LIVES

OF

GIRLS WHO BECAME FAMOUS. 

BY

SARAH K. BOLTON, AUTHOR OF "POOR BOYS WHO BECAME FAMOUS, " "SOCIAL STUDIES IN ENGLAND, "ETC. 

1914

"_Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected. _"--JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

"_Sow good services; sweet remembrances will grow from them_. "--MADAME DE STAEËL. 

TO

MY AUNT, MRS. MARTHA W. MILLER, Whose culture and kindness I countamong the blessings ofmy life. 

PREFACE. 

All of us have aspirations. We build air-castles, and are probably thehappier for the building. However, the sooner we learn that life isnot a play-day, but a thing of earnest activity, the better for us andfor those associated with us. "Energy, " says Goethe, "will do anythingthat can be done in this world"; and Jean Ingelow truly says, that"Work is heaven's hest. "

If we cannot, like George Eliot, write _Adam Bede_, we can, likeElizabeth Fry, visit the poor and the prisoner. If we cannot, likeRosa Bonheur, paint a "Horse Fair, " and receive ten thousand dollars, we can, like Mrs. Stowe and Miss Alcott, do some kind of work tolighten the burdens of parents. If poor, with Mary Lyon's persistencyand noble purpose, we can accomplish almost anything. If rich, likeBaroness Burdett-Coutts, we can bless the world in thousands of ways, and are untrue to God and ourselves if we fail to do it. 

Margaret Fuller said, "All might be superior beings, " and doubtlessthis is true, if all were willing to cultivate the mind and beautifythe character. 

S. K. B. 

CONTENTS. 

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE Novelist

HELEN HUNT JACKSON Poet and Prose Writer

LUCRETIA MOTT Preacher

MARY A LIVERMORE Lecturer

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI Journalist

MARIA MITCHELL Scientist

LOUISA M ALCOTT Author

MARY LYON Teacher

HARRIET G HOSMER Sculptor

MADAME DE STAËL Novelist and Political Writer

ROSA BONHEUR Artist

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Poet

"GEORGE ELIOT" Novelist

ELIZABETH FRY Philanthropist

ELIZABETH THOMPSON BUTLER Painter

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE Hospital Nurse

LADY BRASSEY Traveller

BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS Benefactor

JEAN INGELOW Poet

 * * * * *

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 

[Illustration: HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. ]

In a plain home, in the town of Litchfield, Conn. , was born, June 14, 1811, Harriet Beecher Stowe. The house was well-nigh full of littleones before her coming. She was the seventh child, while the oldestwas but eleven years old. 

Her father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, a man of remarkable mind and sunshinyheart, was preaching earnest sermons in his own and in all theneighboring towns, on the munificent salary of five hundred dollars ayear. Her mother, Roxana Beecher, was a woman whose beautiful life hasbeen an inspiration to thousands. With an education superior for thosetimes, she came into the home of the young minister with a strength ofmind and heart that made her his companion and reliance. 

There were no carpets on the floors till the girl-wife laid down apiece of cotton cloth on the parlor, and painted it in oils, with aborder and a bunch of roses and others flowers in the centre. When oneof the good deacons came to visit them, the preacher said, "Walk in, deacon, walk in!"

"Why, I can't, " said he, "'thout steppin' on't. " Then he exclaimed, inadmiration, "D'ye think ya can have all that, _and heaven too_?"

So meagre was the salary for the increasing household, that Roxanaurged that a select school be started; and in this she taughtFrench, drawing, painting, and embroidery, besides the higher Englishbranches. With all this work she found time to make herself the idolof her children. While Henry Ward hung round her neck, she made dollsfor little Harriet, and read to them from Walter Scott and WashingtonIrving. 

These were enchanting days for the enthusiastic girl with brown curlsand blue eyes. She roamed over the meadows, and through the forests, gathering wild flowers in the spring or nuts in the fall, beingeducated, as she afterwards said, "first and foremost by Nature, wonderful, beautiful, ever-changing as she is in thatcloudland, Litchfield. There were the crisp apples of the pinkazalea, --honeysuckle-apples, we called them; there were scarletwintergreen berries; there were pink shell blossoms of trailingarbutus, and feathers of ground pine; there were blue and white andyellow violets, and crowsfoot, and bloodroot, and wild anemone, andother quaint forest treasures. "

A single incident, told by herself in later years, will show thefrolic-loving spirit of the girl, and the gentleness of RoxanaBeecher. "Mother was an enthusiastic horticulturist in all the smallways that limited means allowed. Her brother John, in New York, hadjust sent her a small parcel of fine tulip-bulbs. I remember rummagingthese out of an obscure corner of the nursery one day when she wasgone out, and being strongly seized with the idea that they were goodto eat, and using all the little English I then possessed to persuademy brothers that these were onions, such as grown people ate, andwould be very nice for us. So we fell to and devoured the whole; and Irecollect being somewhat disappointed in the odd, sweetish taste, andthinking that onions were not as nice as I had supposed. Then mother'sserene face appeared at the nursery door, and we all ran toward her, and with one voice began to tell our discovery and achievement. We hadfound this bag of onions, and had eaten them all up. 

"There was not even a momentary expression of impatience, but she satdown and said, 'My dear children, what you have done makes mamma verysorry; those were not onion roots, but roots of beautiful flowers;and if you had let them alone, ma would have had next summer in thegarden, great, beautiful red and yellow flowers, such as you neversaw. ' I remember how drooping and disappointed we all grew at thispicture, and how sadly we regarded the empty paper bag. "

When Harriet was five years old, a deep shadow fell upon the happyhousehold. Eight little children were gathered round the bedside ofthe dying mother. When they cried and sobbed, she told them, withinexpressible sweetness, that "God could do more for them than she hadever done or could do, and that they must trust Him, " and urged hersix sons to become ministers of the Gospel. When her heart-brokenhusband repeated to her the verse, "You are now come unto Mount Zion, unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to aninnumerable company of angels; to the general assembly and church ofthe first-born, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge ofall, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus theMediator of the New Covenant, " she looked up into his face with abeautiful smile, and closed her eyes forever. That smile Mr. Beechernever forgot to his dying day. 

The whole family seemed crushed by the blow. Little Henry (now thegreat preacher), who had been told that his mother had been buriedin the ground, and also that she had gone to heaven, was found onemorning digging with all his might under his sister's window, saying, "I'm going to heaven, to find ma!"

So much did Mr. Beecher miss her counsel and good judgment, that hesat down and wrote her a long letter, pouring out his whole soul, hoping somehow that she, his guardian angel, though dead, might seeit. A year later he wrote a friend: "There is a sensation of losswhich nothing alleviates--a solitude which no society interrupts. Amidthe smiles and prattle of children, and the kindness of sympathizingfriends, I am _alone; Roxana is not here_. She partakes in none of myjoys, and bears with me none of my sorrows. I do not murmur; I onlyfeel daily, constantly, and with deepening impression, how much I havehad for which to be thankful, and how much I have lost. .. . The wholeyear after her death was a year of great emptiness, as if there wasnot motive enough in the world to move me. I used to pray earnestlyto God either to take me away, or to restore to me that interest inthings and susceptibility to motive I had had before. "

Once, when sleeping in the room where she died, he dreamed that Roxanacame and stood beside him, and "smiled on me as with a smile fromheaven. With that smile, " he said, "all my sorrow passed away. I awokejoyful, and I was lighthearted for weeks after. "

Harriet went to live for a time with her aunt and grandmother, andthen came back to the lonesome home, into which Mr. Beecher hadfelt the necessity of bringing a new mother. She was a refined andexcellent woman, and won the respect and affection of the family. Atfirst Harriet, with a not unnatural feeling of injury, said to her:"Because you have come and married my father, when I am big enough, Imean to go and marry your father;" but she afterwards learned to loveher very much. 

At seven, with a remarkably retentive memory, --a thing which many ofus spoil by trashy reading, or allowing our time and attention tobe distracted by the trifles of every-day life, --Harriet had learnedtwenty-seven hymns and two long chapters of the Bible. She wasexceedingly fond of reading, but there was little in a poor minister'slibrary to attract a child. She found _Bell's Sermons_, and _Topladyon Predestination_. "Then, " she says, "there was a side closet full ofdocuments, a weltering ocean of pamphlets, in which I dug and toiledfor hours, to be repaid by disinterring a delicious morsel of a _DonQuixote_, that had once been a book, but was now lying in forty orfifty _dissecta membra_, amid Calls, Appeals, Essays, Reviews, andRejoinders. The turning up of such a fragment seemed like the risingof an enchanted island out of an ocean of mud. " Finally _Ivanhoe_ wasobtained, and she and her brother George read it through seven times. 

At twelve, we find her in the school of Mr. John P. Brace, a well-known teacher, where she developed great fondness forcomposition. At the exhibition at the close of the year, it wasthe custom for all the parents to come and listen to the wonderfulproductions of their children. From the list of subjects given, Harriet had chosen, "Can the Immortality of the Soul be proved by theLight of Nature?"

"When mine was read, " she says, "I noticed that father brightenedand looked interested. 'Who wrote that composition?' he asked of Mr. Brace. '_Your daughter, sir!_' was the answer. There was no mistakingfather's face when he was pleased, and to have interested _him_ waspast all juvenile triumphs. "

A new life was now to open to Harriet. Her only sister Catharine, a brilliant and noble girl, was engaged to Professor Fisher of YaleCollege. They were to be married on his return from a European tour, but alas! the _Albion_, on which he sailed, went to pieces on therocks, and all on board, save one, perished. Her betrothed was neverheard from. For months all hope seemed to go out of Catharine's life, and then, with a strong will, she took up a course of mathematicalstudy, _his_ favorite study, and Latin under her brother Edward. Shewas now twenty-three. Life was not to be along the pleasant paths shehad hoped, but she must make it tell for the future. 

With remarkable energy, she went to Hartford, Conn. , where her brotherwas teaching, and thoroughly impressed with the belief that God had awork for her to do for girls, she raised several thousand dollars andbuilt the Hartford Female Seminary. Her brothers had college doorsopened to them; why, she reasoned, should not women have equalopportunities? Society wondered of what possible use Latin and moralphilosophy could be to girls, but they admired Miss Beecher, andlet her do as she pleased. Students poured in, and the seminary soonoverflowed. My own school life in that beloved institution, yearsafterward, I shall never forget. 

And now the little twelve-year-old Harriet came down from Litchfieldto attend Catharine's school, and soon become a pupil-teacher, thatthe burden of support might not fall too heavily upon the father. Other children had come into the Beecher home, and with a salary ofeight hundred dollars, poverty could not be other than a constantattendant. Once when the family were greatly straitened for money, while Henry and Charles were in college, the new mother went to bedweeping, but the father said, "Well, the Lord always has taken care ofme, and I am sure He always will, " and was soon fast asleep. The nextmorning, Sunday, a letter was handed in at the door, containing a $100bill, and no name. It was a thank-offering for the conversion of achild. 

Mr. Beecher, with all his poverty, could not help being generous. Hiswife, by close economy, had saved twenty-five dollars to buy a newovercoat for him. Handing him the roll of bills, he started out topurchase the garment, but stopped on the way to attend a missionarymeeting. His heart warmed as he stayed, and when the contribution-boxwas passed, he put in the roll of bills for the Sandwich Islanders, and went home with his threadbare coat!

Three years later, Mr. Beecher, who had now become widely known asa revivalist and brilliant preacher, was called to Boston, where heremained for six years. His six sermons on intemperance had stirredthe whole country. 

Though he loved Boston, his heart often turned toward the great West, and he longed to help save her young men. When, therefore, he wasasked to go to Ohio and become the president of Lane TheologicalSeminary at Cincinnati, he accepted. Singularly dependent upon hisfamily, Catharine and Harriet must needs go with him to the new home. The journey was a toilsome one, over the corduroy roads and across themountains by stagecoach. Finally they were settled in a pleasanthouse on Walnut Hills, one of the suburbs of the city, and the sistersopened another school. 

Four years later, in 1836, Harriet, now twenty-five, married theprofessor of biblical criticism and Oriental literature in theseminary, Calvin E. Stowe, a learned and able man. 

Meantime the question of slavery had been agitating the minds ofChristian people. Cincinnati being near the border-line of Kentucky, was naturally the battle-ground of ideas. Slaves fled into thefree State and were helped into Canada by means of the "UndergroundRailroad, " which was in reality only a friendly house about every tenmiles, where the colored people could be secreted during the day, andthen carried in wagons to the next "station" in the night. 

Lane Seminary became a hot-bed of discussion. Many of the Southernstudents freed their slaves, or helped to establish schools forcolored children in Cincinnati, and were disinherited by their fathersin consequence. Dr. Bailey, a Christian man who attempted to carry ona fair discussion of the question in his paper, had his presses brokentwice and thrown into the river. The feeling became so intense, thatthe houses of free colored people were burned, some killed, and theseminary was in danger from the mob. The members of Professor Stowe'sfamily slept with firearms, ready to defend their lives. Finallythe trustees of the college forbade all slavery discussion by thestudents, and as a result, nearly the whole body left the institution. 

Dr. Beecher, meantime, was absent at the East, having raised a largesum of money for the seminary, and came back only to find his laboralmost hopeless. For several years, however, he and his childrenstayed and worked on. Mrs. Stowe opened her house to colored children, whom she taught with her own. One bright boy in her school was claimedby an estate in Kentucky, arrested, and was to be sold at auction. Thehalf-crazed mother appealed to Mrs. Stowe, who raised the needed moneyamong her friends, and thus saved the lad. 

Finally, worn out with the "irrepressible conflict, " the Beecherfamily, with the Stowes, came North in 1850, Mr. Stowe accepting aprofessorship at Bowdoin College, Brunswick, Maine. A few boarderswere taken into the family to eke out the limited salary, and Mrs. Stowe earned a little from a sketch written now and then for thenewspapers. She had even obtained a prize of fifty dollars for a NewEngland story. Her six brothers had fulfilled their mother's dyingwish, and were all in the ministry. She was now forty years old, adevoted mother, with an infant; a hard-working teacher, with her handsfull to overflowing. It seemed improbable that she would ever do otherthan this quiet, unceasing labor. Most women would have said, "I cando no more than I am doing. My way is hedged up to any outside work. "

But Mrs. Stowe's heart burned for those in bondage. The Fugitive SlaveLaw was hunting colored people and sending them back into servitudeand death. The people of the North seemed indifferent. Could she notarouse them by something she could write?

One Sunday, as she sat at the communion table in the little Brunswickchurch, the pattern of Uncle Tom formed itself in her mind, and, almost overcome by her feelings, she hastened home and wrote out thechapter on his death. When she had finished, she read it to her twosons, ten and twelve, who burst out sobbing, "Oh! mamma, slavery isthe most cursed thing in the world. "

After two or three more chapters were ready, she wrote to Dr. Bailey, who had moved his paper from Cincinnati to Washington, offering themanuscript for the columns of the _National Era_, and it was accepted. Now the matter must be prepared each week. She visited Boston, andat the Anti-Slavery rooms borrowed several books to aid in furnishingfacts. And then the story wrote itself out of her full heart andbrain. When it neared completion, Mr. Jewett of Boston, through theinfluence of his wife, offered to become the publisher, but feared ifthe serial were much longer, it would be a failure. She wrote him thatshe could not stop till it was done. 

_Uncle Tom's Cabin_ was published March 20, 1852. Then came thereaction in her own mind. Would anybody read this book? The subjectwas unpopular. It would indeed be a failure, she feared, but she wouldhelp the story make its way if possible. She sent a copy of the bookto Prince Albert, knowing that both he and Queen Victoria were deeplyinterested in the subject; another copy to Macaulay, whose fatherwas a friend of Wilberforce; one to Charles Dickens; and anotherto Charles Kingsley. And then the busy mother, wife, teacher, housekeeper, and author waited in her quiet Maine home to see what thebusy world would say. 

In ten days, ten thousand copies had been sold. Eight presses were runday and night to supply the demand. Thirty different editions appearedin London in six months. Six theatres in that great city were playingit at one time. Over three hundred thousand copies were sold in lessthan a year. 

Letters poured in upon Mrs. Stowe from all parts of the world. PrinceAlbert sent his hearty thanks. Dickens said, "Your book is worthy ofany head and any heart that ever inspired a book. " Kingsley wrote, "It is perfect. " The noble Earl of Shaftesbury wrote, "None but aChristian believer could have produced such a book as yours, which hasabsolutely startled the whole world. .. . I live in hope--God grant itmay rise to faith!--that this system is drawing to a close. It seemsas though our Lord had sent out this book as the messenger beforeHis face to prepare His way before Him. " He wrote out an address ofsympathy "From the women of England to the women of America, " towhich were appended the signatures of 562, 448 women. These were intwenty-six folio volumes, bound in morocco, with the American eagle onthe back of each, the whole in a solid oak case, sent to the care ofMrs. Stowe. 

The learned reviews gave long notices of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. _Blackwood_ said, "There are scenes and touches in this book which noliving writer that we know can surpass, and perhaps none can equal. "George Eliot wrote her beautiful letters. 

How the heart of Lyman Beecher must have been gladdened by thiswonderful success of his daughter! How Roxana Beecher must have lookeddown from heaven, and smiled that never-to-be-forgotten smile!How Harriet Beecher Stowe herself must have thanked God for thisunexpected fulness of blessing! Thousands of dollars were soon paid toher as her share of the profits from the sale of the book. How restfulit must have seemed to the tired, over-worked woman, to have more thanenough for daily needs!

The following year, 1853, Professor Stowe and his now famouswife decided to cross the ocean for needed rest. What was theirastonishment, to be welcomed by immense public meetings in Liverpool, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Dundee; indeed, in every city which theyvisited. People in the towns stopped her carriage, to fill it withflowers. Boys ran along the streets, shouting, "That's her--see the_courls!_" A penny offering was made her, given by people of allranks, consisting of one thousand golden sovereigns on a beautifulsilver salver. When the committee having the matter in charge visitedone little cottage, they found only a blind woman, and said, "She willfeel no interest, as she cannot read the book. "

"Indeed, " said the old lady, "if I cannot read, my son has read it tome, and I've got my penny saved to give. "

The beautiful Duchess of Sutherland entertained Mrs. Stowe at herhouse, where she met Lord Palmerston, the Duke of Argyle, Macaulay, Gladstone, and others. The duchess gave her a solid gold braceletin the form of a slave's shackle, with the words, "We trust it is amemorial of a chain that is soon to be broken. " On one link was thedate of the abolition of the slave trade, March 25, 1807, and ofslavery in the English territories, Aug. 1, 1834. On the otherlinks are now engraved the dates of Emancipation in the District ofColumbia; President Lincoln's proclamation abolishing slavery in theStates in rebellion, Jan. 1, 1863; and finally, on the clasp, the dateof the Constitutional amendment, abolishing slavery forever in theUnited States. Only a decade after _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ was written, and nearly all this accomplished! Who could have believed it possible?

On Mrs. Stowe's return from Europe, she wrote _Sunny Memories ofForeign Lands_, which had a large sale. Her husband was now appointedto the professorship of sacred literature in the Theological Seminaryat Andover, Mass. , and here they made their home. The students foundin her a warm-hearted friend, and an inspiration to intellectual work. Other books followed from her pen: _Dred_, a powerful anti-slaverystory; _The Minister's Wooing_, with lovely Mary Scudder as itsheroine; _Agnes of Sorrento_, an Italian story; the _Pearl of Orr'sIsland_, a tale of the New England coast; _Old Town Folks; House andHome Papers; My Wife and I; Pink and White Tyranny_; and some others, all of which have been widely read. 

The sale of _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ has not ceased. It is estimated thatover one and a half million copies have been sold in Great Britain andher colonies, and probably an equal or greater number in this country. There have been twelve French editions, eleven German, andsix Spanish. It has been published in nineteen differentlanguages, --Russian, Hungarian, Armenian, Modern Greek, Finnish, Welsh, Polish, and others. In Bengal the book is very popular. A ladyof high rank in the court of Siam, liberated her slaves, one hundredand thirty in number, after reading this book, and said, "I am wishfulto be good like Harriet Beecher Stowe, and never again to buy humanbodies, but only to let them go free once more. " In France the saleof the Bible was increased because the people wished to read the bookUncle Tom loved so much. 

_Uncle Tom's Cabin_, like _Les Miseràbles_, and a few other novels, will live, because written with a purpose. No work of fiction ispermanent without some great underlying principle or object. 

Soon after the Civil War, Mrs. Stowe bought a home among the orangegroves of Florida, and thither she goes each winter, with her family. She has done much there for the colored people whom she helped to makefree. With the proceeds of some public readings at the North shebuilt a church, in which her husband preached as long as his healthpermitted. Her home at Mandarin, with its great moss-covered oaks andprofusion of flowers, is a restful and happy place after these mostfruitful years. 

Her summer residence in Hartford, Conn. , beautiful without, andartistic within, has been visited by thousands, who honor the noblewoman not less than the gifted author. 

Many of the Beecher family have died; Lyman Beecher at eighty-three, and Catharine at seventy-eight. Some of Mrs. Stowe's own children arewaiting for her in the other country. She says, "I am more interestedin the other side of Jordan than this, though this still has itspleasures. "

On Mrs. Stowe's seventy-first birthday, her publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. , gave a garden party in her honor, at thehospitable home of Governor Claflin and his wife, at Newton, Mass. Poets and artists, statesmen and reformers, were invited to meet thefamous author. On a stage, under a great tent, she sat, while poemswere read and speeches made. The brown curls had become snowy white, and the bright eyes of girlhood had grown deeper and more earnest. Themanner was the same as ever, unostentatious, courteous, kindly. 

Her life is but another confirmation of the well-known fact, that thebest work of the world is done, not by the loiterers, but by thosewhose hearts and hands are full of duties. Mrs. Stowe died aboutnoon, July 1, 1896, of paralysis, at Hartford, Conn. , at the age ofeighty-five. She passed away as if to sleep, her son, the Rev. CharlesEdward Stowe, and her daughters, Eliza and Harriet, standing by herbedside. Since the death of her husband, Professor Calvin E. Stowe, in1886, Mrs. Stowe had gradually failed physically and mentally. She wasburied July 3 in the cemetery connected with the Theological Seminaryat Andover, Mass. , between the graves of her husband and her son, Henry. The latter was drowned in the Connecticut River, while a memberof Dartmouth College, July 19, 1857. 

HELEN HUNT JACKSON. 

[Illustration: HELEN HUNT JACKSON. ]

Thousands were saddened when, Aug. 12, 1885, it was flashed across thewires that Helen Hunt Jackson was dead. The _Nation_ said, "The newswill probably carry a pang of regret into more American homes thansimilar intelligence in regard to any other woman, with the possibleexception of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. "

How, with the simple initials, "H. H. , " had she won this place inthe hearts of the people? Was it because she was a poet? Oh no! manypersons of genius have few friends. It was because an earnest life wasback of her gifted writings. A great book needs a great man or womanbehind it to make it a perfect work. Mrs. Jackson's literary work willbe abiding, but her life, with its dark shadow and bright sunlight, its deep affections and sympathy with the oppressed, will furnish arich setting for the gems of thought which she gave to the world. 

Born in the cultured town of Amherst, Mass. , Oct. 18, 1831, sheinherited from her mother a sunny, buoyant nature, and from herfather, Nathan W. Fiske, professor of languages and philosophy in thecollege, a strong and vigorous mind. Her own vivid description of the"naughtiest day in my life, " in _St. Nicholas_, September and October, 1880, shows the ardent, wilful child who was one day to stand outfearlessly before the nation and tell its statesmen the wrong they haddone to "her Indians. "

She and her younger sister Annie were allowed one April day, by theirmother, to go into the woods just before school hours, to gathercheckerberries. Helen, finding the woods very pleasant, determined tospend the day in them, even though sure she would receive a whippingon her return home. The sister could not be coaxed to do wrong, but aneighbor's child, with the promise of seeing live snails with horns, was induced to accompany the truant. They wandered from one forest toanother, till hunger compelled them to seek food at a stranger's home. The kind farmer and his wife were going to a funeral, and wished tolock their house; but they took pity on the little ones, and gavethem some bread and milk. "There, " said the woman, "now, you just makeyourselves comfortable, and eat all you can; and when you're done, youpush the bowls in among them lilac-bushes, and nobody'll get 'em. "

Urged on by Helen, she and her companion wandered into the village, to ascertain where the funeral was to be held. It was in themeeting-house, and thither they went, and seated themselves on thebier outside the door. Becoming tired of this, they trudged on. Oneof them lost her shoe in the mud, and stopping at a house to dry theirstockings, they were captured by two Amherst professors, who had comeover to Hadley to attend the funeral. The children had walked fourmiles, and nearly the whole town, with the frightened mother, werein search of the runaways. Helen, greatly displeased at being caught, jumped out of the carriage, but was soon retaken. At ten o'clock atnight they reached home, and the child walked in as rosy and smilingas possible, saying, "Oh, mother! I've had a perfectly splendid time!"

A few days passed, and then her father sent for her to come into hisstudy, and told her because she had not said she was sorry for runningaway, she must go into the garret, and wait till he came to see her. Sullen at this punishment, she took a nail and began to bore holesin the plastering. This so angered the professor, that he gave hera severe whipping, and kept her in the garret for a week. It isquestionable whether she was more penitent at the end of the week thanshe was at the beginning. 

When Helen was twelve, both father and mother died, leaving her tothe care of a grandfather. She was soon placed in the school of theauthor, Rev. J. S. C. Abbott, of New York, and here some of her happiestdays were passed. She grew to womanhood, frank, merry, impulsive, brilliant in conversation, and fond of society. 

At twenty-one she was married to a young army officer, Captain, afterward Major, Edward B. Hunt, whom his friends called "Cupid" Huntfrom his beauty and his curling hair. He was a brother of GovernorHunt of New York, an engineer of high rank, and a man of finescientific attainments. They lived much of their time at West Pointand Newport, and the young wife moved in a fashionable social circle, and won hosts of admiring friends. Now and then, when he read a paperbefore some learned society, he was proud to take his vivacious andattractive wife with him. 

Their first baby died when he was eleven months old, but anotherbeautiful boy came to take his place, named after two friends, WarrenHorsford, but familiarly called "Rennie. " He was an uncommonly brightchild, and Mrs. Hunt was passionately fond and proud of him. Lifeseemed full of pleasures. She dressed handsomely, and no wish of herheart seemed ungratified. 

Suddenly, like a thunder-bolt from a clear sky, the happy life wasshattered. Major Hunt was killed Oct. 2, 1863, while experimenting inBrooklyn, with a submarine gun of his own invention. The young widowstill had her eight-year-old boy, and to him she clung more tenderlythan ever, but in less than two years she stood by his dying bed. Seeing the agony of his mother, and forgetting his own even in thatdread destroyer, diphtheria, he said, almost at the last moment, "Promise me, mamma, that you will not kill yourself. "

She promised, and exacted from him also a pledge that if it werepossible, he would come back from the other world to talk withhis mother. He never came, and Mrs. Hunt could have no faith inspiritualism, because what Rennie could not do, she believed to beimpossible. 

For months she shut herself into her own room, refusing to see hernearest friends. "Any one who really loves me ought to pray that I maydie, too, like Rennie, " she said. Her physician thought she would dieof grief; but when her strong, earnest nature had wrestled with itselfand come off conqueror, she came out of her seclusion, cheerful asof old. The pictures of her husband and boy were ever beside her, andthese doubtless spurred her on to the work she was to accomplish. 

Three months after Rennie's death, her first poem, _Lifted Over_, appeared in the _Nation_:--

 "As tender mothers, guiding baby steps, When places come at which the tiny feet Would trip, lift up the little ones in arms Of love, and set them down beyond the harm, So did our Father watch the precious boy, Led o'er the stones by me, who stumbled oft Myself, but strove to help my darling on: He saw the sweet limbs faltering, and saw Rough ways before us, where my arms would fail; So reached from heaven, and lifting the dear child, Who smiled in leaving me, He put him down Beyond all hurt, beyond my sight, and bade Him wait for me! Shall I not then be glad, And, thanking God, press on to overtake!"

The poem was widely copied, and many mothers were comforted by it. The kind letters she received in consequence were the first gleam ofsunshine in the darkened life. If she were doing even a little good, she could live and be strong. 

And then began, at thirty-four, absorbing, painstaking literary work. She studied the best models of composition. She said to a friend, years after, "Have you ever tested the advantages of an analyticalreading of some writer of finished style? There is a little bookcalled _Out-Door Papers_, by Wentworth Higginson, that is one ofthe most perfect specimens of literary composition in the Englishlanguage. It has been my model for years. I go to it as a text-book, and have actually spent hours at a time, taking one sentence afteranother, and experimenting upon them, trying to see if I could takeout a word or transpose a clause, and not destroy their perfection. "And again, "I shall never write a sentence, so long as I live, withoutstudying it over from the standpoint of whether you would think itcould be bettered. "

Her first prose sketch, a walk up Mt. Washington from the Glen House, appeared in the _Independent_, Sept. 13, 1866; and from this time shewrote for that able journal three hundred and seventy-one articles. She worked rapidly, writing usually with a lead-pencil, on largesheets of yellow paper, but she pruned carefully. Her first poem inthe _Atlantic Monthly_, entitled _Coronation_, delicate and full ofmeaning, appeared in 1869, being taken to Mr. Fields, the editor, by afriend. 

At this time she spent a year abroad, principally in Germany andItaly, writing home several sketches. In Rome she became so ill thather life was despaired of. When she was partially recovered and wentaway to regain her strength, her friends insisted that a professionalnurse should go with her; but she took a hard-working young Italiangirl of sixteen, to whom this vacation would be a blessing. 

On her return, in 1870, a little book of _Verses_ was published. Likemost beginners, she was obliged to pay for the stereotyped plates. The book was well received. Emerson liked especially her sonnet, _Thought_. He ranked her poetry above that of all American women, and most American men. Some persons praised the "exquisite musicalstructure" of the _Gondolieds_, and others read and re-read herbeautiful _Down to Sleep_. But the world's favorite was _Spinning_:--

 "Like a blind spinner in the sun, I tread my days; I know that all the threads will run Appointed ways; I know each day will bring its task, And, being blind, no more I ask. 

 * * * * *

 "But listen, listen, day by day, To hear their tread Who bear the finished web away, And cut the thread, And bring God's message in the sun, 'Thou poor blind spinner, work is done. "

After this came two other small books, _Bits of Travel_ and _Bits ofTalk about Home Matters_. She paid for the plates of the former. Famedid not burst upon Helen Hunt; it came after years of work, after ithad been fully earned. The road to authorship is a hard one, and onlythose should attempt it who have courage and perseverance. 

Again her health failed, but not her cheerful spirits. She travelledto Colorado, and wrote a book in praise of it. Everywhere she madelasting friends. Her German landlady in Munich thought her the kindestperson in the world. The newsboy, the little urchin on the streetwith a basket full of wares, the guides over the mountain passes, allremembered her cheery voice and helpful words. She used to say, "Sheis only half mother who does not see her own child in every child. Oh, if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of mothersto be made all right, what a Millennium could be begun in thirtyyears!" Some one, in her childhood, called her a "stupid child" beforestrangers, and she never forgot the sting of it. 

In Colorado, in 1876, eleven years after the death of Major Hunt, shemarried Mr. William Sharpless Jackson, a Quaker and a cultured banker. Her home, at Colorado Springs, became an ideal one, sheltered underthe great Manitou, and looking toward the Garden of the Gods, fullof books and magazines, of dainty rugs and dainty china gatheredfrom many countries, and richly colored Colorado flowers. Once, whenEastern guests were invited to luncheon, twenty-three varieties ofwildflowers, each massed in its own color, adorned the home. A friendof hers says: "There is not an artificial flower in the house, onembroidered table-cover or sofa cushion or tidy; indeed, Mrs. Jacksonholds that the manufacture of silken poppies and crewel sun-flowersis a 'respectable industry, ' intended only to keep idle hands out ofmischief. "

Mrs. Jackson loved flowers almost as though they were children. Shewrites: "I bore on this June day a sheaf of the white columbine, --onesingle sheaf, one single root; but it was almost more than I couldcarry. In the open spaces, I carried it on my shoulder; in thethickets, I bore it carefully in my arms, like a baby. .. . There is apart of Cheyenne Mountain which I and one other have come to call 'ourgarden. ' When we drive down from 'our garden, ' there is seldom roomfor another flower in our carriage. The top thrown back is filled, thespace in front of the driver is filled, and our laps and baskets arefilled with the more delicate blossoms. We look as if we were on ourway to the ceremonies of Decoration Day. So we are. All June days aredecoration days in Colorado Springs, but it is the sacred joy of lifethat we decorate, --not the sacred sadness of death. " But Mrs. Jackson, with her pleasant home, could not rest from her work. Two novelscame from her pen, _Mercy Philbrick's Choice_ and _Hetty's StrangeHistory_. It is probable also that she helped to write the beautifuland tender _Saxe Holm Stories_. It is said that _Draxy Miller's Dowry_and _Esther Wynn's Love Letters_ were written by another, while Mrs. Jackson added the lovely poems; and when a request was made by thepublishers for more stories from the same author, Mrs. Jackson wasprevailed upon to write them. 

The time had now come for her to do her last and perhaps her bestwork. She could not write without a definite purpose, and now thepurpose that settled down upon her heart was to help the defraudedIndians. She believed they needed education and Christianizationrather than extermination. She left her home and spent three monthsin the Astor Library of New York, writing her _Century of Dishonor_, showing how we have despoiled the Indians and broken our treaties withthem. She wrote to a friend, "I cannot think of anything else fromnight to morning and from morning to night. " So untiringly did shework that she made herself ill, and was obliged to go to Norway, leaving a literary ally to correct the proofs of her book. 

At her own expense, she sent a copy to each member of Congress. Itsplain facts were not relished in some quarters, and she began to tastethe cup that all reformers have to drink; but the brave woman neverflinched in her duty. So much was the Government impressed by herearnestness and good judgment, that she was appointed a SpecialCommissioner with her friend, Abbott Kinney, to examine and report onthe condition of the Mission Indians in California. 

Could an accomplished, tenderly reared woman go into their _adobe_villages and listen to their wrongs? What would the world say of itspoet? Mrs. Jackson did not ask; she had a mission to perform, and themore culture, the more responsibility. She brought cheer and hopeto the red men and their wives, and they called her "the Queen. " Shewrote able articles about them in the _Century_. 

The report made by Mr. Kinney and herself, which she prepared largely, was clear and convincing. How different all this from her early life!Mrs. Jackson had become more than poet and novelist; even the leaderof an oppressed people. At once, in the winter of 1883, she began towrite her wonderfully graphic and tender _Ramona_, and into this, shesaid, "I put my heart and soul. " The book was immediately reprinted inEngland, and has had great popularity. She meant to do for the Indianwhat Mrs. Stowe did for the slave, and she lived long enough to seethe great work well in progress. 

This true missionary work had greatly deepened the earnestness of thebrilliant woman. Not always tender to other peoples' "hobbies, " as shesaid, she now had one of her own, into which she was putting her life. Her horizon, with her great intellectual gifts, had now become aswide as the universe. Had she lived, how many more great questions shewould have touched. 

In June, 1884, falling on the staircase of her Colorado home, sheseverely fractured her leg, and was confined to the house for severalmonths. Then she was taken to Los Angeles, Cal. , for the winter. Thebroken limb mended rapidly, but malarial fever set in, and she wascarried to San Francisco. Her first remark was, as she entered thehouse looking out upon the broad and lovely bay, "I did not imagine itwas so pleasant! What a beautiful place to die in!"

To the last her letters to her friends were full of cheer. "You mustnot think because I speak of not getting well that I am sad over it, "she wrote. "On the contrary, I am more and more relieved in my mind, as it seems to grow more and more sure that I shall die. You see thatI am growing old" (she was but fifty-four), "and I do believe that mywork is done. You have never realized how, for the past five years, mywhole soul has been centered on the Indian question. _Ramona_ wasthe outcome of those five years. The Indian cause is on its feet now;powerful friends are at work. "

To another she wrote, "I am heartily, honestly, and cheerfully readyto go. In fact, I am glad to go. My _Century of Dishonor_ and _Ramona_are the only things I have done of which I am glad now. The rest isof no moment. They will live, and they will bear fruit. They alreadyhave. The change in public feeling on the Indian question in the lastthree years is marvellous; an Indian Rights Association in every largecity in the land. "

She had no fear of death. She said, "It is only just passing from onecountry to another. .. . My only regret is that I have not accomplishedmore work; especially that it was so late in the day when I began towork in real earnest. But I do not doubt we shall keep on working. .. . There isn't so much difference, I fancy, between this life and thenext as we think, nor so much barrier. .. . I shall look in upon youin the new rooms some day; but you will not see me. Good-bye. Yoursaffectionately forever, H. H. " Four days before her death she wrote toPresident Cleveland:--

 "From my death-bed I send you a message of heart-felt thanks for what you have already done for the Indians. I ask you to read my _Century of Dishonor_. I am dying happier for the belief I have that it is your hand that is destined to strike the first steady blow toward lifting this burden of infamy from our country, and righting the wrongs of the Indian race. 

 "With respect and gratitude, "HELEN JACKSON. "

That same day she wrote her last touching poem:--

 "Father, I scarcely dare to pray, So clear I see, now it is done, That I have wasted half my day, And left my work but just begun;

 "So clear I see that things I thought Were right or harmless were a sin; So clear I see that I have sought, Unconscious, selfish aim to win

 "So clear I see that I have hurt The souls I might hare helped to save, That I have slothful been, inert, Deaf to the calls Thy leaders gave. 

 "In outskirts of Thy kingdoms vast, Father, the humblest spot give me; Set me the lowliest task Thou hast, Let me repentant work for Thee!"

That evening, Aug. 8, after saying farewell, she placed her hand inher husband's, and went to sleep. After four days, mostly unconsciousones, she wakened in eternity. 

On her coffin were laid a few simple clover-blossoms, flowers sheloved in life; and then, near the summit of Cheyenne Mountain, fourmiles from Colorado Springs, in a spot of her own choosing, she wasburied. 

 "Do not adorn with costly shrub or tree Or flower the little grave which shelters me. Let the wild wind-sown seeds grow up unharmed, And back and forth all summer, unalarmed, Let all the tiny, busy creatures creep; Let the sweet grass its last year's tangles keep; And when, remembering me, you come some day And stand there, speak no praise, but only say, 'How she loved us! It was for that she was so dear. ' These are the only words that I shall smile to hear. "

Many will stand by that Colorado grave in the years to come. Says aCalifornia friend: "Above the chirp of the balm-cricket in the grassthat hides her grave, I seem to hear sweet songs of welcome from thelittle ones. Among other thoughts of her come visions of a child andmother straying in fields of light. And so I cannot make her dead, who lived so earnestly, who wrought so unselfishly, and passed sotrustfully into the mystery of the unseen. "

All honor to a woman who, with a happy home, was willing to leaveit to make other homes happy; who, having suffered, tried with asympathetic heart to forget herself and keep others from suffering;who, being famous, gladly took time to help unknown authors to winfame; who, having means, preferred a life of labor to a life of ease. 

Mrs. Jackson's work is still going forward. Five editions of her_Century of Dishonor_ have been printed since her death. _Ramona_ isin its thirtieth thousand. _Zeph_, a touching story of frontierlife in Colorado, which she finished in her last illness, has beenpublished. Her sketches of travel have been gathered into _Glimpsesof Three Coasts_, and a new volume of poems, _Sonnets and Lyrics_, hasappeared. 

LUCRETIA MOTT. 

[Illustration: Lucretia Mott. ]

Years ago I attended, at some inconvenience, a large public meeting, because I heard that Lucretia Mott was to speak. After severaladdresses, a slight lady, with white cap and drab Quaker dress, cameforward. Though well in years, her eyes were bright; her smile waswinsome, and I thought her face one of the loveliest I had ever lookedupon. The voice was singularly sweet and clear, and the manner hadsuch naturalness and grace as a queen might envy. I have forgottenthe words, forgotten even the subject, but the benign presence andgracious smile I shall never forget. 

Born among the quiet scenes of Nantucket, Jan. 3, 1793, Lucretia grewto girlhood with habits of economy, neatness, and helpfulness inthe home. Her father, Thomas Coffin, was a sea-captain of staunchprinciple; her mother, a woman of great energy, wit, and good sense. The children's pleasures were such as a plain country home afforded. When Mrs. Coffin went to visit her neighbors, she would say to herdaughters, "Now after you have finished knitting twenty bouts, youmay go down cellar and pick out as many as you want of the smallestpotatoes, --the very smallest, --and roast them in the ashes. " Thenthe six little folks gathered about the big fireplace and enjoyed afrolic. 

When Lucretia was twelve years old, the family moved to Boston. Atfirst all the children attended a private school; but Captain Coffin, fearing this would make them proud, removed them to a public school, where they could "mingle with all classes without distinction. " Yearsafter Lucretia said, "I am glad, because it gave me a feeling ofsympathy for the patient and struggling poor, which, but for thisexperience, I might never have known. "

A year later, she was sent to a Friends' boarding-school at NinePartners, N. Y. Both boys and girls attended this school, but were notpermitted to speak to each other unless they were near relatives; ifso, they could talk a little on certain days over a certain cornerof the fence, between the playgrounds! Such grave precautions did notentirely prevent the acquaintance of the young people; for when a ladwas shut up in a closet, on bread and water, Lucretia and her sistersupplied him with bread and butter under the door. This boy was acousin of the teacher, James Mott, who was fond of the quick-wittedschool-girl, so that it is probable that no harm came to her frombreaking the rules. 

At fifteen, Lucretia was appointed an assistant teacher, and she andMr. Mott, with a desire to know more of literature, and quite possiblymore of each other, began to study French together. He was tall, withlight hair and blue eyes, and shy in manner; she, petite, with darkhair and eyes, quick in thought and action, and fond of mirth. When she was eighteen and James twenty-one, the young teachers weremarried, and both went to her father's home in Philadelphia to reside, he assisting in Mr. Coffin's business. 

The war of 1812 brought financial failure to many, and young Mott soonfound himself with a wife and infant daughter to support, and no work. Hoping that he could obtain a situation with an uncle in New YorkState, he took his family thither, but came back disappointed. Finallyhe found work in a plow store at a salary of six hundred dollars ayear. 

Captain Coffin meantime had died, leaving his family poor. James coulddo so little for them all with his limited salary, that he determinedto open a small store; but the experiment proved a failure. His healthbegan to be affected by this ill success, when Lucretia, with herbrave heart, said, "My cousin and I will open a school; thee must notget discouraged, James. "

The school was opened with four pupils, each paying seven dollars aquarter. The young wife put so much good cheer and earnestness intoher work, that soon there were forty pupils in the school. Mr. Mott'sprospects now brightened, for he was earning one thousand dollars ayear. The young couple were happy in their hard work, for they lovedeach other, and love lightens all care and labor. 

But soon a sorrow worse than poverty came. Their only son, Thomas, amost affectionate child, died, saying with his latest breath, "I lovethee, mother. " It was a crushing blow; but it proved a blessing in theend, leading her thoughts heavenward. 

A few months afterwards her voice was heard for the first time inpublic, in prayer, in one of the Friends' meetings. The words weresimple, earnest, eloquent. The good Quakers marvelled, and encouragedthe "gift. " They did not ask whether man or woman brought the message, so it came from heaven. 

And now, at twenty-five, having resigned her position as teacher, shebegan close study of the Bible and theological books. She had fourchildren to care for, did all her sewing, even cutting and making herown dresses; but she learned what every one can learn, --to economizetime. Her house was kept scrupulously clean. She says: "I omitted muchunnecessary stitching and ornamental work in the sewing for my family, so that I might have more time for the improvement of my mind. For novels and light reading I never had much taste; the ladies'department in the periodicals of the day had no attraction for me. "Shewould lay a copy of William Penn's ponderous volumes open at the footof her bed, and drawing her chair close to it, with her baby on herlap, would study the book diligently. A woman of less energy and lesswill-power than young Mrs. Mott would have given up all hope of beinga scholar. She read the best books in philosophy and science. JohnStuart Mill and Dean Stanley, though widely different, were among herfavorite authors. 

James Mott was now prospering in the cotton business, so that theycould spare time to go in their carriage and speak at the Quakermeetings in the surrounding country. Lucretia would be so absorbedin thought as not to notice the beauties of the landscape, which herhusband always greatly enjoyed. Pointing out a fine view to her, shereplied, "Yes, it is beautiful, now that thou points it out, butI should not have noticed it. I have always taken more interest in_human_ nature. " From a child she was deeply interested for the slave. She had read in her school-books Clarkson's description of the slaveships, and these left an impression never to be effaced. When, Dec. 4, 1833, a convention met in Philadelphia for the purpose of forming theAmerican Anti-Slavery Society, Lucretia Mott was one of the fourwomen who braved the social obloquy, as friends of the despisedabolitionists. She spoke, and was listened to with attention. Immediately the Philadelphia Female Anti-Slavery Society was formed, and Mrs. Mott became its president and its inspiration. So unheard ofa thing was an association of women, and so unaccustomed were they tothe methods of organization, that they were obliged to call a coloredman to the chair to assist them. 

The years of martyrdom which followed, we at this day can scarcelyrealize. Anti-slavery lecturers were tarred and feathered. Mobs in NewYork and Philadelphia swarmed the streets, burning houses and breakingchurch windows. In the latter city they surrounded the hall of theAbolitionists, where the women were holding a large convention, andMrs. Mott was addressing them. All day long they cursed and threwstones, and as soon as the women left the building, they burned itto ashes. Then, wrought up to fury, the mob started for the house ofJames and Lucretia Mott. Knowing that they were coming, the calm womansent her little children away, and then in the parlor, with a fewfriends, peacefully awaited a probable death. 

In the turbulent throng was a young man who, while he was no friendof the colored man, could not see Lucretia Mott harmed. With skilfulruse, as they neared the house, he rushed up another street, shoutingat the top of his voice, "On to Motts!" and the wild crowd blindlyfollowed, wreaking their vengeance in another quarter. 

A year later, in Delaware, where Mrs. Mott was speaking, one of herparty, a defenceless old man, was dragged from the house, and tarredand feathered. She followed, begging the men to desist, and sayingthat she was the real offender, but no violent hands were laid uponher. 

At another time, when the annual meeting of the Anti-Slavery Societyin New York was broken up by the mob, some of the speakers wereroughly handled. Perceiving that several ladies were timid, Mrs. Mottsaid to the gentleman who was accompanying her, "Won't thee look aftersome of the others?"

"But who will take care of you?" he said. 

With great tact and a sweet smile, she answered, "This man, " layingher hand on the arm of one of the roughest of the mob; "he will see mesafe through. "

The astonished man had, like others, a tender heart beneath theroughness, and with respectful manner took her to a place of safety. The next day, going into a restaurant, she saw the leader of the mob, and immediately sat down by him, and began to converse. Her kindnessand her sweet voice left a deep impression. As he went out of theroom, he asked at the door, "Who is that lady?"

"Why, that is Lucretia Mott!"

For a second he was dumbfounded; but he added, "Well, she's a good, sensible woman. "

In 1839 a World's Convention was called at London to debate theslavery question. Among the delegates chosen were James and LucretiaMott, Wendell Phillips and his wife, and others. Mrs. Mott wasjubilant at the thought of the world's interest in this greatquestion, and glad for an opportunity to cross the ocean and enjoy alittle rest, and the pleasure of meeting friends who had worked in thesame cause. 

When the party arrived, they were told, to their astonishment, thatno women were to be admitted to the Convention as delegates. They hadfaced mobs and ostracism; they had given money and earnest labor, but they were to be ignored. William Lloyd Garrison, hurt at suchinjustice, refused to take part in the Convention, and sat in thegallery with the women. Although Mrs. Mott did not speak in theassembly, the _Dublin Herald_ said, "Nobody doubts that she was thelioness of the Convention. " She was entertained at public breakfasts, and at these spoke with the greatest acceptance to both men and women. The Duchess of Sutherland and Lady Byron showed her great attention. Carlyle was "much pleased with the Quaker lady, whose quiet manner hada soothing effect on him, " wrote Mrs. Carlyle to a friend. At Glasgow"she held a delighted audience for nearly two hours in breathlessattention, " said the press. 

After some months of devoted Christian work, along with sight-seeing, Mr. And Mrs. Mott started homeward. He had spoken less frequentlythan his wife, but always had been listened to with deep interest. Her heart was moved toward a large number of Irish emigrants in thesteerage, and she desired to hold a religious meeting among them. Whenasked about it, they said they would not hear a woman preacher, forwomen priests were not allowed in their church. Then she asked thatthey would come together and consider whether they would have ameeting. This seemed fair, and they came. She explained to themthat she did not intend to hold a church service; that, as they wereleaving their old homes and seeking new ones in her country, shewanted to talk with them in such a way as would help them in the landof strangers. And then, if they would listen, --they were all the timelistening very eagerly, --she would give an outline of what she hadintended to say, if the meeting had been held. At the close, when allhad departed, it dawned upon some of the quicker-witted ones that they"had got the preachment from the woman preacher, after all. "

The steamer arrived at the close of a twenty-nine days' voyage, and, after a brief rest, Mrs. Mott began again her public work. She spokebefore the legislatures of New Jersey, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. Shecalled on President Tyler, and he talked with her cordially and freelyabout the slave. In Kentucky, says one of the leading papers, "For anhour and a half she enchained an ordinarily restless audience--manywere standing--to a degree never surpassed here by the most popularorators. She said some things that were far from palatable, but saidthem with an air of sincerity that commanded respect and attention. "

Mrs. Mott was deeply interested in other questions besidesslavery, --suffrage for women, total abstinence, and nationaldifferences settled by arbitration instead of war. Years before, whenshe began to teach school, and found that while girls paid the sametuition as boys, "when they became teachers, women received only halfas much as men for their services, " she says: "The injustice of thisdistinction was so apparent, that I early resolved to claim for myselfall that an impartial Creator had bestowed. "

In 1848, Mrs. Mott, with Elizabeth Cady Stanton and some others, called the first Woman's Suffrage Convention in this country, atSeneca Falls, N. Y. There was much ridicule, --we had not learned, fortyyears ago, to treat with courtesy those whose opinions are differentfrom our own, --but the sweet Quaker preacher went serenely forward, asthough all the world were on her side. When she conversed with thosewho differed, she listened so courteously to objections, and statedher own views so delicately and kindly, and often so wittily, thatnone could help liking her, even though they did not agree withher. She realized that few can be driven, while many can be won withgentleness and tact. 

