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 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 MADELINE YALE WYNNE 
 
 /fe) 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 CARL!: Consortium of Academic and Research Libraries in Illinois 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/inmemoryofmadeliOOIawr 
 
No brief phrase can possibly define 
 the beautiful character and pres- 
 ence of Madeline Wynne. She was pecu- 
 liarly ethereal without a hint of detachment 
 from the tangible world by which she was 
 surrounded, and which she loved for every- 
 thing in it that was good and fair, or 
 that rightfully called for understanding 
 or sympathy. 
 
 To her, life, all life, was unfailingly real 
 
 and earnest, and even poignant. She saw 
 
 everything with a beautifying and poetic 
 
 vision, and so reflected it to others. She 
 
 [3] 
 
was one of the most joyous souls I ever came 
 in touch with, and yet saw everything true. 
 She did not merely prefer the bright side of 
 things. Most fittingly she might have borne 
 the name of Cynthia, for unceasingly she 
 caught the sunlight of truth on her own 
 heart, in her own face ; and, casting it back 
 on life's darker aspects, illuminated them 
 with hope and joy. 
 
 Then, too, her rare intelligence and her 
 human sympathies shone as brightly as 
 her joy, as her love of truth, as her discrim- 
 inative perception of beauty. One might 
 say that these five graces held constant revel 
 in her soul, interdependent and inseparable. 
 None who ever truly knew her can look to 
 see her place filled. 
 
 G. W. CABLE 
 
 [4] 
 
II 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 [The following paragraphs have been arranged 
 from material, in print or in manuscript, contrib- 
 uted by members of Mrs. Wynne's own intimate 
 circle : Philip Henry Wynne, a son ; Miss A. C. 
 Putnam, a life-long friend and associate; Mrs. 
 Elia W. Peattie, writing in the Chicago Tribune, 
 and others.] 
 
 MADELINE YALE WYNNE 
 was born at Newport, Herkimer 
 County, New York, on September 25, 1847, 
 and died at Asheville, North Carolina, on 
 January 4, 191 8. 
 
 [5] 
 
Her father, widely known as the inventor 
 of the Yale lock, was primarily a man of 
 artistic aptitudes and achievements, and 
 many of his daughter's earlier hours were 
 spent In his garden-studio at Newport. Her 
 mother was of the old New England family 
 of Brooks ; she carried on the traditions of 
 culture proper to her origin, and was her- 
 self one of the teachers In that "crescent" 
 school at Eagleswood, New Jersey, which 
 Madeline and her brothers attended. 
 
 The definite basis of Mrs. Wynne's varied 
 and scintlllant artistic career was laid In 
 Boston, where she studied painting at the 
 Art Museum and taught drawing for sev- 
 eral years. Later she studied at the Art 
 Students' League In New York, under 
 Walter Shirlaw, and still later In Europe. 
 "Both as artist and teacher of art," says 
 [6] 
 
Miss Putnam, *'she was an Inspiration to 
 a vast number of friends, and to many a 
 struggling student." 
 
 When business called Mr. Julian Yale to 
 Chicago, he was soon joined by his mother 
 and sister, and they established themselves 
 in the pleasant house at No. 9 Ritchie Place, 
 which for many years was a Mecca for true 
 lovers of art and literature, whether these 
 were presented in a vestment of wit or of 
 philosophy. Here it was that Mrs. Yale and 
 Mrs. Wynne collaborated to form a salon 
 of real intellectual interest; here, too, Made- 
 line and her brother wrought together in the 
 unique and fascinating workshop for silver- 
 smithing and jewelry-setting, the fame of 
 which spread so far. As says her son, "Her 
 artistic feeling perhaps found Its truest ex- 
 pression in designing and making hand- 
 [7] 
 
wrought jewelry and other decorations, for 
 which she had a notably bold and happy 
 inspiration." 
 
