IN MEMORY OF 
 
 SARAH EARLE STEVENS 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 xviu April MDCCCXCVIII
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 SARAH EARLE STEVENS 
 
 SICVTLILIVM 
 INTER SPINAS 
 
 BOSf 
 
 Privately issued 
 
 COPELAND 
 
 XVIII April 
 
 TON 
 
 or the family by 
 AND DAY 
 MDCCCXCVm
 
 Sarah Elizabeth Earle, daughter of Ethan and Mary 
 
 Peirce Earle 
 
 Born in Middleborough, Massachusetts, 1 8th April, 1836 
 Married by Rev. Dr. Baron Stow, of Boston, and 
 
 Rev. Dr. J. W. M. Williams, of Baltimore 
 to Joseph Cony Stevens, Boston, 8th September, 1863 
 
 
 
 Children: Alice Howland, died, 1865 
 
 Joseph Cony, died, 1867 
 Joseph Earle, Arthur Wesselhbeft 
 
 
 
 Died in London, yth September, 1897 
 
 Buried at Forest Hills Cemetery, Boston 
 
 22nd September, 1897
 
 SARAH EARLE STEVENS 
 
 HERS was a soul attuned to joyous strain ; 
 A heart brimful of love for light and cheer 
 And all sweet sounds ; a life from which 
 flashed clear 
 
 The gem of generosity. No gain 
 She sought for self, nor ever faintest stain 
 Of worldly wisdom, as men count it here, 
 Was hers ; and (as to children blest and dear) 
 To her no law save that of love was plain. 
 No pleader from her door was sent astray, 
 No erring one denied the little hand 
 That helped the rich and poor, the high and 
 
 low. 
 
 She lived and loved ; and then she went away 
 To hear celestial music in the Land 
 Whose harmonies surpass the ones we know. 
 
 E. L. G. 
 
 MRS. STEVENS'S DIARY OF HER 
 LAST JOURNEY 
 
 LEFT Boston in " Cephalonia," June 26, 
 1897, Saturday, five p.m. ; lovely, quiet 
 voyage ; few sick ; broke shaft July 4 ; 
 towed into Queenstown, 400 miles, speaking 
 " Majestic " the 6th, by a tramp steamer, the 
 " Floridian," who took us Sunday at 4 p.m. ; 
 arrived Queenstown, Wednesday, yth , at 9.30 
 
 5
 
 p.m. ; left at midnight by special train to Dublin ; 
 special boat to Holy head in morning, then to 
 Chester, and two hours' waiting, to London at 
 4.20, Mrs. Allen meeting us at Euston station 
 at 8. 20, but no trunks ; 8th, pth, went to opera, 
 " Marriage of Figaro," Eames and Edouard De 
 Reske, De Vere, Bauermeister ; loth, got a ring for 
 Joe and saw " Yeoman of the Guard " with Mrs. 
 Allen in p.m. ; loth, Sunday, dined with Mr. 
 Clifford; I2th, missed "Siegfried" and Jean 
 DeReske ; i4th, Mr. Clifford dined with us and 
 we missed " Meistersinger ; " Angie went to 
 Holland ; our two trunks were found, arriving at 
 Royal Hotel just as she had left ; we dined again 
 with Mr. Clifford and his Bishop brother and 
 wife. 
 
 Saturday, iyth, Arthur came and spent Sunday 
 with us, leaving, I9th, for his bicycle trip with 
 James Arthur and Sam Robinson ; all lunched 
 with us and went to Hampton Court ; I invited 
 Madame Sterling ; took her and Kenneth home 
 to dinner ; Arthur lunched with Malcolm Mon- 
 day, and we dined there at night ; Tuesday we 
 heard " Romeo and Juliet " Eames and Jean 
 De Reske ; they never did better ; saw Princess 
 of Wales, Duchess of York and Duke, and Vic- 
 toria, princess, in royal box ; Mr. Clifford dined 
 with us Wednesday, 2ist ; Ida Davidson and hus- 
 band arrived from America at 8 p.m., and we left, 
 22d, at 9 a.m., for Newcastle, thence to Bergen, a 
 nasty trip ; Miss Hirschfeld on board; Bergen, 
 Saturday, 24th ; visited a horrid museum and left 
 6
 
