^'^- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF DR. AND MRS. ELMER BELT ■ «» - ■ I A^,^v^r--(? ■% [F[L(n)[E^EP3(DE P30(B[}i]¥D[h3(SA(L[E, 5ETTS ,'k GO.HART] EMINENT WOME^ OF THE AGE; BEING NARRATITES OF THE LIVES AND DEEDS Most Prominent Women of the Present Generation. JAMES PARTOX, HORACE GREELEY, T. W. HIGGINSON, J. S. C. ABBOTT, Prop. JAMES M. IIOPl'IN, WILLIAM WINTER, TIIEODORE TILTON, FANNY FERN, GRACE GREENWOOD, Maa. E. C. STANTON, ETC. ^kljln lllwstral^b' toitlj ^axxxiun ^hd €n;0rabin0s. HARTFORD, CONN.: S. M. BETTS & COMPANY. 1868. Eiitei-L'tl according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by S. M. BETTS & CO.. In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the District of Connecticut. Manufaclurea by CASE, LOCKWOOD & BHAINARD, HAETFOED, CONN. AC PREFACE. J^g^g The world is full of books that nai-rate the deeds and utter the praises of int-ii. The lives of emiaeut, men of our own time are made familiar to us in newspapers and magazines, in individual sketches and autobiographies, as well as in hi.'jtories, dictionaries of biography, cyclopedias and other works of greater, or less range of subject and extent of information. But, while many things have been written both by and for women, and much infonnation has been jniblishcd in one form and another in re-pect to eminent women of our age, there is not in existence, ?o far as the publishers are awai'e, any work, or series of works, which supplies the information con- tained in this volume, or preoccupies its field. And it appears to the publishers that there is a demand for this very work. The discussions of the present day in regard to the elevation of woman, her duties, and the position which she is fitted to occupy, seem to call for some authentic and attractive record of the lives and achievements of those women of our time who have distinguished themselves in their various occupations "and conditions in life. The knowledge of Avhat has been attempted and accom- plished by eminent women of our time is fitted to make an impres- sion for good upon the young women of our land, and upon the whole American public. It will tend to develop and strengthen cor- rect ideas respecting the influence of woman, and her share in the privileges and responsibilities of human life. In selecting the subjects for the sketches here presented, regard has been had not only to individual excellence or eminence, but also to a proper representation of the various professions in which women have distinguished themselves. For obvious reasons, also, the selec- tion has been confined chiefly to American women. VI PREFACE. In selecting the writers for the various sketches, the publishers have chosen those only whom they knew to be thoroughly qualified for the particular, tasks assigned them, and so interested in the sub- jects of their sketches as to be prepared to do them full justice. Great attention has been given to the collection of materials which should be at once interesting and authentic. Variety and freshness of interest are secured by obtaining sketohes from a large number of able writers, and by arranging their contributions so that no two con- secutive chaptei's are the production of the siime person. As it was impossible, on account of the lack of space, to give extended sketch- es of all who ought to be noticed in this volume, and in some cases, also, the requisite materials for such sketches could not be procured, briefer notices have been prepared of certain groups, which, it is believed, will be no unacceptable addition to the more elaborate chapters. This work aims to present in its literary department, as well as in its engravings, an attractive series of accurate and life-like pictures. As a literary production, containing the best essays and iSnest thoughts of many of the first writers of the day, it must be a source of profit and [deasure to every reader of critical taste. Tlie engrav- ings, like the written sketches, are no creations of fancy, but trust- worthy delineations of the features of tho^e whom they profess to represent. Tlie publishers have spared neither time nor expense in the prep- aration of the present work, and they confidently believe that the importance of the field which it occupies, the ability and reputation of its writers, the freshness and reliableness of its facts, and the ex- cellence of its engravings and typography, will justify the praises already bestowed upon its plan and execution by men and women of discernment, and insure to it a wide-spread and lasting popularity. Hartford, July 15. 1868. TABLE OF 00]:!TTE:N'TS, PAGE. 1. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, . By James Parto:?, .... 11 2. LYDIA MARIA CHILD, . . . By T. ^Y. Higginson, . . . r,s 3. F^VNNY FERN,— MRS. PARTON, By Grace Gkeekwood, . . 66 4. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, , . . By Rev. E. B. Hintington, 85 .5. MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE, By Jajies Partox, .... 102 6. EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH, By John S. C. Aislott, . . 128 7. GRACE GREENWOOD,— MRS LU'PINCOTT, By Joseph B. Lyjiax, . . . 147 8. ALICE AND PHEBE CARY, . By Horace Greeley, ... 164 9. MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, By T. W. Higginson, ... 173 10. GAIL HAINIILTON,- MISS DODGE, By Fanny Fern, .... i^02 11. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROAVNING, By Ed\vard Y. Hincks, . . 221 12. JENNY LIND GOLDSCKMIDT, By James Parton, .... 250 OUR PIONEER EDUCATORS, By Rev. E. B Hcntington, 272 1.3. Mrs. Emma Willard. | 14. Mrs. Marianne P. Dascomb. TABLE OF CONTENTS. 15. HAKRIET BEECHER STOWE, By Rev. E. P. Paeker, 16. MRS. ELIZiVBETH CADY STANTON, By Theodore Tilton, PAGE. 296 332 THE WOMAN'S RIGHTS MOVEMENT AND ITS CHAMPIONS EST THE UNITED STATES, By Elizabeth Cadv Stanton, . ... 362 Sarah and Angelina Ghimke. AiiBY Kelley. Mary Grew. Anne Greene Phillips. Llcretia Mott. Caroline M. Severance. Frances D. Gage. 24. Abby Hutchinson. 25. Antoinette Brown. 26. Lucy Stone. 27. Mrs. Caroline H. Dall. 28. Mrs. C. I. H. Nichols. 29. Susan B. Anthony. 30. Oly'mpia Brown. 31. VICTORIA, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, By James Parton, . , , . 405 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE DRAMA, By William Winter, . , , . 439 32. Adelaide Ristori. 33. Euphrosyne Parepa Rosa. 34. Ellen Tree,— Mrs. Charles Ivean. 35. Clara Louisa Kellogg. 36. Kate Bateman,— Mrs. George Crowe. 37. Helen Faucit, — Mrs. Theodore Martin. TABLE OF CONTENTS. 38. ANNA ELIZiVBETH DICKINSON, By Mes. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, 479 WOMAN AS PHYSICIAN. By Eev II. B. Elliot, 513 39. Mrs. Clemence S. Lozier, M. D. 40. Miss Elizauetii Blackwell, M. D. 41. Miss Harriot K. Hunt, M. D. 42. Mrs. Hanxaii E. Longshore, M. D. 43. Miss Ann Fkeston, M. D. 44. CAMILLA URSO, By Mary A. Betts, . . . 551 4.5. HARRIET G. HOSMER, ... By Rev. R. B. Thurston, . 566 46. ROSA BONHEUR, By Prof. James M. Hoppin, 599 47. MRS. JULIA \VARD HOWE, By JNIrs. Lucia Gilbert Calhoun, 621 LIST OF EKGEAYIEGS, PAGE. 1. ROSA BONHEUR, Frontispiece. 2. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, Vignette Title. 3. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, 85 4. EUGENIE, EaiPRESS of the French, 128 5. MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, 173 6. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, 221 7. MRS. EMMA WILLARD, 273 8. MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, 332 9. LUCRETIA MOTT, 371 10. VICTORIA, Queen of England, 405 11. ADELAIDE RISTORI, 440 12. ANNA E. DICKINSON, 479 13. MRS. C. S. LOZIER, M. D 517 « 14. HARRIET G. HOSMER, 566 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE, FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. BY JAMES PARTOJT. Florence Nighting.nxe is one of the fortunate of the earth. Inheriting from nature a striking and beneficent talent, she was able to cultivate that talent in circumstances the most favorable that could be imagined, and, finally, to exercise it on the grandest scale in the sight of all mankind. Whatever difficulties may have beset her path, they were placed in it not by untoward fortune ; they existed in the nature of her work, or were inseparable from human life itself. She has had the happiness, also, of laboring in a purely disinterested spirit, and has been able to do for love what money could neither procure nor reward. The felicity of both her names, Florence and Nightingale^ has often been remarked ; and it appears that she owes both of thom to accident. Her father is William Edward Shore, an English gentleman of an ancient and wealthy Sheffield family, and her mother is a daughter of William Smith, who was for many years a member of Parliament, where he was jjarticularly distinguised for his advocacy of the emancipation of the slaves in the British possessions. In 1815, her father inherited the estates of his grand-uncle, Peter Nightingale, on the condition expressed in his uncle's will, of his assuming the name of Nightingale. It so happened that she first saw 11 12 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. the light while the family were residing at the beautiful city of Florence, and to this fact she is indebted for her first name. The family consists of but four members, father, mother, and the t^v^o daughters, Pai-thenope and Florence. The date of the birth of the younger sister, Florence, is variously given in the slight accounts which have been pub- lished of her life ; 1)ut it was said in the public prints, at the time when her name was on every tongue, that she was born in the same year as Queen Victoria, which was 1819. Her father is a well-informed and intelligent man, and it was under his guidance that she attained a considerable proficiency in the Latin language and in mathematics, as well as in the usual branches and accomplishments of female education. Early in life she was conversant with French, German, and Italian ; she became also a respectable performer upon the piano ; and she had that general acquaintance with science, and that interest in objects of art, which usually mark the intelligent mind. Even as a little girl she was observed to have a particular fondness for nursing the sick. She had the true nurse's touch, and that ready sympathy with the afilicted which enables those who pos^iess it to divine their wants before they are expressed. In England, as in most other deiisely peopled countries, poverty and disease abound on every side, in painful contrast to the elegance and abundance by which persons of the rank of Miss Nightingale are surrounded. One consequence of this is, that the daughters of afiiuence, unless they are remarkably devoid of good feeling, employ part of their leisure in visiting the cottages of the poor, and ministering to the wants of the infirm and the sick. It was thus that Florence Nightingale began her voluntary appren- ticeship to the noble art of mitigating human anguish. Not content with paying the usual round of visits to the cottages near her father's estate, and giving, here a little soup, and FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 13 there a flannel petticoat, and at another place a poor man's plaster, she seriously studied the art of nursing, visited hos- pitals in the neighborhood, and read with the utmost eager- ness whatever she could find in her father's library relating to the treatment of disease, and the management of asylums. This was no romantic fancy of her youth. Miss Nightin- gale is a truly intelligent and gifted woman, — as far as pos- sible removed from the cast of character which is at once described and stigmatized l)y the word romantic. She ear- nestly desired to know the best manner of mitigating the suf- ferings of the sick, the wounded, and the infirm; and she studied this beautiful science as a man studies that which he truly and ardently wishes to understand. As it is the custom of wealthy families in England to spend part of every year in London, Miss Nightingale was enabled to extend the sphere of her observation to the numberless hospitals and asylums of that metropolis. These institutions are on the grandest scale, and were liberally endowed by the generosity of former ages ; but at that time many of them abounded in a])uses and defects of every description. Ever}' where she saw the need of better nurses, women trained and educated to their work. Excellent surgeons were to be found in most of them ; but in many instances the admirable skill of the sm-geon was l)alked and frustrated by the blun- dering ignorance or the obstinate conceit of the nurse. Those who observed this elegant young lady moving softly about the wards of the hospitals, little imagined, perhaps, that from her was to come the reform of those institutions. Miss Nightingale may almost be said to have created the art of which she is the most illustrious teacher; but she was yet far from having perfected herself; many years were still to elapse before she was prepared to speak with the authority of a master. Mrs. Gamp still flourished for a while, although her days were numbered. M EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. It must not be supposed that this noble-minded lady de- nied herself the pleasures proper to her age, sex, and rank. She enjoyed society and the pleasures of society, both in the country and in town. Without being strictly beautiful, her face was singularly pleasing in its expression, and she had a slight, trim, and graceful figure. Her circle of friends and acquaintances was large, and among them she was always welcome ; but, like most properly constituted persons of our Saxon blood, the happiest spot to her on earth was her own home. The family connection of the Nightingales in England is numerous, and she had friends enough for all the purposes of life among her own relations. About 1845, in company with her parents and sister, she made an extensive tour in Germany, France, and Italy, visit- ing everywhere the hospitals, infirmaries, and asylums, and watching closely the modes of treatment practised in them. The family continued their journey into Egypt, where they resided for a considerable time, and where the gifts of Miss Nightingale in nursing the sick were, for the first time, called into requisition beyond the circle of her own family and de- pendants. Several sick Arabs, it is said, were healed by her during this journey, which extended as far as the farthest cataracts of the Nile. Her tourwas of eminent use to her in many ways. It increased her familiarity with the languages of Europe, and gave her a certain knowledge of the world and of men, as well as of her art, which she turned to such admirable account a few years later. Returning to England, she resumed her ordinary life as the daughter of a country gentleman ; but not for long. Miss Nightingale, born into the Church of England, was then, and has ever since remained, a devoted member of it. In her religiop^ however, there is nothing bigoted nor exces- sive ; she is one of those who manifest it chiefly b}"^ cheerful- ness, charity, and good-living; nor does her attachment to FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 15 her own church blind her to the excellences of others. In her travels upon the continent of Europe, she had often met the Sisters of Charity, and members of other Catholic Orders, serving in the hospitals and asylums, and serving, too, with a fidelity, constancy, and skill, which excited in her the highest admiration and the profoundest respect. It was a favorite dream of her youth, that, perhaps, there might one day be among Protestants some kind of Order of Nurses, — a band of women devoted, for a time, or for life, to the holy and arduous work of alleviatins: the ano-uish of the sick-bed. About the year 1848, she heard that there was something of the kind in Germany, under the charge of a benevolent lady and a venerable Lutheran pastor. She hastened to enter this school of nurses, and spent six mouths there, acquiring val- uable details of her art. In the hospital attached to it she served as one of the regular corps of nurses, among whom she was greatly distinguished for her skill and thoroughness. Upon her return to England, an opportunity was speedily furnished her for exercising her improved skill. A very numerous class in England are fiimily governesses. English people are not so well aware, as we are, how much better it is for children to go to a good school than to pursue their education at home, even under the most skilful private teacher. Consequently, almost every family in liberal cir- cumstances has a resident governess, an unhappy being, who suffers many of the inconveniences attached to the lot of a servant, without enjojdng the solid advantages which ought to accompany servitude. Upon salaries of twenty or thirty pounds a year, many of these ladies are required to make a presentable appearance, and associate, upon a sort of equal- ity, with persons possessing a hundred times their revenue. Unable to save anything for their declining years, nothing can be conceived more pitiable than the situation of a friend- less English governess whom age or infirmities have deprived 16 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. of employment and of home. For the benefit of such, an asylum was established in London several years ago, which, however, had but a feeble life and limited means. Miss Nightingale, on her return from Germany, was informed that the institution was on the point of being given up, owing to its improper management and the slenderness of its endow- ment. Her aid was sought by the friends of the asylum. She accepted the laborious post of its superintendent, and she left her beautiful abode in the country, and took up her residence in the establishment in London, to which she gave both her services and a large part of her income. For many months she was seldom seen at the entertainments, public and private, which she was formerly in the habit of enjoying ; for she was in her place by the bedside of sick, infirm, or dying inmates of the governesses' hospital. She restored order to its finances ; she increased the number of its friends ; she improved the arrangements of the interior ; and when her health gave way under the excessive labors of her position, and she was compelled to retire to the country, she had the satisfaction of leaving the institution firmly established and well regulated. But the time was at hand when her talents were to be em- ployed upon a grander scale, and when her country was to reap the full result of her study and observation. The war with Eussia occurred. In February and March, 1854, ship- loads of troops were leaving England for the seat of war, and the heart of England went with them. In all the melancholy history of warlike expeditions, there is no record of one which was managed with such cruel in- efficiency as this. Everything like foresight, the adaptation of means to ends, knowledge of the climate, knowledge of the human constitution, seemed utterly wanting in those who had charge of s'ending these twenty-five thousand British troops to the shores of the Black Sea. The first rendezvous FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 17 was at Malta, an island within easy reach of many of the most productive parts of two continents ; but even there privation and trouble began. One regiment would find it- self destitute of fuel, but overwhelmed with candles. In one part of the island there was a supei-fluity of meat, and no biscuit ; while, elsewhere, there was an abundant supply of food for men, but none for horses. It afterwards appeared that no one had received anything like exact or timely infor- mation, either as to the number of troops expected to land upon the island, nor as to the time when they would arrive. A curious example of the iron rigidity of routine in the British service was this : In the old wars it took eight weeks for a transport to sail from England to Malta ; but although these troops were all conveyed in steamers, every steamer carried the old allowance of eight weeks' supply of medicines and wines. The chief physician of the force had been forty years in service, and the whole machinery of war worked stifily from long inaction. When the troops reached Gallipoli, on the coast of the Sea of Marmora, their sufferings really began. No one had thought to pi'ovide interjDreters ; there were neither carts nor draught animals ; so that it frequently happened that a regi- ment would be on shore several days without having any meat. It does not appear to have occurred to any one that men could ever suffer from cold in a latitude so much more southern than that of En<2;land. The climate of that rea^ion is, in fact, very similar to that of New York or Philadelphia. There are the same intense heats in summer, the same occa- sional deep snows, excessive cold, and fierce, freezing rains of winter ; — one of those climates which possess many of the inconveniences both of the torrid and the frigid zones, and demand a systematic provision against both. In the middle of April, at Gallipoli, the men began to suffer much from cold. Many of them had no beds, and not a soldier in the army 18 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. had more than the one regulation blanket. Instead of un- dressing to go to bed, they put on all the clothes they had, and wrapped themselves in anything they could find. There was a small supply of blankets, but there was no one at hand who was authorized to serve them out, and it was thought a wonderful degree of courage in a senior staff-surgeon when he actually took the responsibility of appropriating some of these blankets for the use of the sick in the temporary hos- pital. The very honesty of the English stood in their way. "These French Zouaves," wrote Dr. Russell, the celebrated correspondent of the London Times, "are first-rate foragers. You may see them in all directions laden with eggs, meat, fish, vegetables (onions), and other good things, while our fellows can get nothing. Sometimes, our servant is sent out to cater for breakfast or dinner ; he returns with the usual ' Me and the Colonel's servant has been all over the town, and can get nothing but eggs and onions, sir ; ' and lo ! round the corner appears a red-breeched Zouave or Chasseur, a bottle of wine under his left arm, half a lamb under the other, and poultry, fish, and other luxuries dangling round him. 'I'm sure, I don't know how these French manages it, sir,' says the crestfiillen Mercury, and retires to cook the eggs." Some of the general officers, instead of directing their energies to remedying tliis state of things, appear to have been chiefly concerned in compelling men to shave everyday, and to wear their leathern stocks on parade. One of the generals, it is said, hated hair on the heads and faces of sol- diers with a kind of mania. " Where there is much hair," said he, " there is dirt, and where there is dirt there will be disease ; " forgetting that hair Avas placed upon the human head and " face to protect it against winds and weather such as these' soldiers were experiencing. It was not until the army had been ten weeks in the field, and were exposed to the blazing heat of summer, that the Queen's own guards FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 19 were permitted to leave off those terrible stocks, and they celebrated the joyful event by three as thundering cheers as ever issued from the emancipated throats of men. After six months' service, the great boou was granted of permitting the men to wear a mustache, but not a beard. It was not until almost all order was lost and stamped out of sight in the mire and snow of the following winter, that the general in command allowed his troops to enjoy the protection of the full. beard. Nor were the private habits of the men con- ducive to the preservation of their health. Twenty soldiers of one regiment were in the guard-house on the same day for drunkenness, at Gallipoli. As late as the middle of April there was still a lamentable scarcity of everything required for the hospital. "There were no blankets for the sick," wrote Dr. Russell, " no beds, no mattresses, no medical com- forts of any kind ; and the invalid soldiers had to lie for several days on the bare boards, in a wooden house, with nothing but a single blanket as bed and covering." Every time the army moved it seemed to get into worse quarters, and to be more wanting in necessary supplies. The camp at Aladyn, where the army was posted at the end of June, was a melancholy example of this truth. The camp Avas ten miles from the sea, in the midst of a country utterly deserted, and the only communication between the camp and the post was furnished hj heavy carts, drawn by buffiiloes, at the rate of a mile and a half an hour ; and by this kind of trans- portation an army of twenty-five thousand men, and thirteen thousand horses, had to be fed. The scene can be imagined, as well as the results upon the comfort and health of the troops. In July the cholera broke out, and carried off officers aiid men of both armies in considerable numbers. July the 24th, it suddenly appeared in the camp of the light division, and twenty men died in twenty-four hours. A sergeant attacked at seven, a. m., was dead at noon. What was, at once, 20 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. remarkable aud terrible in this disease, it was often quite painless. And yet, in the midst of all this horror and death, the soldiers of both armies exhibited a wonderful reckless- ness. " You find them," wrote Dr. Eussell, "lying drunk in the kennels, or in the ditches by the roadsides, under the blazing rays of the sun, covered with swarms of flies. You see them in stupid sobriety, gravely paring the rind off" cucumbers of portentous dimensions, and eating the deadly cylinders one after another, to the number of six or eight, — all the while sitting in groups, in the open streets ; or, fre- quently, three or four of them will make a happy bargain with a Greek, for a large basketful of apricots, water-melons, wooden pears, and green gages, and then they retire beneath the shades of a tree, where they divide and eat the luscious food till nought remains but a heap of peels, rind, and stones. They dilute the mass of fruit with peach brandy, and then straggle home, or go to sleep as best they can." Think of the military discipline which could compel the wearing of stocks, forbid the growth of a beard, and permit such heedless suicide as this, of men appointed to maintain the honor of their country's flag on foreign soil ! How in- credible it would be, if we had not abundant proof of the fact, that, at this very time, a lieutenant-general issued an order directing cavalry, officers to lay in a stock of yellow ochre and jpipe clay, for the use of the men in rubbing up their uniforms and accoutrements ! On the 13th of September, 1854, twenty-seven thou- sand British troops were landed upon the shores of the Crimea, and marched six miks into the country. There was not so much as a tree for shelter on that bleak and destitute coast. The French troops who landed on the same day had small shelter tents with them ; but in all the English host there was but one tent. Towards night the wind rose, and it began to rain. At midnight, the rain fell in torrents, aud FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 21 continued to do so all the rest of the night, penetrating the blankets and overcoats of the troops, and beating pitilessly- down upon the aged generals, the young dandies, the steady- going gentlemen, as well as upon the private soldiers of the English army, who slept in puddles, ditches, and water- courses, without fire, without grog, and without any certain prospect of breakfast. One general slept under a cart, and the Duke of Cambridge himself was no better accommodated. This was but the beginning of misery. On the following day, signals were made on the admiral'* ship for all the vessels of the great fleet to send their sick men on board the Kangaroo. Thoughtless order ! In the course of the day, this vessel was surrounded by hundreds of boats tilled with sick soldiers and sailors, and it was soon crowded to suffoca- tion. Before night closed in, there were fifteeil hundred sick on board of her, and the scene Avas so full of horror that the details were deemed unfit for publication. The design was that these sick men should be conveyed on the Kangaroo to the neighborhood of Constantinople, to be' placed in hospital. But when she had been crammed with her raiser- able freight, she W'as ascertained to be unseaworthy, and all the fifteen hundred had to be transferred to other vessels. Many deaths occurred during the process of removal. On the same day men were dying on the beach, and did actually die, without any medical assistance whatever. When the hospital was about to be established at Balaklava, some days after, sick men were sent thither before the slightest prepar- ation for them had been made, and many of them remained in the open street for several hours in the rain. Winter came on, — such a winter as we are accustomed to in and near the city of iSTew York. It began with that terrible hurricane, which many doubtless remember reading of at the time. The whole army were still living in tents. No adequate preparation had been made, of any kind, for 22 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. protecting the troops against such snows, and cold, and rainj as they were certain to experience. This hurricane broke upon the camp early in the morning of November the four- teenth, an hour before daylight, the wind bringing with it torrents of rain. The air was filled with blankets, coats, hats, jackets, quilts, bedclothes, tents, and even with tables and chairs. Wagons and aml^ulances were overturned by the force of the wind. Almost every tent was laid prostrate. The cavalry horses, terrified at the noise, broke loose, and the whole country^ as far as the eye could reach, was covered with galloping horses. During the day the storm continued to rage, while not a fire could be lighted, nor any beginning made of repairing the damage. Towards night it began to snow, and a driving storm of snow and sle6t tormented the army during the night. This storm proved more deadly on sea than on shore, and many a ship, stored with Avarm clothing, of which these troops were in perishing need, went to the bottom of the Black Sea. A few days after, Doctor Eussell wrote : "It is now pour- ing rain, — the skies are black as ink, — the wind is howling over the sta^o-erino: tents, — the trenches are turned into dykes, — in the tents the water is sometimes a toot deep^ — our men have not either wann or water-proof clothing, — they are out for twelve hours at a time in the trenches, — they are plunged into the inevitable miseries of a winter campaign, — and not a soul seems to care for their comfort, or even for their lives. These are hard truths, but the people of England must hear them. They must know that the wretched beggar, who wanders about the streets of Lon- don in the rain, leads the life of a prince compared with the British soldiers who are fighting out here for their country, and who, we are complacently assured by the home authori- ties, are the best appointed army in Europe. They are well fed, indeed, but they have no shelter, no rest, and no defence FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 23 against the weather. The tents, so long exposed to the blaze of a Bulgarian sun, and now continually drenched by torrents of rain, let the wet through ' like sieves,' and are perfectly useless as protections against the weather." Never was there such mismanagement. ^Miile the army were in this condition thc}^ suddenly found themselves reduced to a short allowance of food, and for nine days there was no tea or coffee. The reason was, that the country roads, by which the provisions were brought from the seaside, seven miles distant, had become almost impassable. Every one could have foreseen that this would be the case during the rainy season. Every one could also see that the whole country was covered with small stones, just fit for making good roads ; but notliing was done, and, for many miserable weeks, it was all that the commissary officers could do to keep the army alive. As for the port itself, — Balaklava, — it was such a scene of filth and horror as the earth has seldom exhibited. Indeed, it was said, at the time, that all the pictures ever drawn of plague and pestilence, whether in works of fact or of fiction, fell far short of the scenes of disease and death which abounded in this place. In the hospitals the dead lay side by side with the living, and both wero objects appalling to look upon. There was not the least attention paid to cleanliness or decency, and men died witliout the least effort being made to save or help them. "There they lie," records a writer, "just as they were let gently down on the gromid by their comrades, who brought them on their backs from the camp with the gi-eatest tender^ ness, but who are not allowed to remain with them. The sick appear to be tended by the sick, and the 'dying by the dying." The four-footed creatures suffered not less than their masters. *"Two hundred of your horses have died," said a Turk one morning to a British officer. " Behold ! what I have said is the truth;" and, as he said these words, he 24: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE emptied a sack upon the floor, and there were four hundred horses' ears heaped up before the eyes of the wondermg officer. In January deep snows came to aggravate all this misery. •At one time there were three feet of snow upon the ground. On the 8th of January, 1855, one regiment could only muster seven men fit for duty ; another had thirty ; a freshly landed company was reduced from fifty-six to fourteen in a few days ; and a regiment of Guards, which had had in all fifteen hundred and sixty-two men, could muster but two hundred and ten. What wonder ! On that same eighth day of January bome of Queen Victoria's own Household Guards were walking about in the snow, and going into action at night, without soles to their shoes ! Many men were frozen stiff in their tents ; and as late as January the 19th, when there were drifts of snow six feet deep, sick men Avere lying in wet tents with only one blanket ! No one, therefore, will be surprised at the statement that on the 10th of Feb- ruary, out of a total of 44,948 British troops, 18,177 were in hospital. The word hospital, when used in reference to the Crimean war, only conjures up scenes of horror. Two scenes, select- ed from many such, will sufiice to convey to the reader a vivid idea of the hospitals of the Crimea before an Angel went from England to reform them. January the 25th the surgeon of a ship, appointed to convey the sick to the general hospital at Scutari, went on shore at Balaklava and applied to an officer in charge of stores for two or three stoves to put on board his ship to warm the sick and dying troops. " Three of my men," said he, " died last night from choleraic symptoms brought on by the extreme cold of the ship, and I fear more will follow them from the same cause." " Oh," said the storekeeper, " you must make your requisition in due form, send it up to head-quarters, and get it signed prop- FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 25 erly, and returned, and then I will let you have the stoves." "But my men may die meantime." "I can't help that; I must have the requisition." "It is my firm belief that there are men now in a dangerous state whom, another night will certainly kill." " I really can do nothing ; I must have a requisition properly signed before I can give one of those stoves away." . "For God's sake, then, Ze^t? me some; I'll be responsible for their safety." " I really can do nothing of the kind." " But, consider, this requisition will take time to be filled up and signed, and meantime these poor fellows will go." "I cannot help that." "I'll be responsible for any thing you do." " Oh, no, that can't be done." " Will a requi- sition signed by the post medical officer of this place be of any use? " " No." " Will it answer if he takes on him- self the responsibility?" "Certainly not." The surgeon went off in sorrow and disgust, knowing well that brave men were doomed to death by the obstinacy of this keeper of her Majesty's stores. Another fact : In the middle of this terrible winter there was a period of three weeks when the hospitals nearest the main body of the army were totally destitute of medi- ciijes for the three most frequent diseases of an army in win- ter quarters ; namely, fever, rheumatism, and diarrhoea. The most agonizing circumstance was, that the government had provided everything in superabundance. But one hospital would have a prodigious superfluity of fuel, and no mattresses. Another w^ould have tons of pork, and no rice. Another would have plenty of the materials for making soup, but no vessels to make it in. Here, there would be an abundance of coffee, but no means of roasting it; and, there, a hundred chests of tea, and not a pound of sugar to put in it. Again, there would be a house full of some needed article, and no officer within miles who had authority to serve it out. The surgeons did their best ; but what could the few surgeons of 2G EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. fifty regiments do with twenty thousand sick men ? As for um-ses, there was hardly a creature worthy of the name iu the Crimea. In view of such facts as these no one can be surprised that the great hospitals at Scutari were in such a condition, that, probably, they were the direct means of kill- ing ten men for every one whom they saved from death. It had perhaps been better if the poor fellows had been wrapped in blankets and laid upon a sheet of India-rubber on the snow in the open air, fed now and then, and left to take their chance. England heard of all this with amazement and consterna- tion. It was the "Times" newspaper through which it learned the details, and people began spontaneously to send sums of money to the editor of that journal for the relief of the sol- diers. The proprietors of the " Times " consented, at length, to receive and appropriate money for this object, and in thir- teen days the sum of fifteen thousand pounds sterling was sent in. With this money thousands of shirts, sheets, stock- ings, overcoats, flannels, and tons of sugar, soap, arrow-root, and tea, and great quantities of wine and brandy, were pur- chased, and a commissioner was sent out to superintend their distribution. But the great horror was, the neglect of the sick in the hospitals, and a cr}^ arose for a corps of skilful, educated nurses. There was but one woman in England fitted by character, position, and education, to head such a band. Sidne}^ Her- bert, a member of the British cabinet, was an old friend of Florence Nightingale's father. Mr. Herbert was thus acquainted Avith the peculiar bent of Miss Nightingale's dispo- sition, and the nature of her training. By a curious coinci- dence, and yet not an unnatural one, she wrote to him oflfering her services, and he wrote to her asking her aid, on the same day. Other ladies of birth and fortune volunteered to ac- company her, to whom were added some superior professional FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 27 nurses. October the 24th, 1854, Florence Nighthigale, accompanied by a clerical friend and his wife, and by a corps of thirty-seven nurses, left England for the Crimea, followed by the benedictions of millions of their countrymen. They travelled through France to IMarseilles. On their journey the ladies were treated with more than the usual politeness of Frenchmen ; the inn-keepers and even the ser- vants would not take pajancnt for their accommodation, and all ranks of people appeared to be in ' most cordial sympathy with their mission. Among other compliments paid Miss Nightingale by the press, one of the iiewspapers informed the public that her dress was charming, and that she was almost as graceful as the ladies of Paris. From Marseilles they were conveyed in a steamer to Scu- tari, where the principal hospitals were placed, which they ♦ reached on the 5th of November. In all the town, crowded with misery in every form, there were but tivc unoccupied rooms, which had been reserved for wounded officers of high rank ; these were assigned to the nurses, and they at once entered upon the performance of their duty. They came none too soon. In a few hours wounded men in great num- bers besran to be broudit in from the action of Balaklava, and, ere long, thousands more arrived from the bloody field of lukermann. Fortunately, the "Times" commissioner was present to supply Miss Nightingale's first demands. Some days elapsed, however, before men ceased to die for want of stores, which had been supplied, which were present in the town, but which could not be obtained at the place and moment required. One of the nurses reported that, during the first night of her attendance, eleven men died before her eyes, whom a little wine or arrow-root would almost certainly have saved. Miss Nightingale at once comprehended that it was no time to stand upon trifles. On the second day after her arrival 28 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. six hundred wounded men were brought in, and the number increased until there were three thousand patients under her immediate charge. Miss Nightingale, one of the gentlest and teuderest of women, surveyed the scene of confusion and an- guish with unruffled mind, and issued her orders with the calmness that comes of certain knowledge of what is best to be done. If red tape interposed, she quietly cut it. If there was no one near who was authorized to unlock a storehouse, she took a few Turks with her, and stood by while they broke it open. During the first week her labors were arduous be- yond what would have *been thought possible for any one ; she was known to stand for twenty hours directing the labors of men and women. Yet, however fatigued she might be, her manner was always serene, and she had a smile or a com- passionate word for the suffering as she passed them by. As soon as the first needs of the men were supplied, she* established a washing-house, which she found time herself to superintend. Before that was done, there had been a wash- inof contract in existence, the conditions of which were so totally neglected by the contractor, that the linen of the Avhole hospital was foul and rotten. She established a kitchen, which she also managed to inspect, in which hundreds of gallons of beef-tea, and other liquid food, were prepared q.\q.\^ day. She knew precisely how all these things should be done ; she was acquainted with the best apparatus for doing them ; and she was thus enabled, out of the rough material around her, — that is to say, out of boards, camp-kettles, camp-stores, and blundering Turks, — to create laundries and kitchens, which answered the purpose well, until better could be provided. She also well understood the art of husbanding skilful labor. When a few nurses could be spared from the wards of the hospital, she set them to preparing padding for amputated limbs, and other surgical appliances ; so that when a thousand wounded suddenly arrived from the battle-field, FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 29 men no longer perished for the want of some trifling but in- dispensable article, which foresight could have provided. The " Times " con\missiouer wrote : " She is a minister- ing angel in these hospitals ; and, as her slender form glides quietly along each corridor, every j)oor fellow's face softens with gratitude at the sight of her. When all the medical officers have retired for the night, and silence and darkness have settled down upon those miles of prostrate sick, she may be observed alone, with a little lamp in her hand, making her solitary rounds." What a picture is this ! The same writer continues : " The popular instinct was not mistaken which, when she set out from England on her mission of mercy, hailed her as a heroine. I trust that she may not earn her title to a higher though sadder appellation. "No one who has observed her fragile figure and delicate health can qvoid misgivings lest these should fail. "With the heart of a true woman, and the manners of a lad}^ accom- plished and refined beyond most of her sex, she combines a surprising calmness of judgment, and promptitude, and de- cision of character." Incredible as it now seems, the arrival of these ladies was far from being welcomed either by the medical or military officers, and it required all the firmness and tact of a Florence Nightingale to overcome the obstacles which were placed or left in her way. Several weeks passed before the hospital authorities cordially co-operated with her. Still more incred- ible is it, that some cruel bigots in England severely criticised her conduct in accepting the services of some of the Sisters of Charity from Dublin. There was much discussion as to whether she was herself a Catholic or a Protestant ; which led a witty clergyman to remark : " She belongs to a sect which unfortunately is a very rare one, — the sect of the Good Sa- maritans." One of the chaplains who labored with her, added. 30 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. with reference to another charge equally heartless and absurd : " If there is any blame in looking for a Roman Catholic priest to attend a dying Catholic, — let me share it with her, for I did it again and again." The same excellent and liberal-minded chaplain, the Eev. S. G. Osborne, in his work on the Hospitals of Scutari, describes, in the most interesting manner, the appearance and demeanor of Miss Nightingale. " In appearance," he says, "she is just what you would expect in any other well-bred woman who may have seen, perhaps, rather more than thirty years of life ; her manner and countenance are prepossessing, and this without the possession of positive beauty ; it is a face not easily forgotten, pleasing in its smile, with an eye be- tokening great self-possession, and giving, when she pleases, a quiet look of firm determination to every feature. Her general demeanor is quiet and rather reserved; still, I am much mistaken if she is not gifted with a very lively sense of the ridiculous. In conversation, she speaks on matters of business with a grave earnestness one would not expect from her appearance. She has evidently a mind disclplhied to restrain, under the pressure of the action of the moment, every feeling which would interfere with it. She has trained herself to command, and learned the value of conciliation towards others and constraint over herself. I can conceive her to be a strict disciplinarian ; she throws herself into a work as its head, — as such she knows well how much suc- cess must depend upon literal obedience to her every order. She seems to understand business thoroughly. Her nerve is wonderful ! I have been with her at very severe operations : she was more than equal to the trial. She has an utter disre- gard of contagion. I have known her spend hours over men dying of cholera or fever. The more awful to every sense any particular case, especially if it was that of a dying man, her slight form would be seen bending over him, administer FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, 31 ing to his ease in every way in her power, and seldom quit- ting his side till death released him." What wonder that the troops idolized her ! One of the soldiers said : " She would speak to one and to another, and nod and smile to as many more ; but she couldn't do it to all, you know; we lay there by hundreds; but we could kiss her shadow as it fell, and lay our heads on the pillow again content." Another soldier said : " Before she came, there was such cussin' and swearin' ; and after that it was as holy as a church." All through that winter she toiled at her post, and all through the spring until the middle of May. Then she was taken down with the camp fever, and for four or five days her condition excited much alarm. She passed the crisis, how- ever, and the whole army was soon rejoiced by hearing that she was convalescent. In her little book, published since her return home, upon nursing, there arc but two alhisions to her services in the Crimea. One is, that she had seen death in more forms than any other woman in Europe. The other is a touching reference to this convalescence. Speaking of the delight which the sick take in flowers, she says : "I have seen in fevers (and felt when I was a fever patient my- self) the most acute suflering produced, from the patient (in a hut) not being able to see out of window, and the knots in the wood being the only view. I shall never forget the rapture of fever patients over a bunch of bright-colored flowers. I remember (in my own case) a nosegay of wild flowers being sent me, and from that moment recovery be- coming more rapid." By this time, excursionists and yachtsmen began to arrive at the Crimea, one of whom lent her a yacht, the use of which much aided her recovery. When she first sailed in it, she had to be carried to the vessel in the arras of men. She remained in the Crimea a year and ten months, and 32 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. reached home again in safety, but an invalid for life, on the 8th of September, 1856. All England felt that something must be done to mark the national gratitude, and perpetuate the memory of it forever. Fifty thousand pounds were raised, almost without an effort, and it was concluded at length, to employ this fund in enabling Miss Nightingale to establish an institution for the training of nurses. She sanc- tioned and accepted this trust, and has been chiefly employed ever since in labors connected with it. The Sultan of Turkey sent her a magnificent bracelet. The Queen of England gave her a cross beautifully formed, and blazing with gems. The queen invited her also to visit her in her retreat at Balmoral, and Miss Nightingale spent some days there, receiving the homage of the royal family. Not the least service which this noble lady has rendered the siiflering sons of men has been the publication of the work just referred to, entitled "Notes on Nursing; what it is, and what it is not," — one of the very few little books of which it can be truly said that a copy ought to be in every house. In this work she gives tlie world, in a lively, vigorous manner, the substance of all that knowledge of nursing, which she has so laboriously acquired. Her directions are admirably simple, and still more admirably wise. " The chief duty of a nurse," she says, " is simply this : to heep the air lohich the patient breathes as pure as the external air, but loithout chilling him.^^ This, she insists, is the main point, and is so important that' if you attend properly to that you may leave almost all the rest to nature. She dwells most forcibly upon the absolute necessity, and wonderfully curative power, of perfect cleanliness and bright light. Her little chapter upon Noise in the Sick Eoom, in which she shows how necessary it is for a patient never to be startled, dis- turbed, or fidgeted, is most admirable and affecting. She seems to have entered into the very so.ul of sick people, and FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 33 to have as lively a sense of how they feel, what they like, what gives them pain, what hinders or retards their recovery, as though she were herself the wretch whose case she is describing. If she had done nothing else in her life but produce this wise, kind, and pointed little work, she would deserve the gratitude of suffering man. The book, too, although remarkably free from direct allusions to herself, contains much biographical material. We see the woman on every page, — the woman who takes nothing for granted, whom sophistry cannot deceive, who looks at things with her own honest cj^es, reflects upon them with her 0A\ai fearless mind, and speaks of them in good, downright, Nightingale Einglish. She ever returns to her grand, fundamental position, *;he curative power of fresh, pure air. Disease, she remarks, is not an evil, but a blessing : it is a reparative process, — an effort of nature to get rid of something hostile to life. That being the case, it is of the first importance to remov.e what she considers the cJiicf cause of disease, — the inhaling of poisonous air. She laughs to scorn the impious cant, so often employed to console be- reaved parents, that the death of children is a "mysterious dispensation of Providence." No such thing. Children perish, she tells us, because they are packed into unventilated school-rooms, and sleep at night in unventilated dormito- ries. "An extraordinary fallacy," she says, "is the di'eacl of night air. What air can we breathe at night but night air ? The choice is between pure night air from without and foul night air from within. INIost people prefer the latter. An unaccountable choice ! An oj)eu window, most nights in the year, can never hurt any one." Better, she remarks, shut the windows all day than all night. She maintains, too, that the reason why people now-a-days, especially ladies, are less robust than they were formerly, is because they pass the 3 34 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. greater part of their lives in breathing poison. Upon this point she expresses herself with great force : — " The houses of the grandmothers and great grandmothers of this generation (at least, the country houses) , with front door and back door always standing open, winter and sum- mer, and a thorough draft always blowing through, — with all the scrubbing, and cleaning, and polishing, and scouring, which used to go on, — the grandmothers, and, still more, the great-grandmothers, always out of doors, and never with a bonnet on except to go to church; these things entirely account for a fact so often seen of a great-grandmother who was a tower of physical vigor, descending into a grandmother, perhaps a little less vigorous, but still sound as a bell, and healthy to the core, into a mother languid and confined to her carriage and her house, and lastly into a daughter sickly and confined to her bed. For, remember, even with a general decrease of mortality, you may often find a race thus degenerating, and still oftener a family. You may see poor, little, feeble, washed-out rags, children of a noble stock, suflfering, morally and physically, throughout their useless, degenerate lives ; ancl yet people who are going to marry and to bring more such into the woi4d, will consult nothing but their own convenience as to where they are to live or how they are to live." On the subject of contagion she has decided and important opinions. "I was brought up," she says, "both by scientific men and ignorant women, distinctly to believe that small- pox, for instance, was a thing of which there was once a first specimen in the world, which went on propagating itself in a perpetual chain of descent, just as much as that there was a first dog (or a first pair of clogs) , and that small-pox would not begin itself any more than a new dog would' begin with- out there having been a parent dog. Since then, I have seen with my eyes, and smelt with my nose, small-^ox growing FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 35 up in first specimens, either in close rooms or in overcrowded wards, where it could not by any possibility have been caught, but must have begun ! Nay, more. I have seen diseases begin, grow up, and pass into one another. Now, dogs do not pass into cats. I have seen, for instance, with a little overcrowding, continued fever grow up ; and, with a little more, typhoid fever; and, with a little more, typhus; and all in the same ward or hut. Would it not be far better, truer, and more practical, if we looked upon disease in this light?" "Again," she says, addressing parents, "why must a child have measles ? If yon believed in and observed the laws for preserving the health of houses, which inculcate cleanliness, ventilation, whitewashing, and other means (and which, by the way, are laws) as implicitly as you believe in the popular opinion (for it is nothing more than an opinion) that your child must have children's epidemics, don't you think that, upon the whole, your child would be more likely to escape altogether ? " Miss Nightingale is an enemy of crinoline, the wearing of which she styles "an absurd and hideous custom." "The dress of women," she adds," is daily more and more unfittin"^ them for any mission or usefulness at all. It is equallj^ un- fitted for all poetic and all domestic purposes. A man is now a more handy and fur less objectionable being in a sick- room than a woman. Compelled by her dress, every woman now either shuffles or waddles ; only a man can cross the floor of a sick-room without shaking it ! What has become of woman's light step, — the firm, light, quick step we have been asking for?" She has a very pleasing and suggestive passage upon the kind of conversation which is most beneficial to the sick. "A sick person," she observes, "does so enjoy hearing good news ; for instance, of a love and courtship while in progress 36 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. to a good ending. If you tell him only wlien the marriage takes place, he loses half the pleasure, which, God knows, he has little enough of; and, ten to one, but you have told him of some love-making with a bad ending. A sick person also intensely enjoys hearing of any material good, any positive or practical success of the right. He has so much of books and fiction, of principles, and precepts, and theories ! Do, instead of advising him with advice he has heard at least fifty times before, tell him of one benevolent act which has really suc- ceeded practically; it is like a day's health to him. You have no idea what the craving of the sick, with undiminished power of thinking, but little power of doing, is to hear of good practical action, when they can no longer partake in it. Do observe these things with the sick. Do remember how their life is to them disappointed and incomplete. You see them lying there with miserable disappointments, from which they can have no escape but death, and you can't remember to tell them of what would give them so much pleasure, or at least an hour's variety. They don't want you to be lachrymose and whining with them ; they like j^ou to be fresh, and active, and interesting; but they cannot bear absence of mind ; and they are so tired of the advice and preaching they receive from everybody, no matter whom it is, they see. There is no better society than babies and sick people for one another. Of course you must manage this so that neither shall suffer from it, which is perfectly possible. If you think the air of the sick-room bad for the baby, why it is bad for the invalid, too, and therefore you will of course correct it for both. It freshens up the sick person's whole mental atmosphere to see 'the baby.' And a very young child, if unspoiled, will generally adapt itself wonderfully to the ways of a sick person, if the time they spend together is not too long." These passages give us a more correct conception of the FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE. 37 mind and character of Florence Nightingale than any narra- tive of her life which has yet been given to the public. There has been nothing of chance in her career. She gained her knowledge, as it is always gained, by faithful and laborious study, and she acquired skill in applying her knowledge by careful practice. There can be no doubt that the example of Miss Night- ingale had much to do in calling forth the exertions of American women during our late war. As soon as we had wounded soldiers to heal, and military hospitals to serve, the patriotic and benevolent ladies of America thought of Florence Nightingale, and hastened to offer their assistance ; and, doubtless, it was the magic of her name which assisted to open a way for them, and broke down the prejudices which might have proved insurmountable. When Florence Nightingale overcame the silent opposition of ancient surgeons and obstinate old sergeants in the Crimea, she was also smoothing the path of American women on the banks of the Potomac and the Mississippi. Her name and example belong to the race which she has honored ; but to us, whom she served in the crisis of our fate, and thus associated her name with the benevolent and heroic ladies of our land, she will ever be peculiarly dear. 38 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE, LYDIA MARIA CHILD. BY T. W. HIGGINSON. To those of us who are by twenty years or more the juniors of Mrs. Child, she presents herself rather as an object of love than of cool criticism, even if we have rarely met her face to face. In our earliest recollections she comes before us less as author or philanthropist than as some kindly and omnipresent aunt, beloved forever by the heart of childhood, — some one gifted with all lore, and furnished with un- fathomable resources, — some one discoursing equal delight to all members of the household. In those days she seemed to supply a sufficient literature for any family through her own unaided pen. Thence came novels for the parlor, cookery-books for the kitchen, and the " Juvenile Mis- cellany " for the nursery. In later years the intellectual jDro- vision still continued. We learned, from her anti-slavery writings, where to find our duties ; from her " Letters from New York," where to seek our purest pleasures; while her "Progress of Religious Ideas " introduced us to those pro- founder truths on which pleasures and duties alike rest. It is heedless to debate whether she has done the greatest or most permanent work in any especial department of litera- ture, she has done work so valuable in many. She has shown memorable independence in repeatedly leaving beaten paths to strike out for herself new literary directions, and has combined the authorship of more than thirty books and LYDIA MAKIA CHILD. 39 pamphlets with a singular devotion both to public and private philanthropies, and with almost too exacting a faithfulness to the humblest domestic duties. Sero in ccdum. May it be long before her full and final eulogy is written ; but mean- while it would be wrong to attempt even a sketch of her career without letting sympathy and love retain a large share in the service. Lydia Maria Francis was born at Medford, Mass., Febru- ary 11th, 1802. Her ancestor, Richard Francis, came from England in 1636, and settled in Cambridge, where his tomb- stone may still be seen in the burial-ground. Her paternal grandfather, a weaver by trade, was in the Concord fight, and is said to have killed five of the enemy. Her father, Con vers Francis, was a baker, first in "West Cambridge, then in Medford, where he first introduced what are still called " Medford crackers." He was a man of strong: char- acter and great industry. Though without much cultivation^ he had uncommon love of reading ; and his anti-slavery con- victions were peculiarly zealous, and must have influenced his children's later career. He married Susannah Rand, of whom it is only recorded that "she had a simple, loving heart, and a spirit busy in doing good." They had six children, of whom Lydia Maria was the youngest, and Convers the next in age. Convers Francis was afterwards eminent amous: the most advanced thinkers and scholars of the Unitarian body, at a time when it probably surpassed all other American denominations in the intellectual culture of its clergy. He had less ideality than his sister, less enthusiasm, and far less moral courage ; but he surpassed most of his profession in all these traits. He was Theodore Parker's first learned friend, and directed his studies in preparation for the theological school. Long after, Mr. Parker used still to head certain pages of his journal, "Questions to ask Dr. Francis." The modest 40 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. *' study " at Watertown was a favorite head-quarters of what were called "the trausceudentalists " of those days. Emerson, Margaret Fuller, Eipley, and the rest came often thither, in the days when the " Dial " was just emancipating American thought from old-world traditions. Afterwards, when Dr. Francis was appointed to the rather responsible and con- servative post of professor in the Cambridge Theological School, he still remained faithful to the spirit of those days, never repressing free inquiry, but always rejoicing to en- courage it. He was a man of rare attainments in a variety of directions, and though his great reading gave a desultory habit to his mind, and his thinking was not quite in pro- portion to his receptive power, he still was a most valuable instructor, as he was a most delightful friend. In face and figure he resembled the pictures of Martin Luther, and his habits and ways always seemed to me like those of some genial German professor. With the utmost frugality in other respects, he spent money almost profusely on books, and his library — part of which he bequeathed to Harvard College — was to me the most attractive I have overseen, — more so than even Theodore Parker's. His sister had un- doubtedly the superior mind of the two ; but he who in- fluenced others so much must have influenced her still more. " A dear good sister has she been to me ; would that I had been half as good a brother to her ! " This he wrote, in self- depreciation, long after. While he was fitting for college, a process which took but one year, she was his favorite com- panion, though more than six years younger. They read together, and she was constantly bringing him Milton and Shakespeare to explain. He sometimes mystified her, — as brothers will, in dealing with maidens nine years old, — and once told her that "the raven down of darkness," which was made to smile, was but the fur of a black cat that sparkled when stroked ; though it still perplexed her small brain, LYDIA MAKIA CHILD. • 41 why fur should be called down. This bit of levity from the future Professor of Theology I find iu the excellent sketch of Dr. Francis, by Rev. John Weiss, his successor, — a little book which gives a good impression of the atmosphere in which the brother and sister were reared. Their earliest teacher was a maiden lady, named Elizabeth Francis, — but not a relative, — and known universally as " Ma'am Betty." She is described as " a spinster of supernat- ural shyness, the never-forgotten calamity of whose life was that Dr. Brooks once saw her driukins: water from the nose of her tea-kettle." She kept school iu her bedroom ; it was never tidy, and she chewed a great deal of tobacco ; but the children were fond of her, and always carried her a Sunday dinner. Such simple kinchiesses went forth often from that thrifty home. Mrs. Child once told me that always, on the night Ijcfore Thanksgiving, all the humble friends of the household, — "Ma'am Betty," the washerwoman, the berry- woman, the wood-sawy*er, the journeymen-bakers, and so on, — some twenty or thirty in all, were summoned to a pre- liminary entertainment. They there partook of an immense chicken-pie, pumpkin-pies (made iu milk-pans), and heaps of doughnuts. They feasted in the large old-fashioned kitch- en, and went away loaded with crackers and bread by the father, and with pies by the mother, not forgetting " turn- overs" for their children. Such plain applications of the doctrine " It is more blessed to give than to receive " may have done more to mould the Lydia Maria Child of maturer years than all the faithful labors of good Dr. Osgood, to whom she and her brother used to repeat the Westminster Assembly's Catechism once a month. Apart from her brother's companionship the J^oung girl had, as usual, a very unequal share of educational opportu- nities ; attending only the public schools, with one year at the private seminary of Miss Swan, in Medford. Her mother 42 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. died in 1814, after which the family removed for a time to the State of INIaine. lu 1819, Con vers Francis was ordained over the First Parish in Watertown, and there occurred in his study, in 1824, an incident which was to determine the whole life of his sister. Dr. J. G. Palfrey had written in the "North American Review" for April, 1821, a review of the now forgotten poem of " Yamoyden," in which he ably pointed out the use that might be made of early American history for the pm-poses of fictitious wi'itiug. Miss Francis read this article, at her brother's house, one summer Sunday noon. Before attending the afternoon service, she wrote the first chapter of a novel. It was soon finished, and was published that year, — a thin volume of two hundred pages, without her name, under the title of " Hobomok ; a Tale of Early Times. By an American." In judgmg of this little book, it is to be remembered that it appeared in the very dawn of American literature. Ir- ving had printed only his " Sketch Book " and " Bracebridge Hall;" Cooper only "Precaution," "The Spy," "The Pio- neers," and " The Pilot ; " i\Iiss Sedgwick only " The New England Tale," and possibly " Redwood." This new produc- tion was the hasty work of a young woman of twenty-two, inspired by these few examples. When one thinks how little an American author finds in the influences around him, even now, to chasten his style or keep him up to any high literary standard, it is plain how very little she could then have found. Accordingly " Hobomok " seems very crude in execution, very improbable in plot, and is redeemed only by a certain ear- nestness which carries the reader along, and by a sincere at- tempt after local coloring. It is an Indian "Enoch Arden," with important modifications, which unfortunately all tend away from probability. Instead of the original lover who heroically yields his place, it is to him that the place is given up. The hero of this self-sacrifice is an Indian, a man of LYDIA MAKIA CHILD. 43 hiirli and noble character, whose wife the heroine had con- sented to become, when almost stunned with the false tidings of her lover's death. The least artistic things in the book are these sudden nuptials, and the equally sudden resolution of Hobomok to abandon his wife and child on the reappear- ance of the original betrothed. As the first Avork whose scene was laid in Puritan days, "Hobomok" will always have a historic interest ; but it must be read in very early youth to give it any other attraction. The success of this first effort was at any rate such as to encourage the publication of a second tale in the following year. This was " The Rebels ; or, Boston before the Revolu- tion. By the author of Hobomok." It was a great advance on its predecessor, with more vigor, more variety, more pic- turesque grouping, and more animation of style. The his- torical point was well chosen, and the series of public and private events well combined, with something of that ten- dency to the over-tragic which is common with young authors, — it is so much easier to kill off superfluous characters than to do anything else with them. It compared not unfavorably with Cooper's revolutionary novels, and had in one respect a remarkable success. It contained an imaginary sermon by Whitefield and an imaginary sj^eech by James Otis. Both of these were soon transplanted into "School Readers" and books of declamation, and the latter, at least, soon passed for a piece of genuine revolutionary eloquence. I remember learning it by heart, under that impression, and was really astonished, on recently reading "The Rebels" for the first time, to discover that the high-sounding periods which I had always attributed to Otis were really to be found in a young lady's romance. This book has a motto from Bryant, and is " most respect- fully inscribed " to George Ticknor. The closing paragraph states with some terseness the author's modest anxieties : — 4:4 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. "Many will complain that I have dwelt too much on politi- cal scenes, familiar to every one who reads our history ; and others, on the contrary, will say that the character of the book is quite too tranqtiil for its title. I might mention many doubts and fears still more important ; but I prefer silently to trust this humble volume to that futurity which no one can foresee and every one can read." The fears must soon have seemed useless, for the young novelist soon became almost a fashionable lion. She was an American Fanny Barney, with rather reduced copies of Burke and Johnson around her. Her personal qualities soon ce- mented some friendships, which lasted her life long, ex- cept where her later anti-slavery action interfered. She opened a private school in Watertown, which lasted from 1825 to 1828. She established, in 1827, the "Juvenile Mis- cellany," that delightful pioneer among children's magazines in America ; and it was continued for eight years. In Oc- tober, 1828, she was married to David Lee Child, a lawyer of Boston. In those days it seemed to be held necessary for American women to work their passage into literature by first compiling a cookery-book. They must be perfect in that preliminary requisite before they could proceed to advanced standing. It was not quite as in Prior's satire on Holland, " Invent a novel and be a magistrate," but. Give us our dinner and then, if you please, what is called the intellectual feast. Any career you choose, let it only begin from the Idtchen. As Charlotte Hawes has since written, "First this steak and then that stake," So Mrs. Child published in 1829 her " Frugal House- wife," a book which proved so popular that in 1836 it had reached its twentieth edition, and in 1855 its thirty-third. The " Frugal Housewife " now lies before me, after thirty years of abstinence from its appetizing pages. The words seem as familiar as when we children used to study them be- LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 45 side the kitchen fire, poring over them as if their very descriptions had power to allay an unquenched appetite or prolong the delights of one satiated. There were the ani- mals in the frontispiece, sternly divided by a dissecting-knife of printer's ink, into sections whose culinary names seemed as complicated as those of surgical science, — chump and spring, sirloin and sperib, — for I faithfully follow the origi- nal spelling. There we read with profound acquiescence that '' hard gingerbread is good to have in the famil}^" but de- murred at the reason given, "it keeps so well." It never kept well in ouys ! There we all learned that one should be governed in cookery by higher considerations than mere worldly vanity, knowing that " many people buy the upper part of the sparerib of pork, thinking it the most genteel ; but the lower part is more sweet and juicy, and there is more meat in proportion to the bone." Going beyond mere carnal desires, we read also the whole- some directions " to those who are not ashamed of economy." We were informed that " childi'en could early learn to take care of their own clothes," — a responsibility at which w^e shud- dered ; and also that it was a good thing for children to pick blackberries, — in which we heartily concurred. There, too, we were taught to pick up twine and paper, to write on the backs of old letters, like paper-sparing Pope, and if we had a dollar a day, which seemed a wild supposition, to live on seventy-five cents. We all read, too, with interest, the hints on the polishing of furniture and the education of daughters, and got our first glimpses of political economy from the " Reasons for Hard Times." So varied and comprehensive was the good sense of the book that it surely would have seemed to our childish minds infallible, but for one fiital ad- mission, which through life I have recalled with dismay, — the assertion, namely, that " economical people will seldom use preserves." " They are unhealthy, expensive, and useless to 4:6 EMINENT "WOMEN OF THE AGE. those who are well." This was a sumptuary law, against which the soul of youth revolted. Eeally the line of ascet- icism must be drawn somewhere. If preserves were to be voted extravagant, economy had lost its charms ; let us imme- diately become spendthrifts, and have a short life and a merry one. The wise counsels thus conveyed in this more-than-cookery- book may naturally have led the way to a "Mother's Book," of more direct exhortation. This was published in 1831, and had a great success, reaching its eighth American edition in 1845, besides twelve English editions and a German transla- tion. Probably it is now out of print, but one may still find at the bookstores the " Girl's Own Book," published during the same year. This is a capital manual of indoor games, and is worth owning by any one who has a houseful of chil- dren, or is liable to serve as a Lord of Misrule at Christmas parties. It is illustrated with vignettes by that wayward child of genius, Francis Graeter, a German, whom Mrs. Child afterwards described in the " Letters from New. York." He was a personal friend of hers, and liis pencil is also traceable in some of her later books. Indeed the drollest games which he has delineated in the " Girl's Own Book " are not so amus- ing as the unintentional comedy of his attempt at a " Ladies' Sewing Circle," which illustrates American life in the "His- tory of Woman." The fair laborers sit about a small round table, with a smirk of mistimed levity on their faces, and one feels an irresistible impulse to insert in their very curly hair the twisted papers employed in the game of " Genteel lady, always genteel," in the " Girl's Own Book." The "History of Woman" appeared in 1832, as one of a series projected by Carter & Hendee, of which Mrs. Child was to be the editor, but which was interrupted at the fifth volume by the failure of the publishers. She compiled for this the "Biographies of Good Wives," the "Memoirs" of LYDIA MAKIA CHILD. 