In all these years of public speaking, her home was not only a refugefor the oppressed, but a delightful social centre, where prominentpeople gathered from both Europe and America. At the table black andwhite were treated with equal courtesy. One young man, a frequentvisitor, finding himself seated at dinner next to a colored man, resolved to keep away from the house in future; but as he was inlove with one of Mrs. Mott's pretty daughters, he found that his"principles" gave way to his affections. He renewed his visits, becamea son-in-law, and, later, an ardent advocate of equality for thecolored people. 

Now the guests at the hospitable home were a mother and sevenchildren, from England, who, meeting with disappointments, had becomereduced to poverty. Now it was an escaped slave, who had come fromRichmond, Va. , in a dry-goods box, by Adams Express. This poor man, whose wife and three children had been sold from him, determined toseek his freedom, even if he died in the effort. Weighing nearly twohundred pounds, he was encased in a box two feet long, twenty-threeinches wide, and three feet high, in a sitting posture. He wasprovided with a few crackers, and a bladder filled with water. With asmall gimlet he bored holes in the box to let in fresh air, and fannedhimself with his hat, to keep the air in motion. The box was coveredwith canvas, that no one might suspect its contents. His sufferingswere almost unbearable. As the box was tossed from one place toanother, he was badly bruised, and sometimes he rested for mileson his head and shoulders, when it seemed as though his veins wouldburst. Finally he reached the Mott home, and found shelter andcomfort. 

Their large house was always full. Mr. Mott had given up a prosperouscotton business, because the cotton was the product of slave labor;but he had been equally successful in the wool trade, so that the daysof privation had passed by long ago. Two of their six children, with their families, lived at home, and the harmony was remarked byeverybody. Mrs. Mott rose early, and did much housework herself. Shewrote to a friend: "I prepared mince for forty pies, doing every partmyself, even to meat-chopping; picked over lots of apples, stewed aquantity, chopped some more, and made apple pudding; all of which keptme on my feet till almost two o'clock, having to come into the parlorevery now and then to receive guests. " As a rule, those women are thebest housekeepers whose lives are varied by some outside interests. 

In the broad hall of the house stood two armchairs, which the childrencalled "beggars' chairs, " because they were in constant use for allsorts of people, "waiting to see the missus. " She never refused to seeanybody. When letters came from all over the country, asking for allsorts of favors, bedding, silver spoons, a silk umbrella, or beggingher to invest some money in the manufacture of an article, warranted"to take the kink out of the hair of the negro, " she would alwayscheck the merriment of her family by saying, "Don't laugh too much;the poor souls meant well. "

Mrs. Mott was now sixty-three years of age. For forty years she hadbeen seen and loved by thousands. Strangers would stop her on thestreet and say, "God bless you, Lucretia Mott!" Once, when a slave wasbeing tried for running away, Mrs. Mott sat near him in the court, her son-in-law, Mr. Edward Hopper, defending his case. The opposingcounsel asked that her chair might be moved, as her face wouldinfluence the jury against him! Benjamin H. Brewster, afterwardsUnited States Attorney-General, also counsel for the Southern master, said: "I have heard a great deal of your mother-in-law, Hopper; but Inever saw her before to-day. She is an angel. " Years after, when Mr. Brewster was asked how he dared to change his political opinions, hereplied, "Do you think there is anything I dare not do, after facingLucretia Mott in that court-room?"

It seemed best at this time, in 1856, as Mrs. Mott was much worn withcare, to sell the large house in town and move eight miles into thecountry, to a quaint, roomy house which they called Roadside. Beforethey went, however, at the last family gathering a long poem was read, ending with:--

 "Who constantly will ring the bell, And ask if they will please to tell Where Mrs. Mott has gone to dwell? The beggars. 

 "And who persistently will say, 'We cannot, cannot go away; Here in the entry let us stay?' Colored beggars. 

 "Who never, never, nevermore Will see the 'lions' at the door That they've so often seen before? The neighbors. 

 "And who will miss, for months at least, That place of rest for man and beast, from North, and South, and West, and East? Everybody. "

Much of the shrubbery was cut down at Roadside, that Mrs. Mott mighthave the full sunlight. So cheery a nature must have sunshine. Herelife went on quietly and happy. Many papers and books were on hertable, and she read carefully and widely. She loved especially Miltonand Cowper. Arnold's _Light of Asia_ was a great favorite in lateryears. The papers were sent to hospitals and infirmaries, that no goodreading might be lost. She liked to read aloud; and if others werebusy, she would copy extracts to read to them when they were atleisure. Who can measure the power of an educated, intellectual motherin a home?

The golden wedding of Mr. And Mrs. Mott was celebrated in 1861, and ajoyous season it was. James, the prosperous merchant, was proud of hisgifted wife, and aided her in every way possible; while Lucretialoved and honored the true-hearted husband. Though Mrs. Mott wasnow seventy, she did not cease her benevolent work. Her carriage wasalways full of fruits, vegetables, and gifts for the poor. In buyinggoods she traded usually with the small stores, where things weredearer, but she knew that for many of the proprietors it was astruggle to make ends meet. A woman so considerate of others would ofcourse be loved. 

Once when riding on the street-cars in Philadelphia, when no blackperson was allowed to ride inside, every fifth car being reserved fortheir use, she saw a frail-looking and scantily-dressed colored woman, standing on the platform in the rain. The day was bitter cold, andMrs. Mott begged the conductor to allow her to come inside. "Thecompany's orders must be obeyed, " was the reply. Whereupon the slightQuaker lady of seventy walked out and stood beside the colored woman. It would never do to have the famous Mrs. Mott seen in the rain on hiscar; so the conductor, in his turn, went out and begged her to comein. 

"I cannot go in without this woman, " said Mrs. Mott quietly. Nonplussed for a moment, he looked at the kindly face, and said, "Oh, well, bring her in then!" Soon the "company's orders" were changed inthe interests of humanity, and colored people as well as white enjoyedtheir civil rights, as becomes a great nation. 

With all this beauty of character, Lucretia Mott had her trials. Somewhat early in life she and her husband had joined the so-calledUnitarian branch of Quakers, and for this they were persecuted. Sodeep was the sectarian feeling, that once, when suffering from acuteneuralgia, a physician who knew her well, when called to attend her, said, "Lucretia, I am so deeply afflicted by thy rebellious spirit, that I do not feel that I can prescribe for thee, " and he left her toher sufferings. Such lack of toleration reads very strangely at thisday. 

In 1868, Mr. Mott and his wife, the one eighty, and the otherseventy-five, went to Brooklyn, N. Y. , to visit their grandchildren. He was taken ill of pneumonia, and expressed a wish to go home, butadded, "I suppose I shall die here, and then I shall be at home; itis just as well. " Mrs. Mott watched with him through the night, and atlast, becoming weary, laid her head upon his pillow and went to sleep. In the morning, the daughter coming in, found the one resting fromweariness, the other resting forever. 

At the request of several colored men, who respected their benefactor, Mr. Mott was borne to his grave by their hands. Thus ended, for thisworld, what one who knew them well called "the most perfect weddedlife to be found on earth. "

Mrs. Mott said, "James and I loved each other more than ever since weworked together for a great cause. " She carried out the old couplet:--

 "And be this thy pride, what but few have done, To hold fast the love thou hast early won. "

After his death, she wrote to a friend, "I do not mourn, but ratherremember my blessings, and the blessing of his long life with me. "

For twelve years more she lived and did her various duties. She hadseen the slave freed, and was thankful. The other reforms for whichshe labored were progressing. At eighty-five she still spoke in thegreat meetings. Each Christmas she carried turkeys, pies, and a giftfor each man and woman at the "Aged Colored Home, " in Philadelphia, driving twenty miles, there and back. Each year she sent a boxof candy to each conductor and brakeman on the North PennsylvaniaRailroad, "Because, " she said, "they never let me lift out my bundles, but catch them up so quickly, and they all seem to know me. "

Finally the time came for her to go to meet James. As the end drewnear, she seemed to think that she was conducting her own funeral, andsaid, as though addressing an audience, "If you resolve to follow theLamb wherever you may be led, you will find all the ways pleasant andthe paths peace. Let me go! Do take me!"

There was a large and almost silent funeral at the house, and at thecemetery several thousand persons were gathered. When friends werestanding by the open grave, a low voice said, ""Will no one sayanything?" and another responded, "Who can speak? the preacher isdead!"

Memorial services were held in various cities. For such a woman asLucretia Mott, with cultured mind, noble heart, and holy purpose, there are no sex limitations. Her field is the world. 

Those who desire to know, more of this gifted woman will find it in amost interesting volume, _Lives of James and Lucretia Mott_, writtenby their grandaughter, Anna Davis Hallowell, West Medford, Mass. 

MARY A. LIVERMORE. 

[Illustration: MARY A. LIVERMORE. ]

When a nation passes through a great struggle like our Civil War, great leaders are developed. Had it not been for this, probably Mrs. Livermore, like many other noble women, would be to-day living quietlyin some pleasant home, doing the common duties of every-day life. Shewould not be the famous lecturer, the gifted writer, the leader of theSanitary Commission in the West; a brilliant illustration of the worka woman may do in the world, and still retain the truest womanliness. 

She was born in Boston, descended from ancestors who for sixgenerations had been Welsh preachers, and reared by parents of thestrictest Calvinistic faith. Mr. Rice, her father, was a man ofhonesty and integrity, while the mother was a woman of remarkablejudgment and common sense. 

Mary was an eager scholar, and a great favorite in school, because shetook the part of all the poor children. If a little boy or girl wasa cripple, or wore shabby clothes, or had scanty dinners, or wasridiculed, he or she found an earnest friend and defender in thecourageous girl. 

So fond was she of the five children in the home, younger thanherself, and so much did she take upon herself the responsibility oftheir conversion, that when but ten years old, unable to sleep, shewould rise from her bed and waken her father and mother that theymight pray for the sisters. "It's no matter about me, " she would say;"if they are saved, I can bear anything. "

Mature in thought and care-taking beyond her years, she was stillfond of out-door sports and merry times. Sliding on the ice was herespecial delight. One day, after a full hour's fun in the bracingair, she rushed into the house, the blood tingling in every vein, exclaiming, "It's splendid sliding!" "Yes, " replied the father, "it'sgood fun, but wretched for shoes. "

All at once the young girl saw how hard it was for her parents to buyshoes, with their limited means; and from that day to this she neverslid upon the ice. 

There were few playthings in the simple home, but her chief pastimewas in holding meetings in her father's woodshed, with the otherchildren. Great logs were laid out for benches, and split sticks wereset upon them for people. Mary was always the leader, both in prayingand preaching, and the others were good listeners. Mrs. Rice would beso much amused at the queer scene, that a smile would creep over herface; but Mr. Rice would look on reverently, and say, "I wish you hadbeen a boy; you could have been trained for the ministry. "

When she was twelve years old she began to be eager to earn something. She could not bear to see her father work so hard for her. Alas! howoften young women, twice twelve, allow their father's hair to growwhite from overwork, because they think society will look down uponthem if they labor. Is work more a disgrace to a girl than a boy? Notat all. Unfortunate is the young man who marries a girl who is eitherafraid or ashamed to work. 

Though not fond of sewing, Mary decided to learn dressmaking, becausethis would give her self-support. For three months she worked in ashop, that she might learn the trade, and then she stayed three monthslonger and earned thirty-seven cents a day. As this seemed meagre, shelooked about her for more work. Going to a clothing establishment, she asked for a dozen red flannel shirts to make. The proprietor mighthave wondered who the child was, but he trusted her honest face, and gave her the bundle. She was to receive six and a quarter centsapiece, and to return them on a certain day. Working night afternight, sometimes till the early morning hours, she was able to finishonly half at the time specified. 

On that day a man came to the door and asked, "Does Mary Rice livehere?"

The mother had gone to the door, and answered in the affirmative. 

"Well, she took a dozen red flannel shirts from my shop to make, andshe hain't returned 'em!"

"It can't be my daughter, " said Mrs. Rice. 

The man was sure he had the right number, but he looked perplexed. Just then Mary, who was in the sitting-room, appeared on the scene. 

"Yes, mother, I got these shirts of the man. "

"You promised to get 'em done, Miss, " he said, "and we are in a greathurry. "

"You shall have the shirts to-morrow night, " said Mrs. Rice. 

After the man left the house, the mother burst into tears, saying, "Weare not so poor as that. My dear child, what is to become of you ifyou take all the cares of the world upon your shoulders?"

When the work was done, and the seventy-five cents received, Marywould take only half of it, because she had earned but half. 

A brighter day was dawning for Mary Rice. A little later, longing foran education, Dr. Neale, their good minister, encouraged and assistedher to go to the Charlestown Female Seminary. Before the term closedone of the teachers died, and the bright, earnest pupil was asked tofill the vacancy. She accepted, reciting out of school to fit herselffor her classes, earning enough by her teaching to pay her way, andtaking the four years' course in two years. Before she was twenty shetaught two years on a Virginia plantation as a governess, and cameNorth with six hundred dollars and a good supply of clothes. Probablyshe has never felt so rich since that day. 

She was now asked to take charge of the Duxbury High School, where shebecame an inspiration to her scholars. Even the dullest learned underher enthusiasm. She took long walks to keep up her health and spirits, thus making her body as vigorous as her heart was sympathetic. 

It was not to be wondered at that the bright young teacher hadmany admirers. Who ever knew an educated, genial girl who was not afavorite with young men? It is a libel on the sex to think that theyprefer ignorant or idle girls. 

Among those who saw the beauty of character and the mental power ofMiss Rice was a young minister, whose church was near her schoolhouse. The first time she attended his services, he preached from the text, "And thou shalt call his name Jesus; for he shall save his people fromtheir sins. " Her sister had died, and the family were in sorrow; butthis gospel of love, which he preached with no allusion to eternalpunishment, was full of comfort. What was the minister's surpriseto have the young lady ask to take home the sermon and read it, andafterwards, some of his theological books. What was the teacher'ssurprise, a little later, to find that while she was interested in hissermons and books, he had become interested in her. The sequel canbe guessed easily; she became the wife of Rev. D. P. Livermore attwenty-three. 

He had idolized his mother; very naturally, with deep reverencefor woman, he would make a devoted husband. For fifteen years theintelligent wife aided him in editing _The New Covenant_, a religiouspaper published in Chicago, in which city they had made their home. Her writings were always clear, strong, and helpful. Three childrenhad been born into their home, and life, with its cares and its work, was a very happy one. 

But the time came for the quiet life to be entirely changed. In 1861the nation found itself plunged into war. The slave question was tobe settled once for all at the point of the bayonet. Like every othertrue-hearted woman, Mrs. Livermore had been deeply stirred by passingevents. When Abraham Lincoln's call for seventy-five thousand menwas eagerly responded to, she was in Boston, and saw the troops, allunused to hardships, start for the battle-fields. The streets werecrowded with tens of thousands. Bells rung, bands played, and womensmiled and said good-bye, when their hearts were breaking. After thetrain moved out of the station, four women fainted; nature could nolonger bear the terrible strain. Mrs. Livermore helped restorethe women to consciousness. She had no sons to send; but when suchpartings were seen, and such sorrows were in the future, she could notrest. 

What could women do to help in the dreadful struggle? A meeting ofNew York ladies was called, which resulted in the formation of an AidSociety, pledging loyalty to the Government, and promising assistanceto soldiers and their families. Two gentlemen were sent to Washingtonto ask what work could be done, but word came back that there was noplace for women at the front, nor no need for them in the hospitals. Such words were worse than wasted on American women. Since the daywhen men and women together breasted the storms of New England in the_Mayflower_, and together planted a new civilization, together theyhave worked side by side in all great matters. They were untiringin the Revolutionary War; they worked faithfully in the dark days ofanti-slavery agitation, taking their very lives in their hands. Andnow their husbands and sons and brothers had gone from their homes. They would die on battle-fields, and in lonely camps untended, and thewomen simply said, "Some of us must follow our best-beloved. "

The United States Sanitary Commission was soon organized, for workingin hospitals, looking after camps, and providing comforts for thesoldiers. Branch associations were formed in ten large cities. The great Northwestern Branch was put under the leadership of Mrs. Livermore and Mrs. A. H. Hoge. Useful things began to pour in from allover the country, --fruits, clothing, bedding, and all needed comfortsfor the army. Then Mrs. Livermore, now a woman of forty, with greatexecutive ability, warm heart, courage, and perseverance, with a fewothers, went to Washington to talk with President Lincoln. 

"Can no women go to the front?" they asked. 

"No civilian, either man or woman, is permitted by _law_, " saidMr. Lincoln. But the great heart of the greatest man in America wassuperior to the law, and he placed not a straw in their way. He was infavor of anything which helped the men who fought and bled for theircountry. 

Mrs. Livermore's first broad experience in the war was after thebattle of Fort Donelson. There were no hospitals for the men, and thewounded were hauled down the hillside in rough-board Tennessee wagons, most of them dying before they reached St. Louis. Some poor fellowslay with the frozen earth around them, chopped out after lying in themud from Saturday morning until Sunday evening. 

One blue-eyed lad of nineteen, with both legs and both arms shattered, when asked, "How did it happen that you were left so long?" said, "Why, you see, they couldn't stop to bother with us, _because they hadto take the fort_. When they took it, we forgot our sufferings, andall over the battle-field cheers went up from the wounded, and evenfrom the dying. "

At the rear of the battle-fields the Sanitary Commission now beganto keep its wagons with hot soup and hot coffee, women, fitly chosen, always joining in this work, in the midst of danger. After the firstrepulse at Vicksburg, there was great sickness and suffering. TheCommission sent Mrs. Hoge, two gentlemen accompanying her, with aboat-load of supplies for the sick. One emaciated soldier, to whom shegave a little package of white sugar, with a lemon, some green tea, two herrings, two onions, and some pepper, said, "Is that _all_ forme?" She bowed assent. She says: "He covered his pinched face with histhin hands and burst into a low, sobbing cry. I laid my hand uponhis shoulder, and said, 'Why do you weep?' 'God bless the women!'he sobbed out. 'What should we do but for them? I came from father'sfarm, where all knew plenty; I've lain sick these three months; I'veseen no woman's face, nor heard her voice, nor felt her warm handtill to-day, and it unmans me; but don't think I rue my bargain, forI don't. I've suffered much and long, but don't let them know athome. Maybe I'll never have a chance to tell them how much; but I'd gothrough it all for the old flag. '"

Shortly after, accompanied by an officer, she went into therifle-pits. The heat was stifling, and the minie-balls were whizzing. "Why, madam, where did you come from? Did you drop from heaven intothese rifle-pits? You are the first lady we have seen here;" and thenthe voice was choked with tears. 

"I have come from your friends at home, and bring messages of love andhonor. I have come to bring you the comforts we owe you, and loveto give. I've come to see if you receive what they send you, " shereplied. 

"Do they think as much of as as that? Why, boys, we can fight anotheryear on that, can't we?"

"Yes, yes!" they cried, and almost every hand was raised to brush awaythe tears. 

She made them a kindly talk, shook the hard, honest hands, and saidgood-bye. "Madame, " said the officer, "promise me that you'll visit myregiment to-morrow; 'twould be worth a victory to them. You don't knowwhat good a lady's visit to the army does. These men whom you haveseen to-day will talk of your visit for six months to come. Aroundthe fires, in the rifle-pits, in the dark night, or on the march, theywill repeat your words, describe your looks, voice, size, and dress;and all agree in one respect, --that you look like an angel, andexactly like each man's wife or mother. Ah! was there no work forwomen to do?

The Sanitary and Christian Commissions expended about fifty milliondollars during the war, and of this, the women raised a generousportion. Each battle cost the Sanitary Commission about seventy-fivethousand dollars, and the battle of Gettysburg, a half milliondollars. Mrs. Livermore was one of the most efficient helpers inraising this money. She went among the people, and solicited funds andsupplies of every kind. 

One night it was arranged that she should speak in Dubuque, Iowa, thatthe people of that State might hear directly from their soldiers atthe front. When she arrived, instead of finding a few women as she hadexpected, a large church was packed with both men and women, eager tolisten. The governor of the State and other officials were present. She had never spoken in a mixed assembly. Her conservative trainingmade her shrink from it, and, unfortunately, made her feel incapableof doing it. 

"I cannot speak!" she said to the women who had asked her to come. 

Disappointed and disheartened, they finally arranged with a prominentstatesman to jot down the facts from her lips; and then, as best hecould, tell to the audience the experiences of the woman who had beenon battle-fields, amid the wounded and dying. Just as they were aboutto go upon the platform, the gentleman said, "Mrs. Livermore, I haveheard you say at the front, that you would give your all for thesoldiers, --a foot, a hand, or a voice. Now is the time to give yourvoice, if you wish to do good. "

She meditated a moment, and then she said, "I will try. "

When she arose to speak, the sea of faces before her seemed blurred. She was talking into blank darkness. She could not even hear her ownvoice. But as she went on, and the needs of the soldiers crowded uponher mind, she forgot all fear, and for two hours held the audiencespell-bound. Men and women wept, and patriotism filled every heart. Ateleven o'clock eight thousand dollars were pledged, and then, at thesuggestion of the presiding officer, they remained until one o'clockto perfect plans for a fair, from which they cleared sixty thousanddollars. After this, Mrs. Livermore spoke in hundreds of towns, helping to organize many of the more than twelve thousand five hundredaid societies formed during eighteen months. 

As money became more and more needed, Mrs. Livermore decided to trya sanitary commission fair in Chicago. The women said, "We willraise twenty-five thousand dollars, " but the men laughed at suchan impossibility. The farmers were visited, and solicited to givevegetables and grain, while the cities were not forgotten. Fourteen ofChicago's largest halls were hired. The women had gone into debt tenthousand dollars, and the men of the city began to think they werecrazy. The Board of Trade called upon them and advised that the fairbe given up; the debts should be paid, and the men would give thetwenty-five thousand, when, in their judgment, it was needed! Thewomen thanked them courteously, but pushed forward in the work. 

It had been arranged that the farmers should come on the opening day, in a procession, with their gifts of vegetables. Of this plan thenewspapers made great sport, calling it the "potato procession. " Theday came. The school children had a holiday, the bells were rung, one hundred guns were fired, and the whole city gathered to see the"potato procession. " Finally it arrived, --great loads of cabbages, onions, and over four thousand bushels of potatoes. The wagons eachbore a motto, draped in black, with the words, "We buried a son atDonelson, " "Our father lies at Stone River, " and other similar ones. The flags on the horses' heads were bound with black; the women whorode beside a husband or son, were dressed in deep mourning. When theprocession stopped before Mrs. Livermore's house, the jeers were over, and the dense crowd wept like children. 

Six of the public halls were filled with beautiful things for sale, while eight were closed so that no other attractions might competewith the fair. Instead of twenty-five thousand, the women cleared onehundred thousand dollars. 

Then Cincinnati followed with a fair, making two hundred andtwenty-five thousand; Boston, three hundred and eighty thousand; NewYork, one million; and Philadelphia, two hundred thousand more thanNew York. The women had found that there was work enough for them todo. 

Mrs. Livermore was finally ordered to make a tour of the hospitalsand military posts on the Mississippi River, and here her aid wasinvaluable. It required a remarkable woman to undertake such a work. At one point she found twenty-three men, sick and wounded, whoseregiments had left them, and who could not be discharged because theyhad no descriptive lists. She went at once to General Grant, and said, "General, if you will give me authority to do so, I will agree to takethese twenty-three wounded men home. "

The officials respected the noble woman, and the red tape of army lifewas broken for her sake. 

When the desolate company arrived in Chicago, on Saturday, the lasttrain had left which could have taken a Wisconsin soldier home. Shetook him to the hotel, had a fire made for him, and called a doctor. 

"Pull him through till Monday, Doctor, " she said, "and I'll get himhome. " Then, to the lad, "You shall have a nurse, and Monday morning Iwill go with you to your mother. "

"Oh! don't go away, " he pleaded; "I never shall see you again. "

"Well, then, I'll go home and see my family, and come back in twohours. The door shall be left open, and I'll put this bell beside you, so that the chambermaid will come when you ring. "

He consented, and Mrs. Livermore came back in two hours. The soldier'sface was turned toward the door, as though waiting for her, but he wasdead. He had gone home, but not to Wisconsin. 

After the close of the war, so eager were the people to hear her, that she entered the lecture field and has for years held the foremostplace among women as a public speaker. She lectures five nights aweek, for five months, travelling twenty-five thousand miles annually. Her fine voice, womanly, dignified manner, and able thought havebrought crowded houses before her, year after year. She hasearned money, and spent it generously for others. The energy andconscientiousness of little Mary Rice have borne their legitimatefruit. 

Every year touching incidents came up concerning the war days. Once, after she had spoken at Fabyan's American Institute of Instruction, amilitary man, six feet tall, came up to her and said, "Do you rememberat Memphis coming over to the officers' hospital?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Livermore. 

While the officers were paid salaries, very often the paymasters couldnot find them when ill, and for months they would not have a penny, not even receiving army rations. Mrs. Livermore found many ingreat need, and carried them from the Sanitary Commission blankets, medicine, and food. Milk was greatly desired, and almost impossible tobe obtained. One day she came into the wards, and said that a certainportion of the sick "could have two goblets of milk for every meal. "

"Do you remember, " said the tall man, who was then a major, "that oneman cried bitterly and said, 'I want two glasses of milk, ' and thatyou patted him on the head, as he lay on his cot? And that the mansaid, as he thought of the dear ones at home, whom he might not seeagain, 'Could you kiss me?' and the noble woman bent down and kissedhim? I am that man, and God bless you for your kindness. "

Mrs. Livermore wears on her third finger a plain gold ring which has atouching history. 

After lecturing recently at Albion, Mich. , a woman came up, who haddriven eight miles, to thank her for a letter written for John, her son, as he was dying in the hospital. The first four lines weredictated by the dying soldier; then death came, and Mrs. Livermorefinished the message. The faded letter had been kept for twenty years, and copies made of it. "Annie, my son's wife, " said the mother, "nevergot over John's death. She kept about and worked, but the life hadgone out of her. Eight years ago she died. One day she said, 'Mother, if you ever find Mrs. Livermore, or hear of her, I wish you would giveher my wedding ring, which has never been off my finger since John putit there. Ask her to wear it for John's sake and mine, and tell herthis was my dying request. '"

With tears in the eyes of both giver and receiver, Mrs. Livermore heldout her hand, and the mother placed on the finger this memento of twoprecious lives. 

Mrs. Livermore has spent ten years in the temperance reform. Whileshe has shown the dreadful results of the liquor traffic, she hasbeen kind both in word and deed. Some time ago, passing along a Bostonstreet, she saw a man in the ditch, and a poor woman bending over him. 

"Who is he?" she asked of the woman. 

"He's my husband, ma'am. He's a good man when he is sober, and earnsfour dollars a day in the foundry. I keep a saloon. "

Mrs. Livermore called a hack. "Will you carry this man to number ----?"

"No, madam, he's too dirty. I won't soil my carriage. "

"Oh!" pleaded the wife, "I'll clean it all up for ye, if ye'll takehim, " and pulling off her dress-skirt, she tried to wrap it around herhusband. Stepping to a saloon near by, Mrs. Livermore asked the men tocome out and help lift him. At first they laughed, but were soon madeashamed, when they saw that a lady was assisting. The drunken man wasgotten upon his feet, wrapped in his wife's clothing, put into thehack, and then Mrs. Livermore and the wife got in beside him, and hewas taken home. The next day the good Samaritan called, and broughtthe priest, from whom the man took the pledge. A changed family wasthe result. 

Her life is filled with thousands of acts of kindness, on the cars, inpoor homes, and in various charitable institutions. She is the authorof two or more books, _What shall we do with Our Daughters?_ and_Reminiscences of the War;_ but her especial power has been hereloquent words, spoken all over the country, in pulpits, beforecolleges, in city and country, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Coast. Like Abraham Lincoln, who said, "I go for all sharing the privilegesof the government, who assist in bearing its burdens, --by no meansexcluding women, " she has advocated the enfranchisement of her sex, along with her other work. 

Now, past sixty, her active, earnest life, in contact with the people, has kept her young in heart and in looks. 

"A great authority on what constitutes beauty complains that themajority of women acquire a dull, vacant expression towards middlelife, which makes them positively plain. He attributes it to theirneglect of all mental culture, their lives having settled down to amonotonous routine of house-keeping, visiting, gossip, and shopping. Their thoughts become monotonous, too, for, though these things areall good enough in their way, they are powerless to keep up any mentallife or any activity of thought. "

Mrs. Livermore has been an inspiration to girls to make the mostof themselves and their opportunities. She has been an ideal ofwomanhood, not only to "the boys" on the battle-fields, but to tensof thousands who are fighting the scarcely less heroic battles ofevery-day life. May it be many years before she shall go out foreverfrom her restful, happy home, at Melrose, Mass. 

 * * * * *

Mrs. Livermore died at her home, May 23, 1905, at 8 A. M. , ofbronchitis. She was in her eighty-fourth year, and had survived herhusband six years. When her funeral services were held, the schools ofMelrose closed, business was suspended, bells were tolled, and flagsfloated at half-mast. She was an active member of thirty-seven clubs. The degree of Doctor of Laws was conferred upon her, in 1896, by TuftsCollege. 

MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 

[Illustration: MARGARET FULLER

From engraving by Hall]

Margaret Fuller, in some respects the most remarkable of Americanwomen, lived a pathetic life and died a tragic death. Without moneyand without beauty, she became the idol of an immense circle offriends; men and women were alike her devotees. It is the old story:that the woman of brain makes lasting conquests of hearts, while thepretty face holds its sway only for a month or a year. 

Margaret, born in Cambridgeport, Mass. , May 23, 1810, was theoldest child of a scholarly lawyer, Mr. Timothy Fuller, and of asweet-tempered, devoted mother. The father, with small means, hadone absorbing purpose in life, --to see that each of his children wasfinely educated. To do this, and make ends meet, was a struggle. Hisdaughter said, years after, in writing of him: "His love for my motherwas the green spot on which he stood apart from the commonplaces ofa mere bread-winning existence. She was one of those fair andflower-like natures, which sometimes spring up even beside the mostdusty highways of life. Of all persons whom I have known, she had inher most of the angelic, --of that spontaneous love for every livingthing, for man and beast and tree, which restores the Golden Age. "

Very fond of his oldest child, Margaret, the father determined thatshe should be as well educated as his boys. In those days there wereno colleges for girls, and none where they might enter with theirbrothers, so that Mr. Fuller was obliged to teach his daughter afterthe wearing work of the day. The bright child began to read Latinat six, but was necessarily kept up late for the recitation. Whena little later she was walking in her sleep, and dreaming strangedreams, he did not see that he was overtaxing both her body and brain. When the lessons had been learned, she would go into the library, andread eagerly. One Sunday afternoon, when she was eight years old, shetook down Shakespeare from the shelves, opened at Romeo and Juliet, and soon became fascinated with the story. 

"What are you reading?" asked her father. 

"Shakespeare, " was the answer, not lifting her eyes from the page. 

"That won't do--that's no book for Sunday; go put it away, and takeanother. "

Margaret did as she was bidden; but the temptation was too strong, andthe book was soon in her hands again. 

"What is that child about, that she don't hear a word we say?" said anaunt. 

Seeing what she was reading, the father said, angrily, "Give me thebook, and go directly to bed. "

There could have been a wiser and gentler way of control, but he hadnot learned that it is better to lead children than to drive them. 

When not reading, Margaret enjoyed her mother's little garden offlowers. "I loved, " she says, "to gaze on the roses, the violets, thelilies, the pinks; my mother's hand had planted them, and they bloomedfor me. I kissed them, and pressed them to my bosom with passionateemotions. An ambition swelled my heart to be as beautiful, as perfectas they. "

Margaret grew to fifteen with an exuberance of life and affection, which the chilling atmosphere of that New England home somewhatsuppressed, and with an increasing love for books and cultured people. "I rise a little before five, " she writes, "walk an hour, and thenpractise on the piano till seven, when we breakfast. Next, I readFrench--Sismondi's _Literature of the South of Europe_--till eight;then two or three lectures in Brown's _Philosophy. _ About half pastnine I go to Mr. Perkins's school, and study Greek till twelve, when, the school being dismissed, I recite, go home, and practise again tilldinner, at two. Then, when I can, I read two hours in Italian. "

And why all this hard work for a girl of fifteen? The "all-powerfulmotive of ambition, " she says. "I am determined on distinction, whichformerly I thought to win at an easy rate; but now I see that longyears of labor must be given. "

She had learned the secret of most prominent lives. The majority inthis world will always be mediocre, because they lack high-mindedambition and the willingness to work. 

Two years after, at seventeen, she writes: "I am studying Madame deStaël, Epictetus, Milton, Racine, and the Castilian ballads, withgreat delight. .. . I am engrossed in reading the elder Italianpoets, beginning with Berni, from whom I shall proceed to Pulci andPolitian. " How almost infinitely above "beaus and dresses" was suchintellectual work as this!

It was impossible for such a girl not to influence the mind of everyperson she met. At nineteen she became the warm friend of Rev. JamesFreeman Clarke, "whose friendship, " he says, "was to me a gift of thegods. .. . With what eagerness did she seek for knowledge! What fire, what exuberance, what reach, grasp, overflow of thought, shone in herconversation!. .. And what she thus was to me, she was to many others. Inexhaustible in power of insight, and with a good will 'broad asether, ' she could enter into the needs, and sympathize with thevarious excellences, of the greatest variety of characters. Onething only she demanded of all her friends, that they should not besatisfied with the common routine of life, --that they should aspire tosomething higher, better, holier, than had now attained. "

Witty, learned, imaginative, she was conceded to be the bestconversationist in any circle. She possessed the charm that everywoman may possess, --appreciation of others, and interest in theirwelfare. This sympathy unlocked every heart to her. She was made theconfidante of thousands. All classes loved her. Now it was a servinggirl who told Margaret her troubles and her cares; now it was adistinguished man of letters. She was always an inspiration. Men nevertalked idle, commonplace talk with her; she could appreciate the bestof their minds and hearts, and they gave it. She was fond of sociallife, and no party seemed complete without her. 

At twenty-two she began to study German, and in three months wasreading with ease Goethe's _Faust, Tasso and Iphigenia_, Körner, Richter, and Schiller. She greatly admired Goethe, desiring, like him, "always to have some engrossing object of pursuit. " Besides all thisstudy she was teaching six little children, to help bear the expensesof the household. 

The family at this time moved to Groton, a great privation forMargaret, who enjoyed and needed the culture of Boston society. Butshe says, "As, sad or merry, I must always be learning, I laid down acourse of study at the beginning of the winter. " This consisted of thehistory and geography of modern Europe, and of America, architecture, and the works of Alfieri, Goethe, and Schiller. The teaching wascontinued because her brothers must be sent to Harvard College, andthis required money; not the first nor the last time that sisters haveworked to give brothers an education superior to their own. 

At last the constitution, never robust, broke down, and for nine daysMargaret lay hovering between this world and the next. The tendermother called her "dear lamb, " and watched her constantly, while thestern father, who never praised his children, lest it might harm them, said, "My dear, I have been thinking of you in the night, and I cannotremember that you have any _faults. _ You have defects, of course, asall mortals have, but I do not know that you have a single fault. "

"While Margaret recovered, the father was taken suddenly with cholera, and died after a two days' illness. He was sadly missed, for at hearthe was devoted to his family. When the estate was settled, there waslittle left for each; so for Margaret life would be more laboriousthan ever. She had expected to visit Europe with Harriet Martineau, who was just returning home from a visit to this country, but thefather's death crushed this long-cherished and ardently-prayed-forjourney. She must stay at home and work for others. 

Books were read now more eagerly than ever, --_Sartor Resartus_, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Heine. But money must be earned. Ah! ifgenius could only develop in ease and prosperity. It rarely has thechance. The tree grows best when the dirt is oftenest stirred aboutthe roots; perhaps the best in us comes only from such stirring. 

Margaret now obtained a situation as teacher of French and Latin inBronson Alcott's school. Here she was appreciated by both master andpupils. Mr. Alcott said, "I think her the most brilliant talker ofthe day. She has a quick and comprehensive wit, a firm command of herthoughts, and a speech to win the ear of the most cultivated. " Shetaught advanced classes in German and Italian, besides having severalprivate pupils. 

Before this time she had become a valued friend of the Emerson family. Mr. Emerson says, "Sometimes she stayed a few days, often a week, moreseldom a month, and all tasks that could be suspended were put asideto catch the favorable hour in walking, riding, or boating, to talkwith this joyful guest, who brought wit, anecdotes, love-stories, tragedies, oracles with her. .. . The day was never long enough toexhaust her opulent memory, and I, who knew her intimately for tenyears, never saw her without surprise at her new powers. "

She was passionately fond of music and of art, saying, "I have beenvery happy with four hundred and seventy designs of Raphael in mypossession for a week. " She loved nature like a friend, paying homageto rocks and woods and flowers. She said, "I hate not to be beautifulwhen all around is so. "

After teaching with Mr. Alcott, she became the principal teacher in aschool at Providence, R. I. Here, as ever, she showed great wisdom bothwith children and adults. The little folks in the house were allowedto look at the gifts of many friends in her room, on condition thatthey would not touch them. One day a young visitor came, and insistedon taking down a microscope, and broke it. The child who belongedin the house was well-nigh heart-broken over the affair, and, thoughprotesting her innocence, was suspected both of the deed and offalsehood. Miss Fuller took the weeping child upon her knee, saying, "Now, my dear little girl, tell me all about it; only rememberthat you must be careful, for I shall believe every word you say. "Investigation showed that the child thus confided in told the wholetruth. 

After two years in Providence she returned to Boston, and in 1839began a series of parlor lectures, or "conversations, " as they werecalled. This seemed a strange thing for a woman, when public speakingby her sex was almost unknown. These talks were given weekly, from eleven o'clock till one, to twenty-five or thirty of the mostcultivated women of the city. Now the subject of discussion wasGrecian mythology; now it was fine arts, education, or the relationsof woman to the family, the church, society, and literature. Thesemeetings were continued through five winters, supplemented by evening"conversations, " attended by both men and women. In these gatheringsMargaret was at her best, --brilliant, eloquent, charming. 

During this time a few gifted men, Emerson, Channing, and others, decided to start a literary and philosophical magazine called the_Dial_. Probably no woman in the country would have been chosen as theeditor, save Margaret Fuller. She accepted the position, and for fouryears managed the journal ably, writing for it some valuable essays. Some of these were published later in her book on _Literature andArt_. Her _Woman in the Nineteenth Century_, a learned and vigorousessay on woman's place in the world, first appeared in part in the_Dial_. Of this work, she said, in closing it, "After taking a longwalk, early one most exhilarating morning, I sat down to work, and didnot give it the last stroke till near nine in the evening. Then I felta delightful glow, as if I had put a good deal of my true life in it, and as if, should I go away now, the measure of my footprint would beleft on the earth. "

Miss Fuller had published, besides these works, two books oftranslations from the German, and a sketch of travel called _Summeron the Lakes_. Her experience was like that of most authors who arebeginning, --some fame, but no money realized. All this time she wasfrail in health, overworked, struggling against odds to make a livingfor herself and those she loved. But there were some compensationsin this life of toil. One person wrote her, "What I am I owe in largemeasure to the stimulus you imparted. You roused my heart with highhopes; you raised my aims from paltry and vain pursuits to those whichlasted and fed the soul; you inspired me with a great ambition, andmade me see the worth and the meaning of life. "

William Hunt, the renowned artist, was looking in a book that lay onthe table of a friend. It was Mrs. Jameson's _Italian Painters. _ Indescribing Correggio, she said he was "one of those superior beings ofwhom there are so few. " Margaret had written on the margin, "Andyet all might be such. " Mr. Hunt said, "These words struck out a newstrength in me. They revived resolutions long fallen away, and made meset my face like a flint. "

Margaret was now thirty-four. The sister was married, the brothers hadfinished their college course, and she was about to accept anoffer from the _New York Tribune_ to become one of its constantcontributors, an honor that few women would have received. Early inDecember, 1844, Margaret moved to New York and became a member ofMr. Greeley's family. Her literary work here was that of, says Mr. Higginson, "the best literary critic whom America has yet seen. "

Sometimes her reviews, like those on the poetry of Longfellow andLowell, were censured, but she was impartial and able. Society openedwide its doors to her, as it had in Boston. Mrs. Greeley became herdevoted friend, and their little son "Pickie, " five years old, theidol of Mr. Greeley, her restful playmate. 

A year and a half later an opportunity came for Margaret to go toEurope. Now, at last, she would see the art-galleries of the oldworld, and places rich in history, like Rome. Still there was thetrouble of scanty means, and poor health from overwork. She said, "Anoble career is yet before me, if I can be unimpeded by cares. Ifour family affairs could now be so arranged that I might be tolerablytranquil for the next six or eight years, I should go out of lifebetter satisfied with the page I have turned in it than I shall if Imust still toil on. "

After two weeks on the ocean, the party of friends arrived inLondon, and Miss Fuller received a cordial welcome. Wordsworth, nowseventy-six, showed her the lovely scenery of Rydal Mount, pointingout as his especial pride, his avenue of hollyhocks--crimson, straw-color, and white. De Quincey showed her many courtesies. Dr. Chalmers talked eloquently, while William and Mary Howitt seemed likeold friends. Carlyle invited her to his home. "To interrupt him, " shesaid, "is a physical impossibility. If you get a chance to remonstratefor a moment, he raises his voice and bears you down. "

In Paris, Margaret attended the Academy lectures, saw much of GeorgeSand, waded through melting snow at Avignon to see Laura's tomb, andat last was in Italy, the country she had longed to see. Here Mrs. Jameson, Powers, and Greenough, and the Brownings and Storys, were herwarm friends. Here she settled down to systematic work, trying to keepher expenses for six months within four hundred dollars. Still, whenmost cramped for means herself, she was always generous. Once, whenliving on a mere pittance, she loaned fifty dollars to a needy artist. In New York she gave an impecunious author five hundred dollars topublish his book, and, of course, never received a dollar in return. Yet the race for life was wearing her out. So tired was she that shesaid, "I should like to go to sleep, and be born again into a statewhere my young life should not be prematurely taxed. "

Meantime the struggle for Italian unity was coming to its climax. Mazzini and his followers were eager for a republic. Pius IX. Hadgiven promises to the Liberal party, but afterwards abandoned it, andfled to Gaeta. Then Mazzini turned for help to the President of theFrench Republic, Louis Napoleon, who, in his heart, had no love forrepublics, but sent an army to reinstate the Pope. Rome, when shefound herself betrayed, fought like a tiger. Men issued from theworkshops with their tools for weapons, while women from the housetopsurged them on. One night over one hundred and fifty bombs were throwninto the heart of the city. 

Margaret was the friend of Mazzini, and enthusiastic for Romanliberty. All those dreadful months she ministered to the wounded anddying in the hospitals, and was their "saint, " as they called her. 

But there was another reason why Margaret Fuller loved Italy. 

Soon after her arrival in Rome, as she was attending vespers at St. Peter's with a party of friends, she became separated from them. Failing to find them, seeing her anxious face, a young Italian cameup to her, and politely offered to assist her. Unable to regain herfriends, Angelo Ossoli walked with her to her home, though he couldspeak no English, and she almost no Italian. She learned afterwardthat he was of a noble and refined family; that his brothers were inthe Papal army, and that he was highly respected. 

After this he saw Margaret once or twice, when she left Rome for somemonths. On her return, he renewed the acquaintance, shy and quietthough he was, for her influence seemed great over him. His father, the Marquis Ossoli, had just died, and Margaret, with her large heart, sympathized with him, as she alone knew how to sympathize. He joinedthe Liberals, thus separating himself from his family, and was made acaptain of the Civic Guard. 

Finally he confessed to Margaret that he loved her, and that he "mustmarry her or be miserable. " She refused to listen to him as a lover, said he must marry a younger woman, --she was thirty-seven, and he butthirty, --but she would be his friend. For weeks he was dejected andunhappy. She debated the matter with her own heart. Should she, who had had many admirers, now marry a man her junior, and not ofsurpassing intellect, like her own? If she married him, it must bekept a secret till his father's estate was settled, for marriage witha Protestant would spoil all prospect of an equitable division. 

Love conquered, and she married the young Marquis Ossoli in December, 1847. He gave to Margaret the kind of love which lasts after marriage, veneration of her ability and her goodness. "Such tender, unselfishlove, " writes Mrs. Story, "I have rarely before seen; it made greenher days, and gave her an expression of peace and serenity whichbefore was a stranger to her. When she was ill, he nursed and watchedover her with the tenderness of a woman. No service was too trivial, no sacrifice too great for him. 'How sweet it is to do little thingsfor you, ' he would say. "

To her mother, Margaret wrote, though she did not tell her secret, "I have not been so happy since I was a child, as during the last sixweeks. "

But days of anxiety soon came, with all the horrors of war. Ossoli wasconstantly exposed to death, in that dreadful siege of Rome. Then Romefell, and with it the hopes of Ossoli and his wife. There would beneither fortune nor home for a Liberal now--only exile. Very sadlyMargaret said goodbye to the soldiers in the hospitals, brave fellowswhom she honored, who in the midst of death itself, would cry "Viva l'Italia!"

But before leaving Rome, a day's journey must be made to Rieta, at thefoot of the Umbrian Apennines. And for what? The most precious thingof Margaret's life was there, --her baby. The fair child, with blueeyes and light hair like her own, had already been named by the peoplein the house, Angelino, from his beauty. She had always been fondof children. Emerson's Waldo, for whom _Threnody_ was written was anespecial favorite; then "Pickie, " Mr. Greeley's beautiful boy, and nowa new joy had come into her heart, a child of her own. She wrote toher mother: "In him I find satisfaction, for the first time, tothe deep wants of my heart. Nothing but a child can take the worstbitterness out of life, and break the spell of loneliness. I shall notbe alone in other worlds, whenever Eternity may call me. .. . I wake inthe night, --I look at him. He is so beautiful and good, I could diefor him!"

When Ossoli and Margaret reached Rieta, what was their horror to findtheir child worn to a skeleton, half starved through the falsity of anurse. For four weeks the distressed parents coaxed him back to life, till the sweet beauty of the rounded face came again, and then theycarried him to Florence, where, despite poverty and exile, they werehappy. 

"In the morning, " she says, "as soon as dressed, he signs to come intoour room; then draws our curtain with his little dimpled hand, kissesme rather violently, and pats my face. .. . I feel so refreshed by hisyoung life, and Ossoli diffuses such a power and sweetness over everyday, that I cannot endure to think yet of our future. .. . It is verysad we have no money, we could be so quietly happy a while. I rejoicein all Ossoli did; but the results, in this our earthly state, aredisastrous, especially as my strength is now so impaired. This much Ihope--in life or death, to be no more separated from Angelino. "

Margaret's friends now urged her return to America. She had nearlyfinished a history of Rome in this trying time, 1848, and could betterattend to its publication in this country. Ossoli, though coming to aland of strangers, could find something to help, support the family. 

To save expense, they started from Leghorn, May 17, 1850, in the_Elizabeth_, a sailing vessel, though Margaret dreaded the two months'voyage, and had premonitions of disaster. She wrote: "I have a vagueexpectation of some crisis, --I know not what. But it has long seemedthat, in the year 1850, I should stand on a plateau in the ascent oflife, when I should be allowed to pause for a while, and take moreclear and commanding views than ever before. Yet my life proceeds asregularly as the fates of a Greek tragedy, and I can but accept thepages as they turn. .. . I shall embark, praying fervently that it maynot be my lot to lose my boy at sea, either by unsolaced illness, oramid the howling waves; or, if so, that Ossoli, Angelo, and I may gotogether, and that the anguish may be brief. "

For a few days all went well on shipboard; and then the noble CaptainHasty died of small-pox, and was buried at sea. Angelino took thisdread disease, and for a time his life was despaired of, but hefinally recovered, and became a great pet with the sailors. Margaretwas putting the last touches to her book. Ossoli and young Sumner, brother of Charles, gave each other lessons in Italian and English, and thus the weeks went by. 

On Thursday, July 18, after two months, the _Elizabeth_ stood off theJersey coast, between Cape May and Barnegat. Trunks were packed, goodnights were spoken, and all were happy, for they would be in New Yorkon the morrow. At nine that night a gale arose; at midnight it wasa hurricane; at four o'clock, Friday morning, the ship struck FireIsland beach. The passengers sprung from their berths. "We must die!"said Sumner to Mrs. Hasty. "Let us die calmly, then!" was the responseof the widow of the captain. 

