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UNIVERSITY Or,
ILLINOIS LIBRARY
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGH
ILLINOIS HISTORICAL SURVEY
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A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST
A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE
JULIA A, AMES,
•' U BbaU be satisfic^ wben IF awal?e in Ubi? Iii?enesB.
THE WOMAN'S TEMPERANCE PUBLISH NG ASSOCIATION,
THE TEMPLE,
CHICAGO.
COPYRIGHT, 1892.
KBoman's QEsmpiJrancc f'uftigfiing 3gr JOURNALIST. II
great as the outreaching of the heart, as great as the
contriving of the brain, as great as the faith that
fastens the aspiring soul to God, then we are the
mightiest mockery that has been let loose to feed on
its own anguish.
I think "Yolande," as we delighted to call her,
was wont to say to herself as that cosmopolitan poet,
Victor Hugo, said :
"Be like a bird just for an instant lighted
Upon a branch that swings ;
She feels it yield, yet sings on unaflfrighted.
Knowing she hath her wings."
She knew she had her wings. She is trying them
these days.
A schoolmate of earlier years bears this remark-
able testimony, to which we who during the last six
years of her life knew her so well, at her beloved Rest
Cottage home, can heartily subscribe :
"She seemed incapable of malice. She never
antagonized. I think she was inclined to believe
the best possible of everybody, and naturally enough
she received everybody's good will in return. I
think her girlhood, rightly understood, showed her
capable of great and persevering devotion when her
interest was once thoroughly aroused. She was
peculiar in that her fixed purposes were followed in
the under-current of her nature, for her outward man-
ner was so gay and bright that only those who knew
her best, realized the deep undej-girdings of her power.
I have no doubt that what she showed in early life,
12 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST
that lovely, genial disposition combined, as so rarely
occurs, with persevering devotion to any person or
to any cause to which she was attached, made up
the warp and woof of the character that came to be so
much admired by the white- ribboners."
PROFESSOR SUSAN M. D. FRY.
VER since the receipt of Miss Wil-
lard's letter saying, "Our beloved
Julia Ames lias passed to her native
climate of heaven," one incident in
the school life of Julia has come to
me more frequentl}' and more vividly than
^ any other.
At dusk one Sabbath evening, on entering
my room at Henrietta Hall after an absence of several
hours, I heard most piteous sobs in the adjoining
room. They were smothered outbursts from a heart
that seemed broken to pieces by some mighty sorrow
which had suddenly fallen upon it. I said, "Julia
has lost her father or mother," and hastened to com-
fort her. I found her lying upon her bed, face down-
wards, in a state of the most intense excitement and
grief. What was my surprise, when I put my arms
about her and begged her to tell me what had hap-
pened, to hear her reply, " No, no, I will not tell you.
You will hate me. I wish I were dead ! I wish I
were dead ! " I could not believe that Julia had been
guilty of anything unworthy of herself. And, at any
14 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
rate, she must be calmed and helped. After repeated
pleadings on my part and assurances of love, no
matter how serious the case might be, she yielded,
and with a struggle such as a criminal might make to
confess a crime, she said, " I am down for an oration
in my literary society and I can not write one ; I am a
fool, I am a fool ! " It was in vain that I assured
her that first efforts were never orations but only
essays committed to memorj^ that she would grow to
the heights of an oration, in time, and that other
students had to make a beginning as she did. No,,
she ought to know how to write an oration. It was
inexcusable that she did not. She must write an
oration, or nothing. How exaggerated her grief
seems at this distance. How many times in later
years has her face beamed upon me in bright ap-
preciation of the ludicrousness of the scene, as we
have referred to the tremendous struggle of that
occasion.
This early incident in Julia's school life at the
Illinois Wesleyan University at Bloomington, which
began September, 1879, and lasted but two years,
gives the key to at least two of her chief characteris-
tics. She was determined to do things well — perfectly,
if possible ; she was hard toward herself. Becky
Sharp (pardon the allusion) claimed the right to
mother herself, that she might further her own selfish
ends and advance Becky to a good place, where she
might eat somebody else's white bread, and wear au
undeserved honor or a title ; but Julia was, at best,
but a poor step-mother to herself. She would not
palliate or excuse her own shortcomings. She was
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 5
always read}^ to say, "But I ought to know," and
equally ready to say, " I will know."
She mastered every subject she undertook, and so
far as I know always stood first grade. I have heard
her say many times that she would not accept a sec-
ond grade ; that if necessary she would study all night
to avoid such a calamity ; and that in the event of
such a visitation she would leave the school in dis-
grace. But she did not study for grades alone. She
had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, which her
college life increased. Her sister writes me, "All
Julia gained at Bloomington made her crave more,
so that when she left Bloomington she was simply
aflame with the desire to know."
She did not aim, or desire, to take a college
course. Literature and history, art and aesthetics
were her favorite studies. She took all of these
laid down in the college curriculum, some of the
languages and natural sciences, and left school in
June, 1881.
The Munsellian literary society, for which she de-
sited to write the oration, had become very proud of
her for her conscientious work and fine dramatic abil-
ity. She was a member of the Kappa Gamma Greek
fraternity. Her sisters in these societies watched her
career with pride and pleasure, and her memory will
long be enshrined in their hearts. She attended the
Monday evening prayer-meeting held by the young
ladies of the Hall, and constantly let her influence be
felt in favor of right living and right doing. She had
a quick sense of humor, but an equally strong sense
of decorum preserved her dignity under trying cir-
l6 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
curastances, and made her a sort of censor to her fol-
lowers, who were numerous.
She was sensitive to her environments, and easily
became en rapport with the highest teachings of phi-
losophy and religion. She had observ^ation and spirit-
ual vitality. Her soul naturally repelled the low and
groveling and went forth freely to seek kinship with
the pure and Xoity.
As I remember Julia, she was more serious than
most girls of her age. Her conscience was not often,
if ever, satisfied with her best endeavors. She had,
even during her school days, that " divine dissatisfac-
tion," as some one has put it, which urged her on,
night and day. This was not disclosed by ordinary
nervousness, or by that air of heavy business and
much work which young people are apt to carry
when they feel the first pressure of responsible indi-
viduality. Her inward urgings were known only to
the observing few, by her thoughtfulness and persist-
ent devotion to a subject until she had mastered it ;
or to her choicest friends by an occasional outpouring
of her aspirations in an hour of quiet conference and
confidence. She did not waste her time in idle castle-
building. She did not cast a halo of glory about
herself, born of her own imaginings, to proclaim her-
self as a girl of infinite longings, high aspirations,
lofty hopes and awful fears. She did not beat her
pretty wings against the homely limitations of this
plodding, work-a-day world, and fret her young life
into wrinkles and furrows of disappointment — and all
through no fault of hers. No, Julia was not visionary,
she was not sentimental, the times were not " out of
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 7
joint" for her. She was not unhappy. She was
simply a calm, self-possessed, serious worker, a
striver after the best. She had learned, somehow or
other, to estimate somewhat properly the worth of
this world. This was before she had learned to know
and to love Robert Browning, as she afterward came
to know and love him, but she already felt that "a
man's reach should exceed his grasp." She seemed
to realize that the works of a great soul always bear
the marks of imperfection— failure to attain its ideal ;
but that this very imperfection implies the possibility
of farther progress ; and that
• • The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made."
Her favorite and often-quoted text was :
"As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousuess: I shall
be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness." — Psalms xvii: 15.
When she first came to the Illinois Wesleyan Uni-
versity she had a strong desire to adopt the stage as a
profession. This seems contradictory to what I have
already said. But her ideal stage was quite different
from the real ; and as she realized more and more the
impossibility of carrying out the good she planned in
that profession, wiser counsel prevailed and she aban-
doned all thought of the stage, and decided to devote
herself to some line of literary work.
Her independence of thought and action was very
marked. Having settled a point in her own mind, it
was settled.
l8 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Believing a thing to be proper and right, it was
done. She did not wish to be helped in her studies
or in her recitations. She liked the teacher best who
let her recite, or fail, according to what she knew.
She wished to become self-supporting as soon as pos-
sible. She used her money with as much care and
economy as if it were grudgingly bestowed. This
was the more remarkable from the fact that her
supply was unstinted, and that she was urged to have
expensive things which .she refused. She believed
her father's generosity unbounded, that she could
never repay him for what he had already done for
her, and that she ought to show her appreciation of
his love and care by economy, and, as soon as possi-
ble, by earning her own living. Then, too, she felt
that she had a work to do and longed to be about
it. After leaving school she often said, "How can
girls be satisfied with the round of little nothings to
which they give themselves ! " She pitied them and
longed to lead them into broader and better work —
into something which would widen their s\'mpathies
and make them better and more helpful in this world
of sin and suffering.
I have spoken so much of Julia's thoughtfulness,
that one might think her solemn. Not so. She was
as bright and cheerful a girl as one would wish to see.
She was not variable in moods. Her eyes sparkled
at a repartee, and her face flashed into contagious
laughter at a witticism. She hated sham and affecta-
tion of any kind. I do not remember anything that
would more effectually close her lips, or in an extreme
case, draw forth an arrow of sarcasm, as vSliam. On
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. I9
the other hand, she was always kind and helpful to
the unsophisticated or ignorant.
How often her face told me these pleasing stories
of herself, as she sat opposite me at the table and as-
sisted in serving and entertaining guests that came
and went.
But how shall I speak of the love and self-sacrifice
of which she was capable ? Her inner sanctuary was
for the few ; but her sympathy and self-sacrifice were
for all. I remember how she devoted herself to a
young lady who had the misfortune to slip upon a
muddy crossing and break her leg. It was a grave
and startling event at the Hall. Julia turned nurse,
installed herself in her schoolmate's room, showered
the leg with water day and night with some help
from others, stood by while the plaster cast was put
on, and crowned all, in a few days, by placing Miss
S in a rocking-chair and drawing her smoothly
along, while another girl supported and carried the
broken leg, and thus brought her from her small
room in one wing of the house to Julia's large, airy
room in the other, and then called me up to admire
the achievement. My alarm and disapproval fell,
however, before her assertion that the doctor had
given his consent. The fact was, the doctor believed
Julia's generalship equal to the undertaking, and
he often said no broken leg ever got on better, and
that it was all owing to the good nursing it had.
Julia's studies went right on through all this, though
I well remember the wearisome nights when the bones
were knitting and none of us could comfort the suffer-
ing girl, and the doctor must be called. This young
20 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
lady had not been, so far as I knew, a particular
friend of Julia's. But the girl's misfortune called out
the cheerful helpfulness which went on developing
so beautifully in these after years.
I loved her, and I love her with a great and un-
dying love : but I can not be true to my life as an
educator, can not be true to the hundreds of other
students who have filled my classes and my heart, did
I not say one thing more. Julia was not kind to her-
self in everything. She could not be impressed with
the necessit}^ and duty of caring for her health.
Against all protests, she did much of her work at
night and often went to school without breakfast.
She wished it were otherwise, but declared she could
not sleep if a lesson were left unlearned. She taxed
herself beyond measure and would not be warned by
the most solemn protests from those whom she loved
and revered. She was careful of others in every par-
ticular, of herself in none. Blind to her own physical
limitations, ill in bed at the Hall, she would have no
physician. A friend lately reminded her of having
called a physician against her protest, at the time
alluded to. "Yes," was the playful reply, "and I
have n't forgiv^en you for it yet." These habits, in-
dulged in at school, went with her through her short
life ; and it ma^^ be that this girl, tenderly loved and
prized by so many who would gladly have res-
cued her from peril — it is possible that she was the
victim of neglect, and that her own. She was just
coming into the prime of life, of highest and best
womanhood, when she ceased from her labors. She
had laid well the foundation in all things save one.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 21
We who watched and loved her can only wish that
she had cared more for her health, and perhaps — per-
haps — she might have wrought a much greater work,
who knows ?
Emulate, if you will, her desire to know. Emu-
late her love of the good, the true, and the beautiful.
Emulate her devotion to God and humanity, her will
power, her energy, her executive ability, her winsome-
ness, her suavity. Emulate her virtues as a loving
daughter, a devoted sister, a consecrated friend ; but
do not forget, as she did, to care for the casket which
holds the jewel. " Know 3^e not that your bodj' is
the temple of the Holy Ghost ? ' '
Julia was very fond of the fine arts. The first year
she was in school, she saved money to send to Europe
for views of scenery and masterpieces of art. She
had the most intense longing to know about them, to
see them for herself, and to be able to read their lan-
guage. She cherished the thought that we would
see Europe together, some day. I shall not soon for-
get the beautiful Sabbath we spent together no; long
before she sailed for the Old World, in 1890. She
had come to urge me to accompany her, and I talked
so hopefully of the possibility of mj^ going that she
was radiant all day long. We recalled so many
happy things of the school-days and the girls, talked
so much of present work, and of the bright future,
that the hours slid by on a shining track. It was a
satisfying day of full, free, and uninterrupted com-
muning. At last, we had told all, had read each
other through and through again, and were satisfied
and happ3'. Nev^er before had she bade me good-bj'^e
22 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
without a sorrowful face, but she was so hopeful now
of the future — and yet this was my last day with Julia.
Only once more did I see her, when I bade her good-
bye for her trip abroad, without knowing that those
kisses would serve for the long, long farewell, as she
journeyed to that land from which no traveler returns.
The sympathetic Charles Dickens said, "It is to
the little familiar things suggestive of the voice, look,
manner, never, never more to be encountered on this
earth, that the mind first turns in a bereavement."
I recall Julia now at Commencement, the first after
she had left school. The sunny face and brown eyes
beamed upon me from under a broad-brimnied leg-
horn hat — the roses of which were not redder than
her cheeks during all the exercises ; and I was sur-
prised and almost startled, when, upon greeting her at
the close, the tears rained down her cheeks, and she
clutig to me with passionate eagerness as if she had
just found a long lost lover. Never have I known
any other with such intense devotion to a friend — such
hunger as haunted her soul for those whom she loved !
How often she used to appear in my room after
tea, archly saying, "I am so hungry to see you.
Don't you want me to read to you?" She dearly
loved poetry, travel, fiction. She enjoyed reading
aloud and interchanging thoughts, especially about
the interpretation of a poem, the poet's moods, his
limitations, his beliefs or teachings. She was so
frank and open-hearted, so transparent, that I seem to
haw had her with me ages rather than for two short
years. Even at that time in her life she was the ex-
emplification of Emerson's philosophy in regard to
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAl,IST.
23
friendship. She had the element of truth and the
element of tenderness, and might have said with him ,
' ' Let the soul be assured that somewhere in the
universe it should rejoin its friend, and it would be
content and cheerful alone for a thousand years."
In my last letter from her, dated June 26, 1 891,— our
correspondence was always irregular and at long in-
tervals — she says: "One blessed thing about our
friendship is, it is not in the least affected by time, 'or
absence, or silence. I am sure I have my place in
your heart, whatever may betide, and you have a
large corner in mine." Her society was to me, and I
am sure it was such to others, "poetic, pure, uni-
versal, and great as nature itself." And now, in the
radiance of the past, she seems shrouded in a bright
halo, undimmed by spot or blemish.
I^ome Hifc at l^t^i (lltJttage.
HELEN L. HOOD,
HAT is the secret of your life?"
asked Mrs. Browning of Charles
Kingsley ; ' ' tell me, that I may make
mine beautiful, too."
replied, " I had a friend."
What a wondrous sentence and what a
world of love and tenderness it covers. To me,
writing from dear Rest Cottage, the home of my
beloved leader. Miss Willard, hallowed by a thousand
memories of the past, full of so many tender a.ssocia-
tions, these words, "I had a friend," are infinitely
precious, for they express all of the love, trust and
confidence which was between Yolande and myself,
and which for six years was ours to enjoy without
interruption,
I first became acquainted with her in the summer
of 1885 at our Lake Bluff (Illinois) Training School —
but our real acquaintance did not begin until the
National Woman's Christian Temperance Union Con-
vention which was held a few months later at Phila-
delphia. On our way to the Convention, she was
made a delegate by our Illinois white-ribboners, for
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 25
we all desired to honor such a noble, beautiful woman.
Miss Ames was ill en route, and it was my great
privilege to be the one to take care of her and arrange
for her comfort. The Convention was a great revela-
tion to her, and she enjoyed with enthusiasm all the
meetings ; the experience there gained, fixed, in a
great measure, her longing to be a worker in the cause
of humanity. On our way home, we talked long and
earnestl}' about her future, I urging her all the while
to come and cast in her lot with us " white- rib-
boners. ' ' A very pleasing little incident occurred dur-
ing this homeward ride. Mrs. Matilda B. Carse was
in our car, reading the novel " Yolande," by William
Black. Seeing a resemblance in the character of the
heroine of this book to Miss Ames, she called her to
her side and requesting her to kneel, put her hand on
her head, and kissing her lovingly on the forehead,
said: "Arise! I dub thee, Yolande " — a name by
which she was known afterwards by all her associates.
On her return, Yolande became actively engaged
in the work of the Chicago Central Union, one of
the oldest and most influential in the cit}\ She in-
stituted the work of preparing for the papers of that
city weekly items of temperance news, and was made
the Press Superintendent for the Union. I went with
her to some of our city editors the first time she asked
for entrance to their columns. From most of them
she received a pleasant welcome, but one gentleman
declared that temperance news was a stale article and
not wanted. I remember the indignation with which
we received this communication, and I remember also
that we both lived to see the day when this same
26 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURXAIJST.
editor congratulated Miss Ames on the success she
had made of her Press work.
She became very much interested in the Be'ch-
esda Mission, which was conducted by the Chicago
Union, and situated on Clark street, one of the worst
streets of the city. Here every Sunday, no matter
what the weather was. Miss Ames could be found
teaching in the Sunday-school. We would usually
meet at some appointed place beforehand, and go
down together to the school, and talk on our way of
Him who came to save such as these were. The
picture comes to me now, of that fair, sweet face,
in the midst of her little group of dirty-faced, ragged
and unkempt children, having upon it the seal of the
Master's approval because she was doing His work.
