Transcriber's Notes.

Hyphenation has been standardised.

A GROUP OF FAMOUS WOMEN

STORIES OF THEIR LIVES

BY

EDITH HORTON

ILLUSTRATED

D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS

BOSTONNEW YORKCHICAGO

Copyright, 1914, by
D. C. HEATH & COMPANY
1 C 4

TO THE
WOMEN TEACHERS OF AMERICA
WHOSE NOBLE LIVES HAVE EVER BEEN
AN INSPIRATION TO THE YOUTH
OF OUR LAND

FOREWORD

The best kind of American woman is proud. She has confidence in herself. She is not vain or conceited or self-assertive, but she has faith in her own powers. Even if she could, she would not spend her life in play or in idleness; she would choose to work. She believes that because she is doing her chosen work—whatever it may be—steadily, hour by hour, day by day, she is achieving. Because she has confidence in herself, she can live and labor serenely, proudly. No matter how obscure her lot, she feels herself to be in the same class as the most famous of her American sisters who have worked with steadiness and confidence at their task, and who have achieved greatness.

So difficult has it been for teachers to find brief, readable biographies of distinguished women to use in connection with their lessons in history and civics that they will welcome this interesting collection. It should help to make the girls in our American schools proud of their womanhood and it should give them a strong desire to be worthy of belonging to the same class as this group of noble workers.

Emma L. Johnston

Principal Brooklyn Training School for Teachers.

March 16, 1914.

"If women now sit on thrones, if the most beautiful painting in the world is of a mother and her child, if the image of a woman crowns the dome of the American Capitol, if in allegory and metaphor and painting and sculpture the highest ideals are women, it is because they have a right to be there. By all their drudgery and patience, by all their suffering and kindness, they have earned their right to be there."

—O. T. Mason

"The Egyptian people, wisest then of nations, gave to their Spirit of Wisdom the form of a woman; and into her hand, for a symbol, the weaver's shuttle."

—John Ruskin

INTRODUCTION

The advantages of biography as a means of education are obvious. History and biography go hand in hand, the latter giving vitality and reality to the former.

Educators have for a long time appreciated this, and in many Courses of Study throughout our land provision has been made for the teaching of history through biography. In most cases, emphasis has been laid upon the notable careers of Washington, Franklin, Lincoln, and other illustrious men, with the purpose of interesting the young and inspiring in them the spirit of emulation.

It is a remarkable fact that little attention, if any, has been given to the study of the careers of distinguished women, and the question has often been asked why short biographies should not be prepared, in order that the pupils in our schools might become familiar with the noble and unselfish lives of the many remarkable women whose influence has been inspiring and uplifting. It is hoped that those who read the stories of the lives of the women whose names appear in this volume will find in them an incentive to guide their own lives into useful channels.

These types have been selected because of their direct influence upon events of world-wide significance. Only a limited number of types has been given because it would be impossible, within the compass of one volume or of many, to record the great and good deeds of women, past and present.

The compiler has no intention of expressing her personal opinions; the facts of these women's lives speak for themselves, and the stories, necessarily brief here, of their careers are so full of vital and human interest that it is hoped that the young reader may be led to the perusal of more complete biographies in later life.

Many foreign born girls in our schools have practically no means of acquiring any adequate idea of the ideal standard of American womanhood—a standard radically different from that in their own native lands. The foreign born boys, however, invariably study the lives of great American men, and thus have no difficulty in familiarizing themselves with high ideals in ethics and statesmanship at precisely the time when the most enduring impressions are being made. As there is no reason whatever for this disparity of opportunity, it should cease, and by means of this little work and others of similar character, our school girls in general—and more especially those of foreign birth or parentage—should be made acquainted with the traditions and responsibilities of American women, and the unlimited opportunities for development and progress in this great Republic.

Women have been important factors in our national growth, and the value of their aid in carrying forward the progress of human improvement has never been properly estimated. The future of woman in America is undoubtedly to be of still greater significance to our country. Every art and profession is open to her, everything compatible with womanhood is within her reach, and she should be in readiness for the supreme civic privilege if such be granted her.

To-day, women are voting in ten states of the Union, a fact which calls attention to the necessity of educating girls for the duties of citizenship. The woman of the future will be better equipped to meet such duties by the study of the lives of certain representative women.

In the schools, side by side with boys, our girls study civics. Side by side with boys, they salute the Flag. Grown to womanhood, still side by side with men, they will help to uphold all the sacred traditions for which our Flag stands,—the true woman never forgetting that the home and the family are the bulwarks of the country.

E. H.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A GROUP OF FAMOUS WOMEN

"The woman's cause is man's; they rise or sink
Together, dwarf'd or godlike, bond or free."

—Alfred Tennyson

Henri Chapu, (1833-1891) Louvre

JOAN OF ARC: THE PEASANT GIRL AT DOMRÉMY

JOAN OF ARC

(1410, 1412-1431)

"Oh child of France! Shepherdess, peasant girl! Trodden under foot by all around thee, how I honor thy flashing intellect, quick as God's lightning, and true as God's lightning to its mark, that ran before France and laggard Europe by many a century, confounding the malice of the ensnarer, and making dumb the oracles of falsehood!"

—De Quincey

The story of the life of Joan of Arc is so unusual and so wonderful that it would be difficult to believe it to be true, if all that happened to her had not been told in a court of law and written down during her lifetime. Few facts in history come to us so directly, for these old records are still preserved in France, where they may be seen and read to-day.

Joan was born sometime between 1410 and 1412, in the little village of Domrémy, France, being the fifth child of Jacques and Isabelle d'Arc. Her parents were peasants in comfortable circumstances and Joan did not suffer through poverty. She never learned to read or write—indeed, very few people at that time were able to do so—but she became skillful in the use of the needle and helped her mother in all the household tasks. She was always good and obedient to her parents and kind to every one, especially the sick and the poor.

When work for the day was over, Joan ran about with her playmates, full of fun and frolic, dancing and singing for the pure joy of living. Often the children would run to the beautiful forest near the village, where there was an oak which they called the fairy tree. Here they would bring cakes for little feasts, at which they would dance, hanging garlands of flowers on the branches in honor of the good fairies. This was a custom of peasant children of France in those days.

Joan would sometimes steal away from her companions and sit quietly and thoughtfully alone. For she was living in a very unhappy time for France, and the misfortunes of her beloved country weighed upon her spirits.

Her father had told her of the sad condition of France, of how the kings of England had been for nearly a hundred years trying to make themselves kings of France, and how, little by little, they had taken possession of French lands until it was feared they would soon own the entire country and France would have an English king. Charles, called the Dauphin, son of the old French king, did not dare to be crowned, and no prince was thought to become really king of France until that ceremony had taken place. For centuries, the French kings had been crowned and anointed with sacred oil at the Cathedral of Rheims, but as the city of Rheims was far away and in the power of the English, Charles thought he could not safely go there.

As Joan grew older, she spent much of her time alone and in prayer, brooding over the wrongs of her country. She implored God to have pity on France. When about thirteen years of age, and while she was standing in her father's garden at noon one summer day, she suddenly saw a great light and heard voices telling her to be good, and telling her, also, that she must go to the rescue of her country. Joan said that she was only a young, ignorant peasant girl, who could neither ride a horse nor use a sword. But the voices kept on speaking to her for years, always telling her the same thing, to go to the relief of the Dauphin.

Joan at last came to believe that the visions and the voices came from God, and she determined to obey them. When she told her father and mother what she intended to do, they tried to dissuade her, telling her that the voices she heard were imaginary, and that it was impossible for a girl to do what trained military men and great generals had failed to accomplish. Though it was very hard for her to act contrary to the wishes of her parents, Joan said she must do the work God had planned for her. Soon her gentle persistence had its effect, and people stopped laughing at her and ridiculing her, some even beginning to believe in her mission.