 It was while living in this same house that 
 Mrs. Wynne definitely turned her attention 
 to literary expression. Her most noteworthy 
 production at that time was the short story 
 called "The Little Room." This title was 
 gladly appropriated by a group of painters, 
 sculptors, writers, musicians, architects, and 
 other art workers which was forming in 
 Chicago at the time of the World's Co- 
 lumbian Exposition. Their little organi- 
 zation, still meeting in the Fine Arts Build- 
 ing, has recently celebrated its twenty-fifth 
 anniversary. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne's summers had been spent, 
 for many years, at Deerfield, Massachu- 
 setts, in the historic "Old Manse"; and 
 [8] 
 
later she made a winter home for herself 
 in Tryon, North Carolina. In both places 
 she exercised her own artistic gifts and 
 directed those of others. It was largely 
 her enthusiasm and energy that brought 
 about the revival and organization of the 
 Deerfield Crafts, to which those of other 
 towns soon looked for Inspiration and 
 guidance. In Tryon she took a leading part 
 In the formation of the Musical and Dra- 
 matic Clubs, and, stimulated by her sugges- 
 tive and encouraging criticisms, the latter 
 has presented not only a number of plays 
 by Synge, Lady Gregory, and others, but 
 also a very beautiful play which was drama- 
 tized by Mrs. Wynne from one of her own 
 stories and given under her direction. To 
 the Lanier Club of Tryon, a literary club 
 with a wide membership, and one addressed 
 [9] 
 
at various times by many distinguished 
 people, Mrs. Wynne never failed to give 
 her inspiring cooperation. Mrs. Jean Stans- 
 bury Holden, a warm friend and fellow- 
 member, tells us that "she was the life and 
 sparkle of the Club . . . always buoyant 
 and bubbling, but never trifling." Hers was 
 the great gift of imagination which is essen- 
 tial to the truest sympathy. " Mrs. Wynne 
 has the happy faculty of always saying 
 the right thing," said a friend. "Yes," 
 answered Dr. Emerson, "because she always 
 thinks the right thing." 
 
 In the words of her son, Madeline Wynne 
 was "a woman of many and various gifts, 
 a spirit brilliant and rare. To her friends — 
 and few people had so many friends — the 
 greatest of her many successes was in the art 
 
 Ot livmg. HENRY B. FULLER 
 
 [10] 
 
Ill 
 
 CHARM, instantly recognized but 
 never satisfactorily defined, found 
 Its perfect embodiment in Madeline Yale 
 Wynne. Her presence diffused a magnetic 
 quality, a subtle blending of surprise, de- 
 light, and sympathy that instantly made her 
 the center of whatever circle she entered. 
 
 Rodin once said that each art Is key to 
 every other art. This was strikingly true 
 in Mrs. Wynne's case, for she excelled in 
 all arts. 
 
 From her mother she inherited imagina- 
 tion, appreciation, enthusiasm; from her 
 father, who gave the Yale lock to the 
 [II] 
 
world, Invention and skill. Her brother, 
 Julian Yale, In an active business life turned 
 for recreation to the workshop his sister 
 shared, using the same tools and forge and 
 giving a magic touch to each creation of 
 that busy work-bench. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne's metal work still keeps un- 
 challenged place for beauty and originality. 
 She could not do a commonplace thing and 
 she never repeated herself. Her fresh spirit 
 acted and reacted on vanquished metals — 
 copper, silver, gold — In graceful curves and 
 novel lines. Stones were encircled, crystals 
 suspended, amber enfolded in coils, rings, 
 and chains that send us to the woods to find 
 their lovely counterparts, since histories of 
 art do not reveal them. 
 
 Whatever she touched was baptized with 
 her originality. Her stories have a quality 
 
 [12] 
 
all their own — mysterious, imaginative, ex- 
 citing; leaving the reader with a passionate 
 desire to know the outcome — never even 
 remotely suggested. Her water-colors are 
 exquisite, and seldom have been rivaled In 
 giving the spirit of the woods. Her oil 
 paintings are distinguished, often touched 
 with the weird mystery of her stories. She 
 worked with equal facility with brush, 
 hammer, carving-tools, and burning-irons, 
 reaching her goal through whatever medium 
 was at hand, and always suffusing it with 
 the pure and exquisite quality of charm. 
 Her Intense love of color, her joy In rich 
 hues and unusual combinations, doubtless 
 revealed depths and gradations hidden from 
 our eyes though multiplied to hers. 
 
 She understood and loved music, modern 
 as well as classic; and though she gave it 
 [13] 
 
little attention, she played both violin and 
 piano enough to add to home pleasure for 
 herself and her friends. 
 
