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#" 


ipdllNENT 


WOMEN"  OF  THE  AGE ; 


BUNG  NABRAltVm  01 


THE  LITES   AND   DEEDS 


or 


Most  Prominent  Women  of  the  Present  Generation. 


JAMISJ^TOir,  RORAOS  QRBELET,  T.  W.  HieOIKBOM,  J.  8.  0.  ABBOTT, 
Pmt.  JAMSB  M.  HOPPIN,  WILLIAM  WDTTXR,  THBODOBB  TILTON,  FANMT  IBRN, 

OftAGl  GBKENWOOD,  Mag.  B.  C.  STANTON,  BTO. 


I  1^1 


^T^\i^U  lUtts^steji)  toiii^  ^avixUm  Sittl  €nQXKbingn. 


■  1^1 1 


HARTFORD,  CONN.: 
S.  M.  BETT8  &  CX)MPANY. 

W.  H.  BOOTHROTD,  DBTROIT,  MICH 

GIBBS  &  NICHOLS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 

H.  H.  BANCROFT  &  CO.,  SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 

1869. 


■£5- 


Entered  according  to  Act  or  Congreu,  in  thejear  1868,  bj 

'    a  M.  BETTS  &  CO., 

In  the  Cterk's  Offloe  of  the  Diatrict  Court  of  the  United  ScatM  for  Hm 

DiBOict  or  CoDitecticnt 


LIST   OF   ENGEAYIEGS. 


PAO. 

1.  RbSA  BONHEUR, ;    .    .    .    .    Fbosttispiecb. 

2.  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE, Vionbttb  Title. 

3.  LYDIA  H.  SIGOURNEY, 85 

4.  EUGENIE,  Emprkss  of  the  Faehch, 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,  Qi7EEir  of  England,       . .  .    « 465 

11.  ADELAIDE  RISTORI, 440 

12.  ANNA  E.  DICKINSON, 479 

13.  MRS.  C.  S.  LOZIER^  M.  D 517 

14.  HARRIET  a  HOSMER,       56« 


/ 


PREFACE. 


Thb  world  is  full  <^  books  that  narrate  the  deeds  and  utter  the^ 
praisea  of  men.  The  lives  of  eminent  men  of  our  own  time  are 
made  familiar  to  as  in  newspapers  and  magazines,  in  individual  ' 
akelches  and  autobiographies,  as  well  as  in  histories,  dictionaries  id 
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  information  has  been 
published  in  one  form  and  another  in  respect  to  eminent  women  of 
oar  age,  there  is  not  in  existence,  so  far  as  the  publishers  are  aware, 
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  \here  is  a  demand  ibr  this 
very  work.  The  discussions  of  the  present  day  in  regard  to  the 
elevation  of  wgman,  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  what  has  been  attempted  and  accom- 
plished by  eminent  women  of  our  time  is  fitted  to  make  an  imprea- 
sioD  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  infinence  of  woman,  and  her  share  in  the 
privileges  and  responsibilities  of  human  life. 

In  selecting  the  subjects  for  the  sketches  here  presented,  r^^rd 
has  been  had  not  only  to  individual  excellence  or  eminence,  but  also 
to  a  proper  representation  of  the  various  proft^ssions  in  which  women 
have  distinguished  themselves.  For  obvious  reasons,  also,  the  selec- 
tion  has  been  confined  chiefly  to  American  women. 


In  selecting  tiie  vriters  for  the  variouB  sketches,  the  publishera 
have  chosen  those  only  whom  thej  knew  to  be  thorongfaly  qualified 
for  the  partit^lar  taskj*  assigned  thero,  and  so  interested  in  the  sub- 
JQCta  of  their  sketches  as  to  be  prepared  to  do  them  fuU  justice. 
;  Great  attention  has  been  given  to  the  collection  of  materials  which 
should  be  at  once  interesting  and  aathentic.  Variety  and  ireshneBs 
of  interest  are  secured  by  obtaining  slj^tches  from  a  lai^  number  of 
able  writers,  and  by  arranging  their  contributions  so  that  no  two  con- 
secutive chapters  are  the  production  of  the  same  person.  Aa  it  waa 
impossible,  oq  acccnnt  of  the  laA  of  space,  to  give  extended  sketch- 
es of  all  who  ought  to  be  noticed  in  this  Tolume,  and  in  some  cases, 
4r  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. 

Tbia  work  aims  to  present  in  its  literary  department,  as  well  as  in 
ita  engravings,  an  attractive  series  of  accurate  and  life-like  pictures. 
As  a  literary  production,  cont^ning  the  best  essays  and  &iest 
thoughts  of  many  of  the  finl  writers  of  the  day,  it  must  be  a  source 
of  profit  and  pleasure  to  every  reader  of  critical  taste.  The  engrav- 
ings, like  the  written  sketches,  are  no  creations  of  fancy,  but  trust- 
worthy delineations  of  the  features  of  those  whom  Ihey  profess  to 
represenU 

The  publishers  have  spared  neither  time  nor  expense  in  the  prep- 
oration  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. 

Habtfood,  Julf  16, 1868. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 


PAOL 

1.  FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE,      .    By  James  Paxtoit,  ....  1 1 

2.  LYDIA  MARIA  CHILD,     .    .    .    By  T.  W.  Hxooxnboh,  ...  38 

3.  FANNY  FERN,— MRS.  PARTON, 

Bj  Gracb  Ghsbmwood,    .    .  66 

4.  LYDIA  H.  SIGOURNEY,    ...    By  Rev.  £.  B.  Huntikoton,  85 

5.  MRS.  FRANCES  ANNE  KEMBLE, 

By  James  Parton,  ....  102 

6.  EUGENIE,  EMPRESS  OF  THE  FRENCH, 

By  John  S.  C.  Abbott,  .    .  128 

7.  GRACE  GREENWOOD,— MRS.  LIPPINCOTT, 

By  Joseph  B.  Ltmak,  .    .    .  147 

8.  ALICE  AND  PHEBE  CARY,      .    By  Hosacx  Gseelbt,  ...  164 

9.  MARGARET  FULLER  OSSOLI,     By  T.  W.  Hiooihsow,  ...  173 

10.  GAIL  HAMILTON,— MISS  DODGE, 

By  FAHinr  Fesn,      ....  202 

11.  ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING, 

ByEDWABD  Y.  HiKCKS,    .     .  221 

12.  JENNY  LIND  GOLDSCHMIDT,     By  James  Pabtok,   ....  250 


CUB  PIONEER   EDUCATORS, 

By  Rev.  E.  B.  Huhtiwoton, *72 

13.  Mb8.  Emma  WillAbd.  |  14.  Mes.  Maxiaitnx  P.  Dasoomb. 


TABLS   or   COiriZlfTS. 


IS.  HABBIET 
It.  HB8.  ELIZ. 


STOWE,     By  Rbt.  E.  F.  Famxeb,   . 
CADT  STANTON, 

Bf  Thiooou  Tiltok,     . 


Bj  EuziBKia  Cadt  STAtrroit, 


IT.  Sabah  Aini  ANQBLurA  Qkiios. 

18.  Abbx  Kbllbt. 

19.  liUxT  Gbsw. 

10.  Amnb  Grbbns  Fbiixifb. 
>i.  looketia  mott. 
sa:  Cakouxb  M.  Sevebahok. 
S3.  Fkamou  D.  Oaox. 


24.  Abbt  HoTcatnon. 
as.  Autoirsttb  Browx. 

26.  Lcci  Stohb, 

27.  Hb».  Cabouhb  H.  Dau. 
SS.  Mbb.  C.  I.  H.  Nichols. 

29.  Sdsak  B.  Awtbokt. 

30.  Oltmpia  Bbowm. 


31.  VlCTOaiA,  QOEEN  OF  ENGLAHD, 

Sj  Jaus  Faxtos, 


EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  DRAMA, 
By  Wjluam  Winter,  .... 

3S.    A9XI.AIDB    BiSTORI. 

33.    EUFHBOaTHE    PaBEFA    BotA. 

M.  Elleb  Tsbe, — Mrs.  Coables  Keah. 
3S.  Claba  Locisa  KiujOoo. 
U.  Kate  BATBXAjf,— Mbs.  Qeobob  Cboifb. 
37.  OxixK  Faccit,— Hsa.  Tubomwi  Habtib. 


TABLX     OF     C0NTBNT8.  iz 


8&  A2SSA  ELIZABETH  DICKINSON, 

By  Mbs.  Elizabeth  Cadt  Stibton,  479 


WOMAN  AS   PHYSICIAN. 

By  Ret.  H.  B.  Eluot, 513 


39.  Mbs.  Clemencb  S.  Lozier,  M.  D. 

40.  Miss  Euzaoeth  Blackwell,  Bi.  D. 

41.  Miss  Harriot  K.  Hunt,  M.  D. 

42.  Mxs.  Hannah  £.  Longshore,  M.  D. 

43.  Miss  Ann  Preston,  M.  D. 


44.  CAMILLA  URSO, By  Mart  A.  Bbtts,      ...    551 

45.  HARRIET  G.  HOSMER,    ...    By  Ret.  R.  B.  Thurston,      .    566 

46.  ROSA  BONHEUR, By  Prof.  James  M.  Hoppin,      599 

47.  MBS.  JULIA  WARD  HOWE, 

By  Mbs.  Lvoia  Gilbert  Calhoun,  621 


EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  AGE. 


■  ♦  ■ 


FLORENCE  NIGHTINGALE. 

BT  JAMES  PABTON. 

Florence  NiGHnNGALE  is  one  of  the  fortunate  of  the  earth. 
Inheriting  from  nature  a  striking  and  beneficent  talent,  she 
was  able  to  cultiyate  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  hmnan  life  itself.  She  has 
L«id  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  JSfightingale^ 
has  often  been  remarked ;  and  it  appears  that  she  owes  both 
of  them  to  accident.  Her  father  is  William  Edward  Shore, 
ai)  English  gentleman  of  an  ancient  and  wealthy  Sheffield 
femily,  and  her  mother  is  a  daughter  of  William  Smith,  who 
was  for  many  years  a  member  of  Parliament,  where  he  was 
particularly  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 


12  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  light  whfle  the  family  were  residuig  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  two  daughters,  Parthenope  and  Florence. 
The  date  oi  the  birth  of  the  younger  sister,  Florence,  is 
variously  given  in  the  slight  accounts  which  have  been  pub- 
lished of  her  life ;  but  it  was  said  in  the  public  prints,  at  the 
time  when  her  name  was  on  every  tongue,  that  she  was  bom 
in  the  same  year  as  Queen  Victoria,  which  was  1819. 

Her  father  is  a  well-informed  and  intelligent  man,  and  it 
was  imder  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  afflicted  which 
enables  those  who  possess  it  to  divine  their  wants  before 
they  are  expressed.  In  England,  as  in  most  other  densely 
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  affluence, 
unless  they  are  remarkably  devoid  of  good  feeling,  employ 
part  of  their  leisure  in  visiting  the  cottages  of  the  poor,  and 
nunistering  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  soi^p,  and 


I'LOBENCE    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,  aiid  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  by  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  abuses  and  defects  of  every  description. 
Everywhere  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  surgeon  was  balked  and  frustrated  by  the  blun- 
dering ignorance  or  the  obstinate  conceit  ei  the  nurse. 
Thos^  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  fix)m  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. 


14  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQE. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  ibis  noble-minded  ladj  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  beibg  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  do- 
pendauts.     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  tour  was  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.     Betuming  to  Eugl?.nd, 
she  resumed  her  ordinary  life  as  the  daughter  of  a  country 
gentleman ;  but  not  for  a  long  time. 

Miss  Nightingale,  born  into  the  Church  of  England,  was 
then,  and  has  ever  since  remained,  a  devoted  member  of  Jt. 
In  her  religion,  however,  there  is  nothing  bigoted  nor  exces- 
sive ;  she  is  one  of  those  who  manifest  it  chiefly  bj*^  cheerful- 
ness, charity,  and  good-living;  nor  does  her  attachment  ta 


VLOBSNCE    KIOHTINGALB.  15 

her  own  church  blind  her  to  the  excellences  of  others.  In 
her  trayelB  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,  tbo,  with 
a  fidelity,  constancy^  and  skill,  which  excited  in  her  the 
highest  admiration  and  the  profoundest  respect.  It  was  a 
fisivorite  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  alleviating  the  anguish  of  the  sick-bed. 
About  the  year  1848,  she  heard  that  there  was  something  of 
the  kind  in  Germany,  under  the  change  of  a  benevolent  lady 
and  a  venerable  Lutheran  pastor.  She  hastened  to  enter  this 
school  of  nurses,  and  spent  six  months  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  family  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* 
cnmstances  has  a  resident  governess,  an  unhappy  being,  who 
auffers  many  of  the  inconveniences  attached  to  the  lot  of  a 
servant,  without  enjoying  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  EMIKBNT    WOMEK    OF    THS    AGS. 

of  employment  and  of  home.  For  tbe  benefit  of  sncli,  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  reimlt  of  her  study  and  observation.  The  war 
with  Russia  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. 

Tn  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  sending  these  twenty-five  thousand  British 
troops  to  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea.    The  first  rendezvous 


TLOBENCJE    KIGHTINGAt'*;. V  17 


was  at  Malta,  an  island  within  easy  reach  of  many  of  the 
most  prod  active  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  superfluity  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  an}i;hing  like  exact  or  timely  infor- 
mation, either  as  to  the  number  of  troops  expected  to  land 
upon  the  island,    or  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 
earried  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 
stiffly  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  provide  interpreters ;  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  England.  The  climate  of  that  regioa 
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,  fireezing  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    AOE. 

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  sei*ye  them  out,  and  it  was  thought  a 
wonderful  degree  of  courage  in  a  senior  stajQT-suvgeon  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  1  round  the 
corner  appears  a  red-breeched  Zouave  or  Chasseur,  a  bottle 
pf  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  crestfallen  Mercury,  and  retires  to  cook  the  eggs." 

Some  of  the  general  officers,  instead  of  directing  their 
energies  to  remedying  this  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  was  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  blading  heat  of  summer,  that  the  Queen's  own  guards 


I'LOBSKCS    KiaHTIKGALE.  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  boon  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  sumo  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  tlie  sick," 
wrote  Dr.  Russell,  **  no  beds,  no  mattresses,  no  medicjil  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 
was  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  by  heavy  carts,  drawn  by  buffaloes,  at 
the  rate  of  a  mile  and  a  half  an  hour ;  and  by  this  kind  of  trans- 
portation an  army  of  twent^'-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  and 
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  seren,  a.  k.,  w;is  dead  at  noon.    What  was,  at  once, 


20  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

remarkable  and  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.  Russell,  ** 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  atler  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  1  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  pipe  day^  for  the  use  of  the  men  in  rubbing  up 
their  uniforms  and  accoutrements  I 

On  the  13th  of  September,  1854,  twenty-seven  thou- 
sand British  troops  were  landed  upon  the  shores  of  the 
Crimea,  and  marched  six  miles  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,  and 


FLOBENCE    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's  ship  for  all  the 
vessels  of  the  great  fleet  to  send  their  sick  men  on  board,  the 
Kangaroo.  Thoughtless  order  I  In  the  course  of  the  day, 
this  vessel  was  surrounded  by  hundreds  of  boats  filled  with 
sick  soldiers  and  sailors,  and  it  was  soon  crowded  to  suffoca- 
tibn.  Before  night  closed  in,  there  were  fifteen  hundred 
sick  on  board  of  her,  and  the  scene  was  so  full  of  hon*or  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  miser- 
able freight,  she  was  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  b^  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  New  York.  It  began  with  that 
terrible  hurricane,  which  many  doubtless  remember  reading 
of  at  the  time.  The  whole  army  were  still  living  in  tents. 
Ko  adequate  preparation  had  been  made,  of  any  kind,  for 


22  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

protecting  the  troops  against  such  snows,  and  cold,  and  rain, 
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  T^ith  it 
torrents  of  rain.  The  air  was  filled  with  blankets,  coats, 
hats,  jackets,  quilts,  bedclothes,  tents,  and  even  with  tables 
and  chairs.  Wagons  and  ambulances  were  overturned  by 
the  force  of  the  wind.  Almost  eveiy  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  beginmng 
made  of  repairmg  the  damage.  Towards  night  it  began  to 
snow,  and  a  driving  storm  of  snow  and  sleet  tormented  the 
army  durmg  the  night.  This  storm  proved  more  deadly  to 
sea  than  on  shore,  and  many  a  ship,  stored  with  warm 
clothing,  of  which  these  troops  were  in  perishing  need,  went 
to  the  bottom  of  the  Black  Sea. 

A  few  days  after,  Doctor  Russell  wrote :  ^  It  is  now  pour- 
ing rain,  —  the  skies  are  black  as  ink,  —  the  wind  is  howling 
over  the  staggering  tents, — the  trenches  are  tiuned  into 
dykes,  —  in  the  tents  the  water  is  sometimes  a  foot  deep,  — 
our  men  have  not  either  warm  or  water-proof  clothing, 
— they  ai'e  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  compaixjd  with  the 
British  soldiers  who  are  fighting  out  here  for  their  country, 
and  who,  we  are  complacently  assured  by  the  homo  authori- 
ties, are  the  best  appointed  army  in  Europe.  Tliey  are  well 
fed,  indeed,  but  they  have  no  shelter,  no  rest,  and  no  defence 


FLOBENCE    NI0HTIK6ALE.  23 

against  the  w^eather.  The  tents,  so  long  exposed  to  the  blaze 
of  a  Bulgarian  sun,  and  now  contmually  drenched  by  torrents 
of  rain,  let  the  wet  through  Mike  sieves,*  and  are  perfectly 
useless  as  protections  against  the  weather." 

Never  was  there  such  mismanagement.  While  the  army 
were  in  this  condition  they  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 
iainy  season.  Every  one  could  also  see  that  the  whole 
country  was  covered  with  small  stones,  just  fit  for  making 
good  roads ;  but  nothing  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,  —  Balaldava,  — 
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 
were  objects  appalling  to  look  upon.  There  was  not  the 
least  attention  paid  to  cleanliness  or  decency,  and  men  died 
without  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  ground  by  their  comrades,  who  brought 
tiiem  on  their  backs  from  the  camp  with  the  greatest  tender- 
ne89,  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  1  what 
I  have  said  is  the  truth ; "  and,  as  he  said  these  words,  ho 


.  j 


24      EMIKEKT  WOKEK  OF  THS  AGE 

emptied  a  sack  upon  the  floor,  and  there  were  four  hundred 
horses'  ears  heaped  up  before  the  eyes  of  the  wonderii^ 
officer. 

lu  January  deep  snows  came  to  aggravate  all  this  misery. 
At  one  time  there  were  three  feet  of  sno'v  upon  the  ground. 
On  tne  8tb  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 
fiileen  hundred  and  sixty-two  men,  could  muster  but  two 
hundred  and  ten.  What  wonder  I  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  19tli,  When 
there  were  drifts  of  snow  six  feet  deep,  sick  men  were 
lying  in  wet  tents  with  only  one  blanket  1  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  mapy  such,  will  suffice  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  suigeon  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- 


7L0BBNCB    NIQHTINGALB.  25 

ferfy,  and  retarned,  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  ca^  do  nothing;  I  must  have  a 
requisition  properly  signed  before  I  can  give  one  of  thoso 
stoves  away."    "  For  God's  sake,  then,  lend  tiie  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  ?  "    ^  Ifo."     ^  Will  it  answer  if  he  takes  on  him- 
self the   responsibility?"     ** Certainly  not."     The  surgeon 
went  ofiT  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  fisict:  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- 
cines 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  i^odigious  superfluity  of  fuel,  and  no  mattresses. 
Another  would  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  cofiee,  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  9  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  surgeous  of 


2G  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

fifty  regiments  do  with  twenty  thousand  sick  men  ?  As  foi 
nurses,  there  was  hardly  a  creature  worthy  of  the  name  in 
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  **Tim(?s'*  newspaper  through  which  it  learned 
the  details,  and  people  began  spontaneously  to  send  sums  of 
moniey  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,  ari'ow-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  cry  arose  for  a  corps  of  skilful, 
educated  nurses. 

There  was  but  one  woman  in  England  fitted  by  charactei , 
position,  and  education,  to  head  such  a  band*  Sidney  Her- 
bert, a  member  of  the  British  cabinet,  was  an  old  friend 
of  Florence  Nightingale's  father.  Mr.  Herbert  was  thus 
acquainted  with  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  offering 
her  services,  and  he  wrote  to  her  asking  he#aid,  on  the  same 
day.  Other  ladies  of  birth  and  fortune  volunteered  to  ac- 
company her,  to  whom  were  added  some  superior  professional 


PLOBENCB    NIGHTINQALE.  27 

nurses.  October  the  24th,  1854,  Florence  Nightingale, 
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  Marseilles.  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  payment  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  newspapers  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  five  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 began  to  be  brought  in  from  the  action  of  Balaklava, 
and,  ere  long,  thousands  more  arrived  from  the  bloody  field 
of  Inkermann.  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    AQE. 

six  hundred  wounded  men  were  brought  in,  and  the  number 
increased  until  there  were  three  thousand  patients  under  her 
immediate  chaise.  Miss  Nightingale,  one  of  the  gentlest  and 
tenderest  of  women,  surveyed  the  scene  of  confnsion  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 
Jt  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- 
ing contract  in  existence,  the  conditions  of  which  were  so 
totally  neglected  by  the  contractor,  that  the  linen  of  the  whole 
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  every 
day.  She  knew  precise^  how  all  these  things  should  be 
done ;  she  was  acquainted  with  the  best  apparatus  fur  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  weU  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. 


FLO&£KCE    KIGHTINGAIiB.  29 

men  no  longer  perished  for  the  want  of  some  trifling  but  in- 
dispensable article,  which  foresight  could  have  provided. 

The  •* Times'*  commissioner  wrote:  "She  is  a  minister- 
iDg  angel  in  these  hospitals ;  and,  as  her  slender  form  glides 
qoietly  along  each  corridor,  every  poor  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 
iiolitary  rounds."  • 

What  a  picture  is  this ! 

The  same  writer  continues:  "The  popular  instinct  was 
Dot  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. 
Ko  one  who  has* observed  her  fragile  figure  and  delicate 
health  can  avoid  misgivings  lest  these  should  fail.  With  the 
heart  of  a  true  woman,  and  the  manners  of  a  lady,  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 
fiu*  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 
iQtfaorities  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.  Hiere  was  much  discussion  as  to 
whether  she  was  herself  a  Catholic  or  a  Protestant ;  which  led 
a  witty  clergymBn  to  remark :  **  She  belongs  to  a  sect  which 
Qofortnnately  is  a  very  rare  one,  —  the  sect  of  the  Good  Sa- 
laaritana."  One  of  the  chaplains  who  labored  with  her,  added^ 


80  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

with  reference  to  another  charge  equally  heartless  and  absard : 
^  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  Rev. 
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  wfco  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  disciplined 
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  bead,  — 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  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,  administor 


VLOBBNCB    HIQHTIHQALS.  81 

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  I  One  of  the 
soldiers  said :  **  She  would  speak  to  one  and  to  another, 
and  nod  and  smile  to  as  many  more ;  but  she  cotildn'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  s^e  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  are  but  two  allusions 
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  suffering  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  beicj  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  arms  of  men. 

She  remained  in  the  Crimea  a  year  and  ten  months,  and 


32  EMIHEKT    UrOMEN    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  bo  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  sane* 
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  suffering  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  tiie  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  atill  more  admirably  wise.  « The 
chief  duty  of  a  nurse,"  she  says,  ^  is  simply  this :  to  keep  the 
air  xohich  the  patient  breathes  as  pure  as  the  external  air,  but 
without  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 
diapter  upon  Noise  in  the  Sick  Room,  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  soul  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  werp  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. 
TVe  see  the  woman  on  every  page,  —  the  woman  who  takes 
notiiing  for  granted,  whom  sophistry  cannot  deceive,  who 
looks  at  things  with  her  own  honest  eyes,  reflects  upon  them 
with  her  own  fearless  mind,  and  speaks  of  them  in  good, 
downright,  Nightingale  English.  She  ever  returns  to  hex 
grand,  fundamental  position,  the  curative  power  of  firesh, 
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  tho 
first  importance  to  remove  what  she  considers  the  chief  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  dread  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.  Most  people  prefer  the  latter.  An 
unaccountable  choice !  An  open  window,  most  nights  in  the 
year,  can  never  hurt  any  one."  Better,  she  remarks,  shut 
the  windows  all  day  than  aU  night.  She  maintains,  tooj 
that  the  reason  why  people  now-a-days,  especially  ladies,  are 
leas  robust  than  they  were  formerly,  is  because  they  pass  the 

8 


34  EMINENT    WOMBK    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  ai^l  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  oft)en  find  a  race  thus 
degenerating,  and  still  oftener  a  family.  You  may  see  poor, 
little,  feeble,  washed-out  rags,  children  of  a  noble  stock, 
sulSering,  morally  and  physically,  throughout  their  useless, 
degenerate  lives ;  and  yet  people  who  are  going  to  marry  and 
to  bring  more  such  into  the  world,  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  dogs),  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 
witli  my  eyes,  and  smelt  with  my  nose,  smalUjpox  growing 


VLOBEKCB    HIQHTINGALB.  85 

up  in  first  specimens^  either  in  close  rooms  or  in  overcrowded 
wards,  where  it  could  not  by  any  j^ossibility  have  been 
caught,  but  must  have  begun  I  Nay,  more.  I  have  seen 
diseases  begin,  grow  up,  and  pass  into  one  another.  Now, 
^ogs  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  P** 

**  Again,''  she  says,  addressing  parents,  **why  must  a  chOd 
have  measles  ?  If  you  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  custonv"  ^The 
dress  of  women,"  she  adds,  **is  daily  more  and  more  unfitting 
them  for  any  mission  or  usefulness  at  all.  It  is  equally  un- 
fitted for  all  poetic  and  all  domestic  purposes.  A  man  is 
now  a  more  handy  and  far  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  I  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  when  the  marriage 
takes  place,  he  loses  half  the  pleasure,  which,  God  knows, 
he  has  little  enough  of;  and,  ten  to  one,  but  yon  have  told 
him  of  some  love-making  with  a  bad  ending.  A  sick  person  also 
intensely  enjoys  hearing  of  any  material  good,  any  positive  o^ 
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  incomptete.  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  you  to  be 
fresh,  an^  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 


FLOltEKCE    KI6HTIN6ALB.  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  SMINBfiTT    WOMEN    OT    TlaB    AGX« 


LYDIA  MARIA   CHILD. 


BY  T.  W.  HIGGINSON, 


To  those  of  U3  who  are  by  twenty  years  or  more  the  juniors 
of  Mi's.  Child 9  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- 
fetthomable  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  nuvpery.  In  later  years  the  intellectual  pro- 
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  Beligious  Ideas  ^  introduced  us  to  those  pro- 
founder  truths  on  which  pleasures  and  duties  alike  rest.  It 
is  needless  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    MARIA    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  ccelum.  May  it  be 
long  before  her  full  and  final  eulogy  is  written ;  but  mean- 
while it  would  bo  wrong  to  attempt  oven  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  among  the  most  advanced  thinkers 
and  scholars  of  the  Unitarian  body,  at  a  time  when  it 
probably  suipassed  all  other  American  denominations  in  the 
intellectual  culture  of  its  clergy.  He  had  less  ideality  than 
his  sister,  less  enthusiasm,  and  far  less  moral  counige ;  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 


4:0  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

•*  study  ^  at  Watertown  was  a  favorite  bead-quarters  of  what 
were  called  ^  the  trauscendentalists  "  of  those  days.  Emerson, 
Margaret  Fuller,  Ripley,  and  the  rest  came  often  thithej:,  in 
the  days  when  the  ^  Dial "  was  just  emancipating  American 
thought  from  old-world  traditions.  Afterwards,  when  Dr. 
FranciB  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  mo  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  ever  seen, —  » 
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  I  ^  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  ninA  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  smiU  brain. 


LTDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  41 

why  far  should  be  called  down.  This  bit  of  leviiy  from  tho 
future  Professor  of  Theology  I  find  in  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  ad  **  a  spinster  of  supernat- 
ural shyness,  the  never-forgotten  calamity  of  whose  life  was 
that  Dr.  Brooks  once  saw  her  drinking  water  from  the  nose 
of  her  tea-kettle."  She  kept  school  in  her  bedroom ;  it  was 
never  tidy,  and  she  chewed  a  great  deal  of  tobacco ;  but  the 
cbildren  were  fond  of  her,  and  always  carried  her  a  Sunday 
dinner.  Such  simple  kindnesses  went  forth  often  from  that 
thrifty  home.  Mrs.  Child  once  told  me  that  always,  on  the 
night  before  Thanksgiving,  all  the  humble  friends  of  the 
household,  —  **  Ma'am  Betty,"  the  washerwoman,  the  berry- 
woman,  the  wood-sawj'cr,  the  joumeymcn-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  in  milk-pans),  and  heaps 
of  doughnuts.  They  feastecl«in  the  large  old-foshioued  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 
Assembljr's  Catecliism  once  a  month. 

Apart  from  her  brother's  companionship  the  young  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    AQE. 

died  in  1814,  after  which  the  family  removed  for  a  time  to 
the  State  of  Maine.  In  1819,  Con  vers  Francis  was  ordained 
oyer  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  purposes 
of  fictitious  writing.  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  judging  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  "  Th^  Pilot ; "  Miss  Sedgwick  only  "  The  New 
England  Tale,"  and  possibly  "  Redwood."  This  new  product 
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 


XTDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  43 

nigh  and  noble  character,  whose  wife  the  heroine  had  con-* 
sented  to  become,  when  almost  stunned  with  the  false  tidinsrs 
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  work  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. Ey  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  stylo.  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  speech  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 :  — 


44  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  tranquil  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  fi'iendships,  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  lawj^er 
of  Boston. 

In  those  days  it  seemed  to  be  held  necessary  for  American 
women  to  work  their  passage  into  literature  by  first  compiling 
a  cookerj^-book.  They  must  be  perfect  in  that  preliminary 
requisite  before  they  could  proceed  to  advanced  standing.  It 
was  not  quite  as  in  MarvelFs  satire  on  Holland, "  Invent  a  shovel 
and  be  a  magistrate,"  but,  Give  us  our  dinner  and  then,  il 
you  please,  what  is  called  the  intellectual  feast.  Any  career 
you  choose,  let  it  only  begin  from  the  kitchen.  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  thii'ty-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- 


LTDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  45 

Eide  fhc  kitchen  fire,  poring  over  them  as  if  their  very 
descriptions  had  power  to  allay  an  unquenchcd  appetite  or 
prolong  the  delights  of  one  satiated.  There  were  the  ani- 
mals  in  the  frontispiece,  sternly  divided  by  a  dissecting-kuife 
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  family,"  but  de- 
murred at  the  reason  given,  "it  keeps  so  well.'*  It  never 
kept  well  in  ours !  There  we  all  learned  that  one  should  bo 
governed  in  cookery  by  higher  considerations  than  mere 
worldly  vanity,  knowing  that  *'  many  people  buy  the  upper 
pai-t  of  the  sparcrib  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'cn  could  early  learn  to  take 
care  of  their  own  clothes," — a  responsibility  at  which  we  shud- 
dered ;  and  also  that  it  was  a  good  thing  for  children  to  pick 
blackberries,  —  in  which  we  heartily  concurred.  There,  too, 
we  were  tjiught  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  fatal  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 


46  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

those  who  are  well."  This  was  a  sumptuary  law,  against 
which  the  soul  of  youth  revolted.  Beally  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 
bad  a  great  success,  reaching  its  eighth  American  edition  iv 
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 
tlie  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  ijlustrated  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  his  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 


LTDIA    MARIA    CHILD.  47 

Madame  De  Stael  and  Madame  Roland,  those  of  Lady  Rus- 
sell and  Madame  Guion,  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  brother's  mind,  and  carefully  excluding  all  thoso 
airy  flights  and  bold  speculations  which  afterwards  seemed 
her  favorite  element.  The  "History  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- 
lofiophy.  It  was,  however,  the  first  American  storehouse  of 
information  upon  that  whole  question,  and  no  doubt  helped 
the  agitation  along.  Its  author  evidently  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  which  made  successive  eras  in  her  literary  life,  the  pub- 
lication of  her  "Appeal  for  that  Class  of  Americans  called 
Africana." 

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    AdE. 

said  uext  day.  It  was  just  at  the  most  daogerons  moment  of 
the  rising  storm  that  Mrs.  Child  appealed. 

Miss  Martineau  in  her  article,  **  The  Martyr  Age  in  Amer* 
lea,'* — published  in  the  "London  and  Westminster  Review** 
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  published  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  years,  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- 


LTDIA    MARIA    CHILP.  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  tjian  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  ^i 

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  SMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AQE. 

« 

by  Park  Benjamin,  a  literary  friend  residing  in  New  York. 
The  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  wijl  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  induced  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 


LTBIA    HABIA    CHILD.  51 

peep  above  tire  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  sur&ce  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  with  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,  tiurning  round,  saw  an  old 
woman  with  a  checked  apron,  who  made  an  awkward  cour- 
tesy, and  said,  *  Ma'am,  I  can't  aSbrd  to  let  you  have  that 
brisket  for  eight  pence  a  pound.' 

**  When  I  related  this  dream  to  my  husband,  ho  smiled  and 
said,  *  The  first  part  of  it  was  dreamed  by  Philotheai  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  bom?  What  mattered  it 
if  in  her  book  the  classic  themes  were  treated  in  a  romantic 
spirit?  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  Bhine,  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  stem  satisfaction  in  the  fact  that  "the  bitter  feelings 
engendered  by  the  sti-ife  have  prevented  the  merits  of  this 
remarkable  book  from  being  appreciated  as  they  deserve." 
This  was  perhaps  trae ;  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  Standard," 
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- 


ITDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  53 

iiil  as  an  editor,  her  management  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  satisfactory  time  in  Mrs.  Child's  whole 
life.  She  was  placed  where  her  sympathetic  nature  found 
abundant  outlet,  and  plenty  of  co-operation.  Dwelling  in  a 
home  where  disinterestedness  and  noble  labor  were  as  daily 
breath,  she  had  great  opj)ortunities.  There  was  no  mere 
almsgiving  there,  no  mere  secretiiryship  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  stem  tragedy  of  city  life  began,  it  has  seen  no  more  effi- 
cient organization  for  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 
m  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 
9rgument,  and  statistics  make  way  for  fancy  and  enthusiasm. 


51  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Many  have  8in(ie  followed  in  this  path,  and  perhaps  Mra. 
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  showing  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- 
denborg,  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  forever,  —  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  Lowdl,  in  his 
^ Fable  for  Critics,"  —  that  strange  me*dley  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 
hero. 

"  There  comes  Philothea,  her  ftice  aU  aglow, 
She  has  Just  been  dividing  some  poor  creature's  woe, 


LTDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  65 

Aiid  can't  tell  which  pleases  her  most,  to  relieve 
His  want,  or  his  story  to  hear  and  believe ; 

•  •  .  •  •  •  •  • 

«  The  pole,  science  tells  as,  the  magnet  controls. 
Bat  she  is  a  magnet  to  emigrant  Poles, 
And  folks  with  a  mission  that  nobody  knows 
Throng  thickly  aboat  her,  as  bees  roand  a  rose ; 
She  can  fill  np  the  carets  in  such,  make  their  scope 
Converge  to  some  focus  of  rational  hope. 
And  with  sympathies  fresh  as  the  morning,  their  gall 
Can  transmate  into  honey,  —  but  this  is  not  all; 
Not  only  for  these  she  has  solace,  oh,  say. 
Vice's  desperate  nursling  adrift  in  Broadway, 
Who  cliugest  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  fbet 
Could  reach  firm  mother  earth,  one  fhll  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  as  unclouded,  most  pass  on  its  way, 
Through  the  soul  of  a  woman,  and  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  pri*ion,  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  Kile  has  subsided,  his  plain 
Overflows  with  a  second  broad  deluge  of  grain; 
What  a  wealth  would  it  bring  to  the  narrow  and  ^our, 
Could  they  be  as  a  Child  but  for  one  little  hoar ! " 

The  two  series  of  ** Letters"  appeared  in  1843  and  1845, 
and  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 
"Anna  Loring,  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 


V 


56  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

themes,  but  non^  which  at  that  time  lay  so  near  her  heart. 
There  was  more  sunshine  in  her  next  literary  task,  for,  ia 
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  repeat  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  hai-d  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  Religious 
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    MARIA    CHILD.  57 

community.  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  bo 
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- 
loiuled  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- 
ing,—  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  bo  accepted, 
even  when  tried  by  that  very  accommodating  standard, 
Americdn  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.  Recognizing  all  religions  as  expressions  of  one 
universal  and  ennobling  instinct,  it  was  impossible  that  sho 
should  not  give  dissatisfaction  to  many  sincere  minds  ;  had  it 
been  possible  to  avoid  this,  she  would  have  succeeded.  Not 
only  is  there  no  iiTCverence,  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,  sho  has  certainly  what  is  rare 
among  polemics  who  tend  in  her  direction,  —  no  prejudice 


58  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

against  it.  Sho  takes  pains  —  some  readers  would  say 
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  Khjme." 
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 
ho  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  api^roval,  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.  Brown  was  sent  for, 
and  promptly  arrived ;  while  Captain  Brown  wrote  Mi's. 
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  expressions  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 


LTDIA   MABIA    CHILD.  59 

t 

any  person  a  copy,  I  presume  you  must  have  obtained  it 
from  Virginia." 

This  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  Son  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  lettera  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    07    THE    AGE. 

t 

She  accordingly  proceeds  to  discass  this  question,  first 
scriptural ly  (folio wiug  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  I860,  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  year  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 
freedmeu,  and  published  for  their  benefit.  It  was  sold  for 
that  purpose  at  cost  (sixty  cents),  and  a  good  many  copies 


LTDIA    MABIA    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  Bomance  of  the  Eepublic."  It  was  received 
with  great  cordiality,  and  is  iu  some  respects  her  best  ficti- 
tious work.  The  scenes  are  laid  chiefly  at  the  Sooth,  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  affords  none  whose 
situation  is  so  dramatic, — young  quadroons  educated  to  a 
high  grade  of  culture,  and  sold  as  slaves  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  through 
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  mapy  vertebrae  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  effective  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  offering  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,  bo  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  jSowers,  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  beneficiaries. 
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  could 
prove  that  few  households  in  the  country  have  contributed  on 
a  scale  so  very  liberal,  in  proportion  to  their  means.  During 
the  war  this  munifio^ce  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  Antinslavery  Festival  at 
Boston,  and  not  only  shows  the  mode  of  action  adopted  by 
Mr.  and  Mi's.  Child,  but  their  latest  opinions  as  to  public 
affairs :  — 

«*  Wayland,  Jan.  Ist,  1868. 

"Dear  Fbiend  Phillips  : — ^We  enclose  |50  as  our  subscrip- 
tion to  the  Anti-slavery  Society.  If  our  means  equalled  our 
wishes,  wo  would  send  a  sum  as  large  as  the  legacy  Francis 
Jackson  intended  for  that  purpose,  and  of  which  the  society 


LTDIA    MAHIA    CHILD.  Qi 

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 
BO  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- 
g^mme  of  Providence ;  but  their  recognition  of  human  broth- 
erhood is  rarely  of  a  kind  to  be  trusted  in  emei^cncies.  In 
most  cases,  it  is  not  *  skin  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  bo 
rallied  at  the  North  in  favor  of  restoring  slavery.  We  have 
no  idea  that  it  ever  ca7i  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 


6i  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

them,  that  horrid  catastrophe  in  Jamaica  might  have  been 
avoided.  The  state  of  things  in  those  islands  warns  us  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  trust  those  who  have  been  slaveholders, 
and  those  who  Labitually  sympathize  with  slaveholders,  to 
frame  laws  and  regulations  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  faithfuUy, 

**  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 


I.TDIA    MABIA    CHILD.  65 

enough  for  her  public.  She  did  not,  therefore,  win  that  intel- 
lectoal  immortality  which  only  the  very  best  writers  command, 
and  which  few  Americans  have  attained.  But  she  w  on  a  meed 
wfaidi  she  would  value  more  highly,  -i-that  warmth  of  syui- 
pathy,  that  mingled  gratitude  of  intellect  and  heart  which 
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  enriched  from  child- 
hood will  follow  her  finding  eyes  as  they  look  towards  sunset, 
and,  after  her  departxng,  will  keep  her  memoiy  green. 

5 


66  XKINSNT   WOMSS   OV   THB   AGB. 


FANNY  FERN-MRS.   PARTON 


■•o*- 


BT    OEACE    GBEENWOOD. 

Saba  Patson  Willis,  daughter  of  Nathaniel  and  San 
Willis,  was  bom  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 surrender  at  Detroit,  or  incarnadined  Lake  Erie  with 
British  blood, — whether  we  conquered  at  Chippewa,  or  re- 
hearsed Bull  Run  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  ti-ag- 
cdies,  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  bom  ol 


an  inferior,  or  common-place  woman.  The  mother  of  Na« 
thaniel,  Richard,  and  Sara  Willis  was  a  large-brained,  as  well 
as  great-hearted  woman.  The  beautiful  tributes  of  her  poet- 
aon  made  all  the  w;orld  aware  of  her  most  lovable  qualities 
— her  faithful,  maternal  tenderness  and  broad,  sweet  charitr|r; 
but  to  these  were  added  rare  mental  power  and  character  of 
lingular  nobility  and  weight. 

From  a  private  letter,  addressed  by  the  subject  of  this 
biographical  sketch  to  a  friend,  in  answer  to  some  questions 
concerning  this  noble  mother,  I  am  pennitted  to  take  the  fol- 
lowing touching  tribute :  "  All  iny  brother's  poetry,  all  the 
capability  for  wriiing  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  stockings  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  I'  till  it  seemed  shoi 
mtist  come !  I  shall  never  be  *  weaned,'  never  I  She  under- 
stood me.  Even  now,  I  tcant  her,  every  day  and  hour. 
Blessed  be  eternity  and  inmxoiiality  I  That  is  what  my 
mother  was  to  me.     God  bless  her !  ^ 

In  1817  Mr.  Willis  removed  to  Boston,  where  he  for  many 
yearsi edited  the  "Recorder,"  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-satisfisiction,  its 
sociid  frigidity,  its  critical  narrowness  and  its  contagious 
isms;  among  the  most  undesirable  of  which  count  conven^ 


68  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

tionalism  and  dilcttanteism ;  and  it  is  an  admirable  town  to 
emigrate  from,  because  of  these  notwithstandings. 

The  stern  Puritan  traditions  and  social  prejudices  of  the 
place  seem  not  to  have  entered  very  strougly  into  the  charac- 
ter of  Sara  Willis.  She  probably  chased  butterflies  on  Bos- 
ton Common,  or  picked  wild  strawberries  (if  they  grew  there) 
on  Bunker  Hill,  without  much  musing  on  the  grand  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  meny  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  Catharine  Beecher.  At  that  time,  Harriet  Beecher, 
Mrs.  Stowe,  was  a  teacher  in  this  school.  She  was  amiable 
and  endearing  in  her  ways,  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- 
utive abilities.  Of  all  his  children,  Dr.  Beecher  is  said  to 
have  most  highly  respected  Catharine. 

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 


PANNY   PERN— MRS.    FARTOK.  69 

her  manners,''  that  draw  forth  as  hearty  laughter  as  the  witty 
sallies,  humorous  fancies,  and  sharp  strokes  of  satire  thatgive 
to  her  writings  their  peculiar  sparkle  and  dash. 

If  she  grappled  with  the  exact  sciences  it  is  not  probable 
Hiat  they  suffered  much  in  the  encounter.  For  Geometry  she 
is  said  to  have  had  an  eppccial  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  BJie  laid  herself  down  to  mathematical  dreams,  her  fair 
head  bristling  with  acute  angles,  in  parallelogrammatic  and  par- 
alellopipedonic  papiUoteSj  —  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  08  fronlis 
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  laige 
sympathy,  the  reverence  for  the  divine  and  the  human,  which 
love  and  sorrow,  the  trials  and  stress  of  misfortune,  were  to 
evolve  from  her  nature,  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  mournful,  —  poor,  grand,  oldworld- 
bewept,  polyglotted  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. 

Ifrmust  have  been  while  Sara  was  at  school  in  Hartfordi 


70  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGBi 

that  her  brother  Nathaniel  began  to  be  famous  as  a  poet.  In 
that  unlikely  place,  Yale  College,  he  seems  to  havo  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  was  a  life  marked  by  many  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  true  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  &r  better,  in  domestic  happiness. 
Three  daughters  were  bom  to  her,  and  the  wondrous  experi- 
tace  of  mofberhood  must  have  come  to  her  to  exalt,  yet  sub- 
due the  passionate  impulses  and  the  undisciplined  forces  of 
her  nature.  Doubtless  life  with  the  new  gladness,  put  on 
new  solemnity;  with  tlie  new  riches,  must  have  come  hn- 
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  stem  of  aspect,  myste- 
rious, relentless,  —  Death.  He  descended  on  that  happy  little 
household,  **the  angel  with  the  amaranthine  wreath,"  and  the 
husband  and  father  ^  was  not."  Again  he  descended  and 
bore  away  the  first  bom,  — a  lovely,  spiritual  little  girl,*  who 


PANNT   FEBK— MBS.    PABTON.  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 
sorrow,  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  I 
Behind  was  the  lee-shore  of  despair ;  beneath  cold,  bitter, 
merciless  want,  and  very  faintly  in  the  horizon  shone  the 
fiur,  firm  land. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  paint  the  cruel  anxieties  and  perplexities 
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  strongly  passion- 
ate in  both  its  loves  and  resentments,  an  element  of  defiant, 
almost*  fierce,  bitterness  and  hate,  which  c^iused  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  unrecallable  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  estrangement  for  which,"  said  that  noble  friend,  Charles 
Dickens,  with  generous  tenderness,  "/was  the  one  to  blame." 

In  1851  ** Fanny  Fern"  was  bom  into  literary  life.  As; 
essay  was  penned  by  the  widowed  mother,  on  whose  heart 
lay  a  great  burden  of  loving  care.  That  care  was  her  inspi- 
latign,  her  desperate  hope.    Her  muses  were  a  couple  of 


72  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    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  candles.  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 — 
Jifli/  cents/    It  is  to  be  hoped  this  Maecenas  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  conunented  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  winds  of  good  fortune  scattered  those  first  ^Fem 
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  eccentricity,  flippancy,  cyni- 
cism, irreverence,  masculinity,  —  with  every  conceivable  sin 
of  authorship  except  sentimentality,  pbarisaism,  and  pfosiness. 
There  was  .an  unprofessional  freedom  and  fearlessness  in  her 


TANNT    TEEN— MRS.    PAETON.  73 

ctyle  that  made  her  very  faults  acceptable  to  th&t  indefiuilc  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  with  what  an  air  of  proprietorship  she  bagged  her 
g:ime,  I  declined  to  prosecute,  and  went  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  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'nablc,  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  tliirty-two  thousand  of  these  young  Fern  gatherers. 
Then  came  a  "Second  Series  of  Fern  Leaves,"  in  number 
thirty  thousand.  Total,  —  one  hundred  and  thij-ty-two  thou- 
mndl  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 


74  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOB. 

American  rhododendron.  The  mother  country  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  Suth-less  Hall) 

« 

was  published.  In  1857  "Rose  Clarke,"  —  a  kindlier  bdok. 
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  Fanny  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  pi'ovinces  bordered  on  Bq^emia.  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.  Paiton'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 


VANNT   PEEN— MRS.    PARTON.  75 

itfl  forces  and  staggered  up,  and  on.  To  this  young  life, 
**  bought  with  a  price,"  this  frail  flower,  bom  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  frotn  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,  and  rubbed,  and  smothered, 
and  physicked,  —  all  the  way  up  through  the  perils,  difficult 
ties,  and  exceeding  bitter  sorrows  of  childhood,  out  of  short 
frocks  and  roupdabouts,  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  youth  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  girls  are  very  charming 
creatures,  except  when  they  get- together  and  fall  argiggling." 
Now  I  will  venture  to  say  this  is  just  the  time  when  Fanny 
Fern  likes  them  best,  —  unless,  indeed,  the  giggling  is  ill- 
timed,  and  therefore  ill-mannered.  In  a  scene  of  festal  light, 
bloom,  and  music,  of  glancing  and  dancing  young  figures, 
she  would  never  stand  aside  in  th^  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  eyes  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 
ag!iinst  the  most  powerful  and  refined  pharisaism.  She  would 
evidently  rather  sit  down  to  worship  with  the  "  old  salts,"  in 
Father  Taylor's  Seaman*8  Chapel,  than  in  the  most  gorgeously 
upholstered  pew,  under  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  the  poor,  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,  simpltj  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  Fera  is  her 
hearty  contempt  for  all  pretensions,  affectations,  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 
bates  snobbery.     Hei  honest  American  blood  boils  at  the 


PANNT    PERN-MRS.    PARTON.  77 

fdght  of  a  snob,  and  she  never  fails  soundly  to  *^  chastise  him 
with  the  valor  of  her  tongue."  For  that  unnatuml  little  mon- 
ster, that  anomaly  and  anachronism,  an  Americ3n  flunkey, 
even  her  broadest  charity  can  entertain  no  hope,  either  for 
here,  or  hereafter. 

Though  whole-hearted  in  her  patriotism,  Fanny  Fern  is  not 
a  political  bigot.  She  probably  does  not  aver  that  she  wad 
bom  in  New  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 outof  Gotham,  —  even  in  small  provincial  towns,  in  which 
the  ^  Atlantic  Monthly  "  and  **  New  York  Ledger  "  are  largely 
subscribed  for.  When  here,  she  was  enough  of  a  cosmopoli- 
tan to  praise  our  great  city  market,  —  uttering  among  some 
pleasant  things,  this  rather  dubious  compliment:  "^What 
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  happy  accident  of  her 
birth,  does  Fanny  Fern  stand  gallantly  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  Ul  Jboradoj  their  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  writer, 
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  healthftil.     She  must  have 


78  EMIKSKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGS. 

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  heiv 
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  haying  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* 

m 

ner  quite  as  characteristic,  to  talk  to  a  lovely  baby  in  its 
nurse's  arms ;  and,  our  amiable  Jenkins  relates,  her  face  then 
and  there  shone  with  the  very  rapture  of  admiration  and  un- 
forgotten  maternal  tenderness,  melting  through  its  mask  of 
belligerent  pride  and  harshness,  and  in  that  wonderful  trans- 
figuring glowisecmed  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  and 
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  im 
possible.  She  is  too  swift  and  well  freighted  a  croft  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 
Ime,  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- 


ITANNT    TEBK-MB8.    PABTOIT.  79 

16111 ;  which  insists  on  discussing  Ihe  aulhor's  or  artist's  most 
private  and  intimate  life,  —  his  domestic  relations,  his  holiest 

affections,  his  most  sacred  hmnan  Weaknesses  and  virtues, 

on  unveiling  every  sanctuary  of  sorrow,  and  following  a  poor 
.wounded  soul  into  its  last  fiistnesses  of  decent  reserve. 

Among  the  most  spicy  anecdotes  of  my  subject  ever  set 
floating  about  the  country,  is  one  of  her  having  smashed,  wkh 
her  own  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  fun-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  isnt  true  I — 
that  is,  as  to  the  grand  dramatic  denouement.  Wishing  to 
chronicle  only  the  exact  truth  in  a  matter  of  so  much  impor- 
tance, I  addressed  to  Mrs.  Parton  a  letter  of  inquiry,  and  re- 
ceived in  reply  the  following  succinct  statement : — 

^  Mr.  Parton  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  Angers,  and  was  broken.  I  said,  *  Report  that  when 
you  i)ay  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  I  Then,  in  my  indigna^ 
tion,  I  did  say  to  Mr.  Parton,  *  I  have  a  good  mind  to  send 
all  the  rest  of  the  set  flying  out  of  the  window  I '  His  less 
impetuous  hand  staj'^ed  me.  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  SQt  I'lght. 


80  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Fourteen  years  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  liteniry 
weeklies,  but  by  no  means  a  weakly  giant,  of  the  Picklesou 
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  I  from  dial  time  to  this^  she 
has  never  failed  one  week  to  produce  the  stipulated  article^  on 
timet  Think,  my  reader,  what  this  fact  proves !  what  habits 
of  industry,  what  system,  what  thoughtfiilness,  what  business 
integrity,  what  super-woman  punctuality,  and  O  Minerva  — 
Hygeial  what  health  I 

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  ailicle  foi 
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  astronomii^al  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  fiir 
as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  by  the  most  careful  re- 
searches, not  one  of  these  learned  ladies  ever  furnished  an 


PaNNT    FEBN  — MBS.    PARTON.  81 

article  for  the  ** Ledger**  every  week  for  fourteen  years. 
Corinna,  for  her  improvisations,  was  crowned  at  the  Capitol 
in  Home  with  the  sacred  laurel  of  Petrarch  and  Tasso ;  biit 
she  never  furnished  an  article  eveiy  week  for  the  **  Ledger  ** 
for  fourteen  years. 

Miss  Bumey,  Miss  Porter,  Mrs.  Badcliffe,  Miss  Austin, 
Miss  Baillie,  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  Mrs* 
Stowe  could  do  it,  George  Sand  wouldn't  do  it,  and  Heaven 
forbid  that  Miss  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 
surprised  by  publication-day ;  who  postpones  eveiy  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  always  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  moiunful  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    AQE/ 

ing-maclime  and  get  your  temper  ruffled?  Does  not  that 
"  wonderful  wean,**  that  darling  grandchild,  dainty  little  Effie, 
ever  have  a  fit  of  naughtiness,  or  whoopmg-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  yoiu: 
own  making,  ever  interfere  with  your  writing  for  the  Ticdg- 
er"?  Doubtless  you  have  been  tempted,  in  times  of  hurry, 
or  languor,  in  journey ings  and  dog-day  heats,  to  break  your 
agreement ;  but  an  honest  fealiy  to  a  generous  publisher  has 
hitherto  constrained  you  to  stand  by ;  and  we  like  you  for  it. 
Other  publishers  may  be  ftow,  but  he  is  Bonner.  So  you  do 
not  demean  yourself  by  following  the  triumphal  chariot  of  his 
fortunes  (Dexter's  trotting  wagon)  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 
changq  in  the  way  of  thoughts  and  themes.  She  knows  well 
how  to  begin  without  verbiage,  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 


PANNT    FERN—MBS.    PABTON.  83 

• 

ATcnue?  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.  Crcesus.     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  nowpossess  in  abundance,  —  should  for- 
tune take  a  sudden  turn,  open  for  us  her  halls  of  dazzling  light, 
provide  for  us  ample  changes  of  purple  and  fine  linen,  of  the 
fiishionable  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  study  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 
fihouldcicd  aside  by  duty  alone.     Speaking  of  her  little 


.84  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

grand-daugbteT,  in  a  private  letter,  she  says :  "  Our  liide 
Effie  baa  never  been  left  witb  a  servant,  and,  altbongh  to  carry 
out  sucb  a  plan  has  mvolved  a  eacrifice  of  mueb  literaiy  work , 
or  its  unsatis&ctoiy  incompleteneaa,  I  am  not  and  never  ehall 
be  sorry.     She  ie  my  poem." 

By  tbese  thinga  we  may  eee  that  whatever  masks  of  manly 
independence,  pride,  or  mocking  miscbief  Fanny  Fcm  may 
put  on,  sbe  is,  at  the  core  of  her  nature,  "pure  womanly." 
.  I  have  written  this  article  with  little  more  personal  knowl- 
edge of  Mrs.  Parton  than  I  have  been  able  to  obtain  from 
brief  biographical  sketches,  and  the  recollections  and  impres- 
sions of  friends.  Not  from  choice  have  I  so  done,  ^ter  the 
manner  of  the  critic,  who  made  it  a  rule  not  to  read  a  book  ■ 
before  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  erratio  subject.  Her  life  has 
been  attempted  many  times ;  indeed,  literaiy  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  manj  other  sketches,  worthier  than 
this,  before  the  coming  of  that 

■■  Lut  scene  of  all, 
Tbat  ends  this  etrange  eventftU  Ustorj." 

And  may  that  scene  come  with  tender  gradations  of  purple 
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  paseetli  aU  understanding." 


I.TDIA  H.    SIQOUBNXT. 


85 


■1  . 


t>* 


»  t  '. 


1 


'..!' 


1 


\ 


i 


IiTDIA  H.    SIOOUBNXT/  85 


LYDIA  H.   SIGODRNEY. 


-•o*- 


BY  EEV.  B.  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  affections  of  the 
American  people  than  any  other  woman  of  the  times  had 
secured,  it  can  hardly  be  questioned  that  the  prompt  reply 
would  be,  Mks.  Ltdia  Huntley  Sigoubney. 

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  her  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  mado 
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  moro 
ably  represented  in  the  literature  of  the  times ;  still,  no  one 
of  them,  by  universal  consent,  hud  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  t'mes.     She  was  a  woman  so  rare,  we  nbed  not  ^esi- 


86  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

tate  to  claim  it,  for  her  native  gifts,  and  still  more,  so  genial 
and  lovable,  in  deed  and  spirit,  that  her  very  life  seemed  a 
sort  of  divine  benediction  upon  our  age.  And  who,  more 
woithily  than  she,  can  represent  to  us  the  best  and  highest 
type  of  cultivated  womanhood? 

Lydia  Howabd  Huntley,  the  only  child  of  Ezekiel  and 
Sophia  (Wentworth)  Huntley,  was  boYn  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 :  — 

i<  -^j  gentle  kitten  at  my  footstool  sings 
Her  song,  monotonous  and  tuVL  of  Joy. 
Close  by  my  side,  my  tender  mother  sits, 
Industriously  bent  —  her  brow  still  bright 
With  beams  of  llDgering  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  affections  of  their  home-friends.  The  impres- 
sion they  made  upon  her  must  have  been  exceedingly  precious 
to  her  heart ;  and  so  her  affectionate  love  kept  fiiithful  vigil 
over  these  dearest  treasures  of  her  memory. 

Hardly  less  forceful  than  these  home-influences,  must  have 
been  the  beautiful  and  rpmantic  sceneries,  and  the  genial 


LYDIA    H.    SIGOUBNET.  87 

social  life  of  her  native  town.  It  could  but  have  stuTed  and 
educated  such  a  soul  as  hers  to  have  spent  her  childhood 
amid  such  scenes:  — 

"  Rocks,  gray  rocks,  with  their  cayems  dark« 
Leaping  rllls,  Uke  the  diamond  spark* 
Torrent  voices,  thundering  by, 
Where  the  f  ride  of  the  vernal  floods  sweUed  high.** 

It  is  her  own  testimony  which  reveals  to  us  the  power  of 
these  home^harms  over  her  life,  —  a  testimony  given,  when, 
to  use  her  own  felicitous  figure,  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  speU  o*er  our  soals  when  existence  was  yonng." 

So  nurtured,  we  can  imderetand  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  kindle  anew  the 
fervors  of  more  than  her  childhood  joy :  — 

*«  We  accept,  we  will  come,  wheresoever  we  rove, 
And  wreathe  ronnd  thy  birthday  our  honor  and  love. 
We  love  thee,  we  love  thee ;  thy  smile,  like  a  star, 
Hath  gleamed  in  our  skies,  thoagh  our  homes  were  afkr." 

Added  to  the  affection  of  her  parents,  and  to  these  sweet 
charms  of  her  native  town,  was  still  another,  and  a  veiy 
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  Huiltley 
family.  She  took  great  interest  in  Lydia,  and  drew  strongly 
to  her  own  the  heart  of  the  sensitive  girl.  And  did  she  not, 
in  the  daily  communing  of  their  souls,  leave  somewhat  of  her 
own  noble  spirit  of  self-denial  and  rich  charity  as  fruitfid 
seed  in  that  j'oung  heart?  What  other  proof  do  we  need 
than  tha''  wbich  comes  from  the  oft-repeated  testimony  of  the 
child  herself,  even  down  to  her  latest  years  ?  Let  her  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  lady  over 
whom  more  than  threescore  and  ten  years  had  passed  ere  I 
saw  the  light.  Her  tall,  graceful  form,  moving  with  elastic 
step  through  the  parterres  whose  niunerous  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  spirit,  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  heart  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  unmoomed  by  the  young.** 

It  must  have  been  an  influence  of  great  power  which  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  ofToring 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOUBNET.  89 

of  gratitude  to  her  whose  influence,  like  a  golden  thread,  had 
rufi  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  wore 
the  thoughtfulness  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 
hei'e,  perhaps,  tbe  most  unaffected  and  childlike  prattle 
a1>out  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  aflbrd  to  let  the  pen  of 
old  age  use  the  freedom  which  a  warm  heart,  warming  anew 
amid  the  scenes  and  play-placcs  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 
fimcy,  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  often  seen  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 

tbe  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,  tho*igh  perhaps  not 


90  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

very  common,  is  still  plainly  possible  to  a  child  of  j;ifts, 
especially  if  she  has  spent  her  first  three  years  under  the 
most  helpful  of  influences?  It  need  not  be  counted  an  oflTence 
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 
^nd  her  settling  herself  down  like  the  bee  to  its  flower-food, 
as  she  finds  an  old  hymn-book  there ;  to  see  her  heaily  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  hor  "  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  lai^ge, 
lofty  barn,"  where  we  can  together  "watch  the  quiet  cows  over 
their  frasri'ant  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  was  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- 
tamly  help  to  form  ?  And  so  we  may  well  thank  the  authoress 
of  seventy  years  that  she  allowed  herself  to  recall,  for  our 


IiTDIA    H,    SIGOURNET.  91 

delight  and  instruction,  those  germinal  forces  of  hei  favored 
childhood. 

Let  us  now  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"  were 
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  chirograpby  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," that  **  fragment  of  indigo,  begged  of  the  washer- 
woman," those  cofiee-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  I  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.  Her  next 
step  forward,  in  the  school  on  the  Green,  under  an  educated 
and  veteran  teacher,  places  her  at  the  head  of  the  reading- 
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  }'ear  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  wo  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  experiment 
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 
j^rivilege."  But,  through  the  influence  of  Mr.  Daniel  Wads- 
worth,  of  Hartford,  she  was  induced  to  establish  for  herself 
a  private  school  for  girls  in  that  city ;  and,  in  1811,  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 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOURNET.  93 

them  those  annual  reunions  on  their  commencement  day 
furnishes !  Even  long  years  after  they  had  become  scattered 
over  the  land,  those  days  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  affections  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 
young  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  publicity  had 
given  her. 

But  another  event  soon  interrupts  her  career  as  teacher. 
Charles  Sigoumey,  a  merchant  of  the  city,  a  gentleman  of 
wealth  and  literary  culture  and  high  social  position,  solicits 
and  wins  her  hand.  Their  marriage  was  celebrated  in  the 
Episcopal  church  of  her  native  town,  in  the  early  summer  of 
1819.  Mr.  Sigoumey,  of  Huguenot  descent,  was  already  a 
communicant  in  the  Episcopal  church ;  and,  on  her  marriage, 
Mrs.  Sigoumey,  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  t^fe 
church  to  which  her  husband  belonged. 

This  marriage  threw  upon  Mrs.  Sigoumey  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  publisued  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  deatli  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  dilisrent  workers,  few  have  maintained 
such  fervency  of  spirit,  and  few  have,  in  all  their  working, 
BO  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 
ofler,  she  could  never  be  justly  reproached  for  neglecting  any 
home-duty.  Bound  to  her  friends  with  no  ordinary  ties  of 
affection,  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  v/rote,  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,  shrieking  from  no  burden  or  self-denial 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOUBKET.  95 

needed  in  her  work,  —  living  to  see  her  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  with  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  widely  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 
1866,  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    AGE. 

not  published,  amouDting  to  nearly  one  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred letters  annually  for  several  years,  must  have  excee^ded 
largely  these  printed  writings ;  so  that  she  must  have  beea 
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  affections,  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.  Instead  of 
using  the  precious  moments  on  the  mere  style  of  her  expres- 
sion, she  was  ever  htirrying  along  on  some  urgent  call  of 
affection  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,  wo  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 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOURNEY.  97 

her  spirit,  how  sensitive  her  sympathy  was.  From  the  be- 
ginning, her  affections,  sanctified  by  a  Christian  purpose,  took 
the  lead.     Wc  know  that  it  was  her  greatest* 

•    "  joy  to  ralBe 
The  trembler  ttom  the  shade, 
To  bifid  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- 

oiirney,  to  leave  out  of  the  account  the  care  and  painstaking, 

with  which  she  sought  to  make  her  writings  most  effective. 

ATc  know  she  must  have  sought  ease  and  fluency  as  well  as 

exactness  and  vigor  of  expression.     Her  writings  abound  in 

wituesses  innumerable  to  these  graces.     The  call  made  upon 

ber  pen  from  the  first  magazines  of  the  day,  and  from  the 

more  solid  works  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 
In&nt,"  commencing  with 

"  Death  found  strange  beauty  on  that  polished  brow. 
And  dashed  It  oat," 

^thout  feeling  that  none  but  a  true  poet,  practised  in  the 
»rt,  could  have  written  it.  We  might  instance  her  **  Scottish 
Weaver,"  •'Breakfast,"  ** Birthday  of  Longfellow,'*  •'My 
Stuffed  Owl,"  •*  Niagara,"  and  hundreds  of  other  poems,  in 
*11  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  the  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  vohimes,  with  their  dates: — 

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  only  indicate  that  which  roost 
clearly  establishes  the  writer's  rank  among  our  very  best  prose- 
writers  of  the  ago.  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 
I'ead  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  among  even  our  best  critics  I  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  Compeud  of 
English  Literature,  could  not  more  truthfully  have  charaoter- 
ized  her  writings  than  he  did,  as  "  pure,  lofty,  and  holy  in 
tendency  and  influence."    C.  W.  Everest,  in  his  Connecticut 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOURNET.  90 

Poets,  only  repeats  the  common  judgment  in  his  decision, 
"Love  and  religion  are  the  unvarying  elements  of  her  song." 
E.  P.  Whipple,  the  very  Nestor  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 
iurtber. 

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, 
8ad  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  forsake.** 

We  cannot  but  return  to  this  ruling  spirit  of  her  life, 
equally  unaffected  and  controlling  in  her  girlhood  and  her 
latest  years.  Her  gifts  of  diairity  and  love  often  exceeded  the 
sllowance  of  her  income  which  she  saved  for  herself. 

What  monuments  ^he  thus  built  for  herself  in  grateful 
hearts  I  Witness  her  frequent  visits  to  the  Reform  School  in 
Meriden.  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  beautiful  smile  of  hers,  always  so  radiant  with  her  hearty 
goo8*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 ! 

Or  who  shall  make  her  presence  good  to  the  pupils  of  the 


loo  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Deaf  and  Dumb  Asylum  in  her  own  city,  on  whose  mute  joy 
her  very  looks  beamed  a  more  eloquent  sympathy  than  our 
best  words  can  express?  Or  when  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  I  And  did  she  not  find  how 
true  her  own  sweet  verse  proved :  — 

"  And  thy  good-momiDg  sliaU  be  spoke 
By  sweet-Yoiccd  angels,  that  shall  bear  thee  home 
To  the  dlTlne  Bedeemer  "? 

And  how  appropriate  the  ladt  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  yon  all  I 

Farewell  I    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 
in  that  mourning  throng. 


LTDIA    H.    SIGOUBNEY.  101 

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.  Sigoumcy's  noble 
goodness,  we  can  only  add  that  of  her  pei*sonal  friend,  S.  G. 
Groodrich,  who  was,  also,  extensively  acquainted  with  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  unblemished  beneficence.'* 

And  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  wUl  not  say 
PareweU  to  thee ;  for  every  nnbom  age 
8haU  mix  thee  with  its  household  charities. 
The  sage  shall  greet  thee  with  his  benison. 
And  woman  shrine  thee  as  a  vestal  flame 
In  aU  the  temples  of  her  sanctity; 
And  the  young  chUd  shaU  take  thee  by  the  baM 
And  travel  with  a  sorer  step  to  heaven*" 


102  EMINENT    WOMEN    OB'    THB    AG! 


MRS.    FRANCES   ANNE   EEHBLE. 


BT  JAMES  PABTOK. 

Thebe  was  excitement  and  expectation  among  the  play* 
goera  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,  ^'Ff^nny  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  Falstaff  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 
effect  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  face,  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  young 
actress  in  America  was  Fazio.     The  old  Park  theatre  was 


HBS.  FBANCES  AKKE  SEM3LE.      103 

the  placo.  It  was  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  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  charactcristLc  of 
all  the  family  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  Fop- 
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  thai  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  au  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  tiie  was  dressed  with 
perfect  plainness,  the  audience  did  not  recognize  her,  and  re- 
mained silent.  The  actor  supportitig  her,  who  had  calculated 
npon  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    OP    THE    AGE. 

custom  on  such  occasions.  Her  reception,  indeed,  was  in  the 
highest  degree  cprdial,  —  such  as  New  York  has  ever  de- 
lighted to  bestow  upon  distinguished  talent,  from  wbateyer 
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  aetora  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  with  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'^a^  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  cora- 
olete.     Every  point  of  that  intense  and  passionate  perform- 


MBS.  FRAKCES  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  bi'illiant  and  successful  engagement  in  New 
York.  Here,  as  everywhere,  her  crowning  triumph  was  in 
tlie  part  of  Julia,  in  Sheridan  Knowles'  play  of  the  Hunch- 
back, a  play  which  was  written  expressly  for  her,  and  in 
ivhich  she  gained  her  greatest  London  success.  Most  of 
those  telling  "points,*' which  are  repeated  by  every  actress 
whenever  this  play  is  perfonned,  were  originated  by  Miss 
Eemblc,  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.  Sho 
was  a  member  of  a  family  which,  for  three  generations,  had 
contributed  to  the  English  stage  its  brightest  ornaments. 
Boger  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  oldest  son  of  Roger,  was 
perhaps,  upon  the  whole,  the  greatest  actor  of  modern  times. 
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 
Geuenil  Washington  and  the  other  great  men  of  that  day. 
She  made  a  fortune  in  America,  and  retired  to  Eiigland  in 
1807  to  enjoy  it.    Finally,  there  was  Charles  Kemble,  the 


106  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

youngest  child  of  Bogcr  except  one,  an  actor  of  great  note  on 
the  English  stage  for  many  years. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  intention  of  Bogcr  Kemble  that 
all  his  children  should  pnrsue  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,  upon  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,  Fetruchio,  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  Anno  Kemble,  the  subject  of  this  memoir,  and  Ade- 
laide Kemble,  —  both  of  whom,  after  a  short  but  striking 
career  upon  the  stage,  married  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  Co  vent  Garden  Theatre,  one  of  the 
two  great  theatres  of  London.  The  plays  which  ho  presented 
did  not  prove  attractive;  the  season  threateued  to  end  iu 
disaster;  and  he  looked  anxiously  about  him  fur  the  means 
of  restoring  to  the  theatre  its  former  prestige.     His  eldest 


XSS.  FBANCES  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    fitmily  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  aud  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- 
Bion  was  Bomeo  and  Juliet,  in  which  her  fiither  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 
fiunily,  that,  when  the  curtain  descended  at  the  close  of  the 
erening,  she  was  felt  to  be,  both  before  and  behind  the  cur- 
tam,  an  established  favorite.    Her  first  success  was  followed 
by  other  triumphs.    As  Portia,  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice, 
asBianca,  in  the  tragedy  of  Fazio,  as  Lady  Teazle,  in  the 
School  for  Scandal,  and  in  other  parts  of  similar  calibre,  she 
flhono  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  fuUy 
restored.     A  play  which  she  had  written  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  entitled  Francis  the  First,  was  produced,  and  attained 
«  certain  success.     Sheridan  Knowles,  then  at  the  height  of 
his  renown  as  a  dramatist,  and  in  the  full  vigor  of  his  powers, 
wrote  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  EMINENT    WOMEN    OT    THE    AGE. 

twenty-one  years  of  age,  that  her  father  and  herself  crossed 
the  Atlantic  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  I  And  yet,  what  a 
different  country  does  this  diaiy  reveal  to  us  from  the  United 
States  of  to-day  1  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. 
Kcmble  has  since  attained  I 

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  comer  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  bedrooma  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  accoimt  she  gives  of  her  first  journey  from  New  York  to 


HBS.  EBANCES  ANKE  KEMBLE.       109 

Phfladelphia,  which  occurred  on  the  8th  of  October,  1832. 
The  steamboat  started  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,  conyeyed  tiiem  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 
Trater'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  I  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  I  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  carnage  doors,  and  lifts  away,  to  permit  the  egress 
and  ingress  of  the  occupants  of  the  other  seats.    Into  the 

one  facing  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  EMINBKT    WOMEN    OT    THE    AGK. 

filled  each  witix  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  profited  little  l^y  the 
space ;  for,  letting  alone  that  there  is  notreally  and  truly  room 
for  more  than  two  human  beings  of  common  growUi  and  pro- 
portions  on  each  of  these  seats,  the  third  place  was  amply 
filled  up  with  baskets  and  packages  of  ours,  and  huge  ti»- 
double-up  coats  and  cloaks  of  my  father's. 

•^For  the  first  few  minutes  I  thought  I  must  have  famted 
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  waUoped  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  cruekst,  heard-heartedest  road  that  ever  wheel 
rumbled  upon.  Through  bog,  and  marsh,  and  ruts,  wider 
and  deeper  than  any  Christian  ruts  I  ever  saw,  with  the  roots 
of  trees  protruding  across  our  path,  their  boughs  every  now 
and  then  giving  us  an  affectiobate  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  I  what  a  road  I 
Even  my  father's  solid  proportions  could  not  keep  their  level, 
but  were  jerked  up  to  the  roof  and  down  again  evexy  three 
minutes. 

^  Our  companions  seenoed  nothing  dismayed  by  these  won- 
drous 'performances  of  a  coach  and  four,  but  laughed  and 
talked  incessantly,  the  young  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  me^is- 


MBS.  FBANCES  AKKE  EEMBLE.      HI 

ores,  and  the  shrieks  of  laughter  of  the  whole  set  enough  to 
drive  one  into- a  frenzy.  The  ladies  wore  all  pretty  ;  two  of 
thcin  particularly  so,  with  delicate,  fair  complexions,  and 
heautiful  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  I 
Fortunately,  she  was  near  the  window,  and,  during  our  whole 
fourteen  miles  of  purgatory,  she  alternately  leaned  from  it, 
ovei-coroe  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  I 

"The  country  through  which  we  passed  was  woodland ;  flat 
and  withbut  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 
^hich  I  have  seen  adorning  with  great  dignity  our  most  cul- 
tivated gardens.     None  of  the  trees  had  any  size  or  appear* 
auce  of  age ;  they  are  the  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 
Boil,  bear  witness  to  the  existence  of  fine  forest  timber.     The 
few  cottages  and  farm-bouses  which  we  passed  reminded  me 
of  similar  dwellings  in  France  and  Ireland ;  yet  the  peasantry 
bore  have  not  the  same  excuse  for  disorder  and  dilapidation 
as  either  the  Irish  or  French.     The  farms  had  the  same  de&* 
okte,  untidy,  untended  look ;  the  gates  broken,  the  fencea 


112  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

carelessly  put  up  or  ill-repaired;  the  farming  utensils  slut- 
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  arid  activity  which  such  places  present  in  Englaufl 
and  Scotland;  above  all,  none  of  the  enchanting  mixture  of 
neatness,  order,  and  rustic  elegance  and  comfoil,  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  zigzng  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. 
There  was  every  now  and  then  a  soft,  vivid  sti'ip  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 
afforded  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- 


ITBS.    PRANCES    ANNE    EEMBLE.  113 

Bido  was  lined  with  blazing,  scarlet  leather,  and  the  windows 
shaded  with  stuff  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  think.  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  pait  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  maritime  power 
in  the  universe.  The  banks  presented  much  the  same  feat- 
ures as  those  of  the  Baritan,  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 
fimshed  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  would  be  highly  agreeable  to 
the  female  part  of  the  community.  The  universal  practice 
3 


114:  EMINENT    WOMEN    OIT    THE    AOB. 

here  of  this  disgusting  trick  makes  me  absolutely  sick ; 
every  place  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  veiy 
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 
Eemble  in  the  twenty-second  year  of  her  age  I 

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  which  she  wore  when  riding  was 
imitated  and  sold  as  "*  the  Eemble  cap."  She  appears,  at  that 
time,  to  have  had  a  contempt  for  the  beautiful  art  which  she 

m 

practised,  and  by  which  her  family  had  become  so  distin- 
guished. **  How  I  do  loathe  the  stage  I "  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  I      Pasteboard  and  paint,  for 


HB8.    FBANCES    ANNE    EEMBLE.  115 

fhe  thick  breathing  orange-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  balciinies  and  rich  dark  draperies  of  Juliet's  sleeping 
chamber,  tliat  dirine  of  love  and  beauty ;  rouge,  for  the  star- 
tied  life-blood  in  the  cheek  of  that  young  passionate  woman ; 
an  actress,  a  miznicker,  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 
fency  are  moulded  into  a  living  form  1  To  act  this  I  To  act 
Bomeo  and  Juliet  I  Horror !  horror  I  How  I  do  loathe  my 
most  impotent  and  unpoetical  craft  I " 

Ah  1  how  necessary  it  is  to  know  precisely  in  what  mood, 
and  in  what  circumstances,  a  passage  was  written,  before  we 
can  tell  how  far  it  expresses  the  author's  real  and  habitual 
sentiment.  The  sentences  just  quoted  signify,  chiefly,  thai 
she  had  been  just  playing  Juliet  to  a  most  awkward  and 
abominable  Romeo.  In  the  last  scene  of  the  play,  she  telb 
ns,  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 :  — 

•*  Why,  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  magic  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'F 
diaiy  are  subtle  disquisitions  upon  the  art  of  acting. 

She  liad  anotiier  mishap  with  her  Romeo  at  Baltimore. 
The  play  went  off  pretty  well  on  this  occasion,  she  says  in 
her  humorous  way,  ^^  except  that  they  broke  one  num's  collar 
bone,  aijd  nearly  dislocated  a  woman's  shoulder,  by  flinging 


116  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  sceneiy  about/    She  gives  the  following  absurd  Account 
of  the  conclusion  of  the  play :  — 

^^Mj  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.  Rise,  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,  youVe  got  me  up  horridly  I  tfaatU 
never  do ;  let  me  down,  pray  let  me  down  t 

"  *  Borneo.    There,  breathe  a  vital  spirit  on  thy  li]Ni, 

And  call  thee  back,  my  soul,  to  life  and  love !  * 

**  Juliet  (aside) .  Pray  put  me  down ;  youll  certainly  throw 
me  down  if  you  don't  set  me  on  the  ground  directly. 

^  In  the  midst  of  *  cruel,  cursed  fate,'  his  dagger  fell  o\it  of 
his  dress ;  I,  embracing  him  tenderly,  crammed  it  back  again, 
because  I  knew  I  should  want  it  at  the  end. 

"  Borneo,    *  Tear  not  our  heart-strings  thus  t 

They  crack  I  they  break  I  JuUetlJuliet!  QUesy 

^Juliet  (to  corpse).  Ami  smothering  you? 

** Corpse  (to  Juliet).  Not  at  all ;  cotild  you  be  so  kind,  do 
you  think,  as  to  put  my  wig  on  for  me?  it  has  fallen  off. 

**  Juliet  (to  corpse) .  Tm  a&ald  I  can't,  but  Fll  throw  my 
muslin  veil  over  it.    You've  broken  the  phial,  haven't  you? 

**  (  Corpse  nodded) . 


KBS.  PRANCES  ANNE  EEMBLE.      117 

•'Juliet  (to  corpse).  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  witti  Dr.  Channing  on  this  subject,  who  thought  that 
detached  scenes  and  passages  well  declaimed  could  serve  as 
a  good  substitute  for  the  stage.  The  young  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  I  take  one  of  Shakespeare's  plays  bit  by  bit,  break  it 
piecemeal,  in  order  to  make  recitals  of  it  I  Destroy  the  mar- 
vellous unily  of  one  of  his  magnificent  works  to  make  patches 
of  declamation  I  ...  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- 
em cap,  and  spectacles  might  not  disturb  the  wild  and  sublime 
images  that  her  magnificent  voice  and  recitation  were  conjur- 
ing up  around  me." 

Miss  Eemble's  dramatic  career  in  the  United  States  was 
troubled  by  only  one  disagreeable  incident,  which  occurred 
whOe  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.  Eemble,  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 yon  said  during  the  course  of  your  Thursday's  ride 


118  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

which  was  likely  to  bo  offensive  to  Mr. ,  or  anythmg 

abusive  of  this  country?^ 

Miss  Kemble,  who  comprehended  the  situation  at  a  glance, 
Yintied  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 
8o. 

**  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  inunediately  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  thimdering  cheers,  that  she  burst  into 
tears,  and  had  extfeme  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  their  engage- 
ment, and  gave  them  two  benefits  of  such  an  overwhelming 


MBS.  FRANCES  ANNE  EEMBLE.      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  Eevolutionary  war  with 
one  of  the  regiments  sent  over  by  the  toiy  government  to 
overawe  rebellious  Boston.  He  was  on  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  subjects,  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  year  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,  nothing ^  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  Jn  South 


120  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

Carolina  he  visited  but  seldom,  and  he  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  Eemble  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  fix>m  her 
English  home  a  particular  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  hour,  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 
congratulated  her.  She  was  thought  to  have  made  a  most 
brilliant  match,  — she,  the  woman  of  genius  aiid  feeling,  the 
heir  of  an  illustrious  name,  which  she  had  proved  herself 
worthy  to  bear  I 

For  a  time,  all  went  well.  Qiildren  were  bom.  Women 
of  a  certain  calibre  are  not  long  in  discovering  like  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  December,  1838,  th<5  family, 
for  the  first  time  since  the  marriage,  went  together  to  spend 
ihQ  winter  upon  the  Butler  plantations  in  South  Carolina. 
She  recorded  her  impressions  at  the  time  in  a  diary,  accord- 
ing to  her  custom,  whicn  diary  has  been  recently  published. 

What  a  contrast  between  this  work,  written  in  1839,  ar  d  her 
otherdiaiywritteninl832andl833  I  Inthe  first,  there  is  i  ^t>od 


KBS.  VBANCBS  ANKE  KEMBLE.      121 

deal  of  immaturityy  a  little  affectatioiiy  perhaps,  and,  occasion- 
ally,  a  certain  lack  of  the  refinement  and  dignity  which  be- 
long to  the  well-bred  woman.  We  see  the  fayorite  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 
]piow,  —  the  discoveiy  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  this 
winter's  residence  in  South  Carolina,  among  her  husband's 
slaves,  is  the  best  contribution  ever  made  by  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,  ^lam  going  prejudiced  against 
slaveiy,  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 
aU  cruelty.  The  very  kindness  shown  to  slaves  did  but  ag- 
gravate their  sufierings,  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 
fiunilies  of  the  slaves  were  a  proof  of  their  good  treatment 
and  welfare. 

•*  No  such  thing,"  she  replied.  ^  K  you  will  reflect  for  a 
moment  upon  the  oversown  families  of  the  half-starved  Irish 
peasantry  and  English  manufacturers,  you  irill  agree  with  me 


122  EMINENT    WOMEN    01*    THE    AGS. 

that  iliese  prolific  shoots  by  no  meaos  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,  that  holy  thoughtfulness  which  lifts  the 
human  above  the  brute  parent,  —  are  ever  incurred  here  by 
cither  father  or  mother.  The  relation  indeed  resembles,  af 
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 
chaige  in  his  children,  is,  of  course,  as  among  brutes,  the 
least  attached  to  his  ofl^pring ;  the  mother,  by  the  natural 
law  which  renders  the  infant  dependent  on  her  for  its  first 
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  Sist  place, 
every  woman  who  is  pregnant,  as  soon  as  she  chooses  to  make 
the  fact  known  to  the  overseer,  is  relieved  of  a  certain  por- 
tion of  her  work  in  the  field,  which  lightening  of  labor  con- 
tinues, of  course,  as  long  as  she  is  so  burdened.  On  the 
birth  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 


MBS.    PBANCSS    ANNE    KEMBLE.  123 

r 

their  value  to  their  owners  as  property ;  and  a  woman  tMaks, 
and  not  much  amiss»  that  the  more  frequently  she  adds  to  the 
number  of  her  master's  live-stoQ^  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  I 
Little  niggers  for  you  and  massa;  plenty  little  niggers  for 
you  and  little  missis  I '  A  very  agreeable  apostrophe  to  me, 
indeed,  as  you  will  believe.'' 

Of  the  cruelty  committed  upon  this  estate  she  gives  ample 
details,  which  need  not  be  repeated  here.  Her  husband's 
negroes  were  considered  fortunate  by  those  upon  surroundiug 
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  phys^ 
wd  condition  of  the  colored  people,  and  the  great  mortality 
among  the  children.  This  was  partly  owing  to  insufficient 
and  innutritions  food,  but  chiefly  to  the  incessant  child- 
bearino:  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  women  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. 

Qut  of  the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  will  speak, 
and,  especially,  a  woman's  mouth  I  She  remoiisti-ated  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  8h« 


124:  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQB. 

had  related  to  him  a  peculiarly  aggravated  atrocity  commib* 
ted  upou  the  mother  of  a  family,  he  replied,  that,  no  doubt, 
the  punishment  inflicted  upoi^tho  woman  waa  **  disagreeable" 
At  other  times,  ho  would  say,  "  Why  do  you  listen  to  Bucb 
stuff?    Why  do  you  believe  such  trash?    Don't  you  know 

the  Diggers  ore  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.  Bead  one  passage  from 
her  diary :  — 

"  I  have  had  an  uninterrupted  stream  of  women  and 
children  flowing  iu  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  flfl»en 
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 
hold  my  hands,  and  stroked  them  iu  the  most  appealing  way, 
while  she  exclaimed,  '  O  my  missis  I  my  missis  1  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 
ber  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  ofl"  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  bo  ignorant  that  her 
young  husband  degraded  himself  and  dishonored  her,  as  the 
young  pkntei'S  of  the  South  were  accustomed  to  degrade 
themselves,  and  disjiouor  their  wives. 


MBS.    FBANCES    A13NE    KEMBLS.  125 

I  shall  Dot  dwell  here  upon  what  followed.  The  differ- 
ence of  opinion,  or  rather  of  feeling,  upon  this  subject  of 
slayeiy  —  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  in 
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  talen|».  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- 
iiigs  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 
Tindication  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  bad  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  misgivings  as  to  the  final  resillt,  this  brave  and 
higli-minded  woman  had  undiminished  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    01    THE    AGS. 

Constitution,  and  again  address  itself  to  fulfil  its  glorions 
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-seyen  years  of  age,  but  neither 
the  vigor  of  her  body  nor  the  brilliancy  of  her  talents  has 
imdergone  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  March, 
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  the  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  eflTective  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  Koman 
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 


ICBS.    TBAKCE8    AKKB    KEMBLS.  127 

Ihe  Homans  once  ruled  in  England.  Her  voice  is  exceed- 
mgly  fine,  being  ample  in  quantity  a%  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 
Deck,  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  during 
the  reading  of  a  play. 

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 
Nighf 8  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  tiie  fieu^t,  and  she  seems  to  enchant  us  without 
in  effort. 


V&i  EMIHXKT    WOHiH    OF    THB    AOB. 


EUGENIE,  EMPRESS  OF  THE  FRENCH. 

BY  JOHN  8.  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  sqiiare 
around  which  the  buildings  are  truly  magnificent.  This 
square,  or  public  walk,  called  the  Alameda,  is  the  favorite 
resort  of  all  the  ffishion  and  gayety  and  pleasure-seeking  of 
the  city. 


^.' 


.  <v.-  ^ 


12« 


EHIKBNT    WOHiH    Off    THX   AOK 


■••'j  ■  V  C-  ?:.  I-e-ius  »  ~ 


EUGENIE,  ,BMPEESS    OF    THE    FREBTCH.      129 

Id  the  street  of  St.  Joan  de  Dios,  of  Malaga,  there  was,  in 
the  early  part  of  the  present  centuiy,  a  wealthy,  intelligent, 
and  very  attractive  family  residing  in  one  of  the  most  stately 
siansions.  The  master  of  the  house  was  an  opulent  merchant 
from  England,  William  Kirkpatrick,  a  Scotchman  by  bu*th. 
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  daughter  of  one  of  the 
ancient  Spanish  families. 

They  had  three  daughters,  all  of  whom  inherited  the  beauty, 
grace,  and  yivacity  of  their  mother,  blended  with  the  strong 
sense  and  solid  virtues  of  the  father.  The  eldest  of  these 
daughters,  Maria,  was  a  young  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.  Blended  Saxon  and  Spanish 
blood  circled  in  her  veins  and  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  Her 
exquisitely  moulded  form  is  represented  to  have  been  perfect. 

Her  two  younger  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  family 
there  was  a  Spanish  noble,  alike  illustrious  for  his  exalted 
birth,  his  large  fortune,  and  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  arriiy  of  Napoleon,  in  the  endeavor  to  liberate  Spain 
from  the  despotism  of  the  Bourbons.    He  was  then  known 

9 


130  IIMIKENT    WOMEN    07   THE    AGS. 

by  the  name  of  Cipriano  Palafox,  Count  of  Theba.  A  strong 
attachment  sprang  up  between  this  member  of  one  of  the  old 
Spanish  families  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  Montijo.  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, 
BO  far  as  we  can  learn,  hannoniously  represented,  for  the  pas- 
sions which  had  inflamed  that  deadly  conflict  yielded  to  the 
ties  of  family  affection.  Both  Thomas  and  his  wife  are  now 
dead. 

The^third  daughter,  Henriquetta,  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 


SUGEKIE,    EMFBESS    OF    THE    FBENCH.      131 

iu  the  south  of  sunnj  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  Montijo,  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  in  her  person  and 
features  there  are  blended,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  the  gnice 
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  veiy  excellent  and  highly  educated 
mother.  It  is  said  that  a  part  of  her  education  was  acquired 
in  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.  Eugfenie,  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  Eug£nie*s  aunt,  Car- 
lotta,  became  subsequently  a  banker  in  Paris.  In  the  yeai 
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  admirere.  The  classical  regularity  of  her 
features,  her  exquisitely  moulded  form,  her  rich,  soft  auburn 
hair,  and  her  large,  expressive  black  eyes,  arrested  the  atten- 
tion of  ev  ery  observer.    Equally  at  home  in  several  languages* 


132  EMINENT    WOMBN    OF    THE    AGS. 

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  fSEuniliar 
with  her  has  said :  — 

^  Her  beauty  was  delicate  and  fair,  from  her  English  anceB- 
try ;  while  her  grace  was  all  Spanish,  and  her  wit  all  French. 
These  made  her  one  of  tiie  most  remarkable  women  in  the 
French  capital,  though  her  independence  of  character  and  her 
(English  habits  imparted  to  her  more  liberty  of  action  thaa 
the  restraints  imposed  on  French  demoiseUe^oHoWf  and  tliere- 
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  escape  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  Elysde,  all  eye^  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  Ountess  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  religion,  and 


BUGBNIE,    BMPBBSS    OP    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  indispensable  to  the  welfare  of  nations  and  of  men. 

It  is  probable  that  the  emperor,  more  familiar  with'  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  Januaiy,  1853,  liie  emperor,  in  the  follow- 
ing conmiunication  to  the  Senate,  announced  that  Eugenie, 
the  Countess  of  Theba,  had  consented  to  share  with  him  the 
throne,  in  becommg  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    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  ancient  policy.  In  that  is  its  advantage.  France,  by  her 
Buccessiye  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  often  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  war  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  contrary,  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- 
taimng  his  appropriate  character,  and  in  taking,  frankly,  in 


EUGENIE,    EMPBESS    OF    THE    FRENCH.      135 

(be  face  of  Europe,  the  position  of  a  parvenu ^  — a  glorious 

title  when  one  attains  it  by  the  free  suffrage  of  a  great  people. 

"Thus  obliged  to  turn  aside  from  the  precedents,  followed 

until  this   day,  my  marriage  becomes  but  a  private  affair. 

There  remains  only  the  choicie  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  £ither  in  the  cause  of  the  empire,  she  has,  as  a  Spaniard, 

the  advantage  of  not  having,  in  France,  a  family  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. 

**!  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  dne,  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  XMINENT    WOMEir    OF    THE    AGE. 

ioua  rite,  and  both  ceremoaies  are  often  accompanied  with 
great  solemnity  and  pomp.  The  marriage  of  the  Emperor 
and  Eugenie,  the  Countess  of  Theba,  was  celebrated  at  the 
Tuileriea,  on  tho  27tb  of  Janiiaiy,  1853.  The  next  day, 
which  was  Sunday,  the  religioua  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  cupacious  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,  nil  the  opulence  of 
tho  capital,  all  the  beauty  and  brilliance  of  the  court,  all  the 
grim  majesty  of  tho  military,  whatever  was  illustrious  in 
science  and  art,  every  resource  of  celebrity,  fuscination,  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  represeutatives  of  the  army,  of  the  senate,  of  the 
municipal  authorities,  of  the  diplomatic  corps,  delegations 
from  the  great  cities  of  France,  and  tlic  most  brilliant  and 
beautiful  female  Icadera  of  fashion  in  the  capital,  — all  were 
there.  The  agitation  of  the  young  empress,  the  focus  of  so 
many  inquisitive  eyes,  during  tho  ceremony,  was  extreme. 
It  was  neocssarj' for  the  emperor  to  soothe  aud  all^y  her  emo- 
tions. All  passed  off  happily  and  f!ivoi-at»ly ;  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  Section  anil 


BUQENIft,    EMPBESS    OP    THE    PRENCH.       137 

r 

esteem,  and  they  have  been  followed,  apparently,  with  far 
more  happiness  than  has  usually  been  found  in  a  palace. 

The  union  of  tiie  emperor  and  Eugenie  was  a  union  of 
hearts.  The  emperor  signalized  his  marriage  by  granting 
amnesty  to  nearly  iSve  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  giuce,  beauty,  and  ac- 
complishments which  have  now  for  fifteen  years  rendered 
Eogenie  not  only  the  brightest  ornament  of  the  Tuileries,  but 
the  most  conspicuous  queen  of  Europe.  A  sincere  Christian, 
devotedly  attached  to  the  recognized  Christian  £uth  of  France^ 
—  the  faith  in  which  she  was  born  and  educated, — she  secured 
the  homage  of  all  the  millions  who  bow  before  the  supremacy 
of  the  Catholic  religion ;  and  her  influence,  in  the  coiu*t,  has* 
ever  been  ennobliug  and  purifying. 

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  adom- 
ings  than  Eugenie.  The  glitter  of  gems  could  add  but  little 
to  that  loveliness  which  captivated  all  beholders.  Eugfinie 
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 
6rst  obtained  the  consent  of  the  donors  that  she  should  devote 


138  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

it  to  foundiog  a  charitable  institution  for  the  educatdon  of 
young  girls  belongiog  to  the  working  clasees.  Here  ehe 
watches  over  her  sisters  of  humbler  birth,  with  heartfelt  sym- 
pathy, alike  interested  in  their  physical,  mental,  and  reUgioua 
lulture. 

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  memoiy  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  lis  successor  and  heir.  There  was  English  blood 
in  the  veins  of  Eugenic,  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  foimd  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  dciircst  relatives  were  English ;  much  of 
her  education  was  English.  The  emperor,  a  man  of  warm 
affections,  could  not  foi^et  tlie  hospitable  welcome  he  had  re- 
ceived in  London,  nhen  an  exile,  banished  by  Bourbon  law 
from  his  own  country,  simply  because  his  name  was  Napoleon 
Bonaparte.  The  emperor  baa  also  ever  been  ready  to  render 
the  tribute  of  bis  admiration  to  the  institutions  of  England. 

Thus  hoth  Louis  Kapoleon  and  Eugenie  could  be  happy  as 
the  guests  of  Queen  Victoria.  There  was  moral  sublimity  in 
the  event  itself.  It  constituted  a  new  era  in  the  history  of 
the  rival  nations.    The  Emperor  of  France  and  the  Queen 


XIJQSNIE,    EMPRESS    07    THE    FjREKCH       139 

of  England  met  iu  the  palaces  of  the  British  kings,  and 
France  lefl  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  Tuileries,  St. 
Cloud,  and  Fontainebleau.  Victoria  was  received  by  the  Pa- 
risian population,  in  the  Champs  Elys^e  and  along  the  Boule- 
Tards,  with  the  same  enthusiasm,  with  the  same  tumultuous 
and  joyful  acclaim  with  which  Eugenie  had  been  received 
in  the  streets  of  Loudon.  There  is  no  city  in  the  world  so 
well  adapted  to  festal  occasious  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  iucreasing 
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    OP    THE    AGE. 

I  036  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  country,  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  loved  so  wellf  —  this 


filJQXNIE,    EMPBESS    OP    THE    FRENCH.      141 

child  I  hope  will  prove  worthy  of  the  destinies  which  await 
him/' 

Ko  man  can  be  in  power  without  baring  bitter  enemies. 
There  have  been  a  few  attempts  at  the  assassination  of  Louis 
Napoleon.  The  most  desperate  was  that  of  Orsini,  an  Italian 
refugee.  This  wretch  and  his  two  confederates,  with  their 
murderous  hand-grenades,  hesitated  not  to  strike  dbwn  in 
bloody  death  scores  of  gentlemen  and  *Iadies  crowding  the 
ftvenues  to  the  opera,  if  they  could  thus  reach  the  single  yic- 
iim  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  openi  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  terr 
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 
billoTRi  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, 
ft  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  SMIKETTT    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  fix)m  the 
dagger-thrusts. 

Before  this  attempt  at  assassination  Euginie  was  greatly 
beloyed  by  all  France.  But  the  heroism  which  she  muiifest- 
ed  on  this  occasion  added  to  that  love  emotions  of  profound 
homage  and  admiration.  Even  the  imperial  throne  was 
strengthened  by  the  conviction  that  the  empress  was  equal  to 
any  emergency ;  and  that,  should  disaster  darken  upon  the 
empire,  as  in  the  past,  Eugenie,  imlike  Maria  Louisa,  the 
*•  daughter  of  the  Csesars,"  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  be 
said :  — 

^  The  object  of  this  war  is  to  restore  Italy  to  herself,  and 
not  to  cause  her  to  change  roasters.  We  shall  then  have, 
upon  our  frontiers,  a  friendly  people  who  will  also  owe  to  ut 
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  grand  entrance  of  the  palace.  A  brilliant  retinue  of  car- 
riages, filled  with  the  military  household  of  the  emperor,  was 
also  in  line  in  the  court-yard.    A  mounted  squadron  of  the 


EUGENIE,    EMPBESS    OE    THE    FRENCH.     143 

guards,  glittering  with  burnished  helmets  and  coats  of  mail, 
was  gathered  there,  in  military  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  fix>m 
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  I "" 
•*  Dieu  vous  garde  1 " 

At  the  Place  de  la  Bastile  the  populace,  in  their  enthusi- 
asm, began  to  take  the  horses  from  the  carriage  that  thej 
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  1  **    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  afiecting  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  cry ;    we  will  take   care  of  you  and  the 
boy." 

At  the  station  of  the  Lyons  railroad  many  of  the  cabinet 
ministers  and  a  large  number  of  distinguished  members  of 
the  court,  gentlemen  and  ladles,  were  present.  Prince  Na- 
poleon, son  of  Jerome,  was  there  with  his  young  bride, 
Princess  Clotilde,  daughter  of  Victor  Emanuel.  The  Princess 
Matilda,  Prince  and  Princess  Murat  were  also  there. 

''It  was  a  touching  scene,"  writes  Julie  de  Marguerittes; 
^  the  waiting-room  crowded  with  mothers,  wives,  sisters,  and 


EUGENIE,    EMPRESS    OF    THE    FBENCH.     145 

friends, —  tears  and  sobs  making  their  way  spite  of  imperial 
example,  spite  of  court  etiquette.  At  length  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  affirmatiye.  And  so 
amidst  the  shouts  of  the  multitude,  which  echoed  far  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 :  — 

9 

"  Napoleon,  by  the  grace  of  God  and  the  national  will.  Em- 
peror of  the  French, 

•*  To  all  present  and  to  come,  greeting. 

"Wishing  to  give  to  our  well-beloved  wife,  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- 
gi^nie,  who  appended  to  them  her  signature  in  these  terms : — 

10 


146  XUINENT    WOMEN    07    TEB    J.QE. 

"  For  the  emperor,  and  in  virtue  of  the  power  bj  him  con- 
ferred. "  EnOENIE." 

The  emperor  entered  Genoa  od  the  12th.  "So  language 
can  do  justice  to  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he  was  received. 
On  the  day  of  his  arrival  at  Genoa,  the  wife  of  the  Sardiutan 
minister,  at  Paris,  presented  Eugenie  with  a  magnificent 
bouquet,  which  had  arrived,  in  perfect  preservatioa,  from  the 
Indies  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  rangnanimoiis  feelings  of  the  emperor,  to  ac- 
cept these  flowers,  which  they  would  have  strewed  on  your 
path  had  you  accompanied  your  august  husband  on  the  en- 
trance into  Genoa.  May  these  flowers  be  the  symbols  of  the 
immortal  wreaths  of  victory  which  history  will  twine  round 
the  brow  of  Xapoleou  III.,  and  will  bequeath  to  his  son  aa 
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  deitf  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  graf  efully  romcnibered  by  the  nation, 
Josephine  and  Eugenie.  Neither  of  them  were  of  royal 
lilood,  but  both  of  them  wtre  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  pLtces  upon  the  vio- 
tor's  brow. 


OBACB    GBXX3rWOOD-MB8.    LIPPIKCOTT.    147 


GRACE  GREENWOOD-MRS.   LIPPINCOTT 


-•o^ 


BT    JOSEPH    B.    LTMAN. 

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  Ponipey,  one  of  the  youthful  towns  of 
western  New  York,  might  have  turned  in  his  saddle  to  take 
a  second  look  at  the  lithe  figure  and  the  glowing  face  of  a 
village  romp.  Could  such  tourist  have  known  that,  in  the 
bright-eyed  school-girl  with  rustic  dress  and  touseled  hair, 
he  saw  one  of  the  rising  lights  of  the  coming  ago  ;  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  aud  earnest  words  spoken 
in  the  deep  gloom  of  national  disaster,  should  call  up  rich 
memories  of  the  Soman  matron  in  her  noblest  form,  or  of  the 
brightest  figures  that  move  on  the  storied  page  of  France,  — 


148  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

could  he  have  foreseen  all  that  as  in  the  future  of  this  village 
beauty,  the  traveller  would  have  done  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  years  been  found  in  all  the  high  places  of 
American  thought  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  history  of  the  Great 
Awakening ;  he  did  more  to  establish  the  grooves  of  religious 
and  moral  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.  She  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- 


6BACS    GREENWOOD-MRS.    LIPPINCOTT.    149 

tnres,  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 
wild  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 
ber.  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  off 
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  veuture  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  wander  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  false ;  the  world-weary  spirit  evermore  long?  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  EMIKENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

the  mower's  steel ,  the  swayuig  of  the  golden  wheat  fields, 
the  songs  of  the  whippoorwills,  and  the  glancmg  of  the  fire- 
flies. Such  a  childhood  gives  a  firmness  of  health,  a  yigor 
and  a  hardihood,  a  power  of  recorering  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  regular 
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  Eule  of  Three  was  a  hopeless  conun- 
drum. 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  himdred  and  sixty-five 
chapters  of  unequalled  story-telling,  in  a  style  that  never  grows 
dull,  never  j)alls  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  eveiy  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 


GBACB    GEBBNWOOD— MBS.    LIPPIKCOTT.   151 

before  the  Bochester  papers  were  glad  to  get  her  composi- 
tions. They  were  fresh,  piquant,  racy.  It  was  impossible 
to  guess  whether  she  had  read  either  Whately  or  Blair,  but 
it  was  clear  that  she  had  a  rhetoric  trimmed  by  no  pedantic 
niles.  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  differential  and  integi-al  cal- 
culus, than  some  recent  graduates  of  Oberlin  and  Vassar ; 
but  perhaps  she  was  none  the  worse  for  that.  Indeed,  aus- 
tere, pale-faced  Science  would  have  chilled  the  blood  of  this 
free,  bomiding,  elastic,  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,  gathers  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 
MonthUes.  Who  might  it  be?  Did  Willis  know?  Could 
Creneral  Morris  say?  Whittierwas  in  the  secret ;  but  he  told 
no  talcs.  And  her  nom  de  plume,  so  appropriate  and  ele- 
gant I  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  BMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THB    AGB. 

Sunny  Side.  Willis,  beginning  with  the  sacred  and  nibbling 
at  the  profane,  was  in  the  middle  of  his  genial,  lounging, 
graceful  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  Lloyd  Garrison  was  sometimes  pelted 
with  bad  eggs.  Horace  Greeley  had  just  started  the  '*New 
York  Tribune.**  Neither  Clay,  Calhoun,  nor  Webster  had 
grown  tired  of  scheming  forty  years  for  the  presidency. 
That  gi-eat  thunder-cloud  of  civil  war,  that  we  have  seen  cov- 
ering the  whole  heavens,  was  but  a  dark  patch  on  the  glow- 
ing sky  of  the  South.  In  these  times,  and  among  theso 
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  ^^NeaFs  Gazette,"  or  for 
"  Godey."  She  was  the  most  copious  and  brilliant  lady  cor- 
respondent of  that  day,  wielding  the  gracefuUest  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  dew  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  moniing !  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 :  — 


6BACE    GBKENWOOD  — MBS     LIPPINCOTT.    153 

"The  authoress  is  fhe  heroine  of  the  book;  not  that  she 
writes  about  herself  always,  or  often,  or  in  a  way  that  cq.n 
offend.  But  her  personality  gets  entangled  with  every  word 
dlie  utters,  and  her  generous  heart  cannot  be  satisfied  without 
ft  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,  ia  worth  a  hundred 
volumes  of  thq  intellectual  dissection  of  the  critical  professors. 

**  Yet  the  most  striking  thing  in  her  book  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  knowledge  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  daugh*«r  of  Eve. 
Yet  she  would  laugh  in  the  face  of  a  sentimental  j'^oung  gen- 
tleman till  he  >vishcd  her  at  the  other  side  of  the  woild.  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  etold 
and  joke,  and  love  and  worship,  as  her  grandmother  did  be- 
fore her." 


154:  EMINENT    WOHEK    07    THE    AGE. 

But  this  is  not  a  review  of  Grace  Greeawood's  writings. 
Ziilera  scripta  tnanet.  Those  who  wish  to  see  the  cream  of 
our  magaztne  writings  from  1845  to  1852,  will  fiud  it  iu 
"  GreeoH'ood  Leaves,"  first  and  second  series.  About  this 
time,  her  Poems  were  published.  To  say  that  Ihey  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  fmnk, 
generous,  cordial,  winning  persouality  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- 
oliuka,  and  the  scream  of  the  bhie-jays.  Thus  the  lines 
"  To  One  Afar  "  close  with  the  following  admirable  stan- 
zas:— 

"  Troth's  earnest  seeker  thoa,  I  fancy's  rovert 

Th;  lift  1b  lihe  a  rlrer,  deep  aod  wide : 
I  bat  the  light- winged  wild  bird  passing  over. 

One  moment  mirrored  In  the  rushing  tide. 

"  Tbns  are  we  parted ;  thon  Btill  onward  hasting, 

Fonrlng  the  great  flood  of  Ibat  life  along; 

WliUe  I  on  snnny  slopes  am  careless,  wasting 

The  little  summer  or  m;  time  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  magaziuist,  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, 


GBACE    GBEENTTOOD  — MBS.    LIPPINCOTT.  155 

by  the  wannest  and  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 

"  Kor  the  swift  regatta,  nor  merry  chase, 
Nor  mral  dance  on  the  moonlight  shore, 
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  retnmeth  again  I 
The  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  qneen  In  my  nature  now  pats  on  her  crown." 


156  SMIKENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Now  our  gentle  and  poetic  Peuthesilea  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  I  what  rear- 
ing and  backing  I  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  game  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  upoD  life's  glorious  things, 

The  deathless  themes  of  song, 
The  grand,  the  proud,  the  beautlAil, 

The  wild,  the  tree,  the  strong ; 
And  wish  that  I  migut  take  a  part 

Of  wliat  to  them  belong." 

After  the  evening  meal,  and  an  hour  of  quiet  chat,  while 


6BACE    GREENWOOD  — MRS.    LIPPINCOTT.    157 

flecks  of  rooonbeam  dance  on  the  gallery  floor,  we  might 
suppose  the  day  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  blae ; 
The  long  hair,  anconflned,  ' 
Is  flung,  like  some  yonng  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  are  nigh  to  save, 
While  earth  grows  dim  behind ; 
I  lay  my  cheek  to  the  kissing  wave, 
And  langh  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  XUINENT    WOHBir    OV    TEE    AOZ. 

■Dcl  the  admEratioa  of  the  few  who,  like  me,  can  appreciate 
the  value  of  an  elegant  nselessneBS,  and  perceive  the  &scina- 
tioD  of  splendid  gayetj  and  brilliant  trifling.  Adieu,  and 
Bend  me  more  Qrace  Greenwoods." 

But  uo  woman,  with  an  acute  brain  and  a  warm  heart, 
could  live  in  eucb  a  land  oa  ours,  and  in  the  nineteenth  ccnh 
tiiry,  and  remain  long  a  writer  of  splendid  gayeties.  The 
timea  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  n  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.  Wifb 
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  nn- 
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  afler-Iife. 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  has  written  as  well  in  her 
"Sunny  Memories  of  Other  Lands,"  but  no  lady  tourist  from 
America  has  eurpafised  Grace  Greenwood  in  the  warm  tinting 


GBACIB    GBEEKWOOD  — MBS.    LIPPIKCOTT.    159 

and  gorgeous  rhetoric  of  her  descriptions,  and  in  the  viva^ 
cious  interest  which  she  felt  herself,  and  which  she  conrey 
to  others  in  her  letters^  This  correspondence  was  collected 
immediately  after  her  return,  and  published  under  the  title 
of  **Hap8  and  Mishaps  of  a  Tour  in  Europe." 

Nobody  has  described  the  marble  wondera  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  very  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  above  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. 
I  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  poetio 
&Dcy,  pre-existed  in  the  stone,  till  the  divinely  directed 


160  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGS. 

chisel  of  the  sculptor  cut  dowo  to  it.  Ah,  so  raethiuks,  the 
very  marble  must  have  groaned,  in  prescience  of  the  god  it 
held.  To  me  it  rather  seems  «  glowing,  divine  conception, 
struck  instautly  into  stone.  It  surely  embodies  the  very 
Bout  aud  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  besaty  and 
grace,  which  had  ever  something  lofty  and  pure  even  iu  its 
refined  sensuality ;  and  for  the  splendid  arrogance  of  that 
g^Dius  which  boldly  chiselled  out  its  own  grand  conceptions, 
and  named  them  gods.  The  Apollo  I  should  like  to  ece 
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  curbiin, 
and  gaze  on  that  transcendent  image  of  life  and  light,  — to 
receive  into  my  own  being  somewhat  of  the  euer^y  and  joy 
of  existence  with  which  it  so  abounds,  —  to  catch  some 
gleams  of  the  glory  of  the  fresh  and  golden  moruing  of 
poetry  and  art  yet  rajing  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  effortless 
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,  which,  for  its 
varied  scenery  and  picturesque  views,  seems  to  mo  only  com- 
parable with  the  Cornice  leading  to  Genoa.  It  was  with  heart* 
felt  retuctance  tliat  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  young  festive  queen,  rose- 
crowucd,  sittmg  in  the  shade  of  oranges  and  myrtles,  watched 


GRACE    GREENWOOD  — MRS.    LIPPINCOTT.     16t 

over  with  visible  tenderness  by  the  olive-clad  hills,  gently 
caressed  and  sung  to  by  the  capricious  sea,  —  bright,  balmy, 
bewitching  Sorrento,  adieu  I  " 

But  the  finest  piece  of  writing  in  the  volume  is  a  bravura 
on  the  ^oman  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  gorgeousness  of  the 
scene  grew  most  fitting  and  holy ;  with  the  incense  floating 
to  me  from  the  altar,  I  seemed  to  breathe  in  a  subtile,  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  *  Author  of  our  faith  walked,  minister- 
ing, and  teaching,  and  comforting  among  the  people,  — 
humblest  among  the  humble,  poorest  among  the  poor,  most 
sorrowful  among  the  sorrowful,  preaching  peace,  good-will, 
purity,  humility,  and  freedom,  —  and  thtn,  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  groanings  of  the  captive. 

"  O  Cleopatra  of  religions,  throned  in  power,  glowing  and 
gorgeous  in  all  imaginable  splendors  and  luxuries,  —  proud 

11 


162  fillllTBirT    WOMEN    OP    THE   AX3tW. 

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* 
derl  alluring  tyranny,  beautiful  falsehood,  fair  and  fatal 
enchantress,  sovereign  sorceress  of  the  world  I  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  iii  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  charn^  older  readers,  with  the  ele* 
gance  and  freshness  of  their  style,  their  abounding  vivacity 
atid  harmless  wit,  and  the  hopeful  and  sunny  spirit  which 
they  breathe.  They  are  remarkable  for  the  felicitous  manner 
in  ivhich  they  convey  historical  information.  No  child  cau 
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  acon^ 
tributor  to  the  "  Independent,"  and  during  the  war  a  lecturer 
to  soldiers  and  at  sanitary  fairs.  Her  last  book  is  tnade  up 
from  articles  in  the  "Independent,**  and  passages  from  lectures* 
It  shows  the  fire  of  her  youthful  zeal,  and  the  glowing  rhe1> 
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. 


GBACJi    QREE^NIV-OOD-^MBS.    LIPPIKC^^TT.     16B 

There  appear  in  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  Allcghauies,  to  the  full-rounded, 
mellow,  golden  prime,  as  displayed  ipt  thQ'  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  stniggle ;  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,  attacking 
social  wrongs,  doing  all  that  woman  can  do  to  cbeer^  to  adorn, 
to  raise  the  downfallen,  to  proclaim  libert}''  to  the  captive,  to 
open  the  prison  to  those  that  are  bound.  Up  to  the  full  sumr 
mit  level  of  such  a  time  her  spirit  rises.  She  brings  tp  the 
requirements  of  this  epoch  faculties  polished  by  long  and 
diligent  culture ;  a  heart  throbbing  with  every  fine  sensibility, 
and  evety  generous  emotion;  a  large,  warm,  exuberant 
nature ;  a  ripe  and  glorious  womanhood. 

For  snch  a  character  in  such  a  wondrous  mother  age, 
there  lies  open  a  long  career  of  strenuous  exertion,  worthy 
achieyement,  and  lastin^r  fame. 


164:  XMIKENT    WOMEN    OJ    THS   AGS. 


ALICE   AND   PHEBE   CART 


BY  HORACE  GREELEY. 


