South Boston.

The occasion was one never to be forgotten. As I review it after an
interval of many years, I find that t