 Taste, another elusive quality, never 
 failed her. It appeared In every corner of 
 her home, pervading work as well as play. 
 Mrs. Wynne and her mother put all house- 
 hold tasks Into the class of arts, where they 
 belong. Whatever came from their sunny 
 kitchen was flavored with ladyhood, a cull- 
 nary prize that schools do not give. 
 
 Taste showed Itself again In the Individ- 
 uality of her dress. She saw possibilities In 
 fragments of unusual fabrics, and her skill 
 easily united the practical with the artistic. 
 Given needlewomen's tools, she made what- 
 ever she needed or fancied, her clever hands 
 often evolving trimming and decoration as 
 well as garment. Here, as usual, she worked 
 [14] 
 
with magic rapidity, and achieved charming 
 effects with simple materials. 
 
 She was interested in philanthropy, and 
 her sturdy common sense kept balance be- 
 tween conflicting issues. Problems were 
 often discussed at the Wednesday morning 
 meetings of that delightful club, "The 
 Neighbors." Limited to six members, with 
 Mrs. Wynne as hostess and Mrs. Yale as 
 leader, the home on Ritchie Place, in Chi- 
 cago, became a little school of cheerful 
 philosophy and a maker of delightful 
 memories. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne's social gifts were also 
 elusive. Her sense of humor appeared in 
 written and spoken words, in the merry 
 twinkle of her eyes. In voice and smile. In 
 sadness as in mirth she had an adorable 
 quality. Intangible, yet lingering In every 
 [15] 
 
dear thought of her. There was something 
 akin to the elfin — gay, fairy-like, beguiling 
 into paths of joy. An enchanting playfel- 
 low, she readily lent herself to the ridiculous 
 for frolic's sake; yet, In sorrow, words 
 were not needed to tell the sympathy that 
 filled her lovely eyes and trembled on her 
 lips. Hers was a nameless type of beauty, 
 bringing joy with her appearance, and hap- 
 piness In sitting with her beside the fire. 
 Of all her gifts the rarest was her friend- 
 ship, for she was true, sincere, faithful, 
 appreciative of duties as well as privileges 
 in friendship, and always so kind that she 
 left nothing to regret. 
 
 I linger over many lovely attributes 
 
 vainly trying to name her supreme gift. 
 
 Each was touched with the fire of genius 
 
 and the enchantment of mystery. Her world 
 
 [i6] 
 
was her own. Friends entered here and 
 there, but not one walked the full length 
 of her corridors or saw all the pictures on 
 her walls. For such a nature Is Isolated by 
 the profusion of Its endowments, by the 
 depths of Its penetration, by the heights of 
 its experiences. 
 
 Now, having written, there comes a 
 baffled sense that the best Is still unsaid, 
 for her chief legacy to those who love her 
 cannot be put Into words — It Is the starry 
 memory that lights the name of Madeline 
 Yale Wynne. 
 
 LYDIA AVERY COONLEY WARD 
 
 [17] 
 
IV 
 
 IT was back in the time of the World's 
 Fair that we first knew Mrs. Wynne. 
 She had come from Deerfield and Boston 
 to keep house for her brother, Julian Yale, 
 at 9 Ritchie Place, and Chicago was new 
 to her. 
 
 She brought into it an atmosphere of 
 color, of intimate artistic life, where Vene- 
 tian beads, in hitherto unimagined quanti- 
 ties and richness, blended with strange bits 
 of embroidery; and where copper trays, 
 iridescent with bold experiments in decora- 
 tion, bore odd bits of hand-wrought metal 
 — an atmosphere where a winter's sketch- 
 [i8] 
 
ing in Algiers, a season of study in Venice 
 or Florence, was all a part of the scheme of 
 life, and might come again at any time. 
 With this went a personality as rich, as 
 vivid as her experiences. Busy with her own 
 work as she was — for she worked daily In 
 her "shop" at the top of the house, Its great 
 window looking out upon Lake Michigan, 
 over the lovely jewelry and silverware that 
 are so warmly cherished by their present 
 owners — she always had time to listen, to 
 give counsel or help, or, just by being her- 
 self, to make one realize a larger world and 
 point of view than one had brought to her. 
 She never saved herself for a larger audi- 
 ence. You got her very best, because she 
 could give no less. 
 
