The San Francisco call., 1896-06-08
MRS. HENRY WARD BEEOHER.
Quiet Home Life of the Widow of the
Celebrated Preacher.

Celebrated Preacher.
Within a stones throw from Plymouth
Church, Brooklyn, at the corner of Hicks
and Orange streets, is the modest resi-
dence of Mrs. Beecher, the widow of Henry
! Ward Beecher.
This venerable woman, 83 years of age,
is generally at home in the morning busily
writing for some publication. The parlor
where she does her literary work is
cheerful and pretty room, with pictures,
birds and flowers. There are numerous
photographs of her dead husband, repre-
senting him from his early youth to a
period shortly before his death. There is
also statuette of him by Rogers, which is
very lifelike.
Curiously enough, over the crate under
the mantel-shelf. the old family door
! plate, with III. w. Beecher" engraved on
| it, is fastened. Mrs. Beecher prefers to
live independently, although all her chill
dren have urged her to reside with them.
| Twice within few years she has made the
| long journey to Puget Sound to visit one
| of her sons, and has not found the journey
| tiresome.
| Looking through the lace-curtained win
! dow toward Plymouth Church, she said:
'Dr. and Mrs. Abbott and their assistants
are very good to me, and so is the congre-
|
visit me frequently and are like children
| in their affection"
! Mrs. Beecher is still superintendent of
| the church sewing society, and has defer
ence shown to her in social matters. When
/ / asked if she admired the bronze statue of
| Mr.. Beecher, which stands in front of the
| City Hall. she expressed a certain distaste
| for its arrangement OF drapery and posi-
ton. 1t was intended as a pleasant sur
prise for her, but had not proved one.
| When asked if she believed that we
would recognize our loved ones after
| death, she replied, Most certainly" and
repeated verse she had found written on
q bundle wrapper of brown paper without
| giving the authors name. It was as fol-
| lows:
When the spring winds blow DER pleasant places,
The violet is here;
It all comes back, the garden and the color,
ana here
No blank is eft-no looking for is cheated;
! 1t is thing we know.
! So after deaths winter 1t must be
God will not send strange things we hardly know;
| The old love wiz look out from old faces
Dearest, shall have thee.
1t is very sweet and pathetic to hear this
| lady tell her little story of being young
| schoolteacher in her native New England
village when Mr.. Beecher, at the age of II,
was also teaching in the neighboring vil-
lage. They boarded in the same house.
Proplnquity made them lovers, and they
| were married WLeu very young.
"Oh, how happy we were In those days,
she added, "and we worked so hard;
| he preaching, teaching, and ! taking
| boarders, besides my family cares"
| Mr.. Beecher was most indulgent father
and husband, but the wife transacted
| business matters and acted as his secre-
tary through their fifty years of married
| life.
With their abundant means, through his
| large salary and income as lecturer, she
had no thought of becoming at all strait
ened in financial matters, but certain in
vestments have proved disastrous, so that
she felt obliged to remove from her COM
Portable home. A wealthy and generous
| member of Plymouth Church has pur-
chased this residence ard given her the
use of it for life.
Mrs. Beecher is wonderfully well pre-
| served, talks exceedingly we'll and is gen.
orally intelligent and well informed. She
comes from an old New England family
named Bullard from which there have
been two or three distinguished clergy
men.
Her tastes are very simple, and she has
an aversion to the new woman and the
fashionable woman, contending that the
true sphere of woman is the directing of
her household matters and the cherishing
of her home, her husband and her
| children.
II have no active interest in political
questions" she said. 81 don't believe in
women meddling III politics at all, and it
makes no difference what | think. am
remembered as the wife of Henry Ward
Beecher. Many persons come here to see
me. Hardly a day passes without bring
ing some visitor, some incident that re-
minds me of my irreparable loss" New
York Herald.
The theaters of London regularly en-
ploy of 1900 people.