47 Madame De Stael and Madame Eoland, those of Lady Rus- sell and Madame Giiion, and the two volumes of " Woman." All these aimed at a popular, not a profound, treatment. She was, perhaps, too good a compiler, showing in such work the traits of her l)rother's mind, and carefully excluding all those airy flights and bold speculations which afterwards seemed her favorite element. The "Historj"^ of Woman," for instance, was a mere assemblage of facts, beginning and ending abruptly, and with no glimpse of any leading thought or general phi- losophy. It was, however, the first American storehouse of information upon that whole question, and no doubt helped the agitation along. Its author evidentlj'- looked with distrust, however, on that rising movement for the equality of the sexes, of which Frances Wright was then the rather formida- ble leader. The "Biographies of Good Wives" reached a fifth edition in the course of time, as did the " History of Woman." I have a vague, childish recollection of her next book, "The Coronal," published in 1833, which was of rather a fugitive description. The same year brought her to one of those bold steps W'hich made successive eras in her literary life, the pub- lication of her "Appeal for that Class of Americans called Africans." The name was rather cumbrous, like all attempts to include an epigram in a title-page, — but the theme and the word "Appeal " were enough. It was under the form of an "Ap- peal" that the colored man, Alexander Walker, had thrown a firebrand into Southern society which had been followed by Nat Turner's insurrection ; and now a literary lady, amid the cultivated circles of Boston, dared also to "appeal." Only two years before (1831) Garrison had begun the " Libera- tor," and only two years later (1835) he was destined to be dragged through Boston streeets, with a rope round his neck, by "gentlemen of property and standing," as the newspapers 48 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. said next clay. It was just at the most dangerous moment of the rising storm that Mrs. Child appealed. Miss Martineau in her article, " The Martyr Age in Amer- ica," — published in the "London and Westminster Eeview" in 1839, and at once reprinted in America, — gives by far the most graphic picture yet drawn of that perilous time. She describes Mrs. Child as " a lady of whom society was exceed- ingly proud before she iDublished her Appeal, and to whom society has been extremely contemptuous ever since." She adds : " Her works were bought with avidity before, but fell into sudden oblivion as soon as she had done a greater deed than writing any of them." It is evident that this result was not unexpected, for the preface to the book explicitly recognizes the probable dissat- isfaction of the public. She says : — " I am fully aware of the unpopularity of the task I have undertaken ; but though I expect ridicule and censure, I can- not fear them. A few years hence, the opinion of the world will be a matter in which I have not even the most transient interest ; but this book will be abroad on its mission of hu- manity long after the hand that wrote it is mingling with the dust. Should it be the means of advancing, even one single hour, the inevitable progress of truth and justice, I would not exchange the consciousness for all Rothschild's wealth, or Sir Walter's fame." These words have in them a genuine ring ; and the book is really worthy of them. In looking over its pages, after the lapse of thirty j^ears, it seems incredible that it should have drawn upon her such hostility. The tone is calm and strong, the treatment systematic, the points well put, the statements well guarded. The successive chapters treat of the history of slavery, its comparative aspect in different ages and na- LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 49 tions, its influence on politics, the profitableness 'Of emanci- pation, the evils of the colonization scheme, the intellect of negroes, their morals, the feeling- against them, and the duties of the community in their behalf. As it was the first anti-slavery work ever printed in America in book form, so I have always thought it the ablest ; that is, it covered the. whole ground better than any other. I know that, on reading it for the first time, nearly ten years after its first appearance, it had more formative influence on my mind, in that direction, than any other, although of course the eloquence of public meetings was a more exciting stimulus. It never surprised me to hear that even Dr. Channing attributed a part of his own anti-slavery awakening to this admirable book. He took pains to seek out its author immediately on its appearance, and there is in his biography an interesting account of the meeting. His own work on slavery did not appear until 1835. Undaunted and perhaps stimulated by opposition, Mrs. Child followed up her self-appointed task. During the next year she published the " Oasis," a sort of anti-slavery annual, the precursor of Mrs. Chapman's " Liberty Bell," of later years. She also published, about this time, an "Anti-slavery Catechism," and a small book called "Authentic Anecdotes of American Slavery." These I have never seen, but find them advertised on the cover of a third pamphlet, which, with them, went to a second edition in 1839. "The Evils of Sla- very and the Cure of Slavery ; the first proved by the opin- ions of Southerners themselves, the last shown by historical evidence." This is a compact and sensible little work. While thus seemingly absorbed in reformatory work she still kept an outlet in the direction of pure literature, and was employed for several years on her "Philothea," which ap- peared in 1833. The scene of this novel was laid in ancient Greece. It appeared with her name on the title-page, was inscribed to her brother, and the copyright was taken out 50 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE ^ by Park Btojamin, a literary friend residing in New York. Th6 preface to the book has so much the character of auto- biography, that it must be inserted without abridgment. " This volume is purely romance ; and most readers will consider it romance of the wildest kind. A few kindred spirits, prone to people space 'with life and mystical pre- dominance,' will perceive a light within the Grecian Temple. "For such I have written it. To minds of different* mould, who may think an apology necessary for what they will deem so utterly useless, I have nothing better to offer than the simple fact that I found delight in doing it. " The work has been four or five years in its progress ; for the practical tendencies of the age, and particularly of the country in which I lived, have so continually forced me into the actual, that my mind has seldom obtained freedom to rise into the ideal. " The hope of extended usefulness has hitherto incluced a strong effort to throw myself into the spirit of the times ; which is prone to neglect beautiful and fragrant flowers, unless their roots answer for vegetables, and their leaves for herbs. But there have been seasons when my soul felt restless in this bondage, — like the Pegasus, of German fable, chained to a plodding ox, and offered in the market ; and as that rash steed when he caught a glimpse of the far blue sky, snapped the chain that bound him, spread his wings, and left the earth beneath him, — so I, for awhile, bid adieu to the substantial fields of utility, to float on the clouds of romance. " The state of mind produced by the alternation of thoughts, in their nature so opposite, was oddly pictured by the follow- ing dream, which came before me in my sleep, with all the distinctness of reality, soon after I began to write this work. "I dreamed that I arose early in the morning and went into my garden, eager to see if the crocus had yet ventured to LYDIA MAEIA CHILD. 51 peep above the ground. To my astonishment, that little spot, which, the day before, had worn the dreary aspect of winter, was now filled with flowers of every form and hue. With enthusiastic joy I clapped my hands, and called aloud to my husband to come and view the wonders of the garden. He came ; and we passed from flower to flower, admiring their marvellous beauty. Then, with a sudden bound, I said, ' Now come and see the sunshine on the water ! ' " We passed to the side of the house, where the full sea pre- sented itself in all the radiance of the morning. And as we looked, lo, there appeared a multitude of boats with sails like the wings of butterflies, which now opened wide and re- posed on the surface of the water ; and now closed like the motions of weary insects in July ; and ever as they moved, the gorgeous colors glittered in the sunshine. "I exclaimed, 'These must have come from fairyland!' As I spoke, suddenly we saw among the boats, a multitude of statues, that seemed to be endowed Avith life ; some large and majestic, some of beautiful feminine proportions, and an almost infinite variety of lovely little cherubs. Some were diving, some floating, and some undulating on the surface of the sea ; and ever as they rose up, the water-drops glittered like gems on the pure white marble. " We could find no words to express our rapture while gazing on a scene thus clothed with the beauty of other worlds. As we stood absorbed in the intensity of delight, I heard a noise behind me, and, turning round, saw an old woman with a checked apron, who made an awkward cour- tes}^, ajid said, ' Ma'am, I can't aflbrd to let you have that brisket for eight pence a pound.' "When I related this dream to my husband, he smiled and said, ' The first part of it was dreamed by Philothea ; the last, by the Frugal Housewife.' " 52 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. I well remember the admiration with which this romance was hailed ; and for me personally it was one of those de- lights of boyhood which the criticism of maturity cannot dis- turb. What mattered it if she brought Anaxagoras and Plato on the stage together, whereas in truth the one died about the year when the other was born ? What mattered it if in her book the classic themes were treated in a romantic spuit ? That is the fate of almost all such attempts ; compare for instance the choruses of Swinburne's " Atalanta," which might have been written on the banks of the Ehine, and very likely were. But childhood never wishes to discriminate, only to combine ; a period of life which likes to sugar its bread-and-butter prefers also to have its classic and romantic in one. "Philothea" was Mrs. Child's first attempt to return, with her anti-slavery cross still upon her, into the ranks of literature. Mrs. S. J. Hale, who, in her ''Woman's Record," reproves her sister writer for " wasting her soul's wealth " in this radi- calism, and " doing incalculable injury to humanity," seems to take a stern satisfaction in the fact that " the bitter feelino^s engendered by the strife have prevented the merits of this remarkable book from being appreciated as they deserve." This was perhaps true ; nevertheless it went through three editions, and Mrs. Child, still keeping up the full circle of her labors, printed nothing but a rather short-lived "Family Nurse" (in 1837) before entering the anti-slavery arena again. In 1841, Mr. and Mrs. Child were engaged by the Ameri- can Anti-slavery Society to edit the " Anti-slavery Staodard," a weekly newspaper then and now published in New York. Mr. Child's health being impaired, his wife undertook the task alone, and conducted the newspaper in that manner for two years, after which she aided her husband in the work, remaining there for eight years in all. She was very success- LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 53 fill as an editor, her mauagemcnt being brave and efficient, while her cultivated taste made the " Standard " attractive to many who were not attracted by the plainer fare of the " Lib- erator." The good judgment shown in her poetical and literary selections was always acknowledged with especial gratitude by those who read the " Standard " at that time. During all this period she was a member of the family of the well-known Quaker philanthropist, Isaac T. Hopper, whose biographer she afterwards became. This must have been the most important and satisfiictory time in Mrs. Child's whole life. She was placed where her sympathetic nature found abundant outlet, and plenty of co-operation. Dwelliug in a home where disinterestedness and noble labor were as daily breath, she had great opportimitics. There was no mere almsgiving there, no mere secretaryship of benevolent socie- ties ; but sin and sorrow must be brought home to the fireside and to the heart; the fugitive slave, the drunkard, the out- cast woman, must be the chosen guest of the abode, — must be taken and held and loved into reformation or hope. Since the stern tragedy of city life began, it has seen no more effi- cient organization ibr relief, than when dear old Isaac Hop- per and Mrs. Child took up their abode beneath one roof in New York. For a time she did no regular work in the cause of perma- nent literature, — though she edited an anti-slavery Almanac in 1843, — but she found an opening for her best eloquence in writing letters to the " Boston Courier," then under the charge of Joseph T. Buckingham. This was the series of "Letters from New York" that afterwards became famous. They were the precursors of that modern school of newspaper correspondence, in which women have so large a share, and which has something of the charm of women's private letters, — a style of writing where description preponderates over argument, and statistics make way for fancy and enthusiasm. 54: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Many have since followed in this path, and perhaps Mrs. Child's letters would not now be 'hailed as they then were. Others may have equalled her, but she gave us a new sensa- tion, and that epoch was perhaps the climax even of her purely literary career. Their tone also did much to promote the tendency, which was shoAviug itself in those days, towards a fresh inquiry into the foundations of social science. The "Brook Farm" ex- periment was then at its height ; and though she did not call herself an "Associationist," yet she quoted Fourier and Swe- dfenborg, and other authors who were thought to mean mis- chief; and her highest rhapsodies about poetry and music were apt to end in some fervent appeal for some increase of harmony in daily life. She seemed always to be talking radicalism in a greenhouse ; and there, were many good peo- ple who held her all the more dangerous for her perfumes. There were young men and maidens, also, who looked to her as a teacher, and were influenced for life, perhaps, by what she wrote. I knew, for instance, a young lawyer, just enter- ing on the practice of his profession under the most flattering auspices, who withdrew from the courts foreyer, — wisely or unwisely, — because Mrs. Child's book had taught him to hate their contests and their injustice. It was not long after this that James Russell Lowell, in his "Fable for Critics," — that strange medley of true wit and feeling intermingled with sketches of celebrities that are for- gotten, and of personal hostilities that ought to be, — gave himself up to one impulse of pure poetry in describing Mrs. Child. It is by so many degrees the most charming sketch ever made of her, that the best part of it must be inserted here. " There comes Philothea, her face all aglow, She has just been dividiug some poor creature's woe, • LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 55 And cau't tell which pleases her most, to relieve His want, or his story tolfear and believe ; " The pole, science tells us, the magnet controls, But she is a magnet to emigrant Poles, And folks with a mission that nobody knows Throng thickly about her, as bees round a rose ; She can fill up the carets in such, make their scope Converge to some focus of rational hope. And with sympathies fresh as the morning, their gall Can transmute into honey, — but this is not all; Not only for these she has solace, oh, say, Vice's desperate nursling adrift in Broadway, Who clingest with all that is left of thee human To the last slender spar from the wreck of the woman, Hast thou not found one shore where those tired drooping feet Could reach firm mother earth, one full heart on whose beat The soothed head in silence reposing could hear The chimes of far childhood throb thick on the ear? Ah, there's many a beam from the fountain of day That to reach us unclouded, must pass on its way, Through the goul of a woman, aud hers is wide ope To the influence of Heaven as the blue eyes of Hope; Yes, a great soul is hers, one that dares to go in To the prison, the slave-hut, the alleys of sin, And to bring into each, or to find there, some line Of the never completely out-trampled divine ; If her heart at high floods swamps her brain now and then, 'Tis but richer for that when the tide ebbs again. As after old Nile has subsided, his plain Overflows with a second broad deluge of grain; What a wealth would it bring to the narrow and sour. Could they be as a Child but for one little hour ! " The two series of "Letters" appeared in 1843 and 1845, aud went through seven or more editions. They were fol- lowed in 1846 by a collection of Tales, mostly reprinted, entitled "Fact and Fiction." The book was dedicated to " Auua Loriug, the child of my heart," and was a series of powerful and well-told narratives, some purely ideal, but mostly based upon the sins of great cities, especially those of man against woman. She might have sought more joyous 56 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. • themes, but none which at that time lay so near her heart. There was more simshine in her next literary task, for, in 1852, she collected three small volumes of her stories from the " Juvenile Miscellany," and elsewhere, under the title of "Flowers for Children." In 1853 she published her next book, entitled " Isaac T. Hopper ; a True Life." This gave another new sensation to the public, for her books never seemed to rejDeat each other, and belonged to almost as many different departments as there were volumes. The critics complained that this memoir was a little fragmentary, a series of interesting stories with- out sufficient method or unity of conception. Perhaps it would have been hard to make it otherwise. Certainly, as the book stands, it seems like the department of "Benev- olence" in the "Percy Anecdotes," and serves as an encyclo- paedia of daring and noble charities. Her next book was the most arduous intellectual labor of her life, and, as often happens in such cases, the least profit- able in the way of money. "The Progress of Eeligious Ideas through successive Ages " was published in three large volumes, in 1855. She had begun it long before, in, New York, with the aid of the Mercantile Library and the Com- mercial Library, then the best in the city. It was finished in Wayland, with the aid of her brother's store of books, and with his and Theodore Parker's counsel as to her course of reading. It seems, from the preface, that more than eight years elapsed between the planning and the printing, and for six years it was her main pursuit. For this great labor she had absolutely no pecuniary reward ; the book paid its expenses and nothing more. It is now out of print, and not easy to obtain. This disappointment was no doubt due partly to the fact that the book set itself in decided opposition, unequivocal though gentle, to the prevailing religious impressions of the LYDIA MAEIA CHILD. 57 coaimuuity. It may have been, also, that it was too learned for a popular book, aud too popular for a learned one. Learning', indeed, she distinctly disavowed. "If readers complain of want of profoundness, they may perchance be willing to accept simplicity and clearness in exchange for depth." "Doubtless a learned person would have performed the task far better, in many respects ; but, on some accounts, my want of learning is an advantage. Thoughts do not range so freely, when the store-room of the brain is over- loaded with furniture." And she gives at the end, with her usual frankness, a list of works consulted, all being in Eng- lish, except seven, which are in French. It was a bold thing to base a history of religious ideas on such books as Enfield's Philosophy and Taylor's Plato. The trouble was not so much that the learning was second-hand, — for such is most learn- ini?, — as that the authorities were second-rate. The stream could hardly go higher than its source ; and a book based on such very inadequate researches could hardly be accepted, even when tried by that very accommodating standard, American scholarship. Apart from this, the plan and spirit of the work deserve much praise. It is perhaps the best attempt in our language to bring together in a popular form, or indeed in any form, the religious symbols and utterances of different ages, pointing out their analogies and treating all with respect. Eecognizing all religions as expressions of one universal and ennobling instinct, it was impossible that she should not give dissatisfactfon to many sincere minds ; had it been possible to avoid this, she would have succeeded. Not only is there no irreverence, but the author is of almost too sympathetic a nature to be called even a rationalist. The candor is perfect, and if she has apparently no prejudice in favor of the Christian religion, she has certainly what is rare among polemics who tend in her direction, — no prejudice 58 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. against it. She takes pains — some readers would sajf exaggerated pains — to point out its superiority to all others. In 1857, Mrs. Child published a volume entitled "Au- tumnal Leaves ; Tales and Sketches in Prose and Rhj'me." It might seem from this title that she regarded her career of action as drawing to a close. If so, she was soon undeceived, and the attack of Captain John Brown upon Harper's Ferry aroused her, like many others, from a dream of peace. Immediately on the arrest of Captain Brown she wrote him a brief letter, asking permission to go and nurse him, as he was wounded and among enemies, and as his wife was supposed to be beyond immediate reach. This letter she enclosed in one to Governor Wise. She then went home and packed her trunk, with her husband's full approval, but decided not to go until she heard from Captain Brown, not knowing what his precise wishes might be. She had heard that he had expressed a wish to have the aid of some lawyer not identified with the anti-slavery movement, and she thought he was entitled to the same considerations of policy in regard to a nurse. Meantime Mrs. BroAvn was sent for, and promptly arrived; while Captain Brown wrote Mrs. Child one of his plain and characteristic letters, declining her offer, and asking her kind aid for his family, which was faithfully given. But with his letter came one from Governor Wise, — courteous, but rather diplomatic, — and containing some re- proof of her expressiojis of sympathy for the prisoner. To this she wrote an answer, well-worded, and quite effective, which, to her great surprise, soon appeared in the "New York Tribune." She wrote to the editor (Nov. 10, 1859) : "I was much surprised to see my correspondence with Governor Wise published in your columns. As I have never given LYDIA MAKIA CHILD. 59 any person a copy, I presume you must have obtained it from Virginia." Tliis correspondence soon led to another. Mrs. M. J. C. Mason, wrote from "Alto, King George's County, Virginia," a formidable demonstration, beginning thus: "Do you read your Bible, Mrs. Child? If you do, read there, * Woe unto you hypocrites,' and take to yourself, with twofold damna- tion, that terrible sentence; for, rest assured, in the day of judgment, it shall be more tolerable for those thus scathed by the awful denunciations of the Sou of God than for you." This startling commencement — of which it must be calmly asserted that it comes very near swearing, for a lady — leads to something like bathos at the end, where Mrs. Mason adds in conclusion, " no Southerner ought, after your letters to Governor Wise, to read a line of your composition, or to touch a magazine which bears your name in its list of con- tributors." To begin with doubly-dyed future torments, and come gradually to the climax of " Stop my paper," admits of no other explanation than that Mrs. Mason had dabbled in literature herself, and knew how to pierce the soul of a sister in the trade. But the great excitement of that period, and the general loss of temper that prevailed, may plead a little in vindica- tion of Mrs. Mason's vehemence, and must certainly enhance the dignity of Mrs. Child's reply. It is one of the best things she ever wrote. She refuses to dwell on the in- vectives of her assailant, and only " wishes her well, both in this world and the next." Nor will she even debate the specific case of John Brown, whose body was in charge of the courts, and his reputation sure to be in charge of pos- terity. " Men, however great they may be," she says, "are of small consequence in comparison with principles, and the principle for which John Brown died is the question at issue between us." 60 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. She accordingly proceeds to discuss this question, first scripturally (following the lead of her assailant) , then on gen- eral principles ; and gives one of her usual clear summaries of the whole argument. Now that the excitements of the hour have passed, the spirit of her whole statement must claim just praise. The series of letters was published in pamphlet form in 1860, and secured a wider circulation than anything she ever wrote, embracing some three hundred thousand copies. In return she received many private letters from the slave States, mostly anonymous, and often grossly insulting. Having gained so good a hearing, she followed up her opportunity. During the same 3''ear she printed two small tracts, "The Patriarchal Institution," and "The Duty of Dis- obedience to the Fugitive Slave Law ; " and then one of her most elaborate compilations, entitled "The Eight Way the Safe Way, proved by Emancipation in the British West Indies and elsewhere." This shows the same systematic and thorough habit of mind with* its predecessors ; and this busi- ness-like way of dealing with facts is hard to reconcile with the dreamy and almost uncontrolled idealism which she else- where shows. In action, too, she has usually shown the same practical thoroughness, and in case of this very book, for- warded copies at her own expense to fifteen hundred persons in the slave States. In 1864 she published "Looking towards Sunset," — a very agreeable collection of prose and verse, by various authors, all bearing upon the aspects of old age. This was another of those new directions of literary activity with which she so often surprised her friends. The next year brought still an- other in the " Freedmen's Book," — a collection of short tales and sketches suited to the mental condition of the Southern freedmen, and published for their benefit. It was sold for that purpose at cost (sixty cents) , and a good many copies LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 61 are still being distributed through teachers and missiona- ries. Her latest publication, and perhaps (if one might venture to guess) her favorite among the whole series, appeared in 1867, — "A Eomance of the Republici" It was received with great cordiality, and is in some respects her best ficti- tious work. The scenes are laid chiefly at the South, where she has given the local coloring in a way really remarkable for one who never visited that region, — while the results of slavery are painted with the thorough knowledge of one who had devoted a lifetime to their study. The leading charac- ters are of that type which is now becoming rather common in fiction, because American society afibrds none whose situation is so dramatic, — young q.uadroons educated to a high grade of culture, and sold as sjaves after all. All the scenes are handled in a broad spirit of humanity, and betray no trace of that subtle sentiment of caste which runs throuirh and through some novels written ostensibly to oppose caste. The characterization is good, and the events interesting and vigorously handled. The defect of the book is a common one, — too large a framework, too many vertehroi to the plot. Even the established climax of a wedding is a safer experi- ment than to prolong the history into the second generation, as here. The first two-thirds of the story would have been more efiective without the conclusion. But it will always possess value as one of the few really able delineations of slavery in fiction, and the author may well look back with pride on this final ofieriug at that altar of liberty where so much of her life had been already laid. I have now enumerated all of Mrs. Child's writings, so far as I can ascertain them, — some having been attributed to her which she did not write, — and have mentioned such of her public acts as are inseparable from her literary career. Be- yond this it is not now right to go. It is now nearly twenty 62 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. years since she left not only the busy world of New York, but almost the world of society, and took up her abode (after a short residence at West Newton), in the house bequeathed to her by her father, at Wayland, Massachusetts. In that quiet village she and her husband have peacefully dwelt, avoiding" even friendship's intrusions. Into the privacy of that home I have no right to enter. Times of peace have no historians, and the later career of Mrs. Child has had few of what the world calls events. Her domestic labors, her stud- ies, her flowers, and her few guests keep her ever busy. She has no children of her own, — though, as some one has said, a great many of other people's, — but more than one whom she has befriended has dwelt with her since her retirement, and she comes forth sometimes to find new benefidaries. But for many of her kindnesses she needs not to leave home, since they are given in the form least to be expected from a literary woman, — that of pecuniary bounty. If those who labor for the freedmen, in especial, were to testify, they oould prove that few households in the country have contributed on a scale so very liberal, in proportion to their means. During the war this munificence was still farther enhanced in the direction of the soldiers. But it is not yet time for the left hand to know what these right hands have done, and I for- bear. One published letter, however, may serve as a sample of many. It was addressed to the last Anti-slavery Festival at Boston, and not only shows the mode of action adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Child, but their latest opinions as to public affairs : — "Wayland, Jan. 1st, 1868. "Dear Friend Phillips : — We enclose $50 as our subscrip- tion to the Anti-slavery Society. If our means equalled our wishes, we would send a sum as large as the legacy Francis Jackson intended for that purpose, and of which the society LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 63 was deprived, as we think, by an unjust legal decision. If our sensible and judicious friend could speak to us from the other side of Jordan, we doubt not he would say that the vigilance of the Anti-slavery Society was never more needed than at the present crisis, and that, consequently, he was never more disposed to aid it liberally. " Of course the rancorous pride and prejudice of this coun- try cannot be cured by any short process, not even by lessons so sternly impressive as those of our recent bloody conflict. There is cause for great thankfulness that 'war Abolitionists' were driven to perform so important a part in the great pro- gramme of Providence ; but their recognition of human broth- erhood is rarely of a kind to be trusted in emergencies. In most cases, it is not ^ shin deep.' Those who were Aboli- tionists in the teeth of popular opposition are the only ones who really made the case of the colored people their own ; therefore they are the ones least likely to be hoodwinked by sophistry and false pretences now. " To us the present crisis of the country seems more dan- greous than that of '61. The insidiousness of oppressors is always more to be dreaded than their open violence. There can be no reasonable doubt that a murderous feeling toward the colored people prevails extensively at the South ; and we are' far from feeling very sure that a large party could not be rallied at the North in favor of restoring slavery. We have no idea that it ever can be restored ; but if we would avert the horrors of another war, more dreadful than the last, we must rouse up and keep awake a public sentiment that will compel politicians to do their duty. This we consider the appropriate and all-important work of the old Anti-slavery Society. " The British Anti-slavery Society deserted their post too soon. If they had been as watchful to protect the freed peo- ple of the West Indies as they were zealous to emancipate 64: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. them, that horrid catastrophe in Jamaica might have been avoided. The state of thins-s in those islands warns us how dangerous it is to trust those who have been slaveholders, and those who habitually sympathize with slaveholders, to frame laws and reo-ulations for liberated slaves. As well might wolves be trusted to guard a sheepfold. " We thank God, friend Phillips, that you are preserved and strengthened to be a wakeful sentinel on the watch-tower, ever ready to warn a drowsy nation against selfish, timid politicians, and dawdling legislators, who manifest no trust either in God or the people. " Yours faithfully, "David L. Child, «L. Maria Child." This is all of Mrs. Child's biography that can now be writ- ten ; and it is far more than her sensitive nature — shrinking from publicity even when she brings it on herself — would approve. She is one of those prominent instances in our lit- erature, of persons born for the pursuits of pure intellect, whose intellects were yet balanced by their hearts, and both absorbed in the great moral agitations of the age. " My natural inclinations," she once wrote to me, "drew me much more strongly towards literature and the arts than towards reform, and the weight of conscience was needed to turn the scale." She has doubtless gained in earnestness far more than she has lost in popularity, in wealth, or even in artistic culture ; the first two losses count for little, and the last may not be due to her advocacy of reforms alone, but to the crude condition, as respects even literary art, which yet marks us all. In a community of artists, she would have belonged to that class, for she had that instinct in her soul. But she was placed where there was as yet no exacting literary standard ; she wrote better than most of her contemporaries, and well LYDIA MARIA CHILD. 65 enough for her public. She did not, therefore, win that intel- lectual immortality which only the very best writers command, and which few Americans have attained. But she won a meed which she would value more highly, — that warijith of sym- pathy, that mingled gratitude of intellect and heart wliich* men give to those who have faithfully served their day and generation . No rural retirement can hide her from the prayers of those who were ready to perish, when they first knew her ; and the love of those whose lives she has eufiched from child- hood will follow her fading eyes as they look towards sunset, and, after her departing, will keep her memory green. QQ EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. FANNY FERN-MRS. PARTON. • BY GRACE GREENWOOD. Sara Patson Willis, daughter of Nathaniel and Sara Willis, was born in Portland, Maine, in midsummer of the year of our Lord 1811. In that fine old town, in that fine old State, where as she says, " the timber and the human beings are sound," she spent the first six years of her life. During those years, our country passed through a troublous time, — a supplementary grapple with the old country, — final, let us hope, and eminently satisfactory in its results, to one party at least. But it is not probable that the shock and tumult of war seriously disturbed the little Sara, sphered apart from its encounters, sieges, conflagrations, and unnatural griefs, in the fairy realm of a happy childhood. Whether we made a cow- ardly sm-render at Detroit, or incarnadined Lake Erie with British blood, — whether we conquered at Chippewa, or re- hearsed Bull Kun at Bladensburg, — whether our enemy burned the Capitol at Washington, or was soundly thrashed at New Orleans, — it was all the same to her. However the heart of the noble mother may have been pained by the trag- edies, privations and mournings of that time, it brooded over the little baby-life in sheltering peace and love ; — as the robin, when her nest rocks in the tempest, shields her unfledged darlings with jealous care. I have a theory, flanked by whole columns of biographical history, that no man or woman of genius was ever born ol PANNY FERN — MRS. PARTON. 67 an inferior, or common-place woman. The mother of Na- thaniel, Richard, and Sara Willis was a large-brained, as well as great-heai-ted woman. The beautiful tributes of her poet- son made all the world aware of her most lovable qualities — her faithful, maternal tenderness and broad, sweet charity ; but to these were added rare mental power and character of singular nobility and weight. From a private letter, addressed by the subject of this biogi'aphical sketch to a friend, in answer to some questions concerning this noble mother, I am permitted to take the fol- lowing touching tribute : " All my brother's poetry, all the capability for wi'iting which I possess — be it little, or much — came from her. She had correspondence with many clergy- men of the time and others, and, had she lived at this day, would have been a writer worthy of mention. In those days women had nine children — her number and stifled their souls under baskets of stocldngs to mend and aprons to make. She made every one who came near her better and happier for having seen her. She had a heart as wide as the world, and charity to match. Oh, the times I have thrown my arms wildly about me and sobbed 'Mother ! ' till it seemed she must come ! I shall never be 'weaned,' never ! She under- stood me. Even now, I loant her, every day and hour. Blessed be eternity and immortality ! That is what my mother was to me. God bless her ! " In 1817 Mr. Willis removed to Boston, where he for many years edited the "Eecorder," a religious journal, and "The Youth's Companion," a juvenile paper, of blessed memory. In Boston, Sara spent the remainder of her childhood ; and a grand old town it is to be reared in, notwithstanding the east wind, its crooked, cow-path streets, and general promiscu- ousness, — notwithstanding its exceeding self-satisfaction, its social frigidity, its critical narrowness and its contagious isms: amons; the most undesirable of which count conven- 68 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. tionalism and dilettanteism ; and it is an admirable town to emigrate from, because of these uotwithstandings. The stern Puritan traditions and social prejudices of the place seem not to have entered very strongly into the charac- ter of Sara Willis. She probably chased butterflies on Bos- ton Common, or picked wild strawberries (if they gi-ew there) on Bunker Hill, without much musing on their gi'and and heroic associations of those places. She doubtless tripped by Faneuil Hall occasionally, without doing honor to it, as the august cradle of liberty. She must have been an eminently happy and merry child ; indulging in her own glad fancies in the bright present, with little reverence for the past, or apprehension for the future, — much given to mischief and mad little pranks of fun and adventure. Sara was educated at Hartford, in the far-famed Seminary of Miss Catherine Beecher. At that time, Harriet Beecher, Mrs. Stowe, was a teacher in this school. She was amiable and endearing in her waj^s, and was recognized as a decidedly clever young lady, with a vein of quiet humor, a sleepy sort of wit, that woke up and flashed out when least expected ; but of a careless, unpractical turn of mind. She was not thought by any means the equal in mental power and weight of her elder sister, whose character was full of manly energy, who was a clear thinker, an excellent theologian, a good, great, high-hearted woman, with a strong will and remarkable exec- titive abilities. Of all his children, Dr. Beecher is said to have most highly respected Catherine. Sara Willis must here have laid an excellent foundation for successful authorship, though probably nothing was farther from her thoughts at the time than such a profession. It would have seemed too quiet and thought-compelling a career for her, with her heart as full of frolic as a lark's breast is of singing. There are yet traditions in that staid old town of Hartford, of her merry school-girl escapades, her "tricks and EANNY TEEN — MES. PAETON. 69 her manners," that draw forth as hearty laughter as the witty sallies, humorous fancies, and sharp strokes of satu*e that give to her writings their peculiar sparkle and dash. If she grappled with the exact sciences it is not probable that they siiftered much in the encounter. For Geometry she is said to have had an especial and inveterate dislike. In- deed, her teacher, Mrs. Stowe, still tells a story of her hav- ing torn out the leaves of her Euclid to curl her hair with. So she laid herself down to mathematical dreams, her fair head bristling with acute angles, in parallelogTammatic and par- alellopipedonic papillotes, — in short, with more Geometry outside than in. A novel way of getting over " the dunce bridge," by taking that distasteful Fifth Proposition not only inwardly, but as an outward application ; so that it might have read thus : " The angles at the base of an isosceles triangle are equal to one another ; and if the equal sides be produced in curl papers, the angles on the other side of the os fwntis are also equal." But in the laughing, high-spirited girl there must have ex- isted unsuspected by those about her, almost unsuspected by herself, the courage and energy, the tenderness, the large sympathy, the reverence for the divine and the human, which love and sorrow, the trials and stress of misfortune, were to evolve from her natin-e, and which her genius was to reveal. A seer that might have perceived towering above the ringleted head of her absent-minded young teacher, a dark attendant spirit, benignant, but mom-nful, — poor, grand, old world- be wept, pol^^glotted Uncle Tom, — might also have seen in the few shadowy recesses of her young' pupil's sunny char- acter, the germs of those graceful " Fern Leaves " that were to bring to the literature of the people new vigor and ver- dure, the odors of woodlands, and exceeding pleasant pic- tures of nature. It must have been while Sara was at school in Hartford, 70 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. that her brother Nathaniel l3egan to be famous as a poet. In that unlikely place, Yale College, he seems to have had a period of religious enthusiasm, or sentiment, and his scrip- tural poems were the result. They have always continued to be his most popular productions, but they are far from being his best. They are Scripture diluted, though diluted with rose-water. The young school-girl must have had a sister s pride in this handsome, brilliant brother, in the golden dawn of his fame. And here, let one whom he once befriended add this slight tribute to the poet's memory : What though his life did not wholly fulfil the promise of its fair morning ? It Avas a life marked by man^^ a generous act, though beset by more than ordinary temptations to utter worldliness and ego- tism, — a life that gladdened with its best thoughts and most brilliant fancies lives less fortunate, and yet perhaps less sad. His genius delighted us long; for his faults, who, standing over his grave, feels ti"ue and earnest and blameless enough to sternly condemn him ? Miss Willis, soon after leaving school, married Mr. El- dridge, of Boston, and for several years lived in ease and comfort, and, what was far better, in domestic happiness. Three daughters were born to her, and the wondrous experi- ence of motherhood must have come to her to exalt, yet sub- due the passionate impulses ancb the undisciplined forces of her nature. Doubtless life with the new gladness, put on new solemnity; with the new riches, must have come hu- mility. Love had done much for Sara Eldridge, maternity more ; but she needed yet another heavenly teacher and helper, — one no less benignant than they> but stern of aspect, myste- rious, relentless, — Death. He descended on that happy little household* " the angel with the amaranthme wi'eath," and the husband and father "was not." Again he descended and bore away the first born, — a lovely, spiritual little girl, who FANNY FEEN — MKS. PARTON. 71 in numbering over her bright, blameless years, could only say, " Seven times one are seven." Then came a weary beating out against the heavy sea of sorrov7, of that dismantled pleasure-boat of a life, with one poor, grieving, inexperienced soul at the oars, and still such a precious freight of helpless love and childish dependence ! Behind was the lee-shore of despair ; beneath cold, bitter, merciless want, and very faintly in the horizon shone the fair, firm land. It is not for me to paint the cruel anxieties and peqDlexities of the widowed mother, — of a proud, independent woman, who could not ask for the help, withheld with what seemed to her unnatural indifference. The experience doubtless in- fused into a nature generous and frank, but sti'ongly passion- ate in both its lovee and resentments, an element of defiant, almost fierce, ])itterness and hate, which caused it to be con- demned by some whose good opinion would have been worth the gaining, and applauded by others whose praise brought no honor. But such an infusion of deadly night-shade juice as misanthropy and estrangement from friends once held most dear, could not long poison a mental organization so healthy as hers; it had a quick, fiery run through her blood, struck, once or twice, with deadly effect, and was gone. It must be that her clear reasonable mind, seeing the swift, stem flight of the um-ecallable days, must soon have felt that " Life is too short for such things as these," as poor Douglas Jerrold said, when extending his hand to a friend from whom he had been for some time separated by a misunderstanding, — "an esti-angement for which," said that noble friend, Charles Dickens, with generous tenderness, "/was the one to blame." In 1851 "Fanny Fern "was born into literary life. An essay was penned by the widowed mother, on whose heart lay a great bm-den of loving care. That care was her inspi- ration, her desperate hope. Her muses were a couple of 72 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. curly-haired little maidens, in short frocks, who, in that gay unconsciousness of young girlhood, so charming, yet so exas- perating, called innocently for new frocks, cloaks, and hats, kid gloves, slippers, ribbons, and French candies. So an essay was penned, — a little essay it was, I believe, measured by paragraphs and lines, but it was in reality " big with the fate " of Fanny and her girls. It was a venture quite as im- portant to its author as was the first " Boz " sketch to Charles Dickens, or as was "Jane Eyre " to Charlotte Bronte. After a patient trial and many rebuffs, she found, in a great city, an editor enterprising, or charitable, enough, to publish this es- say, and to pay for it, — for he was a just man, who held that verily "the laborer is worthy of his hire," — to pay for it — fifty cents! It is to be hoped this Mecsenas found himself none the poorer for his liberality at the end of the year. The essay proved a hit, " a palpable hit," and was widely copied and commented on. It was followed by others, writ- ten in the same original, fearless style, which were gladly received by the public, and a little better paid for by pub- lishers. A few months more of patient perseverance and earnest effort in her new field, and Fanny Fern could com- mand her own price for her labor. Her head was above water, never again to be submerged, let us trust. The wdnds of good fortune scattered those first "Fern Leaves " far and wide, till the country was green with them everywhere. Their peculiar dash and electrical vitality made for the unknown author thousands of eager, questioning ad- mirers, and literary curiosity almost mobbed the publication office from which they emanated. Critics were not wanted, — oh, not by any means ! — critics who charged the new story-writer and essayist with eccentricit}^, flippancy, cj^ni- cism, irreverence, masculinity, — with every conceivable sin of authorship except sentimentality, pharisaism, and prosiness. There was an unprofessional freedom and fearlessness in her FANNY FERN — MES. PARTON . 73 style that made her very faults acceptable to that indefiuite in- dividual, "the general reader,'* — an honest easy-going fellow, who is little inclined to raise fine points in regard to an au- thor's manner of expression, provided the feeling be all right. I remember thinking that this bold rival was poaching a little on my own "merrie " Greenwood preserves ; but as I watched her cool proceedings, saw how unerring was her aim, and Avith what an air of proprietorship she bagged her game, I declined to prosecute, and Avent to Europe. When I returned I found she had the whole domain to herself, and .she has kept it to this day. So mote it be I A most astonishing instance of literary success was the first book of "Fern Leaves," of which no less than seventy thou- sand copies were sold in this country alone ! I would not seem to detract in the slightest degree from the genius of our author, — I would not rob her chaplet of one Fern Leaf, — but I must say she was extremely fortunate in her publisher. Had she made choice of some aristocratic houses, for in- stance, her books would have borne the envied Athenian stamp, but then, regarding copies sold, the reader of this ve- racious biography would have read for thousands — hundreds. But Fanny Fern, with her rare business sagacity and practi- cal good sense, did not choose her publisher as young Toots chose his tailor, — "Burgess & Co., fash'nable, but very dear." Then followed "Little Ferns, for Fanny's Little Friends," — whose names seem to have been Legion, for there were no less than thirty-two thousand of these young Fern gatherers. Then came a "Second Series of Fern Leaves," in number thirty thousand. Total, — one hundred and thirty ^tioo thou- sand! I write it out carefully, for not having a head for figures, I am almost sure to make some mistake if I meddle with them. Moreover, these American Ferns, fresh and odor- ous with the freedom and spirit of the New World, took quick root in England, and spread and flourished like the i4: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. American rhododendron. The mother couutiy took for Brit- ish home consumption forty-eight thousand copies, and much good did they do our little cousins, I doubt not. In 1854 "Euth Hall" (I had almost said Ruth-less Hall) was published. In 1857 "Rose Clarke," — a kindlier book. These are, I believe, the only novels of Fanny Fern. They were eagerly read, much commented upon, and had, like the "Leaves," a large sale. They were translated into French and German. In 1856 Fannj'- Fern was married to Mr. James Parton, of New York ; a man of brilliant, but eminently practical, abil- ity as a writer. It was a marriage that seemed to the world to promise, if not happiness of the most romantic type, much hearty good fellowship, with mutual aid and comfort. Both were authors whose provinces bordered on Bohemia. They had apparently many tastes and characteristics in common ; they were both acute, independent thinkers, rather than stu- dents or philosophers ; they were rather special pleaders than reasoners, — rather wits than logicians. The style of each writer has decidedly improved of late years ; yet neither has lost in individuality by this happy consolidation of prov- inces. Mr. Parton's style has gained much in nerve and terseness, and even more in polish. Mrs. Parton's has more softness than of old, with no less vigor; it shows a surer grasp on, yet a more delicate handling of, thought ; she does not startle as frequently as in her first essays, but she oftener pleases. Five years ago sorrow came again to this brightened and prosperous life. It came like a relentless ploughshare, and every smiling hope and ripe ambition went under for a time. It came like a volcanic sea-rise on a fair day, sweeping over the firm land of assured good fortune. A beloved daugh- ter, a young wife and mother, died suddenly, leaving an in- fant child, for whose dear sake that brave soul gathered up all FANNY FERN — MRS. PARTON. 75 its forces aud staggered up, and ou. To this young life, "bought with a price," this frail flower, born in anguish and nurtured with 'tears, Fanny Fern has since devoted herself with more than a mother's tender solicitude. In this work, as in household duties, she has been efficiently aided and supported by her sole remaining daughter. Mrs. Parton has been from the first a most acceptable writer for children. Her motherhood, a true motherhood of the heart, has given her the clue to the most mysterious, angel- guarded labyrinths of a child's soul. She is the faithful in- terpreter of children, from the poor "tormented baby," on its nurse's knee, trotted, and tickled, aud rubbed, and smothered, and physicked, — all the way up through the perils, difficul- ties, and exceeding bitter sorrows of childhood, out of short frocks and roundabouts, into the rosy estate of young woman- hood and the downy-lipped dignity of young manhood. Having a heart of perennial freshness, full of spontaneous sympathies and enthusiasms, she never gets so far away from her own youMi that she cannot feel a thrill of kindred delight in looking on the pleasures of the young, — on their bright, glad, eager faces. Bulwer says, "Young ^irls. are very charming creatures, except when they get together and fall a-giggling." Now I will venture to say this is just the time when Fanny Fern likes them best, — unless, indeed, the giggling is ill- timed, aud therefore ill-mannered. In a scene of festal liofht, bloom, and music, of glancing and dancing young figures, she would never stand aside in the gloom of dark shrubbery, hard and cold and solemnly envious, like the tomb in a cer- tain landscape of Poussin, bearing the inscription, "I also once lived amid the delights of Arcadia." Yet, while ready to rejoice in the innocent mirth and ex- ultant hopes of youth, this true woman can also feel a tender charity for its follies, and a yearning pity for its errors. No poor unfortunate in her utmost extremity of shame and mad 76 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. abandonment, need fear from her lips a word of harsh rebuke, from her e3^es a look of lofty scorn or merciless condemna- tion. But for the heartless wrong-doer, for the betrayer of an innocent, though ever so foolish, trust, — for the despoiler of hearts and homes, she has rebukes that scathe like flame, and scorn that bites like frost. With a healthy reverence for all truly devout souls, all ear- nest, humble, practical Christians, — for all things essentially pure and venerable, — Fanny Fern has an almost fierce ha- tred of cant, of empty pomp and" formalism, assuming the name of religion. She valiantly takes sides with God's poor against the most powerful and refined pharisaism. She would evidently rather sit down to worship with the " old salts," in Father Tciylor's Seaman's Chapel, than in the most gorgeously upholstered pew, mider the most resplendent stained win- dows, in the highest high church on Fifth Avenue. Not that she is wanting in a poet's sensuous delight in bright colors, rich textures, beautiful, refined faces,, grand music and noble church-architecture, but that in the lives of thefpoor, color- less, homely, ungraceful, almost blindly aspiring and devout, there is something that moves her heart more tenderly and yet more solemnly. In ''the low, sad music of humanity" there is something that touches a higher than the poetic sense ; and to her the humblest Christian soul, simple and ignorant, but trusting and loving, is a grander temple of God than the Cathedral of Milan, with its wondrous Alp-like peaks of snowy architecture, sentinelled with sculptured saints. Another noticeable characteristic of Fanny Fern is her hearty contempt for all pretensions, aftectations, and dainty sillinesses ; be they social, literary, or artistic. She is emi- nently a woman "with no nonsense about her." She detests shams of all sorts, and sentimentality, French novels and French phrases. Almost as fiercely as she hates cant, she hates snobbery. Her honest American blood boils at the PANNY FERN— MRS. PARTON. 77 sight of a suob, and she never fails soundly to " chastise him with the valor of her tongue." For that unnatural little mon- ster, that anomaly and anachronism, an American flunkey, even her broadest charity can entertain no hope, cither for here, or hereafter. Though whole-hearted in her patriotism, Fanny Fern is not a political bigot. She probably does not aver that she was born in Xew England at her " own -particular request ; " she has found that life is endurable out of Boston ; she would doubtless admit that it can be borne with Christian philoso- phy out of Gotham, — even in small provincial towns, in which the " Atlantic ^lonthly " and " New York Ledger " are largely subscribed for. When here, she Avas enough of a cosmopoli- tan to praise our great city market, — uttering among some pleasant things, this rather dubious compliment: ""Wliat have these Philadelphians done, that they should have such butter ? " Done ? — lived virtuously, dear Fanny, — refused to naturalize the "Black Crook," or to send prize-fighters to Congress. But to return. Not because of the hapjDy accident of her birth, does Fanny Fern stand gallantlj'- up for our America ; but because it is what it is, — the hope, the refuge, the sure rock of defence for the poor and oppressed of all nations, — their true El Dorado, theu- promised land. Mrs. Parton is now, if parish registers, family records, and biographers do not lie, fifty-seven years old. But time which has done " its spiriting gently " with the style of the wiiter, softening and refining it, cannot have touched the woman roughly, or drawn very heavy drafts on her energy and vital- ity ; for they who have seen her within a late period, speak of her as yet retaining all the spirit and wit of what are called " a woman's best days," but which were, to her, days of care, trial, and toil, that would have borne down a heart less brave, and prostrated an organization less healthful." She must have 78 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. had from the first a rare amount of " muscular Christianity" — must have been a conscientious self-care-taker — must have lived wisely and prudently, — in short, must have kept her- self well " in hand," or she would have gone down in some of the ugly ditches, or stuck in some of the hurdles she has had to leap in this desperate race of a quarter of a century. Some New York paragraphist tells of having encountered her on Broadway, a short time since, — not as usual, walking with a hurried and haughty tread, the elastic step of an Indian princess, of the school of Cooper, — but pausing, after a man- ner quite as characteristic, to talk to a lovely baby in its nurse's arms ; and, our amiable Jenkins relates, her fltce then and. there shone with the veiy rapture of admiration and un- forgotten maternal tenderness, melting through its mask of belligerent pride and harshness, and in that wonderful trans- figuring glow, seemed to wear the very look of the time when it first hung over a little cradle, or nestled down against a little baby-face, in the happy long ago. Yet it had looked on many a dear coffined face since then. Fanny Fern has been the subject of many piquant Had amusing anecdotes, some of them, perhaps most of them, having a foundation in fact, — for she is a person of too much spirit and character not to have noteworthy things happening to her and round about her rather frequently. Hers is a stir- ring, breezy life, to which anything like a dead calm is ini possible. She is too swift and well freighted a craft not to leave a considerable wake behind her. She sails with all her canvas spread, by a chart of her own, so occasionally dashes saucily athwart the bows of steady-going old ships of the line, or right under the guns of a heavy man-of-war. As an author and woman, she consults neither authority, nor precedent, fashion, nor policy. As woman and author, she has always defied and despised that petty personal criticism, that paltry gossip which is the disgrace of American journal- FANNY FERN — MRS. PARTON. 79 ism; which insists on discussing the author's or aiiist's most private and intimate life, — his domestic relations, his holiest affections, his most sacred human weaknesses and virtues, — on unveiling every sanctuary of sorrow, and following a poor wounded soul uito its last fastnesses of decent reserve. Among the most spicy anecdotes of my subject ever set floating about the country, is one of her having smashed, with her OAvn vengeful hand, the china-set in her room, at the Gir- ard House in Philadelphia, — because, after honorably report- ing the accidental breaking of a bowl, she found herself charged a round sum for the entire toilet-set. This story we of a fmi-loving and justice-loving household, have laughed over many times ; but, as poor Beatrice Cenci says, " We shall not do it any more ; " for alas, the story isn't true ! — that is, as to the gi-and dramatic denouement. Wishing to chronicle only the exact truth in a matter of so much impor- tance, I addressed to Mrs. Partou a letter of inquiry, and re- ceived in reply the following succinct statement : — " Mr. Partou and I had been stopping at the Girard House, and just as we were about starting for the cars, I said, ' Wait till I wash my hands.' As I did so, the bowl slipped from my soapy fingers, and was broken. I said, ' Report that when you pay the bill, lest the blame should come upon the poor chambermaid;' whereupon, to my intense disgust, the land- lord charged for the whole toilet-set ! Then, in my indigna- tion, I did say to Mr. Partou, 'I have a good mind to send all the rest of the set flying out of the window ! ' His less impetuous hand stayed ine. I assure you it was no virtue of mine. My blood is quick and warm." This frank account spoils an excellent story, and shows us how meanness and injustice again went unpunished, after the manner of this miserable, mismanaged world,which it will take many a Fanny Fern and much crockery-smashing to setnght. 80 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Fourteen j'-ears ago Fanny Fern made an engagement with Mr. Bonner, of the " New York Ledger," to furnish an arti- cle every week for his journal, — that giant among literary weeklies, bnt by no means a weakly giant, of the Pickleson order, with a "defective circulation," nor even of the style of the seven league-booter, and freebooter of fairy lore ; but rather of the type of the Arabian genii, who were anywhere and everywhere at once. Fourteen years ago, Fanny Fern made an engagement with Mr. Bonner, to furnish an article every week for the "Ledger," and " thereby hangs a tale," the most wonderful fact in this veracious biography : Behold ! from that time to this, she has never failed one lueeh to produce the stipulated article ^ on time! Think, my reader, what this fact proves ! what habits of industry, what system, what thoughtfulness, what business integrity, what super-woman punctuality, and O Minerva — Hygeia ! ^vhat health ! Aspasia was,. Plato says, the preceptress of Socrates; she formed the rhetoric of Pericles, and was said to have com- posed some of his finest orations ; but she never furnished an article every week for the " Ledger " for fourteen years. Hypatia taught mathematics and the Philosophy of Plato, in the great school of Alexandria, through most learned and eloquent discourses ; but she never furnished an article for the " Ledger " every week for fourteen years. • Elena Lucrezia Comoso Piscopia, — eminently a woman of letters, — manfully mastered the Greek, Latin, Arabic, Hebrew, Spanish, and French; "wrote astronomical and mathematical dissertations, andreceived a doctor's degree from the University of Padua; Laura Bassi, Novella d'Andrea, and Matelda Tambroni were honored with degrees, and filled professors' chairs in the University of Bologna ; but as far as I have been able to ascertain, by the most careful re- searches, not one of these learned ladies ever furnished au FANNY FEKN — MRS. PARTON. 81 article for the "Ledger" every week for fourteen years. Corinna, for her im]3rovisations, was crowned at the Capitol in Rome with the sacred laurel of Petrarch and Tasso ; but she never furnished an article every week for the " Ledger " for fourteen years. Miss Burney, Miss Porter, ]\Irs. Radcliffe, Miss Austin, Miss Bailly, Miss Mitford, Miss Landon, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Gaskell, and the Brontes did themselves and their sex great honor by their literary labors ; but not one of them ever furnished an article for the "Ledger" every week for fourteen years. Neither Mrs. Lewes nor INIrs. Stowe could do it, George Sand wouldn't do it, and Heaven forbid that ]\Iiss Braddon should do it ! Why, to the present writer, who is given to undertaking a good deal more than she can ever accomplish ; who is always sui-priscd l)y publication-day ; who postpones every literary work till the last hour of grace, and then, a little longer; who requires so much of self-coaxing and backing, to get into the traces, after a week or so of freedom and grass, — all this systematic purpose, this routine, and rigid exactitude, is simply amazing, — it verges on the marvellous, — it is Ledger-de- main. Ah, Fanny, is then your Pegasus ahcays saddled, and bri- dled, and whinnying in the court? Is the steam always up in that tug-boat of a busy brain ? Is the wine of your fancy never on the lees? Are there no house-cleaning days in your calendar ? Don't your country friends ever come to town and drop in on your golden working-hours ? Are there no auto- graph-hunters about your doors ? Do not fond mammas ever send in their babies to deliciously distract you on a "Ledger" day? Do your dear five hundred friends always respect it, and postpone their weddings, musical matinees ,and other mournful occasions ? Does the paper-hanger never put you to rout ? Do you never have a bout with your sew- 6 82 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. mg-machiue and get your temper ruffled? Does not that "wonderful wean," that darling grandchild, dainty little Effie, ever have a fit of naughtiness, or whooping-cough, or a tum- ble downstairs, on that day? Don't you ever long, on just that day, to lie on the sofa and read Thackeray? Ah, do not wars and influenzas, national crises and kitchen imbroglios, disappointed hopes and misfitting dresses, an instinctive rebellion against regulations and resolutions, even of your own making, ever interfere with your writing for tho^" Ledg- er"? Doubtless you have been tempted, in times of hurry, or languor, in journeyings and clog-day heats, to break your agreement ; but an honest fealty to a generous publisher has hitherto constrained you to stand by ; and we like you for it. Other publishers may be hon, but he is Bonner. So you do not demean yourself by following the triumphal chariot of his fortunes (Dexter's trotting Avagon) like Zenobia in chains, — since the chains are of gold. As a writer of brief essays and slight sketches, Fanny Fern excels. She seems always to have plenty of small change in the way of thoughts and themes. She knows well how to begin without verlnage, and to end without abrupt- ness. She starts her game without much beating about the bush. She seems to measure accurately the subject and the occasion, and wastes no words, — or, as poor Artemus Ward used to say, never "slops over." As a novelist, she is some- what open to the charge of exaggeration, and she is not suf- ficiently impersonal to be always artistic. Her own fortunes, loves, and hates live again in her creations, — her heroines are her doubles. As a moralist, she is liable to a sort of unchari- table charity and benevolent injustice. In her stout cham- pionship of the poor, of the depressed and toil-worn many, she seems to harden her heart against the small, but intelli- gent, rich but respectable, portion of our population, known as "Upper-tendom." Can any good thing come out of Fifth FANNY FERN — MRS. PARTON. 83 Avenue ? is the spirit of many of her touching little sketches. She seems to think that the scriptural comparison of the diffi- cult passage of the camel through the eye of the needle set- tled the case of Mr. Croesus. Her tone is sometimes a little severe and cynical when treating of the shortcomings of the world of fashion. It is so easy to criticise from the safe position of a philosopher or poet; but how many of us would dare to answer for our Spartan simplicity and modera- tion, and our Christian charity and benevolence, — virtues which of course we all now possess in abundance, — should for tune take a sudden turn, open for us her halls of dazzling light, provide for us ample changes of pui-ple and fine linen, of the fashionable cut, wine and strong drink, and terrapin sup- pers, chariots, and horses, yachts, opera-boxes, diamonds, and French bonnets ? Fanny Fern herself regrets that she has not been able to give more careful stud^' to her writing, — to concentrate here, and elaborate there, — to be, in short, always the artist. She has done many things well, — she might have done a few things surpassingly well. But she has, I doubt not, written out of an honest heart always, earnestly and fearlessly, — written tales,- sketches, letters, essays spiced with odd fancies, satire, and humor, — some exquisitely tender and pitiful, some defiant and belligerent in tone ; but none with a doubtful moral ring about them. She has chosen to feed the multitude on the plain with simple, wholesome food, rather than to pour nectar for the Olympians. Her genius is practical and demo- cratic, and so has served the people well, and received a generous reward in hearty popular favor. She has probably not accomplished the highest of which she is capable, but all that the peculiar exigencies of her life have permitted her to accomplish. In faithfully doing the work nearest to her hand she may be consoled* by the consciousness that art has been shouldered aside by duty alone. Speaking of her little 84 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. grand-daughter, in a private letter, she says : " Our little Effie has never been left with a servant, and, although to carry out such a plan has involved a sacrifice of much literary work , or its unsatisfactory incompleteness, I am not and never shall be Sony. She is my poem." By these things we maj^ see that whatever masks of manly independence, pride, or mocking mischief Fanny Fern may put on, she is, at the core of her nature, " j)ure womanly." I have Tv^ritten this article with little more personal knowl- edge of ]Mrs. Parton than I have been able to obtain from brief biogi'aphical sketches, and the recollections and impres- sions of friends. Not from choice have I so done, after the manner of the critic, who made it a rule not to read a book ])efore reviewing it, for fear of being " prejudiced ; " but be- cause I have never been so fortunate as. to cross orbits with my brilliant, but somewhat erratic subject. Her life has been attempted many times ; indeed, literary biographers seem to be under the impression that " the oftener this wonderful woman is repeated the better," to quote from the immortal Toots. May that life have years enough and fame and pros- perity enough to justify many other sketches, worthier than this, before the coming of that "Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history." And may that scene come with tender gi-adations of puqDle twilight shades, deepening into a night, star-lit with hope, and sweet with love — all balm, and rest, and peace ; " the peace of God which passeth all understanding." i^s. 5? n if^ (fi! R! i^ li^ inr^ LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 85 LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. BY REV. E.-B. HUNTINGTON. Were any intelligent American citizen now asked to name the American woman, who, for a quarter of a century, before 1855, held a higher place in the respect and aflections of the American people than any other woman of the times had secured, it can hardly be questioned that the prompt reply would be, Mrs. Lydia Huntley Sigourney. And this would be the answer, not simply on the ground of her varied and extensive learning ; nor on that of her acknowledged poetic gifts ; nor on that of hor voluminous contributions to our current literature, both in prose and verse ; but rather, because with these gifts and this success, she had with singular kindliness of heart made her very life- work itself a constant source of blessing and joy to others. Her very goodness had made her great. Her genial good- will had given her power. Her loving friendliness had made herself and her name everywhere a charm. So that, granted that other women could be named, more gifted in some en- dowments, more learned in certain branches, and even more ably represented in the literature of the times ; still, no one of them, by universal consent, had 'succeeded in winning so largely the esteem and admiration of her age. It is of this woman that we need not hesitate to write, when we would make up our list of the representative women of our times. She was a woman so rare, we need not hesi- 86 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. tate to claim it, for her native gifts, and still more, so geuial and lovable, in deed and spirit, that her very life seemed a sort of divine benediction upon our ag^. And who, more worthily than she, can represent to us the best and highest type of cultivated womanhood ? Lydia Howard Huntley, the only child of Ezekiel and Sophia (Wentworth) Huntley, was born in Norwich, Con- necticut, Sept. 1, 1791. In her parentage and birthplace we have no indistinct prophecy of her future life. Their lessons, wrought into the very texture of her sensitive soul, served as the good genius of her long and bright career. She could never forget or deny them. Their precious memory was to her a perpetual and exceeding joy. Witness this sweet picture of her early home, drawn by her own child-hand, yet, even so early, foreshowing the lifelong brightness of her loving spirit : — " My gentle kitten at my footstool sings Her song, monotonous and full of joy. Close by my side, my tender mother sits, Industriously bent — her brow still bright "With beams of lingering youth, while he, the sire, The faithful guide, indulgently doth smile." What but a blessed influence over her could such a home have had? And we shall not wonder, when, fifty years later, we find her filial hand sketching, so exquisitely, the " beam- ing smile," and " the love and patience sweet," with which those dear names were embalmed. Few, very few, have borne with them through life, so freshly and so lovingly, the forms and the afiections of their home-friends. The impres- sion they made upon her must have been exceedingly precious to her heart ; and so her afiectionate love kept faithful vigil over these dearest treasures of her memory. Hardly less forceful than these home-influences, must have been the beautiful and romantic sceneries, and the genial LYDIA H. SIGOUENEY. 87 social life of her native town. It could but have stirred and educated such a soul as hers to have s^^eut her childhood amid such scenes : — " Kocks, gray rocks, with their caverns dark, Leaping rills, like the diamond spark, Torrent voices, thundering by, "Where the pride of the vernal floods swelled high." It is her own testimony which reveals to us the power of these home-charms over her life, — a testimony given, when, to use her own felicitous figm-e, she was now "journeying towards the gates of the "West " : — "Yet came there forth from its beauty a silent, secret in- fluence, moulding the heart to happiness, and love of the beneficent Creator." And still again she records their power : — " We have garnered those charms and attractions that bring A spell o'er our souls when existence was young." So nurtured, we can understand the secret of that love for Norwich and its scenery which she never failed to show to her latest day. It only needed an invitation to her to revisit the "dear old places" of her childhood, to Idndle anew the fer^-'ors of more than her childhood joy ; — " We accept, we will come, wheresoever yye rove, And wreathe round thy birthday our honor and love. We love thee, we love thee ; thy smile, like a star. Hath gleamed in our skies, though our homes were afar." Added to the affection of her parents, and to these sweet charms of her native town, was still another, and a very marked home-influence, which was destined to prove educa- tional to her. Madame Lathrop, one of the noblest of the many worthy Norwich matrons of that day, a daughter of Governor Talcott, of Hartford, and widow of Daniel Lathrop, 88 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. a wealthy and accomplished citizen of Norwich, had made her own elegant and hospitable home that also of the Huntley family. She took great interest in Lydia, and drew strongly to her own the heart of the sensitive girl. And did shoi not, in the daily communing of their souls, leave somewhat of her own noble spirit of self-denial and rich charity as fruitful seed in that young heai-t? What other proof do we need than tha"^ which comes from the oft-repeated testimony of the child herself, even down to her latest years ? Let Jier sketch for us, in her own sweet way, the record of this blessed influ- ence over her character and life : — "A fair countenance, a clear blue eye, and a voice of music return to me .as I recall the image of that venerated lad}^ over whom more than thi'eescore and ten years had passed ere I saw the light. Her tall, graceful form, moving with elastic step through the parterres whose numerous flowers she super- intended, and her brow raised in calm meditation from the sacred volume she was reading, were to me beautiful. The sorrowful came to be enlightened by the sunbeam that dwelt in her spu'it, and the children of want to find bread and a garment. The beauty of the soul was hers that waxeth not old. • Love was in her heai-t to all whom God had made. At her grave I learned my first lesson of a bursting grief that has never been forgotten. Let none say that the aged die unloved or unmourned by the young." It must have been an influence of great power "vthich such a character wielded over such a nature ; and we cannot won- der that, long years after that hallowed intimacy, we find the grateful child thus recording her remembrance of it : " The cream of all my happiness was a loving intercourse with ven- erable old age." Nor can we deny her the dutiful joy of dedicating one of her earliest publications, as " an ofleri»^g LYDIA H. SIGOUENEY. 