At first, as the billows swept over the vessel, Angelino, wet andafraid, began to cry; but his mother held him closely in her arms andsang him to sleep. Noble courage on a sinking ship! The Italian girlwho had come with them was in terror; but after Ossoli prayed withher, she became calm. For hours they waited anxiously for help fromthe shore. They could see the life-boat, and the people collecting thespoils which had floated thither from the ship, but no relief came. One sailor and another sprang into the waves and saved themselves. Then Sumner jumped overboard, but sank. 

One of the sailors suggested that if each passenger sit on a plank, holding on by ropes, they would attempt to push him or her to land. Mrs. Hasty was the first to venture, and after being twice washedoff, half-drowned, reached the shore. Then Margaret was urged, but shehesitated, unless all three could be saved. Every moment the dangerincreased. The crew were finally ordered "to save themselves, " butfour remained with the passengers. It was useless to look longerto the people on shore for help, though it was now past threeo'clock, --twelve hours since the vessel struck. 

Margaret had finally been induced to try the plank. The steward hadtaken Angelino in his arms, promising to save him or die with him, when a strong sea swept the forecastle, and all went down together. Ossoli caught the rigging for a moment, but Margaret sank at once. When last seen, she was seated at the foot of the foremast, stillclad in her white nightdress, with her hair fallen loose upon hershoulders. Angelino and the steward were washed upon the beachtwenty minutes later, both dead, though warm. Margaret's prayer wasanswered, --that they "might go together, and that the anguish might bebrief. "

The pretty boy of two years was dressed in a child's frock taken fromhis mother's trunk, which had come to shore, laid in a seaman'schest, and buried in the sand, while the sailors, who loved him, stood around, weeping. His body was finally removed to Mt. Auburn, andburied in the family lot. The bodies of Ossoli and Margaret were neverrecovered. The only papers of value which came to shore were theirlove letters, now deeply prized. The book ready for publication wasnever found. 

When those on shore were asked why they did not launch the life-boat, they replied, "Oh! if we had known there were any such persons ofimportance on board, we should have tried to do our best!"

Thus, at forty, died one of the most gifted women in America, when herwork seemed just begun. To us, who see how the world needed her, herdeath is a mystery; to Him who "worketh all things after the counselof His own will" there is no mystery. She filled her life withcharities and her mind with knowledge, and such are ready for theprogress of Eternity. 

MARIA MITCHELL. 

[Illustration: MARIA MITCHELL. ]

In the quiet, picturesque island of Nantucket, in a simple home, livedWilliam and Lydia Mitchell with their family of ten children. Williamhad been a school-teacher, beginning when he was eighteen years ofage, and receiving two dollars a week in winter, while in summer hekept soul and body together by working on a small farm, and fishing. 

In this impecunious condition he had fallen in love with and marriedLydia Coleman, a true-hearted Quaker girl, a descendant of BenjaminFranklin, one singularly fitted to help him make his way in life. Shewas quick, intelligent, and attractive in her usual dress of white, and was the clerk of the Friends' meeting where he attended. Shewas enthusiastic in reading, becoming librarian successively of twocirculating libraries, till she had read every book upon theshelves, and then in the evenings repeating what she had read to herassociates, her young lover among them. 

When they were married, they had nothing but warm hearts and willinghands to work together. After a time William joined his father inconverting a ship-load of whale oil into soap, and then a littlemoney was made; but at the end of seven years he went back toschool-teaching because he loved the work. At first he had charge ofa fine grammar school established at Nantucket, and later, of a schoolof his own. 

Into this school came his third child, Maria, shy and retiring, withall her mother's love of reading. Faithful at home, with, as she says, "an endless washing of dishes, " not to be wondered at where there wereten little folks, she was not less faithful at school. The teachercould not help seeing that his little daughter had a mind which wouldwell repay all the time he could spend upon it. 

While he was a good school-teacher, he was an equally good student ofnature, born with a love of the heavens above him. When eight yearsold, his father called him to the door to look at the planet Saturn, and from that time the boy calculated his age from the position ofthe planet, year by year. Always striving to improve himself, when hebecame a man, he built a small observatory upon his own land, that hemight study the stars. He was thus enabled to earn one hundred dollarsa year in the work of the United States Coast Survey. Teaching attwo dollars a week, and fishing, could not always cramp a man of suchaspiring mind. 

Brought up beside the sea, he was as broad as the sea in his thoughtand true nobility of character. He could see no reason why hisdaughters should not be just as well educated as his sons. Hetherefore taught Maria the same as his boys, giving her especial drillin navigation. Perhaps it is not strange that after such teaching, his daughter could have no taste for making worsted work or Kensingtonstitches. She often says to this day, "A woman might be learning sevenlanguages while she is learning fancy work, " and there is little doubtthat the seven languages would make her seven times more valuable asa wife and mother. If teaching navigation to girls would give usa thousand Maria Mitchells in this country, by all means let it betaught. 

Maria left the public school at sixteen, and for a year attended aprivate school; then, loving mathematics, and being deeply interestedin her father's studies, she became at seventeen his helper in thework of the Coast Survey. This astronomical labor brought ProfessorsAgassiz, Bache, and other noted men to the quiet Mitchell home, andthus the girl heard the stimulating conversation of superior minds. 

But the family needed more money. Though Mr. Mitchell wrote articlesfor _Silliman's Journal_, and delivered an able course of lecturesbefore a Boston society of which Daniel Webster was president, scientific study did not put many dollars in a man's pocket. An eldersister was earning three hundred dollars yearly by teaching, and Mariafelt that she too must help more largely to share the family burdens. She was offered the position of librarian at the Nantucket library, with a salary of sixty dollars the first year, and seventy-five thesecond. While a dollar and twenty cents a week seemed very little, there would be much time for study, for the small island did notafford a continuous stream of readers. She accepted the position, and for twenty years, till youth had been lost in middle life, MariaMitchell worked for one hundred dollars a year, studying on, that shemight do her noble work in the world. 

Did not she who loved nature, long for the open air and the blue sky, and for some days of leisure which so many girls thoughtlessly waste?Yes, doubtless. However, the laws of life are as rigid as mathematics. A person cannot idle away the hours and come to prominence. No greatsinger, no great artist, no great scientist, comes to honor withoutcontinuous labor. Society devotees are heard of only for a day or ayear, while those who develop minds and ennoble hearts have lastingremembrance. 

Miss Mitchell says, "I was born of only ordinary capacity, but ofextraordinary persistency, " and herein is the secret of a great life. She did not dabble in French or music or painting and give it up; shewent steadily on to success. Did she neglect home duties? Never. Sheknit stockings a yard long for her aged father till his death, usuallystudying while she knit. To those who learn to be industrious early inlife, idleness is never enjoyable. 

There was another secret of Miss Mitchell's success. She read goodbooks early in life. She says: "We always had books, and were bookishpeople. There was a public library in Nantucket before I was born. It was not a free library, but we always paid the subscription ofone dollar per annum, and always read and studied from it. I rememberamong its volumes Hannah More's books and Rollin's _Ancient History_. I remember too that Charles Folger, the present Secretary of theTreasury, and I had both read this latter work through before we wereten years old, though neither of us spoke of it to the other until alater period. "

All this study had made Miss Mitchell a superior woman. It was notstrange, therefore, that fame should come to her. One autumn night, October, 1847, she was gazing through the telescope, as usual, when, lo! she was startled to perceive an unknown comet. She at once toldher father, who thus wrote to Professor William C. Bond, director ofthe Observatory at Cambridge: --

 MY DEAR FRIEND, --I write now merely to say that Maria discovered a telescopic comet at half-past ten on the evening of the first instant, at that hour nearly above Polaris five degrees. Last evening it had advanced westerly; this evening still further, and nearing the pole. It does not bear illumination. Maria has obtained its right ascension and declination, and will not suffer me to announce it. Pray tell me whether it is one of Georgi's, and whether it has been seen by anybody. Maria supposes it may be an old story. If quite convenient, just drop a line to her; it will oblige me much. I expect to leave home in a day or two, and shall be in Boston next week, and I would like to have her hear from you before I can meet you. I hope it will not give thee much trouble amidst thy close engagements. Our regards are to all of you most truly. 

WILLIAM MITCHELL. 

The answer showed that Miss Mitchell had indeed made a new discovery. Frederick VI. , King of Denmark, had, sixteen years before, offered agold medal of the value of twenty ducats to whoever should discovera telescopic comet. That no mistake might be made as to the realdiscoverer, the condition was made that word be sent at once to theAstronomer Royal of England. This the Mitchells had not done, on account of their isolated position. Hon. Edward Everett, thenPresident of Harvard College, wrote to the American Minister at theDanish Court, who in turn presented the evidence to the King. "Itwould gratify me, " said Mr. Mitchell, "that this generous monarchshould know that there is a love of science even in this, to him, remote corner of the earth. "

The medal was at last awarded, and the woman astronomer of Nantucketfound herself in the scientific journals and in the press as thediscoverer of "Miss Mitchell's Comet. " Another had been added to thelist of Mary Somervilles and Caroline Herschels. Perhaps there wasadditional zest now in the mathematical work in the Coast Survey. Shealso assisted in compiling the _American Nautical Almanac_, and wrotefor the scientific periodicals. Did she break down from her unusualbrain work? Oh, no! Probably astronomical work was not nearly so hardas her mother's, --the care of a house and ten children!

For ten years more Miss Mitchell worked in the library, and instudying the heavens. But she had longed to see the observatories ofEurope, and the great minds outside their quiet island. Therefore, in 1857, she visited England, and was at once welcomed to the mostlearned circles. Brains always find open doors. Had she been rich orbeautiful simply, Sir John Herschel, and Lady Herschell as well, wouldnot have reached out both hands, and said, "You are always welcome atthis house, " and given her some of his own calculations? and some ofhis Aunt Caroline's writing. Had she been rich or handsome simply, Alexander Von Humboldt would not have taken her to his home, and, seating himself beside her on the sofa, talked, as she says, "onall manner of subjects, and on all varieties of people. He spoke ofKansas, India, China, observatories; of Bache, Maury, Gould, Ticknor, Buchanan, Jefferson, Hamilton, Brunow, Peters, Encke, Airy, Leverrier, Mrs. Somerville, and a host of others. "

What, if he had said these things to some women who go abroad! It issafe for women who travel to read widely, for ignorance is quicklydetected. Miss Mitchell said of Humboldt: "He is handsome--his hairis thin and white, his eyes very blue. He is a little deaf, and so isMrs. Somerville. He asked me what instruments I had, and what I wasdoing; and when I told him that I was interested in the variablestars, he said I must go to Bonn and see Agelander. "

There was no end of courtesies to the scholarly woman. ProfessorAdams, of Cambridge, who, with his charming wife, years afterwardhelped to make our own visit to the University a delight, showedher the spot on which he made his computations for Neptune, whichhe discovered at the same time as Leverrier. Sir George Airy, theAstronomer Royal of England, wrote to Leverrier in Paris to announceher coming. When they met, she said, "His English was worse than myFrench. "

Later she visited Florence, where she met, several times, Mrs. Somerville, who, she says, "talks with all the readiness and clearnessof a man, " and is still "very gentle and womanly, without the leastpretence or the least coldness. " She gave Miss Mitchell two of herbooks, and desired a photographed star sent to Florence. "She hadnever heard of its being done, and saw at once the importance of sucha step. " She said with her Scotch accent, "Miss Mitchell, ye have doneyeself great credit. "

In Rome she saw much of the Hawthornes, of Miss Bremer, who wasvisiting there, and of the artists. From here she went to Venice, Vienna, and Berlin, where she met Encke, the astronomer, who took herto see the wedding presents of the Princess Royal. 

Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, in an admirable sketch of Miss Mitchell, tellshow the practical woman, with her love of republican institutions, was impressed. "The presents were in two rooms, " says Miss Mitchell, "ticketed and numbered, and a catalogue of them sold. All themanufacturing companies availed themselves of the opportunity toadvertise their commodities, I suppose, as she had presents of allkinds. What she will do with sixty albums I can't see, but I canunderstand the use of two clothes-lines, because she can lend one toher mother, who must have a large Monday's wash!"

After a year, Miss Mitchell returned to her simple Nantucket home, as devoted to her parents and her scientific work as ever. Two yearsafterward, in 1860, her good mother died, and a year later, desiringto be near Boston, the family removed to Lynn. Here Miss Mitchellpurchased a small house for sixteen hundred and fifty dollars. Fromher yearly salary of one hundred dollars, and what she could earnin her government work, she had saved enough to buy a home forher father! The rule is that the fathers wear themselves out fordaughters; the rule was reversed in this case. 

Miss Mitchell now earned five hundred dollars yearly for hergovernment computations, while her father received a pension of threehundred more for his efficient services. Five years thus passedquietly and comfortably. 

Meanwhile another life was carrying out its cherished plan, and MissMitchell, unknowingly, was to have an important part in it. Soonafter the Revolutionary War there came to this country an Englishwool-grower and his family, and settled on a little farm near theHudson River. The mother, a hard-working and intelligent woman, was eager in her help toward earning a living, and would drive thefarm-wagon to market, with butter and eggs, and fowls, while herseven-year-old boy sat beside her. To increase the income some Englishale was brewed. The lad grew up with an aversion to making beer, andwhen fourteen, his father insisting that he should enter the business, his mother helped him to run away. Tying all his worldly possessions, a shirt and pair of stockings, in a cotton handkerchief, the motherand her boy walked eight miles below Poughkeepsie, when, giving himall the money she had, seventy-five cents, she kissed him, and withtears in her eyes saw him cross the ferry and land safely on the otherside. He trudged on till a place was found in a country store, andhere, for five years, he worked honestly and industriously, cominghome to his now reconciled father with one hundred and fifty dollarsin his pocket. 

Changes had taken place. The father's brewery had burned, the oldestson had been killed in attempting to save something from the wreck, all were poorer than ever, and there seemed nothing before the boy ofnineteen but to help support the parents, his two unmarried sisters, and two younger brothers. Whether he had the old dislike for the alebusiness or not, he saw therein a means of support, and adoptedit. The world had not then thought so much about the misery whichintoxicants cause, and had not learned that we are better off withoutstimulants than with them. 

Every day the young man worked in his brewery, and in the evening tillmidnight tended a small oyster house, which he had opened. Two yearslater, an Englishman who had seen Matthew Vassar's untiring industryand honesty, offered to furnish all the capital which he needed. Thelong, hard road of poverty had opened at last into a field of plenty. Henceforward, while there was to be work and economy, there was to becontinued prosperity, and finally, great wealth. 

Realizing his lack of early education, he began to improve himself byreading science, art, history, poetry, and the Bible. He travelled inEurope, and being a close observer, was a constant learner. 

One day, standing by the great London hospital, built by Thomas Guy, a relative, and endowed by him with over a million dollars, Mr. Vassarread these words on the pedestal of the bronze statue:--

 SOLE FOUNDER OF THE HOSPITAL. IN HIS LIFETIME. 

The last three words left a deep impression on his mind. He had nochildren. He desired to leave his money where it would be of permanentvalue to the world. He debated many plans in his own mind. It issaid that his niece, a hard-working teacher, Lydia Booth, finallyinfluenced him to his grand decision. 

There was no real college for women in the land. He talked the matterover with his friends, but they were full of discouragements. "Womenwill never desire college training, " said some. "They will be ruinedin health, if they attempt it, " said others. "Science is not neededby women; classical education is not needed; they must have somethingappropriate to their sphere, " was constantly reiterated. Some wiseheads thought they knew just what that education should be, and justwhat were the limits of woman's sphere; but Matthew Vassar had his ownthoughts. 

Calling together, Feb. 26, 1861, some twenty or thirty of the men inthe State most conversant with educational matters, the white-hairedman, now nearly seventy, laid his hand upon a round tin box, labelled"Vassar College Papers, " containing four hundred thousand dollars inbonds and securities, and said: "It has long been my desire, aftersuitably providing for those of my kindred who have claims upon me, to make such a disposition of my means as should best honor God andbenefit my fellow-men. At different periods I have regarded variousplans with favor; but these have all been dismissed one after another, until the subject of erecting and endowing a college for the educationof young women was presented for my consideration. The novelty, grandeur, and benignity of the idea arrested my attention. 

"It occurred to me that woman, having received from the Creator thesame intellectual constitution as man, has the same right as man tointellectual culture and development. 

"I considered that the mothers of a country mould its citizens, determine its institutions, and shape its destiny. 

"It has also seemed to me that if woman was properly educated, somenew avenues of useful and honorable employment, in entire harmony withthe gentleness and modesty of her sex, might be opened to her. 

"It further appeared, there is not in our country, there is not inthe world, so far as known, a single fully endowed institution forthe education of women. .. . I have come to the conclusion that theestablishment and endowment of a COLLEGE FOR THE EDUCATION OF YOUNGWOMEN is a work which will satisfy my highest aspirations, and willbe, under God, a rich blessing to this city and State, to our countryand the world. 

"It is my hope to be the instrument in the hands of Providence, offounding and perpetuating an institution _which shall accomplish foryoung women what our colleges are accomplishing for young men_. "

For four years Matthew Vassar watched the great buildings take formand shape in the midst of two hundred acres of lake and river andgreen sward, near Poughkeepsie; the main building, five hundred feetlong, two hundred broad, and five stories high; the museum of naturalhistory, with school of art and library; the great observatory, threestories high, furnished with the then third largest telescope in thecountry. 

In 1865 Vassar College was opened, and three hundred and fiftystudents came pouring in from all parts of the land. Girls, after all, did desire an education equal to that of young men. Matthew Vassarwas right. His joy seemed complete. He visited the college daily, and always received the heartiest welcome. Each year his birthdaywas celebrated as "Founder's Day. " On one of these occasions he said:"This is almost more happiness than I can bear. This one day more thanrepays me for all I have done. " An able and noble man, John HowardRaymond, was chosen president. 

Mr. Vassar lived but three years after his beloved institution wasopened. June 23, 1868, the day before commencement, he had called themembers of the Board around him to listen to his customary address. Suddenly, when he had nearly finished, his voice ceased, the paperdropped from his hand, and--he was dead! His last gifts amounted toover five hundred thousand dollars, making in all $989, 122. 00 forthe college. The poor lad wrought as he had hoped, a blessing "to thecountry and the world. " His nephews, Matthew Vassar, Jr. , and John GuyVassar, have given over one hundred and forty thousand dollars. 

After the observatory was completed, there was but one wish as to whoshould occupy it; of course, the person desired was Maria Mitchell. She hesitated to accept the position. Her father was seventy andneeded her care, but he said, "Go, and I will go with you. " So sheleft her Lynn home for the arduous position of a teacher. For fouryears Mr. Mitchell lived to enjoy the enthusiastic work of hisgifted daughter. He said, "Among the teachers and pupils I have madeacquaintances that a prince might covet. "

Miss Mitchell makes the observatory her home. Here are her books, herpictures, her great astronomical clock, and a bust of Mrs. Somerville, the gift of Frances Power Cobbe. Here for twenty years she has helpedto make Vassar College known and honored both at home and abroad. Hundreds have been drawn thither by her name and fame. A friend ofmine who went, intending to stay two years, remained five, for heradmiration of and enjoyment in Miss Mitchell. She says: "She is one ofthe few genuine persons I have ever known. There is not one particleof deceit about her. For girls who accomplish something, she has greatrespect; for idlers, none. She has no sentimentality, but much wit andcommon sense. No one can be long under her teaching without learningdignity of manner and self-reliance. "

She dresses simply, in black or gray, somewhat after the fashion ofher Quaker ancestors. Once when urging economy upon the girls, shesaid, "All the clothing I have on cost but seventeen dollars, and foursuits would last each of you a year. " There was a quiet smile, butno audible expression of a purpose to adopt Miss Mitchell's style ofdress. 

The pupils greatly honor and love the undemonstrative woman, who, theywell know, would make any sacrifices for their well-being. Each weekthe informal gatherings at her rooms, where various useful topicsare discussed, are eagerly looked forward to. Chief of all, MissMitchell's own bright and sensible talk is enjoyed. Her "domeparties, " held yearly in June, under the great dome of theobservatory, with pupils coming back from all over the country, original poems read and songs sung, are among the joys of collegelife. 

All these years the astronomer's fame has steadily increased. In 1868, in the great meteoric shower, she and her pupils recorded the pathsof four thousand meteors, and gave valuable data of their height abovethe earth. In the summer of 1869 she joined the astronomers who wentto Burlington, Iowa, to observe the total eclipse of the sun, Aug. 7. Her observations on the transit of Venus were also valuable. She haswritten much on the _Satellites of Saturn_, and has prepared a work onthe _Satellites of Jupiter_. 

In 1873 she again visited Europe, spending some time with thefamily of the Russian astronomer, Professor Struve, at the ImperialObservatory at Pultowa. 

She is an honor to her sex, a striking example of what a quiet countrygirl can accomplish without money or fortuitous circumstances. 

 * * * * *

She resigned her position at Vassar in 1888. Miss Mitchell died on themorning of June 28, 1889, at Lynn, Mass. , at the age of seventy-one, and was buried at Nantucket on Sunday afternoon, June 30. 

LOUISA M. ALCOTT. 

[Illustration: LOUISA M. ALCOTT. ]

A dozen of us sat about the dinner-table at the Hotel Bellevue, Boston. One was the gifted wife of a gifted clergyman; one had writtentwo or three novels; one was a journalist; one was on the eve of along journey abroad; and one, whom we were all glad to honor, was thebrilliant author of _Little Women_. She had a womanly face, bright, gray eyes, that looked full of merriment, and would not see the hardside of life, and an air of common sense that made all defer to herjudgment. She told witty stories of the many who wrote her foradvice or favors, and good-naturedly gave bits of her own personalexperience. Nearly twenty years before, I had seen her, just afterher _Hospital Sketches_ were published, over which I, and thousands ofothers, had shed tears. Though but thirty years old then, Miss Alcottlooked frail and tired. That was the day of her struggle with life. Now, at fifty, she looked happy and comfortable. The desire of herheart had been realized, --to do good to tens of thousands, and earnenough money to care for those whom she loved. 

Louisa Alcott's life, like that of so many famous women, has been fullof obstacles. She was born in Germantown, Pa. , Nov. 29, 1832, in thehome of an extremely lovely mother and cultivated father, Amos BronsonAlcott. Beginning life poor, his desire for knowledge led him toobtain an education and become a teacher. In 1830 he married Miss May, a descendant of the well-known Sewells and Quincys, of Boston. LouiseChandler Moulton says, in her excellent sketch of Miss Alcott, "I haveheard that the May family were strongly opposed to the union of theirbeautiful daughter with the penniless teacher and philosopher;" but hemade a devoted husband, though poverty was long their guest. 

For eleven years, mostly in Boston, he was the earnest and successfulteacher. Margaret Fuller was one of his assistants. Everybodyrespected his purity of life and his scholarship. His kindnessof heart made him opposed to corporal punishment, and in favor ofself-government. The world had not come then to his high ideal, but has been creeping toward it ever since, until whipping, both inschools and homes, is fortunately becoming one of the lost arts. 

He believed in making studies interesting to pupils; not the dull, old-fashioned method of learning by rote, whereby, when a hymn wastaught, such as, "A Charge to keep I have, " the children went hometo repeat to their astonished mothers, "Eight yards to keep I have, "having learned by ear, with no knowledge of the meaning of the words. He had friendly talks with his pupils on all great subjects; and someof these Miss Elizabeth Peabody, the sister of Mrs. Hawthorne, sogreatly enjoyed, that she took notes, and compiled them in a book. 

New England, always alive to any theological discussion, at oncepronounced the book unorthodox. Emerson had been through the same kindof a storm, and bravely came to the defence of his friend. Anothercharge was laid at Mr. Alcott's door: he was willing to admit coloredchildren to his school, and such a thing was not countenanced, exceptby a few fanatics(?) like Whittier, and Phillips, and Garrison. Theheated newspaper discussion lessened the attendance at the school; andfinally, in 1839, it was discontinued, and the Alcott family moved toConcord. 

Here were gifted men and women with whom the philosopher could feel athome, and rest. Here lived Emerson, in the two-story drab house, with horsechestnut-trees in front of it. Here lived Thoreau, near hisbeautiful Walden Lake, a restful place, with no sound save, perchance, the dipping of an oar or the note of a bird, which the lonely manloved so well. Here he built his house, twelve feet square, and livedfor two years and a half, giving to the world what he desired othersto give, --his inner self. Here was his bean-field, where he "used tohoe from five o'clock in the morning till noon, " and made, as he said, an intimate acquaintance with weeds, and a pecuniary profit of eightdollars seventy-one and one-half cents! Here, too, was Hawthorne, "who, " as Oliver Wendell Holmes says, "brooded himself into adream-peopled solitude. "

Here Mr. Alcott could live with little expense and teach his fourdaughters. Louisa, the eldest, was an active, enthusiastic child, getting into little troubles from her frankness and lack of policy, but making friends with her generous heart. Who can ever forget Jo in_Little Women_, who was really Louisa, the girl who, when reprovedfor whistling by Amy, the art-loving sister, says: "I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits! I'm not a young lady; and if turning up my hairmakes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty. I hate tothink I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, andlook as prim as a china-aster! Its bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and manners!"

At fifteen, "Jo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one ofa colt; for she never seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very much in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comicalnose, and sharp, gray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and wereby turns fierce or funny or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was herone beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net to be out of herway. Round shoulders had Jo, and big hands and feet, a fly-away lookto her clothes, and the uncomfortable appearance of a girl who wasrapidly shooting up into a woman, and didn't like it. "

The four sisters lived a merry life in the Concord haunts, notwithstanding their scanty means. Now, at the dear mother'ssuggestion, they ate bread and milk for breakfast, that they mightcarry their nicely prepared meal to a poor woman, with six children, who called them _Engel-kinder_, much to Louisa's delight. Now theyimprovised a stage, and produced real plays, while the neighborslooked in and enjoyed the fun. 

Louisa was especially fond of reading Shakespeare, Goethe, Emerson, Margaret Fuller, Miss Edgeworth, and George Sand. As early as eightyears of age she wrote a poem of eight lines, _To a Robin_, which hermother carefully preserved, telling her that "if she kept on in thishopeful way, she might be a second Shakespeare in time. " Blessings onthose people who have a kind smile or a word of encouragement as westruggle up the hard hills of life!

At thirteen she wrote _My Kingdom_. When, years afterward, Mrs. EvaMunson Smith wrote to her, asking for some poems for _Woman in SacredSong_, Miss Alcott sent her this one, saying, "It is the only hymn Iever wrote. It was composed at thirteen, and as I still find thesame difficulty in governing my kingdom, it still expresses my soul'sdesire, and I have nothing better to offer. "

 "A little kingdom I possess Where thoughts and feelings dwell, And very hard the task I find Of governing it well; For passion tempts and troubles me, A wayward will misleads, And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds. 

 "How can I learn to rule myself, To be the child I should, Honest and brave, and never tire Of trying to be good? How can I keep a sunny soul To shine along life's way? How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?

 "Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear; Teach me to lean on Thee, and feel That Thou art very near: That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since Thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all. 

 "I do not ask for any crown, But that which all may win; Nor try to conquer any world Except the one within. Be Thou my guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in myself, And dare to take command. "

Louisa was very imaginative, telling stories to her sisters and hermates, and at sixteen wrote a book for Miss Ellen Emerson, entitled_Flower Fables_. It was not published till six years later, and then, being florid in style, did not bring her any fame. She was now anxiousto earn her support. She was not the person to sit down idly andwait for marriage, or for some rich relation to care for her; butshe determined to make a place in the world for herself. She says in_Little Women_, "Jo's ambition was to do something very splendid; whatit was she had no idea, as yet, but left it for time to tell her, " andat sixteen the time had come to make the attempt. 

She began to teach school with twenty pupils. Instead of thetheological talks which her father gave his scholars, she told themstories, which she says made the one pleasant hour in her school-day. Now the long years of work had begun--fifteen of them--which shouldgive the girl such rich yet sometimes bitter experiences, that shecould write the most fascinating books from her own history. Into hervolume called _Work_, published when she had become famous, she putmany of her own early sorrows in those of "Christie. "

Much of this time was spent in Boston. Sometimes she cared for aninvalid child; sometimes she was a governess; sometimes she didsewing, adding to her slender means by writing late at night. Occasionally she went to the house of Rev. Theodore Parker, where shemet Emerson, Sumner, Garrison, and Julia Ward Howe. Emerson always hada kind word for the girl whom he had known in Concord, and Mr. Parkerwould take her by the hand and say, "How goes it, my child? God blessyou; keep your heart up, Louisa, " and then she would go home to herlonely room, brave and encouraged. 

At nineteen, one of her early stories was published in _Gleason'sPictorial_, and for this she received five dollars. How welcome wasthis brain-money! Some months later she sent a story to the _BostonSaturday Gazette_, entitled _The Rival Prima Donnas_, and, to hergreat delight, received ten dollars; and what was almost better still, a request from the editor for another story. Miss Alcott made the_Rival Prima Donnas_ into a drama, and it was accepted by a theatre, and would have been put upon the stage but for some disagreement amongthe actors. However, the young teacher received for her work a pass tothe theatre for forty nights. She even meditated going upon the stage, but the manager quite opportunely broke his leg, and the contractwas annulled. What would the boys and girls of America have lost, hadtheir favorite turned actress!

A second story was, of course, written for the _Saturday EveningGazette_. And now Louisa was catching a glimpse of fame. She says, "One of the memorial moments of my life is that in which, as I trudgedto school on a wintry day, my eye fell upon a large yellow poster withthese delicious words, '_Bertha_, a new tale by the author of _TheRival Prima Donnas_, will appear in the _Saturday Evening Gazette_. ' Iwas late; it was bitter cold; people jostled me; I was mortally afraidI should be recognized; but there I stood, feasting my eyes on thefascinating poster, and saying proudly to myself, in the words of thegreat Vincent Crummles, 'This, this is fame!' That day my pupils hadan indulgent teacher; for, while they struggled with theirpot-hooks, I was writing immortal works; and when they droned out themultiplication table, I was counting up the noble fortune my penwas to earn for me in the dim, delightful future. That afternoon mysisters made a pilgrimage to behold this famous placard, and findingit torn by the wind, boldly stole it, and came home to wave it likea triumphal banner in the bosom of the excited family. The tatteredpaper still exists, folded away with other relics of those early days, so hard and yet so sweet, when the first small victories were won, andthe enthusiasm of youth lent romance to life's drudgery. "

Finding that there was money in sensational stories, she set herselfeagerly to work, and soon could write ten or twelve a month. She saysin _Little Women:_ "As long as _The Spread Eagle_ paid her a dollar acolumn for her 'rubbish, ' as she called it, Jo felt herself a womanof means, and spun her little romances diligently. But great plansfermented in her busy brain and ambitious mind, and the old tinkitchen in the garret held a slowly increasing pile of blottedmanuscript, which was one day to place the name of March upon the rollof fame. "

But sensational stories did not bring much fame, and the conscientiousLouisa tired of them. A novel, _Moods_, written at eighteen, sharednearly the same fate as _Flower Fables_. Some critics praised, somecondemned, but the great world was indifferent. After this, sheoffered a story to Mr. James T. Fields, at that time editor of the_Atlantic Monthly_, but it was declined, with the kindly advice thatshe stick to her teaching. But Louisa Alcott had a strong will and abrave heart, and would not be overcome by obstacles. 

The Civil War had begun, and the school-teacher's heart was deeplymoved. She was now thirty, having had such experience as makes us verytender toward suffering. The perfume of natures does not usually comeforth without bruising. She determined to go to Washington and offerherself as a nurse at the hospital for soldiers. After much officialred tape, she found herself in the midst of scores of maimed anddying, just brought from the defeat at Fredericksburg. She says:"Round the great stove was gathered the dreariest group I eversaw, --ragged, gaunt, and pale, mud to the knees, with bloody bandagesuntouched since put on days before; many bundled up in blankets, coatsbeing lost or useless, and all wearing that disheartened look whichproclaimed defeat more plainly than any telegram, of the Burnsideblunder. I pitied them so much, I dared not speak to them. I yearnedto serve the dreariest of them all. 

"Presently there came an order, 'Tell them to take off socks, coats, and shirts; scrub them well, put on clean shirts, and the attendantswill finish them off, and lay them in bed. '

"I chanced to light on a withered old Irishman, " she says, "wounded inthe head, which caused that portion of his frame to be tastefullylaid out like a garden, the bandages being the walks, and his hair theshrubbery. He was so overpowered by the honor of having a lady washhim, as he expressed it, that he did nothing but roll up his eyes andbless me, in an irresistible style which was too much for my sense ofthe ludicrous, so we laughed together; and when I knelt down to takeoff his shoes, he wouldn't hear of my touching 'them dirty craters. 'Some of them took the performance like sleepy children, leaning theirtired heads against me as I worked; others looked grimly scandalized, and several of the roughest colored like bashful girls. "

When food was brought, she fed one of the badly wounded men, andoffered the same help to his neighbor. "Thank you, ma'am, " he said, "Idon't think I'll ever eat again, for I'm shot in the stomach. But I'dlike a drink of water, if you ain't too busy. "

"I rushed away, " she says; "but the water pails were gone to berefilled, and it was some time before they reappeared. I did notforget my patient, meanwhile, and, with the first mugful, hurried backto him. He seemed asleep; but something in the tired white facecaused me to listen at his lips for a breath. None came. I touched hisforehead; it was cold; and then I knew that, while he waited, a betternurse than I had given him a cooler draught, and healed him with atouch. I laid the sheet over the quiet sleeper, whom no noise couldnow disturb; and, half an hour later, the bed was empty. "

With cheerful face and warm heart she went among the soldiers, nowwriting letters, now washing faces, and now singing lullabies. One daya tall, manly fellow was brought in. He seldom spoke, and uttered nocomplaint. After a little, when his wounds were being dressed, MissAlcott observed the big tears roll down his cheeks and drop on thefloor. 

She says: "My heart opened wide and took him in, as, gathering thebent head in my arms, as freely as if he had been a child, I said, 'Let me help you bear it, John!' Never on any human countenance have Iseen so swift and beautiful a look of gratitude, surprise, and comfortas that which answered me more eloquently than the whispered--

"'Thank you, ma'am; this is right good! this is what I wanted. '

"'Then why not ask for it before?'

"'I didn't like to be a trouble, you seemed so busy, and I couldmanage to get on alone. '"

The doctors had told Miss Alcott that John must die, and she must takethe message to him; but she had not the heart to do it. One evening heasked her to write a letter for him. "Shall it be addressed to wife ormother, John?"

"Neither, ma'am; I've got no wife, and will write to mother myselfwhen I get better. Mother's a widow; I'm the oldest child she has, and it wouldn't do for me to marry until Lizzy has a home of her own, and Jack's learned his trade; for we're not rich, and I must be fatherto the children and husband to the dear old woman, if I can. "

"No doubt you are both, John; yet how came you to go to war, if youfelt so?"

"I went because I couldn't help it. I didn't want the glory or thepay; I wanted the right thing done, and people kept saying the men whowere in earnest ought to fight. I was in earnest, the Lord knows! butI held off as long as I could, not knowing which was my duty. Mothersaw the case, gave me her ring to keep me steady, and said 'Go'; so Iwent. "

"Do you ever regret that you came, when you lie here suffering somuch?"

"Never, ma'am; I haven't helped a great deal, but I've shown I waswilling to give my life, and perhaps I've got to. .. . This is my firstbattle; do they think it's going to be my last?"

"I'm afraid they do, John. "

He seemed startled at first, but desired Miss Alcott to write theletter to Jack, because he could best tell the sad news to the mother. With a sigh, John said, "I hope the answer will come in time for me tosee it. "

Two days later Miss Alcott was sent for. John stretched out both handsas he said, "I knew you'd come. I guess I'm moving on, ma'am. " Thenclasping her hand so close that the death marks remained long uponit, he slept the final sleep. An hour later John's letter came, and putting it in his hand, Miss Alcott kissed the dead brow of theVirginia blacksmith, for his aged mother's sake, and buried him in thegovernment lot. 

The noble teacher after a while became ill from overwork, and wasobliged to return home, soon writing her book, _Hospital Sketches_, published in 1865. This year, needing rest and change, she went toEurope as companion to an invalid lady, spending a year in Germany, Switzerland, Paris, and London. In the latter city she met JeanIngelow, Frances Power Cobbe, John Stuart Mill, George Lewes, andothers, who had known of the brilliant Concord coterie. Such personsdid not ask if Miss Alcott were rich, nor did they care. 

In 1868 her father took several of her more recent stories to RobertsBrothers to see about their publication in book form. Mr. ThomasNiles, a member of the firm, a man of refinement and good judgment, said: "We do not care just now for volumes of collected stories. Willnot your daughter write us a new book consisting of a single story forgirls?"

Miss Alcott feared she could not do it, and set herself to write_Little Women_, to show the publishers that she could _not_ write astory for girls. But she did not succeed in convincing them or theworld of her inability. In two months the first part was finished, andpublished October, 1868. It was a natural, graphic story of her threesisters and herself in that simple Concord home. How we, who aregrown-up children, read with interest about the "Lawrence boy, "especially if we had boys of our own, and sympathized with the littlegirl who wrote Miss Alcott, "I have cried quarts over Beth's sickness. If you don't have her marry Laurie in the second part, I shall neverforgive you, and none of the girls in our school will ever read anymore of your books. Do! do! have her, please. "

The second part appeared in April, 1869, and Miss Alcott found herselffamous. The "pile of blotted manuscript" had "placed the name of Marchupon the roll of fame. " Some of us could not be reconciled todear Jo's marriage with the German professor, and their school atPlumfield, when Laurie loved her so tenderly. "We cried over Beth, andfelt how strangely like most young housekeepers was Meg. How the tiredteacher, and tender-hearted nurse for the soldiers must have rejoicedat her success! "This year, " she wrote her publishers, "after toilingso many years along the uphill road, always a hard one to womenwriters, it is peculiarly grateful to me to find the way growingeasier at last, with pleasant little surprises blossoming on eitherside, and the rough places made smooth. "

When _Little Men_ was announced, fifty thousand copies were ordered inadvance of its publication! About this time Miss Alcott visited Romewith her artist sister May, the "Amy" of _Little Women_, and onher return, wrote _Shawl-straps_, a bright sketch of their journey, followed by an _Old-Fashioned Girl_; that charming book _Under theLilacs_, where your heart goes out to Ben and his dog Sancho; sixvolumes of _Aunt Jo's Scrap-bag_; _Jack and Jill_; and others. From these books Miss Alcott has already received about one hundredthousand dollars. 

She has ever been the most devoted of daughters. Till the mother wentout of life, in 1877, she provided for her every want. May, the giftedyoungest sister, who was married in Paris in 1878 to Ernst Nieriker, died a year and a half later, leaving her infant daughter, LouisaMay Nieriker, to Miss Alcott's loving care. The father, who becameparalyzed in 1882, now eighty-six years old, has had her constantministries. How proud he has been of his Louisa! I heard him say, years ago, "I am riding in her golden chariot. "

Miss Alcott now divides her time between Boston and Concord. "TheOrchards, " the Alcott home for twenty-five years, set in its frame ofgrand trees, its walls and doors daintily covered with May Alcott'ssketches, has become the home of the "Summer School of Philosophy, "and Miss Alcott and her father live in the house where Thoreau died. 

Most of her stories have been written in Boston, where she findsmore inspiration than at Concord. "She never had a study, " says Mrs. Moulton; "any corner will answer to write in. She is not particularas to pens and paper, and an old atlas on her knee is all the desk shecares for. She has the wonderful power to carry a dozen plots in herhead at a time, thinking them over whenever she is in the mood. Oftenin the dead waste and middle of the night she lies awake and planswhole chapters. In her hardest working days she used to write fourteenhours in the twenty-four, sitting steadily at her work, and scarcelytasting food till her daily task was done. When she has a story towrite, she goes to Boston, hires a quiet room, and shuts herself up init. In a month or so the book will be done, and its author comesout 'tired, hungry, and cross, ' and ready to go back to Concord andvegetate for a time. "

Miss Alcott, like Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, is an earnest advocate ofwoman's suffrage, and temperance. When Meg in _Little Women_ prevailsupon Laurie to take the pledge on her wedding-day, the delighted Jobeams her approval. In 1883 she writes of the suffrage reform, "Everyyear gives me greater faith in it, greater hope of its success, alarger charity for those who cannot see its wisdom, and a more earnestwish to use what influence I possess for its advancement. "

Miss Alcott has done a noble work for her generation. Her books havebeen translated into foreign languages, and expressions of affectionhave come to her from both east and west. She says, "As I turn my facetoward sunset, I find so much to make the down-hill journey smooth andlovely, that, like Christian, I go on my way rejoicing with a cheerfulheart. "

 * * * * *

Miss Alcott died March 6, 1888, at the age of fifty-five, threedays after the death of her distinguished father, Bronson Alcott, eighty-eight years old. She had been ill for some months, from careand overwork. On the Saturday morning before she died, she wrote toa friend: "I am told that I must spend another year in this 'Saint'sRest, ' and then I am promised twenty years of health. I don't wantso many, and I have no idea I shall see them. But as I don't live formyself, I will live on for others. "

On the evening of the same day she became unconscious, and remained sotill her death, on Tuesday morning. 

MARY LYON. 

[Illustration]

There are two women whose memory the girls in this country shouldespecially revere, --Mary Lyon and Catharine Beecher. When it wasunfashionable for women to know more than to read, write, and cipher(the "three R's, " as reading, writing, and arithmetic were called), these two had the courage to ask that women have an education equal tomen, a thing which was laughed at as impracticable and impossible. Tothese two pioneers we are greatly indebted for the grand educationaladvantages for women to-day in America. 

Amid the mountains of Western Massachusetts, at Buckland, Feb. 28, 1797, the fifth of seven children, Mary Lyon came into the world, inobscurity. The little farm-house was but one story high, in the midstof rocks and sturdy trees. The father, Aaron Lyon, was a godly man, beloved by all his neighbors, --"the peacemaker, " he was called, --whodied at forty-five, leaving his little family well-nigh helpless--no, not helpless, because the mother was of the same material of whichEliza Garfields are made. 

Such women are above circumstances. She saw to it that the farmyielded its best. She worked early and late, always cheerful, alwaysobserving the Sabbath most devotedly, always keeping the childrenclean and tidy. In her little garden the May pinks were the sweetestand the peonies the reddest of any in the neighborhood. One personbegged to set a plant in the corner of her garden, sure that if Mrs. Lyon tended it, it could never die. "How is it, " said the hard-workingwife of a farmer, "that the widow can do more for me than any oneelse?" She had her trials, but she saw no use in telling themto others, so with a brave heart she took up her daily tasks andperformed them. 

Little Mary was an energetic, frank, warm-hearted child, full ofdesire to help others. Her mind was eager in grasping new things, andcurious in its investigations. Once, when her mother had given hersome work to do, she climbed upon a chair to look at the hour-glass, and said, as she studied it, "I know I have found a way to _make moretime_. "

At the village school she showed a remarkable memory and the power ofcommitting lessons easily. She was especially good in mathematics andgrammar. In four days she learned all of Alexander's Grammar, whichscholars were accustomed to commit, and recited it accurately to theastonished teacher. 

When Mary was thirteen, the mother married a second time, and soonafter removed to Ohio. The girl remained at the old homestead, keepinghouse for the only brother, and so well did she do the work, that hegave her a dollar a week for her services. This she used in buyingbooks and clothes for school. Besides, she found opportunities to spinand weave for some of the neighbors, and thus added a little more toher purse. 

After five years, the brother married and sought a home in New YorkState. Mary, thus thrown upon herself, began to teach school forseventy-five cents a week and her board. This amount would not buymany silks or embroideries, but Mary did not care much for these. "Sheis all intellect, " said a friend who knew her well; "she does not knowthat she has a body to care for. "

She had now saved enough money to enable her to spend one term at theSanderson Academy at Ashfield. What an important event in life thatseemed to the struggling country girl! The scholars watched herbright, intellectual face, and when she began to recite, laid asidetheir books to hear her. The teacher said, "I should like to see whatshe would make if she could be sent to college. " When the term ended, her little savings were all spent, and now she must teach again. Ifshe only could go forward with her classmates! but the laws of povertyare inexorable. Just as she was leaving the school, the trustees cameand offered the advantages of the academy free, for another term. Didever such a gleam of sunshine come into a cloudy day?

But how could she pay her board? She owned a, bed and some tablelinen, and taking these to a boarding house, a bargain was madewhereby she could have a room and board in exchange for her householdarticles. 

Her red-letter days had indeed come. She might never have a chancefor schooling again; so, without regard to health, she slept only fourhours out of the twenty-four, ate her meals hurriedly, and gave allher time to her lessons. Not a scholar in the school could keep upwith her. When the teacher gave her Adams' _Latin Grammar_, tellingher to commit such portions as were usual in going over the book thefirst time, she learned them all in three days!

When the term closed, she had no difficulty in finding a place toteach. All the towns around had heard of the surprising scholar, MaryLyon, and probably hoped she could inspire the same scholarship in herpupils, a matter in which she was most successful. 

As soon as her schools were finished, she would spend the money inobtaining instruction in some particular study, in which she thoughtherself deficient. Now she would go into the family of Rev. EdwardHitchcock, afterward president of Amherst College, and study naturalscience of him, meantime taking lessons, of his wife in drawingand painting. Now she would study penmanship, following the copyas closely as a child. Once when a teacher, in deference to herreputation, wrote the copy in Latin, she handed it back and asked himto write in English, lest when the books were examined, she might bethought wiser than she really was. Thus conscientious was the youngschool-teacher. 

She was now twenty-four, and had laid up enough money to attend theschool of Rev. Joseph Emerson, at Byfield. He was an unusual man inhis gifts of teaching and broad views of life. He had been blest witha wife of splendid talents, and as Miss Lyon was wont to say, "Menjudge of the whole sex by their own wives, " so Mr. Emerson believedwomen could understand metaphysics and theology as well as men. Hediscussed science and religion with his pupils, and the result was aclass of self-respecting, self-reliant, thinking women. 

Miss Lyon's friends discouraged her going to Byfield, because theythought she knew enough already. "Why, " said they, "you will never bea minister, and what is the need of going to school?" She improved hertime here. One of her classmates wrote home, "Mary sends love to all;but time with her is too precious to spend it in writing letters. Sheis gaining knowledge by handfuls. "

The next year, an assistant was wanted in the Sanderson Academy. Theprincipal thought a man must be engaged. "Try Mary Lyon, " said one ofher friends, "and see if she is not sufficient, " and he employed her, and found her a host. But she could not long be retained, for shewas wanted in a larger field, at Derry, N. H. Miss Grant, one of theteachers at Mr. Emerson's school, had sent for her former brightpupil. Mary was glad to be associated with Miss Grant, for she wasvery fond of her; but before going, she must attend some lectures inchemistry and natural history by Professor Eaton at Amherst. Had shebeen a young man, how easily could she have secured a scholarship, andthus worked her way through college; but for a young woman, neitherAmherst, nor Dartmouth, nor Williams, nor Harvard, nor Yale, with alltheir wealth, had an open door. Very fond of chemistry, she could onlylearn in the spare time which a busy professor could give. 

Was the cheerful girl never despondent in these hard working years?Yes; because naturally she was easily discouraged, and would have longfits of weeping; but she came to the conclusion that such seasons ofdepression were wrong, and that "there was too much to be done, forher to spend her time in that manner. " She used to tell her pupilsthat "if they were unhappy, it was probably because they had so manythoughts about themselves, and so few about the happiness of others. "The friend who had recommended her for the Sanderson Academy nowbecame surety for her for forty dollars' worth of clothing, and theearnest young woman started for Derry. The school there numberedninety pupils, and Mary Lyon was happy. She wrote her mother, "I donot number it among the least of my blessings that I am permitted to_do something_. Surely I ought to be thankful for an active life. "

But the Derry school was held only in the summers, so Miss Lyoncame back to teach at Ashfield and Buckland, her birthplace, for thewinters. The first season she had twenty-five scholars; the last, onehundred. The families in the neighborhood took the students into theirhomes to board, charging them one dollar or one dollar and twenty-fivecents per week, while the tuition was twenty-five cents a week. Noone would grow very rich on such an income. So popular was Miss Lyon'steaching that a suitable building was erected for her school, and theMinisterial Association passed a resolution of praise, urging her toremain permanently in the western part of Massachusetts. 

However, Miss Grant had removed to Ipswich, and had urged Miss Lyonto join her, which she did. For six years they taught a large and mostsuccessful school. Miss Lyon was singularly happy in her intercoursewith the young ladies. She won them to her views, while they scarcelyknew that they were being controlled. She would say to them: "Now, young ladies, you are here at great expense. Your board and tuitioncost a great deal, and your time ought to be worth more than both;but, in order to get an equivalent for the money and time you arespending, you must be systematic, and that is impossible, unless youhave a regular hour for rising. .. . Persons who run round all day afterthe half-hour they lost in the morning never accomplish much. Youmay know them by a rip in the glove, a string pinned to the bonnet, ashawl left on the balustrade, which they had no time to hang up, theywere in such a hurry to catch their lost thirty minutes. You will seethem opening their books and trying to study at the time of generalexercises in school; but it is a fruitless race; they never willovertake their lost half-hour. Good men, from Abraham to Washington, have been early risers. " Again, she would say, "Mind, wherever it isfound, will secure respect. .. . Educate the women, and the men will beeducated. Let the ladies understand the great doctrine of seekingthe greatest good, of loving their neighbors as themselves; let themindoctrinate their children in this fundamental truth, and we shallhave wise legislators. "

"You won't do so again, will you, dear?" was almost always sure to wina tender response from a pupil. 