This mission, as well as the one for homeless, friend-
less women, which the Union cares for, had an active
worker in Miss Ames. The mission for women was
named by her "The Anchorage," and for a long
time she kept a white lily in the windows of its read-
ing-room, so that the outcast women who passed its
windows might see this pure flower, and, being at-
tracted, might come in and learn of a better life.
In the spring of 1886, Miss Ames' family moved
from Chicago, her well beloved brother, Blmer, having
finished his law school, and gone west, and then she
came to live with us at Rest Cottage. It was now
her active life began, and as each burden of a new re-
sponsibility came to her, she rose to meet it with a
cheerful spirit which helped greatly to overcome what
difficulties there might be hidden in it. It was in the
home life that Yolande was the most charming. To
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 27
a sweet, lovable disposition was added a graciousness
of manner and cordiality that made all love her. She
had rich mental gifts which made her a most charm-
ing entertainer. Her cultivated voice and trained
elocutionary powers were often called into requisition
by her enthusiastic audience of home folks at Rest
Cottage, or at the simple festivals when neighbors
gathered in its parlors ; then she would recite
James Whitcomb Riley's, "The gobble-uns '11 git
you, ef you don't watch eout," with that inimitable
expression of a scared child ; or Josiah Allen's
" Fourth of July at Jonesville, " or my favorite, "Aux
des Italiens," by Owen Meredith. None who have
been present at these merry doings will ever forget
the radiant face of my beloved friend, the eyes bright
with excitement, the tremulous lips full of expres-
sion, the dainty pink color in the classical face, — one
moment the features lit up with laughter, the next
bedimmed with tears, and her audience everj^ one
reflecting in their faces her own. Miss Willard and
dear Madame Willard especially delighted in these
little merrj'-makings, and Yolande was never tired
of pleasing these whom she loved.
But it was in our own little study, which we had
named "Sans-Souci," that the greatest heart com-
fort was taken by us. Here we had fitted up a room
with dainty hangings, bric-a-brac, pictures and pretty
souvenirs of friends and travels scattered around,
and in this room were spent some of our hap-
piest hours. She, with noble face, sitting in her
favorite chair — a gift of mine to her, — and I in my
easy-chair, which had been given me by our white-
28 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
ribboners at the Chicago National W. C. T. U.
Convention, the table loaded with books, maga-
zines and papers, the lamp shedding a soft, clear
glow around; and there after the day's work was done
we would sit and talk of our plans for the future,
incidents of the day, or of spiritual things, and come
nearer one to another in those confidences of heart to
heart. Or, when our work was still undone by the
ending of the day, and we sat at our separate desks
writing, there was still that feeling of satisfaction and
content because we were not far apart. Oftentimes
friends would drop in, and then our little five o'clock
tea-kettle was lit, and soon we were enjoying a cup
of delicious tea, made more fragrant because of the
dear hands that had prepared it; and so we would sit,
a group of us— Esther Pugh, Mrs. Buell, Kate Jack-
son, Alice Briggs, Irene Fockler, Anna Gordon,
noble white-ribboners, and other friends — with our
beloved chieftain, Miss Willard, in the midst, and
pass a pleasant hour.
Ah, me, those days and hours are gone, never to
return again, and I, sitting now alone in the desolate
room, with ray heart filled with the memories of those
blessed times, realize in all my sorrow and loneliness
the brighter and happier times she now is having, my
friend translated.
Yolande was a passionate lover of books, and was
an eager student of them all her life. Possessing
keen analytical powers, she could select the best and
choicest portions, as she read, jotting down in note-
book the sentences that pleased her most. Shake-
spere was her favorite author, and she would never
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 29
tire of repeating over special passages which had cer-
tain charms of expression in them. She would take
several parts in some one favorite pla}-, and portray
them in a most realistic manner. Burns and Scott
were both treasured bards, v/hile the Brownings, hus-
band and wife, she never tired of reading. In the
earlier years of our friendship I was impressed with
the decided journalistic talent which Yolande dis-
played, and some of the writings of those years show
the careful reading and study which had been given
in the topics treated. Macaulay's Essays, The Re-
public of Plato, Duties of Women, Drummond's
Natural Law in the Spiritual World, The English
Language, Les Miserables, Carlyle's History of the
French Revolution, How to Win, Savonarola and
kindred books, show by their worn appearance how
well they were read. She was a great admirer of
Longfellow, Whittier and Bryant and our own Mary
Lowe Dickinson ; indeed, poetry was perhaps more
loved by her than prose, for she enjoyed with her
whole rich nature the music of the poets, espe-
cially when it touched upon the deep things of
life ; yet she had a keen sense of the humorous, and
fully appreciated James Whitcomb Riley and other
dialect writers. Her spiritual books were many
in number. I have her well-worn copies of The
Diary of an Old Soul, scored and marked, The Faith
that Makes Faithful, The Imitation of Christ, As It
Is in Heaven, Little Pilgrim, Edelweiss, Miss Haver-
gal's Poems, Phillips Brooks' Sermons, The Higher
Life, and many others of like character.
The spiritual part of my friend's nature was one of
30 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
great sweetness and richness, but one that while on
earth was never satisfied. Her Bible was lined and
interlined with thoughts which she had jotted down
on favorite passages, and the heaviest scored ones are
those which speak of the heavenly visions. She was
one of the beloved of the Master, not wholly satisfied
until she had heard Him speaking to her.
One of her favorite pastimes was to read aloud,
and to me it was a perfect delight to sit still and
watch the varying changes on her face and hear her
rich, melodious voice, reading some article or book.
Or we would have a discussion on some portion of
the subject read, and thus try to give to one another
the different impressions made upon our minds, and
keej) ourselves in accord with all the work of the
times.
Yolande had always loved and honored, in a
high degree, the great leader of the white-ribbon
forces, Miss Frances E. Willard, so that when she
came to live with us, another loyal, true and devoted
admirer of our beloved President was added to our
circle. Miss Willard had a wonderful influence over
her life, a strong bond of love, appreciation and
understanding being between them. Of the many
memories of our home life that go trooping through
my mind, none are so sweet as the remembrance of
how these two, the elder and the younger comrade,
would sit together in the "Den," a room which
Yolande had helped to beautify. Miss Willard sitting
in her favorite rocking-chair, her friend opposite,
with papers and books scattered around, while they
planned articles for The Union Signal, one of whose
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 3 1
editors Miss Ames had become soon after taking up
her residence at the Cottage, or read over some manu-
script or talked over the general work. Occasionally
a peal of laughter would ring out, for both of these
friends had a keen sense of the ludicrous and
were quick to catch the humorous side of things.
Miss Willard as a conversationalist has no equal, and
it was at these times that Yolande gained her great-
, est inspiration. The spiritual nature of my beloved
was of the rarest type, it had deep undertones,
and as a rose which the sun kisses, opens and lets
the warmth and sunlight into its very heart — so
when Yolande and Miss Willard talked of the ' ' deep
things" of Ood, did her spiritual nature grow and
enlarge, and one listener of those talks always felt at
such times that she was on holy ground.
The reasoning faculties of Yolande were con-
tinually called into play, because of the questions
which her loved teacher was ever putting to her,
calling out arguments which showed her trend and
breadth of thought. Miss Willard was constantly
giving Yolande opportunities for mental and spiritual
growth, putting her in the way of securing such helps
as would polish still more the fine-grained oak of her
character. A hearty co-operation and approval was
always given by this great friend of humanity, to
plans which Yolande presented, which would in their
workings advance the great causes of God and re-
form. No day was complete, when Miss Willard
was at home, without her going up to the '"■ Den " to
seethe "Chieftain," no task too arduous to perform
M she desired it, no praise too great to be given to the
32 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
woman she so gladly followed ; love, loyalty, devotion
on Yolande's part, love, appreciation, trust on Miss
Willard's.
Dear Madame Willard was to my friend a great
sheet anchor, for Yolande received from her the sweet-
est lessons of hope and trust. Often I would miss the
dear one, and going into the parlor would find Madame
Willard and herself talking over some passages of
Scripture, or, perhaps, Yolande reading to her, or, it
might be, they were earnestly discussing some point
of belief. Those were deep draughts of spiritual
waters which she quaffed there — and they gave her new
strength to push forward and onward to the heavenly
city, whose beauties she knows all about now ; whose
mysteries she has solved and understands ; and I, who
am left behind, find that the greatest and sweetest con-
solation I have had comes also from Madame Willard,
who has helped to steady my barque when, in the fear-
ful storm of sorrow and loneliness which has come on
me, the timbers creaked and the anchor was well-nigh
torn from its moorings.
The artist instinct was strong in Yolande, and she
was quick to detect all incongruous elements, and with
a single touch would bring out of what was before
confusion, harmony in color and arrangement. She
was a passionate lover of flowers, reveling in their
fragrance and richness, their beauty being reflected
in her own lovely face. At so many of our little
gatherings did her deft fingers arrange flowers, and
glasses, and the dainty little bric-a-brac of the house
and table furnishings, making things look like fairy-
land.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 33
She visited Europe in 1890, being gone for months,
and satisfied some of her longings for the beautiful, in
the scenes she visited, the paintings and statues she
looked on. While in England she became acquainted
with that gracious, royal woman, Isabel, Eady Henry
Somerset, who afterwards became another strong fac-
tor in her life, giving her love and trust which lasted
until her death. In her letters, and on her return,
Yolande was full of praise for this consecrated, beauti-
ful character — recognizing the fact that she was a
great leader, whose heart was full of a desire to make
the world better, and bring it nearer to Christ.
Yolande was unqualifiedly trusted by her friends —
her gentleness and true heart making for her friends
by the score, and she stood surrounded by as true and
loving ones as ever a woman had : Mrs. Matilda B.
Carse, who induced Yolande to enter the journalistic
field ; Miss Esther Pugh, our National W. C. T. U.
treasurer ; Misses West, Sudduth, Guernsey, and
Mrs. Andrew, her associates in the office ; Anna Gor-
don, Kate Jackson, Miss Scovil, Alice Briggs, Ruby
Gilbert, and others, who came into almost daily contact
with her, were among those she loved and clung to.
She had never lost by death any friend or rela-
tive to whom she was greatly attached, and once when
speaking to me on this subject she said : " Helen, I
have never known what real sorrow is, the winds
have not blown roughly on me ; why should I not
thank God unceasingly because of what He has done
for me ? " And I, sitting in the stillness of our sepa-
ration, thank the dear Father that her life was so
sunny and full of richness ; that she had never faced
34 A VOUNG WOMAX JOURNALIST.
its Strong, rough phases, but that, sheltered and
shielded by loving hearts and strong hands, she had
escaped much of its agony and heart break.
And so our lives ran on — six years of blessed joy
and love, one with another ; years when we met and
conquered difficulties together — when the battles of
life were fought out by each other's side. It was a
loving comradeship, a daily going in and out, no
separation— one purpose — one life-work. But foi
some good reason, which God one day will reveal,
the end came. In Boston, attending the National
W. C. T. U. Convention of 1891, my friend was
taken ill and we went to one of the hospitals for
treatment. In our room there, together, we lived some
of the happiest days of our happy life. We were
both tired and worn, as the work during the last year
had been unusually severe and perplexing, so that
Yolande spoke for me when she said : " Helen, I am
glad we two are going to be shut in together ; what
a good time v/e shall have, only you and I." The
days went on and to all human appearance my loved
one was getting better. How we talked arid planned
for the future — how, in the quiet and stillness, we
again entered deeper into one another's lives and
became closer united in our life-work. That last
day — how we thought of the "home going" which
we hoped soon was to be ours — the desires of our
lives grew stronger — before God we reconsecrated
our lives to His service — "It will be victory, Helen, ' '
she often said, keeping in mind a song called "Vic-
tory " which had been a favorite one in the Conven-
tion. And the niarht came on. and the dreaded
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 35
Presence of Death listened, while we, unconscious of
his nearness, talked of life ; soon, with but little
warning, I knew that my friend was leaving me, and
soon I knew, with an agony of heart, that she ivas
not, for the Master had come and claimed His own.
Then something in me, also, died.
We dressed her in fair robes, kind friends assist-
ing, and then they said to me, " Come, and see her."
And I went to my friend, and, taking her in my arms,
saw upon her still face the glorious triumph of a risen
soul, and through my grief came these words from
her : ' ' Helen, it is the victory ; I am satisfied, for I am
awake and in His likeness." I carried her home to
our loved Rest Cottage and there with her in the
midst, with Miss Willard, and other dear ones, we
held our simple, loving service. The flowers which
she so dearly loved, were in profusion in the "sanc-
tum " of dear Anna Gordon, where my friend was
lying, and a sweet smile of content seemed on her
face because she was in the home that she loved so
well, and with those whom she loved so devotedly.
The next day, with the song, " God be with you till
we meet again," ringing out on the morning air, as
for the last time she left Rest Cottage, I carried her
to her home in Streator, and stood beside the grave
which contained only the body of my comrade, and
knew that for me during all the rest of life the path-
way will be lonely, because I must walk it without her.
With the ever-present memory of our friendship
on earth, with the remembrance of that noble, Christ-
like life, with her beautiful face, perfect in feature,
constantly in my heart, I can say, not "I had a
36
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
friend," but, "I have a friend," whose life is going
on and on— sunny it was, here, glorious light is it
there.
" God keeps a niche
In Heaven to hold our idols ; and albeit
He brake them to our faces and denied
That our close kisses should impair their white,
I know we shall behold them raised, complete.
The dust swept from their beauty— glorified
New Memnons singing in the great God-light."
In ti)e Wioxk^R^Mn 2MorlU.
MARY ALLEN WEST.
ISS WIIvLARD writes me, " Lady
Henry Somerset and I are preparing
a book in memory of Yolande ; we
are especially desirous of knowing
those things about her which you know
"M the best ; the spirit and temper she showed
^ in the ofl&ce, the ingenious methods by
which she sought to build up the paper, the fun, the
pathos, any and every thing that comes to your mind
as helpful to young women journalists."
Could I portray what Miss Ames was in the office,
as she stands in my own mind, it would be both an
inspiration and a model to all young journalists. But
that is impossible; hers was a pervading presence,
like the fragrance of mignonette, recognized every-
where, yet difficult to fix and analyze.
Had she exercised her gift of writing, instead of
the higher one of inspiring authorship in others, we
should have her published writings from which to
draw something tangible to present to those who were
never blessed by knowing her, and thus show them
what her work was. But this we have not. Hei
38 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
great diffidence about writing, was ever a mystery to
me, nor can I even now account for it ; that she could
write admirably, her private letters and occasional pa-
pers read before literary societies abundantly testify ;
but she shrank from writing anything to appear in
print like a diffident school-girl. It seemed as if
her life, like that of many silent poets, was enriched
and fructified by what she did not write, the unuttered
power and pathos which, restrained within her own
soul, kept it in touch with noble and beautiful thought
everywhere. This, it may be, was the divining-rod
which led her so unerringly to discover unsuspected
wells within others' beings.
But I must try to analj^ze, that I may show you
what was ' ' the spirit and temper she showed in the
office."
First, it seems to me, was her intense desire after
excellence, to do everything in the best possible way.
This was displayed in whatever she did. One of her
early teachers told me only a few days ago that this
was the one characteristic which most impressed him
when she was his pupil ; she was never satisfied with
doing any but the very best work.
Closely allied to this, was her teachableness, her
eagerness to learn the more excellent way, let the
teacher be whom it might. During the five years
we worked together, I do not believe there was a day
when we were both in the office, in which she did not
come to me with the question, "Do you think this
would be a good plan?" or, "Would you arrange
this so?" At an editorial banquet, she quietly drew
from all the leading editors present their views and
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 39
ways of working in a specific direction she was at
that time investigating. Yet so adroitly was this
done, that I doubt if one of those grave and reverend
seigniors suspected he was giving the bright-faced
young woman the very information of which she was
then in search.
Yet hers was no passive receptivity ; she did not
simply absorb, but culled, adapted, digested. "She
asked other folks' advice and then did as she had a
mind to," an admirable thing to do, by the way, as it
implies the power of discrimination, which she pos-
sessed in eminent degree. I never knew one whose
judgment was more trustworthy.
Her quick and keen appreciation of the demands
of the times, developed by the ever-varying conditions
of our work, was another characteristic which marked
her a born journalist. She realized just what was
needed ; her rapid reading of the morning paper on
the cars often brought her to my desk with the sug-
gestion, "We need an editorial on that." And her
constant, watchful outlook over the wide field kept
her full of plans for the consideration of this subject
or that.
Instinctively she seemed to know the right one to
present the desired phase of the subject, and her
magic wand drew out clear waters from what, to me,
had proved flinty rock. Making all due allowance
for the fact that when she took charge of its contrib-
uted department. The Union Signal had grown out of
its experimental stage when first-class writers looked
askance at it, into a world-wide circulation which
commanded their respect, and that its finances
40 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
allowed it to pay for contributions, an impossibility
in its earlier days, there still remains a wide margin
which must be credited to her winning power in
securing contributions. Nobody with a heart could
refuse her, especially if a personal interview allowed
the winsomeness of her face to add its attractive
power to that of voice or pen. This is the testi-
mony given over and over again by the busiest
writers in the land, "We could not refuse Miss
Ames."
Her power as a letter writer, especially along this
line, was exceptional ; like all her powers, this was
assiduously and conscientiously cultivated. She
carefully studied, not only the subjects she wished
presented, and reasons why the ones she had chosen
were the very ones to present them, but she studied
quite as carefully the tastes and dispositions of those
to whom she applied, and carefully adapted her
appeal to these tastes and dispositions. All this was
done in perfect accord with the underlying stratum
of her character, pure genuineness. She never flat-
tered nor fawned ; what she said came straight from
the heart, a heart instructed by a wise, discriminating
head.