89 of gnititude to her whose iuflucnce, like a goldeu thread, had ruu through the whole woof of my life." It was under influences like these that her life had its dawning. Exceedingly sensitive and impressible, she readily responded to their power. They found her a keen observer, and a very rapid learner. Her infancy seems to have been like the later childhood of most girls, and her girlhood Avore the thoughtfuluess and reached the attainments of ordinary womanhood. The insight into this earliest period of her life, which her "Letters of Life" so artlessly give us, is one of the most curious pages in our autobiographic literature. We have here, perhaps, the most uuaflectcd and childlike prattle about child-life, in the language of doting old age. Possibly there may be something excessive in the coloring given to the whole picture ; but surely we can afford to let the pen of old age use the freedom which a warm heart, warming anew amid the scenes and play-places of its young life, might dic- tate. Let the venerated authoress, if in her deep joy she recalls the events which seemed so important to her young fancy, tell the whole story, which once she might have hesi- tated to do, and which other authors, more careful to prune their thoughts to the accepted proprieties, would not assur- edly' have done. It certainly cannot harm us to be made, once in our lives, familiar in letters with the very precocities, if you will, which are so ofteu secu in bright children, yet which we do not usually elevate to the dignity of the printed page. If she speaks of the little attempts at conversation made in the first year of her life, have we not all heard and been charmed with' hearing the same thing in our own little ones ? If she details even the prattle, and the occasional wise and over- scholarly sayings or fancies of her third summer among the flowers, why not give her credit for what, though perhaps not 90 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. very common, is still plainly possible to a child of gifts, especially if she has spent her first three years under the most helpful of influences ? It need not be counted an ofience if she tell us over what nobody else will be likely to tell us, — the whole story of her doll-teaching and training. It is a pretty picture which that same scene makes when acted in all of our homes, and why should not its sketch, whether by the pencil of the artist or the pen of the writer, charm us too ? But is there not, also, in this the very best of sense? How it aids us to understand the woman, to see the little one with her dolls around her, and hear her begin there her work of persuasion and authority ! It instructs as well as charms us to visit the artless child in her " spacious garret ; " to note her curious search among its gathered household treasures ; to find her settling herself down like the bee to its flower-food, as she finds an old hymn-book there ; to see her hearty love for the "large black horse," "the red-coat cows," "the crow- ing, brooding, and peeping poultry," and the "pliant pussy" which sat in her lap or sported by her side, and which was "as a sister" to her. It will instruct us, where we shall need light, to roam awhile with the laughing babe and child, "from garden to garden ; " to run with her " at full speed through the alleys;" to recline by her side, "when wearied, in some shaded recess," or even on the "mow of hay in the large, lofty barn," where we can together "watch the quiet cows over their fragrant food ; " and then to sit down with her at the family table, and taste with her of the bread so sweet, "made in capacious iron basins." Suppose, in this way, we learn how early and how regular her meals were ; how uniform and simple the diet on which she wa^reared ; and how exact and respectful and decorous the behavior of that hour. Do not all of these lessons explain the character which they so cer- tainly help to form ? And so we may well thank the authoress of seventy years that she allowed herself to recall, for our LYDIA H. SIGOUENET. 91 delight and iustruction, those germinal forces of her favored childhood. Let us uow follow this child, as she prepares herself for the life-work before her. At four years of age we find her in the school nearest to the house of her parents ; and we only learn of that first school, that its "spelling-classes" Avere the chief delight of the child. Trivial as this fact is, it gives us no unmeaning hint. Her second teacher, a gentleman, perhaps the teacher of the winter school, won the child to the use of the pen, and laid the foundation of that distinct, print- like chirogi-aphy which was so serviceable to her whole future career. Next, the teacher of needle-work does her good service by starting her well in this feminine art, of which she made later the best of use. And now comes the young ladies' school, under an English lady of varied accomplish- ment ; and here she makes a good beginning in music and painting and embroidery. And here, too, we get valuable hints, and it would well repay us, had we time, to watch the child in the beginning of her art-life. It was full of mean- ing, — that extemporized studio at home, that "piece of gam- boge," tliat "fragment of indigo, begged of the washer- woman," those coffee-grounds to give the ambered brown, and those child-experiments, again and again repeated, to secure desired tints. We may note, too, about this time, how the literary taste and enthusiasm of the child was aroused. How life-like was its beginning ! She started a story, which the record does not finish ; for they all said it was too much for her. She was "only just eight years old." Next we find her in the school of a graduate of Dublin, and here she makes rapid progress in mathematics. Pier next step forward, in the school on the Green, under an educated and veteran teacher, places her at the head of the reoding- classes. Then, under the training of Mr. Pelatiah Perit, who became so eminent among the business men of the country, 92 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. she spent another year of successful study. Pursuing still the English classics and Latin, she finished in her fourteenth year her school-life at home. Then followed a course of domestic training in the duties of house-keeping, yet not so pressingly as to hinder the private study of the Latin. For the higher ornamental branches she spent parts of two years in Hartford ; and, with more than ordinary mental activity and attainment, she takes leave of her school-life. Yet, such was her thirst for learning, that nothing could hinder her studies ; and we find her, with the enthusiasm of a scholar, devoting her later girlhood to the study of even the original Hebrew of the Christian Scriptures. And now begins her career as teacher, • — a life which she seems to have chosen scarcely more for want of something to do than from love of teaching itself. Her first experimeut had been made in her father's house, and the result confirmed her purpose to make it her life-work. In her nineteenth year, in company with Miss Nancy M. Hyde, a very intimate friend, she opened a select school for girls in Chelsea, now Norwich City. Her interest in the work was very great, and her success no less so. We can readily accept her later tes- timony that she found her daily employment " less a toil than privilege." But, through the influence of Mr. David AYads- ■worth, of Hartford, she was induced to establish for herself a private school for girls in that city ; and, in 1814, she en- tered upon its duties. During the five years she remained in this school she won a twofold reputation. Her success as teacher was well-nigh unparalleled for the times, and deservingly so ; while her influence over the social circles of the city had become no less marked. Her influence over her pupils was something wonderful. They loved her with a love which nothing could repress ; and their devotion was as true and lasting as their love. What testimony to the strength of her hold upon LYDIA H. SIGOUENEY. 93 them those annual reunions on their commencement day furnishes ! Even long j^ears after they had become scattered over the land, those da3^s were held sacred in their hearts. And when their little ones began to gather about them, they, too, were taken to the hallowed place, that on them also might fall the sweet influence which had so long blessed their mothers. But, from the very beginning of her life in Hartford, she made for herself a place in the confidence and afiections of the people, which every successive year only served to con- firm. She became, in the just language of as high authority as the venerable S. G. Goodrich, "the presiding genius of its 3^oung social circle," and she was never called in her long career to vacate that post of honor. It was while thus winning her way as teacher that she also began her public literary life. At the urgent request of her friend, Mr. Wads worth, she consented to issue her first volume, entitled, "Pieces in Prose and Verse." This work was printed in 1815, at the expense of Mr. Wadsworth. And the list of subscribers, which was also printed, indicates thus early the reputation which newspaper pul^licity had given her. But another event soon interrupts her career as teacher. Charles Sigourney, a merchant of the city, a gentleman of wealth and literary culture and high social position, solicits aud wins her hand. Th(!ir marriage was celebrated in the Episcopal church of her native town, in the early summer of 1819. Mr. Sigourney, of Huguenot descent, was already a communicant in the Episcopal church ; and, on her marriage, Mrs. Sigourney, who, since 1809, had been a devoted Chris- tian and a member of the Congregational church, felt it to be her privilege and duty to transfer her membership to the church to which her husband belonged. This marriage threw upon Mrs. Sigourney the care of the 94: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. three children of her husband by a former wife ; and that care was assumed with a singular devotion to their com- fort and welfare ; and in this field only did she find room henceforth for her gifts as teacher. But both her posi- tion at the head of the first circle in the leading metropolis of the State, and her means, and the culture of her husband, conspired to encourage her in the literary field in which she was now winning such a triumph. Besides the volume printed in 1815, in 1816 she had publisned her "Life and Writings of Nancy Maria Hyde," an interesting tribute to the memory of her most intimate friend and fellow-teacher ; and during the year of her marriage appeared, also, "The Square Table," a pamphlet designed as a corrective of what were deemed the harmful tendencies of "Arthur's Round Table," which was then exciting considerable attention in the community. From this date to that of her death our record must be that of an earnest woman, filling up every hour of her day with its allotted duty, cheerfully and nobly done. Few women have been so diligent workers, few have maintained such fervency of spirit, and few have, in all their working, so faithfully served the Lord. Her position, that of second wife and step-mother, has not always been found an easy one to fill ; yet, even with the temptations which her literary tastes might be supposed to oflfer, she could never be justly reproached for neglecting any home-duty. Bound to her friends with no ordinary ties of afiection, she lived, first of all, for them. Even her literary life is most crowded with its witnesses to her home-love, and indeed was largely its result. She worked, and wrote, and prayed, that she might faithfully meet this prime claim upon her heart and life. We cannot follow, in detail, this busy and painstaking career. We find her at the head of her household, which at times was large, shrinking from no burden . or self-denial LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 95 needed in her work, — living to see lier two step-daughters educated and settled in life, and their brother, at the age of forty-five, consigned to a consumptive's grave ; to educate her own daughter and son, and then, just on the verge of a promising manhood, to follow him, too, to his grave; to care for both her own parents, until, in a good old age, she might tenderly hand them down to their last rest ; to follow her beloved and honored husband to his grave ; to give her own only daughter away in acceptable marriage ; and then to set- tle herself down, joyful and trustful yet, in her own home, vacated indeed of her loved ones, but filled still witli precious mementos of their love, until her own change should come. These forty-six years, between her marriage and her death, were mainly spent at her home in Hartford. Her travels were chiefly those of brief journeys through the Eastern and Middle States. Once she visited Virginia, and once crossed the Atlantic, visiting within the year the chief points of attraction in England, Scotland, and France. The rest of those forty- six years were most industriously employed in her own loved home, filled up with domestic duties or with literary and benevolent work ; and it is safe to say that few women have ever worked to better account. She won universal respect and love. The poor and the rich, the ignorant and the edu- cated, alike found in her that which delighted and charmed them ; and so she came to occupy a place in their affections which they accorded to no other. But, doubtless, it will be as a literary woman that she will be most Avidely known. And no estimate of her career which leaves out of the account the character and value of her writings can do justice to her memory. Beginning in 1815, and closing with her posthumous "Letters of Life" in 18(J6, her published writings numbered fifty-seven volumes. Besides these, our newspaper and magazine literature must have furnished nearly as much more. Her correspondence, 96 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AQE. not pulDlishecl, amounting to nearly one thousand seven liun- drecl letters annually for several years, must have exceeded largely these printed writings ; so that she must have been one of the most voluminous writers of her age. We have not space for a critical analysis of her writings. We would simply indicate their aim and success. Whatever may be said of their artistic execution, of one thing we are sure, that their spirit and aim are as noble as ever inspired human literature ; and the world has already accepted them as a worthy offering. A sharp critical judgment must agree with Mrs. Sigourney's own decision, that she wrote too much for highest success, both in invention and style. But when we stop to ask why she wrote so much, we shall find our answer in the very elements of her character, which contrib- uted most to her eminence. Her first published volume reveals with great clearness at least these two qualities of the writer : the strength of her aifections, and her equally strong sense of duty to others. We feel that she wrote what her kind heart prompted, that she might please or aid those who seemed to her to have just claims upon her. Insteiid of using the precious moments on the mere style of her expres- sion, she was ever hurrying along on some urgent call of afiection or duty. She could not stop to think of her litera- ry reputation when some dear friend was pleading at her heart, or some sorrowing soul needed to be comforted. More than almost any other writer of the day, she wrote not for herself, but for others. And it is precisely here that we find the real key, both to whatever faults of style her writings may betray, and to the very best success of her life. For, while she greatly blessed the multitudes for whom she so rapidly wrote, we cannot but notice, also, how in her succes- sive works, she is gaining both in the force and beauty of her style. We see on almost every page of her writings how tender LYDIA II. SIGOUENEY. 97 her spirit, how sensitive her sympathy was. From the be- o-iuiiinij, her affections, sanctified hy a Christian purpose, took the lead. We know that it was her greatest . "joy to raise The trembler from the shade, To bind the broken, and to heal The wounds she never made." But we must not dwell on these charming witnesses to the tenderness of her loving heart. It is easy to see that one so ruled, would not regard the mere style of her expression of highest value. And yet it would do injustice to Mrs. Sig- ourney, to leave out of the account the care and painstaking, with which she sougkt to make her writings most effective. We know she must have sought ease and fluency as well as exactness and vigor of expression. Her writings abound in witnesses innumerable to these graces. The call made upon her pen from the first magazines of the day, and from the more solid Avorks issuing from our best publishing-houses, of itself testifies to the great merit even of her style. No critic can read that beautiful poem on the " Death of an Infant," commencing with " Death found strange beauty on that polished brow, And dashed it out," without feeling that none but a true poet, practised in the art, could have written it. We might instance her " Scottish Weaver," "Breakfast," "Birthday of Longfellow," "My Stuffed Owl," "Niagara," and hundreds of other poems, in all of which may be found passages of great beauty and power. We are sure we cannot afford, these many years, to let those graceful, and at times exquisite, gems, drop out of our literature ; nor can we doubt that their author will continue to rank high even among the poets of her age. 7 98 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Without space for repeating tlie entire list, even of her poetic works, it is due to our readers to indicate those which shall best exhibit the merits and the extent of her poetic writings, and we believe we shall do this by naming the eight following volumes, with their date : — Her Poems, 1827, pp.228; Zinzendorf, and other Poems, 1835, 2d edition, pp. 300; Pocahontas, and other Poems, 1841, pp. 284 ; London edition, 1841, pp. 348 ; Select Poems, 1842, pp. 324, fourth edition, of which eight thousand copies had been already sold; Illustrated edition, 1848, pp. 408; Western Home, and other Poems, 1854, pp. 360; and Glean- ings, 1860, pp. 264. Of her prose works we can on^ indicate that which most clearly establishes the writer's rank among our very best prose- writers of the age. Her " Past Meridian," given to the world in her sixty-fifth year, which has now reached its fourth edition, is one of our most charming classics. One cannot read those delightful pages, without gratitude that the gifted author was spared to give us such a coronal of her useful authorship. It were easy to collect quite a volume of the most enthusiastic commendations of this charming work ; but we must leave it, with the assurance that it gives a new title^ to its beloved author to a perpetual fame in English literature. And what a testimony we also have in the reception our authoress has received amons: even our best critics ! It cer- tainly was no mean praise, which Hart, in his selections from the Female Prose Writers gives us, when he so graphically and truthfully says of her writings, that they " are more like the dew than the lightning." Peter Parley pronounced her, " next to Willis, the most successful and liberal contributor to the Token." Professor Cleveland, in his Compend of English Literature, could not more truthfully have character- ized her writings than he did, as "pure, lofty, and holy in tendency and influence." C. W. Everest, in his Connecticut LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. 99 Poets, only repeats the common judgment in his decision, "Love and religion are the unvarying elements of her song." E. P. Whipple, the very Xestor of our critics, was obliged to bear testimony to the popularity of her works. He speaks of her facility in versification, and her fluency both in thought and language ; and only claims, what all critics will easily allow, that from the very quantity of her writing, she " hardly does justice to her real powers." But we need not pursue our citations of critical approval further. We acknowledge the skill with which Mrs. Sigourney used our flexible English tongue ; but we still more admire, and would never fail to honor, the deep undertone of "the still, sad music of humanity," which hallowed all her song. We will let her, though unwittingly, while describing the noble devotion of the pleading Queen Philippa, sketch herself: — " The advocate of sorrow, and the friend Of those whom all forsaice." We cannot but rctin-n to this ruling spirit of her lifei equally unaffected and controlling. in her girlhood and her latest years. Her gifts of charity and love often exceeded the allowance of her income which she saved for herself. What monuments she thus built for herself in grateful hearts ! Witness her frequent visits to the Reform School in Meridcn. Those delighted boys cannot soon forget that beautiful orchard, whose thrifty trees she gave as her bless- ing to them ; nor that last gift, the generous Easter cake, which made that festival so joyous to them ; nor, most of all, that l^eautiful smile of hers, always so radiant w'ith her hearty good-will and hope. Oh, there was a blessing in that pres- ence, even for young lives that have been tempted down into the dark shadows of a premature disgrace I Or who shall make her presence good to the pupils of the 100 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Deaf and DumlD Asylum iu her own city, on whose mute joy her very looks beamed a more eloquent sympathy than our best words can express? Or w^heu will the poor orphans of the asylums she so loved to visit forget her tenderness and love ? Hear this good woman, even amid the pain and exhaustion of her last sickness, thoughtful still of the suffering ones who might miss her timely charity, tenderly asking, morning after morning, " Is there any gift for me to send to-day ? " More touchingly still, as you stand over her on the very last night of her stay on earth, you will hear this faintly, yet clearly uttered wish of the dying woman, " I would that I might live until morning, that I may, with my own hand, do up that little lace cap for that dear little babe." And so she left us, with her thought of love still on those whom she was to leave behind. Blessed departure, that ! And did she not find how true her own sweet verse proved : — " And thy good-morning shall be spoke By sweet-voiced angels, that shall bear thee home To the divine Kedeemer " ? And how appropriate the last lines of the last poem that she was permitted to write on earth, — the beautiful image of her soul to leave for us to look on forever : — "Heaven's peace be with you all ! Eareyvell ! Farewell ! " Saturday morning, June 10, 1866, was the date of her death. Her funeral was itself a witness to us of all that we have claimed for her in the city where she lived and died. Specially fitting was it, that those "children of silence" to whom she had loved to minister, and those now doubly orphaned little ones from the asylum, should have their place iu that mourning throng. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY. IQl And after the funeral, when the papers of the city attempted to sum up the city's loss, it was specially fitting that from the pen of a neighbor we should have this testimony : " For fifty years this good lady has blessed our city." To these abundant witnesses to Mrs. Sigourney's noble goodness, we can only add that of her personal friend, S. G. Goodrich, Avho was, also, extensively acquainted wjth the best characters of the generation to which she belonged : " No one whom I know can look back upon a long and earnest career of such unblexnished beneficence." Aud how can we better close this too brief sketch of this honored woman, than in the words in which she so well has announced the imperishable fame of the gifted Mrs. Hemans : — "Therefore, we will not say Farewell to thee ; for every unborn age Shall mix thee with its household charities. The sage shall greet thee with his bcnison, And woman shrine thee as a vestal flame In all the temples of her sanctity ; And the young child shall take thee by the hand And travel with a surer step to heaven." 102 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. BY JAMES PARTON. There was excitement and expectation among the play- goers of New York, in the early days of September, 1832. Stars, new to the firmament of America, were about to ap- pear, — a great event in those simple days, when Europe supplied us with almost all we ever "had of public pleasure. Charles Kemble, brother of Mrs. Siddons the peerless, and of John Kemble the magnificent, was coming to America, accom- panied by his daughter, "Fanny Kemble," the most brilliant of the recent acquisitions to the London stage. Charles Kemble was then an exceedingly stout gentleman, of fifty- seven, fitter to shine in Falstaif than in Hamlet ; yet such is the power of genuine talent to overcome the obstacles which nature herself puts in its way, that he still played with fine efiect some of the lightest and most graceful characters of the drama. He played Hamlet well, and Benedick better, when he must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds ; and people forgot, in admiring the charm of his manner, and the noble beauty of his flice, that he had passed his prime. His daughter, at this period, was just twenty-one years of age, and stood midway in her brief and splendid theatrical career, which had begun two years before, and was to end two years after. The play selected for the first appearance of the J^ouug actress in America was Fazio. The old Park theatre was ■ MES. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 103 the place. It was the evening of Tuesclaj^ September the 18th, 1832. Charles Kemble had appeared the night before to a crowded house in his favorite part of Hamlet, which he performed with that finish and thoroughness characteristic of all the fiimily of the Kembles. On this evening the house was still more crowded, and the weather was oppressively warm. At half past six Miss Kemble went to the theatre to prepare for the ordeal before her. To give time for the audi- ence to assemble and settle in their seats, the farce of Pop- ping the Question was first performed. It was a night of mishaps. When she reached the theatre, she discovered that the actor (a novice from London) who was to play the prin- cipal male part in the tragedy of Fazio was so completely terror-stricken at the prospect before him that he gasped for breath, and he excited the pity, even more than the alarm, of the lady whose performance he was about to mar. She did her best to reassure him, but with small success. When they were about to take their place upon the stage just before the cur- tain rose, he was in an absolute panic, and appeared to be choking with mere fright. She hastily brought him some lemonade to swallow, and was immediately obliged to take her place with him in the scene. According to the custom of actresses who play the chief part in Fazio> she sat with her back to the audience. The curtain rose. As the back of one young lady bears a striking resemblance to that of another, and as she was dressed with perfect plainness, the audience did not recognize-her, and re- mained silent. The actor supporting her, who had calculated upon the usual noisy reception, and was still in the last extrem- ity of terror, stood stock still gazing at the heroine, evidently waiting for the audience to do their part before he began his. The hint was taken at length, or, probably, some friends of the lady recognized her, and then the whole assembly clapped their hands and used their voices, according to the established 104 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. custom on such occasions. Her reception, indeed, was in the highest deo-ree cordial, — such as New York has ever de- lighted to bestow upon distinguished talent, from whatever part of the world it may have come. The play began. The frightened actor broke down in his second speech. Miss Kemble prompted him, but he was too completely terrified to understand her, and he spoiled the situation. This happened so frequently that the great actress was prevented, not merely from exerting her powers, but from fixing her mind upon her part at all ; for, what with prompting her distracted Fazio, and his total obliviousness of what actors call "the business" of the scene, she became at length almost as much frightened as he was, and she thought that her total and ignominious failure was inevitable. It is a curious thing, however, that a performer upon the stage may be enduring a martyrdom of this kind, and scarcely a soul in the audience suspect it. I remember once being close to the stage when Edwin Booth was playing Hamlet, and the king was so intoxicated that it was with real difficulty that he kept himself upright upon his throne, and he had to be prompted at every other word. ■ Mr. Booth was on the rack during the whole of the first scene in which he appears, and kept up a running fire of the most emphatic observations upon the conduct of his royal uncle. It was tvith the great- est difficulty that the scene was carried on ; and yet, I was informed by persons in front of the house, that they had not observed anything extraordinary, except that the king was a very bad actor, which in that part is as far as possible from being extraordinary. And so it was with Miss Kemble. She struggled through the first two acts with her miserable Fazio. She was rid of him at the beginning of the third act, and from that time began to play with freedom and effect. Her success was com- TDlete. Every point of that intense and passionate perform- MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 105 ance was heartily applauded, and when the curtain went down at the close of the fifth act, she was summoned to reap- pear as vociferously as heart could wish. This was the be- ginning of a most brilliant and successful engagement in New York. Here, as everywhere, her crowning triumph was in the part of Julia, in Sheridan Knowles' play of the Hunch- back, a play Avhich was written expressly for her, and in which she gained her greatest London success. Most of those telling "points," which are repeated by every actress whenever this play is performed, were originated by Miss Ivemble, and never failed, or can fail, to produce a powerful effect upon an audience whenever they are respectably made. This young lady came rightly by her dramatic talent. She was a member of a family which, for three generations, had contributed to the English stage its brightest ornaments. Roger Kemble, the first of the family who is known to fame, born in 1721, himself an actor and manager, was the father of twelve children, five of whom embraced his profession and became eminent in it. His eldest child, Sarah Kemble, mar- ried at the age of eighteen an actor of a country company, named Siddons, and became the gi^atest actress that ever lived. John Philip Kemble, the eldest son of Roger, was perhaps, upon the whole, the greatest actor of modern tihies. George Stephen Kemble, another son of the country manager, was also an excellent actor, and is now remembered chiefly for his performance of Falstaff, which he was fat enough to play without stuffing. Elizabeth Kemble, a sister of Mrs. Siddons, married an actor named Whitlock, with whom she came to the United States, where she rose to the first posi- tion on the stage, and had the honor of performing before General Washington and the other great men of that day. She made a fortune in America, and retired to Eiugland in 1807 to enjoy it. Finally, there was Charles Kemble, the 106 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. youngest child of Roger except one, an actor of great note on the English stage for many years. It Avas by no means the intention of Roger Kemble that all his children should pursue his own laborious vocation. On the contrary he was much opposed to their going upon the stage, and in some instances took particular pains to pre- vent it. This was the case with Charles, who received an excellent education, and for whom a place was procured in the London post-office. But it seemed as natural for a Kem- ble to act, as it is for an eagle to soar. They all appear to have possessed just that combination of form, feature, voice, presence, and temperament, which are fitted to charm and im- press an audience. Charles Kemble was soon led to try the stage, tipon which he rose gradually to a high, but never to the highest, position. He was the best light comedian of his time, and has perhaps never been surpassed in such charac- ters as Benedick, Petruchio, Charles Surface, Cassio, Faulcon- bridge, Edgar, and Marc Antony. He was also an excellent, though not a great, Hamlet. In due time he married a popu- lar actress, Miss De Camp, who began her dramatic career as a member of the ballet troupe of the Italian Opera House in London. Two daughters were the fruit of this union, — Frances Anne Kemble, the subject of this memoir, and Ade- laide Kemble, — both of whom, after a short but striking career upon the stage, rnarried gentlemen of fortune and retired to private life. Six weeks before the evening on which Miss Kemble made her first appearance in London, neither she nor her parents had ever thought of her attempting the stage. Charles Kem- ble was then manager of Covenls Garden Theatre, one of the two great theatres of London. The plays which he presented did not prove attractive ; the season threatened to end in disaster ; and he looked anxiously about him for the means of restoring to the theatre its former prestige. His eldest MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 107 daughter, Frances, was then eighteen years of age. Except that she had frequently heard her aunt, Mrs. Siddons, read the plays of Shakespeare, and had lived from her infancy in a family of actors, she had made no special preparation for the stage. She inherited, however, that fine presence, that admirable self-possession, that magnificent and flexible voice, for which the Kembles were distinguished. It sud- denly occurred to the family that this brilliant and saucy girl, perhaps a little spoiled by parental fondness, might prove a great actress and save the failing fortunes of the fam- ily. The experiment was tried. In October, 1829, she made her first appearance. The play selected for the occa- sion was Eomeo and Juliet, in which her father played the part of Romeo, her mother that of the nurse, and herself, Juliet. Her success was so remarkable, it was so evident that she possessed in an eminent degree the talent of the family, that, when the curtain descended at the close of the evening, she was felt to be, both before and behind the cur- tain, an established favorite. Her first success was followed by other triumphs. As Portia, in the Merchant of Venice, as Bianca, in the tragedy of Fazio, as Lady Teazle, in the School for Scandal, and in other parts of similar calibre, she shone without a rival ; since, whatever may have been want- ing in the artist was amply atoned for, in the public mind, by the youthful grace and beauty of the woman. The house was nightly filled to overflowing. Her father was saved from bankruptcy, and the old popularity of the theatre was fully restored. A play which she had written in her seventeenth year, entitled Francis the First, was produced, and attained a certain success. Sheridan Knowles, then at the height of his renown as a dramatist, and in the full vigor of his powers, wi'ote for her his master-piece, the Hunchback, in which her popularity was almost beyond precedent. It was after two years of such a life as this, when she was 108 EMINEiJT WOMEN OF THE AGE. twenty-one years of age, that her father and herself crossed the Athmtic to make the usual tour of the American theatres. New York, as we have seen, gave her a cordial welcome, and sent her forth to the other cities relieved of all anxiety, to continue a career which was nothing but triumph. Fortunately for our present purpose, she kept a diary of this tour, the publication of which, in 1835, was one of the agreeable literary events of the year. Thirty-five years ago ! The lifetime of but a single generation ! And yet, what a different country does this diary reveal to us from the United States of to-day ! What a different person, too, was the dashing, vivacious, and spoiled child of the public of 1832, from the patient, mature, and lofty character which Mrs. Kemble has since attained ! ' Her diary was amusing when it was published, but it is to- day a lesson in history. She lived, during her first engage- ment in New York, at the American Hotel, on the corner of Barclay Street and Broadway, which was then considered the most elegant hotel in the city. She gives nevertheless a sorry account of it : The rooms were " a mixture of French finery and Irish disorder and dirt," and there was a scarcity, not only of servants, food, and space, but even of such com- mon articles as knives and forks. "The servants," she adds, "who were just a quarter as many as the house required, had no bedrooms allotted to them, but slept about anywhere in the public rooms, or on sofas, in drawing-rooms let to private families. In short, nothing can exceed the want of order, propriety, and comfort in this establishment, except the enor- mity of the tribute it levies upon pilgrims and wayfarers through the land." To give the reader an idea, at once, of the character of Miss Kemble's style at the time, and of the startling changes which time has wrought in the country, I will here transcribe the account she gives of her first journey from New York to MRS. FEANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 109 Philadclpbia, which occurred on the 8th of October, 1832. The steamboat stai"ted from the foot of Barclay Street at half- past six in the morning, which obliged the young lady and her father to get up long before daylight. This steamboat, which excited the special wonder of the party from its mag- nitude and splendor, convej^ed them as far as Perth Amboy. "At about half-past ten," she continues, "we reached the place where we leave the river, to proceed across a part of the State of New Jersey, to the Delaware. The landing was beyond measure wretched; the shore shelved down to the water's edge; and its marshy, clayey, sticky soil, rendered doubly soft and squashy by the damp weather, was strown over with broken potsherds, stones, and bricks, by way of pathway; these, however, presently failed, and some slip- pery planks, half immersed in mud, were the only roads to the coaches that stood ready to receive the passengers of the steamboat. Oh, these coaches ! English eye hath not seen, English ear hath not heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of Englishmen to conceive, the surpassing clumsiness and wretchedness of these leathern inconveniences ! They are shaped something like boats, the sides being merely leathern pieces removable at pleasure, but which in bad weather are buttoned down to protect the inmates from the wet. There are three seats in this machine ; the middle one having a movable leather strap, by way of a dossier, which runs be- tween the carriage doors, and lifts away, to permit the egress and ingress of the occupants of the other seats. Into the one fjicing the horses D and I put ourselves ; presently, two young ladies occupied the opposite one ; a third lady and a gentleman of the same party sat in the middle seat, into which my father's huge bulk was also squeezed ; finally, another man belonging to the same party ensconced himself between the two young ladies. Thus the two seats were 110 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. filled each with three persons, and there should by rights have been a third on ours ; for this nefarious black hole on wheels is intended to carry nine. However, we j)rofited little by the space ; for, letting alone that there is not really and truly room for more than two human beings of common growth and pro- portions on each of these seats, the third place was amply filled up with baskets and packages of oiu-s, and huge U7i- douhle-up coats and cloaks of my father's. " For the first few minutes I thought I must have fainted from the intolerable sensation of smothering which I experi- enced. However, the leathers having been removed, and a little more air obtained, I took heart of grace and resigned myself to my fate. Away walloped the four horses, trotting with their front and galloping with their hind legs ; and away went we after them, bumping, jumping, thumping, jolting, shaking, tossing, and tumbling, over the wickedest road, I do think, the cruellest, heard-heartedest road that ever wheel rumbled upon. Through bog, and marsh, and ruts, wider and deeper than any Chi'istian ruts I ever saw, with the roots of trees protruding across our path, their boughs eveiy now and then giving us an afiectionate scratch through the win- dows ; and, more than once, a half-demolished trunk or stump lying in the middle of the road lifting us up, and letting us down again, with most awful variations of our poor coach- body from its natural position. Bones of me ! what a road ! Even my father's solid proportions could not keep their level, but were jerked up to the roof and down again every three minutes. " Om- companions seemed nothing dismayed by these won- drous 'performances of a coach and four, but laughed and talked incessantly, the J^oung ladies at the very top of their voices and with the national nasal twang. The conversation was much of the genteel shopkeeper kind, the wit of the ladies and the gallantry savoring strongly of tapes and yard meas- MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. HI ures, and the shrieks of Laughter of the whole set enough to drive one into a frenzy. The hidies were all pretty ; two of them particularly so, with delicate, fair complexions, and beautiful gray eyes. How I wish they could have held their tongues for two minutes ! We had not long been in the coach before one of them complained of being dreadfully sick. This, in such a place and with seven near neighbors ! Fortunately, she was near the window, and, during our whole fourteen miles of purgatory, she alternately leaned from it, overcome with sickness, then reclined languishingly in the arms of her next neighbor, and then starting up with amazing vivacity, joined her voice to the treble duct of her two pretty companions, with a superiority of shrillness that might have been the envy and pride of Billingsgate. 'Twas enough to bother a rookery ! " The country through which we passed was woodland ; flat and without variety, save what it derived from the wondrous richness and brilliancy of the autumnal foliage. Here, in- deed, decay is beautiful; and nature appears more gorgeously clad in this her fading mantle, than in all the summer's flush of bloom in our less favored climates. I noted several beau- tiful wild-flowers growing among the underwood, some of which I have seen adorning with great dignity our most cul- tivated gardens. None of the trees had any size or appear- ance of age ; they are tl^e second growth, which have sprung from the soil once possessed b}'' a mightier race of vegetables. The quantity of mere underwood, and the number of huge black stumps, rising in every direction a foot or two from the soil, bear witness to the existence of fine forest timber. The few cottages and farm-houses which we passed reminded me of similar dwellings in France and Ireland ; yet the peasantry here have not the same excuse for disorder and dilapidation as either the Irish or French. The farms had the same des- olate, untidy, untended look; the gates broken, the fences 112 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. carelessly put up or ill-repaired ; the farming utensils skit- tishly scattered about a littered yard, where the pigs seem to preside by undisputed right ; house-windows broken and stuffed with paper or clothes ; dishevelled women and bare- footed, anomalous-looking human young things. None of the stirring life and activity which such places present in England and Scotland ; above all, none of the enchanting mixture of neatness, order, and rustic elegance and comfort, which ren- der so picturesque the surroundings of a farm, and the vari- ous belongings of agricultural labor in my own dear country. The fences struck me as peculiar. I never saw any such in England. They are made of rails of wood placed horizon- tally, and meeting at obtuse angles, so forming a zigzag wall of wood, which runs over the country like the herring-bone seams of a flannel petticoat. At each of the angles, two slanting stakes, considerably higher than the rest of the fence were driven into the ground, crossing each other at the top so as to secure the horizontal rails in their position. Theve was every now and then a soft, vivid strip of turf along the roadside that made me long for a horse. Indeed, the whole road would have been a delightful ride, and was a most bitter drive. " At the end of fourteen miles, we turned into a swampy field, the whole fourteen coachfuls of us, and by the help of heaven, bag and baggage were packed into the coaches that stood on the railway ready to receive us. The carriages were not drawn by steam, like those on the Liverpool rail- way, but by horses, with the mere advantage in speed afibrded by the iron ledges, which, to be sure, compared with our previous progress through the ruts, was considera- ble. Our coachful got into the first carriage of the train, escaping, by way of especial grace, the dust which one's predecessors occasion. This vehicle had but two seats in the usual fashion, each of which held four of us. The whole in- MKS. FEANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 113 side was lined with blaziug, scarlet leather, and the windows shaded with stutf curtains of the same refreshing color ; which, with full complement of passengers, on a. fine, sunny, American summer's day, must make as pretty a little minia- ture hell as may be, I should thinks The baggage-wagon, which went before us a little, obstructed the view. The road was neither pretty nor picturesque, but still fringed on each side with the many-colored woods, whose rich tints made variety even in sameness. This railroad is an infinite bless- ing ; 'tis not yet finished, but shortly will be so, and then the whole of that horrible fourteen miles will be performed in comfort and decency in less than half the time. " In about an hour and a half, we reached the end of our railroad part of the journey, and found another steamboat waiting for us, when we all embarked on- the Delaware. Again, the enormous width of the river, struck me with as- tonishment and admiration. Such huge bodies of water mark out the country through which they run as the future abode of the most extensive commerce and greatest maritune power in the universe. The banks presented much the same feat- ures as those of the Karitan, though they were not quite so flat, and more diversified with scattered dwellings, villages, and towns. We passed Bristol and Burlington, stopping at each of them to take up passengers. I sat working, having finished my book, not a little discomfited by the pertinacious staring of some of my fellow-travellers. One woman in par- ticular, after wandering round me in every direction, at last came and sat down opposite me, and literally gazed me out of countenance. " One improvement they have adopted on board these boats is, to forbid smoking, except in the forepart of the vessel. I wish they would suggest that if the gentlemen would re- frain from spitting about, too, it Avould be highly agreeable to the female part of the community. The universal practice 8 114 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. here of this disgusting trick makes me absolutely sick ; everyplace is made a perfect piggery of, — street, stairs, steamboat, everywhere, — and behind the scenes, and on the stage at rehearsal. I have been shocked and annoyed beyond expression by this horrible custom. To-day, on board the boat, it was a perfect shower of saliva all the time ; and I longed to be relieved from my fellowship with these very obnoxious chewers of tobacco. At about four o'clock we reached Philadelphia, having performed the journey between that and New York (a distance of a hundred miles), in less than ten hours, in spite of bogs, ruts, and all other impedi- ments. The manager came to look after us and our goods, and we were presently stowed into a coach which conveyed us to the Mansion House, the best reputed inn in Philadelphia." Such was travelling in the United States, between our two largest cities, only thirty-five years ago ! Such was Miss Kemble in the twenty-second year of her age ! Some of the incidents of her tour in America were very amusing. Being exceedingly fond of riding on horseback, she gave a great impetus to the fashion of ladies' indulging in that pleasure. Particularly at Philadelphia, there was great hunting for good saddle-horses, which, Miss Kemble assures us in her diary, scarcely existed in the country at that time. A particular cap w^hich she wore when riding was imitated and sold as " the Kemble cap." She appears, at that time, to have had a contempt for the beautiful art which she practised, and by which her family had become so distin- guished. " How I do loathe the stage ! " she exclaims. " These wretched, tawdry, glittering rags flung over the breathing forms of ideal loveliness ; these miserable, poor, and pitiful substitutes for the glories with which poetry has invested her magnificent and fair creations. What a mass of wretched, mumming mimicry acting is ! Pasteboard and paint, for MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 115 the thick breathing orauge-groves of the south ; green silk and oiled parchment, for the solemn splendor of her noon of night ; wooden platforms and canvas curtains, for the solid marble balconies and rich dark draperies of Juliet's slcepino- chamber, that shrine of love and beauty ; rouge, for the star- tled life-blood in the cheek of that young passionate woman ; an actress, a mimicker, a sham creature, me, in fact, or any other one, for that loveliest and most wonderful conception, in which all that is true in nature and all that is exquisite in foncy are moulded into a living form ! To act this ! To act Romeo and Juliet ! Horror ! horror ! How I do loathe my most impotent and unpoetical craft ! " Ah ! how necessary it is to know precisely in what mood, and iu what circumstances, a passage was written, before we can tell how ftir it expresses the author's real and habitual sentiment. The sentences just quoted signify, chiefly, that she had been just playing Juliet to a most fiwkward and abominable Romeo. In the last scene of the play, she tells us, she was so mad with the mode in which all the other scenes had been performed, that, lying over Romeo's dead body, and fumbling for his dagger, which she could not find, she thus addressed her dead lover : — " Vvliy, where the devil is your dagger, Mr. ." In truth, she was not a little proud of her honorable and arduous vocation. She was not insensible to the mamc of that art which enables an audience to forget that they are looking upon pasteboard and rouge, and to forget, also, that it is not the veritable Juliet who is moving them to rapture and to tears. Some of the best passages in Miss Kemble's diary are subtle disquisitions upon the art of acting. She had another mishap with her Romeo at Baltimore. The play went otf pretty well on this occasion, she says in her humorous way, " except that they broke one man's collar bone, and nearly dislocated a woman's shoulder, hj flinging 116 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. the scenery about." She gives the following absurd account of the conclusion of the play : — "My bed was not made in time, and when the scene drew, half a dozen carpenters, in patched trowsers and tattered shirt-sleeves, were discovered smoothing down my pillows and adjusting my draperies. The last scene is too good not to be given verbatim : — " ' Borneo. Else, rise, my Juliet, And from this care of death, this house of horror, Quick let me snatch thee to thy Romeo's arms.' "Here he pounced upon me, plucked me up in his arms like an uncomfortable bundle, and staggered down the stage with me. "Juliet (aside). Oh, you've got me up horridly 1 that'll never do ; let me down, pray let me down I " ' Borneo. There, breathe a vital spirit on thy lips, And call thee back, my soul, to life and love ! * " Juliet (aside) . Pray put me down ; you'll certainly throw me down if you don't set me on the ground directly. "In the midst of ' cruel, cursed fate,' his dagger fell out of his dress ; I, embracing him tenderly, crammed it back again, because I linew I should want it at the end. " Borneo. ' Tear not our heart-strings thus ! They crack! they break! Juliet ! Juliet I (dies).'' "Juliet (io corpse). Am I smothering you ? " Corpse (to Juliet) . Not at all ; could you be so kind, do you think, as to put my wig on for me ? it has fallen off. " Juliet (to corpse) . I'm afraid I can't, but I'll throw my muslin veil over it. You've broken the phial, haven't you? " ( Corpse nodded) . MRS. FEANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 117 " Juliet (to co7'j)se) . "Where's your dagger ? " Corpse (to Juliet) . Ton my soul, I don't know." It is curious to notice how prompt this young lady, who sometimes affected such a horror of the stage, was to defend it when attacked by another. She had a long conversation once with Dr. Channing on this subject, who thought that detached scenes and passages well declaimed could serve as a good substitute for the stage. The j^oung actress at once took fire. "My horror," she says, "was so unutterable at this proposition, and my amazement so extreme that he should make it, that I believe my replies were all but incoherent. What ! take one of Shakespeare's plays bit by bit, break it piecemeal, in order to make recitals of it ! Destroy the mar- vellous unity of one of his magnificent works to make patches of declamation ! . . . I remember hearing my Aunt Siddons read the scenes of the witches in Macbeth, and while doing so was obliged to cover my eyes, that her velvet gown, mod- ern cap, and spectacles might not disturb the wild and sublime images that her magnificent voice and recitation were conjur- ing up around me." Miss Kemble's dramatic career in the United States was troubled by only one disagreeable inoideut, which occurred while she was playing an engagement at Washington. On returning to her hotel, one evening, from her usual ride, she found a man sitting with her father, and her father in a tower- ing passion. "There, sir," said Mr. Kemble, when she came in, "there is the young lady to speak for herself." And truly the young lady did so in a highly spirited man- ner. "Fanny," continued her father, "something particularly disagreeable has occurred ; pray can you call to mind any- thing you said during the course of your Thursday's ride 118 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. which was likely to be offensive to Mr. , or anything abusive of this country ? " Miss Kemble, who com|)rehended the situation at a glance, tmtied her bonnet, and replied, with haughty nonchalance, that she did not recollect a word she had said during her whole ride, and should certainly not give herself any trouble to do so. " Now, my dear," said her father, his own eyes flashing fire, " don't put yourself into a passion ; compose yourself and recollect. Here is a letter I have just received." He read the letter, which proved to be a ridiculous and dastardly anonymous one, to the effect, that Miss Kemble had said during the ride in question, that she did not choose to ride an American gentleman's horse, and had offered the owner two dollars for the hire of it, and had otherwise spoken most disrespectfully of the American people. The letter proceeded to state that, unless something was done in the way of explanation or apology, she should be hissed off the stage that night the moment she appeared. The evening came. The pit was littered with handbills from the same malicious and cowardly hand. The only effect was, that every time she appeared during the play the audi- ence received her with a perfect uproar of applause. At the end of the second act, one of the handbills was brought to Mr. Kemble, Who immediately went with it before the audi- ence, and denounced it as an infamous falsehood. The play proceeded, and, when Miss Kemble next came upon the scene, the audience rose to their feet, waved their hats, and gave a succession of such thundering cheers, that she bm*st into tears, and had extreme difficulty in going on with her part. Nor was this all. The public, justly indignant at this con- temptible act of inhospitality to eminent artists from a foreign land, crowded the theatre during the rest of then' engage- ment, and gave them two benefits of such an overwhelming MRS. FEANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 119 character, that a smart Yankee remarked, "He shouldn't won- der if Mr. Kemble had got up the whole thing himself." This visit to America had more important and lasting con- sequences than Miss Kemble had anticipated. Among the most ardent of her American admirers was a young gentle- man of large fortune and ancient family, residing in a spacious mansion in Philadelphia. Pierce Butler was his name. He was a descendant of the famous Pierce Butler of South Car- olina, whose history was so familiar to the public seventy years ago, but has long since been forgotten. Major Pierce Butler came to America before the Revolutionary war Avith one of the regiments sent over by the tory government to overawe rebellious Boston. He was an Irishman by de- scent, a scion of the ancient family, the head of which was the Duke of Ormond. Instead of assisting an obstinate and ignorant king to subdue the most loyal of his sul)jccts, he had the good sense to embrace their cause. He resigned his commission, sold his property in Great Britain, and settled in South Carolina, where he purchased a very large estate in lands suited to the culture of rice and cotton. There he lived and flourished, a leading planter and politician, from about the 3X'ar 1780 until the time of his death in 1822. He was a democrat of the most decided type, a warm adherer of Jeffer- son, and a main stay of successive democratic administrations. It was the son of this distinguished man, the heir of his name and his estates, who was captivated by Miss Kemble's talents. His admiration of the actress became, at length, a passion for the woman, and he offered her his hand. Accord- ing to the usual* English view of such matters, it was a bril- liant offer; for, in England, no splendor of talent or fame, no worth of character, no extent of learning, notJiing, is con- sidered to place an individual on a par with one who possesses a large quantity of inherited land. This young man was at the head of society at Philadelphia. His estates in South 120 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Carolina he visited but seldom, and lie lived at the Quaker capital the life of elegant and inglorious ease which is so captivating to the imagination of the toiling and anxious mul- titude. Miss Kemble was so little acquainted with him and his affairs that she did not know the nature of his property. She did not know that he derived his whole income from the unrequited toil of slaves, extorted from them by the lash. She did not know that he owned one slave. It so happened that she had brought with her from her English home a jparticular abhorrence of slavery, and the feeling was increased in America by what she casually heard of the condition and treatment of the negroes. Several pas- sages in her diary, written before she ever saw the face of this Pierce Butler, prove her utter detestation of slavery. But who can avoid his destiny? In an evil honr, she turned her back upon her noble art, upon the public that admired and honored her, upon her country, too, and gave her hand to this democratic lord of seven hundred slaves. All the world cono-ratulated her. She was thought to have made a most brilliant match, — she, the woman of genius and feeling, the heir of an illustrious name, which she had proved herself worthy to bear ! For a time, all went well. Children were born. Women of a certain calibre are not long in discovering the quality of their husbands ; and it is highly probable, that Frances Anne Kemble had taken the measure of Pierce Butler before the events occurred which led to their estrangement. In the fourth year of their marriage, in Dccem]:)er, 1838, the fomily, for the first time since the marriage, went together to sj^end the winter upon the Butler plantations in South Carolina. She recorded her impressions at the time in a diary, accord- ing to her custom, which diary has been recently published. What a contrast between this work, written in 1839, and her other diary written in 1832 and 1833 ! In the first, there is a good MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 121 deal of immaturity, a little affectation, perhaps, and, occasion- ally, a certain lack of the refinement and dignity which be- long to the well-bred woman. We see the favorite actress a little spoiled by her sudden and great celebrity, though full of the elements of all that is high and great in the character of woman. In the second diary, we find those elements developed. Disappointment, — the greatest a woman can know, — the discovery that her mate is not her equal, had im- parted a premature maturity and an unusual depth of reflec- tion to the matron of twenty-seven. Her record of tli^s winter's residence in South Carolina, among her husband's slaves, is the best contribution ever made b}'^ an individual, to our knowledge, of the practical working of the slave system in the United States. One of her friends cautioned her not to go down to her husband's plantation "prejudiced" against what she was to find there. "Assuredly," she replied, "I am going prejudiced against slavery, for I am an Englishwoman, in whom the absence of such a prejudice would be disgraceful. Nevertheless, I go prepared to find many mitigations in the practice to the gen- eral injustice and cruelty of the system, — much kindness on the part of the masters, much content on that of the slaves." She was disappointed. She discovered that slavery was oil cruelty. The very kindness shown to slaves did but ag- gravate their snfierings, because that kindness was necessarily fitful and capricious, and was liable at any moment to termi- nate. With those fresh and honest eyes of hers she looked through all the sophistry of the masters, and saw the system exactly as it was. They told her, for example, that the large families of the slaves were a proof of their good treatment and welfare. " No such thing," she replied. " If you will reflect for a moment upon the overgrown families of the half-starved Irish peasantry and English manufacturers, you will agree with me 122 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. that these prolific shoots by no means necessarily spring from a rich or healthy soil. Peace and plenty are certainly causes of human increase, and so is recklessness ; and this, I take it, is the impulse in the instance of the English manufacturer, the Irish peasant, and the negro slave. . . None of the cares, — those noble cares, tjiat holy thoughtfulness which lifts the human above the brute parent, — are ever incurred here by either father or mother. The relation indeed resembles, as far as circumstances can possibly make it do so, the short- lived connection between the animal and its young. The father, having neither authority, power, responsibility, nor charge in his children, is, of course, as among brutes, the least attached to his offspring ; the mother, by the natural law which renders the infant dependent on her for its fii'st year's nourishment, is more so ; but, as neither of them is bound to educate or to support their children, all the unspeak- able tenderness and solemnity, all the rational, and all the spiritual grace and glory of the connection is lost, and it be- comes mere breeding, bearing, suckling, and there an end. But it is not only the absence of the conditions which God has affixed to the relation which tends to encourage the reck- less increase of the race ; they enjoy, by means of numerous children, certain positive advantages. In the first place, every woman who is pregnant, as soon as she chooses to make the fact kno^Ti to the overseer, is relieved of a certain por- tion of her Avork in the field, which lightening of labor con- tinues, of course, as long as she is so burdened. On the bu'th of a child certain additions of clothing and an additional weekly ration are bestowed on the family; and these matters, small as they may seem, act as powerful inducements to creatures who have none of the restraining influences actuat- ing them which belong to the parental relation among all other people, whether civilized or savage. Moreover, they have all of them a most distinct and perfect knowledge of MRS. PEANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 123 their value to their owners as property ; aud a womau thinks, and not much amiss, that the more frequently she adds to the number of her master's live-stock by bringing new slaves into the world, the more claims she will have upon his considera- tion and good-will. This was perfectly evident to me from the meritorious air with which the women always made haste to inform me of the number of children they had borne, and the frequent occasions on which the older slaves would direct my attention to their children, exclaiming, ' Look, missis ! Little niggers for you and massa ; plenty little niggers for you and little missis ! ' A very agreeable apostrophe to mc, indeed, as you will believe." Of the cruelty con^mitted upon this estate sl\e gives ample details, which need not be repeated here. Her husband's negroes ^vere considered fortunate by those upon surrounding plantations, and yet almost everything that she saw and heard during her residence among them filled her with grief and horror. What surprised her very much was, the low ])hys- ical condition of the colored people, and the great mortality among the children. This was partly owing to insufficient find innutritious food, but chiefly to the incessant child- bearing of the women. She found mothers who were fifteen years of age, and grandmothers who were thirty. She found women in middle life who had borne from twelve to sixteen children. One cause of intense misery was compel- ling the Avomen to return to their labor in the field three weeks after confinement. In short, the whole system, and all its details and circumstances, excited in her nothing but the most profound and passionate repugnance. Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth will speak, and, especially, a woman's mouth ! She remonstrated with her husband upon the cruelties practised almost in his very presence. She might as well have addressed her remon- strances to one of his own palmetto-trees. Once, when sh€> 124 EMINENT "WOMEN OF THE AGE. had related to him a peculiarly aggravated atrocity commit- ted upon the mother of a family, he replied, that, no doubt, the punishment inflicted upon the woman was " disagreeable.''^ At other times, he would say, " Why do you listen to such stuff? Why do you believe such trash? Don't you know the niggers are all d d liars?" At length, he commanded her never to speak to him upon the subject again, never to try to stand between a defenceless female slave and the over- seer's withering lash. This was almost beyond bearing. Eead one passage from her diary : — " I have had an uninterrupted stream of women and children flowing in the whole morning to say, ' Ha, de missis.' Among others, a poor woman called Mile, who could hardly stand for pain and swelling in her limbs ; she had had fifteen children ; nine of her children had died ; for the last three years she had become almost a cripple with chronic rheuma- tism, yet she is driven every day to work in the field. She held my hands, and stroked them in the most appealing way, while she exclaimed, ' O my missis ! my missis ! me neber sleep till day for de pain,' and with the day her labor must again be resumed. I gave her flannel and sal-volatile to rub her poor swelled limbs with ; rest I could not give her, — rest from her labor and her pain, — this mother of fifteen children. " I went out to try and walk off some of the weight of horror and depression which I am beginning to feel daily more and more, surrounded by all this misery and degrada- tion that I can neither help nor hinder." In addition to all this, she could not be ignorant that her young husband degraded himself and dishonored her, as the young planters of the South were accustomed to degrade themselves, and dishonor their wives. MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 125 I shall not dwell here upon what followed. The difFer- ence of opinion, or rather of feeling, upon this subject of slavery — so vital to them as slave-owners — ended at last in complete and bitter estrangement. A separation followed. Mrs. Kemble retired to the beautiful village of Lennox iu Massachusetts, where she occasionally had the pleasure of associating with her children, and where she was the delight and ornament of a large circle. Nor was the public entirely deprived of the benefit of her talents. Inheriting from her father an amplitude of person which time did not diminish, she was no longer fitted to resume her place upon the stage. She has given, however, as every one knows, series of read- ings from Shakespeare and other authors, in the principal cities of the United States and Great Britain. One happy year she spent in Italy, and, according to her habit, made her residence there the subject of a volume of poetry and ■prose, which she entitled "A year of Consolation." During our late civil war she resided in England. She was true to the country of her adoption, and rendered to it the most timely and valuable services. In the midst of the hostility against the North which prevailed among the educated classes in England, she wrote a most eloquent and powerful vindici-tion of the United States for the " London Times ; " and, about the period when the question of Emancipation was agitating all minds, she gave to the public her Southern diary, which had been in manuscript more than twenty years. The last two sentences of this work will serve to show that at the darkest period of the war, when all but the stoutest hearts felt some misofivino^s as to the final result, this brave and high-minded woman had undiminishd faith in the final triumph of the right. They are these : — "Admonished by its terrible experience, I believe the nation will reunite itself under one government, remodel the 126 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Constitution, and again address itself to fulfil its glorious destiny. I believe that the country sprung from ours — of all our just subjects of national pride the greatest — will resume its career of prosperity and power, and become the noblest as well as the mightiest that has existed among the nations of the earth." Mrs. Kemble is now fifty-seven years of age, but neither the vigor of her body nor the brilliancy of her talents has undergone any perceptible diminution. Her readings have been, for nearly twenty years, among the most refined and instructive pleasures accessible to the public, and they still attract audiences of the highest character. I had the pleasure of hearing her read in the city of New York, in J\Iarch, 1868. It was the coldest night of the year; the streets were heaped high with snow, and a cutting north-west wind was blowing. Notwithstanding these adverse circumstances,- which thinned every place of amusement in tlie city, more than a thousand people assembled in Steinway Hall to listen once more to this last and best of the Kembles. The play was Coriolanus, one of the most efiective for her purpose, in the whole range of the drama. When she presented herself upon the platform and took her usual seat behind a small low table, she looked the very picture of one of the noble Roman matrons whose grand and passionate words she was about to utter. As she sat, she appeared to be above the usual stature of women, although in fact she is not. Her person, although finely developed, has in no degree the appearance of corpu- lence. Her hair, naturally dark, has been so delicately touched by time, that the frost of years looks like a sprinkling of the powder which has lately been in fashion again. Her face is full and ruddy, indicating high health, and her features are upon that large and grand scale for which her family have been always remarkable, and which call to mind the fact that MRS. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. 127 ihe Eomans once ruled in England. Her voice is exceed- ingly fine, being ample in quantity as well as harmonious and flexible. On this occasion, she was attired in a dress of plain black silk, relieved only by a narrow lace collar around the neck, which was fastened by a small plain gold pin. Nothing can exceed the force, beauty, and variety of her reading ; she is perhaps the only person, who has yet practised this art, that can hold a large audience attentive and satisfied durins: the reading of a pla}^ Like all genuine artists, Mrs. Kemble marks an habitual respect for the public whom she serves. Her low courtesy to the audience, and her pleasant, respectful way of addressing them when she has occasion to do so, are in striking contrast with the ridiculous and insolent airs which some of the spoiled children of the opera sometimes give themselves. Her dress varies with the play she is to read. When the Midsummer Night's Dream is the play, she wears a bridal dress of white silk adorned with lace. Her self-possession in the presence of an audience is complete, and although she exerts herself to please them with far more than the energy of a novice, no one is aware of the fact, and she seems to enchant ns without an efi(>rt. VZS EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. BY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT. The city of Malaga, in Spain, was the birthplace of Euge- nie, the Empress of the French. This quaint old Moorish town, containing about sixty thousand inhabitants, is situated on the shores of the Mediterranean, at the head of a bay which constitutes so fine a harbor that the city has been, for centuries, one of the most important seaports of the Spanish peninsula. Bleak, barren, rugged mountains encircle the city, approaching so near to the sea that there is scarcely room for the streets of massive, lofty stone houses, which are spread along the shore. These streets, as in all the old Moor- ish towns, are very narrow, many of them being not more than six or eight feet wide. The houses are large and high, and are built around a court-yard. The ruins of ancient for- tifications and the battlements of a fine old Moorish castle add to the picturesque beauties of the crags, which rise sub- limely in the rear of the town. The climate is almost tropical, and the market abounds with all the fruits and vegetables which ripen beneath an equatorial sun. Though most of the city presents but a laby- rinth of intricate and narrow streets, there is one square around which the buildings are truly magnificent. This square, or public walk, called the Alameda, is the favorite resort of all the fashion and gayety and pleasure-seeking of the city. E EUGENIE, EMPEESS OF THE EKENCH. 129 •' In the street of St. Juan de Dios, of Malaga, there was, in the early part of the present century, a wealthy, intelligent, and very attractive family residing in one of the most stately mansions. The master of the house was an opulent merchant from England, William Kirkpatrick, a Scotchman by birth. He had been the English consul at Malaga, and had married a young lady of Malaga, of remarkable beauty both of form and feature, Francisca Gravisne, the daugliter of one of tlie ancient Spanish families. They had three daughters, all of whom inherited the beauty, grace, and vivacity of their mother, blended with the strong sense aud solid virtues of the ftither. The eldest of these daughters, ]Maria, was a youug lady of extraordinary beauty. She was tall, with features as if chiselled by a Grecian sculp- tor, beaming with animation, with brilliant eyes, ready wit, and possessing perfect command of all the graces of language and the attractions of manner. Blencjed Saxon and Spanish blood circled in her veins and glowed in her cheeks. Pier exquisitely moulded form is represented to have been perfect. Her two 3'ounger sisters, Carlotta and Henriquetta, were also far-famed for beauty, grace, intelligence, and all those virtues which give attractions to the social circle. Mr. Kirk- patrick was engaged in extensive commerce with England and America. His circle of acquaintance was consequently very extensive. All foreigners of distinction, were welcomed to his hospitable board ; and it was also the resort of the most refined and aristocratic native society of Malaga. Among the guests who visited in this attractive fomily there was a Spanish noble, alike illustrious for his exalted birth, his large fortune, aud his military prowess. A scar upon his face and a crippled limb were honorable wounds, which gave him additional claims to pre-eminence. He had joined the army of Napoleon, in the endeavor to liberate Spain from the despotism of the Bourbons. He was then known 9 130 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. by the name of Cipriano Palafox, Count of Tlieba. A strong attachment sprang up between this member of one of the old Spanish famiUes and Senorita Maria Kirkpatrick, the daugh- ter of the wealthy English merchant. They were married in 1819. This marriage secured for the beautiful and highly accom- plished Maria all the advantages which wealth and rank could confer. The count took his young and lovely bride, who was some years younger than himself, to Madrid, and pre- sented her at court. She had enjoyed the advantages of both a Spanish and an English education. Her beauty, intelli- gence, and varied accomplishments rendered her a great fa- vorite with the queen, Maria Christina, and she was elevated to the most influential post among the feminine offices, — that of first lady of honor. Her husband, Count Theba, soon received additional wealth and honor, inheriting from a deceased brother the title and estates of the Count of Moutijo. Maria's sister, Carlotta, soon after married an English gentleman, her cousin Thomas, the son of her father's brother, John Kirkpatrick. This gentle- man had accompanied Wellington to Spain, and had served as paymaster to the English army until 1814. As Maria's husband had espoused the cause of Napoleon, and had shed his blood in fighting against Wellington, the two extremes of political antagonism were represented in the family ; and yet, so far as we can learn, harmoniously represented, for the pas- sions which had inflamed that deadly conflict yielded to the ties of family aflfection. Both Thomas and his wife are now dead. The third daughter, Heuriquetta, married Count Cabarras, a very wealthy Spanish sugar-planter, residing near Velez Malaga. Her lot has been peculiarly tranquil and happy. She is probably, at the time of this writing, residing in pleas- ant retirement, with her husband, on their beautiful estate EUGENIE, EMPRESS OP THE FRENCH. 