The voices bade Joan go to the Dauphin, who was then living at Chinon, a castle on the Loire, and tell him that she had come to lead his army to victory and that he would shortly go to Rheims to be crowned.

At first it seemed impossible for her to get to Chinon, but she went to Vaucouleurs, where her uncle lived, and with his help she succeeded in persuading Robert de Baudricourt, the commander there, to give her an escort of a few armed men for the journey. Someone gave her a beautiful war-horse, which, to the surprise of all, she rode well, though she had never ridden before in her life. She cut her long, black hair short and dressed herself in doublet and hose like a boy, and this costume she wore during the remainder of her life.

On February 23, 1429, she rode out of Vaucouleurs through a gate which is standing to-day, and after several days journeying came to Chinon. Here there was some delay, for Charles was surrounded by people who advised him not to grant Joan an interview, but she was finally permitted to enter the great hall of the castle, where crowds of men, knights, and nobles in gorgeous attire, were assembled. But Joan was not dismayed. With confidence, but also with modesty, she walked up to one who was very plainly dressed, and fell on one knee before him saying, "God send you long life, gentle Dauphin." The man pointed to another, richly dressed in gold and silk embroidery, saying, "That is the King." But Joan said, "No, fair Sir!" She was not to be deceived, and her recognition of Charles, notwithstanding his disguise, caused all to wonder and many to believe in her.

The King asked her name and what she wanted.

"Fair Dauphin, my name is Jeanne the Maid; and the King of Heaven speaks unto you by me, saying that you shall be anointed and crowned at Rheims," Joan replied.

She then asked to be allowed to lead his army to the relief of Orleans, which city was under siege by the English at that time, telling him that under her guidance the victory would be theirs. Many of the nobles laughed at the idea of a girl leading an army, but after talking with her, Charles granted her request and sent her to Tours, where preparations were made for the journey to Orleans.

At length all was in readiness and the start was made. On a bright spring day, Joan rode away from Tours at the head of the King's army, wearing beautiful armor of white wrought iron. She carried an ancient sword, which she had divined was hidden behind the altar of St. Catherine in the chapel at Fierbois, and a banner embroidered with golden lilies. Such a sight was never seen before nor since.

It was night, April 29, when the French reached Orleans. They had safely passed an English fortress and entered the town without trouble. The people of Orleans, carrying torches, crowded around Joan, eager to see the brave girl who had come to their rescue. The women tried to kiss her hands and all the people shouted and cheered. The entire city rejoiced, for Joan's calm confidence, her bravery and decision, inspired the soldiers with belief in her and in the success of her undertaking.

Very soon Joan led her soldiers forth against the English and they were successful in taking several forts. She had prophesied long before this time that she would be wounded during the fighting, and one evening, shortly before the siege was raised, she said to Brother Pasquerel, the priest who was with her, "To-morrow rise even earlier than to-day. Stay always at my side, for to-morrow I shall have much ado—more than I have ever had, and to-morrow blood shall flow from my body."

The next day, while placing a ladder against a wall during the thick of the fight, a cross-bow entered her shoulder in spite of her armor and blood flowed. The arrow was drawn out and the wound was dressed, whereupon she insisted upon returning to the battle, though it is said she cried a little because of the pain.

At eight o'clock that night one of Joan's generals came to her for permission to stop the fighting until morning. But Joan asked him to wait a while. Then she rode into a vineyard and prayed. When she returned to the field, she found that a soldier had carried her banner into a ditch. She seized it, and waving it so that all the men saw it, cried, "When my standard touches the wall, we shall take the fort!" Soon the wind blew the fringe of the banner against the wall and with a mad rush the French climbed into the fort, while the English fled.

The next day, May 8, 1429, the siege was raised, and ever since, the people of Orleans celebrate that day and pay honor to Joan, called by them "The Maid of Orleans."

Several other victories were won by the French under Joan's leadership until the English were driven far to the North. Then Joan tried to induce Charles to go to Rheims to be crowned, so that the French people would feel that he was really their King. But the distance was great and the roads passed through towns which were occupied by friends of the English, and Charles, who loved his ease, was hard to move. At length, however, he was persuaded, and with an army of twelve thousand men Charles started on his journey to Rheims, which city he entered on July 16, being crowned the next day with imposing ceremonies.

This was perhaps the happiest day of Joan's life. The great Cathedral was crowded with people, only the center aisle being kept free for the procession. First came the Archbishop, accompanied by his canons in their robes of state. Then came men of high rank, magnificently dressed. From the west door Joan and the King appeared side by side, and cheers and cries of welcome greeted them, followed by a deep silence preceding the solemnity of the coronation. The Archbishop of Rheims administered the coronation oath; then the Dauphin was anointed with the sacred oil, and crowned, while the trumpeters played and the people shouted. The Maid knelt at the King's feet and wept for joy.

When asked by Charles to choose a gift as a reward for her work for her country, she begged that the people of her native town Domrémy might be free from paying taxes. This was granted, and for three hundred years the taxes were remitted. On the books is written against the town of Domrémy: "Nothing. For the sake of the Maid."

This was all Joan would accept. For herself she desired nothing except to be allowed to go back to her village home to tend her sheep and be again with her mother. But Charles VII would not consent to that, for France was not yet free from the English.

So it was decided to try to recapture Paris. Shameful to say, however, the King did not give Joan the assistance he should, withdrawing instead from the city. Soon afterwards, while leading an attack against the Duke of Burgundy, Joan was taken prisoner and sold to the English. King Charles made no effort to effect a ransom for her, nor did anyone else in France attempt to raise money to save her from her unhappy fate. She was charged with sorcery, put into prison in Rouen, and after a year was brought to trial. At the trial she was found guilty, was sentenced to death, and burned at the stake in the market place of Rouen, May 30, 1431.

Joan of Arc had no grave; her ashes were thrown into the Seine. There remains no relic of her, no portrait, or any article she ever touched. Still she will never be forgotten. It is now nearly five hundred years since her death, yet to-day she is honored and reverenced, and many statues have been erected to her memory.

A mere child in years, she rescued her country from the English by a series of brilliant victories, crowned the French king, and in return for this was burned alive at the stake, while those for whom she had fought looked on, making no effort to save her. She was seventeen years of age when she led the armies of France to victory, and but nineteen when she met her cruel death.

Her pure, steadfast, simple faith, together with her devotion to God and her patriotism, constitute her greatness. During her life in camp, in Court, in her home, and in prison, she never forgot her womanly ideals, though she was called upon to do a man's work; and she stands to-day to all nations a shining example of pure and noble womanhood.

DOROTHY PAYNE MADISON

DOROTHY PAYNE MADISON

(1772-1849)

"It is by woman that Nature writes on the hearts of men."

—Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Dollie Madison was born May 27, 1772, in North Carolina. Her father, John Payne, was a native of Virginia, but he lived on a large plantation in North Carolina which had been given him by his father. He married Mary Coles, a noted belle and beauty, and their daughter Dorothy inherited her mother's good looks.

In their home on the Southern plantation, the Paynes avoided all display, although they enjoyed every comfort and were generous in hospitality. The little Dorothy was brought up to dress quietly and wear no finery. After their removal to Philadelphia, which occurred when Dorothy was fourteen years of age, both John Payne and his wife, already Quakers, became more strict in that creed than they had been before. It was Mr. Payne's conviction—as it was of all Quakers in good and regular standing—that slavery was sinful, and this belief led him to free his slaves, sell his plantation and come North.

In their Northern home, the Quaker rules were rigidly carried out. Though young and of a particularly gay and joyous disposition, Dorothy—or "Dollie" as her friends called her—was forbidden such pleasures as dancing, music, and many other amusements. All this discipline, which we should call unnatural, Dollie received with sweetness and cheerfulness. Her beautiful face reflected a beautiful character.