She was original and suggestive ; she originated
the departments of Illustrated Biographies and
Queen's Gardens, as well as many minor improve-
ments. She studied the style of leading journals to
gain suggestions for our own ; she was very particular
about the make-up of her pages, that they might look
attractive, and by proper position give each article its
due weight.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 4I
"Seeketh not her own, is not puffed up," was
pre-eminently true of Miss Ames. Jealous of herself,
lest any imperfect work should come from her hand,
she was jealous of no one else, but rejoiced in all the
praise given to others. She never sought it for her-
self ; for her, ' ' the end crowned the work ' ' ; she
needed not the praise of others to complete her joy in
work well done. A sharp critic upon her own work,
she naturally desired excellence in the work of those
associated with her; but if ever, for a moment, ' ' make-
up " and " proof reader " thought her exacting, they
were soon brought to see that her way was the best
way and that improved results more than compen-
sated for the extra trouble. Thus she kept up a high
standard of excellence in the mechanical, as well as
the literary execution of the paper. A sweet reason-
ableness pervaded all her conduct with employes,
and endeared her to them.
Never, we believe, was more sincere mourning
among employes when an editor died, than among
ours, when Miss Ames was called up higher. She
had been as a loving sister to them, unobtrusively
entering into their sorrows, rejoicing in their suc-
cesses, genuinely glad for all that made them happy.
Her coming brought sunshine into the darkest day,
her quiet, cheery laugh was sweet music which no
clatter of machinery could drown.
No picture of Miss Ames in the office would be
complete without the lights thrown by her inter-
course with visitors. No matter how busy or tired
she was, nor how prosy or tiresome the visitor might
be. her sweet Christian courtesy never failed. When,
42 A YOUXG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
as was more frequently the case, the caller was one
of "our own," her whole nature seemed to expand
in pleasant welcome, making that hour a memorable
one to the visitor ever after.
There were depths in her nature no pen-plummet
can sound ; confidences of the sanctum too sacred for
public gaze. Bright, winning, joyous as she was,
hers was an intensely sensitive soul ; she could not
have possessed the power she did had this not been
so — and it could not help being often wounded. A
cold or harsh word would bring the tears into those
beautiful eyes and the quiver to those expressive lips.
As the weeks and months passed on, she became
more and more full}' Christ-possessed ; no other word
expresses the power which came to rule that young
life. She talked very little of the change her soul
was undergoing, but we all felt it. Such rapid spirit-
ual development is rarely witnessed ; it seemed like
the growth of vegetation in Southern California,
where a night of mist and rain and a day of sunshine
bring lilies and roses into full, perfected bloom.
Her asphodels were full-bloomed when the boatman
came.
TRIBUTH-S OF CO-LABORERS.
Our Yolande had two sides. All great characters
have. She was not " two-sided," but the world knew
her in one way, and her intimate friends in another.
To those v/ho saw her but casually, she was sanguine,
light-hearted, vivacious. To those who were in close
A YOUXG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 43
daily contact, and could see the depths and heights
of her heart's purposes, she was strangely serious,
weighted down with the solemnity of life and her own
vital relation to it.
With ideals high as heaven for others, as well as
for herself, the shortcomings of none pained her so
deeply as her own. Her judgment was tempered
with a charity most rare. Discriminating in her
praise, she was not slow to speak her gratitude and
appreciation.
Winsomeness was her chief characteristic. Irre-
sistible in her pleading, it was well that no taint of
selfishness or personal ambition marred her plans and
thwarted her life's purposes. Her beaming face
brighteued every darkened room, and her matchless
smile and musical voice, so sweet in tone and strong
in revealed character, together with her keen percep-
tion and ready wit, bridged many a real difiBculty and
dispelled many an imaginary one. She put fear to
flight and crowned doubt with hope. Never too
much absorbed in her own heavy duties to lend a
sympathetic ear to others, her counsel was always
sought in a perplexit}' and never did she fail.
Purity of aim, breadth of vision, directness of
attack and enthusiasm of execution marked her
every act.
Beautiful we called her, and beautiful she was,
but since the spirit has left the temple, we know that
it was the soul that lighted that face and gave it its
power and beauty.
" For of the soule the bodie forme doth take ;
For soule is forme, and doth the bodie make."'
44 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAIJST.
Hail and farewell, beloved I We would not have
it otherwise. Earth is poorer for your going, but
heaven is richer. Once more, farewell !
Associate Editor.
ONLY AT REST.
What, dead?
When we loved her so,
And her heart replied.
Pulsing warm with Love's glowing tide?
What, dead ?
In the flush of morn,
Her life-sky bright,
Dawnlight darkened to sudden night i*
What, dead ?
E'en the generous hands
Forever still,
Answering not to life's quick thrill ?
Not dead !
Faith never dies ;
Truth lives for aye.
In the golden glow of the perfect day.
Not dead !
Love can not die ,
Still she is ours,
Only at rest in the heart of the flowers.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 45
Only at rest,
And loving us yet,
With love that shall never know
Change or regret.
Editor Books and Leaflets.
Yolande ! at the mention of that name one of the
fairest and dearest faces I have ever looked upon on
earth comes before me. I see eyes, honest, large and
loving — once looked into, you could never doubt the
owner. And the lips, so sensitive, tender and tremu-
lous, what a world of sweetness gathered about them.
Who could resist her pleadings !— when such lips
spoke she won all hearts. Her aim was always high,
and every undertaking succeeded that she enlisted in,
because she gave herself unselfishly to it with such
enthusiasm and honest, earnest work that success
was inevitable. A character more rounded and beau-
tiful I have never known. She was ripe for the
heavenly home.
Sweet young comrade ! the tears rush unbidden to
my eyes as I think of the poverty of the earth without
you — but surely heaven seems richer, nearer, brighter
and more to be desired for your going. Yolande
Ames, at thirty, had lived longer and accomplished
more than most women at threescore years and ten.
We must remember that high aim, not years, is liv-
ing. Her life and memory should be kept in loving
remembrance by our young women.
ffiatifba B. €ari?c.
rresident W. T. P. A.
46 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
And Julia Ames is dead ? How can it be ? The
first impulse said, We can not consent to it. Why,
only a few weeks ago she came to tell me that friends
wanted her to engage in other activities, and I ex-
claimed : "No; we can not spare you !" And now
we must, although unreconciled.
Of all the workers in our busy hive, she could
least be spared. The sunshine of her happy life shed
a radiance that was everywhere a benediction. Her
very presence was helpful. In perplexity, she was
clear-headed and sound in judgment ; in taste, dis-
criminating and wise ; in trouble, cheery and helpful ;
in labor, self-sacrificing and faithful ; in service, true
and loyal ; in friendship, devoted. Her Christian
principles permeated her life and were uplifting to
others.
Her memory clings to us as the fragrance of a
choice blossom from the garden of our God.
3annv 1^. Kac?fa[f.
Business Manager W. T. P. .\.
A tribute to Yolande ? She needs it not. Word
of mine can not add to the precious memories of her,
filling all hearts here, can not add to her happiness —
there. My one thought of her is — s/ic lives — glori-
ously, exultantly, triumphantly — lives.
Yolande had much in her earth-life; she had, I
believe, her heart's desire in entering the heavenly
A YOUXG WOMAX JOURNALIST. 47
life, for, with Mrs. Barbauld, I think she would have
said :
"Life ! * * * 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear,
Perhaps 'twiU cost a sigh, a tear ;
So steal away, give little warniug,
Choose thiue owu time ;
Say not 'good-night,' but in some brighter clime
Bid me 'good-morning.' "
But in the new life, Yolande has all things, — all
purity, all knowledge, all service, — has the free,
abounding life for which she longed. In that life as
in this,
" Life's more than breath, and the quick rouad of blood,
It is a great spirit and a busy heart,"
and so Yolande lives and is " satisfied."
" We hve in deeds, not years ; in thoughts, not breaths ;
la feeHngs, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives,
Who thinks most — feels the noblest -acts the best."
Thus reckoning time, Yolande's life, always im-
pelled, toward the highest, the purest, the best, was
not short, for she lived, loved, suffered, vdth all the
intensity of a strong, deep nature.
" The coward, and the small in soul, scarce do live ;
One generous feeling— one great thought— one deed
Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem
Than if each year might number a thousand days, —
Spent as is this by nations of mankind.
*******
48 A VOTING WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Life's but a means unto an end — that end.
Beginning, mean and end to all things— (iod.
The dead have all the glory of the world,"
(Those dead to self, I think the poet means.)
"Why will we live and not be glorious?
We never can be deathless — //// we die.''
So living, so dying, may we go on to greet the
friend who has gone on before,
"Just to learn the Heaven for 'welcome '
To that bright and blessed shore."
Cashier W. T. P. A.
My pen pauses long and reverently before it fixes
in black and white a tribute that is heart-deep, and
would be, if it could, complete and fitting.
It is as one of Miss Ames' assistants in the edi-
torial rooms, that I wish to write a testimony that, do
the best I will, must fall far short of the truth.
I loved her first when I sav/ her first — the day
she bade me, a stranger in Chicago, w^elcome, in that
gracious, heartsome way, peculiarl}' her own, that
made one feel truly wcU-comc.
I was her stenographer, and even when thor-
oughly tired it did me good when she would say,
" Can you write e?idlcss letters for me to-day ? " Her
correspondents all over the world know what those
letters were like — I only wish they could know how
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 49
they were written. It is one thing to write always
kindly, generously, patiently — another thing to feel
the kindness, generosity and patience, when before
one is a desk almost hidden by the ever-incoming
work ; when the dictation is given amid almost count-
less interruptions, or with a body and mind wearied
well-nigh beyond endurance. But it used to give me
a feeling curiously like triumph to watch Miss Ames
at such times and never witness a failure. The
phrases oftenest on her lips, when we were shut up
together over a bewildering mass of letters, were such
as these : ' ' We must write this letter our very pretty-
most " ; "Help me, dear, to say this just rigid;
I never want to say 'no' unkindly"; "I wish I
had time to write better letters." Sometimes work
crowded, so she could not even dictate some of the
mere business letters and would intrust them to me,
saying: "Be kind, — that is the best way, you
know." Several times, upon examining letters thus
left to me, she returned one or more with the gentle
criticism, "You have said it all, but I am a bit
afraid it will not read the way we mean it. Can't you
take the abruptness out ? ' ' All this, not for praise
or notice, but from the innate, gentle womanliness,
which would not wound the remotest stranger by any
possibility.
We understand people better, somehow, when
they have passed into that ' ' next room ' ' none enter
save at the bidding of the King, and I think now
I read deeper into the underlying motives that
made Miss Ames such a painstaking letter-writer.
Was it not because she realized that written words,
50 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
after all, are living things, and must touch living
hearts for weal or woe ? I could write a thousand
minute instances in which I read those shining traits
that made her so lovable and so beloved. As I sat
at ray desk in our reception-room I used to pause in
my work sometimes because of the charm in her
manner as she met callers, or "because of the beauty in
her voice as she read aloud to her oflfice-mate.
Personally, I have many a lovely deed for which
to hold her in long and tender memory. Yet I never
thanked her — she made it impossible. There are
some people it is easy to thank for deeds and gifts ;
but are there not souls whose giving and doing is so
entirely away from self, that appreciation can only be
shown by silent acceptance ? Thus, I was ever silent
before her kindnesses, but I have no fear that she
misunderstood. How many times she made me " rest
absolutely for just five minutes," drawing me into her
room away from work, and pushing me gently into
a chair beside her. Sometimes, when I thought I
was too weary or too busy for the noonday lunch,
I would come to my desk after an absence from the
room, and find one waiting, and hear, "You just eat
that for me ! ' '
But my thoughts linger most tenderly about one
day I spent with her — November 3rd. The evening
before, she called me into her room, and giving rae
one of her bonny smiles, said , ' ' Dear, I have a
scheme— just for you and me. We are going to do
our work to-morrow at Rest Cottage. We will just
run away from every one." She was not well, then,
and I had been tired for some time. The next
A YOUXG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 5 1
morning I went with note-book and pencils to Evan-
ston and Rest Cottage — my first visit to both. She
met me as, it seemed to me, only Miss Ames could
meet and greet any one, and removing mj^ wraps with
her own hands, led me into a room which she called
' ' ours " — her own and Miss Hood's. She put me into
a great "dreaming chair," placed a rest for my feet,
and leaning over kissed ray forehead, saying, " Now,
rest ' ' ; she left me, and as I had no work I could pos-
sibly do, I did rest body and soul, in that beautiful
room. When she came back, she gave me some
writing to do, and, as I wrote, brought a plate with
white and purple grapes, a golden orange and a rosy-
cheeked apple. ' ' Eat and work — then it is more like
play !" But she took none herself, and I wondered
if she ever " played " except to please some one else.
By and by she took me by the hand, saying, " Now,
we will go over the house." And so, though I had
gone to work, the "play" and rest predominated. I
reminded her of it, thinking she really needed me, for
it was just before the great Convention. "Never
mind the work. I brought you here more for a
change than anything else. Did n't I say it was a
scheme?''' Then the lovely scheme went on, while
she took me from room to room, adding charm to
the surroundings by her vivid bits of explanation
and narrative. Last of all, we went to "The Den "
and there I was presented to Madame Willard. As a
child once said upon an occasion of glad solemnity —
" It was like being in church ! "
We worked, then, for the rest of the da}-— that is,
she did. She kept urging me to "rest," for she
52 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
knew how tired I had been, for a long time, of city
sights and sounds, and seemed to know how her gen-
erous "scheme " was refreshing me.
That was almost the last work I did for her, — then
came the hurrj' of preparation before tne departure
for Boston. Just before she passed through the c ffice
door, after she bade me good-bye with a laughing
injunction to "be good," I called after her, " Oh, do
take care of yourself ! ' ' and laden though she was
with packages, hurried though she was, and sur-
rounded by her friends and companions, she turned
about and shook her finger at me, smiled, nodded her
head and was gone. It was as if the sun had sud-
denly gone down. And it had. That bright, soul-
sunshine has never shone in these rooms since,
though, somehow, when we talk about her, there is a
lightening of the shadow that reminds one of the
world-sunlight seen through a mist of rain.
What more can I say? Her loved ones have
well-nigh exhausted phrases to tell what she was and
how endeared to them. Surely she was, and is, in
preciousness of heart and mind and soul, "far above
rubies. "
Editorial Secretary.
LADY HENRY SOMERSET.
HAD just finished my first address
as President of the British Women's
Temperance Association, in May,
1S90, when I turned to Mrs. Han-
nah Whitall Smith, who stood on
the platform by my side, and she presented
to me a lad}' who had accompanied her to the
meeting. I stretched out my hand to greet
the guest who had been sent as a delegate from the
White-Ribbon army, and as I clasped her hand I
looked for the first time into the face of Julia Ames.
Bright, eager, and buoyant, with that sympathetic
smile which meets one like a flood of sunshine, a more
intellectually beautiful girl I had never seen. Her
warm greeting and her earnest manner were singu-
larly striking, and as I left the hall I thought that
America had certainly sent us one of her choicest
spirits.
I met her again at the home of our mutual friend
and sat with her through one long summer afternoon,
looking out on the river where the boats were passing
to and fro, talking of all the topics nearest to me and
53
54 A YOrXG WOMAN- JOURXALIST.
which for the last few years had formed her life's
occupation. She told me how she entered the journal-
istic career, and I questioned her of all the grand
work women have accomplished in America, of the
onward march of the great reform armj', and of its
President, who had long been a figure of deepest in-
terest to me. Her glowing words of admiration and
the deep love with which she spoke of her great
leader, only increased my earnest desire to know Miss
Willard.
It has been my good fortune through life to meet
many intelligent women, but I never remember being
more impressed with the thorough whole-heartedness
of so young a girl. Her eager desire for knowledge
was almost pathetic, as was her determination that not
a moment should be lost, during her .short sta)^, in lay-
ing up fresh stores of information in the old country.
I have always held that journalism is to-day "the gift
of prophecy," which Miss Willard so aptly calls the
sixth sense, and this prescience of coming events
was a strong characteristic of Julia Ames. An idea
only half expressed would soon formulate in her mind
as an exact thought ; she was so quick to seize a situ-
ation and grasp an opportunity. W. T. Stead spoke
to me of her talent with warm admiration. " I have
never met a young woman," said he, " who struck me
as having so great a talent for journalism."
During the summer she accompanied me to one of
our monthly conferences where she was to speak of
the Press work that was so near her heart. I can see
her now, as she stood before the audience, dignified
and calm, as with a voice sweet and deep she handled
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 55
a subject that from other lips and from another mind
might have been dull and business-like, but she gave
it such a touch of poetry and a sense of consecration
that her words brought tears to my eyes. Everything
seemed hallowed : the daily grind of a journalist's life,
the art of compositors, even the mechanical work of
the proof-reader, all were interwoven with the highest
thoughts and noblest purposes. There was to my
mind something heroic in the enthusiasm with which
she spoke of the career that she had adopted. Her
words gave an inspiration to her hearers and at the
close of the meeting one of our brightest women arose
and volunteered for the work at once, and I believe
the impression made that day still lives in our hearts.
Later in the season she stayed with me at Eastnor
Castle. How well I remember her bright face and
the look of joyous health that gave her such charm,
as she came forward out of the darkness into the
glow of light as I went to bid her welcome to my
home. The house was full of visitors, and, during her
stay, one and all took occasion to tell me how much
they appreciated her intellect and beautiful refinement
of character. It was during this short visit that I
sounded' her deeper nature. One early autumn morn-
ing as we went together to attend a little meeting that
was held for the people among the hills, as we drove
through the soft, balmy air she told me some of her
higher aspirations and much of her inner thoughts,
and I realized how true and thorough and whole-
hearted was the consecration of her life. Her visit
to Ober-Ammergau had made a deep impression on
her mind ; and when I asked her if she did not feel
56 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURXALTST.
in some way that the scenes were almost repellant in
their realism, she said in her earnest way, "They
brought Christ nearer to me than He had ever been
before," and there was something in her tone that
made me feel that He was near, indeed.