She would never allow a scholar to be laughed at. If a teacher spokejestingly of a scholar's capacity, Miss Lyon would say, "Yes, I knowshe has a small mind, but we must do the best we can for her. "

For nearly sixteen years she had been giving her life to the educationof girls. She had saved no money for herself, giving it to herrelatives or aiding poor girls in going to school. She was simple inher tastes, the blue cloth dress she generally wore having been spunand woven by herself. A friend tells how, standing before the mirrorto tie her bonnet, she said, "Well, I _may_ fail of Heaven, but Ishall be very much disappointed if I do--very much disappointed;" andthere was no thought of what she was doing with the ribbons. 

Miss Lyon was now thirty-three years old. It would be strange indeedif a woman with her bright mind and sunshiny face should not haveoffers of marriage. One of her best opportunities came, as is oftenthe case, when about thirty, and Miss Lyon could have been madesupremely happy by it, but she had in her mind one great purpose, andshe felt that she must sacrifice home and love for it. This was thebuilding of a high-grade school or college for women. Had she decidedotherwise, there probably would have been no Mount Holyoke Seminary. 

She had the tenderest sympathy for poor girls; they were the onesusually most desirous of an education, and they struggled the hardestfor it. For them no educational societies were provided, and noscholarships. Could she, who had no money, build "a seminary whichshould be so moderate in its expenses as to be open to the daughtersof farmers and artisans, and to teachers who might be mainly dependentfor their support on their own exertions"?

In vain she tried to have the school at Ipswich establishedpermanently by buildings and endowments. In vain she talked withcollege presidents and learned ministers. Nearly all were indifferent. They could see no need that women should study science or theclassics. That women would be happier with knowledge, just as theythemselves were made happier by it, seemed never to have occurred tothem. That women were soon to do nine-tenths of the teaching in theschools of the country could not be foreseen. Oberlin and Cornell, Vassar and Wellesley, belonged to a golden age as yet undreamed of. 

For two years she thought over it, and prayed over it, and when allseemed hopeless, she would walk the floor, and say over and overagain, "Commit thy way unto the Lord. He will keep thee. Women _must_be educated; they _must_ be. " Finally a meeting was called in Bostonat the same time as one of the religious anniversaries. She wrote toa friend, "Very few were present. The meeting was adjourned; and theadjourned meeting utterly failed. There were not enough present toorganize, and there the business, in my view, has come to an end. "

Still she carried the burden on her heart. She writes, in 1834, "During the past year my heart has so yearned over the adult femaleyouth in the common walks of life, that it has sometimes seemed asthough a fire were shut up in my bones. " She conceived the idea ofhaving the young women do the work of the house, partly to lessenexpenses, partly to teach them useful things, and also because shesays, "Might not this single feature do away much of the prejudiceagainst female education among common people?"

At last the purpose in her heart became so strong that she resignedher position as a teacher, and went from house to house in Ipswichcollecting funds. She wrote to her mother, "I hope and trust that thisis of the Lord, and that He will prosper it. In this movement I havethought much more constantly, and have felt much more deeply, aboutdoing that which shall be for the honor of Christ, and for the goodof souls, than I ever did in any step in my life. " She determinedto raise her first thousand dollars from women. She talked in hergood-natured way with the father or the mother. She asked if theywanted a new shawl or card-table or carpet, if they would not find away to procure it. Usually they gave five or ten dollars; some, onlya half-dollar. So interested did two ladies become that they gave onehundred dollars apiece, and later, when their house was burned, andthe man who had their money in charge lost it, they worked with theirown hands and earned the two hundred, that their portion might notfail in the great work. 

In less than two months she had raised the thousand; but shewrote Miss Grant, "I do not recollect being so fatigued, even toprostration, as I have been for a few weeks past. " She often quoted aremark of Dr. Lyman Beecher's, "The wear and tear of what I cannot dois a great deal more than the wear and tear of what I do. " When shebecame quite worn, her habit was to sleep nearly all the time, for twoor three days, till nature repaired the system. 

She next went to Amherst, where good Dr. Hitchcock felt as deeplyinterested for girls as for the boys in his college. One Januarymorning, with the thermometer below zero, three or four hours beforesunrise, he and Miss Lyon started on the stage for Worcester. Each waswrapped in a buffalo robe, so that the long ride was not unpleasant. A meeting was to be held, and a decision made as to the location ofthe seminary, which, at last, was actually to be built. After a longconference, South Hadley was chosen, ten miles south of Amherst. 

One by one, good men became interested in the matter, and onetrue-hearted minister became an agent for the raising of funds. MissLyon was also untiring in her solicitations. She spoke before ladies'meetings, and visited those in high station and low. So troubled wereher friends about this public work for a woman, that they reasonedwith her that it was in better taste to stay at home, and letgentlemen do the work. 

"What do I that is wrong?" she replied. "I ride in the stage coachor cars without an escort. Other ladies do the same. I visit a familywhere I have been previously invited, and the minister's wife, orsome leading woman, calls the ladies together to see me, and I lay ourobject before them. Is that wrong? I go with Mr. Hawks [the agent], and call on a gentleman of known liberality, at his own house, andconverse with him about our enterprise. What harm is there in that?My heart is sick, my soul is pained, with this empty gentility, thisgenteel nothingness. I am doing a great work. I cannot come down. "Pitiful, that so noble a woman should have been hampered by publicopinion. How all this has changed! Now, the world and the churchgladly welcome the voice, the hand, and the heart of woman in theirphilanthropic work. 

At last, enough money was raised to begin the enterprise, and thecorner-stone of Mount Holyoke Seminary was laid, Oct. 3, 1836. "It wasa day of deep interest, " writes Mary Lyon. "The stones and brick andmortar speak a language which vibrates through my very soul. "

"With thankful heart and busy hands she watched the progress of thework. Every detail was under her careful eye. She said: "Had I athousand lives, I could sacrifice them all in suffering and hardship, for the sake of Mount Holyoke Seminary. Did I possess the greatestfortune, I could readily relinquish it all, and become poor, and morethan poor, if its prosperity should demand it. "

Finally, in the autumn of 1837, the seminary was ready for pupils. The main building, four stories high, had been erected. An admirablecourse of study had been provided. For the forty weeks of the schoolyear, the charges for board and tuition were sixty dollars, --only onedollar and twenty-five cents per week. Miss Lyon's own salary was buttwo hundred a year and she never would receive anything higher. The accommodations were only for eighty pupils, but one hundred andsixteen came the first year. 

While Miss Lyon was heartily loved by her scholars, they yet respectedher good discipline. It was against the rules for any one to absentherself from meals without permission to do so. One of the youngladies, not feeling quite as fresh as usual, concluded not to go downstairs at tea time, and to remain silent on the subject. Miss Lyon'squick eye detected her absence. Calling the girl's room-mate to her, she asked, "Is Miss ---- ill?"

"Oh, no, " was the reply, "only a little indisposed, and shecommissioned me to carry her a cup of tea and cracker. "

"Very well, I will see to it. "

After supper, the young lady ascended to her room, in the fourthstory, found her companion enjoying a glorious sunset, and seatingherself beside her, they began an animated conversation. Presentlythere was a knock. "Come in!" both shouted gleefully, when lo! inwalked Mary Lyon, with the tea and cracker. She had come up fourflights of stairs; but she said every one was tired at night, and shecould as well bring up the supper as anybody. She inquired with greatkindness about the young lady's health, who, greatly abashed, hadnothing to say. She was ever after present at meal time, unless sickin bed. 

The students never forgot Miss Lyon's plain, earnest words. When theyentered, they were told that they were expected to do right withoutformal commands; if not, they better go to some smaller school, wherethey could receive the peculiar training needed by little girls. Sheurged loose clothing and thick shoes. "If you will persist in killingyourselves by reckless exposure, " she would say, "we are not willingto take the responsibility of the act. We think, by all means, youbetter go home and die, in the arms of your dear mothers. "

Miss Lyon had come to her fiftieth birthday. Her seminary hadprospered beyond her fondest hopes. She had raised nearly seventythousand dollars for her beloved school, and it was out of debt. Nearly two thousand pupils had been at South Hadley, of whom a largenumber had become missionaries and teachers. Not a single year hadpassed without a revival, and rarely did a girl leave the institutionwithout professing Christianity. 

She said to a friend shortly after this fiftieth birthday: "It was themost solemn day of my life. I devoted it to reflection and prayer. Ofmy active toils I then took leave. I was certain that before anotherfifty years should have elapsed, I should wake up amid far differentscenes, and far other thoughts would fill my mind, and otheremployments would engage my attention. I felt it. There seemed to beno ladder between me and the world above. The gates were opened, andI seemed to stand on the threshold. I felt that the evening of my dayshad come, and that I needed repose. "

And the repose came soon. The last of February, 1849, a young ladyin the seminary died. Miss Lyon called the girls together and spoketenderly to them, urging them not to fear death, but to be ready tomeet it. She said, "There is nothing in the universe that I am afraidof, but that I shall not know and do all my duty. " Beautiful words!carved shortly after on her monument. 

A few days later, Mary Lyon lay upon her death-bed. The brain had beencongested, and she was often unconscious. In one of her lucid moments, her pastor said, "Christ precious?" Summoning all her energies, sheraised both hands, clasped them, and said, "Yes. " "Have you trustedChrist too much?" he asked. Seeing that she made an effort to speak, he said, "God can be glorified by silence. " An indescribable smile litup her face, and she was gone. 

On the seminary grounds the beloved teacher was buried, her pupilssinging about her open grave, "Why do we mourn departing friends?"A beautiful monument of Italian marble, square, and resting upon agranite pedestal, marks the spot. On the west side are the words:--

 MARY LYON, THE FOUNDER OF MOUNT HOLYOKE FEMALE SEMINARY, AND FOR TWELVE YEARS ITS PRINCIPAL; A TEACHER FOR THIRTY-FIVE YEARS, AND OF MORE THAN THREE THOUSAND PUPILS. BORN, FEBRUARY 28, 1797; DIED, MARCH 5, 1849. 

What a devoted, heroic life! and its results, who can estimate?

Her work has gone steadily on. The seminary grounds now covertwenty-five acres. The main structure has two large wings, while agymnasium; a library building, with thirteen thousand volumes; theLyman Williston Hall, with laboratories and art gallery; and thenew observatory, with fine telescope, astronomical clock, and otherappliances, afford such admirable opportunities for higher educationas noble Mary Lyon could hardly have dared to hope for. The propertyis worth about three hundred thousand dollars. How different fromthe days when half-dollars were given into Miss Lyon's willing hands!Nearly six thousand students have been educated here, three-fourths ofwhom have become teachers, and about two hundred foreign missionaries. Many have married ministers, presidents of colleges, and leading menin education and good works. 

The board and tuition have become one hundred and seventy-five dollarsa year, only enough to cover the cost. The range of study has beenconstantly increased and elevated to keep pace with the growing demandthat women shall be as fully educated as men. Even Miss Lyon, in thoseearly days, looked forward to the needs of the future, by placing inher course of study, Sullivan's _Political Class-Book_, and Wayland's_Political Economy_. The four years' course is solid and thorough, while the optional course in French, German, and Greek is admirable. Eventually, when our preparatory schools are higher, all our collegesfor women will have as difficult entrance examinations as Harvard andYale. 

The housework at Mount Holyoke Seminary requires but half an hour eachday for each of the two hundred and ninety-seven pupils. Much timeis spent wisely in the gymnasium, and in boating on the lake near by. Habits of punctuality, thoroughness, and order are the outcome of lifein this institution. An endowment of twenty thousand dollars, called"the Mary Lyon Fund, " is now being raised by former students forthe Chair of the Principal. Schools like the Lake Erie Seminary atPainesville, Ohio, have grown out of the school at South Hadley. Truly, Mary Lyon was doing a great work, and she could not come down. Between such a life and the ordinary social round there can be nocomparison. 

The English ivy grows thickly over Miss Lyon's grave, covering it likea mantle, and sending out its wealth of green leaves in the spring. Soeach year her own handiwork flourishes, sending out into the worldits strongest forces, the very foundation of the highestcivilization, --educated and Christian wives and mothers. 

HARRIET G. HOSMER. 

[Illustration: (From the "Portrait Gallery of Eminent Men andWomen. ")]

Some years ago, in an art store in Boston, a crowd of persons stoodgazing intently upon a famous piece of statuary. The red curtains weredrawn aside, and the white marble seemed almost to speak. A group ofgirls stood together, and looked on in rapt admiration. One of themsaid, "Just to think that a woman did it!"

"It makes me proud and glad, " said another. 

"Who is Harriet Hosmer?" said a third. "I wish I knew about her. "

And then one of us, who had stolen all the hours she could get fromschool life to read art books from the Hartford Athenaeum, and keptcrude statues, made by herself from chalk and plaster, secreted in herroom, told all she had read about the brilliant author of "Zenobia. "

The statue was seven feet high, queenly in pose and face, yet delicateand beautiful, with the thoughts which genius had wrought in it. The left arm supported the elegant drapery, while the right hunglistlessly by her side, both wrists chained; the captive ofthe Emperor Aurelian. Since that time, I have looked upon othermasterpieces in all the great galleries of Europe, but perhaps nonehave ever made a stronger impression upon me than "Zenobia, " in thoseearly years. 

And who was the artist of whom we girls were so proud? Born inWatertown, Mass. , Oct. 9, 1830, Harriet Hosmer came into the welcomehome of a leading physician, and a delicate mother, who soon diedof consumption. Dr. Hosmer had also buried his only child besidesHarriet, with the same disease, and he determined that this girlshould live in sunshine and air, that he might save her if possible. He used to say, "There is a whole life-time for the education ofthe mind, but the body develops in a few years; and during that timenothing should be allowed to interfere with its free and healthygrowth. "

As soon as the child was large enough, she was given a pet dog, whichshe decked with ribbons and bells. Then, as the Charles River flowedpast their house, a boat was provided, and she was allowed to row atwill. A Venetian gondola was also built for her, with silver prow andvelvet cushions. "Too much spoiling--too much spoiling, " said someof the neighbors; but Dr. Hosmer knew that he was keeping his littledaughter on the earth instead of heaven. 

A gun was now purchased, and the girl became an admirable marksman. Her room was a perfect museum. Here were birds, bats, beetles, snakes, and toads; some dissected, some preserved in spirits, and othersstuffed, all gathered and prepared by her own hands. Now she made aninkstand from the egg of a sea-gull and the body of a kingfisher; nowshe climbed to the top of a tree and brought down a crow's nest. Shecould walk miles upon miles with no fatigue. She grew up like a boy, which is only another way of saying that she grew up healthy andstrong physically. Probably polite society was shocked at Dr. Hosmer'smethods. Would that there were many such fathers and mothers, that wemight have a vigorous race of women, and consequently, a vigorous raceof men!

When Harriet tired of books, --for she was an eager reader, --she founddelight in a clay-pit in the garden, where she molded horses and dogsto her heart's content. Unused to restraint, she did not likethe first school at which she was placed, the principal, thebrother-in-law of Nathaniel Hawthorne, writing to her father that he"could do nothing with her. "

She was then taken to Mrs. Sedgwick, who kept a famous school atLenox, Berkshire County. She received "happy Hatty, " as she wascalled, with the remark, "I have a reputation for training wildcolts, and I will try this one. " And the wise woman succeeded. She wonHarriet's confidence, not by the ten thousand times repeated "don't, "which so many children hear in home and school, till life seems aprison-pen. She let her run wild, guiding her all the time with somuch tact, that the girl scarcely knew she was guided at all. Blessedtact! How many thousands of young people are ruined for lack of it!

She remained here three years. Mrs. Sedgwick says, "She was the mostdifficult pupil to manage I ever had, but I think I never had one inwhom I took so deep an interest, and whom I learned to love so well. "About this time, not being quite as well as usual, Dr. Hosmer engageda physician of, large practice to visit his daughter. The busy mancould not be regular, which sadly interfered with Harriet's boatingand driving. Complaining one day that it spoiled her pleasure, hesaid, "If I am alive, I will be here, " naming the day and hour. 

"Then if you are not here, I am to conclude that you are dead, " wasthe reply. 

As he did not come, Harriet drove to the newspaper offices in Bostonthat afternoon, and the next morning the community was startled toread of Dr. ----'s sudden death. Friends hastened to the house, andmessages of condolence came pouring in. It is probable that he wasmore punctual after this. 

On Harriet's return from Lenox, she began to take lessons in drawing, modeling, and anatomical studies, in Boston, frequently walking fromhome and back, a distance of fourteen miles. Feeling the need of athorough course in anatomy, she applied to the Boston Medical Schoolfor admittance, and was refused because of her sex. The MedicalCollege of St. Louis proved itself broader, glad to encourage talentwherever found, and received her. 

Professor McDowell, under whom the artists Powers and Clevengerstudied anatomy, spared no pains to give her every advantage, whilethe students were uniformly courteous. "I remember him, " says MissHosmer, "with great affection and gratitude as being a most thoroughand patient teacher, as well as at all times a good, kind friend. "In testimony of her appreciation, she cut, from a bust of ProfessorMcDowell by Clevenger, a life-size medallion in marble, now treasuredin the college museum. 

While in St. Louis she made her home with the family of Wayman Crow, Esq. , whose daughter had been her companion at Lenox. This gentlemanproved himself a constant and encouraging friend, ordering her firststatue from Rome, and helping in a thousand ways a girl who had chosenfor herself an unusual work in life. 

After completing her studies she made a trip to New Orleans, and thenNorth to the Falls of St. Anthony, smoking the pipe of peace withthe chief of the Dakota Indians, exploring lead mines in Dubuque, andscaling a high mountain that was soon after named for her. Did thewealthy girl go alone on these journeys? Yes. As a rule, no harm comesto a young woman who conducts herself with becoming reserve with men. Flirts usually are paid in their own coin. 

On her return home, Dr. Hosmer fitted up a studio for his daughter, and her first work was to copy from the antique. Then she cut Canova's"Napoleon" in marble for her father, doing all the work, that hemight especially value the gift. Her next statue was an ideal bust ofHesper, "with, " said Lydia Maria Child, "the face of a lovely maidengently falling asleep with the sound of distant music. Her hair isgracefully arranged, and intertwined with capsules of the poppy. Astar shines on her forehead, and under her breast lies the crescentmoon. The swell of the cheeks and the bust is like pure, young, healthy flesh, and the muscles of the beautiful mouth so delicatelycut, it seems like a thing that breathes. She did every stroke of thework with her own small hands, except knocking off the corners of theblock of marble. She employed a man to do that; but as he was unusedto work for sculptors, she did not venture to have him approach withinseveral inches of the surface she intended to cut. Slight girl as shewas, she wielded for eight or ten hours a day a leaden malletweighing four pounds and a half. Had it not been for the strength andflexibility of muscle acquired by rowing and other athletic exercises, such arduous labor would have been impossible. "

After "Hesper" was completed, she said to her father, "I am ready togo to Rome. "

"You shall go, my child, this very autumn, " was the response. 

He would, of course, miss the genial companionship of his only child, but her welfare was to be consulted rather than his own. When autumncame, she rode on horseback to Wayland to say good-bye to Mrs. Child. "Shall you never be homesick for your museum-parlor in Watertown? Canyou be contented in a foreign land?"

"I can be happy anywhere, " said Miss Hosmer, "with good health and abit of marble. "

Late in the fall Dr. Hosmer and his daughter started for Europe, reaching Rome Nov. 12, 1852. She had greatly desired to study underJohn Gibson, the leading English sculptor, but he had taken youngwomen into his studio who in a short time became discouraged or showedthemselves afraid of hard work, and he feared Miss Hosmer might be ofthe same useless type. 

When the photographs of "Hesper" were placed before him by an artistfriend of the Hosmers, he looked at them carefully, and said, "Sendthe young lady to me, and whatever I know, and can teach her, sheshall learn. " He gave Miss Hosmer an upstairs room in his studio, andhere for seven years she worked with delight, honored and encouragedby her noble teacher. She wrote to her friends: "The dearest wish ofmy heart is gratified in that I am acknowledged by Gibson as a pupil. He has been resident in Rome thirty-four years, and leads the van. Iam greatly in luck. He has just finished the model of the statue ofthe queen; and as his room is vacant, he permits me to use it, and Iam now in his own studio. I have also a little room for work which wasformerly occupied by Canova, and perhaps inspiration may be drawn fromthe walls. "

The first work which she copied, to show Gibson whether she hadcorrectness of eye and proper knowledge, was the Venus of Milo. Whennearly finished, the iron which supported the clay snapped, and thefigure lay spoiled upon the floor. She did not shrink nor cry, butimmediately went to work cheerfully to shape it over again. Thisconduct Mr. Gibson greatly admired, and made up his mind to assist herall he could. 

After this she copied the "Cupid" of Praxitiles and Tasso from theBritish Museum. Her first original work was Daphne, the beautifulgirl whom Apollo loved, and who, rather than accept his addresses, waschanged into laurel by the gods. Apollo crowned his head with laurel, and made the flower sacred to himself forever. 

Next, Miss Hosmer produced "Medusa, " famed for her beautiful hair, which Minerva turned into serpents because Neptune loved her. According to Grecian mythology, Perseus made himself immortal byconquering Medusa, whose head he cut off, and the blood dripping fromit filled Africa with snakes. Miss Hosmer represents the beautifulmaiden, when she finds, with horror, that her hair is turning intoserpents. 

Needing a real snake for her work, Miss Hosmer sent a man into thesuburbs to bring her one alive. When it was obtained, she chloroformedit till she had made a cast, keeping it in plaster for three hours anda half. Then, instead of killing it, like a true-hearted woman, as sheis, she sent it back into the country, glad to regain its liberty. 

"Daphne" and "Medusa" were both exhibited in Boston the followingyear, 1853, and were much praised. Mr. Gibson said: "The power ofimitating the roundness and softness of flesh, he had neverseen surpassed. " Rauch, the great Prussian, whose mausoleum atCharlottenburg of the beautiful queen Louise can never be forgotten, gave Miss Hosmer high praise. 

Two years later she completed "Oenone, " made for Mr. Crow of St. Louis. It is the full-length figure of the beautiful nymph of MountIda. The story is a familiar one. Before the birth of Paris, the sonof Priam, it was foretold that he by his imprudence should causethe destruction of Troy. His father gave orders for him to be put todeath, but possibly through the fondness of his mother, he was spared, and carried to Mount Ida, where he was brought up by the shepherds, and finally married Oenone. In time he became known to his family, who forgot the prophecy and cordially received him. For a decision infavor of Venus he was promised the most beautiful woman in the worldfor his wife. Forgetting Oenone, he fell in love with the beautifulHelen, already the wife of Menelaus, and persuaded her to fly with himto Troy, to his father's court. War resulted. When he found himselfdying of his wounds, he fled to Oenone for help, but died just ashe came into her presence. She bathed the body with her tears, andstabbed herself to the heart, a very foolish act for so faithless aman. Miss Hosmer represents her as a beautiful shepherdess, bowed withgrief from her desertion. 

This work was so much liked in America, that the St. Louis MercantileLibrary made a liberal offer for some other statue. Accordingly, twoyears after, "Beatrice Cenci" was sent. The noble girl lies asleep, the night before her execution, after the terrible torture. "It was, "says Mrs. Child, "the sleep of a body worn out with the wretchednessof the soul. On that innocent face suffering had left its traces. Thearm that had been tossing in the grief tempest, had fallen heavily, too weary to change itself into a more easy position. Those largeeyes, now so closely veiled by their swollen lids, had evidently wepttill the fountain of tears was dry. That lovely mouth was still theopen portal of a sigh, which the mastery of sleep had left no time toclose. "

To make this natural, the sculptor caused several models to go tosleep in her studio, that she might study them. Gibson is said to haveremarked upon seeing this, "I can teach her nothing. " This was alsoexhibited in London and in several American cities. 

For three years she had worked continuously, not leaving Rome even inthe hot, unhealthy summers. She had said, "I will not be an amateur; Iwill work as if I had to earn my daily bread. " However, as her healthseemed somewhat impaired, at her father's earnest wish, she haddecided to go to England for the season. Her trunks were packed, andshe was ready to start, when lo! a message came that Dr. Hosmer hadlost his property, that he could send her no more money, and suggestedthat she return home at once. 

At first she seemed overwhelmed; then she said firmly, "I cannot goback, and give up my art. " Her trunks were at once unpacked and acheap room rented. Her handsome horse and saddle were sold, and shewas now to work indeed "as if she earned her daily bread. "

By a strange freak of human nature, by which we sometimes do our mosthumorous work when we are saddest, Miss Hosmer produced now in hersorrow her fun-loving "Puck. " It represents a child about four yearsold seated on a toadstool which breaks beneath him. The left handconfines a lizard, while the right holds a beetle. The legs arecrossed, and the great toe of the right foot turns up. The wholeis full of merriment. The Crown Princess of Germany, on seeing it, exclaimed, "Oh, Miss Hosmer, you have such a talent for toes!" Verytrue, for this statue, with the several copies made from it, broughther thirty thousand dollars! The Prince of Wales has a copy, theDuke of Hamilton also, and it has gone even to Australia and the WestIndies. A companion piece is the "Will-o'-the-wisp. "

About this time the lovely sixteen-year-old daughter of MadamFalconnet died at Rome, and for her monument in the Catholic churchof San Andrea del Fratte, Miss Hosmer produced an exquisite figureresting upon a sarcophagus. Layard, the explorer of Babylon andNineveh, wrote to Madam Falconnet: "I scarcely remember to have seena monument which more completely commanded my sympathy and more deeplyinterested me. I really know of none, of modern days, which I wouldrather have placed over the remains of one who had been dear to me. "

Miss Hosmer also modeled a fountain from the story of Hylas. Thelower basin contains dolphins spouting jets, while in the upper basin, supported by swans, the youth Hylas stands, surrounded by the nymphswho admire his beauty, and who eventually draw him into the water, where he is drowned. 

Miss Hosmer returned to America in 1857, five years after herdeparture. She was still young, twenty-seven, vivacious, hopeful, notwearied from her hard work, and famous. While here she determined upona statue of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, and read much concerning herand her times. She had touched fiction and poetry; now she wouldattempt history. She could scarcely have chosen a more heroic orpathetic subject. The brave leader of a brave people, a skilfulwarrior, marching at the head of her troops, now on foot, and now onhorseback, beautiful in face, and cultured in mind, acquainted withLatin, Greek, Syriac, and Egyptian, finally captured by Aurelian, andborne through the streets of Rome, adorning his triumphal procession. 

After Miss Hosmer's return to Rome, she worked on "Zenobia" withenergy and enthusiasm, as she molded the clay, and then the plaster. When brought to this country, it awakened the greatest interest;crowds gathered to see it. In Chicago it was exhibited at theSanitary Fair in behalf of the soldiers. Whittier said: "It very fullyexpresses my conception of what historical sculpture should be. Ittells its whole proud and melancholy story. In looking at it, I feltthat the artist had been as truly serving her country while workingout her magnificent design abroad, as our soldiers in the field, andour public officers in their departments. " From its exhibition MissHosmer received five thousand dollars. It was purchased by Mr. A. W. Griswold, of New York. So great a work was the statue considered inLondon, that some of the papers declared Gibson to be its author. MissHosmer at once began suits for libel, and retractions were speedilymade. 

In 1860 Miss Hosmer again visited America, to see her father, whowas seriously ill. How proud Dr. Hosmer must have been of his gifteddaughter now that her fame was in two hemispheres! Surely he had not"spoiled" her. She could now spend for him as he had spent for her inher childhood. While here, she received a commission from St. Louisfor a bronze portrait-statue of Missouri's famous statesman, ThomasHart Benton. The world wondered if she could bring out of the marble aman with all his strength and dignity, as she had a woman with all hergrace and nobility. 

She visited St. Louis, to examine portraits and mementos of ColonelBenton, and then hastened across the ocean to her work. The next yeara photograph of the model was sent to the friends, and the likenesspronounced good. The statue was cast at the great royal foundry atMunich, and in due time shipped to this country. May 27, 1868, it wasunveiled in Lafayette Park, in the presence of an immense concourse ofpeople, the daughter, Mrs. John C. Fremont, removing the covering. Thestatue is ten feet high, and weighs three and one-half tons. It restson a granite pedestal, ten feet square, the whole being twenty-twofeet square. On the west side of the pedestal are the words fromColonel Benton's famous speech on the Pacific Railroad, "There is theEast--there is India. " Both press and people were heartily pleasedwith this statue, for which Miss Hosmer received ten thousand dollars, the whole costing thirty thousand. 

She was now in the midst of busy and successful work. Orders crowdedupon her. Her "Sleeping Faun, " which was exhibited at the DublinExhibition in 1865, was sold on the day of opening for five thousanddollars, to Sir Benjamin Guinness. Some discussion having arisen aboutthe sale, he offered ten thousand, saying, that if money could buy it, he would possess it. Miss Hosmer, however, would receive only the fivethousand. The faun is represented reclining against the trunk of atree, partly draped in the spoils of a tiger. A little faun, withmischievous look, is binding the faun to the tree with the tiger-skin. The newspapers were enthusiastic about the work. 

The _London Times_ said: "In the groups of statues are many works ofexquisite beauty, but there is one which at once arrests attention andextorts admiration. It is a curious fact that amid all the statues inthis court, contributed by the natives of lands in which the fine artswere naturalized thousands of years ago, one of the finest should bethe production of an American artist. " The French _Galignani_ said, "The gem of the classical school, in its nobler style of composition, is due to an American lady, Miss Hosmer. " The _London Art Journal_said, "The works of Miss Hosmer, Hiram Powers, and others we mightname, have placed American on a level with the best modern sculptorsof Europe. " This work was repeated for the Prince of Wales and forLady Ashburton, of England. 

Not long ago I visited the studio of Miss Hosmer in the Via Margutta, at Rome, and saw her numerous works, many of them still unfinished. Here an arm seemed just reaching out from the rough block of marble;here a sweet face seemed like Pygmalion's statue, coming into life. Inthe centre of the studio was the "Siren Fountain, " executed for LadyMarion Alford. A siren sits in the upper basin and sings to the musicof her lute. Three little cupids sit on dolphins, and listen to hermusic. 

For some years Miss Hosmer has been preparing a golden gateway for anart gallery at Ashridge Hall, England, ordered by Earl Brownlow. Thesegates, seventeen feet high, are covered with bas-reliefs representingthe Air, Earth, and Sea. The twelve hours of the night show "Aeolussubduing the Winds, " the "Descent of the Zephyrs, " "Iris descendingwith the Dew, " "Night rising with the Stars, " "The Rising Moon, " "TheHour's Sleep, " "The Dreams Descend, " "The Falling Star, " "Phosphor andHesper, " "The Hours Wake, " "Aurora Veils the Stars, " and "Morning. "More than eighty figures are in the nineteen bas-reliefs. Miss Hosmerhas done other important works, among them a statue of the beautifulQueen of Naples, who was a frequent visitor to the artist's studio, and several well-known monuments. With her girlish fondness formachinery, she has given much thought to mechanics in these lateryears, striving to find, like many another, the secret of producingperpetual motion. She spends much of her time now in England. She isstill passionately fond of riding, the Empress of Austria, who ownsmore horses than any woman in the world, declaring "that there wasnothing she looked forward to with more interest in Rome, than to seeMiss Hosmer ride. "

Many of the closing years of the sculptor's long life were spent inRome, where she had a wide circle of eminent American and Englishfriends, among whom were Hawthorne, Thackeray, George Eliot, and theBrownings. She made several discoveries in her work, one of which wasa process of hardening limestone so that it resembled marble. Shealso wrote both prose and poetry, and would have been successful asan author, if she had not given the bulk of her time to her belovedsculpture. 

After her long sojourn in Rome she spent several years in England, executing important commissions, and then turned her face towardAmerica. In Watertown, where she was born, she again made her home;and here she breathed her last, February 21, 1908, after an illness ofthree weeks. She was in her seventy-eighth year. By her long life ofearnest work and self-reliant purpose, coupled with her high gift, shehas made for herself an abiding place in the history of art. 

MADAME DE STAËL. 

[Illustration: MADAME DE STAËL. 

From the painting by Mlle. Godefroy. ]

It was the twentieth of September, 1881. The sun shone out mild andbeautiful upon Lake Geneva, as we sailed up to Coppet. The banks weredotted with lovely homes, half hidden by the foliage, while brilliantflower-beds came close to the water's edge. Snow-covered Mont Blanclooked down upon the restful scene, which seemed as charming asanything in Europe. 

We alighted from the boat, and walked up from the landing, betweengreat rows of oaks, horsechestnuts, and sycamores, to the famous homewe had come to look upon, --that of Madame de Staël. It is a Frenchchateau, two stories high, drab, with green blinds, surrounding anopen square; vines clamber over the gate and the high walls, andlovely flowers blossom everywhere. As you enter, you stand in a longhall, with green curtains, with many busts, the finest of which isthat of Monsieur Necker. The next room is the large library, withfurniture of blue and white; and the next, hung with old Gobelintapestry, is the room where Madame Recamier used to sit with Madame deStaël, and look out upon the exquisite scenery, restful even in theirtroubled lives. Here is the work-table of her whom Macaulay called"the greatest woman of her times, " and of whom Byron said, "She isa woman by herself, and has done more than all the rest of themtogether, intellectually; she ought to have been a man. "

Next we enter the drawing-room, with carpet woven in a single piece;the furniture red and white. We stop to look upon the picture ofMonsieur Necker, the father, a strong, noble-looking man; of themother, in white silk dress, with powdered hair, and very beautiful;and De Staël herself, in a brownish yellow dress, with low neck andshort sleeves, holding in her hand the branch of flowers, which shealways carried, or a leaf, that thus her hands might be employed whileshe engaged in the conversation that astonished Europe. Here alsoare the pictures of the Baron, her husband, in white wig and militarydress; here her idolized son and daughter, the latter beautiful, withmild, sad face, and dark hair and eyes. 

What brings thousands to this quiet retreat every year? Because herelived and wrote and suffered the only person whom the great Napoleonfeared, whom Galiffe, of Geneva, declared "the most remarkable womanthat Europe has produced"; learned, rich, the author of _Corinne_ and_Allemagne_, whose "talents in conversation, " says George Ticknor, "were perhaps the most remarkable of any person that ever lived. "

April 27, 1766, was the daughter of James Necker, Minister of Financeunder Louis XVI. , a man of fine intellect, the author of fifteenvolumes; and Susanna, daughter of a Swiss pastor, beautiful, educated, and devotedly Christian. Necker had become rich in early life throughbanking, and had been made, by the republic of Geneva, her residentminister at the Court of Versailles. 

When the throne of Louis seemed crumbling, because the people weretired of extravagance and heavy taxation, Necker was called to hisaid, with the hope that economy and retrenchment would save thenation. He also loaned the government two million dollars. The homeof the Neckers, in Paris, naturally became a social centre, which themother of the family was well fitted to grace. Gibbon had been deeplyin love with her. 

He says: "I found her learned without pedantry, lively inconversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in manners; and the firstsudden emotion was fortified by the habits and knowledge of a morefamiliar acquaintance. .. . At Crassier and Lausanne I indulged my dreamof felicity; but on my return to England I soon discovered that myfather would not hear of this strange alliance, and that, withouthis consent, I was myself destitute and helpless. After a painfulstruggle, I yielded to my fate; I sighed as a lover; I obeyed as ason. " Gibbon never married, but retained his life-long friendship andadmiration for Madame Necker. 

It was not strange, therefore, that Gibbon liked to be present inher _salon_, where Buffon, Hume, Diderot, and D'Alembert were wontto gather. The child of such parents could scarcely be other thanintellectual, surrounded by such gifted minds. Her mother, too, was amost systematic teacher, and each day the girl was obliged to sit byher side, erect, on a wooden stool, and learn difficult lessons. 

"She stood in great awe of her mother, " wrote Simond, the traveller, "but was exceedingly familiar with and extravagantly fond of herfather. Madame Necker had no sooner left the room one day, afterdinner, than the young girl, till then timidly decorous, suddenlyseized her napkin, and threw it across the table at the head of herfather, and then flying round to him, hung upon his neck, suffocatingall his reproofs by her kisses. " Whenever her mother returned to theroom, she at once became silent and restrained. 

The child early began to show literary talent, writing dramas, andmaking paper kings and queens to act her tragedies. This the motherthought to be wrong, and it was discontinued. But when she was twelve, the mother having somewhat relented, she wrote a play, which she andher companions acted in the drawing-room. Grimm was so pleased withher attempts, that he sent extracts to his correspondents throughoutEurope. At fifteen she wrote an essay on the _Revocation of the Edictof Nantes_, and another upon Montesquieu's _Spirit of Laws_. 

Overtaxing the brain with her continuous study, she became ill, and the physician, greatly to her delight, prescribed fresh air andsunshine. Here often she roamed from morning till night on theirestate at St. Ouen. Madame Necker felt deeply the thwarting of hereducational plans, and years after, when her daughter had acquireddistinction, said, "It is absolutely nothing compared to what I wouldhave made it. "

Monsieur Necker's restriction of pensions and taxing of luxuriessoon aroused the opposition of the aristocracy, and the weak butgood-hearted King asked his minister to resign. Both wife and daughterfelt the blow keenly, for both idolized him, so much so that themother feared lest she be supplanted by her daughter. Madame de Staëlsays of her father, "From the moment of their marriage to her death, the thought of my mother dominated his life. He was not like othermen in power, attentive to her by occasional tokens of regard, but bycontinual expressions of most tender and most delicate sentiment. "Of herself she wrote, "Our destinies would have united us forever, iffate had only made us contemporaries. " At his death she said, "If hecould be restored to me, I would give all my remaining years for sixmonths. " To the last he was her idol. 

For the next few years the family travelled most of the time, Neckerbringing out a book on the _Finances_, which had a sale at once of ahundred thousand copies. A previous book, the _Compte Rendu au Roi_, showing how for years the moneys of France had been wasted, had also alarge sale. For these books, and especially for other correspondence, he was banished forty leagues from Paris. The daughter's heart seemedwell-nigh broken at this intelligence. Loving Paris, saying she wouldrather live there on "one hundred francs a year, and lodge in thefourth story, " than anywhere else in the world, how could she bear foryears the isolation of the country? Joseph II. , King of Poland, andthe King of Naples, offered Necker fine positions, but he declined. 

Mademoiselle Necker had come to womanhood, not beautiful, but withwonderful fascination and tact. She could compliment persons withoutflattery, was cordial and generous, and while the most brillianttalker, could draw to herself the thoughts and confidences of others. She had also written a book on _Rousseau_, which was much talkedabout. Pitt, of England, Count Fersen, of Sweden, and others, soughther in marriage, but she loved no person as well as her father. Herconsent to marriage could be obtained only by the promise that sheshould never be obliged to leave him. 

Baron de Staël, a man of learning and fine social position, ambassadorfrom Sweden, and the warm friend of Gustavus, was ready to makeany promises for the rich daughter of the Minister Necker. He wasthirty-seven, she only a little more than half his age, twenty, butshe accepted him because her parents were pleased. Going to Paris, shewas, of course, received at Court, Marie Antoinette paying her muchattention. Necker was soon recalled from exile to his old position. 

The funds rose thirty per cent, and he became the idol of the people. Soon representative government was demanded, and then, though the Kinggranted it, the breach was widened. Necker, unpopular with the badadvisers of the King, was again asked to leave Paris, and make nonoise about it; but the people, hearing of it, soon demanded hisrecall, and he was hastily brought back from Brussels, riding throughthe streets like "the sovereign of a nation, " said his daughter. Thepeople were wild with delight. 

But matters had gone too far to prevent a bloody Revolution. Soon amob was marching toward Versailles; thousands of men, women, and evenchildren armed with pikes. They reached the palace, killed the guards, and penetrated to the queen's apartments, while some filled thecourt-yard and demanded bread. The brave Marie Antoinette appearedon the balcony leading her two children, while Lafayette knelt by herside and kissed her hand. But the people could not be appeased. 

Necker finding himself unable to serve his king longer, fled to hisSwiss retreat at Coppet, and there remained till his death. Madamede Staël, as the wife of the Swedish ambassador, continued in theturmoil, writing her father daily, and taking an active interest inpolitics. "In England, " she said, "women are accustomed to be silentbefore men when political questions are discussed. In France, theydirect all conversation, and their minds readily acquire the facilityand talent which this privilege requires. " Lafayette, Narbonne, and Talleyrand consulted with her. She wrote the principal part ofTalleyrand's report on Public Instruction in 1790. She procured theappointment of Narbonne to the ministry; and later, when Talleyrandwas in exile, obtained his appointment to the Department of ForeignAffairs. 

Matters had gone from bad to worse. In 1792 the Swedish governmentsuspended its embassy, and Madame de Staël prepared to fly, but stayedfor a time to save her friends. The seven prisons of Paris were allcrowded under the fearful reign of Danton and Marat. Great heaps ofdead lay before every prison door. During that Reign of Terror it isestimated that eighteen thousand six hundred persons perished by theguillotine. Whole squares were shot down. "When the police visitedher house, where some of the ministers were hidden, she met themgraciously, urging that they must not violate the privacy of anambassador's house. When her friends were arrested, she went to thebarbarous leaders, and with her eloquence begged for their safety, andthus saved the lives of many. 

At last she must leave the terror-stricken city. Supposing thather rank as the wife of a foreign ambassador would protect her, shestarted with a carriage and six horses, her servants in livery. Atonce a crowd of half-famished and haggard women crowded around, andthrew themselves against the horses. The carriage was stopped, and theoccupants were taken to the Assembly. She plead her case before thenoted Robespierre, and then waited for six hours for the decision ofthe Commune. Meantime she saw the hired assassins pass beneath thewindows, their bare arms covered with the blood of the slain. The mobattempted to pillage her carriage, but a strong man mounted the boxand defended it. She learned afterward that it was the notoriousSanterre, the person who later superintended the execution of LouisXVI. , ordering his drummers to drown the last words of the dying King. Santerre had seen Necker distribute corn to the poor of Paris in atime of famine, and now he was befriending the daughter for this nobleact. Finally she was allowed to continue her journey, and reachedCoppet with her baby, Auguste, well-nigh exhausted after this terribleordeal. 

The Swiss home soon became a place of refuge for those who were flyingfrom the horrors of the Commune. She kept a faithful agent, who knewthe mountain passes, busy in this work of mercy. 

The following year, 1793, longing for a change from these dreadfultimes, she visited England, and received much attention from prominentpersons, among them Fanny Burny, the author of _Evelina_, who owned"that she had never heard conversation before. The most animatedeloquence, the keenest observation, the most sparkling wit, the mostcourtly grace, were united to charm her. "

On Jan. 21 of this year, the unfortunate King had met his death on thescaffold before an immense throng of people. Six men bound him to theplank, and then his head was severed from his body amid the shoutsand waving of hats of the blood-thirsty crowd. Necker had begged to gobefore the Convention and plead for his king, but was refused. Madamede Staël wrote a vigorous appeal to the nation in behalf of thebeautiful and tenderhearted Marie Antoinette; but on Sept. 16, 1793, at four o'clock in the morning, in an open cart, in the midst ofthirty thousand troops and a noisy rabble, she, too, was borne tothe scaffold; and when her pale face was held up bleeding before thecrowd, they jeered and shouted themselves hoarse. 

The next year 1794, Madame Necker died at Coppet, whispering to herhusband, "We shall see each other in Heaven. " "She looked heavenward, "said Necker in a most affecting manner, "listening while I prayed;then, in dying, raised the finger of her left hand, which wore thering I had given her, to remind me of the pledge engraved upon it, tolove her forever. " His devotion to her was beautiful. "No language, "says his daughter, "can give any adequate idea of it. Exhausted bywakefulness at night, she slept often in the daytime, resting herhead on his arm. I have seen him remain immovable, for hours together, standing in the same position for fear of awakening her by the leastmovement. Absent from her during a few hours of sleep, he inquired, onhis return, of her attendant, if she had asked for him? She could nolonger speak, but made an effort to say 'yes, yes. '"

When the Revolution was over, and France had become a republic, Swedensent back her ambassador, Baron de Staël, and his wife returned to himat Paris. Again her _salon_ became the centre for the great men ofthe time. She loved liberty, and believed in the republican formof government. She had written her book upon the _Influence of thePassions on the Happiness of Individuals and Nations_, prompted bythe horrors of the Revolution, and it was considered "irresistible inenergy and dazzling in thought. "

She was also devoting much time to her child, Auguste, developing himwithout punishment, thinking that there had been too much rigor in herown childhood. He well repaid her for her gentleness and trust, andwas inseparable from her through life, becoming a noble Christian man, and the helper of all good causes. Meantime Madame de Staël saw withalarm the growing influence of the young Corsican officer, Bonaparte. The chief executive power had been placed in the hands of theDirectory, and he had control of the army. He had won brilliantvictories in Italy, and had been made commander-in-chief of theexpedition against Egypt He now returned to Paris, turned out theDirectory, drove out the Council of Five Hundred from the hall ofthe Assembly at the point of the bayonet, made the government into aconsulate with three consuls, of whom he was the first, and lived atthe Tuileries in almost royal style. 

All this time Madame de Staël felt the egotism and heartlessness ofNapoleon. Her _salon_ became more crowded than ever with those whohad their fears for the future. "The most eloquent of the Republicanorators were those who borrowed from her most of their ideas andtelling phrases. Most of them went forth from her door with speechesready for the next day, and with resolution to pronounce them--acourage which was also derived from her. " Lucien and Joseph Bonaparte, the brothers of Napoleon, were proud of her friendship, and often wereguests at her house, until forbidden by their brother. 

When Benjamin Constant made a speech against the "rising tyranny, "Napoleon suspected that she had prompted it, and denounced herheartily, all the time declaring that he loved the Republic, and wouldalways defend it! He said persons always came away from De Staël'shome "less his friends than when they entered. " About this time herbook, _Literature considered in its Relation to Social Institutions_, was published, and made a surprising impression from its wealthof knowledge and power of thought. Its analysis of Greek and Latinliterature, and the chief works in Italian, English, German, andFrench, astonished everybody, because written by a woman!

Soon after Necker published his _Last Views of Politics and Finance_, in which he wrote against the tyranny of a single man. At onceNapoleon caused a sharp letter to be written to Necker advising himto leave politics to the First Consul, "who was alone able to governFrance, " and threatening his daughter with exile for her supposed aidin his book. She saw the wisdom of escaping from France, lest she beimprisoned, and immediately hastened to Coppet. A few months later, in the winter of 1802, she returned to Paris to bring home Baron deStaël, who was ill, and from whom she had separated because he wasspending all her fortune and that of her three children. He died onthe journey. 

Virtually banished from France, she now wrote her _Delphine_, abrilliant novel which was widely read. It received its name from asingular circumstance. 

"Desirous of meeting the First Consul for some urgent reason, " saysDr. Stevens in his charming biography of Madame de Staël, "she went tothe villa of Madame de Montessan, whither he frequently resorted. Shewas alone in one of the _salles_ when he arrived, accompanied by theconsular court of brilliant young women. The latter knew the growinghostility of their master toward her, and passed, without noticingher, to the other end of the _salle_, leaving her entirely alone. Her position was becoming extremely painful, when a young lady, morecourageous and more compassionate than her companions, crossed the_salle_ and took a seat by her side. Madame de Staël was touchedby this kindness, and asked for her Christian name. 'Delphine, ' sheresponded. 'Ah, I will try to immortalize it, ' exclaimed Madamede Staël; and she kept her word. This sensible young lady was theComtesse de Custine. "

Her home at Coppet became the home of many great people. Sismondi, theauthor of the _History of the Italian Republics_, and _Literature ofSouthern Europe_, encouraged by her, wrote here several of his famousworks. Bonstetten made his home here for years. Schlegel, the greatestcritic of his age, became the teacher of her children, and a mostintimate friend. Benjamin Constant, the author and statesman, washere. All repaired to their rooms for work in the morning, and in theevening enjoyed philosophic, literary, and political discussions. 

Bonstetten said: "In seeing her, in hearing her, I feel myselfelectrified. .. . She daily becomes greater and better; but souls ofgreat talent have great sufferings: they are solitary in the world, like Mont Blanc. "

In the autumn of 1803, longing for Paris, she ventured to within tenleagues and hired a quiet home. Word was soon borne to Napoleon thatthe road to her house was thronged with visitors. He at once sent anofficer with a letter signed by himself, exiling her to forty leaguesfrom Paris, and commanding her to leave within twenty-four hours. 

At once she fled to Germany. At Frankfort her little daughter wasdangerously ill. "I knew no person in the city, " she writes. "I didnot know the language; and the physician to whom I confided my childcould not speak French. But my father shared my trouble; he consultedphysicians at Geneva, and sent me their prescriptions. Oh, what wouldbecome of a mother trembling for the life of her child, if it were notfor prayer!"

Going to Weimar, she met Goethe, Wieland, Schiller, and other notedmen. At Berlin, the greatest attention was shown her. The beautifulLouise of Prussia welcomed her heartily. During this exile her fatherdied, with his latest breath saying, " She has loved me dearly! Shehas loved me dearly!" On his death-bed he wrote a letter to Bonapartetelling him that his daughter was in nowise responsible for his book, but it was never answered. It was enough for Napoleon to know that shedid not flatter him; therefore he wished her out of the way. 