Mr. Payne, who was untrained in business ways, met with financial reverses, and in his troubles was aided by a young lawyer of wealth named John Tod, also a member of the Society of Friends. This young man, who had fallen in love with Dollie, showed Mr. Payne much kindness, finally obtaining his consent to ask his daughter's hand in marriage. When he proposed to Dorothy, however, she replied that she "never meant to marry." But her father was ill at the time, and to please him, Dorothy, like the dutiful daughter she had always been, consented, and so had the satisfaction of making her father happy for the remaining few months of his life.

After her marriage, Dollie lived for three years the life of a Quaker matron, devoting herself to her husband, her home, and her two babies. Then an epidemic of yellow fever broke out, and John Tod sent Dollie and the babies away from the city while he remained to look after his parents, who were both dying of the fever.

As soon as he could leave, and already ill, he hastened to his wife and children. Mrs. Payne, Dollie's mother, opened the door for him. "I feel the fever in my veins," he gasped, "but I must see her once more!" In a few hours, he and one of the babies were dead. Dollie herself was then stricken, and fatally, it was believed. She recovered, however, and taking with her the remaining child, a boy whom she had named John Payne after her father, Dollie went to her mother in Philadelphia.

These sad experiences broadened and deepened her lovely nature so that she developed from a shy girl into an attractive woman. Her troubles seemed only to increase the natural sweetness of her disposition and enhance her beauty. These gifts, together with her youth and riches, caused her to become the object of much curiosity and attention.

On a certain morning during her walk, she was seen by James Madison, who immediately sought for an introduction. This undoubtedly flattered Dollie, for Mr. Madison was a very prominent and important figure in Congress, with a name celebrated throughout Europe and America. He had worked with Washington, Franklin, and Hamilton to establish the United States government on a firm basis, so that he has since been called the Father of the Constitution.

In a letter to her friend Mrs. Lee, Dollie wrote:

Dear Friend:

Thou must come to me. Aaron Burr says that the "great-little Madison" has asked to be brought to see me this evening....

When he came, Mrs. Tod received him in a fine mulberry satin gown, with silk tulle about her neck and a dainty lace cap on her head, a curl of her pretty black hair showing from underneath. She so sparkled with fun and wit that the scholarly Mr. Madison concluded that there was nothing to do but to offer himself as a husband, and before long they became engaged.

President and Mrs. Washington were much pleased when they heard of this and sent for Dollie to come to them. Mrs. Washington said, "Be not ashamed to confess it, if it is so," for Dollie was shy and confused. Then she added,

"He will make thee a good husband and all the better for being so much older. We both approve of it. The esteem and friendship existing between Mr. Madison and my husband is very great and we would wish thee to be happy."

Dollie was just twenty-two years of age and Mr. Madison forty-four. In September, 1794, at Harewood, Virginia, the home of Dollie's sister who had become the wife of a nephew of Washington, Mrs. Tod and James Madison were married. The guests came from far and near, and there was much merrymaking and gaiety at the wedding; even the quiet, reserved bridegroom became transformed and permitted the girls to cut off bits of Mechlin lace from his ruffled shirt as mementoes.

The bride and groom went first to Montpelier, Virginia, Mr. Madison's home, but soon returned to Philadelphia, where, at the request of her husband, Dollie, laying aside her Quaker dress, entered society and began to entertain largely. Her tact and kindness of heart won every one, and at a time when party spirit ran high and political differences caused bitter feeling, Mrs. Madison entertained with dignity and elegance, slighting no one, hurting the feelings of none, and sometimes making friends out of foes.

When Washington died, Mr. and Mrs. Madison were among his sincere mourners, and helped to comfort the lonely widow for the loss of her greathearted husband. When Thomas Jefferson became President of the United States, James Madison was made Secretary of State. Mr. Jefferson, being a widower, and requiring a lady to assist at his state banquets, often called upon Mrs. Madison to sit at the head of his table in the White House. Her charms especially fitted her for such a position.

After Jefferson had served two terms as President, James Madison was elected to fill his place. At the inauguration ball Mrs. Madison wore a gown of buff-colored velvet, a turban with a bird of paradise plume on her head, and pearls on her beautiful neck and arms.

During the first years of Madison's administration, while national affairs were going on smoothly, Mrs. Madison's entertainments at the White House were many and popular. She had the rare gift never to forget a name and the faculty of putting people at their ease, and thus banishing shyness and stiffness. Her receptions were never dull. Her sparkling conversation drew the best minds to her, and the ease with which she met strangers was remarkable.

She was kind alike to rich and poor, and gave generously of her wealth to the deserving. To her husband she was an able adviser, her sound common sense and good judgment often helping him in his decisions of public matters. President Madison said that, when he was tired and worn out from matters of state, a visit to his wife's sitting-room never failed to rest him.

But national affairs were not to remain quiet. Trouble had long been brewing with England. The commerce of the United States had been almost entirely destroyed by acts of the British. The Atlantic coast from north to south was blockaded by them and many American seamen were impressed. Washington and Adams had managed to avert this war, but now matters were come to a crisis: the whole nation was inflamed, and on June 18, 1812, Congress formally declared war.

As most of the fighting was done at sea, life at the capital went on undisturbed until August 19th, when it began to be rumored that the British were coming to attack Washington. The rumor became a certainty when a horseman dashed through the villages forty miles below Washington, shouting:

"To arms! Cockburn is coming!"

The English had landed five thousand men and were marching toward the capital. Washington was in a state of panic. Citizens banded together for defence and marched to meet the enemy. On August 22, President Madison bade farewell to his wife and left for the front. Up to this time Mrs. Madison had been without fear, but now, learning that the American ships had been destroyed and knowing that her husband was in danger, she became very uneasy.

The work of saving records was at once begun. Important papers were piled into wheelbarrows and carts and carried away. At three o'clock, August 24, Mrs. Madison sat anxiously waiting for some word from her husband. She refused to leave the White House until a large portrait of General Washington was saved, and time being too short to admit of its being unscrewed from the wall, she gave the order to have the frame broken with an axe and the canvas taken out. It was sent in a carriage to a woman living beyond Georgetown, who afterward returned it to Mrs. Madison. It now hangs in the White House again.

A hurried note from the President bade her be in readiness to leave in a carriage at a moment's notice, for it was feared the British would destroy the city. Soon her worst fears were realized, for sounds of approaching troops were heard. Two gentlemen rushed into the room, exclaiming:

"Fly, madam! At once! The British are upon us!"

Mrs. Madison suddenly remembered that the Declaration of Independence, which was kept in a case separate from other documents, had been overlooked when the other papers were sent away. She turned, and notwithstanding the protests of her friends, ran into the house, broke the glass in the case, secured the Declaration, and then jumped into the carriage, which took her to the home of a friend in Georgetown.

Washington could be rebuilt and many valuable articles which were destroyed could be replaced, but the Declaration of Independence once gone would have been lost forever.

That night, few people in or near the city of Washington slept. Instead, they watched the flames destroying the beautiful city, for the British had set fire to the public buildings, the President's house, the new Capitol, the Library of Congress, the Treasury Buildings, the Arsenal and Barracks, besides many private buildings, and the wind from an approaching storm fanned the flames, thus completing the fearful destruction.

Before daybreak, Mrs. Madison left her retreat and traveled to a small tavern, sixteen miles from Washington, where her husband met her. Shortly, word was brought to them that the hiding place of the President had been discovered, and that the British were even then in pursuit of him. Mrs. Madison induced him to retreat at once to a small house in the woods, while she started for Washington, first disguising herself, for the English had said that they were going to capture the beautiful woman and take her to England.