 Her brother's personality, too, was part 
 of the unique charm of the little household. 
 [19] 
 
The metal work, while not a profession with 
 him, was his constant amusement, and al- 
 most every evening he wrought at his bench 
 in his sister's studio. Sometimes callers, 
 sitting in the square hall below, would be 
 startled to see a spoon or a pitcher descend- 
 ing by a thread, to be seen and appreciated, 
 and then perhaps withdrawn again. The 
 jewelry of his and of her own creation 
 Mrs. Wynne wore, casually, until it was 
 sold, and it was always beautiful on her 
 because she so completely dominated It. 
 She was much more brilliant than any arbi- 
 trary arrangement of opals or enamels, and 
 when she wore them, the jewels, on her, 
 slipped into their proper place in a decora- 
 tive scheme. 
 
 Mrs. Wynne enjoyed social life In her 
 free hours, and often dined with us, alone 
 
 [20] 
 
or with other guests. We were always sure 
 of the success of any party if she were to be 
 there. 
 
 There came many sorrows, illnesses, and 
 anxieties into her life. She never dwelt 
 upon them nor seemed to resent them — why 
 should she be spared the common lot? — 
 neither did she abnormally keep them to 
 herself, but human-heartedly shared with 
 you her sorrows and her joys. Her brother's 
 health was failing for some time before his 
 sudden death. She knew that the end might 
 come at any time, and her ceaseless care for 
 him, given with a light touch, as if she were 
 doing nothing, was wonderful. 
 
 After his death, the home at 9 Ritchie 
 
 Place was given up, and my close contact 
 
 with her ceased. But she was a continuing 
 
 presence and stimulus in my life. Her 
 
 [21] 
 
letters, infrequent as they were, and her 
 visits, all too few, kept our places in each 
 other's lives; and I associate her always 
 with two poems which were often on her 
 lips, Emerson's "Forerunners" and Blake's 
 "Opportunity": 
 
 "He who bends to himself a joy, 
 Does the winged life destroy ; 
 But he who kisses the joy as it flies, 
 Lives in eternity's sunrise." 
 
 She gave freely of herself to all with 
 whom she came in contact, and no one met 
 her, even casually, who did not retain a 
 vivid impression of her gracious, "generous- 
 seeking "personality. She was so much more 
 than the sum of all her varied gifts — a 
 beautiful woman, with singular, exceptional 
 charm of voice, manner, gesture; artist, 
 craftsman, unique story-teller, writer of 
 
 [22] 
 
prose and poetry (too little known) ; lov- 
 ing daughter, sister, mother, and most satis- 
 fying friend. To feel that you were counted 
 among those whom she loved, gave you a 
 value In your own eyes. 
 
 ELIZABETH HEAD GATES 
 
 [23] 
 
To know Mrs. Wynne was to become 
 the happier for that knowledge and 
 for each memory of her. 
 
 Rarely sensitive to all beauty in nature 
 and in art, with still rarer ability to capture 
 and transmit impressions into expression, 
 she was a constant conveyer to others from 
 the richness of her own experience. 
 
 Sharing was her joy. The fountain of 
 her own resources for spiritual quickening 
 knew no diminution, because continually 
 drawn upon for the refreshment of the 
 weary, sad, or dull. 
 
 [24] 
 
We are glad and grateful for the artistry 
 of her skilful hands, for the enduring 
 beauty of her printed words, which recall 
 the charm of her voice and grace of manner. 
 
 In the unspeakable privilege of having 
 shared In her abundant giving of herself 
 for companionship, unique In quality, we 
 have a blessing which cannot be taken away 
 while memory lasts. 
 
 MARY H. WILMARTH 
 
 [25] 
 
VI 
 
 MEETING her for the first time, 
 It was her gracious hospitality of 
 soul that Impressed one. Her faith In the 
 possibilities, rather the potentialities, of 
 those she met called forth a responsive 
 desire to meet her expectations. 
 
 Her rarely gifted mind at once betrayed 
 Itself In her conversation, which was ever 
 embroidered by her charming fancy and 
 her kindly wit. 
 
 She was a passionate lover of beauty, not 
 alone of form and color, but of the spirit 
 and of a fine conduct In the affairs of life. 
 [26] 
 
With all her gifts, it was in the art of 
 living that she excelled, and by her own 
 life taught many another how life may be 
 dignified and ennobled. 
 