Years  ago — a  full  score,  at  least — the  readera  ot  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  years 
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 
Cincinnati,  Ohio.  He  was  a  Universalist  in  faith,  and  they 
grew  up  the  same,  —  writing  oftener  for  the  periodicals  of  their 
own  denomination,  though  their  effusions  obtained  wide  cur- 
rency through  others,  into  which  they  were  copied.  I  do 
not  know,  but  presume,  that  Alice  had  written  extensively, 
and  Phebe  occasionally,  for  ten  years,  before  either  had  asked 
or  been  proffered  any  other  consideration  therefor  than  the 
privilege  of  being  read  and  heard. 

This  fiimily  of  Garys  claim  kindred  with  Sir  Robert  Gary, 
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    CABT.  165 

the  victor  to  bear  the  arms  of  his  vaDquished  antagonist,  and 
the  crest  is  still  worn  by  certain  branches  of  the  family.  The 
genealogy  is  at  best  unverified,  nor  does  it  matter.  From 
Walter  Gary  —  a  French  Huguenot,  compelled  to  flee  his 
country,  upon  the  revocation  by  Louis  XIV.  of  tlie  great 
Henry's  Edict  of  Nantes,  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  Bridgewater,  Mass.,  only  sixteen  miles  from 
Plymouth  Bock,  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  his  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  bom,  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  son  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.  Camahan,  is  a  widow,  and  lives  in  Cincinnati. 
Two  brothers,  sturdy,  thrifty  farmers,  live  near  the  spot 
where  they  first  saw  the  light. 

Alice  Gary  was  born  in  1820,  and  was  early  called  to 
mourn  the  loss  of  her  mother,  of  whom  she  has  written : 
^  My  mother  ^vas  of  English  descent,  —  a  woman  of  superior 


16jS  EMINBUT    WOMJIN    OP    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  bom 
in  1825 ;  and  there  were  two  younger  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  bodily  presence.  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,  though  near,  the  cottage  wherein 
I  first  greeted  the  sisters  in  1849 ;  and,  when  the  number 


ALICE    AND    PHEBE    CAST.  167 

was  reduced  to  two  by  the  secession  of  Elmina,  Alice  and 
Pliebe  meditated,  and  finally  resolved  on,  a  removal  to  the 
great  emporium. 

Let  none  rashly  conclude  to  follow  their  example  who  have 
not  their  securities  against  adverse  fortune.  They  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  effusions,  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  on  the  sisters  soon 
after  they  had  set  up  their  household  gods  among  us,  and 
met  them  at  intervals  thereafter  nt  their  home,  or  at  the 
houses  of  mutual  friends.  Their  parlor  was  not  so  largo  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-pailie^ 
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    OP    THE    AGE. 

ally  though  slowly  improvetl,  by  dint  of  diligent  industry 
and  judicious  economy,  they  occupied  more  eligible  quarters ; 
and  the  modest  dwelling  they  have  for  some  yeara  owned 
and  improved,  in  the  very  heart  of  this  emporium,  has  long 
been  known  to  the  literary  guild  as  combining  one  of  the  best 
private  libraries,  with  the  sunniest  drawiug-room  (even  by 
gaslight)  to  bo  found  bettreen  King's  Bridge  and  th» 
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-mortur  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 
gness  that  no  direct  pecuniary  advanL-igo  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  wera 
generously  appreciated  by  the  critics.  A  second  seiies,  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  Redfield  in  1853, 
was  the  first  volume  of  verse  wherein  Miss  Cary  challenged 
the  judgment  of  critics  independently  of  her  sister.  That  it 
was  a  decided  success  is  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  fact 
that  a  more  complete  edition,  including  all  the  contents  of 


ALICE    AND    PHEBE    CART.  169 

Redfield's,  with  much  more,  was  issued  by  Ticknor  &  Fields 
in  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-Day"  —  was 
written  for  and  appeared  in  "The  Cincinnati  Commercial,** 
appearing  in  a  book  form  in  1852.  "Married,  liot  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,"  brought  out  by  Derby  & 
Jackson  in  1859,  "The  Literary  Gazette*'  (London),  which 
is  not  accustomed*to  flatter  American  authors,  said :  — 

"Every  tale  in  this  book  might  bo  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  analj'^tical  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    AQE. 

Book  for  Yoiiug  Folks,"  by  the  same  house,  are  her  latest 
volumes.  Nearly  all  of  ber  prose  works  have  been  reprinted 
iti  London,  and  have  tbere,  as  well  aa  here,  received  a  cor- 
dial and  iDteliigent  welcome. 

Few  Amoi'ican  women  have  written  nioro  than  Miss  Cary, 
and  still  fewer  have  written  more  successfully.  Yet  she 
does  not  write  rapidly  nor  recklessly,  and  ber  works  evhice 
conscientious,  painstaking  effort,  rather  than  transcendent 
genius  or  fitful  inspiration.  Ill-health  has  of  Late  interrupted, 
if  not  an'ested,  her  labors;  but,  in  the  intervals  of  relative 
exemption  from  weakness  and  euifering,  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 
Binger  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  tlic  mariDera,  and  God  the  sea; 

And,  thoDgh  ne  make  fhlac  reckonings,  and  run 
Wide  or  a  rlghteoos  course,  and  are  ondoDe, 
Oat  of  hU  deeps  or  love  ne  cannot  be. 

"  For,  by  those  heavy  strokes  we  misname  Ul, 

ThroDgh  the  fierce  fire  of  sla,  through  tempering  doubt, 
Onr  natures  more  and  more  are  beaten  oat 
To  perfccter  rc'ectlans  of  his  wUl  1  " 

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 
issufid  by  Kurd  &  Houghton.     There  are  one  hundred  picoe? 


ALICE    AND    PHEBB    CABY.  171 

• 

m  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  wish  she  had 
omitted  from  the  collection.  There  are  a  buoyant  faith,  a 
8unny  philosophy  evinced  throughout,  with  a  hearty  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 :  -  - 

,  t 

"A  WOMAN'S  CONCLUSIONS. 

**I  said,  if  I  might  go  back  again 

To  the  very  hour  and  place  of  mj  birth ; 
Might  have  my  life  whatever  I  chose, 
And  live  it  in  any  part  of  the  earth ;  — 

**  Pat  perfect  sunshine  into  my  sky, 

Banish  the  shadow  of  sorrow  and  donbt ; 
Have  aU  my  happiness  multiplied, 
And  aU  my  suffering  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  bledt, 
Or  whatever  she  thinks  wiU  make  her  so; 

*'  Have  found  the  highest  and  purest  bliss 
That  the  bridal  wreath  and  ring  enclose ; 
And  gained  the  one  out  of  aU  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«  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,  sttU 
I  would  choose  to  have  my  past  as  it  Ls, 
And  to  let  my  Ititure  come  as  it  wiUI 


172  EUINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

"  I  wonld  not  make  the  path  I  hare  trod  "^ 

More  pleasant  or  eren,  more  straight  or  vld«t 
Nor  ch&nse  my  coarse  the  breadth  of  a  h&ir. 
This  waj  or  that  way,  to  either  side. 

"  Mj  past  Is  mine,  and  I  take  It  all ; 

Its  weakness — its  foll7,  if  yon  please) 
fiaj,  even  my  sins.  If  yon  come  to  that. 
May  hare  been  my  helps,  not  hindrances! 

"  If  I  saved  my  body  from  the  flames 

Because  that  once  I  bad  burned  my  hand} 
Or  kept  mysclT  ftom  a  greater  sin 
By  doing  a  less — yon  will  nnderstaod ; 

"  It  was  better  I  snllbred  a  Utile  pato, 
Better  I  sinned  tot  a  little  time, 
If  the  smarting  warned  me  back  from  death. 
And  the  sting  of  sin  withheld  frxim  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  I 

"And  who  knows  how  a  lift  at  Uie  last  may  show? 
Why,  look  at  the  moon  from  where  we  stand  I 
Opaqoe,  nneren,  yon  say;  yet  it  shines, 
A  Inminous  sphere,  complete  and  grand  I 

"  So  let  my  post  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  beat— or  It  had  not  been,  I  bold." 

If  I  have  written  aright  this  hasty  sketch,  there  are  hope 
and  comfort  therein  for  those  who  are  just  entering  uiion 
rcspoDBible  lifd  with  no  more  than  average  opportunities  and 
advantages.  If  I  have  not  shown  this,  read  the  works  of 
Alice  and  Fhebo  Gary,  and  find  it  there  I 


(     <l 


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':  UABaABBT    TULLEB    OSSOLI.  173 

I 


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MABOABET    FULLSB    OSSOLI.  173 


MARGARET   FULLER   OSSOLI. 

BY  T.  W.  HIGOINSON. 

Tbatellino  by  rail  in  Michigan,  some  ten  years  ag  I,  I 
found  myself  seated  next  to  a  young  Western  girl,  wiih  a 
very  intelligent  face,  who  soon  began  to  talk  with  me  about 
literary  subjects.  She  afterwards  gave  me,  as  a  reason  for 
her  confidence,  that  I  ^looked  like  one  who  would  enjoy 
Margaret  Fuller's  writings,"  —  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  Fuller  is  connected,  slightly  but  firmly,  with  my 
earliest  recollections.  We  were  bom  and  bred  in  the  sama 
town  (Cambridge,  Massachusetts),  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  great  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.  BMlKENT    W^aMEH    OF    *fiB'l:*B. 

others  of  the  family.  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  Aulas  Gellius,  tcr  come-  upon  a. reference 4o  Vireil's 
own  copy  of  the  .^neid,  which  the  writer  had  once  seen, 
^  quern  ipsius  Virgilii  fuisse  credebat ;"  and  nothing  in  aU 
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  wa^  a  chfld, 
Margaret  Fuller  was  the  queen  of  Cambridge,  though  trouble^ 
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  unattrao- 
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,  ad  being  a  lawyer  and  hav- 
ing been  a  congressman.  But  his  daughter  has  described 
him,  in  her  fragment  of  autobiography,  with  her  accustomed 
frankness  and  precision :  — 

^  My  father  was  a  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 
college.  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, 


MARGAEri    PuiiLEB    dSSO£i:  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  tho 
deeper  fountains  of  the  soul,  to  regard  life  here  as  the  pro-i> 
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  circumstancesi 
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  one  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  bom  May  23,  1810 ;  the  eldest 
child  of  Timothy  Puller  and  Margaret  Crane.  Her  birth- 
place was  a  house  on  Cherry  Street,  in  Cambridge,  before 
whose  ^oor  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    OF    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  literaiy  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  Madame  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 :  — 

^  Marcht  1834.  —  Four  pupils  are  a  serious  and  fatiguing 


HABGABET    PULLEB    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 
ol^er  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, 
80  that  I  shall  not  be  obliged  to  pass  my  time  about  it  when 
eveiything  looks  beautiful,  as  I  did  last  summer.  We  have 
had  very  poor  servantB,  end,  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- 
glderably  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  Greography  of  modem  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  nothing  ti> 
distract  or  dissipate  my  mind.  I  have  nearly  completed  this 
course,  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 
hare  undertaken  it,  and  feel  the  good  effects  already.  Oc^ 
casionally  I  try  my  hand  at  composition,  but  have  not  com- 
pleted anything  to  my  own  satisfaction.'' 

On  September  23,  1835,  her  father  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  between  them  had  been  very  close »  and 


178  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE   AQE. 

this  sudden  death  threw  the  weight  bf  the  whole  household 
upon  the  eldest  child.  It  came  at  what  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  the  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  ^r.  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.  Channing,  —  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; 


MAROABBT    FULLEB    OSSOLI.  179 

first  part  of  Faueit,  —  three  weeks  of  thorough  study  this, 
as  valuable  to  me  as  to  them;  and  Clavigo,  —  thus  com- 
prehending samples  of  all  his  efforts  in  poetry,  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  Eichter's  Titan. 

^  With  the  Italian  class,  I  read  parts  of  Tasso,  Petrarch,  — 
whom  they  came  to  almost  adore,  —  Ariosto,  Alfieri,  and  the 
whole  hundred  cantos  of  the  Divina  Commedia,  with  the  aid 
of  the  fine  AthensBom  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  year,  if  upon  trial  I  am  well  pleased 
enough  to  stay."  This  was  a  flattering  offer,  and  certainly 
shows  the  intellectual  reputation  she  had  won.  She  accepted 
it,  for  the  sake  of  her  fisimily,  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.  Eipley'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  English  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 
tnbiect.     No  one,  I  fimcy,  has  ever  compressed  into  one 


180  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AOE. 

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  iiand,  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,  liying  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  meetmgs 
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. 


MABGABET    FULLEB    OSSOLI.  181 

and  how  we  may  make  best  use  of  our  meaus  for  building 
up  the  life  of  thought  upon  the  life  of  action." 

These  couversations  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  fEincied  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  riead  and  re-read,  year  after  year,  with 
ever  new  delight.  Where  else  is  there  a  statement,  so  vivid, 
BO  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 
wha^.  it  must  have  been,  as  this  self-recorded  reverie.    If  on 


182  EUIHENT    WOMEN    07    TEE    AGS, 

tiie  trit«st  of  all  aubjects,  she  could  bo  easily  write  something 
admirable,  what  must  it  have  been  when  the  restraints  of  the 
pen  —  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  bo  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  wit^  beautiful  gifts,  ac- 
companied with  those  little  delicate  poetic  traits,  which  I 
should  delight  to  t«ll  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  Mends,  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  meu.  The 
less  instructed  found  their  outlet  in  the  radical  conventions, 
then  so  abundaat;  the  more  cultivated  uttered  themselves 
in  the  "  Dial."  The  contributors,  who  then  thronged  around 
Margaret  Fuller,  -:- Emerson,  Alcott,  Parker,  Thoreau,  £ip- 
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  ofl«n  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  commou' 


MABQABET    FULLEB    OSSOLI.  183 

sense  soon  created  for  itself  a  wide  public.  It  was  his 
articles,  as  Mr.  Emerson  has  since  told  me,  that  sold  the 
nombers;  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 
beUeve  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.  When  the 
unwearied  Theodore  Parker  attempted,  half  a  dozen  years 
jfter,  to  embody  the  maturer  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  the  •*  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  View  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 
uniequal.  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 
80  rich."  Hawthorne  was  at  that  time  scarcely  known,  and  it 
is  singular  to  read  in  her  diary,  four  years  earlier,  her  ao- 


184  EMINENT    WOMEN    OE    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  yalue 
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,"  ''Romaic  and  Bhine  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  fer  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 
worfliy  the  subject :     "  I  have  followed  as  much  as  possible 


MABGARET    FULLEB    OSSOLI.  185 

the  idiom  of  the  writer  as  well  as  her  truly  girlish  punctua- 
tion. Commas  and  dashes  are  the  only  stops  natural  to  girls ; 
their  sentences  flow  on  in  little  minim  ripples,  unbroken  as 
the  brook  in  a  green  field  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  Bettine,  recognizing 
fully  her  genius  and  her  charms,  yet  sternly  pointing  out  the 
ineritable  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 
Buch  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 
woidd  seem  like  being  ofiered  a  New  York  ** Tribune"  at 
Poestum.  But  when  Margaret  Fuller  reads  "Philip  Van 
Artevelde,"  by  the  lake  shore,  just  in  the  suburbs  of  the  busy 
city,  all  seems  appropriate  and  hannonized,  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  thought  of  the  Flemish  hero.  When  will  this  coun- 
tiy  have  such  a  man?  It  is  what  she  needs;  no  thin  ideal- 
isly  no  coarse  realist^  hut  a  man  whose  eye  reads  the  heavens^ 
while  his  feet  step  firmly  on  the  ground ^  and  his  hands  are 
strong  and  dexterotts  for  the  use  of  human  implements.^* 

What  was  that  power  in  Margaret  Fuller  which  made  her 
words  barbed  arrows,  to  rem^n  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  each 
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  wdth 
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  fSstst  amid  persecution  and  demoral- 


MABGABET    FULLEB    0880LI.  187 

ization.  Bat  the  book  as  a  whole,  is  very  fra^entary  and 
episodical  9  and  in  this  respect,  as  well  as  in  the  wide  range 
of  merit  and  demerit  in  the  verses  here  and  there  inter- 
spersed, it  reminds  one  of  Thoreau's  *•  Week  on  the  Concord 
and  Merrimack  Bivers."  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  works. 

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.  Nevei*theles8,  there  she  remained  for 
nearly  two  years,  making  fearless  use  of  her  great  oppor* 
tunity  of  influence.  She  was  dogmatic,  egotistic,  and  liable 
to  err ;  but  in  this  she  did  not  differ  from  her  fellow-critics. 
The  point  of  difference  was  in  the  thoroughness  of  training 
to  which  she  had  submitted,  —  at  least  in  certain  dkections, 
—  the  elevation  of  her  demands,  her  perfect  independence, 
and  her  ready  sympathy.  With  authors  who  demanded 
flattery  on  the  one  side,  and  a  public  on  the  other  which 
demanded  only  intellectual  substance,  and  was  almost  in- 
different 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 
always  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  aiv  epic,  or 
romance,   or  drama ;  yet  no  one  knew  better  the  qualities 


188  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

which  go  to  tiie  making  of  these ;  and,  though  catholic  as  to 
kind,  DO  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  uoTer  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^ 
blc." 

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  aud  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  effeminated  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. 
Ob,  give  us  something  rather  than  Greece  more  Grecian,  so 
new,  so  universal,  so  individual  I " 

It  was,  therefore,  an  event  in  the  history  of  our  literature, 
when  a  woman  thus  eminently  gifted  became  the  literary 
critic  of  the  New  York  "Tribune," — then,  and  perhap? 
still,  the  journal  possessing  the  most  formative  influence 
over  the  most  active  class  of  American  mind?.  There  were, 
of  course,  drawbacks  upon  her  fitness.     She  was  sometimes 


MAB6ABET  EULLEB   OSSOLI.  189 

ftntastic  in  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  in 
the  country,  and  they  had  little  leisure  for  criticism ;  so  that 
work  was  chiefly  left  to  boys.  The  few  exceptions  were 
cynics,  like  Poe,  or  universal  flatterers,  like  Willis  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  only  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  I  So 
much  the  public  could  endure.  It  was  when  she  touched 
Longfellow  and  Lowell  that  her  audience,  or  that  poition 
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,  —  sa}*s  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  specific 
plagiarism,  and  points  out,  very  justly,  that  these  accusations 
x)nly  proceed  from  something  imitative  and  foreign  in  many 


HABGABET  FULLEB   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  finally  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    WOMiTn    OY    THE    AOE. 

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  liim  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 


MARGARET    FULLER    OSSOLI.  193 

''Woman  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  "  (published  two  years 
previously),  which  was. perhaps  framed  on  too  large  a  scalo 
for  one  who  had  so  little  constructive  power.  It  was  nobl** 
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  Emei^ 
son.  "  Tragedy  is  always  a  mistake."  "  The  difference  betweea 
heartlessness  and  the  want  of  a  deep  heart."  ^  We  need  to* 
hear  the  excuses  men  make  to  themselves  for  their  worthless- 
neas."  "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  with  the  biogra- 
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  any- 
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,  itr 
was  less  perhaps  from  vanity  than  because  she  yielded  to  the 
demand  popularly  made  on  all  our  intellectual  laborers,  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^ 

18 


194  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

have  a  stirring  pulpit  orator,  he  most  try  his  hand  on  a  novel ; 
if  a  popular  editor,  he  must  wiite  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  among  inferiors,  and  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  but  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  woman, 
and  not  a  woman  who  wished  to  be  a  man."  And 'one  of  her 
friends  of  the  other  sex  wrote  of  her,  "  The  dry  light  which 
Lord  Bacon  loved  she  never  knew ;  her  light  was  life,  was 
love,  was  warm  with  sympathy,  and  a  boundless  enei^  of 


MABGABET    FULLBB    OSSOLI.  195 

tffecfion  and  hope."  The  self-devotion  of  her  closing  years 
brought  no  surprise  to  those  who  remen4>9red  how  she  had  sacri- 
ficed her  most  cherished  plans  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,  when  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  book  on  the 
subject,  though  that  doubtless  did  much,  exerting  a  perma- 
Hent  influence  on  many  minds.  ISo  one  has  ever  given  so 
compact  a  formula  for  the  requirements  of  woman.  She 
claims  for  her  sex  "  not  only  equal  power  with  man,  — for  of 
that  onmipotent  nature  will  never  permit  her  to  be  defrauded, 
—  but  a  chartered  power,  too  fully  recognized  to  be  abused." 
Never  were  there  ten  words  which  put  the  whole  principle  of 
impartial  suflrage  so  plainly  aa  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 
woman  unlike  man,  — for  she  w^  ready  to  trust  these  laws 
instead  of  legislating  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 
irword,  he  seized  it.  So  with  woman,  —  one  horn*  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    OP    THE    AGE. 

ahe  sailed  for  Europe,  thus  fulfilling  the  design  abaadoaed 
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  Eiu*ope,  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  disproportioned 
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-cultiu'e  of  her  earlier  life  was  corrected,  and  all  its  self- 
devotion  found  a  surer  outlet.  That  '^hour  of  love"  of 
which  she  had  written  came  to  her,  and  all  succeeding  hours 
were  enriched  and  ennobled.  Throwing  herself  into  the 
struggle  for  a  nation's  life,  blending  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  afibrded  many  parallels.  During  the  siege 
of  Rome,  in  1848,  the  greater  part  of  her  time  was  passed  in 
the  hospital  ^  dei  Pellegrini j^  which  was  put  under  her  spe- 


MARGARET    PULLER    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.'*  **!  have  seen,"  wrote  the  Amer- 
ican consul,  Mr.  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 Angelo,  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  family  had  espoused  the 
other  side ;  and  it  was  this  bond  of  sympathy  which  first 
united  them.  Their  child,  Angelo  Philip  Eugene  Ossoli,  was 
bom  at  Rieti,  September  5th,  1848.  After  the  %11  of  the 
republic  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  leave  Rome,  and  this 
feet,  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  have  a  vague  expectation  of 
Bome  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  awhile  and  tiike  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    07    THE    AQE. 

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  placed  the  greatest  confidence,  soon  sickened 
and  died  of  malignant  small-pox,  and  was  buried  off  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  (o  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  off 
Long  Island. 

The  main  and  mizen  masts  were  at  once  cut  away,  but  the 
ship  held  by  the  bow,  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. 


MARGARET    FULLER    OSSOLI.  199 

The  crew  were  at  the  forwai-d  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  paptaiii's  wife, 
who  went  first,  was  once  swept  away,  and  was  caught  only 
by  her  hair.  Little  Angelo  was  carried  in  a  canvas  bag, 
bung  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  collectins:  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  \^ave.  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  Angelo 
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,  aud  was 
reverently  buried  among  the  sand-hills  by  the  sailors,  one 
of  whom  gave  his  chest  for  a  cofiSn.  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  were,  full  of  the  tragedy  that  had  taken  away  a  life 
whose  preciousness  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. 


.  MARGABET  FULLER  OS  SOLI.        201 

The  precious  manuscript,  for  whose  publication  her  friends 
and  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  and  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  ^merican  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  bis  publishers'  account,  must  feel  that  some- 
thing is  wanting  while  Margaret  Fuller's  place  remains 
unfilled. 


5X)2  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 


GAIL   HAMILTON— MISS  DODGE. 


BY  FANNY  FERN. 


•*  Will  I  write  a  sketch  of  Gail  Hamilton  ? ""  Will  I  touch 
off  a  Parrott  gun?  I  thought,  and  will  it  "kick"  if  I  do? 
However,  I  ventured  to  send  the  following  missive  :  — 

*•  My  deab  Miss  Dodge,  otherwise  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  aae  up,  the  gods  only  know.  Will  you  be 
good  enough  to  inform  me  at  your  earliest  convenience,  when 
and  where  you  cut  your  first  tooth,  whether  you  had  the  • 
measles  before  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  vour  writings,  I 
rejoice  every  day  in  your  existence. 

^  Please  send  an  early  answer. 

**  Yours,  etc., 

**  Fanny  Fern.* 

In  a  few  days  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,  and  will  I  have  the  goodness  to  send  on  shavings  and 
dry  wood  by  the  next  mail  ? 
^ Thank  you,  ma'am,  I  will. 

"LIFE  AND  SUFFERINGS  OP 
"  GAIL  HAMILTON. 

••  WJUITKN    BT    rrSXLF.       AND  WITH    FORBfER    TRANBLATIOITS    DILIOBNTLr 

COMFABED  ASD  BEVISED. 

"To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief,  I  was  bom  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  bom  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,  who,  to  his  infinite  regret,  was  not  killed  in 
the  late  unpleasantness,  and  am  a  lineal  descendant  of  that 
Simple  Simon,  who  once  went  a-fishiug  f<9r  to  catch  a  whale, 
though  all  the  water  thai  he  had  was  in  his  mother's  pail. 
If  I  am  not  Launcelot,  nor  another,  but  only  my  own  self,  I 
am  like  Melchisedec,  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  ain  neither  bmte  nor  haman, 
I'm  a  ghoul  I 

••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.  Whereuuto  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  you  for  your  friendly  words,  and  rejoicing,  like 

King  David  in  his  great  strait,  that  I  am  not  to  fall  into  the 

bands  of  maUf 

**  I  am  very  respectfully, 

**  Gail  EL^milton. 

•* 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  tbe 


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  was  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 :  — 

"  Deab  Fannt  :  —  Do  whatever  you  like  with  the  letter ;  I 
don't  care,  and  don't  think  you  *  must  handle  me  tenderly.' 
Say  anything  and  everything  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  I 

''Gail  Hamilton." 

This,  dear  reader,  by  way  of  preface.  Now  allow  me  to  say 
ttiflt  there  are  only  two  things  in  this  world  I  am  afraid  of,  — * 


206  EMINENT    WOMEN    UF    THE    AGE. 

one  is  a  mouse,  the  other  is  a  woman.  My  first  impulse  on 
being  brought  face  to  face  with  either,  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  comers ;  who  "  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  they  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  Rev.  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 
Aven  to  nibble  at  tJiat  bait,  and  doom  her  to  die,  without  a 
chance  to  sew  on  shirt-buttons,  or  '^seat"  a  pair  of  trowsers. 

One  naturally  inquires  how  such  a  female  monster  came 
to  exist?  In  other  and  more  elegant  phrase,  '*  what  did  Uf^ 
Was  she,  like  Romulus  and  Remus,  suckled  by  a  she-wolf  in 
her  infancy?  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  off,  or  "  shut  up,"  from  this 
infernal  attempt  to  set  women  upon  their  feet,  and  to  trip 
men  from  off  theirs. 

To  convince  you  how  pertinent  is  my  question,  I  will 


GAIL    HAMILTON.  207 

quote  in  this  connection  a  few  of  her  most  incendiary  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  tliey  get,  so  much  the  better.  They  will  be  all  the 
more  willing  to  become  household  drudgps." 

^  Make  a  man  understand  that  he  shall  eat  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  Feejee-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  he  is  under  equally 
strong  obligations  to  dress  so  as  to  be  grateful  to  her  eye.  I 
have  heard  a  woman  say  variety  in  dress  is  necessaiy  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,  why  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  eye  ?  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  Za 
mode?  Or  has  a  mans  dress  intrinsically  so  much  more 
beauty  and  character  than  a  woman's  that  less  pains  need  he 
taken  to  make  it  charming?" 

""  Take  example  from  the  toad ,"  Gail  says  to  her  sisters ; 
*  swallow  your  dress,  not  precisely  in  the  same  sense,  but  as 


208  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    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.  Nobody  notices 
that  things  are  as  they  should  be ;  but  if  things  are  not  as 
they  should  be,  it  were  better  for  her  that  a  millstone  were 
hanged  about  her  neok." 

^  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  I  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,  bat 
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  i-ises 
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  frequefvcy  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  they  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 
vsages  and  to  give  her  money  to  go  shopping  with  I 

^  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  com  where  they 
can  pick  whenever  they  choose,  as  they  will  if  you  only  fling 
a  handful  now  and  then,  and  keep  them  continually  half- 
starred.  At  the  same  time  they  will  be  in  better  condition. 
So,  looking  at  thg  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  off  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,  iu  the  presence  of  their  wives, 
io  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  biD,  and 
the  joiner's  bill.  Man,  when  a  woman  is  married,  do  you 
thmk  she  loses  all  personal  feeling?    Do  you  think  your 

14 


210  EMINENT    WOMEN    OB    THE    AGB. 

glum  look  over  the  expenses  of  house-keeping  is  a  fulfilment 
of  your  promise  to  love  and  cherish  ?  Does  it  bring  suashiue, 
and  l^hten  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  down  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 p^.  These  veiy  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  indorsinga  not«,  or  lending  money,  through 
mere  want  of  courage  to  sayKo, — 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  jiersonal  comfort  or 
interest  is  concerned,  he  scorns  a  sacrifice.  He  laughs  at  the 
eu^estion  that  such  a  little  thing  makes  any  difference  one 
way  or  another." 

This  is  a  long  extract  from  Miss  Hamilton,  but  evety  word 
is  solid  gold,  and  should  be  printed  and  filmed  and  hung  up 

in  every  husband's well,  wheresoever  he  keeps  his  cigars, 

so  that  he  would  be  sure  to  see  it.  1  myself  have  heard  a 
man  ask  a  wife  who  had  borne  them  twelve  children,  and  who 
was  an  economical,  painstaking,  thrifty  house-keeper,  "What 
she  did  with  the  leut  dollar  he  gave  her  ?"  True,  men  do  not 
like  to  see  this  unpleasant  reflection  of  themselves  in  our  au- 
thor's glisB ;  but  that  ia  no  reason  why  she  should  smash  it. 
And  8S  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  1  ** 

At  this  safe  distance,  thisParrott  gun  of  a  woman  explodes 
the  following,  for  which  I  confess  a  hearty  relish :  — 

"A  father  goes  into  the  nursery,  and  has  aSnerry  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  are  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 '    I  am  amazed  at  the  folly  of  women  1    Kept  from 
disturbing  papa  I    Bather  hound  them  on  I     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 9  tlieir  distraction.    Let  him  come  into  dose  con^ 
tact  with  his  children^  and  see  what^they  are^  and  what  they 
do,  and  he  will  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  dean  apron  and  bright  faces  on  the  other, 
pronounces  his  euphonious  generalizations.    His  children  will 
elicit  as  much  love  and  interest,  together  toith  a  great  deal 
more  knowledge,  and  a  great  deal  less  silly,  mannish  sentimen* 
talism." 

I  itrlicize  the  last  sentence,  as  one  of  the  choicest  and  most 


212  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AQE. 

sensible  verses  in  Miss  Gail's  new  gospel.    I  really  fhink  I 
couldn't  have  done  better  myself  I 
Bea^  ihisy  too :  — 

**Men  often  bave  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  hctf  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  teU 
me  80  sometimesf  " 

Our  author  has  probably  heard  husbands  reply  to  this: 
^  Why,  that  is  of  course  understood ;  it  \a  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  som^ 


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  unworthy  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,  their  forbearance,  their  unstinted  service,  their  in- 
t^liify,  and  of  the  not  sufficiently  unfrequent  instances  in 
which  women,  by  fretfiilness,  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  piu'e  gems  down 
the  dark,  unfathomed  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 
tbe  unpardonable  sin,  at  least  of  unpardonable  stupidity.  I 
could  make  out  a  long  list  of  charges  against  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  when  you  would  extricate  a  wagon  from  a 
fioughf  you  put  your  shoulder  first  and  heaviest  to  the  wheel 
thai  is  the  deepest  in  tJie  mud;  especially  if  the  other  wheel 
would  hardly  he  in  at  aU  unless  this  one  had  pulled  it  in/^* 

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  smnmings  up  * 


iii4t  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  foi 
them  a  more  healthful  mental  and  moral  condition.  There  is 
no  necessity  for  thanks  on  their  part,  as  the  work  has  ideally 
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 
8i;Lbject,  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  sony  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  dam 
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  sununer- 
house.  Why  not?  Because  they  are  lying  snugly  wrapped 
in  oiled  silk  in  the  upper  bureau-drawer,  only  to  be  taken  out 


GAIL    HAMILTON.  215 

on  great  occasions.  You  would  as  soon  tbiuk  of  wearing 
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  getting  them  dingy  and  battered  ?  And  the  most 
fSG^tidious  lover  in  the  world  cannot  expect  you  to  buy  a  new 
pair  every  time.  For  me,  I  keep  my  gloiKs  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  your  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 
Grail  Hamilton ;  that  is  sufiicient  as  far  as  she  is  concerned. 
She  had  a  brother,  who  Mrs.  Grundy  declares  is  the  "  Hali« 
camassus  "  mentioned  in  her  books,  and  whom  the  men  she 
has  flagellated  in  her  writings  call  ^  poor  devil  I "  supposing 
him  to  be  her  Jiusbandl 

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    07    THE    AGE. 

companions,  not  subjects  for  early  tombstones  and  obituary 
notices,  but  with  broad  chests,  sun-kissed  faces,  and  nimble 
limbs  and  tongues,  —  children  who  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,  saffron-colored,  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,  wishing  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  Mary  housed  was  a  perfect  savage ;  her  mistress  never 
being  able  to  catch  sight  of  her  save  in  her  fierce  and  light- 
ning-like 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.  217 

a  cross  French  nurse,  to  keep  fheir  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  com  were  placed  in  the  cart  to 
be  ground,  then  transformed  into  Johnny-cakes,  brown  bread, 
and  Indian  puddiug.  As  they  were  put  beside  her,  this 
imaginative  little  girl  fancied  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  coru-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,  which  opened  to  let 
them  through,  seemed  to  turn  on  goldeq  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  the  barberry  bnsh, 
The  barberry,  barberry,  barbeny  bush; 
As  we  go  round  the  barberry  bush, 

So  early  in  the  morning ; 

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  Maiy  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  further  preface. 

Sundays  to  little  Mary,  under  these  conditions,  were  not 
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 
fencci  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  unfiuling  big  red 


GAIL    HAMILTOK.  219 

Bible.    And  thia  is  the  brilliant  tribute  of  her  maturor  years 
to  Uie  New  England,  much-reviled  Sabbaths :  — 

**0  Puritan  Sabbaths  I  doubtless  you  were  sometimes 
stormy  without  and  stormy  within ;  but,  looking  back  upon 
you  from  a&r,  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 
bumming  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  long  ag».  Sweet 
Puritan  Sabbaths !  breathe  upon  a  restless  world  your  calm, 
still  breath,  and  keep  us  from  the  evil  I  " 

ToKlay,  Gail  Hamilton  is  not  only  independent  in  thought 
and  expression,  but  I  am  happy  to  say,  in  pocket.  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,  ^f amity  ^^ — 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  9uch  fin- 
gers I 

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    AGS. 


who  fully  endorsed  their  setaphic  qualities,  not  only  npon 
personal  acquaintance  with  her,  forgiven  her  for  smiting  them 
on  one  cheek,  but  voluntarily  and  lovingly  have  turned  the 
other.    Forewarned  •^—forearmed  I 


XLIZABXTH   BABBSTT    BBOWNING.         221 


1    r.    ' 


J 


\ 


J 

i 


BLIZABXTH   BABBSTT    BBOWKING.         221 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


■•09- 


BT  BDWABD  T.  HINCKS. 


Thbbb  has  probably  lived  within  the  past  oentury  no  wo- 
man whose  genius,  character,  and  position  are  more  fall  of 
interest  than  Mrs.  Browning's.  She  was  not  only  far  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*  Borti  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 out  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  BMINENT    WOl^Eir   OF    TftS    AGS. 

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  gnef,  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  life  will  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  womanhood.  We  shall  feel  that  the 
poet  was  greater  than  her  poems. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Barrett  was  bom  in  London,  in  1809. 
Her  father  was  a  private  gentleman  in  opulent  circumstances. 
Her  early  life  was  passed  partly  in  London,  pai-tly  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  scenefy  surrounding 
her  early  home. 

"  Green  the  land  is  where  my  daily 
Steps  in  Jocund  chUdhood  played, 
Dimpled  close  with  hUi  and  vaUey, 
Dappled  very  close  with  shade ; 
Summer  snow  of  apple  blossoms  nmning  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  flither  praying  blessings 

From  the  gifts  of  Paradise." 


ELIZABEfH    BABBETT    BBOWNING.         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  morbiif  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  precofcity.  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. Miss  Barrett's  education  was  such  as  a  woman  rarely 
receives.  She  was  taught  in  classics,  philosophy,  and  science. 
Her  aoquaintance  with  Greek  literature  was  very  extensive. 
It  embraced,  not  only  the  great  classic  authors,  but  also 
many  of  the  fathers,  and  the  Greek  Christian* poets.  She 
studied  Greek  under  the  instruction  of  her  blind  friend,  the 
Kev.  Hugh  Stuart  Boyd,  to  whom  she  afterward  dedicated 
the  poem  entitled  **  The  Wine  of  C^rprus,"  in  which  she  thus 
pleasantly  alludes  to  the  hours  they  had  spent  together :  — 

"  And  I  think  of  those  long  mornings 
Which  my  thooght  goes  far  to  seek, 
When,  betwixt  the  folio's  tamings, 
Solemn  flowed  the  rhythmic  Greek. 
.  Fast  the  pane  the  mountain  spreading 
Swept  the  sheep-bell's  tinkUng  noise. 
While  a  girUsh  voice  was  reading, 
Somewhat  low  for  oii  and  oci." 

And  then  she  goes  on  to  give  in  a  word  or  two,  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« 


221  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, 

Yeiy  gently,  be  it  said. 
Since  oar  thoughts  were  disentangled 

By  no  breaking  of  the  thread! 
And  I  charged  yon  with  extortions 

On  the  nobler  fiimes  of  old; 
Ay,  and  sometimes  thought  yoar  Forsons 

Stained  the  purple  they  would  fold." 

But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  Mrs.  Browning  was  a  thor- 
ough and  scientific  student  of  the  Greek  language.  *  If  she 
had  been  so»  the  effect  of  such  study  would  have  been  to  cor- 
rect her  taste  9  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  and  other  Poems,"  published  in 
1826.  The  ** Essay  on  Mind"  was  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  Review"  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  JEschylus.  This  translation  was  severely  criti- 
cised at  the  time  of  its  publication,  and  Miss  Barrett  herself 


ELIZABETH     BARRETT      BROWNING.        223 

was  BO  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  Kussell 
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),aud  for  the  oft^juoted  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  Mitford  thus  describes  her  friend  as  she  appeared  at 
the  age  of  twenty-six :  — 

^  Of  a  slight,  delicate  figure,  with  a  shower  of  dark  curls 
fidling  on  either  side  of  a  most  expressive  face,  large,  tender 
ey^s,  richly  fringed  by  dark  eyelashes,  a  smile  like  a  sun- 
beam, and  such  a  look  of  youthfulness  that  I  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  persuading  a  friend  that  the  translatress  of  the  *  Pro- 
metheus' of  ^schylus,  the  authoress  of  the  *£ssay  on  Mind,^ 
was  old  enough  to  be  introduced  into  company." 

The  next  year  Mrs.  Browning  met  with  that  unfoi-tunato 
accident  which,  with  the  yet  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 

16 


226  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE   AGS. 

Bight  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  ima^ned  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  Greraldine's  Courtship"  in  twelve  houra,  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 
be  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  imagination.  Mrs.  Browning  has  written  no  **  In  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    BARBETT    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  far  from  discouraging.  Their 
faults  were  severely  but  not  unjustly  criticised,  and  full 
recognition  wasgiveu  to  their  merits.  The  " Quarterly  Review  " 
for  1840  concludes  an  article  in  which  are  criticised  the  works 
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  language :  — 


V 


228  XMIKENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

**  Miss  Barrett,  whom  we  take  to  be  the  most  imaginative 
poetess  that  has  appeared  iu  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  offensive  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  theme  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  au  essential  quality  of  poetry,  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  which  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  Eden 
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  extremity  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  foi^iveness  and  continued  love.     A  chorus 
of  invisible  angels,  who  had  ministered  to  their  pleasure  in 
Eden,  then  chant  the  exiles  a  "faint  and  tender"  farewell. 
Lucifer  now  appears  upon  the  scene,  and  taunts  his  victims 


230  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

upou  their  ruin,  until  he  is  interrupted  and  driven  away  by  a 
lament  coming  from  his  lost  loye,  the  morning  star. 

In  the  next  sceue  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 ; 
Bat  girdllDg  close  our  nether  wUdemess, 
The  zodiac  figures  of  the  earth  loom  slow, 
Drawn  out  as  sulteth  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  upou  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, 
First  sinners  and  first  mourners ;  love  and  Uve, 
Doing  both  nobly  because  lowUly." 

The  earth-spirits  promise  obedience  and  disappear.  A 
chorus  of  augels  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      BAEEETT     BEOWNING.  231 

of  our  criticism  when  we  say  that,  as  a  whole,  the  poem  is 
titrained,  extravagant,  and  unequal  to  its  theme. 

There  are  some  subjects  which  are  set  apait  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  arrangemeut,  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  tranquilly,  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  fatal  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  suflbr- 
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  SUINEKT    WOUBH    Or    THE    AGE. 

nature,  and  her  skill  in  using  the  pictures  which  she  paiuts  to 
heighten  emotional  effect,  —  with  fewer  faults  than  almost 
any  of  her  other  poems.  Theo,  also,  was  writteo  "Bertha 
ia  the  Lane," — the  isimplest  aud  sweetest  of  her  poems;  and 
the  "Rime  of  the  Duchess  May,"  —  a  poem  whose  vigor  of 
movement  aud  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,  ia 
its  own  thrilling  tones,  the  c:^  of  ahumble aud  neglected  clasa 
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 
Oluntination  of  to-day. 

What  nobler  creed  for  a  poet  than  this :  — 

"  What  Is  true  and  Just  and  honest, 

Wb&t  is  lovely,  what  Is  pore, — 

All  or  praise  that  bath  odmonlstied 

All  of  rlrtae,  shall  endure; 

These  are  thsntes  for  poets'  oses, 

Stirring  nobler  than  the  mases. 

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  Atbemsum" 
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  unpleasimt 
figure  or  struined  metaphor,  but  possessing  sufficient  merit  to 
show  that  their  author  might  have  attained  a  high  rank  as  a 
prose  writer.  Their  most  noticeable  merit  is  a  certain  felicity 
in  putting  subtle  spiritual  thought  into  language.     Tbey 


ELIZABETH    BABBETT    BBOWNING.  233 

are  of  especial  interest  to  the  student  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
poetry,  as  giying,  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  paiqting,  may  be  stated  as  follows :  There  is  poetry 
wherever  God  is  and  the  works  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":  — 

**  'Seyer  fliiich, 
Bat  still,  anscrapnloasly  epic,  catch 
Upon  the  bamiDg  lava  of  a  song, 
The  fUU-veined,  heaving,  double-breasted  age, 
That  when  the  next  shall  come  the  men  of  that 
Hay  touch  the  impress  with  reverent  hand  and  say, 
Behold,  —  behold  the  paps  we  aU  have  sacked. 


This  is  living  art. 
Which  thas  presents  and  thas  records  trae  life." 

'  And  again,  with  reference  to  that  part  of  the  poet's  office 
which  has  to  do  with  the  expression  of  his  inner  nature,  she 
says: — 

'*  The  arUst's  part  Is  both  to  be  and  do, 
Transfixing  with  a  special,  central  power 
The  flat  experience  of  the  common  man. 
And  taming  oatward  with  a  sadden  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 


23^  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  fiiithful  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  Bobert 
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  critics  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. 
Browning  through  her  writings  to  know  that  those  who  have 
known  and  loved  both  husband  and  wife  pronounce  the  bus* 
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  I 

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* 


SLIZABETH    BABBETT    BBOWKINQ.  235 

plidty  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  heail  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  fervor  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  sufficiency  to  satisfy  its  object,  and 
louging  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  I  What  better  refutation  tor  this 
theory  than  such  lines  as  these :  — 

**  A  heavy  heart,  beloved,  have  I  worn. 
From  year  to  year,  until  I  saw  thy  ftu^e, 
And  sorrow  after  sorrow  took  the  pUice 
Of  aU  those  natural  Joys  as  Ughtly  worn 
As  the  stringM  pearls,  —  each  lifted  In  its  torn  * 
By  a  beating  heart  at  dance-time.    Hopes  apace 
Were  changed  to  long  despairs,  tlU  God's  own  graca 
Coold  scarcely  lift  above  the  world  forlorn 
My  heavy  heart.    Then  thou  didst  bid  me  bring 
And  let  it  drop  adown  thy  calmly  great 
Deep  bein^    Fast  it  sinketh,  as  a  thing 
Which  its  own  nature  doth  precipitate, 
WhUe  thine  doth  close  above  it,  mediating 
Betwixt  the  stars  and  the  unaccomplished  flite." 

"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,  — 
Italy,  —  where  she  found  a  secoiid  and  a  dearer  home.'' 


23G  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.  JJrowuing's  poems,  for  many  years  before  her  death, 
were  more  widely  and  heartily  admu*ed  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  her 
thoughts  and,  therefore,  oftenest  on  her  lips.'' 

Mrs.  Browning's  affections  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  suffering  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  historic 
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  affection  for  Italy  found  its  first  expression  in  ^  Casa 
Guidi  Windows,"  which  was  published  in  1851.  ''This 
poem,"  says  the  preface,  ''contains  the  impressions  of  the 
writer  upon  events  in  Tuscany  of  which  she  wjis  a  witness. 
It  is  a  simple  story  of  personal  impressions 


ELIZABETH     BARRETT      BROWNING.        237 

whose  only  value  is  in  the  intensity  with  which  they  wore  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  sympathy  of  all  European  nations,  each  of  which  is 
so  deeply  indebted  to  Italy  for  literature  and  art :  — . 

"To  thts  great  cause  of  southern  men,  who  strive 
In  God's  name  for  man's  rights,  and  shaU  not  faU.** 

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  utterance  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  jQojking  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  bUnk  interstices 
Hen  take  for  ruins  he  will  buUd  into 


238  EMINENT    WOMEN    OT    TEE    AQK. 

With  pinared  marble  rare,  or  knit  bctoss 
With  generous  archea,  till  the  bne's  coraptete." 

In  1848  Mrs.  Browning's  son  and  only  child  was  born.  As 
before,  she  had  thrown  the  Borrow  of  her  early  life,  and  the 
love  which  had  followed  and  superseded  it  into  her  poetry,  eo 
this  new  and  crowning  affection  found  its  fit  and  full  exprcs- 
sion  in  her  Terse.  Before,  it  was  the  wife  who  wrote ;  now, 
it  is  the  wife  and  mother.  Her  love  for  her  child  deepened 
and  tntensiSed  her  love  for  bumaDity,  It  strengthened  her 
faith  ID  God.  It  made  her  love  him  with  that  lore  which 
only  mothers  know.  And  as  her  poetry  was  the  expression 
of  what  was  noblest  and  deepest  in  her  nature,  it  could  but 
foUott'  that  it  should  be  full  of  the  evidences  of  this  its  best 
affection. 

In  the  "  Casa  Gutdi  Windows,"  speaking  of  perjured  Duke 
licopold,  she  says :  — 

"  I  saw  the  man  among  his  little  sons ; 

His  lips  were  warm  with  kisses  TrhUe  he  swont 
And  I,  because  I  am  a  woman,  I, 

Who  f^lt  my  own  child's  coming  life  before 
The  prescience  of  my  soul,  and  held  fUth  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  aro  obliged  to  coateut  ourselves  with  these  few 
lines !  — 

"  stand  oat  my  blna-eyed  prophet,  thon,  to  whom 
The  earliest  world-daylight  that  ever  flowed 
Throogh  Casa  Ouldl  windows  chanced  to  cornel 
Aod  be  Qod's  witness  that  the  elemeotal 


BLIZABBTH    BARBETT   BROWNING.  239 

New  springs  of  life  are  gushing  everywhere, 

To  cleanse  the  water-conrses  and  prevent  all 
Concrete  obstmctlons  which  infest  the  air  I " 

Had  Mrs.  Browning  died  childlees,  she  never  coutd  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  in 
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  fiir  more  beautiful  work  of  art ; 
after  reading  its  melodious  lines  Mrs.  Browning'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'* Only  a  Curl.'' 
But  the  latter  poem,  if  it  gratifies  less  the  sense  of  beauty,  ia 
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; 
VThile  the  stars  bam  the  winds  inciease. 
And  th&  great  ages  onward  roll." 

That  of  Mrs.  Browning :— 


£40  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

**  So  look  up,  Mends !  yon  wbo  indeed 

Have  possessed  In  yoar  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  tontents  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 
writer's  cousin  and  friend,  John  Kenyon, — to  whom  it  is 
dedicated.  Mr.  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,  jvho,  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    BABBETT    BBOWNINO.  241 

Haying  found  in  a  garret  a  box  of  her  father's  books,  she 
studies  them  secretly  with  great  zeal.  Fired  by  reading  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,  Bomney  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  Romney,  suddenly  dies. 
Bomney  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 
firom  inheriting  his  estates.  She  refuses  this  also,  and  goes 
to  London  to  write  poems  and  live  by  their  sale.  In  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  be  is  devoting  himself 
with  great  zeal  to  lessening  the  sum  of  human  misery.  At 
length  she  is  told  that  her  cousin  is  about  to  marry  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  society.  To  increase  the  effect  of  this  strange  union, 
Somney  gives  public  notice  that  the  marriage  will  take  place 
in  a  London  church.  At  the  appointed  hour  the  church  is 
crowded  ^th  a  mixed  assemblage,  composed  of  curious  people 

16 


212  SMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

of  fashion,  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,  Romney  enters  alone,  and 
announces  that  his  intended  bride  has  fled.  The  mob  swear 
that  she  has  been  abducted  by  Bomney'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  Bomney  has  formed  an 
engagement  of  marriage  with  Lady  Waldemar,  —  a  lady  of 
wealth,  i*ank,  and  beauty,  but  whose  character  is  utterly  de- 
void of  moral  principle. 

In  the  full  belief  of  this  report,  Auvora  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  Eomney  Leigh)  had  persuaded  Marian 
that  her  aflianced  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  was  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  Komney  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  months  had  passed, 
Romney  imexpectedly  appears  at  their  house.  He  tells 
Aurora  what  had  happened  in  her  absence.  He  had  turned 
his  country-seat  into  a  phalanstery.  It  had  bi^en  set  on  fire 
and  burned  to  the  ground.     In  rescuing  one  of  hi^  patients. 


SLIZABETH    BABBETT    BBOWNINQ.  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  marry  him. 
And  so,  as  Romney  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,  thej 
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  upon  a  deformed  skeleton. 
A  great  poem  cannot  be  constructed  upon  an  absurd  and 
improbable  plot.    Its  characters  must  act  as  human  beings 
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  mj'thical  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  standnrd,  Aurora  Leigh  cannot  be  pro- 
nounced a  great  poem.  The  plot  is  awkward  and  improbable. 
I'he  author  trifles  with  her  readers  by  making  Aurora  declare 
iu  the  early  part  of  the  poem :  — 

"  I  attest 
The  conscioas  skies  and  all  their  daily  snns, 
I  think  I  loved  him  not ;  nor  then ;  nor  since ; 
Nor  ever.** 

And  at  the  close  of  the  poem :  — 

"  Now  I  know 
I  loved  you  always,  Bomney." 

The  events  of  the  story  are  improbable  and  clumsily  con- 
nected. They  do  not  seem  to  flow  out  of  each  other,  as  do 
tlie  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. 
Bomney  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* 
M  hich  he  would  crush  the  nobler  affections  of  his  own  and 
other  people's  lives,  —  is  a  very  absurd  character,  if  he  can  be 
C'illed  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-coutrived  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  sins  against  taste.  Disagreeable 
conceits  abound  in  it.  Much  of  it  is  but  distorted  and  quaintly 
expressed  prose. 

It  tells  of  disgusting  crimes  with  ofiensive  frankness. 
There  is  a  class  of  crime  upon  which  even  philanthropy  can- 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING.  245 

not  gaze  too  closely.  We  have  certainlj  a  right  to  ask  that 
crime  of  this  sort,  if  introduced  into  a  work  of  the  imagina> 
tion,  shall  be  so  veiled  as  neither  to  shock  our  tatste  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  into  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 
tyrant  and  usurper.  How  far  her  opinions  as  to  Napoleon's 
character  and  motives  in  assisting  Italy  to  freedom  were  cor- 
rect is  a  question  into  which  we  will  not  enter  here.  Had 
she  been  living  in  the  fall  of  1867,  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  veiy  angry  reception  in 
my  native  country,  as  you  probably  observe ;  but  I  shall  be 


1 


246  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

forgirea  one  day ;  and  meaDwhile,  forgiren  or  unforgiven,  il 
is  eatisfactoiy  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 
loTB  of  liberty  would  have  led  her  to  take  a  deep  interest  in 
America.  That  this  was  indeed  the  case,  her  own  writings 
and  the  testimoHy  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 
ita  progress,  and  afar  off  mingled  her  soul  with  its  struggles. 
She  corresponded  with  ita  leaders,  and  entered  into  the  fel- 
lowship of  their  thoughts." 

She  wrote  for  a  little  bonk,  which  the  Abolitionists  pub- 
lished in  1848,  called  the  "Liberty  Bell,"  a  poem  entitled  "A 
Curse  for  a  Nation."  Of  this  we  will  quote  a  single  verte  a 
a  specimen :  — 

«  Because  jonrselrea  are  standliig  straight 
Id  the  state 

Of  Freedom's  fbremost  acolyte. 
Yet  keep  calm  footlog  all  tbe  time 
On  writhing  bond-slaves — for  tbis  crime 
This  Is  the  curse— write.  " 

Many  years  after  she  wrote  to  an  American  friend  cou- 
oerning  this  poem :  — 

"Never  say  that  I  have  cursed  your  country.  I  only  de- 
clared the  connequences  of  the  evil  in  her,  and  which  has  siiice 
developed  itself  in  thunder  and  flame.  I  feel  with  more  paiu 
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  coma  out  of  the  fire  purified,  stainless,  having  bad 
the  angel  of  a  great  cause  walking  with  you  in  the  furnace," 

But  she  did  not  live  to  see  her  prophecy  verified.  Tbe 
disease  against  which  she  liad  so  long  struggled,  broke  out 


BLIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING.  247 

^•ith  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.** 

Twenty-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 
very  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  history  for  the  other 
to  sing.  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  which  is  inscribed 
the  following  beautiful  tribute  to  her  memory :  — 

•*  Here  vrrote  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,  1861." 

•*  To  those  who  loved  Mrs.  Browning,**  says  a  friend  m  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  BMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

to  another.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  such  a  fairy  hand 
could  pen  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  face  upon  which  one  loved  to  gaze,  — 
that  face  and  head  which  almost  lost  themselves  in  the  thick 
curls  of  her  dark-brown  hair.  '  That  jealous  hair  could  noi 
hide  the  broad,  fair  forehead,  Iroyel  with  the  truth,'  as  smooth 
as  any  girl's,  and 

"  *  Too  large  for  wreath  of  modem  wont.' 

"Her  large  brown  eyes  were  beautiful,  and  were,  in  truth, 
the  windows  of  her  soul.  They  combined  the  confidingness 
of  a  child  with  the  poet-passion  of  heart  and  of  intellect,  and 
in  gazing  into  them  it  was  easy  to  see  why  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 :  — 

**  Mi-s.  Browning's  conversation  was  most  interesting.  •  .  . 
All  that  she  said  was  always  worth  hearing ;  a  greater  compli- 
ment 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,  \^ith  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.  J^ersons  were  never  her  theme,  unless 
public  characters  were  under  discussion,  or  friends  who  were  to 
be  praised,  which  kind  office  she  frequently  took  upon  hereelf. 
One  never  dreamed  of  frivolities  in  Mrs.  Browning's  pres- 
ence, and  gossip  felt  itself  out  of  place.  Tburself,  not  Aer- 
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  iu'^lude 


ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING.  249 

all  the  grand  questions  of  the  day,  were  foremost  in  her 
thoughts y  and  therefore  oftenest  on  her  lips  I  speak  not  of 
religion,  for  with  her  everything  was  religioii." 

We  have  expressed  our  opinion  so  fully  regarding  the 
merits  and  defects  of  Mrs.  Browning's  poetry,  in  the  progress 
of  this  sketch,  that  we  need  do  no  more  at  its  close  thac 
briefly  sum  up  what  has  been  said.     Rarely  have  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  elaboration  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 
fame  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.*'    Whether  thev  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  we  lament  that  the 
author's  genius  is  inadequately  expressed  in  her  works,  we 
thank  God  for  the  woman's  soul  wnose  greatness  no  poems 
can  express 


250  XMIKSHT    WOMSH    OV    THS    AGS 


JENNY   LIND   GOLDSCHMIDT. 

BY    JAMES    PABTON. 

Thebe  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 !  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  Lind  sing  four  songs,  who  does  not  now 
feel  that  he  received  the  worth  of  his  money  ?  and  who  would 


JBNKT    IiIKD    00LD8CHMIDT.  251 

not  gladly  pay  the  sum  again  to  enjoy  that  rapture  once 
more?  These  song  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  fine  voice  is  only  one  of  the 
requisites.  The  possessor  of  that  Toice  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,  Vfe  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  we  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  bom  at 
Stockholm,  October  6,  1821.  Her  parents  were  respect- 
able, laborious,  and  poor  — her  father  a  teacher  of  laa« 


J 


252  BUINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

gtiages,  her  mother  a  sohool-mistresa.  Jenny  was  the  fint 
child  of  their  marriage,  and  there  was  aflerwarda  bom  to 
them  a  boo  named  John.  There  is  a  great  difference  in 
children  aa  to  the  age  when  they  can  first  sing  a  tune ;  some 
cbildrea  being  unable  to  sing  ft  bar  of  one  until  they  are  sii 
or  seven  years  of  age.  Jenny  Lind,  it  need  scarcely  be  said, 
was  not  one  of  these.  She  could  aing  the  airs  of  her  native 
land  with  correctness,  and  eren  with  some  expression,  when 
she  was  but  twenty  months  old.  By  the  time  she  was  three 
years  of  age  singing  waa  her  delight ;  she  was  always  sing, 
ing ;  and  she  had  the  facul^  of  catching  every  song  she 
heard,  and  repeating  it  with  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  unfailing  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  Jeuuy  Ltnd,  were  fond  of  sin^ng. 

When  she  waa  about  nine  years  of  age  the  silvery  tones 
of  her  voice  chanced  to  catch  the  ear  of  an  actress,  named 
Lundberg,  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  r^arded  going  upon 
the  stage  as  something  dishonorable,  if  not  disreputable.  The 
talents  of  the  child,  however,  were  so  remarkable  that  her 
scruples  were  in  part  overcome,  and  she  consented  to  leave 
the  matter  to  the  decision  of  Jenny  herself.  The  child  wu 
more  than  willing,  and  very  soon  Madame  Lundbei^  had  tiie 
pleasure  of  conducting  her  to  one  of  the  most  noted  musio- 


JBNNT    LIND    GOLDSCHMIDT.  253 

masters  of  Stockholm.  M.  Croelius — for  such  was  the  name 
of  this  teacher — was  an  old  man ;  and  nothing  delights  a  good 
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  potentate  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  thiug,"  said  he.  "What  shall  we  do 
with  that  ugly  creature  ?  See  what  feet  she  has !  and  then 
her  face  I  She  will  never  be  presentable.  No,  we  cannot 
take  her.     Certainly  not  I  " 

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    OF    THE    AQB. 

vaa  at  onoe  admitted  to  the  training-school  attached  to,  the 
royal  opera.*  There  ahe  bad  the  benefit  of  highly  compe- 
tent instructors,  as  well  as  the  inspiring  companionship  of 
children  engaged  in  the  aanie  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  rang  her  songs  with  such  intelligent  expres- 
sion, as  to  secure  the  favor  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  censed 
to  exist,  and  no  efforts  of  her  teachers  could  restore  thorn. 
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  eam  her  livetiliood  by  ordinary  labor.  Tbe 
Bchemo  of  educating  her  for  the  opera  was  given  up,  thon<rh 
she  continued  for  four  years  longer  to  be  an  assiduous  mem- 
ber of  the  school,  studying  instrumental  music,  and  tbe 
theory  of  composition.  One  of  tbe  severest  of  her  trials  was 
being  forbidden  to  use  her  voice,  except  for  a  very  short 
Ume  every  day  in  very  simple  music. 

Her  seventeenth  birthday  came  round.    The  master  of  the 

•  ThU  ftii«odut«  ud  •am 
BtcD  Cmthonie  ClkjtoD: 


JENKT    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  favorito 
with  singers.  When  all  the  parts  had  been  distributed 
except  that  of  the  undesirable  Alice^  the  director  thought  of 
poor  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  bo- 
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,  whoso  pupil 
she  had  been  for  six  years.  Besides  warmly  congratulating  her 
that  evening,  he  told  her  on  the  following  morning  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  evening*  came.  We  have  an  account  of  her  dibut 
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  h»r  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,  that  called 
forth,  not  the  miith,  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  was  originally  wanting  in  elasticity,  which  pre- 
vented her  from  holding  a  note,  and  made  it  difficult  for  her 
to  execute  those  rapid  passages  and  those  brilliant  effects  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.     Grarcia 


JENNY    LIND    GOLDSCHMIDT.  257 

was  then  living  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  money  she  gave  concerts,  accompanied  by  her  father,  in 
the  principal  towns  of  Sweden  and  Korway.  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  homo.  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  pf  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  heraelf  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  becomedhe  greatest  singer  in 
Europe,  and  that  she  would  have  to  sing  second  to  many  who 
bad  not  half  her  ability. 

17  » 


258  EUINSNT    WOMEN    07    THB    AQB. 

During  her  residence  at  Paris,  she  hnd  the  honor  of  singing 
hefore  Meyerbeer,  who  instantly  perceived  the  peerless  qual- 
ity of  her  Toice.  He  arranged  a  grand  rebenrsal  for  her, 
with  a  full  orchestra,  when  she  sang  the  three  most  difficult 
scenes  from  three  favorite  operas.  She  delighted  tlie  com- 
.  pany  of  musicians  and  the  great  master  who  heard  lier,  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  atStockholm,  which 
enraptured  the  public,  carried  her  local  reputation  to  the 
highest  point,  and  secured  for  her  apressing  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, who  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  evety  heart; 
here  reigned  truth  and  nature,  and  evei^lhing  was  full  of 
meaning  and  intelligence.  At  one  concert  she  sang  her 
Swedish  songs.  There  was  something  so  peculiar  in  this,  so 
bewitching,  people  thought  nothing  about  the  concert-rooni  j 
popular  melodies,  executed  by  a  being  so  purely  femiuiae, 
and  bearing  the  universal  stamp  of  genius,  exercised  an  om- 
uipotent  sway.    All  Copenhagen  was  in  raptures." 

The  students  of  Ae  nniversity  gave  her  a  serenade  by 
torchlight,  and  she  was  }be  first  to  whom  such  a  compltmeDt 
was  paid.     Her  success  incited  her  to  fresh  exertions.    An- 


JENNY  LIND   GOLDSCHMIDT.  259 

dcrsen,  "who  was  with  her  when  this  serenade  was  given, 
records,  that  after  it  was  over  she  said,  while  her  cheek  was 
still  wet  with  tears :  — 

"Yes!  yes  I  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  benevolent 
obiect: — 

"On  one  occasion,  only,"  ho  says,  "did  I  hear  her  express 
her  joy  in  her  talent  and  her  self-consciousness.  It  was 
during  h^r  I'esidence  in  Copenhagen.  Almost  every  evening 
she  appeared  either  in  the  opera  or  at  concerts ;  every  hour 
was  in  requisition.  She  heard  of  a  society,  tho  object  of 
which  was  to  assist  unfortunate  children,  and  to  take  them 
out  of  the  hands  of  their  parents,  by  whom  they  were  mis- 
used and  compelled  to  beg  or  steal,  and  to  place  them  in  other 
and  better  circumstances.  Bpnevoleut  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;  Met  me 
give  a  night's  performance  for  the  benefitof  those  poorchildren : 
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 
bo!"' 

From  this  time  forward,  she  knew  little  but  triumph. 
When  she  le^  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  Rossi  (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 : — 

**  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  extraordinary  demonstrations.  Her  last  concert  in  Stock- 
holm was  given  in  aid  of  a  charitable  institution  founded  bj 
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  wont  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* 
bmted  basso. 


JENNY    LIND     GOLDSCHMIDT.  2G1 

"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  pp  to  him  one  morning  at  re- 
hearsal, and  said  to  him :  — 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor,  Signer  Lablache,  to  lend  me 
your  hat?" 

Much  surprised,  he  nevertheless  handed  her  his  hat,  which 
she  took  with  a  dpep  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,  ordeiing  that 
portly  personage  to  kneel,  she  returned  it  to  him  with  the 
remark :  — 

•»  I  have  now  made  yon  a  rich  man,  signor,  for  I  have  given 
you  a  hat  full  of  pearls  I " 

Everything  which  a  favorite  does  seems  graceful  and  pleas- 
ant.    This  trifling  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  evening  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  really  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  baffled  description." 

Every  succeeding  effort  was  a  new  triumph,  and  when  the 


2G2  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

performance  closed  the  audience  were  in  such  raptures  that 
they  behaved  more  like  Italians  than  Englishmen.  Her  act« 
ing,  tooy  at  this  time  was  greatly  admired,  and  there  was  an 
air  of  simplicity  and  goodness  about  her  which  won  eyery 
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  gloiy  which  the  stage  afibrds.  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  hearing  the  voice  of  the  Swedish  Nightingale. 
"I  bad  never  heard  her  sing,"  he  tells  us.  **IIer  reputa- 
tion was  sufficient  for  me.*'  He  cast  about  him  at  once  for  a 
fit  person  to  send  to  Europe  to  engage  the  songsti-ess,  and 
soon  pitched  upon  the  right  person,  Mr.  John  Hall  Wiltoa, 


JENNY    LIND    GOLDSCHMIDT.  263 

who  had  bad  some  experience  in  the  business  of  entertaining 
the  public.  He  was  instructed  to  engage  Jenny  Lind  on 
fibares,  if  be  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  lier.  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 
mdividuals,  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 :  — 

*'A8  those  who  are  trying  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  tlie  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  '07    THE    AGE. 

meet  him  the  next  day  in  New  York.  The  next  day  I  started 
for  that  city.  On  arriving  at  Prioceton  we  met  the  cara,  and, 
purchasing  the  morning  papers  I  was  overwhelmed  with  sur- 
prise and  dismay  to  find  iu  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  tlie  matter. 
Being  anxious  to  learn  bow  this  commanication  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  countiy  in  the  fol- 
lowing Augast. 

"'Jenny  Lind  I    Is  she  a  dancer?'  asked  tbo  conductor. 

"  I  informed  the  conductor  who  and  what  &be  was,  but  his 
question  had  6hilled  me  as  if  his  words  were  ice  I  Really, 
thought  I,  if  this  is  all  Uiat  a  man  in  the  capacity  of  a  rail- 
road conductor  between  Philadelphia  and  New  York  knows 
of  the  greatest  songstress  in  the  world,  I  am  not  sure  that 
six  months  will  be  too  long  a  time  for  me  to  occupy  in  en- 
lightening the  entire  public  iu  regard  to  her  merits." 

How  well  Mr.  Barnum  employed  that  time,  most  of  ns 
remember.  Long  before  the  great  songstress  landed  all 
America  was  on  the  quivive.  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  bad  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 

mnsical  matters  I  Ttrould  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.  Bamum's  agents.  The  carriage  of  that  en- 
terprising 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  pnbllc, 
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  only  danger  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  asked,  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  supposipg  that  the  propo- 


2C6^  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

sitioQ  was  dictated  by  a  sense  of  justice,  she  grasped  fhe 
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  1  ** 

Mr.  Bamum  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  aiiction,  and 
produced  the  astonishing  sum  of  $17,864.  Jenny  Liud  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 
twenty-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  forward,  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  play  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  the  beginning  of  a  splendid  caieer  in 
America.  Under  Mr.  Barnum's  management,  she  gave 
ninety-five  concerts.  The  total  receipts  were  1712,161. 
The  average  receipts  of  each  concert  were  |7,496.  The 
sum  received  by  Jenny  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  1225 ;  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  Jemfjr 
Lind  to  conquer  the  fastidious  and  difBcult  public  of  Havana. 
A  striking  scene  occurred  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  appear- 
ance in  Havana.  The  people,  it  seems,  were  much  offended  by 
the  unusual  prices chargedfor  admission,  and  came  to  the  con- 
cert determined  not  to  be  pleased,  —  a  circumstance  of  which 
Jenny  Lind  was  ignorant.  The  scene  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  diat  there  should  be  no  forestalling 
of  public  opinion,  and  that  if  applause  was  given  to  Jenny 
Lind  in  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  ape 
peamnce  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    AQE. 

80  different  from  anything  she  had  reason  to  expect, — her 
countenance  changed  in  an  instant  to  a  haughty  eclf-posses- 
sion,  her  eye  flashed  deGance,  and,  becoming  immovable  as  a 
Btatue,  she  stood  there,  perfectly  calm  and  beautiful.  She 
was  satisGed  that  she  now  had  an  ordeal  to  pass  and  a  victory 
to  gain  wortliy  of  her  powers.  In  a  moment  her  eyo  scanned 
the  immense  aitdience,  the  music  began,  and  then  followed  — 
how  can  I  describe  it? — such  heavenly  strains  as  I  verily 
believe  mortal  never  breathed  except  Jenny  Liud,  and  mortal 
never  heard  except  from  her  lips.  Some  of  the  oldest  Gis- 
tilians  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  cabaUeros,  the  aeitoras,  and 
seRoritas  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  higtier  and  higher,  the  melody  grew 
richer  aud  richer;  still  every  lip  was  compressed.  By  and 
by,  as  the  rich  notes  camo  dashing  in  rivers  upon  our  enrap- 
tured c;irs,  one  poor  critic  involuutarily  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 
vestige  of  opposition  remained,  bi;t  such  a  tremendous  shout 
of  applause  as  went  up  was  never  before  heard. 

"The  triumph  was  most  complete.  And  how  was  Jenny 
Lind  affected  ?  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,  courtesying  low,  again 


JENNT    LIND    GOLI>SCHMIDr  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  five  times  was  Jenny  Lind  called 
out  to  receive  their  unanimous  and  deafening  plaudits." 

Mr.  Bamum  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.  Bamum  had  taken  against  the 
intermeddling  of  envious  persons  proved  to  be  insufficient, 
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  absented,  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    07    THE    AGE. 

Lind's  stay  among  na.     It  was  at  the  time  when  the  "  Ruch' 
ester  Kiiockings  "  were  a  topic  of  interest. 

"I  called,"  said  Mr.  Greeley,  "  on  Mademoiselle  Jenny 
Lind,  then  a  new-comer  among  us,  and  was  coaversing  about 
the  current  marvel  with  the  late  N.  F.  Will  U,  while 
Mtidemoiselle  Lind  was  devoting  herself  more  es[>ectally  to 
some  other  callers.  Our  conversation  caught  jM:idomoisellfl 
L.'s  ear  and  arrested  her  attention ;  so,  after  making  some 
inquiries,  she  asked  if  she  could  witness  the  so-called  'Mao- 
IfeHtatious.'  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  'ruppings'  were  soon  auJible  and  abundant.  'Take 
your  hands  from  under  the  table  I*  Mademoiselle  Jenny 
called  across  to  me  in  the  tone  and  manner  of  au  in- 
differently bold  ai-chduchess.  'What?'  I  asked,  not  dis- 
tinctly comprehending  her.  'Take  your  bands  from  under 
tiio  table  I'  she  imperiously  repeated ;  and  I  now  understood 
that  she  suspected  me  of  causing,  by  some  legerdemain,  the 
puzzling  concussions.  I  instantly  clasped  my  bands  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  Kemb1e,metherdestiny  in  America. 
Among  the  performers  at  hor  concerts  was  Mr.  Otto  Gold- 
Gchmidt,  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-^even  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 
abo  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  Lind  makes  ^  conscience  of  her  art." 


272  EMISBST    WOUSS'Ot    THE    AQE. 


OCR  PIONEER  EDUCATORS. 


B?  BKV.  E.  B.  HUJJTKGTON. 


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  educatiou  of  women. , 
Heretofore  the  aids  to  her  education  have  been  few  awl  de- 
fective. A  really  liberal  education  for  her  has  hardly  been 
posBible.  Collegiate  and  University  courses  have  been  closed 
against  her ;  bo  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  (he  right  to  enter  any  field  of  literature  or  art,  wbicb 
she  maychoose ;  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  we  are  fumishiDg 
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  cnlturo. 
Our  multiplied  young  ladies' seminaries  and  collegiate  insti- 
tutions, and  still  more  our  colleges  and  professional  schools 
in  which  the  two  sexes  are,  to  their  mutual  benefit,  prosecut- 
ing together  the  studies  which  were  formerly  confined  to  only 
OQO  of  them,  are  important  results  already  attained.  Still 
msturer    fruit    we    have,  in    the    increasing    numbers  of 


MBS.    EICMA    WILLARD. 


273 


fhoTOUghly  educated  women  wlio  are  now  prepared  to  oc- 


~«i 


MBS.    EHMA    WILLARD.  273 

ihoronghly  educated  women  wlio  are  now  prepared  to  oc- 
cupy chairs  of  iostruction,  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  onr  educational  work,  and  we  have  much  to- 
hope  from  the  new  element  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 
lierself,  and  her  sex,  a  new  place  and  rank  among  educators, 
or  simply  as  an  earnest  and  skiliiil  worker,  rendering  eminent 
service  in  this  field.  That  she  is  fairly  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  only  the  simplest  recital,  —  its  main  facts, 
being  more  exciting 'than  any  fiction  we  should  dare  tO' 
invent. 

HER    BIRTH    AND«  CHILDHOOD. 

February  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.  Bom  of  the  best  New  England  stock,  she  in« 
herited  the  noblest  qualities  of  her  parentage.     Her  father, 

a  itaan  of  unusual  strength  of  intellect  and  will,  was  self-^ 

lb 


274  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

reliant,  and  well-read,  in,  at  least,  the  English  literatui'e  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  jnst 
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  the  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  father  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  1 — read,  in  their  turn,  aloud,  and  with 
the  skill  which  long  practice  has  given  them,  their  lessons  for 


MBS.    EMMA    WILLARD.  275 

themselves  and  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  I  What  child  of  gifts  could  fail  of  largest  fruit- 
age, whose  bloom  is  amid  such  home  sunshine  and  warmth  ? 

Let  us  take  one  more  lesson  from  that  Worthington  home ; 
and  let  the  mother  of  the  family  be  our  teacher.  Notice 
with  what  womanly  ingenuity  she  makes  their  slender  re- 
sources ample  for  all  the^r  home  wants,  and  even  for  the 
gratification  of  a  cultivated  home  'taste.  Notice  how  thought- 
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  which  she  would 
have  blest  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  beeu 
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  mid-winter,  wrapping  herself  in  her  cloak, 


5¥76  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  would  leave  her  no  opportunity 
there  to  learn,  has  already  some  elements  of  character  which 
are  the  best  pledges  of  success. 

HER    EXFEBIMENTAL    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 
began  would  well  have  crowned  the  end  of  another  teacher's 
professional  career.  With  her,  a  difficulty  once  encouiitered 
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.  Royce  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,  Massadiusetts ;  Middlebuiy,  Vermont;  and  Hudson» 


MBS.    EMMA    WILLABD.  277 

New  York.  She  accepted  the  Westfield  call ;  and  as  assist- 
ant teacher  in  the  excellent  academy  of  that  town,  she  at 
once  won  for  herself  a  good  name.  But  Miss  Hart  was  not 
the  person  to  fill  long  a  subordinate  place.  Before  her  first 
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,  iA  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  work 
of  teaching  was  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  iu  Middlebury 
a  boardingHSchool  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  I  Care- 
fully reviewing  the  whole  subject  of  woman's  education,  she 
drew  up  her  plan  for  an  enlarged  course  of  study,  corre- 


278  £MIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

spondiDg,  as  nearly  as  the  different  sexes  would  indicate,  wiA 
the  collegiate  course  for  young  men.  But  she  found  herself 
in  advance  of  the  age.  The  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 
drilliug  her  classes,  as  few  classes  of  young  ladies  had  ever 
before  been  4rilled;  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  Wiis  pre- 
paring 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. 

HEB  GREAT  WORK. 

And  now,  in  1818,  she  is  prepared  for  her  work.  She  has 
matured  her  plans,  and  secured  strength  for  their  execution. 


MBS.    EMMA    WILLABD.  279 

She  submits  her  proposals  to  the  large-minded  Governor  Clin- 
ton, of  *New  York,  with  a  special  pica  that  he  would  hiy  the 
matter  in  due  form,  and  with  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  resketchgd 
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, 
nothing  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  Waterford,  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 
academics  in  the  State,  designed  for  the  education  of  women, 
were  entitled  to  the  same  pecuniary  aid  as  institutions  of 
leaiiiiug  for  the  other  sex ;  and  a  vote  was  accordingly  passed 
appropriating  their  proportion  of  the  literature  fund  to 
academies  for  girls. 

We  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  cei*tain,  we  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, 
Doctor  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  I82O9  to  al- 
lude to4t  in  these  terms :  — 

**  I  cannot  omit  to  call  your  attention  to  the  Academy  for 
Female  Education,  which  was  incorporated  last  session  at 
Waterfordy  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  you  will  not 
be  deterred,  by  commonplace  ridicule,  from  extending  your 
munificence  to  this  meritorious  institution." 

The  citizens  of  Troy,  attracted  by  the  success  oif^'the 
Waterford  school,  proposed  to  furnish  a  building  with  buita- 
ble  grounds  for  a  larger  institution  there,  if  Mrs.  WiUard 
would  consent  to  a  removal.  On  the  expiration  of  their  lease 
in  Waterford,  this  proposal  from  Troy  was  accepted,  and  in 
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  8am« 
progress  in  her  personal  culture  marked  the  course  of  Mrs. 
WiUard  here  as  in  her  former  schools.  To  the  studies  she 
had  already  added  to  the » ordinary  curriculum  of  the  schools 
for  young  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  heraelf  suitable 


MBS.    SMMA    WILLABD.  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  Clironographer  of  Ancient  History."  This 
ingenious  design  received  a  medal  at  the  World's  Eair  in 
1851.  The  certific^^  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  learning 
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, 
Iklrs.  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 
bad  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  family,  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.  Bearranging  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    AOE. 

And  her  revranl  Was  not  long  delayeil.  It  came  id  tbe 
triumph  of  her  owd  school.  It  came  in  the  iQcrcaaed  stiuiu- 
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  Iiirge 
institutions  expressly  for  women  which  her  success  had  made 
possible.  We  can  now  readily  see  how  much  South  Hadley, 
Oberlin,  Antioch,  Packer,  and  Vaasar  are  indebted  to  her 
pioneer  work. 

While  achieving  this  success  at  home,  she  had  not  been 
unmindful  of  the  claims  of  woman  abroad.  In  1830  she  had 
sought  a'broad  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  iu  establishing  a  school  in  Athens  for 
educating  native  teachers.  She  prepared  a  volume  of  ber 
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  eon,  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  bad  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  afforded  her  of  prosecuting  ber  studies 
with  new  zeal.  She  bad  been  testing  Dr.  William  Harvey's 
tbeory  of  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  in  which  the  heart  is 
made  the  motive  power,  and  she  soon  detected  its  fallacy. 


MBS.    EMMA    WILLARD.  283 

She  now  sets  herself  to  the  more  careful  study  of  this  inter- 
esting problem.  With  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  professiouat 
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 
8o  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  writing,  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  efforts,  the  answer  will  only 
lead  us  to  still  another  field  of  her  unwearied  and  painstak- 
inrg  labor.  She  worked  for  it.  She  studied  carefully  the 
condition  and  wants  of  her  physical  nature,  and  provided  for 


284  EHINEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

both.  She  trained  even  her  muscles  to  their  healthful  and 
self-siistaiDing  work.  She  wishes  a  clear,  vigorous,  lifcful 
brain,  and  she  uses  the  only  methods  she  could  discover  tliat 
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 
throughout  her  now  reinvigorated  fmme.  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  3'ears  of  age  give  to  the  world  her 
Troy  SemiLary ;  at  sixty,  her  original  demonstration  on  the 
^  Motive  Powers  in  the  Circulation  of  the  Blood ; "  at  sixty- 
two,  her  treatise  on  ^  Respiration  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  j'ouug  ladies  which  her  influence  had  contributed 


MBS.    EMMA    WILLARD.  285 

to  foand ;  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,  Oermany,  and  Belgium  tributary  still 
to  her  zeal  for  observation  and  learning. 

But  not  alone  in  these  literary  and  educational  works  has 
Mrs.  Willard  used  her  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  in 
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  piety  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.  l^et  many  and  timely  have  been  her 
benefactions  which  the  angel  has  recorded  on  high.  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  worthy  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  I 


MRS.  MARIANNE  P.  DASCOMB. 

Hardly  less  positive  need  we  be  in  assigning  the  second 
place  on  our  list  of  educational  pioneers  to  the  excellent 
aiid  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  {his  very  reason  she  is  all 
the  worthier  of  it.  True  she  may  not  have  arrested  the  gaze 
o^  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  othersy  of  great  natiT^ 


MRS.    MABIANKE    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  wmning  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  ?  He  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  dsizzle  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  does  not  see  how  real 
was  the  merit  before  undiscovered,  and  how  exceedingly 
thin  and  worthless  the  gilding  which  so  dazzled  the  eye? 
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, 
we  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  SMIKEKT    WOMBK    OT    THB    AQB. 

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  wasthe 
seventh  of  eight  children,  five  daughters  and  three  pons, 
whom  her  mother,  Martha  Tenney,  had  borne  to  her  father, 
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.    MABIANNE    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  I 

Three  of  the  sisters  in  due  time  became  the  wives  of  three 
ministers,  and  the  fourth  that  of  a  professional  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  in  the  subject  of 
this  sketch.  From  the  first  she  gave  indications  of  possessing 
large  native  ability.  To  her  natural  inquisitiveness  was  added 
cl«ar  and  quick  perception,  with  a  corresponding  fulness  of 
the  reasoning  faculty;  and  so,  under  the  stimulus  of  the 
home  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  and  affections  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  affectionate  and  persuasive  as  then;  while  to  these 
merely  companionable  qualities  she  has  added  the  power  and 
authority  of  a  dignified  and  matronly  grace. 

1Q 


290  BMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AOH. 

Her  enrly  school  education  was  mucb  like  tb.it  of  the  nu- 
jorily  of  girls  of  that  day.  Specially  favorable  to  her  prog- 
ress was  the  influence  over  her  of  Misa  Chase,  a  sister  of  our 
present  Chief  Justice  Chase,  who  was  in  her  thirteenth  year 
her  teaclicr ;  and  also  thai  of  her  brother-in-law.  Rev.  Thomas 
Tenney,  who  had  charge  of  the  Hampton  Aciideniy.  After 
leaving  the  Hampton  Academy,  she  prosecuted  her  cdncation 
in  various  schools  as  pupil  or  teacher,  until,  anxious  to  lay 
deeper  and  broader  foundations  for  what  she  was  coming  to 
loolc  upon  ns  her  future  profession,— teaching, — she  entered 
the  Ipswich  Academy,  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  watt.  She  entered 
with  enthusiasm  the  firiit  field  open  to  her,  —  a  school  in 
Boscaweu,  Kew  Hampshire,  and  was  there  making  full  proof 
of  the  wisdom  of  her  choice  of  pnrsuits,  when  another  call  was 
made  upon  her. 

Dr.  James  Dascomb,  a  yonng  physician,  well  fitted  for  hia 
profession,  —  a  Christian  gentleman,  longing  to  find  the  field  la 
which  be  might  do  best  service  for  bis  race,  —  had  then  just 
offered  himself  to  the  American  Board  of  Commissioners  for 
Foreign  Missions,  as  a  missionary  physician  to  some  heathen 
field.  Whilo  looking  forwai'd  to  such  service,  he  became 
acquainted  with  Miss  Parker.  He  waa  not  long  in  detecting, 
in  the  spirit  and  character  of  the  yonng  and  ardent  teacher, 
the  qualities  which  would  be  most  fitting  for  one  who  should 
bo  his  helpmeet  in  such  a  life-work.  Nor  was  she  long  \a 
reciprocating  his  confidence  and  afiection. 

Pending  bis  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 

tho  students  could  at  once  promote  tbeir  health  and  contribute 
towards  their  support.  In  the  forests  of  Northern  Ohio  a 
site  had  been  found  for  the  attempt,  and  the  earnest  and  hirge- 
hearted  men  who  had  projected  the  movement  commenced 
their  work,  naming  both  tho  institution  and  the  town,  of 
which  it  w^as  to  be  the  beginning  and  life,  from  Obcrlin,  the 
Christian  pastor  and  teacher,  and  civilizer  of  tho  rndo  peas* 
antry  of  the  Ban  de  la  Roche,  in  Switzerland.  In  this  novel 
movement,  started  in  tho  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  Canajoharie,  New  York,  into  other  hands.  Miss  Par- 
ker was  married  in  tho  spring  of  1834  ;  and  with  her  husband 
entered  at  once  upon  the  work  which  has  never  yet  been 
intermitted.  For  thirty-four  years  they  have  wrought  to- 
gether on  that  field,  apparently  so  forbidding, —  the  husband 
risking  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  tho  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  tho  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  j'ear  she  resigned,  not,  however,  without  having  mado 
full  proof  of  her  many  admirable  qualifications  for  tho  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, 
tlvough  hesitatmgly,  she  accepted  the  charge. .  In  this  post 


292  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

she  bas  remained  until  now.  Her  office,  calling  as  it  doeJ 
for  large  executive  and  administrntive  ability,  has  been  most 
worthily  and  .acceptably  6llccl,  The  trustees  of  the  college 
are  unanimous  in  their  admiration  of  her  signal  success.  Tbcy 
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  mneh  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 
duo  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  resonrces 
to  sustain  aod  build  up  any  institution  of  the  age.  The  on- 
terprise,  itself,  was  hopeless  to  any  hut  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  — 
Mahan,  Finney,  and  Fairchild  —  have  all  done  the  work  of 
strong  and  fearless  men.  Their  associates  in  the  Faculty,  of 
their  own  aex,  have  worked  with  them,  under  the  glow  anil 
inspiration  of  the  snmo  enthusiasm.  Nor  could  the  institu- 
tion have  been  established  and  sustained  without  such  agency. 
With  it,  Oberlin  has  attained  a  good  rank  among  the  literaiy 
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  iudis- 


tfBS.    MABIANNE    P.    DASCOMB.  293 

pensable  in  the  faculty.  Her  intelligence  and  tact,  her  sym- 
pathy and  taste,  aud  her  quick  sense  of  social  proprieties 
would  all  bo  a  necessity.  Her  control  and  acithority  would 
reach  and  regulate,  as  man's  could  not,  these  now  college 
relations. 

Especially  also,  was  the  aid  of  wotnan  needed,  to  secure 
another  leading  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  aud 
women  could  be  Christiauly  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  aud 
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  noblo 
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  consecmtion.  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    OF    THE    AGE. 

found  who  do  not  regard  her  with  a  feeling  akin  to  filial 
affection.  Of  the  thousands  who  have  gone  out  from  Oherlin, 
of  both  sexei!,  we  have  but  one  uniform  testimony  to  the 
high  esteem  with  which  they  regard  her.  Her  associates  ia 
the  work  tell  us  the  same  etory  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  Ufcful 
snd  cheerful.  She  shows  good  sense  and  judgment.  She 
nbounJs  in  hopefulness,  which  gives  her  conlideuce  and  cour- 
age. She  has  no  misgivings  lest  duty  should  prove  iuex- 
pcdient;  and  so  her  faith  in  the  results  of  duty  never  fails 
her.  She  is  self-sacrificing,  —  doing  cheerfully  for  others, 
what  she  would  gladly  he  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  b 
right,  and  doing  it.  One  of  the  most  sensitively  gentle  of  wo- 
men, uhc  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.  In  the  day  when  to 
befriend  a  fugitive  negro  was  to  arouse  a  storm  of  popular 
rage  and  vengeance,  she  never  hesitated  to  recognize  tho 
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  claims  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 
light, — she  has  made  forheiijelf  a  place  of  power  in  the  cum- 


MRS      MARIANNE    P.    DASCOMB.  295 

mumty  where  she  has  lived,  and  especially  in  the  hearts  and 
minds  she  has  aided  in  educatin^:  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.  Witliout 
denying  the  claims  of  her  own  family  and  home,  —  in  which  she 
ha3  reared  to  womanhood  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  young  ladies  on  all  topics,  outside  of  the  general  course 
of  instruction  in  the  classes,  on  which  they  need  instruction 
and  advice,  —  Mi's.  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  SUINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE   AGS. 


HARRIET  BEEGHER  STOWE 


•o* 


BY  REV.  E.  P.  PARKER. 

Harriet  Beegher,  daughter  of  Rev.  Lyman  Beecfaer, 
D.D.,  was  born  in  the  town  of  Litchfield,  in  the  State  of 
Connecticut,  on  the  14th  day  of  Juno,  in  the  3'^car  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  ft 
theologian  was  one  of  distinction,  and  as  a  pulpit  orator  he 
stood  full  abreast  with  the  most  eloquent.  There  have  been 
DO  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,  aiid,  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  many  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 


HABBIET    BEECHEB    STOWE.  297 

mother.  She  was  a  woman  of  extraordinary  talents,  rare 
cultui*e,  fine  taste,  sweet  and  gentle  temper;  full  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  and  of  that  power  which  comes  not  with  obser- 
Tatlon,  but  whose  exercise  is  alike  unconscious  and  irre- 
sistible. 

She  died  when  Harriet  was  not  quite  four  years  old,  but 
**  her  memor}'  and  example  had  more  influence  in  moulding 
her  family,  in  deterring  froui  evil  and  exciting  to  good,  than 
the  living  presence  of  many  mothers." 

Mra.  Stowe  relates  that  when,  in  her  eighth  year,  she  lay 
dangerously  ill  of  scarlet  fever,  she  was  awakened  one 
evening  just  at  sunset  h^  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,  a^ 
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.  Her  mother  had  been  a  quiet  but 
devout  churchwoman  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- 
sliipped.  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  EMINKNT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

believed  in  the  Church,  and  walked  after  its  ordinances  only, 
with  nil  their  hearts.  Nor  is  it  nnlikely  that  these  fuels  fur- 
nish a  sufficient  explanatioD  of  that  prcfcrei;ce  fur  the  mode 
of  divine  worship  which  obtains  in  the  Episcopalian  Church, 
which,  in  tbcso  later  years,  Mrs.  Stowe  has  publicly  mani-' 
fested. 

Of  her  pleasant  life  ia  the  farm-house  at  Nutplains ;  of 
the  good  old  grandma  with  bright  white  hair,  who  took  her  — 
the  little  motherlcsa  —  into  her  arms,  and  held  her  elose,  and 
wept  over  her;  who  read  the  evening  service,  after  supper, 
fromagrcat  prayer-book,  with  such  impress! veness  as  touched 
the  child's  heart  with  a  feeling  of  its  intrinsic  simplicity  and 
beauty  which  she  never  outgrew;  and  who  also,  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  her  toryism,  often  read  over,  with  trembling  voice, 
the  old  prayers  for  king,  queen,  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  women  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  with  a  faith  in  which  disdain  of  all  Meeting-house 
religion  was  so  farmingled  that,  when  on  a  visit  to  Litchfield, 
flhe  conld  not  bring  herself  to  listen  to  Dr.  Beechcr,  of  whom 
she  was  very  proud  and  fond,  but  must  needs  go  to  Church, 
where  all  things  were  "done  decently  and  in  order,"  —  who 
did  more  than  encourage  little  Harriet  to  "  move  gently,  to 
speak  softly  and  prettily,  to  say  *ycs,  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  como  home  and  be  thoroughly  drilled  in  the 
catechism ;  of  her  Uucle  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  tlic  first 
poems  she  ever  heard ;  of  the  house  stored  with  all  manner 


HARRIET    BEECHEB    STOWE.  299 

of  family  relics,  and  also  with  all  manner  of  strange  a.id 
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  pleasantest  letters, 
and  adds,  **The  little  white  farm--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 " 

Nearly  two  years  passed  by,  and  Harriet,  now  again  in  her 
father's  house,  wonders  at  "  a  beautiful  lady,  very  fair,  with 
bright-blue  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,  affect ioii- 
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  afford  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  on."  Her  young  mind  drank  eagerly  at  every  available 
literary  spring,  and  such  was  the  inspiration  of  Dr.  Beecber'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  Litchtield  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  on  tlie  full  baskets  of  apples 
and  quinces  which  stood  around.  I  have  the  image  of  my 
father  still,  as  he  sat  working  the  apple-peeler.  'Come, 
George,'  he  said,  Til  tell  you  what  we'll  do  to  make  tho 
evening  go  off.  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  on 
without  flagging."  Dr.  Beecher  was  very  fond,  too,  of  setting 
all  manner  of  discussions  on  foot,  into  which  he  would  dmvr 
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 
nothing  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  acquauitance  oacc  attempted  to  do,  by 


HARRIET    BEECHER    8T0WE.  301 

beginning  at  one  end  of  the  library  and  reading  it  throdgh, 
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,  which  she  read  with  avidity,  '*  because  it  told  about  the 
same  sort  of  things  she  had  read  of  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights.'' 
She  was  again  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  was  the  time  when  the  names  of  Scott,  Byron,  Moore, 
and  Irving  were  comparatively  new,  and  yet  not  so  ne\^  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  familiar  to 
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  trash,  but  in  these  are  real  genius  and  real  culture, 
and  you  may  read  them "  1  This  generous  license  was  im- 
proved, 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  I  In  the  next 
house  to  the  one  in  which  Dr.  Beecher  lived,  and  but  a  few 


802  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AOB. 

steps  distant,  dwelt  •^Aunt  Esther/'  —  a  woman   of  strong 
mind,   ready  wit,   and   large   information,  to   whose    keeu 
criticism  Dr.  Beecher  frequently  submitted  his  sermons  and 
articles,  and  whose  geniality  and  inexhaustible  fund  of  enter- 
taining information  made  her  room  a  favorite  resoi-t  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,  ^  Bj- ron  is 
dead,  —  gone "/    •* I  remember,"  she  says,  "  taking  my  basket 
for  strawberries  that  afternoon,  and  going  over  to  a  straw- 
berry field  on  Chestnut  Ilill.     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"  1     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,  bat 
in  the  society  and  schools  of  Litchfield  as  well,  was  her  mind 
enriched  and  stimulated  to  independent  thought.  The  towa 
of  Litchfield  was  celebrated  in  those  days  for  the  unusual 
number  of  cultivated,  scholarly,  and  professional  men  who 
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  represeutatjives  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, 


HABBIET    BEECHER    STOWE.  303 

while  the  excellent  law-school  of  Judofe  Reeve  attracted 
tbitlier  brave  J'oiing  men  from  all  quarters. 

Mibs  Catbariuo  Beecher  relates  that  when  Mrs.  Stowe  was 
at  Paris,  she  was  repeatedly  visited  hy  an  aged  French  gentle- 
man of  distinction,  who  in  youth  had  spent  some  years  in 
L  itchGeld  ns  a  student  at  the  law  school,  and,  in  his  conversa- 
tions with  Mrs.  St  )we,  he  frequently  referred  to,  and  dwelt 
with  enthusiasm  upon,  the  society  of  Litchfield,  which  he 
declared  was  the  most  charming  in  the  world.  In  such  a 
home,  and  in  &uch  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- 
Tei-sations  of  Mr.  Brace  with  them,  in  moral  philosophy, 
liietoric,  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  y^Brs  old,  when,  roused  by  Mr. 
Brace's  inspiration,  she  volunteered  to  write  a  composition 
every  week.  The  theme  for  the  first  week  was  sufficiently 
formidable,  —  The  Difference  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  eflforts, 
the  was  soon  publicly  commended  for  her  progress*  and  two 


304  EMINENT    WOHBN    OP    THB    AOB. 

years  later  received  the  honor  of  an  appointtneut  to  be  one 
of  the  writcirs  at  the  annual  exhibition  of  the  school.  On 
that  distinguished  occasion  she  argued  the  negative  of  the 
following  question :  Can  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  be 
proved  by  the  Light  of  Nature?  Wo  may  smile  at  the  idea 
of  an  argument  on  such  a  topic  by  a  girl  in  her  twelfth  year, 
but  Ehe  shall  describe  the  eceue  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  were  read  aloud. 
When  mine  was  read,  I  noticed  that  father,  who  was  eltting 
on  high  by  Mr.  Brace,  brightened  and  looked  interested ; 
and,  at  the  close,  I  heard  bim  say,  '  Who  wrote  that  com> 
position?'  '  Yovr  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  infiucnces  her  intellectual  powers  were  quickened,  licr 
character  moulded,  and  her  whole  history  happily  predeter- 
mined in  its  course  of  development. 

At  about  twelve  years  of  age,  Harriet  went  to  ILii-tford, 
where  her  sister  Catharine  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- miuded,  intro- 
spective, reticent,  and  somewhat  moody  youu^  lady,  odd  in 


HABBIET    BEECHER    STOWE.  305 

her  manners  and  habiiSy  bat  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,  bom  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  thenoL 
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'a 
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  Bcecher  conducted  —  we  have  heard  one  of 
the  pupils  speak  in  terms  of  high  praise. 

lAias  Beecher  at  length  gave  herself  up  to  the  organizationi 
of  larger  educational  enterprises, — to  the  furtherance  of 
which  her  whole  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    AQE. 

a 

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  }'et  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  who  wore  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  Catharine  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; 


HABBIET    BEECHEB    STOWE.  307 

Prof.  J.  W.  Ward ;  CJharies  W.  Elliot,  the  New  England 
historian ;  Daniel  Drake,  a  medicttl  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  oi?.e 
of  its  noblest  martyrs  in  ii\p  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  delight. 
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,** 
»d  read  at  one  of  its  sessions,  made  the  deepest  impression. 
And  this  same  sketch,  which  is  still  one  of  the  most  charming 
and  chaiftcteristic  productions  of  her  pen,  published  first  in 
Judge  Hairs  Magazine,  and  afterward  in  the  ''Mayflower,'* 
first  attracted  public  attention  to  her  as  a  writer  of  great 
▼ersatility  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*8  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  Englaad  life  and  character.  Thenceforward  her  life 
flowed  on  in  purrly  domestic  channels  for  several  years,  with- 


308  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE   AGE. 

out  putting  forth  any  decided  signs  of  its  future  fhiitfulness. 
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 
different  aspects  of  plantation  life.  For  years  she  bad  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-groimd  railroad,  of  which  her  husband  had 
the  credit  of  being  an  active  director.  One  day  her  two  lit- 
tle children  were  going  to  the  bam  to  play.  The  elder,  to 
frighten  his  sister  into  some  submission,  cried,  ^  The  black 
man  will  catch  you  I "  whereupon  four  burly  fugitives,  who 
were  resting  and  hiding  in  the  hay  till  nightfall,  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  di£^culty,  says  Prof* 
Stowe,  **was  to  keep  the  little  pickaninnies  from  sticking 


HABBIET    BEECHEB    STOWE.  309 

their  heads  oat  of  the  windows,  and  so  betraying  theii 
retreat." 

Often  at  dead  of  night  the  rattle  of  wagons  bearing  escaped 
slaves  onward  to  the  land  of  promise,  and  afterwardis  the 
ominous  tramp  of  hard-ridden  horses  were  heard,  telling  of 
rapid  flight  and  hot  pursuit. 

The  actual  spiriting  away  from  her  piu^uers  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  under  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  outrages  and  sufferings  of  which 
she  had  personal  knowledge,  and  when  mob-violence  threat- 
ened the  safety  of  the  roof  that  sheltered  her,  Mrs.  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  passing  events.  Mate- 
rials for  her  future  work  were  unconsciously  accumulating  as 
she  watched,  and  waited,  and  hoped,  and  prayed. 

The  seminaiy  in  which  her  husband  was  a  prominent  in- 
structor became  at  length  the  scene  of  a  painful  and  disastrous 
struggle  between  the  two  great  &rces  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 
Brunswick,  Maine,  and  in  the  year  1850  he  entered  upon  his 
duties  there.  Just  at  this  time  the  fugitive  slave  law  was 
pavsed,  and  Mrs.  Stowe  was  one  of  those  whose  souls  were 


310  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

* 

• 
kindled  with  indignation  at  this  irifamous  piece  of  legislation. 
In  the  light  of  that  political  act  which  converted  the  people 
of  a  great  and  free  nation  into  so  many  compulsory  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  coantry.  One  single,  definite  purpose  arose  out  of  her 
dftep  convictions,  and  took  possession  of  her  mind.  The 
whole  system  of  slavery  must  be  shown  up  as  it  really  was  I 
This  simple  and  all-controlling  conviction  was  the  corner- 
stone of  •*  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  1 
Mrs.  Stowe  herself  says  z  — 

^  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  what  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- 


HABRIBT  BBBCHER  8T0WE.        311 

existent  design,  as  developed,  like  a  tree,  from  one  high,  holy, 
and  controlling  idea. 

Topsy*s  solutioii  of  the  problem  of  her  own  personal  ex- 
istence is  the  most  satisfactoiy  explanation  of  the  production 
of  this  story.  It  grew  I  While  as  yet  the  form  and  plan  of 
the  work  lay  undeveloped  in  her  mind,  she  made  a  beginning, 
which,  instead  of  a  beginning,  wiis  a  stroke  at  the  very  heart 
of  her  whole  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.  He  took 
them  up  in  curiosity  and  read  them.  The  death  of  Unde 
Tom  was  what  he  read.  That  was  first  written,  and  it  wa9 
all  that  had  then  been  written.  ^  You  can  make  something 
out  of  this,"  said  he.  **!  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  Grod,  by  faith  she  went  forth,  not  knowing  whither  she 
went  I  Her  Unde  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  stai-ting-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  designs. 
*  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  neceseities 
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  portfolio  upon  her 
knee,  by  the  kitchen  fire,  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 
devoui'ed  by  the  readers  of  the  **  National  Era."  The  writei 
of  this  article  was  then  a  little  boy  in  one  of  the  remoter  vil- 
lages 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  the  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  whjch 
contained  it,  after  being  nearly  worn  out  in  going  through  so 
many  hands  in  so  many  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 


'     HABBIET    BESCHSB    STOWB.  313 

respectfully  declined.  That,  she  thought,  was  the  end  of  it. 
A  woman's  shrewdness  had  something  to  do  with  securing 
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  offer.ed  to  him,  and  he  remarked  to  Prof.  Stowe 
that  it  would  bring  his  wife  **  something  handsome  I  "  On 
returning  home,  his  success  and  the  remark  of  Mr.  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,  Mr.  Jewett  made  his  first  settlement  with  Prof. 
Stowe,  and  placed  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars  in  his 
bauds ;  —  "  More  money,"  says  the  professor,  "than  I  had  ever 
seen  in  my  life  I  "  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  entei*prise  was  far  more 
remunerative  to  the  publishers  than  to  the  author,  and  Mrs. 
Stowe  was  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 
one  house  alone,  ten  thousand  copies  each  day  for  four  weeks ; 
making  a  sale  of  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  ^opies  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,  GrermaD,  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  allusions  to  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  itt^  Lord  Cockbam 
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  Bliza'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  oar 


HABBIET    BEECHEB     STOWL*.  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  splasbings,  and  an  infi- 
nite confusion,  but  the  tide  had  its  way,  —  the  same  tide, 
which,  a  few  years  later,  broke  over  all  barriers,  swept  over 
ihe  whole  country,  and  washed  it  clean  of  its  old  defilement 
and  curse.  **  Uncl^  Tom's  Cabin  "  was  the  honored  instrument 
of  that  new  and  noble  impulse  which  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  which  soon  after 
culminated  in  the  organization  of  the  great  anti-slavery  party 
of  the  country,  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  newspapers  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 
heathen  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  was  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,  ia 


316  EMINENT    WOMEN    OT    THE    AGE. 

which  the  development  of  individual  fortunes  and  the  histoiy 
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  —  Uiide  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  bookiiave  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 
Wyerty  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  fisir,  in  several  directions,  from  the  main 
road  in  which  this  sketch  must  travel.  To  meet  a  great  popu- 
lar necessity,  to  serve  the  cause  df  truth  and  humanity  in  > 


HABBIET    BfiSCHEB    8T0WE.  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  heart 
almost  broken  in  view  of  the  sufferings  it  describes  I "  Here, 
surely,  is  one  secret  of  its  power.  David  long  ago  revealed 
it.  ^  He  that  goeth  forth,  weeping,  beariug  precious  seed, 
shall  doubtless  return  again  with  songs,  bringing  his  sheaves 
with  him."    So  she  went  forth,  and  so  returned. 

Charles  Dickens  said,  ^  A  noble  book  with  a  noble  purpose  !  " 

In  ** Uncle  Tom''  we  have  a  charming  story,  abd  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  book  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  ait  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. 
Sewaid  aad  Mr.  Sumner  had  argued  the  question  of  slaveiy. 


318  EMIKENT    WOMEN    07    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.  StoVe 
treated  the  subject,  not  as  a  question  of  law,  or  of  logic,  or 
of  political  economy,  or  of  biblical  interpretation,  but  as  a 
simple  question  of  humanity;  not  as  an  ** abstract  theory  of 
social  relations,  but  as  a  concrete  reality  of  human  life.^ 
She  does  not  tellf  but  shows  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  m 
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  be^  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  countiy; 


HABBIET    BEECHES    8T0WE.  819 

and,  accordingly,  she  embarked  with  her  husband,  hei 
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,  an^ 
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  fVom  an  address* 
which  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Stowe  at  a  public  meeting  in 
Dundee,  by  Mr.  Gilfillan,  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^d^oRUvre  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  relisfion 
that  was  ever  presented  to  the  world."  And  if  these  last 
words,  which  were  uttered  by  no  other  than  the  well-known 
Bev.  John  Angell  James,  seem  extravagant  praise,  we  have 
only  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  celebrated  critic,  Heinrich 
Heine,  whom  no  one  can  suspect  of  partiality  in  such  a  mat- 
ter, after  describing  his  gropings  and  flounderings  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,"  U^ide 
Tom. 

After  various  excursions,  to  Paris,  to  Switzerland,  to  Gkr- 
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 


HARBIET  BEECHER  STOWB.        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 
completest  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  disenchantments 
of  discussion  and  argument,  by  which  the  reader  is  disturbed 
in  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  foi*tifying 

herself  as  she  advanced,  or  of  throwing  in  justifications  and 

ailments,  or  of  going  aside  for  facts  to  substantiate  her 

narrative,  but  kept  faitl^fully  to  the  simplicity  of  her  purpose 

to  exhibit  slavery  as  she  had  seen  and  known  it.     But,  ia 

'si 


322  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQB. 

writing  ''Drcd,"  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 story. 

Dred  himself,  if  not  imperfectly  conceived,  is  a  conception 
so  diflBcult  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  Milltft 
Nina  Gordon^  Jekyl^  and  Auni  Nesbit  are  personages  that 
demonstrate  Mrs.  Stowe's  matchless  power  in  delineating  and 
differentiating  individual  characters.  Uncle  Tiff,  so  perfectly 
devoted  to  "  dese  y'er  chiren,"  so  noble  arid  simple  of  heart, 
and  yet  so  irresistibly  droll  in  his  manners ;  —  who  wants  to 
be  "  ordered  round  Yore  folks,"  to  maintain  the  family  dig- 
nity ;  who,  when  his  fire  goes  out  immediately  after  it  was 
kindled,  exclaims,  "Bress  do  Lord,  got  all  de  wood  lefil'^  — 
who  sits  by  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  Mark  Tapley  are  blended. 
That  scene  at  the  bedside  of  his  mistress,  and  his  diaioo^ue 
frith  Fanny ^  wherein  revival  preaching  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  powerful  chapter  has  Mrs.  Sfowe  ever  written 
than  that  in  which  Aunt  Milly  tells  to  Nina  Gordon  the 
tragic,  the  terrible  story  of  her  life? 

Not  long  after  the  publication  of  "Dred,"  Mrs.  Stowo  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  unfrequently 
been  pronounced  by  literary  men  to  be  the  ablest  of  all  the 
books  which  Mrs.  Stowe  has  writttm.  This  opinion  was  ex- 
pressed by  so  competent  a  critic  as  the  Rev.  Henry  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 
60  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- 
pent  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 


324  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOJB. 

» 

chosen  eorae  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-mipded,  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 
lovins:  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  Calvinist ;  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    BEEOHER    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  Cart" 
dace  J  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  bath 
chosen  the  weak  things  of  this  world  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  latitudiuarian  man- 
ner. That  estimable  but  garrulous  young  lady  yentured  to 
say,  •*  We  don't  ever  know  what  God's  grace  has  done  for 
folks ; "  and  that  she  hoped  that  the  Lord  made  **  Jim  one  of 
the  elect ; "  and  proceeded  to  quote  what  a  certiiin  woman 
once  said  to  a  certain  other  woman  w^hose  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  Calviuist  in  all  she  says.  Taking  into  ac- 
count the  doctrines  of  an  unconditional  and  absolute  personal 


326  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    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  Miss  Prissy  was  simply  making  a  practical  applica- 
tion of  the  Ilopkinsiau  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  different  effects  produced 
thereby,  so  that  "while  strong  spirits  walked, palm-crowned, 
with  victorious  hynms,  along  these  sublime  paths,  feebler  and 
more  sensitive  ones  la}^  along  the  track,  bleeding  away  in  life- 
long despair,"  —  all  this  is  set  forth  with  great  clearness  and 
power. 

Mrs.  Marvyriy  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 
was  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  was  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 


HARhlET    BEECHER    STOWE.  327 

Saviour  of  the  gospel,  having  anxiously  overheard  the  dread- 
ful monologue,  burst  into  the  room. 

•^Come,  ye  poor  little  lamb,"  she  said,  walking  straight 
up  to  Mrs.  Mai-vyn,  "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'u't  right,  —  dar's  a  dreadful  mist^iko  somewhar. 
Why,  de  Lord  a'n'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  cry  in' ! 
—  cry  away,  and  ease  yer  poor  little  heart.  He  died  for 
Mass'r  Jim,  —  loved  him  and  died  for  him, — jes'  give  up 
bis  sweet,  precious  body  and  soul  for  him  on  de  cross  !  Laws, 
jes'  leave  him  in  Jesus'  hands  1  Why,  honey,  dar's  do  very 
print  o'  de  nails  in  hfs  hands  now  I  " 

The  flood-gates  were  rent;  and  healing  sobs  and  tears 
shook  the  frail  form,  as  a  faded  lily  shakes  under  the  soft 
rains  of  summer.     All  in  the  room  wept  together. 

**Now,  honey,"  said  Candace,  "I  know  our  Doctor's  a 
mighty  good  man,  an'  larned,  —  an*  in  fair  weather  I  ha'n't  no 
'bjection  to  yer  hearin'  all  about  deso  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'  u'n't  but  one  ting  to  come  to,  an'  dat  ar's  Jesus.  Look 
right  at  Jesus  I  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    OF. 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  1  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^  hangin'  dar,  so  sweet  and  pa- 
tient  on  de  cross  I  All  dey  could  do  couldn't  stop  his  lovin' 
'em ;  be  prayed  for  'em  wid  all  de  breath  he  had.  Dar's  a 
God  you  can  love,  a'n't  dar?  Caudace  loves  Him,  —  poor, 
old,  foolish,  black,  wicked  Candace,  —  and  she  knows  He 
loves  her." 

And  here  Caridace  broke  down  into  torrents  of  weeping. 

"  They  laid  the  mother,  faint  and  weary,  on  her  bed,  and 
beneath  the  shadow  of  that  sufferin;;  cross  came  down  a  heal- 
ing sleep  on  those  weary  eyelids.' 


Could  anything  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 
fact  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  theology.  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  metaphysical 
subtleties  concerning  it.  And  while  **  The  Minister's  Wooing  " 
is  precisely  what  its  name  indicates,  a  love-story,  and  both  a 


HABBIET  BEECHEB  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  Marvyn  thought  of  Dr.  Hopkins 
himself:  "  He  is  a  gi'eat,  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  tiike  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  now  points  to  be  consid- 
ered I "  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  within  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  England. 

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  stoiy, 
•'  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    OP    THE    AGE. 

utor  to  the  "New  York  Independent,"  — a  religious  new  spa* 
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  Harpswell,  not  far 
from  Brunswick,  where  she  formerly  resided,  and  whose  plan 
turns  upon   certain   traditions  of   that  seaside  community. 
Summer  tourists  still  visit  Orfd  Island,  and  inspect  the  shell 
of  a  house  in  which  the  pretty  I^earl  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  Comer  "  papers  were  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  hy  mnologies  of  our  churches, 
and  has  gone  out,  indeed,  through  all  the  world : — 


* 


I 


HABHIET    BEECHEB    STOWK.  331 

•*  When  winds  are  raging  o'er  the  upper  ocean. 
And  billows  wild  contend  with  angry  roar, 
Tis  said,  far  down  bentrath  its  wild  commotioni 
That  peaceful  stillness  reigneth  evermore. 

*'Far,  fkr  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,  0  Forest, 

There  is  a  temple,  sacred  evermore, 
And  all  the  babble  of  llfe*s  angry  voices 

Dies  in  hushed  stillness  at  its  peacefhl  door. 

'Tar,  far  away  the  roar  of  passion  dieth, 

And  loving  thoughts  rise  calm  and  peacefblly. 
And  no  rude  storm  how  fierce  soe*er  it  flieth. 
Disturbs  the  soul  that  dwells,  0  Lord,  in  thee. 

*'  O  rest  of  rest  I  O  peace,  serene,  eternal  I 
Thou  ever  livest,  and  thou  changest  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 
&  large  circle  of  family  friends,  and  both  admired  and  loved 
ty  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    WOKEN    07    THE   AGE. 


f 

MRS.  ELIZABETH   CADY   STANTON. 


-•Ol 


BY  THEODORE  TILTON. 


I  ONCE  watched  an  artist  while  he  tried  to  transfer  to  hifl 
cauvas  the  lustre  of  a  precious  stone.  His  picture,  after  bis 
utmost  skilly  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  ia 
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  uumarked 
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  lawyers, 
were  among  the  chiefest  of  their  time.  It  is  now  devoted 
mainly  to  the  fabrication  of  steel  springs  and  buckskio  gloves. 
So,  like  Wordswjprth's  early  stiir,  "  it  has  faded  into  the  ligW 
of  common  day." 

