The Press., 1893-08-03
w. C. T. U. DEPARTMENT.
Tho Evolution of the National w. c. IT. U s5 Flower Mission.
BY FANNIE cAssEDAy DUNCAN.

fs a.- s The Evolution of the National w. c. T.. U. s5 Flower Mission.
 BY FANNIE cAssEDAY DUNCAN.
 Did you ever think how long nature takes to round her creations to perfec- ton, or through what painful stages her ripened fruits have passed on their way to maturity? Is it then a wonder that spiritual results must so often come thro' n2ueh travail? i
 want to tell you to-day of the birth of the Worlds Flower Mission whose chief las lately passed beyond our touch, at least as far as her mortal body is con- eerned. It happened on this wise:
 JunJ 9, 1S4O. was Jennie Casseday's Birthday the day when, a wee infant, She first took on the outward form of that mystery which we call life. My fancy sften travels back to that day and that wee babe whose future no ere tt en di- vined. Then think of her early years. happy years so soon shadowed, and then of. her shut-in life with pain for con- slant companion. "Not much of boon, such life as that, either to mother ol child ,"says Ignorance, looking on. Talk to me of the fatherhood of God" says hopeless Unbelief; ''what good could possibly come of tying happy young eling like that to couch.h
 ,zf fI.remember her as little child., She was so round and ruddy and sturdy that her big brothers called her "Dutch." i" That was her family name until she was nearly grown-until, in fact, it seemed pitiless to call her so. When she was well in her teens, her maiden aunt called her Miss Gadabout," because she so loved to go into the world among her own kind and be glad partaker in all the good times going. One thing es- pecially remember was her beautiful feet. They were exceptionally beautiful, and sine was very proud of them and loved to dress them beautifully. I often think of those ,feet-those plump, snowy, blue- veined feet that trod the earth so airily :; those poor, twisted, patient feet that lay quite quiet on the bed for so many years, aehing with pain; those thin, homely fset, dumbly crossed in rest; aye, those traastigured feet floating upward to the golden streets of the beautiful city
 T knew her as aryoung woman. when she went in and out at her own sweet will; trifle naughty she was in those days, perhaps, for she was young and life had then few reserves from her, but with great fund of sympathy and kind kness deep down in her nature. Then same the sculptor with his mallet and ehisel, sent to hew cut of this fine marble the image of God, an image that was to De SO noble and heroic, so clear cut and fine. so ideally beautiful, that it should stand as a model to all generations for s1ff time. The scufptor,s name was Pain. She told me long years after that he real. ly was an angel, but that she did not then recognize him as such. Into a little corner of little room he thrust her, and darkened the windows, and the work oi transformation began.
 Then came another period in this ehild's life, period of adjusting. Such are crit. ical periods. We never come out of them the same beings. When they are passed something has gone out of us, or some thing has come into us, that has made us over again, or has made new us. After time even our faces have changed. A new light has come into them, or an ole light has gone out of them; bitterness and cynicism have settled over them; ol age and care have withered them; ol sweetness and light have transfigureC them so that they are like faces of angels ''The test of greatness" says one, lilies not so much with those after all who, be ing highly endowed, accomplish grea things, as with those who still retair their greatness under narrowing condi tions and influences" I think Jenni. Casseday, honored, wept after, sung il two continents, was not greater, ,.not st great perhaps, as Jennie Casseday under the anvil, shut out, shut in, in those year. of pauseless torture and slow transforma tion. I was with her through that lons dark night during which none of us coult understand, and was witness to the he roism with which she fought, for us al we'll as for herself, the battle with doub and despair and black unbelief. Man, Eand many 8 time arguments failed he own soul as we'll as mine, and then sh would lay back exhausted with the doubl battle, the spiritual and the physical, an say only these words: "What do Tho knowest not now, but Thou shalt kno, hereafter" Sometimes she would fortif us both thus: "If knew, Fan, as wei as God does, and as far, either would b God, or He would not be God. Take m hand in yours and let us trust Him who ly." And thus the little grain. rooted ii self in the firm soil and prepared us bot to withstand many a shock of the temp est. s----
 A very favorite hymn of hers in thos days was this, written by Cowper in tn twilight of g departing reason:
 "God moves in mysterious way :
 His wonders to perform t' I And especially the verse
 "Deep in unfathomable mines
 Of never failing skill,
 He treasures up His vast designs
 And works His sovereign will"
 
 | And so, trusting Jesus with all he might, she held on with 8 determinatio that knew no faltering, praying constan ly and with every fibre of her soul, unt out of that darkened chamber of trava there came new being. 1 <. !.
 Then, thus, in ''the mysterious way" God, she was ready to begin her life worl for she had been ''anointed with H odorons Oil'' to understand the mystel