 Sunday, 25th, for Stalheim, arriving at 4, 
 leaving Monday at 8 ; met the Lewises from 
 Chicago at Gudenvangen ; crossed the Fjord ; 
 night at Laerdalsoren, taking carriage across the 
 country ; Tuesday morning, 27 th, Nestuen ; 
 28th, 29th, Fajennes ; joth, Odnaes ; joth, Chris- 
 tiania ; shook hands with Ibsen at hotel ; Miss 
 Hirschfeld there ; night train to Stockholm, 
 meeting Mr. Lawrence Abbott on the train, who 
 did the city with us Sunday and Monday, leav- 
 ing us Monday night ; Grand Hotel ; changed 
 our rooms ; Lewises there ; left Wednesday, 4th, 
 for Gota canal, arriving Gottenburg Friday, 
 6th ; Mr. and Mrs. Terry with us to Copen- 
 hagen the 8th ; went to Hamburg, drenched with 
 rain, Monday, 9th ; Mr. Voigt dined with us ; dined 
 with Mr. Ripke loth; left for Berlin nth; 
 Potsdam i2th; and Aniline Mills ijth ; Munich 
 Gallery, i4th; and Botzen for sleep ; met Hes- 
 seltines, of Melrose ; left, 1 5th, for Venice, 
 Grand Hotel ; mosquitoes and hot ; left Tuesday 
 for Milan, with pleasant Americans, Mrs. Butcher 
 and son and others, she, in our car ; Hotel Grand 
 Bretagne ; cathedral and " Last Supper " after 
 breakfast ; cars to Laveno ; boat to Pallanza, for 
 four hours; diligence to Gravellona; cars to Domo 
 D'Ossola at n p.m. i8th; Simplon pass I9th in 
 pouring rain ; Brigue at 7 ; Zermatt, 2Oth ; Corner 
 Grat for papa, 2ist; letters; left, 22d, for Brigue 
 and for Rhone Glacier, where we arrived at 9 p.m. ; 
 cold and rainy where I am writing this ; leave at 
 2.45 for Meirengen ; 23d, too high for me to eat ; 
 
 7
 
 over the Grimsel ; a fine new road three years old, 
 imposing and rocky ; arrive at the pretty, clean 
 village of Meirengen in the evening ; can only 
 take milk ; left at 12, and found I had lost book 
 out of my cape pocket ; returned, allowing papa 
 to keep on to Interlaken ; we didn't find book 
 and got to Interlaken at 4. Papa met me and we 
 walked to the Beau Rivage Hotel ; called on the 
 Worthleys at Victoria, after hearing a .Kursaal 
 concert ; met Tom Gannett oh way back ; Aug. 
 25th wrote proprietor Hotel Sauvage to advertise 
 my book and return to Cook & Son. Papa bought 
 me a silver purse and bracelets, picture-frame, and 
 pins. It began to rain hard just as we returned to 
 hotel ; leave at 2 for Neuchatel ; so glad to be 
 down where things grow ! Aug. 26th, Neuchatel, 
 a pretty town, with fine buildings and a lovely lake ; 
 arrived last night ; met a Mr. and Mrs. Peale on 
 train from Interlaken ; he used to know George 
 Mowton, of Treverton, Pennsylvania ; leaving 
 for Paris at 8 a.m. 
 
 Aug. 27th, Paris ! Arrived in pouring rain ; 
 had a delicious dinner, and have our old rooms ; 
 I feel at home and happy, as I haven't for weeks 
 or since we left home. 
 
 In Mrs. Stevens's Bible was written this stanza : 
 
 " I cannot tell the art 
 
 By which such bliss is given, 
 I know Thou hast my heart 
 And I have Heaven ! " 
 
 8
 
 SUNSHINE AND ROSES 
 
 SUNSHINE and roses and sweet summer air 
 Spoke for you on your burial day, dear sou) ; 
 Sunshine and roses, for Love was the whole 
 Of your life Here, and must be also There ! 
 Beyond all mortal dreams of grief or care, 
 Beyond all fears, or mortal joy and dole, 
 Where the immortal tides of being roll, 
 You dwell of Life's last mystery aware. 
 Across the stormy seas that we call Death, 
 O'er surging sorrow and unfathomed pain, 
 From the far depths where human hopings cease, 
 Flashes the message of your last soft breath. 
 Sunshine and roses uttered it again, 
 And every gentle zephyr whispered " Peace ! " 
 
 M. C. S. 
 
 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 A LETTER dated a year ago lies before 
 me : it is from her pen whose cheerful 
 and sparkling messages were always so 
 welcome. The little incident that was the 
 occasion of her writing pleasantly illustrates 
 her warm sympathy and ready helpfulness. 
 One afternoon she accompanied her guest, who 
 was leaving her hospitable home after a brief 
 visit, to the railroad station, and was kindly wait- 
 