President Madison, however, learning that the British had evacuated Washington, returned to the city that night. His wife had also reached there in safety. The burning of Washington filled the hearts of Americans with indignation, and even in England many condemned the act of Admiral Cockburn, saying that it was "a return to barbaric times."

After three years of fierce conflict, the peace treaty between England and the United States was signed at Ghent, on December 24, 1814. Every one was glad, but no one more so than President Madison, who had been drawn by his party into the war and who was greatly criticized and blamed for it. The President and his wife now took a large house on Pennsylvania Avenue. The brilliancy of social life at the White House had never been equaled before Dollie Madison's time, and it is doubtful if it has been since.

In 1817, James Monroe became President and Mr. Madison retired to Montpelier, Virginia, where he and his wife entertained with true Virginian hospitality the many friends and tourists who came to visit them. Their home was a beautiful one, containing many artistic treasures. Here they lived happily until Mr. Madison's death in 1836.

Soon after her husband's death, Mrs. Madison returned to Washington to live among her old friends, and after a time her home again became a social center. Much consideration was shown her by Congress and by high officials, who respected her for her worthy and honorable life, and for her heroism during the burning of Washington.

During her latter years she was saddened by the dissolute habits of her only son, Payne Tod, whose debts had been frequently paid by President Madison and who now appealed to his mother for money. To save him from disgrace she even sold her beloved Montpelier.

Dollie Madison died in Washington, July 12, 1849, at the age of eighty-two, and was buried in the cemetery at Montpelier beside her husband.

Lossing says: "Mrs. Madison adorned every station in life in which she was placed."

MRS. FRY READING TO THE PRISONERS IN NEWGATE PRISON

From an old engraving

ELIZABETH FRY

(1780-1845)

"A lamp is lit in woman's eyes

That souls, else lost on earth,

Remember angels by."

—N. P. Willis

In Warwick, England, lived a family of Quakers named Gurney. They were not "plain Quakers" at that time, which means that they did not wear plain clothes and refrain from the use of ornaments, nor did they refuse to take part in the pleasures of the world, as strict Quakers are supposed to do. The children, nevertheless, were brought up in accordance with the doctrines of the Bible, very rigidly interpreted.

Mrs. Gurney, a woman of fine education and sound judgment, instructed her little daughters in English, mathematics, literature, Latin and French, and in domestic duties. They were taught to sew and to make plain garments, to oversee the preparation of the meals, and if necessary, to do the cooking. Very great care was taken with their manners, for Mrs. Gurney believed that gentleness and polite behavior were necessary in women.

Elizabeth, the third child, born May 21, 1780, who became the famous Elizabeth Fry, was frail in health, and so nervous that she was afraid of the dark. To cure her of this, her father compelled her to go to bed without a light—a treatment that only increased her nervousness and fear. So firmly was the memory of this severe punishment fixed in the child's mind that, when she married and had children of her own, she never permitted any method of discipline that tended to cause fear.

Elizabeth had not a tractable disposition, but was inclined to be wilful, obstinate, and opinionated. Even as a child, she would act independently. This pronounced trait in her character, so objectionable in youth, enabled her in later years to do many things worth while, in the face of unreasonable opposition.

Her mother died when Elizabeth was twelve years old. As she grew older, she gradually broke loose from her Quaker training and began to think more about dress and adornments; she even learned to dance, and enjoyed going into society. But, while enjoying these pleasures, she all the while realized that she was not really happy. Then she tried to find out the reason. She went among the poor and helped them, but this was no more than all Quakers did. She feared that she was becoming more and more satisfied with the light, pleasant, easy things of life, while the great and good things that might be done ever haunted her, and called to her to regard them.

At this time a traveling Quaker preacher named William Savery, a man of great force and a powerful and compelling speaker, came over from America. He addressed a meeting of Friends which the Gurney sisters attended, including Elizabeth, all sitting in a row on the women's side in the Meeting-House. These young girls wore some ornaments and were more elaborately dressed than the other Quaker girls. When the speaker touched on this matter of adornment and in a gentle, tender voice pleaded for the customs of the plain Quakers, Elizabeth was much affected; all her pleasures seemed to her sinful, and she wept bitterly.

Afterward she had long talks with William Savery, in the course of which, it is said, he prophesied her future. His words changed Elizabeth utterly; she cared no more for the world and its pleasures.

Her father, to test the genuineness of her conversion, induced her to visit friends in London who lived in the midst of gaiety. There, she attended the theater, but was not interested; she danced, but found it dreary; she played cards, but was wearied. All the enjoyments of former times failed to satisfy her. She returned home, and after several months spent in meditation, finally came to the conclusion that, for her at least, those things were wrong; that, for her, life held more important duties. She then gave up all amusements, began to use the "thee" and "thou" of the strict sect, adopted the close cap and plain kerchief of the Quakeress, and preached at meetings.

Once her mind had cleared, she never wavered in the belief that her life must be devoted to works of charity. She began by opening a school for poor children. She was only nineteen, very youthful-looking and very pretty. Everybody wondered how she could govern this school of seventy wild street-children, who had never before known restraint.

While she was occupied with this school, a young Quaker from London, named Joseph Fry, fell in love with her and proposed marriage. At first Elizabeth thought she could not accept Joseph's offer; that to marry would interfere with her plans. But the young man was deeply interested in benevolent work, himself, and had sufficient means to assist her in her projects.

So they were married at Norwich, and later their home at St. Mildred's Court, London, became a meeting place for Quakers from all parts of the world. Instead of card-games and dancing for their entertainment, the visitors in this house heard discussions of plans for the formation of poorhouses, schools, and hospitals for the poor.

In 1809, Elizabeth's father died; and on her knees by his bedside, Elizabeth again vowed to devote her life to the service of God. She now lived in Plashet, Essex, the country seat of her husband's family. With growing children of her own about her and great numbers of guests, one might suppose that she had all she could possibly do. Nevertheless, she found time to open a girls' school for street-children, to organize a soup kitchen, a drug-store, and a library for them, while in her own home she kept a collection of clothes of all sorts with which to clothe them.

When this enterprise was well established and the poor people about her made comfortable, Mrs. Fry turned her attention to the great prison at Newgate, London, where conditions were reported to be shocking. In company with officials and a party of friends, she made her first visit, in 1813. They found things much worse than they had been led to believe.

Mrs. Fry at once determined to reform prison life. Illness in the family delayed this project for nearly three years; but the idea never left her until at last the work was begun. The life of the prisoners in Newgate, and in all prisons at that time, was too harrowing to be here described.

The public listened to her reports, were properly shocked, but scoffed at the bare idea of Elizabeth Fry as a reformer. For a woman to attempt such a work was absurd! Mrs. Fry paid no attention to what was said, but went straight ahead. She began by establishing a school for the prisoners' children, and gave the wretched women prisoners work for which they were paid. Before this, being idle, they had spent their time quarreling, fighting and gambling; now, when they could earn a little money, their behavior began to improve.

Soon Parliament took an interest in this work, ordering an investigation. When the wonderful reforms she had accomplished became known, Mrs. Fry was the most famous woman in England. Queen Victoria expressed a desire to become acquainted with her, and a meeting was arranged which has been described as follows:

Her Majesty's small figure, her dress ablaze with diamonds, her courtesy and kindness as she spoke to the now celebrated Quakeress, who stood outwardly calm in the costume of her creed and just a little flushed with the unwonted excitement, attracted universal homage. The two women spoke, and cheer after cheer went up from the crowd gathered about.

The Court learned that day that there was in goodness and benevolence something better than fashion and nobler than rank.

Mrs. Fry's work for the poor and unfortunate took her to the prisons of many lands, and everywhere honors were bestowed upon her. She died at the age of sixty, October 13, 1845.