 Hers was the attitude of expectancy, and 
 when, for her, the last barrier fell away, 
 surely it was with a glad heart and hasting 
 feet that she pressed forward to the new 
 experiences awaiting her — our radiant, 
 "gallant" Madeline! 
 
 ISADORE P. TAYLOR 
 
 [27] 
 
VII 
 
 MRS. WYNNE could not be Indif- 
 ferent to any form of art. She 
 played the violin well, painted In both oils 
 and water-colors, was distinguished as a 
 gold and silversmith, and could turn her 
 needle to account like a lady of mediaeval 
 times. She wrote delightfully but not copi- 
 ously. As a gardener she was fortunate 
 Indeed. Beautiful things grew, It seemed, 
 at her suggestion. 
 
 To tell what she has done, however, In no 
 way conveys what she was. She entered a 
 new neighborhood only to give It fresh vltal- 
 [28] 
 
ity and to open up the minds and hearts of 
 her neighbors. Physically she was rarely 
 beautiful, delicate as fine glass and luminous 
 with the spirit. Her house became, in spite 
 of her quietness, a salon wherever she lived, 
 and her loss will be felt by many persons 
 in many places. But she was of those whose 
 influence continues like the overtones of a 
 beautiful bell. Identified all her life with 
 beauty and ideals of brotherhood, the mem- 
 ory of her is in itself a great possession. 
 
 ELIA W. PEATTIE 
 
 [29] 
 
M' 
 
 VIII 
 
 RS. WYNNE usually passed the 
 summer months at Deerfield, and 
 "home" was to her always the old manse 
 in Deerfield Street. It was natural enough, 
 then, that much of her artistic thought 
 and initiative should be lavished upon her 
 "home town." 
 
 She was president of the Deerfield Indus- 
 tries, and gave invaluable help each year 
 in maintaining Its standard of excellence, 
 serving on the Jury, and giving unsparingly 
 of her efficiency and artistic skill to the 
 service of its interests, especially in the ar- 
 [30] 
 
rangements for an Annual Fair at which 
 triumphs of basketry, embroidery, jewelry, 
 pottery, and tapestry are sold, and to which 
 thousands make pilgrimage. The gratitude 
 of this Society is feelingly expressed in the 
 following Resolutions : 
 
 "We, members of the Deerfield Industries, 
 wish to express our deep sorrow and feeling of 
 loss for the death of our President and friend, 
 Mrs. Madeline Yale Wynne. She has, from the 
 first, been a mainstay of our organization and a 
 personal help to each one of us. Her own skill 
 as a craftswoman, and her enthusiasm and tact In 
 directing the efforts of the less skilled, went far 
 toward gaining for the Society its first recognition. 
 For years she was unsparing of her time and 
 strength during her short vacations here. Her 
 jury work was more than selection. It was advice 
 and constructive criticism, a stimulating help to 
 all who received it. 
 
 "So, as a Society and as individuals, we wish 
 to record our gratitude and love and pleasant 
 
 [31] 
 
memories of her, and we direct our secretary to 
 make such record, and to send our greetings and 
 our sympathy to Miss Annie C. Putnam, whose 
 name is joined in our minds and hearts to 
 Mrs. Wynne's, for they served us together." 
 
 [32] 
 
IX 
 
 l^lf ^HE originality, charm, and wide 
 J[ scope of Mrs. Wynne's artistic ac- 
 tivities may be gathered from almost any 
 one of the present pages; they included 
 silversmithing, enameling, painting of por- 
 traits, landscapes and Imaginative subjects, 
 basket weaving, free verse, short-story 
 writing, music, embroidery. Her paintings 
 show a vigorous Imagination and a sensitive 
 color sense. In one of these, now in Wash- 
 ington, we have an old fireplace, to which 
 an ancient, ghostly woman returns to tend 
 its immemorial fire. In another, called "A 
 Group of Three," the "three" are trees, 
 [33] 
 
until on a closer look one of them becomes 
 a woman, a sibyl. Or, take a triumphant 
 adventure In carving and pyrography. A 
 linen chest for an Easter bride Is thus de- 
 scribed: "Outwardly it is rich and dark — a 
 severe design carried out In bold relief, with 
 burning-Iron, carving tools, and paint brush. 
 But the lid, when lifted, flashes from Its 
 inner surface a great cluster of white lilies 
 against the dazzling rays of the rising sun — 
 all in relief against a sky-blue background. 
 Such were the Inspirations that responded 
 readily to her call." 
 
