Nashville union and American. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1868-1875, 1874-06-11
NEW YORK GOSSIP.
A WOman's Interesting Letter
About Women and Their
WAYS.

4 Fashion.
| To the Union and Americana
New YORK, June 8, 1s74.-One sees
nothing so strange in a strange city as
an old friends face. The very rarity
of the occurrence renders it all the
more startling, and gives it, perhaps,
all the more zest. And it does more;
it adds ten-fold to the loneliness of the
streets afterwards. Before, we had not
thought of meeting any one we knew;
now, we look enxiously from one to
another. hoping again to be surprised
thus delightfully."-. Generally, Broad
way is the loneliest of places, even to
the resident New Yorker. 1t is too
long, too crowded, too absorbing; it
takes all ones strength and giTes in
return only sense of aloneness.
There is no recompense in its ex-
haustion; it merely gratiies the eye
until the headi is weary; it does not feed
the heart or Imagination or add to
memory's store pleasantly. Initself it
is tedious and dreary, and it is all the
more tedious and lonely because there
are such crowds about us. Broadway
in one sense is piece of art, and every
thing about it, of it, and on it por-
traits of this artifciality. Hence, how
absolutely refreshing in a long walk
through it to come suddenly and with
out any foreboding of the pleasure
(but believe forebodings only come
with sorrows and not with pleasures) in
store for me. How many of the pupils
and graduates of the old Acad-
envy remember Miss Lam q
Baker? Certainly the class of 1860
which, as sophomOres and juniors, en-
joyed her careful training and culture
have not forgotten her. Particularly
well ought the composition" classes
to recall her, for am sure she suffer-
ed martyrdom enough listening to the
efforts of budding genius, said efforts
having been prepared in the course of
few spare moment, saved from a re-
cess or dinner hour.
1t was understood at the Academy
that she had married a minister, and
had gone to some distant city to live.
A year or more ago the agricultural ed
itor OF the Tribune died. The manner
of his sudden and terrible taking off
was talked of in journalistic circles, and
everywhere were heard, words of
regret for the gifted dead, and
sympathy for his wife and children. l
heard an editor say, Mrs. Lyman
was once a teacher in Nashville"
Did l remember herr" mot by that
name" Where did she teach'' "At
tie Academy, and her maiden name
was Baker" "And was it possible
that it was Miss Laura Baker, who was
the wife of the good man we were all
sorrowing over?" So, you will see, it
was not a great shock, but truly a sur
prise to me afterwards, and only this
week, to meet her In Broadway and
EaolC her.
The policeman who stood near us,
noticed that two mourning-clad women
had recognized each other; he did not
notice that the hand-clasp was a silent
one, and that there was no ioyousness
in the heartfelt greeting. Teacher
and pupil met after years of parting;
teacher and pupil no more, but friends
always for the sake of Lang Syne.
If 1t were only to tell the fact of this
meeting. this letter would never be
penned, but there is much in the life of
this woman as 1t is lived to-day that
should interest and encourage her sex
everywhere. We hear so much about
the grandeur of character, and heroism.
and great gifts of dead people, and
know so little of the real merits and
excellence of the living, that fancy
flesh and blood representative CT all the
virtues will be refreshing at least.
People who spen3. their lives
on the rack Of effort, toll
ing md striving unselfshly, de-
serve s.ymething more than postum
mo, as fame, and if little more recog-
milton should be given living worthless
fewer monuments would be necessary,
to pay the debt we owe dead ones.
Mrs. Lyman was one day the happy
possesser of a husband whose rare gifts
Of mind and heart brought hosts of
friends about him; Of a comfortable
home and SIX handsome sons, and the next
day she was literally homeless widow.
Journalists are rarely rich; Mr.. Lyman
was not; and not all journalists wives
are as ready to meet life as was this
one left so suddenly without her hus-
band. She is good writer, a quick
and ready journalist, and the Tribune
and Hearth and Home, the
chronological journal and other publ
cations are glad to have her work. She
supports her household with her pen
and it is well done, and that too with
ont on1 Pobop,aori1in, Not +ba laOy
a mother and woman is she because
she is compelled to meet the world In a
single handed fight. l rather think
she Joys in the possession of nothing
50 much as her womankood, for it is at
once her power and her protection.
Sorrow has mellowed her nature I'M
til the mental atmosphere about her is
like an Indian summer day. She wears
the crown of her years gently, and
there is so much of sweet peace and
great strength hidden in her soul, that
her outlook on life now is worth the
price, IN discipline and sorrow that she
has paid for it. She studies hard and
writes industriously, never waiting for
| the applause that would come to her
from many single efforts if she would
stop to receive it. Were she not the
retiring, highly polished woman she is,
there might be some hope of having
her exert a more personal influence
than she does But her home is her
haven, and behind her pen she hides all
her magnetic and social power; and
while many of her sex 60 out to
misrepresent the real woes and wrongs
of her kind, she, with her large gifts
and larger intuition, screens herself
from publicity and makes her pen her
medium of teaching and guiding.
As writer she is greatly respected
even by the biting critics, and though
she is didactic, her truisms are always
| pleasant to read.
Her example is a two-fold blessing
to women inasmuch as 1t teaches them
that with moderate effort there is indie
pendence evenfor her sex, and that while
a woman earns her own living she may
not necessarily be any the less a moth
er, sister, friend or home-body. And
certainly none the less a refined and
studious woman, in all things following
the higher promptings of her nature
and passing by the thorns and pitfalls
u