131 - iu the south of sunny Spain, in the enjoyment of opulence and high position. The Empress Eugenie is the daughter of the elder sister, Maria Kirkpatrick, and of Cipriano Palafox, double Count of Theba and of INIontijo. She was born the 5th of May, 1826. English and Spanish blood are mingled in her veins. She has enjoyed all the advantages of an English, a French, and a Spanish education. She is familiar with the literature and the best society of the three realms, and iu her person and features there are blended, in a remarkable degree, the grace and beauty of the highest specimens of the Spanish and Saxon races. The death of her father, a few weeks before her birth, left Eugenie an orphan in her earliest infancy. But she was blest with the training of a very excellent and highly educated mother. It is said that a part of her education was acquired iu England, and that she has enjoyed the advantages of the best schools in France. Thus she speaks English, Spanish, and French with equal fluency. There is no court in Europe where the claims of etiquette are more rigidly observed than in the royal palaces of Madrid. Eugenie, from childhood, has been so accustomed to all these forms, that she moves through the splendors of the Tuileries with ease and grace which charm every beholder. John Kirkpatrick, who had married Eugenie's aunt, Car- lotta, became subsequently a banker in Paris. In the year 1851, Maria the Countess of Montijo, with her daughter Eu- genie, the Countess of Theba, visited Paris. The marvellous loveliness of Eugenie, the ease, grace, and perfect polish of her address, and her vivacity and wide intelligence, sur- rounded her with admirers. The classical regularitj^ of her features, her exquisitely moulded form, her rich, soft auburn hair, and her large, expressive black eyes, arrested the atten- tion of every observer. Equally at home iu several languages, 132 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. and endowed with great powers of conversation and of fasci- nation, the most distinguished, of all lands, gathered around her, rendering her that homage which genius everywhere yields to the perfection of feminine charms. One familiar with her has said : — " Her beauty was delicate and fair, from her English ances- try ; while her grace was all Spanish, and her wit all French. These made her one of the most remarkable women in the French capital, though her independence of character and her English habits imparted to her more liberty of action than the restraints imposed on French demoiselles allow, and there- fore exposed her to remark. There is not one well authenti- cated adventure which can be told to her disadvantage. The empress, besides her brilliant qualities, which make her the most lovely sovereign in Europe, is kind and generous ; and in the few opportunities to test her higher qualities has dis- played great courage- and sense." The emperor did not escaj3e the fascination which all alike felt. The countess became the most brilliant ornament of the gay assemblies of the Tuileries ; and when she rode along the Boulevards or the Champs Ely see, all eyes were riveted upon her. It is to the present day alike the testimony of all, who are favored with her acquaintance, that she is as amiable and as lovely in character as she is beautiful in person. No one can behold her countenance, beaming with intelligence, and witness her sweet smile, without the assur- ance that Eugenie is richly endowed with the most attractive graces which can adorn humanity. The Countess of Theba, Eugenie, had been educated a Catholic, and was reputed an earnest Christian of the Fenelon type. God only can judge the heart ; but externally she manifested the utmost devotion to the claims of rehgion, and EUGENIE, EMPKESSOF THE FRENCH. 133 was scrupulous in the observance of the rites of the church. The cavillers said, " she is a very rigid Catholic." The de- vout said, " she is a very earnest Christian." All alike ac- knowledged that she was the foe of irreligion in every form, and that the prosperity of the Church, in that great branch of Christianity to which she belonged, was dear to her heart. It is reported that the Emperor of the French had previ- ously met Eugenie, and admired her in the court circles of London, when he was an exile from his native land. He gave her a cordial welcome at the palace of the Tuileries, and friendship soon ripened into love. The marked religious character of Eugenie awakened sympathy in the bosom of the emperor. He had often taken occasion to say, in his public addresses, that while others had sustained Christianity as a "measure of state," as a "political necessity," he sup- ported Christianity from a full conviction of its divine origin, and: as thus indispensjable to the welfare of nations and of men. It is i)robable that the emperor, more familiar Avitli the world, and having studied the workings of Protestant forms of Christianity in England and America, is more liberal in his denominational views. Still he regards Catholicism as the religion of France, and, while advocating the most per- fect freedom of conscience, recognizes the papal church as the denomination to which he belongs, and to which he should give his fostering care. Thus the emperor and Eugenie found a bond of union in their religious convictions. On the 22d of January, 1853, the emperor, in the follow- ing communication to the Senate, announced that Eugenie, the Countess of Theba, had consented to share with him the throne, in becoming his partner for life : — " Gentlemen : — I yield myself to the wish so often man- ifested by the country in announcing to you my marriage. The union I contract is not in accord with the traditions of 134: EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. the ancient policy. In that is its advantage. France, by her successive revolutions, is always rudely separated from the rest of Europe. Every sensible government should seek to introduce her to the bosom of the old monarchies. But this result will be much more surely attained by a policy just and frank, and by loyalty of transactions, than by royal alliances which create false security and o^ten substitute the interest of families for the national interest. Moreover the examples of the past have left upon the minds of the people supersti- tious impressions. They have not forgotten that, for seventy years, foreign princes have ascended the steps of the throne, only to see their race dispersed or proscribed by w^ar or by revolution. One woman only has seemed to bring happiness to France, and to live, more than others, in the memory of the people ; and that woman, Josephine, the modest and excel- lent wife of General Bonaparte, was not of royal blood. "We must, however, admit that the marriage, in 1810, of Napoleon Bonaparte with Maria Louisa was a great event. It was a pledge for the future, a true satisfaction to the na- tional pride, since the ancient and illustrious house of Aus- tria, with which we had so long waged war, was seen to solicit an alliance with the elected chief of a new empire. Under the last reign, on the contrarj^, did not the self-love of the country suffer when the heir of the crown solicited, in vain, during many years, the alliance of a royal house, and obtained, at last, a princess, accomplished, undoubtedly, but only in the secondary ranks, and of another religion? "When, in the face^ of ancient Europe, one is borne, by the force of a new principle, to the height of the ancient dyn- asties, it is not in endeavoring to give antiquity to his her- aldry, and in seeking to introduce himself, at whatever cost, into the family of kings, that one can make himself accepted. It is much more, in ever remembering his origin, in main- taining his appropriate character, and in taldng, frankly, in EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. 135 the face of Europe, the position of a 2^(i'>'venu, — a glorious title -uhen one attains it by the free suffrage of a great people. "Thus obliged to turn aside from the precedents, followed until this daj^, my marriage becomes but a private affair. There remains only the choice of the person. The one who has become the object of my preference is of elevated birth. French in heart, and by the recollection of the blood shed by her father in the cause of the empire, she has, as a Spaniard, the advantage of not having, in France, a fiimily to whom it might be necessary to give honors and dignities. Endowed with all the qualities of the mind, she will be the ornament of the throne, as, in the day of danger, she will become one of its most courageous supports. Catholic and pious, she will address the same prayers to Heaven with me for the happiness of France. By her grace and her goodness she will, I firmly hope, endeavor to revive, in the same position, the virtues of the Empress Josephine. "I come then, gentlemen, to say to France, that I have preferred the woman whom I love, and whom I respect, to one who is unknown, whose alliance would have advantages mingled with sacrifices. Without testifying disdain for any one, I yield to my inclinations, after having consulted my reason and my convictions. In tine, by placing independence, the qualities of the heart, domestic happiness, above dynastic prejudices and the calculations of ambition, I shall not be less strong because I shall be more free. " Soon, in repairing to Notre Dame, I shall present the empress to the people and to the army. The confidence they have in me assures me. of their sympathy. And you, gentlemen, on knowing her whom I have chosen, will agree that, on this occasion again, I have been guided by Provi- dence." In France, marriage is regarded both as a civil and a relig- / 136 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. ious rite, and both ceremonies are often accompanied with great solemnity and pomp. The marriage of the Emperor and Euseuie, the Countess of Theba, was celebrated at the Tuileries, on the 27th of January, 1853. The next day, which was Sunday, the religious ceremonies took place, with great splendor, at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The Arch- bishop of Paris officiated. Probably a more brilliant assem- bly was never convened in France, or in the world, than the throng which then filled, to its utmost capacity, that venera- ble and capacious edifice. All the courts of Europe were represented, and nothing was wanting which wealth and rank and power and taste could give to contribute to the attrac- tions of the spectacle. "All the pomp of the Catholic service, all the opulence of the capital, all the beauty and brilliance of the court, all the grim majesty of the military, whatever was illustrious in science and art, every resource of celebrity, fascination, and lavish luxury were exhausted on the incidents and displays of this felicitous day. The imperial couple sat on two thrones erected in front of the high altar. Sublime and heavenly melody resounded beneath the lofty arches of the ancient pile. A numerous and gorgeous array of priests assisted. The great representatives of the army, of the senate, of the municipal authorities, of the diplomatic corps, delegations from the great cities of France, and the most brilliant and beautiful female leaders of fashion in the capital, — all were there. The agitation of the young empress, the focus of so many inquisitive eyes, during the ceremony, was extreme. It was necessary for the emperor to soothe and allay her emo- tions. All passed off happily and favorably ; and everybody, except the fierce and implacable leaders of the dark and des- perate factions, rejoiced at the consummation of the imperial nuptials." These were nuptials inspired on both sides by affection and EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. 137 esteem, and they have been followed, apparently, with far more happiness than has usually been found in a palace. The union of the emperor and Eugenie was a union of hearts. The emperor signalized his marriage by granting amnesty to nearly five thousand persons who were in banish- ment for political offences. The empress has proved herself all that France could desire in one occupying her exalted position. The nation is proud of the grace, beauty, and ac- complishments which have now for fifteen 3'ears rendered Eugenie not only the brightest ornament of the Tiiilcrics, but the most conspicuous queen of Europe. A sincere Christian, devotedly attached to the recognized Christian faith of France, — the fiiitli in which she was born and educated, — she secures the homage of all the millions who bow before the supremacy of the Catholic religion; and her influence, in the court, has ever been ennobling and purifj'ing. In more than one scene of danger Eugenie has proved her- self the possessor of that heroism which sheds such an addi tional lustre upon one destined to the highest walks of earthly life. Asa wife, as a mother, and as an empress, history must award to. Eugenie a very high position of merit. The city of Paris voted the empress, upon the occasion of her mar- riage, a large sum — we think about six hundred thousand dol- lars — for the purchase of diamonds. It was a matter even of national pride that the Empress of France, the bride of the people's emperor, should be splendidly arrayed. But there was no one who could more easily forego these adorn- ings than Eugenie. The glitter of gems could add but little to that loveliness which captivated all beholders. Eugenie had ample wealth of her own. The emperor had a well-filled purse. There was no danger that her jewel caskets would be empty. Gratefully Eugenie accepted the munificent gift, having first obtained the consent of the donors that she should devote 138 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. it to founding a charitable institution for* the education of young girls belonging to the working classes. Here she watches over her sisters of humbler birth, with heartfelt sym- pathy, alike interested in their physical, mental, and religious culture. In the year 1855 the emperor and Eugenie visited the court of Queen Victoria. They were received with every possible demonstration of enthusiasm. England seemed to wish to blot out the memory of Waterloo, and to atone for the wrongs she had inflicted upon the first Napoleon, by the cordiality with which she greeted and the hospitality with which she entertained his successor and heir. There was English blood in the veins of Eugenie, and English traits adorned her char- acter. It is not too much to say that she was universally ad- mired in the court of St. James. The London journals of that day were full of expressions of admiration. It was said that Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle were never hon- ored with the presence of a guest more truly queenly. In purity of character, in sincerity of Christian faith, Eugenie and Victoria must have found mutual sympathy, though one was a communicant of the Church of England, and the other of the Church of Rome, Eugenie loved England. Her grandfather was an English- man. Many of her dearest relatives were English ; much of her education was English. The emperor, a man of warm afiections, could not forget the hospitable welcome he had re- ceived in London, \^hen an exile, banished by Bourbon law from his own country, simply because his name was Napoleon Bonaparte. The emperor has also ever been ready to render the tribute of his admiration to the institutions of England. Thus both Louis Napoleon and Eugenie could be happy as the guests of Queen Victoria. There was moral subhmity in the event itself. It constituted a new era in the history of the rival nations. The Emperor of France and the Queen EUGENIE, EMPEESS OF THE FRENCH., 139 of Euglaud met in the palaces of the British kings, and France left a kiss upon the cheek of England. The kiss was given and received in perfect sincerity. On both sides it expressed the hope that war should be no more, — that hence- forth France and England should live in peace, in co-opera- tion, in friendship. This visit of the emperor and empress to the court of England's queen is said to have been the first instance in the world in which a reigning French monarch set foot upon the soil of his hereditary foes. Not long after this Queen Victo- ria and Prince Albert returned the compliment, and England's queen became the guest of Eugenie at the Tuilerics, St. Cloud, and Fontainebleau. Victoria was received by the Pa- risian population, in the Champs Elysee and along the Boule- vards, with the same enthusiasm, with the same tumultuous and joyful acclaim with which Eugenie had been received in the streets of London. There is no city in the world so well adapted to festal occasions as Paris. All the resources of that brilliant capital were called into requisition to invest the scene with splendor. The pageant summoned multitudes to Paris from all the courts of Europe. On the 16th of March, 1856, the Empress Eugenie gave birth to her first and only child. The young prince received the baptismal name of Napoleon Eugene Louis Jean Joseph. His birth caused great joy throughout France, as it would leave the line of succession undisputed. This gave increasing assurance that France, upon the decease of the emperor, would be saved from insurrection and the conflict of parties. From all .parts of France congratulations were addressed to the emperor. In the emperor's reply to the Senate he said : — "The Senate has shared my joy on learning that Heaven has given me a son ; and you have hailed, as a propitious event, the birth of a child of France. .It is intentionally that 140 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. I use that expression. It is because, gentlemen, when an heir is born, who is destined to perpetuate a national system, that child is not only the scion of a family, but he is, also, in truth, the son of the whole countr}'^, and that name indicates his duties. If this were true under the ancient monarchy, which represented more exclusively the privileged classes, how much more is it so now, when the sovereign is the elect of the nation, the first citizen of the country, and the repre- sentative of the interests of all. I thank you for the prayers you have offered for the child of France and for the empress." To the congratulations of the Legislative Corps the em- peror responded : — " I have been much affected by the manifestation of your feelings at the birth of the son whom Providence has so kindly granted me. You have hailed in him the hope, so eagerly entertained, of the perpetuity of a system which is regarded as the surest guaranty of the general interests of the country. But the unanimous acclamations which surround his cradle do not prevent me from reflecting on the destiny of those who have been in the same place, and under similar circumstances. If I hope that his lot may be more happy, it is, in the first place, because, confiding in Providence, I cannot doubt its protection, when, seeing it raise up, by a concurrence of extraordinary circumstance, all that which Providence was pleased to cast down forty years ago ; as if it had wished to strengthen, by martyrdom and by suffering, a new dynasty springing from, the ranks of the people. " This child, consecrated in its cradle by the peace now at hand, and by the benedictions of the Holy Father, brought by telegraph an hour after his birth ; in fine, by the acclamations of the French people, whom the emperor ZouecZ so well, — this EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH. 141 child I hope will prove worthy of the destinies which await him." No man can be in power without having bitter enemies. There have been a few attempts at the assassination of Louis Napoleon. The most desperate was that of Orsiui, an Italian refugee. This wretch and his two confederates, with their murderous hand-grenades, hesitated not to strike down in bloody death scores of gentlemen and ladies crowding the avenues to the opera, if they could thus reach the single vic- tim at whom they aimed. On the evening of the 14th of January, 1858, as the emperor and empress were approach- ing the Grand Opera in their carriage, accompanied by many of the dignitaries of the court, and followed and preceded by a crowd of carriages, just as they drew near the opera house, where the throng was greatest and the speed of the horses was checked into a slow walk, these assassins threw beneath the imperial carriage several bombs, or hand-grenades of ter- rific power. These balls, each about the size of an ostrich's egg, were ingeniously constructed so as to burst by the con- cussion of their fall. The explosion was .dreadful in power and deadly in its ef- fects. The street was immediately strown for quite a distance with the dead and the mutilated bodies of men and horses. The imperial carriage was tossed and rocked as if upon the billows of a stormy sea. The glasses were shivered and the wood-work splintered ; and yet, as by a miracle, both the em- peror and empress escaped without any serious injury. The Empress Eugenie manifested, in the midst of this tumult, a spirit of calmness and heroism worthy of her exalted posi- tion. Shrieks and groans resounded all around her. She knew not but that the emperor was mortally wounded. But without any outcry, without any fainting, she seemed to for- get herself entirely, in anxiety for her spouse. When some 142 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. persons attempted to break open the door of the shattered vehicle, Eugenie", supposing them to be the assassins, with their poniards in their hands, thew herself before the emper- or, that with her own body she might protect him from the dagger-thrusts . Before this attempt at assassination Eugenie was gi-eatly beloved by all France. But the heroism which she manifest- ed on this occasion added to that love emotions of profound homage and admiration. Even the imperial throne was streno-thened by the conviction that the empress was equal to any emergency ; and that, should disaster darken upon the empire, as in the past, Eugenie, unlike Maria Louisa, the "dauo-hter of the Caesars," would develop the imperial nature with which God had endowed her, and would be equal to her responsibilities, however weighty they might be. On the 3d of May, 1859, the emperor announced to the French people that he was about to leave France, to take command of the army of Italy. In the announcement he said : — " The object of this war is to restore Italy to herself, and not to cause her to change masters. We shall then have, upon our frontiers, a friendly people who will also owe to us their independence." On the 10th of May the emperor, after having appointed the Empress Eugenie regent during his absence, and having solemnly confided her and also their son to the valor of the army, the patriotism of the national guard, and to the love and devotion of the entire nation, was prepared to leave the Tuil- eries for his Italian campaign. It was five o'clock in the afternoon of a beautiful May day. The carriage of the emperor, an open barouche, stood before the o-rand entrance of the palace. A brilliant retinue of car- riao-es, filled with the military household of the emperor, was also in line in the court-yard. A mounted squadron of the EUGENIE, EMPKESS OF THE PRENCH. 143 guards, glittering with biiruished helmets and coats of mail, was gathered there, in militar}^ array, to escort the cortege through the Rue Rivoli, the Place de la Bastile, and the Rue de Lyon to the railway station for Marseilles. An immense crowd of the populace was gathered in the court-yard to wit- ness the departure of the emperor. A few minutes after five o'clock several officers of the em- peror's household descended the stairs, followed immediately by the emperor, with the empress leaning upon his arm. They were followed by several ladies and gentlemen of the court. As soon as the emperor and empress appeared the air was rent with shouts of " Vive I'Empereur," which burst from the lips of the crowd. The emperor uncovered his head and waved his hat in response to this cordial greeting. Then, bidding them adieu, and shaking hands with several of the ladies, he handed the empress into the carriage and took a seat by her side. The imperial cortege then left the court- yard, passing out through the triumphal arch. The emperor was in a simple travelling dress, and wore a cap which per- mitted every expression of his countenance to be distinctly seen. He was apparently calm, and a smile was upon his lips as he met the ever-increasing enthusiasm of the crowd. But the eyes of Eugenie were red and swollen, and she could not conceal the tears which rolled down her cheeks. With one hand she lovingly clasped the hand of the emperor, while with the other she frequently wiped away the tears which would gush from her eyes. The guards followed the carriage, but did not surround it. The crowd was so great that the horses could only advance on the slow walk. Consequently the people came up to the very steps of the carriage and many addressed words to the emperor, of sympathy and affection. It was a very touching scene. The crowd was immense. The windows of all the houses, the balconies, the roofs even, along the whole line of 144: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. the route were filled with spectators. The streets were hung with flags and decorated with garlands of flowers ; while on all sides shouts ascended of " Vive TEmpereur ! " " Victoire ! " " Dieu vous garde ! " At the Place de la Bastile the populace, in their enthusi- asm, began to take the horses from the carriage that they might triumphantly draw the emperor themselves. For a moment the emperor was quite overcome with emotion in view of these proofs of confidence and love. Standing up in the carriage, he addressed the multitude, saying, " My friends, do not delay me ; time is precious." Instantly they desisted, with renewed shouts of " Vive I'Empereur ! " The crowd now gathered so closely around the carriage that the emperor reached out both hands and cordially grasped . all the hands which were extended towards him. The affecting and the ludicrous were singularly blended in the remarks which were addressed to the emperor and the empress. One said, " Sire, you have victory in your eyes." Another said, "If you want more soldiers, don't forget us." A woman, noticing the tears streaming down the cheeks of the empress, exclaimed, sooth- ingly, "Don't cry, don't cry; he will soon come back again." A sturdy man endeavored to add to the words of solace as he leaned his head into the carriage, saying tenderly to the empress, " Don't cr}^ ; we will take care of you and the hoy." At the station of the Lyons railroad many of the cabinet ministers and a large number of distinguished members of the court, gentlemen and ladies, were present. Prince Na^ poleon, son of Jerome, was there with his j^oung bride. Princess Clotilde, daughter of Victor Emanuel. The Princess Matilda, Prince and Princess Murat were also there. "It was a touching scene," wi-ites Julie de Marguerittes ; "the waiting-room crowded with mothers, wives, sisters, and EUGENIE, EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH, 145 friends, — tears and sobs making their way spite of imperial example, spite of court etiquette. At lengtli the moment of departure arrived. The emperor again embraced the em- press and entered the car amidst the deafening shouts of en- thusiasm. All was ready. The chief director went up to the imperial car and asked if he might give the signal to de- part. The emperor answered in the affirmative. And so amidst the shouts of the multitude, which echoed for along the road, the car bearing the fortunes of France, left the cap- ital." The empress returned to the palace, where she reigned as Regent of France until the return of the emperor. The fol- lowing was the form of the Imperial announcement of the regency : — " Napoleon, by the grace of God and the national will, Em- peror of the French, " To all present and to come, gi-eeting. "Wishing to give to our well-beloved Avife, the empress, marks of the great confidence we repose in her, and, see- ing that we intend to take the head of the army of Italy, we have resolved to confer, as we do confer, by these presents, on our well-beloved wife, the empress, the title of Regent, that she may exercise its functions during our absence, in conform- ity with our instructions and orders, such as we shall have made known in the general order of the service that we shall have established, which will be copied into the book of state. " We desire that the empress shall preside, in our name, over the Privy Council and the Council of Ministers," etc. All the decrees and state papers were presented to Eu- genie, who appended to them her signature in these terms : — 10 146 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. " For the emperor, and in virtue of the power by him con- ferred. "Eugenie." The emperor entered Genoa on the 12th. No language can do justice to the enthusiasm with which he was received. On the day of his arrival at Genoa, the wife of the Sardinian minister, at Paris, presented Eugenie with a magnificent bouquet, which had arrived, in perfect preservation, from the ladies in Genoa. It came from the most distinguished ladies of the city. In the accompanying address they said : — " The ladies of Genoa entreat your Majesty, who so nobly partakes in the magnanimous feelings of the emperor, to ac- cept these flowers, which they would have strowed on your path had you accompanied your august husband on the en- trance into Genoa. May these flowers be the symbols of the immortal Avreaths of victory which history will twine round ihe brow of Napoleon III., and will bequeath to his son as the most precious ornaments of the imperial diadem." Our brief sketch of the empress must here terminate. We would gladly speak of her devotion to institutions of learning and benevolence ; of her visits to the hospitals where the sick languish, and to the asylums where the deaf gaze lovingly upon her smiles, and where the blind listen almost entranced to the melody of her loving voice. France has had two em- presses who will ever be gratefully remembered by the nation, Josephine and Eugenie. Neither of them were of royal blood, but both of them were endowed, richly endowed, with that nobility which comes from God alone. Both were crowned by mortal hands on earth ; we cannot doubt that one has already received, and that the other will yet receive, that diadem of immortality which God places upon the vic- tor's brow. GRACE GEEENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 147 GRACE GREENWOOD-MRS. LIPPINCOTT. BY JOSEPH B. LYMAN. About thirty years ago, when Andrew Jackson and Martin Van Buren lived in the White House ; when questions of a national bank and a protective tariff interested without arousing the popular mind ; when the great and glorious valley of the Mississippi still gave homes to the red man and haunts to wild beasts ; when Bryant was fresh from those native hills, broad, round, and green, where he dreamed the Thanatopsis ; when visions of Absalom and Jephthah's daugh- ter were floating fresh and sacred before the eyes of Willis, — a traveller through Pompcy, one of the youthful towns of western New York, might have turned in his saddle to take a second look at the lithe fiijure and the 2:lowino: face of a village romp. Could such tourist have known that, in the bright-eyed school-girl with rustic dress and towzeled hair, he saw one of the risiiig lights of the coming age ; a letter- writer who should charm a million readers by the piquant dash and spicy flavor of her style ; a delightful magazinist ; a poetess, the melody and ring of whose stanzas should remind us of the most famous lyres of the world ; a woman who, standing calm, graceful, and self-poised before great audi- ences, and thrilling them by noble and earnest words spoken in the deep gloom of national disaster, should call up rich memories of the Roman matron in her noblest form, or of the brightest figures that move on the storied page of France, — 148 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. coulcl he have foreseen all that as in the future of this village beauty, the traveller would have clone more than turn for a second look. He would have halted, and talked with the young Corinne ; he would have lingered to hear her speak of wild flowers, and birds' nests, of rills and rocks and cas- cades ; he might have gone with her to her father's door, and caught a glimpse of silvered hair and a noble forehead, and he would have observed upon that face lineaments that have for two hundred yeavs been found in all the high places of American thouoht and character. For the father of this little Sara was Dr. Thaddeus Clarke, a grandson of President Edwards. Fortunate it is, and a blessing to the race, when a man so rarely and royally gifted as was this great theolo- gian, with everything that makes a human character noble, is so wisely mated that he can transmit to the coming age, not only the most valuable thinking of his time, but a family of children, blessed with sound constitutions, developed by harmonious fireside influences, and endowed with vigorous understandings. In doing that, Jonathan Edwards did more to stir thought than when he wrote the historj'" of the Great Awakening ; he did more to establish the grooves of religious and nn>ral thinking, and to fix the model of fine character, than he could ever accomplish by his Treatise on the Will. In mature life, the great-grand-daughter has shown many of the traits of the Edwards family. Shb has rejected the iron- hooped Calvinism of her ancestor, but she is indebted to him for an unflagging and ever-fresh interest in nature ; for ceaseless mental fecundity, that finds no bottom to its cruse of oil, and for a toughness of intellectual fibre that fits her for a life of perpetual mental activity. There was not a gayer or more active girl in Onondaga County than Sara Clarke. The bright Alfarata was not fonder of wild roving. No young gipsy ever took more naturally to the fields. " She loved the forests, the open pas- GEACE GEEENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 149 tui-es, the strawberry-lots, and the spicy knolls, where the scarlet leaves of the wintergreen nestle under the dainty sprigs of ground pine and the breezy hill-sides, where the purple fingers and painted lips attest the joy of huckleberry- ing. She says of herself that she was a mighty hunter of Avild fruits. At this early age, she developed a taste which, at a later age, gave her name a piquant flavor of romance ; the taste for horseback riding, and the ability to manage with fearless grace the most spirited steeds. Her figure was lithe and wiry, her step elastic, her eye cool, and her nerves firm. At ten years of age she was given to escapades, in which she found few boys hardy and fearless enough to rival her. She would go into an open pasture with a nub of corn, call up a frolicsome young horse, halter him, and then jump on his back. No saddle or bridle wants the little Amazon. She had seen bold riding at the circus, and in the retirement of the woods she could surpass it. So she would toss oJff her shoes, and stand upright on the creature's back, with a foot on each side of the spine. At first she was content to let the animal walk with his spirited little burden ; then she would venture into a gentle amble, and finally into full gal- lop. As she grew older, the deep woods had a perpetual charm for her. She loved to w^ander afar into dim shades, and listen to the wild, sweet song of the wood-lark, and to watch the squirrels gambolling on the tops of beech-trees, or leaping from one oak to the other. It is not possible to say how much she, and every other active and finely tempered genius, gains by such a childhood. A love of nature and a habit of enjoying nature is thus rooted in the spirit, so deeply that no flush of city life can destroy it. The glare of palaces and the roar of paved streets seem, for a lifetime, tiresome and fiilse ; the w^orld-weary spirit evermore longs for the music of the west wind blowing through the tree-tops, the melodies of the forest, the splash of waterfalls, the ring of 150 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. the mower's steel, the swaying of the golden wheat fields, the songs of the whippoorwills, and the glancing of the fire- flies. Such a childhood gives a firmness of health, a vigor and a hardihood, a power of recovering from fatigue, and a capacity for constant labor without exhaustion, that are a greater blessing than the wealth of a Girard or a Stewart. At the age of twelve Sara Clarke went to Rochester to at- tend school. Her home was with an elder brother, and she entered with zeal and with success on the studies of a reg-ular education. Like many others who, in after life, have written that which the world will not willingly let die, she did not excel in mathematical studies. The multiplication table was no labor of love. The Rule of Three was a hopeless conun- dnuu. Interest had no interest for her. But whatever re- lated to the graceful expression of fine thought, whatever un- sealed the ancient fountains of song and of story, was easy, harmonious, and attractive ; this was native air. Nothing is harder than to say just what faculty or group- ing of faculties makes the writer. One may be witty, viva- cious, charming in the parlor, or at the dinner-table, yet no writer. Many have the faculty of expressing a valuable thought in appropriate language ; but that does not endow one with the rights, the honors, and the fame of authorship. Give Edward Lytton Bulwer three hours of leisure daily, and in a year he will give the world three hundred and sixty-five chapters of unequalled story-telling, in a style that never grows dull, never palls upon the taste, that is perpetually fresh, clear-cut, and brilliant. Charles Dickens will sit down by any window in London, or lounge through any street in London, and describe the characters that pass before him, in a way that will charm the reading public of two continents, in paragraphs for every one of which his publishers will gladly pay him a guinea before the ink is dry. Sara Clarke was not three years in her. teens GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 151 before the Eochester papers were glad to get her composi- tions. They were fresh, piquant, racy. It was impossible to guess whether she had read either ^Yhately or Blair, but it was clear that she had a rhetoric trimmed by no pedantic rules. It was nature's own child talking of nature's charms, her pen, like a mountain rill, neither running between walls of chiselled stone, nor roofed with Eoman arches, but wander- ing between clumps of willows, and meandering at its own sweet will through beds of daisies and fields of blooming clover. There was nothing remarkable about her education. When she left school in 1843, at the age of nineteen, she knew rather more Italian and less algebra, more of English and French history, and less of dilfercntial and integral cal- culus, than some recent graduates of Oberliu and Vassal ; but perhaps she was none the worse for that. Indeed, aus- tere, pale-faced Science would have chilled the blood of this free, bounding, clastic, glorious girl. Meantime, Dr. Clarke had removed from Onondaga County to New Brighton, in Western Pennsylvania. This village is nestled between the hills among which the young Ohio, fresh from the shaded springs and the stony brooks of the Alleghanies, gatliers up its bright waters for a long journey to the far-off Southern Gulf. Not long after she went home, in 1845 and 1846, the lit- erary world experienced a sensation. A new writer was abroad. A fresh pen was moving along the pages of the Monthlies. Who might it be? Did Willis know? Could General Morris say? Whittierwas in the secret ; but he told no tales. And her nom de plume, so appropriate and ele- gant ! This charming Grace Greenwood, so natural, so chat- .ty, so easy, chanting her wood-notes wild. Ah me ! those were jocund days. We Americans were not then in such grim earnest as we are now. The inimitable, much imitated pen, that in the early part of the century had given us " Knicker- bocker" and the "Sketch Book," was still cheerfully busy at 152 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Sunny Side. Willis, beginning with the sacred and nibbling at the profane, was in the middle of his genial, lounging, gi'aceful career. Poe's Raven was pouring out those weird, melodious croakings. Ik Marvel was a dreaming bachelor, gliding about the picture-galleries of Europe. Bryant was a hard-working editor, but when he lifted up those poet eyes above the smoke of the great city, he saw the water-fowl, and addressed it in lines that our great-grandchildren will know by heart. William Lloj^d Garrison was sometimes pelted with bad eggs. Horace Greeley had just started the "New York Tribune." Neither Clay, Calhoun, nor Webster had grown tii'cd of scheming forty years for the presidency. That ffrcat thunder-cloud of civil Avar, that wc have seen cov- eriug the whole heavens, was but a dark patch on the glow- ing sky of the South. In these times, and among these people, Grace Greenwood now began to live and move, and have a part, and win a glowing fame. For six or eight years her summer home was New Brighton. In winter she was in Philadelphia, in Washington, in New York, writing for Whit- tier or for Willis and Morris, or for "Neal's Gazette," or for " Godey." She was the most copious and brilliant lady cor- respondent of that day, wielding the gracefullcst quill, giving the brightest and most attractive column. It is impossible, without full extracts, to give the reader a full idea of these earlier writings of Grace Greenwood. They had the de\7 of youth, the purple light of love, the bloom of young desire. As well think of culling a handful of moist clover-heads, in the hope of reproducing the sheen and fragrance, the luxuri- ance and the odor of a meadow, fresh bathed in the Paphian wells of a June morning ! In 1 850 many of these sketches and letters were collected and republished by Ticknor & Fields, under the name of Greenwood Leaves. The cotemporary estimate given to these writings by Rev. Mr. Mayo is so just and so tasteful that no reader will regret its insertion here : — GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 153 " The authoress is the hcroiue of the book ; not that she "writes about herself always, or often, or in a -way that can offend. But her personality gets entangled Avith every word she utters, and her generous heart cannot be satisfied without a response to all its loves, and hopes, and misgivings, and as- pirations. There is extravagance in the rhetoric, yet the de- licious extravagance in which a bounding spirit loves to vin- dicate its freedom from the rules laid down in the ' Aids of Composition,' and the ' Polite Letter Writer.' There is a delightful absurdity about her wit, into which only a genuine woman could fall. And one page of her admiring criticism of books and men, with all its exaggerations, is worth a hundred volumes of the intellectual dissection of the critical professors. " Yet the most striking thing in her l)ook is the spirit of joy- ous health that springs and frolics through it. Grace Green- wood is not the woman to be the president of a society for the suppression of men, and the elevation of female political rights. She knows what her sisters need, as well as those who spoil their voices and temper in shrieking it into the ears of the world ; but that knoAvlcdgc does not cover the sun with a black cloud, or spoil her interest in her cousin's love affair, or make her sit on her horse as if she were riding to a public execution. She can love as deeply as any daughter of Eve. Yet she would laugh in the face of a sentimental young gen- tleman till he wished her at the other side of the world. She loves intensely, but not with that silent, brooding intensity which takes the color out of the cheeks and the joy out of the soul. Hers is the effervescence, not the corrosion, of the heart. And it is no small thing, this health of which I now speak. In an age when to think is to run the risk of scep- ticism, and to feel is to invite sentimentalism, it is charming to meet a girl who is not ashamed to laugh and cry, and scold and joke, and love and worship, as her grandmother did be- fore her."' 154 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Bat this is not a review of Grace Greenwood's writings. Litera scrijjta manet. Those who wish to see the cream of our magazine writings from 1845 to 1852, will find it in "Greenwood Leaves," first and second series. About this time, her Poems were published. To sa}^ that they are beau- tiful is not enough. Though redolent of the open country, where most of them were written ; though composed while doing housework, as was "Ariadne; " or in the saddle, like the '' Horseback Kide," — the best element in them is the frank, generous, cordial,' winning personality which pervades them all. We find, too, evidences, that below the dashing and piquant exterior there was growing up an intense sympathy with the most earnest and strenuous spirits. Already the mutterings of the distant thunder were heard, mellowed by distance, but clear enough to hush the chattering of the bob- olinks, and the scream of the blue-jays. Thus the lines " To One Afar " close with the following admirable stan- zas : — "Truth's earnest seeker thou, I fancy's rover; Thy life is like a river, deep and wide ; I but the light-wiuged wild bird passing over, , One moment mirrored in the rushing tide. " Thus are we parted; thou still onward hasting, Pouring the great flood of that life along ; While I on sunny slopes am careless, wasting The little summer of my tiuie of song." But before this gay creature of the elements becomes an earnest woman, as we foresee she must, let us picture in outline the New Brighton life ; let us see our heroine, not as a magazinist, or a correspondent, but in a character more admirable and charming than either, — as a fine, handsome, brilliant, fearless young lady. No whit spoiled by a winter of adulation, by the gracefullest of letters from Mr. Willis, GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 155 by the warmest an& the truest appreciation from Whittier, by a colonnade of kindliest notices from the great dailies, the braider of Greenwood 'chaplets has come back to her cottage- home amid the swelling hills, and beside the glancing river. As plain Sara Clarke, she had helped her mother through the morning work, sweeping, dusting, watering flowers, feeding chickens, sitting down for a few moments to read two stanzas to that white-haired father of hers, his head as clear and cool as ever it was, and as able to give his daughter the soundest judgments and the most valuable criticisms she ever enjoyed. In the heat of midday she seeks her chamber, gazes for a few moments with the look of a lover upon the glorious land- scape, then dashes off a column for the "Home Journal" or the "National Press." Now, as the shadows of the hills are beginning to stretch eastward, we hear a quick, elastic step on the stair, and the responsive neigh from the hitching-post in the yard tells us that the " Horseback Ride " is to be re- hearsed ; and horse and heroine alike feel that " Nor the swift regatta, nor merry chase, Nor rural dance on the moonlight ghore, Can the wild and thrilling joy exceed Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed." She must tell, as nobody else can, how quick and marvel- lous is the change, when she feels the bounding and exuberant animal life of the steed rejoicing in the burden ; exulting in the free rein, devouring the long reach of the grassy lane with his gladsome leaps : — " As I spring to his back, as I seize the strong rein, The strength to my spirit returneth again ! Thfi bonds are all broken that fettered my mind. And my cares borne away on the wings of the wind ; My pride lifts its head, for a season bowed down, And the queen in my nature now puts on her crown." 156 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Now our gentle and poetic Penthesilia has gained the woodland cool and dim. On they press, horse and rider alike enthused, till they reach some retired valley, a seques- tered nook, where no profane eyes may look. Lady and pony are going to have a grand equestrian frolic. Pony likes it as well as lady. What prancing and pawing ! what rear- ing and backing ! Now a swift gallop, as if in the ring of some fairy circus. But this is no vulgar horse-opera ; no saw-dust or tan-bark here ; nothing for show, since the blue- jays have no eye for horse-flesh, nor can squirrels be made envious by such exploits. At length pony acts as though the same had been carried as far as he cared to have it ; and Grace leaps to the greensward and lets him breathe, and get a drink, and bite the sod. Will he not start for home? Not he. His fetters are silken ; but his mistress has that rare gift, unusual among men, and very uncommon with the softer sex, the faculty of controlling animals. He obeys her word like a spaniel ; goes and comes at her bidding ; stands on his hind feet, if she tells him to ; lies down ; gets up again ; fol- lows her up the steps of the piazza. In fact, if such a thing could be, he would carry out the nursery rhyme and go after her "upstairs, downstairs, in the lady's chamber." The ride home is somewhat more gentle ; for, in the cool • of the evening dusk, our heroine has turned poetess again, and is chiselling out Pygmalion word by word, or indulging in such spirit-longings as this : — " I look upon life's glorious tilings, The deathless themes of song, The grand, the proud, the beautiful, The wild, the free, the strong ; And wish that I might take a part Of what to them belong." After the evening meal, and an hour of quiet chat, while GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 157 flecks of moonbeam dance on the gallery floor, we might suppose the clay ended, and these hours of beautiful life would now be rounded by a sleep. Not yet. This fearless and ardent lover of nature delights in every rich sensation that earth, or air, or water can impart. She glides away across the pasture to have a glorious swim in " Yon lake of heavenly blue ; The long hair, unconfined, Is flung, like some young Nereid's now To tossing wave and wind." This is no timid, frightened bather. Had she been Hero on the shores of Hellespont, she would have plunged in and met Leander half-way between the continents. None but an assured swimmer could have written this stanza : — " And now when none arc nigh to save. While earth grows dim behind ; I lay my cheek to the kissing wave. And laugh with the frolicsome wind. " On the billowy swell I lean my breast, And he fondly beareth me ; I dash the foam from his sparkling crest, In my wild and careless glee." What a pity her bathing-place was not the fountain of per- petual youth ! No matter how ably a woman writes, or how eloquently she speaks, — and there are very few of her sex so' able or so eloquent to-day as Grace Greenwood, — we can but endorse this sentiment of one of her earliest admirers. In a letter to Morris, written when Miss Clarke was living this life, and writing these lines, he says : " Save her from meriting the approbation of dignified critics. Leave this fairest blossom on the rose-tree of woman for my worship. 158 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. and the admiration of the few who, like me, can appreciate the value of an elegant uselessness, and perceive the fascina- tion of splendid gayety and brilliant trifling. Adieu, and send me more Grace Greenwoods." But no woman, with an acute brain and a warm heart, could live in such a land as ours, and in the nineteenth cen- tury, and remain long a writer of splendid gayeties. The times called for earnest thinking and vigorous writing. The age of rose-tinted album-leaves, covered with graceful im- promptus, was past. Willis, and his elegant "Home Jour- nal,'" went into the mild oblivion of June roses. Great ques- tions agitated the public mind ; and we heard hoarse voices and blasts of brazen trumpets on the slopes of Parnassus. Meantime Miss Clarke went to Europe. This was in 1853. She spent a little over a year abroad, which, in the dedica- tion to her daughter of one of her juvenile books, she calls " the golden year of her life." Perhaps America has never sent to the shores of the Old World a young lady traveller, who was a better specimen of what the New World can do in the way of producing a fine woman. She was a flower from a virgin soil, and a new form of civilization ; but rivalling, in the delicacy of its tints, and the richness of its perfume, anything from older and longer cultivated parterres. With one of those felicitous memories that has its treasures ever at command, and can always remember the right thing at the right time and place ; fully stored by wide readings in belles-lettres ; with the spirit of an enthusiast for everything beautiful, or good, or famous ; in the joyous overflow of un- broken health and unflagging spirits, the trip was to her one long gala-day, crowded with memorable sights, with sensa- tions which enrich the whole of one's after-life. Harriette Beecher Stowe has written as well in her "Sunny Memories of Other Lands," but no lady tourist from America has surpassed Grace Greenwood in the warm tinting GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 159 and gorgeous rhetoric of her descriptions, and in the viva- cious interest which she felt herself, and which she convey? to others in her letters. This correspondence was collected immediately after her return, and published under the title of "Haps and Mishaps of a Tour in Europe." Nobody has described the marble wonders of the Vatican with finer appreciation than can be seen in the following passage : — " Of all the antique statues I have yet seen, I have been by far the most impressed by the Apollo Belvidere, and the Dying Gladiator, — the one the striking embodiment of the pride, and fire, and power, and joy of life ; the other of the mournful majesty, the proud resignation, the 'conquered agony ' of death. In all his triumphant beauty and rejoicing strength, the Apollo stands forth as a pure type of immortal- ity — every inch a god. There is an Olympian spring in the foot which seems to spurn the earth, a secure disdain of death in the verj' curve of his nostrils, — a sunborn light on his brow ; while the absolute perfection of grace, the super- nal majesty of the figure, now, as in the olden time, seem to lift it aljove the human and the perishing, into the region of the divine and the eternal. Scarcely can it be said that the worship of this god has ceased. The indestructible glory of the lost divinity lingers about him still ; and the deep, almost solemn emotion, the sigh of unutterable admiration, with which the pilgrims of art behold him now, differ little, perhaps from the hushed adoration of his early worshippers. 1 have never seen any work of art which I had such difficulty to realize as a mere human creation, born in an artist's struggling brain, moulded in dull clay, and from thence trans- ferred, by the usual slow and laborious process, to marble. Nor can I ever think of it as having according to old poetic fancy, pre-existed in the stone, till the divinely directed 160 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. chisel of the sculptor cut clown to it. Ah, so methiuks, the very marble must have groaned, in prescience of the god it held. To me it rather seems a glowing, divine conception, struck instantly into stone. It surely embodies the very soul and glory of the ancient mythology, and, with kindred works, forms, if not a fair justification of, at least a noble apology for, a religion which revelled in ideas of beauty and grace, which had ever something lofty and pure even in its refined sensuality ; and for the splendid arrogance of that genius which boldly chiselled out its own grand conceptions, and named them gods. The Apollo I should like to see every day of my life. I would have it near me ; and every morning, as the darkness is lifted before the sun, and the miracle of creation is renewed, I would wish to lift a curtain, rfnd gaze on that transcendent image of life and light, — to receive into my own being somewhat of the energy and joy of existence with which it so abounds, — to catch some gleams of the glor}'- of the fresh and golden morning of poetry and art yet raying from its brow. One could drink in strength, as from a fountain, from gazing on that attitude of pride and grace, so light, yet firm, and renew one's wasted vigor by the mere sight of that exulting and efibrtless action." "What a gem of description we have here at the end of a letter, written from Naples on the 18th of April : — "We drove to Naples this morning over a road, Avhich, for its varied scenery and picturesque views, seems to me only com- parable with the Cornice leading to Genoa. It was with heart- felt reluctance that we left Sorrento, which must ever seem to me one of the loveliest places on earth. O pride and darling of this delicious shore, — like a j^oung festive queen, rose- crowned, sitting in the shade of oranges and myrtles, watched GEACE GREENWOOD — MRS.. LIPPINCOTT. 161 over with visible tenclerness by the olive-clad hills, gently caressed and sung to by the capricious sea, — bright, balmy, bewitching Sorrento, adieu ! '* But the finest piece of writing in the volume is a bravura on the Eoman Catholic Religion. It occurs in a long and splendid description of High Mass, at St. Peter's on Christ mas morning : — " To my eyes, the beauty and gorgcousness of the scene grew most fitting and holy ; with the incense floating to me from the altar, I seemed to breathe in a sul)tile, sub- duing spirit ; and to that music my heart hushed itself in my breast, my very pulses grew still, and my brain swam in a new, half-sensuous, half-spiritual emotion. For a mo- ment I believe I understood the faith of the Roman Catho- lic, — for a moment I seemed to taste the ecstasy of the mystic, to burn with the fervor of the devotee, and felt in wonder, and in fear, all the poetry, mystery, and power of the Church. Suddenly rose before my mind vivid wayside and seaside scenes, — pictures of humblest Judean life, when the ' meek and lowly ' xiuthor of our faith walked, minister- ing, and teaching, and comforting among the people, — humblest among tlie humble, poorest among the poor, most sorrowful among the sorrowful, preaching peace, good-will, purity, humility, and freedom, — and then, all this magnifi- cent mockery of the divine, truths he taught, this armed and arrogant spiritual despotism, in the place of the peace and liberty of the gospel, faded from before my disenchanted eyes, and even my ear grew dull to that pomp of sound, swelling up as though to charm his ear against the sighs of the poor, and the groamings of the captive. " O Cleopatra of religions, throned in power, glowing and gorgeous in all imaginable splendors and luxuries, — proud 11 162 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Victor of victors, — in the 'infinite variety' of thy resources and enchantments more attractive than glory, resistless as fate ; now terrible in the dusky splendors of thy imperious beauty ; now softening and subtile as moonlight, and music, and poet dreams ; insolent and humble, stormy though ten- der ! alluring tyranny, beautiful falsehood, fair and fatal enchantress, sovereign sorceress of the world ! the end is not yet, and the day may not be far distant when thou shalt lay the asp to thine own bosom, and die." Since her marriage to Leander K. Lippincott, Grace Greenwood's pen has been employed chiefly in writings for the young. She edits the "Little Pilgrim," a monthly de- voted to the amusement, the instruction, and the well-being of little folks. Its best articles are her contributions. These have been collected from time to time, and published by Ticknor & Fields, and make a juvenile library, numbering nearly a dozen volumes. Though intended for children, none of these books but will charm older readers, with the ele- gance and freshness of their style, their abounding vivacitj^ and harmless wit, and the hopeful and sunny spirit which they breathe. They are remarkable for the felicitous manner in which they convey historical information. No child can fail to be drawn on to wider readings of the storied past, and to know more of old heroes, ancient cities, and famous lands. Soon after its establishment, Mrs. Lippincott became a con- tributor to the " Independent," ajid during the war a lecturer to soldiers and at sanitary fairs. Her last book is made up from articles in the "Independent," and passages from lectures. It shows the fire of her youthful zeal, and the glowing rhet- oric of twenty-five no whit abated. On the contrary, there are evidences in her later productions of a full grasping of the significance of the heroic and stormy times in which we live. GRACE GREENWOOD — MRS. LIPPINCOTT. 163 There appear iu the writings of Grace Greenwood three phases of development, three epochs of a literary career. The first lasted from the days of the boarding-school till mar riage, — from the first merry chit-chat and fragrant Green- wood Leaves beyond the Alleghanies, to the full-rounded, mellow, golden prime, as displayed in the letters from Europe. Then follows a decade, during which story-writing for children has principally occupied her pen. With the wai commences the third period, — years " vexed with the drums and tramplings," the storms and dust-clouds of middle life ; a great republic convulsed by a giant struggle ; woman gliding from the sanctity of the fireside, going out to do, to dare, and to suffer at the side of her war-worn brother, attackinsf social wrongs, doing all that woman can do to cheer, to adorn, to raise the downfallen, to proclaim liberty to the captive, to open the prison to those that are bound. Up to the full sum- mit level of such a time her spirit rises. She brings to the requirements of this epoch faculties polished by long and diligent culture ; a heart throbbing with every fine sensibility, and every generous emotion; a large, warm, exuberant nature ; a ripe and glorious womanhood. For such a character in such a wondrous mother aore, there lies open a long career of strenuous exertion, worthy achievement, and lasting fame. IGl EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. ALICE AND PHEBE CARY. BY HOEACE GREELEY. Yeaes ago — a full score, at least — the readers of some religious, and those of many rural, newspapers first noted the fitful appearance, in the poet's corner of their respective gazettes, of verses by Alice Gary. Two or three j^ears later, other such — like, and yet different — also irradiated, from time to time, the aforesaid corner, purporting to be from the pen of Phebe Gary. Inquiry at length elicited the fact that the writers were young sisters, the daughters of a plain, substantial farmer, who lived on and cultivated his own goodly but not superabundant acres, a few miles out of Gincinuati, Ohio. He was a Universalist in fiith, and they grew up the same, — writing oftener for the periodicals of their own denomination, though their eff^usions obtained wide cur- rency through others, into which they were copied. I do not know, but presume, that Alice had wa-itten extensively, and Phebe occasionally, for ten years, before either had asked or been proff'ered an}'- other consideration therefor than the privilege of being read and heard. This family of Garys claim kindred with Sir Robert Cijry, a stout English knight, who, in the reign of Henry V., van- quished, after'a long and bloody struggle, a haughty chevalier of Arragon, who challenged any Englishman of gentle blood to a passage-at-arms, which took place in Smithfield, London, as is chronicled in "Burke's Heraldry." Henry authorized ALICE AND PHEBE CARY. 165 the victor to bear the arms of his vauquished antagonist, and the crest is still worn by certain branches of the family. The genealogy is at best unverified, nor docs it matter. From WaUer Gary — a French Huguenot, compelled to flee his country, upon the revocation by Louis XIV. of the great Henry's Edict of Nantz, and who, with his wife and son, settled in England, where his son, likewise named Walter, was educated at Cambridge — the descent of the Ohio Carys is unquestioned. The younger Walter migrated to America, very soon after the landing of the "Mayflower" pilgrims, and settled at Bridgewatcr, Mass., only sixteen miles from Plymouth Rock, where he opened a "grammar school," claimed to have been the earliest in America. Walter was duly blest with seven sons, whereof John settled in Windham, Connecticut; and of Ids five sons, the youngest, Samuel, was great-grandfather to the Alice and Phebe Cary of our day. Samuel, educated at Yale, becoming a physician, settled and practised at Lyme, where was born, in 1763, his son Christopher, who, at eighteen years of age, entered the armies of the Revolution. Peace was soon achieved ; when, in default of cash, the young soldier received a land grant or warrant, and located- therewith the homestead in Hamilton County, Ohio, whereon was born his sou Robert, who in due time married the wife who bore him a son, who died young, as did one daughter. Two more daughters have since passed away, and three remain, of whom the two who have not married are the subjects of this sketch. Their surviving sister, Mrs. Carnahan, is a widow, and liv^es in Cincinnati. Two brothers, sturdy, thrifty farmers, live near the spot where they first saw the light. Alice Cary was born in 1820, and was early called to mourn the loss of her mother, of whom she has written : " My mother was of Englisn descent, — a woman of superior 166 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. intellect, and of a good, well-ordered life. In my memoiy, she stands apart from all others, — wiser, purer, doing more, and living better, than any other woman." Phebe was born in 1825 ; and there were two j'-ounger sisters, of whom one died in youth, greatly beloved and lamented. A few weeks before her departure, and while she was still in fair health, she appeared for some minutes to be plainly visible in broad daylight to the whole family, across a little ravine from their residence, standing on the stoop of a new house they were then building, though she was actually asleep, at that mo- ment, in a chamber of their old house, and utterly uncon- scious of this "counterfeit presentment" at some distance from her bodilj'' presenc?. This appearance naturally con- nected itself with her death, when that occurred soon after- ward ; and thenceforth the family have lent a ready ear to narrations of spiritual (as distinguished from material) presence, which to many, if not most, persons are simply incredible. The youngest of the family, named Elmina, was a woman of signal beauty of mind and person, whose poetic as well as her general capacities were of great promise ; but she married, while yet young, Mr. Swift, a Cincinnati merchant, and thenceforward, absorbed in other cares, gave little atten- tion to literature. She was early marked for its victim by Consumption, — the scourge of this, with so many other families, — and yielded up her life while still in the bloom of early womanhood, three or four years since. I believe her marriage, and the consequent loss of her society, had a share in determining the elder sisters to remove to New York, which they did in 1850. Alice had begun to write verses at eighteen, Phebe at sev- enteen, years of age. Their father married a second time, and thence lived apart from, tho"ugh near, the cottage wherein I first greeted the sisters in 1849 ; and, when the number ALICE AND PHEBE GARY. 1G7 was reduced to two by the secession of Elmina, Alice and Phebe meditated, and finally resolved on, a removal to the great emporium. Let none rashly conclude to follow their example who have not their securities agaiust adverse fortune. The}'' were in the flush of youth and strength ; they were thoroughly, in- alienably devoted to each other ; they had property to the value, I think, of some thousands of dollars ; they had been trained to habits of industry and frugality ; and they had not merely the knack of writing for the press (which so many mistakenly imagine sufficient), but they had, through the last ten or twelve years, been slowly but steadily winning attention and appreciation by their voluntary contributions to the journals. These, though uncompensated in money, had won for them what was now money's worth. It would •pay to buy their eflusions, though others of equal intrinsic merit, but whose writers had hitherto won no place in the regard of the reading public, might pass unread and uncon- sidered. Being already an acquaintance, I called ou the sisters soon after they had set up their household gods among us, and met them at intervals thereafter at their home, or at the houses of mutual friends. Their parlor was not so large as some others, but quite as neat and cheerful ; and the few literary persons or artists who occasionally met, at their in- formal invitation, to discuss with them a cup of tea and the newest books, poems, and events, might have found many more pretentious, but few more enjoyable, gatherings. I have a dim recollection that the first of these little tea-parties was held up two flights of stairs, in one of the less fashionable sections of the city ; but good things were said there, that I recall with pleasure even yet ; while of some of the com- pany, on whom I have not since set eyes, I cherish a pleasant and grateful remembrance. As their circumstances gradu- 168 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. ally though slowly improved, by dint of diligeut industiy and judicious economy, they occupied more eligible quarters ; aud the modest dwelling they have for some years ow^ned and improved, in the very heart of this emporium, has long been known to the literary guild as combini]]g one of the best private libraries, with the sunniest drawing-room (even by gaslight) to be found between King's Bridge and the Battery. Their first decided literary venture — a joint volume of poems, most of which had already appeared in sundry jour- nals — was published in Philadelphia early in 1850, before they had abandoned " Clovernook," their rural Western home, for the brick-and-mortar whirl of the American Babel. Prob- ably the heartiness of its welcome fortified, it did not stimu- late, their resolve to migrate eastward ; though it is a safe guess that no direct pecuniary advantage accrued to them from its publication. But the next year witnessed the " coming out " of Alice's first series of " Clovernook Papers ; " prose sketches of characters and incidents drawn from obser- vation and experience, which won immediate and decided popularity. The press heartily recognized their fresh sim- plicity and originality, while the public bought, read, and admired. Several goodly editions were sold in this country, and at least one in Great Britain, where their merits were generously appreciated by the critics. A second series, pub- lished in 1853, was equally successful. "The Clovernook Children" — issued in 1854 by Ticknor & Fields, and ad- dressed more especially to the tastes and Wants of younger readers — has been hardly less commended or less popular. "Lyra and other Poems," published by Kedfield in 1853, WMS the first volume of verse wherein Miss Cary challenged the judgment of critics indei3endently of her sister. That it was a decided success is sufliciently indicated by the fact that a more complete edition, including all the contents of ALICE AND PHEBE GARY. 169 Redfield's, with much more, was issued by Ticknor & Fields iu 1855. " The Maiden of Tlascala," a narrative poem of seventy-two pages, was first given to the public in this Boston edition. Her first novel — " Hagar ; a Story of To-Da}^ " — was written for and appeared in "The Cincinnati Commercial," appearing in a book form in 1852. "Married, not Mated," followed in 1856, and "The Bishop's Son," her last, was issued by Carleton, in 1867. Each of these have had a good reception, alike from critics and readers ; though their pecu- niary success has, perhaps, been less decided than that of her poems and shorter sketches. Of her "Pictures of Country Life," bronght out by Derby & Jackson iu 1859, "The Literary Gazette" (London), which is not accustomed to flatter American authors, said : — " Every tale in this book might be selected as evidence of some new beauty or unhackneyed grace. There is nothing feeble, nothing vulgar, and, above all, nothing unnatural or melodramatic. To the analytical subtlety and marvellous naturalness of the French school of romance she has added the purity and idealization of the home affections and home life belonging to the English ; giving to both the American richness of color and vigor of outline, and her own individual power and loveliness." Except her later novels. Miss Cary's works have in good part appeared first in periodicals, — "The Atlantic Magazine," "Harpers'," "The New York Ledger," and " The Independent ; " but many, if not most of them, have generally been afterward issued in her successive volumes, along with others not pre- viously published. "Lyrics and Hymns," issued in 1866 by Hurd & Houghton, "The Lover's Diary," admirably brought out by Ticknor & Fields in 1867, and "Snow Berries; a 170 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Book for Young Folks," by the same house, are her latest volumes. Nearly all of her prose works have been reprinted in London, and have there, as well as here, received a cor- dial and intelligent welcome. Few American women have written more than Miss Gary, and still fewer have written more successfully. Yet she does not write rapidly nor recklessly, and her works evince conscientious, painstaking eifort, rather than transcendent genius or fitful inspiration. Ill-health has of late interrupted, if not arrested, her labors ; but, in the intervals of relative exemption from weakness and suffering, her pen is still busy, and her large circle of admiring readers may still confidently hope that her melody will not cease to flow till song and singer are together hushed in the silence of the grave. From her many poems that I would gladly quote, I choose this as the shortest, not the best : — " We are the mariners, and God the sea ; And, though we make false reckonings, and run Wide of a righteous course, and arfe undone, Out of his deeps of love we cannot be. " For, by those heavy strokes we misname ill, Through the fierce fire of sin, through tempering doubt. Our natures more and more are beaten out To perfecter reflections of his will ! " Phebe has written far less copiously than Alice ; in fact, she has for years chosen to bear alone the burden of domestic cares, in order that her more distinguished sister should feel entirely at liberty to devote all her time and strength to literature. And, though she had been widely known as the author of good newspaper prose, as well as far more verse, I think the critical public was agreeably surprised by the quality of her "Poems of Faith, Hope, and Love," recently issued by Hurd & Houghton. There are one hundred pieces ALICE AND PHEBE GARY. 171 in all, covering two hundred and forty-nine pages ; and hardly one of the hundred could well be spared, while there surely is no one of them which a friend would Avish she had omitted from the collection. There are a buoyant faith, a sunny philosophy evinced throughout, with a heart}^ inde- pendence of thought and manner, which no one ever suc- ceeded in affecting, and no one who possesses them could afford to barter for wealth or fame. The following verses, already widely copied and relished, are here given, as afford- ing a fair chapter of wholesome, bracing autobiography : — "A WOMAN'S CONCLUSIONS. " I said, if I might go back again To the very hour and phxce of my birth ; Might have my life whatever I chose, And live it in any part of the earth ; — " Put perfect sunshine into my sliy, Banish the shadow of sorrow and doubt ; Have all my happiness multiplied, And all my suflcriug stricken out ; " If I could have known, in the years now gone, The best that a woman comes to know ; Could have had whatever will make her blest, Or whatever she thinks will make her so ; " Have found the highest and purest bliss That the bridal wreath and ring enclose ; And gained the one out of all the world That my heart as well as my reason chose ; "And if this had been, and I stood to-night By my children, lying asleep in their beds, And could count in my prayers, for a rosary. The shining row of their golden heads ; — *' Yea ! I said, if a miracle such as this Could be wrought for me, at my bidding, still I would choose to have my past as it is, And to let my future come as it will ! 172 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. "I would not make the path I have trod More pleasant or even, more straight or wide ; Nor change my course the breadth of a hair, This way or that way, to either side. " My past is mine, and I take it all ; Its weakness — its folly, if you please ; Nay, even my sins, if you come to that. May have been my helps, not hindrances I " If I saved my body from the flames Because that once I had burned my hand ; Or kept myself from a greater sin By doing a less — you will understand ; " It was better I suffered a little pain, Better I sinned for a little time, If the smarting warned me back from death, And the sting of sin withheld from crime. "Who knows its strength by trial, will know What strength must be set against a sin ; And how temptation is overcome He has learned, who has felt its power within ! '* And who knows how a life at the last may show? Why, look at the moon from where we stand ! Opaque, uneven, you say ; yet it shines, A luminous sphere, complete and grand ! " So let my past stand, just as it stands, And let me now, as I may, grow old ; I am what I am, and my life for me Is the best — or it had not been, I hold." If I have written aright this hasty sketch, there are hope and comfort therein for those who are just entering upon responsible life with no more than average opportunities and advantaofes. If I have not shown this, read the works of Alice and Phebe Carj, and find it there ! ■% *-fy ^ji^a> y. 1' .^1.(3<^^1£¥ [Fy[L[L[E[E, MARGARET FULLER OSSOH. 