Those words kept ringing in her ears, and soon she thought how her father and mother had to practise close economy, and she decided:  “I ought not to wear out my shoes by sliding, when shoes cost so much,” and she did not slide any more.  There was no more fun in it for her.

She would get out of bed, when not more than ten years old, and beseech her parents to rise and pray for the children.  “It’s no matter about me,” she once said to them, “if they can be saved, I can bear anything.”

She was not more than twelve years old, when she determined to aid her parents by doing work of some kind; so it was settled that she should become a dressmaker.  She went at once into a shop to learn the trade, remained for three months, and after that was hired at thirty-seven cents a day to work there three months more.  She also applied for work at a clothing store, and received a dozen red flannel shirts to make up at six and a quarter cents a piece.  When her mother found this out, she burst into tears, and the womanly child was not allowed to take any more work home.  We all know Mrs. Livermore’s war record and her power and eloquence as an orator.

I would not say she was a spiritualist, but she felt sure that she often had advice or warning on questions from some source, and always listened, and was saved from accidents and danger.  And she said that what was revealed to her as she rested on her couch, between twilight and dusk, would not be believed, it was so wonderful.

Mrs. Livermore had a terrible grief to bear,—­the lifelong illness of her daughter from a chronic and incurable disease.  She told me, when I was at her house, that she kept on lecturing, and accepting invitations, to divert her mind somewhat.  She felt at times that she could not leave her unfortunate child behind, when she should be called from earth, but she was enabled to drive that thought away.  From a child, always helping others, self-sacrificing, heroic, endowed with marvellous energy and sympathy, hers was a most exceptional life; now “Victor Palms” are her right.

I spent one day at the famous Concord School of Philosophy during its first season.  Of course I understood nothing that was going on.

Emerson, then a mere wreck of his former self, was present, cared for by his wife or his daughter Ellen.  Alcott made some most remarkable statements, as:  “We each can decide when we will ascend.”  Then he would look around as if to question all, and add:  “Is it not so?  Is it not so?” I remember another of his mystic utterances:  “When the mind is izzing, it is thinking things.  Is it not so?  Is it not so?” Also, “When we get angry or lose our temper, then fierce four-footed beasts come out of our mouths, do they not, do they not?”

After Mr. Harris, the great educational light, had closed his remarks, and had asked for questions, one lady timidly arose and inquired:  “Can an atom be said to be outside or inside of potentiality?”