A  Yankee  said  that  his  chief  ami  ition  was  to  become  inoi« 


332  EMINENT    WOKEN   07    THE   AGE. 


^w  ±^^A^y.<i  ijUAVA  tixui,  liio  cjuci  ituiiiitiou  was  CO  oecome  moro 


MRS.  ELIZABETH  CAI>r  STANTON.  333 

famous  than  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 
gloiy  still  as  fresh  as  at  the  foundation  of  the  world.  Stand- 
ing on  its  hills,  one  looks  off  upon  a  comitry  of  enamelled 
meadow  lands,  that  melt  away  southward  toward  the  Mohawk, 
and  northward  to  the  base  of  those  g^and  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  outljnng  landscape,  exclaimed, 
*This  is  a  liberal  education  I "  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  1 

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  SMIKENT  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  burdens  of  great  weight,  or,  still  better,  how  to  suffer 
them  and  be  strong.  Biding  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,  bow  great  is  that  darkness!" 
Seeking  to  fill  the  girl's  mind  with  sunshine  and  glory,  her 
minister  kept  always  painting,  to  her  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  tnily 
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;  hut 
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  goveniment  that  the  children  had,  in  thein^n, 
a  pleasant  childhood." 


MRS.  ELIZABETH  CABT  STANTON.  335 

The  child  is  not  only  father  of  the  man,  but  also  mothor  of 
the  woman.  Thjs  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. 

m 

•*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  nothing  in  her  own  right.  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  ray 
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 
occasion,  he  took  down  a  law-book,  and  tried  to  show  me  that 
something  called  Hhe  laws'  prevented  him  from  putting  a  stop 
to  these  cruel  and  unjust  things.  In  this  way,  my  head  was 
filled  with  a  great  anger  against  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  laws 
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 that  my  fattier  and  his  library  were  the  beginning  and 


3o6  EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  AGE. 

end  of  the  law  1  I  thought  that  if  I  could  only  destroy  those 
laws,  those  poor  women  would  have  no. further  trouble.  But 
when  the  students  infonned  my  father  of  my  proposed  muti- 
lation of  his  YolumeSy  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  fatlier  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  tlie  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  brothert 
corpse,  and  finding  my  father  there,  pale  and  immovable,  sit- 
ting in  a  great  arm-diair  by  his  side.  For  a  long  time  my 
father  took  no  notice  of  im.  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 


MRS.  ELIZABETH  CADT  STANTOK.  337 

were  a  boy  I*    *  Then  IwiU  be  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  courageous,  as  I  fancied  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  mado 
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  our 
good  pastor  in  his  garden,  which  joined  our  own.  Finding 
him  at  work  thei'e  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.  Lajdng  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  weepmg 
friends,  the  dark  rooms,  the  ghostly  stillness,  the  ftmeral 
cortege,  the  prayer,  the  warning  exhortation,  the  mournful 
chant,  the  solemn  tolling  bell,  the  burial.  How  my  flesh. 
crawled  during  those  three  sad  days  !  ^Vliat  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  anns,  as  if  to  embrace 

22 


338  BMINBKT    WOMEK    07    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 
lessoiis ;  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  fether  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  I  *  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  oflTered  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,— 
be  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  I '  He  took  the  book,  looked  through 
it,  asked  me  some  questions  about  the  class,  the  teachers,  aud 
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  sbpuld  have  been  a  boy^' 


MBS.    ElilZABETH    CADT    8TAKTQH;         389 

That  eitded  my  pleasure.     I  hastened  to  my  room,  flung  the 
book  across  the  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  memoiy 
of  many  things  he  has  said  has  given  me  comfort  and  strength 
in  the  hour  of  darkness  and  struggle  I  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  tiiem  they  were  all  falling  to  pieces. 
So  T  had  them  newly  bound  in  black  morocco  and  gilt. 
Deal  ar^  ihoy  to  me  to  this  day,  and  dear  will  continue  to  be  as 


340  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOB. 

long  as  I  live.     I  never  look  at  them  without  thanking  God 
that  he  gave  me,  in  my  childhood,  so  nobl§  a  frieud.** 

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  beyy  of  mad  romps.  A  school- 
house  is  a  kingdom  ;  and  Elizabeth  was  a  school-house  queea. 

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  shown  at  least  her  equality  with  the 
domineering  sex,  she  would  bo  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  sopr 
arately,  will  be  voted  too  ignorant  of  human  nature  to  be 
trusted  with  moulding  the  minds  of  the  sons  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* 
Bible  theory. 


MRS.    ELIZABBTH     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  Afrs,  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  phiu. 
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  jon  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  earth,"  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 
upstaii*s  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 
bad  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  I  Although  everybody  in  the  house  was  wakened 
by  the  noise,  and  many  of  the  doors  were  opened,  she  glided 
past  all  the  peeping  eyes  lite  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  Rev.  Charles  G.  Finney,  —  a  pulpit 


342  EMINENT    WOMEN    OJf    THE    AGS. 

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  preachiug),  "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  I  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  works  incalculable  hiU'm 
to  the  very  souls  which  it  seeks  to  save.  It  worked  harm  to 
Elizabeth.  The  strong  man  struck  the  child  as  with  a  liou's 
paw.  Fear  of  the  judgment  seized  her  soul.  Mental  anguish 
prostrated  her  health.  Visions  of  the  lost  haunted  her 
dreamt.  Dethronement  of  her  reason  was  apprehended  oy 
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  ber 
father.  "  Often,"  said  she,  "  I  would  rise  out  of  ray  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 


MBS.    ELIZABETH    CADT    STANTON.  343 

eternal  misery  the  greater  part  of  the  human  family.  It  was 
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, 
dividing  her  time  between  book-delving  and  horse-taming, 
and,  having  an  almost  equal  relish  for  each,  she  conquered  the 
books  in  her  father's  library,  and  the  horses  in  her  father's 
stable.  In  fact,  she  would  sometimes  ride  half  the  day  over 
hill  and  meadow,  like  a  fox-hunter,  and  then  study  law-books 
half  the  night,  like  a  jurist.  When  she  was  busy  at  her 
embroidery  or  water-colors,  her  father,  who  had  a  poor  opinion 
of  such  accomplishments,  would  bring  to  her  the  "Revised 
Statutes,"  and  say,  "  My  daughter,  here  is  a  book  which,  if 
you  read  it,  will  give  you  something  sensible  to  say  to  Mr. 
Spencer  and  Mr.  Williams  when  they  next  make  us  a  visit." 
Mr.  Spencer  and  Mr.  Williams  were  legal  magnates,  who 
made  Judge  Cady's  dinner-table  a  frequent  arena  for  the  dis- 
cussion of  nice  points  of  law.  So  Elizabeth,  with  a  fine 
determination  to  make  herself  the  peer  of  the  whole  table, 
diligently  began  and  pursued  that  study  of  the  laws  of  her 
country,  which  has  since  armed  and  equipped  her,  as  from 
an  arsenal  of  weapons,  for  her  struggle  against  all  oppressive 
legislation  concerning  woman.  As  to  her  horse-riding,  she 
has  of  late  years  discontinued  it,  for  the  reason  —  if  I  may  be 
so  ungallant  as  to  hint  it — that  a  lady  of  very  elegant  but 
also  very  solid  proportions  is  somewhat  more  at  her  ease  in 
a  carriage  than  on  a  saddle. 

In  1839,  in  her  twenty-fourth  year,  while  on  a  visit  to  her 
distinguished  cousin,  Gerrit  Smith,  at  Peterboro',  in  the 
central  part  of  New  York  State,  she  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Mr.  Henry  B.  Stanton,  then  a  young  and  fervid  orator, 
who  had  won  distinction  in  the  anti-slavery  movement.  The 
acquaintances  speedily  became  friends ;  the  friends  grew  into 


344  EMINENT    WOMEN    OJf    THE    AGE. 

lovers ;  and  the  lovers,  after  a  short  courtship,  msrriedi  and 
immediately  set  sail  for  Europe. 

This  voyage  was  undertaken,  not  merely  for  pleasure  and 
sight-seeing,  but  that  Mr.  Stanton  might  fulfil  the  mission 
of  a  delegate  to  the  "  World's  Anti-slavery  Convention,"  to 
be  held  in  London  in  1840.     Many  well-known  American 
women  were  delegates,  but,  on  presenting  their  credentials, 
were  denied  membership  on  account  of  their  sex.     Lucretia 
Mott,  Sarah   Pugh,  Emily  Winslow,  Abby  Kimber,  Mary 
Grew,  and AnnQGreenePhillips,  —  who  had  no  superiors  in 
all  England  for  moral  worth,  —  found,  to  their  astonishment, 
that,  after  having  devoted  their  lives  to  the   anti-slavery 
cause,  they  were  repulsed  from  an  anti-slavery  convention 
which  they  had  gone  three  thousand  miles  to  attend.     Wen- 
dell Phillips  argued  manfully  for  their  admission,  but  in  vain. 
William  Lloyd  Garrison — who,  having  crossed  in  a  tardy 
ship,  did  not  arrive  till  after  the  question  had  been  decided, 
and  decided   unjustly  —  refused  to   present  his  credentials, 
took  no  part  in  the  proceedings,  and  sat  a  silent  spectator  in 
the  gallery,  —  one  of  the  most  chivalrous  acts  of  his  life. 
Beaten  in  the  committee,  the  ladies  transferred  the  question 
to  the  social  circles.     Every  dinner-table  at  which  they  were 
present  grew  lively  with  the  theme.     At  a  dinner-table  in 
Queen  Street,  Mrs.  Lucretia  Mott  —  then  in  the  prime  of 
her  intellectual  powers,  and  with  a  head  which  Combe,  the 
phrenologist,  pronounced  the  finest  he  had  ever  seen  on  a 
woman — replied  so  skilfully  to  the  arguments  of  a  dozen 
friendly  opponents,  chiefl}''  clergymen,  that  she  was  the  ac- 
knowledged victor  in  the  debate.      It  was  then  and  there 
that  Mrs.  Stanton,  for  the  first  time,  saw,  heard,  and  became 
acquainted  with  Lucretia  Mott.     Often  and  often,  during  her 
maidenly  years,   Elizabeth  Cady  had  pondered  the  many- 
sided  question  of  woman's  relations  to  society,  to  the  State» 
to  the  industrial  arts,  and  particularly  to  the  laws  of  property. 


HB8.    ELIZABETH    CADY    STANTON.  345 

But,  in  thinking  these  thoughts,  she  had  hitheito  supposed 
herself  to  be  alone  in  the  world.  Now,  however,  during  a 
six  weeks'  constant  and  familiar  companionship  with  Mrs. 
Mott,  she  wonderingly  heard  the  whole  cyclopedia  of  her 
own  hidden  and  secretly  cherished  convictions  openly  con- 
fessed by  another's  lips.  All  the  women  with  whom  Mrs. 
Stanton  had  ever  associated  in  America  had,  without  excep- 
tion, belonged  to  the  circle  of  conservative  opinion.  Mrs. 
Mott  was  the  first  liberal  thinker  on  womanhood  whom  she 
had  ever  encountered.  Elizabeth's  delight  at  thus  finding  a 
woman  who  had  thought  farther  than  herself,  on  some  of  the 
most  vital  questions  affecting  the  human  soul,  was  as  glow- 
ing and  enchanting  as  if  she  had  suddenly  discovered  a 
cavern  of  hid  treasures.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the 
influence  of  the  elder  of  these  women  on  the  younger  was 
greater  than  the  combined  influence  of  everything  else  which 
that  younger  saw  and  heard  during  her  foreign  tour.  This  is 
Bot  an  exaggerated  statement.  I  once  asked  her  the  ques- 
tion, ''What  most  impressed  you  in  Europe?"  and  she  in- 
stantly replied,  *'Lucretia  Mott  1 "  One  day,  as  a  party  of  a 
dozen  or  more  friends  were  visiting  the  British  Museum, 
Mrs.  Mott  and  Mrs..  Stanton,  who  were  of  the  company,  had 
hardly  entered  the  building  when  they  sat  down  and  began 
to  talk  to  each  other.  The  rest  went  forward,  made  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  curiosities,  and  came  back  to  the  entrance,  to  find 
that  the  two  talkers  still  sat  with  their  heads  together,  never 
having  stirred  from  their  places.  The  sympathetic  twain  had 
found  more  in  each  other  than  either  cared  to  look  for  in  the 
whole  British  Museum.  Mrs.  Stanton's  enthusiasm  for  Mrs. 
Mott  continues  still  as  fresh  and  warm  as  then.  And  no 
wonder  I.  For,  in  the  same  sense  in  which  the  greatest  man 
ever  produced  in  this  country  was  Benjamin  Franklin,  the 
greatest  woman  ever  produced  in  this  country  is  Lucretia 
Mott. 


346  BMIKEKT    WOMEN    OV    THE    AOfl. 

Od  returning  to  America,  Mr.  Stanton  began  the  practice 
of  law  in  Boston,  where,  with  his  wife  and  family,  he  resided 
for  five  years.  The  east  winds,  always  unfriendly  to  his 
throat,  at  last  drove  him  to  take  shelter  in  the  greater  kind- 
liness of  an  inland  climate.  Accordingly  he  transferred  his 
household  and  business  to  Seneca  Falls,  in  the  State  of 
New  York. 

The  first  '*  Woman's  Rights  Convention  **  (known  to  his- 
tory by  that  name)  was  held  July  19th  and  20th,  1848,  in 
the  Wesleyan  Chapel  at  Seneca  Falls.  Copies  of  the  official 
report  of  the  proceedings  are  now  rare,  and  will  one  day  be 
hunted  for  by  antiquarians,  —  a  petite  pamphlet,  about  the 
size  of  a  man's  hand,  resembling  in  letter  (though  hardly  in 
spirit)  an  evangelical  tract  by  the  American  Tract  Society. 
My  own  copy  has  become  yellow-tinted  by  time.  With  a 
reverential  interest  I  look  back  on  this  modest  chronicle  of  a 
great  event.  That  convention  little  thought  it  would  be  his- 
toric. But  it  was  the  first  of  a  chain  of  similar  conventions 
which,  like  the  links  round  a  Leyden  Jar,  have  since  girdled 
half  the  world  with  the  brightness  of  a  new  idea.  The  chief 
agent  in  calling  the  convention  was  Mrs.  Stanton.  It  met  in 
the  town  of  her  residence.  Its  resolutions  and  declarations 
of  sentiment  were  the  ofiTspring  of  her  pen.  Its  one  great 
leading  idea  —  the  elective  franchise  —  was  a  suggestion  of 
her  brain.  I  do  not  know  of  any  public  demand  for  woman's 
sufifrage,  made  by  any  organized  convention,  previous  tc 
Mrs.  Stanton's  demand  for  it  in  the  following  resolution: 
**  Resolved,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  women  of  this  country 
to  secure  to  themselves  their  sacred  right  to  the  elective 
franchise."  I  am  aware  that  women  long  before  had  voted 
(for  a  short  time)  in  New  Jersey.  But  woman's  political 
rights  had  already  been  slumbering  for  years  when  Mrs. 
Stanton  jarred  them  into  sudden  wakefulness.  This  she  did 
to  the  consternation  of  her  best  friends.     The  convention  at 


I 

A 


XBS.    ELIZABETH    CADT    STANTOK  347 

Seneca  Falls  was  called,  as  the  advertisement  phrased  it,  ''to 
discuss  the  social,  civil,  and  religious  condition  of  woman.^ 
Nothing  was  here  said  of  woman's  political  condition,  ex« 
cept  so  far  as  that  might  he  ambiguously  included  in  her 
civil.  Probably  very  few  of  the  delegates,  on  going  to  the 
meeting,  carried  to  it  any  such  idea  as  woman's  suffrage. 
When  Mrs.  Stanton  privately  proposed  to  introduce  the  res- 
olution which  I  have  quoted,  even  Lucretia  Mott  —  who  (as 
the  report  characterizes  her)  was  *'  the  ruling  spirit  of  the 
occasion  "  —  attempted  to  dissuade  the  bold  innovator.  But 
the  innovator  would  not  be  dissuaded.  She  offered  her  reso- 
lution, and,  in  support  of  it,  made,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  a  public  speech.  Not  a  natural  orator,  she  at  first 
shrank  from  taking  the  floor.  But  a  sense  of  duty  impelling 
her  to  utter  her  thought,  she  conquered  her  bewilderment, 
stated  her  views,  answered  the  convention's  objections,  fought 
a  courageous  battle,  and  carried  her  proposition.  No  Amer- 
ican woman  ever  rendered  a  more  signal  service  to  her 
country  than  was,  on  that  day,  bashfully,  yet  gracefully  and 
triumphantly,  performed  by  Mrs.  Stanton. 

That  convention,  and,  above  all,  its  demand  for  woman'fi 
suffrage,  excited  the  universal  laughter  of  the  nation.  Won- 
der-stricken people  asked  each  other  the  question,  ''What 
sort  of  creatures  could  those  women  at  Seneca  Falls  have 
been  ? "  It  was  never  suspected  by  the  general  public  that 
they  were  among  the  finest  ladies  in  the  land.  Even  their 
own  relatives  and  friends,  who  knew  their  personal  virtues, 
lamented  their  public  eccentricities  and  joined  the  general 
crowd  of  critics  and  satirists.  Judge  Cady,  on  hearing  of 
what  his  daughter  had  done,  fancied  her  crazy,  and  immedi- 
ately journeyed  from  Johnstown  to  Seneca  Falls  to  learn  for 
himself  whether  or  not  that  brilliant  brain  had  been  turned. 
"  After  my  father's  arrival,"  says  she,  "  he  talked  with  me  a 
whole  evening  till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  trying  to 


348  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

reason  me  oat  of  my  position.  At  length,  kissing  me  good* 
nighty  he  said,  *My  child,  I  wish  you  had  waited  till  I  was 
under  the  scd,  before  you  had  done  this  foolish  thing  P  But 
I  replied,  laughing,  'Ah,  sir,  don't  you  remember  how  you 
used  to  give  me  law-books  to  read  in  order  that  I  might  have 
•something  sensible  to  say  to  your  friends,  Mr.  Spencer  and 
Mr.  Williams,  when  they  came  to  dine  with  us?  It  was  by 
reading  those  lawbooks  that  I  found  out  the  injustice  of  our 
American  laws  toward  women.  I  might  never  have  known 
anything  on  the  subject  except  for  yourself. ' "  The  good 
man  before  his  death  (which  occurred  several  years  after- 
ward), although  he  had  never  relaxed  his  opposition  to  his 
daughter's  views,  nevertheless  had  come  to  cherish  a  secret 
pride  at  the  skill,  vigor,  and  eloquence  with  which  she 
maintained  them  against  all  antagonists. 

From  the  day  of  the  Seneca  Falls  Convention  to  the 
present,  Mrs.  Stanton  has  been  one  of  the  representative 
women  of  America.  At  a  similar  convention,  held  at  Cleve- 
land, Ohio,  in  1853,  Lucretia  Mott  proposed  the  adoption 
of  the  declaration  of  sentiments  put  forth  at  Seneca  Falls  in 
1848.  "She  thought,"  says  the  official  report,  ''that  this 
would  be  but  a  fittinor  honor  to  her  who  initiated  these  move- 
ments  in  behalf  of  the  women  of  our  country,  Elizabeth 
Cady  Stanton." 

I  have  seen  the  old  and  tattered  manuscript  of  the  first 
"set  speech"  which  Mrs.  Stanton  ever  delivered.  It  was 
a  lyceum  lecture,  ably  and  elaborately  written ;  and  was 
repeated  at  several  places  in  the  Interior  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  during  the  first  months  that  followed  the  first  conven- 
tion. The  manuscript,  unaccountably  slipping  out  of  the 
author's  hands,  was  passed  from  friend  to  friend,  fi-om  town 
to  town,  and  from  State  to  State,  until  she  not  only  last 
sight  of  it  for  the  lime,  but  gave  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  it 
again.    Eighteen  years  afterward,  it  was  returned  to  her, 


HBS.    ELIZABEIjI    CADf    STABTON.         349 

somewhat  the  worse  for  wear.  It  had,  meanwhile,  travelled 
I  know  not  how  many  hundreds  of  miles^  and  been  read  by 
I  know  not  how  qiany  hundreds  of  persons.  On  recovering 
the  lost  scroll,  she  penned  on  its  margin  this  inscription, 
addressed  to  her  daughters :  — 

•*Dear  Maggie  and  Hattie,  this  is  my  first  speech.  It  was 
delivered  several  times  immediately  after  the  first  Woman's 
Rights  Convention.  It  contains  all  I  knew  at  that  time.  I 
did  not  speak  again  for  several  years.  The  manuscript  has, 
ever  since,  been  a  wanderer  through  the  land.  Now,  after  a 
separation  of  nearly  eighteen  years,  I  press  my  first-born  to 
my  heart  once  more.  As  I  recall  my  younger  days,  I  weep 
over  the  apathy  and  indifference  of  women  concerning  their 
own .  degradation.  I  give  this  manuscript  to  my  precious 
daughters,  in  the  hope  that  they  will  finish  the  work  which  I 
have  begun." 

Miss  Susan  B.  Anthony  —  a  well-known,  indefatigable  and 
life-long  advocate  of  temperance,  anti-slavery,  and  woman's 
rights  —  has  been,  since  1850,  Mrs.  Stanton's  intimate  as- 
sociate in  reformatory  labors.  These  celebrated  women  are  of 
about  equal  ages,  but  of  the  most  opposite  characteristics,  and 
illustrate  the  theoiy  of  counterparts  in  affection  by  entertain- 
ing for  each  other  a  friendship  of  extraordinary  strength. 
Mrs.  Stanton  is  a  fine^writer,  but  poor  executant ;  Miss  Anthony 
is  no  writer  at  all,  but  a  thorough  manager.  Both  have  large 
brains  and  great  hearts;  neither  has  any  selfish  ambition 
for  celebrity ;  but  each  vies  with  the  other  in  a  noble  en- 
thusiasm for  the  cause  to  which  they  are  devoting  their  lives. 
Nevertheless,  to  describe  them  critically,  I  ought  to  say  that, 
opposites  though  they  be,  each  does  not  so  much  supplement 
the  other's  deficiencies  as  augment  the  other's  eccentricities. 
Thus,  they  often  stimulate  each  other's  aggressiveness,  and 


350  BHIlffSNT    WOMEN    OF   TH9   AGK. 

at  the  same  time  diminish  each  other's  disoreti^i.  But  what- 
ever may  be  the  imprudent  utterances  of  the  one,  or  the  im- 
politio  methods  of  the  other,  the  animating  motives  of  both, 
judged  by  the  highest  moral  standards,  are  evermore  as 
white  as  the  light.  The  good  which  they  do  is  by  design ; 
the  harm,  by  accident.  These  two  women,  sitting  together 
in  their  parlor,  have,  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  been  diligent 
forgers  of  all  manner  of  projectiles,  from  fireworks  io 
thunderbolts,  and  have  hurled  them,  with  unexpected  ex- 
plosion, into  the  midst  of  all  manner  of  educational,  reforma- 
tory, and  religious  conventions  —  sometimes  to  the  pleasant 
surprise  and  half- welcome  of  the  members ;  more  often  to  the 
bewilderment  and  prostration  of  numerous  victims ;  and,  in  a 
few  signal  instances,  to  the  gnasliing  of  angry  men's  teeth.  I 
know  of  no  two  more  pertinacious  incendiaries  in  the  whole 
countiy  I  Nor  will  they  themselves  deny  the  charge.  In 
fact,  this  noise-making  twain  are  the  two  sticks  of  a  drum  for 
keeping  up  what  Daniel  Webster  called  **the  rub-a-dub  of 
agitation." 

The  practice  of  going  before  a  legislature  to  present  fiie 
claims  of  an  unpopular  cause  has  been  more  common  in  many 
other  States  than  in  New  York ;  most  common,  perhaps,  in 
Massachusetts.  With  the  single  exception  of  Mrs.  Lucy 
Stone,  — ^  a  noble  and  gifted  woman,  to  whom  her  sisterhood 
owe  an  affectionate  gratitude,  not  merely  for  an  eloquenoe 
that  has  charmed  thousands  of  ears,  but  /or  practical  efforts 
in  abolishing  laws  oppressive  to  their  sex, —  I  believe  that 
Mrs.  Stanton  has  appeared  oftener  before  a  State  legislatare 
than  can  be  said  of  any  of  her  co-laborers.  She  has  re- 
peatedly addressed  the  Legislature  of  New  York  at  Albany, 
and,  on  these  occasions,  has  always  been  honored  by  the 
presence  of  a  brilliant  audience,  and  has  always  spoken  with 
dignity  and  ability.  Her  chief  topics  have  been  the  needful 
ohanges  in  the  laws  relating  to  intemperaace,  educatioPi 


MB9.    ELIZABETH    CADT    STANTON.  351 

divorce,  slavery,  and  suffrage.  **  Yes,  gentlemen,"  said  she, 
in  her  address  of  1854,  ^we,  the  daughters  of  the  revolu- 
tionary heroes  of  76,  demand  at  your  hands  the  redress  of 
our  grievances,  —  a  revision  of  your  State  constitution,  —  a 
new  code  of  laws.'' 

At  the  close  of  that  grand  and  glowing  argument,  a  lawyer 
who  had  listened  to  it,  and  who  knew  and  revered  Mrs. 
Stanton's  father,  shook  hands  with  the  orator  and  said, 
**  Madam,  it  was  as  fine  a  production  as  if  it  had  been  made 
and  pronounced  by  Judge  Cady  himself."  This,  to  the 
daughter*s  ears,  was  sufiiciently  high  praise. 

I  have  carefully  read  several  of  Mrs.  Stanton's  other  ad- 
dresses before  the  New  York  Legislature,  and  have  felt,  in 
reading  them,  that  so  able  a  woman  ought  long  ago  to  have 
been  eligible  to  membership  in  a  body  whom  she  thus  so 
admirably  addressed.  But  there  will  come  a  day  —  and 
Heaven  speed  it  I  —  when  a  legislature,  or  a  congress,  will 
not  be  considered  as  representing  the  whole  people  of  a  State, 
or  of  a  nation,  until  women  as  well  as  men  shall  sit  a^  its 
duly  chosen  members,  — until  women  as  well  as  men  shall  bo 
expected  to  make,  as  they  now  are  to  obey,  the  laws  of 
the  land, — :>until  women  as  well  as  men  shall  be  held  politi- 
cally responsible  for  the  moral  and  Christian  government  of 
the  republic.  **Ye  are  members  one  of  another,"  says  the 
wise  book ;  and  the  saying  is  no  more  true  of  the  family  than 
of  society,  —  no  more  true  of  the  church  than  of  the  state.  It 
has  taken  a  terrific  contest  (and  not  yet  completed)  to 
achieve  the  political  rights  of  American  citizens  without 
distinction  of  color.  But  from  this  point  onward — without 
an  appeal  to  arms,  and  without  a  testimony  of  blood  —  a 
more  peaceful  but  not  less  victorious  struggle  is  in  due  time 
to  achieve  the  political  rights  of  American  citizens  without 
distinction  of  sex. 


352 


BMIKENT    WOMEK    07    THS   AQE. 


In  a  cabinet  of  curiosities,  I  bare  laid  away,  as  an  interesting 
^lic,  a  little  white  ballot,  two  inches  square,  and  inscribed : 


For  Bepresentative  in  Congress, 


EUZABISTH  CaDY  STAIITON. 


Mrs.  Stanton  is  the  only  woman  in  the  United  States  who, 
as  yet,  has  been  a  candidate  for  Congress.  In  conformity 
with  a  practice  prevalent  in  some  parts  of  this  country,  and 
very  prevalent  in  England,  she  nominated  herself.  The 
public  letter  in  which  she  proclaimed  herself  a  candidate  was 
as  follows : — 


**  TO  THE  ELECTORS  OF  THE  EIGHTH  CONGRESSIONAL  DISTRICT. 

*' Although,  by  the  Constitution  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
woman  is  denied  the  elective  franchise,  yet  she  is  eligible  to 
office  ;  therefore  I  present  myself  to  you  as  a  candidate  for  Rep- 
resentative to  Congress.  Belonging  to  a  disfranchised  class, 
I  have  no  political  antecedents  to  recommend  me  to  your  sup- 
port, but  my  creed  is  free  ^eech^fvee  press,  free  men,  and 
free  tmde,  — the  cardinal  points  of  Democracy.  Viewing  all 
questions  from  the  stand-point  of  principle  rather  than  expe- 
diency, there  is  a  fixed  uniform  law,  as  yet  unrecognized  by 
either  of  the  leading  parties,  governing  alike  the  social  aud 
political  life  of  men  and  nations.  The  Republican  party  has  oc- 
casionally a  clear  vision  of  personal  rights,  though  in  its  pro- 
tective policy  it  seems  wholly  blind  to  the  rights  of  property 
and  interests  of  commerce.  While  it  recognizes  the  duty  of 
benevolence  between  man  and  man,  it  teaches  the  narrowest 
selfishness  in  trade  between  nations.  The  Democrats,  on  the 
contrary,  whUe  holding  sound  and  liberal  principles  in  trade 


MBS.    ELIZABETH    CADY    STANTOK.         353 

and  commerce,  have  ever  in  their  political  affiliations  main* 
tained  the  idea  of  class  and  caste  among  men,  —  an  idea 
wholly  at  variance  with  the  genius  of  our  free  institutions  and 
fatal  to  a  high  civilization.  One  party  fails  at  one  point  and 
one  at  another.  In  asking  your  suffrages— believing  alike 
in  free  men  and  free  trade — I  could  not  represent  either 
party  as  now  constituted. 

^Nevertheless,  as  an  Independent  Candidate,  I  desire  an 
election  at  this  time,  as  a  rebuke  to  the  dominant  party  for 
its  retrogressive  legislation  in  so  amending  the  Constitution 
as  to  make  invidious  distinctions  on  the  ground  of  sex. 

''That  instrument  recognizes  as  persons  all  citizens  who 
obey  the  laws  and  support  the  State,  and  if  the  Constitutions 
of  the  several  States  were  brought  into  harmony  with  the 
broad  principles  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  the  women  of 
the  nation  would  no  longer  be  taxed  without  representation, 
or  governed  without  tiieir  consent.  One  word  should  not  be 
added  to  that  great  charter  of  rights  to  the  insult  or  injury  of 
the  humblest  of  our  citizens.  I  would  gladly  have  a  voice 
and  vote  in  the  Fortieth  Congress  to  demand  universal  suf- 
frage^  that  thus  a  republican  form  of  government  might  be 
secured  to  every  State  in  the  Union. 

"Kthe  party  now  in  the  ascendency  makes  its  demand  for 
•negro  suffrage '  in  good  faith,  on  the  ground  of  natural  right, 
and  because  the  highest  good  of  the  State  demands  that  the 
republican  idea  be  vindicated,  on  no  principle  of  justice  or 
safety  can  the  women  of  the  nation  be  ignored. 

"  In  view  of  the  fact  that  the  Freedmen  of  the  South  and 
the  millions  of  foreigners  now  crowding  our  Western  shores, 
most  of  whom  represent  neither  property,  education,  nor  civ- 
ilization, are  all,  in  the  progress  of  events,  to  be  enfranchised, 
the  best  interests  of  the  nation  demand  that  we  outweigh  this 
incoming  pauperism,  ignorance,  and  degradation,  with  the 
wealth,  education,  and  refinement  of  the  women  of  the  re- 

88 


354  EMINENT    WOMEN    OE    THE    AGE. 

public.     Ou  the  high  ground  of  safety  to  the  nation  and  ju8« 
tice  to  its  citizens,  I  ask  your  support  in  the  coming  election. 

**  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton. 

"New  York,  October  10, 1866." 

The  ''New  York  Herald"  —  though,  of  course,  with  no 
sincerity,  since  that  journal  is  never  sincere  in  anything-^ 
warmly  advocated  Mrs.  Stanton's  election.  ''A  lady  of  fine 
presence  and  accomplishments  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives," it  said  (and  said  truly),  ''wo^Id  wield  a  wholesome 
influence  over  the  rough  and  disorderly  elements  of  that 
body."  The  "Anti-slavery  Standard,"  with  genuine  com- 
mendation, said,  ^  The  electors  of  the  Eighth  District  would 
honor  themselves  and  do  well  by  the  country  in  giving  her  a 
triumphant  election."  The  other  candidates  in  the  same  dis- 
trict were  Mr.  James  Brooks,  Democrat,  and  Mr.  LcGrand 
B.  Cannon,  Republican.  The  result  of  the  election  was  as 
follows :  Mr.  Brooks  received  thirteen  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  sixteen  votes,  Mr.  Cannon  eight  thousand  two  hundred 
and  ten,  and  Mrs.  Stanton  tweniy-four.  It  will  be  seen  that 
the  number  of  sensible  people  in  the  district  was  limited !  The 
excellent  lady,  in  looking  back  upon  her  successful  dt^feat, 
regrets  only  that  she  did  not,  before  it  became  too  late,  pro- 
cure the  photographs  of  her  two  dozen  unknown  friends. 

In  the  summer  of  1867,  the  people  of  Kansas  were  to  debate, 
and  in  the  autumn  to  decide,  the  most  novel,  noble,  and  beau- 
tiful question  ever  put  to  a  popular  vote  in  the  United  Stjxtes, — 
the  question  of  adopting  a  new  Constitution  whose  peculiarity 
was  that  it  extended  the  elective  franchise  not  merely  to 
*  white  male  citizens,"  but  to  those  of  what  Frederick  D0U5:- 
lass  calls  "  the  less  fashionable  color,"  and  to  those  also  of 
what  Horace  Greeley  calls  "the  less  muscular  sex."  Mrs. 
Lucy  Stone  and  Miss  Olympia  Brown — helped  by  other 
ladies  less  fiimous,  and  by  several  earnest  men,  including  the 
Hon.  Samuel  C«  Pomeroy,  Senator  of  the  United  States  r— 


MRS.    ELIZABETH    CADY    STANTON.         355 

made  public  speeches  at  prominent  places  in  tUat  State,  urg* 
ing  the  people  to  give  the  new  idea  a  hospitable  welcome  at 
the  polls.  This  canvass  was  as  chivalrous  as  a  tournament, 
and  abounded,  from  beginning  to  end,  with  romantic  inci- 
dents. To  hear  from  the  lips  of  Mrs.  Stone  (in  that  delight- 
ful eloquence  of  conversation  which  she  has  never  surpassed 
on  the  platform),  a  recital  of  the  most  serious  or  the  most 
comical  of  these,  is  as  pleasant  an  entertainment  as  a  supper- 
table  chat  can  well  afford.  Toward  the  close  of  that  memo- 
rable campaign,  Mrs.  Stanton  and  Miss  Anthony,  like  a 
reserved  force,  joined  themselves  to  the  general  battle. 
Accidentally  associated  with  them  (first  with  Misa  Anthony  and 
afterwards  with  Mrs.  Stanton)  was  Mr.  George  Francis  Train, 
—  soldier  of  fortune,  hero  of  Feniauism,  martyr  to  creditors, 
guest  of  jails,  and  candidate  for  the  presidency.  The  **  Trib- 
une" has  admiringly  called  Mr.  Train  "a  charlatan  and 
blatherskite.'*  Ampler  justice  compels  me  to  add  that  he  is, 
nevertheless,  of  all  mountebanks  the  most  amiable,  and  of  all 
clowns  the  most  innocent.  These  women  of  substance  and 
this  man  of  froth  formed  in  Kansas  a  coalition  which  pro- 
voked their  opponents  to  smiles,  and  their  friends  to  regrets. 
Anxious  watchers  of  the  progress  of  the  good  cause  were  ap- 
prehensive that  the  flightiness  of  Mr.  Train's  speeches  would 
bring  the  new  question  into  disrepute.  But  the  history  of 
reforms  in  all  countries,  and  especially  in  this,  has  shown 
that  neither  the  wildest  friends  nor  the  fiercest  enemies  of  a 
great  idea  can  any  more  trample  it  under  their  feet  than  if 
they  had  trodden  on  a  sunbeam.  The  result  of  the  vote  on 
the  new  Constitution  was  flattering  beyond  the  most  sanguine 
expectation.  No  wise  observer  of  the  signs  of  the  times  had 
looked  for  the  adoption  of  that  radical  instrument,  but  only 
for  a  generous  minority  in  its  support.  The  figures  stood  nine 
thousand  for,  and  nineteen  thousand  against.  I  have  never 
met  any  student  of  Ameririm  politics  who  was  not  greatly  sur 


356  EMINENT    WOMEN    01    THE    AQE 

prised  thus  to. find  that  one-third  of  the  voters  in  any  State  of 
the  Union  were  sufBciently  advanced  in  opinion  to  demand  at 
the  ballot-box  the  political  equality  of  the  sexes.  If  the  anti- 
slavery  party  in  Massachusetts,  like  the  woman's  suffrage  party 
in  Kansas,  had  received,  on  a  first  trial  at  the  polls,  one-third 
of  the  votes  cast,  the  early  abolitionists  would  have  shouted 
for  joy,  and  have  rung  their  church-bells  for  a  jubilee. 
Whether  the  vote  in  Kansas  was  increased  or  diminished  by 
Mr.  Train's  harangues,  I  am  unable  to  say.  But  it  is  proper 
to  say  that  the  anti-slavery  movement,  gathering,  as  it  did,  to 
its  annual  platforms,  many  of  the  greatest  as  well  as  some  of  the 
shallowest  of  ^uman  brains ;  and  the  woman's  suffrage  move- 
ment, constantly  repeating,  as  it  doea^  these  same  phenomena, 
thereby  furnish  to  the  world  a  magnificent  proof  of  the  uni- 
versality of  those  great  ideas  which  thus  make  known  their 
power  upon  all  classes  of  human  beings,  great  and  small,  wise 
and  simple,  sane  and  crazy.  God  has  ordained  that  the  noble 
army  of  reformers,  while  marshalled  by  the  choicest  spirits 
of  the  age,  should  give  honorable  rank  also  to  Tag,  Eag,  and 
Bobtail.  I  can  see  no  reason  why  the  gifted  and  anointed 
leaders  of  great  movements  should  decline  to  make  common 
cause  with  any  and  all  who  are  willing  to  work  for  the  com- 
mon end. 

After  the  election  in  Kansas »  Mrs.  Stanton,  Miss  Anthony, 
and  Mr.  Train  made  a  slow  progress  eastward,  stopping  at 
the  chief  cities  on  their  way,  and  addressing  public  meetings 
on  woman's  rights.  These  meetings  provoked  merited  criti- 
cism on  account  of  the  performances  of  Mr.  Train,  who 
amused  his  audiences  with  the  capers  of  a  harlequin.  The 
previous  substantial  reputation  of  the  two  ladies,  as  earnest 
reformers,  was,  on  this  account,  greatly  shaken.  And  yet 
their  own  speeches,  on  all  these  occasions,  were  grave,  ear* 
nest,  and  impressive,  —  always  worthy  of  their  authors  and 
of  the  cause.    It  was,  therefore,  supposed  that  the  grotesque 


MES.    ELIZABETH    CADY    STANTON.         357 

• 

partnership  would  be  only  temporary,  but  it  proved  to  be 
permanent.  By  the  time  the  three  travellers  had  reached 
New  York,  they  had  projected  a  weekly  journal,  which  made 
its  appearance  at  the  beginning  of  1868,  under  the  topsy* 
turvying  title  of  **  The  Revolution ;  ^  edited  by  Elizabeth 
Cady  Stanton  and  Parker  Pillsbury,  and  published  by  Susan 
B.  Anthony.  Like  Jupiter  Tonans  in  the  rainy  season,  this 
sheet  always  thunders.  It  is  the  stormiest  of  journals.  Its 
pages,  as  one  turns  them  over,  seem  to  crinkle,  flutter,  and 
snap  with  electric  heats.  Examine  almost  any  number  of 
^The  Bevolution,"  and  it  will  be  found  the  strangest  mixture 
of  sense  and  nonsense  known  anywhere  in  American  journal- 
ism, —  a  rag-bag  of  the  most  incongruous  topics.  The  arti-  * 
cles  signed  **  E.  C.  S."  and  "  P.  P.''  are  full  of  force  and 
fire,  —  seldom  commonplace  or  tame.  Mr.  Pillsbury  has  a 
gorgeous  and  sombre  imagination,  which,  when  it  plays  about 
any  subject  that  can  bear  its  strong  colors,  makes  some  of 
his  best  essays  truly  magnificent.  Mrs.  Stanton,  who  is 
always  in  high  animal  spirits,  and  who,  like  a  ripe  grape, 
carries  a  whole  summer's  sunshine  in  her  blood,  fills  her 
most  serious  articles  with  fun,  frolic,  and  satire,  and,  even  in 
her  most  humorous  escapades,  shows  a  rare  vein  of  tender- 
ness, pathos,  and  eloquence.  She  so  abounds  in  metaphors 
and  pithy  phrases  that  a  characteristic  article  from  her  pen 
is  like  a  Chinese  jar  of  chow-chow,  —  filled  with  little  lumps 
of  citron,  apricot,  and  ginger,  all  swimming  in  a  sweet  and 
biting  syrup.  The  political  disquisitions  of  this  co-working 
yet  non-assimilating  pair  are  sometimes  grand  and  just, 
sometimes  visionary  and  absurd,  and  sometimes  outrageous 
and  wicked.  Mr.  Train  and  his  money-writers  dance  up  and 
down  through  one-third  of  each  week's  space  in  the  paper, 
and  hold  a  high  carnival  of  balderdash.  One  particular  con- 
tribution, kept  up  every  week,  is  made  so  to  coruscate  with 
outlandish  notions,  comments,  and  criticisms,  that  it  remiudsi 


358  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

one  of  an  old  barn-door  in  a  dark  night,  scrawled  over,  in 
phosphorusy  with  **gorgous,  hydras,  and  chimeras  dire.** 
But  in  speaking  thus  freely  of  this  conglomerate  sheet,  —  a 
journal,  which,  on  its  present  plan,  can  never  take  a  respect- 
able rank  among  the  influential  presses  of  the  country,  —  I 
must  honorably  say,  on  the  other  band,  that  some  of  the 
noblest  thoughts  and  utterances  pertinent  to  this  day  and 
generation,  —  ringing  words  for  liberty,  justice,  and  woman- 
hood,—  glowing  rebukes  of  false  customs,  social  tyrannies, 
and  degrading  conventionalities, — eloquent  appeals  for  a  more 
liberal  civil  polity,  and  a  more  equitable  social  order,  —  fervid 
aspirations  toward  whatever  dignifies  human  nature  and 
purifies  the  immortal  soul, — these,  too,  ^thoughts  that 
breathe  and  words  that  burn," — are  spread  week  by  week  upon 
the  pages  of  "  The  Revolution,"  and  from  no  brain  ofbeuer  than 
from  the  fiery,  wayward,  scornful,  sympathetic,  and  Christiaa 
soul  of  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton. 

I  may  now  paint  her  features,  and  sum  up  her  character. 

Mrs.  Stanton'^  face  is  thought  to  resemble  Martha  Wash- 
ington's, but  is  less  regular  and  more  animated;  her  hair  — 
early  gray,  and  now  frosty  white — falls  about  her  head  in 
thick  clusters  of  curls ;  her  eyes  twinkle  with  amiable  mis- 
chief; her  voice,  though  hardly  musical,  is  mellow  and 
agreeable ;  her  figure  is  of  the  middle  height,  and  just  stout 
enough  to  suggest  a  preference  for  short  walks  rather  than 
for  long.  In  reality,  however,  she  can  walk  like  an  English- 
woman, — though,  if,  during  a  stroll  in  the  street,  some  jest  sets 
her  to  laughing,  she  is  forced  to  halt,  cover  her  countenance 
with  her  veil,  and  shake  contagiously  till  the  spasm  be  past. 
The  costume  that  most  becomes  her  (and  in  which  her  his- 
toric portrait  ought  to  bo  garmented)  is  a  blue  silk  dress  and 
a  red  India  shawl,  —  an  array,  which,  topped  with  her  mag- 
nificent white  hair,  makes  her  a  patriotic  embodiment  of  **  red, 
white,  and  blue." 


MRS.  ELIZABETH  CABY  8TAKT0N.  359 

Her  gift  of  gifts  is  conversation.  Her  throne  of  queeusbip 
is  not  the  oiBcial  chair  of  the  Woman's  Rights  Convention 
(though  she  always  presides  with  dignity  and  ease) ,  but  is 
rather  a  seat  at  the  social  board  y  where  the  company  are 
elderly  conservative  gentlemen,  who  combine  to  argue  her 
down.  I  think  she  was  never  ai^ued  down  in  her  life.  Go 
into  a  fruit-orchard,  jar  the  ripe  and  laden  trees  one  after 
another,  and  not  a  greater  shower  of  plums,  cherries,  and 
pomegranates  will  fall  about  your  head,  than  the  witticisms, 
anecdotes,  and  repartees  which  this  bounteous  woman  sheds 
down  in  her  table-talk.  House-keeping  and  babies,  free  trade 
and  temperance,  woman's  suffrage  and  the  ^  white  male  citi- 
Een,  " — these  are  her  favorite  themes.  Many  a  person,  on 
spending  a  delightful  evening  in  her  societj^  has  gone  away, 
saying,  "  Well,  that  is  Madam  de  Stael  alive  again." 

Never  a  human  being  had  a  kindlier  nature  than  Mrs.  Stan- 
ton's. Pity  is  her  chief  vice ;  charity,  her  besetting  sin.  She 
has  not  the  heart  to  see  a  chicken  killed,  or  a  child  punished. 
If  robbed  of  all  her  property,  she  could  not  endure  to  have 
sentence  passed  on  the  thief.  When  a  wretch  does  wrong, 
she  is  apt  to  think  his  act  not  so  much  his  own  fault,  as  the 
fault  of  the  law  under  which  he  lives.  A  judge  punishes  the 
offender,  and  lets  the  law  go  uncondemned ;  but  this  judge 
of  judges  lets  the  offender  go  free,  and  condemns  the  law  in- 
stead. On  the  one  hand,  her  sense  of  justice  is  so  sensitive, 
and,  on  the  other,  her  tender-heartedness  is  so  excessive,  that 
she  compounds  for  pardoning  the  criminal  by  attacking  all 
those  usages  of  society  which  have  conspired  to  lure  him  to 
his  crime.  Thus,  seeing  a  man  drunken  in  the  streets,  she 
does  not  chide  the  culprit  so  much  as  she  denounces  the  sale 
of  liquor ;  seehig  a  seamstress  underpaid,  she  does  not  de- 
nounce the  meanness  of  the  employer  s©  much  as  the  narrow 
range  of  women's  employments ;  seeing  a  widow  cheated  out 
of  her  inheritance,  she  would  not  so  eagerly  seek  to  punish 


360  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

the  scoundrel  as  to  secure  woman's  suffrage  for  woman's  self 
protection. 

^  It  is  a  settled  maxim  with  me,"  she  says,  **that  the  exist- 
ing public  sentiment  on  any  subject  is  wrong."  Accordingly, 
as  against  the  customary,  stringent  laws  of  divorce,  she  holds 
to  the  doctrine  of  John  Milton;  as  against  the  prevailing 
tariffs,  she  argues  vehemently  for  free  trade ;  as  against  old-* 
fashioned  religious  opinions,  she  inclines  to  an  unchecked 
free-thinking ;  and  as  against  the  common  notion  of  what 
constitutes  woman's  sphere,  she  holds  that  woman's  sphere  is 
to  bo  widened  unto  equal  greatness  with  man's. 

If  it  be  supposed  that,  in  all  f  bis,  she  desires  to  make  woman 
less  womanly,  such  a  suppositic  n  is  unjust.  It  is  because,  under 
the  present  canons  of  society ,  woman's  nature  is  denied  its 
true  growth,  defrauded  of  its  true  liberty,  and  defeated  of  its 
true  end  and  aim,  that  Mrs.  Stanton,  being  a  woman  herself, 
so  earnestly  tries  to  take  woman's  feet  out  of  the  Chinese 
shoes  of  dwarfing  custom,  —  to  rescue  her  from  her  present 
constrained  position  in  a  restrictive  social  order,  —  to  inspire 
her  toward  a  fairer  ideal  of  womanhood,  —  to  restore  her  to  ber 
own  truer  self,  —  and  to  present  her  back  once  more  to  God. 

Mrs.  Stanton's  knowledge  of  human  nature  in  its  various 
ranges,  and  of  human  life  in  its  various  experiences,  has  been 
as  rich,  varied,  and  profound  as  often  falls  to  the  lot  of  any 
human  being.  The  sacred  lore  of  motherhood  is  to  her  a 
familiar  study.  Five  sous  and  two  daughters  sit  around  ber 
table,  all  as  proud  of  their  mother  as  if  she  were  a  queen  of 
Fairyland,  and  they  her  pages  in  waiting.  Drinking  not 
seldom  at  the  fountain  of  sorrow,  she  has  found,  in  its  bitter 
waters,  strength  for  her  soul.  Keligious  and  worshipful  by 
constitution,  she  has  cast  off  in  her  later  life  the  superstitions 
of  her  earlier,  but  h^^  never  lost  her  childhood's  faith  in  God. 
Society  being  (as  she  looks  at  it)  full  of  hollowness  and 
falsity,  she  sometimes  yearns  for  its  reformation  as  if  bel 


KKS.  ELIZABETH  CADY  STANTON.  361 

heart  would  break,  —  the  cause  of  woman's  elevation  being 
with  her  not  merely  a  passion  but  a  religion.  She  would 
willingly  give  her  body  to  be  burned,  for  the  sake  of  seeing 
her  sex  enfranchised.  But  over  all  this  aching  and  restless 
earnestness  of  her  inward  life  nature  has  kindly  drawn  a 
countenance  of  sunny  smiles,  a  perpetual  good*humor,  and  an 
irresistible  flow  of  spirits ;  so  that,  as  she  faces  the  world,  she 
is  one  of  the  most  fascinating,  exhaustless,  and  perennial  of 
companions ;  and,  as  she  turns  away  from  it,  and  faces  God 
alone,  she  offers  to  him  a  soul  whose  very  sorrows,  disap- 
pointments, and  hopes  deferred  have  long  ago  wrought  within 
her  a  solemn,  cheerful,  and  immoi-tal  peace.  Nothing  in 
her  outward  career — nothing  in  her  representative  position — 
nothing  in  her  gayety  and  wit — nothing  in  the  whole  cluster  of 
those  fine  intellectual  faculties  that  make  her  one  of  the  ablest 
women  of  our  day — nothing  in  any  part  of  her  mind,  character, 
or  life  is  so  truly  admirable  as  the  one,  central  characteristic 
quality  of  moral  energy,  which,  like  a  hidden  and  glowing 
ember,  ignites  within  her  a  fiery  indignation  against  all  forms 
of  oppression,  a  sacred  love  of  liberty  and  justice,  a  proud  rev- 
erence for  human  nature,  even  in  its  lowliest  fortunes,  and  a 
perpetual  and  defiant  appeal  from  the  falseness  of  society  to 
the  justice  of  God. 


362  ZUINXKT  WOMEN  OF  THE  AGS. 


THE  WOMAN'S  RIGHTS  MOVEMENT  AND  ITS 
CHAMPIONS  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


•^o^ 


BT  EUZABETH  CADY  STANTON. 


We  may  date  the  Woman's  Bights  cause  proper,  from 
the  division  in  the  anti-slavery  organization  in  1840 ;  though 
before  that  time,  Frances  Wright,  an  Englishwoman  of  rare 
gifts  both  as  a  vnriter  and  speaker,  had  visited  this  country, 
and  addressed  large  audiences,  demanding  at  that  early  day 
all  that  the  champions  of  woman's  rights  now  claim. 

She  was  followed  by  Ernestine  L.  Bose,  a  native  of  Poland, 
— -  a  woman  of  great  beauty,  refinement,  and  cultivation,  —  of 
generous  impulses,  liberal  views,  and  oratorical  power.  She 
came  to  this  country  in  1836,  addressed  large  audiences  in 
Charleston,  South  Carolina,  and  in  Detroit,  Michigan,  on  **The 
Science  of  Government^''  When  it  was  announced  in  those 
cities,  that  a  woman  was  to  speak  on  such  a  them*e,  men  made 
themselves  merry  at  her  presumption ;  but,  after  listeniug  to 
her  able  exposition  of  the  republican  idea,  leading  men  came 
to  her,  and,  with  marked  respect,  complimented  her  success- 
ful effort.  She  was  among  the  first  who  agitated  the  property 
rights  of  married  women  in  the  State  of  New  York.  As 
early  as  1838  she  circulated  petitions  on  that  subject,  which 
were  presented  by  Judge  Hertell  in  the  Legislature.  She 
has  been  one  of  the  leaders  in  the  Woman's  Bights  movemeut 


8ABAH    AND    ANGELINA    GRIMKE.  363 

since  that  time,  and  spoken  at  all  the  annual  conventiuns. 
The  active  part  the  women  of  this  country  had  taken  in  the 
anti-slavery  cause,  beginning  in  1830,  had  prepared  them  for 
this  new  demand. 

In  those  early  organizations  woman  had  an  equal  voice 
with  man.  She  did  more  than  sew  pincushions,  and  ask 
alms ;  she  proclaimed  the  living  truths  of  the  gospel  of  free- 
dom, in  public  assemblies,  as  well  as  at  the  hearthstone,  — to 
grave  and  reverend  seniors  in  halls  of  legislation,  as  well  as 
to  her  husband  at  home. 


SARAH   AND   ANGELINA   GRIMKE. 

In  1836  Sarah  and  Angelina  Grimk£,  daughters  of  a 
wealthy  planter  in  South  Carolina,  emancipated  their  slaves, 
and  came  North  to  lecture  on  the  evils  of  slavery.  They 
were  high-toned,  noble  women,  well  educated,  of  keen  moral 
perceptions,  and  deeply  religious  natures.  The  one  desire  in 
their  childhood  and  youth  had  been  to  escape  the  daily  tor- 
ture of  witnessing  the  cruelties  inflicted  upon  the  slave ;  to  get 
beyond  the  abominations  they  saw  no  way  to  end. 

Angelina,  the  younger  sister,  was  a  natural  orator.  Fresh 
from  the  land  of  bondage,  there  was  a  fervor  in  her  speech 
that  electrified  her  listeners,  and  drew  crowds  wherever 
she  went.  She  was  tall,  delicately  organized,  with  a  sad, 
thoughtful  face,  dark  hair  and  eyes,  with  great  depth  of 
expression.  Her  voice  was  rich,  clear,  and  strong,  and  could 
easily  fill  any  hall. 

Both  sisters  were  ready  writers,  and,  while  lecturing  through 
the  North,  wrote  for  the  press,  on  slavery  and  woman's 
rights.  Sarah  published  a  book  reviewing  the  Bible  argu- 
ments, which  the  clergy  were  then  making  in  all  our  pulpits, 
to  prove  that  the  degradation  of  the  slave  and  woman  were 


364  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

alike  iu  harmony  with  the  expressed  will  of  God.  In  May, 
1837,  a  National  Woman's  Anti-slavery  Convention  was  called 
in  New  York,  in  which  eight  States  were  represented  by 
seventy-one  delegates.  The  meetings  were  ably  sustamed 
through  two  days.  The  different  sessions  were  opened  by 
prayer  and  reading  of  the  Scriptures,  by  the  women  them- 
selves, and  a  devout,  earnest,  and  Christian  spirit  pervaded 
all  the  proceedings.  The  debates,  resolutions,  speeches,  and 
appeals  were  fully  equal  to  those  in  any  conventions  held 
by  the  men  of  that  period. 

Angelina  Grimke  was  appointed  in  this  convention  to  pi^ 
pare  au  appeal  for  the  slaves  to  the  people  of  the  free  States, 
and  a  letter  to  John  Quincy  Adams,  thanking  him  for  his 
services  in  defending  the  right  of  petition  for  women  and 
slaves,  qualified  with  the  regret  that,  by  expressing  himself 
**  adverse  to  the  abolition  of  slavery  in  the  District  of  Colum- 
bia," he  did  not  sustain  the  cause  of  freedom  and  of  God. 
What  man  has  done  as  the  result  of  war,  women  asked  to 
prevent  war  thirty  years  ago.  In  1838  she  was  married  to 
Theodore  D.  Weld,  and  settled  in  New  Jersey.  She  is  the 
mother  of  one  daughter  and  two  sons.  Among  those  who 
took  part  in  the  debates  of  that  convention,  we  find  the  names 
of  Lydia  Maria  Child,  Mary  Grew,  Henrietta  Sargent,  Sarah 
Pugh,  Abby  Kelley,  Mary  S.  Parker,  of  Boston,  who  was 
president  of  the  convention,  Anne  Weston,  Deborah  Shaw, 
Martha  Storrs,  Mrs.  A.  L.  Cox,  Rebecca  B.  Spring,  and 
Abigail  Hopper  Gibbons^  a  daughter  of  that  noble  Quaker, 
Isaac  T.  Hopper.  Though  early  married,  and  the  mother  of 
several  children,  her  life  has  been  one  of  constant  activity 
and  self-denial  for  the  public  good.  Those  who  know  her 
best  can  testify  to  her  many  acts  of  benevolence  and  mercy, 
working  alike  for  the  unhappy  slave,  the  unfortunate  of  her 
own  sex,  the  children  on  Randall's  Island,  and  the  suffering 
soldiers  iu  our  late  war. 


ABBY  KBLLMT.  — MARY  ORBW.      365 

ABBYKELLEY, 

A  young  Quakeress,  made  her  first  appearance  on  the 
anti-slavery  platform.  She  was  a  tall,  fine-looking  girl,  with 
a  large,  well-shaped  head,  regular  features,  dark  hair,  blue 
eyes,  and  a  sweet,  expressive  countenance.  She  was  a 
person  of  clear  moral  perceptions,  and  deep  feeling.  She 
spoke  extemporaneously,  always  well,  at  times  with  great 
eloquence  and  power.  As  soon  as  the  rare  gifts  as  orators, 
that  both  she  and  Angelina  Orimk6  displayed  in  the  women's 
meetings,  were  noised  abroad,  the  men,  one  by  one,  asked 
permission  to  come  into  their  meetings,  and- thus,  through  man's 
curiosity,  they  soon  found  themselves  speaking  to  promiscuous 
audiences.  For  a  period  of  thirty  years  Abby  Kelley  has 
spoken  on  the  subject  of  slavery.  She  has  travelled  up  and 
down  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  land,  —  alike  in  winter's 
cold  and  summer's  heat,  mid  scorn,  ridicule,  violence,  and 
mobs,  suffering  all  kinds  of  persecution,  —  still  speaking, 
whenever  and  wherever  she  gained  audience,  in  the  open  air,  in 
school-house,  bam,  depot,  church,  or  public  hall,  on  week- 
day, or  Sunday,  as  she  found  opportunity. 

In  1845  she  married  Stephen  S.  Foster,  and  soon  after, 
they  purchased  a  farm  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  where, 
with  an  only  daughter,  she  has  lived  several  years  in  retire- 
ment. Having  lost  her  voice  by  constant  and  severe  use,  she 
gave  up  lecturing  while  still  in  her  prime. 

MARY   GREW, 

The  daughter  of  Rev.  Henry  Grew,  of  Philadelphia,  has 
been  for  thirty  years  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  faithful 
workers  both  in  the  anti-slavery  and  woman's  rights  cause. 
She  is  a  cousin  of  Wendell  Phillips.  Being  a  woman  of 
sound  judgment,  and  great  general  information,  she  has  been 


366  SMIKENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGS. 

one  of  his  most  reliable  friends  and  counsellors,  in  planning 
and  executing  his  lifelong   work.     She  is  one  of  the  most 
terse  and  finished  writers  of  the  age.     Her  anti-slavery  re- 
ports made  out  annually,  and  published  in  **The  Anti-slaveiy 
Standard,"  are  concise  and  comprehensive  statements  of  facts 
and  principles  governing  them.     She  is  a  woman  of  vigoroun 
thought,  and  high  moral  principle.     Grentle,  refined,  unob- 
trusive in  manner,  she  is  still  a  woman  of  great  independence, 
and  self-reliance  of  character.     Being  one  of  the  delegates  to 
the  World's  Antinslavery  Convention,  I  met  her  for  the  first 
time  in  London  in  1840.     I  remember  how  charmed  I  was  to 
hear  her  laud  our  republican  institutions,  in  the  presence  of 
boasting  Englishmen,  and,  in  her  keen,  sarcastic  way,  express 
the  utmost  contempt  for  the  sham  and  tinsel,  the  pomp  and 
ceremony  of  the  Old  World.     I  was  especially  pleased  with  a 
little  incident  that  occurred  one  day,  at  a  large  dinner  p^rtj, 
at  Samuel  Gurney's,  —  a  wealthy  banker  who  had  a  beautifal 
country-seat  near  London.    Lord  Morpeth  and  the  Duchess  of 
Sutherland  had  been  invited  to  meet  a  party  of  Americans  there, 
as  they  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  American  abolitionists. 
As  it  was  a  warm,  pleasant  afternoon  in  June,  we  wont  out  oa 
the  smooth  green  lawn,  under  the  shade  of  some  majestic  old 
trees,   to    hear    Lord    Morpeth    read  the    reports    to  the 
British  government  from  Jamaica.     Most  of  us  had  beea 
formally  presented  to  the  Lord  and  Lady,  but  Mr.  Grew,  hav- 
ing come  late,  had  not  yet  had  the  honor  of  an  introduction. 
Having  formed  ourselves  into  a  semicircle  round  his  lordship 
during  the  reading,  at  the  close  Miss  Grew  took  her  fatiier's 
arm,  and,  in  a  cool,  self-possessed  manner,  walked  across  the 
intervening  space,  and  introduced  her  father  to  the  Duchess 
of  Sutherland,  then  mistress   of  the  robes >  with  the  safflfl 
air  as  she  would  have  presented  two  plain  republicans  in  her 
own  country.     Standing  near  the  daughter  of  Sir  Fo^ell 
Buxton,  she  said  to  me,  "  What  are  you  American  girls  w^^ 


MABT    GREW.  367 

of  ?  Not  a  girl  in  all  England  would  have  presumed  to  intro- 
duce a  commoner,  to  one  of  such  rank  as  her  Grace."  "Ah  I 
madam,"  I  replied,  **  you  forget  that  in  our  country  we  are  all 
of  noble  blood,  all  heirs  apparent  to  the  throne." 

The  women  who  devoted  themselves  to  the  anti-slavery 
cause  in  the  early  days,  endured  the  double  odium  of  being 
abolitionists,  and  ^  women  out  of  their  sphere ; "  hence  the 
men  who  were  engaged  in  the  same  cause  little  knew  all  the 
peculiar  aggravations  and  trials  of  their  position.  The  ad- 
miration such  women  as  Angeline  Orimk6,  Abby  Kelley,  and 
Lucretia  Mott,  commanded  by  their  presence  and  eloquence, 
was  well  tempered  by  ridicule  and  denunciation.  The  press 
and  the  pulpit  exhausted  the  English  language  to  find  adjec- 
tives to  express  their  detestation  of  so  horrible  a  revelation 
as  "a  woman  out  of  her  sphere."  A  clerical  appeal  was  is- 
sued and  sent  to  all  the  clergymen  in  New  England,  calling 
on  them  to  denounce  in  their  pulpits  this  unwomanly  and  un- 
christian proceeding.  Sermons  were  preached  portraying  in 
the  darkest  colors  the  fearful  results  to  the  church,  the 
State,  and  the  home,  in  thus  encouraging  women  to  enter 
public  life.  It  was  the  opposition  of  the  clergy  to  woman's 
speaking  and  voting  in  their  meetings,  that  occasioned  the 
first  division  in  "The  American  Anti-slavery  Society." 

The  reports  of  the  meeting  held  in  New  York,  May,  1840, 
are  worthy  the  perusal  of  every  philosophical  thinker,  to  see 
how  ridiculously  even  good  common-sense  men  can  talk  and 
act  when  moved  by  prejudice  rather  than  principle. 

The  question  under  debate  on  that  occasion  was,  whether 
woman  should  speak  and  vote  in  all  business  matters  in  their 
meetings.  Men  opposed  to  this  went  through  the  audience 
urging  every  looman  who  agreed  with  (hem  to  vote  against  it, 
thus  calling  on  them  to  do  then  and  there  what,  with  (eivid 
eloquence,  on  that  very  occasion,  they  had  declared  a  sin 
tgainst  nature  and  Scripture  for  them  to  do  anywhere.     It 


863  EMIKENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

was  a  stormy  meeting  held  that  day  by  the  friends  of  the 
slave,  and,  though  he  still  groaned  in  bondage,  it  was  urged 
by  many  that  woman's  voice  should  not  be  heard  in  his  be- 
half. Whilst  with  one  hand  they  strove  to  loose  the  chains 
that  clanked  on  the  rice  plantations  in  Georgia,  with  the  other 
they  tried  to  force  woman  back  into  the  narrow  niche  where 
barbarism  had  found  her.  So  partially  does  truth  illumine 
some  minds  that  even  the  colored  man  was  found  voting  to 
exclude  woman  from  an  anti-slavery  organization.  History, 
however,  records  that  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  ever  sound  on 
questions  of  human  rights,  carried  the  resolution  by  one  hun- 
dred majority  in  favor  of  woman's  right  to  speak  and  vote  in 
their  meetings.  At  this  crisis  a  World's  Anti-slavery  Conven- 
tion was  called  to  meet  in  London.  Several  American  orsrani- 
zations  saw  fit  to  send  women  as  delegates  to  represent  them 
in  that  august  assembly.  But,  after  going  three  thousand 
miles  to  attend  a  World's  Convention,  it  was  discovered  that 
woman  formed  no  part  of  the  constituent  elements  of  the 
moral  world. 

In  summoning  the  friends  of  the  slave  from  all  parts  of  the 
two  hemispheres,  to  meet  in  London,  John  Bull  never  dreamed 
that  woman,  too,  would  answer  to  his  call,  though  the  idea  of 
immediate  emancipation  was  first  published  by  Elizabeth  Her- 
rick,  an  English  woman,  in  a  well-reasoned  pamphlet  in  1824. 

Accordingly,  on  the  opening  of  the  convention  in  London, 
June  12th,  1840,  the  delegates  from  the  Massachusetts  and 
Pennsylvania  societies  were  denied  their  seats.  The  delega- 
tion consisted  of  Lucretia  Mott,  Mary  Grew,  Abby  Kimber, 
Elizabeth  Neale,  Sarah  Pugh,  from  Peunsylvania ;  Emily 
Winslow,  Abby  Southwick,  and  Anne  Greene  Phillips,  from 
Massachusetts.  This  sacrifice  of  human  rights,  by  men  who 
bad  assembled  from  all  quarters  of  the  globe  to  proclaim 
universal  emancipation,  was  offered  up  in  the  presence  of 
such  women  as  Lady  Noel  Byron,  Harriet  Martineau,  Eliza- 


ANNE    GBEENE    PHILLIPS.  369 

beth  Fry,  Maiy  Howitt,  and  Anna  Jamieson.  The  delegates 
had  been  persuasively  asked  to  waive  their  claims  that  the 
harmony  of  the  convention  might  not  be  disturbed  by  a  ques- 
tion of  such  minor  importance.  But  through  then  champion, 
Wendell  Phillips  (who  was  then  a  young  man,  and  brave 
too,  I  thought,  to  advocate  so  unpopular  an  idea  almost  alone  in  ^ 
such  an  assembly) ,  they  maintained  that  as  they  had  beea 
delegated  by  large  and  influential  organizations,  they  must, 
press  their  claims  and  thus  discharge  their  duty,  not  only  to 
those  whom  they  represented,  but  to  the  speechless  victims 
of  American  slavery.  Thus  the  debate  on  this  question  was 
forced  upon  them,  and  many  distinguished  gentlemen  of 
France,  England,  and  America  took  part  in  the  discussion,, 
which  lasted  through  one  entire  day. 


ANNE   GREENE   PHILLIPS. 

As  we  stood  in  the  vestibule  of  Freemason's  Hall  that, 
morning,  talking  over  the  coming  event,  I  saw  the  wife  of 
Wendell  Phillips  for  the  first  time.  Her  earnest,  impressive 
manner  arrested  my  attention  at  once.  She  had  just  returned, 
from  her  bridal  tour  on  the  continent,  and  was  in  the  zenith 
of  her  beauty.  She  had  a  profusion  of  dark-brown  hair, 
large,  loving  blue  eyes,  and  regular  features.  She  was  tall, 
graceful,  and  talked  with  great  fluency  and  force.  Her  whole 
soul  seemed  to  be  in  the  pending  issue.  As  we  were  about 
to  enter  the  convention  she  laid  her  hand  most  emphatically 
on  her  husband's  shoulderand  said,  **  Now,  Wendell,  don't  be 
simmy-sammy  to-day,  but  brave  as  a  lion  ;"  and  he  obeyed  the 
injunction.  Most  of  the  speeches  that  day  wore  narrow  and 
bigoted,  setting  forth  men's  prejudices  without  touching  the 
principle  under  consideration,  and,  when  the  vote  was  taken,, 
among  the  few  who  stood  by  principle,  were  Daniel  O'Con- 

24 


370  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

nell,  Dr.  Bowring,  Henry  B.  Stanton,  Geoi^e  Tbompsou, 
and  Wendell  Phillips.    William  Lloyd  Garrison  did*  not  reach 
England  until  the  third  day  of  the  convention,  having  been 
unfortunately  becalmed  at  sea.     When  he  learned  that  Mas- 
sachusetts women  had  been  denied  their  rights  in  the  conven- 
tion he  declined  to  take  his  seat  as  a  member  of  that  body. 
His  anti-slavery  principles  being  too  broad  to  restrict  human 
rights  to  color  or  sex,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  gallery,  and, 
through  all  those  days  looked  down  on  the   convention. 
Thomas  Clarkson  was  chosen  president,  but  be  being  too  old 
and  feeble  to  endure  the  fatigue,  Joseph  Sturge,  the  cele- 
brated Quaker  merchant,  presided  over  the  deliberations. 
Sitting  near  Mrs.  Mott  in  the  convention,  I  mischievously 
suggested  to  her  one  day  a  dangerous  contingency.     ^  With  a 
Quaker  in  the  chair,"  said  I,  ^  suppose,  in  spite  of  the  vote  of 
excommunication,  the  spirit  should  move  you  to  speak,  what 
could  the  chairman  do,  and  which  would  you  obey,  —  the  spir- 
it, or  the  convention?  •*    She  promptly  replied,  **  Where  the 
spirit  of  God  is,  there  is  liberty."    The  general  indignation 
felt  by  the  advanced  minds  among  the  women  of  England, 
France,  and  America,  and  the  puerile  tone  of  the  debates  on 
this  question,  gave  birth  to  what  is  called  the  Woman's  Righto 
movement  on  both  continents.     The  women  of  England  soon 
after  established  a  Woman's  Rights  journal,  and  petitioned 
Parliament  for  their  rights  of  propeity •     Their  demands  were 
ably  maintained  by  Lord  Brougham  in  the  House  of  Peers. 
The  French  women,  too,  soon  after  established  a  journal,  so 
liberal  and  republican  in  its  sentiments,  that  they  were  com- 
pelled to  publish  it  in  Italy,  though  it  was  clandestinely  cir- 
culated in  France.    At  the  same  time  Frederika  Bremer,  ia 
her  popular  novels,  was  ridiculing  the  creeds  and  codes  and 
customs  of  her  country,  and  thus  undermining  the  laws  of 
Sweden  in  regard  to  women,  which,  in  many  particulars,  wen 
Boon  after  essentially  modilSed . 


.1 


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LTJCBBTIA    MOTT.  371 


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LTJCBBTIA   MOTT.  371 


LUCRETIA   MOTT. 

It  was  in  Loadon  that  I  first  met  Lucretia  Mott.  We 
chanced  to  stop  at  the  same  house,  with  a  party  of  Amer- 
icans, who  had  come  to  attend  the  **  World's  Convention. ** 
Seated  by  her  at  the  dinner-table  I  was  soon  oblivious  to 
everything  but  the  lovely  Quakeress,  though  a  bride,  with 
my  husband  by  my  side.  She  was  then  in  her  prime,  small 
in  stature,  slightly  built,  with  a  large  head,  high,  square  fore- 
head, remarkably  fine  face,  regular  features,  dark  hair  and 
eyes.  She  was  gentle  and  refined  in  her  manners,  and  con- 
versed with  earnestness  and  e<ise.  There  were  several  cler- 
gymen at  the  table  that  day,  who,  in  the  course  of  conversa- 
tion, rallied  Mrs.  Mott  on  her  views  of  woman.  She  calmly 
parried  all  their  attacks,  —  now  by  her  quiet  humor  turning  the 
laugh  on  them,  and  then  by  her  earnestness  and  dignity  silenc- 
ing their  ridicule  and  sneers.  Though  a  stranger,  I  could  not 
resist  saying  all  the  good  things  I  thought  on  her  side  of  the 
question,  and  I  shall  never  •forget  the  look  of  recognition  she 
gave  me  when  she  saw  that  I  already  comprehended  the  prob- 
lem of  woman's  rights  and  wrongs.  She  was  the  first  liberal- 
minded  woman  I  had  ever  met,  and  nothing  in  all  Europe 
interested  me  as  she  did.  We  were  soon  fast  friends,  and 
were  often  rallied  on  our  seeming  devotion  to  each  other.  I 
was  never  weary  listening  to  her  conversation.  On  one 
occasion,  with  a  large  party,  we  visited  the  British  Museum, 
where  it  is  supposed  all  people  go  to  see  the  wonders  of  the 
world.  On  entering,  Mrs.  Mott  and  myself  sat  down  near  the 
door  to  rest  for  a  few  moments,  telling  the  party  to  go  on, 
that  we  would  follow.  They  accordingly  explored  all  the 
departments  of  curiosities,  supposing  we  were  slowly  follow- 
ing at  a  distance ;  but  when  they  returned  to  the  entrance, 
after  an  absence  of  three  hours,  there  we  sat  in  the  same 


H72  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

spot,  having  seen  nothing  but  each  other,  wholly  absorbed  in 
questions  of  theology  and  social  life.  She  had  told  me  of 
the  doctrines  and  divisions  among  Quakers,  of  the  inward 
light,  of  Elias  Hicks,  of  Channing,  of  a  religion  of  life,  and 
of  Maiy  WoUstonecraft  and  her  social  theories.  I  had  been 
reading  Combe's  Constitution  of  Man,  and  Moral  Philosophy, 
and  Cbanning's  Works,  and  had  already  thought  on  all  these 
questions ;  but  I  had  never  beard  a  woman  talk  what,  as  a 
Scotch  Presbyterian,  I  had  scarcely  dared  to  think.  Gn  the 
following  Sunday  I  went  to  hear  Mi*s.  Mott  preach  in  a 
Unitarian  church.  Though  I  had  never  heard  a  woman  speak, 
yet  I  had  long  believed  she  had  the  right  to  do  so,  and  had 
often  expressed  the  idea  in  private  circles ;  but  when  at  last 
I  saw  a  woman  rise  up  in  the  pulpit  and  preach  as  earnestly 
and  impressively  as  Mrs.  Mott  always  does,  it  seemed  to  me 
like  the  realization  of  an  oft-repeated  happy  dream. 

The  day  we  visited  the  Zoological  Gardens,  as  we  were 
admiring  the  gorgeous  plumage  of  some  beautiful  birds,  one 
of  the  gentlemen  remarked :  — 

*'  You  see,  Mrs.  Mott,  our  Heavenly  Father  believes  in 
bright  colors.  How  much  it  would  take  from  our  pleasure 
if  all  the  birds  were  dressed  in  drab  I  " 

^  Yes,"  said  she,  •'  but  immortal  beings  do  not  depend  oa 
their  feathers  for  their  attractions.  With  the  infinite  variety 
of  the  human  face  and  form,  of  thought,  feeling,  and  affec- 
tion, we  do  not  need  gorgeous  apparel  to  distinguish  us. 
Moreover,  if  it  is  fitting  that  woman  should  dress  in  every 
color  of  the  rainbow,  why  not  man  also  ?  Clergymen  with  their 
black  clothes  and  white  cravats  are  quite  as  monotonous  as 
the  Quakers." 

Owing  to  her  liberal  views,  Mrs.  Mott  was  shunned  by  the 
Orthodox  Quakers  of  England,  though  courted  by  the  liter- 
ati and  nobility.  I  have  seen  her  by  the  side  of  the  Duch- 
ess   of   Sutherland,   conversing  on  the  political    questiooi 


LUCBETIA    MOTT.  373 

of  the  time  with  a  grace  and  eloquence  that  proved  her  in 
manners  the  peer  of  the  first  woman  in  England,  though  ed- 
ucated in  Quaker  austerity,  under  our  plain  republican  insti- 
tutions. From  the  following  extracts  from  Mrs.  Mott's 
memoranda,  the  reader  will  get  an  insight  into  the  moving 
and  governing  principles  of  her  calm,  consistent,  and  beauti« 
ful  Ufe. 


EXTRACTS    FBOM    MEMORANDA,    BY    LUCRETIA    MOTT. 

*•  A  native  of  the  Island  of  Nantucket,  —  of  the  CofBns  and 
Macys  on  the  father's  side,  and  of  the  Folgers  on  the  moth- 
er's ;  through  them  related  to  Dr.  Franklin. 

•'Born  in  1793.  During  childhood  was  made  actively  use- 
ful to  my  mother,  who,  in  the  al^sence  of  my  father,  on  a 
long  voyage,  was  engaged  in  mercantile  business,  often  going 
to  Boston  and  purchasing  goods  in  exchange  for  oil  and 
candles,  the  staple  of  the  island.  The  exercise  of  women's 
talents  in  this  line,  as  well  as  the  general  care  which  de- 
volved upon  them  in  the  absence  of  their  husbands,  tended 
to  develop  their  intellectual  powers  and  strengthen  them 
mentally  and  physically. 

"  In  1804  my  father's  family  removed  to  Boston,  and  in  the 
public  and  private  schools  of  that  city  I  mingled  with  all 
classes  without  distinction.  My  parents  were  of  the  relig- 
ious society  of  Friends,  and  endeavored  to  preserve  in  their 
children  the  peculiarities  of  that  sect,  as  well  as  to  instil  its 
more  important  principles.  My  father  had  a  desire  to  make 
his  daughters  useful.  At  fourteen  years  of  age  I  was  placed 
with  a  younger  sister,  at  the  Friends'  Boarding-School,  in 
DutchessCounty ,  State  of  New  York,  and  continued  there  for 
more  than  two  years  without  returning  home.  At  fifteen, 
one  of  the  teachers  leaving  the  school,  I  was  chosen  as  an 
assistant,  in  her  place.     Pleased  with  the  promotion,  I  strove 


•\ 


374  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

hard  to  give  satisfaction,  and  was  gratified,  on  leaving  the 
school,  to  have  an  offer  of  a  situation  as  teacher,  if  I  was 
disposed  to  remain,  and  informed  that  my  services  should 
entitle  another  sister  to  her  education  without  charge.  Mj 
father  was,  at  that  time,  in  successful  business  in  BostoD ; 
but  with  his  views  of  the  importance  of  training  a  woman  to 
usefulness,  he  and  my  mother  gave  their  consent  to  another 
year  being  devoted  to  that  institution.  In  the  spring  of 
1809, 1  joined  our  family  in  Philadelphia,  after  their  removal 
there.  At  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  I  married  James 
Mott,  of  New  York,  —  an  attachment  formed  while  at  the 
boarding-school.  He  came  to  Philadelphia  and  entered  in- 
to business  with  my  father.  The  fluctuation  in  the  commer- 
cial world  for  several  years  following  our  marriage,  owing 
to  the  embargo,  and  the  war  of  1812,  the  death  of  my 
father,  and  the  support  of  a  family  of  five  children  devolving 
on  my  mother,  sun*ounded  us  with  difficulties.  We  resorted 
to  various  modes  of  obtaining  a  comfortable  living ;  at  one 
time  engaged  in  the  retail  dry  goods  business,  then  resumed 
the  charge  of  a  school,  and  for  another  year  was  engaged  in 
teaching.  These  trials,  in  early  life,  were  not  without  their 
good  effect  in  disciplining  the  mind,  and  leading  it  to  set  a 
just  estimate  on  worldly  pleasures.  I,  however,  always 
loved  the  good,  in  childhood  desired  to  do  the  right,  and 
had  no  faith  in  the  generally  received  idea  of  human  deprav- 
ity. My  sympathy  was  early  enlisted  for  the  poor  slave,  by 
the  class-books  read  in  our  schools,  and  the  pictures  of  the 
slave-ship,  as  published  by  Clarkson.  The  ministry  of 
Elias  Hicks  and  others,  on  the  subject  of  the  unrequited 
labor  of  slaves,  and  their' example  in  refusing  the  prod- 
ucts of  slave  labor,  all  had  their  effect*  in  awakening  a 
strong  feeling  in  their  behalf.  The  unequal  condition  of 
woman  in  society  also  early  impressed  my  mind.  Learning, 
while  at  school,  that  the  charge  for  the  education  of  girls  was 


XUCBETIA    MOTT.  876 

the  same  as  that  for  boys,  and  that  when  they  became  teach- 
ers, women  received  but  half  as  much  as  men  for  their  ser- 
vices, the  injustice  of  this  was  so  apparent,  that  I  early 
resolved  to  claim  for  my  sex  all  that  an  impartial  Creator 
had  bestowed.  At  twenty-five  years  of  age,  suiTounded 
with  a  little  family  and  many  cares,  I  felt  called  to  a  more 
public  life  of  devotion  to  duty,  and  engaged  in  the  ministry 
in  our  Society,  receiving  every  encouragement  from  those 
in  authority,  until  a  separation  among  us,  in  1827,  when  my 
convictions  led  me  to  adhere  to  the  sufficiency  of  the  light 
within  us,  resting  on  truth  as  authority,  rather  than  ^taking 
authority  for  truth.'  The  popular  doctrine  of  human  de- 
pravity never  commended  itself  to  ipy  reason  or  conscience. 
I  *  searched  the  Scriptures  daily,'  finding  a  construction  of 
the  text  wholly  different  from  that  which  was  pressed  upon 
our  acceptance.  The  highest  evidence  of  a  sound  faith  being 
the  practical  life  of  the  Christian,  I  have  felt  a  far  greater 
interest  in  the  moral  movements  of  our  age  than  in  any 
theological  discussion. 

**  The  temperance  refomi  early  engaged  my  attention,  and 
for  more  than  twenty  years  I  have  practised  total  abstinence 
from  all  intoxicating  drinks.  The  cause  of  peace  has  had  a 
share  of  my  efforts,  leading  to  the  ultra  non-resistance 
gi*ound,  —  that  no  Christian  can  consistently  uphold,  and 
actively  engage  in  and  support  a  government  based  on  the 
sword,  or  relying  on  that  as  an  ultimate  resort.  The 
Oppression  of  the  working-classes  by  existing  monopolies, 
and  the  lowness  of  wages,  often  engaged  my  attention ;  and 
I  have  held  many  meetings  with  them,  and  heard  their 
appeals  with  compassion,  and  a  great  desire  for  a  radical 
change  in  the  system  which  makes  the  rich  richer  and  the 
poor  poorer.  The  various  associations  and  communities 
tending  to  greater  equality  of  condition  have  had  from  me  a 
hearty  God-speed.    But  the  millions  of  down-trodden  slaves 


376  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

in  our  land  being  the  greatest  suJSerers,  the  most  oppressed 
class,  I  have  felt  bound  to  plead  their  cause ,  in  season  and 
out  of  season,  to  endeavor  to  put  my  soul  in  their  souls' 
stead,  and  to  aid,  all  in  my  power,  in  every  right  effort  for 
their  immediate  emancipation.     This  duty  was   impressed 
upon  me   at  the  time  I  consecrated  myself  to  that  gospel 
which  anoints  *to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captive,'  'to  set 
at  liberty  them  that  are  bruised/    From  that  time  the  duty 
of  abstinence  as  far  as  practicable  from  slave-grown  products 
was  so  clear,  that  I  resolved  to  make  the  effort  *  to  provide 
things  honest '  in  this  respect.     Since  then  our  family  has 
been  supplied  with  free-labor  groceries,  and,  to  some  ezteot, 
with  cotton  goods  unstained  by  slavery.     The  labors  of  the 
devoted  Benjamin  Lundy,   and   his  *  Genius   of    Universal 
Emancipation '  published  in  Baltimore,  added  to  the  untiring 
exertions  of  Clarkson,  Wilberforce,  and  others  in  England, 
including  Elizabeth  Heyrick,  whose  work  on  slavery  aroused 
them  to  a  change  in  their  mode  of  action,  and  of  William 
Lloyd  Garrison,  in  Boston,  prepared  the  way  for  a  conven- 
tion in  Philadelphia,  in   1833,  to  take  the  ground  of  imroe- 
diate,  not  gradual,  emancipation,  and  to  impress  the  duty  of 
unconditional   liberty,   without  expatriation.     In   1834  the 
Philadelphia  Female  A.  S.  Society  was  formed,  and,  being 
actively  associated  in  the  efforts  for  the  slaves'  redemption,  I 
have  travelled  thousands  of  miles  in  this  country,  holding 
meetings  in  some  of  the  slave  States,  have  been  in  the  midst 
of  mobs  and  violence,  and  have  shared  abundantly  in  th^ 
odium  attached  to  the  name  of  an  uncompromising  modem 
abolitionist,  as  well  as  partaken  richly  of  the  sweet  return 
of  peace    attendant  on  those  who  would  *undo  the  heavy 
burdens  and  let  the  oppressed  go  free,  and   break  every 
yoke.' 

*•  In  1840,  a  World's  Anti-slavery  Convention  was  called  in 
liondon.      Women  from  Boston,   New  York,   and  Phila- 


LUCRETIA    MOTT.  377 

delphia,  were  delegates  to  that  convention.  I  was  one  of  the 
number ;  but,  on  our  arrival  in  England,  our  credentials  were 
not  accepted  because  we  were  women.  We  were,  however, 
treated  with  great  courtesy  and  attention,  as  strangers,  and 
as  women,  were  admitted  to  chosen  seats  as  spectators  and 
listeners,  while  our  right  of  membership  was  denied,  —  we 
were  voted  out.  This  brought  the  Woman  question  more 
into  view,  and*  an  increase  of  interest  in  the  subject  has  been 
the  result.  In  this  work,  too,  I  have  engaged  heart  and  hand, 
as  m}''  labors,  travels,  and  public  discourses  evince.  The  mis- 
representation, ridicule,  and  abuse  heaped  upon  this,  as  well 
as  other  reforms,  do  not,  in  the  least,  deter  me  from  my 
duty.  To  those,  whose  name  is  cast  out  as  evil  for  the  truth's 
Bake,  it  is  a  small  thing  to  be  judged  of  man's  judgment. 

^  This  imperfect  sketch  may  give  some  idea  of  the  mode  of 
life  of  one  who  has  found  it  ^  good  to  be  always  zealously 
affected  in  a  good  thing.' 

^  My  life,  in  the  domestic  sphere,  has  passed  much  as  that 
of  other  wives  and  mothers  in  this  country.  I  have  had  six 
children.  Not  accustomed  to  resigning  them  to  the  care  of  a 
nurse,  I  was  much  confined  to  them  during  their  infancy 
and  childhood.  Being  fond  of  reading,  I  omitted  much  un- 
necessary stitching  and  ornamental  work,  in  the  sewing  for 
my  family,  so  that  I  might  have  more  time  for  this  indul- 
gence, and  for  the  improvement  of  the  mind.  For  novels 
and  light  reading  I  never  had  much  taste.  The  *  Ladies 
Department,'  in  the  periodicals  of  the  day,  had  no  attraction 
for  me." 

While  walking  in  the  streets  of  London,  Mrs.  Mott  and  I 
lesolved  on  a  Woman's  Convention,  as  soon  as  we  returned 
to  America.  Accordingly,  in  the  summer  of  1848,  while 
she  was  on  a  visit  to  her  sister,  Martha  Wright,  of  Auburn, 
I  proposed  to  her,  to  call  a  Woman's  Rights  Convention,  at 


378  BMINENT    WOMIN    OS*    THE    AGE. 

Seneca  Falls,  where  I  tlien  lived.     She  consented,  and  the 
call  was  immediately  issued  in  the  coanty  papers,  and  we  at 
once  prepared  resolutions,  speeches,   and  a  declaration  of 
sentiments.     After  much  consultation  over  the  declaration, 
finding  that  our  fathers  had  similar  grievances  to  our  own, 
and  the  same  number,  we  decided  to  adopt  the  immortal  dec- 
laratio.n  of  '76  as  our  model.    James  Mott  —  one  of  nature's 
noblemen,  both  in  character  and  appearance,  the  husband  of 
Lucretia — presided  at  this  first  convention.     Among  those 
who  took  part  in  the  discussions  were  Frederick  Douglass, 
Thomas  and  Mary  Ann  McClintock,  and  their  two  daughters, 
Ansel  Bascom,  Catharine  Stebbins,  Amy  Post,  and  Martha 
Wright.     It  continued  through  two  days,  was  well  attended, 
and.  extensively  reported.     The  declaration  was  published  in 
nearly  every  paper  in  the  country,  and  the  nation  was  con- 
vulsed with  laughter,  from  Maine  to  Louisiana,  though  our 
demands  for  sufirage,  the  right  to  property,  work,  and  wages 
were  the  same  that  wise  men  accept  to-day,  the  same  that 
Henry  Ward  Beecher  preaches  in  his  pulpit,  and  John  Stuart 
Mill  presses  on  the  consideration  of  the  British  Parliament. 
Martha  Wright,  the  sister  of  Lucretia,  took  an  active  part  in 
this  convention,  and  has  presided  over  nearly  every  conven- 
tion that  has  been  hold  in  later  days.     She  is  a  woman  of 
fine  presence,  much  general  information,  and  rare  common 
sense.    Though  not  a  public  speaker,  she  has  been  a  most 
efficient  worker  in  our  cause.    In  a  recent  letter  to  me, 
speaking  of  her  sister,  soon  after  the  death  of  Mr.  Mott,  she 
says,  ^^  The  striking  traits  of  Lucretia's  character  are  remark- 
able energy,  that  defies  even  time,  unswerving  conscientious- 
ness, and  all  those  characteristics  that  are  summed  up  in  the 
few  words,  love  to  man,  and  love  to  God.**    ^  Though  much 
broken  by  the  heavy  affliction,  that  has  come  to  her  so  unex- 
pectedly, for,  frail  as  she  is,  she  never  thought  she  should 
survive  her  strong  and  vigorous  husband,  she  has  borne  it 


GABOLINE    M.    SEYSBANCE.  379 

'  than  we  anticipated.'*  Our  next  convention  was  held 
^Chester,  a  few  weeks  later.  Mrs.  Amy  Post  and  Mrs. 
dl  Bush  made  the  arrangements,  and  Mrs.  Bush  presided 
3  occasion.  Mrs.  Mott  and  I  were  opposed  to  a  woman 
)sident,  ^-  this  was  a  step  we  were  not  quite  prepared  for, 
ye  a  woman  call  a  promiscuous  assembly  to  order, 
ver,  we  were  out-voted,  and  we  were  compelled  to  admit, 
)  close,  that  Mrs.  Bush  did  us  all  great  credit.  The 
Qgs  were  held  in  the  Unitarian  church,  and  created 
interest  in  the  city.  One  very  interesting  incident  oc- 
1  during  the  morning  session.  A  newly  married  couple, 
ifler  the  convention  opened,  walked  slowly  up  the  aisle 

altar,  when  the  groom  stepped  forward,  and  asked  the 
lent,  in  a  low  tone,  if  the  lady  with  him  might  have  the 
tunity  to  speak.     "  Passing  through  the  city,"  he  said, 

heard  of  the  convention,  and  having  but  an  hour  before 
g  town,  she  would  like  to  add  her  voice  in  favor  of 
n's  rights."  She  was  accordingly  introduced  at  once, 
oade  a  most  eloquent  and  finished  speech  of  twenty 
es.  Whilst  she  was  speaking,  the  groom  remained 
ng  near  the  altar,  hat  and  cane  in  hand,  reverently  gaz- 
i  his  beautiful  bride.  When  she  finished,  a  profound 
3  reigned,  and  they  disappeared  as  quietly  and  suddenly 
3y  came.  Who  they  were,  whence  they  came,  or 
jr  going,  we  never  knew. 

L850  and  1851  several  State  Conventions  were  held  in 
la  and  Ohio.  At  the  convention  held  at  Indianapolis, 
oving  spirits  were  Frances  D.  Gage,  and  Caroline  M. 
mce.     In  a  brief  sketch  of 


CAROLINE   M.    SEVERANCE 

nnot  do  better,  than  to  give  the  reader,  what,  in  her  easy, 
1  way,  she  writes  in  a  letter  to  me  of  herself.     I  wrote 


880  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF     THE    AGE. 

to  her  asking  for  facts  of  her  life,  telling  her  there  was  no 
escape,  that  nolens  volens  she  was  to  be  sketched,  and  it 
rested  with  her,  whether  it  should  be  based  wholly  on  such 
an  objective  view,  as  one  could  take  hundreds  of  miles  away, 
or  on  a  subjective  view,  such  as  I  could  get  in  being  en  rap- 
port  with  herself.  She  chose  the  latter,  as  the  least  of  two 
evils,  and  frankly  tells  me  what  she  knows  of  herself. 

*^Dear  Friend, — Isn't  this  an  interesting  dilemma  to 
find  one's  self  in?  —  to  be  exhibited  whether  we  will  or  no! 
One  who  has  arrived  at  years  of  discretion,  surely,  in  our 
free  land,  to  have  no  chance  of  a  choice,  whether  to  remain 
incog.,  or  be  set  on  high  for  all  the  daws  to  peck  at  I  *But 
to  this  it  seems  we  have  come  at  last,'  and,  in  my  extremity, 
if  I  may  choose  nothing  else,  I  surely  shall  snatch  at  the 
chance  to  say  by  whom  this  most  undesirable  service  shall 
be  performed,  and  I  gladly  submit  to,  you. 

^*  I  have  done  so  little  to  justify  my  years,  that  I  might 
shrink  from  such  a  sketch  as  you  propose,  with  better  reason 
than  could  influence  many  of  our  sex.  But  lest  you  should 
think  my  humility  affectation,  I  frankly  avow  that  I  was 
born  in  Canandaigua,  N.  Y.,  in  January,  1820,  if  you  con- 
sider date  and  birthplace  important  to  the  sketch,  of  neither 
••poor  or  pious  parents,"  although  cultivated,  conscientious 
persons.  My  father's  name  was  Orson  Seymour,  a  banker, 
my  mother's  name  was  Caroline  M.  Clark.  I  was  married 
in  1840,  at  Auburn,  New  York,  to  T.  C.  Severance,  a  banker  of 
Cleveland,  Ohio.  Neither  the  world  nor  my  historian  would 
have  any  particular  interest  in  what  I  said,  or  did,  after  tiiat 
remarkable  event  of  January  20th,  and  the  good  sense  of 
choosing  so  beautiful  a  portion  of  the  earth's  surface  for  a 
birthplace,  until  the  mother  of  five  children,  with  little 
experience  in  life,  and  less  in  society,  having  devoted  myself 
to  home  and  books,  I  was  chosen,  in  1853,  to  read  before 


CAfiOLINE    M.    8EyjfiBANC£.  381 

the  Mercantile  Library  Association,  the  first  lecture  ever 
delivered  by  a  woman,  in  Cleveland,  Ohio,  where  I  had 
resided  since  marriage.  I  had  been  already  identified  with 
the  Woman's  Rights  movement,  having  attended  conventions 
in  Indiana,  Ohio^  and  New  York;  and  this  accounts  for  my 
invitation  on  this  occasion.  I  cannot  tell  vou  how  lonsr  I 
hesitated  to  accept  this  invitation ;  the  more  \  plead  my  unfit- 
ness, the  more  I  was  pressed  with  a  sense  of  my  duty,  and  at 
last  I  wrote  the  most  exhaustive  essay  I  could  on  the  subject, 
to  make  sure,  for  once,  that  my  city  should  have  all  that  could 
be  said  on  the  subject.  An  immense  audience  listened,  through 
an  hour  and  three  quarters,  with  becoming  silence  and  respect. 
This  lecture  I  repeated  several  times,  in  different  parts  of  the 
State.  After  that,  the  Woman's  Rights  Association  asked 
me  to  prepare  a  tract  for  their  circulation.  Later  I  waa 
appointed  to  present  a  memorial  to  the  Legislature,  asking 
suffrage,  and  such  amendments  to  the  State  laws  of  Ohio  as 
should  place  woman  on  a  civil  equality  with  man.  In  1855 
we  came  to  Massachusetts,  the  home  of  my  heart  always,  and 
here  I  have  done  nothing,  deserving  the  punishment  of  public 
exposure,  that  I  now  remember  against  myself,  until,  as  one 
of  the  lecture  committee  of  the  Fraternity  Association,  it 
became  my  duty  to  assist  in  securing  lecturers  for  the  course. 

• 

We  invited  Mrs.  Stanton,  but,  she  failing  us  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, I  was  not  able  to  resist  the  entreaties  of  the  committee, 
and  the  obligation  I  felt  myself  under,  to  make  good  her 
place,  so  far  as  in  me  lay.  That  was,  I  believe,  the  first 
lecture  ever  delivered  in  Boston  before  a  Lyceum  Association 
by  a  woman.  I  will  not  tell  you  how  prosy  and  dull  I  fear 
it  was,  but  I  know  it  was  earnest,  and  well  considered,  and 
dear  Mrs.  FoUen's,  and  Miss  Peabody's  beaming  eyes,  kept 
me  in  heart  all  through,  as  they  glowed  with  interest  before 
me  from  below  the  platform  of  Tremont  Temple  Htill.  Since 
then,  from  want  of  health  and  voice,  I  have  not  spoken  much 


382  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    ACE. 

in  public,  though  I  have  given  soul  service,  in  many  direo- 
tioQS,  standing  as  corresponding  secretary  for  the  Anti-slaveij 
Society,  oae  of  the  Board  of  Managers  to  the  New  England 
Female  Medical  Oollege,  and  reading  a  course  of  private  lec- 
tures on  practical  ethics,  before  Dio  Lewis'  school  of  girls. 
These  lectures  cover  the  relations  of  the  young  woman  to  the 
school,  the  Stat%,  the  home,  and  her  own  complete  develop- 
ment. As  a  mother,  I  am  happy  to  say  that  my  sons  and 
daughters  have  never  disgraced,  and  I  see  no  reason  to  believe, 
ever  will  disgrace*  my  name,  or  bring  in  question,  my  influence 
over  them,  or  my  fidelity  to  them.  Pure  in  heart,  noble  in 
all  their  tastes  and  tendencies,  they  are  my  joy  in  the  present, 
my  hope  in  the  future,  and  my  best  legacy  to  it.  Here  you 
h^ve  me,  my  good  friend,  in  a  nutshell.  Not  muUum  tn 
parvOf  it  must  be  confessed. 

*'  Tours,  sincerely,  C.  M.  S." 

Mrs.  Severance  now  resides  in  West  Newton,  Massacha- 
setts,  where  she  is  living  a  quiet  life,  in  a  beautiful  home. 
She  is  using  her  pen  in  a  way  she  hopes  will  some  day  prove 
a  means  of  broader  influence.  In  manners  and  appearance, 
Mrs.  Severance  is  very  attractive.  She  has  a  handsome  face 
and  figure,  dignified  carriage,  and  fine  conversational  powers. 
She  is  an  amiable,  affectionate,  conscientious  woman,  faithful 
alike  in  her  private  and  public  duties, 

FRANCES  D.  GAGE. 

Bom  October  12th,  1808,  in  Marietta,  Washington  County, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Muskuigum,  Ohio.  Her  father,  Joseph 
Barker,  was  a  native  of  New  Hampshire,  and  an  early  pioneer 
to  the  western  wilds.  Through  her  mother,  Elizabeth  Dana, 
she  was  allied  to  the  distinguished  Massachusetts  families  of 
Dana  and  Bancroft.  A  log  cabin  in  the  woods,  was  the 
seminary  where  Frances  Barker  acquired  the  rudiments  of 


FBAKCES    B.    QaGB.  383 

« 

education.    And,  though  she  had  few  early  advantages,  she 
became  a  sound  thinker,  a  good  writer  of  both  prose  and 
verse,  and  one  of  the  most  ejQTective  speakers  in  the  country. 
She  was  born  with  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body.     Her 
large,  well-balanced  head,  and  strong  physical  development 
made  learning  and  hardships  alike  easy  for  her  to  surmount. 
Her  father  waa  a  farmer  and  cooper,  and  the  duties  of  a  far- 
mer's daughter,  in  a  new  country,  were  all  cheerfully  and 
easily  disposed  of  by  her.     She  assisted  her  father  in  making 
barrels,  and  I  have  heard  her  often  tell  that,  as  she  would 
roll  out  a  well-made  barrel,  her  father  would  pat  her  on  the 
head,  and  say,  **  Ah,  Fanny,  you  should  have  been  a  boy !  ** 
Fanny  had  a  kind  and  loving  nature,  and  early  felt  the  most 
intense  sympathy  for  the  fugitives  from  slaveiy.     Her  ten- 
derness and  charity  for  these  despised  people  often  subjected 
her  to  the  ridicule  of  her  young  companions.     She  became 
familiarized  with  their  sufierings  and  wants,  in  her  frequent 
visits  to  her  grandmother,  Mrs.  Maiy  Bancroft  Dana,  whose 
home  was  on  the  Ohio  River,  opposite  Blennerhasset's  Island. 
At  the  age  of  twenty-one  she  married  James  L.  Gage,  a 
lawyer  of  McConnellsville,  Ohio, —  a  man  of  great  humanity 
and  moral  integrity.     With  a  family  of  eight  children,  and 
all  the  hardships  of  that  Western  life,  Mrs.  Gage  still  found 
time,  through  all  those  years,  to  read,  and  write  for  leading 
journals,  and  often  to  speak,  too,  on  temperance,  slavery, 
and  woman's  rights.     As  she  stood  almost  alone  on  these 
questions,  she  was  often  subject  to  ridicule  and  persecution. 
Those  who  have  never  advocated  an  unpopular  idea  —  who 
havcf  not  made  principle,  rather  than  policy,  their  guiding 
star — cannot  appreciate  the  peculiar  trials  of  those  who  are 
true  in  word  and  action  to  their  enlightened  conscientious 
opinions. 

In  1851,  Mrs.  Gage  attended  a  **  Woman's  Rights  Conven- 
tion," in  Akron,  Ohio,  and  was  chosen  president  of  the 


^84  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

meeting.  Her  opening  speech,  on  that  occasion,  is  remark- 
able for  its  common  sense,  and  a  pathos  peculiarly  her  own. 
In  1853  she  moved  to  St.  Louis.  Those  who  fou<;ht  the 
anti-slavery  battle  in  Massachusetts  cannot  realize  the  danger 
of  such  a  warfare  in  a  slave-holding  State.  With  her  usual 
frank  utterances  of  opinions,  she  was  soou  branded  as  an 
abolitionist,  her  articles  excluded  from  the  journals,  and  she 
from  "  good  society,"  with  daily  threats  of  violence  to  her 
person  and  the  destruction  of  her  property.  Three  disas- 
trous fires  —  the  work  of  incendiaries,  no  doubt — greatly 
reduced  the  resources  of  the  family.  Owing  to  her  husband's 
ill  health,  and  failure  in  business,  she  took  the  post  of  assist- 
ant editor  of  an  agricultural  paper  in  Columbus,  Ohio ;  but 
as  the  breaking  out  of  the  war  soon  destroyed  the  circulatioo 
of  the  paper,  and  four  of  her  sons  had  gone  into  the  army, 
her  thoughts  turned  to  the  scenes  of  conflict  in  the  Southern 
States.  The  "suffering  freedmen"  and  the  ^'boys  in  blue" 
appealed  alike  to  her  loving  heart  for  kindness  and  help ;  and, 
without  appointment  or  salary,  she  went  to  Port  Royal  in 
1862.  She  remained  in  Beaufort,  Paris,  and  Fernandina 
thirteen  months,  ministering  alike  to  the  soldiers  and  freed- 
men,  as  opportunity  offered.  Pages  might  be  written  on  the 
heroism  of  Mrs.  Gage  and  her  daughter  Mary  during  this 
period.  Oppressed  with  the  magnitude  of  the  work  to  be  ac- 
complished there,  she  returned  North,  to  give  her  experienaes 
acqifired  among  the  freedmen,  hoping  to  rouse  others, 
younger  and  stronger  than  herself,  to  go  down  and  tench 
those  neglected  people  the  A  B  C  of  learning  and  social 
life. 

During  this  year  she  travelled  through  many  of  the  north- 
em  States,  speaking  nearly  every  evening  to  Soldiers*  Aid 
Societies.  She  worked  without  pay,  only  asking  enough  to 
defray  her  expenses.  When  the  summer  days  made  lectur- 
ing impossible,  she  went  as  an  unsalaried  agent  of  the  Sani« 


inSARCES    B.    GAGE.  385 

tary  Commission  down  the  Mississippi,  to  Memphis,  Vicks 
burg,  and  Natchez.  In  the  month  of  September  she  was 
overturned  in  a  carriage  at  ijralesburg,  Illinois,  which  crippled 
her  for  that  year.  As  soon  as  she  recovered  she  was  em- 
ployed and  well  paid  by  various  temperance  organizations 
to  lecture  for  that  cause ;  and  she  was  thus  occupied,  when 
her  plans  for  future  activity  and  usefulness  were  suddenly 
terminated  by  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  in  August,  1867.  She 
has  since  been  confined  to  her  room,  though  able  to  walk 
about,  read,  and  write.  A  visit  to  her  sick-room  is  always 
pleasant  and  profitable,  and  everything  from  her  pen  breathes 
a  sweet  spirit  of  love  to  man  and  trust  in  God.  In  appear- 
ance, Mrs.  Gage  is  large  and  vigorous,  has  a  good,  benevo- 
lent face,  easy  manners,  and  a  varied  fund  of  conversation. 
She  is  capable,  as  her  life  shows,  of  great  self-denial  and 
heroism.  She  is  an  extemporaneous  speaker, — a  talker 
rather  than  an  orator,  —  and  never  fails  to  interest  and  hold 
an  audience.  There  is  no  woman  in  the  country  who  can 
speak  so  readily,  without  preparation,  on  so  many  different 
subjects,  as  Mrs.  Gage.  She  has  taken  a  prominent  part  in 
most  of  the  National  Woman's  Bights  Conventions,  and,  but 
for  her  illness,  would  have  spoken  all  through  Kansas  in 
the  last  campaign. 

In  reply  to  my  letter,  asking  her  for  some  facts  relating 
to  our  Woman's  Bights  movement,  she  writes  me  from  her 
sick-room:  — 

««459  Sixth  Avexue,  New  York. 

''Dear  Mrs.  S., — Your  letter  is  before  me I 

have  little  to  say ;  yet  I  remember  the  first  convention.  I 
was  travelling  East,  with  my  husband,  and  was  at  Buffalo 
that  very  day,  and  longed  to  be  with  you.  The  next  con- 
ventions were  held  in  Indiana  and  in  Ohio  in  1850.  I  re- 
member, too,  emanating  from  the  Salem  Convention  was  a 

25 


386  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGS. 

memorial,  drawn  up  by  IMary  Ann  Johnson,  asking  that  the 
words  Svhite  male'  should  be  emitted  from  the  constitu- 
tion, which  was  that  year  to  be  given  to  the  State.  I  also 
drew  up  a  memorial,  asking  for  the  equal  rights  of  woman 
before  the  law,  and  that  the  words  *  white  male '  should  be 
stricken  from  the  constitution.  I  did  not  know  Mrs.  John- 
son, and  we  had  no  communication  with  each  other.  Those 
memorials  were  presented  by  the  member  from  my  district; 
the  subject  was  vehemently  discussed,  and  voted  upon.  Nine 
votes  were  given  for  striking  out  the  word  *male'  and 
eleven  for  striking  out  *  white.'  I  think  this  was  the  first 
memorial  ever  presented  in  any  State  asking  suffrage  for 
woman.  From  1849  to  1855  I  lectured  on  this  subject  in 
Ohio,  Indiana,  Illinois,  Iowa,  Missouri,  Louisiana,  Mas.<^ 
chusetts,  Pennsylvania,  and  New  York,  and  wrote  volumes 
for  the  press.  Many  of  the  most  earnest  spirits  in  Kansss 
were  from  Ohio,  Indiana,  Iowa,  and  Illinois,  and  helped  to 
form  the  public  opinion  that  gave  woman,  in  that  State,  a 
right  to  vote  on  temperance  and  education,  and  laid  the 
foundation  for  its  present  advanced  position.  Excuse  mf 
palsied  hand  and  brain.  I  am  still  very  feeble,  and  write 
with  difficulty. 

**  Yours, 

"Frances  D.  Gage." 

• 

Under  the  nomme  de  plume  of  *'  Aunt  Fanny,"  Mrs.  Gage 
has  written  many  beautiful  stories  for  children,  stanzas,  and 
sketches  of  social  life.  She  was  an  early  contributor  to  the 
■' Saturday  Visitor,"  edited  by  Jane  G.  Swisshelm,  and  has 
lately  written  for  the  New  York  "  Independent.**  A  volume 
of  poems,  and  a  temperance  tale,  '^ Elsie  Magoon,**  are  the 
last  of  her  published  works.  By  her  own  efforts,  Mrs.  Gage 
has  accumulated  enough  to  secure  to  herself  and  her  children 
a  pleasant  home  for  her  old  age. 


aBBY    HUTCHINSON.  387 

In  Aprili  1850,  a  convention  was  held  in  Salem,  Ohio. 
J.  Elizabeth  Jones,  Mary  Ann  Johnson,  and  Josephine 
Griffing  were  the  leading  spirits,  —  all  women  of  high 
moral  character  and  intellectual  cultivation.  Murj  Ann 
Johnson  had  lectured  to  lar^^e  audiences  throus:hout  the 
country  on  physiology.  Mrs.  Jones  and  Mrs.  Griffing  were 
both  able  writers  and  speakers.  These  women  circulated 
petitions  in  that  State,  and  addressed  the  Legislature  de- 
manding woman's  right  to  her  property,  wages,  children, 
and  the  elective  franchise.  In  the  reports  of  this  convention 
wo  find  mention  made  of  Maria  L.  Giddings,  daughter  of 
Joshua  R.  Giddings,  who  presented  an  able  report  on  the 
laws;  of  Sojourner  Truth,  Mrs.  Stowe's  Lybiau  Sybil,  for 
forty  years  a  slave  in  New  York,  and  of  the  Hutchinson  fam- 
ily, who  enlivened  the  occasion  with  their  songs. 

Among  the  representative  women  of  the  nineteenth  century, 

ABBY   HUTCHINSON 

deserves  a  passing  notice.  She  was  born  in  Milford,  >icw 
Hampshire,  one  of  a  large  family  of  children.  Early  in 
the  anti-slavery  cause,  she,  with  four  brothers,  be- 
gan to  sing  in  the  conventions.  In  all  those  stormy  days 
of  mob  violence  the  Hutchinson  family  was  the  one  har- 
monizing element.  Like  oil  on  the  troubled  waters,  their 
sweet  songs  would  soothe  to  silence  those  savages  whom 
neither  appeal  nor  defiance  could  awe.  Abby  made  her  first 
appearance  in  public  at  an  early  age.  Anti-slavery,  woman's 
ri'^hts,  temperance,  peace,  and  democracy  have  been  her 
themes,  —  singing  alike  in  the  Old  World  and  the  New.  To 
farmers  on  New  England's  granite  hills,  to  pioneers  on 
the  far-off  prairies,  to  merchant  princes  in  crowded  cities, 
and  to  kings,  queens,  and  nobles,  in  palaces  and  courts,  have 
those  girlish  lips  sung  the  republican  anthem,  ''AH  men  are 
created  equal."  She  was  a  girl  of  strong  character  and  a  nica 


388  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

sense  of  propriety  in  all  things.  Although  until  her  marriage 
her  life  was  wholly  a  public  one,  yet  she  never  lost  the 
modesty,  delicacy,  and  refinement  so  peculiarly  her  own. 
She  was  slightly  forn^d,  graceful,  with  a  bright,  happy  face, 
and  most  pleasing  manners.  She  had  a  fair  complexion,  dark 
eyes  and  hair,  teeth  like  rows  of  pearls,  and  in  fact  might  be 
called  beautiful.  Her  voice,  though  not  of  great  compass  and 
variety,  was  full,  rich,  deep,  and  well  modulated. 

All  admit  that  ^  the  Hutchinson  family  **  have  acted  well 
\h6ir  part  in  the  cause  of  reform,  and  a  second  generation 
is  singing  still.  When  A^by  retired  from  the  stage  her 
mantle  fell  on  her  niece  Viola,  who,  having  just  married,  will 
probably  share  the  fate  of  her  aunt,  being  according  to 
Blackstone,  wholly  absorbed  in  another,  and  we  shall  hear 
from  her  no  more. 

The  first  national  convention  was  held  in  Brinley  Hall,  Wor- 
cester, Massachusetts,  October  23d,  and  24th,  1850.  This  was 
the  first  thoroughly  organized,  and  ably  sustained  convention, 
for  which  extensive  preparations  were  made,  as  the  women 
of  the  country  had  learned  by  that  time  what  was  necessary 
to  make  a  convention  a  success.  Above  three  hundred  per- 
sons, men  and  women,  enrolled  their  names  as  members. 
Among  them  we  find  William  H.  Channlng,  E.  D.  Draper, 
Frederick  Douglass,  Thomas  Earle,  Wendell  Phillips, 
William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Parker  Pillsbury,  Charles  Bur- 
leigh, Hannah  Darlington,  Sarah  Tyndall,  Sarah  R.  May, 
S.  C.  Sargent,  C.  M.  Shaw,  Ellen  and  Marion  Blackwell, 
Mary  Adams,  and  Sojourner  Truth.  The  proceedings  of  this 
convention  were  remarkable  for  their  earnestness  and  ability. 
The  reports,  published  both  in  England  and  America,  in  all 
the  leading  journals,  first  drew  the  attention  of  Mrs.  John 
Stuart  Mill  to  this  subject,  and  prompted  her  able  article  in  the 
"  Westminster  Review  "  on  "  The  enfranchisement  of  women.?* 

Paulina  Wright  Davis  was  chosen  president  of  the  convett- 


ANTOINETTE    BBOWN.  889 

tion.  Her  openiog  adclresSy  an  hour  ia  length,  was  a  very  con 
cise,  and  able  presentation  of  the  work  to  be  done,  and  the 
manner  of  doing  it. 