I saw her again when, for the first time, I stepped
on American soil, and it was to me as if a home face
had come from across the water. I saw her at Boston,
self-sacrificing, devoted to the last, caring for all except
herself and forgetting her own interest in the loyal
desire to do all she knew for the cause she held
so dear.
I saw her last, stretched on her bed of sickness with
her devoted friend. Miss Hood, beside her, and as I laid
some flowers in her hand there came to me the strong
presentiment that I should see her no more until we
met in the fields of light. Beautiful Yolande! Our
greeting will be sweet on those shores, sweeter even
than i^ w^as when you held out vour hand and smiled
upon me here in the new country.
From
"l/anJ)5 now foC^oD in i^t ^reamfcss
iEttglanD.
May 20, rSgo.
'o-DAY I first set foot on English soil.
What a history has this little island
and what an influence on the history
of the world! Every foot of its green
soil could speak eloquently of great
events.
Arriving in Dublin at 4:30 a. m., I sang
Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is
breaking," as we drove to the station; after a
wretched breakfast we took the train for Kingstown,
where we found an elegant mail steamer in readiness
to take us to Holyhead, sixty-six miles distant. We
caught delightful glimpses of the Welsh coast and in
four hours reached shore, where we took the express
train for London. At classic Chester we stopped for
lunch and Mrs. Barnes ordered a "basket." Such a
nice way, for you can eat at your leisure and leave
the basket in the compartment ! I did want to stop at
that old cit3^ one of the chief military stations of the
Romans in Britain, and walk around the walls which
completely surround it.
All day we were kept in a state of exclamation,
for the country looked like a garden. The farms are
not much larger than our lawns and as perfectly
6o A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
kept ; snow-white sheep dotted the green grass, and
daisies and buttercups were as thick as the stars on a
summer night and looked much like them.
At 6:30 we reached Mrs. Hannah Whitall Smith's
door, and found a note telling us to come at once to
Memorial Hall to a reception given by the British
Women's Temperance Association. So, after taking
tea and donning our other gowns, we hastened to meet
our "sisters." How sweet Mrs. Smith's "benedic-
tion face" looked ! The first person to greet us was
Mrs. J. Ellen Foster, and I was glad to sit b}' her side
and hear her speak, with no shadow between us as
there always seems to be at our National Conven-
tions. I was introduced, and said a few words in
response. How glad we were to go to bed and sleep !
I felt so sensibly the Everlasting Arms around me and
prayed God to keep my loved ones safely until we
meet again !
May 21. — A beautiful day. I asked Mr. Smith
where the notorious London fog was. He said the
sun was behaving unusually well for our benefit, but
often it was so dark at noon you could not see a step
before you, and could only find your way by having a
small boy by your side with a torch. I was charmed
with Mr. Smith. He looks like an Englishman and
talks like one, and is so refined and genial, is devoted
to culture and has the entree to all literarj^ circles.
After breakfast we hastened to the Convention
of the British Women's Temperance Association. I
spread out the literature of our Woman's Temperance
Publishing As.sociation, and then went to the plat-
form. Was surprised and delighted at the fluencj' of
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 6 1
the speakers, but everything seemed very "cut and
dried," for no motion was made from the floor, every-
thing was introduced hy some lady who had been pre-
viously selected, seconded by some one else and
supported by others. We learned that to present a
resolution, or second it, meant an opportunity for a
speech, often on another subject. They always ended
with, "I have great pleasure in seconding (or sup-
porting) the resolution." The vote was taken b}^
blue cards, each delegate holding up her card. Very
funny it seemed to us to hear the chairman say,
"Thank you." Indeed, this is a thankful nation;
everything you do is acknowledged in this way. We
called Jimmie, our cabin boy on the ship, "Little
Thank You."
L,ady Henry Somerset quite captured my heart.
Hannah Whitall Smith asked her how it was that she
became so earnest a Christian, She said, with her
it was either black or white, and so one entire winter
she shut herself up and communed with God and
learned of Him. She is so noble and true ; devotes
herself to good works. Mrs. Smith said when she
was at Eastnor Castle last winter, there were two
poor consumptives there, dying ; each had a trained
nurse and every comfort, and the only tie that bound
them to their hostess was that which makes the whole
world kin.
Lady Henry's inauguration address was royal, a
classic in its diction, and her rarely beautiful spirit
shone through it. How Miss Willard will love her,
for she is broad and progressive like our own beloved
leader. Whenever Miss Willard's name was men-
62 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
tioned, how the audience cheered ! A royal welcome
awaits you, beloved, on this side.
The British women were all so kind to us. Many
were the invitations we received to visit them at their
homes.
May 22. — The feature of to-day's meeting was the
evening session held in the large hall. Mrs. Barnes
did splendidly. Representatives from ten noble fam-
ilies sat upon the platform. The sister-in-law of
Charles Kingsley read a fine paper and Antoinette
Sterling sang most exquisitel}'. Her voice is remark-
ably rich and pure. How rich in soul-food have been
these last two days ! Blessings on all my loved
friends who helped me to this feast ! How good God
has ever been to me ! My heart for gladness sings
His praise !
May 2j. — This morning I spent in writing to the
loved ones at home. In the afternoon we went to
call upon Lady Henry Somerset. We talked over all
phases of the work and I am delighted with her pro-
gressiveness.
Mr. Smith called for us in the carriage, with
coachman in liver}', at five o'clock, and away we went
to join the swells in Hyde Park.
This beautiful park covers an area of eight hun-
dred and ninety acres ; it was laid out under Henry
VIII. and is one of the most frequented and lovely
scenes in London. In the Drive we passed an un-
broken file of the most elegant equipages I ever
saw, drawn by high-bred horses in handsome trap-
pings, presided over by sleek coachmen and powdered
lackeys, and occupied by beautiful women most
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 63
exquisitely dressed. In Rotten Row were many lady
and gentlemen riders on glossy steeds, and standing
and sitting to watch ns go by, were thousands of
admiring people.
I could hardly believe it was /, sitting there in
such style. But my heart was at Rest Cottage,
Beautiful statues adorn the park, the Serpentine
was covered with boats filled with happy people, and
all the world seemed joyous this beautiful May day.
May 2^. — I stole down to the National Gallery
and had a delicious hour. To think that this huge
building erected in 1832-38 at a cost of ^96,000 and
containing over twelve hundred pictures, should have
grown from the Angerstein collection of thirty-eight
paintings I
I was delighted to find many old favorites, among
them Rosa Bonheur's Horse Fair, and many by Land-
seer. "A Distinguished Member of the Humane
Societ}^ " looked at me as if he would speak and
bid me welcome.
The pictures of St. Augustine and St. Monica
held me spellbound, so pure and heavenly was the
expression of their faces. I must go again, soon, to
this rare gallery.
This afternoon was perfect and Mr. Smith took us
in the " American " carriage to drive. We wound in
and out through narrow little lanes with quaint old
houses, until we came to Battersea Park, one hun-
dred and eight3'-five acres in extent, and for the
especial use of the poor. All kinds of amusements
are furnished, and what a good time the people were
having !
64 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
We passed miles and miles of villas, each with its
peculiar name. The hawthorn trees looked like
snowbanks and the perfume was like elixir. We
drew long breaths and wished our lungs could ex-
pand more. Eight miles of beauty form this park.
We saw large herds of deer. Such beautiful creat-
ures thej^ are !
We went to the Star and Garter Inn, and had a
fine view of the Thames from the terrace. No river is
so given up to pleasure. From this point the regatta
starts. Pembroke Lodge in this park was the seat of
the illustrious statesman, Lord John Russell, and the
small church of Richmond contains the tomb of
Edmund Kean, the famous actor.
The drive home was very pleasant and dinner
thoroughly enjoyed. I spent the evening with Mr.
Smith on his balcony. The scene was bewitching ; as
the sun set about nine o'clock, Lambeth Bridge and
Palace were all aglow and the hum of the great city
as it sank to rest was a soothing lullaby.
Siaiday, May 2^. — My first Sunday in this great,
historic old city! A world in itself. It does not seem
possible that within its borders dwell five million
souls, each with as distinct an individuality as my own.
Oh, this poor humanity which "beats its life
along the stony street" ! How it goes to my heart
to see the faces of some of the poor, care-worn
women ! Still, the opportunities of pleasure for the
poor are innumerable : parks, galleries, museums,
gardens, all are open to them.
This is Whitsunday, the day Christ established
His church. I can not express my feelings as I
■0-i*" HIS morning the "Ems" reached
Bremen House. A tender came
down the river to meet us, and after
the usual custom-house fraud had
been enacted we took the train for Bre-
men, a tw^o hours' ride. Arrived in the fine
station we had lunch in the waiting-room where sat
men and women all drinking beer. How awful it
seemed to me, with my enlightenment on the subject,
no one will ever know ! At one o'clock we took the
train for Berlin (seven hours). The country through
which we passed was not especially interesting ; very
like our prairies, with now and then a beautiful field
of poppies. The forests, too, were dark and carefully
kept, but I longed to plunge into the heart of the
Black Forest. Everything is clean, of course. Stolid
and solid are the German characteristics. The houses
did not look as odd as I expected, but the roofs of
red tiles or thatched and covered with moss, were
in keeping with my German traditions.
How glad I was to see Mrs. Mary B. Willard at
the station ! We took carriages and were soon at
her home. The street is very quiet and pretty and
the entrance hall imposing ; all marble and paint-
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 79
ings. Mrs. Willard has the third floor, and every-
thing is homelike and artistic. After a nice supper
we went to bed very tired. A letter from dear Helen
awaited my coming. I thank God hourly that all are
well at home.
P. S. — I should have said droschkc iox carriage, and
Stage for floor.
July 2. — I did not awaken until ten o'clock. En-
jo3ed the German breakfast very much and was
ready to start to Potsdam thereafter. It is a city of
48,500 inhabitants and the capital of Brandenburg.
The town is of Slavonic origin but was of no impor-
tance until the Grand Elector founded his palace
there. It is indebted for its modern splendor to
Frederick the Great, who generally resided there.
After a nice dinner served on a balcony overlooking
the river Werder, where the white swans were sailing
up and down, we went to the palace ; in front of it, is
a lime tree where petitioners used to station them-
selves to attract the attention of Frederick the Great
who could watch unobserved from his office, the
walls of which are covered with mirrors. The table
in this room is very curious ; the center can be let
down by means of a trap-door, and the different
courses served without servants. Here it was the old
Emperor could see his friends in private. I am glad
/ am not so watched.
The rooms are very handsome; silver and gold
everywhere. The walls are covered with exquisite
gold cloth, and silver and gold figures and vines
adorn ceilings and walls.
80 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
A beautiful picture of " Christ weeping over Jeru-
salem " attracted me and I longed to sit before it for
hours. He weeps over us to-daj', just the same, I
doubt not.
Next, we visited the Friedenskirche, or "Church
of Peace." There is also a palace connected with
it, with beautiful gardens. We walked around the
palisades from which are the most charming views.
The mausoleum of the late Emperor, who reigned but
three months, erected by the Empress Victoria, is be-
ing built, and just in front of it stands a copy of
Thorwaldsen's "Risen ChrivSt," which almost made
me kneel before it. The original is at Copenhagen
but it can not be more wonderful than this. Christ
stands with His hands outstretched as in blessing,
and the expression is divine.
In this church are buried Frederick William IV.
and his queen, Elizabeth. The drive to the palace of
" Sans-Souci," was very beautiful and interesting.
We saw the old mill which Frederick wanted to buy
and the miller refused to sell. The king demanded it,
but the miller refused his request, and finally the mat-
ter went to court ana was decided against Frederick,
who was great enough to recognize justice and sub-
mit to it. He became a warm friend of the miller ard
did much for him.
The "Sans-Souci" (without care — place of rest
and pleasure) is not very pretentious but was a
favorite residence of the old monarch. Here Voltaire
visited him, and, after their falling out, Frederick
had one room decorated with monkeys, parrots,
peacocks, and everything which represents folly
y v.'''4j
■I .•< Jl*
^cU^etJ'c
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 8 1
and vanity, in derision of the writer. Many of the
personal belongings of the Emperor are just as he
left them. In his bedroom is the clock he used to
wind, and which stopped at his death. His portrait,
for which he sat but one hour, and that the only time
he ever sat for his picture, hangs in this same room.
After the Seven Years' War the people all said
Frederick the Great had made himself poor, and to
prove he had not exhausted his finances he built the
new palace which is the summer home of the present
Emperor. This, and all the Potsdam palaces, far
exceed the English in beauty and elegance. The
' ' Grotto Saloon ' ' is the most beautiful room I ever
saw ; shells, priceless stones of all kinds and from all
over the world, cover the room and are in all shapes
and designs. By gaslight the scene must be bewitch-
ing. Every room was even more grand than I had
expected a royal home to be. The floors are hand-
somely inlaid, the ceilings painted by great masters
and their choicest works hang upon the walls.
Our last visit was to the Garrison Church, where
lie the remains of Frederick the Great and of his
father, Frederick William I. On their caskets were
huge wreaths of myrtle. When Napoleon, after his
victories in Prussia, stood before the tomb of the great
Emperor, he said, ''Wer&yoii alive /should not be
here. ' '
The flags carried in battle adorn the church, and
everything breathes of war. Soldiers are everywhere,
2in'thing
in this quiet village centers about and faces the Jung-
frau, with her dazzling shroud of eternal snow. The
proportions of the mountain are so gigantic that the
eye in vain attempts to estimate them, and distance
seems annihilated by their vastness. Thirteen thou-
sand six hundred and seventy feet high it stands,
such a grand monument that any which man has
reared seems like a to}^ beside it.
After iaMe dlible we heard music in the drawing-
room, and entering found three TjTolese peasants in
native costume entertaining the guests with songs
which rippled forth like bird-notes. They were as
clear and sweet as this mountain air and the w^omen in
their picturesque dresses seemed very like birds. They
also performed on different instruments with great
skill.
AiifS^. 5. — It was late when I woke, and, hurriedly
dressing, hastened down to pay my respects to her
royal highness, the Jungfrau. But she, too, was in
no hurry to throw off her downy coverlid, and appar-
ently did not greet the sun so enthusiastically as I.
In vain I watched to catch a glimpse of her snowy
146 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
head. No young maiden could have been more coy ;
not until afternoon did she draw aside her veil, and
then what wonders we beheld. The base of the
mountain covered with a graceful white drapery — the
center with fleecy clouds upon which the top rested
like a celestial queen in her dazzling robes. It is thus
Raphael places the Saviour in His divine Transfigura-
tion, and many of his Madonnas, but never has any-
thing seemed so truly the Queen of Heaven as this
virgin that lifts her head amid an expanse of three
hundred square miles of snow and glacier. Byron
says of her •
"And this most steep, fantastic pinnacle,
The fretwork of some earthquake, where the clouds
Pause to repose themselves in passing b}-."
Aug. 6. — The Jungfrau did not smile on us and
we went away without her benediction, A short ride
in the train skirting the precipitous slopes high above
Lake Thun, past beautifully situated towns and in
sight of the old-new everlasting hills, and we take the
steamer. Lake Thun is eleven miles long and two
miles broad, very deep and clear and blue. Its edges
are lined with villages, picturesque chateaux and
lovely villas. The Jungfrau, Matterhorn, Monch,
Eiger, Wetterhorn formed a most effective back-
ground. As we neared the village of Thun, said by
Humboldt to be the most beautifully situated in
Switzerland, the snow fields of the Blumlisalp came
into view and at the water's edge was a handsome
modern mansion. From Thun by rail to Bern, we
followed the river Aare, getting fine views of the
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST, 1 47
Bernese Oberland as we entered the city of the Alps.
Two stone bears perched on pillars welcomed us to
the seat of the Swiss government.
Bern is situated on a peninsula. We took an hour's
drive and saw the Cathedral with its remarkable portal
containing bas-reliefs of the Last Judgment, Wise
and Foolish Virgins, and Apostles. From the terrace
we had a fine view of the old city, entire valley and
Alps, There was a statue to the founder of the town,
who said to his companions while hunting, ' ' We will
found a town where falls the first animal we kill, and
name it for the animal." The bas-reliefs represent
the bear lying on the ground. A characteristic feature
of Bern is its fountains, most of them dating from the
sixteenth century and adorned with curious statues.
One of the ogre eating children is hideous.
At 1 :45 we started in a crowded car for Lausanne.
We passed through a green valley, a profound gorge,
and the city of Freiburg, which contains the finest
organ in Europe. A view of singular beauty was dis-
closed near Lausanne, embracing the greater part of
Lake Geneva and the surrounding mountains. The
valley of the Rhone and the Savoy mountains lay to
the left, and in the foreground were numerous villages
amidst vineyards.
We crossed a viaduct ot nine arches and reached
Lausanne just as the sun was setting. It gave the
exquisite green of the lake a golden hue which was
consummately beautiful.
A change of cars and a less crowded train. A
delightful ride. The second station, Vevey, is one of
the most fashionable and charming villages on the
148 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
lake, commanding a view of unsurpassed beauty,
much written of by Rousseau. Next came " Clarens !
sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love," a favorite
summer resort of Gambetta.
Soon the noted Castle of Chillon loomed in sight
with its massive walls and towers. It stands upon an
isolated rock sixty feet from shore, with which it is
connected by a drawbridge. It is now a prison.
Byron has invested this spot with much romance and
interest :
" Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy sad floor its altar— for 'twas trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace,
Worn, as if the cold pavement were a sod,
By Bounivard ! —may none these marks efface.
For they appeal from tyranny to God."
We came to the Rhone and were glad to see it dash-
ing, rushing along. Fine wine country. Would that
the product of the vine was as harmless and beautiful
as the vines look, climbing up the mountain sides.