 9
 
 ing the departure of the train. From the car 
 window we noticed a middle-aged man of respect- 
 able appearance standing outside and weeping 
 bitterly. The unusual sight of a strong man in 
 tears attracted our attention, and as he was part- 
 ing with some friends we concluded that was his 
 trouble. The time for our good-by soon came, 
 and still the man remained standing and weeping. 
 " I think I will speak to that man," she said ; 
 " he seems in so much trouble." As the train 
 moved off she was standing not far from him, 
 smiling to me, and he still in tears. The next 
 day her letter came, telling the sequel to our inci- 
 dent. She writes : " I thought you would like 
 to know about my station friend and his sorrow. 
 He said he was not crying over parting with any 
 one on the train, but that a dear boy of ten years 
 had died very suddenly this week, and it made 
 him feel very badly to think of him. So we 
 walked peacefully out of the station, he thanking 
 me for speaking to him ; as he was a Roman 
 Catholic he thought I might feel there was a great 
 difference between us. I smoothed that out and 
 left by the side door. Came home, and have just 
 sent money for a memorial to Iowa, for Lizzie Ma- 
 goon ; the mission people there wish to found a 
 permanent scholarship in Turkey to her memory." 
 Now she has gone it is a fragrant memory that 
 these her own words bring to us. They are 
 the sweet breath of her kindness and charity. 
 Hers was indeed a brave and gracious spirit in 
 the midst of trouble and loss. 
 10
 
 Years ago, when a little daughter was suddenly 
 taken from our home, her ministrations were 
 wonderfully comforting. She came to us, and 
 tenderly helped us to bear the first burden of our 
 grief. It was not so much what she said or did : 
 her presence was the benediction. Others, too, 
 have borne a similar testimony to her consoling 
 kindness when death had invaded their house- 
 holds. She was not a friend for sunshine alone : 
 the shadows of life revealed her truly friendly. 
 Lavish in her generous thought for others, it was 
 need rather than worthiness that appealed to her 
 sympathetic nature. Her bounty was freely be- 
 stowed, her time, her money, and often her prayers 
 and efforts, to influence the mind and heart. 
 
 How lovely she was in taking to her home at 
 the seashore the various young boys in the family 
 circle ! To them, as if they were her own, she 
 gave what her own sons enjoyed : the privileges 
 of home, the blessings of ocean air and woods, and 
 the freedom to enjoy it all to their^hearts' content. 
 These young men, now in the stir and business of 
 life, look back on the summers of their childhood 
 and youth with affectionate gratitude. 
 
 What " Aunt Sallie " did for them and was to 
 them cannot be told here ; but it is written in grate- 
 ful hearts ; and to her boys her memory is a treasure 
 growing brighter as time separates the yesterday 
 from the to-day. S. N. L. 
 
 ii
 
 I FIRST saw Mrs. Stevens in a meeting of 
 the Boston Women's Christian Temperance 
 Union more than twenty years ago. Her exceed- 
 ingly pleasing personality and earnest spirit enlisted 
 my interest and won my love. I soon learned that 
 she was a woman to be trusted. Her work was 
 the outburst of a heart full of love and self-sacrifice. 
 Finding people in need of help, she paused not 
 to ask how they came to be in that condition, but 
 her soul and hand instantly responded to meet 
 their need her voice so tender in encourage- 
 ment to those less fortunate than herself! The 
 spirit of personal sacrifice was with her. The 
 blessings of her own life and love only stimu- 
 lated her purpose to do for the weary, sick, and 
 wretched that one has not far to seek to find. 
 The instances of her unostentatious charities 
 were multitudinous, she standing in the back- 
 ground, content to know that wretchedness was 
 alleviated, then passing on, ever a ministering 
 angel. 
 
 She proclaimed the spiritual enlightenment of 
 her later days without fear of criticism. She lived 
 it, ever hungering for more. Now she has entered 
 within the veil ; now she sees eye to eye the blessed- 
 ness of the Father's love. 
 