In  this  convention  every  phase  of  the  question  was  dis- 
cussed,—  work,  wages,  property,  education,  and  suffrage, — 
by  the  ablest  men  and  women  in  the  country.  After  this, 
National  Women's  Kights  Conventions  were  held  annually 
in  the  different  States  of  New  York,  Pennsylvania,  Massa- 
chusetts, and  Ohio,  and  as  the  result  the  laws  in  these  States 
were  essentially  though  slowly  modified.  This  simultaneous 
movement  in  every  State,  the  unanimity  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing among  the  ablest  women  in  the  country,  the  striking 
similarity  in  the  appeals,  petitions,  resolutions,  and  speeches, 
all  prove  this  claim  for  woman  to  be  one  of  those  great  ideas 
that  mark  an  era  in  human  progress,  and  not  the  idiosyn- 
crasy of  a  few  unbalanced  minds* 

ANTOINETTE   BROWN 

"Was  bom  in  Henrietta,  Monroe  County,  New  York, 
May  20th,  1825.  At  the  age  of  nine  years  she  joined 
the  Congregational  church,  and  sometimes  spoke  and  prayed 
in  the  meetings.  In  childhood  she  often  expressed  the 
wish  that  she  might  become  a  preacher.  At  the  age  of  six- 
teen, she  taught  school  during  the  summer,  and  attended  tbo 
academy  in  Henrietta  during  the  winter.  In  1844  she  went 
to  Oberlin  performing  alone  her  first  journey  by  canal  and 
stage,  to  begin  the  experience  of  college  life.  While  there 
she  taught  several  branches  in  the  seminary,  in  order  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  her  collegiate  course.  In  1846  she  taught 
in  the  academy  in  Bochester.  There  her  first  lecture  was 
delivered,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  mcUe  teachers^ 
to  address  the  pupils  and  visitors  at  the  close  of  the  terms. 
Her  vacations  at  Oberlin  had  been  passed  in  extra  study  of 


390  EMINEK1S    WOMEN    OF    THK    AGE. 

Greek  and  Hebrew.  It  was  here  she  and  Lucy  Stone  had 
first  met,  and  formed  a  friendship  that  has  strengthened  with 
their  years.  Here  they  fought  together  the  battles  of  woman's 
rights  with  the  students  and  professors,  and  sustained  each 
other  under  all  the  peculiar  hardships  of  their  position.  As 
they  afterwards  married  brothers,  and  purchased  homes  in 
New  Jersey,  their  lives  have  moved  on  harmoniously  together. 

In  1846  she  returned  to  Oberlin  to  go  through  a  three 
years'  course  in  theology.  For  some  time  the  Bible  argu- 
ment on  the  ministrations  of  woman  had  been  with  her  a 
subject  of  serious  and  prayerful  consideration.  It  was  cus- 
tomary for  the  students  to  receive  a  license  to  preach,  and 
before  finishing  their  course  they  would  often  speak  in  the 
pulpits  of  the  neighborhood. 

When  Miss  Brown  asked  this  license,  the  professors  were 
grievously  exercised.  But  after  much  thought  and  consul- 
tation they  decided  **  that  she  was  a  resident  graduate,  pur- 
suing the  theological  course,  but  not  a  member  of  the  theo- 
logical depaiiment,  and,  consequently,  she  needed  no  license 
from  the  institution,  but  must  preach  or  be  silent  on  her 
own  responsibility.'' 

Like  General  Jackson,  she  took  the  responsibility,  and 
preached  often  in  difi*erent  parts  of  Ohio,  while  pursuing  her 
theological  course  of  studies. 

After  quitting  Oberlin  she  spent  four  years  in  private  read- 
ing and  study,  preaching  and  lecturing  on  various  reforms. 
In  1850  she  attended  the  convention  in  Worcester,  Massacba- 
setts,  and  made  a  speech  on  the  enfranchisement  of  woman. 
She  preached  whenever  and  wherever  opportunity  offered, 
without  regard  to  sect,  —  alike  in  the  church  at  Andover, 
Music  Hall,  in  Boston,  or  public  halls  in  Worcester,  Cincin- 
nati, and  New  York.  In  1853  she  was  ordained  pastor  of  a 
Congregational  church  in  South  Butler,  Wayne  County,  Xew 
York,     The  Rev.  Luther  Lee,  Wesleyan  minister  of  SjTa- 


ANTOINETTE    BROWN.  391 

ease,  preached  the  ordination  sermon.  Gerrit  Smith  and 
Samuel  J.  May  took  part  in  the  ceremonies. 

^•Then,"  says  Mrs.  Blackwell,  in  a  note  to  me  recently, 
"Dr.  Cheever  openly  branded  me  and  my  South  Butler 
Church  as  infidels ;  and  the  New  York  *  Independent '  sus- 
tained him,  and  would  only  publish  a  crumb  of  my  reply." 

We  are  happy  to  say  that  our  noble  young  friend,  Theo- 
dore Tilton,  was  not  then  editor  of  that  journal. 

Miss  Brown  remained  in  South  Butler  but  one  year,  owing 
to  ill  health  from  excessive  labor,  and  painful  doubts  con- 
cerning theological  doctrines.  As  soon  as  she  was  re-estab- 
lished in  health  of  body  and  mind  she  lectured  on  reformatory 
subjects  in  Cincinnati  and  elsewhere,  and  investigated  the 
diaracter  and  causes  of  vice  in  New  York,  with  especial  refer- 
ence to  its  bearing  on  woman.  The  year  1855  was  spent  in 
this  interesting  though  painful  work,  and  she  published  in  the 
"New  York  Tribune"  a  number  of  sketches  from  life,  under 
the  title  "  Shadows  of  our  Social  System." 

In  1854  she  was  a  delegate  from  the  Wayne  County  So- 
ciety to  the  World's  Temperance  Convention,  at  which  Neal 
Dow  presided,  in  New  York.  But  she  was  denied  her  seat, 
simply  because  she  was  a  woman.  Wendell  Phillips  and 
William  H.  Channing  made  eloquent  speeches  in  favor  of 
her  admission,  and  she  took  the  platform  herself  and  es- 
sayed to  speak,  but  such  was  the  noise  and  confusion  with 
tongues  and  canes,  and  the  swaying  of  the  audience  to  and 
fro,  that  all  attempts  on  her  pai-t  were  unavailable. 

From  the  liberal  state  of  public  sentiment  to-day  one  can 
hardly  believe  it  possible  that,  thirteen  years  ago,  men  claim- 
ing to  be  Christian  ministers  could  have  so  rudely  treated  a 
beautiful,  highly-educated  young  girl,  a  member  of  the  same 
church  with  themselves,  because  she  asked  that  her  name 
might  be  enrolled  with  theirs  in  a  World's  Temperance  Con- 


392  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

yentiou, — that  she,  too,  might  raise  her  voice  in  the  metropohs 
of  the  nation  against  the  vice  of  drunkenness. 

In  January,  1856,  IMiss  Brown  married  Samuel  Blackwell. 
Though  she  occasionally  speaks,  still  most  of  her  time  i» 
passed  at  home  in  the  care  of  a  family  of  daughters.  It  is 
said  she  is  writing  on  theological  questions  for  future  publi« 
cation.  Mrs.  Blackwell  is  a  close,  untiring  student.  She 
writes  and  speaks  with  ease,  has  a  logical  and  well-stored 
mind,  and  is  a  woman  of  pleasing  manners  and  address. 


LUCY   STONE 

Was  the  first  speaker  who  really  stirred  the  nation's  heart  on 
the  subject  of  woman's  wrongs.  Young,  magnetic,  eloquent, 
her  soul  filled  with  the  new  idea,  she  drew  immense  audiences, 
and  was  eulogized  everywhere  by  the  press.  She  spoke  ex-' 
temporaneously,  having  no  special  talent  as  a  writer.  Her 
style  of  speaking  was  earnest,  fluent,  impassioned  appeal 
rather  than  argument.  She  excelled  in  telling  touching  inci- 
dents and  amusing  anecdotes.  I  well  remember  my  pleasure 
the  first  time  I  heard  her.  It  was  at  a  Temperance  Conven- 
tion in  Rochester,  in  1853.  A  resolution  was  before  the  con- 
vention, asking  of  the  Legislature  a  law  granting  divorce  for 
drunkenness.  Lucy  took  the  affirmative;  and,  although tiie 
question  was  ably  debated  in  the  negative  by  Mrs.  C.  H.  !• 
Nichols  and  Antoinette  Brown,  yet  Lucy  carried  the  audi- 
ence with  her. 

She  was  bom  in  West  Brookfield,  Massachusetts.  Her 
parents  were  rigid  Presbyterians,  and  trained  up  their  chil- 
dren in  an  austere  manner.  She,  however,  early  queried  with 
herself  as  to  the  wisdom  of  existing  laws,  customs,  and  opin- 
ions. She  could  not  see  the  justice  of  her  brother's  being 
sent  to  college  to  enjoy  all  the  advantages  of  cdr icati<m,  while 


LTTCT    STONK.  393 

she  and  her  sisters  remained  at  home  to  work  on  the  farm. 
The  yoke  on  her  own  neck  galled  her  to  action.  She  decided 
that  she,  too,  would  go  to  college  and  haye  a  liberal  education. 
The  question  was  thoroughly  pondered,  and  debated,  and  at 
last  decided.  She  borrowed  the  money  and  went  to  Ober- 
lin,  where,  with  great  economy,  management,  self-denial,  and 
untiring  application  to  her  studies,  she  graduated  with  high 
honors.  Having  discovered  her  talent  for  oratory  in  the 
debating  society  at  Oberlin,  she  decided  to  fit  herself  for  a 
public  speaker. 

On  her  return  to  New  England  she  becai^e  an  agent  of  the 
American  Anti-slavery  Society,  lecturing  alternately  for  the 
slave  and  woman.  She  travelled  through  the  Western  and 
some  of  the  Southern  States,  speaking  in  all  the  large  cities. 

In  1855  shd  was  married  to  Henry  B.  Blackwcll.  Thomas 
W.  Higginson  performed  the  ceremony.  She  accepted  the 
usual  marriage  under  protest, — her  husband  renouncing  all 
those  rights  of  authority  and  ownership  which  were  his  in  law, 
and  she  retaining  her  own  name.  Although  this  has  been  to 
her  a  source  of  great  annoyance  and  persecution,  from  friends 
as  well  as  enemies,  yet,  feeling  that  the  principle  of  woman's 
individualism  was  involved  in  a  lifelong  name,  she  has  steadily 
adhered  to  her  decision.  I  honor  her  for  her  steadfast  prin- 
ciple. 

The  first  thing  the  slave  does  in  freedom  is  to  take  to  him- 
self a  name.  Having  been  Cuffy  Lee,  or  Cufiy  Davis,  just 
whose  Cuffy  he  might  chance  to  be,  as  soon  as  he  is  his  own 
master  he  takes  a  new  name  that  is  henceforth  to  represent 
his  individual  existence.  Why  wonder  that  a  woman,  believ- 
ing in  her  own  individual  existence,  who  had  distinguished 
her  name  the  world  over,  should  refuse  to  be  so  entirely  swal- 
lowed up  in  another  as  to  lose  even  the  name  to  which  she 
had  answered  for  thirty  years  ?  I  remember  I  had  the  same 
feelings  when  I  was  married,  though  young  and  unknown,  and* 


394  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQE. 

although  I  took  my  husband's  name,  I  retaiiied  mj  own 
also. 

The  namo  of  Lucy  Stone  is  prominent  in  all  the  early 
National  Conventions,  as  she  was  Secretary  of  the  Woman's 
Bights  organization  for  many  years.  Mrs.  Stone  is  small, 
with  dark-brown  hair,  gray  eyes,  fine  teeth,  florid  complexion, 
and  has  a  sparkling,  intellectual  face.  Her  voice  is  soft,  clear, 
and  musical ;  her  manner  in  speaking  is  quiet,  making  but 
few  gestures,  and  usually  standing  in  one  place.  Gerrit 
Smith  told  me  once,  with  great  glee,  that  sitting  on  Jhe  plat- 
form when  Lucy  was  speaking,  he  saw  her  several  tunes 
gently  stamp  her  foot  1 

Mrs.  Stone  has  one  daughter,  and  since  her  marriage  tier 
life  has  been  spent  in  retirement,  until  the  news  that  Kansas 
was  to  submit  the  proposition  to  strike  the  words  *^  white 
male"  from  her  Constitution  to  a  vote  of  the  people,  roused 
her  again  to  public  duty.  She  spent  two  months  in  the  spring 
of  1867  travelling  through  that  State,  speaking  to  largo 
audiences .  She  attended  the  Topeka  Convention ,  at  the  forma- 
tion of  the  ^  Kansas  Impartial  Suffrage  Association,"  and  has 
lectured  during  the  past  winter  on  suffrage  for  woman  in  Con- 
necticut, Massachusetts,  New  Jersey,  and  New  York. 

MRS.    CAROLINE   H.    DALL. 

Born  in  Beacon  Street,  Boston.  She  is  more  distinguished 
as  a  writer  than  speaker,  though  she  has  lectured  on  various 
subjects  in  many  parts  of  the  country.  Her  addresses  are 
uniformly  well  written,  and  show  great  research,  and  untiring 
industry.  Mrs.  Dall  is  a  highly  educated  woman,  a  close 
student,  an  encyclopedia  of  historical  facts  and  statistics. 
Her  reports,  read  in  the  annual  Woman's  Bights  Conventions, 
of  the  progress  of  the  movement,  are  most  valuable  and  inter- 
esting papers.     She  has  published  several  books  under  the 


MRS.    C.    I.    H.    NICHOLS.  395 

title,  "  Woman  under  the  Law,"  •*  Woman's  Right  to  Labor," 
*The  Court,  the  College,  and  the  Market,"  All  her  produc- 
tions have  been  extensively  reviewed  and  complimented  by 
the  press*  In  speaking  of  her  last  work,  **  The  New  York 
Evening  Post "  says :  — 

**  Mi-8.  Caroline  H.  DalFs  well-known  book,  *  The  College, 
the  Market,  and  the  Court,'  has  been  issued  in  a  new  edition, 
which  contains  important  additions,  some  corrections,  an  in- 
dex, and  some  notes  on  the  unfortunate  Dr.  Todd,  who  was 
lately  so  shockingly  mangled  by  Miss  Gail  Hamilton.  Mrs. 
Dall's  book  has  been  very  well  spoken  of  abroad,  as  indeed 
it  deserves,  —  for  it  is  the  most  eloquent  and  forcible  state- 
ment of  the  Woman's  Question  which  has  been  made." 

Many  persons,  now  writing  and  speaking  on  this  subject, 
glean  their  facts  from  her  books,  and  without  always  giving 
credit  where  it  is  due.  Mrs.  Dall  has  been  an  active  member 
in  the  Social  Science  Association,  and  read  many  valuable 
papers  in  their  public  meetings,  both  in  Boston  and  New 
York.  She  was  associated  with  Paulina  Wright  Davis,  in 
"  The  Una, " —  a  woman's  rights  paper,  published  at  Boston  in 
1854,  —  and  has  taken  a  prominent  part  in  some  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Conventions.  She  married  a  Unitarian  clergyman, 
who  has  been  a  missionary  for  many  yeai*s  in  Calcutta.  Mrs. 
Dall's  department  of  thought  is  in  the  region  of  facts.  Not 
capable  of  generalization,  her  mind  does  not  deal  in  princi- 
ples, hence  the  conclusions  she  draws  from  her  facts  are 
sometimes  neither  legitimate  nor  philosophical. 


MRS.    C,    I.    H.   NICHOLS, 

In  Kansas,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mrs.  Nichols  in 
1867.     She  is  a  rSaiive  of  Vermont,  but  went  to  the  West 


396  EMINEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

several  years  ago.  She  has  been  ia  Elansas  through  all  the 
troubles  in  that  State,  and  to  her  influence,  in  a  measure,  is 
due  its  liberal  laws  for  woman.  She  was  in  the  first  consti* 
tutional  conventidn,  and  pressed  woman's  claims  on  its  con* 
sidcration.  Mrs.  Nichols  is  an  able  writer  and  speaker,  and 
is  as  thoroughly  conversant  with  the  laws  of  her  State  as  any 
judge  or  lawyer  in  it.  She  has  taken  a  prominent  part  in 
all  reforms  for  the  last  twenty  years.  She  is  a  noble  woman, 
and  has  borne  the  hardships  of  her  pioneer  life  with  a  hero« 
ism  that  commands  admiration.  For  many  yeai*s,  Mrs. 
Nichols  ably  edited  the  **  Windham  County  Democrat," — a 
whig  paper,  published  at  Brattleboro',  Vermont.  Though 
her  articles  were  widely  copied,  it  was  not  then  known  that 
they  were  written  by  a  woman. 


SUSAN   B.   ANTHONY 

Was  born  at  the  foot  of  the  Green  Mountains,  South  Adams, 
Massachusetts,  February  15th,  1820.  Her  father,  Daniel  An- 
thony, was  a  stern  Quaker,  her  mother,  Lucy  Read,  a  Bap- 
tist ;  but  being  liberal  and  progressive  in  their  tendencies, 
they  were  soon  one  in  their  religion. 

Her  father  was  a  cotton  manufacturer,  and  the  first  dollar 
she  ever  earned  was  in  his  factory.  Though  a  man  of  wealth, 
the  idea  of  self-support  was  early  impressed  on  all  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  family.  In  1826  they  moved  into  Washington 
County,  New  York,  and  in  1846  to  Rochester.  She  was  edu- 
cated in  a  small  select  school,  in  her  father's  house,  until  the 
age  of  seventeen,  when  she  went  to  a  boarding-school  in  Pliib*- 
delphia.  Fifteen  years  of  her  life  were  passed  in  teaching 
school  in  different  parts  of  the  State  of  New  York. 

Altho  igh  superintendents  gave  her  credit  for  the  best-dis- 
ciplined school,  and  the  most  thoroughly* taught  scholars  in 


SUSAN    B.    ANTHONT.  39t 

the  county,  yet  they  paid  her  but  eight  dollars  a  month, 
"whilo  men  received  from  twenty-four  to  thirty  dollars.  Aftet 
fifteen  years  of  faithful  labor,  and  the  closest  economy,  sho 
had  saved  but  three  hundred  dollars. 

This  experience  taught  her  the  lesson  of  woman's  rights, 
and  when  she  read  the  reports  of  the  first  conventions,  her 
whole  soul  responded  to  the  new  demand.  Her  earliest  pub- 
lic work  was  in  the  temperance  movement,  where  I  first  met 
her  in  1851,  although  she  had  lectured  on  that  subject,  and 
formed  temperance  societies  as  early  as  1848,  while  teaching 
in  Canajoharie,  N.  Y.  In  the  winter  of  this  year,  she  called 
a  State  Temperance  Convention  in  Albany.  Mrs.  Lydia  Fow- 
ler, Mrs.  Maiy  Vaughan,  and  Mrs.  Amelia  Bloomer  all  spoke 
on  that  occasion.  In  May  following,  she  called  a  Woman's 
Temperance  Convention  in  Rochester.  Corinthian  Hall  was 
packed  during  the  proceedings.  A  State  society  was  formed, 
and  three  delegates  —  Miss  Anthony,  Mrs.  Bloomer,  and  Mrs. 
Mary  Hallowell  —  were  appointed  to  attend  the  Men's  State 
Temperance  Convention  at  Syracuse,  in  June.  But  these 
delegates  were  denied  a  right  in  the  convention.  The  very 
,  idea  of  a  woman's  society,  or  a  woman  delegate,  quite  upset 
the  gentlemen  of  the  convention.  The  clergy,  as  usual,  were 
especially  denunciatory. 

William  H.  Burleigh,  corresponding  secretary,  in  making 
out  his  annual  report,  hailed  the  formation  of  a  woman's 
society  as  a  powerful  auxiliary  to  the  temperance  movement, 
and  he  accordingly  advocated  the  recognition  of  the  delegates ; 
but  he  was  scouted,  voted  down,  and  that  part  of  his  report 
blotted  out.  Rev.  Mr.  Lee,  of  the  Wesleyan  Church,  invited 
the  ladies  to  speak  in  his  house  in  the  evening.  The  conse- 
quence was,  while  they  had  an  immense  audience,  the  men's 
convention  was  almost  deserted.  Similar  attempts  were 
made  by  women  all  over  the  country,  in  the  temperance  asso- 
ciations ;  but  they  were  uniformly  thrust  aside,  and  the  result  is, 


898  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

those  old  organizations  have  died  out,  giving  place  to  the  orders 
of  Good  Templars,  Eechabitea»  etc.,  etc.,  that  gladly  affiliate 
with  woman,  in  carrying  on  this  important  reform.  At  this 
time.  Miss  Anthony's  life  and  mine  became  nearly  one.  From 
my  retreat,  which  I  seldom  left,  being  surrounded  with  a  large 
family  of  young  children,  she  and  I  surveyed,  year  after  year, 
the  State  and  the  nation. 

Wherever  we  saw  a  work  to  be  done,  we  would  together 
forge  our  thunderbolts,  in  the  form  of  resolutions,  petitions, 
appeals,  and  speeches,  on  every  subject,  —  temperance,  anti- 
slavery,  woman's  rights,  agriculture,  education,  and  religion, — 
uniformly  accepting  every  invitation  to  go  everywhere,  and 
do  everything.  Through  all  those  years,  Miss  Anthony  was 
the  connecting  link  between  me  and  the  outer  world,  — the 
reform  scout,  who  went  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the 
enemy's  camp,  and  returning  with  maps  and  observations  to 
plan  the  mode  of  attack.  Wherever  we  saw  an  annual  con- 
vention of  men,  quietly  meeting  year  after  year,  filled  with 
hroiherly  love,  we  bethought  ourselves  how  we  could  throw  a 
bombshell  into  their  midst,  in  the  form  of  a  resolution,  to 
open  their  doors  to  the  sisters  outside,  who  had  an  equal 
interest  with  themselves  in  the  subjects  under  consideration.  * 
In  this  way,  we  assailed,  in  turn,  the  temperance,  educational, 
and  church  conventions,  egi'iculturul  fairs,  and  halls  of  legis- 
lation. We  persecuted  the  educational  convention  for  a 
whole  decade  of  years,  to  the  infinite  chagrin  of  Professors 
Pavies,  Buckley,  and  Hazeltine,  whoso  feathers  always  ruffled 
the  moment  Miss  Anthony,  with  her  staid  Quaker  face  and 
firm  step,  walked  up  the  aisle,  always  taking  a  conspicuous 
seat,  as  if  to  say.  Gentlemen,  here  I  am  again,  to  demand 
that  you  recognize  as  your  equals,  the  hundreds  of  women 
before  you,  —  teachers,  who  sit  in  these  conventions,  without  a 
voice  or  vote  in  your  proceedings.  With  the  aid  of  such 
chivalrous  men  as  Superintendents  Randall  and  Rice,  we  at 


SUSAN  B.  AKTHOKT.  399 

last  triumphed ;  women  were  permitted  to  speak  and  vote  in 
the  conventions,  appointed  on  committees,  and  to  make 
repoits  on  various  subjects.  Miss  Anthony  herself  was 
invited  to  prepare  a  report  on  educating  the  sexes  together, 
which  she  read  to  an  immense  audience  in  Troy,  in  1858. 
At  the  close  of  her  able  report,  Mr.  Hazeltine  came  to  her 
and  said,  ^  While  I  must  admit  the  talent  and  power  of  your 
report,  I  would  rather  see  a  daughter  of  mine  buried  beneath 
the  sod,  than  that  she  should  stand  before  a  promiscuous 
audience  and  utter  such  sentiments.'* 

Superintendent  Kandall,  standing  by,  replied,  **And  I  should 
be  proud  if  I  had  a  daughter  able  to  do  it.*'  In  October  of 
the  same  year  Miss  Anthony  delivered  the  animal  address 
at  the  Yates  County  Agricultural  Fair,  held  at  Dundee.  She 
was  to  have  spoken  in  the  church,  but  the  crowd  was  so  great, 
that,  with  a  lumber-wagon  for  her  rostrum,  she  spoke  an 
hour  and  a  half  in  the  open  air.  Hers  is  the  one  voice  among 
our  speakers  that  never  fails  to  fill  the  cars  of  her  audience. 
Her  address  was  pronounced  the  ablest  that  had  ever  been 
delivered  in  that  county.  Miss  Anthony's  style  of  speaking 
is  rapid,  vehement,  concise,  and  in  her  best  moods  she  is  some- 
times eloquent.  In  late  years  she  speaks  extemporaneously, 
retaining  enough  of  the  Quaker  to  make  a  failure,  except 
when  strongly  moved  by  the  spirit.  But  the  spirit  is  always 
sure  to  move  when  she  sees  the  rights  of  any  human  being 
outraged.  From  1852  she  has  been  one  of  the  leading  spirits 
in  every  Woman's  Rights  Convention,  and  has  been  the  acting 
secretary  and  general  agent  through  all  these  years ;  and 
when  in  1866  we  reorganized  under  the  name  of  "The  American 
Equal  Rights  Association,"  she  was  reappointed  to  both  these 
offices.  From  1857  to  1866,  Miss  Anthony  was  also  au  agent 
and  faithful  worker  in  the  anti-slavery  cause  until  the  eman- 
cipation edict  proclaimed  freedom  throughout  the  land.  She 
has  been  untiring  in  her  labors  in  securing  the  liberal  legisla* 


400  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    TSE    AGE. 


tion  we  now  have  for  women  in  the  State  of  New  York.  The 
property  rights  of  married  women  were  secured  by  the  bills 
of  1848  and  1849.  From  that  time  to  the  present  soarce  a  year 
has  passed  without  petitions,  appeals,  and  addresses  before  our 
legislature.  In  the  winter  of  1854  and  1855  Miss  Anthony  held 
fifty-four  conventions  in  different  counties  of  the  State,  with 
two  petitions  in  hand,-^one  demanding  equal  property  rights, 
the  other  the  ballot, — and  rolled  up  ten  thousand  names.  She 
performed  these  fatiguing  journeys  mostly  in  stage-coaches  in 
the  depth  of  the  winter.  Miss  Anthony,  though  not  beautiful, 
has  a  fine  figure  and  alarge,  well-shaped  head.  The  world  calls 
her  sharp,  angular,  cross-grained.  She  has,  indeed,  her  faults 
and  angles,  but  they  are  all  outside.  She  has  a  broad  and 
generous  nature,  and  a  depth  of  tenderness  that  few  women 
possess.  She  does  not  faint,  or  weep,  or  sentimentalize ;  but 
she  has  genuine  feeling,  a  tender  love  for  all  true  men  and 
women,  a  reverence  for  noble  acts  and  words,  and  an  active 
pity  for  those  who  come  to  her  in  the  hour  of  sorrow  and 
trial.  She  is  earnest,  unselfish,  and  true  to  principle  as  the 
needle  to  the  pole.  In  an  intimate  friendship  of  eighteen 
years,  I  can  truly  say,  I  have  never  known  her  to  do  or  say 
a  mean  or  narrow  thing.  She  is  above  that  petty  envy  and 
jealousy  that  mar  the  character  of  so  many  otherwise  good 
women.  She  15  always  full  of  the  wort  before  her,  and  does 
it,  going  through  and  over  whatever  stands  in  her  way.  She 
never  sees  lions  in  her  path,  but  does  what  she  is  convinced  is 
right,  whether  it  seems  feasible  to  others  or  not.  Hence  she  is 
impatient  and  imperious  with  those  who,  not  seeing  the  goal 
she  does,  stand  in  her  way.  The  legislators  of  this  State  can 
testify  to  her  pertinacity  and  perseverance.  Those  who 
have  complained  of  Miss  Anthony's  impatience,  in  pushing  our 
cause  to  a  speedy  success,  must  remember  that  without  the 
cares  of  husband,  children,  and  home,  all  her  time,  thought, 
force,  and  affection  have  centred  in  this  work  for  nearly 


SUSAN    B.    ANTHONY.  401 

twenty  years.  She  has  raised  and  spent  thousands  of  dollars, 
in  printing  and  postage,  having  scattered  documents  without 
number  all  over  this  country  and  England.  No  one  knows, 
as  I  do,  the  untiring  labors  of  this  noble  woman  in  our  cause. 
What  people  call  cross-graiued  in  her  is  her  quickness  in 
seeing  the  right,  and  her  promptness  in  maintaining  it,  no 
matter  who  her  opposers  may  be.  An  anecdote  will  serve  to 
illustrate  the  strong  principle,  ipdependence,  and  self-reliance 
of  her-character.  A  lady  of  superior  education,  the  wife  and 
sister  of  distinguished  men,  was  placed  in  an  insane  asylum 
to  be  quietly  disposed  of,  that  some  domestic  difficulties 
might  not  be  made  known.  After  a,two  years'  incarceration  she 
was  released ;  but,  insisting  on  separation,  and  the  possession 
of  her  children,  she  was  again  threatened,  when  she  appealed 
to  Miss  Anthony  for  protection.  She  promptly  gave  her  the 
accessary  assistance,  and  found  a  safe  retreat  for  her  and  her 
daughter.  No  threats  or  persecutions  could  move  her  to 
reveal  the  hiding-place  of  her  clients.  Anti-slavery  friends  on 
all  sides  wrote  to  her,  begging  her  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter, — that  it  would  injure  the  reforms  she  advocated. 
Leading  men  in  the  State  wrote  to  her  that  she  was  legally 
liable  for  abducting  a  child  from  its  father,  and  that  she  would 
be  arrested  some  day  on  the  platform  in  the  midst  of  a  speech. 
Telegrams  and  letters  of  threats  and  persuasion  were  poured 
3n  her  thick  and  fast ;  among  others,  Mr.  Garrison  and  Mr. 
Phillips  wrote  to  her  saying,  "  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are 
guilty  of  a  violation  of  law  ?**  "  Yes  1 ''  she  replied ;  "  and  I 
know  when  I  feed  and  shelter  a  panting  fugitive  from  slavery 
[  violate  law ;  and  yet  you  would  uphold  me  for  violating  the 
law  in  one  case ;  why  not  the  other?  Is  a  refined,  educated, 
aoble  woman,  flying  from  the  contamination  of  an  unfaithful 
msband,  less  worthy  of  my  protection  than  a  black  man 
lying  from  the  tyranny  of  his  master?"  Of  the  threats  of 
irrest  from  ^be  presiding  officer  of  the  Massachusetts  Legisla- 

S6 


402  EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  AGE. 

ture,  and  an  honorable  senator  of  New  York,  she  had  no  fean, 
knowing  that,  in  thus  doing,  they  would  make  public  exactly 
what  they  desired  to  conceal. 

In  the  autumn  of  1867  Miss  Anthony  went  to  Kansas, 
where  she  remained  during  the  campaign,  which  closed  so 
triumphantly,  giving  nine  thousand  votes  for  woman's  suffrage. 

In  Kansas  she  met  for  the  first  time  George  Francis 
Train,  who  had  been  invited  to  go  there,  and  stump  the 
State  for  woman's  suffrage,  by  the  **  Woman's  Suffrage 
Association  "  of  St.  Louis.  She  travelled  with  him  in  Bjuh 
sas,  addressing  large  audiences,  until  the  day  of  election, 
when  I  joined  her  at  her  brother's  house.  Mayor  D.  R.  Aa- 
thony,  of  Leavenworth.  We  then  went  to  Omaha,  to  meet 
Mr.  Train,  where  we  held  two  meetings,  and  from  that  poii^ 
we  came  to  New  York,  speaking  in  all  the  lai^e  cities  of  nioe 
States.  Through  the  influence  of  this  new  and  noble  cbanh 
pion  of  woman's  rights  with  Wall  Street  brokers,  she  was  able 
to  establish  *•  The  Revolution," — the  first  woman's  rights  paper 
in  this  country,  with  a  name  representing  the  magnitude  of 
the  work,  —  on  a  financial  basis  that  ensures  success. 

Some  odium  has  been  cast  on  Miss  Anthony  for  this  affili- 
ation with  these  Liberal  Democrats ;  but  time  wiU  prove  her 
judgment  as  sound  in  this  matter  as  it  has  been  in  so  manf 
other  points  where  she  has  differed  from  her  friends. 


OLYMPIA  BROWN. 

Chief  among  the  women  who  labored  in  Kansas  in  1867, 
are  Olympia  Brown  and  Viola  Hutchinson, — the  one  speaking 
and  preaching,  the  other  singing  her  sweet  songs  of  freedom, 
in  churches,  school-houses,  depots,  bams,  and  the  open  air. 
Olympia  Brown  was  bom  in  Ohio ;  she  was  a  graduate  of 
Antioch  college,  and  went  through  a  theological  course  at 


OLYMPIA    BROWN.  403 

Canton,  New  York.  She  is  the  most  promismg  young^woman 
now  speakingin  this  cause.  She  is  small ,  delicately  organized , 
and  has  a  most  pleasing  personnel.  She  is  a  graceful,  fluent 
speaker,  with  wonderful  powers  of  continuity  and  concentra- 
tion, and  is  oblivious  to  everything  but  the  idea  she  wishes  , 
to  utter.  While  in  Kansas  she  spoke  every  day  for  four 
months,  twice  and  three  times,  Sundays  not  excepted. 

She  is  a  close,  clear  reasoner  and  able  debater.  The  Kan- 
sas politicians  all  feared  to  meet  her.  One  prominent  judge 
in  the  State  encountered  her  in  debate,  on  one  occasion,  to  the 
utter  discomfiture  of  himself  and  his  compeers.  By  some 
mistake  their  appointments  were  in  the^same  place.  She, 
through  courtesy,  yielded  to  him  the  first  hour.  He  made 
an  argument  to  show  the  importance  of  siiffrage  for  the  negro, 
with  an  occasional  slur  on  woman.  She  followed  him,  using 
his  own  words,  illustrations,  and  arguments,  to  show  the  im- 
portance of  sufirage  for  woman,  much  to  his  chagrin,  and 
the  amusement  of  the  audience,  who  cheered  her  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting  a  rising  vote  was 
taken,  of  those  in  favor  of  woman's  sufirage.  All  the  audience 
arose,  except  the  judge,  and  he  looked  as  if  he  would  have  . 
given  anything  if  consistence  would  have  permitted  hun  to 
rise  also. 

Miss  Brown  is  now  an  ordained  pastor  of  a  Universalist 
church  in  Weymouth,  Massachusetts,  where  she  receives  a 
liberal  salary,  and  is  honored  and  beloved  by  her  people. 

The  space  assigned  me  in  this  volume  is  too  small  for 
more  than  a  brief  sketch  of  this  cause  and  its  leaders.  As 
much  odium  has  been  cast  on  these  noble  women,  I  cannot 
close  without  saying,  what  I  feel  to  be  just  and  true,  of  all 
alike.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  state,  that  the  women 
identified  with  this  question  are  distinguished  for  intellectual 
power,  moral  probity,  and  religious  earnestness.  Most  of 
them  are   able    speakers  and  writers,   as    their  published 


404 


EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQE. 


speeclriil,  letters,  novels,  and  poems  fully  show ;  those  who 
have  seen  them  in  social  life  can  testify  that  they  are  good 
house-keepers,  true  mothers,  and  faithful  wives.    I  have 
kuown  women  in  many  countries  and  classes  of  society,  and 
« I  know   none  more  noble,  delicate,  and  refined,  in  word 
and  action,  than  those  I  have  met  on  the  woman's  rights 
platform.     True,  they  do  not  possess  the  voluptuous  grace 
and  soft  manners  of  the  petted  children  of  luxury ;    tiiej 
are    not  clothed  in    purple    and  fine   linen,    faring  sump- 
tuously every  day, — for  most  of  them  are  self-made  women, 
who,     through    hardships    and     sacrifice,    have    smoothed 
the  rugged  paths  for  multitudes  about  them,  and  earned  a 
virtuous  independence  for  themselves.     All  praise  to  those, 
who,  through  ridicule  and  scorn,  have  changed  the  barbarous 
laws  for  woman  in  ma^ny  of  the  States,  and  brought  them  into 
harmony  with  the  higher  civilization  in  which  we  live. 


riCTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENQLAND. 


405 


♦•• 


VICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    BNaLAND.  405 


VICTORIA,  QUEEN  OF  ENGLAND. 

1 

BY  JAMES  PABTON. 

Great  Britain  wanted  a  monarch. 

James  the  Second  had  abandoned  his  throne,  and  had  been 
driven  from  his  country.  William  and  Mary,  who  succeeded 
him  were  childless,  and  without  hope  of  offspring.  Anne, 
seventeen  times  in  her  life,  gave  the  kingdom  hopes  of  an 
heir,  and  then  disappointed  those  hopes.  She  was  childless, 
and  it  was  well  known  to  her  household  tl^t  she  was  destined 
to  die  childless.  As  it  was  part  of  the  fundamental  law  of 
the  kingdom  that  the  sovereign  must  be  a  Protestant,  the 
son  of  the  exiled  king  was  excluded  from  the  succession. 
The  English  are  such  slaves  to  habit  and  precedent,  and  the 
wars  of  the  Commonwealth  were  so  fresh  in  the  recollection 
of  the  country,  that  it  does  not  appear  to  have  occurred  to  a 
single  individual  that  the  realm  of  England  could  be  gov* 
emed  unless  it  could  find  a  person  to  play  sovereign  on 
certain  days  of  the  year,  in  the  show-rooms  of  St.  James' 
Palace.  America  had  not  yet  taught  the  world  the  art  of 
nominating,  electing,  and  deposing  chief  magistrates.  There 
had  once  been  kings  in  England,  and  the  shadow  of  one  was 
felt  to  be  necessary  still. 

Wanted  a  monarch.     No  Roman  Catholic  need  apply. 

This  was  the  problem  for  the  **  Heralds"  of  that  day.  In  all 
the  world  there  was  but  one  person  who  could  rightfully 
succeed  Queen  Anne,  and  that  was  an  elderly  lady  known  to 


406  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  people  of  England  as  the  Princess  Sophia,  and  to  the  peo« 
pie  of  Hanover  as  the  wife  of  their  sovereign,  the  elector, 
Ernest  Augustus.  King  James  the  First  leflb  but  two  children 
of  the  seven  who  had  been  born  to  him.  One  of  these  w^s 
the  unfortunate  Charles  the  First,  who  lost  his  crown  and  his 
head ;  the  other  was  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  who  in  due  time 
married  Frederick  the  Fifth,  Elector  Palatine,  one  of  the 
hundred  petty  sovereigns  of  Germany.  The  Princess  Sophia 
was  the  daughter  of  this  pair,  and  she  was  married  to 
Ernest  Augustus  of  Hanover.  Being  thus  the  grand-daugh-  * 
ter  of  James  the  First,  and  the  wife  of  a  Protestant  prince, 
her  right  to  the  English  throne,  in  case  Queen  Anne  died 
without  issue,  was  unquestionable;  and  hence,  in  the  act 
of  settlement  of  1701,  she  was  declared  the  heiress  pre- 
sumptive. 

She  had  become  a  widow,  and  was  living  in  retirement  in 
Hanover  as  Electoress  Dowager,  —  an  elderly  lady  of  excel- 
lent character,  but  as  little  fitted  to  govern  an  empire  as  a 
child.  The  English,  however,  did  not  want  any  one  to  govern 
an  empire.  They  meant  to  do  that  themselves.  They  wanted 
some  benevolent  and  good-looking  person  to  wear  the  robes, 
inhabit  the  palace,  and  play  the  part  of  monarch,  in  a  serene 
and  dignified  manner.  *  For  such  purpose  the  good  old 
dowager  of  Hanover  might  have  answered  as  well  as  another. 
This  destiny,  however,  was  not  in  reserve  for  her ;  for,  seven- 
teen days  before  the  death  of  Queen  Anne,  she  died,  leaving 
her  son  George,  the  Elector  of  Hanover,  heir  to  the  British 
crown.  George  Lewis  was  his  name,  but  he  is  known  in 
English  history  as  George  the  First. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  present  reigning  family  came  to  the 
English  throne.  Queen- Victoria  reigns  to-day  because  of  her 
direct  descent,  through  James  the  First,  from  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  the  mother  of  that  pedantic  king.     On  the  Hanover 


VICTORIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  407 

side,  she  can  claim   an  ancestry  far  more  ancient,  and  far 
more  illustrious  than  this.  , 

^  The  respect  which  many  persons  feel  for  an  old  family  is 
perhaps  not  quite  so  unreasonable  as  some  of  us  repuT)licans 
suppose.  Time  tries  all.  As  a  rule,  whatever  endures  long 
is  excellent  of  its  kind.  In  families  which  have  long  main- 
tained a  certain  position  in  the  world,  we  need  not  look  for 
brilliant  genius,  nor  splendid  courage ;  but  if  we  inquire 
closely  into  their  history,  we  shall  generally  find  a  full  de- 
velopment of  what  maybe  termed  the  preservative  virtues,  — 
prudence  and  family  pride.  A  family  which  produces  a 
genius  appears  to  exhaust  itself  in  the  effort,  —  it  passes  away 
and  disappears  in  the  crowd  ;  but  where  there  is  robustness  of 
bodily  health  with  a  high  degree  of  prudence  and  family  feel- 
ing, a  race  may  endure  for  centuries  without  producing  a 
single  individual  of  striking  merit,  or  performing  any  valu- 
able service  for  mankind.  Nevertheless,  there  must  be  in 
such  a  family  real  worth  and  real  wisdom.  One  of  the  most 
admirable  provisions  among  the  laws  of  nature  is  that  one 
which  dooms  a  family  of  incurable  fools  to  certain  and  swift 
extinction. 

The  family  now  upon  the  English  throne  is  one  of  the  old- 
est in  Europe.  Among  the  mountains  which  divide  Italy 
from  Germany  a  powerful  house  named  Welf  held  great  pos- 
sessions B3  long  ago  as  the  year  1100.  Extending  its  con- 
quests southward,  it  ruled  some  of  the  finest  provinces  of 
Italy,  where  the  name  was  changed  into  Guelph,  by  which  it 
has  ever  since  been  known.  The  Guelphs,  with  their  im- 
pregnable castles  among  the  mountains,  drawing  tribute  from 
the  fertile  provinces  of  northern  Italy  and  southern  Germany, 
appear  to  have  been  for  a  time  as  wealthy  and  powerful  a 
family  as  any  in  Europe  of  less  than  imperial  or  royal  rank. 
It  became  too  powerful.  The  Guelphs  quarrelled  among 
themselves.     They  divided  into  two  factions,  one  of  which 


408  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

•■ 
p 

retained  the  name  of  Guelpb,  and  the  other  acquired  that  of 
GIvbeline,  and  each  of  them  was  powerful  enough  to  main- 
tain an  army  in  the  field.  The  bloody  contest  was  waged  a 
while  among  the  German  mountains.  The  family  quarrel,  as 
was  usually  the  case  in  those  days,  absorbed  into  itself  public 
questions  of  great  pith  and  moment,  until  the  whole  south  of 
Europe  were  drawn  into  the  interminable  strife.  It  was  this 
famous  contest  between  the  Guelphs  and  the  Ghibelines  which 
saddened  the  existence  of  the  poet  Dante,  and  made  him  for 
twenty  years  an  exile  from  his  native  city. 

When  mortals  fight,  it  rarely  happens  that  one  party  is 
wholly  in  the  right,  and  the  other  wholly  in  the  wrong.  Both 
the  Guelphs  and  the  Ghibelines  committed  enormous  out- 
rages. Neither  of  them  was  strong  enough  to  hold  the  other 
in  subjection,  and  neither  was  great  enough  to  forgive  a  fallen 
foe.  When  the  Guelphs  conquered  a  province  or  captured 
a  city,  they  banished  the  powerful  Ghibelines,  and  confis- 
cated their  estates.  The  Ghibelines,  when  they  were  victors, 
pursued  the  same  policy.  Consequently  there  were  always 
a  great  number  of  persons,  both  within  and  without  the  con- 
quered place,  whose  only  hope  of  regaining  their  rights  and 
property  was  in  overturning  the  government.  Hence  three 
centuries  of  fruitless,  desolating  war. 

But  although  in  this  cardinal  error  of  the  contest  there 
was  not  a  pin  to  choose  between  the  hostile  factions,  it  is 
nevertheless  evident  that  the  Guelphs  were,  upon  the  whole, 
fighting  the  battle  of  mankind.  Dante  was  upon  their  side, 
—  a  great  fact  in  itself.  Closely  allied  with  the  pope,  then 
the  chief  civilizing  power  of  Europe,  the  sole  protector  of 
the  people  against  the  tyranny  of  their  lords,  the  Guelphs 
were  greatly  instrumental  in  limiting  the  power  of  the  em- 
perors, and  preventing  all  the  fairest  countries  of  Europe 
from  lapsing  under  the  dominion  of  a  single  dynasty. 

It  was  from  these  warlike  Guelphs  of  the  middle  ages  that 


VICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  409 

the  present  royal  bouse  of  England  descended.  Gibbon,  in- 
deed, traces  the  family  of  Guelph  up  to  Charlemagne ;  but  we 
need  not  follow  him  so  far  in  the  labyrinth  of  heraldry.  Let 
it  suffice  us  to  know  that  a  powerful  prince  of  the  Guelphian 
race,  six  hundred  years  ago  or  more,  acquired  by  marriage 
extensive  possessions  in  the  north  of  Germany.  This  prince 
is  known  in  the  history  of  Germany  as  Henry  the  Black. 
^  Other  Henries  succeeded,  —  Henry  the  Proud,  Henry  the 
Lion,  and  a  long  line  of  Henries,  Williams,  Othos,  Georges, 
and  Ernests,  until  at  length  we  find  a  branch  of  the  family 
established  in  Hanover,  and  ruling  that  province  with  the 
title  of  elector. 

Not  much  can  be  said  in  commendation  of  the  more  recent 
ancestors  of  Queen  Victoria.  George  the  First  was  fifty- 
four  years  of  age  when  he  stepped  ashore  at  Greenwich,  and 
walked  to  the  royal  palace  in  its  park,  hailed  and  saluted  as 
King  of  England.  He  was  an  honest,  hearty  man,  brave  and 
resolute ;  but  he  had  an  incurable  narrowness  of  mind,  and 
he  was  as  ignorant  of  all  that  a  king  ought  to  know  as  the 
kings  of  that  period  generally  were. 

"  My  maxim  is,"  he  used  to  say,  "  never  to  abandon  my 
friends ;  to  do  justice  to  all  the  world,  and  to  fear  no  man." 

The  saying  does  him  honor.  He  was  a  man  of  punctual 
and  business-like  habits,  diligent  in  performing  the  duties  ap- 
pertaining to  his  place,  so  far  as  he  understood  them.  But, 
unhappily,  when  he  left  his  native  country,  he  left  his  heart 
behind  him.  He  loved  Hanover,  and  a  man  c^n  no  more 
Jove  two  countries  than  two  women.  He  understood  Hanover ; 
he  never  understood  England ;  and  the  thing  which  he  had 
at  heart,  during  his  whole  reign,  was  the  aggrandizement  of 
Hanover.  He  had  the  satisfaction  of  dying  in  his  native 
land,  which  he  was  accustomed  frequentlj*  to  visit,  and  bis 
dust  still  reposQS  there  in  the  electoral  mausoleum. 

His  son,  George  the  Second,  with  all  his  narrowness  and 


410  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

• 

ignorance,  was  not  without  his  good  and  strong  points.  Like 
most  of  his  ancestors,  he  was  honest,  well-intentioned,  and 
braye ;  and,  like  most  of  his  ancestors,  he  was  singularly 
unfitted  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  government  of  a 
great  nation.  The  ornament  of  his  court  was  Queen  Caro- 
line, a  patron  of  art  and  literature,  whom  the  king  loved 
truly,  and  scolded  incessantly,  whom  he  sincerely  respected 
and  continually  dishonored.  The  scenes  which  took  place  at 
the  death-bed  of  this  queen  show  us  something  of  the  char- 
acter of  both  of  the  ill-assorted  pair. 

"  The  king,"  says  a  recent  writer,  **  was  heart-broken,  but 
he  was  himself.  He  could  not  leave  her  in  peace  at  that  last 
moment.  By  way  of  watching  over  her,  *  he  lay  on  the 
queen's  bed  all  night  in  his  nightgown,  where  he  could  not 
sleep  nor  she  turn  about  easily.'  He  went  out  and  in  con- 
tinually, telling  everybody,  with  tears,  of  her  great  qualities. 
But  he  could  not  restrain  the  old  habit  of  scolding  when  he  was 
by  her  side.  *  How  the  d^vil  should  you  sleep  when  you 
will  never  lie  still  a  moment  I'  he  cried  with  an  impatience 
which  those  who  have  watched  by  a  death-bed  will  at  least 
understand.  *  You  want  to  rest,  and  the  doctors  tell  you 
nothing  can  do  you  so  much  good,  and  yet  you  always  move 
about.  Nobody  can  sleep  in  that  manner,  and  that  is  always 
your  way ;  you  never  take  the  proper  method  to  get  what 
you  want,  and  then  you  wonder  you  have  it  not.*  When 
her  weary  eyes,  weary  of  watching  the  troubled  comings  and 
goings  about* her,  fixed  upon  one  spot,  the  alarmed,  excited, 
hasty  spectator  cried  out,  with  a  loud  and  quick  voice,  ^  Mon 
Dieu  I  qu^est  ce  que  vous  regardez  ?  Comment  peut^n  fixer  ces 
yeux  comme  ca?'  he  cried.  He  tortured  her  to  eat,  as  many 
a  healthful  watcher  does  with  cruel  kindness.  *  How  is  it 
possible  you  should  know  whether  you  like  a  thing  or  not? ' 
he  said.  He  was  half-crazed  with  sorrow  and  love,  and  a 
kind  of  panic.     And  he  was  garrulous,  and  talked  without 


VICTORIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  411 

intermission  of  her  and  of  himself,  with  a  vague  historical 
sense,  as  if  talking  of  a  life  that  had  come  to  an  end. 

''One  incidept  of  this  death-bed  scene  is  probably  witho^jt  a 
parallel  in  the  history  of  the  human  race :  She  counselled 
him  to  marry  again,  as  he  sat  sobbing  by  her  bedside.  Poor 
man !  he  was  hysterical,  too,  with  grief  and  excitement. 
Wiping  his  eyes  and  sobbing  between  every  word,  with  much 
ado,  he  got  out  this  answer:  ^Non — faurai  des  mailresaes.^ 
To  which  the  queen  made  no  other  reply  than,  '  -4A,  man 
Dieul  cela  rCempeche  pasT  Criticism  stands  confounded 
before  such  an  incident.'' 

Such  was  George  the  Second,  the  great-great-grandfather 
of  the  present  virtuous  sovereign  of  England.  Such  was 
the  British  Court  a  little  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago. 

The  eldest  son  of  George  the  Second,  Prince  Frederick, 
or  the  Prince  of  Wales,  was  stupid  even  for  a  prince.  He 
passed  his  brief  existence  in  political  intrigues  with  his  fath- 
er's enemies,  and  in  debauchery  with  the  worst  of  the  young 
nobility.  No  good  or  even  graceful  action  relieves  the  te- 
dious record  of  his  life.  We  need  only  say  of  him  —  for  little 
else  is  known  —  that  he  embittered  his  father's  days,  and  that 
England  was  well  rid  of  him  before  it  came  his  turn  to  play 
the  part  of  king.  George  the  Third,  the  grandfather  of 
Queen  Victoria,  was  the  son  of  this  Prince  Frederick* 

George  the  Third,  who  plays  so  important  a  part  in  the 
history  of  the  United  States,  was  one  of  the  most  virtuous 
and  most  mischievous  of  kings.  He  was  honest,  charitiible, 
and  temperate ;  he  was  as  good  a  father  as  an  ignorant  man 
can  ever  hope  to  be ;  he  was  an  attentive  and  affectionate  hus- 
band ;  he  was  a  considerate  and  liberal  master  and  patron.  If 
he  had  been  born  to  the  inheritance  of  a  small  farm,  —  if  he 
had  been  a  huntsman  in  Windsor  Park,  instead  of  lord  of  the 
castle,  —  he  would  have  lived  happily  and  wisely,  and  all  his 
native  parish  would  have  followed  him  mourning  to  the 


112  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

tomb*  But  alas  for  England,  tax-paying  England!  it  was 
his  destiny  to  be  styled  king,  and  to  indulge  all  his  life  the 
fon^  delusion  that  he  really  was  a  king. 

With  such  a  father  as  he  had,  it  is  not  necessary  to  say 
that  his  early  education  was  most  grossly  and  shamefully 
neglected ;  and  after  his  father's  death,  Jie  fell  under  the  in- 
fluence of  men  and  women  who  starved  his  intellect  and  fed 
his  pride.  Coming  to  the  throne  in  his  twenty-second  year, 
ignorant  of  history,  ignorant  of  the  English  people,  totally 
unacquainted  with  the  spirit  of  a  constitutional  government, 
equally  obstinate  and  conscientious,  the  whole  policy  of  his 
reign  was  erroneous.  He  displaced  William  Pitt,  and  pro- 
moted Bute.  It  was  he,  and  only  he,  who  exasperated  into 
rebellion  the  most  loyal  of  his  subjects,  —  the  people  of  the 
American  colonies.  Instead  of  hailing  with  joy  the  acces- 
sion of  Napoleon  to  supreme  power  in  distracted  France, 
instead  of  aiding  him  to  bring  order  once  more  out  of  the 
chaos  of  that  kingdom,  instead  of  being  his  hearty  friend  and 
ally,  as  he  ought  to  have  been  for  England's  sake,  as  well  as 
for  that  of  France  and  mankind,  he  squandered  and  mort- 
gaged deep  the  resources  of  the  wealthiest  empire  on  earth, 
in  waging  and  inciting  war  against  the  only  man  who  had  it 
in  him  to  rescue  France  and  prepare  her  for  a  nobler  future. 
He  drove  Napoleon  mad;  he  prepared  for  him  the  long 
series  of  victories  which  wasted  his  time,  wasted  his 
strength,  and  destroyed  the  balance  between  his  reason  and 
his  passions. 

When  George  the  Third  came  to  the  throne  in  17 GO,  the 
national  debt  of  England  was  one  hundred  and  thii*ty  millions 
of  pounds.  The  American  war  raised  it  to  two  hundred  and 
sixty  millions.  The  insensate  warfare  against  the  French 
Revolution  made  it  five  hundred  and  seventy  millions ;  and 
by  the  time  Napoleon  was  safely  landed  in  Saint  Helena,  the 
debt  amounted  to  the  inconceivable  sum  of  eight  hundred 


VICTORIA,  QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  413 

and  sixty-five  millions  of  pounds.  It  may  be  safely  asserted, 
that  every  guinea  of  this  debt  was  unnecessary,  and  all  ex- 
cept a  few  millions  of  it  may  be  considered  the  price  which 
Great  Britain  has  paid,  or  is  to  pay,  for  allowing  four  such 
men  as  the  four  Georges  of  Hanover  to  occupy  the  first  place 
in  the  government,-!- a  place  in  which  a  wise  and  able  man 
could  do  no  very  radical  good,  but  one  in  which  an  incompe- 
tent man  may  work  prodigious  harm. 

George  the  Third  had  fifteen  children,  of  whom  all  but 
two  survived  him.  Five  of  these  children  were. sons,  and 
all  of  them  were  robust  and  vigorous  men.  Down  to  a  late 
period  in  the  life  of  George  the  Third,  no  throne  in  Europe 
seemed  so  well  provided  as  his  with  liueal  heirs ;  and  noth- 
ing was  more  improbable  than  that  it  should  descend  to  a 
daughter  of  the  fouHh  son,  —  the  Duke  of  Kent.  The  Prince 
of  Wales,  however,  had  but  one  legitimate  child,  the  Prin- 
cess Charlotte,  and  when  she  died,  in  1817,  there  was  no 
probability  of  her  father  having  other  legitimate  issue.  The 
Duke  of  York,  the  second  son,  a  shameless  debauchee,  also 
died  without  legitimate  children.  The  Duke  of  Clarence, 
the  third  son,  who  afterwards  reigned  as  William  the  Fourth, 
had  a  large  family;  but,  unfortunately,  his  wife.  Queen 
Adelaide,  was  not  the  mother  of  them. 

Edward,  Duke  of  Kent,  the  fourth  of  the  king's  sons,  had 
the  reputation,  in  his  lifetime,  of  being  the  only  one  of  them 
who  observed  the  ordinary  rules  of  morality.  He  is  even 
spoken  of  as  **  austerely  virtuous ; "  an  accusation  which  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  was  groundless ;  for,  if  he  was  so  aus- 
terely virtuous,  he  would  hardly  have  left  so  many  debts 
behind  him  for  his  widow  and  daughter  to  pay.  Some 
allowance  must  be  made,  however,  for  those  unfortunate 
princes  who  held  the  highest  rank  in  the  kingdom,  without 
having  the  income  of  a  country  gentleman.  This  poor  Duke 
of  Kent,  although  he  enjoyed  a  revenue  about  as  Hrge  as 


414  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

that  of  the  President  of  the  United  States,  was  the  feudal 
superior  of  men  who  had  ten  and  twenty  times  that  income. 
What  is  wealth  in  one  country  is  poverty  in  another.  An 
English  prince  with  four  thousand  pounds  a  year  is  a  very 
poor  man,  unless  he  is  a  very  great  man. 

To  economize  his  slender  resources,  the  Duke  of  Kent 
resided,  for  many  years,  in  Germany.  He  was  living  there 
in  1817,  when  the  sudden  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte, 
and  her  newly  born  child,  made  it  apparent  that,  if  he  lived 
to  the  ordinary  age  of  man,  he  would  one  day  succeed  to  the 
throne.  This  unexpected  change  in  his  prospects,  it  is  sup- 
posed, led  to  his  marriage,  in  the  following  yeai^  with  a  Ger- 
man princess,  Victoria,  the  widow  of  the  Prince  of  Leiningen, 
and  a  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Saxe-Coburg.  We  now  know 
enough  of  this  lady  to  have  a  right  to  believe  that  she  was 
a  very  sensible  as  well  as  exemplary  woman. 

Ere  many  months,  it  became  evident  that  the  Duchess  of 
Kent  was  about  to  become  a  mother,  and  the  duke  was  de- 
sirous that  the  child  should  be  bom  upon  the  soil  of  the 
country  of  which  it  might  be  the  the  sovereign.  One  of  the 
elements  in  the  popularity  of  Geoige  the  Third,  which  none  of 
his  errors  ever  sensibly  diminished,  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
bc^n  bom  in  England,  —  a  circumstance  to  which  he  so 
aptly  alluded,  in  a  speech  at  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  that 
it  made  an  indelible  impression  upon  the  country.  It  was 
natural  that  the  Duke  of  Kent  should  desire  to  secure  this 
advantage  for  his  unborn  child. 

Strange  to  say,  this  prince  of  the  blood  royal  actually 
had  not  money  enough  for  the  joumey  home,  a^d  he  wrote 
to  his  family  for  a  remittance.  They  refused  it,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  borrow  the  requisite  sum  from  friends  in  humbler 
life.  At  Kensington  Palace,  in  London,  on  the  24th  of  May, 
1819,  the  Princess  Victoria  was  bom.  As  she  saw  the  light 
in  the  pleasant  month  of  May,  they  named  her  the  May-flower^ 


VICTOSIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  416 

and  so  she  was  called  in  the  family  during  her  infancy.  We 
have  the  note,  recently  published,  which  the  mother  of  the 
Duchess  of  Kent  despatched  to  her  daughter,  when  she  heard 
the  joyful  intelligence. 

**  I  cannot  express,''  wrote  the  Duchess  of  Saxe-<]!oburg, 
**how  happy  I  am  to  know  you  are,  dearest,  dearest  Yickel, 
safe  in  your  bed  with  a  little  one,  and  that  all  went  off  so 
happily.  May  God's  best  blessings  rest  on  the  little  stranger 
and  the  beloved  mother  I  Again  a  Charlotte,  —  destined, 
perhaps,  to  play  a  great  part  one  day,  if  a  brother  is  not  born 
to  take  it  out  of  her  hands.  The  English  like  queens,  and 
the  niece  of  the  ever-lamented,  beloved  Charlotte  will  be 
most  dear  to  them.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  delighted  every- 
body is  here  in  hearing  of  your  safe  confinement.  You  know 
that  you  are  much  beloved  in  this  yom*  little  home." 

Three  months  after,  the  Duchess  of  Saxe-Coburg  sent  to 
her  daughter  in  England  the  intelligence  of  the  birth  of  her 
grandson, — the  Prince  Albert  of  happy  memory,  whose 
untimely  death  the  Queen  of  England  still  laments. 

When  the  Princess  Victoria  was  but  eight  months  old,  her 
father  died,  leaving  his  widow  and  her  infant  child  nothing 
but  an  inheritance  of  debt,  and  a  rank  in  the  realm  of  Britain 
which  is  an  inconvenience  and  a  manifest  absurdity  unless 
accompanied  with  great  wealth.  Queen  Victoria  can  doubt- 
less well  remember  the  time  when  her  mother  was  pestered 
with  duns,  and  when  her  own  allowance  of  playthings  was 
limited  by  her  mother's  poverty.  Nor,  indeed,  considering 
her  rank,  was  she  ever  in  very  affluent  circumstances  until 
she  ascended  the  throne,  —  her  mother's  allowance  being  only 
eight  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  part  of  this  was  expended 
in  discharging  the  debts  of  the  Duke  of  Kent. 
*  The  little  princess  was  as  well  educated  and  trained  as 
a  child  so  unnaturally  circumstanced  could  well  be. 

**  Do  not  tease  your  little  puss  with  learning,"  wrote  her 


416  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

grandmother  to  the  Duchess  of  Keut,  when  the  child  was 
four  years  of  age.     **  She  is  so  young  still/' 

And  again,  when  she  was  seven :  — 

**  I  see  by  the  English  newspapers  that  his  Majesty  and 
her  Koyal  Highness  the  Duchess  of  Kent  went  on  Virginia 
water.  The  little  monkey  must  have  pleased  and  amused 
him.     She  is  such  a  pretty,  clever  child." 

We  also  have  a  very  pleasing  glimpse  of  the  princess  and 
her  mother  in  the  following  passage  by  bn  anonymous 
writer :  — 

'^When  first  I  saw  the  pretty  and  pale  daughter  of 
the  Duke  of  Kent,  she  was  fatherless.  Her  fair,  light  form 
was  sporting,  in  all  the  redolence  of  youth  and  health,  on 
the  noble  sands  of  old  Bamsgate.  It  was  a  fine  summer  day, 
not  so  warm  as  to  induce  languor,  but  yet  warm  enough  to 
render  the  fanning  breezes  from  the  laughing  tides,  as  they 
broke  gently  on  the  sands,  agreeable  and  refreshing.  Her 
dress  was  simple, — a  plain  straw  bonnet,  with  a  white  ribbon 
round  the  crown ;  a  colored  muslin  frock,  looking  gay  and 
cheerful,  and  as  pretty  a  pair  of  shoes  on  as  pretty  a  pair  of 
feet  as  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  from  China  to  Kam- 
schatka.  Her  mother  was  her  companion,  and  a  venerable 
man  —  whose  name  is  graven  on  every  human  heart  that 
loves  its  species,  and  whose  undying  fame  is  recorded  in  that 
eternal  book  where  the  actions  of  men  are  written  with  the 
pen  of  truth  —  walked  by  her  parentis  side,  and  doubtless 
gave  that  counsel  and  offered  that  advice  which  none  were 
more  able  to  offer  than  himself,  —  for  it  was  William  Wilber- 
force.  His  kindly  eyes  followed,  with  parental  interest, 
every  footstep  of  the  young  creature,  as  she  advanced  to,  and 
retreated  from,  the  coming  tide ;  and  it  was  evident  that  his 
mind  and  his  heart  were  full  of  the  future,  whilst  they  were 
interested  in  the  present.** 


VICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  417- 

The  death  of  George  the  Fourth,  in  1880,  and  the  accession 
of  William  the  Fourth,  sixty-five  years  of  age,  and  without  an 
heir,  though  twelve  years  married,  rendered  it  all  but  certain 
that  the  Princess  Victoria,  a  graceful  girl  of  eleven,  would 
one  day  be  called  to  the  throne.  Until  then,  ,we  are  told, 
she  was  not  herself  aware  of  the  destiny  before  her ;  but  had 
been  reared  in  every  respect  like  any  other  child  of  an  in- 
telligent family  of  respectable  but  limited  fortune.  She  be- 
came a  highly  interesting  object  both  to  her  family  and  the 
people  of  England.  The  queen  has  lately  published  the 
cordial  letter  which  her  grandmother  wrote  to  congratulate 
her  mother  upon  the  eleventh  birthday  of  the  princess :  — 

^  My  blessings  and  good  wishes  for  the  day  which  gave  you 
the  sweet  blossom  of  May !  May  God  preserve  and  protect 
the  valuable  life  of  that  lovely  flower  from  all  the  dangers 
tiiat  will  beset  her  mind  and  heart !  The  rays  of  the  sun  are 
scorching  at  the  height  to  whicl^she  may  one  day  attain.  It 
is  only  by  the  blessing  of  God  that  all  the  fine  qualities  he 
has  put  into  that  young  soul  can  be  kept  pure  aud  un- 
tarnished. How  well  I  can  sympathize  with  the  feelings  of 
anxiety  that  must  possess  you  when  that  time  comes !  God». 
who  has  helped  you  through  so  many  bitter  hours  of  grief^ 
will  be  your  help  still.     Put  your  trust  in  him." 

A  few  months  later,  when  Parliament  had  named  the 
Duchess  of  Kent  to  the  regency  of  the  kingdom,  in  case  the 
king  should  die  before  the  princess  came  of  age,  the  same 
kind  grandmother  wrote :  — 

**  I  should  have  been  very  sorry  if  the  regency  had  been 
given  into  other  hands  than  yours.  It  would  not  have  been 
a  just  return  for  your  constant  devotion  and  care  to  your 
child  if  this  had  not  been  done.    May  God  give  you  wisdom 

27 


418  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

and  strength  to  do  your  duty,  if  called  upon  to  undertake  it. 
May  God  bless  and  protect  our  little  darling  I  If  I  could 
but  once  see  her  again  I  The  print  you  sent  me  of  her  is  not 
like  the  dear  picture  I  have.  Th6  quantity  of  curls  hide 
the  well-shaped  head,  and  make  it  look  too  lai^e  for  the 
lovely  little  figure." 

And  so  her  childhood  passed  away.  She  had,  of  course* 
the  usual  retinue  of  instructors,  &nd  went  the  usual  round  of 
lessons  and  recreation.  The  mighty  Lablache  gave  her  ia-* 
struction  in  singing ;  and  the  queen  says  of  him  that  he  was 
not  only  one  of  the  best  actors  and  singers  ever  seen  in  Eng- 
land, "but  a  remarliably  clever,  gentleman-like  man,  full  of 
anecdotes  and  knowledge,  and  most  kind  and  warm-heaited. 
The  prince  and  queen  had  a  sincere  regard  for  him."  That 
she  should  acquire  a  familiarity  with  the  three  languages^ 
English,  German,  and  French,  was  scarcely  to  be  avoided, 
since  German  was  the  native  language  of  her  mother,  Eng- 
lish the  language  of  her  country,  and  French  the  language  of 
^courts.  In  the  volumes  which  she  has  recently  given  us, 
Hkere  are  several  specimens  of  the  queen's  drawing,  from 
which  we  may  infer  that  she  acquired  enough  of  this  art  for 
the  occasional  illustration  of  a  private  diary. 

The  most  interesting  event,  perhaps,  of  her  minority,  —  < 
at  least,  the  most  interesting  to  hei*self,  —  was  her  first  inter- 
view with  her  cousin  of  Coburg,  Prince  Albert.  From  the  very 
hirth  4)f  these  children,  their  marriage  by  and  by  Was  dis- 
tinctly contemplated;  and,  as  time  went  on,  it  became  the 
fiuvorite  project  of  the  grandmother  of  the  cousias,  the  Duch- 
ess of  Saxe-Gotha,  whose  affectionate  letters  have  been 
quoted  above.  William  the  Fourth,  it  appears,  had  other 
views  for  ;fais  niece,  and  did  his  best  to  prevent  tbe<  meeting 
of  the  cousins.  But  a  grandmother  and  a  mother,  in  affairs 
of  this  kindi.are  more  than  a  match  for  an  uncle,  even  though 


YICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  419 

that  uncle  wears  a  crown.  So  when  Prince  Albert  and  the 
Princess  Victoria  were  seventeen  years  of  ago,  the  prince 
came  to  England,  accompanied  by  his  father  and  brother. 
Both  the  young  people  were  aware  of  the  benevolent  inten- 
tions of  all  the  German  members  of  their  family,  and  each 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  dreaming  of  the  future  in  accordance 
with  those  intentions.  They  were  well  pleased  with  one 
another  on  this  occasion.  Prince  Albert,  accustomed  to  the 
quiet  routine  of  a  German  duke's  younger  son,  was  equally 
amazed  and  fatigued  by  the  gorgeous  life  of  the  English 
court.  The  lute  hours  were  particularly  disagreeable  to  him, 
—  as  well  they  might  be. 

"My  first  appearance,"  he  .wrote,  **  was  at  a  levee  of  the 
king*s,  which  was  long  and  fatiguing,  but  very  interesting. 
The  same  evening  we  dined  at  court,  and  at  night  there  was 
a  beautiful  concert,  at  which  we  had  to  stand  till  two  o'clock. 
The  next  day  the  king's  birthday  was  kept.  We  went,  in 
the  middle  of  the  day,  to  a  drawing-room  at  St.  James' 
Palace,  at  which  about  three  thousand  eight  hundred  people 
passed  before  the  king  and  queen,  and  the  other  high  digni- 
taries, to  offer  their  congratulations.  There  was  again  a 
great  dinner  in  the  evening,  and  then  a  concert  which  lasted 
till  one  o'clock.  You  can  well  imagiue  I  had  many  hard 
battles  to  fight  against  sleepiness  during  these  late  entertain- 
ments. 

"The  day  before  yesterday,  Monday,  our  aunt  gave  a  bril- 
liant ball  here  at  Kensington  Palace,  at  which  the  gentlemen 
appeared  in  uniform,  and  the  ladies  in  so-called  fancy 
dresses.  We  remained  till  four  o'clock.  Duke  William  of 
Brunswick,  the  Prince  of  Orange  and  his  two  sons,  and  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  were  the  only  guests  that  you  will  care 
to  bear  about. 

**  Yesterday  we  spent  with  the  Duke  of  Northumberland, 


420  EMINENT    TTOMEN    OE    THE    AGE/ 

4 

at  Sion,  and  now  we  are  going  to  Claremont.  From  tins 
account  you  will  see  how  constantly  engaged  we  are,  and  that 
we  must  make  the  most  of  our  time  to  see  at  least  some  of 
the  sights  in  London.  Dear  aunt  is  very  kind  to  us,  and 
does  everything  she  can  to  please  us ;  and  our  cotmn  also 
is  very  amiable.  We  have  not  a  great  deal  of  room  in  our 
apartments,  but  are  nevertheless  very  comfortably  lodged.'* 

The  queen  has  since  recorded  her  recollections  of  the  prince 
at  the  time  of  this  visit :  — 

**The  prince  w^s  at  that  time  much  shorter  than  his  brother, 
already  very  handsome,  but  very  stout,  which  he  entirely 
grew  out  of  afterward.  He  was  most  amiable,  natural^  un- 
affected, and  merry ;  full  of  interest  in  everything ;  playing  on 
the  piano  with  the  princess,  his  cousin ;  drawing ;  in  short, 
constantly  occupied.  He  always  paid  the  greatest  attention 
to  all  he  saw,  and  the  queen  remembers  well  how  intently  he 
listened  to  the  sermon  preached  in  St.  Paul's,  when  he  and 
his  father  and  brother  accompanied  the  Duchess  of  Kent  and 
the  princess  there,  on  the  occasion  of  the  service  attended  by 
the  children  of  the  different  charity  schools.  It  is  indeed 
rare  to  see  a  prince,  not  yet  seventeen  years  of  age,  bestow- 
ing such  earnest  attention  on  a  sermon." 

Aft;er  a  stay  in  England  of  some  weeks.  Prince  Albert  re- 
turned home,  and  resumed  his  studies.  Each  of  the  cousins 
was  highly  prepossessed  in  favor  of  the  other.  Indeed,  the 
princess  seems  to  have  made  up  her  mind,  on  this  occasion, 
that,  if  public  policy  forbade  her  marrying  her  cousin  Albert, 
she  would  never  marry  at  all* 

The  eighteenth  birthday  of  Princess  Victoria,  which  was 
May  the  24th,  1837,  when  she  attained  her  legal  majority, 
was  celebrated  throughout  the  British  Empire  as  a  national 


VICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OV    ENGLAND.  421 

festival,  and  her  health  was  toasted  by  a  million  merry  cir- 
cles of  loyal  Englishmen.  Almost  on  that  very  day,  KiDg 
William  the  Fourth,  then  in  the  seventy-second  year  of  his 
age,  was  stricken  with  mortal  sickness.  He  lingered  four 
weeks,  and  then  expired.  It  was  on  a  fine  morning  in  June, 
as  early  as  five  o'clock,  that  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
communicated  the  intelligence  to  Victoria,  and  i^jfoted  her  as 
Queen  of  England.  Later  in  the  day,  the  Miniy[^  the  Privy 
Councillors,  and  a  hundred  of  the  principal  ng^Mlity,  assem- 
bled in  Kensington  Palace  to  witness  the  formal  proclamation 
of  the  youthful  queen. 

•*  We  publish  and  proclaim,"  shouted  the  herald,  ''that  the 
high  and  mighty  Princess  Alexandrina  Victoria  is  the  only 
lawful  and  liege  Lady,  and,  by  the  grace  of  God,  Queen  of 
the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  Defender 
of  the  Faith." 

Until  this  moment,  it  is  said,  the  young  queen  had  main- 
tained her  self-possession ;  but  on  hearing  these  tremendous 
words,  the  realization  of  so  man}'  hopes  and  fond  imagiuings, 
she  threw  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck  and  sobbed. 
She  recovered  herself  in  a  few  moments,  and  then  the  Duke 
of  Sussex,  the  youngest  son  of  George  the  Third,  and  the 
head  of  the  English  nobility,  advanced  to  pay  his  homage  by 
bending  the  knee.  Her  good  sense  and  good  feeling  re- 
volted against  an  absurdity  so  extreme. 

''Do  not  kneel,  uncle,"  she  said,  "for  I  am  still  Victoria, 
your  niece." 

Her  bearing  on  this  most  trying  occasion  was  eminently 
becoming ;  and,  a  few  weeks  later,  when  she  prorogued  Par- 
liament in  person,  and  spoke  the  royal  speech  from  the 
throne  of  the  House  of  Lords,  she  conciliated  every  heart  by 
her  modesty  and  self-possession. 

There  was  a  circle  of  relations  in  Germany  for  whom  these 
events  possessed  the  deepest  interest.    The  letter  which 


422  EMIKKI^T.  WOM£N    OF    THE    AGE. 

Prince  Albert  wrote  to  congratulate  his  cousin  upon  her  ao- 
cession  was  creditable  to  his  taste  and  feeling.  He  was  theo 
a  student  at  the  University  of  Bonn,  from  which  he  wrote, 
Juno  26th,  1837 :  — 

"  Mr  DEAREST  Cousin,  —  I  must  write  you  a  few  lines  to 
present  you  my  sincerest  felicitations  on  that  great  change 
which  has  taken  place  in  your  life. 

^  Now  you  are  queen  of  the  mightiest  land  of  Europe,  in 
your  hand  lies  the  happiness  of  millions.  May  Heaven  assist 
you,  and  strengthen  you  with  its  strength,  in  that  high  bat 
difficult  task  I 

^  I  hope  that  your  reign  may  be  long,  happy,  and  glorious, 
and  that  your  efforts  may  be  rewarded  by  the  thankfulness 
and  love  of  your  subjects. 

**May  I  pray  you  to  think  likewise  sometimes  of  your 
cousins  in  Bonn,  and  to  continue  to  them  that  kindness  you 
favored  them  with  till  now.  Be  assured  that  our  minds  are 
always  with  you. 

**  I  will  not  be  indiscreet  and  abuse  your  time.  Believe 
me  always  your  Majesty's  most  obedient  and  faithful  ser* 
vant,  Albert." 

Queen  Victoria  was  crowned  at  Westminster  Abbey  about 
a  year  ailcr  her  accession,  —  June  the  28th,  1838.  It  would 
be  easy  to  fill  many  of  these  pages  with  accounts  of  a  cer^ 
monial  which  has  increased  in  splendor-  as  it  has  diminished 
in  significance.  The  whole  ceremony  was  founded  upon  the 
belief  that  the  Sovereign  represented  the  Majesty,  and 
wielded  the  power,  of  the  great  God  of  heaven  and  earth.  So 
long  as  this  belief  was  real  and  universal,  the  ceremony  of 
the  coronation,  and  all  the  complicated  state  and  etiquette 
of  royal  life,  was  not  altogether  wanting  in  propriety.  It  was 
the  attempt  of  rude  and  barbarous  men  to  express  their  rude 


VICTORIA,    QUBBN    OF    ENGLAND.  423 

ind  barbarous  conceptions  of  the  divine  government,  and  the 
sacredness  and  awfulness  of  even  its  poor  human  representa- 
tive. But  people  no  longer  believe  that  any  special  divinity 
resides  in,  or  is  represented  by,  the  convenient  ducal  houses 
of  Germany,  from  which  England  borrows  a  monarch  upon 
occasion.  We  need  not  dwell  therefore  upon  the  extremely 
laborious  and  expensive  way  in  which  the  English  of  modem 
times  get  the  crown  placed  for  a  few  seconds  upon  a 
sovereign's  head. 

She  was  queen,  then,  at  length.  She  was  the  central  figure 
of  a  fiction  as  splendid  as  the  Kenilworth  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  and  all  the  world  looked  with  interest  upon  its  gor- 
geous illusions.  In  those  years  of  her  blooming  youth  she 
seemed  to  the  imaginations  of  men  the  most  brilliant  and 
most  enviable  of  human  beings.  Nevertheless,  she  has  re- 
cently told  us,  that  she  was  far  from  happy  at  that  time. 
She  could  not,  at  first,  quite  reconcile  her  mind  to  be  a 
fiction.  luheritiug  something  of  the  obstinacy  of  her  race, 
she  desired  to  have  her  own  way  in  some  matters  in  which  a 
constitutional  monarch  must  be  submissive.  She  had  a  par- 
ticular prejudice  against  the  torics,  —  not  merely  against 
their  principles,  but  against  their  persons, — and  this 
"prejudice  an  unhackneyed  girl  of  nineteen  was  not  likely 
to  conceal.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  excessively 
fond  of  the  whigs,  and  particularly  of  the  good-natured 
premier,  Lord  Melbourne,  who  had  advised  and  guided 
her  during  the  first  anxious  moments  of  her  reign.  She 
carried  these  prejudices  so  far,  that  Lord  Melbourne 
himself,  although  at  the  head  of  the  favored  party,  re- 
monstrated with  her  upon  the  subject,  and  advised  her  to  for- 
give and  conciliate  the  tories.  Then  again,  being  warm  in 
her  friendships,  she  could  not  endure  the  idea  of  partiug  with 
some  of  the  ladies  about  her  person,  when  the  tories  c^me  into 
power.     She   was  very  restive   in  this  afiair,   and  it  was 


I 


424:  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

long  before  she  could  bend  her  will  to  the  hard  necessity  of 
losing  the  society  of  her  friends  for  reasons  purely  political, 
over  which  she  had  no  control. 

The  strangest  part  of  her  conduct  was,  that,  as  soon  as  she 
became  her  own  mistress,  she  ceased  to  correspond  with  her 
handsome  cousin  in  Germany.  With  reference  to  this  sub- 
ject the  queen  has  written :  — 

•'  The  only  excuse  the  queen  can  make  for  herself  is  in  the 
fact  that  the  change  from  the  secluded  life  at  Kensington  to 
the  independence  of  her  position  as  Queen  Eegnaut,  at  the 
ago  of  eighteen,  put  all  ideas  of  marriage  out  of  her  mind^ 
which  she  now  most  bitterly  repents.  A  worse  school  for 
a  young  girl,  or  one  more  detrimental  to  all  natural  feelings 
and  affections,  cannot  well  be  imagined  than  the  position  of 
a  queen  at  eighteen,  without  experience  and  without  a 
husband  to  guide  and  support  her.  This  the  queen  can  state 
from  painful  experience,  and  she  thanks  God  that  none  of  her 
dear  daughters  are  exposed  to  such  danger," 

Prince  Albert  was  naturally  uneasy  at  her  silence.  A 
young  man  of  twenty-one  must  not  long  delay  to  choose  a 
career.  So  far,  his  life  had  been  shaped  by  a  secret  but  con- 
fident expectation  that  he  would  one  day  be  the  consort  of 
his  cousin  Victoria,  and  if  this  was  not  to  be  his  destiny,  it 
was  necessary  to.  seek  another.  Impatient  to  know  his  fate, 
he  came  to  England  in  October,  1839,  resolved  to  bring  the 
matter  to  a  conclusion.  Three  years  had  passed  since  the 
cousins  had  seen  one  another. 

\When  last  they  had  met,  she  was  a  girl  of  seventeen,  living 
a  retired  life  at  Kensington  Palace,  with  her  mother  and  her 
tutors,  with  little  retinue  and  less  ostentation.  Ho  was  but  a 
lively  lad,  not  grown  to  his  full  stature,  and  unbecomingly 
fat.     But  now  how  different  were  they  both  I 

It  was  half-past  seven  in  the  evening  of  October  the  10th, 


VICTOBIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  425 

1839,  Tvhen  Prince  Albert  and  his  brother  alighted  at  the 
principal  entrance  of  Windsor  Castle,  one  of  the  grandest- 
looking  royal  residences  in  Europe.  At  the  top  of  the  stair- 
case, the  queen  herself  met  them  in  evening  attire,  and 
invested  with  the  dignity  which  the  very  title  of  queen  seems 
to  carry  with  it.  Nor  was  the  change  in  him  less  striking  in 
a  maiden's  eyes.  The  prince  had  grown  tall,  symmetrical,  and 
handsome.  That  down  upon  his  upper  lip  of  three  years  be- 
fore was  now  an  elegant  mustache.  He  had  become  a  man. 
There  was  also  in  his  countenance,  we  are  told,  a  gentleness 
of  expression,  and  a  smile  of  peculiar  sweetness,  with  a 
look  of  thought  and  intelligence  in  his  clear  blue  eye,  and  fair, 
broad  forehead,  which  conciliated  every  one  who  looked  upon 
him.  He  was  the  very  prince  of  romance,  — just  the  hero 
wanted  for  the  dazzling  fiction  of  which  Victoria  was  the 
gentle  heroine. 

His  fate  was  decided  promptly  enough.  The  queen  was 
delighted  with  his  appearance  and  bearing.  She  conducted 
him  herself  to  her  mother.  It  was  about  dinner-time  when 
they  arrived,  and  yet  they  could  not  dine  with  the  queen  that 
night,  for  a  reason  which  the  queen  herself  explains  :  **  Their 
clothes  not  having  arrived,  they  could  not  appear  at  dinner, 
but  came  in  after  it  in  spite  of  their  morning  dresses."  There 
was  a  large  company  of  lords  and  ministers  staying  at  the 
castle  then,  and  the  etiquette  of  the  dinner  could  not  be 
dispensed  with,  even  in  favor  of  these  young  princes. 

Four  days  sufficed  1  On  the  fourth  day  after  the  arrival  of 
the  prince,  the  queen  told  Lord  Melbourne  that  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  marry  him.  The  minister  said  he  was 
y^^y  gl^<l  ^  bear  it,  and  that  he  thought  the  news  would  be 
well  received. 

•*  You  will  be  much  more  comfoi'table,"  added  Lord  Mel- 
bourne, in  his  simple,  fatherly  manner ;  •*  for  a  woman  cannot 
stand  alone  for  any  time  in  whatever  position  she  may  be." 


426  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGK. 

Accordingly,  on  the  following  day  Prince  Albert  came  in 
from  hunting  at  the  unusually  early  hour  of  twelve,  for  he 
had  received  nn  intimation  the  evening  before  that  the  queen 
had  something  particular  to  say  to  him*  Ou  being  sum- 
moned to  the  queen*s  presence  he  found  her  alone.  iProcisely 
what  occurred  on  the  occasion  will  never  be  known.  It  seems, 
however,  that  it  devolved*  upon  the  queen  to  propose  the 
momentous  question.  The  following  is  the  prince's  version 
of  what  passed,  as  given  in  a  letter  to  his  grandmother :  — 

''The  subject  which  has  occupied  us  so  much  of  late  is  at 
last  settled.  The  queen  sent  for  me  alone  to  her  room  a  few 
days  ago,  and  declared  to  me  in  a  genuine  outburst  of  love 
and  affection  that  I  had  gained  her  whole  heart,  and  would 
make  her  intensely  happy  if  I  would  make  her  the  sacrifice 
of  sharing  her  life  with  her,  for  she  said  she  looked  on  it  as 
a  sacrifice.  The  only  thing  which  troubled  her  was  that  she 
did  not  think  that  she  was  worthy  of  me.  The  joyous  open- 
ness of  manner  in  which  she  told  me  this  quite  enchanted  me, 
and  I  was  quite  carried  away  by  it.  She  is  really  most  good 
and  amiable,  and  I  am  quite  sure  Heaven  has  not  given  me 
into  evil  hands,  and  that  we  shall  be  happy  together.  Since 
that  moment  Victoria  does  whatever  she  fancies  I  should  wish 
or  like,  and  we  talk  together  a  great  deal  about  our  future 
life,  which  she  promises  me  to  make  as  happy  as  possible. 
Oh,  the  future  I  does  it  not  bring  with  it  the  moment  when  I 
shall  have  to  take  leave  of  my  dear,  dear  home,  and  of  you? 
I  cannot  think  of  that  without  deep  melancholy  taking  pos- 
session of  me." 

As  soon  as  the  interview  was  over,  the  queen,  according  to 
her  custom,  recorded  her  feelings  in  her  diary. 

"How  I  will  strive,**  she  wrote,  in  the  first  gush  of  tender 
emotion,  'Ho  make  him  feel  as  little  as  possible  the  great  sac- 
rifice he  has  made  I    I  told  him  it  was  a  great  sacrifice  on  his 


VICTORIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  427 

party  but  he  would  uot  allow  it.     I  then  told  him  to  fetch  Er 
nest  (his  brother),  who  congratulated  us  both  and  seenned 
very  happy.    Ernest  told  me  how  perfect  his  brother  was." 

The  same  afternoon,  she  wrote  to  her  Uncle  Leopold, 
King  of  the  Belgians^  who  had  from  the  first  fuTored  the 
match  most  warmly.  This  letter  is  highly  creditable  to  the 
goody  simple  heart  of  the  maiden  queen :  — 

**  My  mind  is  quite  made  up,  and  I  told  Albert  this  morn- 
ing of  it.  The  warm  affection  he  showed  me  on  learning  this 
gave  me  great  pleasure.  He  seems  perfection,  and  I  think 
that  I  have  the  prospect  of  very  great  happiness  before  me. 
I  love  him  iiobe  than  I  can  sa}"-,  and  shall  do  everything  in 
my  power  to  render  this  sacrifice  (for  such  in  my  opinion  it 
is)  as  small  as  I  can.  He  seems  to  have  great'  tact,  —  a  very 
necessary  thing  in  his  position.  These  last  few  days  have 
passed  like  a  dream  to  me,  and  I  am  so  much  bewildered  by 
it  all  that  I  know  hardly  how  to  write ;  but  I  do  feel  very 
happy.  It  is  absolutely  necessary  that  this  determination  of 
mine  should  be  known  to  no  one  but  yourself  and  to  Uncle 
Ernest  until  after  the  meeting  of  Parliament,  as  it  would  be 
considered,  otherwise,  neglectful  on  my  part  not  to  have 
assembled  Parliament  at  once  to  inform  them  of  it." 

To  which  the  good  old  king  replied,  very  sensibly  and 
happily :  — 

*•  In  your  position  .  •  .  you  could  not  exist  without 
having  a  happy  and  agreeable  *iut£rieur.'  And  I  am  much 
deceived  (which  I  think  I  am  not) ,  or  you  will  find  in  Albert 
just  the  qualities  and  disposition  which  are  indispensable  for 
your  happiness,  and  which  will  suit  your  own  character,  tem- 
per, and  mode  of  life.  You  say  most  amiably  that  you  con- 
sider it  a  sacrifice  on  the  part  of  Albert.   This  is  true  in  many 


428  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    TH9    AGE. 

points,  because  his  position  will  be  a  difficult  one ;  but  much, 
I  may  say  ally  will  depend  on  your  affection  for  him.  If  YOtJ 
love  him,  and  are  kind  to  him,  he  will  easily  bear  the  bothers 
of  liis  position,  and  there  is  a  steadiness,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  a  cheerfulness  in  his  character  which  wiU  facilitate  this.** 

Nothing  remained  but  to  announce  the  intended  marriage 
to  the  Privy  Council,  and  through  the  council  to  the  country. 
The  council  met,  November  23d,  to  the  number  of  eighty,  in 
one  of  the  large  rooms  of  Buckingham  Palace,  the  queen's 
London  residence.  It  deyolved  upon  the  queen  herself  to 
make  the  announcement  to  this  formidable  company. 

•* Precisely  at  two,"  the  queen  wrote  in  her  diary,  '^I  went 
in.  The  room  was  full,  but  I  hardly  knew  who  was  there. 
Lord  Melbourne  I  saw  looking  kindly  at  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  but  he  was  not  near  me.  I  then  read  my  short  declara- 
tion. I  felt  my  hands  shook,  but  I  did  not  make  one  mistake. 
I  felt  most  happy  and  thankful  when  it  was  over.  Lord 
Lansdowne  then  rose,  and,  in  the  name  of  the  Privy  Council, 
asked  that  *  this  most  gracious  and  most  welcome  communica- 
tion might  be  printed.'  I  then  left  the  room,  the  whole  thing 
not  lasting  above  two  or  three  minutes.  The  Duke  of  Cam- 
bridge came  into  the  small  library  where  I  was  standing  and 
wished  me  joy." 

The  queen  wore  a  bracelet  in  which  there  was  a  portrait  of 
Prince  Albert,  and  she  says  in  her  journal,  ^  It  seemed  to 
give  me  courage  at  the  council." 

On  the  11th  of  February,  1840,  at  the  royal  chapel  of  St. 
James,  in  London,  in  the  presence  of  all  that  was  most  dis- 
tinguished and  splendid  in  the  life  of  Great  Britain,  the  mar- 
riage was  solemnized.  The  queen,  as  brides  generally  do, 
looked  pale  and  anxious.  Her  dress  was  a  rich  white  satin, 
trimmed  with  orange  blossoms,  and  upon  her  head  she  wore 
a  wreath  of  the  same  beautiful  flowers.    Over  her  h^^ad,  but 


VICTOKIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  429 

not  80  a3  to  conceal  her  face,  a  veil  of  Honiton  lace  was 
thrown.  She  was  sparingly  decorated  with  diamonds.  She 
wore,  however,  a  pair  of  very  large  diamond  ear-rings,  and  a 
diamond  necklace.  Her  twelve  bridesmaids  were  attired  in 
similar  taste,  and  they  were  all  young  ladies  of  remarkable 
beauty.  Prince  Albert  was  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  Brit- 
ish field-marshal,  and  was  decorated  with  the  collar  and  star 
of  the  Order  of  the  Garter.  At  the  moment  when  the  queen 
and  prince  advanced  to  the  communion-table,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  scene  was  in  the  high- 
est degree  splendid  and  interesting.  But  its  splendors  seemed 
to  fade  away  before  the  majestic  simplicity  of  the  marriage 
service.  There  was  really  a  kind  of  sublimity  in  the  plain- 
ness and  directness  of  the  language  employed : — 

**  Albert,  wilt  thou  have  this  woman  to  be  thy  wedded 
wife  ?  "  and  "  Victoria,  wilt  thou  have  Albert  to  bo  thy  wed- 
ded husband  ?  "  and  ^  Who  giveth  this  woman  to  be  married 
to  this  man  ?  ** 

To  this  last  question  the  Duke  of  Sussex  replied  by  taking 
the  queen's  hand  and  saying,*  ^I  do."  Perhaps  some  in  the 
assembly  may  have  smiled  when  the  Queen  of  England  prom- 
ised to  obei/  this  younger  son  of  a  German  Duke,  and  when 
he  said,  "With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow."  The 
queen  tells  us,  however,  that  she  pronounced  the  word  obey 
with  a  deliberate  intent  to  keep  her  vow,  and  that  she  kept  it. 

There  was,  of  course,  the  wedding  breakfast  at  Bucking- 
ham Palace,  which  was  attended  by  the  royal  family,  the 
ministry,  the  maids  of  honor,  and  other  personal  attendants 
of  the  queen  and  prince.  Soon  after  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  the  royal  chariot  dashed  into  Windsor  with  its  es- 
cort of  life-guards,  amid  the  cheers  of  the  whole  population 
of  the  town.    The  honeymoon  was  spent  at  Windsor  Castle. 

Prince  Albert  gave  himself  entirely  up  to  the  duties  of  his 
position  and  gradually  relieved  the  queen  from  the  burdens 


£{0  EMINEKT    WOMEK    OW   THX    AGS. 

of  royalty.  At  first,  he  was  not  present  at  the  interviewi 
between  the  queen  and  her  miuisters,  unless  specially  iuvited^^ 
but  after  a  year  or  two  he  was  present  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  the  queen  invariably  acted  in  accordance  with  his  advice. 
He  was,  in  fact,  as  much  King  of  England  as  though  he  had 
been  bom  to  the  title.  He  said  himself,  in  a  letter  to  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  declining  the  command  of  the  army, 
that  his  principle  of  action  was  ^  to  sink  his  own  individual 
existence  in  that  of  his  wife,  —  to  aim  at  no  power  by  himself 
or  for  himself,  — to  shun  all  ostentation,  —  to  assume  no  sepa- 
rate responsibility  befoi'e  the  public."  Desiring,  he  added, 
to  make  his  position  a  part  of  the  queen's,  he  considered  it 
his  duty  ^  continually  and  anxiously  to  watch  every  part  of 
the  public  business,  in  order  to  be  able  to  advise  and  assist 
her  at  any  moment  in  any  of  the  multifarious  and  difficult 
questions  brought  before  her, — sometimes  political,  or  social, 
or  personal,  —  as  the  natural  head  of  her  family,  superintend- 
ent of  her  household,  manager  of  her  private  aSaii*s ;  her 
sole  confidential  adviser  in  politics,  and  only  assisbmt  in  her 
communications  with  the  officers  of  the  government." 

To  his  father,  he  wrote,  a  few  months  after  his  marriage : 
^  Victoria  allows  me  to  take  much  part  in  foreign  afiairs,  and 
I  think  I  have  already  done  some  good.  I  always  commit 
my  views  to  paper,  and  then  communicate  them  to  Lord 
Melboume.  He  seldom  answers  me,  but  I  have  often  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  act  entirely  in  accordance  with 
what  I  have  said." 

And  again,  in  the  following  year:  **!  study  the  politics  of 
the  day  with  great  industry,  and  resolutely  hold  myself  aloof 
from  all  parties.  I  take  active  interest  in  all  national  insti- 
tutions and  associations.  I  speak  quite  openly  with  the 
ministers  on  all  subjects,  so  as  to  obtain  information,  and 
meet  on  all  sides  with  much  kindness I  endeavor 


VICTORIA,    QUESN    Olf    BNGLAND.  431 

qtiietly  to  be  of  as  mach  use  to  Victoria  in  her  position  as  I 


can." 


Provided  thus  with  a  mate  so  suitable  and  so  efficient,  the 
life  of  Queen  Victoria  did  not  essentially  differ  from  that  of 
any  other  wife  and  mother  of  rank  in  England,  except  that 
it  was  a  thousand  times  happier  than  married  life  usually  is 
in  any  rank.  Happiness  in  married  life  depends  upon  sev- 
eral things;  but  its  fundamental  condition  is,  the  hearty 
acceptance  and  patient,  cheerful  discharge  of  the  duties  of 
the  position.  This  condition  was  nobly  complied  with  by  this 
fortunate  pair.  When  the  queen  was  urged  to  assert  her 
authority  as  head  of  the  house  and  nation,  since  her  husband 
was  but  one  of  her  subjects,  she  was  not  for  an  instant  de- 
ceived by  such  sophistry.  She  would  reply,  that  she  had 
solemnly  promised  at  the  altar  to  o6ey  her  husband,  and  that 
she  would  never  consent  to  limit  or  refine  away  the  obligation. 
Both  of  them  thus  accepting  the  duties  which  nature  and 
circumstances  had  assigned  them,  and  each  having  for  the 
other  a  genuine  respect  and  affection,  they  were  as  happy  as 
people  can  rationally  expect  to  be  in  this  world. 

November  21st,  1840,  the  princess  royal  was  born.  Two 
days  after,  the  prince  wrote  to  his  father :  "  Victoria  is  as 
well  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  She  sleeps  well,  has  a  good 
appetite,  and  is  extremely  quiet  and  cheerful."  The  queen 
was  soon  able  to  record  in  her  diary,  which  she  did  with  a 
full  heart,  that  during  the  time  of  her  confinement  **his  care 
and  devotion  were  quite  beyond  expression.**  And  again: 
**  No  one  but  himself  ever  lifted  her  from  her  bed  to  her  sofa, 
and  ho  always  helped  to  wheel  her  on  her  bod  or  sofa  into 
the  next  room.  For  this  purpose  he  would  come  instantly 
when  sent  for  from  any  part  of  the  house.     As  years  went 

ft 

on,  and  he  became  overwhelmed  with  work  (for  his  atten- 
tions were  the  same  in  all  the  queen's  subsequent  confine- 
ments), this   was  often  done    at   much  inconvenience  to 


432  EMIKEKi:  WOMEK    OF    TFS    AGE. 

himself;  but  he  ever  came  with  a  sweet  smile  on  his  face.  In 
short,"  the  queen  adds,  ^  his  care  of  her  was  like  that  of  a 
mother,  nor  could  there  be  a  kinder,  wiser,  or  more  judicious 
nurse." 

Both  the  parents  were  for  a  moment  disappointed  that 
their  first-born  was  not  an  heir  to  the  throne.  They  had  not 
long  to  wait  for  consolation.  The  following  is  a  list  of  their 
children :  — 

1.  Victoria,  the  Princess  Boyal,  —  now  the  wife  of  the  heir- 
apparent  to  the  throne  of  Prussia,  —  born  November  21st, 
1840. 

2.  Albert  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales,  heir-apparent,  bom 
November  9th,  1841. 

3.  Princess  Alice  Maude  Maiy,  bom  April  25th,  1843. 

4.  Prince  Albert  Ernest  Albert,  born  August  6th,  1844. 

5.  Princess  Helena  Augusta  Victoria,  born  May  25th, 
1846. 

6.  Princess  Louisa  Caroline  Alberta,  bom  May  18th,  1848. 
.  7.  Prince  Arthur  William  Patrick  Albert,  born  May  1st, 
1850. 

8.  Prince  Leopold  George  Duncan  Albert,  born  April 
7th,  1853. 

9.  Princess  Beatrice  Mary  Victoria  Feodore,  bom  April 
15th,  1857. 

All  of  these  children  are  still  living,  —  the  eldest  twenty- 
eight,  the  youngest  eleven.  They  appear  to  have  been 
brought  up  in  the  most  simple  and  sensible  manner.  The 
queen  records  several  times,  in  her  Highland  Diary,  that  when 
the  family  chanced  to  be  separated  from  their  attendants,  she 
heard  her  children  say  their  lessons  herself.  Thus  on  board 
the  yacht,  she  writes,  "  I  contrived  to  give  Vicky  (Victoria, 
the  princess  royal)  a  little  lesson  by  making  her  read  in  her 
English  history."    On  this  subject  our  own  gifted  and  excel- 


VICTORIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  433 

lent  Grace  Greenwood  has  recently  related  some  extremely 
pleasing  anecdotes. 

*•  When  I  was  in  England,**  writes  Grace  Greenwood,  in  the 
"Advance"^*!  heard  several  pleasant  anecdotes  of  the  queen 
and  her  family,  from  a  lady  who  received  them  of  her  friend, 
the  governess  of  the  royal  children.  This  governess,  a  very 
interesting  young  lady,  was  the  orphan  daughter  of  a  Scot- 
tish clergyman.  During  the  first  year  of  her  residence  at 
Windsor,  her  mother  died.  When  she  first  received  news  of 
her  serious  illness,  she  applied  to  the  queen  for  permission  to 
resign  her  situation,  feeling  that  to  her  mother  she  owed  a 
paore  sacred  duty  than  even  to  her  sovereign.  The  queen, 
who  had  been  much  pleased  with  her,  would  not  hear  of  her 
making  this  sacrifice,  but  said,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  gentle 
sympathy,  — 

^  •  Go  at  once  to  your  mother,  child ;  stay  with  her  as  long 
as  she  needs  you,  and  then  come  back  to  us.  I  will  keep 
your  place  for  you.  Prince  Albert  and  I  will  hear  the  chil- 
dren's lessons ;  so  in  any  event  let  your  mind  be  at  rest  in 
regard  to  your  pupils.' 

••The  governess  went,  and  had  several  weeks  of  sweety 
mournful  communion  with  her  dying  mother;  then,  when 
she  had  seen  that  dear  form  laid  to  sleep  under  the  daisies 
in  the  kirk-yard,  she  returned  to  the  palace,  where  the  lone- 
liness of  royal  grandeur  would  have  oppressed  her  sorrow 
ing  heart  beyond  endurance,  had  it  not  been  for  the  gracious, 
womanly  sympathy  of  the  queen,  who  came,  every  day,  to 
her  school-room,  —  and  the  considerate  kindness  of  her 
young  pupils. 

"  A  year  went  by ;  the  first  anniversary  of  her  great  loss 
dawned  upon  her,  and  she  was  overwhelmed  as  never  l)efore 
by  the  utter  loneliness  of  her  grief.  She  felt  that  no  one  in 
all  that  great  household  knew  how  much  goodness  and 
sweetness  passed  out  of  mortal  life,  that  day,  a  year  ago,  or* 

S8 


434  EMINENT    WOMEN    09    THE    AQE. 

could  give  with  her,  one  tear,  one  thought,  to  that  grave 
under  the  Scottish  daisies.  Every  morning,  before  break- 
fast, —  which  the  elder  children  took  with  their  £ither  and 
mother,  in  the  pleasant  crimson  parlor  looking  out  on  the 
terrace  at  Windsor,  —  her  pupils  came  to  the  school-room, 
for  a  brief  religious  exercise.  This  morning  the  voice  of  the 
governess  trembled  in  reading  the  Scripture  for  the  day; 
some  words  of  divine  tenderness  were  too  much  for  her 
poor,  lonely,  grieving  heart;  her  strength  gave  way,  and, 
laying  her  head  on  the  desk  before  her,  she  burst  into  tears, 
murmuring,  — 

" '  O  mother  I  mother  I ' 

'^  One  after  another  the  children  stole  out  of  the  room,  and 
went  to  their  mother,  to  tell  her  how  sadly  their  governess 
was  feeling;  and  that  soft-hearted  monarch  exclaiming, — 
"  *  O  poor  girl  I  it  is  the  anniversary  of  her  mother's  death,' 

hurried  to  the  school-room,  where  she  found  Miss  — : r , 

struggling  to  regain  her  composure, 

"'My  poor  child  1'  she  said.  *I  am  sorry  the  children 
disturbed  you  this  morning.  I  meant  to  have  given  ordera 
that  you  should  have  this  day  entirely  to  youi'self ;  take  it 
as  a  sad  and  sacred  holiday.  I  will  hear  the  lessons  of  the 
children.'  And  then  she  added,  *  To  show  you  that  I  have 
not  forgotten  this  mournful  anniversary,  I  bring  you  this 
gift,'  clasping  on  her  arm  a  beautiful  mourning  bracelet, 
attached  to  which  was  a  locket  for  her  mother's  hair,  marked 
with  the  date  of  that  mother's  death. 

"  What  wonder  that  the  orphan  kissed,  with  tears,  this  gift, 
and  the  more  than  royal  hand  that  bestowed  it !  This  was 
Victoria,  fifteen  years  ago;  and  I  don't  believe  she  has 
morally  *  advanced  backward '  since  then. 

**  Another  anecdote  illustrating  Victoria's  admirable  good 
sense  and  strict  domestic,  discipline,  came  to  me  directly 
from  one  who  witnessed  the  occurrence. 


VICTORIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  435 

ic  day,  wben  the  queen  was  present  in  her  carriage ,  at 
tary  review,  the  princess  royal,  then  rather  a  wilful 
'  about  thirteen,  sitting  on  the  front  seat,  seemed  dis- 

to  be  rather  familiar  and  coquettish  with  some  young 
s  of  the  escort.     Her  Majesty  gave  several  reproving 

without  avail ;  *  winked  at  her,  but  she  wouldn't  stay 
d.'  At  length,  in  flirting  her  handkerchief  over  the 
>f  the  carriage,  she  dropped  it,  —  too  evidently  not 
ntally.  Instantly  two  or  three  young  heroes  sprang 
their  saddles  to  return  it  to  her  fair  hand;  but  the 
voice  of  royalty  stayed  them. 

'top,  gentlemen  I '  exclaimed  the  queen ;  *  leave  it 
'here  it  lies.  Now,  my  daughter,  get  down  from  the 
^e  and  pick  up  your  handkerchief.' 
lere  was  no  help  for  it.  The  royal  footmen  let  down 
eps  for  the  little,  royal  lady,  who  proceeded  to  lift 
\he  dust  the  pretty  piece  of  cambric  and  lace.  She 
d  a  good  deal,  though  she  tossed  her  head  saucily, 
le  was  doubtless  angry  enough.  But  the  mortifying 
may  have  nipped  in  the  bud  her  first  impulse  towards 
;ry.  It  was  hard,  but  it  was  wholesome.  How  many 
can  mothers  would  be  equal  to  such  a  piece  of  Spartan 
line?'* 

ill  venture  to  borrow  another  pretty  story  from  Grace 
wood's  budget.     The  following  anecdote  was  related 

by  the  hero  of  it. 

y  friend,  Mr.  W ,  is  a  person  of  very  artistic 

—  a  passionate  picture  lover.  He  had  seen  all  the 
paintings  in  the  public  galleries  of  London,  and  had  a 

desire  to  see  those  of  Buckingham  Palace,  which, 
ot  being  a  *  show-house,'  were  inaccessible  to  an  ordi- 
zonnoisseur.  Fortune  favored  him  at  last.  He  was* 
')ther  of  a  London  carpet  merchant,  who  had  orders  to 


436  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THB    AGE. 

put  down  new  carpets  in  the  state  apartments  of  the  palace. 
And  so  it  chanced  that  the  temptation  came  to  my  friend  to 
put  on  a  workman's  blouse,  and  thus  enter  the  royal  pre- 
cincts, while  the  flag  indicating  the  presence  of  the  august 
family  floated  defiantly  over  the  roof. 

*^  So  he  efiected  an  entrance ;  and,  when  once  within  the 
royal  halls,  dropped  his  assumed  character,  and  devoted 
himself  to  the  pictures.  'It  happened  that  he  remained  in 
one  of  the  apartments  after  the  workmen  had  left,  and  while 
quite  alone,  the  queen  came  tripping  in,  wearing  a  plain 
white  morning  dress,  and  followed  by  two  or  three  of  her 
younger  children,  dressed  with  like  simplicity.  She  ap- 
proached the  supposed  workman,  and  said,  — 

^ '  Pray,  can  you  tell  me  when  the  new  carpet  will  be  put 
down  in  the  Privy  Council  Chamber?' 

*^  And  he,  thinking  he  had  no  right  to  recognize  the  queen 
under  the  circumstances,  replied,  — 

•• '  Really,  madam,  I  cannot  tell,  but  I  will  inquire.* 

**  'Stay,'  she  said,  abruptly,  but  not  unkindly;  *who  are 
you  ?    I  perceive  that  you  are  not  one  of  the  workmen.* 

"  Mr.  W ,  blushing  and  stammering   somewhat,  yet 

made  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  told  the  simple  truth.  The 
queen  seemed  much  amused  with  his  ruse^  and  for  the  sake 
of  his  love  for  the  art  forgave  it ;  then  added,  smiling,  — 

" '  1  knew  for  all  your  dress  that  you  were  a  gentleman,  be- 
cause you  did  not ''Your  Majesty  "me.  Pray  look  at  the 
pictures  as  long  as  you  will.  Good-morning  t  Come  chicks, 
we  must  go.^ 


fn 


These  are  but  trifles ;  but  they  serve  to  show  the  queen's 
simple  and  kindly  character.  Her  Highland  Diary,  recently 
published,  abounds  in  similar  trifles,  and  exhibits  to  us  the 
picture  of  a  happy  family,  always  delighted  to  escape  from 
the  trammelling  etiquette  and  absurd  splendors  of  their  rank, 


VICTOEIA,    QUEEN    OF    ENGLAND.  437 

and  capable  of  being  pleased  with  those  natural  pleasures 
which  are  accessible  to  most  of  mankind. 

'*I  told  Albert,**  wrote  the  queen  once,  ''that  formerly  I 
was  too  happy  to  go  to  London  and  wretched  to  leave  it, 
and  how,  since  the  blessed  hour  of  my  marriage,  and  still 
more  since  the  summer,  I  dislike  and  am  unhappy  to  leave 
the  country,  and  could  be  content  and  happy  never  to  go  to 
town.  This  pleased  him.  The  solid  pleasures  of  a  peace- 
ful, quiet,  yet  merry  life  in  the  country,  with  my  inestimable 
husband  and  friend,  my  all  in  all,  are  far  more  durable  than ' 
the  amusements  of  London,  though  we  don't  despise  or  dis- 
like these  sometimes." 

Alas  I  that  a  union  productive  of  so  much  happiness  ancl 
80  much  good  should  have  been  prematurely  sundered  by 
death.  In  the  spring  of  1862  the  Prince  was  attacked  at 
Windsor  Castle  by  a  disease  which  the  physicians  pro- 
nounced to  be  gastric  fever.  After  a  short  illness  the  patient 
sank  into  a  kind  of  stupor,  from  which  he  roused  himself 
with  ever-increasing  difficulty.  Americans  will  never  forget 
that  the  last  act  of  this  truly  wise  and  noble  prince  was  to 
review  the  draft  of  the  letter  which  the  ministry  proposed  to 
send  to  the  American  government,  demanding  the  return  of 
the  confederate  commissioners  taken  from  a  British  Mail 
Steamer  by  Captain  Wilkes,  of  the  United  States  Navy. 
Every  tory  mind  in  the  universe  desired  that  letter  to  be 
couched  in  such  language  as  would  preclude  the  possibility 
of  a  peaceful  issue.     But  Prince  Albert  had  not  a  tory  uiiud. 

Collecting,  with  a  great  effort,  his  benumbing  faculties,  he 
read  the  letter  carefully  over,  and  suggested  changes  which 
softened  its  tone,  and  made  far  easier  a  compliance  with  its 
just  demands.  Soon  after  the  performance  of  this  duty,  so 
honorable  to  his  memory,  he  relapsed  into  a  lethargy  from 


438  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

which  death  alone  released  hun.  The  queen  was  heart* 
broken.  Ever  since  that  lamentable  day,  she  has  been  a 
mourner.  Her  own  pathetic  words  touchingly  express  the 
sense  she  had  of  his  value  to  her,,  and  of  the  irreparable 
nature  of  her  loss. 

**  It  will  now  be,  in  fact,"  she  said,  ^  the  beginning  of  a 
new  reign.'* 

I  have  spoken  of  the  sovereignty  of  this  lady  as  a  "  fic- 
tion," and  compared  it  with  one  of  the  romantic  creations  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott.     It  is  not,  however,  wholly  fictitious.     In 
*  one  respect,  it  has  been  a  solid  and  precious  reality. 

The  time  .has  not  yet  come  when  nations  can  safely  dis- 
pense with  imposing  and  venerable  fictions ;  and  until  they 
can,  it  is  highly  desirable  that  those  fictions  should  not  be 
too  closely  inspected,  nor  too  frankly  criticised.  If  the 
*sailor-king,  William  the  Fourth,  had  been  succeeded  by 
another  male  creature  so  devoid  of  all  human  worth  and 
dignity  as  George  the  Fourth,  so  licentious,  so  extravagant, 
so  ignorant,  and  so  vain,  could  he  have  reigned  over  Eng- 
land for  thirty  peaceful  years?  Probably  not.  Long  ere 
this,  the  sensible  people  of  Great  Britain  would  have  begun 
to  ask  themselves,  **  Why  maintain  this  costly  pageant,  since 
it  is  but  a  pageant?  "  The  reign  of  this  virtuous  and  amia- 
ble queen  has  postponed  this  question  for  thirty  years, 
during  which  the  people  of  England  have  been  gaining  polit- 
ical knowledge  and  experience,  and  drawing  nearer  the  time 
when  it  will  bo  safe  and  expedient  to  let  that  man  have  the 
name  of  governing  England  who  does  actually  bear  the  chief 
part  in  governing.  History  will,  perhaps,  decide  that  this 
was  the  chief  service  which  Queen  Victoria  rendered  her 
country. 


ADELAIDE    BISXOBI.  439 


EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  DRAMA 


BY    WILLIAM    WINTEB. 

No  record  of  Eminent  Women  would  be  complete  without 
Bome  reference  to  representative  actresses.  .  In  these  the  his 
tory  of  the  stage,  especially  within  the  last  two  hundred 
years,  is  abundantly  rich.  Since  the  theatre  was  re-established 
in  England,  at  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy,  in  1660, 
many  brilliant  women  have  practised  its  art  and  won  its 
laureb.  Many  bright  names,  therefore,  appear  in  the  cata- 
logue of  famous  actresses,  from  the  time  of  Eleanor  Gwyun 
and  Mrs.  Sanderson  to  the  time  of  Helen  Faucit  and  Mrs. 
Lander.  Each  successive  generation  has  had  its  favorite 
theatrical  heroines.  Mrs.  Pritchard,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  Peg 
Woffington,  Anne  Bracegii-dle,  Kitty  Clive,  Miss  Farren, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Yates,  Mrs.  Jordan,  Eliza  (XN'cill,  Louisa 
Brunton,  Sally  Booth,  Maria  Foote,  Mrs.  Nisbett,  Ellen  Tree, 
Adelaide  and  Fanny  Kemble,  —  these  names,  and  many 
more,  sparkle  with  fadeless  lustre  on  that  ample  and  storied 
page  of  dramatic  history.  Nor  are  they  merely  names. 
Tho  triumphs  of  genius  outlast  all  other  triumphs.  Kings 
and  warriors  may  be  remembered  as  shadows ;  but  the  fair 
conquerors  of  the  stage  inspire  a  warmer  interest  and  live  in 
a  more  vivid  remembrance.  Painting  immortalizes  their 
dead  and  gone  beauty.  Tradition  preserves  the  memory  of 
their  achievements.     Literature  cherishes  the  lustrous  record 


440  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

of  their  lives  and  deeds.  That  record,  from  the  days  of 
Gerard  Langbaine  to  the  days  of  Thomas  Campbell,  Leigh 
Hunt,  William  Hazlitt,  and  Charles  Lamb,  has  instructed  and 
charmed  a  vast  multitude  of  readers.  No  story,  in  truth, 
can  be  more  impressive  or  more  affecting.  Genius,  beauty, 
renown,  the  pageantry  of  public  careers,  the  wild  tumult  of 
popular  applause,  lives  of  stainless  integrity  and  heroic  self- 
sacrifice,  and  lives  of  glittering  infamy,  lawless  revel,  and 
lamentable  anguish,  —  such  are  the  elements  of  a  narrative 
that  no  sympathetic  mind  can  contemplate  without  emotion 
or  without  improvement.  To  add  one  brief  page  to  that 
story  —  a  leaf  from  the  present  time  —  is  the  purpose  of  this 
sketch.  Its  group  of  actresses  must,  necessarily,  be  a  small 
one,  since  its  scope  is  restricted  within  narrow  limits.  The 
artists  herein  described,  however,  are  typical  of  different 
nationalities  and  different  orders  of  talent.  As  such  —  and 
not  in  negligence  of  the  signal  ability  and  reputation  of  many 
of  their  contemporaries  —  they  have  been  selected  for  present 
description. 