At St. Maurice, saw the most ancient abbey this
side the Alps, founded in the fourth centtiry by St-
Theodore, and way up on an apparently inaccessible
precipice perches a hermitage. On the right was a
beautiful cascade two hundred and thirty feet high,
which, white as snow, tumbled and leaped from rock
to rock. Had an imposing view of Gorges du Trient.
Near Martigny saw a fine old castle erected in 1260,
and a beautiftil sunset.
Martigny was reached at 7:00 p. m.; fine outlook
from our room at hotel. Dinner and bed.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 49
Aug 7. — Mine e3'es have seen the gloty of my God!
From early morning, we have gone from glory unto
glory until to-night I feel like exclaiming, "Lord,
withhold thy grandeur and majesty, my weak hu-
manity can endure no more." It is as if, in the
earthly body, one should behold the heavenly land.
It is overpowering. The culmination of all the
mountains of Europe is Mont Blanc. All the others
we passed led up to it as the first and lighter strains
of a symphony swell into the closing burst of har-
mony. I shall never forget the thrill which passed
through me when, from the beautiful valley, I beheld
the hoary head of the kingly Alp towering above all
the surrounding peaks. The sun was setting and
the mountain's spotless crown sparkled and scintil-
lated as if set with most precious jewels. Every hue
of the rainbow was reflected and I veiled my eyes
and wept for joy. I could have sung aloud a song
of thanksgiving to the Creator who formed these
mountains and valleys and holds them in the hollow
of His hand. Then I thought, "What is man that
thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that thou
visitest him?" In answer, there rose before me the
figure I saw upon the cross at Ober-Ammergau,
and I knew that, after all, man was the supreme
thought when the foundations of the hills were laid
and the basins of the sea formed. While thinking
thus, I looked down, and when again I raised my
eyes the kindly face of the old mountain with its flow-
ing white beard was entirely hidden from sight by a
small hill under which we were passing. Then God
taught me a lesson. How often we allow a small sin
150 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
to get between us and His face so that His glory is
completely hidden. We may strive to get away from
it, far enough to realize what joy and comfort there
is in communion with the Father, and perhaps some
little radiance from Him may be reflected by us, but
before we realize it that little hill of selfishness, or
whatever it may be, has eclipsed the Great Light
and we are again in darkness.
Another thought came to me : as that little hill
entirely hid the great, glorious mountain, so often we
let a little fault in a grand character entirely over-
shadow all the noble traits.
And another : we look at the hills that shut in our
little lives and interests, and care nothing for the great
humanity outside, vSO long as our tiny pasture is green
and our sheep are all sheltered.
What lessons are written in Nature's great book if
we will only read them :
" Wondrous truths aud mauifold as wondrous,
God has written in the heavens and on the earth."
This has been the most wonderful day of my life.
How can I find words to express all I have seen !
Surely, I am finding sermons in these grand motint-
ains, deep gorges, rushing rivers. In comfortable
carriages we .started for our twenty- five-mile ride. The
air was almost intoxicating and I felt I could not
draw deep enough breaths, and my heart sang a .song
of thanksgiving as I looked unto the hills " from
whence cometh my help."
Our road for .some time was the .same as that which
leads to »St. Bernard and we met man}- priests coming.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST, 15I
I suppose, from that monasten'. The great dogs in
this region must be from that celebrated stock. Their
faces express almost human intelligence, and I can
easily imagine them saving travelers who have become
hopelessly entangled tr^-ing to find their way over
these trackless mountains. There was quite a proces-
sion of carriages filled with gay tourists, and just as
we were leaving the village we met another procession.
What mocker>' it must have seemed to those poor
peasants carrying to his last resting-place one of their
loved ones, to see us on our holiday. I fear they have
few such in their quiet, secluded lives.
As we ascended higher and higher by zigzag turns,
we had a noble surv^ey of the Rhone valley. At our
feet lay the village from which we had just come, and
around were heights undiscovered to us. Soon we saw
the fine Glacier du Trient, the northernmost one of the
Mont Blanc range. Then the valley widened and we
stopped at the village of Trient, by the side of the
brawling river of the same name. We soon knew
these glacier streams by their milky appearance caused
by the earth flowing down with the melted ice. The
road skirted gorges so deep I could not see the bottom,
while on the other hand rose cliffs so high 1 could not
see the top, and thus suspended between heaven and
earth we rushed on.
We dined at Hotel de la Tete Noire and rested for
tvvo hours, then were off again. The new road led
high above the dark and sombre valley and one espe-
cially narrow place was cut through the rock. It was
overpoweringl}' magnificent. Often the mountain side
would be covered with huge rocks dashed down from
152 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
above. It seemed it must have been the battle-field of
the gods. Surel}', none but a god could hurl those
massive missiles. The river bed was full of great
bowlders over which the water leaped with a hiss and
a. roar. The rocks were covered with moss of the
most exquisite shades of green, gold and red, while
over all stood the pines, straight as arrows — heaven's
own soldiery. In the midst of all this abandonment
of nature man had intruded ; not a smooth mountain
side or valle3^ however narrow, but he had cultivated,
and the golden wheat-field, bright with poppies, was
the finishing touch to this rare picture.
Among the most exquisite sights in this land of
wonderful scenery are the habitations of the sturdy
mountaineers as seen from some lofty peak. Their
farms are as carefully kept as a private lawn, and the
different colored grain-fields look like rich rugs spread
over a green velvet carpet.
All the way along we saw the reapers at work.
Many a Maud Miiller looked after us with envious
eyes ; the young men and women and the middle-
aged always stop their work to watch the carriage
pass ; often we exchange a smile and a bow, but the
old women look not up. Oh, the pathos of their
silent drudger)^ ! Why should they stop to dream ?
Life holds no hope for them. They have passed its
meridian and, with the lengthening shadows, ambition
dies, and their only prayer is for a rest at sunset.
Perhaps their darlings have gone out into the world
from whence we come, anxious for a larger sphere
than these encircling mountains afford, and are lost
to them.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 53
I longed to talk to these weary, patient hearts,
and, if possible, give a word of coniiort. It seemed
so cruel to dash by ! I^ord, they will never know
how I cared for them I loved them, even. I pray
Thou to send a beam of sunshine into their cold lives.
I have so much — if necessary, take it from mine.
How this love for humanity grows within me I
" I was not ever thus,
Lead Thou me on."
Shortly after leaving the hotel wc cros.sed the
Swiss border into French Savoy. The roads, very
fine before, became more excellent and the stone
bridges real works of art. As we neared Chamouni
the valley became broader, we heard the tinkling of
cow-bells far up the mountain sides, and saw the
peasants going home from their day's work in the
fields. One old woman in a white cap, leading by the
hand a tiny child, attracted the attention of us all.
Down the mountain our road wound back and ibrth,
just like the white ribbon candy at Gunther's.
We were eagerly watching for a first glimpse of
Mont Blanc, and just at sunset we came in sight of
the grand old monarch and his attendants. For the
first time we were near enough to the huge ice cata-
racts to look into their great crystal palaces and see
the streams issuing from their countless crevices.
We reached Hotel des Alps, and worn out with
exaltation of spirit, I fell asleep, but first I had such
a view of his majesty as made mc hold my breath.
All the glory of the sunset was gone, and instead of
jewels of many colors, his entire head and snowy beard
154 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
was a mass of diamonds, white and clear, and reflect-
ing what seemed must be the radiance from the ver>'
throne of heaven,
Augusts. — I slept like an angel and rose feeling
like one. On my way to breakfast I took a peep
through the telescope in the yard at a party ascend-
ing Mont Blanc. Onr host said they must have
started a little after midnight. They were toiling
up, all tied together with ropes. Such a trip means
the labor and hardships of two years concentrated
into two days, and fifty dollars.
I read in the paper of a plucky American girl who
started with ten young men ; when less than half way
up, the " strong oaks " gave out and went back, but
the " clinging vine " continued to climb, and returned
the next day none the worse for wear. Tally another
for the weaker sex ! They have surely entered every
place in the wide, round world, and that to bless and
make a good record.
Inspired by all these feats, I rejected the services
of a mule and guide, and pinning my dress up and
grasping firmly my alpenstock started up the Montan-
vert (green mountain). The girls all followed, and
to hear them scream and laugh was too funny. There
is only a narrow bridle path cut from the rock, and on
the outer edge an awful precipice. The view as we
rose higher and higher was very fine ; far below lay
the valley, as green as an emerald, while through the
center ran the river, milky white, and by its side the
road like a river ; behind us, was Mont Blanc, and
before, the vast sea of ice forming the Mer de Glace
and the Glacier des Bois.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 55
About noon we reached the top, six thousand three
hundred and three feet, and after dinner slipped and
slid down the perpendicular mountain side to the ice.
Steps had been cut from one frosty pyramid to an-
other, and from the huge caverns great rivers flowed.
It was very cold, and half way down I was obliged
to turn back. There, in the center, was a camera.
The photographer is as omnipresent now as the re-
porter. Up the height we scrambled, and, panting,
reached the hotel. Returning on mule-back was
much more dangerous than ascending, and I con-
cluded to keep my own feet on terra Jirma, though
the sturdy little animals picked their way with almost
human intelligence. Miss U. joined me at the half-
way house, and together we walked on, reveling in
the wonderful view, stopping to pick flowers and rest-
ing on the fresh grass. I was rather lame by the end
of my ten miles' tramp, but was on hand for dinner.
During the service, suddenly there was a perfect rush
for the window. I thought the house was on fire, but
joining the crowd, and looking out, saw it was a won-
derful afterglow on Mont Blanc. I can not describe
it. It must be seen to be appreciated, and once seen
can never be forgotten. How blessed we have been
in this beautiful spot ! What a royal reception this
grand old monarch has given us. He is far more
grand than I had anticipated, even, and that is saying
much.
A good night's rest came after my happy, happy
day. I could stay here for weeks and feel my soul
grow. It is the cities that make me homesick.
156 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Azi^. p. — A coach and four, filled with delightful
people; roads like marble floors, air that filled one
with delight, and scenery like Paradise, left nothing
to be desired, as we started for Geneva. At every
turn new vistas of beauty opened before us. How
regretfully I left my dear Chamouni I can not tell,
but I shall come again.
A four hours' ride brought us to the railroad, and
by two o'clock we were in Geneva, where we received
letters. I had such a lovely one from dear Mrs. An-
drew and one from my beloved Miss Willard, such a
sweet and tender letter as made me feel very humble
and long to be better and do better.
We took a very long walk all about the city, which
is charmingly situated on Lake Geneva. Here the
Rhone emerges, dividing the city into two parts which
are connected by eight bridges. In the niid.st of the
stream is the little Rousseau Island with its statue and
fine promenades.
Just across from our Hotel Richmond was the mon-
ument to the Duke of Brunswick, who left all his fort-
une, $4,000,000, to the city on condition that it erect
an elegant statue to his memory. To think of one's
caring to perpetuate his name in such a way ! If my
life is not noble enough to make my memory lasting
and sweet, let it perish. I want ray monument to be
the lives I have blessed and brightened and made
better.
An^. 10. — A lovely, quiet Sabbath. We went to
church in the little English chapel and heard a most
excellent sermon on doing well the little things ; there
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 57
are no small deeds with God ; it is the faithful servant
who is rewarded.
We walked home together and had a pleasant talk.
This is the city of Calvin, but his influence was not
very manifest to-day. Everything seemed as gay as
Paris, yet in the rule of the reformer no theaters or
places of amusement were allowed. Calvin was as
autocratic when in power as the pope and bishops
had been. Voltaire also made this his home and
under his lead the people seemed to forget God.
From Calvin to Voltaire,— a chasm as wide as be-
tween heaven and hell.
From our balcony this eve we had another wonder-
ful view of Mont Blanc with the afterglow. What a
lesson it teaches us, to keep our heads so high in the
heavens that when all around and below us is dark,
our faces will still reflect the radiance from the great
sun which never sets.
I had a very strange experience at table d'hote. A
very nice Englishman was talking to a lady across the
table about places they had both visited. She chanced
to ask him if he had been to Ober-Ammergau. In-
stantly he was on fire. " No, nor would I go and see
my blessed Lord crucified anew," he replied. I re-
marked, " You would not feel so, if you had seen the
play," whereupon he put me through a catechism that
would have made Calvin ashamed, and roundly scored
all of us who upheld the performance. All the while
he was drinking wine and by his example upholding
the custom which more than anything else hinders
the coming of Christ's kingdom, for which he so
earnestly prays. What charity we need!
"' rep-
robate, is as heavy as lead to impenitent sinners, but
as light as a feather to all who are of a contrite heart.
Just beyond Ettal, under the shadow of a great peak,
lies the charming chalet of the Marquis of Bute, who
has done much to inspire and foster the play.
Two or three miles farther on, we sped past the
numberless little shrines with which the roadside is
studded, and entered Ober-Ammergau. Viewed from
above, it forms an ideal picture of an ideal village, as
primitive as it was when the outside world first found
— some forty years ago— this wonderful drama being
enacted among the mountains. The little low stone
houses, with their white walls and green window
shutters, are irregularly grouped around the church,
the heart of the village, and in earlier years the play
was performed in its grass-grown yard. One mount-
ain, the Kofcl, black with pines, looms far above all
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. l6l
the surrounding peaks and guards the entrance to the
valley. On its summit gleams the white cross which
is the presiding genius of the place. It is the most
sacred possession of these mountaineers, and with its
story, — the story of the cross, — has been the form-
ative influence of all the simple souls who at its base
have lived out their quiet lives.
I was told that an enterprising New York theater
manager offered the authorities an immense sum of
money if they would come to our metropolis and
enact the play. He promised that its settings should
be of unequaled splendor, and assured them they
might have twenty-five apostles, at least, if they so
desired. But the villagers were unmoved by even
this astonishing inducement and replied, " If you will
take our dear Kofel and its sacred cross to New York,
we will go, for without its benediction, we would
not dare play."
Very curious were our feelings upon entering the
hotel, to be conducted to our rooms by the ' ' Apostle
John." Often in our walks we encountered kings,
priests and apostles, their royal robes laid aside,
going about their ordinary duties, with nothing to
distinguish them from the common peasant except
that they had an unlooked-for dignity and grace in
feature and carriage. After a most frugal supper, a
friend and myself sallied forth to visit the wood-carv-
ing shops. Not knowing the way, we asked the little
daughter of our landlord to direct us. As we walked
along, wishing to know her name, I said, " Who are
you, dear?" She replied most naturally, "I am an
angel." Nothing could better illustrate the spirit of
l62 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
this people. To proclaim the story of the cross is
their highest ambition. Their personality is entirely
merged in that of the characters they represent.
They are sweet and perfectly untainted from the vul-
garism of the outside world, and inspired with a
high-mindedness that is delicious. This is the result
of eight generations of the Christ-life and thought,
and proves Oliver Wendell Holmes' saying, " If you
would train a child, you must begin with his great-
grandfather. ' '
We strolled along, crossing and recrossing the
rapid and crj'stal Amraer, that flows between and past
the houses, and stopped to study the curious frescoes
that adorn the dwellings of rich and poor alike. On
the burgomaster's somewhat stately residence are
wreaths of flowers, painted pillars and a frieze, but
the favorite designs are the birth and crucifixion of
our Lord.
The streets were crowded with representatives of
half the nations of the earth, and peasants by the
hundreds, in their picturesque costumes. Several
times, as I looked into the face of some rustic maid, I
thought of Wordsworth's lines,
" The beauty born of murmuring sound
Had passed into her face."
Two centuries of study and practice of the gospels
has transformed these mountaineers, physically and
morally, and elevated them far above their class.
Crime is almost unknown among them, and they
truly typify by their lives that which they picture on
the stage.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 63
There has never been a question of any mercenary
motive in their presentation. The actors receive no
remuneration save the equivalent of their day's earn-
ings at other labor. For the Sunday representation
they are not paid at all. Joseph Maier was given
only two hundred dollars for his twenty-five perform-
ances last summer.
What becomes of the receipts? is asked. They
are divided into four parts : One part goes to sustain
the school of sculpture which has made the peasants
of this region artists in wood-carving ; one-fourth is
devoted to improvements in the village, another to
paying the expenses of the play, and a fourth is
divided among the seven hundred actors.
There are records of the Miracle Play having been
performed in Ober-Ammergau as early as the twelfth
century, but towards the close of the sixteenth, when
the Thirty Years' War raged throughout Germany,
the Mystery was abandoned, for the mountains be-
came too disturbed to permit its continuance. As one
of the after-consequences of that wide-wasting war, a
great pestilence broke out in the villages surrounding
Ober-Ammergau. Entire communities were swept
away, but Ober-Ammergau, by means of a strict quar-
antine, escaped, until a certain Caspar Schnchler
evaded the guards and slipped into the village to see
his wife and child. In two da^^s he was dead, and in
thirty-three days eighty-four of the villagers had per-
ished. In their despair they called upon heaven, and
vowed, if the plague was stayed, they would forever
keep fresh in the minds of men the Lord's Passion.
"From that hour," says the local chronicler, ='the
164 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
sick were healed and the pestilence removed ; and
once in every decade since then the peasants have en-
acted the drama with solemn reverence and devotion."
Living thus alwaj^s in the white light of Christ's life,
they have taken on an outward manifestation of spirit-
uality very rare and beautiful. Hence William Stead
has appropriately termed this play, " A dramatic rain-
bow set in the hills. ' '
To a young priest, Daisenberger, we are indebted
for the present form of the play. For thirty-five years
he lived and labored in the village, directing the
mental, moral and .spiritual development of his pari.sh-
ioners. A beautiful statue has been erected to his
memory. The good priest has left on record that he
undertook the production of the play " for the love of
my Divine Redeemer, and with only one object in
view, the edification of the Christian world."
At five o'clock on Sunday morning we were awak-
ened by the music of the band parading the streets, and
the ringing of church bells, calling all to early mass.