173 MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. BY T. W. HIGGINSON. ^ Travelling by rail iu ]\Iicliigan, some ten years ago, I found myself seated next to a j^ouug Western girl, with a very intelligent face, who soon began to talk with me about literary subjects. She afterwards gave mc, as a reason for her confidence, that I " looked like one who would enjoy Margaret Fuller's wi'itings," — these being, as I found, the object of her special admiration. I certainly took the remark for a compliment ; and it was, at any rate, a touching tribute to the woman whose intellectual influence thus brought strangers together. Margaret Fidler is connected, slightly but fiiTnly, with my earliest recollections. We were born and bred in the same town (Cambridge, JNIassachusetts) , and I was the playmate of her younger brothers. Their family then lived at the old "Brattle House," which still stands behind its beautiful lin- dens, though the gi-eat buildings of the University Press now cover the site of the old-fashioned garden, whose formal fish- ponds and stone spring-house wore an air of European state- liness to our home-bred eyes. There I dimly remember the discreet elder sister, book in hand, watching over the gambols of the lovely little Ellen, who became, long after, the wife of my near kinsman, Ellery Channing. This later connection cemented a new tie, and led to a few interviews in maturer years with Margaret Fuller, and to much intercourse with 174. EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. others of the fomily. It is well to mention even such slight ties of association as these, for they unconsciously influence one's impressions ; and, after all, it is the personal glimpses which make the best part of biography, great or small, and indeed of all literature. How refreshing it is, amid the chaff of Aulus Gellius, to come upon a reference to Yii-gil's own copy of the ^neid, which the writer had once seen, *^ quern ipsius Virgilii fuisse credebat ;" and nothing in all Lord Bacon's works ever stirred me like that one magic sen- tence, "When I was a child, and Queen Elizabeth was in the flower of her years." I can say that when I was a child, Margaret Fuller was the queen of Cambridge, though troubled with a large minority of rather unwilling and insurrectionary subjects. Her mother I well remember as one of the sweetest and most sympathetic of women ; she was tall and not unattrac-_^ tive in person, refined and gentle, but with a certain physical awkwardness, proceeding in part from extreme - nearsighted- ness. Of the father I have no recollection, save that he was mentioned with a sort of respect, as being a lawyer and hav- ing been a congressman. But his daughter has described him, in her fragment of autobiography, wdth her accustomed frankness and precision : — " My father was ^ lawyer and a politician. He was a man largely endowed with that sagacious energy which the state of New England society for the last half century has been so well fitted to develop. His father was a clergyman, settled as pastor in Princeton, Massachusetts, within the bounds of whose parish farm was Wachusett. His means were small, and the great object of his ambition was to send his sons to colle^^e. As a boy, my father was taught to think only of preparing himself for Harvard University, and, when there, of preparing himself for the profession of law. As a lawyer, MAEGAKET FULLER OSSOLI. 175 again, the ends constantly presented were to work for dis- tinction in the community, and for the means of supporting a family. To be an honored citizen and to have a home on earth were made the great aims of existence. To open the deeper fountains of the soul, to regard life here as the pro- phetic entrance to immortality, to develop his spirit to per- fection, — motives like these had never been suggested to him, either by fellow-beings or by outward ciroumstances. The result was a character, in its social aspect, of quite the common sort. A good son and brother, a kind neighbor, an active man of business, — in all these outward relations, he was but oue of a class which surrounding conditions have made the majority among us. In the more delicate and in- dividual relations he never approached but two mortals, my mother and myself. " His love for my mother was the green spot on which he stood apart from the commonplaces of a mere bread-winning, bread-bestowing existence. She was one of those fair and flower-like natures which sometimes spring up even beside the most dusty highways of life, — a creature not to be shaped into a merely useful instrument, but bound by one law with the blue sky, the dew, and the frolic birds. Of all persons whom I have known she had in her most of the angelic, — of that spontaneous love for every living thing, for man, and beast, and tree, which restores the golden age." Sarah Margaret Fuller was born May 23, 1810 ; the eldest child of Timothy Fuller and Margaret Crane. Her birth- place was a house on Cherry Street, in Cambridge, before whose door still stand the trees planted by her father on the year when she saw the light. The family afterwards removed to the "Dana House," which then crowned, in a stately way, the hill between Old Cambridge and Cambridgeport. It was later still that they resided in the " Brattle House," as I have 176 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. described. This was Margaret Fuller's home until 1833, exept that she spent a year or more at the school of the Misses Prescott, in Groton, Mass., where she went through that remarkable experience described by herself, under the assumed character of Mariana, in " Summer on the Lakes." In 1826 she returned to Cambridge. The society of that University town had then, as it still has, great attractions for young people of talent. It* offers something of that atmosphere of culture for which such per- sons yearn, — tinged, perhaps, with a little narrowness and constraint. She met there in girlhood the same persons who were afterwards to be her literary friends, colaborers, and even biographers. It was a stimulating and rather perilous position, for she found herself among a circle of highly cul- tivated young men, with no equal female companion ; al- though she read Locke and INIadame de Stael with Lydia Maria Francis, afterwards better known as Mrs. Child. Car- lyle had just called attention to the rich stores of German literature ; all her friends were exploring them, and some had just returned from the German universities. She had the college library at command, and she had that vast and omnivorous appetite for books which is the most common sign of literary talent in men, but is for some reason ex- ceedingly rare among women. At least I have known but two young girls whose zeal in this respect was at all compar- able to that reported of Margaret Fuller, these two being Harriet Prescott and the late Charlotte Hawes. In 1833 her father removed to Groton, Mass., much to her regret. Yet her life there was probably a good change in training for one who had been living for several years in an atmosphere of mental excitement. In March, 1834, she wrote thus of her mode of life : — ^' March, 1834. — Four pupils are a serious and fatiguing MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 177 charge for one of my somewhat ardent and impatient dispo- sition. Five days in the week I have given daily lessons in three languages, in geography and history, besides many other exercises on alternate days. This has consumed often eight, always five hours of my day. There has been also a great deal of needle-work to do, which is now nearly finished, so that I shall not be obliged to pass my time about it when everything looks beautiful, as I did last summer. We have had very poor servants, and, for some time past, only one. My mother has been often ill. My grandmother, who passed the winter with us, has been ill. Thus you may imagine, as I am the only grown-up daughter, that my time has been con- siderably taxed. "But as, sad or merry, I must always be learning, I laid down a course of study at the beginning of winter, compris- ing certain subjects, about which I had always felt deficient. These were the History and Geography of modern Europe, beginning the former in the fourteenth century ; the Elements of Architecture ; the works of Alfieri, with his opinions on them ; the historical and critical works of Goethe and Schil- ler, and the outlines of history of our own country. "I chose this time as one when I should have nothinsr to distract or dissipate my mind. I have nearly completed this coui'se, in the style I proposed, — not minute or thorough, I confess, — though I have had only three evenings in the week, and chance hours in the day for it. I am very glad I have undertaken it, and feel the good efiects already. Oc- casionally I try my hand at composition, but have not com- pleted anything to my own satisfaction." On September 23, 1835, her Mher was attacked by chol- era, and died within three days. Great as must have been the blow to the whole family, it was greatest of all to Margaret. The tie betAveen them had been very close, and 12 178 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. this sudden death threw the weight of the whole household upon the eldest child. It came at Avhat had seemed to her the golden moment of her whole life ; for she was about to visit Europe with her constant friends, Professor and Mrs. Farrar, and with their friend Harriet Martineau, who was just returning home. But all this must be at once aban- doned. Mr. Fuller had left barely property enough to support his widow, and to educate the younger children, with tlie aid of their elder sister. Mrs. Fuller was in del- icate health, and of a more yielding nature than Margaret, who became virtually head of the house. Under her strong supervision, two out of the five boys went honorably through Harvard College, — a third having previously graduated, — while the young sister was sent to the best schools, where she showed the family talent. In the autumn of 1836, Margaret Fuller went to Boston, where she taught Latin and French in Mr. Alcott's school, and had classes of young ladies in French, German, and Italian. She also devoted one evening in every week to translating German authors into English, for the gratifica- tion of Dr. Channiug, — their chief reading being in De Wette and Herder. The following extract will show how absorbing were her occupations: — "And now let me try to tell you what has been done. To one class I taught the German language, and thought it good success, when, at the end of three months, they could read twenty pages of German at a lesson, and very well. This class, of course, was not interesting, except in the way of observation and analysis of language. " With more advanced pupils I read, in twenty-four weeks, Schiller's Don Carlos, Artists, and Song of the Bell, besides giving a sort of general lecture on Schiller ; Goethe's Her- mann and Dorothea ; Goetz von Berlichingen ; Iphigenia ; MAKGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 179 first part of Faust, — three weeks of thorough stuclj^ this, as valuable to me as to them; and Clavigo, — thus com- prehending samples of all his efforts in poetrj^, and bringing forward some of his prominent opinions ; Lessing's Nathan, Minna, Emilia Galeotti ; parts of Tieck's Phantasus, and nearly the whole first volume of Richter's Titan. " With the Italian class, I read parts of Tasso, Petrarch, — whom they came to almost adore, — Ariosto, Alficri, and the whole hundred cantos of the Divina Commedia, with the aid of the fine Athenaeum copy, Flaxman's designs, and all the best commentaries. This last piece of work was and will be truly valuable to myself." She was invited, in 1837, to become a teacher in a private school just organized, on ]Mr. Alcott's plan, in Providence, R. I. "The proposal is," she wrote, "that I shall teach the elder girls my favorite branches for four hours a day, — choosing my own hours and arranging the course, — for a thousand dollars a 3''ear, if upon trial I am well pleased enough to stay." Tlris was a flattering offer, and certainly shows the intellectual reputation she had won. She accepted it, for the sake of her family, though it involved the neces- sity of leaving the friends and advantages which Boston had given. She had also to abandon her favorite literary project, the preparation of a Life of Goethe for Mr. Ripley's series of translations from foreign literature. It was perhaps as a substitute for this that she translated "Eckermann's Conversations with Goethe," though it did not appear till after her removal to Jamaica Plain, in 1839. It is an admi- rable version, and there is after all no book in Eu£>:lish from which one has so vivid and familiar impression of Goethe. Her preface is clear, moderate, and full of good points, though less elaborate than her subsequent essay on the same subject. No one, I fancy, has ever compressed into one 180 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. sentence a sharper analysis of this great writer than when she says of him in the preface, "I think he had the artist's eye and the artist's hand, but not the artist's love of struc- ture." She took a house in Jamaica Plain, on her own responsi- bility, in the spring of 1839, and removed thither the family, of which she was practically the head. The next year they returned once more to Cambridge, living in a small house near her birthplace. In the autumn of 1839, she instituted that remarkable con- versational class, which so stimulated the minds of the more cultivated women of Boston, that even now the leaders of thought and intellectual society date back their first enlight- enment to her, and wish that their daughters might have such guidance. The very aim and motive of these meetings showed her clear judgment. She held that women were at a disadvantage as compared with men, because the former were not called on to test, apply, or reproduce what they learned ; while the pursuits of life supplied this want to men. Systematic conversations, controlled by a leading mind, would train women to definite statement, and con- tinuous thought ; they would make blunders and gain by their mortification ; they would seriously compare notes with each other, and discover where vague impression ended and clear knowledge began. She thus states, in her informal prospectus, her three especial aims : — " To pass in review the departments of thought and knowl- edge, and endeavor to place them in due relation to one another in our minds. To systematize thought, and give a precision and clearness, in which our sex are so deficient, — chiefly, I think, because they have so few inducements to test and classify what they receive. To ascertain what pur- suits are best suited to us, in our time and state of society, MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 181 and how we may make best use of om- meaus for building up tlie life of thought upon the life of action." These conversations lasted during several successive win- ters, with much the same participants, numbering from twenty to thirty. These were all ladies. During one brief series, the experiment of admitting gentlemen was tried, and it seems singular that this should have failed, since many of her personal friends were of the other sex, and certainly men and women are apt to talk best when together. In this exceptional course, the subject was mythology, and it was thought that the presence of those trained in classical studies might be useful. But an exceedingly able historian of the enterprise adds, " All that depended on others entire- ly failed. . . . Even in the point of erudition on the subject, which Margaret did not profess, she proved the best informed of the party, while no one brought an idea, except herself. Take her as a whole," adds this lady, " she has the most to bestow upon others by conversation of any person I have ever known. I cannot conceive of any species of vanity living in her presence. She distances all who talk with her." It is said by all her friends that no record of her conver- sation does it any justice. I have always fancied that the best impression now to be obtained of the way she talked when her classes called her " inspired," must be got by read- ing her sketch of the Eoman and Greek characters, in her autobiographic fragment. That was written when her con- versations most flourished, in 1840, and a marvellous thing it is. It is something to read and re-read, year after year, with ever new delight. Where else is there a statement, so vivid, so brilliant, so profound, of the total influence exerted on a thoughtful child by those two mighty teachers ? No attempt- ed report of her conversation gives such an impression of what it must have been, as this self-recorded reverie. If on 182 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. the tritest of all subjects, she could so easily write something admirable, what must it have been when the restraints of the 4Den — to her most distasteful. — were removed ? On the last day of these meetings — which were closed only by her departure for New York — she wrote thus : — ^^ April 28, 1844. It was the last day with my class. How noble has been my experience of such relation now for six years, and with so many and so various minds ! Life is worth living, — is it not ? We had a most animated meeting. On bidding me good-by, they all and always show so much good-will and love that I feel I must really have become a friend to them. I was then loaded Avith beautiful gifts, ac- companied with those little delicate poetic traits, which I should delight to tell you of, if you were near." While thus serving women, she aided men also, by her editorship of the "Dial." This remarkable quarterly, estab- lished in 1840, by a circle of her friends, was under her ex- clusive charge for two years, and these the most characteristic years of its existence. It was a time of great seething in thought and many people had their one thing to say, which being said, they retired into the ranks of common men. The less instructed found their outlet in the radical conventions, then so abundant; the more cultivated uttered themselves in the " Dial." The contributors, who then thronged around Margaret Fuller, — Emerson, Alcott, Parker, Thoreau, Eip- ley, Hedge, Clarke, W. H. Channing, — were the true founders of American literature. They emancipated the thought of the nation, and also its culture, though their mode of utterance was often crude and cumbrous from ex- cess of material. These writers are all now well known, and some are famous ; but at that time not one of them was popular, save Theodore Parker, whose vigorous common- MAEGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 183 sense soon created for itself a wide public. It was his articles, as Mr. Emerson has since told me, that sold the numbers ; that is, as far as they did sell, which was not very far. The editor was to have had two hundred dollars as her annual salary, but it hardly reached that sum, and I believe that the whole edition was but five hundred copies. I can testify to the vast influence produced by this periodi- cal, even upon those who came to it a year or two after its first appearance, and it seems to me, even now, that in spite of its obvious defects, no later periodical has had so fresh an aroma, or smacked so of the soil of spring. AVhen the unwearied Theodore Parker attempted, half a dozen years after, to embody the maturcr expression of the same phase, of thought in the "Massachusetts Quarterly Review," he pre- dicted that the new periodical would be "The Dial, with a beard." But the result was disappointment. It was all beard, and no " Dial." During the first year of tbe " Dial's " existence, it contained but little from the editor, — four short articles, the "Essay on Critics," " Dialogue between Poet and Critic/' "The Allston Exhibition," and " Menzel's Yiew of Goethe," — and two of what may be called fantasy-pieces, " Leila," and " The Mag- nolia of Lake Pontchartrain." The second volume was richer, containing four of her most elaborate critical articles, — "Goethe," "Lives of the Great Composers," "Festus," and "Bettine Brentano." Few American writers have ever pub- lished in one year so much of good criticism as is to be found in these four essays. She wrote also, during this period, the shorter critical notices, which were good, though unequal. She was one of the first to do hearty justice to Hawthorne, of whom she wrote, in 1840, "No one of all our imaginative writers has indicated a genius at once so fine and so rich." Hawthorne was at that time scarcely known, and it is singular to read in her cliar}', four years earlier, her ac- 184: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. count of reading one of his " Twice-told Tales," under the impression that it was written by "somebody in Salem," whom she took to be a lady. I find that I underscored in my copy of the " Dial," with the zeal of eighteen, her sympathetic and wise remark on Lowell's first volume. "The proper critic of this book would be some youthful friend to whom it has been of real value as a stimulus. The exaggerated praise of such an one would be truer to the spiritual fact of its promise than accurate measure of its performance." This was received with delight by us ardent Lowellites in those days, and it still seems to me admirable. • In the third volume of the " Dial," she wrote of " Beetho- ven," " Sterling," "Eomaic and Ehine Ballads," and other themes. In the fourth volume she published a remarkable article, entitled, "The Great Lawsuit; Man versus Men, Woman versus Women." It was a cumbrous name, for which even the vague title, " Woman in the Nineteenth Century," was hailed as a desirable substitute, when the essay was re- printed in book-form. In its original shape, it attracted so much attention that the number was soon out of print ; and it is not uncommon to see sets of the " Dial" bound up with- out it.' She printed, in 1841, another small translation from the German, — a portion of that delightful book, the correspond- ence between Bettine Brentano and her friend Giinderode. One-fourth of this was published in pamphlet form, by way of experiment ; and it proved an unsuccessful one. Long after, her version was reprinted, the work being completed by a far inferior hand. Margaret Fuller was one of the best of translators, whether in reproducing the wise oracles of Goethe, or the girlish grace and daring originality of Bet- tine and her friend. She says of this last work, in a spirit worthy the subject : "I have follow^ed as much as possible MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 185 the idiom of the writer as well as her truly girlish punctua- tioD. Commas and dashes are the ouly stops natural to girls ; their sentences flow on in little minim ripples, unbroken as the brook in a green iield unless by some slight waterfall or jet of Ohs and Ahs." I know of no other critic who has ever done exact justice to the wonderful Bettinc, recognizing fully her genius and her charms, yet sternly pointing out the inevitable failure of such self-abandonment and the way in which the tree which defies the law mars its own growth. During the summer of 1843, she made a tour to the West with her friends James Freeman Clarke and his artist-sister. The result of this was her first original work, " Summer on the Lakes," — a book which, with all artistic defects upon its head, will yet always remain delightful to those who first read it in its freshness. To this day it is almost the only work which presents Western life in any thoughtful or ideal treatment, — which is anything more than a statistical almanac or a treatise on arithmetical progression. Though most of its statements of fact are long since superseded, it yet presents something which is truer than statistics, — the real aroma and spirit of Western life. It is almost the only book which makes that great region look attractive to any but the energetic and exec- utive side of man's nature. In this point of view even her literary episodes seem in place ; it is pleasant to think that such books as she describes could be read upon the prairies. In the narrative of most travellers it would seem inappropri- ate to say that they stopped in Chicago and read a poem. It would seem like being offered a New York " TrilDune " at Poestum. But when Margaret Fuller reads " Philip Van Artevelde," by the lake shore, just in the sul)urbs of the busy city, all seems appropriate and harmonized, and the moral that it yields her is fit to be remembered for years. "In Chicago I read again 'Philip Van Artevelde,' and 186 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. certain passages in it will always be in my mind associated with the deep sound of the lake, as heard in the night. I used to read a short time at night, and then open the blind to look out. The moon would be full upon the lake, and the calm breath, pure light, and the deep voice harmonized well with the thoui>:ht of the Flemish hero. When will this coun- try have such a man? It is what she needs; no thin ideal- ist, no coarse realist, but a man whose eye reads the heavens, while his feet step firmly on the ground, and his hands are strong and dexterous for the use of human implements." What was that power in Margaret Fuller which made her words barbed arrows, to remain in the hearts of young peo- ple forever ? For one I know that for twenty years that sen- tence has haunted me, as being, more than any other, the true formula for the American man, the standard by which eJlch should train himself in self-education. I fancy that the secret of my allegiance to this woman lies in the shaping influence of that one sentence. Others have acknowledged the same debt to other stray phrases she uses, — her "lyric glimpses," as Emerson called them. Thus William Hunt, the artist, acknowledged that a wholly new impulse of aspira- tion was aroused in him by a few stray words she had pen- cilled on the margin of a passage in Mrs. Jameson's "Italian Painters." Even the narrative in this book, and its recorded conver- sations, show that she exerted on travelling acquaintances this stimulating and unlocking power. This showed itself with the Illinois farmers, "the large first product of the soil," and especially with that vanishing race, who can only be known through the sympathy of the imagination, the Indians. There is no book of travels, except, perhaps, Mrs. Jameson's,' which gives more access to those finer traits of Indian charac- ter that are disappearing so fast amid persecution and demoral- MAEGAKET EULLEE OSSOLI. 187 ization. But the book as a whole, is very fragmentary and episodical, and in this respect, as well as in the wide rango of merit and demerit in the verses here and there inter- spersed, it reminds one of Thoreau's " Week on the Concord and Merrimack Eivers." It is hardly possible, however, to regret these episodes, since one of them contains that rare piece of childish autobiography, "Mariana; " which is how- ever separated from its context in her collected w^orks. In 1844 she removed to New York. It is not the least of Horace Greeley's services to the nation, that he was willing to entrust the literary criticisms of the " Tribune " to one whose standard of culture was so far above that of his readers or his own. Nevertheless, there she remained for nearly two years, making fearless use of her great oppor- tunity of influence. She Avas dogmatic, egotistic, and liable to err ; but in this she did not diflcr from her fellow-critics. The point of difference was in the thoroughness of training to which she had submitted, — at least in certain directions, — the elevation of her demands, her perfect independence, and her ready sympath3^ "With authors who demanded flattery on the one side, and a public on the other which demanded only intellectual substance, and was almost in- diflfcrent to literary form, she bravely asserted that litera- ture was to be regarded as an art. Viewing it thus, she demanded the highest ; reputations, popularity, cliques, to her were nothing; she might be whimsical, but she was ahvays independent, and sought to try all by the loftiest standard. If she was ever biased by personal considera- tions, — and this rarely happened, — it was always on the chivalrous side. Of all Americans thus far, she seems to me to have been born for a literary critic. One of her early associates said well " that she was no artist ; she could never have written an epic, or romance, or drama ; yet no one knew better the qualities 188 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. which go to the making of these ; and, thougli catholic as to kind, no one was more rigidly exacting as to quality." She puts this still better in her own journal : " How can I ever write, with this impatience of detail? I shall never be an artist. I have no patient love of execution. I am delighted with my sketch, but if I try to finish it, I am chilled. Never was there a great sculptor who did not love to chip the mar- ble." But the very fact that she was able to make this discrim- ination shows her critical discernment. There are not a dozen prose-writers in America who " love to chip the mar- ble ; " but so long as we do not discover the defect, we can neither do good work ourselves nor appreciate that of another. All Margaret Fuller's books are very defective as to form ; but because she saw the fault, she was able to criticise the books of others. She had also the rare quality of discerning both needs of the American mind, — originality and culture, — and no one, except Emerson, has done so much to bridge the passage from a tame and imitative epoch to a truly indigenous litera- ture. Most of us are either eifeminated by education, or are left crude and rough by the want of it. She who so exquis- itely delineated the Greek and Roman culture in her frag- ment of autobiography, had yet the discernment to write in an essay, " It was a melancholy praise bestowed on the German Iphigenia, that it was an echo of the Greek mind. Oh, give us something rather than Greece more Grecian, so new, so universal, so individual ! " It was, therefore, an event in the history of our literature, when a Avoman thus eminently gifted became the literary critic of the New York "Tribune," — then, and perhaps still, the journal possessing the most formative influence over the most active class of American minds. There were, of course, drawbacks upon her fitness. She was sometimes MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 189 fantastic iu her likings ; so are most fastidious people ; so is Emerson. She might be egotistical and overbearing. But she was honest and true. It was apt to be the strong, not the weak, whom she assailed. Her greatest errors were com- mitted in vindicating those whom others attacked, or in de- throning popular favorites to make room for obscurer merit. A different course would have made her life smoother and her memory less noble. In her day, as now, there were few well-trained writers iu the country, and they had little leisure for criticism ; so that work was chiefly left to boj's. The few exceptions were cynics, like Poe, or universal flatterers, like AVillis and Griswold. Into the midst of these came a woman with no gifts for conciliation, with no personal attractions, with a habit of saying things very explicitly and of using the first person singular a good deal too much. In her volume of "Papers on Literature and Art," published in 1846, there is a preface of three pages in which this unpleasant grammat- ical form occurs just fifty times. This is very characteristic ; she puts the worst side foremost. The preface once ended, the rest of the book seems wise and gentle, and only egotistic here and there. Or at least, nothing need be excepted from this claim, except the article on " American Literature " — the only essay in the book which had not been previously published. Gentle this was not always, nor could it be ; and she further- more apologized for it in the preface (wisely or unwisely), as prepared too hastily for a theme so difficult, and claimed only that it was " written with sincere and earnest feelings, and from a mind that cares for nothing but what is permanent and essential." "It should, then," she adds, "have some merit, if oulj^ in the power of suggestion." It certainly has such merit. It is remarkable, after twenty years, to see how many of her judgments have been confirmed by the public 190 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. mind. How well, for instance, she bronght forth from obscurity the then forgotten genius of Charles Brockden Brown ; how just were her delineations of Bryant, Willis, Dana, Halleck ; how well she described Prescott, then at his culmination, — his industry, his wealth of material, his clear and elegant arrangement, and his polished tameness ! So much the public could endure. It was when she touched Longfellow and Lowell that her audience, or that portion of it which dwelt round Boston, grew clamorously in- dignant. In reverting, after twenty years, to these criticisms, one perceives that the community must have grown more frank or less sensitive. There seems no good reason why they should have made so much stir. There is no improper personality in them, and, though they may be incorrect, they are not unfair. She frankly confesses to "a coolness towards Mr. Longfellow, in consequence of the exaggerated praise be- stowed upon him. When we see a person of moderate powers receive honors which should be reserved for the highest, we feel somewhat like assailing him and taking from him the crown which should be reserved for grander brows. And yet this is perhaps ungenerous" She then goes on to point out the atmosphere of overpraise which has always surrounded this poet, — says that this is not justly chargeable on himself, but on his admirers, publishers, and portrait- painters ; and adds in illustration that the likeness of him in the illustrated edition of his works suggests the impression of a " dandy Pindar." This phrase, I remember, gave great offence at the time ; yet, on inspection of that rather smirk- ing portrait, it proves to be a fair description ; and she expressly disclaims all application of the phrase to the poet himself. She defends him from Poe's charges of specilic plaijiarism, and points out, very justly, that these accusations only proceed from something imitative and foreign in many MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 191 of his images and in the atmosphere of much of his verse. She says, as many have felt, that he sees nature, whether human or external, too much through the windows of litera- ture, and tiually assigns him his place as "a man of cultivated taste, delicate though not deep feeling, and some, though not much, poetic force." This may not be an adequate statement of the literary claims of Longfellow ; but it certainly does not differ so widely from the probable final award as to give just ground for complaint against the critic. It is also re- corded by Mr. Greeley that she only consented to review Longfellow's poems with the greatest reluctance, and at the editor's particular request, "assigning the wide divergence of her views of poetry from those of the author and his school as the reason." Towards Lowell she showed more asperity. Yet there was nothing personal in her remarks, even here ; there was simply an adverse literary criticism, conveyed with a slight air of arrogance. To preface an opinion with "We must declare it, though to the grief of some friends and the disgust of more," was undoubtedly meant for a deprecatory and regretful expression ; but it had a sort of pompous effect that did not soften the subsequent brief verdict. She declared him " absolutely wanting in the true spirit and tone of poesy," with the addition that "his interest in the moral questions of the day had supplied the want of vitality in himself." Even this last statement was far too strong, no doubt. Yet it will now be admitted by Lowell's warmest admirers that his poetic phases have been singularly coincident with his phases of moral enthusiasm. His early development of genius was united with extreme radicalism of position ; then followed many years, comprising the prime of his life, when both his genius and his enthusiasm seemed quiescent. It was the unforeseen stimulus of the war which made him again put on his singing robes, for that "Commemoration 192 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Ode," which is incomparably the greatest of his poems. All this vindicated in some degree the discernment, though it could not justify the sweeping manner of Margaret Fuller's criticism ; and her tone of arrogance is more than counter- balanced by the fierce personalities with which the poet re- taliated upon her in the " Fable for Critics." The criticisms on English poets in this collection seem to me singularly admirable ; they take rank with those of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, in her " Essays on the Poets." There are many single phrases that are unsurpassed in insight and expression, as where she speaks of the "strange, bleak fidelity of Crabbe." "Give Coleridge a canvas," she says, " and he will paint a picture as if his colors were made of the mind's own atoms." " The rush, the flow, the delicacy of vibration in Shelley's verse can only be paralleled by the waterfall, the rivulet, the notes of the bird and of the insect world." It is as yet impossible to estimate duly the effect which the balm of his [Wordsworth's] meditations has had in allaying the fever of the public heart, as exhibited in Byron and Shelley." This is a rare series of condensed criticisms, on authors about whom so much has been written, and her remarks on the new men — Sterling, Henry Taylor, and Browning — were almost as good. She was one of the first in America to recognize the genius of Browning, and, while his " Bells and Pomegranates " was yet in course of publication, she placed him at the head of contemporary English poets. There is much beside, in these rich volumes ; a brief criticism on "Hamlet," for instance, in one of the dialogues, which is worthy to take rank with those of Mrs. Jameson ; and an essay on "Sir James Mackintosh," which, in calm completeness and thorough workmanship, was her best work, as it was one of her latest. Indeed, the "Papers on Literature and Art" always seemed to me her best book ; far superior to the MARGAEET FULLER OSSOLI. 193 "Womfin ill the Nineteenth Century " (piil^lished Uvo years previously), which was perhaps framed on too hirge a scale for one who had so little constructive power. It was noblo in tone ,- enlightened in its statements, and full of suggestion ; yet after all it was crude and disconnected in its execution. But the " Papers " have been delightful reading, to me at least, for twenty years, and I could quote many a sentence which has passed into my bone and marrow, as have those of Emer- son. " Tragedy is alwaj^s a mistake." " The dijSerence between heartlessness and the want of a deep heart." " We need to hear the excuses men make to themselves for then* worthless- ness." "It needs not that one of deeply thoughtful mind be passionate, to divine all the secrets of passion. Thought is a bee that cannot miss those flowers." And so on. The only complaint I should make in regard to this book is founded on its title," Papers on Literature and Art." With art, save as included in literature, she should not have med- dled. At least, she should have dealt only witli the l)iogra- phy and personal traits of artists, — not with their work. One of her early friends said that the god Terminus presided over her intellect ; but to me it seems that she did not always rec- ognize her own limits. A French wit said that there were three things he had loved very much, without knowing an}-- thing about them, — music, painting, and women. Margaret Fuller loved all three, and understood the last. If, however, she was thus tempted beyond her sphere, it was less perhaps from vanity than because she yielded to the demand popularly made on all our intellectual laljorers, that they should scatter themselves as much as possible.. Literary work being as yet crude and unorganized in America, the public takes a vague delight in seeing one person do a great many different things. It is like hearing a street musician perform on six instruments at once ; he plays them all ill, but it is so remarkable that he should play them together. If we 13 194 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. have a stirring pulpit orator, he must try his hand on a novel ; if a popular editor, he must write a history of the rebellion. Margaret Fuller, under the same influence, wrote on painting and music, and of course wrote badly. As to this whole charge of vanity, indeed, there have cer- tainly been great exaggerations. She had by inheritance certain unpleasant tricks of manner, which gave the impres- sion, as Emerson said, of "a rather mountainous Me." She was accustomed to finding; herself amons: inferiors, aaid lorded it a little in her talk. She was also obliged, as a woman, to fight harder than others, first for an education and then for a career. All these influences marred her, in some degree ; and those whom her criticisms wounded, made the most of the result. But though her most private diaries and letters have been set before the public, I do not see that anything has been produced which shows a petty or conceited disposition, while she has certainly left on record many noble disclaim- ers. . A woman who could calmly set aside all the applauses she received for her wonderful conversation by pointing out to herself that this faculty "bespoke a second-rate mind," could not have had her head turned by vanity. At another time she wrote in her diary, "When I look at my papers, I feel as if I had never had a thought that was worthy the at- tention of any l)ut myself; and 'tis only when, on talking with people, I find I tell them what they did not know, that my confidence at all returns." In truth, she was not made of pure intellect ; if that quality marks men (which I have never discovered), then she was essentially a woman. " Of all whom I have known," wrote one of her female friends, "she was the largest Avoman, and not a woman who wished to be a man." And one of her friends of the otlier sex wrote of her, " The dry lirjld which Lord Bacon loved she never knew ; her light was life, was love, was warm with sympathy, and a boundless energy of MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 195 affection and hope." The self-devotion of her closinoj years brought no surprise to those who remembered how she had sacri- ficed her most cherished phms for the sake of educating her brothers ; and how she had through all her life been ready to spend money and toil for those around her, Avhcn she had little money and no health. She gave to the community, also, the better boon of moral courage ; it showed itself most conspic- uously in the telling of unwelcome truth ; but it was man- ifested also in heroic endurance, since she was, as Mr. Emerson has testified, " all her life the victim of disease and pain." Her life thus did more for the intellectual enfranchisement of American women than was done by even her Ijook on the subject, though that doubtless did much, exerting a pemia- nent influence on many minds. No one has ever given so compact a formula for the requirements of woman. She claims for her sex " notonlj'- equal power with man, — for of that omnipotent nature will never permit her to bo defrauded, — but a chartered power, too fully recognized to be al)used." Never were there ten words Avhich put the whole principle of impartial suffrage so plainly as these. And even where her statements are less clear, they always rest on wise reflection, not on any one-sided view. Thus, for instance, she showed better than most her faith in the eternal laws which make women unlike man, — for she was ready to trust these laws instead of le2:islating to sustain them. She knew that there was no fear of woman's unsexing herself. "Nature has pointed out her ordinary sphere by the circumstances of her physical existence. She cannot* wander far. . . . Achilles • had long plied the distaff' as a princess, yet at first sight of a sword, he seized it. So with woman, — one hour of love would teach her more of her proper relations than all your formulas." After twenty months of happy life and labor in New York, 196 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. she sailed for Europe, thus fulfilling the design abandoned eleven years before, when her home duties demanded the sac- rifice. She published in the "Tribune" (Aug. 1, 1846), a cordial and almost enthusiastic "Farewell to New York," thanking the great city for all it had been to her. She had found no more of evil there than elsewhere, she said, and more of sympathy, and there was at least nothing petty or provincial. Perhaps, after visiting Europe, she thought dif- ferently. New York does not at first seem provincial to a Bostonian, nor Paris to a New Yorker ; but all great cities boon show themselves provincial, by their disproportioued self-estimate, their tiresome local gossip, and their inability to tolerate real independence. Still it was good for one, who lived her life as strongly as Margaret Fuller, to seek the largest atmosphere she could find, and win her own emanci- pation at last. Over the tragic remainder of her life I shall pass but light- ly, for I have preferred to reverse the proverb and be the historian of her" times of peace alone. It is because they were not really her times of peace, but only her training for final action ; besides, it was during those years that she was most misconstrued and maligned ; and it is more interesting to dwell on this period than to add a garland where all men praise. Enough to say that in that later epoch all the undue self-culture of her earlier life was corrected, and all its self- devotion found a surer outlet. That "hour of love" of which she had wi'itten came to her, and all succeeding hours were enriched and ennobled. Throwing herself into the struggle for a nation's life, olending this great interest with the devotion due to her Italian husband, she lived a career that then seemed unexampled for an American woman , though our war has since afforded many parallels. During the siege of Rome, in 1848, the greater part of her time was passed in the hospital " dei Pellegrini" which was put under her spe- MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 197 cial direction. " The weather was intensely hot ; her health was feeble and delicate ; the dead and dying were around her in every stage of pain and horror ; but she never shrank from the duty she had assumed." " I have seen," wrote the Amer- ican consul, Mv. Cass, " the eyes of the dying, as she moved among them, extended on opposite beds, meet in commenda- tion of her universal kindness." She was married in Italy, during the year 1847, to Giovan- ni A ngclo. Marquis Ossoli, — a man younger than herself, and of less intellectual culture, but of simple and noble nature. He had given up rank and station in the cause of the Roman Republic, while all the rest of his ftimily had espoused the other side ; and it was this bond of sympathy wliich first united them. Their child, Angelo Philip Eugene Ossoli, was born at Rieti, September 5th, 1848. After the fall of the republic it was necessary for them to leave Rome, and this fact, joined with her desire to print in America her history of the Italian struggle, formed the main reasons for their re- turn to this country. They sailed from Leghorn, May 17th, 1850, in the barque Elizabeth, Captain Hasty. Singular anticipations of danger seem to have hung over their departure. "Beware of , the sea "had been a warning given Ossoli by a fortune-teller, in his youth, and he had never before been on board a ship. "Various omens have combined," wrote his wife, "to give me a dark feeling." "In case of mishap, however, I shall perish with my husband and child." Again she wrote, " It seems to me that my future on earth will soon close." "I Jiave a vague expectation of some crisis, I know not what. But it has long seemed that in the year 1850 I should stand on a plateau in the ascent of life, where I should be allowed to pause for a while and take a more clear and commanding view than ever before. Yet my life proceeds as regularly as the fates of a Greek tragedy, and I can but accept the pages as they turn." 198 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. As they were leaving Florence at the last moment, letters arrived which would probably have led them to remain in Italy, had not all preparations been made. And on the very day of sailing, in Leghorn, Margaret lingered for a final hour on shore, almost unable to force herself to embark. It seemed as if there were conflicting currents in their destiny, which held them back while they urged them forward. Their voyage was very long, and the same shadow still appeared to hang over them. The captain of the barque, in whom they had j)laced the greatest confidence, soon sickened and died of malignant small-pox, and was buried ofi" Gibral- tar. They sailed thence on June 9th. Two days after, the little Angelo was attacked with the same fearful disease, 'and only recovered after an illness that long seemed hopeless. On July 15th, they made the New Jersey coast at noon, and stood to the north-east, the weather being thick, and the wind south-east. The passengers packed their trunks, as- sured that they should be landed at New York the next morning. By nine o'clock the wind had risen to a gale, and this, with the current, swept them much farther to the north than was supposed. At two and a half, a. m., the mate in command took soundings, found twenty-one fathoms of wa- ter, pronounced all safe, and retired to his berth. One hour afterwards, the bark struck on Fire Island beach, just ofi" Long Island. The main and mizen masts were at once cut away, but the ship held by the boAv, and careened towards the land, every wave sweeping over her, and carrying away every boat. She was heavily laden with marble and » soon bilged. The passengers hastily left their berths and collected in the cabin, which was already half full of water. 'They braced them- selves as well as they could, against the windward side. Little Angelo cried, the survivors say, until his mother sang him. to sleep, while Ossoli quieted the rest with prayer. M AEG ARE T FULLER OSSOLT. 199 The crew were at the forward end of the vessel ; and when the wreck seemed ready to go to pieces, the second mate, Mr. Davis, came aft to the cabin with two sailors, and helped the passengers to a safer place. This transfer was made terribly dangerous by the breaking surf. The captain's wife, who went tirst, was once swept away, and was caught only by her hair. Little Angclo was carried in a canvas bag, huns: round the neck of a sailor. Passengers and crew were now crowded round the fore- mast, as the part likely to last longest. Here they re- mained for several hours. Men were seen collectinjr on the beach, but there was no life-boat. After a time, two sailors succeeded in reaching the shore, the one with a life- preserver, the other with a spar. Then Mr. Davis, the cour- ageous mate, bound the captain's wife to a plank, and swam with her to the shore, where she arrived almost lifeless. The distance was less than a hundred yards, but the surf was fearful. Madame Ossoli was urged to attempt the pas- sage as Mrs. Hasty had done, but steadily refused to be separated from her husband and child. Time was passing ; the tide was out; the sea grew for the time a little calmer. It was impossible to built a raft, and there was but this one chance of escape before the tide returned. Still the husband and wife declined to be parted ; and, seeing them resolute, the first mate ordered the crew to save themselves, and most of them leaped overboard. It was now past three o'clock ; they had been there twelve hours. At length the tide turned, and the gale rose higher. The after part of the vessel broke away, and the foremast shook with every wave. From this point the accounts vary, as is inevitable. It seems however to be agreed, that the few remaining sailors had again advised the Ossolis to leave the wreck ; and that the steward had just taken little Augelo in his arms to try to bear him ashore, when a more powerful 200 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. sea swept over, and the mast fell, carrying with it the deck, and all on board. Ossoli was seen to catch for a moment at' the rigging, and then to sink. The last recorded glimpse of Margaret was when she was seated at the foot of the mast, in her white night-dress, with her hair fallen loose about her shoulders. Their bodies were never found ; but that of the little An- gelo was cast upon the beach twenty minutes after, and was reverently buried among the sand-hills by the sailors, one of whom gave his chest for a coffin. The remains were afterwards transferred to Mount Auburn cemetery, near Boston, and there reinterred in presence of weeping kins- folk, .who had never looked upon the living beauty of the child. It was the expressed opinion of one who visited the scene, a few days after, that seven resolute men could have saved all on board the " Elizabeth." The life-boat from Fire Island light-house, three miles off, was not brought to the beach till noon, and was not launched at all. For a time the journals w^ere full of the tragedy that had taken away a life w^hose prcciousness had not been fully felt till then. But now, looking through the vista of nearly twenty years, even this great grief appears softened by time. The very fore- bodings which preceded it seem now to sanctify that doom of a household, and take from its remembrance the sting. Three months before, in planning her departure, this wife and mother had thus unconsciously accepted her coming fate : " Safety is not to be secured by the wisest foresight. I shall embark more composedly in our merchant-ship, pray- ing fervently, indeed, that it may not be my lot to lose my boy at sea, either by unsolaced illness or amid the howling waves ; or, if so, that Ossoli, Angelo, and I may go together, and that the anguish may be brief." Her prayer was ful- filled. MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI. 201 • The precious manuscript, for whose i5ub]icatioii her frieuds aud the friends of Italy had looked with eagerness, was lost in the shipwreck. Her remaining works were reprinted in Boston, a few years later, under the careful editorship of her brother Arthur ; — that " Chaplain Fuller," who had been educated by her self-sacrifice, and who afterwards gained a place beside hers, in the heart of the nation, by his heroic death at Fredericksburg, during the late rebellion. Her biography has also been amply written by the friends whom she would most readily have selected for the task, Messrs. Emerson, Clarke, and Channing. Since her day, American literature has greatly widened its base, but has raised its summit no higher. There is a mul- tiplicity of books aud magazines, and a vast increase |of un- trained literary activity. Yet, not only has she had no successor among women, but we still miss throughout our criticism her culture, her insight, her fearlessness, her generous sympathies, and her resolute purpose to apply the highest artistic standard to the facts of American life. It is this sense of loss that is her true epitaph. It was said to have been Fontenelle's funeral oration, when the most bril- liant woman in France, having uttered after his death a witticism too delicate for her audience, exclaimed sadly, "Fontenelle ! where are you?" And so every American author, who has a higher aim than to amuse, or a nobler test of merit than his publishers' account, must feel that some- thing is wanting while Margaret Fuller's place remains unfilled. ?j02 eminent women of the age, GAIL HAMILTON.— MISS DODGE, BY EANNY EERN. " Will I write a sketch of Gail Hamilton ? " Will I touch off a Parrott gun? I thought, and Avill it "kick" if I do? However, I ventured to send the following missive : — I • "My deae Miss Dodge, otherwse Gail Hamilton : — A book is in prospect. Many of our well-known literary peo- ple are to write for it. Its title is to be 'Eminent Women of the Time.' You and I are to be in it. I am to do you. Who is to serve me up, the gods only know. AYill you be good enough to inform me at your earliest convenience, when and where you cut your first tooth, whether you had the measles l)efore the mumps, or the mumps before the measles ; also, any other interesting items about yourself. " Writing about you will be a labor of love with me ; for although a stranger to you, save through your writings, I rejoice every day in your existence. " Please send an early answer. "Yours, etc., "Fanny Fern." In a few da}- s I received the following reply : — "My dear Mrs. Fern: — The coolness of you New Yorkers is astonishing. You are about to burn me at the GAIL HAMILTON. 203 stake, aucl will I have the goodness to seud on shavings and dry wood by the next mail ? "Thank you, ma'am, I will. "LIFE AND SUFFERINGS OF " GAIL HAMILTON. "WKITTEX BY ITSELF. AND WITU FOKMIOR TKANSLATIONS DILIGENTLY COMPARED AND KEVISED. " To the best of my knowledge and belief, I was born in the 'New York Independent,' some time during the latter half of the present century, and before the 'Independent' had been annexed to the domains of Theodore, King of Abyssinia, against whom the great powers have just advanced an expe- dition. Simultaneously, or thereabouts, I was also born in the 'National Era.' So I must be twins. On that ground it has never been satisfactorily settled, whether I am myself or Mrs. Simpson, of "Washington. If I am Mrs. Simpson, I am the wife of an officer, Avho, to his infinite regret, was not killed in the late unpleasantness, and am a lineal descendant of that Simple Simon, who once went a-fishing for to catch a whale, though all the water that he had was in his mother's pail. If I am not Lauiicelot, nor another, but only my own self, I am like Melchiscdec, without father, without mother, with- out descent, and my enemies fear, also, I have no end of life. On one point commentators are agreed, — that I am not an 'Eminent Woman' of my time, and therefore have no part nor lot in your book. In fact I am " Neither man nor woman, I am neither brute nor human, I'm a ghoul ! "And all that I ask is to be let alone. From the 'Inde- pendent ' I graduated into the ' Congregationalist,' of blessed memory ; and from the ' Era ' I paddled over into the ' At- lantic' I flourish in immortal vigor on the cover of ' Our 204 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Young Folks/ and at sundry times, and in divers other man- ners and places, have, I fear, contributed to the deterioration of our youth. I sadly confess, also, that 1 am guilty of as many books as Mrs. Rogers had small children ; but being written in love, and in the spirit of meekness, they are held in high esteem, especially of men. Whereunto I also add, like St. Paul, that which cometh upon me daily, the care of all the churches. " Such, unhappy fellow-sufferer, is my thrilling story. If any one shall add unto these things, let him tremble lest I imprecate upon him all the plagues of the Apocalypse ; and if any person shall dare saddle any other man or woman with the sins which I alone have perpetrated, I say prophetically to such saddler, 'Lord Angus, thou hast' "Thanking yqu for your friendly words, and rejoicing, like King David in his great strait, that I am not to fall into the hands of man, "I am very respectfully, " Gail Haiviilton. "Respectfully, that is, if you respect my rights; but I shall have a lifelong quarrel even with you, if you spread be- fore the public anything which I myself have not given to the public. I have really very strong opinions on that point ; and, notwithstanding its commonness, I consider no crime more radically heinous than the violation of privacy. You must have suffered from it too severely yourself to be sur- prised at any abhorrence of it on my part. I most heartily wish you could find it in your plan to leave me out in the cold. Of course, if you judge from my writings that I am a woman, you can say what you please about that woman, that writer, and I have neither the wish nor the right to say you nay. So much of the woman as appears in an author's writings is public property by her own free will. All the GAIL HAMILTON. 205 rest belongs to her reserved rights. I pray you speak, if speak you must, so wisely as to make this clear. Launch thunderbolts, or sing songs, as you find fit ; but read the pref- ace of my first book, ' Country Living and Country Think- ing,' and govern yourself accordingly ; and I shall be, without any condition, and positively the last time, " Yours very truly, " Gail Hamilton." Upon the receipt of this I wrote again, requesting per- mission to give the public the above characteristic epistle ; which I told her was altogether too good to be buried in my desk ; adding that, if she wanted me to behave prettily, she should not threaten me, as a threat always made me "balky;" that it Avas quite useless also, because I wished and intended to handle her as tenderly as would her own " mammy." I received a reply, of which this is a part : — " Dear Faxny : — Do whatever you like with the letter ; I don't care, and don't think you ' must handle me tenderly.' Say anything and eveiything you like ; storm or shine within your ' sphere.' You don't like threats : strange, — but I will give you one more. If you do write a paper on me, and do not put in any of those impertinences which are so common in newspapers, but confine yourself to that which is common and lawful plunder, I shall not only put you a notch higher than the general run of people, but I shall keep a select cor- ner for you in my private regard and gratitude, where you can come and take a nap by yourself, any time. Now 'balk' if you dare ! "Gail Hamilton." This, dear reader, by way of preface. Now allow me to say that there are only two things in this world I am afraid of, — 206 EMINENT Vv^OMEN UP THE AGE. one is a mouse, the other is a woman. My first impuse on being brought face to face with cither, is to jump upon the nearest chair or table. Judge, then, how dear the public must seem, in my eyes, when, ignoring this my chronic terror, I boldly march up to the indomitable lady, whose name graces the head of this article, and attempt to sketch her : A lady, at whose mention stalwart men have been known to tremble , and hide in corners ; wdio " keeps a private graveyard " for the burial of those whom she has mercilessly slain ; who respects neither the spectacles of the judge, nor the surplice of the priest ; who holds the mirror up to men's failings till the}^ hate their wives merely because they belong to her sex; this lady who blushes not to own that she is "a Ghoul," — who lately impaled the Kev. Dr. Todd on the point of her lance, and left him writhing without so much as pouring a drop of oil on to his wounds, or bathing his very soft head ; this lady who keeps defiantly doing it, although she has been told that notwithstanding; she has amassed sev- eral pennies, the fruits of these wicked promulgations, and deposited the same in banks for a rainy day, the sex whom she defies may, contrary to their usual custom in such cases, refuse oven to nibble at tliat bait, and doom her to die, without a chance to sew on shirt-buttons, or "seat" a pair of trowsers. One naturall}^ inquires how such a female monster came to exist? In other and more elegant phrase, " ichat did it?'^ Was she, like Komulus and Remus, suckled by a she-wolf in her iufoncy ? Were vipers her cherished toys in childhood ? "Was her youth defrauded of the usual sugar-plums that she keeps on making mouths at her fellow-creatures in this way ? Or, what is still more important to ascertain, is there any way she could be pacified, or bought oft', or " shut up," from this infernal attempt to set women upon their feet, and to trip men from ofi" theirs. To convince you how pertinent is my question, I will GAIL HAMILTON. 207 quote in this connection a few of her most inceudiaiy pas- sages : — "It costs a woman just as much to live as it does a man. If men were -willing to practise the small economies that women practise, they could live at no greater expense." " Man is a thief, and holds the bag, and if women do not like what they get, so niucli the better. They will be all the more willins: to become household drudsfes." " ]Make a man understand that he shall cat his dinner like a gentleman, or he shall have no dinner to eat. If he will be crabbed and gulp, let him go down into the coal-bin and have it out alone ; but do not let him bring his Fegee-ism into the dining-room, to defile the presence of his wife, and cor- rupt the manners of his children." "A woman should dress so as to be grateful to her hus- band's eye, I grant ; nay, I enjoin ; and ho is under equally strong ol)ligations to dress so as to be grateful to her eye. I have heard a woman say variety in dress is necessary in order that her husband may not be wearied. But does a man ever think of having several winter coats, or summer waistcoats, so that his wife may not weary of him ? And if a man buys his clothes, and wears them according to his needs, wh}' shall not a woman do the same ? Is there any law or gospel forc- ing a woman to be pleasant to her husband, while the hus- band is left to do that which is right in his own ej'e? Or are the visual organs of a man so much more exquisitely arranged than those of a woman, that special adaptations must be made to them, while a woman may see whatever happens to be a la mode? Or has a man's dress intrinsically so much more beauty and character than a woman's that less pains need be taken to make it charmin2: ? " "Take example from the toad," Gail saj^s to her sisters ; "swallow your dress, not precisely in the same sense, but as 208 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. effectually. Overpower, subordinate your dress, till it shall be only a second cuticle, not to be distinguished from your- self, but a natural element of your universal harmony." " Women's work is a round of endless detail. Little in- significant, provoking items, that she gets no credit for doing, but fatal discredit for leaving undone. Nobo/:ly notices that things are as they sliould be ; but if things are not as they should be, it were better for her that a millstone were hanged about her neck." " The best women, the brightest women, the noblest women, are the very ones to whom house-keeping is the most irksome. I do not mean house-keeping with well-trained servants ; for that is general enough to admit ' a brother near the throne,' but that alas ! is almost unknown in the world wherein I have lived ; and a woman who is satisfied with the small economies, the small interests, the constant contemplation of small things which a household demands, is a very small sort of woman. I make the assertion both as an inference and as an observa- tion. A noble discontent, not a peevish complaining, but a universal and a spontaneous protest, is a woman's safeguard against the deterioration which such a life threatens, and her proof of capacity, and her note of preparation for a higher. Such a woman does not do her work less well, but she rises superior to her work." " Men do not believe, so much as they profess to, this menial gi*avitation. If they did they would never lecture women so much about it. The very frenzy and frequency of their ex- hortations are suspicious.'^ " Some men dole out money to their wives as if it were a gift, a charity, something to which the latter have no right, but which the}^ must receive as a favor, and for which they must be thankful. Now a man has no more right to his earn- ings than his wife has ; they belong to her as much as to him. As a general rule the fate and fortunes of the family lie in her GAIL HAMILTON. 209 « hands as much as in his. What absurdity to pay him his wages and to give her money to go shopping with ! " The money should be regularly and mechanically supplied to her as the dinner, exciting no more comment, and needing no more argument. Whether it is kept in her pocket or his may be of small moment ; but as she does not lock up the dinner in the cupboard, and then stand at the door and dole it out to him by the plateful, but sets it on the table for him to help himself, so it is better and more pacific that he should deposit the money in an equally neutral and accessible locality. I portray to myself the flutter which such a propo- sition would raise in many marital bosoms. Would that they might be soothed. It is well known among farmers that hens will not eat so much if you set a measure of corn where they can pick whenever they choose, as they will if you only fling a handful now and then, and keep them continually half- starved. At the same time they will be in better condition. So, looking at the matter from the very lowest stand-point, a woman who has free access to the money will not be half so likely to lavish it, as the woman who is put olT with scanty and infrequent sums. "It is marvellous to see the insensibility with which men manage these delicate matters. It is impossible for a man to be too scrupulous, too chivalrous, too refined, in his bearing towards his wife. The very act of receiving money from him puts her in a position so equivocal that the utmost affection and attention should be brought into play to reassure her. Yet men will deliberately, in the presence of their wives, to their wives, groan over the cost of living. They do not mean extravagant purchases of silk and velvet which might be a wife's fault or thoughtlessness, and furnish an excuse for rebuke ; but the butcher's bill, and the grocer's bill, and. the joiaer's bill. Man, when a woman is married, do you think she loses all personal feeling? Do you think your 14 210 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. glum look over the expenses of house-keeping is a fulfilment of your promise to love and cherish? Does it bring sunshine, and lighten toil, and bless her with knightly grace? Do you not know that it is only a way of regretting that you married her? You go out to your shop, or sit clown to your newspa- per, and forget all about it. She sits down to her sewing, or stands over her cooking-stove, and meditates upon it with in- describable pain. These very men, who complain because it costs so much to live, will lose by bad debts more than their wives spend; they will, by sheer negligence, by a selfish reluctance to present a bill to a disagreeable person, by a cowardly fear lest insisting on what is due should alienate a customer, — by indorsing a note, or lending money, through mere want of courage to say No, — lose money enough to foot up a dozen bills. They waste money in cigars ; in sending packages by express, rather than have the trouble to take them themselves ; in buying luxuries which they were bet- ter without. A man is persistently, perversely, and with malice aforethought, extravagant. He is so, in spite of ad- monition and remonstrance. Where his personal comfort or interest is concerned, he scorns a sacrifice. He laughs at the suggestion that such a little thing makes any diflerence one way or another." This is a long extract from Miss Hamilton, but every word is solid gold, and should be printed and framed and hung up in every husband's well, wheresoever he keeps his cigars, so that he would be sure to see it. I myself have heard a man ask a wife who had borne them twelve children, and who was an economical, painstaking, thrift}- house-keeper, "What she did with the last dollar he gave her?" True, men do not like to see this unpleasant reflection of themselves in our au- thor's glass ; but that is no reason why she should smash it. And as she once remarked to a married lady, who told her GAIL HAMILTON. 211 that her husband was greatly incensed at her mention of such things : " Well, — let him rasp, — he is no husband of mine ! " At this safe distance, this Parrot gun of a woman explodes the following, for which I confess a hearty relish : — "A father goes into the nursery, and has a merry romp with his children ; but when he is tired, or they take too many liberties, he goes out, and thinks his children very charming. When papa comes in, the children arc often hur- ried out of sight and sound, for they will 'disturb papa.' This kind woman shuts 'them up carefully within her own precincts. They may overrun her without stint. They may climb her chair, pull her work about, upset her basket, scratch the bureau, cut the sofa, turn to her for healing in eveiy lit- tle heartache ; but no matter. They are kept from ' disturb- ing papa ! ' I am amazed at the folly of women 1 Kept from disturbing papa ! Rather hound them on ! Put the crying baby in his arms the moment he enters the house, and be sure to run away at once beyond reach, or, with true mascu- line ingenuity, he will be sure at the end of five minutes to find some pretext for delivering the young orator back into your care. He ought to experience their obviousness, their inconvenience, their distraction. Let him come into close con- tact with his children, and see what they are, and ichat they do, and he loill have far more just ideas of the whole subject than if he stands far off, and from old theories on the one side, and ten minutes of cleari apron and bright faces on the other, pronounces his euphonious generalizations. His children ivill elicit as much love and interest, together with a great deal more knowledge, and a great deal less silly, mannish sentimen- talism." I italicize the last sentence, as one of the choicest and most 212 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. sensible verses in Miss Gail's new gospel. I really think I couldn't have done better myself I Read this, too : — "Men often have too much confidence in their measuring- lines. They fancy they have fathomed a soul's depths when they have but sounded its shallows. They think they have circumnavigated the globe, when they have only paddled in a cove. They trim their sails for other seas, leaving the priceless gems of their own undiscovered. Many a wife is wearied and neglected into moral shabbiness, who, rightly entreated, would have walked sister* and wife of the gods." As our author's books are for sale, perhaps I should re- member the fact, and curb my desire to copy all her very just and very intrepid sayings ; but here is one which every husband should pin into the crown of his hat : — "Men, — you to whose keeping a woman's heart is en- trusted, — can you heed this simple prayer. Love me, and tell me so sometimes?'^ Our author has probably heard husljands reply to* this : " Why, that is of course understood ; it is childish to wish or expect such a thing put into words." Now, without stopping to discuss the " childishness " of it, if it makes a wife hap- pier, is it wise, or best, for a husband to overlook that fact? And sure I am, many a wife loses all heart for her monoto- nous round of duties for the want of it; beside, when men the world over have promulgated the fact that women are but "grown-up children," where's the harm of being "childish?" Does not Gail Hamilton see. anything commendable, or vir- tuous, or honorable, or manly in men? is the question some- GAIL HAMILTON. 213 times propounded by them ; after which follows this slung- shot : " She must have been very unfortunate in her selection of male acquaintances." Leaving this last imworthy slur in the kennel where it belongs, listen to the following from the lady in question : — "Every-day occurrences reveal in men traits of disinter- estedness, consideration, all Christian virtues and graces. My heart misgives me when I think of it all, — their loving kindness, theu' forbearance, their unstinted service, their in- tegrity, and of the not sufficiently unfrequent instances in, which women, by fretfulncss, folly, or selfishness, irritate and alienate the noble heart which they ought to prize above rubies. Considering the few good husbands there are in the world, and how many good women there are, who would have been to them a crown of glory had the coronation been effected, but who instead are losing all their pure gems down the dark, unfathomcd caves of some bad man's heart ; con- sidering this, I account that woman to whom has been al- lotted a good husband, and who can do no better than to spoil him and his happiness by her misbehavior, guilty, if not of the unpardonable sin, at least of unpardonable stupidity. I could make out a loner list of charsfcs a2:ainst women, and of excellences to be set down to the credit of men. But women have been stoned to death, or at least to coma, with charges already ; and ivJieii you would extricate a loagon from a slough, you put your sJioulder first and heaviest to the ivheel that is the deepest in the onud; especially if the other wheel would hardly he in at all unless this one had pulled it in I" There — after this who shall speak ? Not I. It is a fitting finale to the whole subject. Gail Hamilton needs no lawyer when her case appears in court. But there may exist be- nighted human beings who have not read her summings up; 214 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. or have declined reading them, because it is so much easier to decide upon a question when you only look at one side of it. For their benefit I have culled a few nettles, whose whole- some pricking may let out some bad blood, and prepare for them a more healthful mental and moral condition. There is no necessity for thanks on their part, as the work has really been its own reward. Now, if my readers suppose that there is " no fun " in our author, or that she looks only at the shady side of every subject, let them read the following extract from her " Gala- ^Days": — "I don't know how it is, but in all the novels that I have read, the heroines always have delicate, spotless, exquisite gloves, which are continually lying about in the garden paths, and which lovers are constantly picking up, and pressing to their hearts and lips, and treasuring in little golden boxes or something, and saying how like that soft glove, pure and sweet, is to the beloved owner ; and it is all very pretty, — but I cannot think how they manage it. I am sure I should be very sorry to have my lovers go about picking up my gloves. I don't have them a week before they change color; the thumb gapes at the base, the little finger rips away from the next one, and they all burst out at the ends ; a stitch drops in the back, and slides down to the wrist before you know it is started. You can mend, to be sure, but for every darn you've twenty holes. I admire a dainty glove as much as any one ; I look with enthusiasm not unmingled with despair, at these gloves of romance ; but such things do not depend entirely upon taste, as male writers seem to think. A pair of gloves cost a dollar and a half, or two dollars, and when you have them, your lovers do not find them in the summer- house. Why not? Because they are lying snugly wrapped in oile^ silk in the upper buredu-drawer, only to be taken out GAIL HAMILTON. * 215 on great occasions. You would as soon think of wearino' Victoria's crown for a head-dress as those gloves on a picnic. So it happens that the gloves your lovers find will be sure to be Lisle thread, and dingy and battered at that ; for how. can you pluck flowers, and pull vines, and tear away mosses, without gettuig them dingy and battered ? And the most fastidious lover in the world cannot expect you to buy a new pair every time. For me, I keep my gloves as long as the backs hold together, and go around for forty-five weeks of the fifty-two with my hands clenched into fists to cover omissions." • And now you will naturally say to me, — This is all very well ; but tell us something about her personally. Where does she live; and how? Is she single or wedded? Is she tall or short? Plain or pretty? Has she made money as well as made mouths? In short, let us have a little gossip. That's what we are after. Don't I know it? I should think I had been laid on the gridiron times enough myself to understand 3'our appetite. Well — here goes. "Gail Hamilton's" real name is Mary Abigail Dodge. Her birthplace is in Hamilton, Massachu- setts. She is unmarried, a Calvinist, and an authoress from, choice. Her father was a farmer. Her mother produced Gail Hamilton ; that is sufficient as far as she is concerned. She had a brother, who ]Mrs, Grundy declares is the " Hali- carnassus" mentioned in her books, and whom the men she has flagellated in her writings call " poor devil ! " supposing him to be her husband! She was brought up as New England girls are generally brought up in the country — , simply, healthfully, purely; with plenty of fences for gymnastics; with plenty of berries, and birds, and flowers, and mosses, and clover-blossoms, and fruit, in the sweet, odorous summers ; with plenty of romping 216 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. companions, not subjects for eai'ly tombstones and obituary notices, but with broad chests, sun-kissed faces, and nimble limbs and tongues, — children Avho behaved naturally for their age-; who twitched away books and balls from their owners, and pouted, and sometimes struck, and often got mad, and strutted when they wore fine clothes, and told lies, — "real whoppers," — and took the biggest half of the apple, and were generally aggravating, as exuberant, healthy childhood always is. Then little Mary had other companions less aggressive in 'the birds, the bees, and the grasshoppers. She went Maying, too, on May mornings, as every true-born New England child should, as I myself have done, whether the sky were blue or black ; whether she shivered or was warm in a white gown ; whether the May-flowers were in blossom for May-day wreaths, or the snow-flakes were coming down instead. She had chickens, too, and when they first came, she fed them with soaked and sweetened cracker ; later, she made fricassees of them, and omelets of their eggs. She had three cats; one, named Molly after herself ; another, a hideous, safi'ron-colorcd, forlorn, little wretch, that was abandoned by an Irish family, and which she felicitously baptized Rory O'More. This cat one day crept into the oven. Mary, ignorant of the fact, shut the door, Avishing to retain the heat. Hearing a stifled ''.mew, ".she opened it, and out flew the cat and plunged through the house outside into the nearest snow-bank, from whence she emerged, with true Irish elasticity, right-end up, and as good as new. The third cat little INIary housed was a perfect savage ; her mistress never beino; able to catch sifjht of her save in her fierce and light- ning-Iike transits through the house. These cats fought each other, scratched, and made the fur fly, stole chickens, and gave that zest and excitement to her childish days which might well astonish our city-prisoned urchins, — shut up with GAIL HAMILTON. ^^17 a cross French nurse, to keep their silk dresses clean, in a nursery, from whose windows the only view is a dead brick wall. Then she rode to mill in an old wagon, with mammoth wheels, painted green outside and drab within, with a mov- able seat, on which was placed a buffalo-robe for a cushion. After little Mary had taken her seat, the wagon was backed up to the gate, the "tailboard" let down, and huge bags of tow-cloth filled with shelled corn were placed in the cart to be ground, then transformed into Johnny-cakes, brown bread, and Indian pudding. As they were put beside her, this imaginative little girl flincied that they might resemble those of Joseph's brethren, mentioned in the Bible, which were carried down into Egypt, with plenty of room in every sack's mouth for a silver cup and corn-money. When all these bags were safely deposited in the mill, and little Mary and the old horse started for home, who happier than she? The rough gates, wdiich opened to let them through, seemed to turn on golden hinges. Her quick eye noted the branches of feathery fern, the panting cows, standing knee-deep in the cool water, and even the stagnant pool which she knew would by and by blossom forth with pure white lilies ; while the yellow blossoms of the barberry hedge would ripen to crimson clusters in the crisp days of the coming autumn ; this barberry bush, around which she joined hands with her little romping companions, and sang : — - " As we go round tlie barberry bush, The barberry, barberry, barberry bush ; As we go round the barberry bush, So early in the moruing ; This is the way we wash our clothes, We wash, we wash, we wash our clothes ; This is the way we wash our clothes, So early in the morning. 