I. 

ADELAIDE   RISTORI. 

To  all  votaries  of  the  stage,  Adelaide  Bistori  is  a  familiar 
and  an  honored  name.  On  the  20th  of  September,  1866, 
the  great  Italian  actress  made  her  first  professional  appearance 
in  America.  Since  then  she  has  acted  in  nearly  all  the  im- 
portant cities  in  the  United  States.  The  way  had  been 
smoothed  for  her  coming.  Long  before  she  came,  portions 
of  her  story  had  been  widely  circulated  in  the  Press,  and  her 
name  had  become  known  in  almost  every  household.  The 
record  of  her  life  illustrates  the  development  of  an  original 
nature  and  the  progress  of  singular  genius.     It  commencefl 


440 


EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 


^^ 


\  ♦ 


i* 


^'.  M. 


^ 


nature  aud  tuu  pru^iebs  ^ 


*        lk»A«^Q«j*i 


b~^- 


ADELAIDE    RISTOEI,  441 

in  1826,  when  Adelaide  Eistori  was  born,  in  tlie  obscure 
Venetian  city  of  Cividale  del  Priali,  Her  parents,  Antonio 
Ristori  and  Maddelena  Pomatelli,  his  wife,  were  players, 
members  of  a  strolling  theatrical  company,  and  very  poor. 
The  little  Adelaide  made  her  first  appearance  on  the  stage 
when  she  was  only  two  months  old,  being  carried  on  in  a 
basket,  in  the  representation  of  a  comedy  called  ^The  New 
Tear's  Gift.*  When  four  years  old,  she  began  to  enact  juve- 
nile parts,  in  which,  as  she  was  a  bright  and  pretty  child,  she 
speedily  became  a  favorite.  Her  first  teacher  was  her  pater- 
nal grandmother ;  and  very  hard  work  that  teacher  had  to 
do,  —  since  the  pupil  evinced  far  more  partiality  for  music 
than  for  acting,  and  was  not,  without  great  difficulty,  diverted 
from  the  former  to  the  latter.  Perseverance,  though,  bent 
the  twig,  and  so  gave  the  desired  inclination  to  the  tree.  As 
the  child  grew,  her  sphere  of  employment  began  to  broaden. 
From  juvenile  parts  she  passed  to  the  line  of  ^  chamber- 
maids," in  which,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  she  was  notably  pro- 
ficient. Her  labor  at  this  time  mainly  supported  her  parents, 
and  her  six  brothers  and  sisters  —  younger  than  herself.* 
Change  of  place  was,  of  course,  frequent,  in  this  nomadic 
period  of  her  career.  The  first  fixed  dramatic  company  with 
which  she  became  connected  was  that  of  the  King  of  Sar- 
dinia, established  at  Turin.  In  this  city  she  found  her  second 
teacher,  Carlotta  Marchioni,  a  famous  actress  in  her  day,  and 
not  less  generous  than  eminent.  To  this  artist  the  young 
Bistori  was  indebted  for  sound  teaching  and  judicious  encour- 
agement. At  times  the  eccentric  old  actress  would  call  her 
•*  an  imbecile,**  and  bid  her  "  go  and  wash  dishes."  At  other 
times,  when  the  girl's  acting  justified  approval,  she  would 
feign  severity  and  fondly  murmur,  "  PU  have  no  more  to  do 
with  you !  you  act  too  much  as  I  would  have  you."  In  brief, 
Harchioni  had  discovered  the  germ  of  genius  in  this  bud  of 
womanhood,  and  she  lovingly  and  fitithfully  labored  to  devel 


44:2  EMINENT    WOMEN    OY    THE    AGE. 

op  it  iuto  the  perfect  flower.  With  the  Taria  comp&ny  Bis- 
tori  remained  until  1841 »  when  she  accepted  an  engagement 
in  the  Ducal  company  of  Parma.  The  next  five  years  of 
her  life  were  ^11  of  labor,  variety,  and  advancement.  Her 
best  successes  were  won  in  comedy ;  but  she  also  attained 
distinction  as  an  interpreter  of  the  romantic  drama.  That 
she  was  surpassingly  beautiful  in  those  days  can  easily  be  im- 
agined by  all  who  remember  the  superb  charms  of  her  ma- 
ture womanhood.  But  she  conquered  not  less  by  virtue  and 
genius  than  by  personal  beauty.  In  1846,  Guliano  del  Grille, 
son  and  heir  to  the  wealthy  Marchese  Capranica,  saw  Ade- 
laide Bistori,  loved  her,  and  won  her  heart.  The  parents  of 
the  young  nobleman,  however,  sternly  forbade  him  to  marry 
a  woman  who  was  not  only  sprung  of  humble  origin  but  was 
an  actress.  The  consequence  of  this  parental  opposition  was 
a  stolen  marriage  between  these  lovers.  Not  without  great 
difficulty,  though,  were  bride  and  bridegroom  united.  Some 
time  after  their  marriage,  which  was  hastily  contracted  at  a 
little  church  near  Cesena  (Ristori  being  then  on  her  way 
from  Rome  to  Florence,  to  fulfil  a  professional  engagement  in 
the  latter  city) ,  del  Grillo  had  to  make  his  escape  from  potent 
and  dreaded  parental  vigilance,  disguised  as  a  peasant  and 
mounted  on  a  mule-wagon,  —  in  which  trim  he  passed  safely 
through  many  perils,  and  came  at  last  to  Florence  and  to  his 
wife.  Finding  their  opposition  vain,  the  parents  presently 
relented,  and  a  general  reconciliation  was  attained.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  marriage  of  Ristori  and  del  Grillo,  originally 
one  of  public  proclamation, — a  valid  ceremony  in  the  Ro- 
magna,  in  default  of  the  usual  rite,  — had  been  solemnly  rati- 
fied, at  Rome,  by  Cardinal  Pacca.  Thus,  in  honor  and  emi- 
nence, closed  the  first  chapter  in  the  brilliant  life  of  the 
actress.  In  deference  to  the  wish  of  her  husband's  family,  she 
now  retired  from  the  stage.  A  brief  period  of  domestic  re- 
pose succeeded.     But  the  genius  of  Ristori,  not  yet  fully  sat- 


ADELAIDE    BISTOBI.  413 

isfied  by  expression,  fretted  in  retirement  and  Icn^ed  for  its 
wonted  field  of  labor.  The  fetters  were  soon  broken.  Hear- 
ing that  one  of  her  former  managers  had  been  imprisoned  for 
debt,  the  actress  determined  to  give  three  performances  for 
his  benefit*  In  pursuance  of  this  resolve,  she  returned  to  the 
stage.  Her  reappearance  was  made  at  Rome,  in  1849 ;  and 
so  great  was  her  success  that  the  populace  stormed  the  theatre, 
and  wildly  demanded  her  formal  and  permanent  resumption 
of  her  legitimate  pursuit.  Upon  all  hands  her  greatness  was 
acknowledged.  Even  the  noble  relatives  bent  to  the  spell 
of  this  victorious  hour.  Aristocratic  scruples  were  laid  aside ; 
a  beneficent  genius  was  left  free  to  pursue  its  natural  course ; 
and,  from  that  day  to  this,  Adelaide  Bistori  has  labored 
almost  constantly  in  the  service  of  the  drama.  Nor,  in  so 
laboring,  has  she  neglected  even  the  least  of  the  duties  of 
private  life.  Cherished  as  a  wife,  reverenced  as  a  mother, 
and  extolled  throughout  the  civilized  world  as  an  actress,  she 
is  a  living  rebuke  to  the  idle  and  petty  theory  that  woman 
cannot  devote  herself  to  an  independent  pursuit  without 
sacrificing  the  sanctities  of  her  home. 

Bistori's  first  efforts  in  tragedy  were  made  after  her  reap- 
pearance at  Rome.  It  was  then,  indeed,  that  she  determined 
to  dedicate  herself  to  this  branch  of  her  art.  A  renowned 
Italian  actress,  Caroline  Internari,  advised  her  to  this  intent ; 
and  experience  has  shown  the  wisdom  of  that  advice.  Step 
by  step,  in  the  course  of  nineteen  years,  Ristori  has  risen  to 
the  first  eminence  among  the  tragic  actresses  of  her  time. 
Upon  the  Italian  stage  her  rank  was  attained  with  compara- 
tive ease.  She  played  many  parts ;  but  the  culmination  of 
her  national  success  was  marked  by  her  performance  of  Al- 
fieri's  Myrrha^  in  1850.  It  is  a  terribly  painful  impersona- 
tion, but  it  is  wonderfully  strong.  Outside  of  Italy  and 
France,  though,  it  has  never  been  regarded  with  much  en- 
thusiasm —  save  that  of  horror ;  and  there  seems  no  especial 


444  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

need  of  pausing  upon  it  here.     From  Italy  Ristori  turned  her 
eyes  to  France.      To  conquer  Paris  would  be  to  conquer 
Europe ;  for  Paris  was  the  art-capital  of  the  continent.    Tak- 
ing all  the  risks,  therefore,  Bistori  selected  an  Italian  com- 
pany and  made  her  way  to  the  renowned  metropolis.     It  was 
during  the  season  of  the  first  Universal  Exposition,  on  the 
22d  of  May,  1855,  that  she  made  her  first  appearance  in 
Paris.     Silvio  Pellico's   "Francesca  da. Rimini"  —  embody- 
ing that  sweet,  sad  story  which  readers  of  English  poetiy 
have  learned  by  heart  in  the  tenderly  musical  and  delicately 
colored  poem  of  Leigh  Hunt  —  was  the  opening  piece  in  this 
important  season.     Ristori  played  Francesca.     It  is  a  char- 
acter that  reveals  her  sweetness  more  than  her  strength ;  but 
her  personation  of  it  was  a  perfect  success.     Seven  nights 
afterwards  she  played  Myrrha.     All  Paris  was  at  her  feet 
"Ristori,"  wrote  Jules  Janin,  then  the  representative  dra- 
matic critic  —  "she  is  tragedy  itself ;  she  is  comedy;  she  is 
the  drama."    "  Our  language  is  too  poor,**  said  Lamartin«, 
"  to  express  the  worth  of  that  woman.**    Her  first  season  in 
Paris  extended  to  the  10th  of  September.     At  its  close  she 
had  given  three  representations  of  JFrancesca^  seventeen  of 
Myrrha^  twenty-two  of  Mary  Stuart^  and  seven  of  Pia  da 
Tohmei;  and  she  had  earned  half  a  million  francs.    Mora 
than  that  —  she  had  conquered  the  capital.     All  the  intellect 
and-  culture  of  Paris  honored  the  artist ;   Ary  Scheffer  painted 
her  portrait ;  the  Italian  residents  of  Paris  gave  her  a  med- 
al ;  and  a  diamond  bracelet,  presented  by  the  Emperor  of 
the  French,  testified  to  the  imperial  homage  of  ^Napoleon 
ni.  to  Adelaide  Ristori.**    Her  second  season  in  Paris  was 
like  the  first ;  nor  did  less  success  attend  her  in  the  other 
great  cities  of  Europe.     At  the  subsequent  incidents  of  hei 
European  career  it  is  only  needful  to  glance  in  brief  and 
rapid  review.     In  1857  she  visited  Spain ;  and  it  is  recorded, 
in  illustration  of  her  marvellous  personal  ma^etism,  that, 


ADELAIDE    BISTOBI.  445 

on  ono  occasion  during  this  yisit,  she  so  wrought  upon  the 
feelings  of  Queen  Isabella,  as  to  procure  the  pardon  of  a  poor 
soldier,  condemned  to  death  for  a  breach  of  martial  disci- 
pline. In  1858  she  was  in  Berlin,  and  was  decorated,  by  the 
King  of  Prussia,  with  the  "  Order  of  Merit,"  —  never  before 
attained  by  a  woman,  —  in  honorable  recognition  of  her  acting 
as  Deborah  (the  *'Leah"  of  the  American  stage).  In  1860 
she  played  a  brilliant  engagement  at  St.  Petersburg.  So  far 
in  Italian.  Now,  however,  she  was  persuaded  to  achieve 
renown  in  French.  Her  first  venture  in  this  lauofuaofe  was 
made  at  the  Odeon,  in  Paris,  in  1861,  in  the  character  of 
BeainXf  in  a  drama  expressly  written  for  her  by  Legouve. 
It  proved  a  hit.  The  piece  was  played  eighty  nights  in  that 
year,  and  afterwards,  in  1865,  was  prosperously  revived, 
both  in  the  capital  and  in  the  provincial  cities  of  France. 
At  one  time  Bistori  travelled  with  two  distinct  dramatic  com- 
panies, one  Italian  and  the  other  French.  To  London  she 
went  in  1863.  Mary  Stuart  and  Queen  Elizabeth  were  there 
accounted  her  best  impersonations ;  and,  as  every  theatrical 
community  in  America  can  now  testify,  they  are  entirely 
superb  and  peerless  works  of  art.  In  1864  Eistori  went  to 
Egypt  and  gave  thirty-seven  performances  at  Alexandria. 
Still  latdr  she  played  at  Constantinople,  at  Athens,  and  at 
Smyrna.  In  1865  she  visited  Holland,  by  invitation  of  the 
University  of  Utrecht.  By  this  time  she  hud  attained  all 
possible  professional  honors  in  the  old  world,  and  it  was  only 
natural  that  she  should  turn  her  eyes  across  the  sea. 

Kistori's  American  career,  as  already  mentioned,  began  on 
the  20th  of  September,  1866,  —  her  appearance  being  made 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  J.  Grau.  The  event  is  remembered 
as  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  exciting  that  have,  of  late 
years,  marked  the  history  of  the  stage.  The  place  was  the 
French  Theatre,  in  New  York  city.  The  house  was  densely 
crowded.    BIstori's  entrance,  in  the  first  act  of  "*  Medea,"  was 


446  EMIKENT    WOMEN    0?    THE    AGE. 

awaited  with  almost  breathless  suspense,  and  was  greeted 
with  a  tumult  of  joyful  enthusiasm.  No  artist,  indeed, 
could  wish  for  a  heartier  welcome  than  American  au- 
diences habitually  accord  to  a  stranger.  Nor,  in  the  case  of 
Bistori,  did  this  spontaneous  cordiality  abate,  as  the  perform- 
ance proceeded ;  for  the  actress  was  recalled  at  the  end  of 
each  act,  and  three  times  at  the  end  of  the  play.  Every 
heart  felt  the  presence  of  an  extraordinary  woman.  Her 
majesty  of  person  and  demeanor ;  her  gracious  dignity ;  her 
powerful  and  perfectly  melodious  voice,  —  the  grandest  voice 
that  has  been  he^d  on  the  stage  in  modern  times;  her 
stately,  Roman  head ;  dark,  flashing  gray  eyes ;  wonderful 
mobility  of  feature ;  luxuriant  freedom  and  massive  grace  of 
gesture ;  and,  above  all,  the  sense  that  hung  about  her  of  ex 
haustless  reserve  power,  —  could  not  fail,  in  truth,  to  thrill  the 
sensitive,  sympathetic  American  temperament.  Then,  too, 
her  personation  of  Medea  disclosed,  as  in  a  comprehensive 
picture,  all  the  chief  faculties  and  qualities  of  her  genius. 
After-performances  did,  of  course,  make  them  more  fully 
and  definitely  known ;  but  this  performance  seemed  to  crys- 
tallize them  all.  In  the  tragedy  of  "  Medea  **  an  irresistible 
appeal  is  made  to  sympathy  with  both  passionate  and  mater- 
nal love,  —  each  of  which  is  seen  to  be  scorned  and  outraged, 
—  and  also  to  admiration  for  a  brilliant  personality.  Medea^ 
a  barbaric  princess,  has  not  only  been  deserted  by  her  hus- 
band, whom  she  loves  with  an  intense  and  wild  ardor  that  is 
frightful  and  almost  impious,  but  her  children  are  taken  from 
her,  even  at  the  supreme  moment  of  agony  when  her  recre- 
ant husband  has  cast  her  off  in  scorn,  and  announced  his  de- 
sign to  wed  another  woman.  To  be  wronged  as  a  wife  was 
a  sufficiently  miserable  disaster.  To  be  wronged  as  a  mother 
is  an  overwhelming  calamity.  The  double  blow  breaks 
Medea^a  heart  and  crazes  her  brain,  that  is  predisposed  to 
madness.      Then,   in  the  poisoning  of  her  rival  and   the 


▲SELAIDB    BISXOBI.  439 


EMINENT  WOMEN  OF  THE  DRAMA 


BY    WILLIAM    WINTER. 

No  record  of  Eminent  Women  would  be  complete  without 
Bome  reference  to  representative  actresses.  .  In  these  the  his 
tory  of  the  stage,  especially  within  the  last  two  hundred 
years,  is  abundantly  rich.  Since  the  theatre  was  re-established 
in  England,  at  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy,  in  1660, 
many  brilliant  women  have  practised  its  art  and  won  its 
laureb.  Many  bright  names,  therefore,  appear  in  the  cata- 
logue of  famous  actresses,  from  the  time  of  Eleanor  Gwyun 
and  Mrs.  Sanderson  to  the  time  of  Helen  Faucit  and  Mrs. 
Lander.  Each  successive  generation  has  had  its  favorite 
theatrical  heroines.  Mrs.  Pritchard,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  Peg 
Woffington,  Anne  Bracegiixlle,  Kitty  Clive,  Miss  Farren, 
Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Yates,  Mrs.  Jordan,  Eliza  (XN'eill,  Louisa 
Brunton,  Sally  Booth,  Maria  Foote,  Mrs.  Nisbett,  Ellen  Tree, 
Adelaide  and  Fanny  Kemble,  —  these  names,  and  many 
more,  sparkle  with  fadeless  lustre  on  that  ample  and  storied 
page  of  dramatic  history.  Nor  are  they  merely  names. 
The  triumphs  of  genius  outlast  all  other  triumphs.  Kings 
and  warriors  may  be  remembered  as  shadows ;  but  the  fair 
conquerors  of  the  stage  inspire  a  warmer  interest  and  live  in 
a  more  vivid  remembrance.  Painting  immortalizes  their 
dead  and  gone  beauty.  Tradition  preserves  the  memory  of 
their  achievements.     Literature  cherishes  the  lustrous  record 


44S  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE, 

Elizabeth^  \i\  particular,  was  pre-eminently  great.  Seeing 
Ristori  in  that  assumption,  you  saw  a  woman  who  was  mani- 
festly born  to  rule ;  who  swayed  everything  around  her  with 
an  iron  will ;  who  had  never  even  dreamed  of  doubting  he? 
divine  right  of  monarchy ;  but  who,  nevertheless,  was  the 
victim  of  human  passions,  human  weakness,  and  that  sorrow 
which  is  Heaven's  discipline   for  all  mankind.     Pride  was 

• 

never  depicted  better  than  in  her  arrogant  scorn  of  rival 
genius  and  aspiration,  and  in  her  martial  defiance  of  a  dan- 
gerous enemy,  — Philip  11.,  of  Spain,  Valor  found  its  most 
chivalric  utterance,  when  she  drew  the  sword  of  her  father, 
King  Henry  VHI?  Love  —  the  dangerous  gentleness  and 
glittering  passion  of  the  tigress  —  was  fully  jDortrayed  in 
her  fatal  dalliance  with  the  brave  Earl  of  Essex.  For  the 
rest:  vanity,  spite,  spleen,  malignant  crtielty,  and  hypocrisy 
—  all  that  composed  the  imperial  weakness  of  the  "  virgin 
queen"  —  were  minutely  painted  in  her  atrocious  conduct 
toward  the  captive  Queen  of  Scots.  How  massive  was  the 
nature  of  the  great  monarch  you  could  easily  comprehend,  in 
contemplating  the  splendid  art  of  the  actress,  —  her  struggles 
between  duty  and  passion,  her  terrific  remorse,  and  her 
lonely,  desolate  death.  Bistori  interpreted  many  other  char- 
acters while  she  was  in  America ;  but  never  one  that  so  cap- 
tivated the  popular  heart.  Time  may  impair  the  recollection 
of  the  actress  in  other  parts ;  but  it  can  never  dim  in  memory 
her  lustrous  image  of  England's  grandest  queen.  Analysis 
of  all  her  ..personations  is,  of  course,  impossible  here ;  but 
mention  of  all  may  usefully  be  made.  She  appeared  here, 
during  her  first  engagement,  as  Medea^  Mary  Stuart^  Queen 
EUzabethj  Phmdray  Judith^  Pia  de  Tolomei^  Francesca 
da  Riminij  Adnenne  Lecouvreuvy  Thisbej  Oamma^  Myrrha^ 
Deborah^  Norma^  and  Lady  Macbeth.  That  engagement,  in- 
cluding her  tour  outside  of  New  York,  extended  over  a 
period  of  eight  months,  in  the  course  of  which  time  she  gave 


ADELAIDE    BISTORT.  449 

one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  performances.  The  last  of  these 
occurred  at  the  French  Theatre,  in  New  York,  on  the  night 
of  the  17th  of  May,  1867,  when  she  took  a  farewell  benefit, 
appearing  as  Medea.  Her  first  speech  in  English  was  made 
on  this  occasion,  when,  at  the  end  of  the  performance,  she 
came  forward,  in  response  to  the  call  of  the  audience,  and 
spoke  the  following  words :  — 

**  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  —  This  is  the  first  moment  of 
profound  sorrow  I  have  known  in  this  country.  To  bid  adieu 
to  New  York,  the  birthplace  of  my  success,  — to  say  fare- 
well to  the  United  States,  that  have  evei^ where  received  me 
with  open  arms,  —  awakens  emotions  too  deep  for  any  words 
my  poor  tongue  can  utter.  My  visit  to  America  is  the  grand 
event  of  my  life ;  —  grand  in  its  temerity,  grander  yet  in  its 
triumphs.  Your  enthusiasm,  your  munificence,  your  good- 
ness, I  shall  remember  long  and  gratefully ;  remember  till 
memory  decays  and  my  heart  ceases  to  throb.    Adieu  I  " 

On  the  following  day  Ristori  sailed  for  Europe ;  but  in  the 
autumn  of  1867  she  returned  to  New  York,  and  commenced, 
on  the  18th  of  September,  her  second,  and  last,  American 
engagement.  This  was  signalized  by  the  production,  on  the 
7th  of  October,  of  a  now  drama,  then  acted  for  the  first  time» 
Signor  Giacommetti's  "  Marie  Antoinette."  The  play  is  so 
constructed  that  it  depicts  the  queen  at  various  chief  periods 
in  her  career.  Its  action  commences  in  178G,  and  terminates 
in  1793.  Comedy  and  tragedy  blend  in  it,  and  exact  from 
the  actress  the  utmost  versatility  and  the  deepest  emotion. 
Kistori  amply  satisfied  the  demand.  By  all  who  saw  the  per- 
Bonation,  her  Marie  Antoinette  will  ever  be  remembered  as  a 
stately  image  of  majesty  and  sorrow.  In  the  drama,  as  m 
history,  Marie  Antoinette  is  seen  to  have  been  subjected  to 
bitter  injustice  and  insult :  ruthlessly  separated  from  her  has- 

29 


450  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    TSE   AGE. 

band ;  harrowed  by  tbo  knowledge  of  his  death  upon  the 
guillotine ;  torn  from  her  children ;  plunged  into  the  deeps 
of  agony  and  despair ;  and,  finally,  led  forth  to  die  amid  the 
jeers  of  the  brutal,  infernal  mob  of  the  French  revolution. 
Her  experience,  indeed,  was  the  epitome  of  all  miseries; 
but,  over  all  miseries  her  indomitable  constancy  remained  the 
victor.  Ristori  realized  this  ideal  of  suffering  and  fortitude. 
Her  Marie  Antoinette  was  a  beautiful,  brilliant  woman,  a  lov- 
ing wife,  a  fond  mother,  a  proud-spirited  queen,  a  profound 
sufferer,  an  exalted  conqueror  of  all  the  ills  of  a  most  wretch- 
ed fate.  In  two  of  the  scenes,  the  pathos  of  her  acting  waa 
such  as  no  words  cati  express.  One  scene,  at  the  end  of  the 
fourth  act,  represented  the  parting  betwixt  Louis  XVI.  and 
his  wife  and  children.  Overcome  by  his  emotions,  the  king, 
who  knows  himself  condemned  to  die,  rushes  away  into  his 
oratory,  and  closes  and  fastens  the  door  behind  him.  The 
queen  and  children  pursue  him :  and  then  it  was  that  Historic 
bursting  into  a  delirium,  beat  upon  the  door  with  both  her 
hands,  and  cried  out  upon  his  name,  ^  Ah !  Luigi,  una  parola 
—  una  sola  1 "  and  wrung  every  heart  with  grief  and  pity. 
The  other  'scene  represented  the  wife  and  children,  kneeling  in 
prayer  for  the  husband  and  father,  at  that  moment  on  his  way 
to  the  guillotine.  The  roll  of  drums  and  the  wail  of  the 
dead-march  sounds  in  their  ears,  even  while  they  pniy,  but 
continually  grows  fainter  and  fainter  until  it  dies  away  in  the 
distance.  Bistori's  face  was  a  perfect  picture  of  convulsive 
agony.  A  stupendous  sorrow  struggled  in  it  with  a  vain, 
despairing  effort  at  resignation.  These  scenes  always  pro- 
duced an  extraordinary  effect  upon  the  spectators.  Histori- 
cally accurate  in  every  detail,  and  literally  true  to  nature  in 
every  phase  of  emotion,  Ristori*s  Marie  Antoinette  lives,  in- 
deed, in  many  memories,  as  the  beat  of  all  her  impersona* 
tions.  To  have  seen  this  piece  of  acting  is  to  have  appre- 
hended every  aspect  of  the  French  Eevolution,  —  its  horror« 


ABSLAIDE    BISfOBI.  451 

its  pathos,  its  hideous  details,  its  retributive  justice,  and  its 
full  social  significance. 

Eistori's  second  American  engagement  lasted  nine  months. 
Her  last  appearance  in  New  York  was  made  on  the  26th  of 
June,  1868,  as  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  chief  new  part  that  she 
played  during  her  final  season  was  Isabella  Suarez^  in  a  five-act 
drama,  of  a  religious  character,  entitled  **  Sor  Teresa,"  the 
work  of  Signor  Luigi  Camoletti.  The  entire  number  of 
performances  given  during  her  second  engagement  was  one 
hundred  and  eighty-one,  of  which  fifty-six  were  given  in  the 
iskind  of  Cuba.  Her  prosperity  in  America  was  very  great. 
Personally  as  well  as  professionally  she  made  the  most  pleas-* 
ing  impression  throughout  this  country.  **Away  from  the 
theatre,"  wrote  one  of  her  most  earnest  critics  and  devoted 
students, — Kate  Field,  —  ^'sne  is  the  most  human  (and  hu- 
mane), the  most  simple,  the  most  unaffected,  the  most  sym- 
pathetic of  women.  So  strongly  is  the  line  drawn  between 
reality  and  fiction,  that,  in  Bistori's  presence,  it  requires  a 
mental  effort  to  recall  her  histrionic  greatness."  .  .  •  That 
greatness,  however,  must  forever  survive  in  the  history  of  the 
stage.  Putting  aside  all  differences  of  critical  opinion,  one 
thought  is  held  in  common  by  all  who  have  watched  her 
career  and  studied  her  achievements.  That  thought  is,  that 
she  possesses  a  great  intellect,  a  good  heart,  and  a  pure  nature, 
and  that  she  has  exercised  the  best  possible  influence  upon 
the  drama.  True  to  herself  as  well  as  to  her  profession,  by 
her  personal  worth  and  private  virtues  she  has  attained  a  so- 
cial station  commensurate  in  eminence  with  that  which  her 
genius  and  aspiring  energy  have  won  for  her  in  the  world  of 
art.  The  woman  is  as  great  as  the  actress ;  and  the  best 
minds  and  purest  lives  of  our  time  have  proudly  and  gladly 
recognized  a  fellowship  with  Adelaide  Bistori. 


4J)2  EUINEVT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 


n. 

EUPHROSYNE  PAREPA  ROSA. 

In  the  autumn  of  1866  the  musical  public  of  America  wel-^ 
corned  to  these  shores  a  richly-gifted  and  very  remarkable 
musical  artist, — Euphrosyne  Parepa  Rosa.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  her  American  career  she  awakened  a  lively  interest. 
Her  talents  were  seen  to  be  extraordiuary,  and  her  tempera- 
ment was  recognized  as  uncommonly  genial.  Time  has 
confirmed  that  first  impression,  and  lively  interest  has  deep- 
ened into  an  affectionate  esteem.  The  story  of  the  artist's 
life  is  brief  and  simple.  She  was  born  at  Edinburgh, 
Scotland,  in  1839.  Her  father  was  a  Wallachian  nobleman. 
Baron  Georgiades  de  Boyesku,  of  Bucharest.  Her  mother. 
Miss  Seguin,  was  a  sister  to  the  once  eminent  basso  of  that 
name.  Their  married  life  lasted  but  a  little  while,  being 
terminated  by  the  sudden  death  of  the  Baron,  whereby  his 
widow,  only  twenty-one  years  of  age  at  the  time,  was  left  in 
poverty.  To  support  herself  and  her  infant  child,  Euphro- 
syne, the  bereaved  Baroness  shortly  afterward  adopted  the 
lyric  stage  as  a  profession,  and  presently  began  the  education 
of  her  daughter  for  the  same  pursuit.  This  proved  a  labor 
of  ease  as  well  as  of  love.  In  her  musical  studies  the  child 
made  rapid  progress;  and  she  also  acquired,  with  rare 
facility,  five  modern  languages, — English,  Italian,  French, 
German,  and  Spanish.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  —  in  1855  — 
she  made  her  first  public  appearance  in  opera,  in  the  city  of 
Malta.  Aminaf  in  "  Sonuambula," — a  customary  role  of 
operatic  debutantes^  —  was  the  character  she  then  assumed ; 
and  therein  she  made  a  marked  and  promising  success.  The 
unusual  power  and  compass  of  her  voice,  and  the  felicitous 
method  of  her  execution,  speedily  became  themes  of  praise 
with  European  connoisseurs  of  music.    At  Naples,  Genoa, 


BUFHBOSYNE  FABEPA  BOSA.       453 

Borne,  Florence,  Madrid,  and  Lisbon,  her  first  success  was 
repeated  and  increased.  So,  for  two  years,  she  prospered, 
on  the  continent  of  Europe,  receiving  the  applause  of  the 
people,  the  cordial  favor  of  musical  criticism,  and  the  com- 
pliments and  honorary  gifts  of  nobles  and  of  monarchs.  In 
1857  she  made  her  d£but  in  London,  in  the  same  company 
with  Bonconi,  Gardoni,  and  Tagliafico,  in  •*!!  Puritani," 
and  thereafter  took  a  high  place  in  the  favor  of  the  British 
public.  Her  career  in  England  lasted  nine  years ;  in  the 
course  of  which  period  she  became  the  wife  of  a  British 
officer,  whose  death,  however,  left  her  in  widowhood,  at  the 
end  of  sixteen  months.  The  autumn  of  1866,  as  has  already 
been  stated,  found  her  in  the  United  States.  The  company 
with  which  she  came  included  the  well-known  cornet  player, 
Levy,  and  the  violinist,  Carl  Bosa,  and  was  directed  by 
Mr.  H.  L.  Bateman.  Her  d^but  here,  September  11, 
was  made  in  concert,  in  the  city  of  New  York ;  but  she  has 
since  achieved  honors  in  oratorio  and  opera,  in  most  of 
the  principal  cities  of  thd  Bepublic.  In  1867  she  became 
the  wife  of  Carl  Bosa,  with  whom  she  has  happily 
lived  and  labored.  Her  rank  in  the  musical  world  is  high 
and  honorable,  and  rests  upon  solid  merits.  Nature  has 
endowed  her  with  rich  and  remarkable  gifts.  Her  voice,  a 
pure  soprano,  is  very  powerful,  is  even  in  the  register,  and 
is  thoroughly  well  balanced.  Her  method  is  entirely  cor- 
rect; and,  in  view  of  the  great  volume  of  her  voice,  her 
fineness  of  execution  is  unusual  and  surprising.  Perfect  in 
the  technical  part  of  music,  and  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
the  nature  and  the  scope  of  her  own  powers,  she  does  every 
thing  well  that  she  undertakes,  and  she  never  undertakes  a 
task  that  she  is  not  fully  able  to  perform.  Her  intonation 
and  enunciation  are  faultless.  In  oratorio  and  in  the  con- 
cert room  she  has  no  equal.  On  the  stage,  however,  she 
somewhat  lacks,  in  acting,  the  intensity  of  passionate  emo 


456  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

already  ia  tho  profession,  —  one,  Mrs.  Maria  Bradshaw,  as  a 
singer,  at  Covent  Garden,  and  the  other,  Mrs.  Quin,  as  adancer, 
at  Drury  Lane.  Their  influence,  of  course,  favored  their  young 
relative,  and  an  affectionate  mother  protected,  cheered,  and 
encouraged  her.  In  1827  she  was  engaged  as  a  member  of 
the  Drury  Lane  company,  and  in  that  theatre  she  made  her 
first  conspicuous  successes.  Her  range  of  characters,  even 
then,  was  wide.      She  played  Lady   Teazle^  and  she  also 

played  Jane  Shore^ thus  touching  the  antipodes   of 

comedy  and  tragedy,  la  that  same  j'^ear,  and  at  that  same 
theatre,  Charles  Kean  made  his  first  professional  appearance ; 
and  it  is  probable  that  the  acquaintance  then  and  there  com- 
menced, which  was  afterwards  to  ripen  into  love  and  marriage 
between  these  two  distinguished  artists.  At  that  time,  and 
for  several  subsequent  years,  theatrical  business  appears  to 
have  been  uncertain  and  unprofitable  in  London ;  and,  as  a 
matter  of  prudence  no  less  than  enterprise,  Ellen  Tree  ya* 
ricd  her  metropolitan  engagements  with  various  provincial 
tours,  visiting  and  playing  in  the  principal  cities  of  Kngland, 
Ireland,  and  Scotland.  Success,  in  every  respect,  continu- 
ally attended  her  footsteps.  She  played  by  turns  all  the  ac- 
cepted leading  parts  in  the  legitimate  drama,  and  her  profes- 
sional reputation  was  steadily  augmented.  One  of  her 
eminent  successes  was  her  personation  of  Clemanthe^  in  Tal- 
fourd'd  classic  and  beautiful  tragedy,  which  was  first  acted 
at  Covent  Garden,  May  26th,  1836.  With  Jon,  too,  one  of 
the  purest  and  brightest  of  all  the  denizens  of  the  world  of 
fancy,  her  name  is  identified.  In  1836,  she  visited  the 
United  States,  and  made  a  starring  tour  of  this  country, 
which  lasted  three  years.  Her  success  here  was  very  great, 
and  she  found  the  warmest  favor,  not  merely  with  the  general 
multitude  of  theatre-goers,  but  with  the  best  educated  and 
most  refined  classes  in  American  society.  Years  afterwards, 
in  1865,  when,  after  a  long  absence,  she  reappeared  in  Now 


ELLEN    TBEE     (MBS.    CHABLES    EEAN).     457 

York,  as  Mrs.  Charles  Kean,  it  was  remarked  that  many 
gray-haired  men  and  women  appeared  among  her  audiences, 
lured  to  unfamiliar  footlights  by  the  desire  to  renew  their  in-* 
tellectual  association  with  the  brilliant  stage  heroine  of  younger 
and  brighter  days.     In  1839  she  returned  to  England,  with 
£10,000  as  the  fniit  of  her  professional  labors  in  America. 
Her  first  English  reappearance  was  made  at  the  Haymarket, 
where  she  was  welcomed  home  almost  rapturously  by  the 
English  public.     On  the  4th  of  November,  1839,  she  ap- 
peared at  Covent  Garden,  then  under  the  management  of 
Madame  Vestris  (afterwards  Mrs.  Charles  Matthews,   and 
since   deceased),   as  the    Countess^  in  Sheridan   Knowles's 
drama  of  "Love,"  then  acted  for  the  first  time,  but  repeated 
fifty  times  in  the  course  of  that  season.     In  January,  1842, 
at  Dublin,  she  was  married  to  Charles  Kean,  with  whom  for 
twenty-six  years  she  lived  in  perfect  sympathy  and  happi- 
ness.    Three  months  after  their  marriage  they  played  a  joint 
engagement,  extending  over  a  period  of  fifty-three  nights,  at 
the  London  Haymarket.     "^As  You  Like  It,''  "The  Game- 
ster,*' and  "The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  may  be  mentioned  as  typical 
of  the  character  of  the  pieces  in  which  they  performed.     In 
August,  1845,  they  came  to  the  United  States,  bringing  with 
them  Lovell's  now  well-known  drama  of  "  The  Wife's  Secret," 
written  expressly  for  them,  and  in  which  they  acted  with 
singular  excellence.      In  this  piece,   and  in  Sbakspearean 
plays,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kean  fulfilled  a  round  of  engagements 
in  the  principal  cities  of  the  Republic,  with  equal  fame  and 
profit.     In  the  summer  of  1847  they  returned  to  England. 
Thenceforward,  as  before,  Ellen  Tree  shared  the  labors  and 
the  fortunes  of  her  husband.     She  had  no  separate  career, 
nor  did  she  desire  it.     In  1848  Mr.  Kean  was  appointed  by 
the  Queen  of  England  to  be  conductor  of  the  Christmas 
theatriciil  performances  at  Windsor  Castle,  instituted  by  that 
sovereign  and  her  lamented  consort,  the  late  Prince  Albert, 


458  EMINENT    WOMEN    OE    THE    AQE. 

yrith  the  double  design  of  benefiting  the  drama  and  I'^licving 
the  court  of  the  care  and  ceremony  incident  to  state  visits 
to  the  public  theatres.  This  very  difBcult  office  Mr.  Kean 
filled  for  ten  years ;  and,  as  he  was  wont  to  consult  his  wife 
on  every  important  matter,  it  is  fair  to  discern  in  his  signal 
success  some  traces  of  Ellen  Tree's  prudence,  tact,  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature,  and  ripe  professional  cultivation.  At 
the  end  of  his  first  season,  the  queen  denoted  her  apprecia^ 
tion  of  his  services  by  giving  him  a  diamond  ring.  In  1850 
Mr.  Kean  became  joint  lessee  of  the  Princess's  Theatre,  in 
London,  of  which  he  was  left  sole  lessee  and  manager  in  the 
following  year.  Here  began  the  most  brilliant  period  of  his 
own  and  his  wife's  theatrical  career.  What  Charles  Kemble 
commenced,  and  Macready  continued,  Charles  Kean  trium- 
phantly finished,  —  the  grand  and  noble  work  of  doing  en^ 
tire  justice,  in  their  representation,  to  Shakspeare's  plays. 
Strangely  enough,  accuracy  on  the  stage  is  a  modern  viitue. 
Hamlet^  as  played  by  Garrick,  wore  the  wig  and  the  knee- 
breeches  of  Garrick's  time.  Charles  Kemble  was  the  first  to 
make  a  stand  for  literal  correctness  of  costume.  Macready, 
who  took  Covent  Garden  Theatre  for  his  field  of  enterprise, 
in  1837,  went  further,  and  made  a  stand  for  greater  correct- 
ness of  scenery.  But^  it  remained  for  Charles  Kean  to  do 
more  than  had  ever  before  been  attempted,  by  every  possible 
auxiliary  of  art,  skill,  learning,  labor,  and  money,  to  place 
the  plays  of  Shakspeare  on  the  stage  in  a  thoroughly  correct 
and  splendid  manner.  That  work  he  accomplished  ;  and  he 
is  said  to  have  remarked,  very  late  in  his  life,  doubtless  in  a 
moment  of  despondency,  that  he  had  wasted  the  best  work- 
ing years  of  his  career,  in  endeavoring  to  sustain  the  dignity 
and  purity  of  the  British  drama.  He  retired  from  the  man- 
agement of  the  Princess's  in  1860,  having,  within  his  term  of 
nine  years,  made  the  most  elaborate  and  brilliant  revivals, 
not  alone  of  k?hakspearean,  but  of  divers  other  dramas.    The 


ELLEN    TBBE     (MBS.    CHABLES    EEAN).    459 

Beries  commenced  in  February,  1852,  with  ''The  Merry 
"Wives  of  Windsor."  This  was  followed,  in  due  succession, 
by  "King  John,"  ''The  Corsican  Brothers,"  "Macbeth," 
"Sardanapalus,"  "Richard  III.,"  "Faust  and  Marguerite," 
"King  Henry  VIH.,"  "The  Winter's  Tale,"  "Louis  XL," 
"A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  "King  Richard  11. ,"  "The 
Tempest,"  "  King  Lear,"  "  Pizarro,"  "  The  Merchant  of  Ven- 
ice,"  and  "  Much  Ado  About  Nothing."  Each  of  these  pieces 
bad  a  very  long  run,  and  in  each  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kean  played 
the  principal  parts.  A  public  dinner  was  given  to  Mr.  Kean, 
on  his  retirement  from  the  direction  of  the  Princess's  Theatre. 
Mr.  Gladstone  presided ;  and,  on  behalf  of  the  committee 
and  subscribers,  presented  the  retiring  manager  with  a  silver 
vase,  valued  at  two  thousand  guineas.  In  the  speech  that 
he  delivered  on  this  interesting  occasion,  Mr.  Kean  made 
the  following  significant  allusion  to  the  cherished  partner  of 
his  fortunes :  "  Mind  and  body  require  rest,  after  such  active 
exertions  for  nine  years,  during  the  best  period  of  my  life ; 
and  it  could  not  be  a  matter  of  surprise  if  I  sank  under  a 
continuance  of  the  combined  duties  of  actor  and  manager,  in 
a  theatre  where  everything  has  grown  into  gigantic  propor- 
tions. Indeed,  I  should  long  since  have  succumbed,  had  I 
not  been  sustained  and  seconded  by  the  indomitable  energy 
and  devoted  affection  of  my  wife.  You  have  only  seen  her 
in  the  fulfilment  of  her  professional  pursuits,  and  are  there- 
fore unable  to  estimate  the  value  of  her  assistance  and  coun- 
sel. She  was  ever  by  my  side  in  the  hour  of  need,  ready  to 
revive  my  drooping  spirits,  and  to  stimulate  me  to  fresh  ex« 
ertion."  In  July,  1863,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kean  set  out  from 
London,  with  a  small,  selected  company,  including  tl^eir 
niece.  Miss  E.  Chapman,  Mr.  J.  F.  Cathcart,  and  Mr.  G. 
Everett,  to  make  a  professional  tour  around  the  world.  They 
went  first  to  Australia ;  thence  to  California ;  thence  to  the 
West  Indies ;  and  thence  to  New  York.    In  the  latter  city 


4:60  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

they  arrived  in  April,  ISGS,  and  made  their  first  appearance 
there,  at  the  Broadway  Theatre,  when  it,  together  with  the 
other  theatres,  was  reopened,  subsequent  to  the  assassination 
of  President  Lincoln.  In  the  opening  pieces,  *'  Henry  VIII. ," 
and  ^  The  Jealous  Wife,'*  Mrs.  Kean  played  Queen  Catherine 
and  Mrs.  Oakley.  Majesty  of  mien,  fervor  of  feeling,  re- 
markable variety  of  intonation  and  of  facial  expression,  ac- 
curacy of  method,  and  charming  vivacity  betokened  in  those 
personations  the  gifted  and  cultured  actress.  She  was 
seen,  however,  to  be  altogether  unlike  the  Ellen  Tree  of  for- 
mer days,  the  slight,  graceful,  elegant,  laughing  lady,  who 
had  blazed  upon  the  stage  as  the  radiant  i2osaZin(2y  and  dazzled 
every  eye  with  her  beauty  and  her  wit. 


«*  For  beauty,  wit, 
High  birtli»  vigor  of  bone»  desert  in  service, 
Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  sabject  all 
To  envious  and  caluminating  time." 


The  final  sojourn  of  the  Keans  in  the  United  States  lasted 
a  year.  On  the  16th  of  April,  1866,  at  the  Academy  of 
Music,  in  New  York,  after  having  appeared  in  the  chief 
theatres  of  the  United  States  and  Canada,  they  took  a  fare- 
well benefit,  playing  in  ''Louis  XI.,'*  and  ''The  Jealous 
Wife."  There  was  a  very  great  multitude  present,  and  the 
occasion  lingers  in  memory  as  one  of  the  brightest  and  saddest 
in  the  record  of  the  stage.  The  fine  art  of  acting  never  re- 
ceived a  more  fervent,  conscientious,  and  touching  illustra- 
tion than  was  afforded  in  this  performance.  Mr.  Kean  played 
wi^h  all  the  energy  and  fire  of  his  nature,  and,  at  the  close 
of  the  representation  of  "Louis  XI.,"  made  a  most  affecting 
farewell  speech  to  the  public.  Mrs.  Kean's  part  in  "  Louis 
XI."  was  Martelj  the  peasant's  wife.  She  was  very  genial 
and  simple  in  it ;  and  thus,  even  in  a  trifle,  revealed  the  es 


ELLKN    TBEE     (MBS.    CHABLES,  KEAN).     461 

sential  charm  of  her  temperament.  A  sweet,  kind,  unpre- 
tending, helpful,  affectionate  woman,  such  Ellen  Tree  always 
was ;  and  very  naturally,  therefore,  she  has  always  borne  her 
rare  mental  gifts  and  distinguished  worldly  honors  with  na- 
tive modesty,  ease,  and  grace,  winning  on  all  sides  affection 
not  less  than  esteem.  At  the  close  of  their  engagement  here, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kean  returned  to  England,  there  to  commence 
a  series  of  farewell  performances,  by  way  of  final  retirement 
from  public  life.  This  was  abruptly  terminated  by  the  sud- 
den and  serious  illness  of  Mr.  Kean,  on  the  29th  of  May, 
1867,  when,  at  Liverpool,  he  was  playing  ^  Louis  XI.**  He 
never  played  again.  On  the  22d  of  January,  1868,  at  Bays- 
water,  near  London,  he  died.  His  grave  is  in  the  village 
of  Catherington,  in  ELampshire,  close  by  that  of  his  mother. 
Ellen  Tree,  of  course,  will  act  no  more.  Sorrow  saddens 
the  autumn  of  her  brilliant  life.  From  all  quarters,  though, 
she  is  the  recipient  of  the  kindest  and  sincerest  sympathy. 
The  Queen  of  England,  herself  a  widow,  has  sent  a  letter 
of  condolence  to  the  widow  of  the  actor.  Better  than  royal 
courtesy,  however,  and  better  than  all  the  consolations  of 
friendship  and  fortune,  is  the  consciousness  of  duty  well 
and  truly  done  toward  him  whom  she  loves  and  mourns,  and 
toward  all  the  world.  With  that  consciousness  warm  at  her 
heart,  Ellen  Tree  can  look  back  upon  a  well-ordered,  &ii 
honorable,  a  distinguished,  and  a  successful  life.  Her  rank 
as  a  dramatic  artist  is  with  the  best  representatives  of  En|{« 
lish  comedy. 


462  SlflNSNT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOB. 

IV. 

CLARA  LOUISA  KELLOGG. 

America's  favorite  vocalist,  Clara  Louisa  Kellogg,  was  born 
in  Sumter,  South  Carolina,  in  1842.  She  is,  however,  of 
New  England  parentage.  Her  early  years  wore  passed  ia 
Connecticut.  She  was  educated  at  the  free  schools,  and  ia 
them  she  used  to  sing  with  her  little  school-mates ;  but  she 
does  not  appear  to  have  attracted  attention  as  a  child,  by 
either  proficiency  in  vocal  exercises  or  especial  beauty  of 
voice.  At  one  time  in  her  girlhood  she  sang  in  a  church- 
choir,  in  the  town  of  Lyme,  where  she  was  thought  to  possess 
a  pretty  voice,  but  one  that  could  easily  be  shouted  down  by 
more  vigorous  organs.  In  1858  her  parents  were  residents 
of  New  York  city,  her  mother  being  what  is  called  "  a  healing 
medium,"  —  in  other  words,  a  clairvoyant  doctor.  Many 
visitors  were  attracted  to  this  lady  —  who  is,  indeed,  de- 
scribed as  a  singularly  gifted  and  interesting  person  —  by  the 
fame  of  her  success  as  a  physician.  One  of  these  visitors, 
on  conversing  with  Mrs.  Kellogg,  learned  that  her  "  medium  " 
powers  had  first  been  exercised  in  restoring  to  health  her  own 
daughter,  a  slender,  delicate  girl,  who,  at  the  moment  of  this 
conversation,  was  singing,  behind  a  curtain  that  divided  the 
room  in  twain,  to  the  accompanying  jingle  of  a  cracked  piaao. 
One  confidence  succeeding  another,  Mrs.  Kellogg  said  that  her 
daughter's  ambition  impelled  her  toward  the  operatic  stage* 
Reference  was  hereupon  made,  by  the  visitor,  to  Miss  Eliza 
Logan,  the  once  distinguished  actress,  —  now  in  retirement^ 
as  'Mrs.  George  Wood.  At  a  later  period  mother  and 
daughter  called  on  this  lady,  and  consulted  her  as  to  the  ex- 
pediency of  Miss  Kellogg's  adopting  a  professional  career. 
The  incident  is  interesting  and  significant,  as  indicative  of  the 
troubles  that  beseti  at  the  outset,  every  aspirant  for  the  ^rtistio 


CLABA   LOUISA   KBLLOGO.  463 

life,  and  of  the  courageous  energy  that  is  needful  to  meet  and 
overcome  them :  — 

**My  sister,"  writes  Miss  Olive  Logan,  in  one  of  her 
lively,  off-hand  sketches,  "spoke  in  a  disinterested  manner 
to  this  young  girl,  —  told  her  of  all  the  haps  and  mishaps 
of  stage  life,  —  spoke,  also,  of  that  unnecessary  and  unjust 
obloquy  which  is  attached  to  the  name  of  every  actress,  and 
then  bade  her  go  back  and  ponder  seriously.  She  went  back 
with  her  mother,  and  both  pondered  seriously.  They  pon- 
dered ou  the  fact  that  the  young  girl  must  do  something  for 
self-sustenance.  They  pondered  on  the  limited  field  of  em« 
ployment  which  is  open  to  women.  They  pondered  on  the 
emoluments  and  the  delights  of  being  a  seamstress,  or  a  shop- 
girl, or  a  worker  on  a  sewing-machine.  They  pondered  on 
the  scope  afforded  the  daughter's  genius  by  these  employ- 
ments ;  and,  pondering,  they  decided.  The  young  girl  went 
upon  the  stage.  She  made  a  failure, — a  dire,  desperate, 
seemingly  hopeless  failure.  But  sho  remembered  that  many 
a  great  genius  has  failed  at  first,  only  to  triumph  at  last. 
There  was  a  plucky  spirit  in  the  girl's  heart,  and  she  did  not 
turn  to  the  sewing-machine  as  a  last  resort.  Betiring  again 
to  private  life,  she  began  to  labor  at  art  as  no  galley-slave 
ever  labored  at  the  work  to  which  he  was  sentenced.  Her 
days  and  her  nights  were  given  to  the  worship  of  the  goddess 
she  loved ;  and,  on  her  reappearance  on  the  stage,  she  was 
tolerably,  if  not  brilliantly,  successful.  Her  great  virtue  was 
that  she  did  not  consider  herself  perfect ;  but  day  after  day, 
and  night  after  night,  she  kept  up  that  unceasing  toil  which 
has  now  made  her  one  of  the  most  celebrated  women  of  the 
age  and  the  only  pure-blood  prima  donna  assoluta  of  whom 
America  can  boast."* 

Surmounting  all  obstacles,  Miss  Kellogg  at  last  made  her 

•p.  7. Nkholwn'f  <<Town and Oounky." 


4M  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

debut  at  the  Academy  of  Music.  This  event  took  place 
under  Mr.  J.  Grau's  management,  in  1860,  in  '^Eigoletto.'* 
The  attempt  was  a  failure.  In  fact,  it  was  only  after  her  third 
debut  that  the  young  vocalist  succeeded.  Since  then  her  prog- 
ress has  been  very  rapid  to  that  fame  and  fortune  rightfully 
due  to  exalted  merit  and  steadfast  energy  of  character.  Very 
early  in  her  career  she  had  the  happiness  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  a  munificent  friend  of  art,  —  one  of  those  wealthy 
men,  found  here  and  there  throughout  society,  who  practically 
consider  that  riches  are  given  to  them  in  order  that  they  may 
promote  the  general  welfare  of  mankind.  That  friend  was 
Col.  H.  G.  Stebbins,  of  New  York,  who  formed  so  high 
an  estimate  of  Miss  Kellogg's  musical  gifts,  conceived  so  deep 
an  interest  in  her  singularly  delicate,  refined,  and  gentle 
nature,  and  foresaw  such  a  bright  future  for  her  in  art,  thai 
he  offered  to  charge  himself  with  the  care  and  cost  of  her 
musical  education.  The  offer  was  accepted  by  the  parents 
of  the  singer,  and  Col.  Stebbins  faithfully  performed  his 
chosen  work.  In  truth.  Miss  Kellogg  was,  in  a  measure, 
adopted  into  the  family  of  this  sterling  gentleman  and  gener- 
ous friend,  who  has  been  to  her  a  second  father.  Among  the 
music-teachers  then  employed  for  her  cultivation  were 
Professor  Milet,  M.  Riznire,  and  M.  Muzio.  One  of  her 
earliest  personations  that  attracted  critical  attention  and  in- 
spired hope  for  her  future,  was  her  Grilda^  in  "Rigoletto,*' 
which  she  played  at  the  Academy  of  Music,  in  1861.  Her 
first  really  great  success,  though,  was  made  as  Margheritaj  in 
Gounod's  ''Faust,"  which  was  first  produced  in  New  York, 
in  the  season  of  1864-65.  Personal  adaptability  to  the  char- 
acter was,  doubtless,  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  this  success. 
Margherita  is  a  pure,  delicate,  gentle,  loving,  simple-hearted, 
and  simple-minded  maiden ;  and  Miss  Kellogg  filled  this  ideal, 
not  less  in  spirit  than  in  outward  seeming.  Another  of  her 
successes  was  made  as  Linda  di  Chamounix,  in  May,  1867. 


CLARi    LOUISA    KELLOGG.  465 

^er  actiny^  and  singing,  in  the  malediction  scene,  in  act  second 
of  this  opera,  are  still  remembered,  with  lively  emotions  of 
astonishment  and  admiration,  because  of  their  extraor- 
dinaiy  vitality,  tragic  force,  and  glittering  precision  of 
method,  in  which  art  concealed  every  trace  of  art  and 
wielded  the  magical  wand  of  nature.  In  addition  to  these. 
Miss  Kellogg  has  made  signal  successes  in  *^  Crispiuo  e  la 
Comare,"  '^Fra  Diavola,'*  "II  Barbiere  di  Seviglia,"  ''I  Puri- 
tani,"  "L'Etoile  du  Nord,"  '^La  Sonnambula,"  "Martha,"^ 
"Don  Giovanni,'*  "Lucia  di  Lammermoor,"  and  "La  Travi- 
ata."  Her  dibut  in  London  was  made  on  the  2d  of  Novem- 
ber, 1867,  as  Margherita.  Few  triumphs  so  genuine  and  so 
brilliant  as  hers  have  ever  been  won  upon  the  London  stage, 
and  no  American  musical  artist  has  hitherto  attained  a  repu* 
tation  at  all  commensurate  with  that  which  Miss  Kellogg  now 
enjoys  abroad.  Her  impersonations,  indeed,  and  her  delight- 
ful vocal  powers  have  in  a  surprising  manner  affected  both  the 
mind  and  the  heart  of  the  English  people.  Many  pages  might 
easily  be  filled  with  thoughtful  and  ardent  praises  of  the 
singer,  from  the  soundest  critical  journals  in  London.  A 
single  qtrotation  from  one  of  these  will  not  here  be  misplaced, 
as  representative  of  the  tone  of  European  opinion  respecting 
the  prima  donna  of  whom  the  art-public  of  her  native  America 
is  so  justly  proud. 

"Miss  Kellogg,"  said  the  London  "Review,"  on  the^ 
Saturday  subsequent  to  her  d^but,  "has  for  four  or  five^ 
years  past  enjoyed  the  highest  renown  in  her  own  land,  re- 
ports of  which  have  long  reached  us  here ;  and  now  we  are* 
at>le  to  bear  testimony  to  the  truth  of  the  praise  which  has 
been  bestowed  on  her  by  American  critics.  No  ordeal  could 
have  been  found  more  severe  than  a  first  appearance  as  Jlfar- 
gherita  in  Gounod's  'Faust,'  a  part  in  which  the  London  pub- 
lic has  seen  and  heard  some  eight  or  more  artists,  —  some 

80 


466         EMINENT  Women  of  the  age. 

excellent,  all  more  or  less  good.  Besides  others,  Mtidame 
Miolan-Carvalho  (the  original  Marglierita  in  Paris),  Mad- 
emoiselle Lucca,  Mademoiselle  Patti,  Mademoiselle  Titiens, 
Mademoiselle  Artot,  and,  last  of  all.  Mademoiselle  Christine 
Nilsson,  have  all  been  heard  here  in  this  part,  and  have  left 
impressions  which  render  it  extremely  difficult  for  any  new- 
comer to  succeed  in  the  same  character.  The  great  success, 
therefore,  of  Miss  Kellogg  is  decisive  proof  of  her  merits  and 
accomplishments.  Her  voice  is  a  soprano  of  pure  and  even 
quality,  sufficiently  brilliant  in  its  upper  portion,  and  intensely 
sympathetic  in  its  middle  and  lower  range.  She  has  perfect 
command  over  a  compass  of  two  octaves,  —  her  execution 
and  intonation  evidencing  that  complete  course  of  student 
training,  the  necessary  drudgery  of  which  is  so  frequently 
shirked  by  vocal  aspirants,  and  more  especially  when  gifted 
with  naturally  fine  voices,  which  are  too  generally  considered 
by  their  possessors  to  be  the  chief  requisites  for  success ; 
whereas,  in  point  of  fact,  the  voice  is  but  as  an  instrument 
apart  from  the  trained  skill  and  art  requisite  to  wield  it.  Miss 
Kellogg  is  one  of  those  exceptional  singers  who,  blessed  with 
a  fine  voice,  have  yet  not  presumed,  on  the  strengtlx.  thereof, 
to  neglect  those  minute  and  laborious  details  of  vocal  exercise 
which  form  the  requisite  training  fon  an  executive  artist. 
These  qualities  are  apparent  in  the  certainty  and  precision 
with  which  she  intonates  distant  intervals,  the  note  beiiig  at 
once  perfectly  reached  without  that  wavering  which  is  some- 
times perceptible  in  singers  of  great  pretensions,  whose  prac- 
tice of  scales  and  solfeggi  hsiS  not  been  sufficiently  diligent. 
Miss  Kellogg's  power,  too,  of  sustaining  a  note  with  a  pro- 
longed diminuendo^  finishing  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
pianissimo^  unfalteringly  in  tune,  is  another  proof  of 
thorough  training.  Then  her  bravura-singing  in  fiorld  orna- 
mental passages  has  that  distinctness  and  completeness  of 
style  so  seldom  re'ilized ;  while  her  shake  is  irreproachable  in 


KATB  BATEMAN  (MBS.  GEOBGE  CBOWE).  467 

closeness^  evennessy  and  intonation.  Beyond  these  technical 
merits,  Miss  Kellogg  possesses  a  refinement  and  sensibility 
of  style,  and  a  power  of  expression,  aided  by  a  voice  of 
naturally  sympathetic  quality,  which  impart  a  charm  to  her 
performance  not  to  be  found  in  mere  mechanical  excellence. 
Moreover,  Miss  Kellogg  is  an  excellent  actress,  —  with  an 
intelligent  and  expressive  face,  a  graceful  figure,  and  that 
propriety  of  gesture,  action,  and  by-play,  which  denote  that 
the  study  of  acting,  apart  from  singing,  has  occupied  more 
of  her  attention  than  is  usual  with  vocalists." 

These  views  have  the  double  merit  of  impartiality  and  truth- 
fuluess.  In  their  estimate  of  the  singer  there  is  no  extrava- 
gance. Miss  Kellogg  is  gifted  with  extraordinary  powers, 
by  which,  and  by  great  and  continual  labor,  she  has  fairly 
earned  her  eminence.  Nor  can  her  victory  be  too  highly 
esteemed.  Success  such  as  hers  in  the  great  art  of  musical 
acting  implies  a  rare  union  of  splendid  qualities  of  person, 
mind,  and  character.  Exquisite  sensibility,  keen  intuitions^ 
an  unerring  sense  of  symmetry,  a  wide  grasp  of  emotions, 
reason  and  imagination,  sadness  and  glee,  the  power  to  fill  as 
well  as  the  power  to  conceive  an  ideal, — all  these  must  the 
singer  possess,  who  would  interpret  the  hunian  heart  and  the 
immortal  soul  through  the  most  heavenly  medium  of  utter- 
ance that  God  has  vouchsafed  to  his  creatures. 


V. 

KATE   BATEMAN  (MRS.    GEORGE   CROWE), 

In  the  career  of  Kate  Batenftn  —  who,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-six  years,  shares  the  distinction  of  the  most  popular 
actresses  of  her  time  —  is  seen  a  conspicuous  illustration  of  the 
force  that  is  exercised  in  public  life  by  pitrity  of  character 


468  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

and  integrity  of  purpose.  She  possesses  uncommon  talejita 
and  sterling  accoraplishments,  and  these  she  has  employed 
with  a  noble  energy  and  singleness  of  purpose,  and  in  a 
pure,  sweet,  womanly  spirit,  that  could  not  fail,  and  have 
not  failed,  to  win  unbounded  appreciation  and  sympathy. 
The  most  important  period  in  her  professional  life  comprises 
the  last  «ight  years.  Within  that  time  she  has  won  both 
fame  and  fortune.  Her  experience  of  the  stage,  however, 
dates  back  to  childhood ;  and  much  of  her  more  mature 
facility  is  of  course  to  be  attributed  to  earl}"*  professional 
training.  She  was  born  at  Baltimore,  Maryland,  on  the 
7th  of  October,  1842,  being  the  second  child  of  H.  L.  Bate- 
man  and  Frances  Bateman,  —  the  former  well  and  widely 
known  as  a  theatrical  manager,  and  the  latter  reputed  as  an 
actress  and  a  dramatic  author.  Shortly  after  the  birth  of 
Kate,  her  father,  then  in  mercantile  business,  returned  to 
the  stage,  playing,  in  the  domestic  drama,  such  parts  as 
Martin  Heywood  in  "The  Rent  Day,**  and  Walter  in 
''The  Babes  in  the  Wood."  On  the  Uth  of  December, 
1847,  at  one  of  the  theatres  in  Louisville,  Kentucky,  the 
latter  piece  having  been  cast,  and  the  children  who  usually 
played  the  juvenile  parts  in  it  being  unable  to  appear,  the 
Bateman  children,  Kate  and  Ellen,  —  one  five  years  old  and 
the  other  three,  — made  their  first  appearance  on  any  stage. 
Their  dibut  was  an  accident,  but  their  success  was  signal. 
They  were  very  pretty  and  interesting  little  girls,  and  their 
brightness  and  cleverness  won  all  the  more  appreciation  be* 
cause  of  their  extreme  youth.  Then,  too,  parental  sympathy 
was  touched  by  the  spectacle  of  father  and  children  playing 
upon  the  stage  together,  in  such  relations  as  are  sustained  by 
Walter  and  the  Babes.  *ln  brief,  all  the  favorable  influ- 
ences combined  to  make  a  career  and  open  a  brilliant  future 
for  these  children.  Season  after  season  they  starred  the 
country  under  their  father's  management*     New  parts  were 


KATE  BATEMAN  (MRS.  GEOBOE  CBOWE).  469 

found  fof  them  from  time  to  time.  Kate  used  to  be  espec- 
ially fine  as  Richard  the  Thirds  which  she  was  first  cast  in 
at  the  suggestion  of  Moses  Kimball,  in  the  old  days  of  the 
Boston  Museum,  which  institution  he  originated.  Her  best 
part,  though,  was  Henriette  de  Vigny^  in  "The  Young 
Couple."  In  1850  the  Bateman  Children  were  taken  to 
England,  where,  in  all  the  great  cities  of  the  British  Isles, 
they  found  even  more  favor  than  they  had  found  at  home. 
In  August,  1852,  they  returned  to  America,  and  in  1856  they 
retired  from  the  stage.  Ellen  was  subsequently  married  and 
is  now  Mrs.  Claude  Greppo.  Kate  remained  in  retirement 
and  studied  acting.  At  length,  in  1860,  she  reappeared  on 
the  stage,  in  the  character  of  Evangeline^  in  a  drama,  by  her 
mother,  based  on  Longfellow's  poem.  The  performance, 
though  very  pretty  and  pleasing,  did  not,  however,  make  a 
deep  impression  upon  the  public  mind.  It  was  seen  in  many 
American  cities,  during  the  season  of  1860-61,  but  was  no- 
where greeted  with  much  enthusiasm.  In  fact,  since  the 
chief  quality  of  the  character  of  Evangeline  is  silent  forti- 
tude, its  delineation  afibrds  but  little  scope  for  the  vivid 
display  of  dramatic  powers.  The  most  that  was  possible  for 
the  actress  was  to  look  like  a  saintly  sufferer  and  to  be  pic- 
turesque in  tableaux.  Two  years  afterwards  Miss  Bateman 
<again  appeared  in  New  York  —  at  the  Winter' Garden,  in 
A^ril,  1862  —  as  Julia^  in  "The  Hunchback,"  and  this  time 
she  made  a  prodigious  popular  sensation.  Following  up  this 
success  with  a  great  deal  of  characteristic  energy,  she  ap- 
peared as  Lady  Gay  Spanker y  in  "  London  Assurance ; " 
Lady  Teazle^  in  "The  School  for  Scandal;"  Juliana^  in 
"The  Honeymoon;"  Juliet;  Bianca^  in  "Fazio;"  GeraU 
dine,  in  her  mother's  tragedy  of  that  name,  —  originally  writ- 
ten for  Matilda  Heron,  —  and  Bosa  Ghregorio,  in  anew  drama, 
written  for  her,  by  Mr.  T.  B.  DeWalden.  Later  in  the 
same  year,  in  i^ugust,  at  the  same  theatre,  she  played  an 


470  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

othor  engagement,  which  was  signalized  by  the  presentation 
of  her  Lady  Macbeth.  Her  best  successes  this  year  were 
made  in  Julian  Biancaj  Lady  Gay^  and  Geraldine.  In  all  her 
personations,  however,  the  chief  charm  was  the  innate  parity 
of  womanhood  that  shone  through  them.  Very  often  her  art 
was  defective.  In  some  parts  (Juliet  and  Lady  Macbeth ^  for 
instance)  she  seemed  utterly  at  sea.  But  no  person  of  sen- 
sibility could  witness  her  acting  without  being  conscious  of 
contact  with  an  earnest,  delicate,  womanly  nature,  that  was 
as  refreshing  to  the  mind,  jaded  by  the  all  too  prevalent 
artifice  of  the  stage ,  as  is  the  cool,  delicious  fragrance  of 
trees  and  flowers  and  grass,  after  a  light  shower  in  a  spring 
day.  And  not  only  did  her  nature  charm  by  its  ingenuous 
sweetness  and  win  by  its  purity :  a  certain  fiery  force  of  in- 
tellect was  perceptible  in  it,  now  and  then,  —  shown  in  the 
fourth  act  of  '*The  Hunchback,"  and  in  certain  scenes  of 
"Geraldine,"  —  that  vitalized  a  style  of  acting  which  might 
otherwise  have  sometimes  seemed  insipid.  This  fiery  force, 
combined  with  an  acute  perception  of  simple  pathos,  was 
afterwards  to  find  more  abundant  scope  and  more  vivid  ex- 
pression. In  December,  1862,  Miss  Bateman  made  her  first 
appearance  as  Leah^  — a  character  with  which  her  name  is 
now  identified ;  and  herein  these  qualities  of  her  nature 
were  dispWyed  with  ample  breadth.  Few  single  passages 
in  modern  acting  are  more  touching  than  is  her  simyle, 
natural,  tender  scene  with  Rudolph's  child,  in  the  last  act  of 
''Leah;"  and  few  kindred  eflforts  have  electrified  the  multi- 
tude so  much  as  has  her  delivery  of  Leah\^  curse,  in  the 
churchyard  scene  in  that  drama.  These,  however,  are  facts 
of  such  common  knowledge,  that  it  were  needless  to  dwell 
upon  them.  It  should  be  mentioned,  though,  that  the  play 
of  "Leah"  is  an  American  adaptation  of  the  German  drama 
of  "Deborah,"  by  Dr.  Mosenthal,  made  by  Mr.  Augustin 
Daly.     Miss  Bateman's  first  appearance  as  Leah  was  made  in 


KATE  BATEMAN  (MRS.  GEOBGB  CROWE).  471 

Boston  ;  but  subsequently,  for  nearly  a  year,  she  starred  the 
country  in  that  character,  and  everywhere  attained  new  popu- 
larity. Her  first  representation  of  it  in  New  York  was  given 
at  Niblo's  Garden,  in  January,  1863.  Mr.  J.  W.  Wallack, 
Jr.,  and  Mr.  Edwin  Adams  appeared  in  the  cast,  as  Nathan^ 
the  apostate  Jew,  and  Rudolph^  the  lover.  In  the  autumn 
of  that  year.  Miss  Batcman,  accompanied  by  her  father  as 
manager,  proceeded  to  London,  where  "Leah"  was  produced 
in  October,  having  just  been  revised  and  revamped  by  Mr. 
John  Oxenford,  dramatic  critic  of  the  London  "Times.** 
That  the  performance  was  a  success  may  readily  be  seen  in 
the  remarkable  fact  that  it  was  repeated  for  two  hundred  and 
eleven  nights  in  succession,  before  crowded  houses,  and 
greeted  with  every  possible  manifestation  of  public  and  criti- 
cal approval.  Writers  were  not  wanting,  indeed,  to  point 
out,  truthfully  and  frankly,  the  defects  of  Miss  Batoman's 
acting ;  yet  its  force,  and  its  winning  charm  of  fresh,  3  oung, 
gentle  personality  were  none  the  less  recognized. 

In  the  last  three  months  of  1864  Miss  Bateman  fulfilled 
prosperous  and  brilliant  engagements  in  Liverpool,  Man- 
chester, Birmingham,  Dublin,  and  Glasgow.  The  theatres 
overflowed  nightly,  and  the  star  of  the  young  actress  rose 
still  higher  in  the  skies  of  fame.'  Returning  to  London  in 
the  spring  of  1865,  she  reappeared  as  XeaA,  and  also  plaj^ed 
Julia^  Bianca^  Pauline^  and  Geraldme^  concluding  her  en- 
gagement, at  the  Adelphi,  in  July  of  that  year.  When 
autumn  came,  she  made  another  tour  of  the  principal  British 
provincial  cities,  in  all  of  which  she  played,  with  abundant 
success,  a  round  of  her  favorite  characters.  On  her  next 
return  to  London,  she  received  a  complimentary  benefit,  at 
Her  Majesty's  Theatre  (since  destroyed  by  fire),  given  to 
Biijnalize  her  farewell  to  Ensrland.  The  occasion  is  recorded 
as  one  of  the  most  delightful  of  its  kind  in  recent  stage  life. 
Miss  Bateman  plaved  Juliet.     Shortly  afterwards  she  sailed 


4:72  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

for  New  York,  arriving  there  on  the  12th  of  January,  1866. 
On  the  15th  of  January,  at  Niblo's  Garden,  she  reappeared 
as  Leah;  and  here  she  acted,  for  the  next  six  weeks,  before 
crowded  audiences.  She  then  proceeded  to  Boston,  where 
she  found  her  popularity  unabated.  Thence  returning,  she 
reappeared  at  Niblo's ;  but  was  forced,  by  sudden  and  severe 
illness,  to  relinquish  her  engagement,  and  to  remain  for  seV' 
eral  months  in  retirement. 

In  October,  1866,  Miss  Bateman  became  the  wife  of  Dr. 
George  Crowe,  an  Engli^jh  gentleman,  son  of  Eyre  Evans 
Crowe,  author  of  a  "History  of  France^"  and  other  works,  and 
.  for  several  years  editor  of  the  London  "  Daily  News."  During 
the  year  following  her  marriage,  she  did  not  appear  in  publio 
life ;  but,  at  length,  having  been  entirely  restored  to  health, 
she  accepted  an  engagement,  offered  by  an  English  manager, 
and,  on  the  7th  of  October,  1867,  she  reappeared  in  Liver- 
pool, as  Leah  J  creating  a  still  greater  popular  excitement 
than  before,  —  which  also  attended  her  professional  progress, 
at  Brighton,  Manchester,  Bath,  Bristol,  Cheltenham,  Dublin, 
and  Edinburgh.  She  is  now  in  retirement,  at  her  husband's 
residence,  near  the  city  of  Bristol,  England ;  but  she  will 
return  to  the  stage  in  October,  1868,  and  commence  the  season 
at  the  London  Hay  market  Theatre,  where  she  is  engaged  for 
a  period  of  three  months. 

Her  present  is  full  of  success,  and  her  future  is  full  of 
promise.  Young,  beautiful,  distinguished,  —  a  happy  wife, 
an  affectionate  and  cherished  daughter,  a  simple-minded 
woman,  —  she  moves  forward,  beneath  a  sunny  summer  sky, 
on  a  pathway  that  is  strewn  with  roses.  Such  women  honor 
the  stage  by  their  presence  upon  it ;  and  their  personal  as- 
sertion of  the  dignity  of  the  dramatic  art  is  more  eloquent 
and  more  practicallj'  effective  than  words  can  possibly  be. 


HELEN   VAUCIT    (MBS.    T.    HABTIN).       473 

VI. 

HELEN  FAUCIT  (MRS.  THEODORE  MARTIN). 

For  thirty  years  Helen  Faucit  has  been  a  favorite  actress 
on  the  English  stage.  For  thirty  years  she  has  amused  and 
instructed  the  British  public,  winning  with  easi^,  and  wear- 
ing with  grace,  the  golden  crown  of  success.  In  both  of  the 
chief  branches  of  dramatic  art,  as  a  tragic  and  as  a  comic 
actress,  she  has  attained  lofty  eminence ;  nor  has  she  been 
less  esteemed  as  a  woman  than  admired  as  an  artist.  It 
seems  proper,  therefore,  to  select  her  as  the  representative 
English  actress  of  her  time.  The  portraits  of  Helen  Faucit 
—  portraits  that,  of  course,  were  made  long  ago  —  represent 
a  tall,  elegant  figure ;  a  frank,  sweet,  expressive,  good  face ; 
large  dark-brown  eyes,  full  of  eager  intelligence;  and  a 
stiitely  head,  finely  poised  upon  a  swan-like  neck,  and  crowned 
with  luxuriant  dark  hair  that  falls  in  abundant  curls  on  her 
snowy,  sloping  shoulders.  Such,  doubtless,  was  the  fair  girl 
who  charmed  an  earlier  generation  of  the  lovers  of  art,  in  the 
brighter  days  of  the  British  drama.  Helen  Faucit  comes  of 
a  theatrical  family.  Her  father  and  mother,  and  her  three 
brothers  and  two  sisters,  were  all  members  of  the  dramatic 
profession.  Her  early  education  for  the  stage  was  superin- 
tended by  Mr.  Percival  Farren,  of  the  Haymarket  Theatre. 
Her  first  public  appearance  was  made  at  a  theatre  in  Rich- 
mond, near  London,  in  the  autumn  of  1833,  in  the  character 
of  Juliet.  The  announcement  of  her  debut  ran  thus:  **A 
young  lady  —  her  first  appearance  on  any  stjige."  The  pub- 
lic received  her  kindly,  and  she  seems  to  have  played  very 
well.  But  no  novice  can  adequately  personate  Shakspeare's 
Juliet,  The  character  taxes  the  art  of  a  thoroughly  trained 
actress ;  and,  in  general,  it  is  much  more  truthfully  inter- 
preted by  women  of  fifty,  who  have  passed  years  upon  the 


4:74  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    /IGE. 

stage,  than  by  the  freshest  beauties  of  eighteen  or  twenty-ifve, 
Helen  Faucit's  first  appearance  in  London  was'  made  on  the 
5th  of  January,  1836,  at  Covent  Grarden  Theatre,  as  Julia^  in 
the  well-known  **  Hunchback.''  One  extremely  interesting 
incident  marked  the  occasion,  showing  thstt  imperial  firmness 
of  mind,  under  the  most  trying  circumstances,  is  not  incom- 
patible with  the  utmost  gentleness  of  womanly  temperament. 
There  was  a  very  large  audience  present  in  the  theatre ;  and 
being  brought,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  test  of  such  tremen- 
dous physical  magnetism,  the  nervous  power  of  the  young 
actress  faltered,  and  she  succumbed  to  the  icy  spell  of  stage- 
fright.  Her  performance,  as  a  matter  of  course,  came  very 
near  to  being  a  dead  failure.  At  length,  as  the  second  act 
was  drawing  heavily  to  a  close,  she  caught  sight,  in  the  or- 
chestra, of  the  white  head  and  tear-dimmed  eyes  of  her  oldest 
and  dearest  friend,  —  a  venerable  gentleman,  whose  paternal 
love  and  fostering  care  had  cheered  and  encouraged  all  her 
young  ambitions.  •'That  white  head,"  she  afterwards  re- 
marked, ^  seemed  to  fill  the  theatre."  Fired  by  the  thought 
of  this  friend's  past  confidence  in  her  talents,  and  present 
anguish  in  prospect  of  her  failure,  the  actress  made  a  great 
effort,  suddenly  recalled  her  will  to  its  sovereign  seat,  and  so 
turned  the  current  of  her  fortune  from  defeat  to  victory.  Her 
voice  rose  loud  and  clear,  and*  all  the  fervor  of  her  spirit 
came  into  play.  As  a  matter  of  course,  her  audience  quickly 
recognized  the  change,  and  felt  the  spell  of  genuine  talent ; 
and  their  hearty  plaudits  ratified  her  success.  That  success 
has  known  "no  retiring  ebb,"  but  has  steadily  increased 
into  such  eminence  as  is  only  won  and  kept  by  commanding 
talents  and  unsullied  integrity.  Helen  Faucit's  next  appear- 
ance was  made  as  the  heroine  of  Venice  Preserved."  After 
that  she  played  Mrs.  Holler ^  and  acted  the  chief  part  in 
Joanna  Baillie's  new  drama  of  "  Separation,"  which  had, 
however,  only  a  short  life.     But  her  chief  success  that  season 


HELEN    FAUCIT    (MBS.    T.    MABTIN)  475 

was  Clemanihej  in  Talfourd's  ''Ion/'  —  (of  which  Ellen  Tree 
was  the  original).  For  her  benefit,  on  the  20th  of  June,  1836, 
she  played  Mrs,  Beverley ^  in  the  "Gamester,"  and  very 
deeply  touched  the  hearts  of  her  audience,  by  her  affecting 
.picture  of  the  poor  wife's  anguish  and  devotion.  Even  thus 
early  she  seems  to  have  excelled  in  characters  requiring  for 
their  portrayal  deep  feeling  and  exquisite  tenderness.  In  the 
following  season,  she  personated  the  chief  female  part  in 
Bulwer  Lytton's  drama  of  ^  The  Duchess  de  la  Valliere,"  —  a 
piece  of  French  extraction,  then  produced  for  the  first  time. 
It  failed,  though,  and  it  is  never  heard  of  now.  On  the  18th 
of  April,  1837,  Helen  Faucit  made  a  hit  as  Portia.  Mr. 
Macready  took  the  lease  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  in  that 
year,  and  made  haste  at  once  to  engage  her  in  his  dramatic 
company.  It  will  be  seen  that,  from  the  outset,  she  faithfully 
and  strenuously  worked  in  the  stock  companies,  which  was 
the  secret  of  her  sure  progress.  Macready  kept  Covent  Gar- 
den two  years ;  and,  in  the  course  of  that  time,  Helen  Faucit 
played  many  important  parts.  Bulwer  Ly tton's  **  Lady  of 
Lyons  "  was,  for  the  first  time,  acted,  during  this  term  of 
management,  —  early  in  1838,  — and  Helen  Faucit  was  the 
original  Pauline^  to  the  Claude  Melnotte  of  Macready.  On 
the  10th  of  October,  1839,  the  tragedian  abandoned  Covent 
Garden,  and  accepted  an  engagement,  under  Mr.  Webster 
at  the  Haymarket,  Helen  Faucit  and  Mrs.  Warner  being 
elected  to  second  him  in  a  round  of  his  chief  performances. 
On  the  26th  of  October,  1841,  when  Macready  again  assumed 
the  reins  of  management,  in  taking  the  lease  of  Drury  Lane, 
Helen  Faucit  was  again  engaged  as  leading  lady :  and  cer- 
tainly it  is  no  slight  testimony  to  the  ability  and  culture  of 
the  actress,  that  she  was  thus  thrice  chosen,  to  fill  a  position 
of  the  first  importance,  by  an  actor  so  exacting,  so  coldly 
intellectual,  and  so  hard  to  please,  as  the  famous  tragedian  is 
well  known  to  have  been.     Many  new  pieces  were  tried, 


476  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

under  the  new  administration  of  Drury  Lane,  and  in  most  of 
them  Helen  Faucit  bad  to  study  —  and,  as  the  stage-phrasa 
is,  "  create  "—  new  parts.  .  "  Plighted  Troth,"  *"  The  Blot  in 
the  Scutcheon,"  "  Gysippus,"  and  **  The  Patrician's  Daughter," 
may  be  mentioned  among  the  new  dramas,  that  then,  for  the 
first  time,  saw  the  b'ght.  In  all  of  these  Helen  Faucit' 
appeared,  and  she  also  sustained  leading  parts  in  Macready's 
Shakspearean  and  other,  revivals ;  thus  participating  in  the 
honors  of  one  of  the  most  brilliant  periods  of  enterprise  that 
are  recorded  in  the  history  of  the  British  drama.  She  was 
the  original  Julie j  in  Bulwer  Lytton's  **  Richelieu,"  and  the 
original  Josephin&f  in  Byron's  "  Werner."  When  Macready 
finally  abandoned  management,  Helen  Faucit  betook  her* 
self  to  the  "star"  system,  and  went  into  the  provinces. 
Engagements  were  numerously  offered,  and  successes  were 
numerously  achieved.  This  portion  of  her  career  need  not 
detain  minute  attention.  The  actress  who  has  once  become 
a  popular  favorite,  has  but  to  fulfil,  under  the  starring  sys- 
tem, the  usual  routine  of  travelling  from  city  to  city,  and 
playing  at  theatre  after  theatre,  with  various  business,  it  is 
true,  but  generally  with  prosperous  results,  and  almost  always 
with  increase  of  fame.  For  some  years  past,  Helen  Faucit 
has  played  irregularly,*  only  accepting  engagements  here  and 
there,  under  entirely  agreeable  and  advantageous  circum- 
stances. She  is  the  wife  of  Theodore  Martin,  whose  repute 
in  literature,  as  an  able,  versatile,  and  brilliant  writer,  assur- 
edly needs  no  bush,  and  whose  rank  in  the  world  of  English 
letters  is  sufficiently  indicated  by  the  fact  that  the  Queen  of 
Ensrland  has  selected  him  to  write  the  Life  of  the  deceased 
Prince  Consort.  She  has  never  visited  the  United  States ; 
nor,  as  she  is  now  upwards  of  fifty  years  of  age,  is  it  likely 
that  she  ever  will  come  to  this  country,  on  a  professional 
expedition.  American  knowledge  of  her  acting,  therefore, 
must  depend  on  the  study  of  English  stage  records  and  Eug- 


HELEN    FAUCIT    (MRS.    T.    MARTIN)  477 

f 

lish  criticism.  Those  authorities  bear  ample  testimony  to 
the  brilliancy  of  her  past  career  and  the  sterling  worth  of 
her  talents  and  character.  Adverse  opinion  has  contented 
itself  with  calling  her  '*  Macready  in  white  muslin."  It  is  not 
unnatural  that  her  temperament  and  her  style  of  acting  should 
have  been  influenced  by  the  strong  individuality  of  that  re- 
markable actor.  Few  players  who  have  yielded  to  the 
enchantment  of  Macready's  art  have  ever  been  able  entirely 
to  discard  his  mannerisms  in  their  own  playing.  Helen  Fau- 
cit's  native  merits,  however,  are  such  as  far  outweigh  her 
boiTowed  defects.  A  recent  critic,  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  de- 
scribes her,  as  follows,  in  words  that  clearly  depict  a  true 
artist  and  gifted  woman :  — 

^  She  bears  home  to  the  imagination  one  great  harmonious 
impression  of  whatever  character  she  is  impersonating ;  but 
when  we  look  back  and  analyze  that  impression,  we  feel  what 
a  wealth  of  subtle  details  has  gone  towards  producing  it, 
with  what  exquisite  graduations  it  has  been  worked  up  to  its 
crowning  climax.  .  .  .  All  she  says  and  does  seems  to 
grow  out  of  the  situation  as  if  it  were  seen  and  heard  for  the 
first  time With  the  ever-wakeful  conscientious- 
ness of  a  real  artist,  Helen  Faucit  is  continually  striving  after 
a  higher  completeness  in  all  she  does.  Her  characters  seem 
to  be  to  her  living  things,  ever  fresh,  ever  full  of  interest, 
and  on  which  her  imagination  is  ever  at  work.  They  must 
mingle  with  her  life,  even  as  the  thick-coming  fancies  of  the 
poet  mingle  with  his.  As,  therefore,  her  rare  womanly  na- 
ture deepens  and  expands,  so  do  they  take  a  richer  tone  and 
become  interfused  with  a  more  accomplished  grace.  .  .  . 
I  have  often,  in  former  days,  seen  her,  by  her  intense  power  of 
shaping  imagination,  make  characters  harmonious  which  were 
mere  tissues  of  shreds  and  patches,  and  personages  *  moving- 
natui:^!,  and  full  of  life,'  which,  as  the  author  drew  them. 


478  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

were  hollow  phantasms.  Conspicuously  has  she  done  so 
with  the  'Lady  of  Lyons.'  I  saw  her  when  this  play  was 
first  produced,  and  memory  is  sufBciently  strong  to  compare 
the  actress  of  that  time  with  the  actress  of  to-day.  She  can 
be  compared  with  none  other  than  herself;  for  no  actress, 
since  Helen  Faucit  made  the  character  so  essentially  her  own, 
has  approached  her  in  its  delineation.  It  was  then  acting  of 
rare  grace,  and  truth,  and  power ;  it  is  now  all  that,  but 
m'uch  more.  Time,  and  study,  and  refined  judgment  have 
enabled  her  to  perfect  that  which  was  admirable  in  its  earliest 
conception.  I  recall  the  sensation  that  moved  a  crowded 
house  after  the  curtain  fell  on  the  first  representation  of 
the  '  Lady  of  Lyons.'  There  was  a  rumor  that  it  was  the 
production  of  Lytton  Bulwer, — a  rumor  only,  which,  so 
carefully  was  the  secret  kept,  some  of  his  most  intimate 
friends  emphatically  denied.  The  play,  it  is  peedless  to  say, 
made  an  immediate  success.  It  has  retained  its  place  as 
one  of  the  stock  pieces  of  the  stage  ever  since.  There  is 
now,  indeed,  no  Claude  Mdnotie  to  be  compared  with  Mac- 
ready,  although  he  was  by  no  means  young  when  he  per- 
formed that  youthful  part ;  nor  has  any  one  ever  approached 
him  in  it.  But  Helen  Faucit  is  far  nearer  the  ideal  Pauline 
now  than  she  was  in  those  days ;  and  it  is  easy  to  imagine 
the  delight  of  Lord  Lytton  in  witnessing  that  which  it  is  not 
too  much  to  say  surpasses,  in  refined  grace  and  intellectual 
power,  the  part  as  he  created  it. 

*'  Her  Pauline  is  in  truth  a  perfect  performance.  It  has  that 
charm  which  comes  only  from  the  inspiration  of  genius ;  for 
at  the  root  of  all  art  lies  the  passion,  which,  as  the  great 
French  actor  Baron  said,  sees  farther  than  art.  But  it  is  also 
the  perfection  of  art  where  art  is  never,  even  for  a  moment, 
seen ;  the  result  of  careful  and  continuous  study,  but  with 
the  ease  and  force  of  nature  in  every  word,  look,  and  motion. 
So  is  the  character  worked  out  from  the  beginning  to  the  end." 


.  • 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  479 


ANNA  ELIZABETH  DICKINSON 


-•o«- 


BY  MRS.  ELIZABETH  CADY  STANTON. 

N"  listening  to  the  many  interesting  incidents  of  this  young 
*s  life,  not  all  (entrusted  to  me  for  publication,  my  feelings 
^  vacillated  between  pity  and  admiration,  —  pity,  for  all  the 
s  of  her  childhood  and  youth,  in  loneliness,  poverty,  and 
E^pointment;  and  admiration  for  the  indomitable  will, 
"iige,  and  rare  genius,  by  which  she  has  carved  her  way, 
^  lier  own  right  hand,  to  fame  and  independence.  While 
txsiny  truly  great  women,  of  other  times  and  countries, 
*    marred  their  fair  names,  and  thrown  suspicion  on  their 

T^y  their  vices  and  follies,  this  noble  girl,  through  all 
E^'tations  and  discouragements,  has  maintained  a  purity, 
^ity,  and  moral  probity  of  character,  that  reflect  honor  on 
'^If,  and  glory  on  her  whole  sex. 

-Tina  Elizabeth  Dickinson  was  born  in  Philadelphia  the 
>^  of  October,  1842.  Her  father,  John  Dickinson,  was  a 
'ohant  of  sound  intellect,  and  moral  principle,  a  clear, 
^Ise  reasoner,  an  earnest  abolitionist,  and  took  an  active 
t  in  the  anti-slavery  discussions  of  that  time.  He  was  a 
^^volent,  trusting  man,  and  through  the  noblest  traits  of 

character  became  involved  in  his  business  relations,  and 
•a  reduced  to  poverty.  His  misfortunes  preyed  upon  his 
^nd  and  health ;  and  he  died  soon  after  with  a  disease  of 
0  heart,  leaving  a  wife  and  five  children,  Anna,  the  young 


480  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AOB. 

est,  but  two  years  old.  The  last  night  of  his  life  was  passed 
in  an  anti-slavery  meeting,  where  he  spoke  earnestly ;  and 
on  his  way  home,  not  feeling  well,  he  stopped  at  a  druggist's 
to  get  some  medicine,  and  died  there  ^without  a  struggle. 

Her  mother,  Mary  Edmundson,  was  born  in  Delaware,  of 
an  aristocratic  family.  She  is  a  woman  of  refinement  and 
cultivation,  and  was  carefully  reared  in  conditions  of  ease 
and  luxury. 

Both  were  descendants  of  tne  early  Quaker  settlers,  and 
rigid  adherents  to  the  orthodox  Friends.  Their  courtship 
lasted  thirteen  years,  showing  the  persistency  and  fidelity  of 
the  father  on  one  side,  and  the  calm  deliberation  of  the 
mother  on  the  other.  As  a  baby,  Anna  was  cross,  sleepless, 
restless,  and  crying  continually  with  a  loud  voice,  thus  pre- 
paring her  lungs  for  future  action.  She  was  a  waywai-d, 
wilful,  intensely  earnest,  imaginative  child,  causing  herself 
and  her  elders  much  trouble  and  unhappiness.  They,  seeing 
her  impatience  of  control,  endeavored  to  "  break  her  will,"  —  a 
saying  that  has  worked  as  much  cruelty  in  the  world  as  the 
proverb  of  Solomon,  "Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child.** 
Foi*tunately  they  did  not  succeed,  and  through  the  triumph . 
of  that  indomitable  will  we  boast  to-day  that  the  most  popular 
American  orator  is  a  woman.  She  was  considered  an  incor- 
rigible child  at  school  as  well  as  at  home.  Though  she  always 
knew  her  lessons,  the  absurd  and  arbitrary  discipline  so  chafed 
her  free  spirit  that  she  was  generally  in  a  state  of  rebellion. 

With  courageous  defiance  she  would  submit  to  punishment 
rather  than  rules  she  thought  foolish  and  unnecessary.  She 
had  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  character,  and  early  saw  the 
hypocrisy,  deceit,  and  sham  of  the  world,  —  the  hollowness 
of  its  ceremonies,  forms,  and  opinions ;  and  with  wonderful 
powers  of  sarcasm  she  could  lay  bare  the  faults  and  follies 
of  those  about  her.  Hence  she  was  a  ten*or  to  timid,  designing 
teachers  and  scholars ;  and  good  children  were  warned  against 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  481 

her  influence.  Yet,  as  she  was  ever  the  champion  of  thosf) 
who  suffered  wrong  and  injustice^  she  had  warm  friends  and 
admirers  among  her  schoolmates. 

She  says  she  always  felt  herself  an  Ishmaelite  among  chil- 
dren, fighting  net  only  her  own  battles,  but  for  those  too 
timid  and  shrinking  to  fight  for  themselves.  Her  school-days 
were  days  of  darkness  and  trial.  Owing  to  her  mother's 
limited  means,  she  was  educated  in  the  free  schools  of  the 
Society  of  Friends.  Meeting  there  the  children  of  wealthy 
Quakers,  they  would  laugh  at  her  poverty,  and  thoughtlessly 
ask  her  "  why  she  wore  such  common  clothes."  She  would 
promptly  reply,  '*My  mother  is  poor,  and  we  work  for  all  we 
have."  Although  she  accepted  her  condition  with  bravery, 
she  determined  to  better  it  as  fast  as  she  could ;  yet  such 
taunts  were  alike  galling  to  her  and  cruel  in  those  who 
uttered  them.  Nevertheless,  they  were  not  without  their 
power  in  developing  the  future  woman ;  so  for  from  depress- 
ing her  youthful  energies,  they  stung  her  into  a  nobler  life. 
In  her  hours  of  solitude  she  would  resolve  to  lift  herself 
above  their  shafts,  to  make  a  home  for  her  mother,  and  sur- 
round  her  with  every  comfort.  Thus  great  souls  feed  and 
grow  on  what  humbles  smaller  ones  to  dust. 

Her  love  for  her  mother  was  the  strongest  feeling  in  her 
nature,  and  it  was  to  relieve  her  from  constant  toil  that  she 
early  desired  some  profitable  employment  that  she  might 
earn  money  for  her  own  support.  It  was  the  sorrow  of  her 
childhood  to  see  her  mother  pale  and  worn,  struggling  with 
all  her  multiplied  cares,  —  for,  in  addition  to  her  own  family, 
she  kept  boarders  and  taught  a  private  school.  Thus,  with 
ceaseless  love  and  care  and  industry,  that  noble  woman  fed 
and  clothed  and  educated  her  fatherless  children^  and  to-day 
has  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  them  all  noble  men  and  women ; 
and  mid  peace  and  plenty  she  remembers  the  Jong  days  of 
darkness,  poverty,  and  self-denial  no  more.    For  the  encour- 

81 


482  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

agemeut  of  those  parents  who  have  wayward,  wilful  children, 
I  would  mention  the  fact  that  Anna,  who  was  a  greater  trial 
to  lier  mother  than  all  her  other  children  and  cares  put  to- 
gether, is  now  her  pride,  her  comfort,  and  her  support. 

When  about  twelve  years  old  she  entered  "  Westown 
Boarding-School  of  Friends,"  in  Chester  County,  and  re- 
mained there  two  yeai-s;  from  this  she  went  to  "Friends' 
Select  School"  in  Philadelphia,  where  she  applied  herself  so 
diligently  to  her  studies,  that,  although  she  pursued  over  a 
dozen  branches  at  one  time,  she  seldom  failed  in  a  recitation. 

During  all  her  school-days,  she  read  with  the  greatest 
avidity  every  book  that  she  could  obtain.  Newspapers, 
speeches,  tracts,  history,  biography,  poetry,  novels,  and  fairy 
tales  were  all  alike  read  and  relished.  For  weeks  and 
months  together  her  average  hours  for  sleep  were  not  five 
in  the  twenty-four.  She  would  often  read  until  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  then  seize  her  school-books  and  learn 
her  lessons  for  the  next  day.  She  did  not  study  her  lessons, 
for,  with  her  retentive  memory,  what  she  read  once  was  hers 
forever.  The  rhymes  and  compositions  she  wrote  in  her 
young  da3''s  bear  evident  marks  of  genius.  When  fourteen 
years  old  she  published  an  article  headed  ^  Slavery "  in  the 
**  Liberator."  She  early  determined  that  she  would  be  a  public 
c|)eaker.  One  of  her  greatest  pleasures  was  to  get  a  troop 
of  children  about  her  and  tell  them  stories ;  if  she  could  fix 
their  attention  and  alternately  convulse  them  with  laughter, 
and  tnelt  them  to  tears,  she  was  perfectly  happy.  She  loved 
to  wander  all  over  the  city  alone,  to  think  her  own  thoughts, 
and  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  outer  world.  One  of  her 
favoi'iite  rendezvous  was  the  Anti-slavery  Office  in  Fifth 
Street ;  where  she  would  stay  for  hours  to  hear  people  talk 
about  the  horrors  of  slavery,  or  to  read  papers,  tracts,  and 
books  on  that  subject.     At  seventeen  she  left  school. 

She  was  skilful  in  all  kinds  of  housework,  and  orderly  in 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  '    483 

her  arrangements.  She  was  willing  to  do  any  kind  of  work 
to  make  an  honest  living.  No  service  however  hard,  or 
humble,  seemed  menial  to  her.  Being  a  born  queen,  she  felt 
she  dignified  whatever  she  touched ;  even  the  broom  became 
a  sceptre  of  royalty  in  her  hand. 

When  about  thirteen  years  old  she  visited  a  lawyer's  office 
one  day,  on  her  way  from  school,  and  asked  for  some  copy* 
ing.  He,  pleased  with  the  appearance  of  the  bright  child^ 
asked  her  if  she  intended  to  do  it  herself;  she  said.  Yes.  He 
gave  her  some,  which  she  did  so  well  that  he  interested  him- 
self at  once  in  her  behalf,  and  secured  her  work  from  other 
offices  as  well  as  his  own.  How  she  could  get  money  to  buy 
books  was  the  one  thought ;  next  to  helping  her  mother,  that 
occupied  her  mind.  To  this  end  she  would  do  any  thing,  —  run 
errands,  carry  bundles,  sweep  walks,  —  and  as  soon  as  she  had 
obtained  the  desired  sum,  she  would  buy  a  book,  read  it  with 
the  greatest  avidity,  then  take  it  to  a  second-hand  book-store 
and  sell  it  for  a  fraction  of  its  cost  and  get  another.  When 
seven  years  old  she  would  take  Byron's  works,  secrete  herself 
under  the  bed  that  she  might  not  be  disturbed,  and  read  for 
hours.  There  was  something  in  the  style,  spirit,  and  rhythm, 
that  she  enjoyed,  even  before  the  thought  was  fully  understood. 
She  had  a  passion  for  oratory,  and  when  Curtis,  PhiUi|3s,  or 
Beecher  lectured  in  Philadelphia,  she  would  perform  any 
service  to  get  money  enough  to  go.  On  one  occasion  she 
scrubbed  a  sidewalk  for  twenty-five  cents,  to  hear  Wendell 
Phillips  lecture  on  ""  The  Lost  Arts."  There  are  many  very 
interesting  anecdotes  of  her  life  during  this  period,  illustrating 
her  fortitude  under  most  trying  curcurastanccs  and  her  strong 
faith  in  a  promising  future.  Through  her  magnetism  and 
self-confidence  she  went  forward  and  did  many  things  grace- 
fully and  unchallenged,  that  others  of  her  sex  and  age  would 
not  have  had  the  courage  or  presumption  to  attempt.  There 
was  somethins:  so  irresistible  in  her  face  and  manner  that  entire 


4S4:  EMINENT    WOMEN  OF    THE    AGE, 

strangers  would  yield  her  privileges,  which  others  would  not 
dare  to  ask.  In  her  fourteenth  year  while  with  relatives  in 
the  country,  during  the  holidays,  she  attended  a  Methodist 
protracted  meeting,  and  was  deeply  moved  on  the  subject  of 
religion,  was  converted  and  joined  the  church.  Her  mind, 
however,  was  much  disturbed  on  theological  questions  for 
several  years,  but  after  great  distress  and  uncertainty,  with 
the  opposing  doctrines  and  opinions  she  heard  on  all  sides, 
she  found  rest  at  last  in  the  liberal  views  of  those  who  taught 
that  religion  was  life,  —  faith  in  the  goodness,  and  wisdom  of 
God's  laws,  and  love  to  man.  She  disliked  the  silent  Quaker 
meetings,  and  made  every  excuse  to  avoid  them.  Her  repu- 
diation of  that  faith  was  a  source  of  unhappiness  both  to  her 
family  and  herself.  About  this  time  she  spent  a  few  months 
as  a  pupil  and  assistant  teacher  in  a  school  at  New  Brighton, 
Beaver  County ;  but  as  her  situation  there  was  not  pleasant, 
she  applied  for  a  district  school  that  was  vacant  in  that  town^ 
.About  to  make  the  final  arrangements  with  the  committee,  she 
asked  what  salary  they  gave.  One  gentleman  remarked  "  A 
man  has  taught  this  school  heretofore,  and  we  gave  him 
twenty-eight  dollars  a  month ;  but  we  should  not  give  a  girl 
more  than  sixteen."  There  was  something  in  his  manner  and 
tone  60  insulting  that  her  pride  compelled  her  to  scorn  the 
place  she  needed,  and,  drawing  herself  up  to  her  full  propor- 
tions, she  said  with  great  vehemence,  "  Sir,  are  you  a  fool,  or 
do  you  take  me  for  one?  Though  I  am  too  poor  to-day  to 
buy  a  pair  of  cotton  gloves,  I  would  rather  go  in  rags,  than 
degrade  my  womanhood  by  accepting  anything  at  your  hands.' 
And  she  shook  the  dust  of  that  place  from  her  feet,  and  went 
home  to  struggle  on  with  poverty,  firm  in  the  faith  of  future 
success.  Young,  inexperienced,  penniless,  with  but  few 
friends,  and  none  knowing  her  greatest  trials,  she  passed 
weeks  looking  for  a  situation,  in  vain.  At  last  she  was 
offered  a  place  as  saleswoman  in  a  store,  which  she  accepted ; 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  485 

bat  finding  that  it  was  her  duty  to  misrepresent  goods  to 
customers,  she  left  at  once,  because  she  would  not  violate 
her  conscience  with  the  tricks  of  trade. 

The  distinctions  she  saw  everywhere  between  boys  and 
girls,  men  and  women,  giving  all  the  opportunities  and 
advantages  of  life  to  one  sex,  early  filled  her  with  indigna- 
tion, and  she  determined  to  resist  this  tyranny  wherever  she 
found  it.  Sitting  at  home  one  Sunday  in  January,  1860,  she 
read  a  notice  that  the  ^*  Association  of  Progressive  Friends  *' 
would  bold  a  meeting  that  afternoon,  to  discuss  '' woman's 
rights  and  wrongs."  She  resolved  to  go,  and,  in  company 
with  another  young  girl,  was  there  at  the  appointed  horn*. 
Ten  minutes  were  allowed  the  speakers  to  present  their 
opposing  views.  "  It  was  my  good  fortune,"  says  Dr.  Long- 
shore, "  to  be  there,  and  to  announce  at  the  opening  of  the 
meeting,  that  ladies  were  particularly  invited  to  speak,  as  the 
subject  was  one  in  which  they  were  interested.  In  response 
to  this  invitation,  after  several  persons  had  spoken,  Anna 
arose  near  the  centre  of  the  hall.  Her  youthful  face,  black 
curls,  and  bright  eyes,  her  musical  voice,  subdued  and  im- 
pressive manner,  commanded  at  once  the  attention  of  the 
audience.  She  spoke  twice,  her  allotted  time,  and  right  to 
the  point.  These  were  her  first  speeches  in  public,  and  her 
auditors  will  long  remember  that  day."  She  gave  a  new 
impulse  to  the  meetings  and  a  fresh  interest  in  the  associatiou 
for  months  afterward. 

The  next  Sunday  she  spoke  again,  and  on  the  same  sub- 
ject. An  attempt  was  made,  by  an  opponent,  by  interrup- 
tions, foolish  questions,  sneers,  and  ridicule  to  put  her  down. 

Tliis  was  a  tall,  nervous,  bilious  man,  who  spoke  with  the 
aiTogauce  and  assumption  usual  in  that  type  of  manhood,  — 
as  if  he  were  a  partner  of  the  Most  High  in  giving  law  to  the 
universe ;  as  if  it  were  his  special  mission  to  map  out  the 
sphere  of  woman,  the  paths  wherein  she  might  with  safety 


486  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

walk.  By  some  magnetic  law  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  this 
fitrango  girl,  into  whose  soul  the  floods  of  indignation  were 
pouring  thick  and  fast ;  and  when  he  finished,  the  scene  that 
followed  was  almost  tragic.  She  rose,  her  feelings  at  white 
heat,  and,  with  flashing  eye  and  crimson  cheek,  she  turned 
upon  her  antagonist,  looking  him  square  in  the  face,  and 
poured  out  the  vials  of  her  pent-up  wrath, — the  sum  of  all  the 
wrongs  she  had  felt  through  struggling  girlhood  ;  the  insults 
to  womanhood  she  had  read  and  heard ;  the  barbarisms  of 
law,  of  custom,  and  of  daily  life,  that  but  for  the  strong  will 
God  had  given  her  to  resist,  would  have  ground  her,  with  the 
multitudes  of  her  sex,  to  powder.  She  poured  out  such 
volleys  of  invective,  sarcasm,  and  denunciation,  painted  the 
helplessness  of  women  with  such  pathos  and  power,  giving 
touching  incidents  of  her  own  hard  experience,  that  her 
antagonist  sunk  lower  and  lower  into  his  seat  and  bowed  his 
head  in  silence  and  humiliation,  while  those  who  Avitnessed 
the  scene  were  melted  to  tears.  Never  was  an  audience  more 
electrified  and  amazed  than  were  they  with  the  eloquence  and 
power  of  that  young  girl.  No  one  knew  who  she  was,  or 
whence  she  came ;  but  all  alike  felt  her  burning  words,  and 
withering  scorn  of  him  who  had  dared  to  be  the  mouth-piece 
of  such  time-honored  insolence  and  cant  about  the  sphere  of 
woman.  Pointing  straight  at  him,  and,  with  each  step  ap- 
proaching nearer  where  he  sat,  saying.  You,  sir,  said  thus 
and  so,  she  swept  away  his  arguments,  one  by  one,  like  cob- 
webs before  a  whirlwind,  and  left  him  not  one  foot  of  ground 
whereon  to  stand.  When  she  finished,  he  took  his  hat  and 
sneaked  out  of  the  meeting  like  a  whipped  spaniel,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  audience,  leaving  the  sympathies  of 
the  audience  with  the  brave  young  girl. 

From  this  hour  Elwood  and  Hannah  Longshore  became 
Anna's  most  faithful  and  trusted  friends  and  advisers.     They 


ANITA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  487 

appreciated  her  genius,  comprehended  the  difficulties  of  her 
position,  and  gave  her  a  helping  hand  in  securing  means  of 
support.  They  encouraged  her  ambition  to  become  a  public 
speaker.  So  intense  and  earnest  was  she  in  all  her  desires, 
that  she  easily  surmounted  every  difeculty  to  secure  her  ends. 
No  lions  ever  crouched  in  her  path ;  it  was  the  real,  not  the 
imaginary,  that  blocked  her  way. 

Soon  after  the  scene  in  the  Sunday  meeting,  two  gentle- 
men called  at  her  home  one  day  and  inquired  for  Anna  Dick* 
inson.  They  had  heard  her  speak,  and  were  so  much  pleased 
that  they  desired  to  kno\# something  of  her  family  and  sur- 
roundings. As  soon  as  they  inquired  for  Anna,  the  mother's 
heart  stood  still,  supposing  that  these  men  had  come  to  com- 
plain of  some  of  her  pmuks  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  she 
was  by  no  means  relieved,  when  she  heard  that  her  daughter 
had  made  a  speech  in  a  public  meeting  on  Sunday,  and  they 
had  come  to  congratulate  her  on  her  success. 

Her  public  career  was  at  first  a  great  mortification  to  her 
mother,  who  felt  that  by  this  erratic  course  she  was  bringing 
shame  and  humiliation  on  her  family,  never  dreaming  that 
she  was  so  soon  to  occupy  one  of  the  proudest  positions 
before  the  American  people,  to  distinguish  her  family,  and 
place  them  in  conditions  of  ease  and  luxury.  But  she  shared 
the  common  fate  of  genius, —  persecution  in  the  house  of  its 
friends.  At  this  time  she  became  a  constant  visitor  at  the 
house  of  Dr.  Longshore,  and  found  there  the  afiection  and 
wisdom,  the  warm  and  sympathizing  friendship,  her  generous 
and  impulsive  nature  most  needed  for  its  development  and 
control.  They  took  her  to  their  hearts,  cared  for  her  in 
every  way,  and  to  this  day  she  calls  their  house  her  home. 

''Wo  felt  towards  her,"  says  Dr.  Longshore,  •'as  if  she 
were  our  own  child,  and  she  lingered  with  us  in  her  visits 
with  filial  devotion.     We  were  the  first  strangers  to  manifest 


488  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGS. 

an  interest  in  her  welfare  and  future  plans,  and  she  recipro- 
cated our  friendship  with  confidence  and  love.  She  was 
always  so  happy,  so  full  of  hope  and  life,  that  her  presence 
seemed  like  that  of  an  angel.  Hour  after  hour,  in  the  even- 
ing, when  all  was  still,  sh6  would  entertain  us  with  her  varied 
experiences,  at  home,  in  school,  in  church,  in  company,  with 
her  teachers,  playmates,  and  strangers,  with  her  efforts  to 
get  books,  clothes,  comforts,  laughing  and  crying  by  turn. 
Her  recitals  were  so  full,  glowing,  and  eloquent,  that  we  took 
no  note  of  the  passing  time,  and  the  midnight  hours  would 
often  find  us  lingering  still,  pleased  and  patient  listeners  of 
this  strange  child's  life." 

After  reading  some  thrilling  account  of  the  slave  sj'stem, 
one  night,  she  had  a  remarkable  dream.  She  thought  she 
was  herself  a  slave-girl,  the  victim  of  all  the  terrible  experi- 
ences of  that  condition.  The  toil,  the  lash,  the  starvation 
and  nakedness,  the  auction-block,  the  brutality  of  driver  and 
owner,  were  all  so  vividly  painted  on  her  imagination  that 
Bhe  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  horrid  realities  of  that  system. 
She  could  never  speak  on  that  subject  in  public  or  private, 
but  this  terrible  memory  would  come  vividly  back  to  her, 
intensifying  her  feelings,  and  giving  an  added  power  to  her 
words. 

After  attending  the  meeting  of  Progressive  Friends  for 
several  weeks,  she  was  invited  to  speak  in  MuUicaHill,  New 
Jersey,  and  on  the  first  Sunday  in  April,  1860,  she  made  the 
first  speech  to  which  she  had  given  any  previous  thought. 
The  large  school-house  was  crowded ;  her  subject  was 
*'  Woman's  Work."  Speaking  from  the  depths  of  her  own 
experience,  she  held  the  audience  in  breathless  silence  for  over 
an  hour.  There  was  an  indescribable  pathos  in  her  full,  rich 
voice,  that,  aside  from  what  she  said,  touched  the  hearts  of 
her  hearers,  and  moved  many  to  tears.     Her  power  seemed 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  489 

miraculous  to  the  people,  and  they  would  not  disperse  until 
she  promised  to  speak  again  in  the  evening.  Some  one  re- 
marked at  the  adjournment,  "  If  Lucretia  Mott  had  made  that 
speech,  it  would  be  thought  a  great  one."  In  the  evenhig 
she  spoke  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  for  the  first  time,  and 
with  equal  effect.  A  collection  of  several  dollars  was  taken 
up  for  her,  the  fir^t  she  ever  received  for  giving  an  address. 

FaiUug  to  find  employment  in  Philadelphia,  she  accepted, 
as  a  last  resort,  a  district  school  in  Bucks  County,  with  a 
salary  of  twenty-live  dollars  a  month*  She  came  home  once 
in  two  weeks  to  take  part  in  the  Sunday  meetings.  On  her 
eighteenth  birthday  she  went  to  Kenuett  Square,  —  a  small 
village  thirty-two  miles  from  Philadelphia,  —  to  attend  an 
anti-slavery  meeting  that  remained  in  session  two  days.  She 
spoke  on  slavery  and  non-resistance.  In  that  doctrine  of 
Friends  she  had  no  fuith.  A  discussion  arose  as  to  the  right 
and  duty  of  slaves  to  forcible  resistance.  She  and  Robert 
Purvis,  who  was  in  the  chair,  spoke  in  the  affirmative,  and, 
in  a  protracted  discussion,  maintained  their  opinion,  against 
the  majority,  "that  resistance  to  tyranny  is  obedience  to 
God."  Anna  wound  up  one  of  her  glowing  periods  with  the 
words  of  Lovejoy :  "If  I  were  a  slave,  and  had  the  power, 
I  would  bridge  over  the  chasm  which  yawns  between  the  hell 
of  slavery  and  the  heaven  of  freedom,  with  carcasses  of  the 
slain."  The  effect  of  her  speech  was  startling,  and  thrilled 
the  whole  audience.  Robert  Purvis  unconsciously  rose  from 
his  chair,  and  bent  forward,  electrified  with  a  new  hope  of 
liberty  for  his  race,  looking  as  if  their  fate  rested  on  her  lips. 