LUCRETIA MOTT

LUCRETIA MOTT

(1793-1880)

"There is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire which beams and blazes in the dark hours of adversity."

—Washington Irving

Born on the quaint little island of Nantucket, January 3, 1793, Lucretia Coffin grew to girlhood among peaceful and beautiful surroundings. Her father was Captain of a whaler and was, consequently, often away from home for long periods of time, so that the mother was responsible for the early training of the children.

Lucretia and her sisters were taught to be thrifty in household matters, and trustworthy in all the relations of life. Industry, too, was greatly encouraged in the Coffin family. When the mother had to go out, she would set her daughters at their knitting, telling them that when they had accomplished a certain amount of work, they might go down into the cellar and pick out as many of the small potatoes as they wanted, and roast them. This was considered a great treat, and we can picture the six little children gathered about the big fireplace watching the potatoes in the ashes.

Captain Coffin gave up the sea at last and moved his family to Boston, where he entered into business. The children at first attended a private school, but Captain Coffin, who was nothing if not democratic, decided afterward that they should go to the public school, where they might "mingle with all classes without distinction." Lucretia said in after life that she was glad of this action of her father. "It gave me a feeling of sympathy for the patient and struggling poor, whom but for this experience, I might never have known."

At thirteen years of age, Lucretia was sent to a Friends' boarding school at Nine Partners, New York. Both boys and girls attended this school, but were not permitted to speak to each other unless they were near relatives. In that case they might talk together a little while, on certain days, over a corner of the fence that divided the playgrounds.

One of Lucretia's sisters—"the desirable little Elizabeth," as her father called her—accompanied her to this school. These sisters, although very different in character, loved each other with a peculiarly deep affection. Elizabeth, though clever, was retiring in disposition and always kept in the background, while Lucretia, who was high-spirited and wide awake, was inclined to take the lead among her companions. Throughout their lives they remained devoted friends, and although Elizabeth could never be persuaded to take any part in public life, she counseled and advised her distinguished sister, who seldom took any important action without consulting her.

At this school, on the boys' side of the house, was an able young teacher named James Mott. It happened one day that a little boy, a cousin of James Mott, was punished by being confined in a dark closet, being allowed only bread and water for his supper. Lucretia, who thought the boy had not been at fault, managed to get some bread and butter to him. This act attracted the attention of James Mott to the girl, and afterward his sister Sarah, who also attended the school, became Lucretia's most intimate friend. During one of the vacations, Lucretia visited Sarah Mott and thus met the family into which she afterward married.

When fifteen years old, Lucretia became assistant teacher in this school, at a salary of one hundred dollars a year. Her father, who thought women should be trained to usefulness, gave his consent to have Lucretia remain away from home for this extra year, which proved to be an eventful one for her. The two young teachers, James Mott and Lucretia Coffin, found that they had many ideas in common. Both had ability and both were desirous of gaining knowledge. They formed a French class and it was while studying together that their attachment began.

It was at this time, also, that Lucretia became impressed with the unequal condition of women as compared with that of men. She said:

"Learning that the charge for the tuition of girls was the same as that for boys, and that when they became teachers, women received only half as much as men for their services, the injustice of this distinction was so apparent that I early resolved to claim for myself all that an impartial Creator had bestowed." She little thought at the time what an important part she would play in supporting that claim.

While the two sisters were at school, their father gave up his business in Boston and took charge of a factory in Philadelphia, where Lucretia and Elizabeth joined him in 1810. Soon after, James Mott resigned his position as teacher and followed them to Philadelphia, entering business life. In a short time, he and Lucretia became engaged. These two young people were just different enough to live in harmony together.

Lucretia was a bright, active and very pretty girl, quick to understand and quick to execute,—qualities that often made her impatient with the slowness or stupidity of others. She was fond of a joke, too.

James, on the other hand, was quiet, reserved and shy, taking serious views of life. In 1811, they were married according to Quaker rites. Then began one of the happiest of wedded lives,—and in spite of privations, for James Mott always found it difficult to support his family.

When Lucretia's father died, leaving her mother with three children to support, the Motts did all they could to help her. Lucretia opened a school for the purpose, and soon afterward her husband's business ventures prospered, so that he, too, could assist.

Just as their prospects were brightening, however, there came a severe blow in the death of their only son. Lucretia then gave up teaching and spent a great deal of time in the study of the Bible and of theology. She used to read William Penn, Dean Stanley, and John Stuart Mill with her baby on her knee.

Soon she took her place as a preacher in the Society of Friends, feeling "called," as she tells us, "to a public life of usefulness"; and during the latter part of the year 1818, she accompanied another minister named Sarah Zane to Virginia, for the purpose of holding religious meetings. Here Mrs. Mott came into contact with the question of slavery, and in all her discourses she never failed to urge the doctrine of emancipation. She believed in liberty of the body and liberty of thought; indeed, her belief in liberty may be said to have been the basis of all her sermons.

The Quakers who held slaves freed them as early as 1774. The Society of Friends, to which Mr. and Mrs. Mott belonged, became so interested in the slavery question as to recommend that any goods produced by slave-labor should not be handled by any Quaker in regular standing. Mr. Mott was at that time engaged in a prosperous cotton business, but consistent with his views, he gave up this business,—for a while finding great difficulty in making a living.

In 1833, the Female Anti-Slavery Society was formed in Philadelphia. Mrs. Mott was one of four women who, braving public opinion, gave their voices to the cause of Freedom. She was President of the society during most of its existence; and it was due mainly to her inspiring presence, her courage and activity, and her unfailing dignity, that the society accomplished its great work.

She sheltered fugitive slaves, everywhere befriended the colored people, and traveled from place to place preaching the doctrine of liberty.

Young people of the present time can hardly understand the bitter and fierce opposition encountered by those people who were working to free the slaves. For many years, public feeling on the subject was so intense that many anti-slavery meetings were broken up by acts of violence. Sometimes mobs of men and women stoned the windows of the houses where these meetings were being held, breaking into the assemblage, leaping upon the platform, and shouting so loudly that the speaker's voice was lost in the noise.

In 1838, during a riot in Philadelphia, a mob burned Pennsylvania Hall, and then marched through the streets threatening an attack upon the house of James and Lucretia Mott. Mrs. Mott sent her children out of the house to a place of safety, and she, with her husband and a few friends, sat quietly waiting for the mob. Before it reached the house, however, the leaders urged the rioters to attack a home for colored orphans in another part of the city, and so the raid upon the Mott house was given up for that night.

At another time, when the mob was expected, and when Mr. and Mrs. Mott, surrounded by their friends, sat listening to the angry cries of threatening men outside, it happened that in the crowd was a young man friendly to the Mott family. He cried, "On to the Motts'!" and purposely ran up the wrong street. The rioters followed him blindly, and the Motts were a second time saved from violence.

Women who had formerly been Mrs. Mott's friends passed her on the street without speaking, and scornful people laughed at her. Sometimes rough men, carried away by the excitement of the times, surged round her like maniacs, threatening violence, but Mrs. Mott never lost her temper or her composed manner. In her own story of her life she says, "The misrepresentation, ridicule and abuse heaped upon these reforms do not in the least deter me from my duty."

When the National Anti-Slavery Society was formed, Mrs. Mott took a prominent part, offering suggestions with "such charm and precision that they were readily assented to." In this work she was associated with Garrison, Whittier, and other noted Abolitionists.

In 1840, Mrs. Mott was sent to London to represent the Abolitionists of the United States at the World's Anti-Slavery Convention, where she met Elizabeth Cady Stanton, also a delegate. They were not permitted to take their places in the Convention, for by a vote taken at their first sitting, that body decided that only men were to be admitted. Aside from this, however, the women were treated with the greatest courtesy. But, though their feelings were supposed to be salved by being given seats of honor in the hall, they felt keenly the humiliation of their position. It was certainly an indignity.