218 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Then Mary and her companions would imitate the washing of clothes and the ironing, and woe to her who should first lose breath in doing it. Then there were the lovely New England country Sundays, heralded by the song of birds, and odor of blossoms, and creeping away of mist from valley and mountain, as the warm sun gladdened every living thing. Every New Eng- lander knows what that is without forther preface. Sundays to little Mary, under these conditions, were uot prisons or chains. They were best clothes, with a pleasant, clovery smell in them when they were taken out of the drawer to be worn. Sunday was baked beans, and a big, red Bible with the tower of Babel in it full of little bells, and a lovely walk two miles through a lane full of sweet- ness and bird-singing ; over the bars, through ten acres, over another pair of bars, through a meadow, over another pair of bars, by a hill, over a wall, through another meadow, through the woods, over the ridge, by Black Pond, over a fence, across a railroad, over another fence, through a pasture, through the long woods, through another gate, out upon the high road at last. Then, as our little girl was no diseased, embryo saint, during the long service, which she could not understand, she looked at the people and the fine bonnets around her, and never was she willing to stay at home, be the service ever so long. Then she went to Sunday school, where the children on coming out used to say, "I think your ribbon is prettier than mine." "Is your veil like Susy's?" "Why don't you wear your blue dress to meeting?" "Do you know Joe . got fourteen perch yesterday ? " And she read the library- books and ate gingerbread in the interim, and then came the afternoon service, and then the long, pleasant ride home, and then the catechism in the evening, and the unfailing big red GAIL HAMILTON. 219 Bible. And this is the brilliant tribute of her maturer years to the New England, much-reviled Sabbaths : — " O Puritan Sabbaths ! doubtless you were sometimes stormy without and stormy within ; but, looking back upon you from afar, I see no clouds, no snow, but perpetual sun- shine and blue sky, and ever eager interest and delight ; wild roses blooming under the old stone wall ; wild bees humming among the blackberry bushes ; tremulous, sweet columbines skirting the vocal woods ; wild geraniums start- ling their shadowy depths ; and I hear now the rustle of dry leaves, bravely stirred by childish feet, just as they used to rustle in the October afternoons of Ions: aijo. Sweet Puritan Sabbaths ! breathe upon a restless world your calm, still breath, and keep us from the evil ! " To-day, Gail Hamilton is not only independent in thought and expression, but I am happy to sa}' , in pochet. She is also a living, breathing, brilliant refutation of the absurd notion that a woman with brains must necessarily be ignorant of, or disdain, the every-day domestic virtues. When she writes of house-keeping and kindred matters, she knows what she is talking about. All the New England virtues of thrift, executiveness, thoroughness — in short, "faculty" — are exemplified in her daily practice. Well may there be sun- shine inside her house ; well may the flowers in her garden bloom, and the fruits ripen, skilfully tended by such fin- gers ! One piece of advice before I close I will volunteer to the male sex who " desire to keep clear of a woman like that.'* Let them consider it a heaven-sent impulse ; as several rash gentlemen, who, to my personal knowledge, disregarded it, have with base ingratitude towards the tame of her species, 220 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. who fully endorsed their seraphic qualities, not only upon personal acquaintance with her, forgiven her for smiting them on one cheek, but voluntarily and lovingly have turned the other. Forewarned — ^forearmed I ■'■S^ [ES.Eo[BA[^[SE¥T tB[^@WR3aR3(S, ELIZABETH BABRETT BROWNING. 221 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. BY EDWARD Y. HINCKS. There has probably lived within the past century no wo- man whose genius, character, and position are more full of interest than IMrs. Browning's. She was not only for above all the female poets of her age, but ranked with the first poets. She was not only a great poet, but a greater woman. She loved and honored art, but she loved and honored hu- manity more. Born and reared in England, her best affec- tions were given to Italy, and her warmest friends and most enthusiastic admirers are found in America. And when to her rare personal endowments is added the fact that she was the wife of a still greater poet than herself, what is needed to make her the most remarkable woman of this, perhaps of any, age? And, as there is no woman in whose life and character we may naturally take a greater interest, so there is none whom we have better facilities of knowing. Of the ordinary ma- terials ont of which biographies are made, her life indeed furnishes few. Its external incidents were not many nor marked. The details of her family life have been very prop- erly kept from the public. The publication of her letters has been deferred until after her husband's death. But what Mrs. Browning thought, felt, and was, is revealed with almost unexampled clearness in her writings. With all her genius she possessed in full measure the artlessness of her sex. Her 222 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. theory of poetry, too, was that it was but the expression of the poet's inner nature. Hence, as might be expected, her poems are but transparent media for the revelation of herself. Her queenly soul shines through them as wine through a crys- tal vase. Her friendships, her love, her grief, her patriotism, her philanthropy, her religion — all are in them simply and unaffectedly revealed to us. To obtain a correct conception of Mrs. Browning, therefore, we must study her character as re- vealed in her poems, aided, of course, by the light which our scanty knowledge of the events of her outward lifewill afford. As the result of our study we shall find that whatever fault we may be compelled to find with the artist, we cannot withhold our entire and hearty admiration for the character of the wo- man. We shall find that her genius, far from marring, ex- alted and ennobled her Avomanhood. We shall feel that the poet was greater than her poems. Elizabeth Barrett Barrett was born in London, in 1809. Her father was a private gentleman in opulent circumstances. Her early life was passed partly in London, partly in the county of Herefordshire, in sight of the Malvern Hills. One of her minor poems, " The Lost Bower," describes with her peculiar power of graphic picturing the scenery surrounding her early home. " 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. " Far out, kindled by each other, Shining hills on hills arise, Close as brother leans to brother, When they press beneath the eyes Of some father praying blessings From the gifts of Paradise." ELIZABETH BARKETT BROWNING. 223 The whole poem, which is one of its author's simplest and sweetest, is well worthy of study for its autobiographical in- terest. It gives us the picture of a dreamy and thoughtful, but not morbid child, loving to ramble in the wild woods, which her fancy peopled with the heroes and heroines of old. Mrs. Browning was a child of remarkable precocity. She wrote verses at ten, and appeared in print at the age of fifteen. In the dedication to her father of the edition of her poems which appeared in 1844, she pleasantly speaks "of the time far off when I was a child and wrote verses, and when I dedi- cated them to you who were my public and my critic." This childish precocity was not an indication of early ripening genius. Her powers matured slowly. She wrote very crudely when past thirty. She never attained her full ma- turity. IMiss Barrett's education was such as a woman rarely receives. She was taught in classics, philosophy, and science. Her acquaintance with Greek literature was very extensive. It embraced, not only the great classic authors, but also many of the Withers, and the Greek Christian poets. She studied Greek under the instruction of her blind friend, the Rev. Hugh Stuart Boyd, to whom she afterward dedicated the poem entitled " The Wine of Cyprus," in which she thus pleasantly alludes to the hours they had spent together : — " And I think of those long mornings Which my thought goes far to seek, When, betwixt the folio's turnings, Solemn flowed the rliythmic Greek. Past tlie pane the mountain spreading Swept tlie slieep-bell's tinkling noise, Wliile a girlish voice was reading, Some.what low for ais and ois." And then she goes on to give in a word or tAVo, with that happy facility in hitting off the leading features of a great genius in a smgle phrase, which is one of her most no- 224: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. ticeable characteristics, the impression made upon teacher and pupil by each author as they read. But she was not merely a passive recipient of knowledge ; "For we sometimes gently wrangled, Very gently, be it said, Since our thoughts were disentangled By no breaking of the thread ! And I charged you with extortions On the nobler fames of old ; Ay, and sometimes thought j'^our Porsons Stained the purple they would fold." But it may be doubted whether Mrs. Browning was a thor- ousfh and scientific student of the Greek lanofaa£;e. If she had been so, the effect of such study would have been to cor- rect her taste, and render much of her language less obscure. Indeed, in spite of her wide reading, one can but form the im- pression from perusing her writings that "she did not receive a thorough and systematic mental training. Had she been able to receive the drill of the grammar school and university she might have used her extraordinary natural gifts to far greater advantage. Miss Barrett's first published volume was a small book en- titled "An Essay upon Mind xmd other Poems," published in 1826. The "Essay on Mind" Avas an ambitious and imma- ture production, in heroic verse, which the author omitted from the collection of her poems which she afterward made, and which is in consequence rarely to be found. A critic in the "Edinburgh Eeview" speaks of it as neither possessing much intrinsic merit nor giving great promise of originality, but as "remarkable for the precocious audacity with which it deals with the greatest names in literature and science." In 1833 she published a translation of the "Prometheus Bound" of ^schylus. This translation was severely criti- cised at the time of its publication, and Miss Barrett herself ELIZABETH BARKETT BROWNING. 225 was so dissatisfied with it that she executed an entirely new version, which was included in a subsequent collection of her poems. In 1835 she formed an acquaintance with Mary Russell Mitford, which soon ripened into intimacy. To this intimacy the public are indebted for Mrs. Browning's charming little poem, addressed "To Flush, my Dog" (Flush was a gift from Miss Mitford) , and for the oft-quoted description of Miss Barrett as a young lady in her friend's " Recollections of a Literary Life." This sketch is so graphic, and gives so much information not elsewhere to be found, that we must quote from it a few extracts. Miss INIitford thus describes her friend as she appeared at the age of twenty-six : — " Of a slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on either side of a most expressive face, large, tender eyes, richly fringed by dark eyelashes, a smile like a sun- beam, and such a look of j'outhfulness that I had some diffi- culty in persuading a friend that the translatress of the ' Pro- metheus ' of iEschylus, the authoress of the 'Essay on Mind,' was old enough to be introduced into company." The next year Mrs. Browning met with that unfortunate accident which, with the jet sadder casualty of which it was the indistinct occasion, cast a dark shadow over her life. A blood-vessel was ruptured in one of her lungs. A milder climate being deemed necessary for her recovery, she went, in company with her eldest and favorite brother, to Torquay. There she remained nearly a year, and was rapidly gaining in vigor, when that sad event occurred which nearly killed her by its shock, and saddened much of her future life. Her brother was drowned while on a sailing excursion, within 15 226 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. si2:Iit of the windows of the house in which she lived. Even his body was never found. "This tragedy," writes her friend, " nearly killed Elizabeth Barrett. She was utterly prostrated by the horror and the grief, and by a natural but most unjust feeling that she had been in some sort the cause of this great misery She told me herself that, during the whole winter, the sounds of the waves rang in her ears like the moans of one dying." The depth of her anguish may be imagined from the fact that, as another friend tells us, when about to be married ten years after, she exacted from her husband a promise never to refer to her brother's death. So prostrated in body was she by this calamity that a year elapsed before she could be removed by slow stages to her father's house in London. There she lived for seven years, confined to a darkened room, at times so feeble that life seemed almost extinct, but struggling against debility and suffering with almost unexampled heroism. There she continued her studies, having a Plato bound like a novel to deceive her physician, who feared that mental application would react injuriously upon her enfeebled frame. There she wrote, while lying on a couch, unable to sit erect, the poem of "Lady Geraldine's Courtship "in twelve hours, in order that the volume of her poems to be published in this country might be completed in season to catch the steamer. From that sick chamber went forth poems sufficient in quantity to he the result of industrious application on the part of one in good health. And though these poems bear marks of the peculiar circumstances in which they were written, in a some- what morbid tone, they show no trace of debility in thought or imasrination. Mrs. Brownino^ has written no " Li Memo- riam" to tell in melodious notes the story of her grief. No direct allusion to it is made, if we mistake not, in her poems. She does not, like most of the poets of her sex, brood plain- tively over her woes, and sing over and over again, in slightly ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 227 altered form, the melancholy strain, "I am bereft, and life is dark." Her nature was too strong thus to allow grief to take possession of it. Sorrow deepened and elevated her nature, instead of mastering it. There was in her none of the egotism of grief. She threw her whole soul with redoubled ardor into her high vocation, finding consolation where great souls have always found it — in noble work. And yet, though there is not the least trace in her writings of an egotistical brooding over grief, there is abundant evidence in them of the deep suffering through which she passed. It would be diffi- cult to find a nobler expression of great sorrow, bravely en- dured, than is afforded by her sonnets on "Comfort," "Sub- stitution," " Bereavement," and "Consolation." These simple but majestic records of her grief are far more affecting, be- cause they are far less labored and artistic, and seem to come more directly from the heart, than the mournful beauty of the "In Memoriam." In 1838 Mrs. Browning published "The Seraphim and other Poems," and in 1844 a collection of her Poems in two volumes, including the "Drama of Exile." The reception with which these poems met in England was, though not highly flattering, certainly very fiir from discouraging. Their faults were severely but not unjustly criticised, and full recognition was given to their merits. The " Quarterly Review " for 1840 concludes an article in which are criticised the M^orks of nine female poets, who are now nearly or quite all forgot- ten, except Mrs. Browning, in these words : "In a word, we consider Miss Barrett to be a woman of undoubted genius and most unusual learning, but that she has indulged her in- clination for themes of sublime mystery, not certainly with- out great power, yet at the expense of that clearness, truth, and proportion which are essential to beauty. At about this time Leigh Hunt speaks of her in the follow- ing lanffuaofe : — 228 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. " Miss Barrett, whom we take to be the most imaginative poetess that has appeared in England, perhaps in Europe, and who will grow to great eminence if the fineness of her vein can but outgrow a certain morbidity." In our own country Mr. E. P. Whipple wrote, that, — ' " Probably the greatest female poet that England has ever produced, and one of the most unreadable, is Elizabeth B. Barrett. In the works of no woman have we ever observed so much grandeur of imagination, disguised as it is in an elaborately infelicitous style. She has a large heart and a large brain, but many of her thoughts are hooded eagles." It seems to us that these critics dealt very justly with Mrs. Browning. The faults of the two largest poems which she had published were glaring and extremely oflfensive to a cor- rect taste. " The Seraphim " is a dialogue between two angels who are witnessing the crucifixion, and giving utterance to their emotion as they gaze upon the awful spectacle. The very thenae of the poem is enough to show that it must be a failure. The task of depicting the feelings which that stupendous sacrifice awakened in seraphic souls, is one which no one of our race should attempt. What do we know of -the workings of angelic natures? If, as Mrs. Browning so often tells us, truth is an essential quality of jDoetry, how can we look for poetry where there is no basis on which truth can rest? A poet of imperial imagination, like Milton or Dante, may successfully introduce angels as actors in an epic poem, where the interest centres in what is done, and in w^hich there is a groundwork of human action, and the most prominent actors are men ; but is not this far different from attempting to depict dramatically the working of angelic natures ? As might naturally be expected, therefore, the "Seraphim" is a failure. It is extravagant, mystical, and, in some places, . ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 229 very unpleasant, by reason of its efforts to depict what should be forever left unattempted by human pencil. To speak plainly, the freedom with which Mrs. Browning in these earlier poems attempts to describe the Deity is ex- ceedingly shocking to a reverent soul. Of course this free- dom is merely an error of taste, and is rather the attempt of a vivid faith and ardent love to realize their object, than of a self-confident spirit to win praises for itself by vividly setting forth the glories of its Maker ; but good taste and a true rev- erence alike protest against it. The " Drama of Exile " shows greater imaginative power and deals with a more approachable subject than the " Ser- aphim," but is hardly less open to criticism. It is based upon the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the garden of Eden. The following is an outline of its plot : The poem opens with an exulting soliloquy by Lucifer, which is interrupted by the entrance of Gabriel. In the colloquy which ensues between them the fallen angel exults over his success, and Gabriel meets his taunts with pitying scorn, and bids him de- part and " leave earth to God." The scene then changes. Adam and Eve appear in the distance, flying across the glare made by the flaming sword, and are followed in their flight by a lamentation and farewell, chanted by a chorus of Edeu spirits ; the spirits of the trees, the rivers, the birds and the flowers each in turn taking up the song. The scene now changes to the outer extreipiity of the light cast by the flaming sword. There Adam and Eve stand and look forward into the gloom. Eve, in an agony of remorse, throws herself upon the ground, and begs her husband to spurn her, his se- ducer, from him forever. • Adam raises and comforts her, and assures her of his forgiveness and continued love. A chorus of invisible angels, who had ministered to their pleasure in Eden, then chant the exiles a"fliiut and tender" farewell. JL(Ucifer now appears upon the scene, and taunts his victims 230 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. npon their ruin, until he is interrupted and driven away by a lament coming from his lost love, the morning star. In the next scene Adam and Eve have advanced farther into a wild, open country. As they stand lamenting their fate, they are confronted by twelve shadowy creatures, which are the projections of the signs of the Zodiac, — the ram, the bull, the crab, the scorpion, etc. To let the poet state her own obscure conception : — " Not a star pricketh the flat gloom of heaven; But girdling close our nether wilderness, The zodiac figures of the earth loom slow, Drawn out as suiteth with the place and time In twelve colossal shapes instead of stars." Their attention is drawn from these by two spirits, of whom one calls itself "the spirit of the harmless earth," and the other "the spirit of the harmless beasts," who mourn the ruin that man has brought upon them, and, joined and as- sisted by Lucifer, revile the wretched pair for the curse they have brought upon God's fair creation. "When they have driven Adam and Eve to a frenzy of agony, Christ appears, rebukes the earth-spirits and commands them to become man's comforters and ministers, foretells the redemption which He will accomplish for the race, and bids our first parents, — " In which hope move on, Pirst sinners and first mourners ; love and live, Doing both nobly because lowlily." The earth-spirits promise obedience and disappear. A chorus of angels then chants the promise of immortal life to mortals, and thus the drama ends. We have given the plot of the " Drama of Exile " at some length, that the reader may judge for himself of the justice ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 231 of our criticism when we say that, as a Tvliole, the poem is strained, extravagant, and unequal to its then:ie. There are some subjects which arc set apart for the great creative intellects of the race, and with which it is useless for any others of lesser grasp, however brilliant their powers may be within their own range, to attempt to grapple. Anything short of complete success in their treatment is failure. Their successful handling requires a sustained and steady elevation of imagination, as well as an occasional lofty flight ; it requires also the power of construction and arrangement, as well as of originating single great conceptions. Neither of these was given to Mrs. Browning. Her imagination could soar very high, but it could not, like. Milton's, float tnmquilly, support- ed by its strong pinion, in the clear upper air. Her genius seemed rather to emit brilliant flashes than to shed a steady radiance. The "Drama of Exile" contains many noble pas- sages. Some of its conceptions give evidence of great origi- nality and power. But passages in a poem written upon such a subject, which excite a reader's laughter by their extrava- gance, are Mai to its claims to be considered a great work of the imagination. Homer sometimes nods, but he never rants. It has been the unanimous voice of criticism, and cannot fail to be the opinion of every candid and intelligent reader, that in the "Drama of Exile "Mrs. Browning very often and very laughably rants. But those seven years of solitude and illness bore other and better fruit than the "Drama of Exile." Many of those beautiful short poems, on which Mrs. Browning's claims to our gratitude chiefly rest, are the fruit of that stern and protract- ed contest with extreme physical weakness and mental suffer- ing. Then was written " Lady Isobel's Child ; " a poem which combines more of Mrs. Browning's peculiar powers, — her tenderness, her clear vision into the spiritual world, her abil- ity to describe with wonderful vividness the appearances of 232 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. nature, and her skill in using the pictures which she paints to heighten emotional effect, — with fewer faults than almost any of her other poems. Then, also, was written "Bertha in the Lane," — the simplest and sweetest of her poems ; and the "Rime of the Duchess May," — a poem whose vigor of movement and graphic picturing no woman has equalled and few men have surpassed. Then was written the "Cry of the Children," which will rank with those few noble poems, in which genius utters, in its own thrilling tones, the cry of a humble and neglected class for relief. Then was written "The Dead Pan," — a poem full of noble truth as well as beauty ; a poem which gladly bids farewell to the old classic fables in which beauty was once enshrined, because a higher beauty is found in the truth and spiritual illumination of to-day. What nobler creed for a poet than this : — " What is true and just and honest, AVhat is lovely, what is pure, — All of praise that hath admonished , All of virtue, shall endure ; These are themes for poets' uses, Stirring nobler than the muses, Ere Pan was dead." We cannot find a more suitable place than this in which to speak of a prose work of Mrs. Browning's, published after her death, but originally printed in the "London Athenaeum" in 1842, entitled "Essays on the Greek Christian Poets and the English Poets." It is written in a terse and vigor- ous style, disfigured here and there by a harsh or unpleasant fio-ure or strained metaphor, but possessing sufficient merit to show that their author might have attained a high rank as a l^rose writer. Their most noticeable merit is a certain felicity in putting subtle spiritual thought into language. They ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 233 are of especial interest to the student of Mrs. Brownino-'s jDoetry, as giving, in connection with her judgment upon most English poets, her theory of the true nature of the poetic art. This theory, which is closely allied to the theory of the real- ists in painting, maj' be stated as follows : There is poetry wherever God is and the M'orks of God are. There is as true poetry in man and whatever pertains to man, of whatsoever grade of society or degree of cultivation, as in the grandest objects of nature. The poet must delineate what he sees and express what he feels. As Mrs. Browning herself afterward finely says in "Aurora Leigh " : — •' Never flinch, But still, unscrupulously epic, catch Upon the burning lava of a song, The full-veined, heaving, double-breasted age, That when the next shall come the men of that May touch the impress with reverent hand and say, Behold, — behold the paps we all have sucked. This is living art. Which thus presents and thus records true life." • And again, with reference to that part of the poet's ofSce "which has to do with the expression of his inner nature, she says : — " The artist's part is both to be and do, Transflxiug with a special, central power The flat experience of the common man. And turning outward with a sudden wrench, Half agony, half ecstasy, the thing He feels the inmost." Describe what you see and tell what you feel, is, then, the sum of Mrs. Browning's poetic creed. We can but think that this theory of the poetic art leaves out of view one of its 234: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. most important features, which is the elaborating thoughts and conceptions into symmetrical form ; using them as the plastic material out of which to construct a polished, perfect work of art. The old Greek conception is right : the poet is the maker, not the reflector. We have a right to demand more of the poet than a fjxithful record of the impressions made upon any or all of his sensibilities. We have a right to demand melody, clearness, symmetry of design, proper join- ing of parts, — all the results of the severest taste guided by unremitting diligence. A poem should not be an incoherent and rugged rhapsody ; it should join to all the freshness of nature the smoothness of the highest art. In 1846 Mrs. Browning left her sick-room (she was liter- ally assisted from her couch) to become the wife of Eobert Browning. We have not the space to enter into any discus- sion of Mr. Browning's rank as a poet. It is sufficient for our purpose to say that, though his poems find a much nar- rower circle of readers than those of his wife, the most cul- tivated and appreciative critips pronounce them to be of a higher order of merit than hers, and in many of the rarer and finer qualities of poetry superior to the works of any living poet. It is enough for those who have learned to love Mrs. BrowninsT throuofh her writins^s to know that those who have known and loved both husband and wife pronounce the hus- band not unworthy in nobility of soul as well as in depth of intellect of such a wife. And not to be unworthy of such a woman's love is indeed to be great ! In a series of sonnets, slightly disguised by their title, " Sonnets from the Portuguese," written to her husband before their marriage, she has poured out the wealth of her love, and at the same time displayed the loftiness and delicacy of her nature. Whoever wishes to know Mrs. Browning should study carefully these beautiful and artless poems, which tell the most sacred feelings of a woman's heart with such sim- ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 235 plicity and truthfulness and freedom from false shame that the most fastidious taste cannot be offended by their recital. Nor are they interesting alone from the insight which they give us into the heart of their author. They are of unique interest, because they give us the revelation of a great woman's love. They set before us an affection which com- bines, with the passionate fei-vor of man's devotion, a clinging, self-renouncing tenderness which is peculiar to woman. They reveal to us a love unselfish in its essence, distrusting only its own worthiness and suiBiciency to satisfy its object, and longing to be swallowed up in his larger nature. How false in the presence of such desire for self-renunciation on the part of so highly-gifted a nature appears the common cant that culture and genius and strong thought injure the finer qualities of a woman's soul ! What better refutation to this theory than such lines as these :■ — ♦' A heavy heart, beloved, have I worn, Erom year to year, until I saw thy face, And sorrow after sorrow, took the place Of all those natural ^oys as lightly worn As the stringed pearls, — each lifted in its turn By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring And let it drop adown thy calmly great Deep being ! Fast it sinketh, as a thing • "Which its own nature doth precipitate, While thine doth close above it, mediating Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate." "From their wedding day," writes a friend, " Mrs. Brown- ing seemed to be endowed with new life. Her health visibly improved, and she was enabled to make excursions in Eng- land prior to her departure for the land of her adoption, — Ital}^, — where she found a second and a dearer home." 236 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. She lived some time at Pisa, and thence removed to Flor- ence, where the remainder of her life was passed. "For nearly fifteen years," says the writer from whom we have quoted above, "Florence and the Brownings were one in the thoughts of many English and Americans." Mrs. Browning's poems, for many years before her death, were more widely and heartily admired by American than by English readers. Her love of liberty and generous sym- pathy with all efforts to elevate the race made America dear and Americans welcome to her. Her conversational powers were of the highest order. It was but natural, therefore, that her house should attract many American travellers to discuss with this little broad-browed woman those " great questions of the day," which we are told "were foremost in I^er thoughts and, therefore, oftenest on her lips." Mrs. Browning's afi*ections soon took root in Italy. The depth and fervor of the love which she bore her adopted country was such as man or woman have rarely borne for native land. It had the intensity of a personal attachment with a moral elevation such as love for a single person never has. It glows like fire through all her later poems. Would that we had had a poet who had sung the heroism and sufieriug of the late war in strains of such power and pathos as those in which "she sang the song of Italy." Her love for her adopted country was not a mere romantic attachment to its beauty and treasures of art and hisforio associations. It was a practical love for its men and women. She longed to see them elevated, and therefore she longed to see them free. Her afi*ection for Italy found its first expression in " Casa Guidi Windows," which was published in 185).. "This poem," says the preface, "contains the impressions of the writer upon events in Tuscany of which she was a witness. It is a simple story of personal impressions ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 237 whose only value is in the intensity with which they were re- ceived, as proving her warm affection for a beautiful and un- fortunate country, and the sincerity with which they were related, as indicating her own good faith and freedom from partisanship." The poem consists of two parts, the former of which (written in 1848) describes the popular demonstrations in Florence occasioned by the promise of Duke Leopold II. to grant a constitution to Padua. It goes on from this to call upon Italy to free her conscience from priestly domina- tion, and her person from Austrian rule. It calls for a de- liverer to break the fetters of priestcraft and tyranny. It asks the sympathv of all EurojDean nations, each of which is so deeply indebted to Italy for literature and art : — " To this great cause of southern meu, who strive In God's name for man's rights, and shall not fail." The second part of the poem, written three years after- ward, when Leopold had proved false, and the constitutional party had been crushed, describes the return of the Duke to Florence under the protection of Austrian bayonets, and gives Ubterance to the execrations of the despairing patriots of Italy against "false Leopold," a treacherous pope, and a lying priesthood. The poet then goes on in a magnificent strain to accuse the nations who were then flocking to the " World's Fair " in London of gross materialism and insensi- bility to the sufferings of their own oppressed and miserable, and the wrongs of outraged Italy. She concludes thus : — " Let us go. "We will trust God. The blank interstices Men take for ruins he will build into 238 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. With pillared marble rare, or knit across With generous arches, till the fane's complete." In 1848 Mrs. Browning's son and only child was born. As before, she had thrown the sorrow of her early life, and the love which had followed and superseded it into her poetry, so this new and crowning affection found its fit and full expres- sion in her verse. Before, it was the wife who wrote ; now, it is the wife and mother. Her love for her child deepened and intensified her love for humanity. It strengthened her faith in God. It made her love him with that love which only mothers know. And as her poetry was the expression of what was noblest and deepest in her nature, it could but follow that it should be full of the evidences of this its best affection. In the "Casa Guidi Windows," speaking of perjured Duke Leopold, she says : — " I saw the man among his little sons ; Ilis lips were warm with kisses while he swore ; And I, because I am a woman, I, Who felt my own child's coming life before The prescience of my soul, and held faith high, — I could not bear to think, whoever bore, That lips, so warmed, could shape so cold a lie." The world has seen many greater poets, but it has never seen one who thus clothed noble womanhood in noble verse. And in the same strain is the apostrophe to her little son in the last part of the poem, of which we would gladly quote the whole, but are obliged to content ourselves with these few lines : — " Stand out my blue-eyed prophet, thou, to whom The earliest world-daylight that ever flowed Through Casa Guidi windows chanced to come I And be God's witness that the elemental ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 239 New springs of Jife are gushing everywhere, To cleanse the water-courses and prevent all Concrete obstructions which infest the air 1 " Had jNIrs. Bowning died childless she never could have written that noble poem entitled "Mother and Poet," in ■which she .has expressed so powerfully the anguish of that Italian poetess, whose two sons fell fighting for Italian liberty. Nor could she have written "Only a Curl," that touching, ex- quisite poem written to console two bereaved friends in America. Those who are fond of making comparisons will find a good opportunity for the exercise of their ingenuity la comparing this little poem with that of Tennyson entitled "To J. S.," likewise written to comfort an afflicted friend. That of the laureate is a far more beautiful work of art ; after rcadins: its melodious lines Mrs. Browninsr's verses sound rugged and harsh. Its writer's sympathy and love are expressed with exquisite delicacy and pathos. Its meta- phors are full of beauty. Under ordinary circumstances one would read it with far more pleasure than"0nl3^a Curl.'' But the latter poem, if it gratifies less the sense of beauty, is more richly fraught with consolation to a sorrowing soul. Its sympathy seems the more heartfelt for being less graceful. It does more than express sympathy. It carries the bereaved to the 'source of all comfort. It inspires him with the writer's lofty faith. It lets a ray of heavenly light into his soul. The contrast between the two poems can be best exhibited by quoting a verse of each. One of the concluding verses of Tennyson's poem is this : — " Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace, Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul; While the stars burn the winds increase, And the great ages onward roll." That of Mrs. Browniuir : — 240 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. So look up, friends 1 you who indeed Have possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need Be more earnest than others are, speed Where they loiter, persist where they cease." It is easy to decide "which of the two stanzas is more beau- tiful ; and it is not difficult to determine which is in its essen- tial aontents the nobler. In 1856 "Aurora Leigh" was published. This poem, which Mrs. Browning calls " the most mature of my works, and that into which my highest convictions upon life and art have entered," was finished in England, under the roof of the Tri'iter's cousin and friend, John Kenyon, — to whom it is dedicated. Mv. Kenyon was a genial and cultivated gentle- man, the author of several graceful poems. He died in 1858, leaving his cousin a considerable addition to her fortune. "Aurora Leigh " is a social epic, — a sort of novel in blank verse. The following is a brief outline of its plot : Aurora Leigh, the heroine, who is represented as telling the story of her life, is a lady of Italian birth, the daughter of an English gentleman, who, while making a brief visit to Florence, fell in love with and married a beautiful Italian woman. Aurora lived in Italy until thirteen years old, when, her parents having both died, she was taken to England, to live with her father's sister. This aunt, a prim, rigid, and stony person, endeavors, by subjecting Aurora to rigid discipline and the orthodox young lady's education, to eradicate the Italian nature which she had inherited from her mother, and mould her into a correct, accomplished, and commonplace Englishwoman. Aurora, though outwardly submissive, is se- cretly rebellious, and determines that her aunt shall neither crush out her life, nor make of her the flat, tame woman she designs her niece to become. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 24.1 Having found in a gaiTet a box of her father's books, she studies them secretly with great zeal. Fired by readino- the poets, she determines to become one of their number. Lead- ing thus a double life, outwardly submissive and demure, but secretly enjoying intellectual and spiritual freedom, she reaches the age of twenty. Then her cousin, Romney Leigh, a young man of talent and worth, whose soul is bent upon schemes for improving the physical condition of the poor, asks her to become his wife. Suspecting that a desire for an assistant in his philan- thropic labors, rather than love, has caused him to make this offer, she declines his hand. At this point, her aunt, who is determined that she shall marry Romnej^ suddenly dies. Romney renews the offer of his hand, and, this being refused, generously and delicately offers a large part of his fortune to his cousin, whom her father's foreign marriage has prevented from inheriting his estates. Sh6 refuses this also, and goes to London to write poems and live by their sale. Li course of time she obtains celebrity. She has no direct communica- tion with Romney, but learns, by occasional information de- rived from their common friends, that he is devoting himself with great zeal to lessening the sum of human misery. At length she is told that her cousin is about to many a young girl of the lowest origin, whom he has met with while carry- ing on his philanthropic labors. She visits this young lady, and finds her to be, in spite of her low origin, winning and refined. At her rooms she meets with Romney. lie explains to her his design in marrying this Marian Erie, which is to protest against the insuperable barrier which custom has raised between the different classes of societj'. To increase the effect of this strange union, Romney gives public notice that the marriage will take place in a L( ndon church. At the appointed hour the church is crowded with a mixed assemblage, composed of curious people 16 242 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. of fasliiou, and a large and foul delegation from the class to which the bride belongs. The hour arrives, but no bridal party appears. After some delay, Komney enters alone, and announces that his mtended bride has fled. The mob swear that she has been abducted by Roraney's friends, to prevent the marriage, and a riot ensues, which is quelled by the police. Some time after Marian's flight, a report is circulated and generally believed by his friends that Romney has formed an engagement of marriage with Lady Waldemar, — a lady of wealth, rank, and beauty, but whose character is utterly de- void of moral principle. In the full belief of this report, Aurora Leigh, having published a poem which contains the full expression of her genius, starts for Italy. Stopping at Paris on the way, she meets upon the street Marian Erie. Accompanying her home she hears her story. Lady Waldemar (who had long cher- ished a secret love for Romney Leigh) had persuaded Marian that her affianced husband entertained no real affection for her, but was, in marrying her, sacrificing his own happiness on the altar of his social theories ; and that it Avas her duty to prevent him from performing this rash act by flight. Ac- cordingly she fled the country, under the care of a servant of Lady Waldemar, who conveyed her to a vile den in some French seaport, where she was drugged and outraged. Escaping them, she made her way to Paris, where a child is born to her. Aurora, after writing this story in a letter to a common friend of Romney and herself in England, taking Marian and her child with her, continues her journey to Italy. The party make their home in Florence. After some montlis had passed, Romney unexpectedly appears at their house. He tells Aurora what had happened in her absence. He had turned his country-seat into a phalanstery. It had been set on fire and burned to the ground. In rescuing one of his patients, ELIZABETH BAKRETT BEOWNING. 243 he had been stricken down by a falling beam. The injury had made him hopelessly blind. On hearing the story of Marian's innocence and betrayal, he has hastened to Italy, — come to fulfil his former contract of marriage with Marian. But Marian's love has been killed by the sorrow and shame through which she has passed, and she refuses to marr}^ him. And so, as Eomney has loved Aurora with unabated affection since his former offer of marriage, and as Aurora discovers that she has all the time unconsciously loved her cousin, they are married. Of course a very imperfect conception of the poem can be obtained from this meagre outline of the plot. This is the mere skeleton, which is to be covered with flesh and blood, and into which the breath of life is to be breathed. But a symmetrical body cannot be built u^jon a deformed skeleton. A great poem cannot be constructed upon an absurd and improbable plot. Its characters must act as human l)cings in the same circumstances might naturally be expected to do. They must talk like men and women, making allowance for the limitations under which the artist works. They must not be used as puppets, to express the thoughts of the writer, but whatever they say must be the natural expression of their own personality. And especially should this be the case when the scene of the poem is laid, not in the mythical past, but in the broad, clear light of to-day. An epic of the social life of our own time should faithfully reflect that life, by making probable characters talk and act in a natural manner. Almost its first requisite is that the story should be naturally put together, and pleasingly told ; that the characters should produce an impression of reality ; that the interest and power of the narrative should increase as the poem advances ; and that the whole story should tend toward one consummation, and leave upon the mind, when its perusal has been finished, the effect of a connected and symmetrical whole. 244 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Judged by this standard, Aurora Leigh cannot be pro- nounced a great poem. The plot is awkward and improbable. The author trifles with her readers by making Aurora declare in the early part of the poem : — " I attest The conscious skies aud all their daily suns, I think I loved him not ; nor then ; nor since ; Nor ever." And at the close of the poem : — " Novr I know I loved you always, Eomney." The events of the story are improbable and clumsily con- nected. They do not seem to flow out of each other, as do the occurrences of real life. They have not 'the semblance of probability. The adventures of Marian Erie, after her flight from England, are as absurd as they are disgusting. Eomney Leigh, with his sublime disregard of self, his wil- lingness to contract engagements of marriage to further his noble schemes, his ugly Juggernaut of philanthropy, under which he would crush the nobler affections of his own and other people's lives, — is a very absurd character, if he can be called a character and not a walking abstraction. It is not too much to say that the story ^ and characters of Aurora Leigh seem like a very clumsy and ill-contrived piece of mechanism intended to serve as a vehicle to convey the writer's impressions of the social life of to-day. But the poem only fails of the accomplishment of what is or should be its main design, — it is full of siiis against taste. Disagreeable conceits abound in it. Much of it is but distorted and quaintly expressed prose. It tells of disgusting crimes with oflfensive frankness. There is a class of crime upon which even philanthropy can- ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 245 not gaze too closely. "We have certainly a right to ask that crime of this sort, if iutrodiiced iuto a work of the imagina- tion, shall be so veiled as neither to shock our taste nor wound our sensibilities. But, notwithstanding all the faults which disfigure "Aurora Leigh," it is full of genius and power. It is not a great poem, but many of its passages are great. It contains much vigor- ous thought ; many profound spiritual truths delicately and forcibly expressed ; much noble description of natural scen- ery. It is a book to be read by detached passages rather than as a single work of art; and to one reading it thus it is full of interest and profit. Though not worthy of being the great work of Mrs. Browning's life, it must hold a high rank among the poems which the present century has pro- duced. In 1859 Mrs. Browning published a little book entitled "Poems before Congress." These poems, which contained eulogies upon Louis Napoleon for the assistance which he had rendered to Italy in her struggle for independence, and blamed England for lukewarmness toward the new nation struggling iuto freedom, were severely criticised by the English press. She was called disloyal to her native land, and was said to have prostituted her genius to eulogizing a tyraul: and usurper. How far her opinions as to Napoleon's character and motives in assisting Italy to freedom were cor- rect is a question iuto Avhich we will not enter here. Had she been living in the fall of 18G7, she would probably have found occasion to modify her opinion. But of the nobility of the motives which actuated her to write as she did, the following extract from a letter which she wrote to a friend affords ample evidence : — "My book," she wrote, "has had a very angry reception in my native country, as you probably observe ; but I shall be 24:6 EMINENT VfOMEN OF THE AGE. forgiven one day; and meanwhile, forgiven or uuforgiven, it is satisfactory to one's own soul to have spoken the truth as one apprehends the truth." It may readily be supposed that Mrs. Browning's deep love of liberty would have led her to take a deep interest in America. That this was indeed the case, her own writings and the testimony of her friends give us abundant evidence. "Her interest in the American anti-slavery struggle," says Mr. Tilton, "was deep and earnest. She was a watcher of its progress, and afar off mingled her soul with its struggles. She corresponded with its leaders, and entered into the fel- 'lowship of their thoughts." She wrote for a little book, which the Abolitionists pub- lished in 1848, called the "Liberty Bell," a poem entitled "A Curse for a Natron." Of this we will quote a single verse as a specimen : — " Because yourselves are standiog straight In the state Of Freedom's foremost acolyte, Yet keep calm footing all the time On writhing bond-slaves — for this crime This is the curse — write." Many years after she wrote to an American friend con- cerning this poem : — " Never say that I have cursed your country. I only de- clared the consequences of the evil in her, and which has since developed itself in thunder and flame. I feel with more pain than many Americans do the sorrow of this transition time ; but I do know that it is transition ; that it is crisis, and that you will come out of the fire purified, stainless, having had the angel of a great cause walking with you in the furnace." But she did not live to see her prophecy verified. The disease against which she had so long struggled, broke out ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 247 with new violence in the spring of 1861. So rapid was its progress that her friends did not realize her danger until death was near. She wasted away in rapid consumption, and died on the morning of the 29th of June. Her last words, or rather her first words when the heavenly glory burst upon her vision, were, "It is beautiful." Twentj'-three days after Cavour's death plunged Italy in mourning, and saddened the friends of liberty through the world. The impassioned poet and the heroic statesman of the new nation were both taken from it while it was on the v6ry threshold of its life. Had they both lived, the one would, by his resistless energy and far-sighted wisdom, have given the land so dearly loved by both a far nobler histcny for the other to sinir. The death of both was hastened, their friends tell us, by their grief at the peace of Villafranca. Such a poet and such a statesman were worthy of a nobler people. Mrs. Browning was buried in the English burying-ground at Florence. The municipio have placed over the doorway of Casa Guidi a white marble tablet, on wliich is inscribed the following beautiful tribute to her memory : — "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 with her verse a golden ring binding Italy and England. "Grateful Florence placed this memorial, 18G1." "To those who loved Mrs. Browning," says a friend in a letter published in the "Atlantic Monthly "for September, 1861, " (and to know her was to love her) , she was singularly at- tractive. Hers was not the beauty of feature ; it was the loftier beauty of expression. Her slight figure seemed hardly to contain the great heart that beat so powerfully within, and the soul that expanded more and more as one year gave place 248 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. to another. It was difficult to believe that such a fairy hand could peu thoughts of such a ponderous weight, or that such a 'still, small voice ' could utter them with equal force. But it was Mrs. Browning's flice upon which one loved to gaze, — that face and head Avhich almost lost themselves in the thick curls of her dark-brown hair. That jealous hair could not hide the broad, fair forehead, 'royal with the truth,' as smooth as any girl's, and " ' Too large for wreath of modern wont.' "Her large brown eyes were beautiful, and were, in truth, the windows of her soul. They combined the contidingness of a child with the poet-passion of heart and of intellect, and in gazing into them it was easy to see 2ohy Mrs. Browning wrote. God's inspiration was her motive-power, and in her eyes was the reflection of this higher light." The same friend continues : — " ]\Irs. Brownino^'s conversation was most interestinsr. . . . All that she said was always worth hearing ; a greater compli- tnent could not be paid her. She was a most conscientious lis- tener, giving you her mind and heart, as well as her magnetic eyes. Though the latter spoke an eager language of her own, she conversed slowly, with a conciseness and point, which, added to a matchless earnestness that was the predominant trait of her conversation as it was of her character, made her a most delightful companion. Persons were never her theme, unless public characters were under discussion, or friends who were to be praised, which kind office she frequently took upon herself. One never dreamed of frivolities in Mrs. Browning's pres- ence, and gossip felt itself out of place. Your&c\^, not her- self, was always a pleasant subject to her, calling out her best sympathies in joy, and yet more in sorrow. Books and hu- manity, great deeds, and, above all, politics, which include ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 249 all the grand questions of the day, weve foremost in her thoughts, and therefore oftenest on her lips I speak not of religion, for with her everything was religion." We have expressed our opinion so full}' regarding the merits and defects of Mrs. Browning's poetr}', in the progress of this sketch, that we need do no more at its close than briefly sinii up what has been said. Rarely has so rich a ge- nius, such an affluent and powerful imagination, such an acute and original mind, such a passionate devotion 'to the poetic art, been so withheld from producing their worthy fruit, by want of suitable elaljoration and chaste and simple expression. Had Mrs. Browning's constructive faculty been equal to the wealth of her originating powers, and had she studied lu- minous expression, she might have given to the world one of those poems which are its perennial delight and inspiration. As it is, though she has written much that is full of beauty and power, her longest poems are least successful, and her fome must rest chiefly on her humbler efibrts. But in many respects she is the noblest poet of our time. In her poems as in no other does an intense love for God and man throb and palpitate. They glow as do no others with the " enthu- siasm of humanity." "Whethei i\\''\' sing of Italian patriots, or the ragged children of London, or the fugitive slaves of America, they have an intense moral earnestness, springing from an intense love of the race. And as Ave lament that the author's genius is inadequalci v "-'xpressed in her works, we thank God for the woman's soul wliose greatness no poems can express. 250 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. BY JAMES PARTON. There are those who think it unjust that we should bestow upon the children of song honors such as are seldom given to the most illustrious servants of their kind. What a scene does the interior of an opera-house present when a great singer comes upon the stage, or leaves it after a brilliant display of her talent 1 In Italy the whole audience spring to their feet, and give cheer upon cheer, continuing their vociferation for several minutes ; and it has occasionally happened that a great crowd has rushed round to the stage door and drawn home the vocalist in her own carriage. In these colder climes we bestow less applause, but more money. The favorite of the public who enchants us upon the operatic stage receives a larger income in the northern nations of Europe and America than England bestowed upon Welling- ton for maintaining her honor in the field, and larger than any nation has ever bestowed upon its savior. There may be some injustice in this. It is not, however, a part of the general scheme that the greatest sum of money shall be the reward of the greatest merit ; and we are gener- ally inclined to pay a far higher price for pleasure than for more substantial benefits. Life needs cheering. Among the thousands of our countrymen who gave three dollars, or five, or ten, to hear Jenny Liud sing four songs, who does not now feel that he received the worth of his money ? and who would JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 251 not gladly pay the sum again to enjoy that rapture once more? These soug birds, too, are among the rarest of na- ture's rarities, and rarities are ever costly. Before a great singer can be produced, there must exist a combination of gifts and circumstances. A line voice is only one of the requisites. The possessor of that voice must have received from nature an extraordinary physical stamina and a great power of sustained effort, as well as a considerable degree of taste and intelligence. The training of a great vocalist is one of the severest trials of human endurance, — so severe that no creature would submit to it unless compelled to do so by necessity or an overmastering ambition. I have heard young ladies try their powers upon the operatic stage, who had had what is called in New York a thorough musical education, and who had received from na- ture a sufficient voice. Before they had been three minutes upon the stage their incapacity would become so apparent as to be painful to the listener. They had every requisite for success except a five years' drill from some crabbed and un- relenting old Italian master. When, therefore, we burst into wild applause after the execution of a fine aria, and when we pay for its execution a thousand dollars, it is not the mere accidental possession of a voice which Ave so bountifully com- pensate ; it is culture, toil, years of self-denial, as well. The singers may be reaping the late reward of the greater part of a lifetime of most arduous Exertion. To no singer who has ever delighted the public are these remarks more applicable than to the subject of this memoir. The gift that nature bestowed upon her was beautiful, but imperfect, and a culture which we may well style heroic was necessary to perfect it. Jenny Lind is a native of Sweden. She was born at Stockholm, October 6, 1821. Her parents were respect- able, laborious, and poor — her father a teacher of Ian- 252 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. guages, her mother a 'school-mistress. Jenny was the first child of their marriage, and there was afterwards born to them a sou named John. There is a great difference in children as to the age when they can first sing a tune ; some children being unable to sing a bar of one until they are six or seven years of age. Jenny Lind, it need scarcely be said, was- not one of these. She could sing the airs of her native laud with correctness, and even with some expression, when she was but twenty months old . By the time she was three years of age singing was her delight ; she was always sing- ing; and she had the faculty of catching every song she heard, and repeating it Avith remarkable exactness. She was a lonely and timorous child. The absence of her father, who was abroad all day pursuing his vocation, and the constant occupation of her mother in her school, left her very much alone ; and during her solitary hours, her voice and her music were the unfailiug solace of her existence. The first nine years of her life were marked by no particular event. The Swedes are a musical people, and many children in Stock- holm, besides Jenny Lind, were fond of singing. When she was about nine years of age the silvery tones of her voice chanced to catch the ear of an actress, named Luudberg, who at once discerned its capabilities. Madame Lundberg went to the parents and told them how delighted she had been with the singing of their child, and advised them to have her educated for the opera. It so happened that the mother of the child, being a rather strict Lutheran, had a prejudice against the drama, and regarded going upon the stage as something dishonorable, if not disreputable. The talents of the child, however, were so remarkable that her .scruj)les were in part overcome, and she consented to leave the matter to the decision of Jemiy herself. The child was more than willing, and very soon Madame Lundberg had the pleasure of conducting her to one of the most noted music- JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 253 masters or Stockholm. M. Croelius — for such was the name of this teacher — was an old man ; and nothing delights a irood old music-teacher more than to have a docile and gifted pupil. He soon became an enthusiast respecting his new acquisition, and at length he resolved to present her to Count Piicke, man- ager of the King's Theatre. It is a custom in Europe for the conductors of royal opera- houses to educate and train promising pupils, and there is sometimes a school attached to the theatre for the purpose. When the opera-house in New York was built, something of the same kind was contemplated, and consequently the edifice was named "Academy of Music," — a title which it retains without having done anything to merit it. "When the enthusiastic Croelius presented Jenny Lind to the manager of the royal opera, that |3otentate saw before him a pale, shrinking, slender, under-sized child, between nine and ten years of age, attired with Sunday stiffness in a dress of black bombazine. The count, we are told, gazed upon her with astonishment and contempt. • • " You ask a foolish thing," said he. "What shall we do with that ugly creature ? See what feet she has ! and then her face ! She will never be presentable. No, we cannot take her. Certainly not ! " The old music-teacher was too confident of the value of the talent which the child possessed to be abashed by this un- gracious reception. "Well," said he, with some warmth, "if you will not take her, I, poor as I am, will take her myself, and have her edu- cated for the stage." The old man's enthusiasm piqued the curiosity of the noble manager, and he consented at length to hear her sing. Un- developed as her voice then was, it already had some of that rapture-giving power which it afterwards possessed in such an eminent degree. The count changed his mind, and Jenny 254 EMINENT WOMEN OP THE AGE. was at once admitted to the training-school attached to the royal opera.* There she had the benefit of highly compe- tent instructors, as Avell as the inspiring companionship of children engaged in the same pursuits. The pupils of the training-school were required, now and then during the season , to perform in little plays written and arranged expressly for them. It was in one of these, in the eleventh year of her age, that Jenny Lind made her first appearance in public. The part assigned her was that of a beggar-girl, — a character which her pallid countenance and slight person fitted her to represent. She acted with so much simplicity and truth, and sang her songs with such intelligent expres- sion, as to secure the fiivor of the audience in a high degree. She made what we now call a hit. Other children's plays were written for her, in which for two winters she delighted the people of Stockholm, who regarded her as a prodigy. At the height of her transient celebrity, her brilliant prospects clouded over. She observed with alarm that her upper notes grew weaker, and that her other tones were losing their pleasure-giving quality. By the time she was thir- teen years of age her upper notes had almost ceased to exist, and no efforts of her teachers could restore them. It was as though the heiress of a great estate were suddenly informed that her guardian had squandered it, and that she must prepare to earn her livelihood by ordinary labor. The scheme of educating her for the opera was given up, though she continued for four years longer to be an assiduous mem- ber of the school, studying instrumental music, and the theory of composition. One of the severest of her trials was being forbidden to use her voice, except for a very short time every day in very simple music. Her seventeenth birthday came round. The master of the * This anecdote and some other particulars are derived from " Queens of Song," by Ellen Creathorne Clayton London and New York, 1865. JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 255 training-school was about to give at the theatre a grand con- cert, in order to display the talents and improvement of his pupils. The chief part of this concert was to consist of the celebrated fourth act of "Robert le Diable," in which Alice has but one solo assigned to her, and that is not a favorite with singers. When all the parts had been distributed except that of the undesirable Alice, the director thought of l^oor Jenny Lind, and offered it to her. She accepted it and began to study the music. She had become a woman since she had last looked the terrible public in the face, and she be- came so anxious as the time approached for her reappearance, that she began to fear the total suspension of her powers. A strange thing happened to her that night. When the moment came for her to sing the solo attached to her part, she rose superior to the fright under which she had been suffering, and began the air with a degree of assurance which surprised her- self. "Wonderful to relate, her upper notes suddenly re- turned to her in all their former brilliancy, and every note in her voice seemed at the same moment to recover its long- lost sweetness and power. No one had anticipated anything from the Alice of that evening, and thunders of applause greeted the unexpected triumph. Except herself no one was so much surprised as the director of the school, whose pu[)il she had been for six years. Besides warmly congratulating her that evening, he told her on the foUowinginorning that she was cast for the important part of Agatha in "Der Frieschiitz." Great was the joy of the modest girl, conscious of her powers*, upon learning that Agatha, the very character towards which she had long felt herself secretly drawn, but to which of late she had hardly dared to aspire, was the one appointed for her first appearance at the royal opera. At the last rehearsal, it is said, she sang the music with so much power and expres- sion that the musicians laid down their instruments to give her a round of applause. 256 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. The eveiiiiif]: came. "We have an account of her debut from the pen of her friend and kindred genius, Frederika Bremer : — " I saw her at the evening representation. She was then in the spring of life, fresh, bright, and serene as a morning in May ; perfect in form ; her hands and her arms pecu- liarly graceful, and lovely in her whole appearance. She seemed to move, speak, and sing without effort or art. All was nature and harmony. Her singing was distinguished especially by its purity, and the power of soul which seemed to swell in her tones. Her 'mezzo voice' was delightful. In the night scene, where Agatha, seeing her lover coming, breathes out her joy in rapturous song, our young singer, on turning from the window at the back of the stage to the spec- tators again, was pale for joy ; and in that pale joyousness she sang with a burst of outflowing love and life, tliat called forth, not the mirth, but the tears of the auditors." * But her probation was not yet finished. After this dazzling success, she remained for a while the favorite of the Stock- holm public, adding new characters to her list and striving in every way known to her to remedy certain serious defects in her voice and vocalization. Miss Clayton informs us that her voice Avas origiiially w^anting in elasticity, which pre- vented her from holding a note, and made it difficult for her to execute those rapid passages and those brilliant efiects upon which the reputation of an operatic singer so much depends. Who could imagine this when hearing that wonderful execu- tion of her later years ? In her efforts to improve her voice while performing at the opera she overstrained it, and the public of Stockholm, limited in number and fastidious in taste, left her to sing to empty boxes. She felt the necessity of better instruction than her native city afforded. Garcia JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 257 was then liviug at Paris, at the height of his reputation as a trainer of vocalists. She desired to place herself under his instruction ; but although she had been a leading performer at the Stockholm opera for a year and a half, she was still unable to afford the expense of a residence in Paris. To raise the monej^ she gave concerts, accompanied by her fother, in the principal towns of Sweden and Norway. Her concerts were successful, according to the standard of Sweden ; never- theless, she was compelled to make the journey alone, while her parents pursued their ordinary labors at home. Her first interview with Garcia was disheartening in the extreme. "My good girl," said he, after hearing her sing, "you have no voice ; or, I should rather say, that you had a voice, but are now on the point of losing it. Your organ is strained and worn out ; and the only advice I can offer you is to rec- ommend you not to sing a note for three months. At the end of that time, come to me again, and I will do my best for you." Few readers can conceive of the dejection and tedium of such a period spent by this lonely girl, far from her home and country, and denied the consolation of exercising her talent. "I lived," said she once, "on my tears and my thoughts of home." At the appointed time she stood again in the master's pres- ence. He told her that her voice was improved by rest and capable of culture. She placed herself under his instruction, and profited by it; but, strange to say, Garcia never predict- ed for her a striking success, either because her voice had not yet regained its freshness, or the old master's ear had lost its acuteness. He used to say that if she had as much voice as she had intelligence, she would become the greatest singer in Europe, and that she would have to sing second to many who had not half her ability. 17 258 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Daring her residence at Paris, she had the honor of singing before Meyerbeer, who instantly perceived the peerless qual- ity of her voice. He arranged a grand rehearsal for her, with a full orchestra, when she sang the three most difficult scenes from three favorite operas. She delighted the com- pany of musicians and the great master who heard her, and she narrowly escaped being engaged at once for the Grand Opera of Paris. Her musical education was now complete. Returning home, she gave a series of performances at Stockholm, which enraptured the public, carried her local reputation to the highest point, and secured for her a pressing invitation to sing at Copenhagen. It seems that she was still distrustful of her powers, and shrank from the ordeal of appearing in a country not her own. Her scruples at length gave way, and she ap- peared before the Danes in the part of Alice, in "Robert le Diable." We have an interesting account of her success at Copenhagen, in the autobiography of Hans Christian Ander- sen, Avho not only heard her sing, but became acquainted with her. He says : — ''It was like a new revelation in the realms of art. The youthful, fresh voice forced itself into every heart ; here reigned truth and nature, and everything was full of meanino; and intelliojeuce. At one concert she sang her Swedish songs. There was something so peculiar in this, so bewitching, people thought nothing about the concert-room ; popular melodies, executed by a being so purely feminine, and bearing the universal stamp of genius, exercised an om- nipotent sway. All Copenhagen was in raptures." The students of the university gave her a serenade by torchlight, and she was the first to whom such a compliment was paid. Her success incited her to fresh exertions. An- JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 259 dersen, "uho was with her when this serenade Avas given, records, that after it was over she said, while her cheek was still wet with tears : — "Yes ! yes ! I will exert myself; I will endeavor; I will be better qualified when I again come to Copenhagen I"' It was at Copenhagen that she began to taste the noblest fruit of her exertions, — the delight of doing good. Ander- sen relates the first occasion of her singing for a Jjenevolent object : — "On one occasion, only," he says, "did I hear her express her joy in her talent and her self-consciousness. It was during her residence in Copenhagen. Almost every evening she appeared either in the opera or at concerts ; every hour was in requisition. She heard of a society, the object of which Avas to assist unfortunate children, and to take them out of the hands of their parents, by whom tliey were mis- used and compelled to beg or steal, and to place them in other and better circumstances. Benevolent people subscribed an- nually a small sum each for their support ; nevertheless, the means for this excellent purpose were very limited. 