During  her  summer  vacation  she  spoke  several  times  to 
largo  audiences  in  New  Jersey.  On  one  occasion,  in  the 
open  air  in  a  beautiful  grove,  where  hundreds  had  assembled 
to  hear  her,  she  spoke  both  morning  and  afternoon  on  tem- 
perance and  anti-slavery,  producing  a  profound  sensation. 
At  another  time  several  Methodist  clergymen  had  assembled 


490  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  a  new  church  in  a  village  where 
she  was  announced  to  speak.  They  went  to  hear  her,  from 
mere  curiosity,  in  rather  a  sneering  frame  of  mind  ;  she,  know- 
ing that  fact,  was  moved  to  speak  with  more  than  usual 
pathos  and  power.  They  made  themselves  quite  merry  in 
the  beginning,  but  before  she  closed  they  were  serious,  sub- 
dued, and  in  tears.  The  next  day  one  of  them  introduced 
himself  to  her,  and  said,  *'I  have  always  ridiculed  'Woman's 
Kights,'  but,  so  help  me  God,  I  never  shall  again."  At  all 
these  meetings  contributions  were  taken  up  for  her  benefit, 
and  she  began  to  think  that  this  might  prove  to  be  her  means 
of  support.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  that  she  closed  her 
school,  she  advertised  a  meeting  to  be  held  in  the  school- 
house,  but 'the  crowd  was  so  great  that  they  adjourned  to  a 
church  near  by.  She  spoke  on  "  Woman's  Work ; "  and  with 
the.  novelty  of  the  subject  and  the  whole  proceeding,  she 
quite  startled  that  stolid  community. 

Shortly  after  this  she  attended  another  anti-slavery  meet- 
ing at  Kennett  Square.  This  meeting,  held  just  in  the  bo- 
ginning  of  the  war,  was  rather  an  exciting  one,  and  prolonged 
discussions  arose  on  the  duties  of  abolitionists  to  existing 
laws  and  constitutions.  In  the  report  from  *' Forney's  Press" 
we  find  the  following  notice  :  — 

«  The  next  speakor  was  a  Miss  Anna  E.  Dickinson,  of  Philadelphia,  aged  seyenteen 
years,  —  handsomo,  of  an  exprossire  oountenanoe,  plainly  drMsed,  and  oloqaent  beyond 
her  years.  After  the  listless,  monotonoos  harangues  of  the  previous  part  of  the  day, 
the  distinct,  earnest  tones  of  this  juvenile  Joan  of  Arc  wore  very  sweet  and  charming. 
During  ber  discourse,  which  was  frequently  interrupted,  Miss  Dickinson  maintained 
her  presence  of  mind,  and  uttered  her  radical  sentiments  with  augmented  reoolation 
and  plainness.  Those  who  did  not  sympathize  with  her  remarks  were  softened  by  her 
simplicity  and  solemnity.  Her  speech  was  decidedly  Ifte  feature  of  the  evening,  provo- 
cative as  it  was  of  numerous,  unmanly  interruptions,  and  followed  by  discussion  of  pro- 
longed and  diversified  interest.  Miss  Dickinson,  wo  understand,  is  a  member  of  tho 
Society  of  Friends,  and  had  been  solicited,  several  times  during  the  day,  to  address  tho 
aadienoe,  but  waited  for  the  inspiration  of  the  evening,  which  came  in  the  shape  of 
Mrs.  Qrew's  remarks.  They  were  told,  said  Miss  Dickinson,  to  maintain  constitutioofl 
because  they  were  oonstitutions,  and  oompromiaes  beoause  they  were  oompromiaea. 


ANKA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  491 

B«t  what  were  oompromiMa,  and  what  was  laid  down  in  thon  oonititntiooa  7  Stninent 
lawgirera  hare  said  that  oortain  great  fandamental  ideas  of  right  were  oommon  to  tho 
world,  and  that  all  laws  of  man's  making  which  trampled  npon  those  ideas  were  nail 
and  Toid,  —  wrong  to  obej,  but  right  to  disobejr.  The  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  sat  upon  the  neck  of  those  rights,  reeognises  human  slareiy,  and  makes  the  souls 
of  men  artieles  of  purchase  and  of  sale." 

There  is  not  space  to  give  her  admirable  speech  on  the 
higher  lav,  nor  the  discussion  that  followed,  in  which  Miss 
Dickinson  maintained  her  position  with  remarkable  clearness 
and  coolness  for  one  of  her  years.  The  flattering  reports  of 
this  meeting  in  several  of  the  Philadelphia  journals  intro- 
duced her  to  the  public. 

On  the  evening  of  the  27th  of  February  she  addressed  an 
audience  of  about  eight  hundred  persons  in  Concert  Hall, 
Philadelphia.  She  spoke  full  two  hours  extemporaneously, 
and  the  lecture  was  pronounced  a  success.  Many  notables 
and  professional  men  were  present ;  and,  although  it  was  con- 
sidercd  a  marvellous  performance  for  a  young  girl,  Miss 
Dickinson  herself  was  mortified,  as  she  said,  with  the  length 
of  her  speech,  and  its  lack  of  point,  order,  and  arrangement. 
She  felt  that  she  was  not  equal  to  the  occasion ;  instead  of 
being  flattered  with  the  praises  bestowed  upon  her,  she  was 
filled  with  regret  that  she  had  not  made  a  more  careful  and 
thoughtful  preparation.  But  she  learned  an  important  lesson 
from  what  she  considered  a  fiulure,  worth  more  than  it  cost 
her. 

Spring  was  opening,  and  her  fresh  young  spirit  and  strong 
will  demanded  some  new  avenues  to  labor,  some  active, 
profitable  work.  In  her  searches  for  something  to  do,  says 
a  friend,  "I  met  her  one  day  in  the  street ;  said  she,  *I  must 
work.  I  dislike  the  confinement  and  poor  pay  of  school- 
teaching  ;  but  I  shall  go  crazy  unless  I  have  work  of  some 
kind.  Why  can't  I  get  into  the  Mint?'  After  considering 
the  possibilities  of  securing  a  place  there,  for  some  time,  our 
plans  were  made,  and,  after  many  persistent  cfibrts,  we  sue* 


492  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOB. 

ceeded/'   In  April  she  entered  the  United  States  Mint,  to  labor 

• 

from  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  six  at  night  for  twenty- 
eight  dollars  a  month.  She  sat  on  a  stool  all  those  long  hours, 
in  a  close,  impure  atmosphere,  the  windows  and  doors  being 
always  closed  in  the  adjusting  room,  as  the  least  drafl  of  air 
would  vary  the  scales.  She  soon  became  very  skilful  in  her 
new  business,  and  did  twice  the  amount  of  work  of  most 
other  girls.  She  was  the  fastest  adjuster  in  the  Mint ;  but 
she  could  not  endure  the  confinement,  and  soon  changed  to 
the  coining-room.  But  this  dull  routine  of  labor  did  not 
satisfy  her  higher  nature.  After  the  day's  work  was  done, 
she  would  go  to  the  hospitals  to  write  letters  for  the  sick 
soldiers,  to  read  to  them,  and  talk  over  the  incidents  of  the 
war.  Many  things  conspired  to  make  her  situation  in  the 
Mint  undesirable.  The  character  and  conversation  of  the  in- 
mates were  disagreeable  to  her ;  hence  she  kept  them  at  a 
distance,  while,  her  opinions  on  slavery  and  woman's  rights 
being  known,  she  was  treated  with  reserve  and  suspicion  in 
return.  In  November  she  made  a  speech  in  Westchester  on 
the  events  of  the  war,  which  increased  this  state  of  feeling 
towards  her,  and  culminated  in  her  discharge  from  the  Mint, 
in  the  Christmas  holidays.  This  meeting  was  held  just  after 
the  battle  of  Bairs  Bluff.  In  summing  up  the  recprd  of  this 
battle,  after  exonerating  Stone  and  Baker,  she  said, ''History 
will  record  that  this  battle  was  lost,  not  through  ignorance 
and  incompetence,  but  through  the  treason  of  the  command- 
ing general,  George  B.  McClellan,  and  time  will  vindicate 
the  truth  of  my  assertion."  She  was  hissed  all  over  the 
house,  though  some  cried, "Go  on," ''Go  on."  She  repeated 
this  startling  assertion  three  times,  and  each  time  was  hissed. 
Years  after,  when  McClellan  was  running  against  Lincoln  in 
1864,  when  she  had  achieved  a  world-wide  reputation,  she 
was  sent  by  the  Bepublican  committee  of  Pennsylvania,  to 
this  same  town,  to  speak  to  the  same  people,  in  the  same 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  493 

hall.  In  again  summing  up  the  incidents  of  the  war,  when 
ehe  came  to  Balls  Bluff,  she  said,  " I  say  now, as  I  said  three 
years  ago,  history  will  record  that  this  battle  was  lost,  not 
through  ignorance  or  incompetence,  but  through  the  treason 
of  the  commanding  general,  George  B.  McClellan."  **  And 
time  has  vindicated  your  assertion,"  was  shouted  all  over  the 
house.  It  was  this  speech,  made  in  1861,  that  cost  her  place 
in  the  Mint.  Ex-Governor  Pollock  dismissed  her,  Und  owned 
that  his  reason  was  the  Westchester  speech,  for  at  that  time 
McClellan  was  the  idol  of  the  nation.  She  says  that  was  the 
best  service  the  Govenior  could  have  rendered  her,  as  it 
forced  her  to  the  decision  to  labor  no  longer  with  her  hands 
for  bread,  but  to  open  some  new  path  for  herself. 

She  continued  speaking,  during  the  winter,  in  many  of  the 
neighboring  towns,  on  the  political  aspects  of  the  war.  As  the 
popular  thought  was  centring  everywhere  on  national  ques-< 
tions,  she  began  to  think  less  of  the  special  wrongs  of  women 
and  negroes,  and  more  of  the  causes  of  revolutions,  and  the 
trtie  basis  of  government.  These  broader  views  secured  hor 
popularity,  and  made  her  available  in  party  politics  at  once. 
In  the  mean  time  Mr.  Gai-rison,  having  heard  Anna  Dickinson 
epeak  at  Westchester  and  Longwood,  and  being  both  charmed 
and  surprised  with  her  oratorical  power,  invited  her  to  visit 
Boston,  and  make  his  house  her  home.  Before  going  to  Bos- 
ton some  friends  desired  that  sh<f  should  make  the  same  speech 
in  Philadelphia  that  had  occasioned  her  dismissal  from  the 
Mint.  Accordingly,  Concert  Hall  was  engaged.  Judge 
Pierce,  an  early  friend  of  woman's  rights,  presided  at  the 
meeting,  and  introduced  her  to  the  audience.  She  had  a  full 
house,  at  ten  cents  admission,  was  received  with  great  enthu- 
siasm, and  acquitted  herself  to  her  own  satisfaction,  as  well 
as  that  of  her  friends.  After  all  expenses  were  paid  she 
found  herself  the  happy  possessor  of  a  larger  sum  of  money 
than  she  had  ever  had  before ;  and  now,  in  consultation  with 


494  BMINEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

good  Dr.  Hannah  Longshore,  it  was  decided  that  she  should 
have  her  first  silk  dress.     With  this  friend's  advice  and  bless- 
ing, she  went  to  New  England  to  endure  fi'esh  trials  and  dis- 
appointments  before  securing  that  unquestioned  reputation 
and  pecuniary  independence  she  enjoys  to-day.     Through  the 
influence  and  friendship  of  Mr.  Garrison  she  was  invited  to 
speak  in  Theodore  Parker's  pulpit  on  Sunday  morning,  as 
leading  rtformers  were  then  doing.     Accordingly  she  spoke, 
in  Music  Hall,  on  the  ** National  Crisis."    Her  first  lecture  in 
Boston  was  the  greatest  trial  she  ever  experienced.     Her 
veneration  for  the  character  of  a  Boston  audience  almost  over- 
matched her  courage  and  confidence  in  her  ability  to  sustain 
herself  through  such  an  ordeal.     Her  friends  also  had  mis- 
givings, and  feared  a  failure,  as  they  noticed  that  Anna  could 
neither  sleep  nor  eat  for  forty-eight  hours  previous  to  the  lec- 
ture.    Some  were  so  confident  that  she  would  fail  to  meet  the 
expectations  of  the  immense  audience,  that  they  refused  to 
sit  on  the  platform.     Mr.  Garrison  opened  the  meeting.     He 
read  a  chapter  of  the  Bible,  and  consumed  some  time  in  re- 
marks in  order  to  make  the  best  of  the  dilemma,  which,  in 
common    with    many,  he,   too,   apprehended,    while  Anna 
waited  behind  him  to  be  ''presented,"  in  an  agony  of  sus- 
pense she  struggled  to  conceal.    At  last  she  was  introduced, 
and  began  in  some  broken,  hesitating  sentences ;  but,  gradually 
becoming  absorbed  in  her  subject,  she  forgot  herself  and  her 
new  surroundings,  and  so  completely  held  the  attention  and 
interest  of  the  audience  for  over  an  hour  that  the  fears  of  her 
friends  were  turned  to  rejoicings,  the  anticipations  of  the  few 
were  more  than  realized,  and  her  own  long  anxious  hours  of 
prayers  and  tears  were  forgotten  in  the  proud  triumph  of  that 
day.     At  the  close  she  was  overpowered  with  thanks,  praises, 
and  salutations  of  love  and  gratitude.     As  she  delivered  this 
lecture  in  several  of  the  New  England  cities  I  give  the 
following  notice :  — 


AKNA    ELIZABETH    BICKIKSON.  495 

"  The  Nbw  Star.  —  If  to  bare  an  audience  remain  qnlet,  attentirei  and  STmpathii- 
ing  during  the  delirery  of  a  long  lecture,  is  any  indieatioB  of  the  ability,  tact,  and  suo- 
oess  of  the  speaker,  we  think  it  may  be  claimed  for  Mia  Dickinson  that  she  is  a  com- 
peer worthy  to  be  admitted  as  a  particular  star  in  the  large  and  brilliant  constellation 
of  genius  and  talent  now  endeavoring  to  direct  the  country  to  the  goal  of  negro  eman* 
oipation. 

*' Music  Hall  was  filled  to  orerflowing;  hundreds  of  the  audience  went  early,  and 
mast  hare  sat  there  more  than  an  hour  before  the  lecture  began;  and,  yet,  we  do  not 
remcmbor  to  have  seen  less  signs  of  weariness  and  inattention  at  any  lecture  we  ever 
attended  in  this  city.  Her  voice  is  clear  and  penetrating,  without  being  harsh;  bor 
enunciation  is  very  distinct,  and  at  times  somewhat  rhythmic  in  its  character,  with 
enough  of  a  peculiar  accent  to  indicate  that  her  home  has  not  been  in  Massachusetts. 
Her  whole  appearance  and  manner  are  deeidedly  attractive,  earnost,  and  expressive. 
Her  lecture  waa  weU-«rranged,  logical,  and  oeoasionally  eloquent,  persuasive,  and  pa* 
thetio. 

"She  traced  the  demands  and  usurpations  of  the  Slave  Power  from  the  commence- 
ment of  our  government  till  the  present  time,  and  proved  that,  because  it  could  not 
hope  to  control  the  country  in  the  future  as  it  had  in  the  past,  it  raised  the  standard  of 
rebellion, — an  act  long  since  determined  upon  when  such  an  exigency  should  arise. 
Slavery  being  thus  proved  to  be  the  cause  of  the  war,  the  Justice,  necessity,  and  propri- 
ety of  its  abolition,  as  a  means  of  present  defence  and  future  security  and  peace,  wai 
forcibly  illustrated. 

"  That  the  slave  was  prepared  for  freedom  was  proved  by  the  thousands  who  hava 
passed  through  so  much  danger  and  suffering  to  obtain  it.  The  inhuman  character  of 
the  fugitive  slave  enactment  was  most  beautifully  referred  to,  bringing  tears  to  many 
eyes  which  are  not  accustomed  to  weep  over  the  wrongs  of  the  colored  race. 

"  She  spoke  in  eloquent  terms  of  Fremont,  which  met  with  a  hearty  response  from 
the  audience,  as  did  other  parts  of  hor  address.  On  the  whole,  we  think  her  friendf 
here  must  be  greatly  delighted  with  her  first  effort,  on  her  first  visit  to  our  old  Common- 
wealth. 

**  Previous  to  the  delivery  of  the  lecture,  the '  Negro  Boatman's  Song,*  by  Whittier, 
was  sung  by  a  quartette,  accompanied  by  the  organ,  and  the  exercises  were  dosed  bf 
singing  *  America,'  in  which  the  audience  joined."  —  Fall  River  Press, 

She  spent  the  following  summer  in  reading  and  study, 
collecting  materials  for  other  lectures.  She  continued,  as  she 
had  time,  to  visit  the  government  hospitals,  and  made  herself 
a  most  welcome  guest  among  our  soldiei*s.  In  her  long  con- 
versations with  them,  she  learned  their  individual  histories, 
experiences,  hnrdships,  and  sufferings;  the  motives  that 
prompted  them  to  go  into  the  army ;  what  they  saw  there, 
and  what  they  thought  of  war  in  their  hours  of  solitude,  away 
from  the  excitement  of  the  camp  and  the  battle-field.    Thus 


496  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

8he  got  an  insight  into  the  soldier's  life  and  feelings,  and  from 
these  narratives  drew  her  materials  for  that  deeply  interest- 
ing lecture  on  Hospital  Life,  which  she  delivered  in  many 
parts  of  the  country. 

In  October,  1862,  she  spoke  before  the  Boston  Fraternity 
Lyceum,  for  which  she  received  many  flattering  notices  and 
one  hundred  dollars.  She  had  hoped,  through  the  influence 
of  friends,  to  make  a  series  of  appointments  for  the  winter, 
and  thus  secure  a  means  of  support.  But  the  military  re- 
verses and  discouragements  left  but  little  spirit  among  the 
people  for  lectures  of  any  kind,  and  she  travelled  from  place 
to  place  until  her  funds  were  exhausted.  Her  lecture  at 
Concord,  Now  Hampshire,  was  her  last  engagement  for  the 
season,  and  the  ten  dollars  promised  there  was  all  she  bad  in 
prospect  for  future  need  until  something  else  might  offer. 

This  was  a  trying  experience,  for  she  had  just  begun  to 
hope  that  her  days  of  darkness  had  passed  and  triumph  was 
near.  In  speaking  of  it  she  says,  '*No  one  knows  how  I  felt 
and  suffered  that  winter,  penniless  and  alone,  with  a  scanty 
wardrobe,  suffering  with  cold,  weariness,  and  disappointment. 
I  wandered  about  on  the  trains  day  after  day,  among  strangers, 
seeking  employment  for  an  honest  living,  and  failed  to  find 
it.  I  wouldhave  gone  home,  but  had  not  the  means.  I  had 
borrowed  money  to  commence  my  journey,  promising  to  remit 
soon ;  failing  to  do  so,  I  could  not  ask  again.  Beyond  my 
Concord  meeting  all  was  darkness ;  I  had  no  further  plans." 
But  her  lecture  there  on  Hospital  Life  was  the  turning-point 
in  her  fortunes.  In  this  speech  she  proved  slavery  to  be  the 
cause  of  the  war,  and  that  its  continuance  would  result  in 
prolonged  suflfering  to  our  soldiers,  defeat  to  our  armies,  and 
the  downfall  of  the  republic.  She  related  many  touching  in- 
cidents of  her  experiences  in  hospital  life,  and  drew  such 
vivid  pictures  of  the  horrors  of  both  war  and  slavery,  that, 
by  her  pathos  and  logic,  she  melted  her  audience  to  tears. 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  497 

and  forced  the  most  prejudiced  minds  to  accept  her  conclu- 
sions. 

Xt  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  secretary  of  the  State  Cen- 
tral Committee  heard  her  for  the  first  time.  He  remarked 
to  a  friendy  at  the  close  of  the  lecture,  ^If  we  can  get 
this  girl  to  make  that  speech  all  through  New  Hampshire^ 
we  can  carry  the  Republican  ticket  in  this  State  in  the  com- 
ing election.  ^  Fully  appreciating  her  magnetic  power  over  an 
audience,  he  resolved  at  once,  that,  if  the  State  Committee  re- 
fused to  invite  her,  he  should  do  so  on  his  own  responsibility. 

But,  through  his  influence,  she  was  invited  by  the  Repub- 
lican committee,  and  on  the  first  of  March  commenced  her 
regular  campaign  speeches.  In  thid  four  weeks  before  elec- 
tion, she  spoke  twenty  times,  —  everywhere  to  crowded,  en- 
thusiastic audiences.  Her  march  through  the  State  was  a 
succession  of  triumphs,  and  ended  in  a  Republican  victory. 
The  member  in  the  first  district,  having  no  faith  that  a  woman 
could  influence  politics,  sent  word  to  the  secretary,  **  Don't 

send  that  d woman  down  here  to  defeat  my  election.'* 

The  secretary  replied,  ^  We  have  work  enough  for  her  to  do 
in  other  districts,  without  interfering  with  you."  But  when 
the  would-be  honorable  gentleman  saw  the  furor  she  created, 
he  changed  his  mind,  and  inundated  the  secretary  with  letters 
to  have  her  sent  there.  But  the  secretary  replied,  ^  It  is  too 
late ;  the  programme  is  arranged,  and  published  throughout 
the  State.  You  would  not  have  her  when  you  could,  and 
now  you  cannot  have  her  when  you  will."  It  is  pleasant  to 
record  that  this  man,  who  had  the  moral  hardihood  to  use  a 
profane  adjective  in  speaking  of  a  woman,  lost  his  election ; 
and  thus  our  congressional  halls  were  saved  from  so  demor- 
alizing an  influence.  His  district  was  lost  by  a  lai^e  major- 
ity, while  the  other  districts  went  strongly  Republican. 
When  the  news  came  that  the  Republicans  had  carried  the 
State,  due  credit  was  awarded  to  Anna  Dickinson  f6r  her  faith- 

83 


493  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGS. 

ful*  labors  in  securing  the  victory.  The  governor-elect  made 
personal  acknowledgments  that  her  eloquent  speeches  had 
secured  his  election.  She  was  serenaded,  feasted,  and  eulo- 
gized by  the  press  and  the  people. 

New  Hampshire  safe,  all  eyes  were  now  turned  to  Con- 
necticut. The  contest  there  was  between  Seymour  and  Buck- 
ingham. It  was  generally  conceded  that,  if  Seymour  was 
elected,  Connecticut  would  give  no  more  money  or  troops 
for  the  war.  The  Republicans  were  completely  disheartened. 
They  said  nothing  could  prevent  the  Democrats  from  canying 
the  State  by  four  thousand,  while  the  Democrats  boasted  that 
they  would  carry  it  by  ten  thousand.  Though  the  issue  was 
one  of  such  vital  importance,  there  seemed  so  little  hope  of 
success,  that  the  Republicans  were  disposed  to  give  it  up 
without  making  an  effort.  And  no  resistance  to  this  impend- 
ing calamity  was  made  until  Anna  Dickinson  went  into  the 
State,  and  galvanized  the  desponding  loyalists  to  life.  She 
spent  two  weeks  there,  addressing  large  and  enthusiastic 
audiences  all  over  the  State,  and  completely  turned  the  tide 
of  popular  sentiment.  Even  the  Democrats,  in  spite  of  the 
scurrilous  attacks  on  her  by  some  of  their  leaders  and  editors, 
received  her  everywhere  with  the  warmest  welcome,  tore  off 
their  party  badges,  and  substituted  her  likeness,  and  ap- 
plauded whatever  she  said.  The  halls  where  she  spoke 
were  so  densely  packed,  that  Republicans  stayed  away  to  make 
room  for  the  Democrats,  and  the  women  were  shut  out  to 
give  place  to  those  who  could  vote.  There  never  was  such 
a  furor  about  an  orator  in  this  country.  The  period  of  her 
advent,  the  excited  condition  of  the  people,  her  youth,  beau- 
ty, and  remarkable  voice,  all  heightened  the  effect  of  her 
genius,  and  helped  to  produce  this  result.  Her  name  Was  on 
every  lip.  Ministers  preached  about  her,  prayed  for  her  as  a 
second  Joan  of  Arc,  raised  up  by  Grod  to  save  that  State  to 
the  loyal  party,  and  through  it  the  nation  to  freedom  and 


AKNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  499 

humanity.  As  the  election  day  approached,  the  excitement 
was  intense ;  and  when  at  last  it  was  announced  that  the  State 
was  saved  by  a  few  hundred  votes,  the  joy  and  gratitude  of 
the  crowds  knew  no  bounds.  They  shouted  and  hurrahed 
for  Anna  Dickinson,  serenaded  her  with  full  bands  of  music, 
sent  her  presents  of  flowers,  ornaments,  and  books,  manifest- 
ing in  every  way  their  love  and  loyalty  to  this  gifted  girl, 
who,  through  so  many  years,  had  bravely  struggled  with  pov- 
erty to  this  proud  moment  of  success  in  her  country's  cause. 
Some  leading  men  in  Connecticut  presented  her  a  gold 
watch  and  chain  as  a  memento  for  her  valuable  services  in 
the  State,  paid  her  a  hundred  dollars  for  every  night  she  had 
spoken  there,  and  for  the  last  night  before  election,  in  Hart- 
ford, four  hundred  dollars.  From  the  following  comments 
of  the  press,  the  reader  may  form  some  idea  of  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  people  :  — 

"MISS  DICKINSON  AT  ALLYN  HALL. 

"The  highest  oompliment  that  the  Union  men  of  this  oltj  oonld  pay  Miss  Anna  B. 
Dickinson  was  to  inyite  her  to  make  the  closing  and  most  important  speech  in  this  cam- 
pugn.  They  were  willing  to  rest  their  case  upon  her  eiforts.  She  may  go  far  and 
speak  mvoh;  she  will  have  no  more  flattering  proof  of  the  popular  confidence  in  her 
eloquence,  tact,  power,  than  this.  Her  business  being  to  obtain  votes  for  the  right  side, 
she  addressed  herself  to  that  end  with  singular  adaptation.  But  when  we  add  to  this 
lawyer-like  comprehension  of  the  neoenities  of  the  case,  her  earnestness,  enthusiasm, 
and  personal  magnetism,  we  account  for  the  effect  she  produced  on  the  vast  audience 
Saturday  night. 

Allyn  Hall  wm  packed  as  it  never  was  before.  Every  seat  was  crowded.  The  aisles 
were  full  of  men  who  stood  patiently  for  more  than  three  hours,  the  window-sills  had 
their  occupants,  every  foot  of  standing-room  was  taken,  and  in  the  rear  of  the  galleries 
men  seemed  to  hang  in  swarms  like  bees.  Such  was  the  view  from  the  stage.  The  stage 
itself  and  the  boxes  were  filled  with  ladies,  giving  the  speaker  an  audience  of  at  least 
two  hundred  who  could  not  see  her  face. 

To  such  an  audience  Miss  Dickinson  spoke  for  two  hours  and  twenty  minutes,  and 
hardly  a  listener  left  the  hall  during  that  time.  Her  power  over  the  audience  wm  mar- 
vellouB.  She  seemed  to  have  that  absolute  mastery  of  it  which  Joan  of  Arc  is  reported 
to  have  had  of  the  French  troops.  They  followed  her  with  that  deep  attention  which 
Is  unwilling  to  lose  a  word,  but  greeted  her,  every  few  moments,  with  the  most  wild  ap* 
plause,  which  continued  often  for  several  minutes,  breaking  forth  afresh  with  irrepressible 
•nthusiasm.   We  find  no  ocoasion  to  abate  a  word  firom  the  very  high  estimate  given  oi 


600  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    ^P    THE    SlQU. 

ber  as  an  orator  from  her  firsi  speeoh  in  this  citj.  And  she  added  Tastly,  on  Satarday 
night,  to  the  eiUmato  of  her  bj  her  Temtillty  and  ability  as  an  adrooato.  The  speeeh, 
in  itself,  and  its  effeot  was  magnifloent,  •»  this  strong  adjective  is  the  proper  one.  If  the 
eampaign  were  not  olosed,  we  should  give  a  fall  sketoh  of  the  speeoh,  for  its  pertinent 
eifect.  But  the  work  of  the  eampaign  is  done.  And  it  only  remains,  in  the  name,  we 
are  sare,  of  all  loyal  men  in  this  distriot,  to  express  to  Miss  Dickinson  most  heartfelt 
thanks  for  her  splendid,  inspiring  aid.  She  has  aroused  everywhere  respeot,  enthvsiaaB, 
and  devotion,  let  ns  not  say  to  herself  alone,  but  to  the  oonntry.  While  sooh  women 
are  possible  in  the  United  States,  there  Isn't  a  spot  big  enough  fbr  her  to  stand  on,  thai 
won't  be  fought  for  so  long  as  there  Is  a  man  left." 

Fresh  from  the  Tictories  in  New  Hampshire  and  Comiecti- 
out»  she  was  announced  to  speak  in  Cooper  Institute,  New 
York.  That  meeting  in  May,  1862,  was  the  most  splendid 
ovation  to  a  woman's  genius  since  Fanny  Kemble,  in  all  the 
wealth  of  her  youth  and  beauty,  appeared  on  the  American 
stage  for  the  first  time.  On  no  two  occasions  of  my  life  hav^ 
I  been  so  deeply  moved,  so  exalted,  so  lost  in  overflowing 
gratitude,  that  woman  had  revealed  her  power  in  oratory,-^ 
that  highest  art  to  touch  the  deepest  feelings  of  the  human 
soul,  —  and  verified  at  last  her  right  to  fame  and  immor- 
tality. There  never  was  such  excitement  over  any  meet- 
ing in  New  York.  Although  the  hall  was  densely  crowded 
long  before  the  hour  announced,  yet  the  people  outside  were 
deteimined  to  get  in  at  all  hazards, — ushers  were  beaten 
down,  those  without  tickets  rushed  in,  and  those  with  tickets 
were  pushed  aside,  and  thousands  went  home  unable  to  get 
standing-places  even  in  the  lobbies  and  outer  halls. 

The  platform  was  graced  with  the  most  distinguished  men 
and  women  in  the  country,  and  so  crowded  that  the  young 
orator  had  scarce  room  to  atand.  There  were  cleigymen, 
generals,  admirals,  judges,  lawyers,  editors,  the  literati  and 
leaders  of  fashion,  and  all  alike  ready  to  do  homage  to  this 
simple  girl,  who  moved  them  alternately  to  laughter  and  tears, 
to  bursts  of  applause  and  the  most  profound  ^enee.  Mr. 
Beecher,  who  was  president  of  the  meeting,  introduced  the 
speaker  in  his  happiest  manner.    For  more  than  an  hour  she 


ANKA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  501 

held  that  large  audience  with  deep  interest  and  enthusiasm, 
and,  when  she  finished  with  a  beautiful  peroration,  the  peo- 
ple seemed  to  take  a  long  breath,  as  if  to  find  relief  from  the 
intensity  of  their  emotions. 

Loud  cries  followed  for  Mr.  Beecher;  but  he  arose,  and, 
with  great  feeling  and  solemnity,  said,  **  Let  no  man  open  his 
lips  here  to-night ;  music  is  the  only  fitting  accompaniment  to 
the  eloquent  utterances  we  have  heard."  So  the  Hutchinsons 
closed  the  meeting  with  one  of  their  soul-stirring  ballads,  and 
the  audience  dispersed. 

As  none  of  the  materials  furnished  for  this  sketch  have 
interested  me  more  than  the  conunents  of  the  press,  I  give 
the  following.  Knowing  that  Anna  Dickinson  will  be  as 
great  a  wonder  to  another  generation  as  Joan  of  Arc  is  to  this, 
the  testimony  of  our  leading  journals  to  her  eloquence  and 
power  furnishes  an  important  page  in  future  history :  — - 

« MISS  DICKINSON  AT  THB  OOOPBB  INSTXTUTB. 

'^Th*  erowd  tA  the  Cooper  Inatitate  last  evening  mnit  be  truly  called  immense,  no 
other  word  being  adequate  to  the  emergency.  The  attraction  was  an  address  bjr  Miss 
Anna  E.  Dickinson,  of  Philadelphia,  upon  the  subject  of  '  The  Day  —  the  Oaose.' 

**  She  is  of  the  medium  height,  slight  in  form,  graceful  in  movement;  her  head,  weU- 
poised,  is  adorned  with  ftill  and  heavy  dark  hair,  displaying  to  advantage  a  pleasant 
fiMo,  which  has  the  signs  of  nervous  force  and  of  vigorous  mental  life.  In  manner  she 
is  unembarrasBcd,  without  a  shade  of  boldness  ;  her  gesticulation  is  simple,  drawing  to 
itself  no  remark  ;  her  voice  is  of  wonderful  power,  penetrating  rather  than  loud,  as 
dear  as  the  tone  of  metal,  and  yet  with  a  reed-like  softness.  Her  vooabulary  is  simple, 
and  in  no  instance  can  there  be  seen  a  straining  after  effective  expressions;  yet  hor  skill 
in  using  the  ordinary  stores  of  our  daily  language  is  so  great,  that  with  a  single  phrase 
she  presents  a  picture,  and  delivers  a  poem  in  a  sentence. 

"  Miss  Dickinson  shows  in  her  oratorical  method  the  feminine  peculiarities  which  lead 
her  sex  to  prefer  results  to  preliminaries,  the  sharply  defined  success  of  conclusions  to 
the  regularly  progressing  eourse  of  previous  argument.  Her  lecture  was  consequently 
very  eifeetlve  to  the  ear,  and  ditBoult  to  report  with  justice  to  the  speaker.  She  defined 
the  eontest  with  the  South  as  the  struggle  between  liberty  and  slavery  in  the  broadest 
sense  of  the  words,  extending  to  the  moral,  mental,  and  social  world,  and  illustrated 
her  position  with  rapid  allusions  to  the  politieal  history  of  the  last  ten  ^ears.  She  then 
drew  a  variety  of  oompariaons  between  the  loyalty  of  the  two  parties  at  the  North,  and, 
In  answer  to  the  question  what  sort  of  generab  each  had  given  to  the  oountry,  madt 


{ 


602  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

■ome  hits  of  great  foTM  «(  many  well-known  offioen,  and  paidatribato  of  praiae  to 
others. 

"It  was  in  this  part  of  her  address  that  the  brightness  of  her  wit  and  the  power  of 
condensed  expreauon  already  alluded  to  was  seen  most  clearly.  A  single  stroke  of  the 
pencil  placed  not  only  a  name  bnt  a  character  distinctly  before  the  audience,  who  took 
quickly,  and  fully  eigoyed  every  point.  The  enrolment  act,  the  threats  of  the  North- 
west to  compromise  for  themselyes  and  leave  New  England  out  in  the  cold,  and  the 
present  splendid  reyival  of  patriotic  confidence  in  the  North,  were  treated  with  surprising 
power.  The  applause  which  burst  from  the  audience  at  almost  every  sentence  was  more 
hearty  and  enthusiastic  than  oven  in  the  excited  political  gatherings  of  an  election 
season,  and  was,  moreover,  applause  bom  of  the  deepest  and  best  feelings  of  loyalty. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  lecture,  which  came  to  a  close  with  a  truly  beautiful  perora* 
tion,  the  Hutchinson  family  sang  one  of  their  best  pieces,  and  then,  by  request,  followed 
it  with  the  John  Brown  song,  in  the  chorus  of  which  tbie  audience  joined  with  a  thrilling 
•Stot."^New  York  Evening  Poti. 

Her  profits  from  this  meeting  were  nearly  a  thousand 
dollars.  After  her  remarkable  success  in  New  York,  the 
Philadelphia  **  Union  League/'  one  of  the  greatest  political 
organizations  in  the  country,  invited  her  to  speak  in  that  city. 
The  invitation  was  signed  by  leading  Republicans.  She  ac- 
cepted it ;  had  a  most  enthusiastic  and  appreciative  audience. 
Judge  Kelley  presiding,  and,  after  all  expenses  were  paid, 
she  had  seven  hundred  dollars.  In  this  address,  reviewing 
the  incidents  of  the  war,  she  criticised  General  McClellan,  as 
usual,  with  great  severity.  Many  of  his  personal  friends 
were  present,  and  some,  filled  with  indignation,  left  the  house, 
while  a  derisive  laugh  followed  them  to  the  door.  The  Phila- 
delphia journals  vied  with  each  other  in  their  eulogiums  of 
her  grace,  beauty,  and  eloquence.  The  marked  attention  she 
has  always  received  in  her  native  city  is  alike  most  grateful 
to  her  and  honorable  to  her  fellow-citizens. 

July  came,  and  the  first  move  was  made  to  enlist  colored 
troops  in  Pennsylvania.  A  meeting  was  called  in  Philadelphia. 
Judge  Eelley,  Frederick  Douglass,  and  Anna  Dickinson  were 
there,  and  made  most  eloquent  appeals  to  the  people  of  that 
State  to  grant  to  the  colored  man  the  honor  of  bearing  arms  in 
defence  of  his  coimtiy .  The  effort  was  successful.   A  splendid 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  503 

regiment  waa  rabed,  and  their  first  duly  was  to  serenade 
the  young  orator  who  had  spoken  so  eloquently  for  their 
race  all  through  the  wari  The  summer  passed  in  rest  and 
fitudy. 

In  September,  a  field-day  was  announced  at  Camp  William 
Penn.  General  Pleaisanton  reviewed  the  troops.  It  was  a 
very  brilliant  and  interesting  occasion,  as  many  were  about 
to  leave  for  the  seat  of  war.  As  the  day  closed  and  the 
people  began  to  disperse,  it  was  noised  round  that  Miss 
Dickinson  was  there ;  a  cry  was  heard  at  once  on  all  sides,  - 
**A  speech  I  A  speech  I "  The  moon  was  just  rising,  mingling 
its  pale  rays  with  those  of  the  setting  sun,  throwing  a  soft, 
mysterious  light  over  the  whole  scene.  The  troops  gathered 
round  with  bristling  bayonets  and  flags  flying,  the  band  was 
hushed  to  silence,  and,  when  all  was  still,  mounted  on  a 
gun  wagon,  with  General  Fleasanton  and  his  staff  on  one 
side,  and  General  Wagner  and  his  staff  on  the  other,  this 
beautiful  girl  addressed  "our  boys  in  blue."  She  lurged 
that  justice  and  equality  might  be  secured  to  every  citizen 
in  the  republic ;  that  slavery  and  war  might  end  forever,  and 
peace  be  restored;  that  our  country  might  indeed  be  the 
land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

As  she  stood  there  uttering  words  of  warning  and  proph- 
ecy, it  seemed  as  if  her  lips  had  been  touched  with  a  live  coal 
from  the  altar  of  heaven.  Her  inspired  words  moved  the 
hearts  of  our  young  soldiers  to  deeds  of  daring,  and  gave  fresh 
courage  to  those  about  to  bid  their  loved  ones  go,  and  die, 
if  need  be,  for  freedom  and  their  country.  The  hour,  the 
mysterious  light,  the  stillness,  the  novel  surroundings,  the 
youth  of  the  speaker,  all  gave  a  peculiar  power  to  her  words, 
and  made  the  scene  one  of  the  most  thrilling  and  beautiful 
on  the  page  of  history. 

In  the  autumn  of  1862,  she  was  engaged  to  go  to  Ohio,  to 
speak  for  a  few  weeks  before  election,  and  a  large  sum  of 


504:  EMIKEKT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

money  was  pledged  for  her  services.  But  some  Penn- 
sylvania politicians,  appreciating  her  power,  and  desiring  her 
help  at  home,  decided  to  outbid  Ohio  and  keep  her  in  her 
own  State.  Accordingly  she  accepted  their  proposals,  and 
threw  her  whole  energy  and  enthusiasm  into  that  campaign. 
She  endured  all  manner  of  discomforts  and  dangers  in  trav- 
elling through  the  benighted  mining  districts  of  the  State. 
She  met  with  scorn,  ridicule,  threats  of  violence,  and  more 
than  once  was  pelted  with  rotten  eggs  and  stones,  in  the 
midst  of  a  speech.  But  she  went  through  it  all  with  the 
calmness  and  coolness  of  an  experienced  warrior.  One  of 
the  committee  admitted  afterward  that  Miss  Dickinson  was 
sent  through  that  district  because  no  man  dared  to  go.  She 
returned  home  after  weeks  of  hard  labor  and  intense  excite- 
ment,  weary  and  exhausted,  and  though  all  agreed  that  the 
Bepublican  victory  in  that  State  was  largely  due  to  hei 
influence,  the  committee  forgot  their  promises,  and,  to  this 
hour,  have  never  paid  her  one  cent  for  her  valuable  services. 
Their  excuse  was,  that  the  fund  had  been  used  up  in  paying 
other  speakers.  As  if  a  dozen  honorable  men  could  not  have 
raised  something  in  an  hour  of  victory  to  reward  this  brave  and 
faithful  girl.  During  the  winters  of  1863  and  1864,  she  re- 
ceived invitations,  from  the  State  Legislatures  of  Ohio  and 
Pennsylvania,  to  speak  ip  their  capitals  at  Columbus  and  Har- 
risburg.  In  January,  1864,  she  made  her  first  address  in  Wash- 
ington. Though  she  now  believed  that  her  success  as  an 
orator  was  established,  yet  she  hesitated  long  before  accept- 
ing this  invitation.  To  speak  before  the  President,  Chief 
Justice,  Senators,  Congressmen,  Foreign  Diplomats,  all  the 
dignitaries  and  honorables  of  the  government,  was  one  of 
the  most  trying  ordeals  in  her  experience.  She  had  one  of 
the  largest  and  most  brilliant  audiences  ever  assembled  in  the 
capitol,  and  was  fully  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  made 
a  profound  impression,  and  was  the  topic  of  conversation 


ANNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINSON.  505 

for  days  afterwards.    At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  she  was 
presented  to  the  President  and  other  dignitaries,  and,  the 
next  day,  had  a  pleasant  interview  with  the  President  at  the^ 
White  House. 

As  this  was  one  of  the  greatest  occasions  of  her  life,  and  as 
she  was  honored  as  no  man  in  the  nation  ever  had  been,  it 
may  be  satisfactory  to  all  American  women  to  know  by  whom 
she  was  invited  and  how  she  acquitted  herself.  Accordingly, 
I  give  the  invitation  and  some  comments  of  the  press. 

COBBBSPONDENCS. 

«  n  JCw  Anna  B.  Diddmon,  PkOaddpkM,  Pa.f 

**  11x88  DicKiHBoir,-»HeartiIj  appreQUUng  ih*  VAlae  of  your  sorrtoM  tn  th8  oampAigu 
Sn  New  Hampshire,  Cozmeotiout,  PenxiBylyaiua,  and  New  York,  and  the  qnalitiee  thai 
have  combined  to  gire  yon  the  deeenredly  high  repntatloa  yon  ei^oy;  and  desiring  ai 
well- to  testify  that  appreciation  as  to  secure  onxselTes  the  pleasure  of  hearing  yoa,  we 
anite  in  cordially  inviting  yoa  to  deliyer  an  address  this  winter  at  the  capital^  at  soma 
time  suited  to  your  own  convenience. 

Wabhixoton,  D.  C.y  December  16, 1863. 

H.  HAlfUir,  SOHUTUB  COLTAX, 

J.  H.  LAin,  A.  0.  WiLDiB, 

jAiota  Dizoir,  Tbaodius  Snyavs, 

Chaalbs  SuinraBy  Hutrt  G.  Dncnro, 

H.  B.  AvTBONT,  William  D.  Ekllbt, 

HXNBT  WlLSOir,  BOBBBT  C.    ScHBHCK, 

JoHB  Sbbbxah,  J.  A.  Gabfibld, 

Iba  Habbi8,  B.  B.  ViB  Valkbrbitbo, 

Bbb.  F.  Wasb,  and  seyen^  other  BepresentatlTea. 

and  sixteen  other  Senators. 

**Htm.  Hamnibal  HanUm,  Viee-Presideni  of  the  Vmt§d  Statm;  Hon.  SeknfUr  Colfam, 
Spoaker  of  the  House  of  Rtpreeentatmee;  Hone,  J,  H.  Lane,  Jamee  Dunn,  Ckarlee 
Snmner,  H  B,  Anthony,  Henry  WUmm,  John  Sherman,  A.  C.  Wilder,  Thaddene 
Steoene,  Henry  C.  Deminy,  WUUam  D.  KeOey.  Robert  C.  Schenek,  J.  A.  Garfieid,  and 


"  Gbhtlbmbb ,  —  I  thank  you  sincerely  for  the  great  and  most  unexpected  honor  which 
you  have  conferred  upon  me  by  your  kind  invitation  to  speak  in  Washington. 

"Accepting  it,  I  would  suggest  the  16th  of  January,  as  the  time;  desiring  the  pro- 
•seds  to  be  devoted  to  the  help  of  the  Boflbriag  fraedman. 

«  Truly  yours,  AITNA  B.  DIGEIHSOir. 

*'  1710  Locust  St,  Philadelphia,  Jan.  7,  1864." 


606  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

*'  The  HoiiM  of  Repreieiitetires,  by  a  remarkablj  large  Toto,  hAve  tendered  Mia 
Diekiiuon  the  lue  of  their  hsll  for  the  oeeerion. 

"  Adminion  to  the  floor  of  the  House,  $1  00;  to  the  giUeriee,  60  oenti.  Tioketi  fbr 
■tie  at  the  prinoipAl  hbteli  Mid  bookstores." 

'<MISS  ANNA  DICKINSONS  LECTURB  IN  WASHINGTON. 
"  IFrom  the  Regnlftr  Oorroipoiident  of  the  BToniog  Post] 

"  Wi-BHiscnroH,  Jen.  17,  1864. 

*'  Miss  Diekinson's  leetnre  in  the  Hall  of  the  House  of  BepresentatiTes,  last  night,  was  a 
gratifying  suooess  and  a  splendid  personal  triumph.  She  oan  hardly  fail  to  regard  it  as 
the  most  flattering  oration  —  for  snob  it  was  —  of  her  life.  Long  before  the  honr  desi|^ 
nated  in  the  newspapers  for  the  eommeneement  of  the  leotare  the  hall  was  filled,  the 
eapaoioos  galleries  as  well  as  the  floor.  Seats  for  Ave  hundred  persons  had  been  arranged 
upon  the  floor,  and  the  tiokets  -^one  dollar  each — were  sold  by  noon  of  Saturday, 

"A  large  number  of  Congressmen  were  present  with  their  wires  and  daughters,  and 
many  of  the  leading  men  of  the  departments.  Here  and  there  an  opposition  member 
was  visible,  but  so  few  in  number  as  to  make  thoee  who  were  present  unpleaoantly 
oonspienous.  At  preoisely  half-past  seyen  Miss  Dickinson  oame  in,  escorted  by  Vice* 
President  Hamlin  and  Speaker  Colfax.  A  platform  had  been  built  directly  orer  the 
desk  of  the  oflioial  reporters,  and  in  front  of  the  olerk's  desk,  from  which  the  leoturer 
spoke.  Mr.  Hamlin  sat  upon  her  right  and  Mr.  Colfiuc  upon  her  left.  She  was  greeted 
with  loud  cheers  as  she  oame  in,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  introdnoed  her  to  the  select  audienoe 
in  a  neat  speech,  in  which  he  very  happily  compared  her  to  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

"This  scene  was  one  which  would  evidently  test  severely  the  powers  of  a  most  aceom* 
plished  orator,  for  the  audience  was  not  composed  of  the  enthusiastic  masses  of  the 
people,  but  rather  of  loungers,  oflioe-holders,  orators,  oriUcs,  and  men  of  the  world. 
But  the  fair  speaker  did  not  seem  to  be  embarrassed  in  the  least,  —  not  even  by  the 
movements  of  a  crasy  man  in  the  galleries,  who  carried  a  flag,  which  he  waved  over  her 
head  when  she  uttered  any  sentiment  particularly  stirring  or  eloquent. 

"  At  eight  o'clock  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linooln  came  in,  and  not  even  the  utterance  of  a  fervid 
passage  in  the  lecture  eould  repress  the  enthusiasm  of  the  audience.  It  was  a  somewhat 
amusing  fact  that  Just  as  the  president  entered  the  hall,  she  was  eriUoising,  with  some 
sharpness,  his  Amnesty  Proclamation  and  the  Supreme  Court;  and  the  audienoe,  as  if 
feeling  it  to  be  their  duty  to  applaud  a  Just  sentiment,  even  at  the  expense  of  courtesy, 
sustained  the  criticism  with  a  round  of  deafening  cheers.  The  crasy  man  in  the  gal- 
lery, as  if  electrified  by  the  courage  of  the  young  woman,  waved  his  flag  to  and  fro 
with  frantio  delight  Mr.  Lincoln  sat  meekly  through  it,  not  in  the  least  displeased. 
Perhaps  he  knew  that  sweets  were  to  come,  but  whether  he  did  or  not,  they  did  come, 
for  Miss  Diclunson  soon  alluded  to  him  and  his  ooorae  as  president,  and  nominated  him 
as  his  own  successor  in  1866.  The  popularity  of  the  president  in  Washington  was 
duly  attested  by  volleys  of  cheers. 

'*  The  lecture  itself  was  an  eloquent  one,  and  it  was  delivered  very  finely.  Miss  Dick- 
inson has  evidently  made  a  most  favorable  Imprsssion  upon  Congress  and  the  people  of 
Washington.  After  the  lecture  was  finished  the  audience  called  lustily  for  Mr.  Linooln 
to  speak,  but  he  edged  his  way  out  of  the  crowd  to  a  side  door,  telling  the  vice-president 
on  his  way  out  that  he  was  too  much  embarrassed  to  speak ;  which  statement,  made  knowi 


AKNA    ELIZABETH    DICKINS0I7.  507 

Ic^  the  people  prennt  by  Mr.  Hamlin,  eaiued  nmeh  langbter.*  The  '  fireedmen '  wlU 
obtoin  over  one  thonnmd  dollan  u  the  solid  remit  of  the  leetore;  those  present  M 
hetfen  were  delighted;  and  Miss  Diekinson  hu  the  oonsoUiion  of  feeling  not  only  that 
she  has  aided  a  good  oanse,  bat  that  she  has  aohieved  a  line  personal  triomph.       B." 


«KISS  DIOEINSON'S  LBOTURB  IN  WASHINGTON 

•  At  a  meeting  of  the  ExeontiTe  Gommittee  of  the  National  Freedmen's  Relief  Sodety 
of  the  Distriot  of  Oolnmbia  held  on  the  26th  of  January,  1864,  the  ftollowing  letter  wai 
read: — 

«  WABBXHOTOir,  January  23, 1864. 
« JZev.  W.  H.  Chtmninff: 

"  Sn,  —  We  hare  the  honor  to  eneloee  herewith  a  draft  for  ten  hnndred  and  thirty 
dollars,  being  the  prooeeds  of  the  leoture  delirered  by  Hiss  Anna  E  Diokinson,  in  the 
Honse  of  RepresentatiTeB,  on  Saturday  erening,  the  16th  inst 

"  It  is  the  speeial  request  of  Miss  Diokinson  that  this  fund  be  appropriated  for  the 
benefit  of  the  National  Freedmen's  ftelief  Sodety  of  the  Distriot  of  Golumbia,  of  whioh 
you  are  the  yioe-president. 

'*  It  was  in  response  to  an  invitation  of  members  of  Congress  that  Miss  Diokinson 
dellTored  her  leoture  at  the  oapitol.  Her  benoTolenoe  and  patriotism  evineed  in  thif 
gift  entitle  her  to  the  gratitude  not  only  of  those  who  are  the  recipients  of  her  mnnif> 
ioenoei,  but  of  every  lover  of  his  oountry. 

**  Very  respeotfUly,  your  obedient  servants, 

"H.  HAxuir, 

^SOHUTLBB  COLFAZ.'* 


Immediately  upon  her  return  from  Washington,  she  was 
invited  by  a  large  number  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Philadel- 
phia to  repeat  her  Washington  address  in  the  Academy  of 
Music,  to  which  she  replied : — 

"Mettra,  Arch.  Gittf,  Ales.  O.  CatteU,  T%m,  Attnum,  Edmmmd  A,  Somder,  and  ciker»: 
"  OxNTLiicm, — I  thank  you  heartily  for  the  honor  oonferred  on  me  by  your  most  kind 
invitation,  and  for  the  added  pleasure  of  reoeiving  it  firom  my  own  eity  of  Philadelphia. 
I  would  name  Wednesday,  the  27th  inst,  as  the  time. 

« Truly  yours,  ANNA  E.  DICKINSON. 

WABXorcROV,  D.  0.,  January  20, 1864." 


(( 


The  profound  impression  she  made  at  Washington  greatly 
heightened  her  rapidly  increasing  reputation,  and  she  was 
urged  to  deliver  that  address  both  in  New  York  and  Boston. 


'I 


608  BHINEHT  WOMEN  07  THE  AGE. 

In  Boston,  George  Thompson,  fhe  eloquent  English  orator 
and  member  of  Parliament,  paid  this  beautiful  tribute  to  her 
genius :  — 

"  Mr  FRmn»,  -^If  one  uMOOutoined  to  pabUo  speaking  is  ever  pUoed  in  an  embar* 
naring  position,  it  is  when  he  is  oalled  upon,  as  I  am  now,  to  address  an  aadienoe  thai 
has  been  so  ehanned  and  highly  azeited  by  sooh  aloqiieBoe  as  that  whuh  it  has  beea 
yoor  i^ivilege  and  my  privUege  to  listen  to  to*4Ught.  Shakespeare  says, '  As  when 
some  aotor  who  has  crossed  the  stage  retires,  the  eye  looks  listleasly  to  see  who  foUowi 
next; '  and  so  I  oome  before  yon  to-night.  I  have  nothing  to  address  to  yon  to-night| 
nothing.  I  have  been  spellbound.  Aaerioa,  be  prond  of  yonr  danghter!  Were  she 
my  eonntrywoman,  I  should  be  prond  of  n^  oonatry  for  her  sake.  Appreeiato  her,  re- 
ward her  by  following  her  oonnsels.  I  mnst  oonfess,  long  aooustomed  as  I  ha^e  been  to 
publio  meetings,  and  hearing  the  best  eloquence  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
to  hearing  those  who  are  esteemed  our  most  gifted  men  in  Parliament,  I  hare  listened 
to  no  speeoh  which,  fbr  its  pathos,  its  argument^  ittfsatire,  its  eloquence,  its  humor,  its 
sarcasm,  and  its  weU-directed  denunciations,  has  erer  been  surpassed  by  any  I  have 
Inard  before.  I  pray  God  that  the  life  of  this  lady  may  be  spared^  that  she  may  see  the 
desire  of  her  heart  in  the  nnanimous  adoption  by  her  feUow-citisens  of  the  great  princi- 
ples she  has  enunciated  to-night.  Give  me  America  firee  from  slavery.  Give  me  Amer- 
ica in  which  shall  be  established  universally,  as  yonr  lecturer  has  said  to-night,  without 
distinction  of  dime,  color^  nlasi,  or  condition,  liberty  for  all,  goyemment  by  all  and 
for  alL" 

Her  reputation  was  now  thoroughly  established,  and  during 
that  winter  she  addressed  lyceums  nearly  every  night  at  a 
hundred  dollars.  ^  Chicago ;  or,  the  Last  Ditch,"  was  the  title 
of  the  lecture  she  delivered  in  all  our  Northern  cities.  In  the 
spring  she  made  a  few  campaign  speeches  in  Connecticut. 
She  used  what  influence  she  had  to  prevent  the  renomina- 
tion  of  Mr.  Lincoln ;  for  she  distrusted  his  plan  of  reconstruo- 
tion,  after  an  interview  with  him,  in  which  he  read  to  her  his 
correspondence  with  (jeneral  Banks,  then  military  com- 
mander at  New  Orleans.  She  was  convinced  in  that  inter- 
view that  in  his  policy  he  was  looking  to  a  re-election  instead 
of  maturing  sound  measures  for  reconstruction.  During  that 
presidential  campaign,  though  she  continually  laid  bare  the 
record  of  the  Democratic  party,  the  treason  of  its  leaders  and 
generals,  and  its  want  of  loyalty  during  the  war,  yet  she  had 


ANNA    ELIZABllTH    DICKINSON.  509 

• 

DO  word  of  praise  for  Mr*  Lincoln.  She  never  took  his  name 
upon  her  lips,  except  to  state  facts  of  history,  after  the  Balti- 
more Convention,  until  his  death.  She  was  invited  to  go  to 
California  during  that  campaign,  and  offered  thousands  of 
dollars,  if  she  would  go  there  and  speak  for  Mr.  Lincoln ; 
which  she  declined.  At  the  opening  of  the  lyceum  course 
that  fall,  in  consequence  of  her  position  with  reference  to  the 
BepubUcan  nominee,  she  had  not  a  dozen  invitations  for  the 
winter ;  but,  as  the  season  advanced,  they  began  to  come  in  as 
usual,  showing  that  the  conmiittees  had  withheld  them  during 
the  months  preceding  the  election,  hoping,  no  doubt,  to  awe 
her  to  silence  on  Mr.  Lincoln.  In  1865,  she  spoke  in  Phila* 
delphia  on  the  Lincoln  monument,  and  cleared  a  thousand 
dollars,  which  she  gave  to  Alexander  Heniy,  the  mayor,  to 
be  appropriated  for  that  purpose.  On  this  occasion,  she  paid 
a  beautiful  tribute  to  the  many  virtues  of  our  martyred  pres- 
ident, delicately  making  no  mention  of  his  faults. 

One  of  the  most  powerful  and  impressive  appeals  that  she 
ever  made  was  in  the  Convention  of  Southern  Loyalists,  held 
in  Philadelphia  in  September,  1866.  In  this  convention  there 
was  a  division  of  opinion  between  the  Border  and  the  Gulf 
States.  The  latter  wanted  to  incorporate  ^  negro  suffrage " 
in  their  platform,  as  that  was  the  only  means  of  success  for 
the  liberal  party  at  the  South.  The  former,  manipulated  by 
Northern  politicians,  opposed  that  measure,  lest  it  should  de- 
feat the  Bepublican  party  in  the  pending  elections  at  the 
North.  This  stultification  of  principle,  of  radical  public  sen- 
timent, stirred  the  soul  of  Anna,  and  she  desired  to  speak  in 
the  convention.  But  a  rule  that  none  but  delegates  should 
be  allowed  that  privilege  prevented  her.  However,  as  the 
Southern  men  had  never  heard  a  woman  in  public,  and  felt 
great  curiosity  to  hear  her,  they  a^oumed  the  convention, 
resolved  themselves  into  a  coomiittee  of  the  whole,  and  in- 
vited her  to  address  them.    The  following  sketch  from  an  eye* 


610  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQE. 

witness  will  give  some  idea  of  the  effect  she  produced  on 
Southern  men:  — 

"A   GOOD-NATUEBD   VIEW 

Of  10010  matton  in  and  aboat  the  Oonrontlon  ii  gi?eii  in  fha  IbUowlng  fpioj  letter  of 
Jamei  Bodpath  to  the  Boston  '  TraToUer: ' — 

"Phzladblpbia,  Sept.  7. 
"  THE  ADDRBSa  OF  ANNA  B.  DICKINSON. 

"My  last  despatch  from  the  ConTontion  predioted  that  the  border  statesmen  would  n* 
eeire  a  leoture  from  Anna  Biokinson,  and  stated  that  they  acted  as  If  thej  antioipated 
it  This  prediction  was  formed  from  the  appearanoe  of  the  Maryland  delegation,  and  a 
knowledge  of  the  oharaoter  of  the  orator ;  and  it  was  folfilled. 

**  It  was  carious  to  note  the  audience.  There  sat,  directly  in  front  of  the  platform, 
three  or  four  hundred  Southern  men,  few  of  whom  had  ever  heard  a  woman  speak,  —  few 
of  whom  could  debate,  when  antagonistic  riews  were  advanoed,  without  the  grossest 
personal  vituperation. 

**  Their  ideal  of  controversial  oratory  was  with  them,  and  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  young  maiden  as  she  stepped  forward  to  deliver  a  speech  as  denunciatory  as  ever 
he  uttered,  but  as  free  from  offensive  personal  allusion^as  any  oration  can  be.  It  was 
Brownlow,  the  bitterest  and  foulest-tongued  man  in  the  South.  On  her  left  sat  John 
Minor  Botts,  with  his  lips  tightly  compressed,  and  his  face  telling  plainly  that  he  re- 
mained Uiere  from  courteey,  but  wonld  remain  a  patient  listener  to  the  speech. 

"  She  began;  and,  for  the  first  time  since  it  met,  the  Convention  was  so  still  that  the 
&intest  whisper  could  be  heard.  She  had  not  spoken  long  before  she  declared  that 
Maryland  had  no  business  in  the  Convention,  but  ought  to  have  been  with  the  delegates 
who  came  to  welcome.    There  ma  vehement  applause  from  the  border  States. 

« <  That  is  a  direct  insult! '  shouted  a  delegate  from  Maryland. 

''She  went  on  without  regarding  these  coarse  interruptions,  reviewing  the  conduct  of 
the  border  States  with  scorn,  and  talking,  with  an  eloquence  I  never  heard  equalled  ia 
any  previous  effort,  in  favor  of  an  open,  hearty,  manly  declaration  of  the  real  opinion 
of  the  Convention  for  justice  to  the  colored  loyalist,  not  in  the  courts  only,  but  at  tha 
ballot-box. 

"  There  was  none  of  the  flippancy  or  pertness  which  sometimes  disfigures  her  pnblio 
speeches.  It  was  her  noblest  style  throughout, — bold  but  tender,  and  often  so  pathetio 
that  she  brought  tears  to  every  eye.  Every  word  came  through  her  heart,  and  it  went 
right  to  the  hearts  of  alL  Kentucky  and  Maryland  now  listened  as  eagerly  as  Georgia 
and  Alabama. 

*'  BrownloVs  iron  featnres  and  Botts*  rigid  face  soon  relaxed,  and  tears  stood  in  the 
old  Virginian's  eyes  more  than  once,  while  the  noble  Tennesseean  moved  his  place,  and 
gated  at  the  inspired  girl  with  an  interest  and  wonderment  which  no  other  orator  had 
brought  to  the  fanatic's  hard  face. 

**  She  had  the  audience  in  hand  as  easily  as  a  mother  holds  her  child;  and,  like  the 
child,  this  audience  heard  her  heart  beat    It  was  ennobled  thereby.    It  was  really  a 
marvellous  speech.    The  fullest  report  of  it  would  not  do  it  Justice,  because  the  grsfit 
^aess  lay  in  its  manner  and  its  effect^  as  well  as  in  its  argument 


iNNA  BLIZABETH  DICKINSON.      611 

''Wlieii  she  finished,  one  after  another  Sonthem  delegate  oamo  forward,  and  pinned  on 
bar  drees  the  badges  of  their  Btates,  nntU  she  wore  the  gifts  of  Ai^^rnifr^  Missoor!, 
Tennessee,  Texas,  Florida,  Lonisiana,  and  Maryland." 


There  hare  been  many  specalations  in  public  and  private 
as  to  the  authorship  of  Anna  Dickinson's  speeches.  They 
have  been  attributed  to  Wendell  Phillips,  Charles  Sumner, 
George  W.  Curtis,  and  Judge  Kelley,  Those  who  know 
Anna's  conversational  power,  who  have  felt  the  magnetism 
of  her  words  and  manners,  and  the  pulsations  of  her  generous 
heart,  who  have  heard  her  impromptu  replies  when  assailed, 
see  at  once  that  her  speeches  are  the  natural  outgrowth  of 
herself,  her  own  experience  and  philosophy,  inspired  by 
the  eventful  times  in  which  she  lived. 

As  well  ask  if  Joan  of  Arc  drew  her  inspiration  from  the 
warriors  of  her  day.  It  was  no  man's  wish  or  will  that  Anna 
Dickinson  uttered  the  highest  thought  in  American  politics  in 
this  crisis  of  our  nation's  history ;  that  she  pointed  out  the  cause 
and  remedy  of  the  war,  and  unveiled  treason  in  the  army  and 
the  White  House.  While,  in  the  camp  and  hospital,  she  spoke 
words  of  tenderness  and  love  to  the  sick  and  dying,  she  did 
not  hesijtate  to  rebuke  the  incapacity  and  iniquity  of  those  in 
high  places.  She  was  among  the  first  to  distrust  McClellau 
and  Lincoln,  and  in  a  lecture  entitled  **  My  Policy  "  to  unveil 
his  successor,  Andrew  Johnson,  to  the  people.  She  saw  the 
sceptre  of  power  grasped  by  the  party  of  freedom,  and  the 
first  gun  fired  at  Sumter,  in  defence  of  slavery.  She  saw  the 
dawn  of  the  glorious  day  of  emancipation,  when  four  million 
American  slaves  were  set  free,  and  that  night  of  gloom,  when 
the  darkest  page  in  American  history  was  written  in  the  blood 
of  its  chief.  She  saw  our  armies  go  forth  to  battle,  the 
youth,  the  promise,  the  hope  of  the  nation,  —  two  million' 
strong,  —  and  saw  them  return,  with  their  ranks  thinned  and 
broken,  their  flags  tattered  and  stained,  the  maimed,  halt« 


512  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

and  blind » the  weary  and  worn;  and  this,  she  said,  is  fhe 
price  of  liberty.  Through  the  nation's  agony  was  this  girl 
bom  into  a  knowledge  of  her  power ;  and  she  drew  her  inspi- 
ration from  the  great  events  of  her  day.  Her  heroic  courage, 
indomitable  will,  brilliant  imagination,  religious  earnestness, 
and  prophetic  forecast,  gave  her  an  utterance  that  no  man's 
thought  could  paint  or  inspire. 


WOMAN    AS    iflYSICIAK.  513 


WOMAN  AS  PHYSICIAN. 


BY  REV.  H.  B.  ELLIOT. 

•9m 


The  care  of  the  sick  has  from  earliest  ages  devolved  on 
woman.  A  group  by  one  of  our  sculptors,  representing  Eve 
with  the  body  of  Abel  stretched  upon  her  lap,  bending  over 
it  in  bewildered  grief,  and  striving  to  cherish  or  restore  the 
vital  spirit  which  she  can  hardly  believe  to  have  departed,  is 
a  type  of  the  province  of  the  sex  ever  since  pain  and  death 
entered  the  world.  To  be  first  the  vehicle  for  human  life, 
and  then  its  devoted  guardian,  to  remove  or  alleviate  the 
physical  evils  which  afflict  the  race,  or  to  patiently  watch 
their  wasting  course,  and  tenderly  care  for  all  that  remains 
when  they  have  wrought  their  result, — this  is  her  divinely 
appointed  and  universally  conceded  mission.  Were  she  to 
refuse  it,  to  forsake  her  station  beside  the  suffering,  the  office 
of  medicine  and  the  efforts  of  the  physician  would  be  more 
than  half  baffled.  And  yet,  where  her  post  is  avowedly  so 
important,  she  has  generally  been  denied  the  liberty  of  under- 
standing much  that  is  involved  in  its  intelligent  occupancy. 
With  the  human  body  so  largely  in  her  charge  from  birth  to 
death,  she  has  not  been  allowed  to  inquire  into  its  marvellous 
mechanism.  With  the  administering  of  remedies  entrusted 
to  her  vigilance  and  faithfulness,  she  has  not  been  allowed  to 
investigate  the  qualities,  or  to  know  even  the  names,  of  the 
substances  committed  to  her  use,  or  to  ascertain  the  methods 

88 


514:  EMINENT    WOMEN    01"    THE    AGE. 

of  their  operation.  With  the  mind  to  guide  at  the  stages 
"where  its  tutelage  is  of  incomparable  importance,  she  has  not 
been  allowed  to  learn  the  delicate  lines  of  its  dependence 
upon  the  body,  or  the  subtle  but  invincible  influences  which 
they  mutually  exert.  To  be  a  student  of  these  things,  with 
scientific  thoroughness,  and  then  to  practise  independently 
with  what  she  has  thus  acquired,  has  been  regarded  as  un- 
seemly, or  as  beyond  her  capacity,  or  as  an  invasion  of 
prerogatives  claimed  exclusively  for  men.  Indeed,  the  whole 
domain  of  medicine  has  been  *^ pre-empted  "  by  men,  and  in 
their  "  squatter  sovereignty  "  (for  no  law  divine  or  human  has 
yet  deeded  it  to  them)  they  have  sturdily  warned  off  the 
gentler  sex.  But  they  will  not  be  kept  off.  By  quiet  ap- 
proaches they  have  long  been  gaining  foothold  upon  the  out- 
skirts of  the  territory.  Of  late  years  they  have  ventured 
into  its  very  centre,  claiming  equal  rights,  or  erecting  their 
own  edifices  and  laying  foundations  for  enduring  institutions. 
Under  manifold  disadvantages  and  with  imperfect  appliances, 
it  has  yet  come  to  be  a  fixed  fact  that,  in  this  realm,  as  in 
those  of  literature  and  art,  there  shall  be  no  factitious  dis- 
tinctions from  such  cause. 

To  our  own  country  belongs  the  credit  of  being  foremost 
in  this  change,  first  to  admit,  and  most  liberal  in  fostering 
it.  In  England  a  ^female'  inedical  society"  has  existed 
several  years,  and  offers  facilities  for  instruction  by  means 
of  lectures  upon  some  branches,  sufficient  to  qualify  for  a 
diploma  from  **  Apothecaries*  Hall."  In  connection  with  it 
there  is  now  a  ''Ladies*  Medical  College,"  which  recently 
announced  fifty  students.  But  the  aim  of  the  whole  move- 
ment is  at  present  only  to  furnish  well  trained  midwives. 
In  Paris  the  "  Maternity "  Hospital  affords  opportunity  for 
observation  in  the  department  which  its  name  indicates,  with 
whatever  forms  of  disease  may  be  collateral  or  incidental, 
and  receives  women  nominally  as  students,  but  they  are  not 


WOMAN    AS    PHYSICIAN.  515 

allowed  tt)  prescribe  in  the  wards,  nor  instructed  in  regard  to 
the  remedies  used.  Indeed,  they  can  hardly  rise  above  the 
position  of  proficient  nurses.  In  both  countries,  the  way  to 
the  entrance  of  women  upon  general  practice  among  their 
own  sex  has  scarcely  yet  begun  to  open. 

In  the  United  States,  there  are  three  regularly  organized 
institutions  for  their  education,  with  all  tiie  ordinary  appli- 
ances of  Medical  Colleges, — at  New  York,  Boston,  and 
Philadelphia.  There  are  hospitals  and  dispensaries  con- 
nected with  them,  and  their  students  and  graduates  have  now, 
also,  the  usual  privileges  in  many  of  the  long-established 
hospitals.  Boston,  with  characteristic  forwardness  in 
accepting  whatever  tends  to  the  promotion  of  science  or 
philanthropy,  was  in  advance  of  the  other  cities  in  this  move- 
ment, though  outstripped  by  them  in  results.  As  early  as 
1845  and  1846  Dr.  Samuel  Gregory,  in  connection  with  his 
brother,  Mr.  George  Gregory,  published  pamphlets  advo- 
cating the  education  and  employment  of  female  physicians. 
In  1847  he  delivered  a  series  of  public  lectures  upon  the  sub- 
ject, and  proposed  the  opening  of  a  school  for  the  purpose.  In 
1848  a  class  of  twelve  ladies  was  formed,  under  the  instruc- 
tion of  Dr.  Enoch  C.  Rolfe  and  Dr.  William  M.  Cornell. 
An  association  styled  the  "  American  Female  Medical  Edu- 
cation Society  "  was  organized  the  same  year,  and  afterward 
merged  in  the  New  England  Female  Medical  College, 
chartered  in  1856,  which  has  been  liberally  sustained  by 
legislative  grants,  as  well  as  individual  donations.  It  owns 
a  valuable  property,  and  has  many  facilities  for  its  work. 
It  has  graduated  seventy-two  women,  many  of  whom  are  .occu- 
pying positions  of  gi^eat  influence  among  their  sex,  both  as  prac- 
titioners of  medicine,  and  as  teachers  of  physiology  and 
hygiene  in  schools,  and  has  also  furnished  valuable  informa- 
tion upon  the  laws  of-  health  to  a  large  number  who  have 
attended  partial  courses  of  lectures  by  its  professors.     At 


516  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    TH^    AGE. 

« 

Philadelphia  the  college  has  quietly  pursued  its  work,  through 
the  past  eighteen  years,  with  steadily  increasing  success, 
notwithstanding  the  unfriendly  attitude  of  the  ordinary  pro- 
fessional organizations,  and  has  sent  forth  a  goodly  number 
of  skilful  physicians.  Its  corporators  assert  that  *Mts  cur- 
riculum of  study  and  requirements  for  graduation  are  in  all 
respects  as  high  as  those  of  the  best  medical  schools  in  this 
country'*  and  present  a  catalogue  of  thirty-eight  regular  stu- 
dents for  the  year  1867.  At  the  college  in  New  York, 
chartered  in  1863,  one  hundred  intelligent  ladies  have 
already  received  instruction  from  a  competent  corps  of  pro- 
fessors. Many  of  these  have  not  designed  to  practise  as 
phj'sicians ;  but  have  availed  themselves  of  this  method  for 
obtaining  knowledge  invaluable  to  them  in  their  own  homes. 
Twenty-nine  have  completed  the  course,  and  received  the 
legal  diploma ;  and  there  ai-e  now  thirty  students  in  regular 
attendance.  The  New  York  Infirmary  also,  now  in  its  four- 
teenth year,  originated  and  still  chiefly  managed  by  Drs. 
Elizabeth  and  Emily  Blackwell,  has  well  earned  an  honorable 
position  and  done  noble  service.  It  has  furnished  advice  and 
medicine  gratuitously  to  more  than  seven  thousand  women  and 
children  during  the  past  year.  These  ladies  have  in  view  the 
organization  of  a  college,  for  which  a  considerable  fund  has 
already  been  collected  and  a  preparatory  class  formed.  In 
various  other  directions  preliminary  steps  have  been  taken 
toward  the  same  end ;  and  there  are  estimated  to  be  as  manj' 
as  three  hundred  wopien,  in  full  practice,  scattered  through 
the  land.  These  institutions  are  yet  in  their  infancy,  and 
the  opposition  to  their  object  has  be^n  such,  on  the  part  of 
male  members  of  the  profession,  that  they  have  found  difli- 
culty  in  securing  instructors  of*  the  highest  grade  and 
facilities  for  thorough  clinical  or  anatomical  study.  This, 
however,  they  are  gradually  overcoming,  and,  we  doubt  not, 
will  soon  occupy  a  position,  fully  equal  at  least  to  that  of 


MBS.    CLEMENCE    S.    LOZIEB,    M.  D. 


617 


»• 


«►      m- 


,»«•■ 


^«_«^      y^a^^^XW^  •       >   »  k  •  C4««>  v<  A  ^r       «^»w>  A  *A«*<»w*>«  *&y  *l**«%«*«y 


-J.  . 


^ 


* 


MRS.    CLEMEKCE    8.    LOZIEB,    M.  D.  517 

the  average  of  similar  schools.  We  have  deemed  it  appro- 
priate to  make  these  introductory  statements,  in  view  of  the 
fad  that  this  ijeld  for  female  action  is  one  so  little  trodden, 
as  yet,  that  its  claims  are  but  vaguely  apprehended ;  and  to 
many  of  our  readers  the  subject  is  perhaps  entirely  new. 
The  few  individuals,  the  outline  of  whose  history  we  are  to 
give,  have  been  leaders  in  the  whole  movement,  and  are  still 
recognized  by  their  associates  as  its  most  prominent  advo- 
cates. They  are  also  amogg  the  ripest  and  most  honorable 
examples  of  what  it  is  fitted  to  accomplish. 


MRS.    CLEMENCE   S.   LOZIER,    M.D. 

It  is  deeply  interesting  to  ti*ace  the  causes  which  have  led 
My  one  to  depart  from  the  ordinary  paths  of  life.  In  those 
isauses  there  is  often  much  that  is  palpably  providential,  — 
the  impelling  of  divine  influences  through  extraordinary 
arrangements, — and  there  is  much  of  naturaj  operations  in 
accordance  with  the  recognized  fitness  of  things.  Both  these 
facts  will  be  apparent  in  the  instance  we  are  now  to  consider. 
M'hy  should  Mrs.  Lozier,  a  gentle,  modest,  unambitious, 
home-loving  woman,  have  chosen  the  calling  of  a  physician? 
M'^e  shall  see  as  we  sketch  her  biography.  She  was  born  Dec. 
11, 1813,  at  Plainfield,  New  Jersey,  the  youngest  of  thirteen 
children.  Her  father  was  a  farmer,  David  Harned, — a  name 
^ell  known  at  that  period  in  the  Methodist  Church,  of  which 
be  was  a  faithful  member,  and  in  which  his  brothers  were 
Successful  preachers.  Her  mother  was  Hannah  Walker, 
t^revious  to  their  residence  in  New  Jersey,  they  spent  some 
J^ears  in  Virginia,  where  Indian  trilies,  noted  for  their  sagac- 
ity, were  then  numerous.  Mrs.  Harned,  a  devout  Quaker- 
ess, and  with  much  missionary  spirit,  mingled  freely  with 
^em.     From  them  she  gained  valuable  information,  which. 


518  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

added  to  reading  and  close  observation,  with  strong  natm-ai 
predilection,  qualified  her  to  act  efficiently  in  the  neighbor- 
hood as  an  attendant  upon  the  sick.  Subsequently  she  spent 
seven  years  in  New  York  city,  engaged  in  general  practice, 
with  the  advice  and  co-operation  of  her  cousins,  Drs.  Dunham 
and  Kissam,  by  whom  she  was  highly  esteemed.  William 
Harued,  an  elder  brother  of  Clemence,  was  also  a  physician 
of  good  reputation  in  New  York,  and  for  some  time  partner 
of  Dr.  Doane,  formerly  quarantine  physician,  in  an  extensive 
chemical  laboratory.  Clemence  was  early  left  an  orphan, 
and  was  educated  at  the  Plaiufield  Acadenay.  In  1830  she 
was  married  at  New  York  to  Mr.  A.  W.  Lozier.  Her  hus- 
band's health  soon  failing,  she  opened  a  select  school  at  their 
house  in  West  Tenth  Street,  which  she  continued  eleven 
years,  averaging  sixty  pupils  from  families  whose  social  posi- 
tion indicates  the  character  of  the  teacher  whom  they  would 
sustain.  Many  of  those  pupils  and  their  children  are  now 
her  patients.  Mrs.  Lozier  was  one  of  the  first  teachers  in 
the  city  to  introduce  the  study  of  Physiology,  Anatomy,  and 
Hygiene  as  branches  of  female  education.  During  this  pe- 
riod, she  read  medical  works,  under  the  direction  of  her 
brother.  When  her  scholars  were  ill,  she  would  generally 
be  called  before  the  physician,  and  her  advice  would  be  the 
sole  reliance  in  ordinary  diseases.  She  also  at  that  time,  for 
seven  years,  was  associated  with  Mrs.  Margaret  Pryor  in  vis- 
iting the  poor  and  abandoned,  in  connection  with  the  Moral 
Reform  Society,  and  often  prescribed  for  them  in  sickness. 
Subsequently,  while  residing  in  Albany,  she  visited  in  the 
same  connection  in  that  city.  Her  opportunities  for  observ- 
ing diseases  in  their  worst  forms  among  women  and  children 
were  thus  unusually  extensive.  In  1837  Mr.  Lozier  died ; 
but  she  continued  for  some  time  the  occupations  to  which  his 
invalid  condition  had  led  her,  though  constantly  looking  for- 
ward to  the  medical  profession  as  that  to  which  she  desired 


MBS.    CLEMENCE    S.    LOZIEB,    M.  D.  519 

to  devote  herself.  In  1849  she  attended  her  first  course  of 
lectures  at  the  Central  New  York  CJoUege,  in  Rochester,  and 
graduated  at  the  Syracuse  Eclectic  College  in  1853,  having 
previously  applied  for  admission  to  several  other  institutions, 
and  been  refused  on  the  ground  that  no  female  student  could 
be  received.  Returning  to  New  York,  she  entered  at  once 
upon  regular  practice,  which  she  has  continued  with  remark- 
able success  to  the  present  time.  Resorting  to  no  means  for 
attracting  attention,  generous  to  excess,  giving  her  services 
gratuitously  in  numerous  instances  where  fees  would  usually 
be  exacted,  yet  her  professional  income  is  equalled  by  only  a 
few  of  the  most  prominent  practitioners  in  the  city.  She 
never  hesitates  to  treat  the  most  critical  cases,  and  in  the 
surgery  required  by  the  diseases  of  her  sex  has  shown  pecu- 
liar skill,  having  performed  more  than  a  hundred  and  twenty 
''capital  operations"  in  the  removal  of  vital  tumors,  besides 
nearly  a  thousand  of  a  minor  character.  Many  loading  phy- 
sicians now  readily  meet  her  in  consultation,  and  she  is  fre- 
quently called  out  of  town  for  the  purpose.  In  1867  she 
visited  Europe,  where  every  facility  was  afforded  her  for  the 
inspection  of  hospitals,  and  eminent  men  received  her,  and 
introduced  her  to  their  associates  with  most  gratifying  cour- 
te^y. 

In  1860  Mrs.  Lozier  commenced  a  course  of  familiar  lec- 
tures in  her  own  parlors,  given  gi'atuitously  to  her  patients 
and  their  female  friends,  and  attended  by  many  of  them  with 
much  interest  and  profit.  These  continued  three  years,  dur- 
ing which  a  ''Medical  Library  Association"  was  formed,  for 
the  purpose  of  promoting  reading  upon  such  subjects  on  the 
part  of  ladies.  Her  own  mind,  however,  was,  from  the  be- 
ginning, fixed  upon  the  organization  of  a  Medical  College. 
In  her  parlor  listeners,  to  whom  she  was  giving  only  the  sim- 
plest instruction  upon  sanitary  principles,  she  foresaw  the 
nucleus  of  college  classes.    In  her  patients  and  the  men  of 


520  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

wealth  or  benevolence  to  whose  families  she  thus  gained  ac« 
cess,  she  anticipated  contributors  to  its  funds.  All  her  pro- 
fessional  and  social  intercourse  was  made  to  bend  to  this 
result  with  untiring  zeal  and  unwarering  confidence.  Her 
own  experience,  and  that  of  the  few  others  who  had  met  the 
ordeal,  convinced  her  that  by  no  other  means  could  a  thor- 
ough training  be  given  to  those  who  desired  it,  without  such 
sacrifice  of  personal  feeling  as  no  woman  should  be  required 
to  endure.  She  denied  both  the  expediency  and  practicability 
of  mingling  the  sexes  in  such  education,  and  therefore  re* 
frained  from  co-operating  in  the  measures  proposed  by  others 
to  that  end.  Many  meetings  of  ladies,  for  conference,  were 
held  at  her  house ;  but  the  disturbed  condition  of  the  country 
prevented  the  maturing  of  their  plans.  Some  were  wearied 
or  discouraged  in  the  effort,  and  forsook  her ;  but  she  never 
for  a  moment  doubted  the  success  of  the  movement.  At 
length,  in  1863,  it  was  determined  to  organize.  The  Library 
Association  was  merged  in  a  College  Association,  a  Board  of 
Trustees  chosen,  a  charter  obtained,  professors  engaged, 
rooms  secured,  and  the  enterprise  fairly  inaugurated.  Mrs. 
Lozier  pledged  herself,  beyond  her  own  subscription,  to 
meet  all  pecuniary  deficiencies  for  the  first  year.  Her  sat- 
isfaction and  gratitude  for  the  fulfilment  of  her  hopes  were 
complete.  Since  then  she  has  devoted  as  much  as  possible 
of  her  time,  and  a  considerable  portion  of  her  property,  to  its 
advancement.  In  all  her  efforts,  from  their  inception  to  their 
present  results,  she  has  been  ably  seconded  by  her  son,  Dr. 
A.  W.  Lozier,  whose  indefatigable  labors  were  invaluable  to 
the  cause.  Of  him  it  is  fitting  to  say  here  that  he  is  an  es- 
teemed physician,  married  to  a  highly  educated  lady  (who  is 
also  a  graduate  of  the  Medical  College),  and  is  well-estab- 
lished as  a  practitioner  in  New  York. 

Mrs.  Lozier's  marked  characteristic,  both  personally  and 
professionally,  is  gentlenessi  —  carried  in  demeanor,  perhaps. 


MBS.    CLEMENCE    S.    LOZIEB,    M.  D.  521 

to  an  extreme  of  quietness,  which  sometimes  detracts  from  a  just 
impression  of  her  ability,  decision,  and  confidence.  Her  influ- 
ence upon  her  patients  is  always-soothing ;  and  she  thus  places 
them  in  the  best  mood  for  the  action  of  remedies,  while  by  her 
tenderness  she  wins  many  hearts,  which  will  afiectionately 
cherish  her  when  time  and  space  shall  widely  separate  them. 
Not  naturally  systematic, —  not  so  strict  and  regular  as  many 
might  wish  in  her  arrangements  and  modes  of  practice,— never 
making  impression  by  technical  phraseology, —  much  of  her 
success  arises  from  her  sympathetic  penetration  of  a  case, 
ready  access  to  the  entire  state  of  those  seeking  her  advice, 
and  the  use  of  mild  forms  of  treatment  adapted  to  the  sus- 
ceptible female  organism.  In  her  aims  she  is  singularly  un« 
selfish.  Her  simple  remark  to  a  friend,  in  view  of  one  of 
the  most  difficult  operations,  which  she  had  not  before  per- 
formed, but  had  then  decided  to  undertake,  in  the  presence 
of  one  of  our  first  surgeons,  instead  of  entrusting  it  to  his 
hands,  was  indicative  of  heriiabitual  spirit:  **I  desire  to  do 
this  for  the  sake  of  the  cause,  for  the  credit  of  woman."  It 
is  her  absorbing  idea,  and  in  it  her  own  personal  aspirations 
are  merged.  At  the  basis  of  her  whole  character,  however, 
and  the  source  from  which  spring  all  its  movements,  is  a 
spiritual  faith.  Years  ago,  amid  trials  known  only  to  a  lim- 
ited circle,  she  grasped  the  unseen  hand  of  the  Great  Physi- 
cian, upon  which  she  has  never  ceased  to  lean,  and  which  has 
never  failed  to  lead  her.  In  a  private  letter  (which  we  must 
be  pardoned  for  quoting)  she  says,  "  I  am  so  much  indebted 
to  my  religious  teachings,  to  an  unwavering  faith  in  a  present 
Saviour,  and  his  constant  inspiring  love,  that  I  want  to  tell 
all  the  world  about  that,  and  how  I  feel  the  gift  of  healing  to 
be  the  talent  committed  to  me  by  him,  and  then  how  I  feel 
indebted  to  Mr.  L.  N.  Fowler  and  his  excellent  wife,  Dr. 
Lydia  F.  Fowler,  to  Mrs.  C.  F.  Wells,  and  many  other  helps 
which  God  has  raised  up  for  me/'    We  mention  this,  not  for 


522  EfiflNENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  purpose  of  eulogy,  but  because  our  sketch  would  be  ia* 
complete  without  the  distinct  acknowledgment  of  that  which 
is  most  radical,  and  upon  which  Mrs.  Lozier  herself  places 
her  utmost  dependence. 


MISS   ELIZABETH   BLACKWELL,   M.  D, 

In  the  subject  of  the  previous  sketch,  our  attention  was  di* 
rected  to  one  whom  native  tendencies  and  favoring  circum- 
stances so  combined  to  lead  to  the  chosen  pursuit,  that  her 
engagement  in  it  was,  from  childhood,  almost  a  foregone 
conclusion ;  and  it  would  have  required  a  strong  compulsion 
to  divert  her  from  it.  In  the  lady  whose  name  we  now  pre- 
sent, we  observe  very  dijQTerent  elements  of  character,  and 
different  influences  prompting  to  a  similar  course.  Miss 
Blackwell  is  of  English  parentage,  and  was  born  at  Bristol, 
England,  in  the  year  1821.  Her  father  moved  to  the  United 
States  in  1831,  and  first  established  himself  in  business  at 
New  York.  In  accordance  with  his  circumstances  and  views, 
his  children  had  at  that  time  every  advantage  for  a  liberal 
education.  Proving  unsuccessful  in  his  enterprises,  he  re- 
moved to  Cincinnati,  hoping  there  to  retrieve  his  fortunes, 
but  died  in  1837,  leaving  his  family  among  strangers,  to  de- 
pend entirely  upon  their  own  efforts  for  support.  Elizabeth, 
with  well-matured  mind,  and  already  developing  the  energy 
which  has  since  so  thoroughly  characterized  her,  though  but 
seventeen  years  of  age,  opened  a  school,  which  she  sustained 
satisfactorily  several  years. 

An  apparently  slight  occurrence  directed  her  attention  to 
the  study  of  medicine.  A  female  friend,  afflicted  with  a  dis* 
tressing  disease,  expressed  her  keen  regret  that  there  was  no 
one  of  her  own  sex  to  whom  she  and  other  like  sufferers 
could  resort  for  treatment.    There  were  women  who  had 


MRS.    ELIZABETH    BLaCKWELL,    M    D.       o23 

assumed  the  medical  title,  but  without  authority,  and  with 
little  claim  to  coufidence.  Most  of  them,  also,  were  of  disrep- 
utable character,  and  their  practice  not  only  unreliable,  but 
largely  criminal.  Her  friend,  appreciating  Miss  Bhickwell's 
abilities^  and  knowing  that  she  had  yet  no  settled  aim  in  life, 
urged  upon  her  the  duty  of  devoting  herself  to  this  object, 
rescuing  the  title  as  applied  to  women  from  reproach,  and 
meeting  a  want  which  multitudes  painfully  felt.  The  sugges- 
tion was  immediately  repelled,  as  utterly  repugnant  to  her 
tastes  and  habits.  She  had  a  peculiar  and  extreme  aversion 
to  anything  connected  with  the  sick-room,  or  with  the  human 
body  in  its  infirniities.  Even  the  ordinary  physical  sciences 
'  were  uncongenial  to  her.  Metaphysics  and  moral  philosophy, 
the  abstract  sciences,  accorded  far  more  with  her  inclina- 
tions. Pressed  upon  her,  however,  as  a  question  for  consci- 
entious consideration,  and,  with  characteristic  firmness,  setting 
aside  personal  preferences,  she  soon  decided  that  the  call 
upon  her  was  providential,  and  her  duty  plain.  The  oppro- 
brium to  be  encountered  and  the  difficulties  to  be  surmounted 
only  deepened  her  determination.  Writing  for  advice  to  six 
different  physicians  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  their  in- 
variable reply  was,  that  the  object,  though  desirable,  .was 
impracticable ;  **  utterly  impossible  for  a  woman  to  obtain  a 
medical  education.  The  idea  eccentric  and  Utopian."  Her 
reasoning  from  such  counsel  was  brief,  and  her  conclusion 
peculiar.  **  A  desirable  object,  a  good  thing  to  be  done,  said 
to  be  impossible.  I  will  do  it."  She  at  once  commenced 
medical  reading,  under  the  direction  of  Dr.  John  Dixon,  of 
Ashville,  N.  C,  in  whose  family  she  was  residing  as  gov- 
erness. Removing  the  next  year  to  Charleston,  S.  C,  she 
supported  herself  by  giving  lessons  in  music,  but  continued 
to  study,  with  regular  instruction  from  Dr.  S.  H.  Dixon, 
afterwards  professor  in  the  medical  department  of  the  New 
York  University,  and  pursued  it  farther  under  Drs.  Allen 


524  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

and  Warrington,   of  Philadelphia.      She  found  the   study 
deeply  interesting,  and  followed  it  with  ardor  and  thorough- 
neas,  while  benevolence  and  singleness  of  purpose  speedily 
overcame  her  aversion  to  the  associations  of  disease.     Upon 
applying  for  admission  to  the  medical  schools  of  New  York, 
Philadelphia,  and  Boston,  she  was  uniformly  refused.     From 
ten  others  the  same  answer  waa  returned,  until  at  Geneva  the 
faculty  submitted  the  question  to  the  students,  who  unani- 
mously voted  for  her  reception,  at  the  same  time  assuring  her 
that  nothing  on  their  part  should  ever  occur  to  wound  her 
feelings  while  in  attendance,  —  a  pledge  which  they  nobly 
kept.     Entering  in  1846,  she  graduated  in  1848,  —  the  first 
woman  who  received  the  medical  degree  in  the  United  States. 
So  violent,  and  so  ignorant,  too,  was  the  opposition  of  her 
own  sex,  that  during  those  two  years  no  lady  in  Geneva 
would  make  her  acquaintance ;  common  civilities,  even  at  the 
table,  were  denied  her,  and  in  the  street  she  was  deemed  un- 
worthy of  recognition.     Within  the  college  walls  she  found 
nothing  but  friendliness  and  decorum ;  and  on  the  evening  of 
public  graduation  the  cordiality  of  the  students  in  making 
way  for  her  to  receive  her  diploma,  and  pleasantly  indicating 
their  congratulations,  was  marked  and  respectful.     The  next 
morning  (she  was  to  leave  town  in  the  afternoon)  her  parlor 
was  filled  with  ladies.     Success  had  turned  the  tide.     Doubt- 
less, also,  many,  moved  by  the  evident  approval  of  her  asso- 
ciates in  study,  were  satisfied  at  last  that  her  motives  were 
honorable,  and  her  abilities  adequate  to  her  work. 

The  same  year,  Miss  Blackwell  went  to  Europe,  and  en- 
tered as  a  student  ^*La  Maternity,"  at  Paris,  with  special 
reference  to  obstetrics.  She  also  studied  in  1850  and  1851 
at  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  in  London.  In  the  autumn 
of  1851  she  returned,  and  commenced  practice  in  New  York 
city.  Here  again  she  experienced  difficulties  which  only  an 
indomitable  will  and  the  consciousness  of  a  lofty  aim  enabled 


MISS.    ELIZABETH    BLACKWELL,    M.  D.       525 

her  to  meet.  With  no  such  facilities  from  extended  acquaint- 
ance and  gradual  entrance  upon  the  work  as  subsequently 
favored  Mrs.  Lozier,  she  found  a  "  blank  wall  of  social  and 
professional  antagonism  facing  the  woman  physician  which 
formed  a  situation  of  singular  loneliness,  leaving  her  without 
support,  respect,  or  counsel."  The  title  had  be^n  appropn- 
ated  by  such  a  class,  that  the  sign  was.  too  generally  supposed 
to  indicate  either  a  charlatan  or  an  agent  of  infamy,  and  it 
was  almost  impossible  to  find  a  respectable  boarding-house 
upon  which  her  name  would  be  allowed  to  appear.  Notwith- 
standing all  the  hindrances,  howeVer,  her  testimonials  and 
soon-proved  qualifications  gradually  gained  for  her  the  confi- 
dence of  all  classes,  the  co-operation  of  physicians,  and  an 
extent  of  practice  entirely  satisfactory.  The  Quakers  were 
first  to  receive  her ;  and  among  them  she  has  ever  since  main- 
tained a  most  desirable  position.  Contrary  to  her  own  ex- 
pectation, and  to  the  usual  impression  also,  her  services  have 
not  been  limited  to,  nor  even  chiefly  required  for,  diseases 
peculiar  to  her  own  sex,  but  she  is  called  and  relied  upon 
generally  as  the  regular  family  physician  ;  and  in  that  capac- 
ity her  relation  to  a  wide  circle  of  families  is  permanent. 

In  1859  she  again  visited  Europe,  gave  a  course  of  lec- 
tures in  London  on  the  connection  of  women  with  medicine, 
and  was  registered  as  a  member  of  the  British  Medical  pro- 
fession. 

At  about  the  time  when  Miss  Blackwell  established  her- 
self in  New  York,  her  sister  Emily  commenced  the  study, 
under  Dr.  John  Davis,  demonstrator  at  the  Medical  Col- 
lege of  Cincinnati.  In  1852  she  entered  the  Rush  Medical 
College,  at  Chicago,  reading  also  with  Dr.  Daniel  Brainerd, 
of  that  city,  and  spending  the  summer  vacations  in  such  at- 
tendance as  was  permitted  her  at  Belleviie  Hospital,  New  York, 
and  graduated  at  the  Cleveland  College  in  February,  1854. 
That  year  and  the  two  following  she  spent  abroad,  —  one 


526  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

year  in  Edinburgh,  one  in  Paris,  one  in  London ;  and  return- 
ing in  December,  1856,  located  in  New  York.  We  regret 
that  our  limits  forbid  a  more  eictended  reference  to  this  lady, 
whose  abilities,  attainments,  and  personal  excellences  cause 
her  to  share  the  respect  of  the  public  and  the  calls  of  private 
practice  equally  with  her  sister.  It  has  seemed  necessary  to 
make  Elizabeth  Black  well,  as  the  elder  physician,  and  foi 
some  reasons  the  more  prominent,  the  special  subject  of  our 
notice.  In  our  further  statements,  however,  we  shall  find 
them  so  thoroughly  identified  in  their  professional  sphere, 
that  they  must  necessarily^  be  named  together. 

The  "New  York  Infirmary  for  Women  and  Children,**  was 
the  product  of  their  united  thought  and  effort.  It  was  incor- 
porated in  the  winter  of  1853,  and  opened  in  the  spring  of  1854 
as  a  dispensary,  regulated  and  attended  by  Dr.  Elizabeth.  In 
1856,  on  the  return  of  Dr.  Emily  from  Europe,  they  associated 
with  them  temporarily.  Dr.  M.  E.  Zakrzewska,  a  Polish  lady, 
enlarged  their  plans,  took  a  house,  and  opened  it  as  a  hos- 
pital, as  well  as  a  dispensary.  The  object  was  threefold,  —  a 
charity  for  the  poor,  a  resort  for  respectable  patients  de- 
siring special  treatment,  and  particularly  a  centre  to  female 
students  for  practical  clinical  study.  The  Boston  and 
Philadelphia  colleges  had  already  been  chartered,  and  sent 
forth  a  number  of  graduates ;  but  there  was  then  no  hospital 
which  their  students  could  freely  visit,  nor  was  there  any  de- 
signed exclusively  for  female  patients.  The  New  York* 
Infirmary  was  therefore,  for  some  years,  the  only  woman's 
hospital  in  both  these  senses,  and  supplied  an  essential 
element  in  any  full  scheme  of  instruction.  About  thirty 
students  have  availed  themselves  of  its  advantages,  by  spend- 
ing a  year  in  daily  attendance  at  its  bedsides,  and  accom- 
panying its  visiting  assistants  into  the  homes  of  the  poor. 
With  an  honorable  list  of  consulting  physicians,  the  treatment 
is  yet   entirely  conducted  by  the  Drs.  Blackwell  and  their 


MISS.    ELIZABETH    BLACEWELL,    M.  D.  527 

female  associates.  Up  to  the  present  time  over  fifty  thousand 
patients  have  received  prescriptions  and  personal  care  by  this 
means ;  and  nearly  a  thousand  have  been  inmates  of  its  wards. 
Every  variety  of  operation  connected  with  midwifery  (except 
the  Cesarean) ,  has  there  been  successfully  performed  by  Dr. 
Emily  Blackwell,  as  attending  surgeon.  Both  the  sisters 
took  an  active  part  in  the  organization  and  work  of  the 
"Ladies  Central  Relief  Association,'*  during  the  war;  and 
their  parlor  lectures  to  nurses  about  to  enter  the  service  of 
the  army  were  highly  valued. 

In  the  personal  qualities  as  well  as  professional  methods 
of  the  Drs.  Blackwell,  the  intellectual  element  decidedly 
predominates.  Clear  judgment,  close  analysis,  and  steady 
purpose  mark  their  treatment  of  cases  which  come  under 
their  charge.  They  are  strenuous  advocates  of  thorough 
scientific  attainments  on  the  part  of  women  who  would  en* 
gage  in  the  profession ;  and  enter  continual  protests  against 
short  courses  of  study,  and  low  standards  of  acquirement  in 
institutions  for  that  purpose.  On  this  account,  they  have 
refused  to  co-operate  with  any  which  have  been  organized, 
perhaps  exacting  too  much  from  those  which  are  confessedly 
imperfect  at  the  beginning,  and  laboring  under  unavoidable 
disadvantages.  Their  influence,  however,  has  thus  been 
stimulating  to  all  who  are  engaged  in  such  eflforts,  ''pro- 
voking them  to  good  works.**  A  paragraph  in  one  of  their 
lectures  expresses  their  spirit.  **  It  is  observation  and  com- 
prehension, not  sympathy,  which  will  discover  the  kind  of 
disease.  It  is  knowledge,  not  sympathy,  which  can  admin- 
ister the  right  medicine;  and  though  warm  sympathetic 
natures,  with  knowledge,  would  make  the  best  of  all  phy- 
sicians, without  sound  scientific  knowledge,  they  would  be 
most  unreliable  and  dangerous  guides."  They  are  also  firm 
in  their  conviction  of  the  expediency  of  mingling  the  sexes  in 
all  scholastic  traimng,  and  have  very  reluctantly  njliuquished 


528  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

for  the  present,  the  hope  of  opening  the  ordinary  colleges  to  fe- 
male applicants.  In  their  mode  of  practice  they  adopt  the  main 
features  of  the  "regular*'  system,  while  refusing  to  be  ab- 
solutely bound  by  any  such  limitations  in  their  examination 
and  use  of  remedies.  On  the  whole,  they  furnish  each  as 
complete  an  instance  as*  has  come  under  our  observation 
among  women,  of  cool,  dignified,  self-poised  character, 
scorning  shams  and  artifices,  resolutely,  with  disinterested 
motive,  set  on  the  attainment  of  worthy  ends.  In  religious 
connection,  they  are  Episcopalians,  though,  in  theology  as 
well  as  medicine,  they  seem  to  be  independent  searchers  for 
truth- 
Miss    HARRIOT    K.    HUNT,  M.  ]). 

Perhaps  no  American  woman  of  our  time  has  made  herself 
heard  and  felt  in  so  many  directions  and  amid  such  diverse 
circumstances  as  Harriot  K.  Hunt.  Many  have  achieved 
more  eminence  in  some  one  department,  and  the  world  of 
fashion  or  literature  or  art  recognize  them  where  she  is  un- 
known. But  the  parlor  and  the  platform,  the  sick-room  and 
the  court-room,  asylums  and  churches,  wretched  hovels  and 
mansions  of  elegance.  East  and  West,  have  been  the  scenes 
of  her  animated  speech  and  determined  work.  By  the  lovers 
of  truth  and  goodness,  the  radical  philanthropists  of  various 
orders,  she  is  widely  known.  Many  causes  have  been  pro- 
moted by  her  public  advocacy.  In  private  relations  many  a 
crushed,  despairing  woman  has  risen  to  new  life  under  her 
stirring  appeals,  many  a  bold,  profligate  man  has  shrunk 
abashed  before  her  pungent  rebukes.  It  is  difficult,  therefore, 
to  eliminate  the  professional  part  of  her  history  from  the  so- 
cial and  reformatory,  as  our  design  obliges  us  to  do,  and  to 
condense  it  into  our  brief  limits. 

She  is  a  genuine  Bostonian  (a  title  which  has  significance, 


MISS   HABHIOT    E.   HdNT,    M.   D.  529 

both  favorable  and  unfavorable),  pedigreed,  born,  bred,  and 
habitaated  as  sucb.  Her  father,  Joab  Hunt,  lived  many  years 
in  the  street  ia  which  his  parents  and  grandparents  bad  lived 
and  Aied.  He  was  of  a  strong  stock,  full  of  vitality  physical 
and  mental.  Her  mother,  Kezia  Wentworth,  was  of  an 
equally  vigorous  ancestry,  and  possessed  a  mind  of  remark- 
able qualities,  argumentative,  practical,  independent,  and 
withal  abounding  in  tenderness  and  genial  brightness,  as  did 
also  her  father,  in  whom  humor  and  'earnestness  seem  to  have 
been  happily  combined.  He  was  a  shipping  merchant,  and 
through  energy  and  prudence  came  into  easy  circumstances, 
amid  which,  Harriot  and  her  sister  Sarah,  the  only  children, 
were  reared.  Harriot  was  born  in  1805,  the  first  child,  four- 
teen years  after  her  parents'  marriage,  and  was  joyfully  wel- 
comed and  carefully  trained.  Her  home  was  a  happy  one, 
and  everything  which  affection  could  devise  to  foster  her 
constitutional  buoyancy  of  character  was  lavished  upon  her. 
Nothing  occurred  to  shade  the  steady  brightness  of  her  life 
until  1827,  when  the  sudden  death  of  her  father  changed  all 
her  prospects.  His  estate  was  found  to  be  encumbered  and 
the  settlement  difficult.  A  few  months  previous,  with  some 
intimations  of  his  embarrassed  affairs,  the  sisters  had  opened 
a  school,  which  became  now  the  chief  dependence  of  the 
family,  beyond  the  small  income  from  the  property.  It  was 
also  a  means  of  discipline  to  themselves,  qualifying  them 
for  their  future  work,  brought  them  more  into  contact  with 
tiie  domestic  lives  of  others,  and  acquainted  them  with  those 
private  underlying  facts  in  regard  to  the  condition  of  young 
girls  and  their  home  management,  upon  which  so  largely  de- 
pends their  health  in  maturer  years.  Harriot  says  of  it,  '*  My 
school  was  flourishing  and  I  loved  it.  Yet  I  never  felt  it  my- 
true  vocation.  It  seemed  to  be  preparing  me  for  something 
higher  and  more  permanent.  It  was  but  transitional.''  In 
1830  her  sister  was  prostrated  by  severe  illness.    This,  with 

84 


530  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

the  experience  of  medical  treatment  in  connection  with  it, 
formed  the  turning-point  in  the  history  of  both.  It  was  a 
distressing,  complicated  disease,  and  the  presoriptions  were 
after  the  severest  forms  of  the  old  school  of  practice.  After 
ten  months'  sickness  without  improvement,  the  sisters  were 
roused  to  consider  and  study.  They  procured  medical  books 
and  read,  and  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  case  had  been 
misunderstood.  Then  came  a  change  of  physicians,  with 
some  advantage ;  but  the  interest  awakened  in  the  study  of 
medicine  and  the  conviction  that  much  of  the  ordinary  prao- 
tice  was  blind  and  merely  experimental,  led  them  to  pursue  the 
investigation  further  for  themselves  and  for  the  benefit  of 
similar  sufferers.  In  1833,  Mrs.  Mott,  an  English  woman, 
established  herself  in  Boston.  Her  husband  was  a  physician, 
but  the  care  of  female  patients  devolved  chiefly  upon  her. 
She  made  extravagant  claims  to  medical  skill  in  the  treatment 
of  cases  regarded  as  hopeless ;  yet  her  general  success  was 
too  evident  to  be  denied »  She  attracted  their  attention,  and, 
in  spite  of  friendly  protests  and  the  displeasure  of  former 
attendants,  the  invalid  was  placed  under  her  care.  The 
result  was  favorable.  After  more  than  three  years'  confine- 
ment, she  was  soon  able  to  walk  the  streets  and  to  attend 
church.  Relations  of  intimacy,  and  affection  were  created 
between  the  physician  and  her  patient's  family.  Afl;era  time 
they  changed  their  residence,  leasing  their  own  house,  and 
taking  rooms  in  Mrs.  Mott's.  Then  the  school  was  given  up, 
and  Harriot  accepted  the  position  of  secretary  to  Mrs.  Mott, 
•conducting  an  extensive  correspondence  with  patients.  She 
entered  upon  it  with  her  usual  ardor.  It  enlarged  the  sphere 
of  her  observation,  intensified  her  sympathy  especially  for 
those  afilicted  with  hidden  ailments,  and  '^deepened  the  in- 
filinct  which  pointed  her  to  the  medical  profession."  Mean- 
while she  read  with  avidity  everything  which  bore  upon  it. 
She  was  fascinated  by  it,  eager  for  knowledge  in  each  depart- 


MISS    HABBIOT   K.    HUNT,    M.   I>.  531 

ment  and  delighted  with  the  results  of  research.  Her  mind, 
however,  biased  by  her  experience  in  her  sister's  case,  turned 
most  readily  in  the  direction  of  inquiry  after  the  laws  of 
health.  She  ^endeavored  to  trace  diseases  to  violated  laws, 
and  learn  the  science  of  prevention.  That  word,  prevention, 
seemed  a  great  word  to  me,"  she  says ;  ^  curative  was  small 
beside  it."  The  death  of  Dr.  Mott  caused  Mrs.  Mott  to  re- 
turn to  England  and  broke  up  the  household.  Still  the 
studies  were  pursued,  with  an  increasingly  clear  persuasion 
of  what  the  purpose  of  her  life  was  to  be,  and  a  veiy  dis- 
tinct recognition  of  providential  guidance  in  it.  The  period 
spent  thus,  nearly  three  years  (including  her  attendance  in 
Mrs.  Mott's  office),  in  addition  to  the  more  private  reading 
in  the  sick-room  during  the  intervals  of  relief  from  school 
duties,  was  one  of  extreme  application.  Few  students  after 
the  regular  modes,  with  all  the  facilities  of  tuition  afforded 
them,  have  ranged  over  a  wider  field  of  knowledge  or  searched 
it  more  thoroughly,  so  far  as  it  can  be  exhibited  in  books. 
The  opportunities  |br  more  practical  examination  by  the  bed- 
side, or  in  contact  otherwise  with  the  subjects  of  maladies, 
came  subsequently,  and  were  pursued  with  an  eagerness 
sharpened  by  the  consciousness  of  deficiency  resulting  from 
the  previous  lack.  In  1835  an  office  was  opened,  the  two 
names,  Harriot  and  Sarah,  associated.  They  studied  and 
practised  together.  Often  in  the  late  night  hours  they  recited 
to  each  other  lessons  from  medical  works,  or  compared  views 
upon  cases  presented  during  the  day.  Each  new  case  was  a 
fresh  revelation  to  them,  or  gave  them  a  deeper  insight  into 
what  they  had  already  learned.  There  is  a  singular  charm 
about  this  part  of  their  biography,  as  we  have  obtained 
glimpses  of  it.  Harriot  evidently  took  the  lead  in  every- 
thing. She  was  thirty  years  of  age,  ^the  very  acme  of  human 
life,  —  in  vigorous  health,  every  faculty  fully  developed  and 
toned  to  its  highest  point,  of  indomitable  will  and  overflow- 


532  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AO^. 

ing  witli  enthusiasm.  With  no  professional  support,  no 
conferred  title  as  guaranty  of  capacity  or  attainment,  no  ad- 
vertising resorts  for  attraction,  she  launched  from  the  safe 
harbor  of  domestic  privacy  and  social  protection  upon  an 
untried  sea  of  responsibility  and  public  scrutiny,  with  suit* 
able  discretion,  and  yet  .with  unflinching  confidence  that  she 
was  on  the  track  to  which  the  Divine  Hand  had  brought 
her.  Her  practice  was  not  after  any  established  formulas. 
She  was  bound  by  the  regulations  of  no  school,  as  none  had 
endorsed  her.  She  valued  the  ordinary  medicines,  so  far  as 
she  perceived  Uieir  restorative  effects,  but  received  and  used 
freely  any  remedial  agency  whether  moral  or  physical.  She 
writes,  **  I  was  particularly  attracted  to  mental  diseases  and 
often  found  physical  maladies  growing  out  of  concealed  sor- 
rows. We  were  frequently  surprised  by  the  successful  termi- 
nation of  many  of  our  cases  through  prescription  for  mental 
states ;  and  the  causes  of  diseases,  with  the  quality  of  remedies 
for  them,  became  a  deeper  study.  Love  for  our  calling  gave 
life  to  the  calling.  Every  fact  we  gathered  had  its  use,  and 
while  the  perceptive  faculties  were  stimulated,  the  reflective 
were  educated  for  guidance."  And  again,  **  Medication  alone 
is  not  to  be  relied  on.  In  one-half  the  cases  medicine  is 
not  needed  and  is  worse  than  useless.  Obedience  to  spiritual 
and  physical  laws  —  hygiene  of  the  body  and  hygiene  of  the 
spirit  —  is  the  surest  warrant  for  health  and  happiness.  It  is 
only  the  quacks  of  the  profession,  emulous  of  the  quacks 
ostracized  by  the  faculty,  who  put  their  trust  in  dosing.  The 
true  physician  knows  better.'* 

Patients  gathered  slowly  at  first,  but  with  steady  increase. 
Many  were  declined  conscientiously,  because  beyond  her 
present  knowledge  or  ability,  and  without  any  false  pride  of 
reputation.  Obstetrics  and  other  surgery  she  never  prac- 
tised. We  pass  over  a  few  years,  during  which  she  was 
gaining  experience,  position,  influence,  and  property.    Her 


MISS   HABBIOT    K.    HUNT,    M.   D.  533 

sister  married  and  removed,  and  she  was  left  alone  in  her 
professional  work,  which  began  to  grow  rapidly  in  its   de- 
mands upon  her.     In  1843  a  ^  Ladies'  Physiological  Society  " 
was  organized  in  Charlestown,  at  her  suggestion.     The  mem- 
bers met  twice  a  month,  to  read   and  converse  upon  topics 
which  the  name  indicates,  while  industriously  occupied  for 
some  benevolent  object.     Within  the  year  it  increased  in 
numbers  from  a  dozen  to  fifty,  and  was  long  sustained  with 
spirit  and  benefit,  and,  for  aught  we  know,  is  still  in  active 
existence.     Its  formation  was  eventful  to  Miss  Hunt,  as  giv- 
ing her  the  first  hint  of  the  possibility  of  lecturing  to  her  own 
sex.     At  many  of  their  meetings  she  addressed  them,  and 
acquired  thus  the  freedom  and  facility  of  speech  which  she 
has  since  exercised  abundantly,  before  larger  and  more  gen- 
eral audiences,  upon  a  variety  of  subjects.     In  1847,  at  the 
suggestion  of  friends,  as  well  as  the  prompting  of  an  earnest 
wish  for  information  through  every  avenue,  she  applied  to 
the  faculty  of  Harvard  College  for  permission  to  attend  a 
course  of  lectures  in  the  medical  department,  stating  that,  at 
the  age  of  forty-two,  after  twelve  years'  practice,  which  had 
become  extensive,  and  ranking  among  her  friends  many  of 
the  most  intelligent  citizens,  it  would  be  evident  to  them  that 
the  request  must  proceed  from  no  want  of  patronage,  but 
simply  from  a  desire  for  such  scientific  light  as  could  be  im- 
parted by  their  professors,  and  as  would  make  her  more  wor- 
thy  of  the  trusts  committed  to  her.     The  application  was 
refused,  simply  upon  the  ground  of  expediency,  without  as- 
signing reasons.     Three  years  afterward  she  repeated  it, 
accompanying  it  with  an  able  letter,  hoping  that  the  favor 
with  which  Miss  Blackwell  had  been  received  elsewhere,  and 
the  full  discussion  of  the  matter  on  several  occasions,  might 
induce  a  different  decision.     It  proved  so ;  and  permission 
was  granted  by  the  proper  officers.     The  students,  however, 
waxed  indignant  at  the  prospect  of  such  an  associate  in  thcit 


534  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

studies  (or,  perhaps,  such  a  witness  of  their  manners) ,  and 
vehemently  protested.  Unwilling  to  create  disturbance, 
where  her  object  had  been  entirely  disinterested,  she  gen- 
erously declined  to  avail  herself  of  the  long-coveted  oppor- 
tunity. The  medical  class  of  1851,  at  Harvard,  so  unlike 
that  of  1846,  at  Geneva,  in  the  case  of  Miss  Blackwell, 
gained  for  themselves  an  unenviable  notoriety.  In  1853  the 
Female  Medical  College,  at  Philadelphia,  conferred  upon 
Miss  Hunt  the  honorary  degree  of  M.  D.  She  had  well  earned 
it,  and,  whatever  may  be  her  technical  irregularities,  has  con- 
ferred as  much  honor  upon  the  title  as  it  has  upon  her. 