The church was crowded with worshipers, all the
actors being present to receive the sacrament. By
half-past eight we were in our seats in the great
wooden pavilion, scarcely dignified enough to be
called a theater. The stage is in exact imitation of
the Greek, with the seats nearest it uncovered. It
has a background of blue sky and fir-crowned hills.
On an eminence to the left, in full view, is the great
marble crucifix with its group of women, presented to
Ober-Ammergau by King Ludwig. How often during
the eight hours that I watched that .supreme .struggle
between the human and the divine, did I lift up mine
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 65
eyes unto those peaceful pine-clad slopes and find there
refreshment from the intensity of the drama !
The birds flying in and out of the rafters over
our heads, often joined in the chorus with a burst of
melody. Six thousand people were assembled ; the
Princess Beatrice and her husband occupied the royal
box ; bishops and archbishops, priests and peasants,
high and low, all sat silent and expectant, and followed
the story with eager interest. The unseen orchestra
pla3^ed a grand chant and there filed in from either
side the stage the chorus of forty men and women,
dressed in white under-tunics with gold trimmings,
over which were draped bright-colored cloaks, held in
place by gold cords and tassels. Each wore a crown.
To explain the tableaux with which the scenes are
opened is the object of the chorus. Instead of simply
giving the Gospel story as it is in the New Testa-
ment, the types, figures and prophecies of the Old
Testament, which prefigure the New, are introduced.
The first tableau is emblematic of the fall ; the second
represents the adoration of the cross.
' ' Hosanna to our Prince, ' ' echoes and re-echoes
through the air, and a multitude pours upon the stage
from all directions, bearing palm branches and wor-
shiping Jesus, who appears in the midst of the throng
riding upon an ass. John, the beloved disciple, with
his spiritual face framed in long, waving locks, walks
by his side. Every eye is fixed upon Joseph Maier,
for in every heart there has been a half-question
whether it were not sacrilegious for any human being
to personate the Saviour of men ; but the most rever-
ent could not object to the hoh' dignity- and majesty
1 66 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
of Maier, who for fortj- years has studied and person-
ified Christ until the divine spirit seems to possess him,
lifting him out of his own personality into that of his
Great Master.
In the temple, when he overthrows the tables of
the money-changers and drives out the merchants,
there is no hint of ranting, only righteous indignation
being manifest. This is thought by many to be the
finest acting in the plaj'.
After Christ has passed out with His disciples, the
traders endeavor to stir up the people against Him.
Then comes the typical tableau of Joseph's brothers
plotting for his death, and the act gives the stormy
session of the Sanhedrim, over which the Burgo-
master Lang presides as high-priest, in a royal robe,
which I was told cost three thousand dollars.
It is said to have been Lang's highest ambition to
see his beautiful daughter enact the part of the Virgin
Mother, and to this she has been trained from child-
hood. Three years ago she was betrothed to a worthy
youth, but her father would not allow the marriage to
take place until after the play, there being an un-
written law that no matron should enact that pait.
For the full description. I can do no better than to
refer you to the article by Miss Elizabeth Bisland, in
The Cosmopolitan, for she has portrayed the scenes
much better than I can.
The wonderful scene of Christ before Pilate
seemed to me peculiarly impressive. Pilate upon his
judgment throne looks with a troubled, questioning
expression upon Christ, standing in the calmness and
majesty of His divine power, and in reply to that
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 167
grand defense, ' ' To this end was I born and for this
cause came I into the world, that I might bear wit-
ness of the truth," he asks the question that has
echoed through the ages, "What is truth?" In
Edwin Arnold's "Light of the World," the Roman
ruler speaks thus to his wife :
" The pale, sweet man; the man that was ' the King,''
******
Always with that high look of god-like calm,
Those eyes of far perception— those mild eyes
I saw that morti tn the Prcetorium.
* * * * * *
As I questioned him upon these things,
And asked : ' Art thou indeed King of the Jews ? '
Lo ! he, with such a mien as one should have,
Wearing the purple, spake full royally,
' Aye ! as thou sayest, a King ! ' and no word more !
Still I went on ' Speakest thou naught to me
Whose nod can send thee hence to live or die ?
Art thou King of the Jews ? ' And the man said,
' Yea ! King ! yet not of any earthly realm :
To this end was I born, and therefore came.
King of all kings, because I witness Truth.'
Then asked I : ' What is Truth ? ' He answered naught.
* * * * * *
And Claudia moaned : ' I, too, remember well !
I saw him from my lattice, and his eyes
Burned themselves on my heart. Truly a King
Of Truth— if anywhere such kingdom be: "
Solemnly the audience melts away, the most flip-
pant and thoughtless are awed, and for myself I can
truthfully say that for days I seemed in a holy dream.
I wondered if any disbeliever in the divinity of
Christ left that tragic place still unconvinced that He
1 68
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
who lived, and worked, and suffered, and died on earth,
was the Son of God. For, after all, the greatest of
miracles is that this story should have transformed
the world.
A few weeks later I visited Rome, and standing in
the arena of the Coliseum which has again and again
been soaked with the blood of thousands of martyrs
who suffered even as Christ suffered, but whose mar-
tyrdom did not save their names from the most com-
plete oblivion, I asked, " Why, then, did the death of
this one man transform the world?" All nature, and
a million hearts rejoicing in the risen Saviour, an-
swered, " Because He ivas the Son of God, and for this
reason came He into the world.''
ERE the wise man who said,
' ' Eet me write the songs of a na-
tion and I care not who makes the
laws," living in this nineteenth cent-
ury he would rather exclaim, ' ' Let me
control the press of a nation and I will
make the laws!" so much mightier than any other
influence is that of the strong, exultant, relentless
press that rules human thought to-day.
The newspapers have become the very nerve-cen-
ters of our civilization, while the telegraph and cable
are the nerves, extending in every direction and form-
ing a complete network about old Mother Earth.
How to secure and use this great force in our battle
for "God and Home and Every Land " is a most
important problem. I am convinced that we shall
never come into our kingdom until we have laid un-
der tribute the great teeming presses of the world, so
that with every throb they will send out leaves which
shall truly be "for the healing of the nations."
Notwithstanding all her grand achievements in
literature, science, art and government, the talis-
manic word "Reform" has ever been woman's
*Read before the British Women's Temperance Association.
169
lyo A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
reveille, calling into action evety force of her being.
From the beginning, the temperance crusade has
had the power of the Christ-love in it ; born in the
shadowy silence of the closet, itself a child of conse-
cration and prayer ; going forth to encounter opposi-
tion and hatred on the threshold of saloons and in the
slums of great cities, it met with emissaries of a ruler
more cruel than Herod, and eager enough to slay it
at its birth. It has always been about its Father's
business ; it has had its days in the wilderness of
temptation, and its hours on the glory-capped mount
of transfiguration ; it has walked many a troubled sea
of opposition, and had its baptism of fire. It has
literally gone about doing good in a thousand ways.
It has been a blessing to little children, and is making
for them straight paths through scientific knowledge
and protecting laws. For the forsaken it has builded
a house of refuge, and kindled new hope. It has
tried to heal the sick in body and soul, seeking every-
where to drive out the demons of drink, rebuking
rulers, standing ready to scourge those who for money
would defile the one holy temple of the living God —
the human body.
Year by year it has entered new paths as its work
has broadened and deepened, until now the National
society in the United States has forty-six distinct de-
partments, each with a .specialist at its head.
The Press department was the outcome of this evo-
lution, and for several years was carried on by our
talented Mrs. Esther T. Housh, of Vermont.
About 1883 we began to realize, as never before,
that while our temperance lecturers were addressing
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 71
possibly one hundred thousand people a day, over fif-
teen thousand papers were speaking to at least fifty
millions ; and straightway we knocked at the doors of
the editorial sanctums. They opened very slowly at
first, I admit, but enough for us to enter, and there we
shall remain until the public is enlightened and edu-
cated to know not that " intemperance is a great
evil'' but that alcohol is poison, and the liquor traffic
a crime. When once we get that truth into the heads
and hearts of the people we shall hear no more of
restriction or compensation, for the cry will be,
* ' Extermijiation ! ' '
I shall never forget the time when first I called
upon the editors of our large Chicago daily papers, to
ask space in their columns to report the work of the
Woman's Christian Temperance Union. My friends
were sure the doors would be shut in my face, but I
had heard the "Woe is me if I do not this thing," and
I knew the Lord would go before me to prepare the
way, and He did. Only one editor refused my re-
quest. He said, ' ' Temperance is stale; there is abso-
lutely nothing new to be said on the subject ; it is a
dead issue." He has changed his mind within a few
years and no doubt was as surprised to find how alive
this issue is, as were those who said, " There are only
a handful of temperance fanatics in Great Britain,"
to see the Hyde Park demonstration.
We are no longer suppliants. The question of
this department, now, is how to keep posse.ssion of
the goodly land upon which we have entered, and so
cultivate it that it may bring forth an abundant
harvest.
172 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
I do not mean that all our papers have been con-
verted to Prohibition — far from it, I am sorry to say,
for they do not always even tell the truth about it ;
but the general press has experienced a change of
heart on the temperance question, and is willing to
give both sides a hearing. If we can only let the
white light of truth shine strongly enough upon the
liquor traffic to disclose all its hideousness, it is
doomed. The publicans realize this, and tremble
before our oncoming hosts, as is shown by their in-
terpretation of the letters W. C. T. U. — "We'll see
to you." May this blessed state of agitation continue,
for its end will surely be reformation.
It is the especial aim of this department to provide
the general public with temperance reading matter,
through the religious and secular press. This is done
by means of dispatches sent out by the Associated
Press, a bulletin prepared by our national superin-
tendent, and furnished all important papers, and
through our local superintendents. This National
bulletin is made up of short items of new.<; gathered
from the nearly two hundred letters from all over the
world, which are received daily at Miss Willard's
home and at the Chicago headquarters.
To me, the most interesting officers on board the
steamer which brought us to your beautiful land,
were those who day and night walked the bridge,
glass in hand, and with their trained eyes swept the
great ocean to note every change, and warn of any
danger. Thus it is intended that our national press
superintendent shall stand on the temperance watch-
tower and report every movement of the great ship,
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 73
Prohibition, which is so grandly making the desired
haven.
Win. T. Stead has truly said, " We dwell in the
midst of a chaos of philanthropies." What we need
is a center where the experience of all shall be stored
so as to be accessible for the guidance of each. Thus
our Press department is a sort of intelligence office for
all those engaged in the battle for humanity. Whether
or not it may realize the poet's idea and be
" K great voice heard in the breathless pauses of the fight
By truth and freedom ever waged with wrong,
Clear as a silver trumpet, to awake
Huge echoes,"
depends upon those who represent it, and for that rea-
son this department demands our choicest workers.
We have many women who could not speak in pub-
lic, but who are to-day voicing the culture and train-
ing of years and making our manifold phases of work
known to the entire world. When I say "our," I
mean the work of temperance women in every land,
for blessedly has the World's Union bound us all to-
gether.
It is not that we may receive the praises of men
that we want our organization reported, but that our
influence may spread, and "an arrest of thought"
come to the thousands who would never attend a
temperance lecture or read a temperance paper.
That our "people perish for lack of knowledge " is
true even in this age of books and papers — at least,
for the right kind of knowledge. And if we are to
supply it on the temperance question we must do so
174 ^ YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
through the newspapers, which enter everj- home. A
business man who has never heard of the W. C. T. U.
reads in his morning paper that the corner-stone
of a Temperance Temple, a building which is to cost
over two hundred thousand pounds, will be laid
July 4th, and he naturally wants to know more
of an association that can erect such a structure on
the finest site in Chicago. He becomes acquainted
with our missions and ere-long is, perhaps, one of our
most cordial supporters.
Nothing could more forcibly impress one with the
absurdity of the Compensation Clauses as a temper-
ance measure, than the paragraph in Lady Henry
Somerset's grand address before your May meeting,
in which she proved that it would take three hundred
and fifty years to reduce the public houses in the
United Kingdom to one in every six hundred of the
population. Upon several occasions when in conver-
sation with gentlemen who were trying to convince
me that this measure would very quickly do away
with public houses, I have quoted this fact, and they
were so astonished that they had nothing more to say.
I wish this paragraph, and others from the same
address, might have appeared in every paper in
Great Britain a month ago.
A physician may be led to investigate the subject
of non-alcoholic medication by reading that the death-
rate in temperance hospitals is only one-half that in
hospitals where alcohol is used. Or, pondering on the
causes of decease, he may see the significance in the
fact that the breweries of England set free twenty-five
million gallons of carbonic acid gas a year, which
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 75
science teaches him is a deadly poison to the human
system.
A few personal items are a relief from hard facts
and statistics — such, for instance, as "Thirty thou-
sand copies of Mrs. Pearsall Smith's ' Christian Secret
of a Happy Life' were sold last year." I wish the
following items might appear again and again, in let-
ters of blood in every paper in England, Germany and
America, until Christians would realize how worse
than useless it is to send missionaries and rum in
the same vessel to heathen lands:
" Not long ago a steamer left Boston, having on
board four missionaries and forty thousand gallons of
rum."
"Bishop Wilham Taylor, just home from Africa
for a short visit, said in an address, on Sunday, May
4th, among other startling facts regarding the liquor
traffic in the Dark Continent : ' Hamburg alone sends
out by its English and German steamers, annually,
two hundred thousand tons of rum and gin,— not
gallons — not barrels — but tons.''''
I could multiply items endlessly, but I simply
want to show the nature of those given in our bulle-
tin. Short quotations from the writings of prominent
men and women are also admitted, while the latest
news from our round-the-world-missionaries and re-
ports of the work in far-off lands, read like fairy tales.
All other departments are largely dependent upon
the Press department for their presentation before the
public, and they afford an almost exhaustless supply
of facts, the publication of which is of the utmost im-
portance to our own members as well as of general
176 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
interest. At our last annual convention each superin-
tendent prepared a resume of the work of the year,
which was printed, and a copy given to each of the
reporters that for five days sat in our sessions ; these
greatly aided them in making up their reports.
A temperance column in every paper published in
this land would mean the enlightenment of the people
in every city, town and village, and, if faithfully con-
ducted, would bring magnificent results. How do
your twenty-five thousand members who do not take
the British Women" s Temperance Journal keep in
touch with your leaders ?
Oh, I wish temperance women everywhere would
claim the press for God, and demand that it raise its
standard until its aim be so to tell the story of to-day
as to make the world better to-morrow.
We shall reach this height. I trust we may be-
fore the swinging doors of the twentieth century are
opened wide, for then "the women who publish the
tidings [will be] a great host."
^IHoman's Signal Serbice.*
KSS than twenty years ago, the United
States Weather Bureau organized its
system of stations upon the high-
est peaks of observation, whence the
Storm King and his furious host
might be hailed while yet afar off. Farmers
consult the oracles before putting in the sickle,
and mariners before weighing anchor.
Meteorology is a modern science, but the Divine
Signal Service is as old as Eden. In the midst of the
Garden, the Tree of Life reared its flaming top and
bore its fruit labeled, "Eat not, lest ye die." But
the warning was unheeded, and while the stars yet
sang their Hallelujah Chorus, woman and man went
down together on the reef of appetite, and cne shock
of the fall still vibrates through humanity. Woman's
Signal Service began when Eve repeated the God-
given warning to the tempting serpent, though her-
self overtaken by the cloud-burst she had foretold.
Tracing the path of Scriptural record, we find
woman often the chosen instrument of God. All the
mountain-tops of history are aflame with her watch-
* Given in response to a toast at a gathering of the editors of the relig-
ious papers of Chicago. The names of the papers represented are woven
into the last paragraph.
177
I 78 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
fires. Miriam, the inspired singer, led the host of
Israel. Deborah, beautiful in character and noble in
life, — the one righteous judge in that long record of
four hundred years, — well knew when the hour for
victory had come in God's time, though neither
spear nor shield was seen among the forty thousand
of Israel, and challenged her cowardly countrymen
to arise and lead their captivity captive.
Coming down the centuries, we pause before that
name at whose mention all bend the knee, because it
represents woman's crowning glory, motherhood.
Almost nineteen hundred years ago to-night — blessed
night for woman— the brightest signal that ever flashed
upon the waiting and perishing world, shone out
above the Judean plain, not red with warning, but
white with hope, and all the earth joined the heav-
enly chorus as it caught the watchword on its shin-
ing folds, " On earth peace, good will to men."
I have sometimes thought that Christ's coming
meant more to woman than to man ; his life was
alwa5^s forceful and fruitful, hers limited and meager,
until the Sun of Righteousness shone out. But since
she received her first commission from Christ Him-
self, as the messenger of the resurrection, she has
gone on her brightening path of service.
" Not she with traitorous lip the Master stung ;
Not she denied Him with a liar's tongue ;
She, when apostles fled, had power to brave, —
Last at the cross and earliest at the grave."
Bright amid the darkness of those days when
might made right, stands Clothilda, whose form is
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 179
emblazoned beside that of Clovis in commemoration
of his conversion and baptism, not only in the records
of history, but on the walls of the Parisian Pan-
theon.
In our own proud city a million hands are beckon-
ing to the World's Fair, eager to pay homage to her
in the light of whose jewels a continent was dis-
covered, and the vision of Columbus became a glori-
ous reality.
Elizabeth's reign stands out as distinctly Chris-
tian, though
" Here trace we a crooked line,
There find we a blotted leaf."
Was not that a Signal Service which for fifty
years fostered the flickering spark of learning and
fanned it into a flame that lighted anew the world's
torch of knowledge ?
These and many other women form beacon-lights
at far intervals along the shores of time, but not
until the Victorian age were the women who pub-
lished the glad tidings a ''great host."
It was reserved for America to develop the rarest
excellence of woman in the exercise of the largest
and truest liberty the world has ever known. The
stream of influences spreading over Christian civiliza-
tion set steadily womanward from the first, but it re-
mained for the " golden century" to see its women so
filled with these high influences that there came an
overflow of good will to men that has swept the wide
earth over. The woman nature and the mother
nature, open always to the highest and best in teach-
l8o A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
iiig and in practice, became the grand channel
through which the Christ-love flowed out to all man-
kind.