'But have I not still a disengaged evening?' said she; 'let me give a night's performance for the benefitof those poor children : but we will have double prices ! ' Such a performance was given, and returned large proceeds. "When she was informed of this, and that, by this means, a number of poor children would be benefited for several years, her countenance beamed, and the tears filled her eyes. "'It is, however, beautiful,' said she, 'that I can sing so!'" From this time forward, she knew little but triumph. When she left Stockholm again to enter upon an engagement 260 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. at Berlin, the streets were crowded with people to bid her farewell. At Berlin, the Countess Eossi (Madame Sontag) pronounced her "the best singer in Europe." At Hamburg, a silver wreath was presented to her at the end of a most brilliant engagement. At Vienna, her success was beyond all precedent, and when she reappeared at Berlin the enthu- siasm was such that it became a matter of great difficulty to procure admission to the theatre. We have heard much our- selves lately of speculation in tickets. After she had per- formed a hundred nights in Berlin, the manager found it necessary to issue the following notice : — *C3^ " Tickets must be applied for on the day preceding that for which they are required, by letter, signed by the applicant's proper and Christian name, profession, and place of abode, and sealed with wax, bearing the writer's initials with his arms. No more than one ticket can be granted to the same person ; and no person is entitled to apply for two consecu- tive nights of the enchantress's performance." After four years of such success as this, her popularity ever increasing, she accepted an engagement to sing in Lon- don. Her departure from her native city was attended by most extraordiuar}'' demonstrations. Her last concert in Stock- holm was given in aid of a charitable institution founded by herself, and the tickets were sold at auction at prices unheard of before in frugal Sweden. Many thousand persons, it is said, were upon the wharf when she sailed, and she went on board the steamer amid the cheers of the people and the music of military bands. She reached London in April, 1847, and soon began her rehearsals at the Queen's Theatre. When her voice was first heard in that spacious edifice at a rehearsal, no one was so enchanted as Lablache, the cele- brated basso. JENNY LIND GOLDSCIIMIDT. 261 "Every note," he exclaimed, "is like a pearl ! " She was pleased with the simile, and when they had be- come better acquainted, she reminded him of it in a very agreeable manner. She came up to him one morning at re- hearsal, and said to him : — " Will you do me the favor, Signor Lablache, to lend me your hat ? " Much surprised, he nevertheless handed her his hat, which she took with a deep courtesy, and, tripping away with it to the back part of the stage, began to sing an air into it. She then brought back the hat to Lablache, and, ordering that portly personage to kneel, she returned it to him wdth the remark : — "I have now made you a rich man, signor, fori have given you a hat full of pearls ! " Everything which a favorite docs seems graceful and pleas- ant. This trifliug act delighted the whole company. Three weeks elapsed before she appeared in London, during which the excitement of the public rose to fever heat, and when the eventful cvenins^ came the theatre was crammed to its utmost capacity. The Queen, Prince Albert, and many of the leading personages in England were present. She sang the part of Alice, in "Robert le Diable." Nervous, as she rtally was, she succeeded so completely in controlling herself, that she appeared to the audience remarkably self- possessed, and by the time she had completed her first aria every one present felt that the greatest singer of the time, if not of any time, was this stranger from Stockholm. "At its conclusion," said one of the critics, "she gave the 'Roulade' in full voice, limpid and deliciously sweet, and finished with a shake so delicate, so softly executed, that each one held his breath to listen, and the torrent of applause at the end bafiled description." Every succeeding efibrt was a new triumph, and when the 2G2 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. performance closed the audience were in such raptures that they behaved more like Italians than Englishmen. Her act- ing, too, at this time was greatly admired, and there was an air of simplicity and goodness about her which won every heart. It is not necessary for us to dwell upon her career in Eng- land, because there is nothing to say of it except that, every- where and in every character, she appeared to have all the success and glory which the stage affords. Such was the struggle for tickets that persons were known to come hun- dreds of miles to London on purpose to hear her sing, and- after spending several days in fruitless attempts to gain ad- mission to the opera house, return home without having heard her. At Edinburgh a concert was given, for performing in which she received a thousand pounds sterling, Lablache two hundred, and, another singer one hundred and fifty, and yet the managers cleared twelve hundred pounds. Her charities constantly increased in number and amount. In almost every place she gave a part of her gains to charitable institutions. After two years of continual triumph, she resolved to take her leave of the stage, and to sing thenceforth only in the concert-room. Her last performance was in May, 1849, when she played the part of Alice, in the presence of the Queen of England and an immense multitude of the most distinguished personages in England. Her fame had long ago crossed the Atlantic. In October, 1849, Mr. P. T. Barnum, who had recently returned home after a three years' tour with the famous General Tom Thumb, conceived the happy idea of bestowing upon his countrymen the delight of heariuo- the voice of the Swedish Nisfhtingale. "I had never heard her sing," he tells us. "Iler reputa- tion was sufficient for me." He cast about him at once for a fit person to send to Europe to engage the songstress, and soon pitched upon the right person, Mr. John Hall Wilton, JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 263 who had had some experience in the business of entcrtainino" the public. He was instructed to engage Jenny Lind on shares, if he could ; but he was authorized, if he could do no better, to offer her a thousand dollars a night for one hundred and fifty nights. Besides this, all her expenses were to be paid, including servants, carriages, and secretary, and she was to have the privilege of selecting three professional per- sons to accompany her. Mr. Barnum further agreed to place the whole amount of money for the hundred and fifty nights in the hands of a London banker before she sailed. When Mr. "Wilton reached Europe he discovered that four persons were negotiating with her for an American tour. All of these individuals, however, merely proposed to divide with her the profits, and none of them were in a position to guarantee her against loss. She frankly said to "Wilton, after she had sat- isfied herself respecting Mr. Barnum's character : — "As those who are trj^ing to treat with me are all anxious that I should participate in the profits or losses of the enter- prise, I much prefer treating with you, since your principal is willing to assume all the responsibility, and take the entire management and chances of the result upon himself." The negotiation did not linger. Mr. Barnum gives a lu- dicrous account of the manner in which he received the news that Jenny Lind had signed the desired agreement. He re- ceived the telegraphic dispatch in Philadelphia which an- nounced Wilton's arrival in New York with the agreement in his pocket, and that Mademoiselle Lind was to begin her concerts in the following September. "I was somewhat startled," he tells us, "by this sudden announcement, and feeling that the time to elapse before her arrival was so long that it would be policy to keep the en- gagement private for a few months, I immediately telegraphed Wilton not to mention it to any person, and that I would 264: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. meet bira the next day in New York. The next clay I started for that city. On arriviug at Princeton we met the cars, and, purchasing the morning papers I was overwhelmed with sur- prise and dismay to find in them a full account of my engage- ment with Jenny. However, this premature announcement could not be recalled, and I put the best face upon the matter. Beins: anxious to learn how this communication would strike the public mind, I informed the gentlemanly conductor (whom I "well knew) that I had made an engagement with Jenny Lind, and that she would surely visit this country in the fol- lowing August. "'Jenny Liud ! Is^he a dancer?' asked the conductor. "I informed the conductor who and what she was, but his question had chilled me as if his words were ice I Really, thought I, if this is all that a man in the capacity of a rail- road conductor between Philadelphia and New York knows of the greatest songstress in the Avorld, I am not sure that six months will be too long a time for me to occupy in en- lightening the entire public in regard to her merits." How well Mr. Barnum employed that time, most of us remember. Long before the great songstress landed all America was on the qui vive. On Sunday, September 1, 1850, at twelve o'clock, the steamer "Atlantic," with Jenny Lind on board, came to opposite the quarantine ground, and Mr. Barnum, who had been on the island since the evening before, was soon on board. " But -where did you hear me sing ? " Jenny Lind asked him, as soon as the first compliments had been exchanged. " I never had the pleasure of hearing you before in my life," said the manager. "How is it possible," she rejoined, "that you dared risk so much money on a person you never heard sing ? " "I risked it on your reputation," he replied, "which in JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 265 musical matters I would much rather trust than my own judgment." Mr. Barnum had made ample provision for her landing. The wharves and ships were covered with thousands of people on that pleasant Sunday afternoon to see her step on shore. A large bower of green trees and two triumphal arches cov- ered with flags and streamers, were seen upon the wharf, — the work of Mr. Barnum's agents. The carriage of that en- torprising person conveyed her to the Irving House, which was surrounded all that afternoon and evening with crowds of people. Mr. Barnum tells us that he had the pleasure of dining with her that afternoon, and that during the meal she invited him to take a glass of wine with her. He re- plied : — "Miss Lind, I do not think you can ask any other favor on earth which I would not gladly grant ; but I am a teetotaler, and must beg to be permitted to drink your health and hap- piness in a glass of cold water." Nineteen days elapsed before her first appearance in public, during which she was the centre of attraction, and the theme of every tongue. The acute and experienced Barnum, per- ceiving that his enterprise was an assured success, endeav- ored to guard against the oul}' driiiTor which could threaten it. Two days after the arrival of the nightingale he told her that he wished to make a little alteration in their agreement. "What is it?" she asTied, much surprised. "I am convinced," replied he, "that our enterprise will be much more successful than either of us anticipated. I wish, therefore, to stipulate that you shall always receive a thousand dollars for each concert, besides all the expenses, and that after taking fifty-five hundred dollars per night, for expenses and my services, the balance shall be equally divided between us." Jenny Lind was astonished ; and supposing that the propo- 2C6 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. sition was dictated by a sense of justice, she grasped the manager by the hand, and exclaimed : — "Mr. Barnum, you are a gentleman of honor! You are generous. I will sing for you as long as you please. I will sing for you in America, — in Europe, — anywhere ! " Mr. Barnum hastens to let us know that the change in the agreement was not the dictate of pure generosity. He feared that envious persons would create discontent in her mind, and he thought " it would be a stroke of policy to prevent the possibility of such an occurrence." The tickets for the first concert were sold at auction, and produced the astonishing sum of $17,864. Jenny Lind in- stantly resolved to give her portion of the proceeds to the charitable institutions of the city. The eventful evening came. Five thousand persons assembled at Castle Garden, who had paid for the privilege sums which varied from two dollars to two hundred and twent^^-five. It was the largest audience before which she had ever appeared, and she was considerably agitated. When the conductor of the concert led her foi-ward, attired in white, with a rose in her hair, the audience rose and gave her three thundering cheers, and continued for several seconds to clap their hands and wave their hats and handkerchiefs. She had a singularly pleasing way of acknowledging the applause of an audience. She had a timid, shrinking look, which ap- pealed powerfully to popular sympathy, and inflamed the enthusiasm of the spectators to the highest degree. The orchestra began to pla\' the prelude to "Casta Diva," — a piece which displayed all the power, all the thrilling sweet- ness, and some of the defects of her wonderful organ. Never had an assembly come together with such high-wrought expectations. Nevertheless,, those expectations seemed to be more than realized , and the last notes of the song were lost in the irrepressible acclamations of the people. JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 267 This success was th^ beginning of a splendid career in, America. Under Mr. Barnum's management, she gave ninety-five concerts. The total receipts were $712,161. The average receipts of each concert were $7,496. The sura received by Jenn}^ Lind was $176,675. Mr. Barnum's receipts, after paying her, were $535,486. Some of the tickets brought remarkable prices. The highest price paid for a ticket in New York was $225 ; in Boston, $625 ; in Providence, $650; in Philadelphia, $625; in New Orleans, $240 ; in St. Louis, $150 ; in Baltimore, $100. The price of seats, not sold by auction, ranged from three dollars to seven dollars. After enchanting the United States it remained for Jenny Lind to conquer the fastidious and difficult public of Havana. A striking scene occurred on the occasion of her first apj^ear- ance iu Havana. The people, it seems, were much ofiendcd by the unusual prices charged for admission, and came to the con- cert determined not to be pleased, — a circumstance of which Jenny Lind was ignorant. The sgene was thus described at the time in the New York Tribune : — "Jenny Lind appeared, led on by Signor Belletti. Some three or four hundred persons clapped their hands at her ap- pearance ; but this token of approbation was instantly silenced by at least two thousand five hundred decided hisses. Thus, having settled the matter that there should be no forestalling of public opinion, and that if applause was given to Jenny Lind iu that house it should first be incontestably earned, the most solemn silence prevailed. I have heard the Swedish nightingale often in Europe as well as America, and have ever noticed a distinct tremulousness attending her first ap- pearance in any city. Indeed , this feeling was plainly mani- fested in her countenance as she neared the foot-lights ; but when she witnessed the kind of reception in store for her, — 268 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. SO clifFereiit from anything she bad Reason to expect, — her countenance changed in an instant to a haughty self-posses- sion, her eye flashed defiance, and, becoming immovable as a statue, she stood there, perfectly calm and beautiful. She was satisfied that she now had an ordeal to pass and a victory to gain worthy of her powers. In a moment her eye scanned the immense audience, the music began, and then followed — how caul describe it? — such heavenly strains as I verily believe mortal never breathed except Jenny Lind, and mortal never heard except from her lips. Some of the oldest Cas- tiliaus kept a frown upon their brow and a curling sneer upon their lip ; their ladies, however, and most of the audience began to look surprised. The gushing melody flowed on, increasing in beauty and glory. The caballeros, the senoras, and senoritas began to look at each other ; nearly all , however, kept their teeth clenched and their lips closed, evidently de- termined to resist to the last. The torrent flowed faster and faster, the lark flew higher and higher, the melody grew richer and richer; still every lip was compressed. By and by, as the rich notes came dashing in rivers upon our enrap- tured ears, one poor critic involuntarily whispered a ' brava.' This outbursting of the soul was instantly hissed down. The stream of harmony rolled on till, at.the close, it made a clean sweep of every obstacle, and carried all before it. Not a Yestige of opposition remained, but such a tremendous shout of applause as went up was never before heard. "The triumph was most complete. And how was Jenny Lind aflected? She, who stood a few moments previous like adamant, now trembled like a reed in the wind before the storm of enthusiasm which her own simple notes had pro- duced. Tremblingly, slowly, and almost bowing her face to the ground, she withdrew. The roar and applause of victory increased. Encore! encore! encore! came from every lip. She again appeared, and, courtesyiug low, again JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 269 withdrew ; but again, again, and again did they call her forth, and at every appearance the thunders of applause rang louder and louder. Thus Jive times was Jenny Lind called out to receive their unanimous and deafening plaudits." Mr. Barnum gives his version of the story "I cannot express," he says, "what my feelings were as I watched this scene from the dress circle. When I wit- nessed her triumph, I could not restrain the tears of joy that rolled down my cheeks ; and, rushing through a private box, I reached the stage just as she was withdrawing after the fifth encore. "'God bless you! Jenny, you have settled them,' I ex- claimed. "'Are you satisfied?' said she, throwing her arms around my neck. She, too, was crying with joy, and never before did she look so beautiful in my eyes as on that evening." In Havana, as in every other large city in America, she bestowed immense sums in charity, and gave charity concerts which produced still larger benefactions. During her resi- dence in America, she gave away, in all, about fifty-eight thousand dollars. The precaution which Mr. Barnum had taken against the intermeddling of envious persons proved to be insufiicient, and, after the ninety-fifth concert, Jenny Lind desired the contract to be annulled, and to give concerts on her own account. The manager gladly assented, and they separated excellent friends. Mr. Horace Greeley, in one of his recent contributions to the " New York Ledger," adds an anecdote of Mademoiselle 270 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. § Lind's stay among us. It was at the time when the " Roch- ester Kuockings " were a topic of interest. "I called," said Mr. Greeley, " on Mademoiselle Jenny Lind, then a new-comer among us, and was conversing about the current marvel with the late N. P. Willis, while Mademoiselle Lind was devoting herself more especially to some other callers. Our conversation caught Mademoiselle L.'s ear and arrested her attention ; so, after making some inquiries, she asked if she could witness the so-called " Man- ifestations.' I answered that she could do so by coming to my house in the heart of the city, as Katy Fox was then staying with us. She assented, and a time was fixed for her call ; at which time she appeared, with a considerable retinue of total strangers. All were soon seated around a table, and the 'rappings' were soon audible and abundant. 'Take your hands from under the table ! ' Mademoiselle Jenny called across to me in the tone and manner of an in- differently bold archduchess. 'What?' I asked, not dis- tinctly comprehending her. 'Take your hands from under the table ! ' she imperiously repeated ; and I now understood that she suspected me of causing, by some legerdemain, the puzzling concussions. I instantly clasped my hands over my head, and there kept them until the sitting closed, as it did very soon. I need not add, this^ made not the smallest differences with the ' rappings ;' but I was thoroughly and finally cured of any desire to exhibit or commend them to strangers." Jenny Lind, like Miss Kemble, met her destiny in America. Among the performers at her concerts was Mr. Otto Gold- schmidt, a pianist and composer, whom she had formerly known in Germany, and with whom she had pursued her musical studies. Her friendship for this gentleman ripened into a warmer attachment, and ended in their marriage at JENNY LIND GOLDSCHMIDT. 271 Boston, in 1851. After residing some time at Northampton, in Massachusetts, they returned to Europe, where they have ever since resided. Occasionally, Madame Goldschmidt has appeared in public concerts, accompanied by her husband. She is now forty-seven years of age, and her voice is said to retain a considerable degree of its former brilliancy and power. Living, as she does, in great privacy, little is known of her way of life ; but that little is honorable to her. Her charities, it is said, are still bountiful and continuous, and she is as estimable a member of society as she is a shining ornament to it. The great secret of her success as an artist was well expressed by her friend, Jules Benedict : — "Jenny Liud makes a conscience of her art." 272 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE, OUR PIONEER EDUCATORS, BY REV. E. B. HUNTINGTON. To woman rather than to man, and to woman in this cen- tury rather than in any former one, belongs the credit of preparing the way for the future liberal education of women. Heretofore the aids to her education have been few and de- fective. A really liberal education for her has hardly been possible. Collegiate and University courses have been closed as^ainst her ; so that if occasionally a woman has succeeded in gaining the reputation of a, scholar, it has been mainly due to her own unaided exertions, — a triumph of her personal genius and will. We have reached a state of public senti- ment now, however, which, partially, at least, accords to woman the right to enter any field of literature or art, which she may choose ; and, to a certain extent, we are furnishing her with such aids as for generations have been furnished for her brothers. Already we are gathering excellent fruits from this ad- vance made in our theory and system of woman's culture. Our multiplied young ladies' seminaries and collegiate insti- tutions, and still more our colleges and professipnal scliools in which the two sexes are, to their mutual benefit, prosecut- ing together the studies which were formerly confined to only one of them, are important results already attained. Still maturer fruit we have, in the increasing numbers of -'^■'i-.V SART&l^- " MRS. EMMA WILLARD. 273 thoroughly ediicfited women who are now prepared to oc- cupy chairs of instruction, once filled only by the most hon- ored alumni of our best universities. We are coming to welcome woman's taste, and tact, and power, into every de- partment of our educational work, and we have much to hope from the new clement thus introduced. "Without at- tempting to name, even, the many eminent women whose personal attainments and services have contributed largely towards this result, we shall, in this chapter, briefly sketch the career of only two of them, who, by common consent, must be held to rank as pioneers in this most excellent work. MRS. EMMA WILLARD. First among the women, still living, who have attained high rank as professional educators, must stand the name at the head of this sketch. And this position, Mrs. Willard deserves whether we regard her as a pioneer, creating for herself, and her sexj a new place and rank among educators, or simpl}^ as an earnest and skilful worker, rendering eminent service in this field. That she is fiiirly entitled to this em- inence among the gifted women of our day, a very brief sketch of her career will fully show. The story itself is a true epic, needing onl}^ the simplest recital, — its main facts being more exciting than any fiction we should dare to invent. HER BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. Febniaiy 23, 1787, is the date of her birth; Samuel and Lydia (Hinsdale) Hart, her parents ; and a quiet country farm- house in the parish of Worthington, in Berlin, Connecticut, her birthplace. Born of the best New England stock, she in- herited tlae noblest qualities of her parentage. Her father, a man of unusual strength of intellect and will, was self- is 274 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. reliant, and well-read, in at least, the English literature of the times; and her mother a quiet and practical woman, gifted with native tact and shrewdness, gentle, firm, and efficient. The home they made for their children was just the home in which gifted children would like to be reared. And this home, more than anything else determined the character and success of Emma, their sixteenth child, whose record we are now to trace. Being one of seventeen of her father's children, and one of the ten whom her own mother had borne him, she early found in this large circle one im- portant means of her training. Let us enter that rural home. We will take an early evening hour, about mid-winter, and for the date it may be anywhere between her birthday and the year 1804, the date of her first attempt to teach. The scene we shall witness will best prepare us for what we are to learn of the great work of her future life. The children have already spent their six hours in their school. They have severally done up tjie chores which, in those primitive times, our children were supposed able to do. They had just finished with thanksgiving their relish- ful supper. The youngest of them have already dropped away into the sweet sleep of their night's rest. The huge wood fire glows warmly upon that happy home-circle gather- ing around it. The older children, all aglow with a joyful interest, finish the little story of their day's fun, and frolic, and work, and successively test their skill in reading aloud a few well-chosen passages from the selectest authors of the day. Then fiither and mother, no less joyful, add the bene- diction of their few words of approval, and their timely hints for correction. And now, for another half hour, or hour, if this be deemed needed, the father and mother — blessed mentors they ! — read, in their turn, aloud, and with the skill which long practice has given them, their lessons for MRS. EMMA WILLARD. 275 themselves aud their little flock. Milton chances, it may be, to be the classic now in hand ; and, as the magnificent word- picture opens before them, the very youngest of the group is stirred with fancies and thoughts which shall be to them the germs of thought for many a year to come. Happy, blessed group, for whose early years such a home is furnished ! What child of gifts could fail of largest fruit- age, whose bloom is amid such home sunsliine and warmth? Let us take one more lesson from that Worthington home ; and let the mother of the family be our teacher. Xotice with what womanly ingenuity she makes their slender re- sources ample for all their home wants, and even for the gratification of a cultivated home taste. Notice how thou2:bt- fully she provides for the poor family out under the hill, to whom the warm breakfast she sends them, makes the only glad hour of their poverty-stricken home. And then, when all these home and neighborhood duties are so skilfully dis- charged, she is not satisfied until she has given her children a lesson of thoughtful kindness to the little birds that are to sing for them. The refuse wool, which can be of no use to the family, she teaches her little ones how to leave about on the bushes for a hint to the charming warblers to build their fleece-lined nests near to the human home \yhich she would have i)lest by their sweet singing. And thus, this admirable home-training, with some two years of study in the village academy, then just opened un- der a skilful teacher, brought Emma forward to the begin- ning of her life-work. She had used her opportunities well. She had been required to think and plan for herself. Her powers of observation and her practical judgment had been equally taxed and improved ; and it is not too much to say, that, in literary attainment,- and still more, in ability to learn, she had exceeded her years. A young lady of fourteen, who, on a cold night in raid-winter, wrapping herself in her cloak, 9J6 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. with the horse-block for her observatory, could there by moonlight master the lesson of astronomy, which the merry song-singers in the house Avould leave her no opportunity there to learn, has already some elements of character which are the best pledges of success. ' • HER EXPERBIENTAL CAREER. She has now just passed her seventeenth birthday. Through the friendly solicitation of a neighbor, an intelligent lady, who, 'though more than twice her age, had found in her an equal, she was installed as teacher of one of the village schools. Her first day's experience here settled many a principle for her future course. The tact with which she beo"an would well have crowned the end of another teacher's professional career. With her, a difficulty once encountered was mastered forever. Discarding the rod as a means of discipline, after the second day's trial, she sought and found her way so directly to the hearts of her pupils ; she so skil- fully planned their exercises and their sports ; she so soon and so thoroughly excited their interest in their school duties, and so made this interest itself the only needed discipline, that her first school soon reported itself in all the neighbor- hood as a marvel of the times. She found herself, even thus early in her mere girlhood, crowned with the laurels of her first success. And now, for three years, in learning and teaching, a part of which time was spent in the excellent schools of Mrs. Eoyce and the Misses Patten, in Hartford, she was fast preparing herself for entering upon the great work of her life. And what was of especial value to her was the habit, then established, of prosecuting her own advanced studies while engaged in teaching those already mastered. , Such success soon attracted attention. The spring of 1807 brings to her calls from three important schools, in West- field, Massachusetts ; Middlebury, Vermont ; and Hudson, MRS. EMMA WILLARD. 277 New York. She accepted the Westfiekl call ; and as assist- ant teacher in the excellent academy of that town, she at once w^on for herself a good name. But Miss Hart Avas not the person to fill long a subordinate place. Before her fivst season was over, she had decided to accept the call from Middlebury ; and midsummer of the same year finds her at the head of her new school there. A year of "brilliant success " crowns this third experiment, and settles the ques- tion of her fitness for the work she had chosen. Local jealousies soon spring up, and the school, in spite of her great popularity, suffers ; yet even this opposition had its influence in training and disciplining her for a better and stronger work. While in this struggle, a new call is made upon her. Dr. John Willard, of Middlebury, a physician of good repute, and a man of solid political merit, had discovered the gifts and graces of the young teacher. Nor was he long in win- ning his way to her heart and hand. They were happily married in August, 1809, when, for a few years, her w^ork of teaching w^as interrupted. Pecuniary reverses soon came upon them ; and to aid in retrieving their fortune, ]Mrs. Willard, in 1814, proposed to return to her chosen profession. She opened in Middlebury a bcarding-school for girls. But she was also preparing for something more. She had, even then, detected how low and unworthy were the aims and results of that class of schools. She was especially struck with the difference between the collegiate course of a* young man, and the highest culture which the best schools of the day furnished for young women ; and the discovery had been to her a summons to a new work. With what enthusiasm she entered upon that work ! Care- fully reviewing the w^hole subject of woman's education, she drew up her plan for an enlarged course of study, corre- 278 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. spondiiig, as nearly as the different sexes would indicate, with the collegiate course for young men. But she found herself in advance of the age. Thfe leaders in public opinion were not yet ready for such a change. She fortunately finds her husband in full sympathy with her, and so takes heart again, as she goes on testing its feasibility. Working daily, ten, twelve, or even fifteen hours in her school duties, she still takes time to master new studies herself that she may in due time carry her pupils through them. And so, by exploring new fields of science and literature herself; by teaching and drilling her classes, as few classes of young ladies had ever before been drilled ; by adding to the old course new studies, and submitting the proficiency of her pupils to the criticism of the most learned men of the day ; and by skilfully win- ning over to her new ideas a few leading minds, she was pre- j)aring the way for a new era in woman's education ; making possible the establishment and support of the great collegiate institutions in which women may take rank in all literature with their most scholarly brothers. Some four years were spent in this preparation. Mean- while the unwonted stimulus thus furnished to her own board- ing-school had worked greatly in her favor. The fame of her experiment had gone far and wide ; and she was now prepared to take the first steps towards a permanent institu- tion in which her enlarged views and hopes could be more fully realized. The very location of the institution was a matter of careful thought ; and for it, the State of New York, and of that State, the neighborhood of the head- waters of the Hudson, was chosen. HER GREAT WORK. And now, in 1818, she is prepared for- her work. She has matured her plans, and secured strength for their execution. MRS. EMMA WILLARD. 279 She submits her proposals to the large-minded Goveruor Cliii- tou, of New York, with a special plea that ho woidd lay the matter in due form, audwith the weight of his approval, before the legislature. The very plan, which in 1814 had begun to shape itself to her eager search, sketched and resketched even to the seventh time, was thus, in 1818, submitted to the judgment of those who make and sustain the institutions of their age. Of the details of that plan we have not space to treat. It is due, however, to say, that down to this day, nothi'ig has been contributed to our educational literature which exceeds either the wisdom of its details or the elo- quence of its plea. The governor heartily approved the measures which it recommended. The legislature so far en- dorsed them as to incorporate an academy at AVaterford, New York, in which the founder might still more clearly show their feasibility. A still more important end secured by this movement was an acknowledgment, on the part of the legislature, that the academies in the State, designed for the education of women, were entitled to the same pecuniary aid as institutions of learning for the other sex; and a vote was accordingly passed appropriating their proportion of the literature fund to academies for girls. Xie cannot but feel that it was most fortunate for Mrs. "Willard that such a man as Governor Clinton was ready to second her aims. And yet, it is very certain, Ave think, that but for Mrs. Willard herself, her years of patient and zealous and skilful working, we have no reasons for believing, that for at least another quarter of a century, such concessions would have been made, even to so just a demand. In the spring of 1819, thus encouraged by the legislature, I)octor and Mrs. Willard opened their new school in a rented building in Waterford, New York. Their success was such 280 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. as to justify Governor Clinton, in his message of 1820, to al- lude to it in these terms : — " I cannot omit to call your attention to the Academy for Female Education, which was incorporated last session at Waterford, and which, under the superintendence of distin- guished teachers, has already attained great usefulness and prosperity. As this is the only attempt ever made in this country to promote the education of the female sex by the patronage of government ; as our first and best impressions are derived from maternal affections ; and as the elevation of the female character is inseparably connected with happiness at home, and respectability abroad ; I trust that j^ou will not be deterred, by commonplace ridicule, from extending your munificence to this meritorious institution." The citizens of Troy, attracted by the success of the Waterford school, proposed to furnish a building with suita- ble grounds for a larger institution there, if Mrs. Willard would consent to a removal. On the expiration of tlieir lease in Waterford, this proposal from Troy was accepted, and iK May, 1821, they took possession of the Troy property, which since that date has been used for the Troy Seminary thus es- tablished. The same industry and zeal in her profession, and the same progress in her personal culture marked the course of Mrs. Willard here as in her former schools. To the studies she had already added to the ordinary curriculum of the schools for 3'^oung ladies of that day, she now, after thoroughly mas- tering them herself, adds the higher mathematics, geometry, including trigonometry, algebra, conic sections, and Enfield's natural philosophy. With all this working she still found time for remodelling the science of geography and history ; and the results of this painstaking to furnish herself suitable MKS. EMMA WILLARD. 281 implements of her profession we had in Willard and Wood- bridge's popular Geography in 1821, and Mrs. Willard's " Tem- ple of Time and Chronographer of Ancient History." This ingenious design received a medal at the World's Fair in 1851. The certificate of testimonial, signed by Prince Al- bert, was no empty tribute to the eminent author, but rather a tribute to the substantial contribution to our aids in Icarninsf and teaching what ought to be the most fascinating, yet. what had notoriously become the most uninteresting, of all our studies. In entering upon her enlarged sphere of labors in Troy, Mrs. Willard found the gain of her preceding work. The young ladies whom she had taught, and who had caught something of the inspiration of her aims and zeal, were now already trained for her help. Her experience and practice had made the work of classification and management easy to her, and her great reputation, of itself, would go far towards making her success a certainty. She had scarcely settled herself to her work when an un- foreseen trial came upon her. Her husband, who, as head of the familj^ as physician and financial manager of the large household, and as her constant and intelligent adviser, had been a real partner and sharer of her work, after a painful sickness, died in 1825. On her rested now the great burden which he had borne for her. Yet, with a resolution more than we look for in woman, she did not hesitate. Rearranging her school terms, simpli- fying and methodizing her work, she could even add to her former duties the financial management of her school. She neither neglected the claim of the humblest pupil under her charge, nor any important item of business in managing the large establishment. Down to 1838, she thus continued the motive power and main spring of that first of American schools for young women. 282 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. And her reward was not long delayed. It came in the triumph of her own school. It came in the increased stimu- lus she had given to the cause of woman's education. It came in the readier facilities accorded to young women in our collegiate institutions ; and still more signally in those large institutions expressly for women which her success had made possible. We can now readily see how much South Hadley, Oberlin, Antioch, Packer, and Vassar are indebted to her pioneer work. While achieving this success at home, she had not been unmiudful of the claims of woman abroad. In 1830 she had souo-ht abroad the rest and health which her home duties re- quired, and the relief from her professional work gave her the opportunity to examine the educational condition of women in other lands. Her womanly heart was touched with the report which came to her of the degraded condition of woman in classic Greece, and on her return she organized a society in Troy to aid in establishing a school in Athens for educating native teachers. She prepared a volume of her European tour, giving the benefit of its profits to the Greek school. But the time at length came when it was necessary for her to retire from the pressure of these great burdens upon her. Her son, Mr. John H. Willard, who had grown up under a training which had specially fitted him for it, and his wife, who for nineteen years had been with her as pupil, or teacher, or vice-principal, now accepted the trust, and relieved her of its further care. But Mrs. Willard all these years had been not simply the practical teacher, but also a most unwearied student, and the opportunity is now afibrded her of prosecuting her studies with new zeal. She had been testing Dr. AVilliam Harvey's theory of the circulation of the blood, in which the heart is made the motive power, and she soon detected its fallacy. MRS. EMMA WILLARD. 283 She now sets herself to the more careful study of this inter- esting problem. With all the enthusiasm of a professional anatomist and physiologist, she explores thoroughly the entire field, and the result was a work on the "Motive Powers which produce the Circulation of the Blood." This treatise, pub- lished in 1846, arrested the attention of the medical faculty, and won for its author the reputation of a successful discov- erer. At the same time these investigations were going on, her feelings became deeply interested in the public schools of her native State. While on a visit to Berlin, she was asked to furnish her views on the subject of common-school education, to be submitted to the citizens of her native town assembled in an educational meeting. The paper she submitted showed so much wisdom, and indicated so true an interest in the com- mon schools, that the parish, by vote, put their schools for the year under her care. Her success in managing them was a marvel, and the schools, thus skilfully superintended, were referred to by Mr. Barnard, then as now, a prince among educators, as witnesses to what skilful management will do for schools. And so, by study and writings even to twelve and fourteen hours daily ; by stirring up educators and schools to more skilful and earnest working, both in Connecticut and New York ; by suggesting new plans and methods of teaching ; by projecting normal schools before the day of normal schools had come, — this woman, thoroughly alive to all that promised to advance her race, used more diligently her years of rest than most workers do the hours of their busiest working. And if the question is raised, how could one with only a "woman's strength sustain such eflforts, the answer will only lead us to still another field of her unwearied and painstak- ing labor. She worked for it. She studied carefully the condition and wants of her physical nature, and provided for 284 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. both. She trained even her muscles to their healthful and self-sustaining work. She wishes a clear, vigorous, lifeful brain, and she uses the only methods she could discover that promised it. See her, early in the morning, at her honest, earnest, muscular work. And when she has entered upon the mental labor of the day, see her, at the end of each two hours through the day, resting her toiling brain by vigorous physical exercise, until the equilibrium is restored. You need not fear for her, as she drops the sash of her study window, and facing the fresh cold breeze stands there exercising the muscles of her chest until her lungs have been satisfied with their needed food, and her blood freshly pours its health-tides throuo-hout her now reinviarorated frame. She has now worked her whole system up to working trim, and you need not wonder if, when she seats herself at her papers, she should record a thought or a theory which shall henceforth change and rule the thoughts and theories of men. It is really no marvel that one with such a physical and mental constitution as she inherited, with such skilful training as her very neces- sities had imposed on her younger life, and with the care which her maturer years had exercised over both her body and brain, should at fifty years of age give to the world her Troy Seminary ; at sixty, her original demonstration on the " Motive Powers in the Circulation of the Blood ; " at sixty- two, her treatise on " Kespiration and its Effects ; " and at sixty-five, a work on astronomy, which even the masters in the science were ready to endorse. It is no marvel, that, after having had an important part in the training of more than five thousand young ladies, she still found time and strength to become the teacher of the teachers of men. It is no marvel that at fifty-eight she could, in a journey of eight thousand miles, traverse a continent, rejoicing everywhere equally in the joy of her pupils and in the prosperity of the schools for young ladies which her influence had contributed MRS. EMMA WILLAItD. 285 to found ; nor that at sixty-seven she could cross the ocean, and mingle in the exercises and enjoy the honors of the World's Educational Convention, and thence make the tour of France, Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium tributary still to her zeal for observation and learning. But not alone in these literary and educational works has Mrs. "Willard used bier great powers. Her religious charac- ter has been also as carefully educated, and an effective Chris- tian culture has been a constant aim and triumph in her work. Uniting with the Episcopal church in Burlington, she has ever since been a devout and worthy communicant. In all her study and work, her appeal has been to God's word for her standard and law. She spoke with great deliberation iu her weighty charge to those whom she would commission with the solemn trust of teachers, when she said to them, in all the seriousness of her earnest convictions : " So far, however, from depending on set times for the whole discharge of the duty of training the young to piet}"- and virtue, you are, dur- ing all your exercises, to regard it as the grand object of your labors." Of her active and wide-reaching benevolence the record has been a private one. Yet many and timely have been her benefactions which the angel has recorded on hin^h. We know this much, that scores of the young women whom she has aided to secure the education, which, without such aid, they could not have secured, are still grateful for her quick sym- pathies and generous aid. It is safe to say that twenty thou- sand dollars would not now make Mrs. Willard's exchequer good for these offerings to the cause of woman's education. But we cannot linger longer on these lessons of her useful and honored life. Mrs. Willard is still living, and as we might, from all we have learned of her former life, expect, her latest years are not without their rich and worthj^ fruits. The serene dignity of age well befits now the form which 286 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. forty years ago was radiant with womanly beauty. Under the shadow in her own dear seminary, she can but rejoice in this proud monument of her life. Here, surrounded with the trophies of her life-work, em- bosomed in the love of those whose young affections she drew to herself, and cheered by that precious religious hope which has purified her life, long may she yet enjoy with us the rewards of her long life, so nobly and worthily spent for her sex and race ! MRS. MARIANNE P. DASCOMB. Hardly less positive need we be in assigning the second l^lace on our list of educational pioneers to the excellent and popular principal of the Ladies' Department of Oberlin College. Since 1835, she has held, in this Western institu- tion, a place of great responsibility, and during all those years she has shown herself every way worthy the confidence she has inspired. True she has never presumed to claim for herself any such position ; yet for this very reason she is all the worthier of it. True she may not have arrested the gaze of the world, like many another woman whose life has been a glittering show, yet we shall find her to be one of those quiet and silent forces, which are noiselessly working out the most useful and even the grandest problems of the age and race. Who has not noticed how men and women of exceed- ingly defective character, and even of very limited ability, are often lifted, in spite of themselves, into notoriety, and, for a while at least, enjoy a reputation for goodness and power, for which the unthinking world do not fail to honor them ? Or' who has failed to see how others, of great native MRS. MAEIANNE P. DASCOMB. 287 ability and of rarest excellence of character, have been so retiring and modest, or so overshadowed by showier pre- sumers, as scarcely during their lifetime to attract our atten- tion ? Has not noisy and blaring pretence always seemed at least to win its way more readily than highest merit?- — even as the lightning's flash is more sure of winning your attention than the most genial sunbeam of the loveliest morning. And, still, who has not also seen how certainly Providence at length reverses all this seeming experience of life ? Pie lifts the lowliest to the loftiest place. He makes the weakest the strongest. He confounds what men call wisdom, by establish- ing what they have pronounced folly. He, at length, brings worthy merit out of its obscurity into the clearest light; and, over the dazzle and glory of all mere gilded radiance, sooner or later spreads the pall which covers all its empty shams. And when this rectification comes, who docs not see how real was the merit before undiscovered, and how exceedingly thin and worthless the gilding which so dazzled the e^'^e? Possibly the sketch we here attempt may justify these reflections. We shall have to speak of a character which has never courted the world's notice, yet one to which the world is certainly under no small obligation. With no brilliant display of personal charms, no parade of talents, no exciting incidents to kindle to an impassioned glow our admiration, w^e shall still find, at every step in our review, ample reason for the place we have assigned to one of the world's true and faithful and successful workers. As a pioneer in establishing and sustaining the fullest curriculum of studies for woman yet reached, embracing a mental discipline as severe and thorough as that which has been required of young men, — especially, as pioneer in a movement which has done so much towards supplying our broad West with their great and efficient institutions for the advanced culture of woman, — she certainly deserves well of her sex and her race. Very com- 288 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. petent authority, Mrs. Caroline H. Dall, of Boston, has well characterized her fitness for the post of lady principal at Oberlin. "The splendid endowment of Vassar College," she says, " could not give to Oberlin a woman better suited to this purpose than Mrs. Dascomb." Let us, then, briefly trace the educational career of this gifted and successful woman. We must do this, in full knowledge of two special hindrances to our attempt, — the extreme modesty of Mrs. Dascomb's character, which shrinks sensi- tively from all public exhibition and criticism ; and the fact that her entire educational life has been so intimately asso- ciated with that of so many other educators, so that it may be difficult to decide of any particular result, how much of it is due to her agency, or what part of it she should share with her associates. Marianne Parker, a child of Christian parents, of good New England stock, which itself was of best English puritan blood, was born in Dunbarton, N. H., in 1810. She was the seventh of eight children, five daughters and three ?ons, whom her mother, Martha Teuney, had borne to her fatlier, "William Parker. At the early age of four she became fatherless; and with a large family of children, and but a small patrimony, was left to such care and culture as her mother, who was an excellent woman, could supply. The children were therefore, of necessity, early taught the lessons of economy and mutual helpfulness. The elder members of the family cheerfully fitted themselves to aid their mother in caring for the younger ; and these in their turn were trained in habits of thoughtful and helpful industry. It was thus that that interesting group were best disciplined and trained to lives of great usefulness. Those days of preparation were well and wisely spent. The physical and social culture then furnished was of incalculable value to them all. The necessi- ties which imposed such burdens may have been trying to MRS. MARIANNE P. DASCOMB. 289 both the mother and her young charge ; but its fruits in after years even until now have proved an exceeding reward. We cannot wonder when, in later years, we find how all of that group have worked themselves up into positions of honored usefulness, such as only earnest and intelligent workers can fill. How like the story of how many New England families of fifty years ago it reads ! Three of the sisters in due time became the wives of three ministers, and the fourth that of a j^rofessional and useful teacher. Of the brothers, the eldest, after graduating at college, became a successful teacher ; the second, on whom the care of the home and widowed mother fell, has done good service in the church and world ; and the third is still, as for the last quarter of a century, an approved minister of Christ. A whole family thus given to the cause of learning and religion is just the source from which we might expect a pioneer and leader, or at any rate an efficient promoter, of some needed movement in education or in ethics. And such a character we believe we have iu the subject of this sketch. From the first she gave indications of possessing large native ability. To her natural inquisitiveness was added clear and quick perception, with a corresponding fulness of the reasoning fiiculty ; and so, under the stimulus of the honie and early school culture which she enjoyed, she made rapid progress in acquiring knowledge. Nor was she deficient in such social and affectional qualities as are needed to consti- tute one the best and most serviceable of friends ; or to give one the firmest hold on the confidence andafiections of others, and so the most efficient power for good or evil over them. In early girlhood she is reported to us as " one of the best of playmates," and in maturer years we find her as sympathetic and afiectionate and persuasive as then ; while to these merely companionable qualities she has added the power and aiithority of a dignified and matronly grace. 19 290 EMINENT "WOMEN OF THE AGE. Her early school education was much like that of the ma- jority of girls of that day. Specially favorable to her prog- ress was the influence over her of Miss Chase, a sister of our present Chief Justice Chase, who w^as in her thirteenth year her teacher ; and also that of her brother-in-law, Eev. Thomas Tenney, who had charge of the Hampton Academy. After leaving the Hampton Academy, she prosecuted her education in various schools as pujjil or teacher, until, anxious to lay deeper and broader foundations for what she was coming to look upon as her future profession, — teaching, — she entered the Ipswich Academ}^ then in charge of Miss Grant, one of the ablest of our lady .teachers of that day. Here she grad- uated in 1833, ranking high in her class, and ready for any good service in almost any field of woman's work which might open before her. Nor had she long to wait. She entered with enthusiasm the first field open to her, — a school in Boscawen, New Hampshire, and was there making full proof of the wisdom of her choice of pursuits, when another call was made upon her. Dr. James Dascomb, a young physician, well fitted for his profession, — a Christian gentleman, longing to find the field in which he might do best service for his race, — had then just offered himself to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, as a missionary physician to some heathen field. While looking forward to such service, he became acquainted with Miss Parker. He was not long in detecting, in the spirit and character of the young and ardent teacher, the qualities which would be most fitting for one who should be his helpmeet in such a life-work. Nor was she long in reciprocating his confidence and afiection. Pending his negotiation with the American Board, Provi- dence was preparing for him another field and service. A movement had been started to establish at the West a school of collegiate rank for both sexes, in which, by manual labor, MRS. MARIANNE P. DASCOMB. 291 the students could at once promote their health and contribute towards their support. In the forests of Northern Ohio a site had been found for the attempt, and the earnest and large- hearted men who had projected the movement commenced their work, naming both the institution and the town, of which it was to be the beginning and life, from Oberlin, the Christian pastor and teacher, and civilizer of the rude peas- antry of the Ban de la Roche, in Switzerland. In this novel movement, started in the interests of literature, religion, and humanity, the young physician was now invited to take part ; and, after a consultation with Miss Parker, they mutually and heartily accepted the post. Resigning the school, she had just opened in Canajoharic, New York, into other hands, Miss Par- ker was married in the spring of 1834 ; and with her husband entered at once upon the work which has never yet been mtermitted. For thirty-four years they have Avrought to- gether on that field, apparently so forbidding, — the husband rising step by step in scholarship and professional popularity, until now, and the wife to a post of responsibility and use- fulness, second, perhaps, to none in the country, which woman has been called to fill. They have lived to see the old forest give way to an institution which more than any other in the West has made itself a power among the noblest movements of the age. On connecting herself with the young college, Mrs. Das- comb was appointed the principal of the ladies' department. Her strength then proving unequal to the burden, at the end of the year she resigned, not, however, without having made full proof of her many admirable qualifications for the post. She was immediately transferred to the Ladies' Board of Managers, where, for years, her good sense was of incalcula- ble service to the board. In 1852 she was urged to resume the post of principal of the ladies' department, and again, though hesitatingly, she accepted the charge. In this post 292 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. she has remained until now. Her office, calling as it does for large executive and administrative ability, has been most worthily and acceptably filled. The trustees of the college are unanimous in their admiration of her signal success. They cheerfully accept her counsel, in all matters relating to her department, as law ; and they never find her counsels or her plans to fail. Under her judicious management, and, owing to this perhaps as much as to any one agency, the college at Oberlin has practically shown the safety and wisdom of educat- ing, even through the college course, the two sexes together. It has, also, proved the ability of woman to prosecute credit- ably all the studies of the college course, and to compete successfully with men in any field of literature. But precisely how much of the success at' Oberlin has been due to any one of the agencies employed, it may be difficult to decide. There have been in the work some of the ablest men our country has produced. Certainly, no more earnest workers have anywhere used to the utmost all their resources to sustain and build up any institution of the age. The en- terprise, itself, was hopeless to any but a strong faith and resolute heart. And they who took the work in hand worked on together with good heart and hope. Its three presidents — JVIahan, Finney, 'and Fairchild — have all done the work of strong and fearless men. Their associates in the Faculty, of their own sex, have worked with them, under the glow and inspiration of the same enthusiasm. Nor could the institu- tion have been established and sustained without such agency. With it, Oberlin has attained a good rank among the literary institutions of the land. But for the successful attainment of its special aim, that of the co-education of the two sexes, even through the entire college course, another style of educational agency was needed. If young women were to be admitted and carried through the course, the presence of woman would be indis- lARS. MARIANNE P. DAS CO MB. 293 pensable in the faculty. Her intelligence and tact, lujr sym- pathy and taste, and her quick sense of social proprieties would all be a necessity. Her control and authority would reach and regulate, as man's could not, these new college relations. Especially also, was the aid of woman needed, to secure another leadino; idea of the Oberlin movement. The founders wished to organize a community, as well as establish a col- lege, — a community in thorough sympathy with their own Christian work. The town itself was to be the home for their college, and its families were to feel themselves, in some sort, identified with the aims and interests of the col- lege. It must be a community in which young men and women could be Christianly educated, and from whose nur- ture they should be thoroughly prepared to go forth to their own earnestly aggressive Christian work. But to aid in organizing such a community, the presence and culture and grace of Christian women would be requisite. Most fortunate, was it, then, that, when such a movement was projected, this needed agency was not wanting. To make no mention of other gifted Christian women, who were counted worthy to engage in such a work, — though such names as those of Mrs. Shipherd, and Mahan, and Finney, and Cowles, may well claim no small share in this noble enterprise, — it was peculiarly providential that such a woman as Mrs. Dascomb was then ready, both in literary attainment, and in every most needed social quality, to give herself to the work. And it is not saying too much that she was ready also for the consecration. Without reservation she entered the service, which, with no abatement of zeal, she has pur- sued and honored until now. Nor is it claiming too much to say that her reward has been great. Of about five hundred young ladies who are annually under her instruction or influence, very few can be 294 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. found who do not regard her with a feeling akin to filial afiection. Of the thousaudswho have gone out from Oberlin, of both sexes, we have but one uniform testimony to the high esteem with which they regard her. Her associates in the woik tell us the same story of their dependence upon her, and their great indebtedness to her influence. Nor is it difficult to detect the secret of her power. It lies both in her temperament and character. She is lifeful and cheerful. She shows good sense and judgment. She abounds in hopefulness, which gives her confidence and cour- age. She has no misgivings lest duty should prove inex- pedient ; and so her fixith iu the results of duty never fails her. She is self-sacrificing, — doing cheerfully for others, what she would gladly be excused from doing on her own account. She is conscientious, anxious only to do the right thing herself, and solicitous only to aid others in seeing what is right, and doing it. One of the most sensitively gentle of wo- men, she has still the firmest strength of will, holding herself and holding others, as by inevitable law, to truth and duty. She could not compromise principle, though a world were to be won. With her the first question and the last is, not. Will it pay? not, Is it fashionable? not. Will it please the world? but. Is it right? She has the courage to face sneers and danger even, if in the path of duty. Jn the da})- when to befriend a fugitive negro was to arouse a storm of popular rage and vengeance, she never hesitated to recognize the fugitive's claim. She acknowledged no misnamed patriotism, which required her to prove faithless to the plain call of humanity. Higher than all human enactments, she held and holds the clainsis and the law of the only God. And so, by her gentle and patient kindness ; by her fer- vent zeal in duty ; by her disinterested love and service for others ; by her uncompromising devotion to what is true and right, — she has made for herself a place of power in the com- MES. MARIANNE P. DASCOMB. 295 munity where she has lived, and especially in the hearts and minds she has aided in educating for the service of the church and world. And still, as for so many years, she is prosecut- ing the same good work, with the same success. Without denying the claims of her own family and home, — in which she has reared to Avomauhood the two adopted, the only children given to her to rear, — she is still laboriously employed in the duties of her great charge at the college. In her daily work of personal interview and consultation with pupils and teach- ers, and the matrons of the homes in which the pupils reside ; in assigning daily exercises and studies ; in familiar lectures to the 3'oung ladies on all topics, outside of the general course of instruction in the classes, on which they need instruction and advice, — Mrs. Dascomb is still adding to the reputation she has already won, as a woman of eminent ability and ser- vice. But, pre-eminently, her best record is yet to be writ- ten. It must be traced in the career of the many gifted young women whom she has aided in fitting for service, good and great, like her own. Their success, when its causes are fully known, will add new lustre to the crown, which she now so unconsciously wears. 296 EMINENT W.OMEN OE THE AGE. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. BY EEV. E. P. PAEKER. Harriet Beecher, daughter of Rev. Lyman Beecher, D.D., was born in the town of Litchfield, in the State of Connecticut, on the 14th day of June, in the year of our Lord 1812. Her father, than whom no man of his gen- eration is more reverently and affectionately remembered, was one of the sturdiest and grandest men that New England has produced. Among American divines his position as a theologian was one of distinction, and as a pulpit orator he stood full abreast with the most eloquent. There have been no more powerful preachers in our country than he. In the year 1799 he married Roxana Foote, whose father, Eli Foote, was a genial and cultivated man, and, notwith- standing he was a royalist and churchman, was universally respected and honored. She was also the grand-daughter of General Ward, who served under Washington in the Revolutionary war. This union was blessed with eight children : — Catharine, William, Edward, Mary, George, Harriet, Henry Ward, and Charles. Dr. Beecher had sworn never to marry a weak woman ; nor, in marrying Roxana Foote, did he forswear himself. In one of the Mayflower sketches, in the character of Aunt Mary, and later, in a letter contributed to the "Autobiography of Lyman Beecher," (vol. I., page 301), Mrs. Stowe herself describes her HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 297 mother. She was a woman of exti'aordiiiary talents, rare culture, fine taste, sweet and gentle temper ; full of the Holy Ghost and of that power which comes not with obser- vation, but whose exercise is alike unconscious and irre- sistible. She died when Harriet was not quite four years old, but " her memory and example had more influence in moulding her family, in deterring from evil and exciting to good, than the living presence -of many mothers." Mrs. Stovve relates that when, in her eighth year, she lay dangerously ill of scarlet fever, she was awakened one evening just at sunset by the voice of her father praying at her bedside, and heard him speaking of " her blessed mother, who is a saint in heaven ! " The passage in Uncle Tom, where St. Clair describes his mother's influence, is simply a reproduction of the influence of Mrs. Stowe's own mother, as it had always been in her family. All who have read the " Minister's Wooing" must remember the beautiful letter which Mary wrote to the Doctor. That letter is one which, years before, Mrs. Beecher had written, and was copied by Mrs. Stowe into the pages of her story. Immediately after her mother's death, Harriet was taken to live with her mother's sister, in 'whose well-ordered house the little girl found a happy home, the tenderest care, and the benefits of an unusually wholesome moral discipline and in- tellectual companionship. Pier mother had been a quiet but devout churcliwoman who, at her marriage with Dr. Beecher, conformed herself to the simpler manners of the Congrega- tional churches, and bent her steps to the ways in which her husband walked, but not without cherishing an ineradicable love of the better way in which her fathers walked and wor- shipped. Something of this feeling Harriet may have in- herited. Having had such a mother, she found herself, in the circle of her mother's relatives, surrounded by those who 298 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. believed in the Church, aud walked after its ordinances onlj^ with all their hearts. Nor is it unlikely that these facts fur- nish a sufficient explanation of that preference for the mode of divine worship which obtains in the Episcopalian Church, which, in these later years, Mrs. Stowe has publicly mani- fested. Of her pleasant life in the farm-house at Nutplains ; of the good old grandma with bright white hair, who took her — the little motherless — into her arms, and held her close, aud wept over her ; who read the evening servicfe, after supper, from a great prayer-book, with such impressiveness as touched the child's heart with a feeling of its intrinsic simplicity aud beaut}^ which she never outgrew ; and w^ho also, in the sin- cerity of her toryism, often read over, with trembling voice, the old prayers for king, queeu, and royal family, grieving that they should have been omitted in all the churches ; of her energetic, precise, smart, orderly Aunt Harriet, who was one of the w^omeu who contrive to bring all their plans to pass and to have their ways perfectly, — a splendid specimen of the best kind of a genuine Yankee woman, believing in the Church wath a faith in which disdain of all Meeting-house religion Avas so far mingled that, when on a visit to Litchfield, she could not bring herself to listen to Dr. Beecher, of whom she was very proud and fond, but must needs go to Church, where all things were " done decently aud in order," — who did more than encourage little Harriet to " move gently, to speak softly and prettily, to say 'yes, ma'am' and 'no, ma'am,'" to keep her clothes clean, and knit and sew at regular hours, to go to Church on Sundays and make all the responses, and come home and be thoroughly drilled in the catechism ; of her Uncle George who was a great reader, and full of poetry, and had Burns and Scott at his tongue's end, and whose recitations of Scott's ballads were the first poems she ever heard ; of the house stored with all manner HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 299 of family relics, and also "with all manner of strange and wonderful things brought by a sea-faring uncle, from the uttermost parts of the earth, — supplied moreover with what were exceedingly rare things in those days, a well-selected library, and a portfolio of fine engravings, — of all these things Mrs. Stowe tells us in one of her pleasautest letters, and adds, "The little white fiirm-house under the hill was a Paradise to us, and the sight of its chimneys after a day's ride was like a vision of Eden I " l^early two years passed by, and Harriet, now again in her father's house, wonders at "a beautiful lady, very fair, with bright-bliie eyes, and soft auburn hair," who comes into the nursery where she with her younger brothers are in bed, and kisses them, and tells them she loves them and will be their mother. This fair stranger was Dr. Beecher's second wife, Harriet Porter, of Portland, Maine ; and of little Harriet she writes to her friends very handsomely : " Harriet and Henry . . . . are as lovely children as I ever saw, amiable, affection- ate, and very bright." She speaks also of "the great familiarity and great respect subsisting between parent and children," and of the household as " one of great cheerfulness and comfort." "Our domestic worship is very delightful. We sing a good deal, and have reading aloud as much as we can.. It seems the highest happiness of the children to have a reading circle." These observations aiford us glimpses of that inner domestic life amid whose healthful and quickening influences Mrs. Stowe 's child-life developed itself. Her sister Catharine writes of her when she was five years of age : " Harriet is a very good girl. She has been to school all this summer, and has learned to read very fluently. She has committed to memory twenty-seven hymns and two long chapters in the Bible. She has a remarkably retentive memory, and will make a good scholar." She very early manifested a great eagerness for books, and "read everything she could lay 300 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. hands ou." Her young mind drank eagerly at every available literary spring, and such was the inspiration of Dr. Beecher's presence among his children, that they daily lived and breathed in a bracing intellectual atmosphere, and their wits were kept constantly in exercise. One incident from Mrs. Stowe's " Early Remembrances " of Litchfield well illustrates* his "inspiring talent," and not only that, but the unusual degree of intellectual activity which characterized the whole domestic life. One of the famous occasions in the course of the year was the apple- cutting season, in the autumn, when a barrel of cider apple- sauce had to be made. "The work was done in the kitchen, — an immense brass kettle hanging over the deep fire- place, a bright fire blazing and snapping, and all hands, children and servants, employed ou the full baskets of apples and quinces which stood around. I have the image of m}^ father still, as he sat working the apple-peeler. 'Come, George,' he said, 'I'll tell you what we'll do to make the evening go ofi". You and I'll take turns, and see who'll tell the most out of Scott's novels'! And so they took them, novel by novel, reciting scenes and incidents, which kept the eyes of the children wide open, and made the work go ou without flagging." Dr. Beecher was very fond, too, of setting all manner of discussions on foot, into which he would draw the children, arguing with them, correcting them in their logical slips, and so not only putting them in the way of acquiring new knowledge, but what was far better, arousing their minds, sharpening their wits, and teaching them how to think and reason. Allusion has been made to Harriet's eagerness to read. But the light literature which, in our days, is to be found in such abundance even in parsonages, to say nothino" of Sunday-school libraries, was wanting in her father's library, and she was hardly ready to satisfy her hunger as one young lady of our acquaintance once attempted to do, by * HAERIET BEECHER STOWE. 301 beginning at one end of the library and reading it throngh, book by book. She had found, and for a while had revelled in, a copy of the "Arabian Nights;" and afterward, in her desperate search among sermons, tracts, treatises, and essays, she turned up a dissertation or commentary on Solomon's Song, wiiich she read with avidity, "because it told about the same sort of things she had read of in the " Arabian Nights." She was aijaiu rewarded for her several hours' toil in what she calls " a weltering ocean of pamphlets," by bringing to light a fragment of "Don Quixote," which seemed to her like an " enchanted island rising out of an ocean of mud " ! This wds the time when the names of Scott, Byron, Moore, and Irving were comparatively new, and yet not so new as not to be in the mouths of all intelligent people. The Salma- gundi papers were recent publications. Byron had not quite finished his course. Scott had written his best poems, and the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," and "Marmion," were fomiliarto people of intelligence, the world over ; but the "Tales of my Landlord," and" Ivanhoe," had just made their appearance. Now the novel, in those days, was regarded, by all pious people at least, as an unclean thing. It was not tolerated, and, in- deed, it had become really unclean and intolerable in .the hands of the previous generation of writers of fiction. Great was the joy in that household when an exception was made to the prohibitory law under which all works of fiction were excluded from well-ordered households, as only so much trash and abomination, and Dr. Beecher said, "George, you may read Scott's novels. I have always disapproved of novels as trasb, but in these are real genius and real culture, and you may read them " ! This generous license was ira- l^roved, for in one summer Harriet and George " went through 'Ivanhoe' seven times," so that they could recite several of the scenes from beginning to end ! In the next house to the one in which Dr. Beecher lived, and but a few 302 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. steps distant, dwelt "Aunt Esther," — a woman of strong mind, ready wit, and large information, to whose keen criticism Dr. Beecher frequently submitted his sermons and articles, and whose geniality and inexhaustible fund of enter- taining information made her room a favorite resort of the children. From her hands Harriet one day received a volume of Byron's poems containing the "Corsair." This she read with wonder and delight, and thenceforth listened eagerly to whatever was said in the house concerning Byron. Not long after, she heard her father say sorrowfully, " Byron is dead, — gone " / "I remember," she says, " taking my basket for strawberries that afternoon, and going over to a straw- berry field on Chestnut Hill. But I was too dispirited to do anything ; so I lay down among the daisies, and looked up into the blue sky, and thought of that great eternity into which Byron had entered, and wondered how it might be with his soul" ! Harriet was then eleven years old, but was sufficiently precocious to appreciate the genius that was exhibited in Byron's passionate poetry, and to share in the enthusiasm which that genius has everywhere created. Not only in her father's house, and in the family circle, but in tRe society and schools of Litchfield as well, was her mind enriched and stimulated to independent thought. The town of Litchfield was celebrated in those days for the unusual number of cultivated, scholarly, and professional men Avho resided there, and for the high literary character of its society. "A delightful village, on a fruitful hill, richly endowed with schools both professional and scientific, with its venerable governors and judges, with its learned lawyers, and senators, and representatives both in the national and state depart- ments, and with a population enlightened and respectable, Litchfield," says Mrs. Stowe, " was now in its glory." The high reputation of Miss Pierce's school for young ladies brought a goodly number of fair women into the town, HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 303 M'hile the excellent law-school of Judge Reeve attracted thither brave youDg men from all quarters. Miss Catherine Beecher relates that when Mrs. Stowe was at Paris, she was repeatedly visited by an aged French gentle- man of distinction, who in youth had spent some years in Litchfield as a student at the law school, and, in his conversa- tions with Mrs. Stowe, be frequently referred to, and dwelt with enthusiasm npon, the society of Litchfield, which he declared was the most charming in the world. In such a home, and in such a society, Harriet Beecher passed the first twelve years of her life. She was a pupil in the school taught by Miss Pierce and Mr. Brace. Of Mr. Brace, Mrs. 