The Indianapolis journal., 1896-07-05

wandered what would have been the fate
even OF my mother had she lived TO .S worh
| fame was clearly fact so apart from tne
traditions and from the ideals that AnooVsI
was puzzled by it. The best OF her good
men were too feudal I'm their views OF wom- o!n
en-. in those days. 10 understand lie IKE
| Mrs. Stoves. 1t should be Tememoesreot srst
! that we have moved on since then SO iasI
and so far that IL is almost as hard now lot
| TO understand the perplexlty with Wnlch
| intelligent. even instructed. men used to
consider the phenomenon of a superior
woman as il was then for such men 10 IN IN
derstand such woman at all. Let US yer
to them the width of sympathy ana hhe-
/ ness of perception which they did not al
ways know how to offer to the woman.
Ny personal remembrances OF Mrs. stowe
are those of a young girl whom she enter
tanned at intervals. always delightfully."-, IN
| the long parlor running the width OF the
stone house. whose deep embrasured WIN
! dow-seats seemed to me only less wonder
| full than the soft and brightly coiored,
rather worldly looking pillows with which
those attractive hooks were generously
| filed. There were flowers always. and a
bower of ivy made summer of the eternal
! Andover winters in the stone house; and
| there were merry girls and boyS-Mrs.
| Stowe was the most unselfish and loving
of mothers,and there were always dogs; Is;
| some form dog life, with its gracious reac-
| tion on the gentleness and kindness OF fam
| lily life abounded in her house. 1t was an
| open. hospitable house. human and hearty
| and happy. and l have always remembered
An amusing instance of the spirit of
! the stone house comes back TO me from
some .far-away day when l found myself
| Schoolmate TO Mrs. Stoves youngest
daughter. This little descendant of genius
| and philanthropy was hidden to write a
composition, IAN order which she resolutely
refused for some time to obey: But the
| power above her persisted, and one day
| the child brought in slip of paper a few
inches long on which were inscribed these
words only:
Slavery is the greatest curse of human
nature"
(t,l ~,
| the stone house at Andover. But there the
| awful inscription of a great grief was cut
into the quivering flesh and blood of
| mothers heart. The sudden and violent
death of favorite son which made of
The Minister'S Wooing' an immortal out
| cry TO mothers bereaved--occurred. if am
not wrong. while Mrs Stowe was among
| us.
One of the prettiest pictures which I have
of Mrs. Stowe is framed in the everglades
of Florida. Her home at Magnolia offered a
| guest room in which one could pass a night
| of such quiet paradise might envy. The
house. remember, was built about a great
| live oak, and the trunk of the tree grew
into the room. the walls being cleverly ad-
| justed 10 the contour of the bark. Through
| the open windows the leaves drifted silent
~, falling about the room. the floor. the
bed as they pleased. One slept like hama
| dryad, and walked like a bird in a bough.
Into this nest of green and peace / had
| q remember it with shame and contritionl
| courtesy to intrude pile of proof-sheets.
| 1t my first book of verses The volume
| was IN press L was In misery or doubt
about the venture. In the State of
! Florida my hostess was the only accessible
person whose Judgment could help me, and
| my fate had thrown me on her sweet char
| ity with my galleys The publishers at the
| North. a thousand miles away, were hur-
| rying me. There was not day TO lose,
| If had made grave blunder and merci-
| lessly read the verses to her, beseeching
| her advice and criticism.
! 1t would be hard to forget the sweetness,
| the patience and the frankness with which
| she gave herself to my cruel request. l
| member how she curled herself up on the
| bed beside me. like girl, with her feet
crossed under her. and listened gently. The
| liveoak leaves fell softly about us and the
| ST. Johns river showed in glimpses calm
coffee colored and indifferent between the
boughs The utter silence of a Florida will
derness compassed U.S. My own voice sound
| ed intrusive and foreign to / read
| Nothing could exceed her kindness her
| wisdom critic. / had made one rather
serious mistake in one of the. poems -
fault of taste which / had overlooked. She
called my attention TO 1t so explicitly. yet
so deicately. that 1 could have thanked
drew breath than she was to me that
| day.
The most beautiful story which I ever
| heard about Mrs. Stowe l have asked
| permission to share with the readers of
| these papers, and yet / feel sure that no
| one who loves and honors her could refuse
| ii. for believe that if the whole of it were
| told it might live to enhance the nobility
of her name and fame as long as Uncle
| Tom himself. 1t was told me, as such
things go from lin to lip of personal
| friends who take pride in cherishing the
| sweetest thoughts and facts about those
| whom they love and revere. During the
| latter part of her life Mrs. Stowe has been
one of those devout Christian believers
| whose conservation takes high forms She
| has placed faith in prayer and given her
| self to the kind of dedication which exer-
| cises ard cultivates ii. There came a time
| in her history when one who was very dear
| to her seemed about TO sink away from the
| faith IN which she trusted, and to which
| l!fe and sorrow had taught her to cling as
only those who have suffered and doubted
| and accepted can.
This prospect was a crushing grief to her,
| and she set herself resolutely to avert the
| calamity if. and while. she could Letter
after letter-SOme OF them thirty pages long
found its way from her pen to the foreign
| town in which German rationalism was do
set the full force of her intellect intelligent
| ly to work upon this conflict. She read, she
| reasoned, she wrote she argued she
pleaded. Months passed in a struggle
| whose usefulness seemed pitiable hope, to
! be frustrated in the effort.
Then she laid aside her strong pen, and
turned to her great faith. AS the season of
the sacred holiday approached. she shut
| herself into her room secluding herself
| from all but God. and prayed as only such
| a believer-as only such woman-may. AS
she had set the full force of her intellect
| so now she set the full power of her faith
| to work upon her souls desire. One may
| not dwell In words upon that sacred bat
| tie.
| But the beautiful part of the story as
| have been told IL. is that a few weeks after
| this q letter reached her. saying only: AT
| Christmas time light came 10 me. / see
| accept the faith of my fathers: and the
| belief in Christianity which is everything
to vou. has become reasonable and possible
| to me at last