 Other valuable glimpses of Mrs. Wynne's 
 talents and methods are given by Dr. Ed- 
 ward W. Emerson, of Concord, Massa- 
 chusetts : 
 
 "Of certain travels In Italy and Algiers 
 she made a condensed memento in a sort 
 [34] 
 
FROM THE PHOTO OF ANOTHER BRIDE S-CHEST, 
 **THE GARDEN OF HEARTS," NOW IN ENGLAND 
 
of hieroglyphic embroidery. This was in 
 sampler form, worked in native silks, and 
 very beautiful in design and color. [These 
 samplers were subsequently photographed 
 and copies distributed among Mrs. Wynne's 
 friends.] A collection of jewels, set curi- 
 ously by her in rings and pendants, stir the 
 Imagination even more than they please 
 the eye. . . . Once when I was the guest of 
 Mrs. Wynne and her brother at dinner, 
 my hosts produced neither cards nor cigars 
 after dinner ; but Instead we went up to their 
 workshop, where they melted a handful of 
 silver dollars in a crucible, and under my 
 eyes seemed almost to thumb them into 
 beautiful forms. . . . Madeline Wynne be- 
 longed to that blest class, the Illuminators, 
 so delicate were her perceptions and her 
 sympathies." 
 
 [35] 
 
X 
 
 IN her literary work, Mrs. Wynne ex- 
 pressed the two contrasted sides of 
 New England life and character : the dusky, 
 mystical side, as in "The Little Room"; 
 and the racy, broad-sunlight side, as in 
 "Si Briggs Talks." "The Litde Room" 
 was first imagined and related at one of 
 the Deerfield "ghost parties," and was often 
 recited subsequently in Chicago. It is the 
 tale of a small anteroom in a farmhouse — 
 a room now existent, now non-existent; 
 visible to some, invisible to others : a classic 
 of psychological fiction. A sequel devised 
 [36] 
 
a few years later, at earnest request, In- 
 geniously made the problem more problem- 
 atical than ever. "The Little Room" was 
 finally reduced to print for publication In 
 Chicago, between covers of Mrs. Wynne's 
 own designing; and It was afterwards 
 selected as one of a group of short stories, 
 "Told at Dusk," which William Dean 
 Howells collected for the Harpers. Mrs. 
 Wynne, answering the request for permis- 
 sion to use her story In this way, said that 
 she "should be happy to give them the lease 
 of 'The LIttleRoom.' " "SIBrlggs Talks," 
 published In 191 7, In Boston, Is a collection 
 of New England stories, or rather anec- 
 dotes, cast into a whimsical free-verse form ; 
 they are of a pungency peculiarly Yankee — 
 one or two of them came directly to Mrs. 
 Wynne from James Russell Lowell — and 
 [37] 
 
all have a flavor suggestive of "The Biglow 
 Papers." 
 
 Mr. Howells's sympathetic appreciation 
 of both these books Is given In the following 
 words : 
 
 "It seems to me that she expressed the 
 mystical and the grotesque of the New Eng- 
 land temperament, as no one else quite has, 
 In 'The Little Room' and In 'SI Briggs.' 
 We knew the former years ago, and It 
 seems to me as If we had known the latter 
 always ; we read It to ourselves and to each 
 other, and to every one we found fit. Only 
 a few weeks ago we read It again In a copy 
 which we were sending to an English soldier 
 In Jerusalem. I cannot think of any author 
 who has written so little with such spacious 
 effect on the reader's mind. Her rare gift, 
 in Its quality and employment, was hers and 
 hers alone." 
 
 [38] 
 
XI 
 
 AMONG FRIENDS 
 
 "Our dear, gallant, splendid Madeline! 
 
 The only one of her kind in all the world." 
 — C. D. Clements 
 
 "She was a wonderful character — a spirit 
 of light and eternal youth." 
 