In  1850  Miss  Hunt  began  to  attend  conventions  held  with 
reference  to  the  interests  and  rights  of  woman.  Every  as- 
pect of  that  movement  profoundly  affected  her,  and  she  gave 
her  influence  earnestly  to  it.  Her  special  part  in  it,  however, 
and  her  public  speech,  when  opportunity  offered,  was  con- 
cerning the  sanitary  reforms  needed  among  women,  and  their 
right  and  duty  to  take  care  of  themselves  and  each  other  and 
their  offspring  in  that  respect.  "  Woman  as  physician  to  her 
sex ''  was  her  theme.  The  conventions  furnished  her  fitting 
occasions  for  urging  it.  They  brought  her  also  more  promi- 
nently before  the  public,  and  prepared  the  way  for  numerous 
meetings,  called  for  the  purpose  exclusively  of  listening  to 
her  appeals  upon  the  subject.  At  intervals,  through  several 
summers,  as  convenience  served,  and  she  could  be  spared 
from  professional  charge  at  home,  she  made  tours  through 
New  England,  New  York  State,  and  Ohio,  delivering  ad- 
dresses, organizing  associations,  visiting  colleges  and  schools. 
That  she  spoke  well  and  effectively  may  be  inferred  from  the 
character  of  her  audiences,  composed  of  the  most  intelligent 
classes,  and  the  practical  results  in  societies  formed,  and  new 
impulse  given  to  measures  for  the  education  of  women  in  every 
department.  During  the  last  few  years  her  life  has  not  beed 
marked  by  any  events  which  could  appropriately  be  noticed 


MISS   HARBIOT    K.    HUNT,    M.   D.  635 

in  our  sketch.  She  has  continued  her  residence  in  Boston, 
and  pursued  her  practice  in  a  steadily  increasing  circle.  Her 
example  has  encouraged  others  to  enter  the  field ;  and  she 
has  now  some  able  co-laborers  in  the  city,  whom  she  thank- 
fully  welcomes  and  assists,  declaring,  **  All  women-workers 
have  my  benediction."  At  the  end  of  twenty-five  years  she 
celebrated  her  silver  wedding  to  her  profession.  Her  house 
was  crowded  with  cordial  friends,  who  decorated  it  with 
flowers,  and  testified  their  esteem  by  ab'mdant  tokens.  Ad- 
vanced in  years,  her  spirit  is  still  buoyant  as  ever.  She 
writes,  "'Knowing  that  all  life  is  from  the  Lord,  mine,  pro- 
fessionally, has  been  radiant,  and  I  have  enjoyed  so  much  in 
m  »  «  My  hair  ig  "vyhite,  but  my  life  is  precious  to  me."  "As 
year  afler  year  has  glided  away,  I  have  gathered  flowers  and 
fruits,  which  have  cheered  and  beautified  the  approach  of  age. 
Signal  blessings,  providential  interpositions,  interior  guidance 
in  emergencies,  religious  thankfulness  for  strength  in  times 
of  need,  distrust,  and  sin,  mark  the  periods  of  my  life,  rather 
than  days  and  months."  Sorrowing  much  over  sufieriug, 
with  burning  indignation  against  vices  and  oppressions,  her 
habitual  mood  is  yet  joyful ;  and  few  who  come  into  her  pres- 
ence can  resist  its  magnetic  power,  or  fail  to  go  from  it 
stirred  to  higher  and  purer  endeavors.  She  has  cured  many, 
enlightened,  cheered,  and  elevated  multitudes. 

In  religious  faith  Miss  Hunt  is  Swedeuborgian,  —  attracted* 
to  it,  perhaps,  by  her  imaginative  and  soulful  temperament , 
by  her  affinity  with  its  subtile  metaphysics,  with  which  it  pen-  ^ 
etrates  and  illuminates  the  physical  sciences ;  by  its  ethereal 
spirituality,  and  by  the  magic  words,  "truth,  good,  and  love," 
with  which  it  plays  upon  the  fervent  mind,  yearning  for  har« 
mony  and  peace,  like  evening  bell-chimes  upon  the  ear 
weary  of  the  world's  clamor.  Whatever  may  be  its  doctrinal 
soundness,  its  influence  has  been  to  invest  her  character  and 


636  EMINENT    WOMEN    09    THE    AGE. 

experience  with  a  peculiar  glow  deeply  satisfactory  to  her* 
self,  and  impressive  to  those  who  know  her. 


We  have  endeavored,  thus,  to  represent  impartially,  three 
of  the  most  advanced,  most  trusted,  and  most  successful  fe- 
male physicians  of  our  country.  They  were  pioneers  in  a 
movement  which  has  already  resulted  in  the  introduction  of 
hundreds  to  the  same  position.  They  prepared  themselves 
for  it  with  fewer  facilities  than  any  who  have  followed  them; 
bending  circumstances  to  their  will,  rather  than  shaped  in 
ttieir  course  by  the  suggestion  of  circumstances ;  compelling 
advantages,  commanding  helps,  forcing  open  (but  never 
ludely)  avenues  long  closed  to  the  sex.  It  would  be  difficult 
to  find  more  complete  contrasts  than  they  present,  both 
physically  and  mentally ;  and  yet,  like  the  geometric  problem 
of  the  triangle  described  within  the  circle,  they  are,  from  their 
distinct  points  of  departure,  perfectly  included  within  the 
same  circle  of  aim  and  influence.  The  world  owes  a  debt  of 
gratitude  and  honor  beyond  computation  to  those  who,  at 
the  sacrifice  of  much  that  was  dear  to  them,  in  the  face  of 
opprobrium  or  misjudgment,  aware  of  the  immense  respon- 
sibilities involved,  in  the  spirit  of  a  true  Christian  ministry, 
neither  anticipating  nor  seeking  the  large  emoluments  which 
have  come  to  them,  have  led  the  way  into  such  a  sphere. 
*  As  we  have  more  fully  pondered  the  subject,  the  persuasion 
deepens  that  no  more  flagrant  wrong  to  humanity  could  be  com- 
mitted, than  that  of  hindering  the  entrance  into  it  of  any  who, 
with  so  pure  intention  and  intelligent  fitness,  seek  admission. 
We  could  readily  now  extend  much  further  our  record  of 
worthy  compeers  in  this  work.  Diplomas  are  multiplying 
year  by  year,  and  among  the  recipients  are  "  honorable  women 
not  a  few."  Every  large  city,  and  many  of  the  smaller 
towns,  would  furnish  names  to  add  to  our  roll  of  honor ;  and 
a  multitude  of  voices  would  unite  in  uro^in^  the  claims  of  one 


KRS.     HANNAH     E.    LONGSHORE,    M.    D.       537 

and  another  for  a  place  upon  it.  Our  desire  to  express  the 
cordial  appreciation  which  we  have  of  all  such  must, 
however,  be  restrained.  We  limit  ourselves  to  the  notice  of 
two,  one  as  illustrating  the  possibilities  of  large  success  in 
general  practice,  the  other  the  influences  to  be  quietly  ex- 
erted in  the  department  of  professional  instruction.  We 
dniw  both  instances  from  Philadelphia,  partly  because  they 
well  represent  the  college  established  there,  and  partly  be- 
cause that  city  is  probably  the  best  field  in  which  this  branch 
of  woman  a  labors  can  fairly  exhibit  its  fruits. 


MRS.  HANNAH  E.  LONGSHORE,  M.  D. 

Mrs.  Longshore  is  the  daughter  of  Samuel  and  Paulian 
Myers,  born  May  30th,  1819,  in  Montgomery  County,  Mary- 
land. Her  parents  were  natives  of  Burks  County,  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  members  of  the  "Society  of  Friends."  When 
she  was  two  years  old,  they  moved  into  the  District  of  Co- 
lumbia, where  she  received  her  early  education,  attending  a 
private  school  in  Washington  City.  In  the  year  1832,  unwil- 
ling to  remain  longer  under  the  demoralizing  influence  of  a 
slave-holding  community,  they  again  changed  their  residence, 
and  settled  on  a  farm  in  Columbiana  County,  Ohio.  Here 
the  whole  household  co-operated  in  industry  and  the  most 
rigid  economy,  to  secure  for  themselves  a  quiet  and  happy 
home.  Samuel  Myers  was  evidently  a  man  of  practical  re- 
ligious character,  and  strong  individuality, — one  whom  un- 
wearying diligence,  careful  reading,  and  meditation  had 
developed  into  a  good  reasoner  and  a  sound  philosopher. 
Having  had  experience  in  teaching,  and  taking  a  deep  interest 
in  his  children,  it  was  his  daily  practice  to  aid  them  in  their 
studies  as  well  as  to  use  every  opportunity  for  familiarizing 
their  minds  with  the  principles  of  science.     His  aim  was  to 


538  EMINB17T    WOMEN    09    THE    AOB. 

make  study  a  pleasure,  to  quicken  their  perceptions  and 
strengthen  their  reflective  powers.     The  "  divinity  of  labor  ^ 
was  also  with  him  a  cherished  sentiment,  part  of  his  religious 
creed.     In  his  family  and  elsewhere  he  dwelt  on  it  with  em- 
phasis.    He  maintained  that  every  child  had  a  right  to  the 
best  possible  advantages  for  intellectual  culture,  and,  equally, 
that  it  was  the  interest  and  duty  of  society  to  train  them  in 
habits  of  intelligent  industry;  that  every  one  should  con- 
tribute in  some  way  to  the  common  product ;  no   sinecure 
posts,  no  drones,  no  consumei's  who  should  not  be  either  di« 
rectly  producers,  or  so  actively  helpful  to  the  producers  that 
they  could  claim  a  share  of  the  benefit,  on  the  apostolic  prin- 
ciple that  *^if  any  would  not  work  neither  should  he  eat." 
His  children  grew  up  deeply  imbued  with  this  principle,  and 
with  it  a  feeling  of  individual  responsibility  and  self-reliance. 
There  were  six  children,  one  brother  and  five  sisters.     The 
older  sisters  passed  much  time  in  the  open  air,  in  the  society 
of  their  father  on  the  farm,  aiding  him  in  the  various  branches 
of  labor  adapted  to  their  capacity.     During  the  busiest  seasons 
in  the  field,  however,  a  portion  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  read- 
ing and  to  conversations  between  parents  and  children.     All 
the  branches  of  natural  science  were  more  or  less  considered 
during  these  periods,  while  at  labor  as  well  as  in  the  inter- 
vals of  rest.     It  was  beautiful  and  instructive  to  witness  the 
family  group  in  these  discussions,  and  note  the  thoughtfulness 
and  enthusiasm  exhibited,  —  frequently  the  utmost  eagerness 
and  exhilaration  of  spirit.     In  the  same  connection  religion, 
morality,  social  reforms,  politics,  and  whatever  interested  or 
agitated  society,  received  such  share  of  their  attention  as 
other  duties  permitted,  and  the  mental  development  of  each 
child  seemed  to  demand.     In  these  respects  they  were  differ- 
ent from  most  of  their  acquaintances.     Independent,  united, 
satisfied  with  their  domestic  resources  for  enjoyment,  they 
became  somewhat  isolated.     They  were  respected  in  the 


MRS.    HANNAH    E.     LONGSHORE,    M.    D.      539 

neighborhood,  yet  feared  and  shunned  by  many  as  eccentric. 
Summer  after  summer,  in  rural  simplicity,  was  thus  occupied. 
When  not  working  in  the  field,  Hannah  was  assisting  a  deli- 
cate, feeble  mother  in  household  duties,  and  caring  for  the 
younger  children.  These  physical  toils,  combined  with  men- 
tal activity,  imparted  discipline  and  courage  to  accomplish 
whatever  task  was  undertaken.  The  comparative  leisure  of 
winter  was  more  fully  devoted  to  study,  occupied  as  pupil  or 
teacher  in  the  district  school.  She  attended  one  term  at  the 
New  Lisbon  Academy,  about  two  miles  from  her  home. 
This  distance  she  walked  at  morning  and  evening,  regu- 
larly braving  the  storms,  the  bitter  cold,  and  drifting  snow. 
Neither  the  long  walk,  nor  domestic  duties,  nor  other  trifling 
reasons,  were  ever  offered  or  needed  as  an  excuse  for  im- 
perfectly prepared  lessons.  Beside  the  milking-pail,  the 
churn,  the  wash-tub,  the  ironing-table,  somewhere  would  the 
book  be  placed,  that  study  might  progress  while  the  hands 
were  busy.  She  joined  the  literary  society  connected  with 
the  academy,  prepared  essays,  and^gave  lectures  on  scientific 
subjects. 

At  a  very  early  period  an  interest  in  anatomy  was  devel- 
oped. When  ten  years  of  age  she  was  often  occupied  in  the 
examination  of  insects,  and  the  dissection  of  small  animals, 
pursuing  it  with  the  same  nicety  and  accuracy  with  which 
she  would  also  analyze  flowers,  to  gratify  a  craving  for  knowl- 
edge in  these  departments.  Very  soon  her  attention  was 
turned  to  the  study  of  medicine,  with  a  view  to  practise,  by  the 
family  physician,  whose  prescriptions  it  had  been  her  part  to 
administer  in  the  family.  Arrangements  were  made  to  com- 
mence regular  reading ;  but  untoward  events  frustrated  the 
plan,  and  it  was  postponed.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two  she 
married,  and  the  subsequent  six  years  were  chiefly  devoted 
to  domestic  duties,  partly  on  a  farm,  and  partly  in  a  quiet 
village.     This,  though  apparently  a  blank  portion  of  her 


640  EMINENT    WOMEN    09    THE    AGE. 

history,  was  not  blank  in  useful  experience.  It  was  here 
that  her  well-developed,  but  comparatively  uureguUted  forces 
of  mind  and  heart,  and  indomitable  energy,  were  concentrated 
and  directed  into  a  practical  channel.  She  was  put  upon  her 
own  resources,  and  her  innate  executive  qualities  were  brought 
into  requisition.  Never  entirely  satisfied  that  she  was  occu- 
pying her  whole  sphere,  she  nevertheless  resolved  that  she 
would  fill  that  portion  of  it  well.  The  proficiency  she  ac- 
quired in  the  performance  of  every  service  connected  with 
house-keeping,  and  the  charge  of  a  family  in  sickness  and 
health,  she  often  refers  to  with  thankfulness.  Without  this 
skill  and  experience  she  would  not  feel  qualified  to  meet  the 
emergencies  often  occurring  in  her  relations  to  other  families, 
nor  to  practise  her  profession  with  thoroughness.  At  the 
end  of  these  six  years  events  favored  a  change  in  her  circum- 
stances, and  the  busy  cares  of  a  farmer's  wife  were  exchanged 
for  the  quiet  village  home,  with  only  her  own  family,  con- 
sisting of  husband  and  two  children,  to  occupy  her.  It  was 
then,  when  her  youngest  child  was  four  years  old,  and  some 
leisure  offered,  that  she  resumed  her  favorite  study.  The 
books  and  maps,  skeletons,  and  preparations  of  her  brother- 
in-law.  Prof.  J.  S.  Longshore,  who  was  also  her  preceptor, 
were  at  her  service.  She  proceeded  with  the  usual  course, 
and  at  the  end  of  two  years  entered  as  a  student  the  ^Female 
Medical  College  of  Pennsylvania,"  located  in  Philadelphia. 
It  was  the  first  session  of  that  institution.  At  'the  close  of 
the  second  session,  in  1850,  she  was  one  of  the  ten  members 
who  composed  the  first  graduating  class.  As  an  indication 
of  regard  for  her  qualifications,  the  faculty  immediately  elected 
her  "  Demonstrator  of  Anatomy,"  and  she  acceptably  served 
the  college  in  that  capacity.  Her '^  sign "  was  the  first  one 
exhibited  in  Philadelphia  by  any  female  graduate  in  medicine. 
The  calls  of  patients  were  at  first  few,  and  principally  of  the 
poorer  classes.    It  was  found  no  easy  matter  for  an  entiro 


MRS.     HANNAH    £.    LONGSHOBB,   M.    D.      541 

stranger,  unheralded,  to  obtain  practice.  Ignorance,  preju- 
dice, and  •petty  persecution  were  to  be  encountered.  Sneers 
and  ridicule  were  the  staple  arguments  against  her.  Some 
gentlemen  of  the  profession  took  special  pains  to  array  public 
sentiment  against  the  movement.  *'A  woman's  intellectual 
incapacity  and  her  physical  weaknesses  will  ever  disqualify 
her  for  the  duties.**  •*  She  will  either  kill  her  patients  or  let 
them  die."  "It  would  be  evidence  of  insanity  or  idiocy  to 
employ  her."  **  If  you  call  in  a  woman  you  will  have  to  call 
a  man  afterward,  and  no  man  will  meet  a  woman  in  consulta- 
tion." These  expressions  were  heard  on  every  side.  With 
unwavering  purpose  and  confidence  in  ultimate  success,  she 
was  not  discouraged,  but  availed  herself  of  this  enforced  lei- 
sure, to  prepare  and  deliver  a  course  of  ^'Lectures  to  Ladies 
on  Medical  Subjects."  She  also  delivered  a  carefully  written 
lecture,  on  the  "Medical  Education  of  Women,"  to  a  large 
and  appreciative  audience,  in  one  of  the  largest  halls  of  the 
city,  and  repeated  it,  as  well  as  the  course  to  ladies,  in  other 
halls  and  churches.  These  lectures,  besides  inducing  consid- 
eration and  yight  tiews  upon  the  general  subject,  introduced 
her  more  fully  to  the  public,  and  enabled  her  hearers  to  form 
some  judgment  of  her  qualifications  for  the  duties  she  had 
assumed.  The  result  was,  that,  one  by  one,  many  of  those 
who  heard  her  called  on  her  for  advice  and  aid.  By  the 
third  year  her  practice  had  increased  so  that  she  was  obliged 
to  abandon  all  idea  of  further  lectures,  and  also  to  resign  her 
position  as  demonstrator  in  the  college.  Since  then  it  has 
steadily  extended,  until  few  physicians  of  either  sex,  and 
among  women  perhaps  none,  except  Mrs.  Lozier,  can  equal 
it.  As  many  as  three  himdred  families  in  the  city  rely  upon 
her  exclusively  for  medical  care,  and  it  is  no  uncommon  thing 
for  her  to  prescribe  for  forty  patients  in  a  day.  Her  practice  is 
legitimate  and  general,  that  is,  it  includes  all  forms  of  disease, 
acute  and  chronic,  in  respectable  fiunily  treatnuuit«  witb  sur- 


642  EMINENT    WOMEN    07    THE    AGE. 

geiy  among  women  and  children.  Of  the  latter,  she  has  had 
occasion  to  perform  many  extremely  delicate  and  tfangerouff 
operations,  —  with  what  success,  the  best  testimony  that  can 
be  desired,  is  the  growing  confidence  with  which  she  is  called 
upon  by  the  most  intelligent  class  of  citizens.  The  objection 
often  urged  against  the  introduction  of  female  physicians,  — 
that  they  cannot  endure  the  inevitable  fatigues  and  exposures, 
— has  met  a  practical  answer  in  the  instance  of  Mrs.  Longshore. 
Inheriting  from  her  mother  a  delicate  constitution,  her  early 
childhood  was  one  of  sensitiveness  and  suffering,  notwith- 
standing  the  benefit  derived  from  the  mode  of  life  which  we 
have  described ,  judiciously  regulated.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  she 
very  narrowly  escaped  from  a  prostrating  and  protracted 
attack,  requiring  many  months  for  recovery.  At  the  time 
of  graduation,  the  faculty  predicted  an  early  death  from  con- 
sumption. Since  then  her  weight  has  greatly  increased,  and 
she  gives  every  token  of  vigor.  It  is  her  conviction  that  her 
continued  life  and  present  degree  of  health  are  due  to  the 
active  habits  of  the  profession. 

Mrs.  Longshore  is  constitutionally  ex&emel^  diffident. 
For  many  years  she  was  so  easily  embarrassed  that  she 
dreaded  and  shunned  society,  beyond  the  limited  circle  of  a 
few  friends.  To  appear  in  public  as  a  lecturer,  and  to  visit 
strangers  professionally,  always  required  a  struggle  against 
this  timidity  and  the  habit  of  reserve ;  yet  she  has  so  far  sub- 
dued it,  by  absorption  in  her  objects,  that  it  would  hardly  bo 
detected  in  her  deportment.  In  appearance  she  is  character- 
ized by  entire  simplicity,  equally  removed  from  coarseness 
and  from  affectation ;  not  adopting  the  Quaker  costume  and 
language,  but  plain  in  her  mode  of  speech  and  dress,  vrith  an 
openness  of  countenance  expressive  of  a  truthful  spirit. 
Direct,  unhesitating,  and  informal  in  her  approach  to  a  case ; 
unpretending,  and  yet  evidently  assured  in  the  exercise  of 
her  judgment ;  with  a  peculiar  mingling  of  personal  moiesty 


MRS.     HANNAH    £.    LONGSHORE,    H.     D.       543 

and  professional  positivenessy  she  inspires  patients  with 
immediate  trust,  which  is  rarely  forfeited.  Cool,  cheerful, 
rapid  in  her  manner  as  physician,  almost  seeming  to  make 
light  of  their  ailments,  she  leaves  them  refreshed  by  her  visit, 
scarcely  conscious  of  their  need  of  condolence,  and  yet  often 
before  leaving  the  houses  of  those  endeared  to  her  by  long 
acquaintance  or  dependence  npon  her  care,  she  sheds  the 
tears  of  a  true  woman  and  a  sympathizing  mother.  Her 
mind  acts  with  the  quickness  of  intuition  or  of  keen  percep- 
tions, and  a  brief  interview,  with  a  few  questions,  usually 
suffices  to  guide  her  in  the  choice  of  remedies.  In  her  seleo* 
tion  of  these,  she  is  not  governed  by  any  routine,  nor  limited 
to  one  school  of  medicine,  but  considers  that  she  is  at  liberty 
to  avail  herself  of  any  means  which  her  experience  has  proved 
nscful  or  the  peculiarities  of  the  case  suggest.  For  some 
time  past,  the  prejudices  which  she  at  first  encountered  from 
the  ^  fraternity,"  especially  under  the  pressure  of  resolutions 
early  adopted  by  the  county  society  and  some  other  organiza- 
tions, have  yielded  to  the  evidences  of  her  ability ;  and  now 
some  of  the  leading  physicians  of  the  city  freely  meet  her  ia 
consultation,  while  others,  too  much  trammelled  by  regular 
tions,  or  personal  fears,  to  act  openly,  have  recommended  her 
to  their  female  patients,  and,  in  several  instances,  while  pub- 
licly uniting  in  measures  of  opposition  to  women  as  prac- 
titioners, have  privately  sent  to  her  for  treatment  their  own 
wives  and  daughters. 

In  the  midst  of  these  exacting  and  exhausting  claims  upon 
her  time,  Mrs.  Longshore  is,  in  her  domestic  relations,  affec- 
tionate and  faithful.  Her  husband  and  children  are  preferred 
above  all  other  objects  of  interest.  Without  them,  she  often 
declares  that  life  would  lose  its  chief  charm  to  her,  —  a  dec- 
laration the  sincerity  of  which  they  and  her  mtimate  friends 
fully  credit  and  abundantly  testify,  and  which  is  confirmed 
by  the  order  of  her  household,  and  by  her  readiness  at  any 


544:  EMINENT    WOMEN    OT    THE    AGE. 

time  to  consult  their  comfoit  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  own* 
Her  warm  and  active  sympathy,  also,  with  every  movement 
promising  benefit  for  the  wronged,  the  oppressed,  and  suffer- 
ing, especially  to  those  of  her  own  sex,  is  well  known  among 
her  friends.  Her  gratuitous  labors  among  the  poor  she  has 
always  felt  to  be  a  duty,  and  congenial  to  her  disposition. 
She  never  knowingly  accepts  a  fee  from  the  needy,  while  she 
is  constantly  distributing  food,  clothing,  and  other  comforts, 
gathered  from  every  source  within  her  reach.  Not  so  much 
marked  by  the  devotional  element,  or  uplifting  spirituality,  as 
some  whom  we  have  already  noticed,  she  is  certainly  abundant 
in  those  fruits  of  pure  and  undefiled  religion,  which  consist 
in  visiting  the  widow  and  the  fatherless  in  their  affliction, 
and  keeping  unspotted  from  the  world,  and  we  trust  is  actu- 
ated in  it  by  the  divine  precept  ^  to  do  good  and  to  commu- 
nicate ;  for  with  such  sacrifices  Ood  is  well  pleased." 

A  younger  sister,  Miss  Jane  V.  Myers,  M.  D.,  resides  in 
her  family,  and  has  a  large  and  lucrative  independent  practice. 

An  older  half-sister,  Mrs.  Mary  F.  Thomas,  M.  D.,  now 
liWng  at  Camden,  Indiana,  has  been  actively  engaged  in  that 
State  several  years.  For  two  years  she  was  editor,  and  for 
a  longer  time  contributor  to  a  semi-monthly  journal  devoted 
mainly  to  the  cause  of  .women,  published  in  Richmond, 
Indiana.  During  the  rebellion  she  was  occupied  much  in 
collecting  and  distributing  supplies,  and  a  portion  of  the  time 
her  husband,  O.  Thomas,  M.  D.,  and  herself  had  charge  of  a 
hospital  in  Tennessee. 


MISS   ANN    PRESTON,   M.  D. 

If  we  were  seeking  a  subject  for  an  attractive  biography 
merely,  there  are  many  women  whom  we  might  have  chosen 
in  preference  to  Miss  Preston,  for  the  striking  characteriBtioi 


HISS    ANN    FBESTON,    M.    D.  545 

or  Btirring  incidents  which  their  lives  would  have  furnished ; 
yet  there  are  few  whose  lives  are  more  worthy  of  record,  or 
their  qualities  of  imitation,  or  whose  work  has  been  more  ef- 
fective for  the  cause  we  are  advocating.  Indeed,  the  few  facts 
which  we  are  allowed  to  use  are  given  us  for  their  bearings 
upon  the  cause,  rather  than  for  personal  representation.  Identi. 
fied  with  the  college  and  the  hospital,  she  prefers  to  be  known 
chiefly  through  them,  and  to  have  her  reputation  merged 
in  whatever  good  they  may  accomplish.  Yet  the  public, 
who  witness  and  honor  these  results  of  unobtrusive  labor,  have 
right  to  know  more  of  the  personality  of  one  who  is  so 
clearly  a  workman  that  needeth  not  to  be  ashamed. 

She  was  born  December,  1830,  at  West  Grove,  Pennsyl- 
vania, in  the  old  homestead  of  her  grandfather,  where  her 
.father  was  born  and  died,  and  where  she  lived  until  constrained 
to  leave  it  for  a  wider  sphere  of  action.  Her  father  was  Amos 
Preston,  a  devoted  Quaker.  An  obituary  notice  of  him,  by 
one  who  had  known  him  from  childhood,  speaks  of  him  as  a 
man  of  unusual  intellectual  gifts,  ^^enthusiastic  in  the  pursuit 
of  truth,  particularly  on  those  subjects  which  most  nearly 
affect  the  present  and  everlasting  welfare  of  the  race,  and 
inflexibly  faithful  to  his  convictions  of  duty ;  possessed  of  a 
warm  social  nature  and  a  rare  faculty  for  entering  into  sym-^ 
pathy  with  the  wants  and  interests  of  others,  which,  together 
with  his  acknowledged  disinterestedness,  inspired  confidence, 
80  that  he  was  trusted  and  loved  by  his  personal  friends  as 
few  men  have  been.  In  the  domestic  relations  the  beauty  of 
his  character  shone  conspicuous.  The  family  government  was 
that  of  perfect  love,  while  frankness  and  mutual  confidence 
marked  his  intercourse  with  his  children."  Her  mother  also  is 
mentioned  as  *^fond  of  literature  and  having  an  intense  love  of 
nature,  with  a  sensitive  nervous  organization.  "  Miss  Preston 
evidently  combines  in  herself  the  consiitutional  traits  of  both 
parents.     Her  only  sister  dying  in  infancy,  the  delicate  health 

85 


546  BMINBNT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

of  her  mother  brought  the  chief  care  of  a  large  family  upon 
her,  making  her  early  life  one  of  close  occupation  and  grave 
responsibilities.  Her  opportunities  for  education  were  there- 
fore limited  to  the  country  school  (which,  however,  was  of  high 
order) ,  and  a  period  spent  at  boarding-school  in  West  Chester, 
the  county  town.  But  the  neighborhood  of  their  residence 
was  one  of  remarkable  intellectual  activity  and  culture,  and 
of  moral  excellence.  A  valuable  public  library,  with  a  Ly- 
ceum and  Literary  Association,  gave  tone  to  society,  diffused 
intelligence  and  promoted  discussion  upon  all  current  ques- 
tions. She  regards  her  connection  with  these  as  one  of  the 
richest  blessings  of  her  youth,  and  as  having  important  bear- 
ing upon  her  subsequent  life.  During  that  period,  also,  she 
shared  largely  with  true-hearted  men  and  women  in  earnest 
efforts  of  general  philanthropy.  Her  influence  in  these  di- 
rections was  distinctly  marked,  while  in  the  genial  domestic 
circle,  amid  all  her  practical  duties,  she  was  cultivating  a  re- 
fined taste,  often  evinced  in  poetic  effusions,  whose  pure  sen- 
timents have  been  appreciated  by  many  readers. 

To  a  mind  like  hers,  uniting  keen  sensibilities  with  energy 
of  purpose  and  breadth  of  aim,  the  charms  of  such  a  home 
must  have  been  great,  while  the  impulse  to  pass  beyond  its 
limitations  was  equally  strong. 

The  years,  however,  passed  on  profitably  and  happily, 
until  she  reached  maturity.  She  would  long  before  have 
entered  some  wider  and  less  secluded  path,  had  not  her  moth- 
er's continued  need  of  assistance,  while  six  brothers  were 
reaching  manhood,  seemed  an  imperative  claim.  But  the 
aspiration  to  more  fully  "labor  for  God's  suffering  ones" 
was  pressing.  The  time  had  come  when  she  felt  the  neces- 
sity for  a  broader  field  of  satisfying  work,  and  a  fuller  inde- 
pendence than  was  possible  with  her  surroundings.  She 
loved  study,  and  medical  subjects  were  peculiarly  interesting 
to  h«r,  yet  she  bad  not  shaped  for  herself  the  coarse  which 


HISS    ANN    PBBSTON,    M.  D.  647 

she  should  pennanently  take.  At  this  midway  point,  when 
the  ties  which  had  so  long  bound  her  to  the  ordinary  routine 
of  woman's  cares  were  loosened,  and  the  remaining  half  of 
probable  life  required  definite  direction,  in  1850  the  "  Wom- 
an's Medical  College  of  Pennsylvania  "  was  opened  at  Phila- 
delphia. Information  of  proposals  preliminary  to  it  had 
reached  her  and  engaged  her  thoughtful  attention,  and  when 
they  developed  into  practical  form  it  commended  itself  to 
her  as  meeting  a  vital  want  in  society.  It  satisfied  the  de- 
sires of  her  own  mind.  Without  hesitation  she  turned 
toward  it  as  settling  the  question  of  what  her  future  should 
be,  and  became  one  of  the  first  applicants  for  admission  as  a 
student.  The  college  opened  favorably,  with  a  faculty  of 
six  professors,  regular  practitioners,  and  graduates  of  regu- 
lar schools;  though  encountering,  as  was  anticipated,  the 
opposition  of  a  large  portion  of  the  profession.  It  was  the 
first  in  the  world  chartered  for  the  purpose,  with  the  usual 
appliances  for  the  instruction  of  women  in  all  the  depart- 
ments of  medical  learning.  Imperfections  were  unavoidable 
at  the  outset  of  such  an  enterprise,  pecuniary  means  inade- 
quate, a  self-sacrificing  disposition  needed  on  the  part  of  all 
engaged  in  it.  But,  **  sustained  by  the  profound  conviction 
that  the  cause  was  right  and  must  succeed,  that  the  study 
and  practice  of  medicine  are  adapted  to  woman's  nature,  that 
the  profession  and  the  world  need  her,  and  that  her  entrance 
into  this  enlarged  sphere  of  virtuous  activity  is  the  harbinger 
of  increased  happiness  and  health  for  her  and  the  race," —  they 
patiently  continued  their  work.  Miss  Preston,  with  thor- 
ough enthusiasm,  and  yet  with  the  calm  steadiness  of  a 
ripened  mind,  entered  into  the  whole  movement,  while  on 
her  own  part  pursuing  faithfully  every  branch  of  allotted 
study.  It  was  a  great  change  from  the  rural  scenes  in  which 
her  unruffled  life  had  been  spent,  uncongenial  to  her  temper- 
ament and  habits ;  but  no  personal  considerations  could  turn 


548  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

her  from  her  course.  Firm-willed  and  deeply  conscientious, 
•she  devoted  every  energy  to  preparation  for  the  new  respon- 
siblities  which  she  was  to  assume.  Her  attainments  were  as 
-complete  as  her  opportunities  rendered  possible.  She  com- 
menced practice  in  the  city  without  ostentation  or  undue 
eagerness  for  occupation,  true  to  tlie  principles  which  she 
has  often  since  urged  upon  students:  ^None  can  sustain 
othei*s  who  are  not  themselves  self-sustained ;  **  "Nothing  but 
strict  inward  rectitude  can  give  that  repose  and  strength  to 
•the  spirit  which  will  enable  it  to  bear  up  safely  through  every 
difficulty  ;**  *' Those  who  are  admitted  into  the  very  sanctu- 
aries of  society,  and  entrusted  with  the  most  sacred  confi- 
dences, should  indeed  be  strong  and  wise,  and  pure  and 
good;*'  ''If  you  prove  yourselves  capable  and  worthy,  society 
is  ready  to  receive  you,  but  solid  superstructures  are  the 
^ork  of  time,  and  slowly,  carefully,  woman  must  work  her 
way."  Conforming  to  the  general  rule  expressed  in  this  last 
sentence  (to  which  instances  like  Mrs.  Longshore  are  excep- 
tional), she  deliberately  felt  her  way  into  her  true  position, 
friends  who  perceived  her  abilities  aided  her  advancement. 
Arrangements  were  made  for  her  to  lecture  to  classes  in  Phil- 
adelphia, Baltimore,  New  York,  and  other  places.  Meanwhile 
changes  occurred  in  the  college  faculty,  and  in  1854  Miss 
Preston  was  elected  to  the  chair  of  **  Physiology  and  Hygiene," 
%i'hich,  as  well  as  the  position  of  "Dean,"  she  still  occupies. 
It  is  well  adapted  to  her  taste,  and  gives  full  scope  to  her  ca- 
pabilities. She  fills  it  with  dignity  and  acceptance.  The  annual 
^announcements  of  the  college  prepared  by  her,  are  models 
of  clear,  sound,  and  forcible  statement,  while  her  introductory 
lectures  and  valedictory  addresses,  delivered  by  appointment 
of  the  faculty,  are  replete  with  striking  thoughts.  In  1861 
"The  Woman's  Hospital  of  Philadelphia  "  was  incorporated, 
an  essential  auxiliary  to  the  college  and  an  invaluable  charity. 
It  has  attained  already  a  j)osition  which  commands  for  it  the 


MISS    ANN    PRESTON,    M.  D.  549 

Aighest  respect  of  the  commuuity,  has  received  liberal  con- 
tributions for  its  endowment,  and  possesses  a  handsome  prop- 
erty in  buildings  and  grounds.  Nearly  three  thousand  patients 
were  treated  through  its  means,  and  at  the  dispensary  connected 
with  it,  during  the  past  year.  Miss  Preston  was  at  the  outset 
appointed  one  of  its  board  of  managers,  corresponding  sec- 
retary, and  consulting  physician,  and  still  acts  in  those  capac- 
ities. During  this  period  her  private  practice  has  become 
sufficiently  established  and  remunerative  to  meet  all  her  wishes, 
though  her  frail  health,  requiring  constant  vigilance  against 
over-exertion,  has  obliged  her  to  limit  it,  —  refusing  night  calls 
and  obstetrical  cases.  In  1867  the  Philadelphia  County  Medi- 
cal Society  adopted  a  preamble  and  resolutions  setting  forth  in 
plain  terms  their  objections  to  the  practice  of  medicine  by 
women,  and  declining  to  meet  them  in  consultation, — 'a  conclu- 
sion, however,  by  which  many  of  their  most  reliable  members 
refused  to  be  bound.  Miss  Preston  immediately  published  a 
reply,  so  admirable  in  temper  and  argument  as  to  turn  the  tide 
of  opinion,  both  in  the  profession  and  outside  of  it,  among  in- 
telligent observers,  very  much  in  favor  of  those  in  whose  be- 
half she  wrote.  No  rejoinder,  so  far  as  we  are  informed,  was 
attempted ;  but  the  restraints  upon  consultation  have  been  re- 
laxed instead  of  confirmed,  and  a  better  understanding  of  the 
whole  subject  now  prevails.  Of  course  we  do  not  ascribe  the 
improvement  entirely  to  this  cause,  yet  we  cannot  doubt  that 
the  adjustment  of  these  difficulties,  as  well  as  the  advanced 
ground  occupied  by  the  medical  work  for  women  in  that  vicin- 
ity, is  owing  as  much  to  her  well-regulated,  judicious,  but  in- 
telligent, firm  and  persistent  eflforts  as  to  any  other  that  can 
be  named.  Personally  her  position  in  the  esteem  of  the  pub- 
lic, and  more  intimately  of  a  large  circle  of  friends,  is  beyond 
dispute  or  possible  change,  and  tranquilly  though  busily  she 
occupies  it.  With  the  care  whioh  she  has  learned  to  exercise 
over  hereditary  susceptibilities,  many  years  more  of  useful- 


550  BMIKENT    WOMBN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Bess  appear  probable  for  her,  within  which  she  can  hardly 
fail  to  see  her  utmost  aims  accomplished  for  the  institutions 
and  objects  to  which  she  has  dedicated  herself  with  a  true  con- 
secration,  while  many  who  go  out  from  her  instructions  will 
bear  the  permanent  impress  of  her  serene,  unwavering 
character. 


CAMILLA    UBBO.  551 


CAMILLA   DRSO. 

BY    MARY    A.    BETTS. 

"Thb  violin  is  the  violet,"  says  the  Chevalier  Sor^phael  in 
that  most  imaginative  and  fantastic  of  musical  novels,  ^Charles 
Auchester.*^  How  came  the  fancy  to  the  writer's  brain? 
Was  it  because  the  violet,  with  its  trembling  blue  petal  and 
its  evanescent  fragrance,  reminds  one  of  the  woods,  the  min- 
gling harmonies  of  brook  and  bird-voice,  of  wind-swept  trees 
and  restless  wind  ?  Or,  was  it  because  to  the  artist  the  vio- 
let was  the  most  perfect  of  flowers  and  the  violin  of  instru- 
ments? 

An  instrument  it  certainly  is  of  torture  and  delight.  How 
we  have  all  groaned  at  the  melancholy  squeaks  of  a  poor 
fiddle  in  the  street  I  With  what  a  rapture  have  we  followed 
the  violins  in  the  orchestra,  as  their  penetrating  and  aerial 
tones  completed  for  us  the  harmonic  pictures  or  the  wordless 
songs  I  And  in  the  hands  of  a  genius  whose  thoughtful 
brain  and  ardent  heart  have  comprehended  and  mastered  its 
powers,  what  a  magical  shell  is  this  crooked,  stringed,  sono- 
rous thing  of  wood  I 

The  brain  and  heart  of  a  true  violinist  came  into  the  world 
one  summer-day  in  the  city  of  Nantes,  France.  This  beau- 
tiful old  Huguenot  city  was  then  the  residence  of  Salvator 
Urso,  a  musician  from  Palermo,  Sicily,  and  his  Portuguese 
wife,  whose  maiden  name  was  Emilie  Girouard.  Signor  Urso 
was  an  crganist  and  flutist  of  rare  merit,  educated  thoroughly 


5S2  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

in  all  the  principles  of  his  art  by  his  father,  who  had  ddne 
hearty  service  to  music  in  younger  days.  On  the  13th  of 
June,  1842,  Camilla  Urso  was  bom, — the  first  child  of  a 
happy  union.  Though  four  brothers  followed  her,  the  little 
daughter  was  most  passionately  beloved  by  her  father,  who 
gloried  in  her  inheritance  of  that  gift  which  had  been  his 
resource  and  constant  pleasure.  The  warm  Southern  sky 
never  looked  upon  a  more  attractive  child  than  the  little  Ca« 
milla.  Young  geniuses  are  not  always  charming.  Precocity 
is  often  accompanied  by  conceit  and  nervous  irritability.  But 
Camilla's  bright  cheerfulness  was  even  more  fascinating  than 
her  talent. 

She  was  alive  to  all  the  subtle  mysteries  of  sound  at  an  age 
when  the  *' Cradle  Song"  is  the  favorite  melody  of  most  chil- 
dren. Her  father  was  first  flutist  in  the  orchestra  of  the 
opera,  and  carried  her  to  the  theatre  almost  every  night. 
Through  the  long  performances  she  sat,  rapt  in  childish  hap- 
piness, never  growing  tired,  never  weary  of  repetition. 
Madame  Urso  now  declares  that  she  heard  more  operas  then 
than  she  has  listened  to  ever  since. 

At  the  age  of  six  she  found  and  proved  her  vocation.  Her 
father  was  organist  at  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Cross.  One 
day  she  stood  listening  at  his  side  while  the  choir  performed 
the  mass  of  St.  Cecilia.  Solemnly,  slowly,  the  organ  tones 
swelled  and  died.  Clear  voices  of  soprano  and  tenor  rose 
upon  the  air  with  the  saddening  plaint  of  Kyrie  Meison. 
The  orchestral  harmonies  interwove  their  pathetic  or  trium- 
phant music.  The  dark-haired  child,  with  the  broad  brpw  and 
sWeet,  parted  lips,  listened, — not  awed  by  the  under-wave  of 
the  mighty  orgftn,  not  following  with  curious,  imitative  mouth 
the  soaring  voices  and  melodious  words,  —  but  enchanted  for 
life  by  the  inarticulate  passion  and  sorrow  of  the  violin's  chang- 
ing vibrations.  The  hist  note  of  the  mass  floated  into  silence, 
but  the  little  Camilla  did  not  mingle  in  the  crowd  of  depart* 


CAMILLA    UB80.  553 

ig  worshippers.  Her  father's  hand  aroused  her,  and  she 
walked  home  announcing  in  a  firm  tone,  which  was  most 
amusing,  coming  from  that  tiny  figure :  ^  I  wish  to  learn  the 
violin.  ** 

Her  studies  were  immediately  begun,  and  her  progress  was 
most  rapid.  In  a  year  she  appeared  at  a  concert  given  for 
the  benefit  of  a  widow,  whose  husband  had  been  one  of 
Signor  Urso's  friends. 

The  announcement  of  the  concert  astonished  the  citizens 
of  Nantes.  It  was  considered  the  height  of  absurdity  for  a 
child  to  attempt  to  play  on  so  difficult  an  instrument.  Friends 
came  to  applaud,  enemies  to  laugh,  but  all  were  amazed  and 
delighted.  Little  Camilla  had  no  timidity,  no  anxiety  for 
success.  Her  new  white  satin  shoes,  the  first  she  bad  ever 
put  on,  were  much  more  engrossing  for  the  time  than  the 
violin  she  was  to  handle.  The  principal  journal  of  Nantes 
spoke  thus  of  the  performance :  — 

**  Never  had  violinist  a  pose  more  exact,  firmer,  and  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  easy ;  never  was  bow  guided  with  greater 
precision  than  by  this  little  Urso,  whose  delivery  made  all 
the  mothers  smile.  Listen,  now,  to  the  Air  Variee  of  the  cel- 
ebrated De  Beriot ;  under  these  fingers,  which  are  yet  often 
busied  with  dressing  a  doll,  the  instrument  gives  out  a  purity 
and  sweetness  of  tone,  with  an  expression  most  remarkable. 
Every  light  and  shade  is  observed,  and  all  the  intentions  of 
the  composer  are  faithfully  rendered.  Here  come  more  ener« 
getic  passages :  the  feeble  child  will  find  strength  necessary, 
and  the  voicQ  of  the  instrument  assumes  a  fulness  which  one 
could  not  look  for  in  the  diminutive  violin.  Effects  of  double 
stopping,  staccato,  rapid  arpeggios,  —  everything  is  executed 
with  the  same  precision,  the  same  purity,  the  same  grace. 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  ovation  that  the  child  received. 
Repeatedly  interrupted  by  applause  and  acclamations,  she 


654  EMINENT    WOHBK    OF   THE    AGE. 

was  saluted  at  the  ond  bj  salros  of  bravos  and  &  shower  of 
bouquets.'' 

Soon  after  this  Signor  Urso  went  to  Paris,  resigning  his 
position  at  Nantes  for  the  purpose  (^  giving  the  most  thor- 
ough musical  education  to  the  daughter  of  whose  genius  he 
was  so  proud.  He  proposed  that  she  should  be  received  into 
the  Conservatoire. 

The  professors  met  the  proposition  with  incredulity  and 
amazement.  **  Absurd,  indeed  I "  they  said ;  ^  she  is  too  young, 
and  a  woman  cannot  be  a  pupil  of  the  Conservatoire.''  But 
•  Signor  Urso  persisted.  ^  Only  hear  her,"  be  said,  ^  before 
deciding."  So  the  little  sprite  appeared  before  the  most  ex* 
acting,  the  most  critical  of  juries.  Auber^  Bossini,  Meyeir- 
beer,  and  Massart  were  among  the  judges. 

They  retired  for  a  decbion,  and  at  the  door  the  little  appU 
cant  and  the  trembling  father  waited.    At  last  the  answer 
came.     The  new  pupil  was  accepted  unanimously.     The 
father's  hat  went  i^ito  the  air  with  triumph. 

For  three  years  Camilla  studied  almost  incessantly.  No 
advantages  were  wanting  to  the  young  aspirant  for  musical 
honors.  Simon  was  her  first  teacher,  but  her  chief  instructor 
was  Massart,  who  took  an  extraordinary  interest  in  the  de* 
velopment  of  her  powers.  He  received  her  into  his  class, 
and  gave  her,  in  addition,  private  lessons.  All  this  instruct 
tion  was  gratuitous. 

From  this  time  she  had  no  opportunity  for  the  amusementn 
other  children  enjoy.  She  practised  ten  and  twelve  hours  a 
day,  learning  harmony,  solfeggi,  and  masteripg  difficaltiea 
far  beyond  her  years.  To  acquire  that  steadiness  of  positioa 
for  which  she  is  now  so  remarkable,  she  placed  one  foot  in  a 
saucer  while  playing.  Fear  of  breaking  the  dish  was  a  suffi- 
cient motive  to  keep  her  feet  motionless ;  and  to  this  simplf 


CAMILLA    UBBO.  665 

eoDtrivimce  we  are  indebted,  in  part,  for  Madame  Urso^a 
wonderful  accuracy  and  agreeable  repoae  of  manner. 

The  years  of  training  were  interrupted  by  a  aeries  of  con* 
eerts  in  the  departments  and  a  tixree  months'  tour  in  Germany. 
This  was  a  special  indulgence,  as  pupils  of  the  Conservatoire 
are  not  allowed  to  play  in  public.  Camilla  performed  at 
Heidelberg,  Baden-Baden,  and  Mayence,  receiving  every- 
where the  recognition  due  to  an  artist,  not  to  a  prodigy. 
That  Grerman  public,  so  devoted  to  music  in  its  highest  forms, 
led  by  masters  of  such  varied  genius,  took  the  child  to  its 
heart.  Nobles  and  princes  paid  her  compliments  and  be^ 
stowed  beautiful  presents  upon  her.  A  countess,  who  took 
the  most  affectionate  interest  in  her,  insisted  on  giving  her  an 
ornament  she  had  worn  at  her  own  confirmation,  —  a  large 
cross  of  pearls  attached  to  a  long  chain  of  red  coral. 

From  these  triumphs  she  returned  to  Paris  and  her  studies 
with  Massart* 

In  a  few  months  she  ai^>eared  at  the  public  concerts  of 
Paris,  at  the  Salle  Herz,  the  Soci£t£  Polytechnique,  the  Con* 
servatoire,  and  the  Association  of  Musical  Artists.  Her 
success  was  great.  A  (»ritic,  qpeaking  of  her  at  this  time, 
says: — 

*  She  is  walking  in  the  steps  of  the  greatest  virtuosi.  She 
plays  the  violin,  not  as  a  well-organized  child  might  play 
after  a  certain  period  devoted  to  study,  but,  indeed,  with  a 
skill  truly  prodigious.  Her  pose^  her  eneigy,  her  bowing, 
reveal  the  consammate  artist.  But  what  is  most  surprising 
is  the  sentiment  of  her  execution ;  she  excels  in  that  essen- 
tial expression  which  comes  wholly  from  the  soul,  and  which 
the  composer,  from  lack  of  means  to  note  and  write  out, 
abandons  to  the  discretion  and  intelligence  of  the  executant." 

At  the  age  of  nine  she  performed  before  Louis  Napoleon, 
then  President  of  the  National  Convention.    He  Was  greatly 


556  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

delighted  with  her  playing,  and  promised  that,  if  he  should 
ever  advance  in  position  and  influence,  she  might  claim  his 
protection,  and  he  would  be  happy  to  do  her  any  favor  in  his 
power.  The  wily ''Man  of  Destiny,"  whose  ambition  was 
even  then  planning  the  renewal  of  the  empire,  and  an  at- 
tempted mastership  of  Europe,  has  probably  foi^otten  the 
pledge.  Camilla  has  nevet  reminded  him  of  it,  preferring  to 
depend  on  her  own  powers  for  all  place  she  may  hold  in  the 
world's  esteem. 

In  1852  the  little  Urso  received  propositions  from  a  Mr. 
Faugas,  of  North  Carolina,  to  come  to  America.  He  offered 
her  a  salary  of  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year;  and,  as  the 
fsunily  was  in  need  of  the  assistance  the  child's  violin  could 
give,  the  offer  was  gladly  accepted. 

Preparations  were  made  for  an  extensive  tour,  and  a  con- 
cert-troupe of  eight  was  engaged.  Auber,  hearing  of  her 
intended  departure,  presented  her  with  the  following  testi- 
monial, which  she  justly  regards  as  one  of  her  dearest 
treasures :  — 

«<  NATIONAL  CONSEBVATOBY  OF  MUSIC  AND  OF  DECLAMATION. 

"Pabis,  August  12, 1S52. 

^  Mademoiselle  Camilla  Urso  is  a  young  pupil  of  the  Na-* 
tional  Conservatory  of  Music.  Although  still  at  a  very  tender 
age,  she  has  obtained  brilliant  success  in  several  concerts  in 
Paris,  and  above  all  at  the  Conservatory,  where  the  jury  have 
decreed  to  her  by  election  the  first  prize  at  the  competition 
for  the  prizes  of  the  year. 

**  Learning  that  she  is  soon  to  depart  for  the  United  States, 
I  am  delighted  to  state  the  happy  qualities  which  ought  to 
ensure  her  a  noble  artistic  career. 

**The  Americans  have  already  nobly  proved  that  they  are 
not  only  just  appreciators  of  the  fine  arts,  especially  of  music, 
but  that  they  know  as  well  how  to  recompense  with  generosiQr 


CAMILLA    UBSO.  557 

the  merits  of  the  celebrated  artists  who  are  heard  in  the  hos- 
pitable towns  of  their  rich  and  beautiful  country. 

"AUBER, 

*' Member  of  the  Institate, 

**  Director  of  the  Conservatory." 

The  child-artist  came  to  this  country  with  her  father,  but 
they  soon  discovered  the  insinuating  Faugas  to  be  a  swindler. 
The«moneys  for  Camilla's  services  were  not  forthcoming,  and 
the  engagement  was  hastily  broken. 

The  Germania  Society  now  offered  an  engagement,  and  tho 
little  Urso  played  for  them  a  year,  meeting  everywhere  with 
greiit  applause  and  admiration.  At  the  end  of  the  year  she 
joined  Madame  Alboni,  who  was  then  singing  in  this  coun- 
try, and  performed  at  six  concerts  with  her  in  Trippler  Hall, 
New  York. 

In  1852  Madame  Henriette  Sontag,  Countess  Rossi,  came 
to  this  country  to  make  a  trial  of  the  public  which  had  re- 
ceived Jenny  Lind  with  such  enthusiasm  and  generosity.  She 
won  honors  everywhere  by  her  dramatic  talent  and  marvellous 
voice. 

Hearing  of  Camilla  Urso's  success,  she  proposed  to  add  her 
to  her  own  concert-troupe.  At  the  conclusion  of  his  daugh- 
ter's engagement  with  Alboni,  Signer  Urso  accepted  the 
overtures  of  Sontag,  and  Camilla  joined  her  at  Cincinnati,  in 
December,  1853. 

Brief  as  was  their  connection,  the  most  tender  relations 
were  established  between  them.  Nothing  could  be  more 
beautiful  than  the  sight  of  this  magnificent  woman,  who  was 
then  the  imperial  mistress  of  song,  surrounding  with  truly 
maternal  kindness  the  lonely  little  novice  whom  chance  had 
brought  to  her  arms. 

The  generous  affection  of  Madame  Sontag  was  never  for- 
gotten by  the  child,  and  the  now  famous  violinist  speaks  of 
her  benefactress  with  a  devotion  which  years  cannot  diminish. 


558  EMINENT    WOICEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

*^She  was  perfection — an  angel ,  in  talents,  temper,  and 
goodness.  At  fifty-two  one  would  kneel  to  her, — what  must 
she  have  been  at  twenty  ?  She  herself  took  the  place  of  my 
mother,  who  was  not  in  America.  She  plaited  my  hair, 
attended  to  my  dresses,  and  cared  for  me  in  everything.'^ 

Camilla  accompanied  Madame  Sontag  to  New  Orleans, 
where  they  gave  eighteen  concerts,  followed  by  six  weeks 
of  opera,  in  which  Madame  Sontag  was  the  star.  The  two 
artists  created  a  genuine  furore^  exciting  their  Southern  au- 
diences to  the  highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm.  Bouquets  came 
in  showers,  and  the  applause  was  incessant.  One  night 
Madame  Sontag  carried  eighty-six  bouquets  from  the  stage, 
and  the  fairy  violinist  often  received  fifteen  or  twenty. 

From  New  Orleans  Madame  Sontag  went  to  Mexico,  and 
Camilla  never  saw  her  again.  They  parted  m  March,  1854, 
and  Signer  Urso  took  his  daughter  to  Savannah,  and  sub- 
sequently gave  concerts  in  different  cities  of  Georgia  and 
some  other  Southern  States.  They  then  returned  to  New 
York,*  where,  in  May,  they  heard  of  the  sudden  death  of 
Madame  Sontag  by  cholera. 

The  news  of  this  loss  prostrated  the  sensitive  child  with 
grief.  She  refused  to  appear  at  concerts,  and  seemed  to  lose 
all  animation  and  vivacity.  A  change  of  scene  was  at  last 
imperatively  necessary,  and  she  went  with  her  father  to 
Canada  in  1856. 

This  trip  was  very  successful,  though  not  entirely  profes- 
sional. She  travelled  through  the  country,  giving  some 
concerts,  and  winning  admiration  from  crowded  houses. 

One  incident  of  her  trip  was  very  enjoyable, — her  recep- 
tion on  board  of  a  French  corvette.  The  officers  desired  to 
do  honor  to  their  gifted  little  compatriot,  and  invited  her  to 
visit  them.  She  was  then  a  charming  young  lady  of  four- 
teen.   She  appeared  before  her  admiring  friends  in  a  costume 


CAMILLA    IJBSO.  659 

combining  the  three  national  colors  of  France.  The  gallant 
marines  showed  her  a  hundred  graceful  attentions,  presented 
her  with  bouquets,  and  she,  in  return,  bewitched  them  with 
the  music  of  her  violin. 

While  in  Canada  she  met  with  a  serious  loss.  Her  collec- 
tion of  presents,  containing  a  magnificent  bracelet  presented 
by  the  Germania  Society ;  her  cross  of  pearls  with  its  chain 
of  coral,  and  other  ornaments  of  great  value,  pr/zed  as  the 
souvenirs  of  her  childhood's  triumphs,  and  her  European 
Tesidence,  were  in  New  York.  On  the  22d  of  February,  1859, 
when  the  people  of  the  house  where  she  had  left  her  propertyhad 
gone  to  see  the  annual  parade  in  honor  of  Washington's  birth- 
day, some  one  entered  and  possessed  himself  of  her  jewels. 
Search  was  unavailing,  nothing  was  ever  again  heard  of  them. 

On  her  return  from  Canada  her  mother  met  her  in  New 
York.  The  joy  of  mother  and  daughter,  reunited  after  so 
long  a  separation,  may  easily  be  imagined.  They  spent  some 
time  together,  and  then  professional  duties  called  the  child 
away.  She  had  received  overtures  from  a  Mrs.  McCready, 
a  reader  of  some  celebrity  at  that  time,  to  accompany  her  in 
a  tour  through  the  West.  They  proceeded  as  far  as  Nashville, 
Signer  Urso  remaining  in  New  York,  when  Camilla  discov- 
ered that  the  contract  was  not  to  be  fulfilled,  the  readings  not 
to  be  continued,  — in  short,  that  she  had  fallen  once  more  into 
the  hands  of  swindlers.  The  McCreadys,  after  treating  her 
with  great  injustice  and  unkindness,  left  her  penniless  in 
Nashville.  A  pitiful  position  for  a  young  girl  scarcely  fifteen 
years  old  I  But  Camilla's  courage  and  resources  were  fully 
equal  to  the  occasion.  This  timid  creature,  who  had  always 
relied  entirely  on  her  father's  advice  and  direction,  —  who  had 
not  been  educated  into  that  habit  of  self-reliance  so  frequently 
a  characteristic  of  American  girls,  —  determined  to  give  a  con- 
cert herself.  She  wrote  to  her  friends  giving  information  of 
the  state  of  afiairs,  and  then  applied  to  a  musician  of  the 


560  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

• 

city  for  some  counsel  as  to  time  and  place.  She  enlisted  the 
sympathy  of  the  citizens  of  Nashville.  The  result  was  a  full 
house,  and  four  hundred  dollars  for  the  empty  pocket. 

Soon  after  this  she  retired  from  public  life.  For  five  years 
she  did  not  appear  in  a  professional  character  except  for  char- 
itable purposes.  But  the  cherished  violin  did  not  lose  its 
power  in  these  years  of  quiet.  She  learned  more  of  life,  and 
through  varied  experience  her  genius  grew. 

When  she  returned  to  the  concert  ball,  on  the  16th  of 
March,  1863,  at  a  Philharmonic  concert  in  New  York,  she 
won  instantly  her  old  place,  and  "rained  influence"  upon  us 
with  those  calm  wavings  of  her  enchanted  bow.  She  was 
soon  engaged  to  play  at  the  Philharmonic  concerts  in  Boston. 
In  the  autumn  of  1863  she  received  a  beautiful  gift  from  some 
of  the  modem  Athenians  in  the  form  of  a  watch  and  chain, 
— the  watch  decorated  with  green  enamel,  and  a  diamond 
of  great  value.     On  one  side  of  the  watch  was  engraved,  — 

"  Camilla  Urso. 

From  heb  Boston  Fbiekds. 

Nov.  8th,  1863." 

The  gift  was  enclosed  in  a  velvet  box,  bearing  upon  the 
cover  her  initials  in  gold  within  a  laurel  wreath. 

Engagements  now  crowded  upon  her,  and  she  visited  in  suc- 
cession most  of  the  cities  that  had  known  her  as  a  child, 
spending  much  time  in  Boston,  New  York,  and  Chicago. 

In  1864  she  went  to  Europe,  sailing  in  the  ^  China,"  on  the 
26tb  of  August.  Keaching  Liverpool  she  prepared  at  once 
to  go  to  Phris, — her  home  for  some  years,  and  the  scene  of 
some  of  her  earliest  triumphs.  She  was  wonderfully  success- 
ful in  this  centre  of  art,  and  became  the  ^lioness  of  the 
saloons." 

Pasdeloup's  monster  orchestra  was  then  performing  in  the 
Chxjue  Napoleon.    Paris,  with  all  its  superb  theatres  has  no 


CAMILLA    UB80.  661 

large  music  hall.  Camilla  Urso  was  invited  to  play  with  this 
orchestra,  and  plajed,  at  one  of  their  concerts,  Mendelssohn's 
great  concerto. 

The  minister  of  fine  arts,  Count  Newerkerque,  sent 
for  her  to  play  at  the  palace  of  the  Louvre.  Never  had 
she  performed  before  so  distinguished  an  assembly  as  there  in 
the  beautiful  cabinet  of  the  minister.  Two  hundred  and  fifty 
gentlemen  were  present.  Diplomatists,  princes,  and  soldiers, 
with  their  hard-won  crosses,  rendered  homage  to  the  fair  vio- 
linist, who  saw  with  delight  the  faces  of  Alexander  Duraar. 
Lord  Cowley,  and  Professor  Alard.  Her  finest  morceau  o*. 
this  occasion  was  a  Fanta&ie*Caprice  of  Vieuxtemps. 

From  Paris  she  went  to  Arras,  Boulogne,  Valenciennes, 
and  Cambray.  At  Boulogne  she  appeared  at  two  successive 
concerts  given  by  the  Musical  Society  of  that  town, — a  cir- 
cumstance almost  unknown  in  the  records  of  the  society. 

After  spending  fourteen  months  abroad,  she  returned  to 
America,  where  she  has  remained  ever  since.  Her  life  since 
then  has  been  the  same  story  of  travel,  study,  and  concerts. 
She  has  become  a  great  favorite  both  in  the  East  and  West. 

What  Boston  thinks  of  her  may  be  understood  from  the 
fact  that  she  has  given  more  than  one  hundred  concerts  in 
that  city.  There  she  feels  herself  entirely  at  home,  sur- 
rounded by  sympathetic  and  appreciative  friends.  One  of 
fthe  sincerest  and  most  highly  prized  of  all  tributes  to  her 
musical  accomplishments  is  a  letter,  which  was  addressed  to 
her,  after  a  concert  in  Music  Hall,  by  the  musicians  of  the  or- 
chestra of  the  **  Harvard  Association : " — 

•*  We,  the  undersigned,  members  of  the  musical  profession 
in  Boston,  who  have  been  recently  witnesses  of  the  extraor- 
dinary musical  talent  displayed  by  Camilla  Urso,  in  her 
performances  on  the  violin,  deem  it  our  pleasure  and  duty  as 
brethren  (who,  it  may  be  admitted,  are  the  more  thoroughly 

S6 


562  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AQB. 

capable  of  recognizing  skill  in  this  department  of  the  art)  to 
offer  some  fitting  testimonial  to  her.  In  no  way,  perhaps, 
can  we  express  our  regard  so  beneficially  as  by  giving  to  the 
public  a  professional  estimate  of  her  ability. 

^  We  would  especially  record  her  performance  of  the  violin 
concerto  by  Mendelssohn, — one  of  the  most  difiicult  works  for 
that  instrument ;  her  playing  of  which  was  so  marvellously 
fine  and  near  perfection  itself  as  to  excite  our  highest  admi* 
ration.  It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  it  was  a  wonderful  per- 
formance for  a  woman;  it  was  a  consummate  rendering,  which 
probably  few  men  living  could  improve  upon. 

^  It  may  seem  needless  to  characterize  her  playing,  but  a  few 
traits  may  be  pointed  out,  namely,  her  complete  repose  of  man« 
ner ;  largeness  of  style ;  broad,  full,  and  vigorous  attacking 
of  difficulties;  utmost  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  ^feeling; 
wonderful  staccato ;  remarkable  finish  in  trills,  with  an  intona- 
tion as  nearly  perfect  as  the  human  ear  will  allow.  When  to 
these  are  added  a  comprehensive  mind,  with  a  warm  musical 
soul  vibrating  to  its  work,  we  have  an  artist  who  may  be 
nearly  called  a  phenomenon  in  the  womanly  form  of  Camilla 
Urso. 

**  Signed  by  the  whole  orchestra,  namely,  Carl  Zerrahn, 
William  Schultze,  William  Wieser,  Stephen  A.  Emery,  Carl 
Meisel,  Otto  Dresel,  Thomas  Ryan,  Wulf  C.  J.  Fries,  B.  J. 
Lang,  Ernst  Perabo,"  etc.  « 

The  outside  world  of  mere  lovers  of  music  sometimes  give 
tbeir  opinions  of  Camilla's  playing  in  remarks  equally  earnest, 
though  hardly  scientific.  One  auditor,  after  listening  to  her 
m  wide-mouthed  amazement,  declared  with  a  most  emphatic 
gesture,  that  she  was  "  woman  enough  to  vote."  At  a  concert 
in  Chicago,  an  admirer,  who  was  asked  whether  there  had 
been  any  flowers  on  the  stage  that  night,  answered,  **  None 
but  Camelia  Urso.** 


CAMILLA    URSO.  563 

In  the  spring  of  1865,  soon  after  her  return  from  Europe, 
Madame  Urso  played  at  a  concert  in  New  Haven,     The  hall 
was  crowded  with  a  noisy  audience,  composed  mainly  of 
Btadents,  irrepressible  and  critical,  and  }'oung  ladies  who 
were  deeply  occupied  with  them  and  their  criticisms.     Th^ 
unhappy  pianist  of  the  occasion  met  with  hearty  contempt. 
The  talking  went  on  as  gayly  as  ever.     But  when  the  violin- 
ist entered,  with  her  simple,  natural  manner,  and  stood  quietly 
a  moment  waiting,  the  house  was  hushed.     First  she  played 
a  brilliant  Fantaisie  of  Vieuxtemps,  displaying  all  her  skill 
in  the  execution  of  musical  difficulties.    Every  one  followed 
her  with  the  most  eager  attention.     At  the  end  came  hearty 
applause,  and  an  imperative   recall.     **The  Last  Rose  of 
Summer"  was  her  answer  to  the  waiting  crowd.     Tenderly, 
wearily,  the  notes  of  the  familiar  air  breathed  to  us  of  regret 
far  beyond  the  sentimental  lament  of  Moore's  song.     Not  a 
movement  disturbed  the  flow  of  the  melody.     The  quiet  of 
Badness  seemed  to  hold  the  listeners.     The  music  ceased,  she 
bowed  once  more,  but  the  audience  would  not  permit  a  with- 
drawal.    She  seemed  unwilling,  at  first,  to  respond  to  this 
encore^ — this  tribute  often  more  tiresome  than  flattering. 
But,  after  a  minute's  indecision,  the  violin  went  up  to  her 
shoulder  again,  and  the  very  genius  of  fun  seemed  to  possess 
it.     She  played  *' Yankee  Doodle,"  but  the  spirit  of  the  mo- 
notonous old  tune  was  surely  transmigrated  into  a  robin,  drunk 
with  the  intoxicating  air  of  some  June  morning.     It  was 
surely  a  bird  who  took  up  the  quaint  refrain,  and  repeated  it 
again  and  again  with  mocking  variations  in  frolicsome  aban- 
donment.    The  audience,  a  few  minutes  ago  half  ready  to 
weep,  laughed  and  applauded  by  turns,  in  full  sympathy  with 
the  versatile  artist.     Players  often  execute  tricks  with  the 
strings  that  are   laughter-provoking,  mere  legerdemain,  as 
meretricious  as  it  is  inartistic,  but  seldom  has  such  an  airy 
spirit  of  humor  expressed  itself  through  the  violin. 


564  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE- 

A  little  story  found  its  way  into  the  **  Musical  Gazette  *• 
recently,  which  is  so  characteristic  that  it  ought  to  be  quoted 
entire. 

Ole  Bull,  Camilla  Urso,  and  Miss  Alida  Topp  met  at  a 
party,  a  few  evenings  since. 

**  You  play  beautifully,  my  child, ^  said  the  Norwegian  to 
]VIiss  Topp,  **  but  you  can't  do  the  greatest  music.    No  tooman ' 
can ;  it  takes  the  biceps  of  a  man.'' 

**  My  arm  is  strong  enough,"  answered  the  brilliant  young 
pianist,  laughing ;  **  I  break  my  pianos  as  well  as  a  man  could, 
and  Steinway  has  to  send  me  a  new  one  every  week." 

*' You  see,"  responded  Ole  Bull,  turning  to  Madame  Urso, 
•*  you  see  how  these  people  treat  their  pianos.  They  bang 
them,  they  beat  them,  they  kick  them,  they  smash  them  to 
pieces ;  but  our  fiddles  1  how  toe  love  them/'* 

**  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  was  Camilla's  earnest  answer,  with  a 
flash  of  her  most  expressive  eyes. 

Her  fiddles  are  three,  her  favorite  one  being  a  Guiseppe 
Guamarius,  made  in  1737.  For  this  she  has  a  standing  ofier 
of  $2000  in  gold.  An  Amati  is  also  in  her  little  collection, 
and  the  prize  violin  of  the  Exposition  of  1867,  made  by  C. 
A.  Miremont,  which  was  sent  her  at  the  close  of  the  Exposi- 
tion.    Iler  bow  was  made  in  1812. 

The  grave,  and  frequently  sad  expression  of  Madame 
Urso's  face,  during  her  performances,  has  given  rise  to  many 
anecdotes  of  her  life  which  are  absurdly  untrue. 

All  who  love  the  charming  artist  will  be  glad  to  know  that 
family  sufferings  do  not  add  to  the  pathos  of  her  ^  Elegies,"  and 
that  beatings  are  not  reserved  for  the  patient  mistress  of  the 
bow. 

Those  who  have  the  pleasure  of  her  acquaintance  know  that 
a  more  genial,  sunny  enthusiast  does  not  exist  than  the  sup- 
posed victim  of  marital  cruelty.  Simple  in  her  tastes,  single- 
minded  in  her  devotion  to  her  art,  she  denies  herself  society. 


CAMILLA    UBSO.  565 

and  lives  for  ber  violin  and  her  few  cherished  friends.  She 
is  no  idler,  satisfied  with  the  attainments  of  the  past,  but 
steadily  works  her  way  to  new  laurels.  Seven  and  eight 
hours  a  day  is  ber  usual  time  of  practice,  and  in  the  long 
summer  days,  when  other  artists  seek  change  or  diversion, 
she  finds  her  recreation  in  her  beloved  instrument. 

On  being  asked  whether  she  composed  for  her  violin,  she 
answered,  ''Yes,  some  little  pieces, — the  Mother's  Prayer, 
the  Dream,  —  but  they  are  nothing.  It  is  enough  for  me  to 
render  the  works  of  the  great  masters.'* 

In  her  childlike  devotion  to  -the  genius  of  Beethoven, 
Chopin,  and  Mendelssohn,  she  reminds  one  of  Hilda,  the  girl- 
artist  of  Hawthorne's  ^*  Marble  Faun,"  whose  life  was  spent  in 
study  of  Baphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  It  is  better,  thinks 
this  earnest  woman,  to  render  vocal  the  great  conceptions  of 
the  past,  than  to  win  a  cheap  reputation  by  fleeting  musical 
mediocrities. 

Her  remarkable  memory  retains  all  the  music  she  plays, 
the  orchestral  pai*ts  as  well  as  her  own. 

Madame  Urso's  stay  in  this  country  is  now  uncertain.  Her 
latest  performances  have  been  in  the  New  England  cities,  and 
in  New  York.  She  has  accepted  an  engagement  in  Cali- 
fornia, and  will  probably  leave  for  Ban  Francisco  in  July. 
Her  ardent  desire  is  to  return  to  Paris,  and  make  that  city  her 
home.  If  she  leaves  us,  it  will  be  with  the  possibility  of 
coming  again  to  America,  at  some  time  in  the  distant  future. 
She  will  take  with  her  a  thousand  good  wishes,  and  leave 
b'^hind  her  memories  of  delight. 


566  SUINENI    WOMEN    OV    THE    AOE. 


HARRIET    G.   HOSHER. 


■«o«- 


BY  REV.  R.  B.  THURSTON. 

to* 


The  number  of  women  who  have  acquired  celebrity 
in  tBe  art  of  painting  is  large ;  but  half  a  score  would  prob« 
ably  include  all  the  names  of  those  who  have  achieved  great- 
ness in  sculpture.  Without  raising  the  question  whether 
women  are  intellectually  the  equals  of  men,  or  the  other 
question,  which  some  affirm  and  some  deny,  whether  there  is 
*^sex  of  the  soul,*'  they  differ;  and  there  are  manifest  reasons 
of  the  hand,  the  eye,  and  the  taste,  for  which  it  should  be 
anticipated  that  they  would  generally  neglect  the  one  depart- 
ment of  86sthetic  pursuits,  and  cultivate  the  other  with  dis- 
tinguished success.  The  palette,  the  pencil,  and  colors  fall 
naturally  to  their  hands ;  but  mallets  and  chisels  are  weighty 
and  painful  implements,  and  masses  of  wet  clay,  blocks  of 
marble,  and  castings  of  bronze  are  rude  and  intractable  mate- 
rials for  feminine  labors.  Sculpture  has  special  hindrances 
for  woman,  — though  not  for  any  lack  of  power  in  her  concep- 
tion and  invention,  yet  in  the  manual  difficulties  of  the  art 
itself.  But  genius  and  earnestness  overcome  all  obstacles, 
and  supply  untiring  strength ;  and  the  world  give  honorable 
recognition  to  those  women  who  have,  with  a  spirit  of  vigor 
and  heroism,  challenged  a  place  by  the  side  of  their  brothers 
as  statuaries,  and  have  with  real  success  brought  out  the  form 
of  beauty  and  the  expression  of  life  and  passion  which  sleep 
in  the  shapeless  and  silent  stone. 


A 


£66 


SHINENX    WOUEK    OV    THE   AOE. 


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HABRIBT    G.    HOSMEB.  567 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  examples  is  found  in  the 
B-jbject  of  the  following  sketch.  The  materials  from  which 
it  is  composed  are  derived  from  much  correspondence,  for 
which  we  are  under  special  obligations  to  Wayman  Crow, 
Esq.,  of  St.  Louis,  the  early  friend  of  the  artist,  and  to  Dr. 
Alfred  Hosmer,  her  kinsman,  now  of  Watertown,  Mass. ; 
from  notices  and  descriptions  of  her  works  in  various  periodi- 
cals, and  from  narratives  published  several  years  ago  by  Mrs. 
L.  Maria  Child,  in  a  Western  magazine,  and  Mrs.  Eilet, 
in  her  volume  of  the  '*  Artist  Women  of  all  Ages  and  Coun- 
tries.'' The  latter  gives  a  consistent  portraiture  of  Miss  Hos- 
mer, but  has  been  led  into  inaccuracies  in  regard  to  several 
of  the  alleged  facts.  The  notice  of  Tuckerman,  in  his  book* 
of  ^American  Artist  Life,"  is  quite  too  meagre  to  be  just  and 
valuable.  Mrs.  Child,  who  was  a  family  friend,  and  at  one 
time  nearest  neighbor  of  Dr.  Hosmer,  and  who  wrote  in  his 
house,  furnished  a  very  pleasing  and  reliable  sketch.  Great 
care  has  been  taken  to  preserve  in  these  pages  everything 
which  is  valuable,  and  to  exclude  whatever  is  not  authentic. 

Harriet  G.  Hosmer  was  born  in  Watertown,  Mass.,  Oc- 
tober 9,  1830.  Undoubtedly  she  was  endowed  with  rare 
genius  by  nature ;  and  the  incidents  of  her  early  life  evidently 
conduced  much  to  its  development  in  her  chosen  pursuit,  and 
to  the  bold  and  unique  traits  of  character  for  which  she  is 
distinguished. 

Her  father  was  an  eminent  phj'sician,  whose  wife  and  elder 
daughter  died  of  consumption  while  she  was  yet  a  child, leaving 
her  the  only  domestic  solace  of  his  afflictions,  and  hope  of  hia 
heart.  She  inherited  a  delicate  constitution,  and,  as  if  he  saw 
the  same  spectral  hand  which  had  desolated  his  home  reach- 
ing out  for  her,  he  made  the  preservation  of  her  health  the 
first  consideration  in  his  system  of  juvenile  training.  It  was 
a  maxim  with  him,  "There  is  a  whole  lifetime  for  the  educa- 
tion of  the  mind ;  but  the  body  develops  in  a  few  years  i 


568  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

and,  during  that  time,  nothing  should  be  allowed  to  interfere 
with  its  free  and  healthy  growth.** 

In  her  early  childhood  Harriet  was  much  abroad,  usually 
accompanied  by  a  little  dug,  which  she  tricked  out  with  gay 
ribbons  and  small,  tinkling  bells ;  while  her  fearless  ways  and 
bright,  pleasant  features  often  drew  the  attention  of  strangers. 
Dr.  Hosmer's  house  stood  near  the  bank  of  the  Charles  River, 
and  her  youth  was  inured  to  skating,  rowing,  and  swimming, 
as  well  as  archery,  shooting,  and  riding.  Horse,  boat,  and 
weapons  were  supplied,  and  diligently  she  improved  them. 
She  became  remarkable  for  dashing  boldness,  skill,  and  grace. 
She  could  tramp  with  a  hunter,  manage  her  steed  like  an 
^Arabian,  rival  the  most  fearless  in  «the  chase,  and  the  best 
marksmen  with  gun  and  pistol,  and  astonish  and  alarm  her 
friends  by  her  feats  upon  and  in  the  water,  as  agile  and  varied 
as  those  of  a  sea-nymph. 

Machinery  very  early  excited  her  interest.  Her  questions 
elicited  information,  and  her  ingenuity  appeared  in  little  contriv- 
ances for  her  own  amusement.  A  clay-pit>  near  home  afforded 
materials,  and  there  she  spent  many  hours  in  modelling 
horses,  dogs,  and  other  objects  which  attracted  her  attention. 

The  fruits  of  her  tastes  and  her  prowess  gradually  found 
their  place  in  the  house.  Her  own  room  became  a  cabinet 
of  natural  history,  and  the  curious  works  of  her  youthful 
genius.  Game,  furred  and  feathered,  which  her  gun  had 
brought  down,  dissected  and  stuffed  by  her  own  hands,  but-' 
terflies  and  beetles  in  glass  cases,  and  reptiles  preserved  in 
spirits  covered  the  walls.  An  inkstand  was  made  of  a  sea- 
guirs  egg  and  the  body  of  a  kingfisher.  Among  her  trophies 
a  crow's  nest,  which  she  climbed  a  lofty  tree  to  obtain  during 
her  school-days  at  Lenox,  rested,  after  she  had  gained  fam^ 
in  Italy,  on  the  stand  which  she  had  made  for  it. 

While  she  was  thus  securing  physical  health  and  power  of 
endurance,  her  mind  was  growing  as  well ;  but  not  without 


HABRIET    G.    HOSMEB.  569 

certain  incidental  disadvantages  from  the  free,  wild,  and  even 
rude  manner  of  its  development.  Books  did  not  suit  her 
active  temperament  and  her  taste  for  concrete  things.  Of 
education  and  culture  in  the  sense  of  the  schools,  during  the 
years  of  childhood,  she  had  little.  In  this  respect  she  resem- 
bles Bosa  Bonheur,  who  found  her  early  education  chiefly  in 
the  lessons  of  nature  learned  out  of  doors.  Her  sports  and 
the  prophetic  labors  of  the  clay-pit  beguiled  many  of  the 
hours  of  study  ;  and,  very  naturally,  through  her  unrestrained 
liberty  and  occupations  usually  regarded  as  suitable  onl^for 
boys,  she  acquired  much  of  the  character  and  manners  of  a 
brave,  roguish  boy.  She  was  an  intractable  pupil,  and  if  the 
report  is  correct  was  ''expelled  from  one  school,  and  given 
over  as  incorrigible  at  another."  Nevertheless  it  is  said, 
*'  Those  who  knew  her  well  loved  her  dearly,"  and  defended 
her  from  criticism  with  the  testimony,  "  There  is  never  any 
immodesty  in  her  fearlessness,  nor  any  malice  in  her  fun.** 
Yet  at  this  period  she  was  a  mystery  to  her  friends.  There 
is  good  testimony  at  hand  that  ''  her  o\vn  father  confessed 
again  and  again  his  ignorance  "  of  her. 

It  is  little  matter,  so  long  as  there  is  no  moral  damage, 
when  outrage  is  done  to  mere  conventionalities;  and  great 
gain  to  health,  enjoyment,  enterprise,  and  genius  may  well 
raise  inquiry  whether  a  public  sentiment  in  regard  to  the  edu- 
cation of  girls  baa  not  prevailed  quite  too  much  to  the 
effect  that  they  should  be 

"  Ground  down  enough 
To  flatten  and  bake  Into  a  wholesome  crost 
For  household  uses  and  proprieties." 

Anecdotes  abound  in  illustration  of  Miss  Hosmer's  un- 
tamed frolicsomeness  and  disposition  to  practical  jokes.  In 
one  of  those  moods  of  unlicensed  humor  she  caused  to  be 
published  in  the  Boston  papers  a  notice  of  the  death  of  an 


670  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THK    AGE* 

aged  and  retired  physician  then  residing  in  her  native  vill.ige« 
His  friends,  moved  by  the  intelligence,  came  from  the  city  to 
make  inquiries  concerning  the  sudden  event,  and  to  offer  their 
condolence. 

This  incident  led  to  the  first  important  transition  in  her 
life ;  for  it  convinced  her  father  that  some  new  measures  were 
essential  in  her  education ;  and,  after  careful  inquiry,  in  her 
sixteenth  year,  Miss  Hosmer  was  placed  in  the  celebrated 
school  of  Mrs.  Sedgwick,  in  Lenox,  Berkshire  County,  Mas- 
sachusetts. Dr.  Hosmer  frankly  informed  Mrs.  Sedgwick 
of  nis  daughter's  history  and  peculiar  traits,  and  that  teachers 
had  found  her  difficult  to  manage.  The  pupil  was  received 
with  the  remark,  *'I  have  a  reputation  for  training  wild  colts, 
and  I  will  try  this  one." 

With  the  old  anxiety,  and  in  accordance  with  his  fixed 
principle  of  securing  the  physical  development  first,  and  the 
mental  afterwards.  Dr.  Hosmer  had  stipulated  that  her  ath* 
letic  exercises  should  be  continued.  They  were,  indeed, 
included  in  the  training  of  the  school ;  but  in  all  the  feats  of 
strength,  courage,  and  agility,  Harriet  was  the  wonder  of  her 
companions. 

Mrs.  Fanny  Kemble  was  accustomed  to  spend  summers  at 
Lenox,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  of  the  Sedgwicks.  Sur- 
prising anecdotes  are  related  by  eye-witnesses  of  her  strength 
and  her  equestrian  feats.  Miss  Hosmer  enjoyed  opportuni- 
ties of  hearing  her  reading  and  conversation,  and  received 
from  her  friendly  encouragement  in  her  art-career,  which  was 
afterwards  gratefully  acknowledged.  Her  passion  for  sculp- 
ture found  exercise  in  making  plaster  casts  of  the  hands  of 
her  mates.  Her  room  was  decorated,  as  before  at  home,  with 
the  trophies  of  the  hunt  and  the  spoils  of  the  woods. 

She  remained  threo  years  under  the  judicious  care  of  Mrs- 
Sedgwick,  forming  permanent  friendships  in  the  school,  be 
coming  acquainted  with  many  persons  of  eminence,  moulded 


HARRIET    G.    HOSMER.  571 

by  society  of  the  first  order,  and  inspired  by  the  romantic 
mountiiiii  scenery,  —  a  combination  of  influences  of  nature 
and  of  life,  which,  in  her  father's  judgment,  were  highly  con- 
ducive to  the  success  she  so  early  attained.  When  in  her 
nineteenth  year  she  returned  to  Watertown,  muck  improved 
by  the  wise  direction  given  to  her  energies,  her  early  predi- 
lections ripened  into  a  purpose  to  make  sculpture  her  pursuit. 
She  had  a  thought,  —  she  must  make  it  a  thing. 

Having  this  end  in  view,  she  entered  the  studio  of  Mr. 
Stephenson,  in  Boston,  for  lessons  in  drawing  and  modelling, 
frequently  walkmg  the  distance  from  home  and  back  of  four- 
teen miles,  besides  performing  her  lesthetic  tasks.  Under  his 
instruction  she  completed  a  beautiful  portrait-bust  of  a  child, 
and  a  spirited  head  of  Byron  in  wax. 

To  perfect  herself  in  anatomy,  so  essential  to  the  sculptor, 
Miss  Hosmer  desired,  in  addition  to  all  she  could  learn  from 
books  and  her  father,  the  knowledge  which  can  be  obtained 
only  in  the  dissecting-room.  The  Boston  Medical  School  had 
refused  a  request  for  the  admission  of  a  woman,  but  the  Med- 
ical College  of  St.  Louis  afforded  the  required  facilities. 
Prof.  McDowell  gave  her  eflicient  aid,  and  sometimes  private 
lectures,  when  she  was  present  while  he  prepared  for  his  pub- 
li3  demonstrations.  She  acknowledged  her  obligations  to 
him  ^  with  great  affection  and  gratitude,  as  being  a  most  thor- 
ough and  patient  teacher,  as  well  as  at  all  times  a  good,  kind 
friend ; "  and  afterwards  confirmed  her  words  by  presenting 
to  him  a  medallion  likeness,  cut  in  marble  from  a  bust  4)y 
Clevenger.  She  received  a  diploma  for  her  attainments. 
•  Friendship  added  charms  to  the  pursuit  of  science  in  St. 
Louis.  At  Lenox  she  had  formed  an  affectionate  intimacy 
with  a  school-mate,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Wayman  Crow,  an 
eminent  citizen  of  that  city.  An  invitation  to  visit  there 
had  incidentally  opened  way  to  the  scientific  privileges  she 


572  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Bought ;  while  in  his  family  she  found  her  residence,  and  in 
him,  she  says,  ''the  best  friend  I  ever  had.** 

In  that  Western  city,  as  aforetime,  Miss  Hosmer  set  at 
defiance  the  conventional  rules  which  ordinarily  govern,  and 
perhaps  too  much  afflict,  young  women,  both  by  entering  the 
classes  f  )r  instruction,  and  by  her  transits  by  day  or  evening 
from  the  dwelling  to  the  college,  as  well  as  by  her  customary 
exercises.  The  tongue  of  animadversion  could  not,  perhaps, 
be  entirely  silent,  even  though,  in  that  new  region,  with  its 
fresh  social  freedom,  she  might  be  less  exposed  to  censure 
than  in  the  older  and  more  staid  New  England ;  but  it  is 
asserted  to  the  credit  of  the  members  of  the  college  that  she 
suffered  no  annoyance  from  them.  Some  may  believe  that  a 
knowledge  of  her  prowess  in  the  use  of  deadly  weapons  was 
her  security,  —  for  it  would  be  little  honor  to  fall  by  a  wom- 
an's shot,  —  and  others  may  hold  that  blamelessness  without 
affectation,  integrity,  and  earnestness  of  character  in  a  high 
pursuit  are  their  own  best  protection,  —  safer  than  any  rules 
of  a  suspicious  and  prudish  propriety.  She  justified  herself 
to  her  friends,  gained  their  hearts  by  her  vivacious  and  genial 
qualities  in  the  domestic  circle,  and  preserved  unsullied  honor. 

Before  her  final  departure  from  St.  Louis  for  her  native 
place,  she  resolved  to  see  as  much  of  the  West  as  possible. 
It  was  the  dry  and  warm  season  of  the  year,  and  the  naviga- 
tion of  the  Father  of  waters  was  uncertain  and  difiicult.  Sho 
embarked  for  New  Orleans ;  spent  several  days  in  that  city, 
making  herself  acquainted  with  its  objects  of  interest,  sleep- 
ing on  board  of  the  steamer,  and  returned,  attended  all  the 
way  by  her  usual  good  fortune.  Without  stopping  so  long  2S^ 
to  greet  her  friends,  she  ascended  the  river  to  the  Falls  of  St. 
Anthony,  on  a  challenge  from  the  captain  of  the  boat,  scal- 
ing a  lofty  cliff,  which  had  been  regarded  as  inaccessible,  with 
the  coui-age  and  agility  of  an  Alpine  hunter,  and  which  ac- 
cording to  his  promise,   received  the  name  of   Hosmer's 


HAB2IET    G.    H06MEB.  573 

Height ;  visited  the  Dacotah  Indians,  smoking  the  pipe  of 
peace  with  the  chief,  which  was  afterwards  preserved  in  ^  the 
old  house  at  home ; "  and  explored  the  lead  mines  at  Dubuque, 
narrowly  escaping  a  fatal  accident  there,  which  would  have 
left  her  friends  in  ignorance  of  her  fate ;  for  they  did  not 
know  where  the  spirit  of  adventure  had  led  her ;  and  her 
arrival  at  St.  Louis  again  was  the  relief  of  their  anxiety. 

These  happy  months  over,  she  returned  to  her  father's  house 
and  her  art.  Ever  ready  to  indulge  and  facilitate  her  pur- 
pose, Dr.  Hosmer  fitted  up  a  small  studio  for  her  conven- 
ience in  his  garden,  which  she  called  facetiously  her  shop. 
There  she  wrought  out  various  contrivances  of  mechanical 
ingenuity,  and  produced  her  first  work  in  marble, — a  reduced 
copy  of  Canova's  bust  of  Napoleon,  for  her  father.  The  labor 
was  performed  by  her  own  hands,  that  she  might  be  practi- 
cally familiar  with  every  part  of  the  process.  The  likeness 
and  workmanship  are  both  good. 

Soon  afterwards  she  commenced  Hesper, — her  first  original 
and  ideal  work.  Mrs.  Child,  who  saw  it  in  the  garden  studio 
in  the  summer  of  1852,  by  Dr.  Hosmer's  invitation,  gives  the 
following  account  of  its  execution  and  description,  which 
were  published  in  the  "New  York  Tribune,"  under  the  cap- 
tion, "  A  New  Star  in  the  Arts : "  — 

''She  did  every  stroke  of  the  work  with  her  own  small  hands, 
except  knocking  off  the  comers  of  the  block  of  marble.  She 
employed  a  man  to  do  that ;  but  as  he  was  unused  to  work  for 
sculptors,  she  did  not  venture  to  have  him  approach  within 
several  inches  of  the  surface  she  intended  to  cut.  Slight  girl  as 
she  was,  she  wielded  for  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day,  a  leaden  mallet 
weighingfour  pounds  and  ahalf.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  strength 
and  flexibility  of  muscle  acquired  by  rowing  and  other  athletio 
exercises,  such  arduous  labor  would  have  been  impossible. 

''I  expected  to  see  skilful  workmanship;  but  I  was  not 


574         Eminent  womek  oi*  the  age. 

prepared  for  such  a  poetic  conception.  This  beautiful  pro- 
duction of  Miss  Hosmer's  hand  and  soul  has  the  face  of 
a  lovely  maiden,  gently  falling  asleep  to  the  sound  of  dis« 
taut  music.  Her  hair  is  gracefully  arranged,  and  intertwined 
with  capsules  of  the  poppy.  A  polished  star  gleams  on 
her  forehead,  and  under  her  breast  lies  the  crescent  moon. 
The  hush  of  evening  breathes  from  the  serene  countenance 
and  the  heavily  drooping  eyelids.  I  felt  tranquillized  while 
looking  at  it,  as  I  do  when  the  rosy  clouds  are  fading  into 
gray  twilight,  and  the  pale  moon-sickle  descends  slowly  be> 
hind  the  dim  woods.  The  mechanical  execution  of  this  bust 
seemed  to  me  worthy  of  its  lovely  and  lifelike  expression. 
The  swell  of  cheek  and  breast  is  like  pure,  young,  healthy 
flesh ;  and  the  muscles  of  the  beautiful  mouth  are  so  delicately 
cut,  that  it  seems  like  a  thing  that  breathes." 

Uesper  was  presented  by  the  artist  to  her  friend,  Miss 
Uoolidge,  of  Boston. 

When  it  was  completed  she  said  to  her  father,  **  Now  I  am 
ready  to  go  to  Rome.''.  Rome  is  the  Mecca  of  artists.  The 
tomb  of  the  prophet  is  not  more  attractive  to  devout  Mussul* 
men  than  its  Aesthetic  treasures  to  all  the  children  of  genius. 
They  flow  thither  from  every  cultivated  nation,  for  the  study 
of  the  noblest  models,  the  inheritance  of  ancient  and  modern 
ages,  for  the  sympathy  and  encouragement  of  companions  iti 
aspirations  and  toils,  for  the  exhilaration  and  joy  of  artistic 
fellowship, — perhaps,  also,  for  the  indispensable  end  of  more 
favorable  opportunities  for  making  known  their  works  and 
of  obtaining  remuneration  for  their  life-labors;  and  they 
often  encounter  as  well  the  trials  which  spring  from  our  poor 
nature,  and  allow  no  paradise  on  earth,  —  the  envy,  jealousy, 
bitter  criticism,  and  aspersion  of  partakers  and  competitors  in 
the  same  pursuits  and  the  same  glories. 

About  this  time  Miss  Hosmer  formed  acquaintan'te  with 


HABBIET    G.    HOSMER.  575 

Miss  Charlotte  Cushman,  who  recognized  her  ability,  and  kin- 
dled her  desire  to  study  at  Rome  to  a  flame.  It  was  arranged 
that  her  father,  whose  affection  and  devotion  to  his  daughter 
seemed  to  equal  her  energy  and  enthusiasm,  should  accompany 
her  there,  and  leave  her,  returning  himself  to  his  profession. 

She  rode  on  horseback  to  Wayland  to  bid  farewell  to  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Child,  and  said,  in  reply  to  the  questions,  ^  Shall 
you  never  be  homesick  for  your  museum  parlor  in  Water- 
town  ?  Can  you  be  contented  in  a  foreign  land  ?  "  **  I  can  be 
happy  anywhere  with  good  health  and  a  bit  of  marbte.'' 

Lingering  only  a  week  in  England,  in  her  eager  haste,  she 
arrived  at  '*  the  Eternal  City  **  November  12,  1852.  John 
Gibson,  the  most  renowned  of  English  sculptors  of  this 
century,  was  then  in  the  zenith  of  his  fame.  It  was  the 
young  artist's  strong  desire  to  become  his  pupil,  —  a  desire 
clouded  with  much  apprehension,  because  it  had  been  inti- 
mated that  want  of  persistency  in  overcoming  difficulties  on 
the  part  of  ladies  had  brought  disappointment  upon  instruct- 
ors ;  and  the  success  of  her  application  was  extremely  doubt- 
ful. But  two  days  after  the  arrival  a  friendly  sculptor  laid 
before  him,  as  he  sat  at  breakfast  at*  the  Cafe  Gr^co,  two 
daguerreotypes,  the  one  presenting  a  front,  the  other  a  pro- 
file view  of  Hesper,  and  stated  briefly  Miss  Hosmer's  history 
and  desire.  Mr.  Gibson  contemplated  them  silently  for  a  few 
moments  and  then  said,  "Send  the  young  lady  to  me, — 
whatever  I  can  teach  her,  she  shall  learn."  The  ^  London  Art 
Journal"  asserts  that  she  was  received  by  Mr.  Gibson,  "not  aa 
a  professed  pupil,  but  as  the  artist  friend  of  our  country- 
man." Mrs.  Ellet  writes,  "Ere  long  a  truly  paternal  and 
filial  affection  sprung  up  between  the  master  and  the  pupil,  a 
source  of  great  happiness  to  themselves,  and  of  pleasure  and 
amusement  to  all  who  know  and  value  them,  from  the  curious 
likeness,  yet  unlikeness,  which  existed  from  the  first  in  Miss 
Hosmer  to  Mr.  Gibson,  and  which  daily  intercourse  has  not 


576  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

tended  to  lessen."  She  expressed  her  joy  in  the  new  relation 
in  a  letter.  **  The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  is  gratified  in 
that  I  am  acknowledged  by  Gibson  as  a  pupil.  Ho  has  been 
resident  in  Rome  thirty-four  years,  and  leads  the  van.  I  am 
greatly  in  luck*  He  has  just  finished  the  model  of  the  statue 
of  the  queen ;  and,  as  his  rooifa  is  yacant,  he  permits  me  to 
use  it,  and  I  am  now  in  his  own  studio.  I  have  also  a  little 
room  for  work  which  was  formerly  occupied  by  Canova,  and 
perhaps  inspiration  may  be  drawn  from  the  walls." 

The  approach  to  the  apartment  she  occupied  was  from  the 
Via  Foutauella  through  a  large  room  containing  numerous 
productions  of  Mr.  Gibson's  genius,  a  garden  filled  with 
orange  and  lemon  trees  and  various  Sowers,  a  fountain  trick- 
ling in  a  shady  recess,  then  the  master's  studio,  and  from 
this  by  a  Sight  of  stairs  within  a  curtain,  —  nature,  imagina- 
tion, and  labor,  all  at  one.  She  remained  seven  years  in  the 
studio  of  her  teacher  and  friend. 

The  first  winter  in  Rome  was  spent  in  modelling  from  the 
antique.  The  Venus  of  Milo,  the  Cupid  of  Praxiteles,  and 
Tasso  of  the  British  Museum,  were  copied,  in  which  the 
pupil  proved  the  correctness  of  her  eye,  the  soundness  of  her 
knowledge,  and  power  of  imitating  the  roundness  and  soft- 
ness of  flesh,  which  Mr.  Gibson  on  one  occasion  stated  he 
had  never  seen  surpassed  and  rarely  equalled.  Her  faculty 
of  original  conception  had  been  evinced  before  in  Hesper.       • 

Her  first  design  was  the  bust  of  Daphne,  the  beautiful 
maiden  changed  into  a  Laurel  when  fleeing  from  Apollo,  after 
the  god  had  slain  her  lover,  beseeching  the  earth  to  swallow 
her  up.  It  is  now  in  the  possession  of  her  liberal  patron  and 
friend  of  St.  Louis,  W.  Crow.       ^ 

It  was  speedily  followed  by  the  Medusa,  represented  as 
she  was  before  she  was  transformed  into  a  gorgon.  The  hair, 
retreating  in  waves  from  the  forehead,  changes  into  serpents. 
It  is  described  as  a  **  lovely  thing;  faultless  in  form,  and  in- 


HARRIET    G.    HOSMER.  577 

tense  in  its  expression  of  horror  and  agony,  without  trenching 
on  the  physically  painful.'*  It  is  owned  by  Mrs.  Appleton,  of 
Boston. 

**  These  busts/'  wrote  Mr.  Gibson,  **  do  her  great  honor." 
They  were  publicly  exhibited  in  Boston  in  1853.  The  next 
year  Mr.  Gibson  wrote  to  Dr.  Hosmcr,  to  give  him  assur- 
ance of  his  daughter's  unabated  industry  and  success  in  her 
profession,  relating  also  the  favorable  judgment  of  the  Prus- 
sian Ranch,  then  very  aged  and  one  of  the  greatest  of  living 
sculptors. 

In  the  summer  of  1855  Miss  Hosmer  completed  Q3none, 
her  first  full-length  figure  in  marble.  CEnone  was  a  nymph 
of  mount  Ida,  who  became  the  wife  of  Paris,  the  beautiful 
shepherd,  to  whom  Venus  had  promised  the  fairest  woman  in 
the  world.  The  statue  represents  her  as  a  shepherdess,  bend- 
ing with  grief  for  her  husband's  desertion.  Her  crook  lies  on 
the  ground.  It  was  sent  to  Mr.  Crow,  who  had  given  her, 
at  her  departure  from  America,  an  order  for  her  first  statue, 
to  be  filled  in  her  own  time  by  a  subject  of  her  own  selec- 
tion. It  is  a  very  beautiful  production,  and  afforded  such 
satisfaction  that  she  was  commissioned  to  execute  another, 
on  the  same  terms,  for  the  Mercantile  Library  of  St.  Louis. 

This  order  was  answered  after  two  years  by  the  life-size 
statue  of  Beatrice  Cenci,  sleeping  in  her  cell,  B&er  having 
been  subjected  to  extreme  torture,  the  morning  before  her 
execution. 

Her  father,  a  monster  who  deserved  double  death,  but  had 
escaped  public  justice  by  his  wealth,  had  been  assassinated. 
The  daughter  was  accused  of  parricide,  and,  though  guiltless, 
condemned.     The  marble  expresses  the  sleep  of  innocence. 

This  was  a  very  fine  work.    It  was  exhibited  in  London,  and 

several  American  cities,  where  it  received  high  encomiums. 

A  beautiful  engraving  of  it  was  published  in  the  •*  London  Art 

Journal"  with  honorable  criticism.     Mr.  Gibson  is  said  to 

87 


678  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

have  remarked,  on  yiewing  it  completed,  "I  can  teach  her 
nothing/'  It  was  a  gift  to  the  library,  of  an  unknown 
friend  to  the  artist. 

The  insalubrity  of  the  Campagna,  the  level  country  sur- 
rounding Bome,  is  well  known.  Southward  is  the  region 
of  the  Pontine  marshes,  of  ancient  malarious  fame,  on 
which  consuls,  emperors,  and  popes  have  made  vast  expendi- 
tures, Without  subduing  the  malignity  of  nature.  The  pesti- 
lential air  still  spreads  pallor  over  the  features  of  the  poor 
people  who  are  compelled  to  live  there,  and  even  invades  the 
city.  It  was  the  wish  of  Dr.  Hosmer  that  Iiis  daughter  should 
take  refuge  in  some  health}'-  place  during  the  sickly  season, 
and  the  first  summer  was  passed  at  Sorrento,  on  the  bay  of 
Naples.  The  next  year  her  zeal  prevailed  against  all  consid- 
erations of  prudence ;  she  would  not  leave  the  shadow  of  St. 
Peter's  and  the  art  treasures  in  the  midst  of  which  she 
wrought.  The  third  summer,  1855,  came,  and  she  prepared 
for  a  journey  to  England.  But  the  course  of  true  art,  like 
that  of  love,  does  not  always  run  smoothly.  The  resources 
of  Dr.  Hosmer  were  not  inexhaustible ;  the  expenses  of  the 
aiiiist's  residence  and  pursuits  in  Bome  were  large ;  financi^il 
embarrassments  were  encountered;  and  retrenchment  was 
urged  with  emphasis  from  home.  In  these  circumstances  she 
remained  to  prosecute  her  labors  with  the  aim  to  produce 
some  work  of  such  attractive  character  as  should  secure  im- 
mediate returns.  The  result  was  Puck,  described  by  Shake- 
speare's fairy :  — 

**  Either  I  mistake  yoor  shape  and  making  quite, 
Or  else  yon  are  that  shrewd  and  knavish  sprite 
Galled  Robin  Qood-foUow;  are  yon  not  he 
That  fright  the  maidens  of  the  villagery; 
Skim  milk  ;  and  sometimes  labor  in  the  qnom, 
And  bootless  make  the  breathless  housewife  chnm  { 
And  sometimes  make  the  drink  to  bear  no  barm  ; 
Mislead  night-wanderers  laughing  at  their  harm? 
Those  that  Hobgoblin  call  you,  and  sweet  Pnok, 
Ton  do  their  work  ;  and  thej  shall  have  good  look." 


HARBIET    G.    HOSMER.  579 

It  is  about  the  size  of  a  child  four  years  of  age,  seated  on  a 
toadstool  which  splits  beneath  its  weight.  The  lips  are  pout- 
ing ;  a  muscle-shell  cleaves  to  the  forehead  at  the  parting  of 
the  hair ;  the  left  hand  rests,  confining  under  it  a  lizard ;  the 
right  hand  holds  a  beetle,  and  is  raised  in  the  act  of  throw- 
ing ;  the  legs  are  crossed,  and  the  great  toe  of  the  right  foot 
turns  pertly  up ;  —  the  whole  composing  a  figure  of  so  much 
drollery  and  fun,  that  those  who  have  seen  it,  when  describ- 
ing it,  are  wont  to  break  into  a  gleeful  laugh.  This  unique 
impersonation  of  humor  in  marble,  conceived,  perhaps  like 
some  gems  of  humorous  poetry  and  romance  in  the  hour  of 
adversity,  has  been  very  popular.  Twenty-five  or  thirty 
copies  have  been  made.  One  is  in  the  collection  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales. 

Puck  was  followed  by  a  companion  figure  named  TVill-o'- 
the-Wisp. 

At  this  time  was  resident  in  Rome  Madame  Falconnet,  an 
English  lady,  whose  daughter,  a  lovely  girl  of  sixteen  years, 
had  recently  died.  Being  a  Catholic,  6*he  was  permitted  to 
erect  a  mortuary  monument  in  the  church  of  San  Andrea  del 
Fratte.  The  design  was  entrusted  to  Miss  Hosmer.  It  was 
modelled  in  clay  in  the  winter  of  1857,  and  executed^in  mar- 
ble a  year  later.  It  is  a  portrait  statue  of  the  daughter,  the 
figure  of  a  beautiful  maiden^  resting  upon  a  sarcophagus,  in 
the  sleep  that  has  no  waking.  In  this  production  the  still 
repose  of  death  is  finely  contrasted  with  the  breathing  slum- 
ber of  life,  which  even  the  stone  expresses  in  Beatrice  Cenci. 
Mr.  Layard,  distinguished  for  his  explorations  in  Nineveh, 
thus  speaks  of  it  in  a  letter  addressed  to  Madame  Falconnet : 
"I  think  you  may  rest  fully  satisfied  with  Miss  Hosmer 'a 
success.  It  exceeds  any  expectations  I  had  formed.  The 
unaffected  simplicity  and  tender  feeling  displayed  in  the 
treatment  is  all  that  could  be  desired  for  such  a  subject,  and 
cannot  fail  to  touch  the  most  casual  observer.    I  scarcely 


580  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

* 

remember  ever  to  have  seen  a  monument  which  more  com- 
pletely commanded  my  sympathy  and  more  deeply  interested 
me.  I  really  know  of  none,  of  modern  days,  which  I  would 
rather  have  placed  over  the  remains  of  one  who  had  been 
dear  to  me.  Do  not  believe  this  is  exaggerated  praise.  I 
faithfully  convey  to  you  the  impression  made  on  me.  I  attrib- 
ute this  impression,  not  more  to  the  artistic  merit  of  the 
work  than  to  the  complete  absence  of  all  affectation,  to  the 
simple  truthfulness  and  genuine  feeling  of  the  monument 
itself."    Mr.  Gibson  concurred  in  this  commendation. 

This  was  the  first  instance  of  the  work  of  a  foreign  sculp- 
tor finding  a  permanent  place  in  Rome.  It  was  a  tribute  of 
the  high  appreciation  in  which  the  artist  was  then  held  and 
was  regarded  as  a  great  honor. 

About  the  same  period  was  modelled  the  fountain  of  Hylas 
In  mythological  story,  Hylas,  the  adopted  son  of  Hei'cules, 
when  the  Argonautic  expedition  stopped  at  Mysia,  went  to  a 
well  for  water.  Th^  naiads  of  the  fountain,  enraptured  with 
his  beauty,  drew  him  in,  and  he  was  drowned. 

The  design  of  the  sculptor  consists  of  a  basin  in  which  dol- 
phins are  spouting  jets,  and  an  upper  basin  snpported  by 
swans  ;•  from  this  rises  a  pyramid,  on  which  the  fair  boy 
stands,  while  the  nymphs  reach  up  their  hands  to  draw  him 
into  the  waters  at  his  feet.  The  conception  is  classically  just 
and  highly  poetical. 

Before  the  two  works  last  described  were  executed  in 
marble,  in  the  summer  of  1857,  Miss  Hosmer  returned  to 
America, — five  years  from  her  departure.  She  had  become 
a  daughter  of  fame,  but  was  still  a  child  of  nature.  Her  viva- 
city remained;  she  was  modest  and  unpretentious  in  her 
enthusiasm ;  and  her  aspirations  were  kindled  for  yet  higher 
achievements  in  the  realms  of  art. 

During  this  visit  her  mind  was  much  occupied  with  the 
design  of  a  statue  of  Zenobia,  Queen  of  Palmyra,  as  she 


HABBIET    G.    HOSMER.  581 

appeared  when  led  in  chains  in  the  triumphal  procession  of 
Aurelian.  She  searched  libraries  and  read  everything  that 
could  be  found  relating  to  that  illustrious  and  unfortunate 
sovereign.  Subsequently  she  labored  upon  it  with  so  much 
assiduity  and  anxiety  that  her  health  was  impaired,  and  she 
was  ordered  into  Switzerland  by  her  physician  to  save  her  life. 

The  statue  is  of  colossal  size,  seven  feet  in  height,  a'  very 
noble  figure,  the  commanding  effect  of  which  grows  npon  the 
mind, — a  triumph  of  patient  study,  of  genius,  and  of  mechan- 
ical skill.  Zenobia  is  represented  walking.  The  movement 
has  blended  lightness,  vigor,  and  grace.  The  left  arm  sup- 
ports the  drapery,  which  is  elaborately  cut;  the  right, 
without  a  purpose,  for  it  can  neither  bless  her  people  nor 
inspirit  her  troops,  descends  naturally  as  living  muscle.  The 
wrists  bear  the  chains, — not  heavy  and  galling, — perhaps 
Soman  severity  made  them  weightier.  The  head,  crowned, 
is  slightly  bowed ;  the  lips  express  disdain  of  the  surrounding 
{>ageant  of  victorious  foes ;  the  eyes,  downcast,  and  the  feat- 
ures of  oriental  beauty  reveal  a  soul  self-sustained  and 
absent,  far  away  in  memories  of  her  magnificent  empire  of 
the  East.  She  is  still  a  queen  in  spirit,  undethroned  by 
calamity. 

In  this  production  Miss  Hosmer  made  a  bold,  and,  on  the 
part  of  woman,  an  almost  unexampled,  adventure  into  the 
regions  of  the  highest  historic  art ;  and  she  returned  wearing 
the  laurels  of  success.  The  statue  received  the  highest  praise. 
Critics  pronounced  its  vindication  in  the  light  of  the  noblest 
models  of  Grecian  art,  and  ascribed  to  it  legitimate  claims 
to  a  place  ih  the  front  rank  of  works  of  sculpture.  We  well 
remember  the  impression  it  made  in  Boston,  where  we  were 
scarcely  more  interested  in  the  fascinating  form  itself,  than  in 
observing  the  effect  it  produced  on  the  minds  of  visitors  who, 
with  quiet  demeanor,  speaking  low,  appeared  like  persons 
coming  unwontedly  under  the  influence  of  a  spiritual  power 


582  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THJS    AGE/ 

* 

which  arrested  tlftir  steps  and  excited  profound  emotions. 
The  poet  Whittier  says,  "  It  very  fully  expresses  my  concep- 
tion of  what  historical  sculpture  should  be.  It  tells  its  whole 
proud  and  melancholy  story.  The  shadowy  outlines  of  the 
majestic  limbs,  which  charmed  us  in  the  romance  of  Ware 
are  I^ere  fixed  and  permanent :  — 

*  A  joy  forever.' 
In  looking  at  it  I  felt  that  the  artist  had  been  as  truly  serving 
her  country  while  working  out  her  magnificent  design  abroad, 
as  our  soldiers  in  the  field,  and  our  public  officers  in  their 
departments.*' 

In  another  sense  besides  what  those  words  convey  the 
artist  served  her  country.  The  marble  was  purchased  by  A. 
W.  Griswold,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  and  is  now  in  his  pos- 
session. By  his  generous  consent  after  the  time  agreed  upon 
for  its  delivery,  it  was  exhibited  for  the  benefit  of  the  sol- 
diers in  the  famous  Sanitary  Fair  at  Chicago ;  and  there  the 
stately  queen,  who  for  her  grasp  at  power  trod  the  dust  of 
captivity  in  chains  sixteen  centuries  ago,  ministered  relief  to 
the  sufferers  of  the  war  for  the  republic  and  liberty.  It  is  an 
instance  of  the  reproach,  from  which  human  nature  is  not 
always  exempt,  even  in  a  good  cause,  that  a  part  of  the  pro- 
ceeds on  that  occasion  was  retained  by  the  exhibitors. 

Very  few  productions  of  the  modern  chisel  have  excited  so 
much  remark  as  Zenobia.  There  is  an  almost  romantic  story 
connected  with  its  exhibition  in  London.  The  critics  recog- 
nized its  merits,  but  denied  that  such  a  statue  ever  was  the 
work  of  a  woman,  charging  Miss  Hosmer  with  artistic  plagi- 
arism, and  ascribing  the  real  authorship  to  Mr.  Gibson,  or  an 
Italian  sculptor.  An  article  making  such  assertions  appeared 
in  the '* London  Art  Journal"  and  "The  Queen."  For  this 
Miss  Hosmer  commenced  a  salt  for  libel ;  but  soon  after,  the 
author  of  the  libellous  communication  died ;  the  suit  was  with- 
drawn  on  the  condition  that  the  editors  should  publish  a 


HARRIET    G.    HOSMER.  583 

retnictioQ  in  those  periodicals,  and,  also,  in  the  ^^London 
Times"  and  "Galignani's  Messenger,"  which  was  done.  The 
retraction  of  the  editor  in  the  *'Art  Journal"  was  prefaced  by 
a  vigorous  letter  from  the  artist,  in  which  the  assertion  occurs 
that  Mr.  Gibson  would  not  allow  any  statue  to  go  out  of  his 
studio,  as  the  work  of  another,  on  which  more  assistiince  had 
been  bestowed  than  was  considered  legitimate  by  every 
sculptor. 

A  large  price  was  offered  for  Zenobia  by  the  Prince  of 
Wales ;  but  the  author  said,  "It  must  go  to  America."  She 
received  five  thousand  dollars  from  the  proceeds,  besides  all 
expenses,  of  its  exhibition  for  her  benefit. 

