The daily morning journal and courier., 1896-02-01

| IGdulllS tlle uellSlllul iulup4pSl aPAilCal papers of Elizabeth stuart Phelps Ward, now being published in MeClure's 1 Magazine, And lest they may forget to ! do so l will place before their eyes in this column some of the tender appre- ciatiVe, loving sentences in which she enshrines the memory Of her mother an intellectual woman, woman who wrote books that were widely read, her 'Sunnyside" having at the time of her early death reached circulation of 100000 copies, yet was one of the most domestic and devoted of home-makers and home lovers.
 The author of 'Sunnyside,' The Angel on the Right Shoulder and Peep at Number Five lived before women had careers and public sympa- | thy in them. Her nature was drawn against the grain of her times and of | her circumstances; and where our feet | find easy walking, hers were hedged, A child's memories go for something by way of tribute to the achievement of one of those rare women of the elder time whose gifts forced her out, but whose heart held her in,
 q can remember no time when l NlSt llol ulluGESldllu tletl iIiS iiO'iiSi must write books because people would have and read them; but l cannot re- member one hour in which her children needed her and did not find her
 Tt is certain that I very early had the conviction that a mother was be- ing of power and importance to the world; but that the world had no ousl- ness with her when we wanted her In a word, she was strong and lovely symmetry-a woman whose heart had not enfeebled her head, but whose head could never freeze her heart,
 1 q hardly know which of those charm ing ways in which learned to spell the word motherhood impressed me most. All seemed to go on together side by side and step by step, Now she sits correcting ploof-sheets. and now she IS painting apostles for the babys first Bible lesson. Now she is writing her new book, and now she is dyaing things canary yellow in the white oak dye-- | for the professors salary is small, and a crushing economy was in those days one of the conditions of faculty life on l Andoter Hill. Now-for her practical ingenuity was unlimited-she is whit 1 ling little wooden feet to stretch the 1 ehildren's stockings on, to save them from shrinking; and now she is reading to us from the old, red copy of Hazlitt's | British Poets,' by the register, upon d l winter night Now she is a popular l writer incredulous of her first success, with her future flashing before her; and now she is tried, tended mother, cIooning to a sick child, while the MSS, lies imprinted on the table, and the pub fishers are wishing their professors wife were a free woman, childless and solitary, able to send copy as fast as it I is wanted. The struggle killed her put she fought till she fell.
 "In these different days, when, ''Pealng, the clock of time Has struck the woman's hour | I have sometimes been glad, as my time came to face the long question which | life puts to-day to all women who think and feel, and who care for other wom- en and art loyal to them, that I had l those early visions of my own to look upon.
 ''When I was learnig why the sun rose and the moon set, how the flowers l heaven and art and letters existed, that it was intelligent to say one's prayens' and that well-bred children never told lie, learned that a mother l can be strong and still be sweet, and sweet although she is strong; and that she whom the world and her children 1 both have need of, is of more value to 1 each, for this very reason.
 | "T said it was impossible to be her daughter and not to write. Rather, I should say, impossible to be their daughter and not to have something to say, and a pen to say it."
 These papers promise to be charming throughout. As no reading of the se- cular sort can be more ennobling than the record of noble lives it is Ito be hoped that constantly increasing com pany of readers will follow Mrs. Ward from month to month with eager and renewed interest
 A GOOSE.