 — Harriet Monroe 
 
 "She was the most variously gifted 
 woman I ever met, and so modest and 
 genial with it all. Moreover, so good to 
 look at. Heaven certainly was generous 
 with her. After so full a life, one cannot 
 mourn her going." _^^^„ ^^„^^ Cheney 
 [39] 
 
"I think that to all of us (of a younger 
 generation) it seemed as if she were perma- 
 nently young — as if she could never die.'* 
 
 — r. J. p. 
 
 "She made one feel as if one could ac- 
 complish almost anything — as if there were 
 always something new to discover over the 
 next little hill." _£. c. P., Jr. 
 
 "How vivid she was! I do not even 
 have to close my eyes to see her as I last 
 saw her — sitting under our pine trees here, 
 telling in her inimitable way one of her 
 delightful stories. And whether It was a 
 story, or some theory or philosophy of life, 
 her voice and her rich, rare spirit — her 
 whole gracious personality — made It some- 
 thing long to be remembered. Perhaps it 
 was because her whole self went Into every- 
 thing she said or did." —Lucy Cable Bikle 
 
 [40] 
 
"I have so many visions of Mrs. Wynne 
 in that laurel-lined path. Her lovely head 
 in relief against the dark leaves was a won- 
 derful picture. She was always saying such 
 gay, such witty and original things, and 
 sometimes so deep and touching! Her 
 bright gift of joyousness seems to me, just 
 now, an outstanding charm. How generous 
 she was with her gifted self — how she over- 
 looked the failings of others, and encour- 
 aged the best in them. By the magic of her 
 touch on every commonplace of life, she 
 transformed the simplest, homeliest duties 
 into fairy tales. Her response to all that Is 
 lovely — the call of the wren, the tint of 
 the sky, the scent of a rose — showed the 
 deep poetry of her nature." 
 
 — Mary G. Beach 
 C41] 
 
"But we must not grudge her the escape 
 from the body, which has been such a pain 
 to her during these months. That clever, 
 skilful body, so full of the best things; 
 and yet, sometimes it seemed too confining 
 for the splendid possibilities still in store. 
 Some great, big, new experience is hers, 
 coming gently, and without shock. I have 
 had enough talks with her to know how 
 deeply she felt about eternal things, and to 
 know how natural will be the step into the 
 
 big, new world." _^. g. W. Perkins 
 
 " It Is not hard to be wholly glad for her. 
 With her lovely freshness of outlook, she 
 will love the next thing." 
 
 — Elizabeth Head Gates 
 
 [42] 
 
To M. Y. W. 
 
 Friends have I had, both gay and grave. 
 
 Witty and learned, wistful and proud; 
 But never a one of all the lave. 
 
 In the narrow path where little days crowd. 
 Never a one, so blithe or so free. 
 
 So loving of hearth and friend and kin. 
 So tender with flower and bird and tree. 
 
 As you, my dearest Madeline Wynne. 
 
 A golden magic was in your hands. 
 
 You wove and you wrought, you painted and 
 played; 
 And swift and eager at your commands. 
 
 With a new bag o' tricks and quite unafraid. 
 The jongleurs of Beauty came dancing your way. 
 
 To teach you the cunning of play-a-day skill; 
 And you taught them in turn, ere you sent them 
 away, 
 
 Down the thorn-lined road from your elfin hill. 
 
 [43] 
 
Whenever the dawn made a shining lane. 
 
 On shining errands you took your way; 
 Whenever there fell a day of rain. 
 
 You used it to curtain your privacy. 
 You became a gypsy, with cauldron and spell. 
 
 In the deeps of the summer s emboscage; 
 And when the early evenings came. 
 
 Transformed the drawing room into a stage. 
 
 On you all arts made sisterly claim. 
 
 Whether music or painting or poetry; 
 You worked with forge and hammer and flame, 
 
 But best of all was your alchemy — 
 The alchemy that could transmute 
 
 The common friend into something rare. 
 And in rejected ore confute 
 
 The dross, revealing metal fair. 
 
 Valiantly on your path you sj 
 
 A lover of sweet, untrodden ways; 
 Maker of friends at will and need. 
 
 Rememberer of beautiful days. 
 Leonardo will bow you in 
 
 To the place where the lovely workers be; 
 Gracious Del Sarto will claim you kin. 
 
 And Barbara greet you with lilies three. 
 
 E. w. p. 
 
 [44] 
 

 
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