Madame de Staël was for a time completely overcome by Necker's death. She wore his picture on her person as long as she lived. Only once didshe part with it, and then she imagined it might console her daughterin her illness. Giving it to her, she said, "Gaze upon it, gaze uponit, when you are in pain. "

She now sought repose in Italy, preparing those beautiful descriptionsfor her _Corinne_, and finally returning to Coppet, spent a year inwriting her book. It was published in Paris, and, says Sainte-Beuve, "its success was instantaneous and universal. As a work of art, as apoem, the romance of _Corinne_ is an immortal monument. " Jeffrey, in the _Edinburgh Review_, called the author the greatest writer inFrance since Voltaire and Rousseau, and the greatest woman writer ofany age or country. Napoleon, however, in his official paper, caused ascathing criticism on _Corinne_ to appear; indeed, it was declared tobe from his own pen. She was told by the Minister of Police, that shehad but to insert some praise of Napoleon in _Corinne_, and she wouldbe welcomed back to Paris. She could not, however, live a lie, and shefeared Napoleon had evil designs upon France. 

Again she visited Germany with her children, Schlegel, and Sismondi. So eager was everybody to see her and hear her talk, that Bettina vonArnim says in her correspondence with Goethe: "The gentlemen stoodaround the table and planted themselves behind us, elbowing oneanother. They leaned quite over me, and I said in French, 'Youradorers quite suffocate me. '"

While in Germany, her eldest son, then seventeen, had an interviewwith Bonaparte about the return of his mother. "Your mother, " saidNapoleon, "could not be six months in Paris before I should becompelled to send her to Bicêtre or the Temple. I should regret thisnecessity, for it would make a noise and might injure me a littlein public opinion. Say, therefore, to her that as long as I live shecannot re-enter Paris. I see what you wish, but it cannot be; she willcommit follies; she will have the world about her. "

On her return to Coppet, she spent two years in writing her_Allemagne_, for which she had been making researches for four years. She wished it published in Paris, as _Corinne_ had been, and submittedit to the censors of the Press. They crossed out whatever sentimentsthey thought might displease Napoleon, and then ten thousand copieswere at once printed, she meantime removing to France, within herproscribed limits, that she might correct the proof-sheets. 

What was her astonishment to have Napoleon order the whole tenthousand destroyed, and her to leave France in three days! Her twosons attempted to see Bonaparte, who was at Fontainebleau, but wereordered to turn back, or they would be arrested. The only reason givenfor destroying the work was the fact that she had been silent aboutthe great but egotistical Emperor. 

Broken in spirit, she returned to Geneva. Amid all this darkness a newlight was about to beam upon her life. In the social gatherings madefor her, she observed a young army officer, Monsieur Rocca, broken inhealth from his many wounds, but handsome and noble in face, and, asshe learned, of irreproachable life. Though only twenty-three and sheforty-five, the young officer was fascinated by her conversation, and refreshed in spirits by her presence. She sympathized with hismisfortunes in battle; she admired his courage. He was lofty insentiments, tender in heart, and gave her what she had always needed, an unselfish and devoted love. When discouraged by his friends, hereplied, "I will love her so much that I will finish by making hermarry me. "

They were married in 1811, and the marriage was a singularly happyone. The reason for it is not difficult to perceive. A marriage thathas not a pretty face or a passing fancy for its foundation, butappreciation of a gifted mind and noble heart, --such a marriagestands the test of time. 

The marriage was kept secret from all save a few intimate friends, Madame de Staël fearing that if the news reached Napoleon, Roccawould be ordered back to France. Her fears were only too well founded. Schlegel, Madame Recamier, all who had shown any sympathy for her, began to be exiled. She was forbidden under any pretext whatever fromtravelling in Switzerland, or entering any region annexed to France. She was advised not to go two leagues from Coppet, lest she beimprisoned, and this with Napoleon usually meant death. 

The Emperor seemed about to conquer the whole world. Whither could shefly to escape his persecution? She longed to reach England, but therewas an edict against any French subject entering that country withoutspecial permit. Truly his heel was upon France. The only way to reachthat country was through Austria, Russia, and Sweden, two thousandleagues. But she must attempt it. She passed an hour in prayer by herparent's tomb, kissed his armchair and table, and took his cloak towrap herself in should death come. 

May 23, 1812, she, with Rocca and two of her children, began theirflight by carriage, not telling the servants at the chateau, but thatthey should return for the next meal. 

They reached Vienna June 6, and were at once put under surveillance. Everywhere she saw placards admonishing the officers to watch hersharply. Rocca had to make his way alone, because Bonaparte hadordered his arrest. They were permitted to remain only a few hoursin any place. Once Madame de Staël was so overcome by this brutaltreatment that she lost consciousness, and was obliged to be takenfrom her carriage to the roadside till she recovered. Every hour sheexpected arrest and death. 

Finally, worn in body, she reached Russia, and was cordially receivedby Alexander and Empress Elizabeth. From here she went to Sweden, andhad an equally cordial welcome from Bernadotte, the general whobecame king. Afterward she spent four months in England, bringing out_Allemagne. _ Here she received a perfect ovation. At Lord Lansdowne'sthe first ladies in the kingdom mounted on chairs and tables to catcha glimpse of her. Sir James Mackintosh said: "The whole fashionableand literary world is occupied with Madame de Staël, the mostcelebrated woman of this, or perhaps of any age. " Very rare must bethe case where a woman of fine mind does not have many admirers amonggentlemen. 

Her _Allemagne_ was published in 1813, the manuscript having beensecretly carried over Germany, Poland, Russia, Sweden, and the BalticSea. The first part treated of the manners of Germany; the second, itsliterature and art; the third, its philosophy and morals; the fourth, its religion. The book had a wonderful sale, and was soon translatedinto all the principal tongues of Europe. Lamartine said: "Her style, without losing any of its youthful vigor and splendor, seemed now tobe illuminated with more lofty and eternal lights as she approachedthe evening of life, and the diviner mysteries of thought. This styleno longer paints, no longer chants; it adores. .. . Her name will liveas long as literature, as long as the history of her country. "

Meantime, great changes had taken place in France. Napoleon had beendefeated at Leipsic, leaving a quarter of a million murdered on hisbattle-fields; he had abdicated, and was on his way to Elba. Sheimmediately returned to Paris, with much the same feeling as VictorHugo, when he wept as he came from his long exile under "Napoleon theLittle. " Again to her _salon_ came kings and generals, Alexander ofRussia, Wellington, and others. 

But soon Napoleon returned, and she fled to Coppet. He sent her aninvitation to come to Paris, declaring he would now live for the peaceof Europe, but she could not trust him. She saw her daughter, lovelyand beautiful, married to the Duc de Broglie, a leading statesman, and was happy in her happiness. Rocca's health was failing, and theyrepaired to Italy for a time. 

In 1816 they returned to Paris, Napoleon having gone from his finaldefeat to St. Helena. But Madame de Staël was broken with her trials. She seemed to grow more and more frail, till the end came. She saidfrequently, "My father awaits me on the other shore. " To Chateaubriandshe said, "I have loved God, my father, and my country. " She couldnot and would not go to sleep the last night, for fear she might neverlook upon Rocca again. He begged her to sleep and he would awaken heroften. "Good night, " she said, and it was forever. She never wakened. They buried her beside her father at Coppet, under the grand oldtrees. Rocca died in seven months, at the age of thirty-one. "Ihoped, " he said, "to have died in her arms. "

Her little son, and Rocca's, five years old, was cared for by Augusteand Albertine, her daughter. After Madame de Staël's death, her_Considerations on the French Revolution_ and _Ten Years of Exile_were published. Of the former, Sainte-Beuve says: "Its publication wasan event. It was the splendid public obsequies of the authoress. Its politics were destined to long and passionate discussions anda durable influence. She is perfect only from this day; the fullinfluence of her star is only at her tomb. "

Chateaubriand said, "Her death made one of those breaches which thefall of a superior intellect produces once in an age, and which cannever be closed. "

As kind as she was great, loving deeply and receiving love in return, she has left an imperishable name. No wonder that thousands visit thatquiet grave beside Lake Geneva. 

ROSA BONHEUR

[Illustration: ROSA BONHEUR. ]

In a simple home in Paris could have been seen, in 1829, RaymondBonheur and his little family, --Rosa, seven years old, August, Isadore, and Juliette. He was a man of fine talent in painting, butobliged to spend his time in giving drawing-lessons to support hischildren. His wife, Sophie, gave lessons on the piano, going fromhouse to house all day long, and sometimes sewing half the night, toearn a little more for the necessities of life. 

Hard work and poverty soon bore its usual fruit, and the tired youngmother died in 1833. The three oldest children were sent to board witha plain woman, "La mère Cathérine, " in the Champs Elysées, and theyoungest was placed with relatives. For two years this good womancared for the children, sending them to school, though she was greatlytroubled because Rosa persisted in playing in the woods of the Boisde Boulogne, gathering her arms full of daisies and marigolds, ratherthan to be shut up in a schoolroom. "I never spent an hour of fineweather indoors during the whole of the two years, " she has often saidsince those days. 

Finally the father married again and brought the children home. Thetwo boys were placed in school, and M. Bonheur paid their way bygiving drawing lessons three times a week in the institution. If Rosadid not love school, she must be taught something useful, and she wasaccordingly placed in a sewing establishment to become a seamstress. 

The child hated sewing, ran the needle into her fingers at everystitch, cried for the fresh air and sunshine, and finally, becomingpale and sickly, was taken back to the Bonheur home. The anxiouspainter would try his child once more in school; so he arranged thatshe should attend, with compensation met in the same way as for hisboys. Rosa soon became a favorite with the girls in the FauborgSt. Antoine School, especially because she could draw such wittycaricatures of the teachers, which she pasted against the wall, withbread chewed into the consistency of putty. The teachers were notpleased, but so struck were they with the vigor and originality of thedrawings, that they carefully preserved the sketches in an album. 

The girl was far from happy. Naturally sensitive--as what poet orpainter was ever born otherwise?--she could not bear to wear a calicodress and coarse shoes, and eat with an iron spoon from a tin cup, when the other girls wore handsome dresses, and had silver mugs andspoons. She grew melancholy, neglected her books, and finally becameso ill that she was obliged to be taken home. 

And now Raymond Bonheur very wisely decided not to make plans for hischild for a time, but see what was her natural tendency. It was wellthat he made this decision in time, before she had been spoiled by hiswell-meant but poor intentions. 

Left to herself, she constantly hung about her father's studio, nowdrawing, now modeling, copying whatever she saw him do. She seemednever to be tired, but sang at her work all the day long. 

Monsieur Bonheur suddenly awoke to the fact that his daughter hadgreat talent. He began to teach her carefully, to make her accurate indrawing, and correct in perspective. Then he sent her to the Louvre tocopy the works of the old masters. Here she worked with the greatestindustry and enthusiasm, not observing anything that was going onaround her. Said the director of the Louvre, "I have never seen anexample of such application and such ardor for work. "

One day an elderly English gentleman stopped beside her easel, andsaid: "Your copy, my child, is superb, faultless. Persevere as youhave begun, and I prophesy that you will be a great artist. " How gladthose few words made her! She went home thinking over to herself thedetermination she had made in the school when she ate with her ironspoon, that sometime she would be as famous as her schoolmates, andhave some of the comforts of life. 

Her copies of the old masters were soon sold, and though they broughtsmall prices, she gladly gave the money to her father, who needed itnow more than ever. His second wife had two sons when he married her, and now they had a third, Germain, and every cent that Rosa couldearn was needed to help support seven children. "La mamiche, " asthey called the new mother, was an excellent manager of the meagrefinances, and filled her place well. 

Rosa was now seventeen, loving landscape, historical, and genrepainting, perhaps equally; but happening to paint a goat, she was sopleased in the work, that she determined to make animal painting aspecialty. Having no money to procure models, she must needs make longwalks into the country on foot to the farms. She would take a piece ofbread in her pocket, and generally forget to eat it. After workingall day, she would come home tired, often drenched with rain, and hershoes covered with mud. 

She took other means to study animals. In the outskirts of Paris weregreat _abattoirs_, or slaughter-pens. Though the girl tenderly lovedanimals, and shrank from the sight of suffering, she forced herself tosee the killing, that she might know how to depict the death agonyon canvas. Though obliged to mingle more or less with drovers andbutchers, no indignity was ever offered her. As she sat on a bundle ofhay, with her colors about her, they would crowd around to look atthe pictures, and regard her with honest pride. The world soonlearns whether a girl is in earnest about her work, and treats heraccordingly. 

The Bonheur family had moved to the sixth story of a tenement housein the Rue Rumfort, now the Rue Malesherbes. The sons, Auguste andIsadore, had both become artists; the former a painter, the latter asculptor. Even little Juliette was learning to paint. Rosa was workinghard all day at her easel, and at night was illustrating books, ormolding little groups of animals for the figure-dealers. All thefamily were happy despite their poverty, because they had congenialwork. 

On the roof, Rosa improvised a sort of garden, with honeysuckles, sweet-peas, and nasturtiums, and here they kept a sheep, with long, silky wool, for a model. Very often Isadore would take him on his backand carry him down the six flights of stairs, --the day of elevatorshad not dawned, --and after he had enjoyed grazing, would bring himback to his garden home. It was a docile creature, and much loved bythe whole family. For Rosa's birds, the brothers constructed a net, which they hung outside the window, and then opened the cage into it. 

At nineteen Rosa was to test the world, and see what the critics wouldsay. She sent to the Fine Arts Exhibition two pictures, "Goats andSheep" and "Two Rabbits. " The public was pleased, and the press gavekind notices. The next year "Animals in a Pasture, " a "Cow lying in aMeadow, " and a "Horse for sale, " attracted still more attention. Twoyears later she exhibited twelve pictures, some from her father andbrother being hung on either side of hers, the first time they hadbeen admitted. More and more the critics praised, and the pathway ofthe Bonheur family grew less thorny. 

Then, in 1849, when she was twenty-seven, came the triumph. Hermagnificent picture, "Cantal Oxen, " took the gold medal, and waspurchased by England. Horace Vernet, the president of the commissionof awards, in the midst of a brilliant assembly, proclaimed the newlaureate, and gave her, in behalf of the government, a superb Sèvresvase. 

Raymond Bonheur seemed to become young again at this fame of hischild. It brought honors to him also, for he was at once made directorof the government school of design for girls. But the release frompoverty and anxiety came too late, and he died the same year, greatlylamented by his family. "He had grand ideas, " said his daughter, "andhad he not been obliged to give lessons for our support, he would havebeen more known, and to-day acknowledged with other masters. "

Rosa was made director in his place, and Juliette became a professorin the school. This same year appeared her "Plowing Scene in theNivernais, " now in the Luxembourg Gallery, thought to be her mostimportant work after her "Horse Fair. " Orders now poured in upon her, so that she could not accede to half the requests for work. A richHollander offered her one thousand crowns for a painting which shecould have wrought in two hours; but she refused. 

Four years later, after eighteen long months of preparatory studies, her "Horse Fair" was painted. This created the greatest enthusiasmboth in England and America. It was sold to a gentleman in England foreight thousand dollars, and was finally purchased by A. T. Stewart, ofNew York, for his famous collection. No one who has seen this picturewill ever forget the action and vigor of these Normandy horses. Inpainting it, a petted horse, it is said, stepped back upon the canvas, putting his hoof through it, thus spoiling the work of months. 

So greatly was this picture admired, that Napoleon III. Was urged tobestow upon her the Cross of the Legion of Honor, entitled her fromFrench usage. Though she was invited to the state dinner at theTuileries, always given to artists to whom the Academy of Fine Artshas awarded its highest honors, Napoleon had not the courage to giveit to her, lest public opinion might not agree with him in conferringit upon a woman. Possibly he felt, more than the world knew, theinsecurity of his throne. 

Henry Bacon, in the _Century_, thus describes the way in which RosaBonheur finally received the badge of distinction. "The Emperor, leaving Paris for a short summer excursion in 1865, left the Empressas Regent. From the imperial residence at Fontainebleau it was only ashort drive to By (the home of Mademoiselle Bonheur). The countersignat the gate was forced, and unannounced, the Empress entered thestudio where Mademoiselle Rosa was at work. She rose to receive thevisitor, who threw her arms about her neck and kissed her. It was onlya short interview. The imperial vision had departed, the rumble ofthe carriage and the crack of the outriders' whips were lost in thedistance. Then, and not till then, did the artist discover that as theEmpress had given the kiss, she had pinned upon her blouse the Crossof the Legion of Honor. " Since then she has received the Leopold Crossof Honor from the King of Belgium, said to be the first ever conferredupon a woman; also a decoration from the King of Spain. Her brotherAuguste, now dead, received the Cross of the Legion of Honor in 1867, two years after Rosa. 

In preparing to paint the "Horse Fair" and other similar pictures, which have brought her much into the company of men, she has found itwise to dress in male costume. A laughable incident is related of thismode of dress. One day when she returned from the country, she found amessenger awaiting to announce to her the sudden illness of one ofher young friends. Rosa did not wait to change her male attire, buthastened to the bedside of the young lady. In a few minutes afterher arrival, the doctor, who had been sent for, entered, and seeing ayoung man, as he supposed, seated on the side of the bed, with hisarm round the neck of the sick girl, thought he was an intruder, andretreated with all possible speed. "Oh! run after him! He thinks youare my lover, and has gone and left me to die!" cried the sick girl. Rosa flew down stairs, and soon returned with the modest doctor. 

She also needs this mannish costume, for her long journeys overthe Pyrenees into Spain or in the Scottish Highlands. She is alwaysaccompanied by her most intimate friend, Mademoiselle Micas, herselfan artist of repute, whose mother, a widow, superintends the home forthe two devoted friends. 

Sometimes in the Pyrenees these two ladies see no one for six weeksbut muleteers with their mules. The people in these lonely mountainpasses live entirely upon the curdled milk of sheep. Once Rosa Bonheurand her friend were nearly starving, when Mademoiselle Micas obtaineda quantity of frogs, and covering the hind legs with leaves, roastedthem over a fire. On these they lived for two days. 

In Scotland she painted her exquisite "Denizens of the Mountains, ""Morning in the Highlands, " and "Crossing a Loch in the Highlands. " InEngland she was treated like a princess. Sir Edwin Landseer, whom somepersons thought she would marry, is reported to have said, when hefirst looked upon her "Horse Fair, " "It surpasses me, though it'sa little hard to be beaten by a woman. " On her return to France shebrought a skye-terrier, named "Wasp, " of which she is very fond, andfor which she has learned several English phrases. When she speaks tohim in English, he wags his tail most appreciatively. 

Rosa Bonheur stands at the head of her profession, an acknowledgedmaster. Her pictures bring enormous sums, and have brought her wealth. A "View in the Pyrenees" has been sold for ten thousand dollars, andsome others for twice that sum. 

She gives away much of her income. She has been known to send to the_Mont de Pieté_ her gold medals to raise funds to assist poor artists. A woman artist, who had been refused help by several wealthy painters, applied to Rosa Bonheur, who at once took down from the wall a smallbut valuable painting, and gave it to her, from which she received agoodly sum. A young sculptor who greatly admired her work, enclosedtwenty dollars, asking her for a small drawing, and saying that thiswas all the money he possessed. She immediately sent him a sketchworth at least two hundred dollars. She has always provided mostgenerously for her family, and for servants who have grown old in heremploy. 

She dresses very simply, always wearing black, brown, or gray, witha close fitting jacket over a plain skirt. When she accepts a socialinvitation, which is very rare, she adorns her dress with a lacecollar, but without other ornament. Her working dress is usually along gray linen or blue flannel blouse, reaching nearly from head tofoot. She has learned that the conventional tight dress of womenis not conducive to great mental or physical power. She is smallin stature, with dainty hands and feet, blue eyes, and a noble andintelligent face. 

She is an indefatigable worker, rising usually at six in the morning, and painting throughout the day. 

So busy is she that she seldom permits herself any amusements. On oneoccasion she had tickets sent her for the theatre. She worked till thecarriage was announced. "_Je suis prête_, " said Rosa, and went to theplay in her working dress. A daintily gloved man in the box next tohers looked over in disdain, and finally went into the vestibule andfound the manager. 

"Who is this woman in the box next to mine?" he said, in a rage. "She's in an old calico dress, covered with paint and oil. The odor isterrible. Turn her out. If you do not, I will never enter your theatreagain. "

The manager went to the box, and returning, informed him that it wasthe great painter. 

"Rosa Bonheur!" he gasped. "Who'd have thought it? Make my apology toher. I dare not enter her presence again. "

She usually walks at the twilight, often thinking out new subjects forher brush, at that quiet hour. She said to a friend: "I have been afaithful student since I was ten years old. I have copied no master. Ihave studied Nature, and expressed to the best of my ability the ideasand feelings with which she has inspired me. Art is an absorbent--atyrant. It demands heart, brain, soul, body, the entireness of thevotary. Nothing less will win its highest favor. I wed art. It is myhusband, my world, my life-dream, the air I breathe. I know nothingelse, feel nothing else, think nothing else, My soul finds in itthe most complete satisfaction. .. . I have no taste for generalsociety, --no interest in its frivolities. I only seek to be knownthrough my works. If the world feel and understand them, I havesucceeded. .. . If I had got up a convention to debate the question ofmy ability to paint '_Marché au Chevaux_' [The Horse Fair], for whichEngland paid me forty thousand francs, the decision would have beenagainst me. I felt the power within me to paint; I cultivated it, andhave produced works that have won the favorable verdicts of the greatjudges. I have no patience with women who ask _permission to think_!"

For years she lived in Rue d'Assas, a retired street half made up ofgardens. Here she had one of the most beautiful studios of Paris, theroom lighted from the ceiling, the walls covered with paintings, withhere and there old armor, tapestry, hats, cloaks, sandals, and skinsof tigers, leopards, foxes, and oxen on the floor. One Friday, the dayon which she received guests, one of her friends, coming earlierthan usual, found her fast asleep on her favorite skin, that of amagnificent ox, with stuffed head and spreading horns. She had come intired from the School of Design, and had thrown herself down to rest. Usually after greeting her friends she would say, "Allow me to resumemy brush; we can talk just as well together. " For those who have anygreat work to do in this worlds there is little time for visiting;interruptions cannot be permitted. No wonder Carlyle groaned when someperson had taken two hours of his time. He could better have sparedmoney to the visitor. 

For several years Rosa Bonheur has lived near Fontainebleau, in theChateau By. Henry Bacon says: "The chateau dates from the time ofLouis XV. , and the garden is still laid out in the style of Le Notre. Since it has been in the present proprietor's possession, a quaint, picturesque brick building, containing the carriage house andcoachman's lodge on the first floor, and the studio on the second, has been added; the roof of the main building has been raised, and thechapel changed into an orangery: beside the main carriage-entrance, which is closed by iron gates and wooden blinds, is a postern gate, with a small grated opening, like those found in convents. The blindsto the gate and the slide to the grating are generally closed, andthe only communication with the outside world is by the bell-wire, terminating in a ring beside the gate. Ring, and the jingle of thebell is at once echoed by the barking of numerous dogs, --the houndsand bassets in chorus, the grand Saint Bernard in slow measure, likethe bass-drum in an orchestra. After the first excitement among thedogs has begun to abate, a remarkably small house-pet that has beensomewhere in the interior arrives upon the scene, and with his sharp, shrill voice again starts and leads the canine chorus. By this timethe eagle in his cage has awakened, and the parrot, whose cage isbuilt into the corner of the studio looking upon the street, adds tothe racket. 

"Behind the house is a large park divided from the forest by a highwall; a lawn and flower-beds are laid out near the buildings; and onthe lawn, in pleasant weather, graze a magnificent bull and cow, which are kept as models. In a wire enclosure are two chamois from thePyrenees, and further removed from the house, in the wooded part ofthe park, are enclosures for sheep and deer, each of which knows itsmistress. Even the stag, bearing its six-branched antlers, receivesher caresses like a pet dog. At the end of one of the linden avenuesis a splendid bronze, by Isadore Bonheur, of a Gaul attacking a lion. 

"The studio is very large, with a huge chimney at one end, thesupports of which are life-size dogs, modeled by Isadore Bonheur. Portraits of the father and mother in oval frames hang at eachside, and a pair of gigantic horns ornaments the centre. The roomis decorated with stuffed heads of animals of various kinds, --boars, bears, wolves, and oxen; and birds perch in every convenient place. "

When Prussia conquered France, and swept through this town, orderswere given that Rosa Bonheur's home and paintings be carefullypreserved. Even her servants went unmolested. The peasants idolizedthe great woman who lived in the chateau, and were eager to serve her. She always talked to them pleasantly. Rosa Bonheur died at her home at11 P. M. , Thursday, May 25, 1899. 

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 

[Illustration: Elizabeth Barrett Browning Rome. February. 1859]

Ever since I had received in my girlhood, from my best friend, theworks of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in five volumes in blue and gold, I had read and re-read the pages, till I knew scores by heart. Ihad longed to see the face and home of her whom the English call"Shakespeare's daughter, " and whom Edmund Clarence Stedman names "thepassion-flower of the century. "

I shall never forget that beautiful July morning spent in the Browninghome in London. The poet-wife had gone out from it, and lay buried inFlorence, but here were her books and her pictures. Here was a marblebust, the hair clustering about the face, and a smile on the lips thatshowed happiness. Near by was another bust of the idolized only child, of whom she wrote in _Casa Guidi Windows_:--

 "The sun strikes through the windows, up the floor: Stand out in it, my own young Florentine, Not two years old, and let me see thee more! It grows along thy amber curls to shine Brighter than elsewhere. Now look straight before And fix thy brave blue English eyes on mine, And from thy soul, which fronts the future so With unabashed and unabated gaze, Teach me to hope for what the Angels know When they smile clear as thou dost!"

Here was the breakfast-table at which they three had often sattogether. Close beside it hung a picture of the room in Florence, where she lived so many years in a wedded bliss as perfect as anyknown in history. Tears gathered in the eyes of Robert Browning, as hepointed out her chair, and sofa, and writing-table. 

Of this room in Casa Guidi, Kate Field wrote in the _AtlanticMonthly_, September, 1861: "They who have been so favored can neverforget the square ante-room, with its great picture and piano-forte, at which the boy Browning passed many an hour; the little dining roomcovered with tapestry, and where hung medallions of Tennyson, Carlyle, and Robert Browning; the long room filled with plaster casts andstudies, which was Mr. Browning's retreat; and, dearest of all, thelarge drawing-room, where _she_ always sat. It opens upon a balconyfilled with plants, and looks out upon the old iron-gray church ofSanta Felice. There was something about this room that seemed to makeit a proper and especial haunt for poets. The dark shadows andsubdued light gave it a dreamy look, which was enhanced by thetapestry-covered walls, and the old pictures of saints that lookedout sadly from their carved frames of black wood. Large bookcases, constructed of specimens of Florentine carving selected by Mr. Browning, were brimming over with wise-looking books. Tables werecovered with more gayly bound volumes, the gifts of brother authors. Dante's grave profile, a cast of Keats' face and brow taken afterdeath, a pen-and-ink sketch of Tennyson, the genial face of JohnKenyon, Mrs. Browning's good friend and relative, little paintings ofthe boy Browning, all attracted the eye in turn, and gave rise to athousand musings. But the glory of all, and that which sanctified all, was seated in a low armchair near the door. A small table, strewn withwriting materials, books and newspapers, was always by her side. "

Then Mr. Browning, in the London home, showed us the room where hewrites, containing his library and hers. The books are on simpleshelves, choice, and many very old and rare. Here are her books, manyin Greek and Hebrew. In the Greek, I saw her notes on the margin inHebrew, and in the Hebrew she had written her marginal notes in Greek. Here also are the five volumes of her writings, in blue and gold. 

The small table at which she wrote still stands beside the largerwhere her husband composes. His table is covered with letters andpapers and books; hers stands there unused, because it is a constantreminder of those companionable years, when they worked together. Close by hangs a picture of the "young Florentine, " Robert BarrettBrowning, now grown to manhood, an artist already famed. He has arefined face, as he sits in artist garb, before his easel, sketchingin a peasant's house. The beloved poet who wrote at the little table, is endeared to all the world. Born in 1809, in the county of Durham, the daughter of wealthy parents, she passed her early years partly inthe country in Herefordshire, and partly in the city. That she lovedthe country with its wild flowers and woods, her poem, _The LostBower_, plainly shows. 

 "Green the land is where my daily Steps in jocund childhood played, Dimpled close with hill and valley, Dappled very close with shade; Summer-snow of apple-blossoms running up from glade to glade. 

 * * * * *

 "But the wood, all close and clenching Bough in bough and root in root, -- No more sky (for overbranching) At your head than at your foot, -- Oh, the wood drew me within it, by a glamour past dispute. 

 "But my childish heart beat stronger Than those thickets dared to grow: _I_ could pierce them! I could longer Travel on, methought, than so. Sheep for sheep-paths! braver children climb and creep where they would go. 

 * * * * *

 "Tall the linden-tree, and near it An old hawthorne also grew; And wood-ivy like a spirit Hovered dimly round the two, Shaping thence that bower of beauty which I sing of thus to you. 

 "And the ivy veined and glossy Was enwrought with eglantine; And the wild hop fibred closely, And the large-leaved columbine, Arch of door and window mullion, did right sylvanly entwine. 

 * * * * *

 "I have lost--oh, many a pleasure, Many a hope, and many a power-- Studious health, and merry leisure, The first dew on the first flower! But the first of all my losses was the losing of the bower. 

 * * * * *

 "Is the bower lost then? Who sayeth That the bower indeed is lost? Hark! my spirit in it prayeth Through the sunshine and the frost, -- And the prayer preserves it greenly, to the last and uttermost. 

 "Till another open for me In God's Eden-land unknown, With an angel at the doorway, White with gazing at His throne, And a saint's voice in the palm-trees, singing, 'All is lost . .. And _won_!'"

Elizabeth Barrett wrote poems at ten, and when seventeen, publishedan _Essay on Mind, and Other Poems_. The essay was after the mannerof Pope, and though showing good knowledge of Plato and Bacon, did notfind favor with the critics. It was dedicated to her father, who wasproud of a daughter who preferred Latin and Greek to the novels of theday. 

Her teacher was the blind Hugh Stuart Boyd, whom she praises in her_Wine of Cyprus_. 

 "Then, what golden hours were for us!-- While we sate together there;

 * * * * *

 "Oh, our Aeschylus, the thunderous! How he drove the bolted breath Through the cloud to wedge it ponderous In the gnarlèd oak beneath. Oh, our Sophocles, the royal, Who was born to monarch's place, And who made the whole world loyal, Less by kingly power than grace. 

 "Our Euripides, the human, With his droppings of warm tears, And his touches of things common Till they rose to touch the spheres! Our Theocritus, our Bion, And our Pindar's shining goals!-- These were cup-bearers undying, Of the wine that's meant for souls. "

More fond of books than of social life, she was laying the necessaryfoundation for a noble fame. The lives of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, George Eliot, and Margaret Fuller, emphasize the necessity of almostunlimited knowledge, if woman would reach lasting fame. A great manor woman of letters, without great scholarship, is well-nigh animpossible thing. 

Nine years after her first book, _Prometheus Bound and MiscellaneousPoems_ was published in 1835. She was now twenty-six. A translationfrom the Greek of Aeschylus by a woman caused much comment, but likethe first book it received severe criticism. Several years afterward, when she brought her collected poems before the world, she wrote: "Oneearly failure, a translation of the _Prometheus of Aeschylus_, which, though happily free of the current of publication, may be rememberedagainst me by a few of my personal friends, I have replaced here by anentirely new version, made for them and my conscience, in expiation ofa sin of my youth, with the sincerest application of my mature mind. ""This latter version, " says Mr. Stedman, "of a most sublime tragedyis more poetical than any other of equal correctness, and has thefire and vigor of a master-hand. No one has succeeded better than itsauthor in capturing with rhymed measures the wilful rushing melody ofthe tragic chorus. "

In 1835 Miss Barrett made the acquaintance of Mary Russell Mitford, and a life-long friendship resulted. Miss Mitford says: "She wascertainly one of the most interesting persons I had ever seen. Everybody who then saw her said the same. Of a slight, delicatefigure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either side of a mostexpressive face, large tender eyes, richly fringed by dark eyelashes, a smile like a sunbeam, and such a look of youthfulness, that I hadsome difficulty in persuading a friend, in whose carriage we wenttogether to Cheswick, that the translatress of the _Prometheus ofAeschylus_, the authoress of the _Essay on Mind_, was old enough tobe introduced into company, in technical language, was out. We met soconstantly and so familiarly that, in spite of the difference ofage, intimacy ripened into friendship, and after my return into thecountry, we corresponded freely and frequently, her letters being justwhat letters ought to be, --her own talk put upon paper. "

The next year Miss Barrett, never robust, broke a blood-vessel in thelungs. For a year she was ill, and then with her eldest and favoritebrother, was carried to Torquay to try the effect of a warmer climate. After a year spent here, she greatly improved, and seemed likely torecover her usual health. 

One beautiful summer morning she went on the balcony to watch herbrother and two other young men who had gone out for a sail. Havinghad much experience, and understanding the coast, they allowed theboatman to return to land. Only a few minutes out, and in plain sight, as they were crossing the bar, the boat went down, and the threefriends perished. Their bodies even were never recovered. 

The whole town was in mourning. Posters were put upon every cliff andpublic place, offering large rewards "for linen cast ashore markedwith the initials of the beloved dead; for it so chanced that all thethree were of the dearest and the best: one, an only son; the other, the son of a widow"; but the sea was forever silent. 

The sister, who had seen her brother sink before her eyes, was utterlyprostrated. She blamed herself for his death, because he came toTorquay for her comfort. All winter long she heard the sound ofwaves ringing in her ears like the moans of the dying. From this timeforward she never mentioned her brother's name, and later, exactedfrom Mr. Browning a promise that the subject should never be broachedbetween them. 

The following year she was removed to London in an invalid carriage, journeying twenty miles a day. And then for seven years, in a largedarkened room, lying much of the time upon her couch, and seeing onlya few most intimate friends, the frail woman lived and wrote. Booksmore than ever became her solace and joy. Miss Mitford says, "She readalmost every book worth reading, in almost every language, and gaveherself heart and soul to that poetry of which she seem born to be thepriestess. " When Dr. Barry urged that she read light books, she had asmall edition of Plato bound so as to resemble a novel, and the goodman was satisfied. She understood her own needs better than he. 

When she was twenty-nine, she published _The Seraphim and OtherPoems_. The _Seraphim_ was a reverential description of two angelswatching the Crucifixion. Though the critics saw much that wasstrikingly original, they condemned the frequent obscurity of meaningand irregularity of rhyme. The next year, _The Romaunt of the Page_and other ballads appeared, and in 1844, when she was thirty-five, acomplete edition of her poems, opening with the _Drama of Exile_. This was the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden, the first scenerepresenting "the outer side of the gate of Eden shut fast with cloud, from the depth of which revolves a sword of fire self-moved. Adam andEve are seen in the distance flying along the glare. "

In one of her prefaces she said: "Poetry has been to me as serious athing as life itself, --and life has been a _very_ serious thing; therehas been no playing at skittles for me in either. I never mistookpleasure for the final cause of poetry, nor leisure for the hour ofthe poet. I have done my work, so far, as work, --not as mere handand head work, apart from the personal being, but as the completestexpression of that being to which I could attain, --and as work I offerit to the public, feeling its shortcomings more deeply than any ofmy readers, because measured from the height of my aspiration; butfeeling also that the reverence and sincerity with which the work wasdone should give it some protection from the reverent and sincere. "

While the _Drama of Exile_ received some adverse criticism, the shorterpoems became the delight of thousands. Who has not held his breath inreading the _Rhyme of the Duchess May_?--

 "And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest, -- _Toll slowly_. 'Ring, ' she cried, 'O vesper-bell, in the beech-wood's old chapelle!' But the passing-bell rings best!

 "They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose--in vain, -- _Toll slowly_. For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, On the last verge rears amain. 

 "Now he hangs, he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle in!-- _Toll slowly_. Now he shivers head and hoof, and the flakes of foam fall off, And his face grows fierce and thin!

 "And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, _Toll slowly_. And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony of the headlong death below. "

Who can ever forget that immortal _Cry of the Children_, which awokeall England to the horrors of child-labor? That, and Hood's _Song ofthe Shirt_, will never die. 

Who has not read and loved one of the most tender poems in anylanguage, _Bertha in the Lane_?--

 "Yes, and He too! let him stand In thy thoughts, untouched by blame. Could he help it, if my hand He had claimed with hasty claim? That was wrong perhaps--but then Such things be--and will, again. Women cannot judge for men. 

 * * * * *

 "And, dear Bertha, let me keep On this hand this little ring, Which at night, when others sleep, I can still see glittering. Let me wear it out of sight, In the grave, --where it will light All the Dark up, day and night. "

No woman has ever understood better the fulness of love, or describedit more purely and exquisitely. 

One person among the many who had read Miss Barrett's poems, felttheir genius, because he had genius in his own soul, and that personwas Robert Browning. That she admired his poetic work was shown in_Lady Geraldine's Courtship_, when Bertram reads to his lady-love:--

 "Or at times a modern volume, --Wordsworth's solemn-thoughted idyl, Howitt's ballad verse, or Tennyson's enchanted reverie, Or from Browning some _Pomegranate_, which, if cut deep down the middle, Shows a heart within blood-tinctured, of a veined humanity. "

Mr. Browning determined to meet the unknown singer. Years later hetold the story to Elizabeth C. Kinney, when she had gone with thehappy husband and wife on a day's excursion from Florence. She says:"Finding that the invalid did not receive strangers, he wrote her aletter, intense with his desire to see her. She reluctantly consentedto an interview. He flew to her apartment, was admitted by the nurse, in whose presence only could he see the deity at whose shrine he hadlong worshipped. But the golden opportunity was not to be lost; lovebecame oblivious to any save the presence of the real of its ideal. Then and there Robert Browning poured his impassioned soul into hers;though his tale of love seemed only an enthusiast's dream. Infirmityhad hitherto so hedged her about, that she deemed herself foreverprotected from all assaults of love. Indeed, she felt only injuredthat a fellow-poet should take advantage, as it were, of herindulgence in granting him an interview, and requested him to withdrawfrom her presence, not attempting any response to his proposal, whichshe could not believe in earnest. Of course, he withdrew from hersight, but not to withdraw the offer of his heart and hand; on thecontrary, to repeat it by letter, and in such wise as to convince herhow 'dead in earnest' he was. Her own heart, touched already when sheknew it not, was this time fain to listen, be convinced, and overcome. 

"As a filial daughter, Elizabeth told her father of the poet's love, and of the poet's love in return, and asked a parent's blessing tocrown their happiness. At first he was incredulous of the strangestory; but when the truth flashed on him from the new fire inher eyes, he kindled with rage, and forbade her ever seeing orcommunicating with her lover again, on the penalty of disinheritanceand banishment forever from a father's love. This decision was foundedon no dislike for Mr. Browning personally, or anything in him or hisfamily; it was simply arbitrary. But the new love was strongerthan the old in her, --it conquered. " Mr. Barrett never forgave hisdaughter, and died unreconciled, which to her was a great grief. 

In 1846, Elizabeth Barrett arose from her sick-bed to marry the manof her choice, who took her at once to Italy, where she spent fifteenhappy years. At once, love seemed to infuse new life into the delicatebody and renew the saddened heart. She was thirty-seven. She hadwisely waited till she found a person of congenial tastes and kindredpursuits. Had she married earlier, it is possible that the cares oflife might have deprived the world of some of her noblest works. 

The marriage was an ideal one. Both had a grand purpose in life. Neither individual was merged in the other. George S. Hillard, in his_Six Months in Italy_, when he visited the Brownings the year aftertheir marriage, says, "A happier home and a more perfect union thantheirs it is not easy to imagine; and this completeness arises notonly from the rare qualities which each possesses, but from theirperfect adaptation to each other. .. . Nor is she more remarkablefor genius and learning, than for sweetness of temper and purity ofspirit. It is a privilege to know such beings singly and separately, but to see their powers quickened, and their happiness rounded, by thesacred tie of marriage, is a cause for peculiar and lasting gratitude. A union so complete as theirs--in which the mind has nothing tocrave nor the heart to sigh for--is cordial to behold and soothing toremember. "

"Mr. Browning, " says one who knew him well, "did not fear to speakof his wife's genius, which he did almost with awe, losing himself soentirely in her glory that one could see that he did not feel worthyto unloose her shoe-latchet, much less to call her his own. "

When mothers teach their daughters to cultivate their minds as didMrs. Browning, as well as to emulate her sweetness of temper, thenwill men venerate women for both mental and moral power. A love thathas reverence for its foundation knows no change. 

"Mrs. Browning's conversation was most interesting. She never made aninsignificant remark. All that she said was _always_ worth hearing; agreater compliment could not be paid her. She was a most conscientiouslistener, giving you her mind and heart, as well as her magnetic eyes. _Persons_ were never her theme, unless public characters were underdiscussion, or friends were to be praised. One never dreamed offrivolities in Mrs. Browning's presence, and gossip felt itself outof place. Yourself, not herself, was always a pleasant subject to her, calling out all her best sympathies in joy, and yet more in sorrow. Books and humanity, great deeds, and above all, politics, whichinclude all the grand questions of the day, were foremost in herthoughts, and therefore oftenest on her lips. I speak not of religion, for with her everything was religion. 

"Thoughtful in the smallest things for others, she seemed to givelittle thought to herself. The first to see merit, she was the lastto censure faults, and gave the praise that she felt with a generoushand. No one so heartily rejoiced at the success of others, no onewas so modest in her own triumphs. She loved all who offered heraffection, and would solace and advise with any. Mrs. Browningbelonged to no particular country; the world was inscribed upon thebanner under which she fought. Wrong was her enemy; against this shewrestled, in whatever part of the globe it was to be found. "

Three years after her marriage her only son was born. The Italiansever after called her "the mother of the beautiful child. " And nowsome of her ablest and strongest work was done. Her _Casa GuidiWindows_ appeared in 1851. It is the story of the struggle for Italianliberty. In the same volume were published the _Portuguese Sonnets_, really her own love-life. It would be difficult to find any thing morebeautiful than these. 

 "First time he kissed me he but only kissed The fingers of this hand wherewith I write, And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 'Oh, list, ' When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst I could not wear here, plainer to my sight, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The first, and sought the forehead, and half-missed Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed! That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown With sanctifying sweetness, did precede. The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud and said, 'My love, my own!'

 * * * * *

 How do I love thee? Let me count the ways, I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right, I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. "

Mrs. Browning's next great poem, in 1856, was _Aurora Leigh_, a novelin blank verse, "the most mature, " she says in the preface, "of myworks, and the one into which my highest convictions upon Life and Arthave entered. " Walter Savage Landor said of it: "In many pages thereis the wild imagination of Shakespeare. I had no idea that any one inthis age was capable of such poetry. "

For fifteen years this happy wedded life, with its work of brain andhand, had been lived, and now the bond was to be severed. In June, 1861, Mrs. Browning took a severe cold, and was ill for nearly a week. No one thought of danger, though Mr. Browning would not leave herbedside. On the night of June 29, toward morning she seemed to be ina sort of ecstasy. She told her husband of her love for him, gavehim her blessing, and raised herself to die in his arms. "It isbeautiful, " were her last words as she caught a glimpse of someheavenly vision. On the evening of July 1, she was buried in theEnglish cemetery, in the midst of sobbing friends, for who could carryout that request?--

 "And friends, dear friends, when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let one most loving of you all Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall, -- He giveth his beloved sleep!'"

The Italians, who loved her, placed on the doorway of Casa Guidi awhite marble tablet, with the words:--

"_Here wrote and died E. B. Browning, who, in the heart of a woman, united the science of a sage and the spirit of a poet, and made withher verse a golden ring binding Italy and England. 

"Grateful Florence placed this memorial, 1861_. "

For twenty-five years Robert Browning and his artist-son have donetheir work, blessed with the memory of her whom Mr. Stedman calls"the most inspired woman, so far as known, of all who have composed inancient or modern tongues, or flourished in any land or time. "

GEORGE ELIOT. 

[Illustration: GEORGE ELIOT--1864. ]

Going to the Exposition at New Orleans, I took for reading on thejourney, the life of George Eliot, by her husband, Mr. J. W. Cross, written with great delicacy and beauty. An accident delayed us, sothat for three days I enjoyed this insight into a wonderful life. Icopied the amazing list of books she had read, and transferred to mynote-book many of her beautiful thoughts. To-day I have been readingthe book again; a clear, vivid picture of a very great woman, whoseworks, says the _Spectator_, "are the best specimens of powerful, simple English, since Shakespeare. "

What made her a superior woman? Not wealthy parentage; not congenialsurroundings. She had a generous, sympathetic heart for a foundation, and on this she built a scholarship that even few men can equal. Sheloved science, and philosophy, and language, and mathematics, and grewbroad enough to discuss great questions and think great thoughts. Andyet she was affectionate, tender, and gentle. 

Mary Ann Evans was born Nov. 22, 1819, at Arbury Farm, a mile fromGriff, in Warwickshire, England. When four months old the familymoved to Griff, where the girl lived till she was twenty-one, in atwo-story, old-fashioned, red brick house, the walls covered withivy. Two Norway firs and an old yew-tree shaded the lawn. The father, Robert Evans, a man of intelligence and good sense, was bred a builderand carpenter, afterward becoming a land-agent for one of the largeestates. The mother was a woman of sterling character, practical andcapable. 

For the three children, Christiana, Isaac, and Mary Ann, there waslittle variety in the commonplace life at Griff. Twice a day the coachfrom Birmingham to Stamford passed by the house, and the coachmanand guard in scarlet were a great diversion. She thus describes, thelocality in _Felix Holt_: "Here were powerful men walking queerly, with knees bent outward from squatting in the mine, going home tothrow themselves down in their blackened flannel, and sleep throughthe daylight, then rise and spend much of their high wages at thealehouse with their fellows of the Benefit Club; here the pale, eagerfaces of handloom weavers, men and women, haggard from sitting up lateat night to finish the week's work, hardly begun till the Wednesday. Everywhere the cottages and the small children were dirty, for thelanguid mothers gave their strength to the loom. "

Mary Ann was an affectionate, sensitive child, fond of out-doorsports, imitating everything she saw her brother do, and early inlife feeling in her heart that she was to be "somebody. " When but fouryears old, she would seat herself at the piano and play, though shedid not know one note from another, that the servant might see thatshe was a distinguished person! Her life was a happy one, as is shownin her _Brother and Sister Sonnet_:--

 "But were another childhood's world my share, I would be born a little sister there. "

At five, the mother being in poor health, the child was sent to aboarding-school with her sister, Chrissy, where she remained three orfour years. The older scholars petted her, calling her "little mamma. "At eight she went to a larger school, at Nuneaton, where one of theteachers, Miss Lewis, became her life-long friend. The child had thegreatest fondness for reading, her first book, a _Linnet's Life_, being tenderly cared for all her days. _Aesop's Fables_ were read andre-read. At this time a neighbor had loaned one of the Waverley novelsto the older sister, who returned it before Mary Ann had finishedit. Distressed at this break in the story, she began to write out asnearly as she could remember, the whole volume for herself. Her amazedfamily re-borrowed the book, and the child was happy. The mothersometimes protested against the use of so many candles for nightreading, and rightly feared that her eyes would be spoiled. 

At the next school, at Coventry, Mary Ann so surpassed her comradesthat they stood in awe of her, but managed to overcome this whena basket of dainties came in from the country home. In 1836 theexcellent mother died. Mary Ann wrote to a friend in after life, "Ibegan at sixteen to be acquainted with the unspeakable grief of a lastparting, in the death of my mother. " In the following spring Chrissywas married, and after a good cry with her brother over this breakingup of the home circle, Mary Ann took upon herself the householdduties, and became the care-taker instead of the school-girl. Althoughso young she took a leading part in the benevolent work of theneighborhood. 

Her love for books increased. She engaged a well-known teacher to comefrom Coventry and give her lessons in French, German, and Italian, while another helped her in music, of which she was passionately fond. Later, she studied Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Hebrew. Shut up inthe farm-house, hungering for knowledge, she applied herself witha persistency and earnestness that by-and-by were to bear theirlegitimate fruit. That she felt the privation of a collegiate courseis undoubted. She says in _Daniel Deronda_: "You may try, but you cannever imagine what it is to have a man's force of genius in you, andyet to suffer the slavery of being a girl. "

She did not neglect her household duties. One of her hands, whichwere noticeable for their beauty of shape, was broader than the other, which, she used to say with some pride, was owing to the butterand cheese she had made. At twenty she was reading the _Life ofWilberforce_, Josephus' _History of the Jews_, Spenser's _Faery Queen, Don Quixote_, Milton, Bacon, Mrs. Somerville's _Connection of thePhysical Sciences_, and Wordsworth. The latter was always an especialfavorite, and his life, by Frederick Myers in the _Men of Letters_series, was one of the last books she ever read. 