When the mother-heart heard the wail of the
thousands of mothers in bondage, she sent out such
an exceeding bitter cry that a nation sprang to arms,
and singing,
" In the beauty of the lilies, Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make meu free.
While God is marching on,"
the Lord came down against the mighty and the
fetters of a race were broken.
The Sanitary Commission first called into con-
certed action the women of our nation. Then woman
laid her cool, soothing hands on war's fevered brow,
and lifting the banner of the Red Cross she entered
the council chamber, and lo ! around its friendly
board the fate of nations is decided.
Then her heart was stirred for those living in dark-
ness and sin, and in almost every church in the land
the altar fires were lighted, and the richest sacrifices
laid thereon. Were the noble daring and devotion
of the many royal women who are sent out by our
great missionary societies, both Home and Foreign,
to light the signal-fires wherever souls are in dan-
ger, heralded, as is that of our great explorers, an
admiring world would hail them with such acclaims
as not even a Stanley or a Kennan can ever inspire.
In the atmospheric world, as everywhere in nat-
ure, all things tend to equilibrium ; consequently,
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. l8l
when the moral atmosphere is high, as in that
bright chain of redeemed states stretching from British
Columbia to Texas, and low, as in high license
Illinois and Penns3^1vania, there is sure to be a storm ;
and woman, from her signal station, sweeps the hor-
izon and warns of all dangers that threaten her
kingdom. And well she knows where to locate the
storm center. It is where the forces that carry the
white banner of Prohibition encounter the hosts of
darkness.
A million watchful eyes are scanning the heavens
to-night eager to catch sight of that white flag, and
read its message, "The Morning Cometh." They
turn to our Watchman and question, "What is the
forecast for ' woman's century ' ? " and from her lofty
eminence the sentinel notes the rising of the silver
thread in the barometer of vital forces, and the ebbing
of the wind current, and replies, "The white Stan-
dard is afloat. Every indication is, that there will be
perfect weather throughout our hiterior, especially
in the great NortJnvesterjt region. Every Christian
Worker is at his post. The Liinng Omrch is con-
sumed with zeal. Our Oracle has spoken. The
Universal opinion is that we shall be Free from
every yoke, and Advance from conquest to conquest.
Our Signal, uplifted and upheld by prayer, floats
over all, true to its motto, ' Thou hast given a ban-
ner to them that fear Thee, that it may be displayed
because of the truth.' "
iLObc'gi (Brrcting.*
HOULD you ask me whence these
to) jewels,
Whence these rocks so pure and
crystal,
I should answer, I should tell you :
" From the world's most sacred treasures,
From the great shrines of the ages."
Should you ask me why this gathering,
Why these lovers, friends and neighbors
Have assembled here together,
I should answer, I should tell you :
" They have come to pledge their fealty
To the loved Queen of the Nation,
To the noblest among women."
They would rear a cairn of friendship.
Of rare gems and gold would build it.
Thus to typify most fitly,
That of which herself is builded.
Like a diamond pure her soul is.
Which reflects the light of Heaven ;
* Read at the cairn-building: on Miss Willard's birthday, September 28,
1891. Miss Ames laughingly said that she would make her "greeting"
extravagant enough to satisfy the most devoted admirer of her she loved
so well.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 83
And her heart is like a niby,
Burning with a love all Christ-like ;
Like unto a brilliant sapphire
Is her mind, so keen and sparkling,
And like strings of pearls, pure-perfect,
Are the words of wondrous wisdom
She doth speak unto her people.
Best Beloved, we do hail thee ;
Long may thy mild reign continue.
Late may'st thou return to heaven.
There to shine the brightest jewel
In our Father's crown immortal.
" -Requiem adcrnam ci, I^oiT^ine. ^ona.'
{Rest eternal give to her, O Lord.)
IHemorial Scrbiccs.
BOSTON.
HEN the released spirit had gone
home to God, Doctors Caroline A.
Hastings and Julia M. Plummer, of
Boston, both devoted white-ribboners,
/ who had been not only most assiduous in
their attendance as physicians, but lov-
ing in their sympathy as sisters, opened their
beautiful home on Huntington avenue, Boston, for
the brief and simple funeral services which were held
on the morning of Dec. 13, 1891. Rev. Dr. A. J.
Gordon offered prayer and made the address. Mrs.
Alice J. Harris, the sweet singer of the World's W. C.
T. U., whose beautiful voice and devoted spirit had
been an inspiration to Miss Ames so recently in the
great convention, sang some of the hymns to which
Miss Ames had often referred in her three weeks' ill-
ness. One of these was Cardinal Newman's exquisite
"Lead, Kindly Light," and another, "The Victory
Song of the W, C. T. U.," a jubilant note of triumph.
White-ribboners of Boston were present, filling the
parlors.
187
1 88 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
EVANSTON — REST COTTAGE.
When all was over, Miss Helen Hood and Miss
Bessie Gordon started together for the West, accom-
panying all that was mortal of their beloved white-
ribbon comrade. When the hearse and carriages
arrived at Rest Cottage in the gray evening, it was
illuminated in every part, and as the casket was
brought into the home Yolande loved so well, a
wreath of flowers was hung at the front door, tied
with white ribbon, and with no reminders of the im-
memorial mourning color that has so long belied our
Christian faith.
The casket stood in the bay-window of the middle
room, which was transformed into a bower of beauty
by wreathed smilax and exquisite flowers. At the
head and foot stood palms, emblems of victory ; the
casket was banked in flowers, sent by loving friends
so widely scattered as to speak of a love well-nigh uni-
versal. Upon it rested the ofierings of Re.st Cottage
friends, of her co-editors, of the Central Union, and
of Mrs. Carse, an exquisite tribute with the words,
"My Yolande." In front, the great cross of lilies
from I^ady Somerset leaned against the casket; near
by, stood the large floral scroll, appropriate testimonial
of the love borne her by the Woman's Temperance
Publishing Association, l^earing in purple letters on
the white ground, " Bereaved ; W. T. P. A." A great
bunch of roses spoke the affection of the compositors
who set the type for Miss Ames' departments in The
Union Signal. A Maltese cross of white, with the
purple letters, "I. H. N.," came from the King's
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAI.IST. 189
Daughters at the publishing house, whose president
she had been, and scores of other offerings made
beautiful the place of her rest.
White-ribboners of Chicago, including the entire
editorial staff of The Union Signal, Mrs. T. B. Carse
and the Executive Committee of the Chicago Central
Union, Mrs. Caroline B. Buell, Miss Esther Pugh, and
many others, were present by the impulse of a com-
mon sorrow. The W. C. T. U. of Evanston had been
specially invited, and the service was wholly in the
hands of the women who had long been Miss Ames'
most intimate friends and associates. It was unique,
but homelike and sweet beyond expression. We
could not help thinking that if she herself had
arranged it, not one detail would have been changed.
Its beauty would have delighted her artistic soul,
its tender homeliness satisfied her loving heart. Miss
West read from Yolande's Bible, favorite and com-
forting passages that were marked in the owner's
familiar hand. Standing with her hand upon the
casket, Mrs. Carse poured forth a prayer in which
faith triumphed over grief, and praise was blended
with petitions for strength to bear this crushing blow.
" In thy cleft, O Rock of Ages," was sung, and Miss
Willard, with emotion which she found it almost im-
possible to suppress, spoke as follows :
Many years ago I used to sit watching a famous
statue in the Vatican representing Antinous, the
beautiful youth, of whom critics say his head bent
because it was heavy with unshed tears. Tears lay
very near the surface with Yolande ; yet smiles were
nearest of all.
I go A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Somehow, as I think about her, how she loved us,
and how we loved her, it seems as if gravitation sets
toward yonder coffin, and it could n't be other than
beaiitiful to die— since Yolande died. She was so
homelike, she was so human, she was so delightful
every way. I asked several different women of ours,
who knew her well, to tell me in a word how they
would characterize her. One said, "You know she
was so handsome." Another said, "She was the
soul of winsomeuess." Another said, "I should
call her gracious. " And one who had known her in
the house these years, said, " I should sum it all up
in the word lovableness." I told Miss West some of
these characterizations a few minutes ago, and she
said, "I should say Yolande was gemiiyie.'" It is
greater to be genuine than anything else. It requires
a certain mental poise, a certain level-headed ness to
be true, clear-grained, grain of the wood polished by
God's providence, and no veneering about it. Yo-
lande was genuine. You could tie to her. What
she said, rang out like a gold coin on the counter.
She was steadfast and deep-natured as the tides of
the sea. She was loyal and faithful. She loved her
home. I have in mind a picture of each of her rela-
tives, though I saw but little of them. I know what
sort of people they are, and we have the highest
opinion of them from what Yolande said. I think
she was her father's own daughter ; she was in his
image and superscription. He is a great, broad char-
acter, tolerant, not a bit afraid of the next thing ;
born free, as Paul says. Yolande was tender, de-
voted toward her mother, her sisters, and to her little
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAI.IST. 191
nephews and nieces, and to all at home. I know
she had lofty ideals about what a home should be.
She believed in one standard for men and women.
She believed in the utmost purity and clarity of hab-
itude in the conduct of life. She was a loyal friend to
men, sisterly, kindly, with no little meanness of
remark about them, only a great sisterly heart that,
because she loved her own brothers, and was proud of
them, would reach out to everybody's brothers to
help make their lives pure and good, knowing the
greater temptations that they have to surmount.
Perhaps it was that, made her a temperance woman.
Of course she had always been one by habit. But I
mean this made her a worker along with us, a beauti-
ful, sunny young recruit that came with us who had
borne many years of the burden and heat of the day,
caught the step of the veterans, and kept time to the
company's music.
She was a radical in a good sense. She believed
in prohibition, in its most pronounced and largest
fulfillment.
She believed in women, and that the world would
be better, and happier, and richer when men and
women had more interests in common, more occupa-
tions in common, and when the great heart of home
went out into the world, since the homeless world had
needed it so long.
She looked up so much into heaven that I think
maybe she was a little weaned from this world, for in
the sky there are two hundred million stars. I think
she was smitten in her soul with the thirst for immor-
tality. And after all, beloved friends, there is nothing
192 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
else worth living for. If we are not immortal, if there
is not a great, free life as noble as the aspirations of
our hearts, as wondrous as the marvel of our brain, as
mighty as the faith that fastens itself on God, then we
are the greatest mockery that has been let loose to be
tormented by the highest aspiration.
To-night, the lines radiating from that coffin are
lines of love and inspiration that go to the uttermost
parts of the earth, and what we read in the Chicago
headlines, "Miss Ames is dead," will be translated
into forty languages and repeated in every nation of
the earth. Some bright journalist in the city said,
"Yolande, gifted, envied, honored, revered, beloved,
and dead at thirty." It has been given to no other
woman in America at that age to have made such a
record, and we white-ribboners know that she was
just upon the threshold. We felt her strength. I
used to say to her, ' ' When I am old and tremulous
and can't work any more, you will be in journal-
istic life, my strong staff", Yolande, and my beautiful
rod." I never was so grieved as that she has gone,
since my sister Mary went. We have stayed a little
longer. She has gone on along the beckoning vista.
We stay to put up the blinds, and fasten the door of
this frail, earthly cottage and shall follow on after
her. Who can tell how soon ?
But there was one who in all these years stood by,
and having done all, stood, and was with her when
Yolande said last Friday night, " I am slipping over
the brink." Helen L. Hood has been nearer to our
promoted one than anybody else, and her faithful-
ness is beyond all praise, not only in this crisis but
REST COTTAGE— FRONT VIEW.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 193
all the way along. Lovel}^ and pleasant in their
lives, I do not feel they are divided in the death of
one of them, but that in a deeper and a more endur-
ing sense they are together, one now the guardian
angel of her who, with her greater strength, guarded
so faithfully her younger comrade along these earthly
paths. The evening brings all home. You and I,
beloved, have just a little longer. God help us, by
our memory of this sweet, sisterly life, so modest
and so strong, to be ourselves more mellow-hearted
toward each other and toward everybody.
You have been down by this great lake of ours
and seen how the ship goes out and out, and sinks
and sinks, and after a while the white sail is seen no
more, and you say to yourself, "It is gone." But
no, it is not gone. That good ship had a captain,
and there was a hand upon the helm. They did not
notice that vanishing, artificial horizon ; that was
simply the place where your sight failed. And so
the beautiful life barque of our Yolande speeds on
over the rippling seas of eternity. The Captain of
our salvation gives the orders, the steady hand of her
own consecrated will is on the helm, and the sea
was never so fair, and the sky was never so bright
for her as now. So let us comfort one another with
these words, and be glad of immortality, and of all
those who have loved it, as all great souls have done.
And let us wait like a sentry on duty, listening for
the word of command in this brief, earthly battle, that
we may become skilled soldiers in the great unseen
battle of the forces of good, when, with no weariness
following our work, we are God's true, bright mes-
194 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
sengers to the suffering and bewildered of this world,
' ' for are they not all ministering spirits ? ' '
And so I say, Good-bye, my child, with your fair,
full brow, and your gracious, kind hand. I have
called you my child many a time with a love as great
as mothers feel. Good-bye, my comrade, faithful,
loyal, true. Good-bye, my fellow soldier, who
marched with us and grew weary on the way. You
will see us some day, shouldering up the heights of
immortality. How glad your face will be! And,
after my sister Mary, among all women that have
gone, I shall look first for Yolande ; and we will
meet her, you and I and all of us, "we'll meet her
in the morning." Good friend, great heart, gallant
leader, hail, and farewell !
At the close of the service, all rose, joined hands,
and sang, "Blest be the tie that binds," then
Miss Willard called on her mother to close with the
benediction. The dear old lady, who sat at the foot of
the coffin, rose, and going to its head, leaning over
and looking into the sweet face, said, " Our beloved
Yolande, in whatsoever land thou art, the Lord bless
thee and keep thee, the Lord make His face shine
upon thee, and be gracious unto thee ; the Lord lift
up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.
And may that peace be with us all, for Christ's sake.
Amen."
Thus ended this sweet, beautiful service, which
lifted the aching hearts out of the sorrow of parting,
into the very peace of God which passeth all under-
standing.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 95
The next morning at seven o'clock, a few friends
gathered at Rest Cottage, where Rev. H. A. Delano
offered prayer. As the coffin was borne out from
the door they sang, softly, " God be with you till we
meet again."
STREATOR. — SERMON BY FRANCES E. WILLARD.
Text: "Remember uow thy Creator in the days of thy
youth." *
Beloved and bereft ones, neighbors and friends :
" Take my life aud let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee."
A handsome girl of twenty- two, .softly struck har-
monious chords of the piano in our quiet parlor, and
in her rich, contralto voice, sang these sweet words
by Frances Ridley Havergal. vSoon a deeper voice
joined hers, and her generous, faithful friend, Helen
L. Hood, sang with our Julia Ames the whole hymn
through. This was music we were sure to hear at
Rest Cottage every Sunday for six serene and blessed
years, now sorrowfully ended. Going to Chicago
early every morning, and coming home weary every
night, these two had little time for singing, but their
pleasant voices were sure to be heard on Sunday —
often early in the morning— and our beautiful praise
and prayer service in the evening, of which they were
central figures, lingers in my memory like the chimes
of tuneful bells. Without attempting any analysis or
* The asterisks denote omissiou of passages given elsewhere in ihe
book.
196 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
exegesis of my text, I shall endeavor to present an
illustration of its fulfillment in the life and character
of my beloved younger sister, Julia Ames.
St. Augustine said : "Thou hast made us for
Thyself and our hearts are restless till they rest in
Thee." As the bird must have the air, as the fish
must have the sea, or else they can not live, so our
bright, genial, great-hearted Yolande knew that her
soul could live only in God.
The blank pages of her Bible are nearly covered
with extracts that reveal in fresh, unhacknej^ed ways,
her memory of her Creator. These are among them :
"Say j^^ to God , that's consecration.
Hannah Whitall Smith."
Rest Cottage, Aug. 29, 1SS6.
"Be ambitiously, positively, eagerly good, and eternity
shall yet open around you as the only sufficient field for such
a life as yours, Phillips Brooks."
"Do daily and hourly your dutj- ; do it patiently and thor-
oughly ; do it as it presents itself: do it at the moment and let
it be its own reward. Never mind whether it be known and
acknowledged, or not, but do not fail to do it.'"
"All before us lies the way ; give the past unto the wind '
" He who desires perfection, and has begun the struggle
which is never to be given up until he has won perfection — he
has already the power of perfection in his heart."
And this, from Robert Browning, also shows that
wistfulness of nature known only to the nearest and
most comprehending among her vast and varied circle
of friends :
"The high that proved too hij^li,
The heroic for earth too hard,
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 1 97
The passion that left the earth
To lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God
By the lover and the bard ;
Enough that He heard it once,
IVe shall hear it by and by ! "
Emerson says there is no meeting so high as of
two in one thought. With Miss Ames I constantly
shared this experience, for we both greatly loved to
give and take in the good things of the spirit. Times
without number she sought my study (the quiet,
upstairs " Den," forever dearer now because so much
she loved it), and with that bright, arch look of
hers, said: " I saved this to read to you." Perhaps
it was a bit of verse from a newspaper corner, per-
haps a noble poem from The Ce7itury or The Atlantic^
perhaps a great speech pregnant with hopes for dear
humanity ; a sermon by some God-smitten man or
woman ; a character-study by some skilled word-
painter, who caught on the canvas of sympathy a
great soul's lineaments. She was a devoted lover of
Robert and Elizabeth Browning, and was better versed
in their writings than those of any other immortals.
One of her latest favorites was L,ucy Larcom's little
book, entitled " As It Is in Heaven," in which, best
of all, she loved the chapter called "The Threefold
Cord." A few sentences will reveal much of her
heart :
No two imperfect beings can form a perfect friendship.