 E. M. H. R. 
 
 12
 
 FROM A FRIEND IN LONDON 
 
 MY first meeting with dear Mrs. Stevens 
 was at some mission services at the North 
 End in Boston. She was helping with 
 the music mainly, but her generous spirit seemed 
 to overflow everywhere, and to bring warmth and 
 light wherever she was. It touched one man re- 
 markably, and he told me months afterwards that 
 the change in his life from wretchedness, poverty, 
 and sin to a comparative prosperity was due to 
 Mrs. Stevens. At those meetings she was, per- 
 haps, the most generous woman alive. It was her 
 instinct to pour forth with a loving hand the fullest 
 possible measure of all she had to give to whoever 
 was needy and receptive. Her hospitality was 
 boundless. I found it impossible to refuse her re- 
 quest, seconded as kindly by Mr. Stevens, that I 
 would make their house my home for a consider- 
 able part of my stay in Boston. In vain I urged 
 that I had no possible claim on their hospitality : 
 she would take no denial, and it ended in my 
 coming and in my staying. In that house I 
 learned lessons I can never forget of sunny benef- 
 icence and eagerness to befriend every one. Her 
 sympathies were so universal that there was no 
 limit to her bounty. She cared passionately for 
 music, for literature, and was ever improving her- 
 self in both, but always her keenest desire was 
 for what was spiritual and religious. On such 
 subjects her blue eyes got brighter and more 
 expressive, and I often thought she restrained
 
 herself in speaking lest she should be over- 
 vehement. I can scarcely believe that it was 
 only last July that we met for the last time on 
 earth. Mr. Stevens and she spent an evening at 
 my home, as I much wished them to meet my 
 brother, the Bishop of Lucknow, and his wife. I 
 feel now that I ought to have realized that 
 the wonderful added sweetness and unearth- 
 liness were signs that she was soon to rise 
 to a higher sphere. Every subject that she 
 touched seemed beatified ; her manner was 
 quieter than usual, but it was radiant. Once 
 more I dined with them, and then she sailed away, 
 promising that if possible they would spend two 
 evenings with me on their return. Alas ! she 
 came back only to die in our midst. I found 
 Mr. Stevens calm, but fully alive to the danger. 
 " She is very weak," said he. When I said so to 
 her she replied, " I have all the strength that 
 there is," and so she had, for underneath were 
 the everlasting arms of God. Not many hours 
 after I was allowed to see the beloved remains. 
 Very beautiful was the sight. Perfect sweetness 
 and gravity, and perfect content, were manifest on 
 that grand, beautiful face. It seemed to have 
 grown in dignity and power, but it was herself, 
 or rather it was the impress of herself left there 
 for our comfort by her redeemed spirit. May 
 Christ her Saviour vouchsafe to us too a spirit 
 set free from the world and steadfastly set on 
 those things which are above ! 
 
 EDWARD CLIFFORD. 
 
 14
 
 Extract from a letter from Mr. John Harring- 
 ton Keene to Mr. Stevens : 
 
 " I shall never forget the goodness and kind- 
 ness which breathed in every word Mrs. Stevens 
 wrote me, and I cannot express to you the com- 
 fort my own dear wife has derived from a little 
 book she sent me, c The Golden Ladder,' by 
 Miss Lida Clarkson. It has seemed just the 
 word in season my wife wanted, and we both 
 mourn the loss of one who, though personally 
 unknown to us, seemed to appreciate and under- 
 stand so clearly those she came in contact with, 
 and to be so sweet and gracious in every way. 
 . . . I saw so far into the beautiful nature of 
 this sainted lady that I cannot find language at 
 this time to say how grieved I am. She seemed 
 always to me to embody the thought of George 
 Eliot in the aspiration : 
 
 . . . " * May I reach 
 
 That purest heaven, be to other souls 
 
 The cup of strength in some great agony, 
 
 Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, 
 
 Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, 
 
 Be the sweet presence of a good diffused 
 
 And in diffusion ever more intense ! 
 
 So shall I join the choir invisible 
 
 Whose gladness is the music of the world.' '
 
 SARAH EARLE STEVENS 
 
 FAREWELL, dear soul, who faithfully hath 
 trod 
 Life's gloomy rooms wherein so long in vain 
 We search for pearls of price where griefs have 
 
 lain, 
 
 Bearing thy lamp clear with the light of God ; 
 Throwing unwavering radiance abroad 
 Into the farthest recesses of pain; 
 Showing the weary seeker Heaven's gain, 
 And wells of peace for love's divining rod. 
 Oh, never more will those same shadows move 
 Which thou dispelled! In one another's eyes 
 The angels pale. Grief cannot seem so blest, 
 Nor sin so true a leading-string of love, 
 Until perchance we win to Paradise 
 By that same path thy gentle feet have pressed. 
 
 MARY E. WILK.INS. 
 
 16
 
 cr 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW. 
 
 Series 9482
 
 'A 001 080 555 4