Already she was learning the illimitableness of knowledge. "For mypart, " she says, "I am ready to sit down and weep at the impossibilityof my understanding or barely knowing a fraction of the sum of objectsthat present themselves for our contemplation in books and in life. "

About this time Mr. Evans left the farm, and moved to Foleshill, nearCoventry. The poor people at Griff were very sorry, and said, "Weshall never have another Mary Ann Evans. " Marian, as she was nowcalled, found at Foleshill a few intellectual and companionablefriends, Mr. And Mrs. Bray, both authors, and Miss Hennell, theirsister. 

Through the influence of these friends she gave up some of herevangelical views, but she never ceased to be a devoted studentand lover of the Bible. She was happy in her communing with nature. "Delicious autumn, " she said. "My very soul is wedded to it, and ifI were a bird, I would fly about the earth, seeking the successiveautumns. .. . I have been revelling in Nichol's _Architecture, ofthe Heavens and Phenomena of the Solar System_, and have been inimagination winging my flight from system to system, from universe touniverse. "

In 1844, when Miss Evans was twenty-five years old, she began thetranslation of Strauss' _Life of Jesus_. The lady who was to marryMiss Hennell's brother had partially done the work, and asked MissEvans to finish it. For nearly three years she gave it all the time ather command, receiving only one hundred dollars for the labor. 

It was a difficult and weary work. "When I can work fast, " she said, "I am never weary, nor do I regret either that the work has been begunor that I have undertaken it. I am only inclined to vow that I willnever translate again, if I live to correct the sheets for Strauss. "When the book was finished, it was declared to be "A faithful, elegant, and scholarlike translation . .. Word for word, thought forthought, and sentence for sentence. " Strauss himself was delightedwith it. 

The days passed as usual in the quiet home. Now she and her father, the latter in failing health, visited the Isle of Wight, and sawbeautiful Alum Bay, with its "high precipice, the strata upheavedperpendicularly in rainbow, --like streaks of the brightest maize, violet, pink, blue, red, brown, and brilliant white, --worn by theweather into fantastic fretwork, the deep blue sky above, and theglorious sea below. " Who of us has not felt this same delight inlooking upon this picture, painted by nature?

Now Ralph Waldo Emerson, as well as other famous people, visited theBray family. Miss Evans writes: "I have seen Emerson, --the first _man_I have ever seen. " High praise indeed from our "great, calm soul, "as he called Miss Evans. "I am grateful for the Carlyle eulogium (onEmerson). I have shed some quite delicious tears over it. This isa world worth abiding in while one man can thus venerate and loveanother. "

Each evening she played on the piano to her admiring father, andfinally, through months of illness, carried him down tenderly to thegrave. He died May 31, 1849. 

Worn with care, Miss Evans went upon the Continent with the Brays, visiting Paris, Milan, the Italian lakes, and finally resting for somemonths at Geneva'. As her means were limited, she tried to sell her_Encyclopaedia Britannica_ at half-price, so that she could have moneyfor music lessons, and to attend a course of lectures on experimentalphysics, by the renowned Professor de la Rive. She was also carefullyreading socialistic themes, Proudhon, Rousseau, and others. She wroteto friends: "The days are really only two hours long, and I have somany things to do that I go to bed every night miserable because Ihave left out something I meant to do. .. . I take a dose of mathematicsevery day to prevent my brain from becoming quite soft. "

On her return to England, she visited the Brays, and met Mr. Chapman, the editor of the _Westminster Review_, and Mr. Mackay, upon whose_Progress of the Intellect_ she had just written a review. Mr. Chapmanmust have been deeply impressed with the learning and ability of MissEvans, for he offered her the position of assistant editor of themagazine, --a most unusual position for a woman, since its contributorswere Froude, Carlyle, John Stuart Mill, and other able men. 

Miss Evans accepted, and went to board with Mr. Chapman's family inLondon. How different this from the quiet life at Foleshill! The bestsociety, that is, the greatest in mind, opened wide its doors to her. Herbert Spencer, who had just published _Social Statics_, became one ofher best friends. Harriet Martineau came often to see her. Grote wasvery friendly. 

The woman-editor was now thirty-two; her massive head covered withbrown curls, blue-gray eyes, mobile, sympathetic mouth, strongchin, pale face, and soft, low voice, like Dorothea's in_Middlemarch_, --"the voice of a soul that has once lived in an Aeolianharp. " Mr. Bray thought that Miss Evans' head, after that of Napoleon, showed the largest development from brow to ear of any person'srecorded. 

She had extraordinary power of expression, and extraordinarypsychological powers, but her chief attraction was her universalsympathy. "She essentially resembled Socrates, " says Mathilde Blind, "in her manner of eliciting whatsoever capacity for thought mightbe latent in the people she came in contact with; were it only ashoemaker or day-laborer, she would never rest till she had found outin what points that particular man differed from other men of hisclass. She always rather educed what was in others than impressedherself on them; showing much kindliness of heart in drawing outpeople who were shy. Sympathy was the keynote of her nature, thesource of her iridescent humor, of her subtle knowledge of character, of her dramatic genius. " No person attains to permanent fame withoutsympathy. 

Miss Evans now found her heart and hands full of work. Her firstarticle was a review of Carlyle's _Life of John Sterling_. She wasfond of biography. She said: "We have often wished that genius wouldincline itself more frequently to the task of the biographer, that when some great or good person dies, instead of the drearythree-or-five volume compilation of letter and diary and detail, little to the purpose, which two-thirds of the public have not thechance, nor the other third the inclination, to read, we could havea real 'life, ' setting forth briefly and vividly the man's inward andoutward struggles, aims, and achievements, so as to make clear themeaning which his experience has for his fellows. 

"A few such lives (chiefly autobiographies) the world possesses, and they have, perhaps, been more influential on the formation ofcharacter than any other kind of reading. .. . It is a help to read sucha life as Margaret Fuller's. How inexpressibly touching that passagefrom her journal, 'I shall always reign through the intellect, but thelife! the life! O my God! shall that never be sweet?' I am thankful, as if for myself, that it was sweet at last. "

The great minds which Miss Evans met made life a constant joy, thoughshe was frail in health. Now Herbert Spencer took her to hear _WilliamTell_ or the _Creation_. She wrote of him: "We have agreed that weare not in love with each other, and that there is no reason why weshould not have as much of each other's society as we like. He is agood, delightful creature, and I always feel better for being withhim. .. . My brightest spot, next to my love of _old_ friends, is thedeliciously calm, _new_ friendship that Herbert Spencer gives me. We see each other every day, and have a delightful _camaraderie_ ineverything. But for him my life would be desolate enough. "

There is no telling what this happy friendship might have resulted in, if Mr. Spencer had not introduced to Miss Evans, George Henry Lewes, aman of brilliant conversational powers, who had written a _History ofPhilosophy_, two novels, _Ranthorpe_, and _Rose, Blanche, and Violet_, and was a contributor to several reviews. Mr. Lewes was a wittyand versatile man, a dramatic critic, an actor for a short time, unsuccessful as an editor of a newspaper, and unsuccessful in hisdomestic relations. 

That he loved Miss Evans is not strange; that she admired him, whileshe pitied him and his three sons in their broken home-life, isperhaps not strange. At first she did not like him, nor did MargaretFuller, but Miss Evans says: "Mr. Lewes is kind and attentive, and hasquite won my regard, after having had a good deal of my vituperation. Like a few other people in the world, he is much better than he seems. A man of heart and conscience wearing a mask of flippancy. "

Miss Evans tired of her hard work, as who does not in this workingworld? "I am bothered to death, " she writes, "with article-reading andscrap-work of all sorts; it is clear my poor head will never produceanything under these circumstances; _but I am patient_. .. . I hada long call from George Combe yesterday. He says he thinks the_Westminster_ under _my_ management the most important means ofenlightenment of a literary nature in existence; the _Edinburgh_, under Jeffrey, nothing to it, etc. I wish _I_ thought so too. "

Sick with continued headaches, she went up to the English lakes tovisit Miss Martineau. The coach, at half-past six in the evening, stopped at "The Knoll, " and a beaming face came to welcome her. Duringthe evening, she says, "Miss Martineau came behind me, put her handsround me, and kissed me in the prettiest way, telling me she was soglad she had got me here. "

Meantime Miss Evans was writing learned and valuable articles on_Taxation, Woman in France, Evangelical Teaching_, etc. She receivedfive hundred dollars yearly from her father's estate, but she livedsimply, that she might spend much of this for poor relations. 

In 1854 she resigned her position on the _Westminster_, and went withMr. Lewes to Germany, forming a union which thousands who love hermust regard as the great mistake of a very great life. 

Mr. Lewes was collecting materials for his _Life of Goethe_. This tookthem to Goethe's home at Weimar. "By the side of the bed, " she says, "stands a stuffed chair where he used to sit and read while he drankhis coffee in the morning. It was not until very late in his life thathe adopted the luxury of an armchair. From the other side of thestudy one enters the library, which is fitted up in a very make-shiftfashion, with rough deal shelves, and bits of paper, with Philosophy, History, etc. , written on them, to mark the classification of thebooks. Among such memorials one breathes deeply, and the tears rush toone's eyes. "

George Eliot met Liszt, and "for the first time in her life beheldreal inspiration, --for the first time heard the true tones of thepiano. " Rauch, the great sculptor, called upon them, and "won ourhearts by his beautiful person and the benignant and intelligent charmof his conversation. "

Both writers were hard at work. George Eliot was writing an articleon _Weimar_ for _Fraser_, on _Cumming_ for _Westminster_, andtranslating Spinoza's _Ethics_. No name was signed to theseproductions, as it would not do to have it known that a woman wrotethem. The education of most women was so meagre that the articleswould have been considered of little value. Happily Girton and Newnhamcolleges are changing this estimate of the sex. Women do not liketo be regarded as inferior; then they must educate themselves asthoroughly as the best men are educated. 

Mr. Lewes was not well. "This is a terrible trial to us poorscribblers, " she writes, "to whom health is money, as well as allother things worth having. " They had but one sitting-room betweenthem, and the scratching of another pen so affected her nerves, as todrive her nearly wild. Pecuniarily, life was a harder struggle thanever, for there were four more mouths to be fed, --Mr. Lewes' threesons and their mother. 

"Our life is intensely occupied, and the days are far too short, "she writes. They were reading in every spare moment, twelve plays ofShakespeare, Goethe's works, _Wilhelm Meister, Götz von Berlichingen, Hermann and Dorothea, Iphigenia, Wanderjahre, Italianische Reise_, and others; Heine's poems; Lessing's _Laocoön_ and _Nathan theWise_; Macaulay's _History of England_; Moore's _Life of Sheridan_;Brougham's _Lives of Men of Letters_; White's _History of Selborne_;Whewell's _History of Inductive Sciences_; Boswell; Carpenter's_Comparative Physiology_; Jones' _Animal Kingdom_; Alison's _Historyof Europe_; Kahnis' _History of German Protestantism_; Schrader's_German Mythology_; Kingsley's _Greek Heroes_; and the _Iliad_ and_Odyssey_ in the original. She says, "If you want delightful reading, get Lowell's _My Study Windows_, and read the essays called _My GardenAcquaintances_ and _Winter_. " No wonder they were busy. 

On their return from Germany they went to the sea-shore, that Mr. Lewes might perfect his _Sea-side Studies_. George Eliot enteredheartily into the work. "We were immensely excited, " she says, "by thediscovery of this little red mesembryanthemum. It was a _crescendo_ ofdelight when we found a 'strawberry, ' and a _fortissimo_ when I, forthe first time, saw the pale, fawn-colored tentacles of an _Antheacereus_ viciously waving like little serpents in a low-tide pool. "They read here Gosse's _Rambles on the Devonshire Coast_, Edward's_Zoology_, Harvey's sea-side book, and other scientific works. 

And now at thirty-seven George Eliot was to begin her creative work. Mr. Lewes had often said to her, "You have wit, description, andphilosophy--those go a good way towards the production of a novel. ""It had always been a vague dream of mine, " she says, "that sometimeor other I might write a novel . .. But I never went further towardthe actual writing than an introductory chapter, describing aStaffordshire village, and the life of the neighboring farm-houses;and as the years passed on I lost any hope that. I should ever beable to write a novel, just as I desponded about everything else in myfuture life. I always thought I was deficient in dramatic power, bothof construction and dialogue, but I felt I should be at my ease in thedescriptive parts. "

After she had written a portion of _Amos Barton_ in her _Scenes ofClerical Life_, she read it to Mr. Lewes, who told her that now hewas sure she could write good dialogue, but not as yet sure about herpathos. One evening, in his absence, she wrote the scene describingMilly's death, and read it to Mr. Lewes, on his return. "We both criedover it, " she says, "and then he came up to me and kissed me, saying, 'I think your pathos is better than your fun!'"

Mr. Lewes sent the story to Blackwood, with the signature of "GeorgeEliot, "--the first name chosen because it was his own name, and thelast because it pleased her fancy. Mr. Lewes wrote that this storyby a friend of his, showed, according to his judgment, "such humor, pathos, vivid presentation, and nice observation as have not beenexhibited, in this style, since the _Vicar of Wakefield_. "

Mr. John Blackwood accepted the story, but made some comments whichdiscouraged the author from trying another. Mr. Lewes wrote him theeffects of his words, which he hastened to withdraw, as there was somuch to be said in praise that he really desired more stories from thesame pen, and sent her a check for two hundred and fifty dollars. 

This was evidently soothing, as _Mr. Gilfil's Love Story_ and _Janet'sRepentance_ were at once written. Much interest began to be expressedabout the author. Some said Bulwer wrote the sketches. Thackeraypraised them, and Arthur Helps said, "He is a great writer. " Copies ofthe stories bound together, with the title _Scenes of ClericalLife_, were sent to Froude, Dickens, Thackeray, Tennyson, Ruskin, andFaraday. Dickens praised the humor and the pathos, and thought theauthor was a woman. 

Jane Welch Carlyle thought it "a _human_ book, written out of theheart of a live man, not merely out of the brain of an author, fullof tenderness and pathos, without a scrap of sentimentality, of sensewithout dogmatism, of earnestness without twaddle--a book that makesone feel friends at once and for always with the man or woman whowrote it. " She guessed the author was "a man of middle age, with awife, from whom he has got those beautiful _feminine_ touches in hisbook, a good many children, and a dog that he has as much fondness foras I have for my little Nero. "

Mr. Lewes was delighted, and said, "Her fame is beginning. " GeorgeEliot was growing happier, for her nature had been somewhatdespondent. She used to say, "Expecting disappointments is the onlyform of hope with which I am familiar. " She said, "I feel a deepsatisfaction in having done a bit of faithful work that will perhapsremain, like a primrose-root in the hedgerow, and gladden and chastenhuman hearts in years to come. " "'Conscience goes to the hammeringin of nails' is my gospel, " she would say. "Writing is part of myreligion, and I can write no word that is not prompted from within. At the same time I believe that almost all the best books in the worldhave been written with the hope of getting money for them. "

"My life has deepened unspeakably during the last year: I feel agreater capacity for moral and intellectual enjoyment, a more acutesense of my deficiencies in the past, a more solemn desire to befaithful to coming duties. "

For _Scenes of Clerical Life_ she received six hundred dollars for thefirst edition, and much more after her other books appeared. 

And now another work, a longer one, was growing in her mind, _AdamBede_, the germ of which, she says, was an anecdote told her by heraunt, Elizabeth Evans, the Dinah Morris of the book. A very ignorantgirl had murdered her child, and refused to confess it. Mrs. Evans, who was a Methodist preacher, stayed with her all night, praying withher, and at last she burst into tears and confessed her crime. Mrs. Evans went with her in the cart to the place of execution, andministered to the unhappy girl till death came. 

When the first pages of _Adam Bede_ were shown to Mr. Blackwood, he said, "That will do. " George Eliot and Mr. Lewes went to Munich, Dresden, and Vienna for rest and change, and she prepared much of thebook in this time. When it was finished, she wrote on the manuscript, _Jubilate_. "To my dear husband, George Henry Lewes, I give the Ms. Ofa work which would never have been written but for the happiness whichhis love has conferred on my life. "

For this novel she received four thousand dollars for the copyrightfor four years. Fame had actually come. All the literary world weretalking about it. John Murray said there had never been such a book. Charles Reade said, putting his finger on Lisbeth's account of hercoming home with her husband from their marriage, "the finest thingsince Shakespeare. " A workingman wrote: "Forgive me, dear sir, myboldness in asking you to give us a cheap edition. You would confer onus a great boon. I can get plenty of trash for a few pence, but I amsick of it. " Mr. Charles Buxton said, in the House of Commons: "As thefarmer's wife says in _Adam Bede_, 'It wants to be hatched over againand hatched different. '" This of course greatly helped to popularizethe book. 

To George Eliot all this was cause for the deepest gratitude. Theywere able now to rent a home at Wandworth, and move to it at once. The poverty and the drudgery of life seemed over. She said: "I sing mymagnificat in a quiet way, and have a great deal of deep, silent joy;but few authors, I suppose, who have had a real success, have knownless of the flush and the sensations of triumph that are talked of asthe accompaniments of success. I often think of my dreams when I wasfour or five and twenty. I thought then how happy fame would makeme. .. . I am assured now that _Adam Bede_ was worth writing, --worthliving through those long years to write. But now it seems impossiblethat I shall ever write anything so good and true again. " Up to thistime the world did not know who George Eliot was; but as a man bythe name of Liggins laid claim to the authorship, and tried to borrowmoney for his needs because Blackwood would not pay him, the real nameof the author had to be divulged. 

Five thousand copies of _Adam Bede_ were sold the first two weeks, andsixteen thousand the first year. So excellent was the sale that Mr. Blackwood sent her four thousand dollars in addition to the firstfour. The work was soon translated into French, German, and Hungarian. Mr. Lewes' _Physiology of Common Life_ was now published, but itbrought little pecuniary return. 

The reading was carried on as usual by the two students. The _Lifeof George Stephenson_; the _Electra_ of Sophocles; the _Agamemnon_ ofAeschylus, Harriet Martineau's _British Empire in India_; and _Historyof the Thirty Years' Peace_; Béranger, _Modern Painters_, containingsome of the finest writing of the age; Overbech on Greek art; AnnaMary Howitt's book on Munich; Carlyle's _Life of Frederick the Great_;Darwin's _Origin of Species_; Emerson's _Man the Reformer_, "whichcomes to me with fresh beauty and meaning"; Buckle's _History ofCivilization_; Plato and Aristotle. 

An American publisher now offered her six thousand dollars for a book, but she was obliged to decline, for she was writing the _Mill on theFloss_, in 1860, for which Blackwood gave her ten thousand dollarsfor the first edition of four thousand copies, and Harper & Brothersfifteen hundred dollars for using it also. Tauchnitz paid her fivehundred for the German reprint. 

She said: "I am grateful and yet rather sad to have finished; sad thatI shall live with my people on the banks of the Floss no longer. Butit is time that I should go, and absorb some new life and gather freshideas. " They went at once to Italy, where they spent several months inFlorence, Venice, and Rome. 

In the former city she made her studies for her great novel, _Romola_. She read Sismondi's _History of the Italian Republics_, Tenneman's_History of Philosophy_, T. A. Trollope's _Beata_, Hallam on the _Studyof Roman Law in the Middle Ages_, Gibbon on the _Revival of GreekLearning_, Burlamachi's _Life of Savonarola_; also Villari's lifeof the great preacher, Mrs. Jameson's _Sacred and Legendary Art_, Machiavelli's works, Petrarch's Letters, _Casa Guidi Windows_, Buhle's_History of Modern Philosophy_, Story's _Roba di Roma_, Liddell's_Rome_, Gibbon, Mosheim, and one might almost say the whole range ofItalian literature in the original. Of Mommsen's _History of Rome_she said, "It is so fine that I count all minds graceless who read itwithout the deepest stirrings. "

The study necessary to make one familiar with fifteenth century timeswas almost limitless. No wonder she told Mr. Cross, years afterward, "I began _Romola_ a young woman, I finished it an old woman"; butthat, with _Adam Bede_ and _Middlemarch_, will be her monument. "Whatcourage and patience, " she says, "are wanted for every life thataims to produce anything!" "In authorship I hold carelessness to bea mortal sin. " "I took unspeakable pains in preparing to write_Romola_. "

For this one book, on which she spent a year and a half, _CornhillMagazine_ paid her the small fortune of thirty-five thousand dollars. She purchased a pleasant home, "The Priory, " Regent's Park, where shemade her friends welcome, though she never made calls upon any, forlack of time. She had found, like Victor Hugo, that time is a veryprecious thing for those who wish to succeed in life. Browning, Huxley, and Herbert Spencer often came to dine. 

Says Mr. Cross, in his admirable life: "The entertainment wasfrequently varied by music when any good performer happened to bepresent. I think, however, that the majority of visitors delightedchiefly to come for the chance of a few words with George Eliotalone. When the drawing-room door of the Priory opened, a first glancerevealed her always in the same low arm-chair on the left-hand sideof the fire. On entering, a visitor's eye was at once arrested by themassive head. The abundant hair, streaked with gray now, was drapedwith lace, arranged mantilla fashion, coming to a point at the topof the forehead. If she were engaged in conversation, her body wasusually bent forward with eager, anxious desire to get as close aspossible to the person with whom she talked. She had a greatdislike to raising her voice, and often became so wholly absorbed inconversation that the announcement of an in-coming visitor failed toattract her attention; but the moment the eyes were lifted up, andrecognized a friend, they smiled a rare welcome--sincere, cordial, grave--a welcome that was felt to come straight from the heart, notgraduated according to any social distinction. "

After much reading of Fawcett, Mill, and other writers on politicaleconomy, _Felix Holt_ was written, in 1866, and for this she receivedfrom Blackwood twenty-five thousand dollars. 

Very much worn with her work, though Mr. Lewes relieved her in everyway possible, by writing letters and looking over all criticisms ofher books, which she never read, she was obliged to go to Germany forrest. 

In 1868 she published her long poem, _The Spanish Gypsy_, readingSpanish literature carefully, and finally passing some time in Spain, that she might be the better able to make a lasting work. Had shegiven her life to poetry, doubtless she would have been a great poet. 

_Silas Marner_, written before _Romola_, in 1861, had been wellreceived, and _Middlemarch_, in 1872, made a great sensation. It wastranslated into several languages. George Bancroft wrote her fromBerlin that everybody was reading it. For this she received a muchlarger sum than the thirty-five thousand which she was paid for_Romola_. 

A home was now purchased in Surrey, with eight or nine acres ofpleasure grounds, for George Eliot had always longed for trees andflowers about her house. "Sunlight and sweet air, " she said, "make anew creature of me. " _Daniel Deronda_ followed in 1876, for which, itis said, she read nearly a thousand volumes. Whether this be trueor not, the list of books given in her life, of her reading in theselater years, is as astonishing as it is helpful for any who desirereal knowledge. 

At Witley, in Surrey, they lived a quiet life, seeing only a fewfriends like the Tennysons, the Du Mauriers, and Sir Henry and LadyHolland. Both were growing older, and Mr. Lewes was in very poorhealth. Finally, after a ten days' illness, he died, Nov. 28, 1878. 

To George Eliot this loss was immeasurable. She needed his help andhis affection. She said, "I like not only to be loved, but also tobe told that I am loved, " and he had idolized her. He said: "I oweSpencer a debt of gratitude. It was through him that I learned to knowMarian, --to know her was to love her, and since then, my life has beena new birth. To her I owe all my prosperity and all my happiness. Godbless her!"

Mr. John Walter Cross, for some time a wealthy banker in New York, hadlong been a friend of the family, and though many years younger thanGeorge Eliot, became her helper in these days of need. A George HenryLewes studentship, of the value of one thousand dollars yearly, was tobe given to Cambridge for some worthy student of either sex, in memoryof the man she had loved. "I want to live a little time that I may docertain things for his sake, " she said. She grew despondent, and theCross family used every means to win her away from her sorrow. 

Mr. Cross' mother, to whom he was devotedly attached, had also died, and the loneliness of both made their companionship more comforting. They read Dante together in the original, and gradually the youngerman found that his heart was deeply interested. It was the higher kindof love, the honor of mind for mind and soul for soul. 

"I shall be, " she said, "a better, more loving creature than I couldhave been in solitude. To be constantly, lovingly grateful for thisgift of a perfect love is the best illumination of one's mind to allthe possible good there may be in store for man on this troublouslittle planet. "

Mr. Cross and George Eliot were married, May 6, 1880, a year and ahalf after Mr. Lewes' death, his son Charles giving her away, and wentat once to Italy. She wrote: "Marriage has seemed to restore me to myold self. .. . To feel daily the loveliness of a nature close to me, andto feel grateful for it, is the fountain of tenderness and strengthto endure. " Having passed through a severe illness, she wrote to afriend: "I have been cared for by something much better than angelictenderness. .. . If it is any good for me that my life has beenprolonged till now, I believe it is owing to this miraculous affectionthat has chosen to watch over me. "

She did not forget Mr. Lewes. In looking upon the Grande Chartreuse, she said, "I would still give up my own life willingly, if he couldhave the happiness instead of me. "

On their return to London, they made their winter home at 4 CheyneWalk, Chelsea, a plain brick house. The days were gliding by happily. George Eliot was interested as ever in all great subjects, giving fivehundred dollars for woman's higher education at Girton College, andhelping many a struggling author, or providing for some poor friend ofearly times who was proud to be remembered. 

She and Mr. Cross began their reading for the day with the Bible, sheespecially enjoying Isaiah, Jeremiah, and St. Paul's Epistles. Thenthey read Max Muller's works, Shakespeare, Milton, Scott, and whateverwas best in English, French, and German literature. Milton she calledher demigod. Her husband says she had "a limitless persistency inapplication. " Her health was better, and she gave promise of doingmore great work. When urged to write her autobiography, she said, halfsighing and half smiling: "The only thing I should care much to dwellon would be the absolute despair I suffered from, of ever being ableto achieve anything. No one could ever have felt greater despair, anda knowledge of this might be a help to some other struggler. "

Friday afternoon, Dec. 17, she went to see _Agamemnon_ performed inGreek by Oxford students, and the next afternoon to a concert at St. James Hall. She took cold, and on Monday was treated for sore throat. On Wednesday evening the doctors came, and she whispered to herhusband, "Tell them I have great pain in the left side. " This wasthe last word. She died with every faculty bright, and her heartresponsive to all noble things. 

She loved knowledge to the end. She said, "My constant groan is thatI must leave so much of the greatest writing which the centuries havesifted for me, unread for want of time. "

She had the broadest charity for those whose views differed fromhers. She said, "The best lesson of tolerance we have to learn, is totolerate intolerance. " She hoped for and "looked forward to the timewhen the impulse to help our fellows shall be as immediate and asirresistible as that which I feel to grasp something firm if I amfalling. "

One Sunday afternoon I went to her grave in Highgate Cemetery, London. A gray granite shaft, about twenty-five feet high, stands above it, with these beautiful words from her great poem:--

 "O may I join the choir invisible, Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence. "

 HERE LIES THE BODY OF GEORGE ELIOT, MARY ANN CROSS. 

 BORN, 22d NOVEMBER, 1819; DIED, 22d DECEMBER, 1880. 

A stone coping is around this grave, and bouquets of yellow crocusesand hyacinths lie upon it. Next to her grave is a horizontal slab, with the name of George Henry Lewes upon the stone. 

ELIZABETH FRY. 

[Illustration: My attached and obliged friend Elizabeth Fry]

When a woman of beauty, great wealth, and the highest social position, devotes her life to the lifting of the lowly and the criminal, andpreaches the Gospel from the north of Scotland to the south of France, it is not strange that the world admires, and that books are writtenin praise of her. Unselfishness makes a rare and radiant life, andthis was the crowning beauty of the life of Elizabeth Fry. 

Born in Norwich, England, May 21, 1780, Elizabeth was the thirddaughter of Mr. John Gurney, a wealthy London merchant. Mrs. Gurney, the mother, a descendant of the Barclays of Ury, was a woman of muchpersonal beauty, singularly intellectual for those times, making herhome a place where literary and scientific people loved to gather. 

Elizabeth wellnigh idolized her mother, and used often to cry aftergoing to bed, lest death should take away the precious parent. In thedaytime, when the mother, not very robust, would sometimes lie downto rest, the child would creep to the bedside and watch tenderly andanxiously, to see if she were breathing. Well might Mrs. Gurney say, "My dove-like Betsy scarcely ever offends, and is, in every sense of the word, truly engaging. "

Mrs. Fry wrote years afterward: "My mother was most dear to me, andthe walks she took with me in the old-fashioned garden are as freshwith me as if only just passed, and her telling me about Adam and Evebeing driven out of Paradise. I always considered it must be justlike our garden. .. . I remember with pleasure my mother's beds of wildflowers, which, with delight, I used as a child to attend with her; itgave me that pleasure in observing their beauties and varieties that, though I never have had time to become a botanist, few can imagine, inmy many journeys, how I have been pleased and refreshed by observingand enjoying the wild flowers on my way. "

The home, Earlham Hall, was one of much beauty and elegance, a seat ofthe Bacon family. The large house stood in the centre of a well-woodedpark, the river Wensum flowing through it. On the south front of thehouse was a large lawn, flanked by great trees, underneath which wildflowers grew in profusion. The views about the house were so artisticthat artists often came there to sketch. 

In this restful and happy home, after a brief illness, Mrs. Gurneydied in early womanhood, leaving eleven children, all young, thesmallest but two years old. Elizabeth was twelve, old enough to feelthe irreparable loss. To the day of her death the memory of this timewas extremely sad. 

She was a nervous and sensitive child, afraid of the dark, beggingthat a light be left in her room, and equally afraid to bathe inthe sea. Her feelings were regarded as the whims of a child, and hernervous system was injured in consequence. She always felt the lack ofwisdom in "hardening" children, and said, "I am now of opinion that myfear would have been much more subdued, and great suffering spared, by its having been still more yielded to: by having a light left in myroom, not being long left alone, and never forced to bathe. "

After her marriage she guided her children rather than attempt "tobreak their wills, " and lived to see happy results from the good senseand Christian principle involved in such guiding. In her prison workshe used the least possible governing, winning control by kindness andgentleness. 

Elizabeth grew to young womanhood, with pleasing manners, slight andgraceful in body, with a profusion of soft flaxen hair, and a bright, intelligent face. Her mind was quick, penetrating, and original. Shewas a skilful rider on horseback, and made a fine impression in herscarlet riding-habit, for, while her family were Quakers, they did notadopt the gray dress. 

She was attractive in society and much admired. She writes in herjournal: "Company at dinner; I must beware of not being a flirt, it isan abominable character; I hope I shall never be one, and yet I fear Iam one now a little. .. . I think I am by degrees losing many excellentqualities. I lay it to my great love of gayety, and the world. .. . I amnow seventeen, and if some kind and great circumstance does not happento me, I shall have my talents devoured by moth and rust. They willlose their brightness, and one day they will prove a curse instead ofa blessing. "

Before she was eighteen, William Savery, an American friend, came toEngland to spend two years in the British Isles, preaching. The sevenbeautiful Gurney sisters went to hear him, and sat on the front seat, Elizabeth, "with her smart boots, purple, laced with scarlet. "

As the preacher proceeded, she was greatly moved, weeping during theservice, and nearly all the way home. She had been thrown much amongthose who were Deists in thought, and this gospel-message seemed arevelation to her. 

The next morning Mr. Savery came to Earlham Hall to breakfast. "Fromthis day, " say her daughters, in their interesting memoir of theirmother, "her love of pleasure and the world seemed gone. " She, herself, said, in her last illness, "Since my heart was touched, atthe age of seventeen, I believe I never have awakened from sleep, insickness or in health, by day or by night, without my first wakingthought being, how best I might serve my Lord. "

Soon after she visited London, that she might, as she said, "try allthings" and choose for herself what appeared to her "to be good. " Shewrote:

"I went to Drury Lane in the evening. I must own I was extremelydisappointed; to be sure, the house is grand and dazzling; but Ihad no other feeling whilst there than that of wishing it over. .. . Icalled on Mrs. Siddons, who was not at home; then on Mrs. Twiss, whogave me some paint for the evening. I was painted a little, I had myhair dressed, and did look pretty for me. "

On her return to Earlham Hall she found that the London pleasure hadnot been satisfying. She says, "I wholly gave up on my own ground, attending all places of public amusement; I saw they tended to promoteevil; therefore, if I could attend them without being hurt myself, Ifelt in entering them I lent my aid to promote that which I was surefrom what I saw hurt others. "

She was also much exercised about dancing, thinking, while "in afamily, it may be of use by the bodily exercise, " that "the more thepleasures of life are given up, the less we love the world, and ourhearts will be set upon better things. "

The heretofore fashionable young girl began to visit the poor and thesick in the neighborhood, and at last decided to open a school forpoor children. Only one boy came at first; but soon she had seventy. She lost none of her good cheer and charming manner, but rather grewmore charming. She cultivated her mind as well, reading logic, --Wattson Judgment, Lavater, etc. 

The rules of life which she wrote for herself at eighteen are worthcopying: "First, --Never lose any time; I do not think that lost whichis spent in amusement or recreation some time every day; but always bein the habit of being employed. Second, --Never err the least in truth. Third, --Never say an ill thing of a person when I can say a good thingof him; not only speak charitably, but feel so. Fourth, --Never beirritable or unkind to anybody. Fifth, --Never indulge myselfin luxuries that are not necessary. Sixth, --Do all things withconsideration, and when my path to act right is most difficult, putconfidence in that Power alone which is able to assist me, and exertmy own powers as far as they go. "

Gradually she laid aside all jewelry, then began to dress in quietcolors, and finally adopted the Quaker garb, feeling that she coulddo more good in it. At first her course did not altogether please herfamily, but they lived to idolize and bless her for her doings, and tothankfully enjoy her worldwide fame. 

At twenty she received an offer of marriage from a wealthy Londonmerchant, Mr. Joseph Fry. She hesitated for some time, lest her activeduties in the church should conflict with the cares of a home of herown. She said, "My most anxious wish is, that I may not hinder myspiritual welfare, which I have so much feared as to make me oftendoubt if marriage were a desirable thing for me at this time, or eventhe thoughts of it. "

However, she was soon married, and a happy life resulted. For mostwomen this marriage, which made her the mother of eleven children, would have made all public work impossible; but to a woman ofElizabeth Fry's strong character nothing seemed impossible. Whethershe would have accomplished more for the world had she remainedunmarried, no one can tell. 

Her husband's parents were "plain, consistent friends, " and his sisterbecame especially congenial to the young bride. A large and airy housewas taken in London, St. Mildred's Court, which became a centre for"Friends" in both Great Britain and America. 

With all her wealth and her fondness for her family, she wrote in herjournal, "I have been married eight years yesterday; various trialsof faith and patience have been permitted me; my course has been verydifferent to what I had expected; instead of being, as I had hoped, a useful instrument in the Church Militant, here I am a carewornwife and mother outwardly, nearly devoted to the things of this life;though at times this difference in my destination has been tryingto me, yet I believe those trials (which have certainly been verypinching) that I have had to go through have been very useful, andhave brought me to a feeling sense of what I am; and at the same timehave taught me where power is, and in what we are to glory; not inourselves nor in anything we can be or do, but we are alone to desirethat He may be glorified, either through us or others, in our beingsomething or nothing, as He may see best for us. "

After eleven years the Fry family moved to a beautiful home in thecountry at Plashet. Changes had come in those eleven years. The fatherhad died; one sister had married Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, and sheherself had been made a "minister" by the Society of Friends. Whileher hands were very full with the care of her seven children, she hadyet found time to do much outside Christian work. 

Naturally shrinking, she says, "I find it an awful thing to riseamongst a large assembly, and, unless much covered with love andpower, hardly know how to venture. " But she seemed always to be"covered with love and power, " for she prayed much and studied herBible closely, and her preaching seemed to melt alike crowned headsand criminals in chains. 

Opposite the Plashet House, with its great trees and flowers, was adilapidated building occupied by an aged man and his sister. They hadonce been well-to-do, but were now very poor, earning a pittance byselling rabbits. The sister, shy and sorrowful from their reducedcircumstances, was nearly inaccessible, but Mrs. Fry won her way toher heart. Then she asked how they would like to have a girls' schoolin a big room attached to the building. They consented, and soonseventy poor girls were in attendance. 

"She had, " says a friend, "the gentlest touch with children. She wouldwin their hearts, if they had never seen her before, almost at thefirst glance, and by the first sound of her musical voice. "

Then the young wife, now thirty-one, established a depot of calicoesand flannels for the poor, with a room full of drugs, and anotherdepartment where good soup was prepared all through the hard winters. She would go into the "Irish Colony, " taking her two older daughterswith her, that they might learn the sweetness of benevolence, "threading her way through children and pigs, up broken staircases, and by narrow passages; then she would listen to their tales of wantand woe. "

Now she would find a young mother dead, with a paper cross pinned uponher breast; now she visited a Gypsy camp to care for a sick child, andgive them Bibles. Each year when the camp returned to Plashet, theirchief pleasure was the visits of the lovely Quaker. Blessings on thee, beautiful Elizabeth Fry!

She now began to assist in the public meetings near London, but withsome hesitation, as it took her from home; but after an absence of twoweeks, she found her household "in very comfortable order; and so farfrom having suffered in my absence, it appears as if a better blessinghad attended them than common. "

She did not forget her home interests. One of her servants being ill, she watched by his bedside till he died. When she talked with him ofthe world to come, he said, "God bless you, ma'am. " She said, "Thereis no set of people I feel so much about as servants, as I do notthink they have generally justice done to them; they are too muchconsidered as another race of beings, and we are apt to forget thatthe holy injunction holds good with them, 'Do as thou wouldst be doneunto. '"

She who could dine with kings and queens, felt as regards servants, "that in the best sense we are all one, and though our paths here maybe different, we have all souls equally valuable, and have all thesame work to do; which, if properly considered, should lead usto great sympathy and love, and also to a constant care for theirwelfare, both here and hereafter. "

When she was thirty-three, having moved to London for the winter, she began her remarkable work in Newgate prison. The condition ofprisoners was pitiable in the extreme. She found three hundred women, with their numerous children, huddled together, with no classificationbetween the most and least depraved, without employment, in rags anddirt, and sleeping on the floor with no bedding, the boards simplybeing raised for a sort of pillow. Liquors were purchased openly at abar in the prison; and swearing, gambling, obscenity, and pulling eachother's hair were common. The walls, both in the men's and women'sdepartments, were hung with chains and fetters. 

When Mrs. Fry and two or three friends first visited the prison, the superintendent advised that they lay aside their watches beforeentering, which they declined to do. Mrs. Fry did not fear, nor needshe, with her benign presence. 

On her second visit she asked to be left alone with the women, andread to them the tenth chapter of Matthew, making a few observationson Christ's having come to save sinners. Some of the women asked whoChrist was. Who shall forgive us for such ignorance in our very midst?

The children were almost naked, and ill from want of food, air, andexercise. Mrs. Fry told them that she would start a school for theirchildren, which announcement was received with tears of joy. Sheasked that they select one from their own number for a governess. MaryConner was chosen, a girl who had been put in prison for stealing awatch. So changed did the girl become under this new responsibility, that she was never known to infringe a rule of the prison. Afterfifteen months she was released, but died soon after of consumption. 

When the school was opened for all under twenty-five, "the railingwas crowded with half-naked women, struggling together for the frontsituations, with the most boisterous violence, and begging with theutmost vociferation. "

Mrs. Fry saw at once the need of these women being occupied, but theidea that these people could be induced to work was laughed at, asvisionary, by the officials. They said the work would be destroyed orstolen at once. But the good woman did not rest till an association oftwelve persons was formed for the "Improvement of the Female Prisonersof Newgate"; "to provide for the clothing, the instruction, and theemployment of the women; to introduce them to a knowledge of the HolyScriptures; and to form in them, as much as possible, those habitsof order, sobriety, and industry, which may render them docile andpeaceable whilst in prison, and respectable when they leave it. "

It was decided that Botany Bay could be supplied with stockings, andindeed with all the articles needed by convicts, through the workof these women. A room was at once made ready, and matrons wereappointed. A portion of the earnings was to be given the women forthemselves and their children. In ten months they made twenty thousandarticles of wearing apparel, and knit from sixty to one hundred pairsof stockings every month. The Bible was read to them twice each day. They received marks for good behavior, and were as pleased as childrenwith the small prizes given them. 

One of the girls who received a prize of clothing came to Mrs. Fry, and "hoped she would excuse her for being so forward, but if shemight say it, she felt exceedingly disappointed; she little thought ofhaving clothing given to her, but she had hoped I would have given hera Bible, that she might read the Scriptures herself. "

No woman was ever punished under Mrs. Fry's management. They said, "it would be more terrible to be brought up before her than before thejudge. " When she told them she hoped they would not play cards, fivepacks were at once brought to her and burned. 

The place was now so orderly and quiet, that "Newgate had becomealmost a show; the statesman and the noble, the city functionary andthe foreign traveller, the high-bred gentlewoman, the clergyman andthe dissenting minister, flocked to witness the extraordinary change, "and to listen to Mrs. Fry's beautiful Bible readings. 

Letters poured in from all parts of the country, asking her to cometo their prisons for a similar work, or to teach others how to work. A committee of the House of Commons summoned her before them to learnher suggestions, and to hear of her methods; and later the House ofLords. 

Of course the name of Elizabeth Fry became known everywhere. QueenVictoria gave her audience, and when she appeared in public, everybodywas eager to look at her. The newspapers spoke of her in the highestpraise. Yet with a beautiful spirit she writes in her journal, "Iam ready to say in the fulness of my heart, surely 'it is the Lord'sdoing, and marvellous in our eyes'; so many are the providentialopenings of various kinds. Oh! if good should result, may the praiseand glory of the whole be entirely given where it is due by us, and byall, in deep humiliation and prostration of spirit. "

Mrs. Fry's heart was constantly burdened with the scenes shewitnessed. The penal laws were a caricature on justice. Men and womenwere hanged for theft, forgery, passing counterfeit money, and foralmost every kind of fraud. One young woman, with a babe in herarms, was hanged for stealing a piece of cloth worth one dollar andtwenty-five cents! Another was hanged for taking food to keep herselfand little child from starving. It was no uncommon thing to see womenhanging from the gibbet at Newgate, because they had passed a forgedone-pound note (five dollars). 

George Cruikshank in 1818 was so moved at one of these executions thathe made a picture which represented eight men and three women hangingfrom the gallows, and a rope coiled around the faces of twelve others. Across the picture were the words, "I promise to perform during theissue of Bank-notes easily imitated . .. For the Governors and Companyof the Bank of England. "

He called the picture a "Bank-note, not to be imitated. " It at oncecreated a great sensation. Crowds blocked the street in front ofthe shop where it was hung. The pictures were in such demand thatCruikshank sat up all night to etch another plate. The Gurneys, Wilberforce, Sir Samuel Romilly, Sir James Mackintosh, all workedvigorously against capital punishment, save, possibly, for murder. 

Among those who were to be executed was Harriet Skelton, who, for theman she loved, had passed forged notes. She was singularly open inface and manner, confiding, and well-behaved. When she was condemnedto death, it was a surprise and horror to all who knew her. Mrs. Frywas deeply interested. Noblemen went to see her in her damp, darkcell, which was guarded by a heavy iron door. The Duke of Gloucesterwent with Mrs. Fry to the Directors of the Bank of England, and toLord Sidmouth, to plead for her, but their hearts were not to bemoved, and the poor young girl was hanged. The public was enthusiasticin its applause for Mrs. Fry, and unsparing in its denunciation ofSidmouth. At last the obnoxious laws were changed. 

Mrs. Fry was heartily opposed to capital punishment. She said, "Ithardens the hearts of men, and makes the loss of life appear lightto them"; it does not lead to reformation, and "does not deter othersfrom crime, because the crimes subject to capital punishment aregradually increasing. "

When the world is more civilized than it is to-day, when we haveclosed the open saloon, that is the direct cause of nearly all themurders, then we shall probably do away with hanging; or, if men andwomen must be killed for the safety of society, a thing not easilyproven, it will be done in the most humane manner, by chloroform. 

Mrs. Fry was likewise strongly opposed to solitary confinement, which usually makes the subject a mental wreck, and, as regards moralaction, an imbecile. How wonderfully in advance of her age was thisgifted woman!

Mrs. Fry's thoughts now turned to another evil. When the womenprisoners were transported to New South Wales, they were carriedto the ships in open carts, the crowd jeering. She prevailed upongovernment to have them carried in coaches, and promised that shewould go with them. When on board the ship, she knelt on the deck andprayed with them as they were going into banishment, and then badethem a tender good by. Truly woman can be an angel of light. 

Says Captain Martin, "Who could resist this beautiful, persuasive, andheavenly-minded woman? To see her was to love her; to hear her wasto feel as if a guardian angel had bid you follow that teaching whichcould alone subdue the temptations and evils of this life, and securea Redeemer's love in eternity. "

At this time Mrs. Fry and her brother Joseph visited Scotland and thenorth of England to ascertain the condition of the prisons. They foundmuch that was inhuman; insane persons in prison, eighteen months indungeons! Debtors confined night and day in dark, filthy cells, andnever leaving them; men chained to the walls of their cells, or torings in the floor, or with their limbs stretched apart till theyfainted in agony; women with chains on hands, and feet, and body, while they slept on bundles of straw. On their return a book waspublished, which did much to arouse England. 

Mrs. Fry was not yet forty, but her work was known round the world. The authorities of Russia, at the desire of the Empress, wrote Mrs. Fry as to the best plans for the St. Petersburg lunatic asylum andtreatment of the inmates, and her suggestions were carried out to theletter. 

Letters came from Amsterdam, Denmark, Paris, and elsewhere, askingcounsel. The correspondence became so great that two of her daughterswere obliged to attend to it. 

Again she travelled all over England, forming "Ladies' PrisonAssociations, " which should not only look after the inmates ofprisons, but aid them to obtain work when they were discharged, or "soprovide for them that stealing should not seem a necessity. "

About this time, 1828, one of the houses in which her husband wasa partner failed, "which involved Elizabeth Fry and her family in atrain of sorrows and perplexities which tinged the remaining years ofher life. "

They sold the house at Plashet, and moved again to Mildred Court, nowthe home of one of their sons. Her wealthy brothers and her childrensoon re-established the parents in comfort. 

She now became deeply interested in the five hundred Coast-Guardstations in the United Kingdom, where the men and their families leda lonely life. Partly by private contributions and partly throughthe aid of government, she obtained enough money to buy more thantwenty-five thousand volumes for libraries at these stations. Theletters of gratitude were a sufficient reward for the hard work. Shealso obtained small libraries for all the packets that sailed fromFalmouth. 

In 1837, with some friends, she visited Paris, making a detailedexamination of its prisons. Guizot entertained her, the Duchess deBroglie, M. De Pressensé, and others paid her much attention. TheKing and Queen sent for her, and had an earnest talk. At Nismes, wherethere were twelve hundred prisoners, she visited the cells, andwhen five armed soldiers wished to protect her and her friends, sherequested that they be allowed to go without guard. In one dungeon shefound two men, chained hand and foot. She told them she would pleadfor their liberation if they would promise good behavior. Theypromised, and kept it, praying every night for their benefactorthereafter. When she held a meeting in the prison, hundreds shedtears, and the good effects of her work were visible long after. 

The next journey was made to Germany. At Brussels, the King held outboth hands to receive her. In Denmark, the King and Queen invited herto dine, and she sat between them. At Berlin, the royal family treatedher like a sister, and all stood about her while she knelt and prayedfor them. 

The new penitentiaries were built after her suggestions, so perfectwas thought to be her system. The royal family never forget her. Whenthe King of Prussia visited England, to stand sponsor for the infantPrince of Wales, in 1842, he dined with her at her home. She presentedto him her eight daughters and daughters-in-law, her seven sons andeldest grandson, and then their twenty-five grandchildren. 

Finally, the great meetings, and the earnest plans, with theirwonderful execution, were coming to an end for Elizabeth Fry. 

There had been many breaks in the home circle. Her beloved sonWilliam, and his two children, had just died. Some years before shehad buried a very precious child, Elizabeth, at the age of five, whoshortly before her death said, "Mamma, I love everybody better thanmyself, and I love thee better than everybody, and I love Almightymuch better than thee, and I hope thee loves Almighty much better thanme. " This was a severe stroke, Mrs. Fry saying, "My much-loved husbandand I have drank this cup together, in close sympathy and unity offeeling. It has at times been very bitter to us both, but we have beenin measure each other's joy and helpers in the Lord. "

During her last sickness she said, "I believe this is not death, but it is as passing through the valley of the shadow of death, andperhaps with more suffering, from more sensitiveness; but the 'rock ishere'; the distress is awful, but He has been with me. "

The last morning came, Oct. 13, 1845. About nine o'clock, one of herdaughters, sitting by her bedside, read from Isaiah: "I, the Lord thyGod, will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not, thou wormof Jacob, and ye men of Israel, I will help thee, saith the Lord, andthy Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. " The mother said slowly, "Oh! mydear Lord, help and keep thy servant!" and never spoke afterward. 

She was buried in the Friends' burying-ground at Barking, by theside of her little Elizabeth, a deep silence prevailing among themultitudes gathered there, broken only by the solemn prayer of herbrother, Joseph John Gurney. 