Mrs. Mott had for years been accustomed to speaking in public, people of all denominations coming many miles to hear the great Quaker preacher. Her home had been a refuge for hunted slaves, and all her eloquence was devoted to the cause of their freedom. Without doubt, she was one of the most prominent persons present at this meeting. She, if anyone, should have been allowed to speak in behalf of humanity.

Out of the indignation aroused on this occasion in the minds of Mrs. Mott and Mrs. Stanton, grew the Woman Suffrage Movement. The first Woman's Rights Convention was called in Seneca Falls, New York, July, 1848, the rights of women to the ballot and their equality with man under the law being the subjects discussed.

James Mott approved of his wife's course and assisted her all that he could by presiding at the first meeting. No end of ridicule was heaped upon the women who thus openly claimed equal rights with men, but Mrs. Mott argued her cause so politely and so wittily that her opponents were disarmed. It is a pleasure to know that Lucretia Mott lived to see the slaves freed and to note the change of public opinion toward herself and others who had worked for freedom.

When Mrs. Mott was seventy-five and her husband eighty years of age, they went to Brooklyn to visit their grandchildren. While there, Mr. Mott was taken ill with pneumonia and passed away quietly while his wife was sleeping on the pillow beside him. Colored men bore him to his grave, at their own request, to show their regard for one who had worked so persistently to benefit their race. The Motts' married life had been one of great happiness, not the slightest shadow having ever come between them. One who knew them well said, "Theirs was the most perfect wedded life to be found on earth."

Mrs. Mott was greatly solaced to know that her opponents had changed their opinions in respect to her. During the latter part of her life, it was no unusual thing for a stranger to stop her in the street and ask the privilege of shaking hands. Once a woman in mourning passed quickly by her, whispering, "God bless you, Lucretia Mott."

Each Christmas Day she visited the Colored Home in Philadelphia, carrying turkeys and pies and personal gifts to every inmate. She also sent a box of candy to every conductor and brakeman on the railroad on which she traveled, saying: "They never let me lift out my bundles, and they all seem to know me!" The number of children, both black and white, named after her, was astonishing.

At the Centennial Anniversary of the Old Pennsylvania Abolition Society, Lucretia Mott was greeted by the vast audience with cheers and waving of handkerchiefs and hats. Another ovation occurred at a July Fourth meeting of the National Woman Suffrage Association. When she rose to speak some-one called to her, "Go up into the pulpit!" As she ascended the pulpit steps, all sang, "Nearer, my God, to Thee!"

Mrs. Mott lived twelve years after her husband's death; then she too passed away, on November 11, 1880, at the age of eighty-seven.

All women have cause to remember her with affection, for she braved public opinion to secure recognition for them.

MARY LYON

MARY LYON

(1797-1849)

"Human kind is but one family. The education of its youth should be equal and universal."

—Frances Wright D'Arusmont

To-day if a girl wishes to obtain an education equal to that of a man, the doors of many colleges and other institutions of learning are open to her. It is not so many years ago that this was not the case. Most people, then, thought that girls had no need for a knowledge of the higher branches, and it is largely owing to Mary Lyon that the young women of to-day have such splendid advantages for education.

Born in Buckland, in Western Massachusetts, February 28, 1797, Mary began life, poor and obscure. She was the fifth of a family of seven children, and her early life was one of hard work and of meager opportunity.

Yet it was not unhappy. Her mountain home was well kept, and her parents governed entirely by kindness, insisting upon gentle words, pleasant looks and thoughtfulness for others, on the part of all the children. Out of doors all was beautiful. The mountains, the rocks and streams, the fine trees which surrounded the house,—all gave the child much pleasure. To Mary it seemed as though the peaches and the strawberries raised on their own little farm were larger and more delicious than any others. Her parents had a wonderful faculty for making things grow, and the neighbors said that the plants in Mrs. Lyon's dooryard always bloomed more luxuriantly than any others in the neighborhood.

When Mary was four years old her father died, but her mother, with the help of a hired man, continued the work of the farm and succeeded in supporting her family. Mary, as she grew up, did much of the housework and the spinning. In those days, nearly every family spun the thread to weave the cloth for their own garments, and by the time she was twelve years old, Mary had become expert at this work.

At the age of seven, Mary walked two miles to school. She delighted in her studies and made such rapid progress that visitors to the school were astonished. Finally, the district school moved still farther away, and then Mary went to Ashfield to study, living there during school months and doing housework to pay for her board.

Every spare moment was spent over her books and, when she was twelve years old, Mary Lyon determined to become a teacher. None of the other girls in the school had any definite purpose as to the future. The boys planned to become carpenters, farmers, teachers, lawyers, or ministers, but girls were supposed to become wives, mothers and housekeepers, for which offices no special training was thought necessary. Since that time, fortunately for the race, public opinion has changed in this respect; to-day, everybody knows that in order to manage a household well, to rear children, and to make a happy home, girls need to have a great deal of knowledge.

When Mary Lyon announced her intention of being a teacher, the community was astonished, not to say shocked. It was predicted that she would fail. Men, not women, were meant for the teaching profession! Mary's proficiency in her studies, however, could not be denied. Early and late she pored over her books; in four days, to the amazement of her teacher, she learned all of Alexander's Grammar and recited it perfectly. When she was thirteen, her mother married again and went to live in Ohio, but Mary remained on the farm and kept house for her only brother. He paid her one dollar a week—a large sum for a girl to earn in the year 1810.

For a while it looked as though her high ambitions would never be realized, but the brave girl did not know the word despair. She studied all she could and read every book she could lay her hands upon. After five years spent in this way her brother married and went away, leaving his sister free to do as she pleased.

Thus thrown entirely upon her own resources, Mary began her career as a teacher in Shelburne Falls. Seventy-five cents a week and board made up her munificent salary. By dint of spinning and weaving for some of the neighbors, she earned a little more. Luckily, she did not care for fine clothes or trinkets, so that at the age of twenty she had saved enough money to enable her to spend a term at Sanderson Academy at Ashfield. This was her great opportunity and she improved it well, making a real sensation in the school by her brilliancy. They say that when Mary Lyon stood up to recite, her class-mates laid aside their tasks to listen to her.

The term over, Mary planned to go back to teaching, for she had no money to continue her studies. It so happened that some of the trustees of the Academy, hearing of her unusual scholarship, offered her another term, tuition free. Mary thankfully accepted this favor, and doubtless, had wonderful dreams of the use she might make of all her knowledge when she should get it. But, first, she must plan some way to pay her board while studying. Among her possessions were some bedding, some table linen, and a few other household articles. These she succeeded in exchanging at a boarding house for a room and a seat at table. Her companions in the boarding house told of her that she slept but four hours, spending all the remainder of her time at her books.

But though she had now reached a point in scholarship where she could easily hold a position as teacher, Mary Lyon by no means considered her education completed. All her vacations were spent in the study of some branch in which she found herself deficient. She spent some time in the family of the Reverend Edward Hitchcock, afterward President of Amherst College, with whom she studied natural science, at the same time taking lessons in drawing and painting from his wife.

In 1821, at the age of twenty-four, Mary had saved enough money to enable her to enter the school of Reverend Joseph Emerson at Byfield. Her friends were strongly opposed to her going, telling her that she knew enough already; that, as she would never be a minister, it was unnecessary for her to study more. But Mary had other ideas, and could not be diverted from her purpose.

Mr. Emerson was a broad-minded man of very advanced notions for his day and generation. He actually believed that women could understand philosophical subjects as well as men and that, if their minds demanded good solid food, they ought to have it! His wife was a woman of much ability, and together they discussed questions of science and religion with their pupils.

