' 'Then tell Mrs. Browning to write her poesies, and
not to meddle with my broths for my patient!' 'Whose jelly is this?'
'Mrs. Story's.' 'I wish Mrs. Story would help her husband to model his
statues, and not try to feed Miss Una!' General Pierce came three
times a day. I think I owe to him, almost, my husband's life. He was
divinely tender, sweet, sympathizing, and helpful." She adds: "No one
shared my nursing, because Una wanted my touch and voice; and she was
not obliged to tell me what she wanted. For days, she only opened her
eyes long enough to see if I were there. For thirty days and nights I
did not go to bed; or sleep, except in the morning in a chair, while
Miss Shepard watched for an hour or so. Una had intervals of
brightness and perfect consciousness. In one of these, she tied up a
bouquet of flowers with hands that almost shook the flowers to pieces
with their trembling, to send them to a friend who was ill. She raised
herself upon her elbow, and wrote with a pencil a graceful note,
quoting her father's 'Wonder-Book' in reference to the bouquet."
I went with my father and mother to several painters' and sculptors'
studios (besides innumerable visits to churches and galleries), all
filling my mind with unfailing riches of memory. I hope I shall be
pardoned for giving the general effect of this companionship and
sight-seeing upon many years of reflection in a strain that is
autobiographical. The studio which I best remember was Mr.
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