But oh, I
used to be able to do _any_thing! Where is my old energy and vigor and
power gone! It should not ebb away quite so soon!" She recovered her
wonted tone and sufficient strength for every-day needs, and still
found "life so interesting." But her keen observation had been brought
to bear upon her own condition, and she suspected that she might flit
away from us quickly some day.
Except for one who was especially dependent upon her she was quite
ready. The surprises of this life were so wonderful, it was easy for
her to believe in the surprises of the unseen; but her letters were
full as usual of the things which feed the springs of joy around us in
this world. One summer it was the first volume of poems of Richard
Watson Gilder which gave her great happiness. She talked of them,
recited them, sent them to her friends, and finally wrote to Mr.
Gilder himself. Since her death he has said, "I never saw Mrs. Thaxter
but once, and that lately; but her immediate and surprising and
continuous appreciation and encouragement I can never forget." How
many other contemporaneous writers and artists could say the same!
The transparent simplicity of her character and manners, her love and
capacity for labor, were combined with equal capacities for enjoying
the complex in others and a pure appetite for pleasure. It would be
impossible to find a more childlike power of enjoyment.
A perfect happiness came to her, during the last eight years of her
life, with the birth of her grandchildren.
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