It was undoubtedly these discussions that turned Mary Lyon's mind and thoughts to spiritual things. Heretofore, she had been so absorbed in her passion for general knowledge that the matter of religion had never touched her. Suddenly the fact burst upon her that all things in this life were useless and unsatisfying, except as they were used in helping humanity. From this time on, her work of teaching seemed little short of inspired.

When, later, an assistant was wanted at Sanderson Academy, notwithstanding the opposition of many who believed that a man should fill the place, Mary Lyon was selected for the position. Before long one of her former teachers, Miss F. P. Grant, sent for her to fill a higher position at Derry, New Hampshire. Mary delayed going in order to take some lessons in chemistry from Professor Eaton of Amherst.

The school in Derry numbered ninety pupils. It was held only during the summer months, and during the winter Mary again taught at Ashfield and Bucklands. She charged twenty-five cents a week for tuition, the scholars boarding with families in the vicinity, at the rate of $1.25 weekly. Meanwhile Miss Grant, who had removed to Ipswich, induced Miss Lyon to join her there. Together they conducted the Ipswich Academy, and together they worked out their ideas of what a school should be.

During these years of teaching, Mary Lyon's heart had been full of sympathy for girls who desired an education but could not obtain it. There were no scholarships offered in those days and the doors of men's colleges were closed to women. At Ipswich, Mary found it impossible to conduct a good school on the income derived from the fees of the pupils. So she tried to interest wealthy men, ministers, and college presidents in her plan of forming a high-grade school or college for women, asking those who were able, to donate a sum of money for the purpose.

Most of these men refused to aid her in the project, repeating the old story that "girls had no need for a knowledge of science or the classics; that, in fact, they were unfitted for studying advanced branches." Miss Lyon held a quite different view, and stuck to her purpose through every discouragement.

Yet, sometimes even brave Mary Lyon had moments of despondency, when she would weep bitterly over her failure to interest others in her plans. But the idea of giving up the work never crossed her mind. She often said to her pupils, "If you feel depressed, think of others, not of yourself!"

About this time she refused a good offer of marriage, saying that her life was devoted to one purpose and that she must give herself entirely to her work. She prayed, and begged her mother to pray, for success. Over and over again she would say: "Commit thy way unto the Lord. He will keep thee. Women must be educated. They must be!"

At last her faith turned to a faint hope. People began to be interested, and she now gave all her time to the work of soliciting funds. It was her desire to raise the first thousand dollars from women, and this she succeeded in doing in two months' time. Dr. Hitchcock, always her staunch friend, aided her with his support and approval, and one by one broad-minded, noble men lent their assistance, until the Female Seminary was an assured thing.

On October 3, 1836, the corner stone of Mount Holyoke Seminary was laid at South Hadley, Massachusetts. Mary Lyon in writing to a friend of the occasion said: "I have indeed lived to see the time when a body of gentlemen has ventured to lay the corner stone of an edifice, which will cost $15,000 and which will be an institution for the education of females. This will be an era in female education."

In about one year the Seminary was opened to pupils. Since its advantages were intended chiefly to benefit poor girls, the charges were placed at the low figure of sixty dollars a year for board and tuition. There were accommodations for eighty pupils, but one hundred and sixteen attended the first year!

In order to lessen expenses, as well as to insure good health and to teach domestic science, all the household work was done by the pupils. Moreover, if it could be shown that the graduates of the Seminary had acquired a knowledge of household matters together with their classical and scientific studies, the prejudice which existed against education for girls might be lessened.

Miss Lyon received a salary of two hundred dollars a year, and her teachers received from one hundred to one hundred and fifty dollars each. Catherine Beecher once took Mary Lyon to task for the small salaries paid her teachers. Miss Lyon replied, "In a list of motives for teaching, I should first place the great motive, 'Love thy neighbor as thyself'." She aimed to employ only such teachers as would work as she did—for the benefit of humanity. Her own best reward was the love which her pupils manifested for her, and the respect with which they treated her.

She never had any trouble with discipline because she never required anything of the students but compliance with the ordinary rules of lady-like behavior, consideration for others, and attention to their studies. They were expected to do right, or to go away. The fact is that none but earnest workers sought to enter Mount Holyoke.

After twelve years as Principal of Mount Holyoke Seminary, Miss Lyon died, March 5, 1849, and was buried in the Seminary grounds. Over her grave is a beautiful monument of white Italian marble bearing the memorable sentence she uttered when giving her last instruction to her scholars:

"There is nothing in the world I fear, but that I shall not know all my duty or shall fail to do it!"

To her was due one of the greatest revolutions in the history of our country. She reversed the prevailing opinion of the men of that time regarding female education, and was the grand pioneer in a movement which has gone steadily forward ever since.

To-day the property of Mount Holyoke is worth $3,000,000. Thousands of girls have been educated there, many of whom have become missionaries and teachers. Many others have married, their education enabling them to be better wives and mothers, and to do their full duty in any station in life to which they may be called.

DOROTHEA DIX

DOROTHEA DIX

(1802-1887)

"Great women belong to history and to self-sacrifice."

—Leigh Hunt

Dorothea Dix has been called "the most useful and distinguished woman America has yet produced." Let us follow the events of her life and decide for ourselves whether this statement is true.

Dorothea Lynde Dix was born April 4, 1802, at Hampden, Maine. Her father, Joseph Dix, was a man of unstable character and of a most singular mental make-up. In fact, he was regarded as almost insane on religious questions. He wandered about from place to place writing and publishing tracts, spending in this way the little money he had, without regard to the needs of his family. His wife and children were required to assist in the stitching and pasting of the tracts, a tiresome work which brought them no return.

At twelve years of age Dorothea rebelled against this labor. She wished to attend school, but there was little chance for her to study while she lived with her father. So she ran away from Worcester, where the family then lived, and went to Boston, the home of her grandmother, Mrs. Dorothea Lynde Dix.

Mrs. Dix received the girl as kindly as her nature would permit. But she was a stern woman, with very strict ideas of training children, and every piece of work done for her had to be perfectly performed or severe punishment followed.

Once, when little Dorothea had failed to accomplish a task as well as her grandmother thought she should, she was compelled to spend a whole week alone without speaking to anyone. This sounds cruel, but Dorothea's grandmother wished to make the child careful and painstaking.

Poor little Dorothea! She said in after years that she "never knew childhood." But she submitted to her grandmother's sternness rather than return to her father and the wandering, useless life he led. She had always in mind the day when she would be able to support herself and help her younger brothers. So she studied diligently, and being clever, made great progress. When she was fourteen, she returned to Worcester, where she opened a small school for young children. In order to look old enough for a teacher, she lengthened the skirts of her dresses and arranged her hair grown-woman fashion.

The school succeeded, for Dorothea, though always kind and gentle, was a strict disciplinarian. The year following, she returned to Boston and studied to fit herself for more advanced work in teaching. In 1821, when she was nineteen years of age, she opened a day and boarding school in that city, in a house belonging to her grandmother. Here she received pupils from the best families in Boston and the neighboring towns, and was able to send for her brothers and educate them, while supporting herself. Dorothea's sympathies, meanwhile, were drawn to the poor children about her, who had no means of obtaining an education because their parents could not afford to pay the tuition. She put the matter before her austere grandmother, and begged for the use of a loft over the stable for a school room for these children. The little "barn school" was the beginning of a movement that grew, and later resulted in the Warren Street Chapel.

You may imagine how happy Dorothea Dix was now,—to be self-supporting and to be helping others to become so! She managed the two schools, had the care of her two brothers, and took entire charge of her grandmother's home. For Mrs. Dix had learned to admire and trust the granddaughter whom she had once found so careless.