Thus closed one of the most beautiful lives among women. To the lastshe was doing good deeds. When she was wheeled along the beach in herchair, she gave books and counsel to the passers-by. When she stayedat hotels, she usually arranged a meeting for the servants. She wassent for, from far and near, to pray with the sick, and comfort thedying, who often begged to kiss her hand; no home was too desolate forher lovely and cheerful presence. No wonder Alexander of Russia calledher "one of the wonders of the age. "

Her only surviving son gives this interesting testimony of her homelife: "I never recollect seeing her out of temper or hearing her speaka harsh word, yet still her word was law, but always the law of love. "

Naturally timid, always in frail health, sometimes misunderstood, evenwith the highest motives, she lived a heroic life in the best sense, and died the death of a Christian. What grander sphere for woman thansuch philanthropy as this! And the needs of humanity are as great asever, waiting for the ministration of such noble souls. 

ELIZABETH THOMPSON BUTLER. 

While woman has not achieved such brilliant success in art, perhaps, as in literature, many names stand high on the lists. Early historyhas its noted women: Propersia di Rossi, of Bologna, whose romantichistory Mrs. Hemans has immortalized; Elisabetta Sirani, painter, sculptor, and engraver on copper, herself called a "miracle of art, "the honored of popes and princes, dying at twenty-six; MariettaTintoretta, who was invited to be the artist at the courts ofemperors and kings, dying at thirty, leaving her father inconsolable;Sophonisba Lomellini, invited by Philip II. Of Spain to Madrid, topaint his portrait, and that of the Queen, concerning whom, thoughblind, Vandyck said he had received more instruction from a blindwoman than from all his study of the old masters; and many more. 

The first woman artist in England was Susannah Hornebolt, daughter ofthe principal painter who immediately preceded Hans Holbein, GerardHornebolt, a native of Ghent. Albrecht Dürer said of her, in 1521:"She has made a colored drawing of our Saviour, for which I gave her aflorin [forty cents]. It is wonderful that a female should be ableto do such work. " Her brother Luke received a larger salary from KingHenry VIII. Than he ever gave to Holbein, --$13. 87 per month. Susannahmarried an English sculptor, named Whorstly, and lived many years ingreat honor and esteem with all the court. 

Arts flourished under Charles I. To Vandyck and Anne Carlisle he gaveultra-marine to the value of twenty-five hundred dollars. ArtemisiaGentileschi, from Rome, realized a splendid income from her work;and, although forty-five years old when she came to England, she wasgreatly admired, and history says made many conquests. This may bepossible, as George IV. Said a woman never reaches her highest powersof fascination till she is forty. Guido was her instructor, and one ofher warmest eulogizers. She was an intimate friend of Domenichino andof Guercino, who gave all his wealth to philanthropies, and when inEngland was the warm friend of Vandyck. Some of her works are in thePitti Palace, at Florence, and some at Madrid, in Spain. 

Of Maria Varelst, the historical painter, the following story is told:At the theatre she sat next to six German gentlemen of high rank, whowere so impressed with her beauty and manner that they expressed greatadmiration for her among each other. The young lady spoke to them inGerman, saying that such extravagant praise in the presence of a ladywas no real compliment. One of the party immediately repeated what hehad said in Latin. She replied in the same tongue "that it was unjustto endeavor to deprive the fair sex of the knowledge of that tonguewhich was the vehicle of true learning. " The gentlemen begged to callupon her. Each sat for his portrait, and she was thus brought intogreat prominence. 

The artist around whose beauty and talent romance adds a specialcharm, was Angelica Kauffman, the only child of Joseph Kauffman, born near Lake Constance, about 1741. At nine years of age she madewonderful pastel pictures. Removing to Lombardy, it is asserted thather father dressed her in boy's clothing, and smuggled her into theacademy, that she might be improved in drawing. At eleven she went toComo, where the charming scenery had a great impression upon the younggirl. No one who wishes to grow in taste and art can afford to liveaway from nature's best work. The Bishop of Como became interestedin her, and asked her to paint his portrait. This was well done incrayon, and soon the wealthy patronized her. Years after, she wrote:"Como is ever in my thoughts. It was at Como, in my most happy youth, that I tasted the first real enjoyment of life. "

When she went to Milan, to study the great masters, the Duke of Modenawas attracted by her beauty and devotion to her work. He introducedher to the Duchess of Massa Carrara, whose portrait she painted, asalso that of the Austrian governor, and soon those of many of thenobility. When all seemed at its brightest, her mother, one of thebest of women, died. Her father, broken-hearted, accepted the offer todecorate the church of his native town, and Angelica joined him in thefrescoing. After much hard work, they returned to Milan. The constantwork had worn on the delicate girl. She gave herself no time for rest. When not painting, she was making chalk and crayon drawings, masteringthe harpsichord, or lost in the pages of French, German, or Italian. For a time she thought of becoming a singer; but finally gave herselfwholly to art. After this she went to Florence, where she worked fromsunrise to sunset, and in the evening at her crayons. In Rome, withher youth, beauty, fascinating manners, and varied reading, she gaineda wide circle of friends. Her face was a Greek oval, her complexionfresh and clear, her eyes deep blue, her mouth pretty and alwayssmiling. She was accused of being a coquette, and quite likely wassuch. 

For three months she painted in the Royal Gallery at Naples, and thenreturned to Rome to study the works of Raphael and Michael Angelo. From thence she went to Bologna and beautiful Venice. Here she metLady Wentworth, who took her to London, where she was introduced atonce to the highest circles. Sir Joshua Reynolds had the greatestadmiration for her, and, indeed, was said to have offered her his handand heart. The whole world of art and letters united in her praise. Often she found laudatory verses pinned on her canvas. The greatpeople of the land crowded her studio for sittings. She lived inGolden Square, now a rather dilapidated place back of Regent Street. She was called the most fascinating woman in England. Sir Joshuapainted her as "Design Listening to Poetry, " and she, in turn, paintedhim. She was the pet of Buckingham House and Windsor Castle. 

In the midst of all this unlimited attention, a man calling himselfthe Swedish Count, Frederic de Horn, with fine manners and handsomeperson, offered himself to Angelica. He represented that he wascalumniated by his enemies and that the Swedish Government was aboutto demand his person. He assured her, if she were his wife, she couldintercede with the Queen and save him. She blindly consented to themarriage, privately. At last, she confessed it to her father, who tooksteps at once to see if the man were true, and found that he was thevilest impostor. He had a young wife already in Germany, and wouldhave been condemned to a felon's death if Angelica had been willing. She said, "He has betrayed me; but God will judge him. "

She received several offers of marriage after this, but would acceptno one. Years after, when her father, to whom she was deeply devoted, was about to die, he prevailed upon her to marry a friend of his, Antonio Zucchi, thirteen years her senior, with whom she went to Rome, and there died. He was a man of ability, and perhaps made her lifehappy. At her burial, one hundred priests accompanied the coffin, the pall being held by four young girls, dressed in white, the fourtassels held by four members of the Academy. Two of her pictures werecarried in triumph immediately after her coffin. Then followed a grandprocession of illustrious persons, each bearing a lighted taper. 

Goethe was one of her chosen friends. He said of her: "She has a mostremarkable and, for a woman, really an unheard-of talent. No livingpainter excels her in dignity, or in the delicate taste with which shehandles the pencil. "

Miss Ellen C. Clayton, in her interesting volumes, _English FemaleArtists_, says, "No lady artist, from the days of Angelica Kauffman, ever created such a vivid interest as Elizabeth Thompson Butler. Nonehad ever stepped into the front rank in so short a time, or had inEngland ever attained high celebrity at so early an age. "

She was born in the Villa Clermont, Lausanne, Switzerland, acountry beautiful enough to inspire artistic sentiments in all itsinhabitants. Her father, Thomas James Thompson, a man of great cultureand refinement, educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, was a warmfriend of Charles Dickens, Lord Lytton, and their literary associates. Somewhat frail in health, he travelled much of the time, collectingpictures, of which he was extremely fond, and studying with the eyeof an artist the beauties of each country, whether America, Italy, orFrance. 

His first wife died early, leaving one son and daughter. The secondwife was an enthusiastic, artistic girl, especially musical, a friendof Dickens, and every way fitted to be the intelligent companion ofher husband. 

After the birth of Elizabeth, the family resided in various parts ofSouthern Europe. Now they lived, says Mrs. Alice Meynell, her onlysister, in the January, 1883, _St. Nicholas_, "within sight of thesnow-capped peaks of the Apennines, in an old palace, the Villa deFranchi, immediately overlooking the Mediterranean, with olive-cladhills at the back; on the left, the great promontory of Porto Fino; onthe right, the Bay of Genoa, some twelve miles away, and the longline of the Apennines sloping down into the sea. The palace gardendescended, terrace by terrace, to the rocks, being, indeed, less agarden than what is called a _villa_ in the Liguria, and a _podere_in Tuscany, --a fascinating mixture of vine, olive, maize, flowers, and corn. A fountain in marble, lined with maiden-hair, played at thejunction of each flight of steps. A great billiard-room on the firstfloor, hung with Chinese designs, was Elizabeth Thompson's firstschool-room; and there Charles Dickens, upon one of his Italianvisits, burst in upon a lesson in multiplication. 

"The two children never went to school, and had no other teacher thantheir father, --except their mother for music, and the usual professorsfor 'accomplishments' in later years. And whether living happily intheir beautiful Genoese home, or farther north among the picturesqueItalian lakes, or in Switzerland, or among the Kentish hop-gardens andthe parks of Surrey, Elizabeth's one central occupation of drawing wasnever abandoned, --literally not for a day. "

She was a close observer of nature, and especially fond of animals. When not out of doors sketching landscapes, she would sit in the houseand draw, while her father read to her, as he believed the two thingscould be carried on beneficially. 

She loved to draw horses running, soldiers, and everything whichshowed animation and energy. Her educated parents had the good sensenot to curb her in these perhaps unusual tastes for a girl. They sawthe sure hand and broad thought of their child, and, no doubt, hadexpectations of her future fame. 

At fifteen, as the family had removed to England, Elizabeth joinedthe South Kensington School of Design, and, later, took lessons in oilpainting, for a year, of Mr. Standish. Thus from the years of five tosixteen she had studied drawing carefully, so that now she was readyto touch oil-painting for the first time. How few young ladies wouldhave been willing to study drawing for eleven years, before trying topaint in oil!

The Thompson family now moved to Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, staying for three years at Bonchurch, one of the loveliest places inthe world. Ivy grows over walls and houses, roses and clematis bloomluxuriantly, and the balmy air and beautiful sea make the placeas restful as it is beautiful. Here Elizabeth received lessons inwater-color and landscape from Mr. Gray. 

After another visit abroad the family returned to London, and theartist daughter attended the National Art School at South Kensington, studying in the life-class. The head master, Mr. Richard Burchett, sawher talent, and helped her in all ways possible. 

Naturally anxious to test the world's opinion of her work, she sentsome water-colors to the Society of British Artists for exhibition, and they were rejected. There is very little encouragement forbeginners in any profession. However, "Bavarian Artillery going intoAction" was exhibited at the Dudley Gallery, and received favorablenotice from Mr. Tom Taylor, art critic of the _Times_. 

Between two long courses at South Kensington Elizabeth spent a summerin Florence and a winter at Rome, studying in both places. At Florenceshe entered the studio of Signor Guiseppe Bellucci, an eminenthistorical painter and consummate draughtsman, a fellow-student of SirFrederick Leighton at the Academy. 

Here the girlish student was intensely interested in her work. She rose early, before the other members of the family, taking herbreakfast alone, that she might hasten to her beloved labor. "On theday when she did not work with him, " says Mrs. Meynell, "she copiedpassages from the frescoes in the cloisters of the Annunziata, masterpieces of Andrea del Sarto and Franciabigio, making a specialstudy of the drapery of the last-named painter. The sacristans of theold church--the most popular church in Florence--knew and welcomed theyoung English girl, who sat for hours so intently at her work in thecloister, unheeding the coming and going of the long procession ofcongregations passing through the gates. 

"Her studies in the galleries were also full of delight and profit, though she made no other copies, and she was wont to say that of allthe influences of the Florentine school which stood her in good steadin her after-work, that of Andrea del Sarto was the most valuable andthe most important. The intense heat of a midsummer, which, day afterday, showed a hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, could not makeher relax work, and her master, Florentine as he was, was obligedto beg her to spare him, at least for a week, if she would not spareherself. It was toward the end of October that artist and pupilparted, his confidence in her future being as unbounded as hergratitude for his admirable skill and minute carefulness. "

During her seven months in Rome she painted, in 1870, for anecclesiastical art exhibition, opened by Pope Pius IX. , in thecloisters of the Carthusian Monastery, the "Visitation of the BlessedVirgin to St. Elizabeth, " and the picture gained honorable mention. 

On her return to England the painting was offered to the Royal Academyand rejected. And what was worse still, a large hole had been tornin the canvas, in the sky of the picture. Had she not been verypersevering, and believed in her heart that she had talent, perhapsshe would not have dared to try again, but she had worked steadilyfor too many years to fail now. Those only win who can bear refusal athousand times if need be. 

The next year, being at the Isle of Wight, she sent another picture tothe Academy, and it was rejected. Merit does not always win thefirst, nor the second, nor the third time. It must have been a littleconsolation to Elizabeth Thompson, to know that each year the judgeswere reminded that a person by that name lived, and was paintingpictures!

The next year a subject from the Franco-Prussian War was taken, asthat was fresh in the minds of the people. The title was "Missing. ""Two French officers, old and young, both wounded, and with onewounded horse between them, have lost their way after a disastrousdefeat; their names will appear in the sad roll as missing, and themanner of their death will never be known. "

The picture was received, but was "skyed, " that is, placed so highthat nobody could well see it. During this year she received acommission from a wealthy art patron to paint a picture. What shouldit be? A battle scene, because into that she could put her heart. 

A studio was taken in London, and the "Roll-Call" (calling the rollafter an engagement, --Crimea) was begun. She put life into the facesand the attitudes of the men, as she worked with eager heart andcareful labor. In the spring of 1874 it was sent to the Royal Academy, with, we may suppose, not very enthusiastic hopes. 

The stirring battle piece pleased the committee, and they cheered whenit was received. Then it began to be talked at the clubs that a womanhad painted a battle scene! Some had even heard that it was a greatpicture. When the Academy banquet was held, prior to the opening, thespeeches of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge, both gavehigh praise to the "Roll-Call. "

Such an honor was unusual. Everybody was eager to see the painting. Itwas the talk at the clubs, on the railway trains, and on the crowdedthoroughfares. All day long crowds gathered before it, a policemankeeping guard over the painting, that it be not injured by its eageradmirers. The Queen sent for it, and it was carried, for a few hours, to Buckingham Palace, for her to gaze upon. So much was she pleasedthat she desired to purchase it, and the person who had ordered itgave way to Her Majesty. The copyright was bought for fifteen timesthe original sum agreed upon as its value, and a steel-plateengraving made from it at a cost of nearly ten thousand dollars. Afterthirty-five hundred impressions, the plate was destroyed, that theremight be no inferior engravings of the picture. The "Roll-Call" wasfor some time retained by the Fine Art Society, where it was seen bya quarter of a million persons. Besides this, it was shown in all thelarge towns of England. It is now at Windsor Castle. 

Elizabeth Thompson had become famous in a day, but she was not elatedover it; for, young as she was, she did not forget that she hadbeen working diligently for twenty years. The newspapers teemed withdescriptions of her, and incidents of her life, many of which were, ofcourse, purely imaginative. Whenever she appeared in society, peoplecrowded to look at her. 

Many a head would have been turned by all this praise; not so thewell-bred student. She at once set to work on a more difficultsubject, "The Twenty-eighth Regiment at Quatre Bras. " When thisappeared, in 1875, it drew an enormous crowd. The true critics praisedheartily, but there were some persons who thought a woman could notpossibly know about the smoke of a battle, or how men would act underfire. That she studied every detail of her work is shown by Mr. W. H. Davenport Adams, in his _Woman's Work and Worth. _ "The choice ofsubject, " he says, "though some people called it a 'very shocking onefor a young lady, ' engaged the sympathy of military men, and she wasgenerously aided in obtaining material and all kinds of data for thework. Infantry officers sent her photographs of 'squares. ' But thesewould not do, the men were not in earnest; they would kneel in suchpositions as they found easiest for themselves; indeed, but for thehelp of a worthy sergeant-major, who saw that each individual assumedand maintained the attitude proper for the situation at whateverinconvenience, the artist could not possibly have impressed upon herpicture that verisimilitude which it now presents. 

"Through the kindness of the authorities, an amount of gunpowder wasexpended at Chatham, to make her see, as she said, how 'the men'sfaces looked through the smoke, ' that would have justified thecriticisms of a rigid parliamentary economist. Not satisfied withseeing how men _looked_ in square, she desired to secure some faintidea of how they _felt_ in square while 'receiving cavalry. ' Andaccordingly she repaired frequently to the Knightsbridge Barracks, where she would kneel to 'receive' the riding-master and a mountedsergeant of the Blues, while they thundered down upon her the fulllength of the riding-school, deftly pulling up, of course, to avoidaccident. The fallen horse presented with such truth and vigor in'Quatre Bras' was drawn from a Russian horse belonging to Hengler'sCircus, the only one in England that could be trusted to remain for asufficient time in the required position. A sore trial of patience wasthis to artist, to model, to Mr. Hengler, who held him down, andto the artist's father, who was present as spectator. Finally therye, --the 'particularly tall rye' in which, as Colonel Siborne says, the action was fought, --was conscientiously sought for, and found, after much trouble, at Henly-on-Thames. "

I saw this beautiful and stirring picture, as well as several othersof Mrs. Butler's, while in England. Mr. Ruskin says of "Quatre Bras":"I never approached a picture with more iniquitous prejudice againstit than I did Miss Thompson's; partly because I have always said thatno woman could paint, and secondly, because I thought what the publicmade such a fuss about _must_ be good for nothing. But it is Amazon'swork, this, no doubt of it, and the first fine pre-raphaelite pictureof battle we have had, profoundly interesting, and showing all mannerof illustrative and realistic faculty. The sky is most tenderlypainted, and with the truest outline of cloud of all in theexhibition; and the terrific piece of gallant wrath and ruin on theextreme left, where the cuirassier is catching round the neck of hishorse as he falls, and the convulsed fallen horse, seen through thesmoke below, is wrought through all the truth of its frantic passionswith gradations of color and shade which I have not seen the like ofsince Turner's death. "

This year, 1875, a figure from the picture, the "Tenth Bengal Lancersat Tent-pegging, " was published as a supplement to the Christmasnumber of _London Graphic_, with the title "Missed. " In 1876, "TheReturn from Balaklava" was painted, and in 1877, "The Return fromInkerman, " for which latter work the Fine Art Society paid her fifteenthousand dollars. 

This year, 1877, on June 11, Miss Thompson was married to Major, nowColonel, William Francis Butler, K. C. B. He was then thirty-nine yearsof age, born in Ireland, educated in Dublin, and had received manyhonors. He served on the Red River expedition, was sent on a specialmission to the Saskatchewan territories in 1870-71, and served on theAshantee expedition in 1873. He has been honorably mentioned severaltimes in the House of Lords by the Field-Marshal-Commanding-in-Chief. He wrote _The Great Lone Land_ in 1872, _The Wild North Land_ in 1873, and _A Kimfoo_ in 1875. 

After the marriage they spent much time in Ireland, where Mrs. Butlerpainted "Listed for the Connaught Rangers" in 1879. Her later worksare "The Remnant of an Army, " showing the arrival at Jellalabad, in1842, of Dr. Brydon, the sole survivor of the sixteen thousand menunder General Elphinstone, in the unfortunate Afghan campaign; the"Scots Greys Advancing, " "The Defence of Rorke's Drift, " an incidentof the Zulu War, painted at the desire of the Queen and some others. 

Still a young and very attractive woman, she has before her a brightfuture. She will have exceptional opportunities for battle studies inher husband's army life. She will probably spend much time in Africa, India, and other places where the English army will be stationed. Herhusband now holds a prominent position in Africa. 

In her studio, says her sister, "the walls are hung with olduniforms--the tall shako, the little coatee, and the stiffstock--which the visitor's imagination may stuff out with the form ofthe British soldier as he fought in the days of Waterloo. These areobjects of use, not ornament; so are the relics from the fields ofFrance in 1871, and the assegais and spears and little sharp woodenmaces from Zululand. "

Mrs. Butler has perseverance, faithfulness in her work, and courage. She has won remarkable fame, but has proved herself deserving by herconstant labor, and attention to details. Mrs. Butler's mother hasalso exhibited some fine paintings. The artist herself has illustrateda volume of poems, the work of her sister, Mrs. Meynell. A cultivatedand artistic family have, of course, been an invaluable aid in Mrs. Butler's development. 

FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 

[Illustration: Florence Nightingale--From the "Portrait Gallery ofEminent Men and Women. "]

One of the most interesting places in the whole of London, is St. Thomas' Hospital, an immense four-story structure of brick withstone trimmings. Here is the Nightingale Training School for nurses, established through the gift to Miss Nightingale of $250, 000 by thegovernment, for her wonderful work in the Crimean War. She would nottake a cent for herself, but was glad to have this institution opened, that girls through her training might become valuable to the world asnurses, as she has been. 

Here is the "Nightingale Home. " The dining-room, with its three longtables, is an inviting apartment. The colors of wall and ceiling arein red and light shades. Here is a Swiss clock presented by the GrandDuchess of Baden; here a harpsichord, also a gift. Here is the marbleface and figure I have come especially to see, that of lovely FlorenceNightingale. It is a face full of sweetness and refinement, havingwithal an earnest look, as though life were well worth living. 

What better work than to direct these girls how to be useful? Someare here from the highest social circles. The "probationers, " or nursepupils, must remain three years before they can become Protestant"sisters. " Each ward is in charge of a sister; now it is Leopold, because the ward bears that name; and now Victoria in respect to theQueen, who opened the institution. 

The sisters look sunny and healthy, though they work hard. They haveregular hours for being off duty, and exercise in the open air. Thepatients tell me how "homelike it seems to have women in the wards, and what a comfort it is in their agony, to be handled by theircareful hands. " Here are four hundred persons in all phases ofsuffering, in neat, cheerful wards, brightened by pots of flowers, andthe faces of kind, devoted women. 

And who is this woman to whom the government of Great Britain feltthat it owed so much, and whom the whole world delights to honor?

Florence Nightingale, born in 1820, in the beautiful Italian cityof that name, is the younger of two daughters of William ShoreNightingale, a wealthy land-owner, who inherited both the name andfortune of his granduncle, Peter Nightingale. The mother was thedaughter of the eminent philanthropist and member of Parliament, William Smith. 

Most of Miss Nightingale's life has been spent on their beautifulestate, Lea Hurst, in Derbyshire, a lovely home in the midst ofpicturesque scenery. In her youth her father instructed her carefullyin the classics and higher mathematics; a few years later, partlythrough extensive travel, she became proficient in French, German, andItalian. 

Rich, pretty, and well-educated, what was there more that she couldwish for? Her heart, however, did not turn toward a fashionable life. Very early she began to visit the poor and the sick near Lea Hurst, and her father's other estate at Embly Park, Hampshire. Perhaps themantle of the mother's father had fallen upon the young girl. 

She had also the greatest tenderness toward dumb animals, and nevercould bear to see them injured. Miss Alldridge, in an interestingsketch of Miss Nightingale, quotes the following story from _LittleFolks:_--

"Some years ago, when the celebrated Florence Nightingale was a littlegirl, living at her father's home, a large, old Elizabethan house, with great woods about it, in Hampshire, there was one thing thatstruck everybody who knew her. It was that she seemed to be alwaysthinking what she could do to please or help any one who needed eitherhelp or comfort. She was very fond, too, of animals, and she was sogentle in her way, that even the shyest of them would come quite closeto her, and pick up whatever she flung down for them to eat. 

"There was, in the garden behind the house, a long walk with trees oneach side, the abode of many squirrels; and when Florence came downthe walk, dropping nuts as she went along, the squirrels would rundown the trunks of their trees, and, hardly waiting until she passedby, would pick up the prize and dart away, with their little bushytails curled over their backs, and their black eyes looking about asif terrified at the least noise, though they did not seem to be afraidof Florence. 

"Then there was an old gray pony named Peggy, past work, living ina paddock, with nothing to do all day long but to amuse herself. Whenever Florence appeared at the gate, Peggy would come trotting upand put her nose into the dress pocket of her little mistress, andpick it of the apple or the roll of bread that she knew she wouldalways find there, for this was a trick Florence had taught thepony. Florence was fond of riding, and her father's old friend, theclergyman of the parish, used often to come and take her for a ridewith him when he went to the farm cottages at a distance. He was agood man and very kind to the poor. 

"As he had studied medicine when a young man, he was able to tell thepeople what would do them good when they were ill, or had met with anaccident. Little Florence took great delight in helping to nurse thosewho were ill; and whenever she went on these long rides, she had asmall basket fastened to her saddle, filled with something nice whichshe saved from her breakfast or dinner, or carried for her mother, whowas very good to the poor. 

"There lived in one of two or three solitary cottages in the woodan old shepherd of her father's, named Roger, who had a favoritesheep-dog called Cap. Roger had neither wife nor child, and Cap livedwith him and kept him, and kept him company at night after he hadpenned his flock. Cap was a very sensible dog; indeed, people used tosay he could do everything but speak. He kept the sheep in wonderfullygood order, and thus saved his master a great deal of trouble. Oneday, as Florence and her old friend were out for a ride, they cameto a field where they found the shepherd giving his sheep their nightfeed; but he was without the dog, and the sheep knew it, for they werescampering in every direction. Florence and her friend noticed thatthe old shepherd looked very sad, and they stopped to ask what was thematter, and what had become of his dog. 

"'Oh, ' said Roger, 'Cap will never be of any more use to me; I'll haveto hang him, poor fellow, as soon as I go home to-night. '

"'Hang him!' said Florence. 'Oh, Roger, how wicked of you! What hasdear old Cap done?'

"'He has done nothing, ' replied Roger; 'but he will never be of anymore use to me, and I cannot afford to keep him for nothing; one ofthe mischievous school-boys throwed a stone at him yesterday, andbroke one of his legs. ' And the old shepherd's eyes filled with tears, which he wiped away with his shirt-sleeve; then he drove his spadedeep in the ground to hide what he felt, for he did not like to beseen crying. 

"'Poor Cap!' he sighed; 'he was as knowing almost as a human being. '

"'But are you sure his leg is broken?' asked Florence. 

"'Oh, yes, miss, it is broken safe enough; he has not put his foot tothe ground since. '

"Florence and her friend rode on without saying anything more toRoger. 

"'We will go and see poor Cap, ' said the vicar; 'I don't believe theleg is really broken. It would take a big stone and a hard blow tobreak the leg of a big dog like Cap. '

"'Oh, if you could but cure him, how glad Roger would be!' repliedFlorence. 

"They soon reached the shepherd's cottage, but the door was fastened;and when they moved the latch, such a furious barking was heard thatthey drew back, startled. However, a little boy came out of the nextcottage, and asked if they wanted to go in, as Roger had left the keywith his mother. So the key was got, and the door opened; and there onthe bare brick floor lay the dog, his hair dishevelled, and his eyessparkling with anger at the intruders. But when he saw the little boyhe grew peaceful, and when he looked at Florence, and heard her callhim 'poor Cap, ' he began to wag his short tail; and then crept fromunder the table, and lay down at her feet. She took hold of one of hispaws, patted his old rough head, and talked to him, whilst her friendexamined the injured leg. It was dreadfully swollen, and hurt verymuch to have it examined; but the dog knew it was meant kindly, andthough he moaned and winced with pain, he licked the hands that werehurting him. 

"'It's only a bad bruise; no bones are broken, ' said her old friend;'rest is all Cap needs; he will soon be well again. '

"'I am so glad, ' said Florence; 'but can we do nothing for him? heseems in such pain. '

"'There is one thing that would ease the pain and heal the leg all thesooner, and that is plenty of hot water to foment the part. '

"Florence struck a light with the tinder-box, and lighted the fire, which was already laid. She then set off to the other cottage to getsomething to bathe the leg with. She found an old flannel petticoathanging up to dry, and this she carried off, and tore up into slips, which she wrung out in warm water, and laid them tenderly on Cap'sswollen leg. It was not long before the poor dog felt the benefit ofthe application, and he looked grateful, wagging his little stump of atail in thanks. On their way home they met the shepherd coming slowlyalong, with a piece of rope in his hand. 

"'Oh, Roger, ' cried Florence, 'you are not to hang poor old Cap; hisleg is not broken at all. '

"'No, he will serve you yet, ' said the vicar. 

"'Well, I be main glad to hear it, ' said the shepherd, 'and manythanks to you for going to see him. '

"On the next morning Florence was up early, and the first thing shedid was to take two flannel petticoats to give to the poor woman whoseskirt she had torn up to bathe Cap. Then she went to the dog, and wasdelighted to find the swelling of his leg much less. She bathed itagain, and Cap was as grateful as before. 

"Two or three days afterwards Florence and her friend were ridingtogether, when they came up to Roger and his sheep. This time Cap waswatching the sheep, though he was lying quite still, and pretending tobe asleep. When he heard the voice of Florence speaking to his master, who was portioning out the usual food, his tail wagged and his eyessparkled, but he did not get up, for he was on duty. The shepherdstopped his work, and as he glanced at the dog with a merry laugh, said, 'Do look at the dog, Miss; he be so pleased to hear your voice. 'Cap's tail went faster and faster. 'I be glad, ' continued the old man, 'I did not hang him. I be greatly obliged to you, Miss, and the vicar, for what you did. But for you I would have hanged the best dog I everhad in my life. '"

A girl who was made so happy in saving the life of an animal wouldnaturally be interested to save human beings. Occasionally her familypassed a season in London, and here, instead of giving much timeto concerts or parties, she would visit hospitals and benevolentinstitutions. When the family travelled in Egypt, she attended severalsick Arabs, who recovered under her hands. They doubtless thought theEnglish girl was a saint sent down from heaven. 

The more she felt drawn toward the sick, the more she felt the needof study, and the more she saw the work that refined women could do inthe hospitals. The Sisters of Charity were standing by sick-beds; whycould there not be Protestant sisters? When they travelled in Germany, France, and Italy, she visited infirmaries, asylums, and hospitals, carefully noting the treatment given in each. 

Finally she determined to spend some months at Kaiserwerth, nearDusseldorf, on the Rhine, in Pastor Fliedner's great Lutheranhospital. He had been a poor clergyman, the leader of a scanty flock, whose church was badly in debt. A man of much enterprise and warmheart, he could not see his work fail for lack of means; so he setout among the provinces, to tell the needs of his little parish. He collected funds, learned much about the poverty and ignoranceof cities, preached in some of the prisons, because interested incriminals, and went back to his loyal people. 

But so poor were they that they could not meet the yearly expenses, sohe determined to raise an endowment fund. He visited Holland and GreatBritain, and secured the needed money. 

In England, in 1832, he became acquainted with Elizabeth Fry. How onegood life influences another to the end of time! When he went back toGermany his heart was aglow with a desire to help humanity. 

He at once opened an asylum for discharged prison-women. He saw howalmost impossible it was for those who had been in prison to obtainsituations. Then he opened a school for the children of such as workedin factories, for he realized how unfit for citizenship are those whogrow up in ignorance. He did not have much money, but he seemed ableto obtain what he really needed. Then he opened a hospital; a home forinsane women; a home of rest for his nurses, or for those who neededa place to live after their work was done. Soon the "Deaconesses" atKaiserwerth became known the country over. Among the wildest Norwegianmountains we met some of these Kaiserwerth nurses, refined, educatedladies, getting in summer a new lease of life for their noble labors. 

This Protestant sisterhood consists now of about seven hundredsisters, at about two hundred stations, the annual expense being about$150, 000. What a grand work for one man, with no money, the pastor ofa very humble church!

Into this work of Pastor Fliedner, Florence Nightingale heartilyentered. Was it strange taste for a pretty and wealthy young woman, whose life had been one of sunshine and happiness? It was a saintliketaste, and the world is rendered a little like Paradise by thepresence of such women. Back in London the papers were full ofthe great exhibition of 1851, but she was more interested in herKaiserwerth work than to be at home. When she had finished her courseof instruction, Pastor Fliedner said, since he had been directorof that institution no one had ever passed so distinguished anexamination, or shown herself so thoroughly mistress of all she hadlearned. 

On her return to Lea Hurst, she could not rest very long, while therewas so much work to be done in the world. In London, a hospitalfor sick governesses was about to fail, from lack of means and poormanagement. Nobody seemed very deeply interested for these overworkedteachers. But Miss Nightingale was interested, and leaving her lovelyhome, she came to the dreary house in Harley Street, where she gaveher time and her fortune for several years. Her own frail healthsank for a time from the close confinement, but she had seen theinstitution placed on a sure foundation, and prosperous. 

The Crimean War had begun. England had sent out ship-loads of men tothe Black Sea, to engage in war with Russia. Little thought seemed tohave been taken, in the hurry and enthusiasm of war, to provide properclothing or food for the men in that changing climate. In the desolatecountry there was almost no means of transportation, and men andanimals suffered from hunger. After the first winter cholera brokeout, and in one camp twenty men died in twenty-four hours. 

Matters grew from bad to worse. William Howard Russell, the _Times_correspondent, wrote home to England: "It is now pouring rain, --theskies are black as ink, --the wind is howling over the staggeringtents, --the trenches are turned into dykes, --in the tents the wateris sometimes a foot deep, --our men have not either warm orwaterproof clothing, --they are out for twelve hours at a time in thetrenches, --they are plunged into the inevitable miseries of a wintercampaign, --and not a soul seems to care for their comfort, or evenfor their lives. These are hard truths, but the people of England musthear them. They must know that the wretched beggar who wandersabout the streets of London in the rain, leads the life of a prince, compared with the British soldiers who are fighting out here for theircountry. 

"The commonest accessories of a hospital are wanting; there is notthe least attention paid to decency or cleanliness; the stenchis appalling; the fetid air can barely struggle out to taint theatmosphere, save through the chinks in the walls and roofs; and, forall I can observe, these men die without the least effort being madeto save them. There they lie, just as they were let gently down on theground by the poor fellows, their comrades, who brought them on theirbacks from the camp with the greatest tenderness, but who are notallowed to remain with them. The sick appear to be tended by the sick, and the dying by the dying. "

During the rigorous winter of 1854, with snow three feet thick, manywere frozen in their tents. Out of nearly forty-five thousand, overeighteen thousand were reported in the hospitals. The English nationbecame aroused at this state of things, and in less than two weeksseventy-five thousand dollars poured into the Times office for thesuffering soldiers. A special commissioner, Mr. Macdonald, was sent tothe Crimea with shirts, sheets, flannels, and necessary food. 

But one of the greatest of all needs was woman's hand and brain, inthe dreadful suffering and the confusion. The testimony of the worldthus far has been that men everywhere need the help of women, andwomen everywhere need the help of men. Right Honorable Sydney Herbert, the Secretary of War, knew of but one woman who could bring orderand comfort to those far-away hospitals, and that woman was MissNightingale. She had made herself ready at Kaiserwerth for a greatwork, and now a great work was ready for her. 

But she was frail in health, and was it probable that a rich andrefined lady would go thousands of miles from her kindred, to livein feverish wards where there were only men? A true woman dares doanything that helps the world. 

Mr. Herbert wrote her, Oct. 15: "There is, as far as I know, only oneperson in England capable of organizing and directing such a plan, andI have been several times on the point of asking you if you wouldbe disposed to make the attempt. That it will be difficult to forma corps of nurses, no one knows better than yourself. .. . I have thissimple question to put to you: Could you go out yourself, and takecharge of everything? It is, of course, understood that you will haveabsolute authority over all the nurses, unlimited power to draw on thegovernment for all you judge necessary to the success of your mission;and I think I may assure you of the co-operation of the medicalstaff. Your personal qualities, your knowledge, and your authority inadministrative affairs, all fit you for this position. "

It was a strange coincidence that on that same day, Oct. 15, MissNightingale, her heart stirred for the suffering soldiers, had writtena letter to Mr. Herbert, offering her services to the government. Afew days later the world read, with moistened eyes, this letter fromthe war office: "Miss Nightingale, accompanied by thirty-four nurses, will leave this evening. Miss Nightingale, who has, I believe, greaterpractical experience of hospital administration and treatment than anyother lady in this country, has, with a self-devotion for which I haveno words to express my gratitude, undertaken this noble but arduouswork. "

The heart of the English nation followed the heroic woman. Mrs. Jameson wrote: "It is an undertaking wholly new to our Englishcustoms, much at variance with the usual education given to women inthis country. If it succeeds, it will be the true, the lasting gloryof Florence Nightingale and her band of devoted assistants, that theyhave broken down a Chinese wall of prejudices, --religious, social, professional, --and have established a precedent which will, indeed, multiply the good to all time. " She did succeed, and the results canscarcely be overestimated. 

As the band of nurses passed through France, hotel-keepers would takeno pay for their accommodation; poor fisherwomen at Boulogne struggledfor the honor of carrying their baggage to the railway station. Theysailed in the _Vectis_ across the Mediterranean, reaching Scutari, Nov. 5, the day of the battle of Inkerman. 

They found in the great Barrack Hospital, which had been lent to theBritish by the Turkish government, and in another large hospital nearby, about four thousand men. The corridors were filled with two rowsof mattresses, so close that two persons could scarcely walk betweenthem. There was work to be done at once. 

One of the nurses wrote home, "The whole of yesterday one could onlyforget one's own existence, for it was spent, first in sewing themen's mattresses together, and then in washing them, and assisting thesurgeons, when we could, in dressing their ghastly wounds after theirfive days' confinement on board ship, during which space their woundshad not been dressed. Hundreds of men with fever, dysentery, andcholera (the wounded were the smaller portion) filled the wards insuccession from the overcrowded transports. "

Miss Nightingale, calm and unobtrusive, went quietly among the men, always with a smile of sympathy for the suffering. The soldiers oftenwept, as for the first time in months, even years, a woman's handadjusted their pillows, and a woman's voice soothed their sorrows. 

Miss Nightingale's pathway was not an easy one. Her coming did notmeet the general approval of military or medical officials. Somethought women would be in the way; others felt that their coming wasan interference. Possibly some did not like to have persons about whowould be apt to tell the truth on their return to England. But withgood sense and much tact she was able to overcome the disaffection, using her almost unlimited power with discretion. 

As soon as the wounded were attended to, she established an invalid'skitchen, where appetizing food could be prepared, --one of theessentials in convalescence. Here she overlooked the proper cookingfor eight hundred men who could not eat ordinary food. Then sheestablished a laundry. The beds and shirts of the men were in a filthycondition, some wearing the ragged clothing in which they were broughtdown from the Crimea. It was difficult to obtain either food orclothing, partly from the immense amount of "red tape" in officiallife. 

Miss Nightingale seemed to be everywhere. Dr. Pincoffs said: "Ibelieve that there never was a severe case of any kind that escapedher notice; and sometimes it was wonderful to see her at the bedsideof a patient who had been admitted perhaps but an hour before, andof whose arrival one would hardly have supposed it possible she couldalready be cognizant. "

She aided the senior chaplain in establishing a library andschool-room, and in getting up evening lectures for the men. Shesupplied books and games, wrote letters for the sick, and forwardedtheir little savings to their home-friends. 

For a year and a half, till the close of the war, she did a wonderfulwork, reducing the death-rate in the Barrack Hospital from sixty percent to a little above one per cent. Said the _Times_ correspondent:"Wherever there is disease in its most dangerous form, and the hand ofthe spoiler distressingly nigh, there is that incomparable woman sureto be seen; her benignant presence is an influence for good comforteven amid the struggles of expiring nature. She is a 'ministeringangel, ' without any exaggeration, in these hospitals, and as herslender form glides quietly along each corridor, every poor fellow'sface softens with gratitude at the sight of her. When all the medicalofficers have retired for the night, and silence and darkness havesettled down upon these miles of prostrate sick, she may be observed, alone, with a little lamp in her hand, making her solitary rounds. 

"With the heart of a true woman and the manner of a lady, accomplishedand refined beyond most of her sex, she combines a surprising calmnessof judgment and promptitude and decision of character. The popularinstinct was not mistaken, which, when she set out from England on hermission of mercy, hailed her as a heroine; I trust she may not earnher title to a higher, though sadder, appellation. No one who hasobserved her fragile figure and delicate health can avoid misgivingslest these should fail. "

One of the soldiers wrote home: "She would speak to one and another, and nod and smile to many more; but she could not do it to all, youknow, for we lay there by hundreds; but we could kiss her shadow as itfell, and lay our heads on our pillows again content. " Another wrotehome: "Before she came there was such cussin' and swearin', and afterthat it was as holy as a church. " No wonder she was called the "Angelof the Crimea. " Once she was prostrated with fever, but recoveredafter a few weeks. 

Finally the war came to an end. London was preparing to give MissNightingale a royal welcome, when, lo! she took passage by design on aFrench steamer, and reached Lea Hurst, Aug. 15, 1856, unbeknown toany one. There was a murmur of disappointment at first, but thepeople could only honor all the more the woman who wished no blare oftrumpets for her humane acts. 

Queen Victoria sent for her to visit her at Balmoral, and presentedher with a valuable jewel; a ruby-red enamel cross on a white field, encircled by a black band with the words, "Blessed are the merciful. "The letters V. R. , surmounted by a crown in diamonds, are impressedupon the centre of the cross. Green enamel branches of palm, tippedwith gold, form the framework of the shield, while around their stemsis a riband of the blue enamel with the single word "Crimea. " Onthe top are three brilliant stars of diamonds. On the back is aninscription written by the Queen. The Sultan sent her a magnificentbracelet, and the government, $250, 000, to found the school for nursesat St. Thomas' Hospital. 

Since the war, Miss Nightingale has never been in strong health, but she has written several valuable books. Her _Hospital Notes_, published in 1859, have furnished plans for scores of new hospitals. Her _Notes on Nursing_, published in 1860, of which over one hundredthousand have been sold, deserve to be in every home. She is the mostearnest advocate of sunlight and fresh air. 

She says: "An extraordinary fallacy is the dread of night air. Whatair can we breathe at night but night air? The choice is between purenight air from without, and foul night air from within. Most peopleprefer the latter, --an unaccountable choice. What will they say if itbe proved true that fully _one-half of all the disease we suffer from, is occasioned by people sleeping with their windows shut?_ An openwindow most nights of the year can never hurt any one. In great citiesnight air is often the best and purest to be had in the twenty-fourhours. 

"The five essentials, for healthy houses, " she says, are "pure air, pure water, efficient drainage, cleanliness, and light. .. . I haveknown whole houses and hospitals smell of the sink. I have met just asstrong a stream of sewer air coming up the back staircase of a grandLondon house, from the sink, as I have ever met at Scutari; and I haveseen the rooms in that house all ventilated by the open doors, andthe passages all _un_ventilated by the close windows, in order that asmuch of the sewer air as possible might be conducted into and retainedin the bed-rooms. It is wonderful!"

Miss Nightingale has much humor, and she shows it in her writings. Sheis opposed to dark houses; says they promote scrofula; to old paperedwalls, and to carpets full of dust. An uninhabited room becomes fullof foul air soon, and needs to have the windows opened often. Shewould keep sick people, or well, forever in the sunlight if possible, for sunlight is the greatest possible purifier of the atmosphere. "In the unsunned sides of narrow streets, there is degeneracy andweakliness of the human race, --mind and body equally degenerating. "Of the ruin wrought by bad air, she says: "Oh, the crowded nationalschool, where so many children's epidemics have their origin, whata tale its air-test would tell! We should have parents saying, andsaying rightly, 'I will not send my child to that school; theair-test stands at "horrid. "' And the dormitories of our greatboarding-schools! Scarlet fever would be no more ascribed tocontagion, but to its right cause, the air-test standing at 'Foul. ' Weshould hear no longer of 'Mysterious Dispensations' and of 'Plague andPestilence' being in 'God's hands, ' when, so far as we know, He hasput them into our own. " She urges much rubbing of the body, washingwith warm water and soap. "The only way I know to _remove_ dust, is towipe everything with a damp cloth. .. . If you must have a carpet, theonly safety is to take it up two or three times a year, instead ofonce. .. . The best wall now extant is oil paint. "

"Nursing is an art; and if it is to be made an art, requires asexclusive a devotion, as hard a preparation, as any painter's orsculptor's work; for what is the having to do with dead canvas or coldmarble compared with having to do with the living body, the temple ofGod's Spirit? Nursing is one of the fine arts; I had almost said, thefinest of the fine arts. "

Miss Nightingale has also written _Observations on the Sanitary Stateof the Army in India, _ 1863; _Life or Death in India_, read before theNational Association for the Promotion of Social Science, 1873, withan appendix on _Life or Death by Irrigation_, 1874. 

She is constantly doing deeds of kindness. With a subscription sentrecently by her to the Gordon Memorial Fund, she said: "Might but theexample of this great and pure hero be made to tell, in that self nolonger existed to him, but only God and duty, on the soldiers who havedied to save him, and on boys who should live to follow him. "

Miss Nightingale has helped to dignify labor and to elevate humanity, and has thus made her name immortal. 

Florence Nightingale died August 13, 1910, at 2 P. M. , of heartfailure, at the age of ninety. She had received many distinguishedhonors: the freedom of the city of London in 1908, and from KingEdward VII, a year previously, a membership in the Order of Merit, given only to a select few men; such as Field Marshal Roberts, LordKitchener, Alma Tadema, James Bryce, George Meredith, Lords Kelvin andLister, and Admiral Togo. 

Her funeral was a quiet one, according to her wishes. 

LADY BRASSEY. 

[Illustration: LADY BRASSEY. ]

One of my pleasantest days in England was spent at old Battle Abbey, the scene of the ever-memorable Battle of Hastings, where William ofNormandy conquered the Saxon Harold. 

The abbey was built by William as a thank-offering for the victory, onthe spot where Harold set up his standard. The old gateway is one ofthe finest in England. Part of the ancient church remains, flowers andivy growing out of the beautiful gothic arches. 

As one stands upon the walls and looks out upon the sea, that greatbattle comes up before him. The Norman hosts disembark; first come thearchers in short tunics, with bows as tall as themselves and quiversfull of arrows; then the knights in coats of mail, with long lancesand two-edged swords; Duke William steps out last from the ship, andfalls foremost on both hands. His men gather about him in alarm, buthe says, "See, my lords, I have taken possession of England with bothmy hands. It is now mine, and what is mine is yours. "

Word is sent to Harold to surrender the throne, but he returns answeras haughty as is sent. Brave and noble, he plants his standard, awarrior sparkling with gold and precious stones, and thus addresseshis men:--

"The Normans are good knights, and well used to war. If they pierceour ranks, we are lost. Cleave, and do not spare!" Then they buildup a breastwork of shields, which no man can pass alive. William ofNormandy is ready for action. He in turn addresses his men: "Sparenot, and strike hard. There will be booty for all. It will be in vainto ask for peace; the English will not give it. Flight is impossible;at the sea you will find neither ship nor bridge; the English wouldovertake and annihilate you there. The victory is in our hands. "

From nine till three the battle rages. The case becomes desperate. William orders the archers to fire into the air, as they cannot pierceEnglish armor, and arrows fall down like rain upon the Saxons. Haroldis pierced in the eye. He is soon overcome and trampled to death bythe enemy, dying, it is said, with the words "Holy Cross" upon hislips. 

Ten thousand are killed on either side, and the Saxons pass foreverunder foreign rule. Harold's mother comes and begs the body of herson, and pays for it, some historians say, its weight in gold. 

Every foot of ground at Battle Abbey is historic, and all the countryround most interesting. We drive over the smoothest of roads to apalace in the distance, --Normanhurst, the home of Lady Brassey, thedistinguished author and traveller. Towers are at either corner andin the centre, and ivy climbs over the spacious vestibule to the roof. Great buildings for waterworks, conservatories, and the like, areadjoining, in the midst of flower-gardens and acres of lawn andforest. It is a place fit for the abode of royalty itself. 

In no home have I seen so much that is beautiful gathered from allparts of the world. The hall, as you enter, square and hung withcrimson velvet, is adorned with valuable paintings. Two easy-chairsbefore the fireplace are made from ostriches, their backs forming theseats. These birds were gifts to Lady Brassey in her travels. In therooms beyond are treasures from Japan, the South Sea Islands, SouthAmerica, indeed from everywhere; cases of pottery, works in marble, Dresden candelabra, ancient armor, furs, silks, all arrayed withexquisite taste. 

One room, called the Marie Antoinette room, has the curtains andfurniture, in yellow, of this unfortunate queen. Here are pictures bySir Frederick Leighton, Landseer, and others; stuffed birds andfishes and animals from every clime, with flowers in profusion. Inthe dining-room, with its gray walls and red furniture, is a largepainting of the mistress of this superb home, with her favorite horseand dogs. The views from the windows are beautiful, Battle Abbey ruinin the distance, and rivers flowing to the sea. The house is rich incolor, one room being blue, another red, a third yellow, while largemirrors seem to repeat the apartments again and again. As we leave thehome, not the least of its attractions come up the grounds, --a load ofmerry children, all in sailor hats; the Mabelle and Muriel and Mariewhom we have learned to know in Lady Brassey's books. 

The well-known author is the daughter of the late Mr. John Alnutt ofBerkley Square, London, who, as well as his father, was a patron ofart, having made large collections of paintings. Reared in wealth andculture, it was but natural that the daughter, Annie, should findin the wealthy and cultured Sir Thomas Brassey a man worthy of heraffections. In 1860, while both were quite young, they were married, and together they have travelled, written books, aided working men andwomen, and made for themselves a noble and lasting fame. 