In  the  year  1860  Miss  Hosmcr  revisited  her  native  town, 
called  there  by  the  serious  illness  of  her  father.  While  tar- 
rying once  more  at  home  she  received  a  commission  to  design 
a  brotize  portrait  statue  of  Col.  Thomas  Hart  Benton,  the 
distinguished  senator  and  most  eminent  citizen  of  Missouri. 
Her  former  residence  in  St.  Louis  was  remembered ;  and  a 
degree  of  local  pride  was  mingled  with  admiration  for  her 
success.  Her  friends  knew  her  ability  to  express  in  marble 
beauty,  tenderness,  grace,  and  dignity ;  but  thus  far  her  works 
bad  been  chiefly  in  the  range  of  feminine  characters.  Could 
she  depart  from  this  sphere  of  art,  and  with  equal. skill  set 
forth  the  strong,  rugged,  massive  qualities  of  the  famous 
Btiitesman,  and  thus  create  for  herself  a  reputation  which 
need  not  bow  before  any  difficulties,  nor  shrink  from  an  en- 
terprise requiring  the  most  masculine  capacity  ?  The  com- 
missioners to  the  fullest  extent  trusted  in  the  breadth  and 
power  of  her  genius.  We  append  her  reply  to  their  com- 
munication, because  it  was  so  pertinent  and  characteristic  of 
herself: — 

"  Watertown,  June  22, 18C0. 

•*  Gentlemen  : — I  have  had  the  honor  to  receive  your  letter 


584  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

of  the  15th  inst. ,  iuforming  mo  that  the  execution  of  the  bronze 
statue,  iu  memory  of  the  late  Col.  Benton,  for  the  city  of 
St.  Louis,  is  entrusted  to  me.  Such  a  tribute  to  his  merit 
would  deimmd  the  best  ackuowledgment  of  any  artist ;  but 
in  the  present  instance  my  most  cordial  thanks  will  but  in- 
suflSciently  convey  to  you  a  sense  of  the  obligation  under 
which  I  feel  you  have  placed  me. 

"I  have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  you  for  this  distinction,  be- 
cause I  am  a  young  *artist ;  and,  though  I  may  have  given 
some  evidence  of  skill  in  those  of  my  statues  which  are  now 
in  your  city,  I  could  scarcely  have  hoped  that  their  merit, 
whatever  it  may  be,  should  have  inspired  the  citizens  of  St. 
Louis  to  entrust  me  with  a  work  whose  chief  characteristic 
must  be  the  union  of  great  intellectual  power  with  manly 
strength. 

**But  I  have,  also,  reason  to  be  grateful  to  you  because  I  am 
a  woman ;  and,  knowing  what  barriers  must  in  the  outset 
oppose  all  womanly  efforts,  I  am  indebted  to  the  chivalry  of 
the  West,  which  has  first  overleaped  them.  I  am  not  un- 
mindful of  the  kind  indulgence  with  which  my  works  have 
been  received ;  but  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  critics 
might  be  more  courteous  than  just,  remembering  from  what 
hand  they  proceeded ;  but  your  kindness  will  now  afford  me 
an  ample  opportunity  of  proving  to  what  rank  I  am  really 
entitled  as  an  artist  unsheltered  by  the  broad  wings  of  com- 
passion for  the  sex ;  for  this  work  must  be,  as  we  understand 
the  term,  a  manly  work ;  and  hence  its  merit  alone  must  be 
my  defence  against  the  attacks  of  those  who  stand  ready  to 
resist  any  encroachment  upon  their  self-appropriated  sphere. 

*'I  utter  these  sentiments  only  to  assure  you  that  I  am  fully 
aware  of  the  important  results  which  to  me  as  an  artist  wait 
on  the  issue  of  my  labors,  and  hence,  that  I  shall  spare  no  pains 
to  produce  a  monument  worthy  of  your  city,  and  worthy  of 
the  statesman  who,  though  dead,  still  speaks  to  you  in  laD> 


HARRIET    G.    HOSMER.  585 

■ 

guage  more  eloquent  aud  enduring  than  the  happiest  efforts 
in  marble  and  bronze  of  ever  so  cunning  a  workman. 

^It  only  remains  for  me  to  add  that  as  I  shall  visit  St.  Louis 
before  my  departure  to  Europe,  further  details  may  be  then 
arranged.     I  have  the  honor  to  remain,  gentlemen, 

*' EespectfuUy  yours, 

**H.  G.  HoSMER." 

In  accordance  with  her  purpose.  Miss  Hosmer  visited  St. 
Louis,  Jefferson  City,  and  other  places,  examining  portraits 
and  mementos  of  Col.  Benton  to  supply  herself  with  materi- 
pis  for  the  work.  The  next  year  she  submitted  photographs 
of  her  model  to  the  commissioners  and  to  his  relatives,  by 
whom  th»y  were  unanimously  approved.  The  plaster  cast 
was  sent  from  Rome  to  Munich  to  be  cast  at  the  royal  foun- 
dry, the  most  celebrated  in  the  world.  In  due  time  the  stat- 
ue arrived  at  the  city  of  its  destination;  but  partly  ou 
account  of  the  war,  more  especially  ou  account  of  hesitation 
in  regard  to  the  site,  it  remained  three  years  or  more  boxed 
as  it  came  from  Europe.  The  location  was  at  last  fixed  in 
Lafayette  Park ;  and  on  the  27th  day  of  May,  1868,  the 
inauguration  of  the  statue  took  place  with  imposing  relig- 
ious and  patriotic  ceremonies,  in  presence  of  a  vast  concourse 
of  citizens  and  strangers. 

By  an  appropriate  selection  Mrs.  Fremont,  the  daughter  of 
Col.  Benton,  unveiled  the  features  of  her  father  in  bronze  to 
the  eyes  of  the  multitude.  The  figure  is  ten  feet  in  height, 
and  weighs  three  and  a  half  tons.  A  foundation  was  laid 
for  it  forty  feet  square,  which  rises  two  feet  above  the  ground. 
On  that  rests  a  pedestal  of  New  England  granite  ten  feet 
Bquare,  so  that  the  entire  elevation  is  twenty-two  feet.  The 
upper  draper3'  is  a  cloak  of  the  kind  which  Col.  Benton  was 
fond  of  wearing.     The  hands  appear  unrolling  a  map.    Jobq 


586  EMINENT    WOKEN    OE    THE    AGE. 

Gibson  expressed  his  opinion  in  a  letter  to  the  commission* 
nrs  in  the  following  terms :  — 

• 

^  The  general  effect  of  the  figure  is  grand  and  simple.  The 
ample  cloak,  which  covers  considerably  the  odious  modern 
dress,  is  rich  and  broad,  and  the  folds  are  managed  with  great 
skill,  producing  graceful  lines.  The  head,  a  fine  subject,  is 
reflective  and  well  modelled^  also  the  position  of  the  hands 
holding  the  paper,  or  plan,  is  very  natural  and  well  composed. 
In  fact,  I  consider  the  work  does  the  authoress  great  honor ; 
and  I  feel  it  will  give  satisfaction  to  the  gentlemen  of  the 
committee  who  had  the  penetration  to  entrust  the  execution 
of  such  a  work  to  their  countrywoman ;  and  I  may  add,  thai 
the  Americans  may  now  boast  of  possessing  what  no  nation 
in  Europe  possesses, — a  public  statue  by  a  woman,  —  a  little 
woman,  — young,  with  great  talent  and  love  of  her  art.** 

A  letter  of  W.  Crow,  written  the  day  after  the  inaugu- 
ration, states  that  the  general  expression  of  the  thousands 
who  saw  it  was  favorable.  Critics  pronounced  it  a  success  as 
a  work  of  art.  Friends  of  Col.  Benton  declared  it  to  be  a 
good  likeness.  His  relatives  were  more  than  gratified,  —  they 
were  delighted. 

On  the  east  side  of  the  pedestal,  the  name  Benton  is 
deeply  cut.     On  the  west  side,  the  words :  — 

"There  IS  THE  East— 
Tbsbb  is  India." 

This  motto  was  selected  by  the  artist  with  excellent  judg- 
ment. It  associates  this  memorial  of  a  great  man  with  no 
transient  political  questions,  but  with  a  vast  enteq)rise  of 
national  utility  and  honor,  a  triumphant  work  of  civilizatioui 
the  grandeur  of  which  will  be  revealed  more  and  more  in 
successive  ages,  in  regard  to  which  the  forecasting  views  of 


HABBIET    G.    HOSMEB.  587 

the  statesman  will  be  held  in  honored  remembtxnce,  when  the 
party  struggles  of  his  time  will  be  forgotten,  when  majes- 
tic journeys  across  the  continent  will  be  incidents  of  common 
life.  Our  readers  will  be  glad  to  see  the  peroration  of  the 
speech  on  the  Pacific  Eailroad  which  suggested  the  motto :  — 

"  Let  us  complete  the  grand  design  of  Columbus,  by  put- 
ting Europe  and  Asia  into  communication,  and  that  to  our 
advantage,  through  the  heart  of  our  own  country.  Let  us 
give  to  his  ships,  converted  into  cars,  a  continued  course  un- 
known to  all  former  times.  Let  us  make  the  iron  road — and 
'make  it  from  sea  to  sea —  •  •  •  .  the  line  which  will 
£nd  on  our  continent  the  Bay  of  San  Francisco  at  one  end, 
St.  Louis  in  the  middle,  the  national  metropolis  and  great 
commercial  emporiums  at  the  other,  and  which  shall  be 
adorned  with  its  crowning  honor,  the  colossal  statue  of  the 
great  Columbus,  whose  design  it  accomplishes,  hewn  from  the 
granite  mass  of  a  peak  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  overlooking 
the  road,  —  the  mountain  itself  the  pedestal,  and  the  statue  a 
part  of  the  mountain,  —  pointing  with  outstretched  arm  to 
the  western  horizon,  and  saying  to  the  flying  passenger, 
*•  There  is  the  East  —  there  is  India." 

The  contract  price  of  the  statue  to  be  paid  to  the  artist 
was  ten  thousand  dollars ;  the  entire  expense  of  the  monu- 
ment about  thirty  thousand  dollars. 

In  the  Dublin  Exhibition  of  1865,  Miss  Hosmer  offered  to 
the  public  the  Sleeping  Faun,  in  marble  of  life  size,  which  was 
sold  on  the  day  it  was  opened  for  five  thousand  dollars.  Sir 
Charles  Eastlake  said,  *^  If  it  had  been  discovered  among  the 
ruins  of  Rome  or  Pompeii,  it  would  have  been  pronounced  one 
*  of  the  best  of  Grecian  statues."  It  was  exhibited  again  in  the 
Universal  Exposition  of  Paris,  1867,  where,  with  the  great 
paintings  of  Church,  Bierstadt,  Huntington,  and  others,  it 


588  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

gave  to  the  most  aesthetic  nations  new  apprehensions  of  the 
progress  and  honors  of  American  art.  **  Among  the  manj 
pieces  of  marble  statuary  of  mode^  artists,"  says  the  United 
States  Commissioner,  E.  C.  Cowdin,  Esq.,  ^none  was  more 
admired  than  the  Sleeping  Faun,  a  figure  of  antique  grace 
finely  conceived  and  admirably  executed." 

The  Waking  Faun,  a  companion  piece,  at  a  recent  date 
was  only  clay.  It  ii^  owned,  with  a  second  copy  of  the  for- 
mer, by  Lady  Ashburton,  of  England. 

Another  classic  and  beautiful  work  was  a  fountain  desicrned 
for  Lady  Maria  Alford.  A  figure  of  a  woman,  a  siren,  sits 
above  the  centre  of  the  basin,  which  holds  the  water,  singing. 
Below  are  three  pleasing  little  figures,  mounted  on  dolphins, 
which  lie  on  the  broad  leaves  of  aquatic  plants,  enchanted  by 
the  music. 

A  writer  in  Rome,  after  describing  this  fountain,  says,  ^  Miss 
Hosmer  has  a  peculiar  mode  of  tinting  the  marble.  I  think 
she  must  have  caught  the  better  part  of  Gibson's  idea ;  for 
she  does  not  give  it  a  flesh  color,  but  a  light  creamy  tint, 
which  adds  greatly  to  the  expression  of  the  statue  and  seems 
like  the  true  color  of  old  marble."  Pointing  to  the  fountain 
she  said,  '*A11  those  babies  have  got  to  be  washed  before  they 
go  away."  This  is  the  only  reference  we  have  obtained  to  her 
practice  in  regard  to  coloring  statuary, — a  novelty,  introduced 
by  Gibson,  which  encounters  much  opposition  on  the  ground 
that  it  turns  a  statue  into  a  doll,  —  that  the  office  of  sculp- 
ture is  the  expression  of  form,  and  shouM  not  in  color,  which 
belongs  to  another  art,  assume  to  be  the  counterpart  of  nature. 

Several  works  of  a  varied  character  have  been  recently 
completed  or  are  still  in  progress.  Among  them  is  a  gateway 
for  the  entrance  to  an  art-gallery  at  Ashridge  Hall,  England, 
ordered  by  Earl  Brownlow.  It  is  eight  feet  by  sixteen,  of  , 
very  elaborate  design.  The  price  paid  to  the  artist  is 
twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 


BABfilET    O.    HOSMEB.  589 

jl^nother  is  a  ?lijnney-piece  for  Lady  Ashburton,  illustrat- 
ing the  death  of  the  Dryads.  It  also  is  to  be  sixteen  feet  high. 
The  figures  are  of  life  size  in  alto  relievo.  The  cost  is 
twelve  thousand  five  hundred  dollars. 

The  Bridge  of  Sighs,  so  named,  was  ordered  two  years  ago 
by  a  literary  gentleman  of  London.  It  illustrates  in  marble 
Hood's  popular  poem  descriptive  of  a  drowned  woman. 

In  1860  Miss  Hosmer  sent  to  her  friend,  Mr.  Crow,  at  his 
request,  the  drawing  of  a  monument  for  a  cemetery.  The 
cross  as  a  symbol  has  been  virtually  surrendered  to  the  Catho- 
lics, though  Protestants  may  employ  it  with  perfect  right  and 
propriety ;  and  we  trust  the  use  of  it  will  return.  Like  others, 
Mr.  Crow  had  felt  the  incongruity  with  Christian  faith  of  the 
heathen  symbols,  —  the  inverted  torch,  the  Egyptian  gateway, 
the  Grecian  temple, — which  occur  so  frequently  in  our  burial- 
places,  and  desired  something  new  and  appropriate,  which 
should  express  a  Christian's  hopes. 

The  design  consists  of  a  marble  pedestal,  of  elaborate  and 
beautiful  construction,  surmounted  by  a  group  of  statuary,  — 
Christ  restoring  to  life  the  daughter  of  Jairus.  The  prostrate 
form  and  the  countenance  of  the  dead  maiden  vividly  pre- 
sent the  fact  of  our  mortality.  The  noble  figure  of  the  Saviour 
is  full  of  tenderness,  but  without  sorrow :  he  is  doing  a  work 
of  joy.  On  the  entablature  of  the  pedestal  are  the  inscriptions, 
on  the  one  side,  "I  am  the  resubregtton  and  the  life  : ''  on 
the  opposite  side,  *'He  that  believeth  in  me,  though  hb 
WEBE  DEAD,  YET  SHALL  HE  LTVE."  On  the  broad  spaccs  be- 
neath, the  family  names  are  to  be  carved. 

This  design  has  not  yet  been  put  into  marble ;  but  it  is 
eminently  desirable  that  the  conception  should  be  realized. 
The  subject  is  not  hackneyed;  it  is  sculpturesque,  appro- 
priate, and  Christian.  When  adequately  accomplished  it  will 
be  a  noble  testimony,  not  only  to  the  artist,  but  also  to  the 
friend  whose  Christian  sentiments  called  for  it ;  apd  the  com- 


590  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

munity  of  Christians  have  reason  for  deep  interest  in  it.  The 
symbols  of  faith  should  transcend  the  lower  conceptions  of 
sense,  sorrow,  disappointment,  and  darkness,  giving  to  our 
cemeteries  instead  a  characteristic  expression  of  chastened 
confidence  and  joyful  hope. 

A  very  few  days  after  the  death  of  President  Lincoln,  a  poor 
colored  woman  of  Marietta,  Ohio,  made  free  by  his  proclama- 
tion, proposed  that  a  monument  should  be  erected,  by  the  col- 
ored people  of  the  United  States,  to  their  dead  friend ;  and 
she  handed  to  a  citizen  of  that  place  five  dollars  as  her  contri- 
bution for  the  purpose.  Twenty-three  thousand  dollars  were 
raised  and  deposited  in  the  hands  of  a  committee,  with  the  re- 
quest that  they  would  take  measures  for  the  erection  of  a 
monument  in  Washington. 

Miss  Hosmer  heard  of  the  proposed  "  Memorial  to  Freedom,'' 
and,  prompted  by  her  friends,  designed  a  monument,  a  plaster 
cast  of  which  has  been  exhibited  in  Boston.  The  structure 
consists,  first,  of  a  base  sixty  feet  square,  to  which  seven  steps 
ascend.  Four  bos  reliefs  in  bronze  surround  this  base,  repre- 
senting incidents  in  the  life  of  the  president,  his  early  occu- 
pations, his  career  as  a  member  of  the  Legislature,  his  inau- 
guration at  Washington,  memorable  events  of  the  war,  his 
assassination  and  funeral  obsequies.  On  the  corners  of  this 
base  are  four  short,  round  columns,  on  which  stand  four  stat- 
ues of  the  negro,  finely  idealized,  showing  him  in  four  condi- 
tions, —  sold  as  a  slave,  laboring  on  a  plantation,  a  guide  to 
our  troops,  and  finally  a  freeman  and  soldier. 

An  octagonal  base  rests  on  the  lower,  on  four  sides  of  which 
are  the  inscriptions :  — 

''  Abraham  Lincoln; 
Mabttb  PRBsmsNT  OF  THB  Unitbd  Statbs; 
Emancipator  of  four  Millions  of  Mkn; 
Frbsxrvxr  of  the  American  Union." 

Upon  this  is  a  circular  basei  around  whi^h  id  a  &6»  rdief 


HABBIET    G.    HOSMEB.  591 

of  thirty-six  female  figares,  hand  in  hand,  symbolical  of  the 
Union  of  the  States.  From  this  rises  a  pillared  temple,  with- 
in which  stands  the  statue  of  the  president,  holding  in  the 
left  hand  a  broken  chain,  in  the  right  the  proclamation  of 
emancipation.  Upon  the  cornice  of  the  temple  are  inscribed 
the  concluding  words  of  that  instrument:  ^And  upon  this, 
sincerely  believed  to  be  an  act  of  justice,  I  invoke  the  con- 
siderate judgment  of  mankind,  and  the  gracious  favor  of 
Almighty  God."  Four  mourning  Victories  standing  around 
the  central  figure  with  trumpets  reversed  express  the  sorrow 
of  the  nation. 

In  this  design,  the  description  of  which  is  given  chiefly  in 
the  author's  words,  she  endeavored  to  express  the  idea  that 
the  Temple  of  Fame  which  we  rear  to  the  memory  of  Lincoln 
rests  upon  the  two  great  acts  of  his  administration,  —  the 
Emancipation  of  the  Slave,  and  the  Preservation  of  the 
American  Union ;  and  with  beautiful  fitness  the  end  is  accom- 
plished. The  work  itself  is  sufficient  evidence  of  her  convic- 
tions as  a  pronounced  and  stanch  friend  of  freedom  and  the 
Union.  It  must  have  been  a  labor  of  love ;  she  must  have 
&shioned  it  with  her  heart  as  well  as  with  artistic  genius. 

The  ''London  Art  Journal"  published  an  engraving  and  de- 
scription, modified  by  presenting  four  female  figures  near  the 
columnr.  of  the  temple  bearing  wreaths  to  the  freedmen,  from 
which  we  extract  the  following  sentences :  "  With  the  excep- 
tion of  the  great  monument  to  Frederick  the  Great,  at  Ber- 
lin, by  Bauch,  the  Lincoln  Monument  is  the  grandest  recog- 
nition of  the  art  of  sculpture  that  has  been  ofiered  to  our  age. 
Bearing  in  mind  that  this  is  to  be  called  the  Freedmen's 
Monument,  it  was  necessary  that  the  circumstances  attending 
the  act  of  emancipation  should  form,  as  they  do,  the  principal 
features  of  the  design.  It  will  stand  a  simple,  comparatively 
unadorned,  yet  most  imposing,  memorial  of  the  dead,  and  a 


592  EMINENT  WOMEN  0?  TSS  AGE. 

lasting  witness  to  the  lady  sculptor  who  has  had  the  honor  ta 
be  selected  for  its  execution. ** 

The  committee  adopted  the  design,  **  deeming  it  the  great- 
est achievement  of  modem  art,^  and  confident  that  every  one 
who  loves  his  country,  and  loves  art,  and  honors  Abraham 
Lincoln,  will  aid  in  the  completion  of  this  great  work.  It 
will  cost  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars ;  but  this 
should  not  prevent  its  erection.  There  are  now  commenced  or 
proposed  three  memorial  structures,  which  the  nation  may  well 
hasten  to  complete,  even  in  times  of  political  and  financial 
difficulty,  —  the  monuments  to  the  Pilgrims,  to  Washington, 
and  to  Lincoln. 

a 

It  will  be  observed  that  Miss  Hosmer  has  wrought  on 
Ideal  subjects.  She  would  have  enjoyed  abundant  patronage 
working  on  busts,  but  has  preferred  to  give  the  creations  of 
her  own  imagination  a  solid,  enduring  form.  She  thus  makes 
a  higher  challenge  for  immortal  fame. 

These  pages  convey  to  our  readers  materials  for  forming 
their  own  judgment  of  the  estimation  in  which  she  should  be 
held  as  an  ai-tist.  If  compared  with  women,  she  has  very  few 
rivals.  We  do  not  know  whether  the  name  of  Sabina  Von 
Steinbach,  who  adorned  the  famous  cathedral  of  Strasburg, 
and  whose  sculptured  groups  are  the  objects  of  admiration  to 
this  day,  is  more  illustrious.  If  compared  with  men,  there 
are  many  who  compete  for  the  palm ;  and  the  opinions  of 
critics,  no  doubt,  will  differ,  at  least  for  a  period.  Time  is 
necessary  to  establish  the  position  of  a  genius  of  the  highest 
rank.  We  think  Miss  Hosmer  can  afford  to  wait,  and  that 
she  needs  no  indulgence  of  criticism  on  the  score  of  her  sex. 
She  has  not  gained  the  elevation  on  which  she  now  sfcmds, 
unchallenged  and  unopposed.  The  sketch  of  Mrs.  Child 
gives  a  paragraph  to  the  fact.  She  herself,  in  the  pithy  and 
pointed  words  of  the  letter  to  the  "London  Art  Journal,"  before 
adverted  to,  seems  to  say  from  her  own  experience:  "Few 


HABBIET  G.   HOSMEB.      ^  593 

artists  who  have  been  in  any  degree  successful  enjoy  the  truly 
friendly  regard  of  their  professional  brothers ;  but  a  woman 
artist  who  has  been  honored  by  frequent  commissions  is  an 
object  of  peculiar  odium."  That  journal,  after  the  impeach- 
ment which  has  been  related,  said,  in  connection  with  the 
Freedmen's  Monument :  **0f  her  power  to  fulfil  the  trust 
reposed  in  her  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  her  genius  is  of  the 
highest  order,  and  she  has  proved  her  capacity  by  producing 
some  of  the  greatest  works  in  sculpture  of  our  age."  And 
again:  "The  works  of  Miss  Hosmer,  Himm  Powers,  and 
others  we  might  name,  have  placed  American  on  a  level  with 
the  best  modern  sculptors  of  Europe.  There  are  examples 
from  the  studios  of  the  artists  we  have  named  specially  that 
have  not  been  surpassed  by  any  contemporary  sculptor  of  any 
nation ;  while  there  is  no  doubt  that  already  the  foundationi 
has  been  laid  for  a  school  of  sculpture  in  the  Western  World,, 
which  will  ennoble  the  people  who  have  sprung  from  the  same- 
loins  as  ourselves,  who  speak  the  same  language,  and  read 
our  literature,  and,  in  spite  of  what  some  say,  are  proud  of 
the  old  country  from  which  they  have  descended."  This  is> 
not  the  judgment  of  partial  friends  nor  incompetent  pritics. 

Miss  Hosmer's  diligence  and  enterprise  have  gained  this, 
crown  for  her  genius.  She  has  her  days  for  the  reception  of 
visitors  and  her  seasons  for  recreation  and  athletic  exercise ;  hut 
her  hours  of  study  are  sacred,  and  she  spares  no  effort  to  attain^ 
perfection  in  her  art.   "  She  studies  from  life  and  from  death.'* 

She  received  the  commission  for  the  "Bridge  of  Sighs"  in- 
Paris.  Desiring  to  observe  for  herself  the  peculiar  effects  on» 
the  body,  of  death  by  drowning,  in  company  with  her  friend,. 
Mr.  Crow,  she  visited  the  Morgue  several  times,  till  she  found 
the  required  subject.  When  working  upon  the  Cenci  she- 
had  models  go  to  sleep  on  a  bench,  till  she  had  fixed  the  atti-- 
tude  of  the  girl  sleeping  in  the  prison.  When  she  executed 
the  Medusa,  the  hair  of  which  changes  into  serpents,  sho 

38 


594  EMJ[NEKT    WOMEK    07    THB    AGE. 

found  no  good  casta  of  a  snake  in  Borne, — her  knowledge  of 
anatomy  teaching  her  that  they  were  taken  from  dead,  not 
living  specimens.  She  employed  a  herdman  near  the  city  to 
procure  one  alive,  tied  it  to  a  piece  of  marble  in  her  studio 
till  she  was  ready,  then  gave  it  chloroform  and  made  her 
cast,  keeping  it  in  the  plaster  three  and  a  half  hours.  The 
reptile  came  out  alive  and  well,  was  sent  baok  by  Goviona, 
turned  loose  in  its  old  haunt ;  and  she  had  the  best  model  of 
a  snake  in  the  capital  of  art,  of  which  other  artists  avail  them- 
selves. 

Her  studio  in  the  Via  Margutta  is  said  to  be  itself  a  work 
of  art,  and  the  most  beautiful  in  Some,  if  not  in  Italy.  The 
entrance  is  made  attractive  with  flowers  and  birds.  In  the 
centre  of  the  first  room  stands  the  Fountain  of  the  Siren.  Each 
room  of  the  series  contains  some  work  of  art,  hanging  baskets, 
and  floral  decorations.  Her  own  apartment,  in  which  she 
lierself  works,  displays  her  early  tastes  in  flowers  and  broken 
relics  of  art,  with  collections  of  minerals,  drawings,  and  rare 
books.  A  lady  writes  for  the  use  of  this  sketch :  **  She  su- 
perintends her  work  herself,  and  will  wield  the  chisel  more 
adroitly  than  any  practised  workman.  In  this  she  has  the 
advantage ;  for  many  artists  can  only  design,  and  ignore  the 
practical  working  of  their  ideas,  which,  left  to  a  mechanical 
taste,  often  leave  us  an  inexpressible  dissatisfaction,  while 
admiring  the  conception.^' 

In  the  process  of  sculpture,  the  sculptor  first  works  out 
•carefully  his  own  ideal  in  a  small  image  of  clay.  The  rude 
and  mechanical  labor  of  enlarging  this  image  into  the  clay 
model  of  full  size  (which  often  requires  a  frame  of  iron  and  a 
blacksniith*s  forge),  taking  the  plaster  cast,  and  finally  trans- 
ferring it  to  marble,  is  done  by  hired  workmen.  '•Still,"  in 
the  words  of  Miss  Hosmer,  "  their  position  in  the  studio  is  a 
subordinate  one.  They  translate  the  original  thought  of  the 
tculptor,  written  in  clay,  into  the  language  of  marble.     The 


HARRIET    O.    HOSMER.  095 

translator  may  do  his  work  well  or  ill,  —  he  may  appreciate 
and  preserve  the  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  grace  which  were 
stamped  upon  the  clay,  or  he  may  render  the  artist's  meaning 
coarsely  and  unintelligibly.  Then  it  is  that  the  sculptor  him- 
self must  reproduce  his  ideal  in  the  marble,  and  breathe  into 
it  that  vitality  which,  many  contend,  only  the  artist  can  in- 
spire. But,  whether  skilful  or  not,  the  relation  of  these  work- 
men to  the  artist  is  precisely  the  same  as  that  of  the  mere 
linguist  to  the  author  who,  in  another  tongue,  has  given  to  the 
world  some  striking  fancy  or  original  thought.** 

Miss  Hosmer's  genius  is  not  limited  to  sculpture.  There 
are  those  who  believe  that,  had  she  chosen  the  pursuit  of  let- 
ters, she  would  have  excelled  as  much  in  literature  as  she 
does  in  art,  —  that  she  would  have  wielded  the  pen  with  as 
much  skill  and  power  as  she  does  the  chisel  of  the  statuary. 
Evidences  of  this  are  found  in  her  correspondence.  She  has 
published  a  beautiful  poem,  dedicated  to  Lady  Maria  Alford  of 
England,  and  a  well-written  article,  in  the  "Atlantic  Monthly," 
on  the  Process  of  Sculpture,  perspicuous  and  philosophical  in 
its  treatment  of  the  subject.  In  it  she  defends  women-artists 
against  the  impeachments  of  their  jealous  brothers. 

Becoming  a  resident  of  Rome,  Miss  Hosmer  preserved 
many  of  the  habits  of  independence  and  freedom  of  exercise 
which  she  had  formed  ip  her  native  land.  The  latter  was  an 
indispensable  condition  of  health :  accordingly  she  rode  about 
the  city  and  its  environs  without  restraint ;  and  after  a  while 
people  ceased  to  wonder. 

About  six  years  ago  three  persons  established  a  pack  of 
hounds  in  Rome  for  the  purpose  of  fox-hunting.  Our  artist, 
as  one  of  them,  contributed  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  and 
procured  the  services  of  a  huntsman,  whom  she  mounted  at 
her  own  expense.  This  grew  into  a  society  of  Italians  and 
foreigners.  Americans  gave  their  money  liberally,  and  with 
English  residents  entered  warmly  into  the  sport.     Miss  Hos- 


596  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

mer,  it  is  related,  rode  with  astonishing  ease  and  fearlessness. 
^  None  of  the  English  officers  excelled  her  in  leaping  ditches 
and  fences.  With  her  friend,  Miss  Cushman,  she  often  led 
the  chase,  returning  with  quite  as  just  claims  for  the  fox  as 
gentlemen  could  present.**  By  the  rules  of  the  hunt  the  tail 
of  the  fox,  called  the  brush,  is  given  to  the  best  and  boldest 
rider  as  a  trophy ;  but  the  Italians,  having  a  majority  of  the 
members,  managed  eveiythmg  in  their  own  way,  and,  whal^ 
ever  might  be  his  feats  of  horsemanship,  never  did  an  Ameri- 
can receive  the  coveted  honor.  At  length  an  act  of  injustice 
done  to  the  American  consul  brought  to  pass  a  serious  im- 
broglio in  the  association  of  hunters  for  recreation  —  and  a 
fox.  Hitherto  Miss  Hosmer  had  borne  the  absence  of  cour- 
tesy to  herself  in  silence ;  but  on  that  occasion  she  withdrew 
from  the  society,  and  addressed  a  spirited  and  spicy  letter 
to  the  master  of  the  Eoman  hounds,  which  was  sent  to  this 
country  for  general  publication,  that  it  might  be  well  under- 
stood with  what  readiness  American  money  was  received, 
and  with  what  facility  the  honors  passed  to  other  hands. 

In  stature  Miss  Hosmer  is  rather  under  the  medium  height. 
The  engraving  which  accompanies  this  sketch  is  from  a  draw- 
ing by  her  friend,  Emily  Stebbins,  executed  quite  a  number 
of  yeare  ago.  It  presents  her  as  much  resembling  a  fair  and 
brilliant  boy ;  and  this  agrees  well  with  the  description  given 
by  Mrs.  Child  of  her  appearance  when  she  first  returned  to 
this  countiy :  **  Her  face  is  more  genial  and  pleasant  than  her 
likenesses  indicate ;  especially  when  engaged  in  conversation 
its  resolute  earnestness  lights  up  with  gleams  of  humor.  She 
looks  as  she  t8,  —  lively,  frank,  and  reliable.  In  dress  and 
manners  she  seemed  to  me  a  charming  hybrid  between  an  en- 
ergetic young  lady  and  a  modest  lad.  .  .  •  She  carried 
her  spirited  head  with  a  manly  air.  Her  broad  forehead  was 
partially  shaded  with  short,  thick,  brown  curls,  which  she 
often  tossed  aside  with  her  fingers,  as  lads  do.**    A  recent 


fiABBIET    O.    HOSMEB.  697 

photograph  shows  the  same  style  of  wearing  the  hair,  and 
sha{>e  of  the  forehead,  with  changes  of  time.  The  eyes  are 
more  deeply  set  beneath  the  brows ;  and  the  mouth  and  chin 
with  bolder  curve  give  the  expression  of  maturity  and  force. 

In  manner  Miss  Hosmer  is  prompt  and  decided.  Her  con- 
versation is  original,  humorous,  and  animated ;  her  voice  clear 
and  ringing ;  and  her  laugh,  which  frequently  occurs,  musical. 
She  is  fond  of  puns,  and  inclined  to  facetiousness.  A  common 
signature  of  letters  to  her  friends  is  a  hat.  One  of  her  Eng- 
lish friends  named  her  Berritina,  — in  Italian,  small  hat.  An 
anecdote  related  to  the  writer  by  the  gentleman  concerned 
exhibits  her  self-reliant  and  almost  defiant  spirit.  He  had 
dined  with  her  at  the  house  of  the  American  consul.  When 
the  company  separated,  after  dark,  he  proposed  to  accom- 
pany her  home.  **No  gentleman,**  was  the  reply,  ''goes 
home  with  me  at  night  in  Borne.'*  It  is  needless  to  say  she 
is  a  prominent  figure  in  American  society  there. 

It  has  already  sufficiently  appeared  that  her  character  is 
strongly  marked,  positive,  piquant,  and  unique.  Some  would 
call  her  masculine  and  strong-minded.  She  certainly  defies 
conventionalities,  and  is  self-sustained,  bold,  and  dashing  to 
a  degree  which  must  offend  those  who  believe  it  is  scarcely 
less  than  a  sin  that  a  woman  should  trespass  on  the  ancier  t 
rules  of  occupation,  and  the  borders  of  that  gentleness  and 
delicacy  which  they  have  regarded  as  special  properties  and 
ornaments  of  her  sex.  But  the  defence  of  her  youth  may  bo 
repeated ;  her  boldness  is  not  immodest,  and  her  humor  is 
not  malicious.  No  trace  appears  of  corrupt  principles  and 
evil  sentiments ;  and  if  ^  spirits  are  not  finely  touched  but  for 
fine  uses,*'  then  her  works  prove  that  she  must  have  been 
sculptured  by  nature  as  one  among  the  noblest  forms  of  the 
human  soul. 

By  the  ordinances  of  the  Creator,  and  by  characteristic  en- 
dowments, most  women  must  find  their  wisest,  happiest,  and 


698  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

most  exalted  life  in  the  circle  of  domestic  love  and  duty, 
but  they  are  not  all  called  to  reign  in  the  sacred  dominion  of 
the  family ;  and,  without  involving  themselves  in  questions 
agitated  on  many  platforms  concemiug  the  rights  and  sphere 
of  woman,  not  a  few  of  their  best  spirits  are  quietly  working 
out  those  problems  by  enterprising  abd  honorable  endeavors 
with  triumphant  results.  If  legislation,  from  whatever  cause, 
in  the  past  has  been  unjust,  and  if  sad  instances  are  recorded 
of  calumny  which  has  foamed  out  against  the  daughters  of 
learning  and  art,  it  is  still  true  that  men  generally  have 
shown  themselves  disposed  to  honor  those  who  have  performed 
lofty  achievements.  From  the  time  when  "  the  women  that 
were  wise-hearted ''  wrought  for  the  construction  and  decora- 
tion  of  the  Tabernacle  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  time  when 
Hypatia  taught  philosophy  in  Alexandria  with  inspiring  elo- 
quence, to  the  present,  facts  show  that  true  and  great-hearted 
women  can  find  sufficient  encouragement,  from  age  to  age,  in 
the  justice,  admiration,  and  substantial  rewards  of  brothers 
who  are  brothers ;  and  bright  on  the  pages  that  shall  preserve 
the  history  of  those  noble  sisters  will  stand  the  name  of  Harriet 
G.  Hosmer. 


fiOSA    BOKHBUB.  £99 


BOSA   BONHEUR. 


BY  PBOF.  JAMES  M.  HOPPIN. 

The  happy  and  beautiful  name  which  heads  this  article  is 
befitting  the  career  of  one  of  the  most  famed  and  brilliant  of 
women ;  but,  apt  as  it  is,  it  fails  to  give  us  an  idea  of  the  re-* 
markablo  energy  and  brave  persistency  of  character  by  which 
its  possessor  has  fairly  acquired  her  fame. 

About  ten  years  ago,  a  gallery  of  French  paintings  of  some 
of  the  most  noted  modern  artists  was  opened  for  exhibition 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  in  which,  notwithstanding  two 
vigorous  pictures  by  Dubufe,  senior,  and  one  or  two  land-  ^ 
scapes  by  Isabey ,  and  some  other  works  of  well-known  paint- 
ers, by  far  the  most  interesting  picture  in  the  collection, 
which  drew  all  eyes  to  it,  was  the  portrait  of  Rosa  Bonheur, 
by  Dubufe,  junior,  which  is  now  classical. 

The  face  of  Mademoiselle  Bonbeur,  in  this  portrait,  is  full 
of  fire.  The  bright,  black  eyes  have  great  intensity  of  ex- 
pression. The  features,  by  no  means  beautiful,  are  yet  noble, 
and  convey  the  impression  of  concentrated  force,  as  if  sharp- 
ened by  thought.  The  hair,  cut  short,  is  parted  like  a  man's 
on  one  side  of  the  head ;  and  the  costume,  also,  gives  the 
suspicion  of  something  like  masculine  attire.  The  keen  and 
ardent  intellectuality  of  the  countenance  contrasts  strongly 
with  the  placid,  ^^sousie^'  expression,  the  stubbed  horns,  and 
gentle  eyes  of  the  well-fed,  amiable  yearling,  whose  portrait 


600  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

is  by  Mademoiselle  Bonheur's  own  pencil,  and  on  which  she 
is  represented  as  carelessly  and  confidently  leaning. 

At  the  same  time  that  this  gallery  was  opened,  there  was 
also  on  exhibition  in  the  city  Rosa  Bonheur's  picture  of  the 
"Horse-Fair,*' — MarchJk  aux  Ohevaux.  This  magnificent 
painting  fairly  introduced  Eosa  Bonheur  to  the  American 
public ;  although,  I  believe,  it  was  not  the  first  of  her  pictures 
which  had  been  brought  to  this  country.  It  is  pure  life  and 
movement.  It  is  full  of  hurrying  power.  The  horses  seem 
to  be  detached  from  the  canvas,  and  one  almost  feels,  at  first 
sight,  like  getting  out  of  the  way  quickly,  lest  some  of  those 
big-boned  steeds,  not  apparently  under  the  entire  control  of 
their  grooms,  should  trample  him  down  in  their  fury.  The 
dust,  lit  up  by  the  sunshine  of  a  hot  summer's  day,  pervades 
with  its  powdery  cloud  the  lower  line  of  the  picture.  The 
horses  are  a  natural  breed  of  useful  and  powerful  animals,  in 
fine  condition,  and  excited  by  the  emulation  and  rush  of  num- 
bers. Their  necks  are  clothed  with  thunder,  and  the  noise  and 
shouting  have  brought  out  all  their  mettle  and  fire.  The 
closest  and  most  patient  study  is  shown  in  marking  the  typi- 
cal individualities  of  the  animal,  and  in  the  production  of  such 
living  power  without  the  slightest  particle  of  exaggeration. 
One  can  see  the  great  masses  of  muscle  quiver,  and  the  very 
hair  of  the  horses'  coats  flying  about.  Yet,  with  this  absolute 
truth  to  nature,  there  is  no  servile  imitation ;  but  there  is  that 
creative  touch  which  makes  the  horses  alive,  and  bids  them, 
as  Michael  Angelo  said  to  the  bronze  steed  of  the  Emperor 
Aurelius,  "  March  1* 

Undoubtedly  this  is  Bosa  Bonheur's  greatest  picture,  on 
which  her  fame  chiefly  rests ;  but,  in  our  estimation,  one  or 
two  others  of  her  paintings  —  especially  of  her  cattle-scenes 
—  are  not  only  more  pleasing,  but  are  equally  characteristic 
of  her  peculiar  genius.  *'  The  Ploughing  Scene  in  the  Niver- 
nais,"  —  Labourage  IfivernaiSy  —  now  in  the  Luxemboui^ 


BOSA    BONHBUB.  OOl 

gallery,  is  a  chartuing  pastoral  landscape  in  the  heart  of 
sunny  France,  breathing  the  tranquil  repose  of  nature,  which 
softens  and  refines  the  manifestations  of  rough  animal  force. 
Yet  how  admirable  the  hearty  strain  and  tug  of  the  great  oxen 
under  the  encouraging  voice  of  their  driver,  as  the  ploughs- 
share  mounts  a  little  rising  slope  of  the  furrowed  field  I 
One  powerful  white  bull  in  the  team,  less  tractable  to  the 
yoke  than  his  fellows,  still  hangs  back  with  a  sullen  light  ia 
his  eye.  A  long,  flowering  shrub  has  been  laid  over  upon 
its  side  by  the  cruel  share ;  while,  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
ploughed  ground,  another  little  flower,  untouched,  lifts  up 
its  pretty,  fearless  head.  But  it  is  not  often  that  our  artist 
indulges  in  such  delicate  feminine  touches  as  this ;  for  her 
genius  is  bold  and  strong,  and  vies  with  that  of  man,  despis- 
ing the  appeal  to  the  mere  poetic  sensibility. 

Such  rural  groups  as  "The  Cantal  Oxen,"  ** Hay-making," 
** Morning  in  the  Highlands,"  "Denizens  of  the  Mountains," 
and  others,  are  grand  pastoral  pictures,  in  which  the  animals 
seem  to  be,  as  they  should,  but  parts  of  the  wide  and  open 
nature. 

One  of  her  cattle-scenes  tells  its  story  at  a  glance.  A 
majestic  bull  stands  iu  the  centre  of  the  group,  in  the  full  per- 
fection of  his  strength,  the  monarch  of  the  fields.  An  older 
bull  and  cows  lie  around  on  the  grass  of  a  high  table-land, 
intermixed  with  heather,  with  a  wide  horizon  of  craggy 
mountains  in  the  distance. 

A  little  way  off  from  the  central  group  stands,  somewhat 
foreshortened,  and  as  if  cast  iu  iron,  a  massive  young  bull, 
with  a  lowering  and  jealous  expression  of  countenance,  look- 
ing toward  his  companions,  his  horns  like  short  daggers,  and 
his  tail  brandished  in  air,  as  if  he  were  already  measuring  in 
his  rude  breast  the  strength  of  his  antagonist,  which  ere  long 
is  to  be  tested  in  deadly  combat. 

But  there  is  no  forcing  of  such  a  meaning  on  the  beholder. 


602  EMINENT    WOMEN    0¥    THE    AGE. 

The  idea  of  the  piece  may  be  this,  or  it  may  be  something  elsg 
equally  in  accordance  with  nature.  The  animal  painting  of 
the  day,  developed  in  England  by  Sir  Edwin  Liandseer  and 
others,  while  wonderfully  true  and  beautiful,  and  in  the  case 
of  the  first-named  artist  highly  poetic,  contains  that,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  us,  which  is  predicated  upon  a  false  principle.  While 
there  is  doubtless  harmony  in  creation,  and  something  of 
typical  human  nature  in  all  the  lower  orders  of  being,  yet  this 
truth  may  be  so  exaggerated  as  to.  become  absolutely  untrue 
and  degrading.  We  are  touched  by  the  pathos  of  **The 
Shepherd's  Chief  Mourner"  and  the  poetry  of  '*  Coming  Events 
oast  their  Shadows  before, '^  and  we  laugh  at  ^Dignity  and 
Impudence,"  taking  home  the  latent  lesson  on  humankind  so 
exquisitely  conveyed ;  yet  to  work  upon  this  idea  altogether, 
to  press  this  sentiment  or  fancy  of  moral  resemblance  between 
man  and  the  brute  creation  too  far,  and  to  attribute  human 
qualities  to  animals,  surely  takes  from  the  truth  of  nature, 
lowers  art  itself,  and  produces  often  but  a  well-painted  fable 
or  burlesque.  Bosa  Bonheur  at  least  never  sins  in  this  way. 
You  may  call  it  a  want  of  the  poetic  element,  but  her  animals 
are  true  to  nature,  and  are  not  human  beings ;  they  are  only 
simple  oxen,  sheep,  horses,  and  dogs,  subordinate  parts  of  the 
animal  world,  keeping  their  own  place,  exhibiting  the  well- 
known  traits  and  instincts  of  man's  irrational  servants,  claim-* 
ing  to  be  nothing  higher  than  they  are,  beautiful  as  manifesting 
the  nature  God  gave  them,  belonging  solely  to  the  sphere  of 
rural  life,  and  framed  in  by  the  mountains,  fields,  woods,  and 
streams,  by  the  homely  features  or  the  sweet  tranquil  beauty 
of  pastoral  scenery.  She  is  thus,  as  one  has  said,  as  true  a 
daughter  of  Paul  Potter,  as  of  Baymond  Bonheur. 

Bosalie  Bonheur  was  born  in  Bordeaux,  France,  March 
23d,  1822.*    Her  father,  Baymond  Bonheur,  was  an  artist 

*  The  following  sketch  of  MademoiieUe  Bonhenr's  life  is,  for  the  most  party  dzMrn 
dlieotly  firomFrenoh  sonroWi 


B08A    BONHSUB.  603 

of  some  original  power,  but  was  compelled  by  poverty  to  re- 
nounce bis  higher  studies  and  his  dreams  of  artistic  fame,  and 
to  devote  himself  to  giving  lessons  in  drawing.  He  was  thus 
all  his  life  kept  in  the  humbler  walks  of  his  profession,  though 
he  found  his  reward  at  last  in  living  to  see  the  fame  of  his 
daughter  Bosa. 

Day  and  night  this  worthy  man  toiled  at  his  occupation  of 
drawing-master,  aided  by  his  young  wife  Sophie,  who  gave 
lessons  in  music,  walking  daily  from  one  end  of  the  city  to 
the  other.  Through  the  incessant  labors  of  these  devoted 
parents,  the  prospects  of  their  little  &mily ,  already  increased 
to  four  children,  became  at  length  brighter,  and  Raymond  set 
about  preparing  two  large  pictures  for  the  Paris  exhibition, 
when  he  was  called  upon  to  suffer  the  sudden  bereavement  of 
his  wife's  death.  This  blow  crushed  his  hopes.  Bordeaux 
became  insupportable  to  him,  and  he  removed  to  Paris  when 
Rosa,  his  eldest  child,  was  seven  years  old. 

She  was  placed  with  her  two  little  brothers  under  the  care 
of  a  worthy  matron  named  Catherine,  who  lived  in  the  Champs 
Eiys^es ;  and  the  children  were  daily  sent  to  the  school  of  the 
Sisters  Cbaillot. 

But  sturdy  little  Rosa  liked  sunshine  better  than  schooli 
ftnd  played  truant  on  pleasant  days.  Her  wandering  steps 
were  drawn  irresistibly  toward  the  neighboring  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, which,  at  that  time,  bore  very  little  resemblance  to  the 
pi^sent  beautiful  park. 

Then  it  was  but  a  rough  young  forest  or  copse-wood,  un- 
trimmed  and  uncared  for,  that  had  sprung  up  in  the  place  of 
the  fine  old  oaks  and  beeches  cut  down  by  the  Cossacks  in 
1815. 

Great  dusty  avenues  ran  through  this  wood  at  right 
angles,  which  was  very  rarely  visited  excepting  by  the  duellist 
and  suicide.  Sometimes  the  people  of  the  villages  around 
came  to  the  wood  to  find  a  shady  place  in  the  heat  of  dog- 


604  BMINENT    WOMEN    0¥    THS    AGE. 

dajB ;  and  here  and  there  might  be  met  a  stray,  solitary  rider. 
But,  in  spite  of  the  shadows  and  solitude,  the  Bois  de  Bou« 
logne  had  an  unconquerable  attraction  for  Eosa. 

To  her,  a  ten-years-old  child,  there  was  nothing  so  mag- 
nificent in  the  whole  world  as  this  forest  walk.  With  her 
independent  manners,  brisk  gait,  her  hair  cut  close,  aud  her 
round,  chubby  face,  she  might  have  been  taken  for  one  of  the 
truant  boy-heroes  of  the  Chaillot  school,  if  the  little  petticpat 
coming  down  to  her  knee  had  not  shown  her  sex. 

She  might  often  have  been  seen  bounding  like  a  kid  along 
the  forest  walks,  while  the  good  Catherine  supposed  she  was 
snug  and  safe  at  school. 

Making  excursions  to  the  risers  and  the  hills,  she  plucked 
big  bouquets  of  daisies  and  marigolds,  or  she  broke  her  way 
into  the  thick  copse,  throwing  herself  on  the  grass  and  pass- 
ing whole  hours  listening  to  the  songs  of  the  linnets,  watch- 
ing the  magical  effects  of  the  sunlight  struggling  through  the 
wood,  and  gazing  dreamily  at  the  great  white  clouds  that 
floated  through  the  summer  sky. 

At  another  time,  stopping  on  the  side  of  the  road,  she 
drew  with  a  stick,  on  the  sand,  the  objects  that  met  her  eye, 
horses  and  riders,  animals  and  people,  framing  in  her  person- 
ages with  a  fanciful  landscape,  dotted  with  windmills  and 
cottages. 

Her  drawing  sometimes  so  absorbed  her,  that  she  did  not 
notice  the  odd  group  that,  after  a  while,  gathered  about  her, 
down  on  their  knees,  too,  in  admiration,  at  the  precision  of 
the  figures  which  the  little  artist  had  traced  on  the  dusty 
road-side. 

One  of  them  said  to  her  one  day :  — 

•*  You  draw  well,  my  little  girl  I  *• 

^  Yes,  indeed,"  replied  the  child,  with  a  decided  air.  ^  Papa 
draws  well  too.    He  gave  me  lessons  •'^ 


BOSA    BONHEUB.  605 

But  these  erratic  ways  were  after  a  while  found  out,  and, 
for  better  oversight,  Rosa  was  apprenticed  to  a  seamstress. 

The  spirited  child  felt  this  change  bitterly ;  and  it  was 
yery  soon  seen  that  the  monotonous  bondage  of  needle-work 
was  wearing  upon  her  sadly ;  and  her  pale  face  and  meagre 
features  caused  her  father  to  take  her  away,  and  place  her  in 
a  pension^  or  young  ladies*  school,  where,  for  her  board  and 
education,  he  gave  drawing-lessons  three  times  a  week. 

Kosa  soon  began  to  show  her  bold,  self-willed  nature,  that 
brooked  no  control,  and  turned  the  school  upside  down  with 
her  pranks. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  fun  and  ingenuity  of  her  ex- 
travagant madcap  tricks.  Cutting  out  grotesque  carica- 
tures of  the  older  scholars  and  the  teachers,  especially  of 
the  English  master,  she  fastened  these  by  threads  to  balls 
of  chewed  paper,  and  then  flinging  them  to  the  ceiling,  there 
they  dangled  and  grimaced,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  the 
younger  scholars. 

There  was  no  search  for  the  offender.  Bosa  was  at  once 
sentenced  to  a  dry  crust  and  water. 

But,  in  the  mean  while,  her  extraordinary  talent  was  recog- 
nized, and  madame,  who  kept  the  school,  was  very  careful  to 
gather  up  these  cuttings  and  caricatures  for  her  album,  form- 
ing thus  an  amusing  collection. 

In  her  other  studies  Rosa  made  poor  progress.  Drawing 
absorbed  her.  You  might  punish  her  and  deprive  her  of 
food,  and  shut  her  up,  but  she  would  sketch  landscapes  with 
charcoal  on  the  walls  of  her  closet  prison. 

At  the  year's  end,  to  the  embarrassment  of  her  father  and 
the  envious  admiration  of  the  other  pupils,  she  never  failed 
to  bear  away  the  first  prize  for  drawing. 

Rosa  would  have  been  even  happy  at  this  school,  were  it 
not  that  her  school-mates,  by  their  mean  jealousy  and  spite^ 
deeply  wounded  her  self-esteem. 


606  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Most  of  the  girls  belonged  to  aristocratic  and  wealthy  fam- 
ilies, and  the  daughter  of  a  poor  drawing-master  was  looked 
upon  by  them  as  a  kind  of  mendicant,  admitted  by  an  act  of 
special  charity  into  their  company. 

Twenty  times  a  day,  apd  especially  at  mealtimes,  these 
young  simpletons  humiliated  and  martyrized  their  fellow-pnpil 
by  making  comparisons  of  her  plain  gown  with  their  silk 
dresses,  or  their  silver  goblet  with  her  pewter  tankard. 

These  needle-points  stung  Rosa's  proud  young  spirit.  She 
grew  morbid  and  sombre.  She  avoided  the  society  of  her 
companions.  She  had  long  crying  fits,  and  at  times  was  vio- 
lently irascible  and  demonstratively  contemptuous  of  the 
whole  establishment. 

M.  Bonheur  found  it  necessary  to  take  his  daughter  home 
under  his  own  humble  roof,  and  here  her  troubled  spirit 
found  rest.  She  threw  herself  at  once  wholly  into  artistio 
pursuits.  All  day  long  she  never  quitted  her  father  s  study, 
drawing  and  painting  incessantly.  When  it  grew  too  late  to 
draw,  she  betook  herself  to  modelling  in  wax  or  clay ;  for 
she  early  developed  a  remarkable  genius  for  sculpture,  and 
for  some  time  the  struggle  was  hard  as  to  which  branch  of 
art  she  should  follow,  but  finally  the  charms  of  color  pre- 
vailed over  those  of  form. 

When  she  had  decided  to  pursue  painting  as  a  vocation, 
she  spent  her  mornings  at  the  Louvre  Grallery,  studying  and 
copying  the  pictures  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Italian  school, 
and  of  Poussin  and  Lesueur,  rather  slighting  the  Flemish 
painters.  The  director  of  the  Louvre  Galleiy,  M.  Mousse- 
line,  said  of  her  at  this  time,  '*  Jc  n^ai  pas  vu  jusquHci  eTex- 
emphj  (Tvne  telle  application^  et  d^une  telle  ardeur  au  travail  J* 

When  she  had  finished  her  day's  work  at  the  Louvre,  she 
began  her  studies  with  her  father.  He  was  her  only  teacher ; 
and  he  did  not  permit  her  to  do  anything  for  public  exhibi- 
tion until  he  thought  her  genius  was  sufficiently  matured. 


K08A    BONHEUB.  607 

Four  years  were  thus  passed  in  the  study  of  the  old  mas- 
ters. 

But  at  length  she  was  forced  to  answer  the  question,  to 
what  particular  aim  were  her  efforts  to  be  directed?  Should 
she  become  an  historical  painter?  That  would  be  to  forget 
that  she  was  a  woman.  Should'  she  be  a  genre  painter? 
That  was  something  which  did  not  meet  the  inmost  bent  and 
quality  of  her  mind. 

Then  it  was  that  the  remembrance  of  her  early  wanderings 
in  the  "  Bois  de  Boulogne  ^  came  freshly  to  her.  She  recalled 
the  long  delights  and  delicious  dreams  that  she  had,  as  a 
child,  in  communion  with  open  nature  in  the  fields  and  woods, 
and  she  nwoke  to  the  fact  that  she  was  to  be  a  painter  of 
pastoral  nature. 

Immediately,  with  the  energy  of  will  which  she  put  into 
everything  that  she  undertook,  and  which  Goethe  says  makes 
the  difference  between  the  great  and  small  mind,  she  began 
to  study,  not  the  painted  classical  landscapes,  with  their  eter« 
nal  mountains  like  mill-stones,  and  their  Arcadian  fountains 
covered  with  Greek  inscriptions,  but  the  streams,  woods, 
fields,  and  mountains  near  at  hand,  of  God's  making,  and 
covered  with  their  living  flocks  and  herds. 

Every  morning  Rosa  departed  with  her  painting  apparatus, 
tod  some  simple  provision  for  her  noontide  meal,  crossing 
the  city  barriers,  and  straying,  wherever  her  fancy  led  her, 
in  the  green  fields  around  Paris. 

After  having  walked  a  long  distance  into  the  country,  she 
rested  at  the  border  of  some  stream,  prepared  the  colors  of 
her  palette,  and  made  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  scene  where  she 
happened  to  be. 

She  returned  home  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  often  with 
her  garments  drenched  and  covered  with  mud ;  bnt  this  did 
not  prevent  her  from  doing  the  same  thing  the  next  day. 

Her  attention  was  even  then  given  to  animated  nature^ 


608  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

drawing  the  animals  that  she  came  across  in  the  fields,  and 
studying  their  habits;  but  she  longed  to  have  a  farm-yard 
and  stable  at  home,  and,  in  fact,  a  couple  of  all  the  animals  * 
that  were  in  the  ark.     As  she  could  not  quite  realize  this 
wish,  she  came  as  near  it  as  possible. 

They  lived  in  the  sixth  story  of  a  house  in  the  Bue  Rum- 
fort.  Their  lodging  consisted  of  four  very  small  rooms, 
opening  out  upon  a  little  terrace.  Rosa  managed  to  make 
this  terrace  into  a  hanging  garden,  with  flowers,  rope-weeds, 
and  other  climbing  plants,  —  a  kind  of  oasis  flourishing  amid 
an  endless  desert  of  roofs  and  chimneys.  And  here  was 
installed  a  pretty  sheep  of  Beauvais,  with  fine,  long  silkea 
wool,  and  which  for  two  years  served  as  a  model  for  onr 
young  artist. 

But  this  was  not  enough.  With  a  courage  above  her  sex, 
the  young  girl  went  three  times  a  week  to  visit  the  abattoir 
of  the  Roule.  There  she  passed  whole  days  braving  the  dis- 
gusting features  of  the  place,  and  working  and  taking  sketches 
amid  a  crowd  of  butchers  and  flayers. 

At  last  she  made  her  d^but  in  the  Salon  exhibition  of  1841, 
with  two  pictures,  entitled  ^  Goats  and  Sheep,"  and  "  Two 
Rabbits." 

The  next  year  she  followed  with  **  Animals  in  a  Field,"  "  A 
Cow  lying  in  a  Meadow,"  and  "  A  Horse  Sale."  In  1844  she 
exhibited  "Horses  out  to  Pasture,"  and  "Horses  going  to 
Water." 

She  kept  her  pictures  in  her  study  until  she  was  satisfied 
with  them,  never  compromising  her  reputation  with  a  hasty 
production ;  so  that  in  the  exhibition  of  1844  she  had  but 
three  little  paintings  and  the  clay  model  of  a  bull ;  but,  in 
1845,  she  sent  in  twelve  pictures  of  marked  merit  with  the 
true  stamp  of  genius. 

Mademoiselle  Bonheur  did  not  have  to  struggle  through 
long  years  of  obscurity.     She  rose  at  once  into  fame.     Her 


BOSA    BONHEUR.  609 

/worksy   though  at  first  a  little  timid,  showed  unexampled 
accuracy,  purity,  and  a  vig«>rou3  sentiment  of  nature. 

The  purcliiise  of  her  noble  picture  of  *'Cantal  Ox^n,"  by 
England,  set  the  seal  to  her  reputation ;  and  at  the  same  time 
the  French  committee  of  award  decreed  her  a  medal  of  the 
first  class.  Horace  Vernet,  president  of  the  commission, 
proclaimed  her  triumph  before  a  brilliant  assembly,  and  pre- 
sented her  in  the  government's  name,  a  superb  Sevres  vase. 

In  1849  Rosa  Bonheur  sent  to  the  Exhibition  a  number  of 
remarkable  paintings,  among  them  the  famous  ^Ploughing 
Scene  in  the  Nivernais,"  and  a  ''  Morning  Scene  "  ordered  by 
the  government.  In  eight  years  she  had  exhibited  thirty- 
one  pictures,  and  many  more  were  painted  for  private  indi- 
viduals. Her  reputation  had  now  become  European,  indeed 
world-wide;  she  could  not  fulfil  half  her  orders  from  rich 
amateurs,  and  wealth  began  to  flow  in  upon  her. 

But  she  was  still  the  same  simple  Bosa  Bonheur  that  she  is 
to-day,  absorbed  in  her  art,  and  never  showing  any  extrava- 
gance or  excess  of  display  in  her  pictures.  She  never  at- 
tempted the  sensational  or  impossible.  She  did  not  try  any 
novel  methods  of  effect,  and  was  true  to  nature. 

All  her  pictures  are  truly  felt  and  thoroughly  executed. 
There  is  no  need  of  searching  for  any  other  cause  of  success. 
Simplicity  has  done  more  for  her  than  artifice  for  others. 
In  looking  at  her  pictures  people  were  surprised  to  find  an 
impression  of  a  serious  character  in  the  faces  of  the  great 
white  and  red  oxen,  the  limpid  eye,  and  the  muzzle  dripping 
with  foam;  the  peaceable  look  of  sheep  browsing  on  the 
savory  grass  of  the  hills  and  mountains,  and  the  landscape 
breathing  the  pensive  charm  and  filled  with  the  perfume  of 
the  summer  fields ;  it  was  in  fact  art  which  simply  reproduced 
the  charm  of  nature. 

^  The  mission  of  Rosa  Bonheur,"  says  M.  Lepelle,  of  Bois 
Oallaisy  **  is  to  decipher  the  sublime  poetry  of  rural  nature* 

89 


610  EMINENT    WOMEN    OP    THE    AGE. 

and  to  translate  to  us  the  works  of  God.  It  is  in  the  fields, 
the  woods,  the  most  rugged  and  solitary  mountains,  that  she 
finds  (be  inspiration  for  her  pictures,  aud  her  pencil  teaches 
us  to  read  deeper  lessons  in  the  book  of  creation." 

Perhaps  the  highest  quality  of  Rosa  Bonheur  as  an  artist, 
and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  is  her  truth  to  nature,  —  what 
the  French  call  '*the  probity  of  her  pencil."  Here  she  wins 
our  inmost  sympathy. 

Physically,  Bosa  Bonheur  is  of  medium,  or  rather  small, 
stature.  Her  features  are  a  little  hard  and  masculine,  but 
regular.  Her  forehead  is  broad  and  beautiful.  All  the  lines 
of  her  face  indicate  immense  force  of  character.  Her  black 
or  dark-brown  eyes  are  full  of  brilliancy ;  her  hands  are  small 
aud  finely  shaped. 

Owing  to  the  peculiar  demands  of  her  department  of  art, 
leading  her  to  traverse  fields,  to  visit  farm-yards  and  markets, 
to  mingle  among  shepherds,  laboring  men,  and  horse-dealers, 
Bhe  is  accustomed,  on  such  excursions,  to  wear  a  man's  dress, 
and  looks  very  much  in  it  like  a  young  farmer.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  recognize  her  sex.  But  she  never  appears  in  this  garb 
excepting  in  the  country. 

Her  dress  at  all  times  is  simple  to  carelessness.  Greedy  of 
time  alone,  she  cannot  afibrd  to  spend  it  upon  herself. 

Wearing  a  great  slouched  hat,  coming  over  her  face  and 
neck,  she  walks  quickly  with  a  firm  step,  her  head  down, 
observing  no  one,  and  preoccupied  with  thought.  She  is 
invariably  accompanied  in  her  rambles  by  two  great  dogs,  of 
one  of  which  she  has  made  a  portrait. 

Her  masculine  dress  has  sometimes  led  her  into  some  odd 
adventures,  that  are  related  by  her  biographers,  but  which  we 
do  not  think  is  worth  the  while  to  repeat. 

She  lives  in  the  Bue  d'Assas,near  the  comer  of  the  Rue  Vagi* 
raud,  in  the  only  quarter  of  Paris  where  one  still  finds  gardens 
which  have  not  given  way  to  modern  improvements  and  to  an 


JEIOSA    BONHEUR.  611 

avalanche  of  stones.    Her  little  cottage,  standing  back  from 
the  street  a  short  distance,  is  literally  embowered  in  foliage. 

The  ground  floor  contains  a  dining-room  and  three  sleeping 
apartments  quite  modestly  furnished.  On  the  first  floor, 
ascending  to  it  by  a  carefully  carpeted  staircase,  you  come  to 
Mademoiselle  Bonheur's  atelier.  This  is  hung  with  green 
▼elvet,  and  is  filled  with  exquisite  and  bizarre  objects  of  art ; 
and,  with  its  tapestry,  inlaid  floors,  pictures,  bronzes,  pieces  of 
armor,  skins  of  wild  animals  for  rugs,  and  branching  horns  of 
deer  and  oxen  upon  the  walls,  it  forms  a  curious  and  brilliant 
sahn.  It  is  open  for  receptions  on  Fridays.  While  cour- 
teously entertaining  her  guests  Mademoiselle  Bonheur  still  con- 
tinues working.  **  Allow  me  to  resume  my  brush ;  we  can  talk 
just  as  well  together,"  she  says,  after  the  first  salutation. 

She  rises  at  six,  and  when  the  day  closes  she  is  still  found 
at  her  easel,  not  leaving  it  until  an  hour  after  midnight. 
During  this  lon^  period  of  work  she  is  refreshed  by  now  and 
then  hearing  reading  and  music. 

It  is  said  that  George  Sand  is  her  favorite  author,  though  it 
is  difficult  to  understand  how  a  character  of  such  perfect 
simplicity  and  purity  as  Rosa  Bonheur's  could  find  the  slight- 
est satisfaction  of  mind  or  heart  from  such  an  author.  Evi- 
dently she  yields  to  th^  irresistible  charm  of  the  style,  feel- 
ing that  the  poison  of  the  ideas  has  no  danger  for  her. 

She  early  decided  not  to  marry,  wedding  herself  to  her  art. 
During  her  visit  in  England,  it  was  half  jocosely  and  half 
seriously  talked  of,  that  Sir  Edwin  Landseer  should  marry 
her ;  but  perhaps  the  fact  of  her  vigorous  rivalship  in  the 
same  line  of  art  daunted  the  amiable  old  bachelor.  It  is 
said  that  when  he  first  saw  her  ^  Horse  Fair,"  he  magnani- 
mously and  humorously  exclaimed,  ^It  surpasses  me,  though 
ifs  a  little  hard  to  be  beaten  by  a  woman." 

Mademoiselle  Bonheur  has  made  many  journeys.  She 
has  visited  the  pi  3turesque  portions  of  France,  and  roamed 


612  EMINENT  WOjftjN  OF  THE  AGE. 

over  the  Pyrenees  into  Spain.  Her  delight  is  in  the  mouti'- 
tainSy  —  the  more  solitary  and  wild  the  better ;  and  she  seldom 
fails  to  bring  home  from  these  excursions  a  number  of  ex- 
quisite sketches.  Her  companion  in  these  journeys  is  a 
Mademoiselle  Micas,  who  resides  with  her  in  Paris.  This  is 
a  middle-aged  lady,  herself  an  artist,  who,  besides  being 
gifted  with  many  mental  accomplishments,  is  said  to  have 
a  remarkable  power  of  subduing  yicious  animals  by  the  mag- 
netism of  her  eye.  She  thus  approaches  the  most  danger- 
ous bulls  roaming  the  mountain  pastures,  who  are  induced  to 
stand  quietly  for  their  portraits. 

Rosa  has  partially  realized  the  dream  of  her  youth  In 
becoming  the  possessor,  at  her  home  in  the  Rue.d'Assas,  of 
quite  a  number  of  animals,  —  two  horses,  four  goats,  an  ox,  a 
cow,  donkeys,  sheep,  and  dogs,  without  naming  many  smaller 
animals,  and  rare  fowls  and  birds. 

She  studies  the  individual  traits  of  animals.  She  loves  to 
give  their  natural  history,  which  she  does  with  piquant  origi- 
nality. She  grows  poetical  and  enthusiastic  in  setting  forth 
the  characters  and  dispositions  of  her  favorites.  In  conver- 
sation, she  has  vivacity  joined  with  depth  of  judgment  and 
exquisite  delicacy  of  ideas.  She  knows  how  to  be^very  sar- 
castic, but  her  generous  nature  does  not  allow  her  to  exercise 
her  talent  often  in  this  direction.  She  is  abrupt  and  inde- 
pendent, but  kindly,  noble,  and  self-sacrificing. 

In  1849  she  lost  her  father,  whom  she  loved  with  all  the 
devotion  of  her  strong  nature. 

Her  father  had  been  made  the  director  of  the  Communal 
School  of  Design  for  girls,  in  the  Rue  Dupuytren.  Rosa 
assisted  him  in  his  duties,  and  after  his  death  took  his  place 
nominally,  although  her  sister  Juliette,  now  Madame  Peyrol, 
really  carries  on  the  school. 

Rosa  makes  a  weekly  visit  to  the  institution,  and  this  is 


ROSA    BC^HEUR.  613 

the  great  day  of  the  week  for  the  school,  —  a  day  of  mingled 
laughter  and  tears. 

The  moment  her  quick,  firm  step  is  heard  in  the  hall  of  t^e 
building,  there  is  a  solemn  silence. 

She  passes  rapidly  round  in  review,  giving  to  each  pupil's 
work  a  penetrating  glance  and  word. 

Above  all  she  cannot  endure  bad  drawing,  and  where  a 
scholar  repeats  her  mistakes  she  is  sometimes  very  severe^ 
telling  her  that  she  had  better  go  home  to  her  mother  and 
learn  to  make  bread,  or  some  cutting  remark  of  the  kind ; 
which,  howlBver,  a  moment  after  is  followed  by  some  exces- 
sively droll  and  good-natured  speech,  that  dries  up  the  tears 
of  the  poor  girl,  and  sets  her  laughing  with  the  rest. 

Upon  her  great  picture  of  the  ^  Horse-Fair,**  Rosa  Bon- 
heur  spent  eighteen  months  of  the  most  conscientious  and 
exhausting  labor.  Dressed  in  a>  blouse,  she  went  twice  a 
week  to  the  horse-market,  studying  the  animals,  and,  in  fact, 
their  Normandy  owners  and  grooms,  the  portraits  of  some 
of  whom  she  has  spiritedly  painted.  This  picture  was 
bought^by  the  French  government,  but  afterwards  fell  again 
into  Mademoiselle  Bonheur's  hands,  and  she  sold  it  to  M. 
Gambart  for  forty  thousand  francs.  It  was  purchased  by 
William  P.  Wright  of  New  Jersey,  and  is  now  owned  by  A. 
T.  Stewart. 

Bosa  Bonheur  has  received  immense  sums  for  her  pictures, 
and  has,  indeed,  but  to  offer  her  paintings  and  her  portfolio 
of  sketches  to  the  public,  to  become  wealthy ;  but  she  is  not 
greedy  of  money,  and  is  so  generous  in  her  gifts  to  relatives 
and  charitable  objects,  that  she  does  not  accumulate  property. 
She  has  been  known  to  send  to  the  Mont  de  PieU  the  valu- 
able gold  medals  that  she  b^s  received  in  order  to  raise  funds 
to  assbt  fellow-artists.. 

She  supports  two  aged  females,  who  were  formerly  her  ser- 
raats.    Among  many  stories  of  her  liberality  we  mention 


614  EMINENT    WoAeN    OF    THE    AGE. 

two.  A  poor  lady  artist,  who  had  been  coldly  repulsed  by 
several  rich  mea  of  her  own  profession,  to  whom,  in  her  ex- 
treme distress,  she  had  reluctantly  applied  for  assistance, 
went  at  last  to  Bosa  Bonheur,  who  immediately  took  down  a 
small  but  valuable  painting  from  her  study  wall,  and  insisted 
upon  her  accepting  it,  by  which  a  yery  considerable  sum  of 
money  was  raised. 

*  A  young  sculptor,  who  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  her  go- 
nius,  addressed  her  a  modest  note  encksing  a  bill  for  a  bun- 
dred  francs,  which,  he  said,  was  all  he  possessed,  asking  her 
if  she  would  send  him  a  little  drawing  of  the  Value  of  th« 
bill.  The  same  evening  she  returned  to  him  his  bill  accom- 
panied by  an  exquisite  sketch  estimated  to  be  worth  at  least 
a  thousand  francs. 

We  would  close  this  brief  account  of  her  life,  by  quoting  from 
a  graphic  description,  recently  written  by  a  Paris  newspaper 
correspondent,  of  Bosa  Bonheur  and  her  country  home :  — 

*^  Bosa  Bonheur's  workshop  is  far  away  from  the  breweries 
of  Mont  Breda,  or  the  chestnuts  of  the  Luxembourg*  You 
must  take  the  Lyons  line ;  get  out  at  Fontainebleau,  and 
ask  the  first  individual  you  meet  the  road  to  Chateau  By. 
After  an  hour's  walk,  in  a  thick  W€k>d,  you  perceive  at  an 
opening  of  the  Thourmery  woods  an  airy-looking  building,  in 
which  the  architect  has  combined  iron,  brick,  and  wood  with 
rare  artistic  taste.  From  the  cellar  to  the  roof  everything 
is  graceful  and  coquettish  in  this  miniature  castle.  Its  irregu<- 
larity  is  its  greatest  charm,  and  your  eyes  could  feast  all  day 
on  the  turrets  hung  with  ivy  and  the  balconies  entwined  with 
honeysuckle,  if  your  ears  did  not  ring  wiUi  a  peculiar  har- 
mony which  detracts  from  your  admiration.  You  imagine 
that  in  the  barn  near  by  an  Orpheus  transformed  into  an  ani* 
mal  is  chanting  forth  a  chorus  of  Bichard  Wagner's ;  bat,  after 
listening  attentively,  this  strange  concert  is  found  to  proceed 


BQ8A    BO^HEUB.  615 

from  the  bleating  of  sheep,  the  lowing  of  cows,  the  neighing 
of  horses,  and  the  yelping  of  dogs. 

**  The  servant  pointed  out  to  me  a  funny-looking  little  man, 
coming  towards  me  knitting  his  eyebrows.  He  had  on  an 
enormous  straw  hat.  Looking  under  it  I  perceived  a  soft, 
beardless  face,  browned  by  the  sun  and  lighted  up  by  two 
moderate-sized  chestnut-colored  eyes.  The  small  nose  rather 
exaggerated  the  size  of  the  large  mouth,  showing  two  rows  of 
superb  teeth.  Long  hair  flowed  from  under  her  large  peas- 
ant hat  in  great  negligence. 

**  'Who  are  you  ? '  *  Where  do  you  come  from  ? '  and  '  What 
do  you  want  ? '  said  she  to  me  sharply.  She  stopped  in  front 
of  me,  and  thrust  her  hands  in  the  pockets  of  a  pair  of 
gray-ribbed  velvet  pants.  I  had  been  struck  with  the  minute- 
ness of  those  hands,  and  looked  at  her  feet,  which  were 
equally  microscopic,  in  spite  of  their  thick  covering  of  calf- 
skin undressed,  with  pegged  soles. 

**This  C<esar-like  apostrophe  disconcerted  me  a  little,  but 
recovering  my  coolness,  I  answered,  *Iam  a  journalist,  and  I* 
wish  to  see  Miss  Bonheur.' 

*^*Well,  look  at  her,'  said  the  little  peasant,  taking  off  his 
head-gear. 

**She  continued  in  a  milder  tone,  *  You  must  excuse  me ;  you 
understand  that  I  am  obliged  to  keep  intruders  away.  If 
talent  makes  a  wild  beast  of  a  person,  it  is  scarcely  worth 
desiring.  You  know,  also,  the  loss  of  time  occasioned  by 
the  visits  of  strangers ;  the  weariness  caused  by  their  questions. 
Come  now  with  me ;  I  am  going  to  show  you  my  sheep ;  if 
it  tires  you  I  can't  help  it ;  hurry,  because  I  left  one  half 
shorn,  and  if  the  fleece  is  not  taken  off  at  once  the  poor 
beast  burns  on  one  side  and  freezes  on  the  other.  I  was 
born  to  be  a  farmer,  but  fate  decided  otherwise.  I  am  a 
painter,  and  out  of  my  element/  '^ 


616  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

We  should  be  glad,  were  we  able,  to  make  a  detailed  crit- 
icism of  Mademoiselle  Bouheur's  works  aud  artistic  -  genius. 
We  will  offer  a  few  words,  setting  forth  as*  best  we  can  her 
relative  rank  as  an  artist,  and,  in  the  phrase  of  that  philo- 
Bophic  French  critic,  M.  Taine,  the  ^  milieu^  to  which  her 
character  and  style  of  art-production  belongs. 

Rosa  Bonheur  is  acknowledged  to  be,  beyond  all  gainsay 
iug,  a  master.  She  is  one  of  the  few  painters  of  the  day  of 
any  country,  who  deserve  that  title.  She  has  attained  that 
proud  eminence,  which  many  a  man  of  decided  power,  but 
who  still  walks  in  stereotyped  paths,  has  not  been  able  to 
win.  It  implies  that  in  her  own  special  field  of  art  she  has 
exhibited  an  original  genius,  and  has  become  a  leading,  if 
not  the  leading,  representative.  She  is,  undoubtedly,  the 
greatest  female  artist  who  has  ever  lived. 

Of  the  two  principal  departments  of  art  comprehended  in 
the  idealistic  and  naturalistic  schools,  Rosa  Bonheur  belongs 
decidedly  to  the  latter.  Nature  has  been  her  inspirer.  We 
liave  seen  how,  by  the  sole  force  of  her  youthful  genius,  she 
broke  away  from  the  classical  school,  like  a  young  horse  that 
throws  his  rider,  leaps  the  roadside  fence,  and  gallops,  with 
fiery  eye  and  streaming  mane,  into  the  wide  green  fields,  re* 
joiciug  in  his  new-found  liberty.  She  has  taken  the  real  facts 
of  nature  for  the  basis  of  her  art.  She  loves  nature.  One 
must  love  the  little  violet  before  he  can  paint  it.  By  a 
patient,  self-forgetting  study  of  nature,  by  winding  herself 
into  her  inmost  confidence,  by  following  those  deep  princi- 
ples of  beauty  and  life  that  are  so  hidden  and  evasive,  she 
has  grasped  the  secret  of  power.  She  is  not  beholden  to 
the  Louvre  Gallery,  nor  to  Poussin.  She  does  not  look 
at  the  clear  and  open  face  of  nature  *' through  a  glass 
darkly  "  of  the  older  school  of  pastoral  painters,  who,  while 
men  of  genius,  have  followed  some  preconceived  theory, 
Bome  solemn    artificiality,  or    some   symbolic   idea,   which 


EOSA    BONHEUR.  '617 

came  between  the  truth  of  nature  and  the  eye  and  soul  of  the 
lEtrtist ;  but  in  her  brave  and  simple  faith  she  goes  away  from 
pictures  and  crowds  out  into  the  pure  country,  lonely  and  still, 
and  smelling  of  the  fresh-broken  earth  and  new-mown  hay ; 
she  traverses  rough  clayey  roads  through  the  fields ;  she  sits 
in  the  bare  cottages  of  peasants ;  she  chats  with  ploughmen 
in  their  broad-brimmed  hats  and  blouses ;  she  talks,  too,  with 
the  patient  beasts  as  they  stand  panting  in  the  furrows,  or 
with  dreamy  eye  ruminate  their  cud  under  the  tree-shadpws 
in  the  sultry  noontide ;  she  comprehends  the  language  of 
their  voices,  looks,  and  motions,  and  spells  out,  with  a 
child-like  docility,  the  broad  page  made  by  the  hand  of  the 
Great  Artist,  and  pictured  over  with  flocks  of  sheep,  —  the 
earliest  type  of  innocence  and  purity. 

She  goes  to  maternal  earth  for  her  nourishment,  from  whose 
ample  breast  is  drawn  the  support  of  man.  A  healthful,  rud« 
dy  child  of  earth,  not  of  heaven,  is  her  art,  —  playmate  of 
the  herds  and  flocks,  baptized  by  the ,  morning  dew,  and 
sleeping  amid  the  spicy  heather  of  the  mountains.  Rosa 
Bonheur  belongs  to  the  Dutch  or  Flemish  school  of  pastoral 
painters,  with  a  far  finer  and  more  earnest  spirit,  and  with 
the  more  thorough  and  scientific  training  of  the  modern 
French  school. 

She  is  a  perfectly  accomplished  artist  in  drawing,  anato- 
my, and  all  the  more  technical  and  mechanical  portion  of 
her  art.  She  skilfully  uses  the  palette  knife  on  her  landscapes 
for  the  production  of  harmonious  effects,  which,  it  is  said, 
few  aftists  are  able  to  do.  As  a  colorist,  or  tonist,  Troyon, 
her  most  formidable  rival  as  an  animal  painter,  is  said  to 
somewhat  excel  her,  but  in  no  other  respect.  Yet,  after  all, 
it  is  not  in  these  things  that  the  great  artist  is  seen,  but  in  the 
quality  of  the  mind,  its  vigor  and  fineness,  its  capacity  to 
produce.  Here,  Rosa  Bonheur,  deeply  musing,  striking  out  a 
new  path  for  herself,  going  to  the  unfrequented  but  ever  fresh 


618  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

Bounces  of  nature,  having  confidence  in  her  own  powcis,  and 
producing  original  and  splendid  results,  shows  her  true 
greatness. 

She  has  been  called  an  imitator  of  nature,  and  no  idealist, 
or  without  poetry  and  imagination ;  and  she  has  been,  in  this 
regard,  unfavorably  compared  with  Sir  Edwin  Laudseer.  But 
all  art  is  in  one  sense  imitation.  It  is  not  nature  itself,  but  it 
IS  only  a  representation  of  natural  objects.  It  is  an  illusion, 
whose  perfection  is  to  awaken  the  same  feelings  that  nature 
does,  to  grasp  the  essential  idea  which  gives  life  and  interest 
to  the  object,  and  forms  its  real  subject  in  the  mind.  Rosa 
Bonheur  does  this.  Her  pictures  are  vital  with  the  true  spirit 
of  the  scene,  or  of  an  animal,  and  where  there  is  poetry  in  the 
subject,  there  is  poetry  in  her  picture ;  but  it  is  of  an  unob 
trusive,  unsentimental,  every«-day,  naturalistic  sort.  It  does 
not  say,  ^See,  here  is  a  poem  ;^  but  its  truth  and  beauty  steal 
upon  one  unconsciously,  like  the  beauty  of  simple  rural  scenery 
and  country  life.  She  does  not  seek  the  unknown,  but  takes 
the  commonest  and  most  familiar  objects.  She  speaks  to  the 
popular  heart  and  the  common  mind.  While  her  pictures 
are  full  of  almost  unapproached  genius  in  her  peculiar  field, 
yet  they  are  comprehensible  by  all.  Take  her  picture  of  the 
•'Muleteers  crossing  the  Pyrenees."  They  are  but  three  com- 
mon Spanish  peasants,  working  for  their  daily  bread ;  but 
they  have  come  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  pass,  among  the 
mists  and  clouds,  and  are  now  beginning  to  descend.  The 
way  grows  easier.  The  prospect  of  getting  to  their  journey'^ 
end,  of  the  safe  termination  of  their  wearisome  march,  and  of 
the  good  wages  that  await  them,  fills  their  minds  with  careless 
happiness,  which,  joined  to  rude  physical  strength  and  spirits, 
makes  them  sing  and  exult.  And  the  animals,  how  full  of 
character  I  They  evidently  sympathize  with  their  masters' 
content ;  they  know  very  well,  too,  that  their  labors  have  cul« 
minated.    What  solenm  trustworthiness  and  ofiicial  rospecta- 


B08A    BONHSUB.  619 

bility  in  the  richly  caparisoned  and  belled  mule  that .  cids  t  — 
what  amusing  knowingness  in  the  multitude  of  long  ears  all 
pointed  forwards  I — what  awkward* obstinifte-headeduess,  ex* 
pecting  cudgel  blows,  in  the  young  rebel  straying  from  line 
to  pluck  thistles  I  —  what  a  mingling  of  sagaciousness  and  tn- 
s<mciance  in  the  long  heads  and  soft,  almost  human,  eyes  I 
There  is  nothing  sensational,  nothing  highly  wrought  and 
imaginative,  but  there  is  exquisite  truth,  iusight,  thorough- 
ness, sincerity,  healthful  atmosphere,  power,  and  beauty. 

Kosa  Bonheur's  pencil  will  yet  produce,  it  is  hoped,  still 
more  perfect  works,  bringing  out  undeveloped  powers.  She 
has  been  strongly  urged  to  come  to  this  country  and  visit  our 
western  regions,  and  to  paint  the  buffiilo  and  his  Indian  hunter 
on  their  boundless  native  prairies;  but  this  she  will  never 
do ;  and  her  forte  is  not  wild  nature ;  for  the  fine  spirit  of  the 
woman  shows  itself,  even  in  the  bold  vigor  of  her  genius,  by 
her  choice  of  domestic  nature,  and  her  preference,  in  the 
animal  creation,  of  the  noble  and  gentle  friends  of  man,  rather 
than  of  his  foes  and  victims  of  his  deadly  skill.  The  ox  rather 
than  the  lion  is  the  symbol  of  her  artistic  inspiration.  While 
she  loves  to  seek  the  wild  solitudes  of  mountain  nature,  it 
would  seem  to  be  for  the  sake  of  their  healthful  repose,  and 
in  order  to  find  her  favorite  animals  in  their  native  haunts 
and  their  free  modes  of  life. 

In  this  quiet  domain  of  art  the  feminine  mind,  with  its 
truth,  purity,  and  love  of  beauty,  finds  a  fit  field ;  though  not, 
perhaps,  in  the  provlnu)  of  what  is  called  high  art,  or  ideal 
art,  but  rather  in  the  simpler  province  of  naturalistic  art. 
Nature  is  woman's  field, — the  study  of  the  fresh,  pure  works 
of  Ood,  filled  with  his  goodness  and  love ;  and  yet  any  field, 
or  any  branch  of  art,  for  which  her  genius  best  disposes  her, 
should  be  open  to  her  freely,  even  if  she  cannot  hope  to 
become  an  Angelica  Kauffmann  or  a  Rosa  Bonheur. 

Bosa  Bonheur  has  shown  what  woman  can  do.     She  haa 


620  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AOE. 

asserted  her  right  to  follow  the  free  bent  of  her  own  genius. 
She  has  dared  to  pursue  the  path  which  she  felt  God  marked 
out  for  her ;  and  she  has  Ihereby  said  to  other  women,  if  you 
can,  do  the  same.  Through  much  that  seemed  to  be  totally 
opposed  to  her  sex,  and  impossible  for  a  woman  to  achieve, 
she  has  steadily  made  her  way,  with  a  pure,  bright  purpose, 
and  a  strong,  constant  heart,  until  now  the  foremost  men  in 
the  world  recognize  her  equal  claim  to  greatness.  She  asks 
no  favor  to  be  yielded  her  on  account  of  her  sex.  She  claims 
to  be  judged  by  her  works  on  her  essential  merits,  and  she 
stands  proudly,  but  unambitiously,  the  full,  kitellectual  peer 
of  man. 

Genius  has  no  sex.  The  qualities  of  the  masculine  and 
feminine  minds,  while  profoundly  harmonious,  even  in  their 
contrasts,  and  together  forming  the  perfect  man,  are,  doubt- 
less, as  a  general  thing,  differently  ^made  up  ^  in  their  rela- 
tive proportions  and  dispositions,  according  to  the  varied 
needs  of  their  life-work.  In  the  masculine  mind,  perhaps, 
the  constructive  and  philosophic  elements  are  more  promi- 
nently controlling,  and  in  the  feminine  mind  the  intuitive  and 
sympathetic ;  yet  there  is  the  same  mind  in  both,  the  same 
**  fiery  particle,"  the  same  imperial  and  divine  faculty,  whether 
It  is  shown  in  the  ruling  ability  of  a  Henry  lY.  of  France, 
or  an  Elizabeth  of  England ;  in  the  philanthropic  capacity  of 
a  John  Howard,  or  a  Florence  Nightingale ;  in  the  literary 
scope  and  depth  of  an  Alfi*ed  Tennyson,  or  a  Mrs.  Browning ; 
in  the  creative  artistic  power  of  an  Edwin  Landseer,  or  a 
Bosa  Bonheur. 


JULIA    WABD    HoftTB.  621 


MRS.   JULIA   WARD   HOWE. 


■«••- 


BY  MBS.  LUCU  GILBEBT  CALHOUN. 

■  01  * 

FoUBTEEN  years  ago  there  came  from  the  famous  press  of 
Ticknor  &  Company,  a  small  volume  of  Poems,  whose  first 
page,  beside  the  imprint  of  the  publishers,  bore  only  the 
simple  title-line 

PASSION  FLOWEBS. 

An  anonymous  book  of  poetry  does  not  commend  itself 
to  the  reading  mob,  and  not  many  copies  were  sold.  But  the 
critics  read  it,  and  the  scholars,  and  that  small  public  which 
had  heard  that  it  was  Mrs.  Howe's  book,  and  desired  to  know 
what  sort  of  verses  a  woman  of  society,  a  wit,  a  housewife, 
and  a  mother  of  children  would  write.  It  was  a  book  that 
invited,  and  received,  and  defied  criticism ;  a  book  powerful, 
pungent,  and  unripe.  Its  personalism  was  terrible.  In 
every  page  it  said,  ^  Lo,  this  thing  that  God  has  made  and 
called  by  my  name  I  What  is  it  ?  Why  is  it  ?  Behold  its 
passions  and  temptations ;  its  triumphs  and  its  agonies ;  its 
fervors  and  its  doubts;  its  love  and  its  scorn;  its  disap- 
pointment and  its  acquiescence  I"  Here  at  last,  in  America, 
was  a  woman-poet ;  not  an  echo,  nor  a  shadow,  nor  a  sweet 
singer  of  nothings.  ^  Another  Sidney,  chivalrous,  gracious, 
and  eager  for  her  part  in  the  battles  of  life ;  to  whom,  also, 
the  muse  ^id,  **Look  into  thy  hearty  and  write  I  ^  She  was 
not  an  artist,  for  her  song  had  mastered  her,  but  it  must 


622  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    T-HS    AGE. 

needs  have  been  8trong-winged,  and  bold  to  do  that.  Clearly 
she  was  a  many-sided  woman,  whom  heart  and  imagination 
alone  would  have  made  a;  devotee,  and  her  keen  intellection 
alone  a  free  lance,  and  who  thus  alternately  believed  much 
and  nothing,  alternately  accepted  and  defied  destiny.  So 
much  one  might  read  of  her  history  in  this  book. 

Society  knew  also  that  she  was  bom  and  reared  in  New 
York,  her  father  being  a  wealthy  banker,  well-bred,  and 
scholarly.  Determined  that  this  pet  daughter — a  wise  little 
atom  even  in  her  babyhood  —  should  not  be  merely  a  fashion- 
able girl,  he  gave  her  teachers  and  books,  appealed  to  her 
ambition,  aroused  her  artistic  instinct,  and  kindled  her  relig- 
ious nature.  The  quick  spirit  responded  to  .every  touch. 
A  wise  and  loving  man  meant  only  to  mould  a  wise  and 
loving  woman ;  but  day  by  day  the  steady  eyes  grew  more 
intent  in  their  questioning ;  day  by  day  the  broad  brow  wore 
lines  of  deeper  thought ;  day  by  day  the  elder  mind  caught 
glimpses  in  the  younger  of  that  strange,  ineffable  gift  which 
men  call  genius.  The  brilliant  girl  had  written  verses  almost 
as  soon  as  she  could  write  at  all.  French  and  Italian  she 
readily  mastered,  and  in  time,  leaving  behind  her  the  waste 
and  weary  land  of  German  grammar,  she  came  into  such  a 
shining  inheritance  of  German  literature  as  seemed  to  create 
in  her  new  faculties  of  comprehension.  Goethe  and  Schiller 
were  her  prophets  and  kings,  and  she  received  with  large 
welcome  the  subtile  philosophers  of  their  speculative  nation. 
While  a  school-girl  she  published  first,  a  review  of  Lamartiue's 
Jocelyn,  with  translations  in  English  verse,  and  afterwards  a 
more  thoughtful  review  of  Dwight's  translation  of  the  minor 
poems  of  Goethe  and  Schiller. 

So  she  grew  to  ripe  girlhood, — reading,  writing,  dreaming ; 
fiery  within,  as  her  warm  tints  and  rich  bright  hair  declared 
her,  but  cold  without,  nnder  the  repression  of  her.education. 
To  this  day  it  is  plain  that  she  cannot  easily  reconcile  her 


JULIA    WARD    HOWE.  623 

« 

antagonisros.  That  her  reason  accepts  the  strictest  formulas 
of  life,  her  energetic  intellect  works  well  and  thoroughly  in 
the  harness  of  existing  laws  and  limits,  while  her  ^red  temper- 
ament" sometimes  besets  her  to  set  all  bonds  at  naught,  and 
scatter  heresies  of  thought  and  conduct  like  firebrands. 

At  twenty,  sentimental,  romantic,  longing  for  the  actual 
vivacity  of  life,  and  finding  only  the  dulness  of  routine,  she 
was  subject  to  seasons  of  passionate  and  profound  melan- 
choly. Her  German  studies  had  made  her  indifferent  to  the 
formal  worship  in  which  she  had  been  bred,  and  no  vital 
belief  offered  itself  to  her.  Into  this  vague,  hungry,  and 
dark  mood  of  hers  came  the  awful  kindness  of  death.  The 
idol  of  her  heart — her  father — died,  and  within  a  brief  time 
a  dear  brother  also,  and  the  questioning  heretic  became  a  relig- 
ious and  spiritual  enthusiast.  This  exaltation  lasted  for  two 
years.  During  that  time  the  young  devotee  read  little  else 
than  the  Bible,  which  she  undertook  as  a  meritorious  religious 
exercise. 

One  day  a  friend  put  into  her  hand  ^  Guizot's  History  of 
Civilization,"  and  then  her  new  life* began.  She  studied  it 
with  all  the  force  of  her  vigorous  mind,  and  its  large  thought 
aroused  her  from  her  dream  of  holiness  to  a  life  of  use,  while 
it  lent  wings  to  heir  self-centred  imagination.  She  was  now 
a  liberal  in  politics,  —  in  religion  a  thoughtful  inquirer.  She 
studied  Paradise  Lost,  and  felt  its  gloomy  grandeur,  while  it 
nevertheless  compelled  her  reason  to  reject  an  eternal  hell  as 
impossible.  At  twenty-three  she  married  Dr.  Samuel  G. 
Howe,  of  Boston,  — a  man  whose  heroic  labors  for  Greece  in 
her  struggle  for  independence,  whose  beautiful  devotion  to 
the  blind,  and  whose  anti-slavery  crusades  made  men  speak 
of  him  as  the  new  Bayard.  They  went  abroad  immediately. 
In  England  the  petted  child,  the  young  heiress,  the  idol  of 
her  own  circle,  the  haughty  belle,  found  that  her  only  claim  to 
social  distinction  was  her  husband's  fame,  which  the  recent 


624  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

publication  of  Dickens'9  ^  American  Notes  **  had  made  dear  to 
all  noble  English  hearts.  To  a  woman  of  her  strong,  self- 
centred  nature,  of  her  conscious  power,  and  stately  pride, 
this  acceptance  of  her  as  the  appendage  of  another,  this  care- 
lessness of  what  sovereignty  might  be  in  herself,  was  an 
abasement  as  bitter  as  salutary.  She  had  dreamed  of  literary 
fame ;  but  this  sudden  humiliation,  the  new  cares,  the  alien 
interests  that  crowded  upon  her,  postponed  her  career  for 
years.  She  came  to  the  Old  World  as  a  queen  comes  to  her 
own.  Its  beauty,  its  maturity,  its  solemn  antiquity  seemed 
her  inheritance.  Bome,  magnificent  and  desolate,  made  her 
life  a  rapture.  There  her  first  child  was  born,  and  her  pas- 
sion of  mother-love  was  hardly  deeper  than  her  passion  of 
sad  tenderness  for  the  supreme  city.  Now  for  the  first  time 
her  firmament  was  high  enough  to  let  her  stand  upright. 
She  lived  in* this  divine  atmosphere  for  months,  and  then 
came  back  to  the  cold  clearness  of  New  England  days,  set- 
tled into  the  prosaic  round  of  house-keeping,  and  gave  her-* 
self  much  to  society. 

In  spite  of  housetiold  .cares  and  baby  hands  tugging  at  her 
priceless  hours,  she  saved  time  for  the  hard  study  which  was 
the  breath  of  her  life.  She  read  Swedenborg,  and  the  tough 
difficulties  she  encobntered  only  stimulated  her.  She  toiled 
at  Comte,  and  made  new  resolves  of  thoroughness  and  breadth 
of  culture.  In  1850  she  again  went  abroad,  returning  to  her 
beloved  home,  where  she  wrote  most  of  the  poems  included 
in  *•  Passion  Flowers,**  and  where  art,  and  books,  and  her 
precious  children  made  that  winter  her  golden  prime.  Com- 
ing biack  to  Boston,  Dr.  Howe  undertook  the  charge  of  "The 
Commonwealth,**  —  a  newspaper  dedicated  to  free  thought, 
and  zealous  for  the  liberty  of  the  slave. 

And  now  Mrs.  Howe's  opportunity  was  come.  She  wrote 
editorials,  literary  articles,  and  verses,  contributing,  abo, 
those  brilliant  paragraphs  for  which  the  paper  was  famous  in 


JULIA    TITABD    HOWB.  625 

its  day.  This  success  opened  the  way  for  the  publication  of 
**  Passion  Flowers,**  so  overblamed  and  overpraised.  Two 
years  after  came  ^  Words  for  the  Hour,"  —  a  book  that  palpi- 
tated, such  red  heart's  blood  coursed  through  the  lines.  These 
poems,  like  the  first,  were  wayward,  inartistic,  obscure,  de- 
fiant, but  they  were  riper,  and  even  more  full  of  promise.  In 
each  the  thought  was  strong,  and  deep,  and  true.  The 
stately  rhythm  that  now  and  then  broke  on  the  ear,  the  full 
and  passionate  expression,  the  terrible  sarcasm,  the  sudden 
lyric  glimpses,  lavished  by  this  intense  soul  dowered  with  the 
love  of  love,  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn,  revealed  a 
power  which  no  woman  but  Mrs.  Browning  bad  exceeded. 
The  critics  decided  to  accept  the  new  poet ;  but  a  nature  so 
intense,  a  personality  so  strong  as  hers,  is  rarely  understood 
or  estimated  at  its  worth.  On  the  one  hand  she  was  assaulted 
with  flattery,  and  on  the  other  with  abuse.  She  went  steadily 
on  her  way,  saying  such  wittily  sharp  things  of  her  detract- 
ors that  it  argued  no  small  courage  in  a  man  to  couch  a  lance 
at  her,  —  still  studying  like  an  undergraduate,  still  writing 
with  the  industry  of  a  country  parson, — and  in  1857  publishing 
"  The  World's  Own," — a  play  produced  at  Wallack's  Theatre, 
in  New  York.  It  was  brilliant,  fuU  of  dramatic  feeling,  and 
well  managed,  but  lacked  a  certain  theatrical  suppleness,  a 
stage-effectiveness,  without  which  it  could  not  succeed. 

In  1859  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Howe  accompanied  the  dying  Theo- 
dore Parker  to  Cuba.  A  charming  book  of  travels,  witty, 
brilliant,  airy,  and  graceful,  was  her  account  of  this  journey, 
published  first  in  the  **  Atlantic  Monthly,"  and  then,  with  ad- 
ditions, in  a  volume  which  she  called  '*ATrip  to  Cuba." 
Fun  is  very  near  feeUng,  in  fine  souls,  and  all  through  the  book, 
under  the  ring  of  the  laugh  one  catches  the  breathing  of  a 
sigh,  as  the  shadows  of  the  glittering  island-life,  and  the 
shadows  of  a  parting  friendship  fell  on  the  bright  observer. 
About  these  days,  or  earlier,  readers  of  the  ^  New  York  Tri- 

40  *, 


626  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE    AGE. 

hune  "  were  charmed  with  occasional  letters  from  Boston,  from 
New  York,  or  Washington,  about  the  gay  world  and  people 
and  places  of  note,  about  summer  days  and  autumn  glories, 
about  art  and  poetry  and  religion.  Eagerly  asking  whose  they 
were,  such  readers  came  for  the  first  time  into  glad  relations 
with  Mrs.  Howe,  and  felt  her  to  be  a  benefactor,  for  the  true 
thoughts  and  bright  pictures  she  had  given  them.  Since  1860 
her  studies  have  been  principally  philosophical,  including 
Swedenborg,  Spinoza,  Kant,  Fichte,  and  Hegel.  **I  am 
afraid,"  she  said,  naively,  to  a  friend,  ^  I  am  afraid  I  believe 
in  each  one  till  I  read  the  next." 

During  the  last  eight  years  she  has  written  many  admirable 
social  and  philosophic  papers,  which  she  herself  values  far 
above  her  poems.  Six  lectures  on  Ethics  were  cordially  re- 
ceived in  the  drawing-room,  where  she  read  them  to  an  audi- 
ence of  critical  listeners.  And  at  Northampton,  at  the  time 
of  the  meeting  of  the  American  Society  of  Arts  and  Sciences, 
she  read,  before  many  of  the  academicians,  a  remarkable  lec- 
ture on  **  Man  a  priori^  and  a  posteriori.^  She  has  written, 
also,  thoughtful  essays,  entitled  Tolarity,"  ''Limitation,'* 
and  ^  The  Fact  Accomplished."  She  gave  last  year,  to  the 
*"  Christian  Examiner,"  three  able  papers  on  ^  The  Idea  and 
Name  of  God,"  on  ''The  Ideal  Church,"  and  ''The  Ideal 
State." 

In  1866  she  was  daring  enough  to  publish  ''Later  Lyrics," 
—  a  third  volume  of  miscellaneous  verses,  and  was  justified  of 
her  courage  by  the  worth  of  her  work.  Her  splendid  "Battle 
Hymn  of  the  Republic,"  set  to  the  ringing  tramp  of  the  **  John 
Brown  Song,"  was  the  Marseillaise  of  the  war.  Who  will 
forget,  — 

**  Mine  eyes  have  seen  the  gloiy  of  the  coming  of  the  Lord : 
Ue  Is  trampling  out  the  vintage  where  his  grapes  of  wrath  are  stored : 
He  bath  loosed  the  fateltl  lightning  of  his  terrible  swifb  sword  | 

His  troth  is  marching  on* 


JULIA    WABI/    HOWE.  627 

**  I  have  seen  him  in  the  watch-fires  of  a  hundred  circling  camps ; 
They  have  bailded  him  an  altar  in  the  evening  dews  and  damps ; 
I  can  read  his  righteous  sentence  by  the  dim  and  flaring  lamps ; 

His  day  is  marching  on. 

•<  I  have  read  a  fiery  gospel  writ  in  burnished  rows  of  steel ; 
'  As  ye  deal  with  my  contemners,  so  with  you  my  grace  shall  deal ; 
Let  the  Keto,  bom  of  woman,  crush  the  serpent  with  his  heel, 

Since  God  is  marching  on.' 

*'  He  hath  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call  retreat; 
He  is  sifting  out  the  hearts  of  men  before  his  Judgment-seat ; 
Oh,  be'  swift,  my  soul,  to  answer  him,  be  Jubilant,  my  feet  I 

Our  God  is  marching  on. 

'*  In  the  beauty  of  the  lilies  Christ  was  bom  across  the  sea. 
With  a  glory  in  his  bosom  that  transfigures  you  and  me ; 
As  he  died  to  moke  men  holy,  let  us  die  to  make  men  tree, 

While  God  is  marching  on." 

In  this  third  volume  there  is  much  less  of  the  obscure,  the 
fantastic,  the  forced.  A  lyrical  series  called  ^  Her  Verses," 
says  a  fine  critic,  '^are  so  charged -with  wild  passion,  that  they 
recall  Mrs.  Browning^s  *  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,' with 
more  of  the  Sappho,  and  less  of  the  saint."  Mrs.  Howe  has 
not  yet  mastered  her  splendid  powers.  When  she  has  fully 
possessed  herself  America  will  be  yet  prouder  of  her  one 
great  woman-poet;  for  Harriet  Prescott  writes  too  few 
verses  for  her  fame's  sake,  and  all  other  women  too  many. 

Mrs.  Howe's  last  book  is  just  published.  It  is  called 
^  From  the  Oak  to  the  Olive ;  a  Plain  Record  of  a  Pleasant 
Journey,'*  and  is  the  story  of  a  trip  from  London  to  Athens, 
by  way  of  Paris,  Marseilles,  Rome,  Naples,  and  Venice. 
This  journey  was  undertaken  in  1867,  to  assist  in  distributing 
American  supplies  to  the  destitute  and  heroic  Cretans.  The 
road  is  old  enough,  but  the  traveller  had  new  eyes.  Her 
book  is  filled  with  lovely  pictures  of  scenery  and  people,  of 
high  life,  and  low  life,  of  clear  character-drawing,  and  quaint 
fimcies.     More  than  this,  it  is  profoundly  thoughtful,  and  goes 


623  EMINENT    WOMEN    OF    THE   AOE. 

straight  to  the  heart  of  institutioiiSy  manners^  and  habits  of 
thinking. 

With  the  private  life  of  an  author,  or  a  queen,  the  public 
has  no  business  at  all.  Whether  Airs.  Howe  stands  in  the 
kitchen  eating  bread  and  honey,  or  sits  in  the  parlor  counting 
out  her  money,  may  not  be  told  in  these  pages.  But  certain 
things  that  any  person  in  society  may  know  are  the  property 
of  the  gentle  reader.  She  has  auburn  hair,  and  large,  sad 
eyes, "  where  soul  seems  concentrate  in  sight."  Her  mouth  is 
her  fine  and  expressive  fcatiu'e,  though  her  whole  face  is  mobile. 
Her  bell-like  voice  and  her  pure  enunciation  have  a  charm 
like  music,  and  the  eloquence  of  her  fine  hands  is  irresistible ; 
her  wit  is  brilliant,  ready,  merciless,  and  her  sarcasm  polished 
and  swift  as  the  axe  of  the  headsman  Kudolph.  Her  friends 
know  that  music  is  her  passion,  swaying  her  whole  being ; 
that  the  drama  is  to  her  the  Beautiful  Art,  as  she  has 
written  of  it  in  a  noble  poem  called  ^  Hamlet  at  the  Boston ; " 
that  she'  found  the  infancy  of  her  children  a  constant  miracle 
of  beauty,  and  that  now,  they  pet  and  rule  her  as  if  she  were 
the  child ;  that  the  dignity  of  her  nature,  forcing  her  to  accept 
simplicity  as  the  best  good,  makes  all  luxurious  and  showy 
living  distasteful  to  her,  while  her  sense  of  synmietiy  and 
harmony  delights  in  order  and  elegance. 

For  the  rest,  in  the  winter  she  dwells  in  Boston,  abode  of 
the  blest,  and  in  summer  she  lives  in  an  enchanted  glade,  the 
loveliest  place  on  the  earth,  which  nobody  can  enter  without 
the  magic  password,  and  about  which  all  that  the  world  will 
ever  know  is  written  in  tinted  lines,  and  called  '^In  my  Val- 
ley." The  lesson  of  her  life  is  earnest  work,  and  more  than 
any  one  of  her  sex  in  America,  perhaps,  she  has  demonstrated 
that  it  18  wisdom  for  Women  to  learn  the  Alphabet. 


THE 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  HODSE-KEEPING. 

87  fbi  ftbt  iMjIili  of  1b»  "AmMlott  Agrieottnlit,"       ^ 


JTwMcol  0/  (Jk«  IknnetUe  ArU  /  a  ScUnH/U  ond  ProeMeol  Gtcida  In  iJb« 

iMetffion  ond  JPraporafloM  0/  every  Kind  of  VeeAi  a  Cem/pewiAun^  of 

ike  beei  praetieal  JSwIe*  for  the  TreeereaHon  of  Heaiihf  the 

Care  of  Infante,  the  Vood,  ClothAng,  and  Comfort  of 

Chiidrenf  I>omeeUc  Bemediee,  the  Buiiding,  Cot^ 

aenienee,  and  Onunnentation  of  Mon^ee, 

amd  aU  the  Arte,  Graeee^and  At 

pUehtnente  of  the  JBCoueehoUU 


Kins  Bbabohs  why  this  Book  should  bb  nr  bybbt  Faicilt. 

1.  It  Ifl  the  only  oomprehensire  work  on  the  ral^eot  erer  printed.  All  similar  booki, 
•I  Kn;  Hale'tf  Miss  Beecher'Si  Jennie  Jane's,  and  Prof.  Blot's,  tfe  mere  000k  and  receipt 
books.   This  has  one  chapter  of  reoelpts  and  one  onlj. 

S.  It  goes  deeper  than  any  other  book.  All  the  others  simply  tell  how  to  cook. 
This  Instracts  in  the  principles  of  digestion,  and  prescribes  the  proper  natriment  for 
diiferent  ages,  conditions,  seasons,  and  climates. 

t.  There  is  no  other  book  from  which  a  hoosewift  can  get  snoh  practical  infbrmation, 
and  so  much  of  it,  on  plain  sewing,  and  the  making  np  of  all  articles  of  dress,  from  a 
baby's  shirt  to  a  man's  OTerooat. 

4.  It  touches  all  points  and  departments  of  house-keeping. 

fi.  It  glTes  practical  rules  for  the  preserratlon  of  health,  and  recovery  from  sickness. 

A.  One  chapter  is  deroted  to  Infknts,  thetr  care,  treatment  of  disorders  to  which  they 
are  Uable,  their  dressi  and  management.  This  chapter  is  particularly  commended  to 
young  mothers. 

7.  Spedal  directions  are  glren  as  to  the  ornamentation  of  homes,  and  how  to  make  at 
the  iireside  various  elegant  and  tasteful  decorations. 

8.  Suggestions  are  given  as  to  the  training  of  servants  and  chfldren,  which  will  be 
fbosd  of  great  practical  value. 

9.  This  book  gives  in  plain  language,  easily  understood,  the  results  of  the  most 
recent  researdies  of  chemists  and  physiologists,  respecting  fbod.  This  can  be  found  ia 
BO  other  book  before  the  pubUe. 

It  contains  nearly  000  pages,  and  can  be  obtained  through  our  distributing  Agents. 
It  is  sold  only  Iqr  Subsoription. 

S.  M.  BETTS  &  CO.,  Fnblisliers, 

ifo.  91  Asylum  Street, 

HABTFOBD,  COyiT. 


TESTIMONIAX.S 

OF  THX 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  HOUSE-KEEPING, 

Bt  Mr.  &  Mbs.  JOSEPH  B.  LYMAN. 


Opinkm  qf  5.  IMwards  Todd^  ffs?.,  AgrieuUvnU  EdUor  tf  ih€  Kao  York  DaOig  Timm. 

I  can  heartilf  reoommend  your  treatise,  as  it  tells  erery  one  who  reads  its  pages  what 
to  do  and  how  to  do  it,  in  the  most  feasible  and  philosophic  manner.  It  is  exactly  snoh 
a  work  as  almost  every  house-keeper  in  the  country  can  take  into  the  kitchen  and  dining- 
room,  and  learn,  from  the  plain,  simple,  practical  details  recorded  in  its  pages,  how  to 
engineer  every  department  of  house-keeping  with  as  much  skill  and  efficiency  as  a  Joiner 
working  firom  his  diagrams  in  his  lUustrated  Architect. 

■  Tour  book  ought  to  be  carefUly  studied  by  every  house-keeper  In  the  dty  and  country. 
I  heartily  reoommend  it  to  all  fiirmers  and  mechanics,  to  husbands  and  wives,  to  young 
men  and  young  women.  Could  I  have  had  such  a  book  when  I  exchanged  my  state  of 
single  blessedness  for  that  of  married  felicity,  the  practical  instructions  which  I  then 
needed,  and  which  are  contained  in  Thb  Fuii/>80fht  of  Hou8B-KSEPuro,woald  have 
been  of  more  pecuniary  value  to  me  than  the  cost  of  a  thousand  books. 

l%t  Rari/brd  CouraiU  saift « 

Thb  PniLOSOPBT  of  House-ksbpoo  really  sets  forth  a  philosophy  of  living  which 
Is  sensible  and  practical.  There  is  in  most  fkmilies  abundance  of  material  for  health  and 
comfort,  if  it  was  not  misused  by  ignorant  and  incompetent  house-keepers.  The  health 
depends  so  much  upon  the  diet,  and  the  observance  of  certain  simple  rules,  that  there  is 
more  need  of  information  in  the  home  department  of  lifo  than  in  any  other. 

The  book  before  ns  is  comprehensive  in  its  design,  but  simple  and  methodical  In  its 
plan.  Cooking  assumes  the  dignity  of  an  art,  and  properly  so.  The  book  is  dearly  and 
agreeably  written.    We  know  of  no  one  of  its  dass  that  will  be  so  useful  to  house-keepers. 

The  Soldier^  Friend^  Kew  Torkf  taiftt 

The  volume  is  printed  in  good,  dear  type,  on  good  paper,  and  presents  to  the  eye,  in 
an  attractive  form,  a  great  amount  of  valuable  information,  hints,  and  rules,  worthy  of 
study  by  every  house-keeper.  And  we  advise  all  who  want  an  excellent  manual,  to  supply 
themsdves  with  it,  as  it  is  placed  within  their  reach  by  the  publishers. 

CptniUm  of  the  Hev,  Samuel  SeetpCf  D.D.^  of  East  Hampton,  Mau, 

The  style  In  which  it  is  written  is  elegant  and  chaste,  showing  a  high  degree  of  liter- 
ary culture. 

The  Boeton  DaiOy  Traveller  ea^t 

This  is  a  book  that  is  needed  in  every  family ;  and  it  contains  a  vast  amount  of  nseftil 
information,  brought  together  in  small  compass,  and  well  arranged.  It  is  the  most  val- 
uable work  upon  the  sul^ects  treated  that  we  have  seen. 

The  SpHmgfidd  RepuMoan  eaifsi 

The  Philosophy  of  Houbb-kbepiko  is  a  book  which  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every 
house-keeper;  Ihe  good  sense  and  thorough  understanding  of  all  the  matters  of  which  it 
treats,  that  characterize  it,  render  it  an  invaluable  companion  for  the  misUess  of  a 
family.  We  commend  it  to  all  our  readers,-  hoping  that  in  their  hand&  t  may  do  much  ta 
inaugurate  the  era  of  hygienic  house-keeping. 


vies  on 


JIINJOl 


^^f^-lU^ 


ACME 

Bn^K^INDING  CO.,  INC. 

SEP  2  3  1983 

\CVQ  C/VMBRirOE  STREET 


ACME 

BH'^K'JINDING  CO.,  INC. 

SEP  2  3  1983 

100  CAMSRirGE  STREET 
CHARLESTOWN.  MASS. 


'^a^' 


oso 


6?g 


S07