This amount of work would completely fill the lives of most people, yet Dorothea found time to prepare a text-book upon Common Things. Sixty editions of the book were printed and sold. It was followed by two others: Hymns for Children and Evening Hours.

In order to do all this work, she arose early and sat up late into the night. Naturally her health failed under such a strain. After six years she gave up her schools, and took a position as governess in a family living at Portsmouth, Rhode Island. Here she lived much in the open air, and her great desire for universal knowledge led her to make a special study of botany and marine life.

Her health failing again, she visited Philadelphia, and then went South as far as Alexandria, Virginia, writing short stories the while to support herself. The winter of 1830 she spent in the West Indies with the family of Dr. Channing. There she at last regained her health.

The following spring, Miss Dix returned to Boston, and reopened her school in the old Dix homestead. Pupils flocked to her, and for five years the work flourished. Her influence over her pupils was wonderful. They thought her very beautiful, as indeed she was. Mrs. Livermore writes of her: "Miss Dix was slight and delicate in appearance. She must have been beautiful in her youth and was still very sweet looking, with a soft voice, graceful figure and winning manners."

In 1836, ill health obliged her to close her school once more. This time she went to England. Though only thirty-four, she had saved enough money to enable her to live in comfort without labor. Shortly after, her grandmother died, leaving her enough to carry out the plans for helping others, which had become a part of her life. She then returned from England and made her home in Washington.

In 1841, however, we find her again in Boston and at this time her real life work began. It happened that a minister well known to Miss Dix had charge of a Sunday school in the East Cambridge jail. He needed a teacher to take charge of a class of twenty women, and asked Miss Dix if she could tell him of any suitable person.

Miss Dix thought the matter over and then said, "I will take the class myself!"

Her friends objected because of her frail health, but having once arrived at a decision, Dorothea Dix never changed her mind. As one of her pupils said, "Fixed as fate, we considered her!"

The following Sunday, after the session was over, she went into the jail and talked with many of the prisoners. It seemed that they had many righteous grievances, one being that no heat of any kind was provided for their cells.

When Miss Dix asked the keeper of the jail to heat the rooms, he replied that the prisoners did not need heat, and that besides, stoves would be unsafe. Though she begged him to do something to make the cells more comfortable, he refused. She then brought the case before the Court in East Cambridge. The Court granted her request and heat was furnished the prisoners.

In the East Cambridge jail she saw many things too horrible to believe. The cells were dirty, the inmates crowded together in poorly ventilated quarters, the sane and insane often being placed in the same room. These conditions, and others too sad to mention, she made public through the newspapers and the pulpits. But she did not stop at this. Every jail and almshouse in Massachusetts was visited by her; she must see for herself how the unfortunate inmates were treated. For two years she traveled about, visiting these institutions and taking notes. Then she prepared her famous Memorial to the Legislature.

In this Memorial Miss Dix said: "I proceed, gentlemen, briefly to call your attention to the present state of insane persons within this Commonwealth, in cages, closets, cellars, stalls, pens, chained and naked, beaten with rods and lashed into obedience." Proofs were offered for all facts stated.

The Memorial was presented by Dr. S. G. Howe, husband of Julia Ward Howe. Dr. Howe was then a member of the Legislature. The conditions thus made public shocked the entire community, so that, after much discussion, a bill was passed enlarging the asylum at Worcester. A small beginning, yet the grand work of reform was started, and Miss Dix was grateful.

She then turned her attention to other States, visiting the jails, almshouses, and insane asylums as far west as Illinois and as far south as Louisiana. In Rhode Island she found the insane shockingly treated.

At that time there lived in Providence a very rich man named Butler. He had never been known to give anything to help the unfortunate, but Miss Dix decided to appeal to him. People smiled when they heard that she intended to call upon Mr. Butler and ask him for money.

During the call, he talked of everything except the subject nearest Miss Dix's heart, "talking against time," as they say, to prevent her from putting the vital question. At length she said in a quiet but forceful manner:

"Mr. Butler, I wish you to hear what I have to say. I bring before you certain facts involving terrible suffering to your fellow creatures, suffering you can relieve."

She then told him what she had seen.

Mr. Butler heard her story to the end without interruption. Then he said,

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to give $50,000 to enlarge the insane hospital in this city!"

"Madam, I'll do it!" was the reply.

After three years of this sort of work, Miss Dix became an expert on the question of how an insane asylum should be built and managed. In New Jersey, she succeeded after much hard work in securing the passage of a bill establishing the New Jersey State Lunatic Asylum, and the money necessary to build it. This building was a model for the times.

For twelve years she went up and down through the United States in the interests of the suffering insane, securing the enlargement of three asylums and the building of thirteen.

In 1850, Miss Dix secured the passage of a bill giving twelve million acres of public lands for the benefit of the poor insane, the deaf and dumb, and the blind. Applause went up all over the country, yet, strange to say, after the passage of the bill by both Houses, President Franklin Pierce vetoed it!

This was a severe blow to Miss Dix and she again went to Europe for a rest. But rest she could not. All the large European cities had abuses of this kind to be corrected, and she must work to help them.

A most interesting story is told of her encounter with Pope Pius IX. In vain had she tried to get authority in Rome to enable her to do something to improve the horrible Italian prisons. She had even tried, but vainly, to get audience with the Pope. One day she saw his carriage, stopped it, and addressed him, willy-nilly, in Latin, as she knew no Italian. Her enterprise appears to have impressed the Pope favorably, for he gave her everything she asked for. In her own country, again, she extended her labors to the Western States. Then the breaking out of the Civil War rendered such labors useless.

But now there were the soldiers to help! Her active interest in them came about in the following way:

Shortly after April, 1861, she happened to be passing through Baltimore when the Sixth Regiment of Massachusetts, on its way to Washington, was stoned by a vast mob, several men being killed. At once Miss Dix knew what to do. She took the first train she could get for Washington, and reported at the War Department for free service in the hospitals, where through Secretary Simon Cameron, she immediately received the appointment as "Superintendent of Women Nurses." Here, truly, was an enormous piece of work for her.

Among her duties were the selection and assignment of women nurses; the superintendence of the thousands of women already serving; the seeing that supplies were fairly distributed; and looking after the proper care of wounded soldiers. Her remarkable executive ability soon brought order and system out of confusion. It is said that she accepted no women who were under thirty years of age, and demanded that they be plain in dress and without beauty. Good health and good moral character were also, of course, requirements.

Many of the surgeons and nurses disliked her. They said she was severe, that she would not listen to any advice nor take any suggestions. The real cause of her unpopularity, however, was that she demanded of all about her entire unselfishness and strict devotion to work. Very severe was she with careless nurses or rough surgeons.

Two houses were rented by her to hold the supplies sent to her care, and still other houses were rented for convalescent soldiers or nurses who needed rest. She employed two secretaries, owned ambulances and kept them busy, printed and distributed circulars, settled disputes in matters which concerned her nurses, took long journeys when necessary, and paid from her own private purse many expenses incurred. Everything she possessed—fortune, time, strength—she gave to her country in its time of need.

During the four years of the War, Miss Dix never took a holiday. Often she had to be reminded of her meals, so interested was she in the work. At the close of the War, when the Hon. Edwin M. Stanton, then Secretary of War, asked her how the nation could best thank her for her services, she answered, "I would like a flag."

Two beautiful flags were given to her with a suitable inscription. These flags she bequeathed to Harvard College, and they now hang over the doors of Memorial Hall.

The War over, Miss Dix again took up her work for the insane and for fifteen years more devoted herself to their welfare.

In 1881, at the age of seventy-nine, she retired to the hospital she had been the means of building at Trenton, New Jersey, and here she was tenderly cared for until her death in 1887.

MARGARET FULLER D'OSSOLI

MARGARET FULLER D'OSSOLI