'Stowe speaks in terms of the highest praise, as a gentleman of wide information, well-read in the English classics, of singular conversational powers, and a most "stimulating and inspiring instructor." Her own simpler lessons were neg- lected and forgotten as she sat listening intently, hour after hour, to the recitations of the older classes, and to the con- versations of Mr. Brace with them, in moral philosophy, rhetoric, and history. In this school particular attention was given to the writing of compositions. An ambition was kindled in the minds of the scholars to excel in this exercise. Harriet was but nine years old, when, roused by Mr. Brace's inspiration, she volunteered to write a composition every week. The theme for the first week was sufiiciently formidable, — The Difierence between the Natural and the Moral Sublime. But so great was the interest which the preparatory discussions had awakened in her mind, that she found herself in labor with the subject, felt sure that she had some clear distinctions in mind, and, although she could hardly write legibly or spell correctly, brought forth her first composition upon that question. Persevering in her efforts, she was soon publicly commended for her progress, and two 304: EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. years later -received the honor of au appointment to be one of the writers at the anunal exhibition of the school. On that distinguished occasion she-*argued the negative of the following question : Can the Immortality of the Soul be proved b}'- the Light of Nature ? We may smile at the idea of an argument on such a topic by a girl in her twelfth year, but she shall describe the scene of her first public triumph : — "I remember the scene at that exhibition, — to me so eventful. The hall was crowded with the literati of Litch- field. Before them all our compositions Avere read aloud. When mine was read, I noticed that father, who was sitting on high by Mr. Brace, brightened and looked interested ; and, at the close, I heard him say, ' Who wrote that com- position?' ^ Your daughter , sir ! ^ was the answer. It was the proudest moment of my life." The conditions and circumstances of Mrs. Stowe's early life, the scenes and surroundings of her childhood, and the nature of that domestic and social life in which her own life was rooted, and from which some, at least, of its peculiar qualities must have been derived, deserve a much more care- ful and complete representation than the limits of this sketch will allow; for they reveal where and how the solid foun- dations of her future fame were laid, and by what subtile but potent influenced her intellectual powers were quickened, her character moulded, and her whole history haj)pily predeter- mined in its course of development. At about twelve years of age, Harriet went to Hartford, where her sister Catherine had opened a school for young ladies. She was one of a brilliant class which numbered among its members several ladies whose names are well and widely known. She was known as an absent-minded, intro- spective, reticent, and somewhat moody young lady, odd in HAREIET BEECHEE STOWE. 305 her manners and habits, but a fine scholar, a great reader, and exceedingly clever in her compositions, whether of poetry or of prose. Even then she displayed something of that fondness and aptitude for delineating the peculiarities of New England manners and character, for which, in later years, both she and her brother Henry Ward have been dis- tinguished. Children of New England, born and reared under its clearest skies, and amid its loveliest scenes, per- fectly familiar with every phase of its social life, full of its native spirit of independence, — whose home, also, and family relations were such as were sufficient to inspire them with an ardent enthusiasm for the land of their fathers, they have revelled in charming reminiscences and descriptions of it ; and have never written more graphically, and as if under a genuine inspiration, than in those pages of the " May- flower," of "The Minister's Wooing," of "The Pearl of Orr's Island," and of "Norwood," where they have led their read- ers to and fro over its peaceful hills, and among its peculiar people of long ago. For a season Harriet was an associate teacher in the Hart- ford Seminary ; but, on the failure of Miss Beecher's health, both she and her sister sought rest in their father's house, which, since the year 1832, had been located in the environs of Cincinnati. Here, also, after a brief respite, they opened a school, of which — and particularly of the religious influ- ence of which, and of a Bible class in Old Testament history which Harriet Beecher conducted — we have heard one of the pupils speak in terms of high praise. Miss Beecher at length gave herself up to the organization of larger educational enterprises, — to the furtherance of which her Avhole life has been nobly devoted. And on the 5th day of January, in the year 1836, Harriet married Professor Calvin E. Stowe, a man of learning and distinction, and, at 20 306 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. that time, Professor of Biblical Literature in Lane Theo- logical Seminary. For several years previous to her marriage, however, Mrs. Stowe had occasionally made her appearance, both in private circles and in the periodical literature of the day, as a writer of no little promise. Some of her productions of that period have not yet passed out of public notice. It now becomes necessary to refer to certain literary asso- ciations into which Mrs. Stowe was happily drawn, and which had no little influence in awakening in her a con- sciousness of her powers, and furnished her with opportuni- ties, motives, and encouragements to make trial of those powers. Out of the good fellowship which prevailed among many of the literary men and women of that vicinity, — a fellowship which was fostered by the hospitality of several gentlemen of culture and property, — a remarkable series of social and literary reunions were established under the name of the " Semicolon Club." At the meetings of the club, which were under just enough of regulation to prevent con- fusion and dissipation of time, without hindering perfect freedom of discussion and intercourse, essays, sketches, reviews," stories, and poems were read, discussions and con- versations were carried on, and music came in to enliven and diversify the exercises. Many of those Avho were accustomed to participate in these reunions have since distinguished themselves in their re- spective vocations. Among these we may mention Judge Hall, editor of the " Western Monthly Magazine," and a critic of no little reputation ; Miss Catherine Beecher, and her sister Harriet; Prof. Hentz and his wife, Caroline Lee Hentz, a novelist of popularity, and a woman of distin- guished grace; E. P. Cranch, whose exquisite humor flowed from either pen or pencil with equal facility ; James H. Per- kins, a man of extraordinary talents ; Col. E. D. Mansfield ; HAERIET BEECHER STOWE. 307 Prof. J. W. Ward ; Charles W. Elliot, the New England historian ; Daniel Drake, a medical professor and author of celebrity ; William Greene ; three Misses Blackwell, two of whom have gained distinction as physicians ; Prof. C. E. Stowe, widely known, both in Europe and America, as a scholar and author ; and Professor, and subsequently Major- General O. M. Mitchell, whom the nation remembers as one of its most accomplished scientific men, and mourns as ou.e of its noblest martyrs in the cause of liberty. In this brilliant circle Mrs. Stowe's genius soon began to shine conspicuously. Some of her contributions to these reunions were received with unaffected wonder and delio^ht. The portraiture of old Father Mills, of Torringford, Conn., which appears in the "Mayflower" under the title of "Father Morris," was greeted with uproarious applause. But her "Uncle Tim," written in 1834 for the "Semicolon Club," and read at one of its sessions, made the deepest impression. And this same sketch, which is still one of the most charminsr and characteristic productions of her pen, published first in Judge Hall's Magazine, and afterward in the "Mayflower," first attracted public attention to her as a writer of great versatility and promise. In this " Semicolon Club " the woman of genius seems to have first become really conscious of her powers ; in it she received also recognition, sympathy, and an impulse, and by it found a way for herself out beyond the circle of private fellowships into the wider circles of the great world. Mean- while she was an occasional contributor to the Western Magazine, to Godey's Magazine, and perchance to other periodicals. And not long after her marriage the "May- flower " was published, which contained, beside some of the best of her " Semicolon " papers, several new sketches of •New England life and character. Thenceforward her life flowed on in purely domestic channels for several years, with- 308 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGtE. out putting forth auy decided signs of its future fruitfulness. And now we are brought to the threshold of that great arena on which her mightiest works were done, and her great tri- umph was achieved, while the whole world looked on and applauded. Uneventful as the next few years of her life seemed then to be, they were years of peculiar trial and disci- pline, wherein God himself was secretly preparing and fur- nishing her for the fulfilment of his great purposes. She had always felt a deep interest in the slaves, and, when- ever opportunities occurred, had always manifested a practical benevolence towards them. By journeys into the adjoining State of Kentucky, by visits at the homes of her pupils from that State, she had made herself perfectly familiar with the difierent aspects of plantation life. For years she had enjoyed and improved excellent opportunities of studying the negro character, and also the operations of the slavery system. Fear- ful examples of the evils and miseries, of the unspeakable wrongs and crimes and shames of slavery, were ever and anon laid at her very door. She was at the very point where the great anti-slavery conflict raged most fiercely, — in the midst of the border warfare of abolitionism. Fugitive slaves were frequently concealed in her house. Children of fugitives were harbored and instructed there. Hard by was the Wal- nut Hills under-ground railroad, of which her husband had the credit of being an active director. One day her two lit- tle children were going to the barn to play. The elder, to frighten his sister into some submission, cried, "The black man will catch you ! " whereupon four burly fugitives, who were resting and hiding in the hay till nightfill, thinking themselves discovered, started up and ran away, to the infi- nite terror of both children. Sometimes quite a family would be secreted in the house, and the great difficulty, sa3^s Prof. Stowe, "was to keep the little pickaninnies from sticking* HAERIET BEECHER STOWE. 309 their heads out of the windows, and so betraying their retreat." Often at dead of night the rattle of wagons bearing escaped slaves onward to the land of promise, and afterwards the ominous tramp of hard-ridden horses were heard, telling of rapid flight and hot pursuit. The actual spiriting away from her pursuers of a poor col- ored girl by Mrs. Stowe's husband and her brother Charles, who, trusting first to God, and secondly to a sagacious old black horse, carried the fugitive away mider cover of a starless night and over a perilous road to a place of safety in honest old Van Zandt's cabin, needed only a little dis- guising in the description to fit it for the pages of " Uncle Tom." Amid all the anti-slavery discussions and tumults, — amid all the excitements and outraofcs and sufieriuo-s of which she had personal knowledge, and when mob-violence threat- ened the safety of the roof that sheltered her, jNIrs. Stowe manifested no unusual intensity of feeling on the subject. Amid the earnest voices that argued and described and de- nounced the iniquities of slavery her voice was not heard. She was a silent but close observer of jDassing events. Mate- rials for her future work were unconsciously accumulating as she watched, and waited, and hoped, and prayed. The seminary in which her husband was a prominent in- structor became at length the scene of a painful and disastrous struggle between the two great forces of the age. Conserva- tism triumphed, but in its blind zeal pulled down some of the strongest columns on which the institution rested. The semi- nary was seriously crippled, and, after protracted labors to restore its prosperity, finding his health failing. Prof. Stowe retired to accept a professorship in Bowdoin College, in Brunswdck, Maine, and in the year 1850 he entered upon his duties there. Just at this time the fugitive slave law was passed, and Mrs. Stowe was one of those whose souls were 310 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. kindled with indignation at this iufamous piece of legislation. In the light of that political act which converted the people of a great and free nation into so many compnlsory negro- catchers, she saw clearly that the policy of inaction was no longer right nor safe, and that slavery was an insatiable mon- ster that threatened not simply the dishonor, but the utter ruin, of the country. One single, definite purpose arose out of her deep convictions, and took possession of her mind. The whole system of slavery must be shown up as it really Avas ! This simple and all-controlling conviction was the corner- stone of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " ! Mrs. Stowe herself says : — " For many years the author avoided all reading upon, and all allusion to, the subject of slavery, considering it too pain- ful to be inquired into, and one which advancing light and civilization would certainly live down. But since the act of 1850, when she heard with consternation Christian and hu- mane people actually recommending the remanding escaped fugitives into slavery, as a duty binding on all good citizens ; when she heard, on all sides, from kind, compassionate, and estimable people, in the free States of the North, deliberations and discussions as to what Christian duty could be on this head, she could only think, these men and Christians do not know ivhat slavery is; and from that arose a desire to exhibit it in a living, dramatic reality^' ! Mrs. Stowe had, then, a perfectly clear idea of what was necessary to be done, and also a just appreciation of the most effective literary instruments and the best artistic methods for the accomplishment of the work. But as yet there was no definite plan of proceeding. In- deed, " Uncle Tom's Cabin " was not so much put together and built up, like a house, according to a complete, pre- HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 311 existent design, as developed, like a tree, from one high, holy, and controlling idea. Topsy's solution of the f)roblem of her own personal ex- istence is the most satisfactory explanation of the production of this story. It grew ! While as yet the form and plan of the work lay undeveloped in her mind, she made a beginning, which, instead of a beginning, was a stroke at the very heart of her w^hole story. One day, on entering his wife's room in Brunswick, Prof. Stowe saw several sheets of paper lying loosely here and there, which were covered with her handwriting. lie took them up in curiosity and read them. The death of UncJe Tom was what he read. That was first written, and it was all that had then been written. "You can make somethinsT out of this," said he. "I mean to do so," was the reply. Soon after, Mr. Bailey, who was then publishing an anti- slavery paper in Washington, solicited Mrs. Stowe to write a series of articles for its columns. The way was open, and she was ready, and, being called of God, by faith she went forth, not knowing whither she went ! Her Uncle Tom should have a history, of which his death-scene should be the logical consequence and culmina- tion. As she mused the fire burned. The true starting-point was readily found, and gradually a most felicitous story-form was conceived, in which a picture of slavery as it is might be exhibited, — a web was laid, into which she might weave, with threads of gold and silver and purple, her brave desio-ns. "Uncle Tom" began to be published in the " National Era," as a serial, in the summer of 1851, and was continued from week to week until its conclusion in March, 1852. It was not a product of leisure hours. She " Wrought with a sad sincerity," and under most grievous burdens and disadvantages. Her 312 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. health was delicate. Her cares were great. In charge of a large family, and compelled by the sternest of all necessities to make the most of very little and poor help in her house- hold labors, much of this wonderful book was actually writ- ten by Mrs. Stowe, as she sat, with her portfoUo upon her knee, by the kitchen tire, in moments snatched from her domestic cares. We may be pardoned for saying that if the cuisine was half as well managed as the composition, those who sat at Mrs. Stowe's table, as well as those other innu- merable ones who have feasted upon the fruits of her literary toil, were fortunate indeed. "The book," as Prof. Stowe finely says, " was written in sorrow, in sadness, and obscu- rity, with no expectation of reward save in the prayers of the poor, and with a heart almost broken in view of the suffer- ings which it described, and the still greater sufferings which it dared not describe." Our older readers need not to be told with what avidity the weekly instalments of this serial were caught up and devoured by the readers of the "National Era." The writer of this article was then a little boy in one of the remoter vil- lasfes of Maine, but remembers how " Uncle Tom's Cabin" was the theme of universal discussion, and how those in his own home, and all through tlie village too, who, had never before bowed down to any idols of fiction, nor served them, were so completely demoralized by this novel, that they not only read it, but read it to their children ; and how the papers which contained it, after being nearly worn out in going through so many hands in so man}'^ different homes, were as carefully folded up and laid away as if the tear-stains on them were sacred, as indeed they were. We were all, from the baby upward, converted into the most earnest-kind of abolitionists. Strangely enough, however, When, after its publication in the "Era," Mrs. Stowe proposed its republication in book-form to Messrs. Phillips and Sampson of Boston, the proposition was HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 313 respectfully declined. That, she thought, was the end of it. A woman's shrewdness had something to do with securinsr its publication. The wife of Mr. Jewett, of Boston, had read the story, and advised her husband to publish it, if pos- sible. It was offered to him, and he remarked to Prof. Stowe that it Avould bring his wife "something handsome ! " On returning home, his success and the remark of jNIr. Jewett were reported to Mrs. Stowe, who, with an eye-twinkle, and a tone in which a little hope, more joy, and still more incredu- lity were expressed, replied, that she hoped it would bring her enough to purchase what she had not possessed for a long time, — a new silk dress/ She was not obliged to wait long for that very desirable article, nor to limit herself very rigidly in the gratification of so legitimate a desire ; for only a few months after its republication, ]\Ir. Jewett made his first settlement with Prof. StoAve, and placed the sum of ten thousand dollars in his hands ; — " More money," says the professor, "than I had ever seen in my life ! " Large as were these first fruits, and enor- mous as was the sale of the book, for some reasons which do not require to be set forth here, the enterprise was far more remunerative to the publishers than to the author, and Mrs. Stowe w^as not made rich by her story. The popularity of the book was unbounded, and its circu- lation was unprecedented. No work of fiction in the English language was ever so widely sold. Within six months, over one hundred and fifty thousand copies were sold in America, and within a few years it reached a sale of nearly five hundred thousand copies. The first London edition was published in May, 1852. The next September, the publishers furnished to cue house alone, ten thousand copies each day for four weeks ; making a sale of two hundred and forty thousand copies in one month. Before the end of the year 1852, the book had been translated into the Spanish, Italian, French, Danish, Swedish, 314 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish, and Magyar languages. Ere long it was translated into every European language, and also into Arabic and Armenian. There is a bookcase in the British Museum, filled with its various translations, editions, and ver- sions. In Italy, the " powers that be " published an edition in which all allusionsto Christ were changed to theVirgin Mary, — a piece of craftiness that argues better for the book than for its mutilators. , But remarkable as was the literary popularity of the book, its political and moral influence was hardly less so. Said Lord Palmerston to one from whose lips the remark was taken as it here stands, " I have not read a novel for thirty years ; but I have read that book three times, not only for the story, but for the statesmanship of itf^ Lord Cockburn said, '''She has done more for humanity than was ever before accomplished by any single book of fiction." No political pamphlet or discussion directed against the Fugitive Slave Law could have dealt that sacred iniquity so deadly a blow as did this book. Not only the reading, but the acting of "Uncle Tom," — and particularly the thrilling scene of Eliza^s passage of the Ohio River, — in New York, for one hundred and fifty successful nights, operated mightily to awaken pop- ular sympathy for the fugitive, and to make negro-hunting contemptible. The friends of slavery instinctively felt the danger, and arose in all their wrath and cunning to hinder the operation of the power that was going forth in that book among all people. They ridiculed its pretensions, denied its statements, abused the author as a malevolent caricaturist and wilful disturber of the peace ; and, reinforced by time- servers from the North, among whom many Doctors of Divin- ity were not ashamed to be seen, they went forth, a great multitude, terrible with banners and eager for the labor, armed and equipped also with brooms, and mops, and sundry other such suitable implements, to sweep back from all our HAERIET BEECHER STOWE. 315 coasts the rising tide of abolitionism, to which Mrs. Stowe's book had given such an irresistible impulse. Everywhere there was heard the noise of endless splash ings, and an infi- nite confusion, but the tide had its way, — the same tide, which, a few yeaxs later, broke over all barriers, swept over the whole country, and washed it clean of its old defilement and curse. " Uncle Tom's Cabin " was the honored instrument of that new and noble impulse w'hich was given to public opinion and feeling throughout all Christendom against the infamous slavery system. It was an indirect but most pow- erful cause of the great political revolution w4iich soon after culminated in tl^e organization of the great anti-slavery party of the couutr}'-, at whose triumph, slavery, in the recklessness of its wrath, and in the haughtiness of its pride, rose up in rebellion, only to be utterly cast down and destroyed. Mrs. Stowe was violently assailed as the author of an anti-Chris- tian book, and as herself an infidel disorganizer and agitator ; and even religious newsi3apers joined in the assault. True, her gospel brought not peace but a sword, because it was the old Gospel of Jesus Christ/ She was an agitator, as are the great winds that blow all abroad, and give us a pure atmos- phere to breathe ; — as every power is, whether it be of earth or of heaven. But she was an agitator, not like the woman of hea+hen fable, who flung the apple of discord down into an har- monious company, so wantonly provoking strife ; but like that other woman of Christian parable, who took a little leaven and hid it in three measures of meal until the whole was leavened. Aside from its political influence, "Uncle Tom" was a mighty power in the world as a witness for Christ, and Avas no less a contribution to the cause of Christianity than to the cause of emancipation and to American literature. One peculiarity of it is, that the inevitable pair of lovers, the history of whose crooked love-courses forms the staple of most novel writing, are hardly to be found in it. It is a picture of social life, in 316 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. which the development of individual fortunes and the history of personal relations are included, but subordinated. Again, it confuted the oft-repeated calumny, that none but infidels, and lawless, godless people, were abolitionists. On every page of " Uncle Tom," there are the breathings of a ten- der, earnest piety, and the manifestations of an ardent loyalty to the Christian faith. What wonderful use of the Scriptures is made in it ! Mrs. Stowe's quiver is full of arrows, drawn from the word of God, not one of which fails her. Not only with the facility of perfect acquaintance, but with equal felic- ity and legitimacy, she quotes and applies the Scriptures to prove, or illustrate, or emphasize her positions. In Paris, the reading of ''Uncle Tom" created a great demand among the people for Bibles ; and purchasers eagerly inquired if they were buying the real Bible — Uncle Tom's Bible! The same result was produced in Belgium, and elsewhere. Could the most eloquent preacher do better than this? What more triumphant vindication of its Christian character and influence could the book have than these facts furnish ? It was a perfectly natural, thoroughly honest, truly religious story, with nothing unwholesome in its marvellous fascinations, but contrariwise, fairly throbbing in every part with a genuine Christian feeling. No wonder that ministers, and deacons, and quiet Quakers too, and all the godly folk who had always been accustomed to frown with holy horror upon novels, did unbend themselves to read, and diligently to circulate the words of this woman whom the Lord had so evidently anointed to "preach deliverance unto the captives, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord." To search out the causes of this remarkable literary success would take us too far, in several directions, from the main road in which this sketch must travel. To meet a great popu- lar necessity, to serve the cause of truth and humanity in a HAEEIET BEECHEE STOWE. 317 time when good men's minds were darkened, and when the powers of evil were coming in upon the nation like a flood, a story was written. The writer thoroughly understood her subject ; was per- fect master of the literary instruments she employed ; was a Christian woman of genius, and not only brought all the powers of a splendid intellect to the task, but poured out her whole heart in the work. This book was written, as we have said, "in sorrow, in sadness, in obscurity, and with the heaii, almost broken in view of the sufferings it describes ! " Here, surely, is one secret of its power. David long ago revealed it. "He that goeth forth, weeping, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless return again with songs, bringing his sheaves with him." So she went forth, and so returned. Charles Dickens said, " A nolle book ivith a noble purpose! " In "Uncle Tom" we have a charmins: storv, and an unanswer- able argument. And the artistic idea, and the moral purpose are coordinately developed and finally fulfilled in perfect harmony. With no other theme, even had it been treated with equal ability, would Mrs. Stowe have attained equal success. On the other hand, the subject of slavery could never have com- manded the attention of the world as this l)ook has done, had it been treated in some undramatic method and with less artistic skill. There is a tremendous movement (argument is too cold a word) in the book which, to one who only suffers himself to be once caught in it, is perfectly fascinating and irresistible. And such is the consummate art by which this movement is set on foot, and guided, and led on, that all the while one is being swept along by it, whether or no, his keenest interest is awakened in every change of scene and circumstance, and in every one of the many persons with whom he is made acquainted. Great statesmen like Mr. Seward and Mr. Sumner had argued the question of slavery. 318 EMINENT WOMEN OP THE AGE. Able divines had given the testimony of the Scriptures upon it. Eloquent platform orators, and vigorous writers had dis- cussed all its aspects and relations. And still a mist of ro- mance, and an atmosphere of sanctity, or at least of privi- lege, enveloped and concealed its real features. Mrs. Stowe treated the subject, not as a question of law, or of logic, or of political econom}'', or of biblical interpretation, but as a simple question of humanity; not as an "abstract theory of social relations, but as a concrete realitj'- of human life." She does not tell, but sJioios us what it is. She does not analyze, or demonstrate, or describe, but, by a skilful man- ner of indirection, takes us over the plantation, into the master's house, into the slave's cabin, into the fields, — through the whole Southern country in fact, — and shows us not only the worst but the best phases of the slavery system, and allows us to see it as it really is. And all the while the power of her own intense sympathy for the oppressed millions whose cause she pleads, is felt throbbing in every line of the narrative. In the year 1852, Mrs. Stowe took up her residence in Andover, Massachusetts, her husband having already accepted a call to the Professorship of Sacred Literature in the Theo- logical Seminary there located. Soon after she published the "Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin," wherein the accuracy of the statements, and the substantial truth of the representations she had made in her recent story, were fully vindicated . For a long while her health had been delicate, but now it was very seriously impaired. Her severe toil and the great excitement under which her labor had been performed had exhausted her strength, and she was almost prostrated. This fact determined her to accept the very urgent and flattering invitations she had received, from various parts of England and Scotland, to cross the sea and visit the mother country ; HAREIET BEECHER STOWE. 819 and, accordingly, she embarked with her husband, her brother, and one or two personal friends, and arrived in Liverpool on the 11th day of April. She was everywhere welcomed with surprising enthusiasm and cordiality. Great assemblies gathered about her, at almost every step in her journey, to do her honor. One and the same feeling was everywhere expressed. The same enthusiasm pervaded all ranks of society. On the third day after her arrival in Eng- land, at a public meeting in Liverpool, the chairman, in the name of the associated ladies of Liverpool, presented Mrs. Stowe with a most signal testimonial of the esteem in which she was universally held, both as a woman of genius who had written a story of world-wide renown, and as an instrument in the hands of God of arousing the slumbering sympathies of England in behalf of the suffering slave. Great public meetings were held in Glasgow, in Edinburgh, in Aberdeen, and in Dundee ; there were receptions, and dinners, and addresses, and scarcely an end to the public manifestations of affectionate enthusiasm towards her. Perhaps the general feeling that prompted and found ex- pression in all these outward demonstrations may be most satisfactorily described by a few extracts from an address which was presented to Mrs. Stowe at a public meeting in Dundee, by Mr. Gilfillau, in behalf of the Ladies' Anti- Slavery Association : — " We beg permission to lay before you the expressions of a gratitude and an enthusiasm in some measure commensu- rate with your transcendent literary merit and moral worth. We congratulate you on the success of the chef-cVasuvre of your genius, — a success altogether unparalleled in the his- tory of literature. We congratulate you in having, in that tale, supported with matchless eloquence and pathos the cause of the crushed, the forgotten, and the injured. We 320 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. recognize, too, with delight, the spirit of enlightened and evangelical piety which breathes through your work, and serves to confute the calumny that none but infidels are in- terested in the cause of abolition. These three points were made and emphasized in almost every speech or address that was offered in her honor. She had given the world a most charming and wonderful work of fiction. She had shot, with her own tender hand, the arrow that had pierced the joints of the armor wherewith the system of slavery was clad, and had given the monstrous evil a mor- tal wound. She had furnished, in her "Uncle Tom," "one of the most beautiful embodiments of the Christian religion that was ever presented to the world." And if these last words, which were uttered by no other than the well-known Rev. John Angell James, seem extravagant praise, we have only to remind the reader that the celebrated critic, Henrich Heine, whom no one can suspect of partiality in such a mat- ter, after describing his gropings and flounderiugs amid the uncertain and unsatisfactory speculations of German philoso- phy, tells us how at length he came to quit Hegel, and to quote the Bible with Uncle Tom, — came, too, to see that there was a higher wisdom in the poor slave's simple faith than in the great philosopher's dialectics, and found peace and satisfaction in " kneeling with his praying brother," Uncle Tom. After various excursions, to Paris, to Switzerland, to Ger- many, Mrs. Stowe returned to England and re-embarked for America on the 7th of September. In the following year she published an account of these European experiences, in the form of letters written to friends at home, under the title of " Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands," to which her husband contributed an introduction, in which some account is given of the public meetings which were held in her honor HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 321 during the tour through England and Scotland. About this time a new and enlarged edition of the " Mayflower " was also published. Established in her home once more, and restored in health, Mrs. Stowe's literary labors were resumed ; and in the year 1856, shortly after another foreign tour, her second anti- slavery novel was published, under the title of "Dred; a Tale of the Dismal Swamp." In the preface, the author de- clares her great purpose to be the same as that of her previous story. Once more she endeavors to do something towards revealing to the people the true character of the system of slavery. The book inevitably comes into comparison with its predecessor ; and whatever may be truly said in its praise, it cannot be questioned that, both as a work of art and as an effective revelation of slavery, it falls far below " Uncle Tom." The chief defects of the book, and those which hindered the complctest fulfilment of its noble purpose, are its lack of unity, and ever and anon a departure from the simplicity of a narrative or representation, into the disenchantmeuts of discussion and argument, by which the reader is disturbed m his pleasant dream and vision, and the reality of the scenes that move before him is explained away. The panorama does not move on without an interruption and in silence, as in the case of "Uncle Tom," interpreting itself, and silently but powerfully unfolding its purpose or moral, but stops now and then to give place to the voice of the delineator in ex- planations or vindications. In writing "Uncle Tom," the author seems never to have thought that her representations would be called in question, and accordingly she did not so much as think of fortifying herself as she advanced, or of throwing in justifications and arguments, or of going aside for facts to substantiate her narrative, but kept faithfully to the simplicity of her purpose to exhibit slavery as she had seen and known it. But, in 21 322 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. writiug "Dred," she seems to have labored under the em- barrassment of feeling that her exhibitions needed to be ex- plained, or justified and substantiated here and there ; and as often as the artist ceased painting, and began declaiming or defining ; or, in other words, by as much as Mrs. Stowe at- tempted to give us, with "Dred," a "Key" to it also, she violated the most fundamental artistic conditions of success. Thus, also, the whole exposition of slavery was more posi- tive, and formal, and dogmatic than in "Uncle Tom." The story did not grow like "Uncle Tom," but was put together, and is rather a series of sketches than one, organic, indivis- ible stor3\ Dred himself, if not imperfectly conceived, is a conception so difiicult of realization, and, in fact, so imperfectly created, that he fails to excite our sympathies. He is an unreal presence, — a dark, gloomy, ghostly being, at whose appari- tions we wonder, at whose sufferings we are not very much moved, and over whose fate it is impossible to fetch a tear, — hardly a sigh, and that of relief. The fact that in a re- cent edition of this story the title is changed from " Dred " to "Nina Gordon," is suggestive. But there are unsurpass- able passages and characters in "Dred." Tiff, Aunt Milhj, I^ina Gordon, Jekyl, and Aunt JVesbit are personages that demonstrate Mrs. Stowe's matchless power in delineating and difi*erentiating individual characters. Uncle Tiff, so perfectly devoted to " dese y'er chil'en," so noble and simple of heart, and yet so irresistibly droll in his manners ; — who wants to be " ordered round 'fore folks," to maintain the family dig- nity ; who, M'hen his fire goes out immediately after it was kindled, exclaims, "Bress de Lord, got all de wood leftf" — •who sits b}'' the bed of his dying mistress, with his big spec- tacles on his upturned nose, and a red handkerchief pinned about his shoulders, comforting the sick, darning a stocking, rocking the cradle, singing to himself, and talking to the HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 323 baby, all at once, — is a character in which the earnestness of Uncle Tom and the jollity of 3fark Tapley are blended. That scene at the bedside of his mistress, and his dialogue with Fanny, wherein revival preachinp^ is so finely criticised, and his famous lecture to the young ladies on their manners, are passages in which the relationship of pathos and humor is made manifest in the happiest possible manner. And what more poAverful chapter has ]\Irs. Stowe ever written than that in which Aunt MiUy tells to Nina Gordon the tragic, the terrible story of her life. Not long after the publication of "Dred," Mrs. Stowe be- gan to write another story, which was published as a serial in the columns of the "Atlantic Monthly," in the year 1859. The "Minister's Wooing," a tale of New England life in the latter part of the eighteenth century, has not uufreqnently been pronounced by literary men to be the ablest of all the books which Mrs. Stowe has written. This opinion was ex- pressed by so competent a critic as the Rev. Hcnrj^ Alford, D.D., Dean of Canterbury. In it the author quits the subject of her previous stories, and returns again to that New Eng- land life, of which she has so genuine an appreciation, and is so fond and admirable an interpreter. But while this story was universally acknowledged to be one of great ability, and one in which the author gained new reputation, it was some- what bitterly criticised on several grounds. Many very proper people professed the utmost disgust at the treat- ment which the celebrated Dr. Hopkins received at the hands of the author. It was declared to be an unpardonable sin to have brought so dignified, august, and venerable a divine down to the common level of lovers in a love story. Dr. Hopkins, or any other orthodox and exemplary doctor of divinity, should unquestionably have been far above any such worldliness and weakness as falling in love, especially with a young and pretty woman. He certainly should have 32-i EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. chosen some elderly, thin, angular, solemn, uncomfortable Calvinistic spinster, and so manifested his willingness to be damned for the glory of God. But, unfortunately, in a moment of inexplicable weakness, Dr. Hopkins did allow his affections to fix upon and twine about a young and beautiful maiden, and with him as he was, and not as he undoubtedly ought to have been, Mrs. Stowe dealt, — not without causing the great divine to appear somewhat diviner, to carnal eyes, at least, by her revelation of human feelings (frailties, if you please) that still remained uncrucified in his bosom. Indeed, after having read his ponderous treatises, and also an exhaust- ive biography of him, written by able hands, we had regarded him somewhat as we might have regarded a statue, by Michael Angelo, of the ideal theologian. That he had " parts " seemed probable; but that he had "passions" we hardly dreamed. Mrs. Stowe told us that this cold, hard, colossal theological image was, after all, a great, simple-minded, honest, powerful, tender-hearted man, clad in Calvinism as in a cumbrous coat of mail, and armed therewith as with a weaver's beam, but loving and lovable withal as a little child. We felt grateful to the image-breaker, and thanked her for showing us the man underneath the theologian, — the Christian underneath and more glorious than the Calviuist ; but as between those who were gratified and those who were horrified, who could judge, save the great reading public ; and has not their judgment been rendered? Moreover the book was supposed by many watchmen on the walls of Zion to be heterodox in its tendencies, and to be well adapted, if not expressly designed, to bring what is called New England theology into contempt. That a woman of strong will, and of quick and ardent temperament, who had •put her convictions under the rigid theology of that age and region, — on receiving the news of the sudden death at sea of the son of her love, who had never given evidence of HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 325 the effectual calling of God, and was therefore to be given over as among the lost, — should rise up, in the inten- sity of her anguish, in a momentary rebellion against the God of her creed, and utter wild and even wicked cries, and show herself intractable to the common arts, and insensible to the ordinary platitudes of .consolation, and be quite beside her- self in fact, seemed strange to these suspicious watchmen. Had they never read of Job, or of Peter? Is it then an easy thing for a mother to give up her only God, or her only son? And is it not quite enough to drive an earnest soul into tem- porary madness to be shut up to such a dreadful alternative ? It seemed strange also to these watchmen that poor old Can- dace^ an ignorant but Christian colored woman, should have been brought forward, rather than Dr. Hopkins, to soothe and quiet and comfort and bring back to reason this distracted mother. But Candace had tact, and a woman's instinctive comprehension of the case in hand, neither of which the the- ologian possessed. Did they never read that " God hath chosen the weak things of this woi'ld to confound the things that are mighty, and base things of the world, and things that are despised, hath God chosen . . to bring to naught things that are ; that no flesh should glory in his presence '' ? The critical watchmen took it very hardly that Miss Prissy should free her mind in such a shockingly latitudinarian man- ner. That estimable but garrulous young lady ventured to say, " We don't ever know what God's grace has done for folks ; " and that she hoped that the Lord made " Jira one of the elect ; " and proceeded to quote what a certain woman once said to a certain other woman whose wild son had fallen from the mast-head of a vessel, to the effect that " from the mast-head to the deck was time enough for divine grace to do its work." But Miss Prissy is certainly a very pure and consistent Calvinist in all she says. Taking into ac- count the doctrines of an unconditional and absolute personal 326 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. election, and together with it that of an instantaneous regen- eration by a divine power that descends irresistibly upon each elect individual at the' predestinated moment, it seems as though Jfw.s Prisfiy was simply making a practical applica- tion of the llopkinsiau theology, and giving poor Jim the benefit of it. The twenty-third chapter, entitled " Views of Divine Gov- ernment," is the heart of the book. Her description of New England, at the date of her story, "as one vast sea, surging from depths to heights with thought and discussion on the most insoluble of mysteries ; " her noble characterization of the early ministry of New England ; her representation of the preaching of that time, and of the current views both of human existence and of religious doctrines ; her vivid statement of the fearful issues which the theological systems presented to the mind, and of the difierent efiects produced thereby, so that "while strong spirits walked, palm-crowned, with victorious hymns, along these sublime paths, feebler and more sensitive ones lay along the track, bleeding away in life- long despair," — all this is set forth with great clearness and poAver. Mrs. Marvyn, whose probably unregenerate son had been lost at sea, as was reported, was bound up in the logical con- sequences of her rigorous creed. Her brave, beautiful boy w^as lost ! She broke out in a strain of wild despair to Mary. She could not be reconciled, simply because, according to her theology, there was nothing in God or in his government to attract or comfort. The poor woman w^as well-nigh crazy, and no wonder, with nothing but the sharp points of her unsuspected conceptions of divine sovereignty to fall back upon. " I am a lost spirit," she cried ; " leave me alone ! " At that moment poor old Candace, who had never been able to understand theology at all, but knew the God and the HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 327 Saviour of the gospel, having anxiously overheard the clread- ful monologue, burst into the room. "Come, ye poor little lamb," she said, walking straight up to Mrs. Marvj^n, "come to old Candace I " — and with that she gathered the pale form to her bosom, and sat down and began rocking her, as if she had been a babe. " Honey, darlin', ye a'n't right, — dar's a dreadful mistake somewhar. "Why, de Lord a'u'tlike what ye tink. — He loves ye, honey ! why, jes' feel how /loves ye, — poor ole black Candace, — an' I a'n't better'n Him as made me ! Who was it wore de crown o' thorns, lamb? — who was it sweat great drops o' blood ? — who was it said, ' Father forgive dem' ? Say, honey, wasn't it de Lord dat made ye ? Dar, dar, now ye'r cryin' ! — cry away, and ease yer poor little heart. He died for Mass'r eTim, — loved him and died for him, — jes' give up his sweet, precious body and soul for him on de cross ! Laws, jes' leave him in Jesus' hands ! Why, honey, dar's de very print o' de nails in his hands now ! " The flood-gates were rent ; and heaUng sobs and tears shook the frail form, as a faded lily shakes under the soft rains o'f summer. All in the room wept together. "Now, honey," said Candace, "I know our Doctor's a mighty good man, an' iarned, — an' in fair weather I ha'n't no 'bjection to yer hearin' all about dese yer great an' mighty tings he's got to say. But, honey, dey won't do for yer now. Sick folks mus'n't hab strong meat ; an' times like dese, dar jes' a'n't but one ting to come to, an' dat ar's Jesus. Look right at Jesus! Tell ye, honey, ye can't live no other way now. Don't ye 'member how He looked on his mother, when she stood faintin' an' tremblin' under de cross, jes' like you? He knows all about mothers' hearts. He won't break yours. 328 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. It was jes' 'cause He know'd we'd come into straits like dis yer, dat He went through all dese tings, — Him, de Lord o' Glory ! Is dis Him you was a-talkin' about? Him you can't love? Look at Him, an' see if you can't! Look an' see what He is I — don't ask no questions, an' don't go to no reasonin's, — jes' look at Him, hangiu' dar, so sweet and pa- tient on de cross ! All dey could do couldn't stop his lovin' 'em; he prayed for 'em wid all de breath, he had. Dar's a God you can love, a'n't dar? Candace loves Him, — poor, old, foolish, black, wicked Candace, — and she knows He loves her." And here Candace broke down into torrents of weeping. " They laid the mother, faint and weary, on her bed, and beneath the shadow of that suffering cross came down a heal- ing sleep on those weary eyelids." Could anytlijng be more beautiful than the irrepressible outburst of this simple woman's Christian sympathy and love, as she took her mistress into her arms, and offered her up to God on the altar of her own heart, and bore her griefs and carried her sorrows, and drew her gently away from her theories of the divine purposes and government, and laid her tenderly down beneath the cross, in the shelter of the central fiict of Christianity, where she might feel the love of God, and weep her madness away, and find comfort and peace? It is perfectly clear that Mrs. Stowe is no blind believer in the old New England theolog}^ She believes in the theology of the feelings as well as in that of the intellect. Poor old Candace, with her tender, sympathetic representations of the love of Jesus, is needed quite as much as the strong divine with his theory of underived virtue and his metaphj^sical subtleties concerning it. And while " The Minister's Wooing " is precisely what its name indicates, a love-story, and both a HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 329 charming and powerful one, it contains also a free and bold handling of the traditional orthodoxy of New England, and a masterly exhibition of both its strong and its weak points, its wholesome and its pernicious effects. We are led to think of it somewhat as James Mcwvi/n thought of Dr. Hophins himself: "He is a great, grand, large pattern of a man, — a man who isn't afraid to think, and to speak anything he does think ; but then I do believe, if he would take a voyage round the world in the forecastle of a whaler, he would know more about what to say to people than he does now ; it would certainly give him several new points to be consid- ered ! " It is not unlikely that many of the systems and bodies of divinity that have been compacted and elaborated "with wonderful skill in the secluded work-shops of our great theologians, might have been modified in some of their parts, and on the whole greatly improved by such a voyage as young Marvyn suggests. "The Minister's Wooing," apart from the mere story which is told in it, was rightly regarded as a subtle and masterly piece of theological criticism. As such it was no less warmly welcomed than bitterly assailed. But what-' ever may be thought of its soundness and merit, there can be no doubt of its great influence. Few books that have been published Avithin the last twenty years have done more to confirm the popular suspicion that the most perfectly com- pacted dogmatic systems of theology are of all things the most imperfect, inadequate, and unsatisfactory, and to strengthen what may be called the liberal evangelical party of New Eno^land. Immediately after the publication of " The Minister's Woo- ing" in book-form, Mrs. Stowe visited Europe again, sojourn- ing for the most part in Italy, where she wrote her next story, "Agnes of Sorrento," which also appeared as a serial in the "Atlantic Monthly," during the year 1862. For many years Mrs. Stowe had been an occasional contrib- 330 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. utor to the "New York Independent," — a religious ncAvspa- per of great reputation and large circulation throughout the country. In the year 1862 she began to write for its columns "The Pearl of Orr's Island," — a pleasant story, whose scene is laid on the beautiful coast of Maine, at Harjjswell, not fiir from Brunswick, where she formerly resided, and whose plan turns upon certain traditions of that seaside community. Summer tourists still visit Orr's Island, and inspect the shell of a house in which the pretty Pearl grew. For many years Mrs. Stowe has been one of the able corps of writers whose articles have enriched the columns of the "Atlantic Month- ly," and no one of them has done more to give that maga- zine its large circulation and high reputation than she. "Little Foxes " and " Chimney Corner " papers wiere written for it, and both these series of piquant essays have had a large sale at home and abroad. The " Queer Little People," whom Mrs. Stowe described to the readers of " Our Young Folks," were people of so much interest that her papers concerning them were gathered into a volume and scattered through the land to the delight of thousands of people both big and little. Throughout her literary career Mrs. Stowe has been known by her friends, and in later years has become known to the public, as a poet whose songs, in certain tender and plaintive keys, have a peculiar charm and power. Within a few years a goodly number and a judicious selection of her poems have been published. They are chiefly of a religious character, and are the rhythmical breathings of a deep and almost mys- tic piety. Their music is like the sounds that come up out of the heart of the sea in peaceful summer days when one is by himself on the shore, — sadly sweet and sweetly sad. One of the most beautiful of all these poems is the following which has found a place in many of the hymuologies of our churches, and has gone out, indeed, through all the world : — HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 331 ^* When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And bUlows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath its wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. " Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. «♦ So, to the heart that knows thy love, Purest, There is a temple, sacred evermore. And all the babble of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful door. •* Far, far away the roar of passion dieth. And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully, And no rude storm how fierce soe'er it flieth. Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in thee. • " rest of rest ! O peace, serene, eternal ! Thou ever livest, and thou chaugest never ; And in the secret of thy presence dwelleth Fulness of joy, forever and forever." In the year 1864 Mrs. Stowe built a beautiful house in the city of Hartford, where she has since resided,' surrounded by a large circle of fiimily friends, and both admired and loved by all who enjoy the honor of her acquaintance. In the midst of whatever can minister to comfort, or invite to leisure and repose, her years are still years of literary labors, and also of rich fruits in their season. Late may she rest from those labors I 332 EMINENT WOMEN OE THE AGE. MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON, BY THEODORE TILTON. I ONCE watched an artist while he tried to transfer to his canvas the lustre of a precious stone. His picture, after his utmost skill, was dull. A radiant and sparkling woman, full of wit,, reason, and fancy, is a whole crown of jewels. A poor, opaque copy of her is the most that one can render in a biographical sketch. Elizabeth Cady, daughter of Judge Daniel Cady and Margaret Livingston, was born November 12th, 1816, in Johnstown, New York, — forty miles north of Albany. Birthplace is a secondary parentage, and transmits charac- ter. Elizabeth's birthplace was more famous half a century ago than since ; for then, though small, it was a marked in- tellectual centre; and now, though large, it is an unmarked manufacturing town. Before her birth, it was the vice-ducal seat of Sir William Johnson, the famous English negotiator with the Indians. During her girlhood, it was an arena for the intellectual wrestlings of Kent, Tompkins, Spencer, Elisha Williams, and Abraham Van Vechten, who, as lawj^ers, were among the chiefest of their time. It is now devoted mainly to the ftibrication of steel springs and buckskin gloves. So, like Wordsworth's early star, " it has faded into the light of common day." A Yankee said that his chief ambition was to become more MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 333 famous tliau his native town : Mrs. Stanton has lived to see her historic birthplace shrink into a mere local repute, while she herself has been quoted, ridiculed, and abused into a national fame. But Johnstown still retains one of its ancient splendors, — a glory still as fresh as at the foundation of the world. Stand- ing on its hills, one looks off upon a country of enamelled meadow lands, that melt away southward toward the Mohawk, and northward to the base of those grand mountains which are God's monument over the grave of John Brown. In sight of six different counties in clear weather, Elizabeth Cady, a child of free winds and flowing brooks, roamed at will, frolicking with lambs, chasing butterflies, or, like Proserpine, gathering flowers, " herself a fairer flower." As Hanson Cox, standing under the pine tree at Dartmouth College, and gazing upon the oirt lying landscape, exclaimed, "This is a liberal education 1 " so Elizabeth Cady, in addition to her books, her globes, her water-colors, and her guitar, was an apt pupil to skies and fields, gardens and mead- ows, flocks and herds. Happy the child whose foster-parents are God and Nature ! The one person who, more than any other, gave an intellect- ual bent to her early life, even more than her father and mother, was her minister. This was the Rev. Simon Hosack, — a good old Scotchman, pastor for forty years of a Presbyterian church in which the Cady family had always been members, and of which Mrs. Stanton (though she has long resided else- where) is a member to this very day ; — a fact which her present biographer takes special pains to chronicle, lest, other- wise, the world might be slow to believe that this brilliant, audacious, and iconoclastic woman is actually an Old School Presbyterian. The venerable Scotch parson — snowy-haired, heavy-browed, and bony-cheeked — was generally cold to most of his parishioners, but always cordial to Elizabeth. A great 334 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. affection existed between this shepherd and his lamb. What she could not say to either father or mother, she unbosomed to him. Full of the sorrows which all imaginative natures suffer keenly in childhood, she found in this patriarch a fatherly confessor, who tenderly taught her how to bear her little Inirdens of great weight, or, still better, how to suffer them and be strong. Eiding his parish rounds, he would take Elizabeth into his buggy, give the reins into her hands, and, while his fair charioteer vainly whipped the mild-man- nered mare, the good man would put on his spectacles, and read aloud from some book or foreign review, or, when not reading, would talk. The favorite subject, both for reading and talking, was religion, — never the dark, but always the bright side of it. Indeed, religion has no dark side. The fancied shadow is not in the thing seen, but in the eye seeing. "If the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness ! " Seeking to fill the girl's mind Avith sunshine and glory, her minister kept always painting, toher young fancy, fair pictures of paradise and happy saints. Peregrinating' in his antique vehicle, the childless old man, fathering this soulful child, taught her that the way to heaven was as lovely as a country road fringed with wild roses and arched with summer blue. "My father," she says in one of her letters, "was truly great and good, — an ideal judge ; and to his sober, taciturn, and majestic bearing, he added the tenderness, purity, and refinement of a true woman. My mother was the soul of in- dependence and self-reliance, — cool in the hour of danger, and never knowing fear. She was inclined to a stern military rule of the household, — a queenly and magnificent sway ; but my father's great sense of justice, and the superior weight of his greater age (for he was many years her senior), so modified the domestic government that the children had, in the main, a pleasant childhood." MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 335 The child is not only father of the man, hut also mothvjr of the woman. This large-brained, inquisitive, and ambitious girl, who early manifested a meditative tendency, soon found her whole nature sensibly jarred with the first inward and prophetic stirrings toward the great problem to which she has devoted her after years, — the elevation and enfranchisement of woman. "In my earliest girlhood," she says, "I spent much time in my father's office. There, before I could understand much of the talk of the older people, I heard many sad complaints, made by women, of the injustice of the laws. We lived in a Scotch neighborhood, where many of the men still retained the old feudal ideas of women and property. Thus, at a man's death his property would descend to his eldest son, and the mother would be left with nothinii; in her own ric^ht. It was not unusual, therefore, for the mother, who had probably brought all the property into the family, to be made an un- happy dependent on the bounty of a dissipated son. The tears and complaints of these women, who came to my father for legal advice, touched my heart ; and I would often childishly inquire into all the particulars of their sorrow, and would appeal to my father for some prompt remedy. On one occarion, he took down a law-book, and tried to show me that something called 'the laws' prevented him from putting a stop to these cruel and unjust things. In this wa}^ my head was filled with a ijreat ansjer ao-ainst those cruel and atrocious laws. After which the students in the office, to amuse themselves by exciting my feelings, would always tell me of any unjust laAvs which they found during their studies. My mind was thus so aroused against the barbarism of the laws thus pointed out, that I one day marked them with a pencil, and decided to take a pair of scissors and cut them out of the book, — suppos- ing tjiat my father and his library were the beginning and 336 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. end of the law ! I thought that if I could only destroy those laws, those poor women would have no further trouble. But when the students informed my father of my proposed muti- lation of his volumes, he explained to me how fruitless my childish vengeance would have been, and taught me that bad laws were to be abolished in quite a different way. As soon as I fairly understood how the thing could be accomplished, I vowed that, when I became old enough, I would have such abominable laws changed. And I have kept my vow." After the failure of Elizabeth's novel and original plan of amending the laws with her scissors, another equally strange ambition took possession of her mind. "I was about ten years old," she says, "when my only brother, who had just graduated at Union College with high honors, came home to die. He was my father's pride and joy. It was easily seen that, while my father was kind to us all, the one, son filled a larger place in his affections and future plans than the five daughters together. Well do I remember how tenderly he watched the boy in that last sickness ; how he sighed, and wiped the tears from his eyes, as he slowly walked up and down the hall ; and how, when the last sad moment came, and all was silent in the chamber of death, he knelt and prayed for comfort and support. I well remember, too, going into the large, dark parlor to look at my brother's corpse, and finding my father there, pale and immovable, sit- ting in a great arm-chair by his side. For a long time my father took no notice of me. At last I slowly approached him and climbed upon his knee. He mechanically put his arm about me, and, with my head resting against his beating heart, we sat a long, long time in silence, — he, thinking of the wreck of all his hopes in the loss of his dear son, and I fully feeling the awful void death had made. At length, he heaved a deep sigh and said, ' O my daughter, I wish you MKS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 337 were a boy ! ' ' Then I will he a boy,^ said I, ' and will do all that my brother did.' " All that day, and far into the night, I pondered the prob- lem of boyhood. I thought the chief thing was, to be learned and com-ageous, as I fimcied all boys were. So I decided to learn Greek, and to manage a horse. Having come to that conclusion, I fell asleep. My resolutions, unlike most made at night, did not vanish in the morning. I rose early, and hastened to put them into execution. They were resolutions never to be forgotten, — destined to mould my whole future character. As soon as I was dressed, I hastened to meet bur good pastor in his garden, which joined our own. Finding him at work there as usual, I said, 'Doctor, will you teach me Greek?' 'Yes,' he replied. 'Will you give me a lesson now?' 'Yes, to be sure,' he added. Laying down his hoe, and taking my hand, 'Come into my study,' said he, 'and we will begin at once.' As we walked along, I told him all my thoughts and plans. Having no children, he loved me very much, entered at once into the sorrow which I had felt on discovering that a girl was less in the scale of being than a boy, and, praised my determination to prove the contrary. The old, grammar which he had studied in the University of Glasgow, was soon in my hand, and the Greek article learned before breakfast. " Then came the sad pageantry of death, — the weeping friends, the dark rooms, the ghostly stillness, the funeral cortege, the prayer, the warning exhortation, the mournful chant, the solemn tolling bell, the burial. How my flesh crawled during those three sad days I What strange, unde- fined fears of the unknown took possession of me ! " For months afterward, at the twilight hour, I went with my father to the new-made grave. Near it stood a tall poplar, against which I leaned, while my father threw him- self upon the grave with outstretched arms, as if to embrace 22 338 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. his child. At last the frosts and storms of November came, and made a chilling barrier between the living and the dead, and we went there no more. "During all this time, the good doctor and I kept up our lessons ; and I learned, also, how to drive and ride a horse, and how (on horseback) to leap a fence and ditch. I taxed every power, in hope some day to make my father say, 'Well, a girl is as good as a boy, after all ! ' But he never said it. When the doctor would come to spend the evening with us, I would whisper in his ear, 'Tell my father how fast I get on.' And he would tell him all, and praise me too. But my father would only pace the room and sigh, 'Ah, she should have been a boy ! ' And I, not knowing why, would hide my head on the doctor's shoulder, and often weep with vexation; "At length, I entered the academy, and, in a class mainly of boys, studied Mathematics, Latin, and Greek. As two prizes were offered in Greek, I strove for one, and got it. How well I remember my joy as I received that prize ! There was no feeling of ambition, rivalry, or triumph over my companions, nor any feeling of satisfaction in winning my honors in presence of all the persons assembled in the academy on the day of exhibition. One thought alone occu- pied my mind. ' Now,' said I, ' my father will be happy, — he will be satisfied.' As soon as we were dismissed, I hastened home, rushed into his office, laid the new Greek Testament (which was my prize) on his lap, and exclaimed, ' There, I have got it ! ' He took the book, looked through it, asked me some questions about the class, the teachers, and the spectators, appeared to be pleased, handed the book back to me, and, when I was aching to have him say something which would show that he recognized the equality of the daughter with the son, kissed me on the forehead, and ex- claimed with a sigh, ' Ah, you should have been a boy ! ' MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 339 That ended my pleasure. I hastened to my room, flung the book acrosSithe floor, and wept tears of bitterness. " But the good doctor, to whom I then went, gave me hope and courage. What a debt of gratitude I owe to that dear old man I I used to visit him every day, tell him the news, comb his hair, read to him, talk with him, and listen with rapture to his holy words. Oh, how often the memory of many things he has said has given me comfort and strength in the hour of darkness and struggle ! One day, as we sat alone, and I held his hand, and he was ill, he said, 'Dear child, it is your mission to help mould the world anew. May good angels give you thoughts, and move you to do the work which they want done on earth. You must promise me one thing, and that is, that you will always say what you think. Your thoughts are given you to utter, not to conceal ; and if you are true to yourself, and give to others all you see and know, God will pour more light and truth into your own soul. My old Greek lexicon, testament, and grammar, which I studied forty years ago, and which you and I have thumbed so often together, I shall leave to you when I die ; and, whenever you see them, remember that I am watching you from heaven, and that you can still come to me with all your sorrows, just as you have always done. I shall be ever near you.' " When the last sad scene was over, and his will was opened, sure enough, there was a clause in it, saying, ' My Greek lexicon, testament, and grammar, I give to Elizabeth Cady.' " Great was the void which the doctor's death made in my heart. But I slowly transferred my love to the books. When I first received them they were all falling to pieces. So I had them newly bound in black morocco and gilt. Dear are they to me to this day, and dear will continue to be as 340 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. long as I live. I never look at them without thanking God that he gave me, in my childhood, so noble a friend." At the time of Dr. Hosack's death, which was in Eliza- beth's fifteenth year, her term at the Johnstown Academy was drawing to a close. Among the scholars, whether girls or boys, none could recite better, or run faster, than herself; none missed fewer lessons, or frolics ; none were oftener at the head of recitations, or mischiefs. If she was detained from the class, the teacher felt the loss of her cheery com- pany ; if she was absent from the out-door games, the boys said that half the sport was gone. She who had been the loved companion of a sedate theologian had, at the same time, remained the ringleader of a bevy of mad romps. A school- house is a kingdom ; and Elizabeth was a school-house queen. After graduating at the head of her class, a sudden blow fell upon her heart, and left a grievous wound. She had secretly cherished the hope, that as she had kept ahead of the boys, and thus shoAvu at least her equality with the domineering sex, she would be sent (as Johnstown boys were then usually sent) to Union College at Schenectady. The thought never occurred to her, that this institution, like most other colleges, was not so wise and liberal as to educate both sexes instead of one. There will come a time when any institution that proposes to educate the sexes sep- arately, will be voted too ignorant of human nature to be trusted with moulding the minds of the sous and daughters of the republic. To shut girls and boys out of each other's sight during the four most impressible years of life is one of the many conventional interferences with natural law which society unwittingly ordains to its own great harm. It is a happiness to see that most of the new colleges, particu- larly in the Western States, have been based on a more sen- sible theory. MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 341 Just when Elizabeth Cady's heart was most set on Union College, — whither she would have gone had she pleased her father by being a boy, — she was told that she must go instead to Mrs. Willard's Female Seminary in Troy because she had disappointed him by being a girl. Great was her indignation at this announcement, impetuous her protest against this plan. The stigma of inferiority thus cast upon her on account of her sex, and on account of her sex alone, was galling to a maiden who had already distanced all her competitors of the opposite sex. At every step of her journey to Troy she seemed to herself to be treading on her pride, and crushing out her life. Exasperated, mortified, and humbled, she began, in a sad frame of mind, a boarding-school career. "If there is any one thing on eartli," she says, " from which I pray God to save my daughters, it is a girls' seminary. The two years which I spent in a girls' seminary were the dreariest years of my whole life." Nevertheless, nothing remained for the disappointed child but to make the best of a bad situa- tion. So she beguiled her melancholy by playing mischiev- ous pranks. For instance, in the seminary, a big hand-bell was rung downstairs every morning, as a call to prayer, and upstairs every night, as a call to bed. After the nightly ringing, the bell was set down on the upper floor in an angle of the wall. One night, at eleven o'clock, after the inmates had been an hour in bed, Elizabeth furtively rose, stole out of her dormitory in the drapery of a ghost, and solemnly kicked the bell step by step down every flight of stairs to the ground floor ! Although everybody in the house was wakened by the noise, and many of the doors were opened, she glided past all the peeping eyes like a phantom, to the general terror of the whole house, and was never afterwards suspected as the author of the mischief. Soon, however, the merry frightener of others was solemnly frightened herself. The Kev. Charles G. Finney, — a pulpit 34:2 EMINENT WOMEN OF THE AGE. orator who, as a terrifier of human souls, has proved himself the equal of Savonarola, — made a visit to Troy, and preached in the Rev. Dr. Beman's Presbyterian church, where Eliza- beth and her school-mates attended. " I can see him now," she says (describing Mr. Finney's preaching), "his great eyes rolling round the congregation, and his arms flying in the air like a windmill. One evening he described Hell and the Devil so vividly, that the picture glowed before my eyes in the dark for months afterwards. On another occasion, when describing the damned as wandering in the Inferno, and inquiring their way through its avenues, he suddenly pointed with his finger, exclaiming, " There ! do you not see them ? " and I actually jumped up in church and looked round, — his description had been such a reality. In quoting this allusion to Mr. Finney, I cannot forbear saying that, although high respect is due to the intellectual, moral, and spiritual gifts of the venerable ex-president of Oberlin College, such preaching Avorks incalculable harm to the very souls which it seeks to save. It worked harm to Elizabeth. The strong man struck the child as with a lion's paw. Fear of the judgment seized her soul. Mental anguish prostrated her health. Visions of the lost haunted her dreams. Dethronement of her reason was apprehended by her friends. Flinging down her books, she suddenly fled home. The good minister of Johnstown, her revered counsellor, was in his grave. His successor was a stranger whom she could not approach. In her despair, she turned to her father. "Often," said she, "I would rise out of my bed, hasten to his chamber, kneel at his side, and ask him to pray for my soul's salvation, lest I should be cast into hell before morning." At last, she regained her wonted composure of spirits, and joined the Johnstown church. " But I was never happy," she writes, "in that gloomy faith which dooms to MRS. ELIZABETH CADY STANTON. 343 eternal misery the greater part of the human family. It Avas no comfort to me to be saved with a chosen few, while the multitude, and those too who had suffered most on earth, were to have no part in heaven." The next seven years of her life she spent at Johnstown, dividino; her time between book-delvin