Sir Thomas is the eldest son of the late Mr. Brassey, "the leviathancontractor, the employer of untold thousands of navvies, the genie ofthe spade and pick, and almost the pioneer of railway builders, notonly in his own country, but from one end of the continent to theother. " Of superior education, having been at Rugby and UniversityCollege, Oxford, Sir Thomas was called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn in1864, and was elected to Parliament from Devonport the following year, and from Hastings three years later, in 1868, which position he hasfilled ever since. 

Exceedingly fond of the sea, he determined to be a practical sailor, and qualified himself as a master-marine, by passing the requisiteBoard of Trade examination, and receiving a certificate as a seamanand navigator. In 1869 he was made Honorary Lieutenant in the RoyalNaval Reserve. 

Besides his parliamentary work, he has been an able and voluminouswriter. His _Foreign Work and English Wages_ I purchased in England, and have found it valuable in facts and helpful in spirit. Thestatement in the preface that he "has had under consideration theexpediency of retiring from Parliament, with the view of devoting anundivided attention to the elucidation of industrial problems, andthe improvement of the relations between capital and labor, " shows theheart of the man. In 1880 he was made Civil Lord of the Admiralty, andin 1881 was created by the Queen a Knight Commander of the Orderof the Bath, for his important services in connection with theorganization of the Naval Reserve forces of the country. 

[Illustration: SIR THOMAS BRASSEY. ]

In 1869, after Sir Thomas and Lady Brassey had been nine yearsmarried, they determined to take a sea-voyage in his yacht, andbetween this time and 1872 they made two cruises in the Mediterraneanand the East. From her childhood the wife had kept a journal, and fromfine powers of observation and much general knowledge was well fittedto see whatever was to be seen, and describe it graphically. Shewrote long, journal-like letters to her father, and on her return _TheFlight of the Meteor_ was prepared for distribution among relativesand intimate friends. 

In the year last mentioned, 1872, they took a trip to Canada andthe United States, sailing up several of the long rivers, and on herreturn, _A Cruise in the Eothen_ was published for friends. 

Four years later they decided to go round the world, and for thispurpose the beautiful yacht _Sunbeam_ was built. The children, theanimal pets, two dogs, three birds, and a Persian kitten for the baby, were all taken, and the happy family left England July 1, 1876. Withthe crew, the whole number of persons on board was forty-three. Almost at the beginning of the voyage they encountered a severe storm. Captain Lecky would have been lost but for the presence of mind ofMabelle Brassey, the oldest daughter, who has her mother's courageand calmness. When asked if she thought she was going overboard, sheanswered, "I did not think at all, mamma, but felt sure we were gone. "

"Soon after this adventure, " says Lady Brassey, "we all went to bed, full of thanksgiving that it had ended as well as it did; but, alas, not, so far as I was concerned, to rest in peace. In about two hours Iwas awakened by a tremendous weight of water suddenly descending uponme and flooding the bed. I immediately sprang out, only to find myselfin another pool on the floor. It was pitch dark, and I could not thinkwhat had happened; so I rushed on deck, and found that the weatherhaving moderated a little, some kind sailor, knowing my love of freshair, had opened the skylight rather too soon, and one of the angrywaves had popped on board, deluging the cabin. 

"I got a light, and proceeded to mop up, as best I could, and thenendeavored to find a dry place to sleep in. This, however, was no easytask, for my own bed was drenched, and every other berth occupied. The deck, too, was ankle-deep in water, as I found when I tried toget across to the deck-house sofa. At last I lay down on the floor, wrapped in my ulster, and wedged between the foot stanchion of ourswing bed and the wardrobe athwart-ship; so that as the yacht rolledheavily, my feet were often higher than my head. "

No wonder that a woman who could make the best of such circumstancescould make a year's trip on the _Sunbeam_ a delight to all on board. Their first visits were to the Madeira, Teneriffe, and Cape de VerdeIslands, off the coast of Africa. With simplicity, the charm of allwriting, and naturalness, Lady Brassey describes the people, thebathing where the sharks were plentiful, and the masses of wildgeranium, hydrangea, and fuchsia. They climb to the top of the lavaPeak of Teneriffe, over twelve thousand feet high; they rise atfive o'clock to see the beautiful sunrises; they watch the slaves atcoffee-raising at Rio de Janeiro, in South America, and Lady Brasseyis attracted toward the nineteen tiny babies by the side of theirmothers; "the youngest, a dear, little woolly-headed thing, as blackas jet, and only three weeks old. "

In Belgrano, she says: "We saw for the first time the holes of thebizcachas, or prairie-dogs, outside which the little prairie-owls keepguard. There appeared to be always one, and generally two, of thesebirds, standing like sentinels, at the entrance to each hole, withtheir wise-looking heads on one side, pictures of prudence andwatchfulness. The bird and the beast are great friends, and are seldomto be found apart. " And then Lady Brassey, who understands photographyas well as how to write several languages, photographs this prettyscene of prairie-dogs guarded by owls, and puts it in her book. 

On their way to the Straits of Magellan, they see a ship on fire. Theysend out a boat to her, and bring in the suffering crew of fifteenmen, almost wild with joy to be rescued. Their cargo of coal had beenon fire for four days. The men were exhausted, the fires beneaththeir feet were constantly growing hotter, and finally they gave up indespair and lay down to die. But the captain said, "There is One abovewho looks after us all, " and again they took courage. They lashed thetwo apprentice boys in one of the little boats, for fear they would bewashed overboard, for one was the "only son of his mother, and she awidow. "

"The captain, " says Lady Brassey, "drowned his favorite dog, asplendid Newfoundland, just before leaving the ship; for although acapital watchdog and very faithful, he was rather large and fierce;and when it was known that the _Sunbeam_ was a yacht with ladies andchildren on board, he feared to introduce him. Poor fellow! I wish Ihad known about it in time to save his life!"

They "steamed past the low sandy coast of Patagonia and the ruggedmountains of Tierra del Fuego, literally, Land of Fire, so called fromthe custom the inhabitants have of lighting fires on prominent pointsas signals of assembly. " The people are cannibals, and naked. "Theirfood is of the most meagre description, and consists mainly ofshell-fish, sea-eggs, for which the women dive with much dexterity, and fish, which they train their dogs to assist them in catching. These dogs are sent into the water at the entrance of a narrow creekor small bay, and they then bark and flounder about and drive the fishbefore them into shallow water, where they are caught. "

Three of these Fuegians, a man, woman, and lad, come out to the yachtin a craft made of planks rudely tied together with the sinews ofanimals, and give otter skins for "tobáco and galléta" (biscuit), forwhich they call. When Lady Brassey gives the lad and his mother somestrings of blue, red, and green glass beads, they laugh and jabbermost enthusiastically. Their paddles are "split branches of trees, with wider pieces tied on at one end, with the sinews of birds orbeasts. " At the various places where they land, all go armed, LadyBrassey herself being well skilled in their use. 

She never forgets to do a kindness. In Chili she hears that a poorengine-driver, an Englishman, has met with a serious accident, and atonce hastens to see him. He is delighted to hear about the trip of the_Sunbeam_, and forgets for a time his intense suffering in his joy atseeing her. 

In Santiago she describes a visit to the ruin of the Jesuit church, where, Dec. 8, 1863, at the Feast of the Virgin, two thousand persons, mostly women and children, were burned to death. A few were drawn upthrough a hole in the roof and thus saved. 

Their visit to the South Sea Islands is full of interest. At BowIsland Lady Brassey buys two tame pigs for twenty-five cents each, which are so docile that they follow her about the yacht with thedogs, to whom they took a decided fancy. She calls one Agag, becausehe walks so delicately on his toes. The native women break cocoanutsand offer them the milk to drink. At Maitea the natives are puzzled toknow why the island is visited. "No sell brandy?" they ask. "No. ""No stealy men?" "No. " "No do what then?" The chief receives mostcourteously, cutting down a banana-tree for them, when they express awish for bananas. He would receive no money for his presents to them. 

In Tahiti a feast is given in their honor, in a house seemingly madeof banana-trees, "the floor covered with the finest mats, andthe centre strewn with broad green plantain leaves, to form thetable-cloth. .. . Before each guest was placed a half-cocoanut full ofsalt water, another full of chopped cocoanut, a third full of freshwater, and another full of milk, two pieces of bamboo, a basket ofpoi, half a breadfruit, and a platter of green leaves, the latterbeing changed with each course. We took our seats on the ground roundthe green table. The first operation was to mix the salt water andthe chopped cocoanut together, so as to make an appetizing sauce, intowhich we were supposed to dip each morsel we ate. We were tolerablysuccessful in the use of our fingers as substitutes for knives andforks. "

At the Sandwich Islands, in Hilo, they visit the volcano of Kilauea. They descend the precipice, three hundred feet, which forms the wallof the old crater. They ascend the present crater, and stand on the"edge of a precipice, overhanging a lake of molten fire, a hundredfeet below us, and nearly a mile across. Dashing against the cliffs onthe opposite side, with a noise like the roar of a stormy ocean, waves of blood-red, fiery liquid lava hurled their billows upon aniron-bound headland, and then rushed up the face of the cliffs to tosstheir gory spray high in the air. "

They pass the island of Molokai, where the poor lepers end their daysaway from home and kindred. At Honolulu they are entertained by thePrince, and then sail for Japan, China, Ceylon, through Suez, stoppingin Egypt, and then home. On their arrival, Lady Brassey says, "Howcan I describe the warm greetings that met us everywhere, or the crowdthat surrounded us; how, along the whole ten miles from Hastings toBattle, people were standing by the roadside and at the cottage doorsto welcome us; how the Battle bell-ringers never stopped ringingexcept during service time; or how the warmest of welcomes ended ourdelightful year of travel and made us feel we were home at last, withthankful hearts for the providential care which had watched over uswhithersoever we roamed!"

The trip had been one of continued ovation. Crowds had gathered inevery place to see the _Sunbeam_, and often trim her with flowers fromstem to stern. Presents of parrots, and kittens, and pigs abounded, and Lady Brassey had cared tenderly for them all. Christmas wasobserved on ship-board with gifts for everybody; thoughtfulnessand kindness had made the trip a delight to the crew as well as thepassengers. 

The letters sent home from the _Sunbeam_ were so thoroughly enjoyedby her father and friends, that they prevailed upon her to publish abook, which she did in 1878. It was found to be as full of interestto the world as it had been to the intimate friends, and it passedrapidly through four editions. An abridged edition appeared in thefollowing year; then the call for it was so great that an editionwas prepared for reading in schools, in 1880, and finally, in 1881, atwelve-cent edition, that the poor as well as the rich might have anopportunity of reading this fascinating book, _Around the World inthe Yacht Sunbeam_. And now Lady Brassey found herself not only theaccomplished and benevolent wife of a member of Parliament, but afamous author as well. 

This year, July, 1881, the King of the Sandwich Islands, who had beengreatly pleased with her description of his kingdom, was entertainedat Normanhurst Castle, and invested Lady Brassey with the Order ofKapiolani. 

The next trip made was to the far East, and a book followed in 1880, entitled, _Sunshine and Storm in the East; or, Cruises to Cyprus andConstantinople_, dedicated "to the brave, true-hearted sailors ofEngland, of all ranks and services. "

The book is intensely interesting. Now she describes the Sultan goingto the mosque, which he does every Friday at twelve o'clock. "Heappeared in a sort of undress uniform, with a flowing cloak overit, and with two or three large diamond stars on his breast. He wasmounted on a superb white Arab charger, thirty-three years old, whose saddle-cloths and trappings blazed with gold and diamonds. Thefollowing of officers on foot was enormous; and then came two hundredof the fat blue and gold pashas, with their white horses and brillianttrappings, the rear being brought up by some troops and a fewcarriages. .. . Nobody dares address the Sultan, even if he speaks tothem, except in monosyllables, with their foreheads almost touchingthe floor, the only exception being the grand vizier, who dares notlook up, but stands almost bent double. He is entirely governed by hismother, who, having been a slave of the very lowest description, towhom his father, Mahmoud II. , took a fancy as she was carrying woodto the bath, is naturally bigoted and ignorant. .. . The Sultan is notallowed to marry, but the slaves who become mothers of his childrenare called sultanas, and not allowed to do any more work. They have aseparate suite of apartments, a retinue of servants, besides carriagesand horses, and each hopes some day to be the mother of the futureSultan, and therefore the most prominent woman in Turkey. The sultanasmay not sit at table with their own children, on account of theirhaving been slaves, while the children are princes and princesses inright of their father. "

Lady Brassey tells the amusing story of a visit of Eugenie to theSultan's mother, when the Empress of the French saluted her on thecheek. The Turkish woman was furious, and said she had never been soinsulted in her life. "She retired to bed at once, was bled, and hadseveral Turkish baths, to purify her from the pollution. Fancy theEmpress' feelings when, after having so far condescended as to kissthe old woman, born one of the lowest of slaves, she had her embracereceived in such a manner. "

The habits and customs of the people are described by Lady Brasseywith all the interest of a novel. On their return home, "again theBattle bells rang out a merry peal of gladness; again everybody rushedout to welcome us. At home once again, the servants and the animalsseemed equally glad to see us back; the former looked the picture ofhappiness, while the dogs jumped and barked; the horses and poniesneighed and whinnied; the monkeys chattered; the cockatoos and parrotsscreamed; the birds chirped; the bullfinches piped their little paeanof welcome. .. . Our old Sussex cowman says that even the cows eat theirfood 'kind of kinder like' when the family are at home. The deer andthe ostriches too, the swans and the call ducks, all came running tomeet us, as we drove round the place to see them. " Kindness to bothman and beast bears its legitimate fruit. 

Two years later she prepared the letter-press to _Tahiti: a Series ofPhotographs_, taken by Colonel Stuart Wortley. He also is a gentlemanof much culture and noble work, in whose home we saw beautiful thingsgathered from many lands. 

The last long trip of Sir Thomas and Lady Brassey was made in the fallof 1883, and resulted in a charming book, _In the Trades, the Tropics, and the Roaring Forties_, with about three hundred illustrations. Theroute lay through Madeira, Trinidad, Venezuela, the Bahamas, and homeby way of the Azores. The resources of the various islands, theirhistory, and their natural formation, are ably told, showing muchstudy as well as intelligent observation. The maps and charts are alsovaluable. At Trinidad they visit the fine Botanic Gardens, and seebamboos, mangoes, peach-palms, and cocoa-plants, from whose seedschocolate is made. The quantity exported annually is 13, 000, 000pounds. 

They also visit great coffee plantations. "The leaves of thecoffee-shrub, " says Lady Brassey, "are of a rich, dark, glossy green;the flowers, which grow in dense white clusters, when in full bloom, giving the bushes the appearance of being covered with snow. Theberries vary in color from pale green to reddish orange or darkred, according to their ripeness, and bear a strong resemblance tocherries. Each contains two seeds, which, when properly dried, becomewhat is known to us as 'raw' coffee. "

At Caracas they view with interest the place which, on March 26, 1812, was nearly destroyed by an earthquake, twelve thousand personsperishing, thousands of whom were buried alive by the opening ofthe ground. They study the formation of coral-reefs, and witness thegathering of sponges in the Bahamas. "These are brought to the surfaceby hooked poles, or sometimes by diving. When first drawn from thewater they are covered with a soft gelatinous substance, as black astar and full of organic life, the sponge, as we know, being only theskeleton of the organism. "

While all this travelling was being enjoyed, and made most usefulas well, to hundreds of thousands of readers, Lady Brassey was notforgetting her works of philanthropy. For years she has been a leadingspirit in the St. John's Ambulance Association. Last October shegave a valuable address to the members of the "Workingmen's Club andInstitute Union, " composed of several hundred societies of workingmen. Her desire was that each society take up the work of teachingits members how to care for the body in case of accidents. Theassociation, now numbering over one hundred thousand persons, is anoffshoot of the ancient order of St. John of Jerusalem, founded eighthundred years ago, to maintain a hospital for Christian pilgrims. Shesays: "The method of arresting bleeding from an artery is so easy thata child may learn it; yet thousands of lives have been lost throughignorance, the life-blood ebbing away in the presence of sorrowingspectators, perfectly helpless, because none among them had beentaught one of the first rudiments of instruction of an ambulancepupil, --the application of an extemporized tourniquet. Again, howfrequent is the loss of life by drowning; yet how few persons, comparatively, understand the way to treat properly the apparentlydrowned. " Lectures are given by this association on, first, aid to theinjured; also on the general management of the sick-room. 

Lady Brassey, with the assistance of medical men, has held classes inall the outlying villages about her home, and has arranged that simplebut useful medical appliances, like plasters, bandages, and the like, be kept at some convenient centres. 

At Trindad, and Bahamas, and Bermudas, when they stayed there intheir travels, she caused to be held large meetings among the mostinfluential residents; also at Madeira and in the Azores. A class wasorganized on board the _Sunbeam_, and lectures were delivered bya physician. In the Shetland Islands she has also organized thesesocieties, and thus many lives have been saved. When the soldierswent to the Soudan, she arranged for these helpful lectures to themon their voyage East, and among much other reading-matter whichshe obtained for them, sent them books and papers on this essentialmedical knowledge. 

She carries on correspondence with India, Australia, and New Zealand, where ambulance associations have been formed. For her valued servicesshe was elected in 1881 a _Dame Chevaliere_ of the Order of St. Johnof Jerusalem. 

Her work among the poor in the East End of London is admirable. Toomuch of this cannot be done by those who are blessed with wealthand culture. She is also interested in all that helps to educate thepeople, as is shown by her Museum of Natural History and EthnologicalSpecimens, open for inspection in the School of Fine Art at Hastings. How valuable is such a life compared with one that uses its time andmoney for personal gratification alone. 

In August, 1885, Sir Thomas and Lady Brassey took Mr. And Mrs. Gladstone, and a few other friends, in the _Sunbeam_, up the coast ofNorway. When they landed at Stavanger, a quaint, clean little town, she says, in the October _Contemporary Review_: "The reception whichwe met in this comparatively out-of-the-way place, where our visit hadbeen totally unexpected, was very striking. From early morning littlegroups of townspeople had been hovering about the quays, trying to geta distant glimpse of the world-renowned statesman who was among ourpassengers. " When they walked through the town, "every window anddoorway was filled with on-lookers, several flags had been hoisted inhonor of the occasion, and the church bells were set ringing. It wasinteresting and touching to see the ex-minister walking up thenarrow street, his hat almost constantly raised in response to thesalutations of the townspeople. "

They sail up the fiords, they ride in stolkjoerres over the country, they climb mountains, they visit old churches, and they dine with thePrince of Wales on board the royal yacht _Osborne_. Before landing, Mr. Gladstone addresses the crew, thanking them that "the voyage hasbeen made pleasant and safe by their high sense of duty, constantwatchfulness, and arduous exertion. " While he admires the "rareknowledge of practical seamanship of Sir Thomas Brassey, " and thanksboth him and his wife for their "genial and generous hospitality, "he does not forget the sailors, for whom he "wishes health andhappiness, " and "prays that God may speed you in all you undertake. "

Lady Brassey is living a useful and noble as well as intellectuallife. In London, Sir Thomas and herself recently gave a reception toover a thousand workingmen in the South Kensington Museum. Devoted toher family, she does not forget the best interests of her country, nor the welfare of those less fortunate than herself. Successful inauthorship, she is equally successful in good works; loved at home andhonored abroad. 

 * * * * *

Lady Brassey's last voyage was made in the yacht she loved: the_Sunbeam_. Three or four years before, her health had received aserious shock through an attack of typhoid fever, and it was hopedthat travel would restore her. A trip was made in 1887 to Ceylon, Rangoon, North Borneo and Australia, in company with Lord Brassey, a son, and three daughters. While in mid-ocean, on their way toMauritius, Lady Brassey died of malarial fever, and was buried at sea, September 14, 1887. 

BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS. 

[Illustration: BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS. ]

We hear, with comparative frequency, of great gifts made by men:George Peabody and Johns Hopkins, Ezra Cornell and Matthew Vassar, Commodore Vanderbilt and Leland Stanford. But gifts of millions havebeen rare from women. Perhaps this is because they have not, as oftenas men, had the control of immense wealth. 

It is estimated that Baroness Burdett-Coutts has already given awayfrom fifteen to twenty million dollars, and is constantly dispensingher fortune. She is feeling, in her lifetime, the real joy of giving. How many benevolent persons lose all this joy, by waiting till deathbefore they bestow their gifts. 

This remarkable woman comes from a remarkable family. Her father, Sir Francis Burdett, was one of England's most prominent members ofParliament. So earnest and eloquent was he that Canning placed him"very nearly, if not quite, at the head of the orators of the day. "His colleague from Westminster, Hobhouse, said, "Sir Francis Burdettwas endowed with qualities rarely united. A manly understanding and atender heart gave a charm to his society such as I have never derivedin any other instance from a man whose principal pursuit was politics. He was the delight both of young and old. "

He was of fine presence, with great command of language, natural, sincere, and impressive. After being educated at Oxford, he spent sometime in Paris during the early part of the French Revolution, andcame home with enlarged ideas of liberty. With as much courage aseloquence, he advocated liberty of the press in England, and manyParliamentary reforms. Whenever there were misdeeds to be exposed, heexposed them. The abuses of Cold Bath Fields and other prisons werecorrected through his searching public inquiries. 

When one of his friends was shut up in Newgate for impugning theconduct of the House of Commons, Sir Francis took his part, and forthis it was ordered that he too be arrested. Believing in free speechas he did, he denied the right of the House of Commons to arresthim, and for nearly three days barricaded his house, till the policeforcibly entered, and carried him to the Tower. A riot resulted, thepeople assaulting the police and the soldiers, for the statesman wasextremely popular. Several persons were killed in the tumult. 

Nine years later, in 1819, because he condemned the proceedings of theLancashire magistrates in a massacre case, he was again arrested forlibel (?). His sentence was three months' imprisonment, and a fine offive thousand dollars. The banknote with which the money was paidis still preserved in the Bank of England, "with an inscriptionin Burdett's own writing, that to save his life, which furtherimprisonment threatened to destroy, he submitted to be robbed. "

For thirty years he represented Westminster, fearless in what heconsidered right; strenuous for the abolition of slavery, and in allother reforms. Napoleon said at St. Helena, if he had invaded Englandas he had intended, he would have made it a republic, with Sir FrancisBurdett, the popular idol, at its head. 

Wealthy himself, Sir Francis married Sophia, the youngest daughter ofthe wealthy London banker, Thomas Coutts. One son and five daughterswere born to them, the youngest Angela Georgina (April 21, 1814), now the Baroness Burdett-Coutts. Mr. Coutts was an eccentric andindependent man, who married for his first wife an excellent girl ofvery humble position. Their children, from the great wealth of thefather, married into the highest social rank, one being Marchioness ofBute, one countess of Guilford, and the third Lady Burdett. 

When Thomas Coutts was eighty-four he married for the second time, a well-known actress, Harriet Mellon, who for seven years, till hisdeath, took excellent care of him. He left her his whole fortune, amounting to several millions, feeling, perhaps, that he had providedsufficiently for his daughters at their marriage, by giving them ahalf-million each. But Harriet Mellon, with a fine sense of honor, felt that the fortune belonged to his children. Though she marriedfive years later the Duke of St. Albans, twenty-four years old, abouthalf her own age, at her death, in ten years, she left the wholeproperty, some fifteen millions, to Mr. Coutts' granddaughter, AngelaBurdett. Only one condition was imposed, --that the young lady shouldadd the name of Coutts to her own. 

Miss Angela Burdett-Coutts became, therefore, at twenty-three, thesole proprietor of the great Coutts banking-house, which position sheheld for thirty years, and the owner of an immense fortune. Very manyyoung men manifested a desire to help care for the property, and toshare it with her, but she seems from the first to have had but onedefinite life-purpose, --to spend her money for the good of the humanrace. She had her father's strength of character, was well educated, and was a friend of royalty itself. Alas, how many young women, withfifteen million dollars in hand, and the sum constantly increasing, would have preferred a life of display and self-aggrandizement ratherthan visiting the poor and the sorrowing!

Baroness Burdett-Coutts is now over seventy, and for fifty years hername has been one of the brightest and noblest in England, or, indeed, in the world. Crabb Robinson said, she is "the most generous, anddelicately generous, person I ever knew. "

Her charities have extended in every direction. Among her first goodworks was the building of two large churches, one at Carlisle, andanother, St. Stephen's, at Westminster, the latter having also threeschools and a parsonage. But Great Britain did not require all hergifts. Gospel work was needed in Australia, Africa, and BritishAmerica. She therefore endowed three colonial bishoprics, at Adelaide, Cape Town, and in British Columbia, with a quarter of a milliondollars. In South Australia she also provided an institution for theimprovement of the aborigines, who were ignorant, and for whom theworld seemed to care little. 

She has generously aided her own sex. Feeling that sewing and otherhousehold work should be taught in the national schools, as from herlabors among the poor she had seen how often food was badly cooked, and mothers were ignorant of sewing, she gave liberally to thegovernment for this purpose. Her heart also went out to children inthe remote districts, who were missing all school privileges, and forthese she arranged a plan of "travelling teachers, " which was heartilyapproved by the English authorities. Even now in these later years theBaroness may often be seen at the night-schools of London, offeringprizes, or encouraging the young men and women in their desire togain knowledge after the hard day's work is done. She has opened"Reformatory Homes" for girls, and great good has resulted. 

Like Peabody, she has transformed some of the most degraded portionsof London by her improved tenement houses for the poor. One place, called Nova Scotia gardens, --the term "gardens" was a misnomer, --shepurchased, tore down the old rookeries where people slept and ate infilth and rags, and built tasteful homes for two hundred families, charging for them low and weekly rentals. Close by she built ColumbiaMarket, costing over a million dollars, intended for the convenienceof small dealers and people in that locality, where clean, healthfulfood could be procured. She opened a museum and reading-room for theneighborhood, and brought order and taste out of squalor and distress. 

This building she presented to the city of London, and inacknowledgment of the munificent gift, the Common Council presentedher, July, 1872, in a public ceremony, the freedom of the city, anuncommon honor to a woman. It was accompanied by a complimentaryaddress, enclosed in a beautiful gold casket with severalcompartments. One bore the arms of the Baroness, while the otherseven represented tableaux emblematic of her noble life, "Feedingthe Hungry, " "Giving Drink to the Thirsty, " "Clothing the Naked, ""Visiting the Captive, " "Lodging the Homeless, " "Visiting theSick, " and "Burying the Dead. " The four cardinal virtues, Prudence, Temperance, Fortitude, and Justice, supported the box at the fourcorners, while the lid was surmounted by the arms of the city. 

The Baroness made an able response to the address of the Council, instead of asking some gentleman to reply for her. Women who can dovaluable benevolent work should be able to read their own reports, or say what they desire to say in public speech, without feelingthat they have in the slightest degree departed from the dignity anddelicacy of their womanhood. 

Two years later, 1874, Edinburgh, for her many charities, alsopresented the Baroness the freedom of the city. Queen Victoria, threeyears before this, in June, 1871, had made her a peer of the realm. 

In Spitalfields, London, where the poverty was very great, she starteda sewing-school for adult women, and provided not only work for them, but food as well, so that they might earn for themselves rather thanreceive charity. To furnish this work, she took contracts from thegovernment. From this school she sent out nurses among the sick, giving them medical supplies, and clothes for the deserving. Whenservants needed outfits, the Baroness provided them, aiding in allways those who were willing to work. All this required much executiveability. 

So interested is she in the welfare of poor children, that she hasconverted some of the very old burying-grounds of the city, wherethe bodies have long since gone back to dust, into playgrounds, withwalks, and seats, and beds of flowers. Here the children can rompfrom morning till night, instead of living in the stifled air ofthe tenement houses. In old St. Pancras churchyard, now used as aplayground, she has erected a sundial as a memorial to its illustriousdead. 

Not alone does Lady Burdett-Coutts build churches, and help women andgirls. She has fitted hundreds of boys for the Royal Navy; educatedthem on her training-ships. She usually tries them in a shoe-blackbrigade, and if they show a desire to be honest and trustworthy, sheprovides homes, either in the navy or in some good trade. 

When men are out of work, she encourages them in various ways. Whenthe East End weavers had become reduced to poverty by the decay oftrade, she furnished funds for them to emigrate to Queensland, withtheir families. A large number went together, and formed a prosperousand happy colony, gratefully sending back thanks to their benefactor. They would have starved, or, what is more probable, gone into crime inLondon; now they were contented and satisfied in their new home. 

When the inhabitants of Girvan, Scotland, were in distress, sheadvanced a large sum to take all the needy families to Australia. Herein America we talk every now and then of forming societies to help thepoor to leave the cities and go West, and too often the matter ends intalk; while here is a woman who forms a society in and of herself, and sends the suffering to any part of the world, expecting no moneyreturn on the capital used. To see happy and contented homes grow fromour expenditures is such an investment of capital as helps to bring onthe millennium. 

When the people near Skibbereen, Ireland, were in want, she sent food, and clothing, and fishing-tackle, to enable them to carry on theirdaily employment of fishing. She supplied the necessary funds for SirHenry James' topographical survey of Jerusalem, in the endeavor todiscover the remains of King Solomon's temple, and offered to restorethe ancient aqueduct, to supply the city with water. Deeply interestedin art, she has aided many struggling artists. Her homes also containmany valuable pictures. 

The heart of the Baroness seems open to distress from every clime. In1877, when word reached England of the suffering through war of theBulgarian and Turkish peasantry, she instituted the "Compassion Fund, "by which one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in money and storeswere sent, and thousands of lives saved from starvation and death. Forthis generosity the Sultan conferred upon her the Order of Medjidie, the first woman, it is said, who has received this distinction. 

In all this benevolence she has not overlooked the animal creation. She has erected four handsome drinking fountains: one in VictoriaPark, one at the entrance to the Zoological Gardens in Regent's Park, one near Columbia Market, and one in the city of Manchester. At theopening of the latter, the citizens gave Lady Burdett-Coutts a mostenthusiastic reception. To the unique and interesting home for lostdogs in London, she has contributed very largely. If the poor animalscould speak, how would they thank her for a warm bed to lie on, andproper food to eat!

Her private gifts to the poor have been numberless. Her city house, I Stratton Street, Piccadilly, and her country home at Holly Lodge, Highgate, are both well known. When, in 1868, the great Reformprocession passed her house, and she was at the window, though halfout of sight, says a person who was present, "in one instant a shoutwas raised. For upwards of two hours and a half the air rang with thereiterated huzzas--huzzas unanimous and heart-felt, as if representinga national sentiment. "

At Holly Lodge, which one passes in visiting the grave of George Eliotat Highgate Cemetery, the Baroness makes thousands of persons happyyear by year. Now she invites two thousand Belgian volunteers to meetthe Prince and Princess of Wales, with some five hundred royal anddistinguished guests; now she throws open her beautiful gardens tohundreds of school-children, and lets them play at will under the oakand chestnut trees; and now she entertains at tea all her tenants, numbering about a thousand. So genial and considerate is she thatall love her, both rich and poor. She has fine manners and an open, pleasant face. 

For some years a young friend, about half her own age, Mr. WilliamAshmead-Bartlett, had assisted her in dispensing her charities, andin other financial matters. At one time he went to Turkey, at herrequest, using wisely the funds committed to his trust. BaronessCoutts had refused many offers of marriage, but she finally desiredto bestow her hand upon this young but congenial man. On February 12, 1881, they were wedded in Christ Church, Piccadilly. Her husbandtook the name of Mr. Burdett-Coutts Bartlett, and has since become acapable member of Parliament. The marriage proved a happy one. 

The final years of the Baroness' long, useful life were rathersecluded, being spent at her London residence, or at her delightfulcountry place near Highgate, where she formerly entertained largely. 

On Christmas Eve, in 1906, she became ill of bronchitis, and thoughher wonderful vitality led her to revive somewhat, she finallysuccumbed on December 30, at the age of ninety-two. She was greatlybeloved from the highest to the humblest citizens. Queen Alexandrasent repeated inquiries and messages. King Edward once said that heregarded the Baroness, after his mother, as the most remarkable womanin England. Her life was a link with the past, as it began during thereign of Emperor Napoleon I, and witnessed the reigns of five Britishsovereigns. Throughout it was spent in doing good. 

JEAN INGELOW. 

[Illustration: JEAN INGELOW. ]

The same friend who had given me Mrs. Browning's five volumes in blueand gold, came one day with a dainty volume just published by RobertsBrothers, of Boston. They had found a new poet, and one possessing abeautiful name. Possibly it was a _nom de plume_, for who had heardany real name so musical as that of Jean Ingelow?

I took the volume down by the quiet stream that flows below AmherstCollege, and day after day, under a grand old tree, read some ofthe most musical words, wedded to as pure thought as our century hasproduced. 

The world was just beginning to know _The High Tide on the Coast ofLincolnshire_. Eyes were dimming as they read, --

 "I looked without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main: He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, 'Elizabeth! Elizabeth!' (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife Elizabeth. )

 "'The olde sea wall (he cried) is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place. ' He shook as one who looks on death: 'God save you, mother!' straight he saith; 'Where is my wife, Elizabeth?'"

And then the waters laid her body at his very door, and the sweetvoice that called, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" was stilled forever. 

The _Songs of Seven_ soon became as household words, because theywere a reflection of real life. Nobody ever pictured a child moreexquisitely than the little seven-year-old, who, rich with the littleknowledge that seems much to a child, looks down from superior heightsupon

 "The lambs that play always, they know no better; They are only one times one. "

So happy is she that she makes boon companions of the flowers:--

 "O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, Give me your honey to hold!

 "O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell!"

At "seven times two, " who of us has not waited for the great heavycurtains of the future to be drawn aside?

 "I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on, like the fox-glove and aster, For some things are ill to wait. "

At twenty-one the girl's heart flutters with expectancy:--

 "I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover; Hush nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late!"

At twenty-eight, the happy mother lives in a simple home, madebeautiful by her children:--

 "Heigho! daisies and buttercups! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain. "

At thirty-five a widow; at forty-two giving up her children tobrighten other homes; at forty-nine, "Longing for Home. "

 "I had a nestful once of my own, Ah, happy, happy I! Right dearly I loved them, but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly. O, one after another they flew away, Far up to the heavenly blue, To the better country, the upper day, And--I wish I was going too. "

The _Songs of Seven_ will be read and treasured as long as there arewomen in the world to be loved, and men in the world to love them. 

My especial favorite in the volume was the poem _Divided_. Never haveI seen more exquisite kinship with nature, or more delicate and tenderfeeling. Where is there so beautiful a picture as this?

 "An empty sky, a world of heather, Purple of fox-glove, yellow of broom; We two among them, wading together, Shaking out honey, treading perfume. 

 "Crowds of bees are giddy with clover, Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet, Crowds of larks at their matins hang over, Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet. 

 * * * * *

 "We two walk till the purple dieth, And short, dry grass under foot is brown; But one little streak at a distance lieth Green like a ribbon to prank the down. 

 "Over the grass we stepped into it, And God He knoweth how blithe we were! Never a voice to bid us eschew it; Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair!

 * * * * *

 "A shady freshness, chafers whirring, A little piping of leaf-hid birds; A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring, A cloud to the eastward, snowy as curds. 

 "Bare, glassy slopes, where kids are tethered; Round valleys like nests all ferny lined; Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops feathered, Swell high in their freckled robes behind. 

 * * * * *

 "Glitters the dew and shines the river, Up comes the lily and dries her bell; But two are walking apart forever, And wave their hands for a mute farewell. 

 * * * * *

 "And yet I know past all doubting, truly-- And knowledge greater than grief can dim-- I know, as he loved, he will love me duly-- Yea, better--e'en better than I love him. 

 "And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so dread to see, I say, 'Thy breadth and thy depth forever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me. '"

In what choice but simple language we are thus told that two lovinghearts cannot be divided. 

Years went by, and I was at last to see the author of the poems I hadloved in girlhood. I had wondered how she looked, what was her manner, and what were her surroundings. 

In Kensington, a suburb of London, in a two-story-and-a-half stonehouse, cream-colored, lives Jean Ingelow. Tasteful grounds are infront of the home, and in the rear a large lawn bordered with manyflowers, and conservatories; a real English garden, soft as velvet, and fragrant as new-mown hay. The house is fit for a poet; roomy, cheerful, and filled with flowers. One end of the large, doubleparlors seemed a bank of azalias and honeysuckles, while great bunchesof yellow primrose and blue forget-me-not were on the tables and inthe bay-windows. 

But most interesting of all was the poet herself, in middle life, withfine, womanly face, friendly manner, and cultivated mind. For an hourwe talked of many things in both countries. Miss Ingelow showed greatfamiliarity with American literature and with our national questions. 

While everything about her indicated deep love for poetry, and a keensense of the beautiful, her conversation, fluent and admirable, showed her to be eminently practical and sensible, without a touch ofsentimentality. Her first work in life seems to be the making of hertwo brothers happy in the home. She usually spends her forenoonsin writing. She does her literary work thoroughly, keeping herproductions a long time before they are put into print. As she isnever in robust health, she gives little time to society, and passesher winters in the South of France or Italy. A letter dated Feb. 25, from the Alps Maritime, at Cannes, says, "This lovely spot is full offlowers, birds, and butterflies. " Who that recalls her _Songs onthe Voices of Birds_, the blackbird, and the nightingale, will notappreciate her happiness with such surroundings?

With great fondness for, and pride in, her own country, she has themost kindly feelings toward America and her people. She says in thepreface of her novel, _Fated to be Free_, concerning this work and_Off the Skelligs_, "I am told that they are peculiar; and I feel thatthey must be so, for most stories of human life are, or at least aimat being, works of art--selections of interesting portions of life, and fitting incidents put together and presented as a picture is; andI have not aimed at producing a work of art at all, but a piece ofnature. " And then she goes on to explain her position to "her Americanfriends, " for, she says, "I am sure you more than deserve of me someefforts to please you. I seldom have an opportunity of saying howtruly I think so. "

Jean Ingelow's life has been a quiet but busy and earnest one. She wasborn in the quaint old city of Boston, England, in 1830. Her fatherwas a well-to-do banker; her mother a cultivated woman of Scotchdescent, from Aberdeenshire. Jean grew to womanhood in the midst ofeleven brothers and sisters, without the fate of struggle and poverty, so common among the great. 

She writes to a friend concerning her childhood:--

"As a child, I was very happy at times, and generally wondering atsomething. .. . I was uncommonly like other children. .. . I remember seeinga star, and that my mother told me of God who lived up there and madethe star. This was on a summer evening. It was my first hearing ofGod, and made a great impression on my mind. I remember better thananything that certain ecstatic sensations of joy used to get hold ofme, and that I used to creep into corners to think out my thoughts bymyself. I was, however, extremely timid, and easily overawed by fear. We had a lofty nursery with a bow-window that overlooked the river. Mybrother and I were constantly wondering at this river. The coming upof the tides, and the ships, and the jolly gangs of towers raggingthem on with a monotonous song made a daily delight for us. Thewashing of the water, the sunshine upon it, and the reflections of thewaves on our nursery ceiling supplied hours of talk to us, and daysof pleasure. At this time, being three years old, . .. I learned myletters. .. . I used to think a good deal, especially about the originof things. People said often that they had been in this world, thathouse, that nursery, before I came. I thought everything must havebegun when I did. .. . No doubt other children have such thoughts, but few remember them. Indeed, nothing is more remarkable amongintelligent people than the recollections they retain of their earlychildhood. A few, as I do, remember it all. Many remember nothingwhatever which occurred before they were five years old. .. . I havesuffered much from a feeling of shyness and reserve, and I have notbeen able to do things by trying to do them. What comes to me comes ofits own accord, and almost in spite of me; and I have hardly any powerwhen verses are once written to make them any better. .. . There were nohardships in my youth, but care was bestowed on me and my brothers andsisters by a father and mother who were both cultivated people. "

To another friend she writes: "I suppose I may take for granted thatmine was the poetic temperament, and since there are no thrillingincidents to relate, you may think you should like to have my viewsas to what that means. I cannot tell you in an hour, or even in a day, for it means so much. I suppose it, of its absence or presence, tomake far more difference between one person and another than anycontrast of circumstances can do. The possessor does not have it fornothing. It isolates, particularly in childhood; it takes away somecommon blessings, but then it consoles for them all. "

With this poetic temperament, that saw beauty in flower, and sky, andbird, that felt keenly all the sorrow and all the happiness of theworld about her, that wrote of life rather than art, because to liverightly was the whole problem of human existence, with this poetictemperament, the girl grew to womanhood in the city bordering on thesea. 

Boston, at the mouth of the Witham, was once a famous seaport, therival of London in commercial prosperity, in the thirteenth century. It was the site of the famous monastery of St. Botolph, built bya pious monk in 657. The town which grew up around it was calledBotolph's town, contracted finally to Boston. From this town ReverendJohn Cotton came to America, and gave the name to the capital ofMassachusetts, in which he settled. The present famous old church ofSt. Botolph was founded in 1309, having a bell-tower three hundredfeet high, which supports a lantern visible at sea for forty miles. 

The surrounding country is made up largely of marshes reclaimed fromthe sea, which are called fens, and slightly elevated tracts of landcalled moors. Here Jean Ingelow studied the green meadows and theever-changing ocean. 

Her first book, _A Rhyming Chronicle of Incidents and Feelings_, waspublished in 1850, when she was twenty, and a novel, _Allerton andDreux_, in 1851; nine years later her _Tales of Orris_. But herfame came at thirty-three, when her first full book of _Poems_ waspublished in 1863. This was dedicated to a much loved brother, GeorgeK. Ingelow:--

 "YOUR LOVING SISTER OFFERS YOU THESE POEMS, PARTLY AS AN EXPRESSION OF HER AFFECTION, PARTLY FOR THE PLEASURE OF CONNECTING HER EFFORT WITH YOUR NAME. "

The press everywhere gave flattering notices. A new singer had come;not one whose life had been spent in the study of Greek roots, simply, but one who had studied nature and humanity. She had a message to givethe world, and she gave it well. It was a message of good cheer, ofearnest purpose, of contentment and hope. 

 "What though unmarked the happy workman toil, And break unthanked of man the stubborn clod? It is enough, for sacred is the soil, Dear are the hills of God. 

 "Far better in its place the lowliest bird Should sing aright to him the lowliest song, Than that a seraph strayed should take the word And sing his glory wrong. "

 "But like a river, blest where'er it flows, Be still receiving while it still bestows. " "That life Goes best with those who take it best. --it is well For us to be as happy as we can!"

 "Work is its own best earthly meed, Else have we none more than the sea-born throng Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar. "

The London press said: "Miss Ingelow's new volume exhibits abundantevidence that time, study, and devotion to her vocation have bothelevated and welcomed the powers of the most gifted poetess wepossess, now that Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Adelaide Proctor singno more on earth. Lincolnshire has claims to be considered the Arcadiaof England at present, having given birth to Mr. Tennyson and ourpresent Lady Laureate. "

The press of America was not less cordial. "Except Mrs. Browning, JeanIngelow is first among the women whom the world calls poets, " said the_Independent_. 

The songs touched the popular heart, and some, set to music, were sungat numberless firesides. Who has not heard the _Sailing beyond Seas?_

 "Methought the stars were blinking bright, And the old brig's sails unfurled; I said, 'I will sail to my love this night At the other side of the world. ' I stepped aboard, --we sailed so fast, -- The sun shot up from the bourne; But a dove that perched upon the mast Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. 

 O fair dove! O fond dove! And dove with the white breast, Let me alone, the dream is my own, And my heart is full of rest. 

 "My love! He stood at my right hand, His eyes were grave and sweet. Methought he said, 'In this fair land, O, is it thus we meet? Ah, maid most dear, I am not here; I have no place, --no part, -- No dwelling more by sea or shore! But only in thy heart!'

 O fair dove! O fond dove! Till night rose over the bourne, The dove on the mast as we sailed past, Did mourn, and mourn, and mourn. "

Edmund Clarence Stedman, one of the ablest and fairest among Americancritics, says: "As the voice of Mrs. Browning grew silent, the songsof Miss Ingelow began, and had instant and merited popularity. Theysprang up suddenly and tunefully as skylarks from the daisy-spangled, hawthorn-bordered meadows of old England, with a blitheness longunknown, and in their idyllic underflights moved with the tenderestcurrents of human life. Miss Ingelow may be termed an idyllic lyrist, her lyrical pieces having always much idyllic beauty. _High Tide, Winstanley, Songs of Seven, and the Long White Seam_ are lyricaltreasures, and the author especially may be said to evince thatsincerity which is poetry's most enduring warrant. "

_Winstanley_ is especially full of pathos and action. We watch thisheroic man as he builds the lighthouse on the Eddystone rocks:--

 "Then he and the sea began their strife, And worked with power and might: Whatever the man reared up by day The sea broke down by night. 

 * * * * *

 "A Scottish schooner made the port The thirteenth day at e'en: 'As I am a man, ' the captain cried, 'A strange sight I have seen;

 "'And a strange sound heard, my masters all, At sea, in the fog and the rain, Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low, Then loud, then low again. 

 "'And a stately house one instant showed, Through a rift, on the vessel's lea; What manner of creatures may be those That build upon the sea?'"

After the lighthouse was built, Winstanley went out again to see hisprecious tower. A fearful storm came up, and the tower and its builderwent down together. 

Several books have come from Miss Ingelow's pen since 1863. Thefollowing year, Studies for Stories was published, of which theAthenaeum said, "They are prose poems, carefully meditated, andexquisitely touched in by a teacher ready to sympathize with every joyand sorrow. " The five stories are told in simple and clear language, and without slang, to which she heartily objects. For one so richin imagination as Miss Ingelow, her prose is singularly free fromobscurity and florid language. 

_Stories told to a Child_ was published in 1865, and _A Story of Doom, and Other Poems_, in 1868, the principal poem being drawn from thetime of the Deluge. _Mopsa the Fairy_, an exquisite story, followed ayear later, with _A Sister's Bye-hours_, and since that time, _Off theSkelligs_ in 1872, _Fated to be Free_ in 1875, _Sarah de Berenger_in 1879, _Don John_ in 1881, and _Poems of the Old Days and the New_, recently issued. Of the latter, the poet Stoddard says: "Beyond allthe women of the Victorian era, she is the most of an Elizabethan. .. . She has tracked the ocean journeyings of Drake, Raleigh, andFrobisher, and others to whom the Spanish main was a second home, the _El Dorado_ of which Columbus and his followers dreamed in theirstormy slumbers. .. . The first of her poems in this volume, _Rosamund_, is a masterly battle idyl. "

Her books have had large sale, both here and in Europe. It is statedthat in this country one hundred thousand of her _Poems_ have beensold, and half that number of her prose works. 

Miss Ingelow has not been elated by her deserved success. She hastold the world very little of herself in her books. She once wrote afriend: "I am far from agreeing with you 'that it is rather too badwhen we read people's works, if they won't let us know anything aboutthemselves. ' I consider that an author should, during life, be as muchas possible, impersonal. I never import myself into my writings, andam much better pleased that others should feel an interest in me, and wish to know something of me, than that they should complain ofegotism. "

It is said that the last of her _Songs with Preludes_ refers to abrother who lies buried in Australia:--

 "I stand on the bridge where last we stood When delicate leaves were young; The children called us from yonder wood, While a mated blackbird sung. 

 * * * * *

 "But if all loved, as the few can love, This world would seldom be well; And who need wish, if he dwells above, For a deep, a long death-knell?

 "There are four or five, who, passing this place, While they live will name me yet; And when I am gone will think on my face, And feel a kind of regret. "

With all her literary work, she does not forget to do good personally. At one time she instituted a "copyright dinner, " at her own expense, which she thus described to a friend: "I have set up a dinner-tablefor the sick poor, or rather, for such persons as are just out of thehospitals, and are hungry, and yet not strong enough to work. We haveabout twelve to dinner three times a week, and hope to continue theplan. It is such a comfort to see the good it does. I find it one ofthe great pleasures of writing, that it gives me more command of moneyfor such purposes than falls to the lot of most women. " Again, shewrites to an American friend: "I should be much obliged to you if youwould give in my name twenty-five dollars to some charity in Boston. I should prefer such a one as does not belong to any party inparticular, such as a city infirmary or orphan school. I do not liketo draw money from your country, and give none in charity. "

Miss Ingelow is very fond of children, and herein is, perhaps, onesecret of her success. In Off the Skelligs she says: "Some peopleappear to feel that they are much wiser, much nearer to the truth andto realities, than they were when they were children. They think ofchildhood as immeasurably beneath and behind them. I have never beenable to join in such a notion. It often seems to me that we lose quiteas much as we gain by our lengthened sojourn here. I should not at allwonder if the thoughts of our childhood, when we look back on it afterthe rending of this vail of our humanity, should prove less unlikewhat we were intended to derive from the teaching of life, nature, andrevelation, than the thoughts of our more sophisticated days. "

Best of all, this true woman and true poet as well, like Emerson, seesand believes in the progress of the race. 

 "Still humanity grows dearer, Being learned the more, "

she says, in that tender poem, _A Mother showing the Portrait of herChild. _ Blessed optimism! that amid all the shortcomings of humannature sees the best, lifts souls upward, and helps to make the worldsunny by its singing. 

 * * * * *

Jean Ingelow died at her home in Kensington, London, July 19, 1897, atthe age of sixty-seven, having been born in Boston, Lincolnshire, in1830. Her long illness ended in simple exhaustion, and she welcomeddeath gladly.