But let them be united in the love of another, a perfect Being —
there is but One such — and their friendship is firm as eternity.
All love is of God. Every true friend is a glimpse of God.
The affection that leaves Him out, loses its divinest sweetness.
198 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
No friend is truly known or loved until loved and known in
(;od.
The threefold cord has not shown its strength until it has
wound itself around the great, lonely heart of humanity, bind-
ing it to each separate heart, and drawing all together upward
and homeward.
The love that enlargeth not its borders, that is not ever
spreading and including and deepening, will contract, shrivel,
die. That we are the sons and daughters of God, born from
His heart, the outcoming offspring of His love, is a bond closer
than all other bonds in one.
In God alone can man meet man.
We all belong to each other, but friendship is the especial
accord of one life with a kindred life.
We tremble at the threshold of any new friendship with
awe, and wonder and fear, lest it should not be real ; or, believ-
ing that it is, lest we should prove ourselves unworthy of this
solemn and holy contract of life with life, of soul with soul.
We can not live unworthy lives in the constant presence of
noble beings to whom we belong, who believe that we are at
least endeavoring after nobleness.
Who can question the personal being of God, when the
most heavenly minded persons we know are only great and
beautiful to us because they always suggest the presence of
some One greater and purer, and more beautiful than them-
selves — some kinder person who is their inspiration— to whom
their whole beings bow in allegiance ?
We say there are no separations in heaven ; neither are
there in the heavenly places of earth.
The loftiest test of friendship -understood as companiou-
ship^is the powertodo without it. We do not yield the friend-
ship, but we must again and again forego the companionship.
The best proof of our love for a la-'ge. unselfish nature, is
that we are growing larger and more unselfish ourselves.
Miss Ames was a notable admirer. She loved to
praise ; she walked through her beautiful 3'ears like
Aurora, with the sunu)' hours for her maids of honor.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 199
Her letters from Europe are of no common order.
Her exalted spirit echoed the inspiring words,
"Earth with her thousand voices praises God."
Miss Ames was born with her face to the future.
New departures did not frighten her. She was a
stalwart, and fought on the picket line of progress.
She took each incoming billow of the great tides on
the tempestuous ocean of reform, as a strong swimmer
takes the waves.
She was a woman of unbounded steadfastness. I
have personally known but one other who seemed to
me her equal in this rarest and most royal quality.
She had an anchored nature ; when she loved, she
loved ; when she gave a promise, she kept it ; when
she made up her mind, it was made up. Her percep-
tion of character was intuitive, friendly and final.
Perhaps this integrity of intellect and intense, intrin-
sic loyalty of heart made her too severe upon those
wayward, average mortals who "continue not in one
stay." Some would call this a fault, but that it was
among her highest virtues others would maintain.
The other fault was that our dear one did not take
care of her health. Like most young women of
abounding vitality, she seemed unconscious of her
limitations in respect to physical endurance. Others,
she thought, must be careful to wear overshoes, but
not she ; others must not sit up late, but she could
burn the midnight oil ; others must wrap up well
when they went out, but she ' ' could stand any kind
of weather" ; others must be careful about their diet,
but she could eat all things with ftnpunity. Some of
us think that if she had been as wise in her precau-
200 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
tions here as she was in all things else, her home and
the great cause that had her utmost homage would
not have lost so early this incomparable ally.
She worked too hard, for she was one of those who
could "toil terribly"; all of us in Rest (less) Cottage
are busy folk, but we stop with the darkness — and
Yolande went on. She said her " bright hours were
her dark ones."
Like the rest of our white-ribbon leaders, Miss
Ames had little opportunity to meet her friends save
in the work itself. Social to a degree unknown but
to the most richly endowed natures, she fed her great
heart from the springs of loving comradeship in daily
work.
* * * * * *
I do not believe a being lives who ever saw her
without pleasure, or who did not wish her well, and
her kindness to the lower orders of creation merited
for her the beautiful compliment paid to the Southern
politician, Alexander Stephens, by his colored valet,
who said :
" Mas'r Alick's as kind to dogs as most folks is to
men ! ' '
She could no more come into a room and not be
noticed than could the sunshine or a full-blown rose.
We all perceived that she was growing daily to be
a great soul. Such must have humor no less than
pathos, power balanced by repose. Such must not
have petty ways; must not "take umbrage," nor
make an issue over trifles. They must let every clock
tick on until it has ticked out, and themselves only
chime the full, sweet hours, with voices musical and
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 20I
soothing. They must have a divine, not a human
curiosity, never resting until they have traced their
principles back to the heart of God. They must have
a divine, not a human discontent ; a wistful ness that
finds its rest alone in Christ and His gospel. All this
we, her fond elders, saw was coming to Yolande Ames.
She was steadily taking on soul. Some natures only
absorb and others only radiate — hers did both.
What she got she gave. More and more, as the years
passed, it became her delight to do for other people.
At first, I did not see this trait so strongly, but in the
last years I have thought her well described by those
rare lines in which James Russell Lowell celebrates
the woman he loved best:
" She doeth little kindnesses
That most leave undone or despise,
And naught that sets one heart at ease,
Or giveth happiness or peace,'
Is low esteemed in her eyes.
And deeds of week-day holiness
Glide from her, noiseless as the snow,
Nor hath she ever chanced to know
That aught were easier than to bless "
Take an illustration given by one of her sister
editors. Their offices were near, but their work alto-
gether separate. One day last summer Julia went to
her, and, standing by her desk, said : " We all lead
lives so busy here that I have thought we often fail
to speak the good we think, and I just came in to-day
to say ^ I love you.' "
"In all her relations to the publishing house,"
says one of its workers, "I am impressed with
202 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAI.IST.
her pen'asiveness. I mean that everybody loved
her."
Humanly speaking, women may congratulate
themselves that they have been the most potent force
in the development of her harmonious character.
Mrs. L. H. Plumb, vice-president of one of
Streator's leading banks, was the crusade leader in
Yolande's native town, and though the latter was
but fourteen years old, and a student in the high
school, she found time to help her brave friend to the
utmost in that great movement.
Prof. Susan Fr}-, who had the Chair of English
Literature in Illinois Wesley an University, more than
any other, aroused the aspiration and moulded the
taste of this remarkable young woman.
Mrs. Elizabeth Wheeler Andrew, that fine spirit
touched to the finest issues, with whom she was
closely associated ■ in editorial work, the two coming
and going together daily on the suburban trains
between Chicago and Evanston, was a wonderfully
close friend, who spurred the young journalist to her
more than level best.
My mother's life and character stood for much in
summing up the culture of these last six years. Her
own daughter could not have been more loyal to this
revered household saint than were the two friends.
Helen and Yolande.
The self-less life of Anna Gordon, with its un-
obtrusive but unceasing commentary on the Golden
Rule, could by no means be lost on a nature so
impressionable and eager for the best in character
and life.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 203
The Bible Readings of Miss Elizabeth Scovel
made a profound impression on Miss Ames, and
deepened her spirituality in a marked degree.
Many a time has she said to me in the last >ears,
with the most thoughtful look I ever saw in that most
thoughtful face, " If I live, I shall some day be an
evangelist ; God is sending me His call," and I was
wont to answer: "My own deepest desire is the
same. Perhaps, when the Hall opens in the Temple,"
and there are daily evangelistic services, we shall
both give ourselves up to that blessed vocation."
Then her full-orbed smile showed how her heart
loved this beautiful and sacred hope.
"Tell me my faults," was a phrase ever upon
Yolande's lips. " I would weed out my vocabulary
as men weed out a flower garden ; I will not be the
bondslave of bad grammar, incorrect pronunciation,
underdone manners or any other evil, for that would
spoil the vines of my culture — for these vines have
tender grapes." Thus was she wont to speak.
Although she had graduated from the high school, <
taken a goodly portion of the college course at
Bloomington and the diploma of the Chicago School
of Oratory, Miss Ames had a very humble opinion
of her acquisitions. It was perhaps because she was
great-natured enough to have had a glimpse of what
Socrates meant when he said to his pupils : " There
is but one difference between us ; you who know
nothing imagine yourselves wise, but I, being igno-
rant, am aware of it."
In view of the fact that such a standard historic
work as " Hallam's Middle Ages," is said to have
204 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNAI,IST.
not fewer than three hundred errors in grammar, and
that hardly a distinguished man or woman goes
through an address without a misquotation or a mis-
pronunciation, it does no injustice to the rare oppor-
tunities enjoyed by Miss Ames as a student, to
emphasize her special studies in English. The desk
at which I sit in the friendly " Den " at home, which
was Yolande's best-loved retreat, has many a cabal-
istic sign that stood to us as token of mutual efforts
at improvement in many ways. She was a joj-ous,
whole-hearted companion, throwing her abounding
spirits into every undertaking, whether it were a pro-
nouncing match, or a bicycle lesson ; a meeting of
our Rest Cottage Club, "The Optimists," or the
' ' working up " of a symposium for The Union
Signal.
Mrs. Carse, Miss West and I met Miss Ames at
the Lake Bluflf convention in 1S85. We urged her to
"come awa' " from further 3^ears of self-culture and
to give her young energies to the good cause that she
had loved from childhood and in whose crusade Pen-
tecost, her first baptism of service had come.
She attended our National W. C. T. U. conven-
tion in Philadelphia that autumn, — and the fricnd-
.ship which there sprang up between herself and Miss
Hood clinched the nail of a sure purpose already
driven by conscience and conviction. Six siiperb
years of service followed. First of all, Yolande
became local superintendent of Press Work for
Chicago, opening to us the columns of the great
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 205
newspapers as if by magic ; then she was made
National Superintendent, and her systematic plans
radiated out over the whole great field; then "the
powers that be " saw in her a born journalist of the
managerial order, and she was made assistant on The
Union Signal staff; later, she assumed the duties of
editor-in-chief for well-nigh a year (1889 -go), since
which time she has been co-editor of our official
organ. Her wide outlook, her journalistic pre-
science, her systematic ways, discriminating taste,
considerate style of speech and correspondence, strong,
winsome ways, won for the paper a host of friends
and helped to build for it firmer foundations. In
1S89 Miss Ames went with Mrs. Frances J. Barnes,
by appointment of the National W. C. T. U., as
fraternal delegate to the annual May meeting of the
British Women's Temperance Association. She there
won all hearts by her genial strength of intellect and
sympathy. The address made by her on " How to
Reach the Press," led the newly-elected president,
Lady Henry Somerset, whose vivid and orderly mind
perceived its value, to arrange for a Press department
for Great Britain. A strong and tender comradeship
developed between these two bright young spirits, re-
sulting in an invitation on Lady Henr>-'s part to Miss
Ames to visit her at Eastnor Castle. When Lady
Henry and Mrs. Hannah Whitall Smith arrived in
New York City in October last. Miss Ames and Anna
Gordon met them at the wharf. A meeting was
arranged in Washington, chiefly by Miss Ames, and
proved to be a great event, as it was the closing even-
ing of the Ecumenical Council, which adjourned in
206 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
time to give the Metropolitan Church for an address
by our distinguished guest.
Coming home, Miss Ames threw herself with
ardor into preparations for the World's and National
conventions at Boston, November 10-18. As Na-
tional Press Superintendent, to which office she was
again elected by the Atlanta convention of 1890, she
brought out a tasteful illustrated volume of a hundred
pages, entitled " Thumb-nail Sketches of White Rib-
boners," for the use of the press in writing up the
convention. She was taken ill the first week in
November, and her nearest friends did their best to
dissuade her from going to Boston, but she thought
she should soon be better, hoped that change of air
and scene might prove to be just what she needed.
Arriving November 9th, she went through the
World's convention in Faneuil Hall, helpful to the
last degree in her editorial duties and as a "general
utility" member of the management. She was
chosen chairman of the Committee on Courtesies,
upon which she had served to charming acceptance
at the Atlanta gathering, and her last public work
was making out a list of all the World's and Fra-
ternal delegates and distinguished visitors, on the
first day of the convention. I remember how she
marshaled that long line of remarkable men and
women, presenting them to me with so much intel-
ligence, clearness and dispatch, that without loss of
time or any break in the proceedings, I was able in
turn to present them to the great audience.
She was ill, then, but her indomitable purpose
and enthusiasm carried her forward — alas ! too
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 207
bravely. Great-hearted friend, she so loved Lady
Henry Somerset and me that she thought she must
be present when our beloved guest gave the annual
sermon on Sunday to the overwhelming crowd at
Tremo-nt Temple. She was ill all day Monday, but
she insisted on going to the banquet to three thou-
sand guests in Music Hall, because we were both to
respond to toasts. At midnight she went home ter-
ribly ill. The next morning Miss Hood carried her
to the Boston Homeopathic Hospital by order of her
physician, Dr. Caroline Hastings, one of the most
skillful practitioners in that city of distinguished
women physicians.
Here, on the following Sunday, I saw her for the
last time. In a large, sunny, southeast room, with
pictures, flowers and pleasant looks of home, I found
her with that most generous and faithful of all
friends. Miss Hood ; beside her. Dr. Hastings and her
partner. Dr. Julia M. Plummer, in attendance, and
a winsome Scotch lassie for her trained nurse.
I had been to lunch with the people's poet-
laureate, John Greenleaf Whittier, and brought back
to Julia some fruit and a lovely book by him. She
looked very ill, I thought. "Doctor, this fever
swoops down on me like a cyclone," she said, piti-
fully. I smoothed the broad, full brow and said,
" We are all praying for you, my child." " The
fever makes me live in a world bj'- myself," she
murmured. " I seem to be speaking to you from
a distance." "Yes I know what that is," I
answered, "for the only settled illness of my life
was typhoid fever when I was nineteen, but I've
208 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
been better and stronger ever since, as I hope j-ou
will be." She smiled faintly and said, "Tell your
dear mother I ask her to pray for me," and added
with that curiously characteristic nod of the head,
' ' and she'll do it, too, I know. ' '
I knelt beside her, holding that dear, loyal hand
that had brought me only blessings, and prayed for
her with all my heart. Rising to go, I said, "It is
so safe to leave ourselves with God," and pictured to
her what I hoped would be the home-coming to Rest
Cottage, so dearly loved by her, and the evening
talks and studies in the "Den." And so, smiling
into her beautiful face, now swollen and flushed with
fever, and with a tugging of the heart that I dared
not reveal, I passed out of our beloved Yolande's
sight, her kind ej^es fixed on me and her deep voice
slowly saying, " I can't bear to see you going away
from me. Chieftain."
Fourteen days they watched her there, those
skilled physicians, and loving friends. She talked of
the scenes that she knew best and latest ; in intervals
of clearer understanding she sang, " lycad, Kindly
Light" and the matchless "Victory" that had so
thrilled our hearts in the convention, with other
hymns she loved. She talked of Christ and His
great power. She suffered little pain and was per-
fectly patient and lovable, as always. The fever
began to fall away ; our letters w^ere full of hope ;
they thought they would return to us by the New
Year. But after twenty-seven days in the hospital,
about ten o'clock on Friday night, December ii, the
fatal hemorrhage set in and three hours later she
'^mn4,Uik(JU9.Ji^
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 209
sank to rest after saying wearily to her physicians,
" I feel my feet slipping over the brink," and when
our devoted Helen Hood knelt beside her saying,
" Yolande, is n't it all victory through Christ?"
looking at her with eternity's great sunrise smile
upon the face we all so loved.
Happy the father and mother of such a child ;
happy the brothers and sisters who have her memory
for their richest heritage, and the little children of
their households who found in their joyous "Aunt
Jule" such a playfellow and friend.
She was a cosmopolitan in sympathy and culture,
a Methodist in creed, a loyal disciple of Christ, a lov-
ing sister to
" The great humanity that beats
Its life along the stony streets."
In August last, by my invitation, confirmed by the
National W. C. T. U., Miss Ames went with me as
fraternal delegate to the twenty-first, annual meeting
of the Catholic Total Abstinence Society. We made
the overtures and our brothers and sisters received
us with the utmost consideration and good will. The
bright presence and womanly sweetness of Yolande
lent a charm to our embassy and did not a little to
help make it the great success it was.
A young Catholic journalist in Boston who was
present at the simple service conducted by our be-
loved Dr. Gordon, in Dr. Hastings' home, was so
impressed by that calm young face in the cofi&n, that
2IO A YOUNG WOMAX JOURNALIST.
she said, "I'm going straight to church to have a
mass said for the repose of her sweet soul."
The white-ribbon woman who is janitor of the
People's Church in Boston, and who was doorkeeper
at our late convention, took off her badge and tied
it on the wooden box that contained Julia's casket as
it stood on the platform ready for the western train.
Lady Henry Somerset, who knows the world's
greatest and best, loved her so much that she offered
to cancel all her engagements and go to the hospital
to take care of her.
Nobody does things like these, except for love,
and no heart draws out love save one that gives it in
unstinted measure.
Streator sent forth to the world this gifted girl
who in six years achieved in character and work
what might well have claimed half a century, and
promised, had she lived so long, a goodness and a
greatness unexcelled by any woman of her time. If
you have others like her, the world's heartaches will
be helped by them. May the heavenly inspirations
of this golden winter day, of this hallowed service,
of that eloquent coffin, stir some youthful heart to
strive for the impossible best, and the unattainable
perfect, as gloriously as did she who plumed her
flight, five days ago, for her native climate of
heaven. The night before she died she said to
Helen Hood (as she had done before), "Please raise
the curtain, I want to look at Christ." There on
the front of a great church, flooded by moonlight,
stood Thorwaldsen's statue of the Master. Long and
silently she gazed, while her consecrated soul was
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 211
lifted up to Him who said : " He that believeth on
me shall never taste of death." Oh, that Christ may
be to every one of us as from her earliest childhood
He was to her, the sole star of our destiny.
Mrs. Mary A. Livermore was present at the
funeral of Miss Ames, and made an impassioned
address which she was asked to write out, but she
replied, "It came of its own free will, and it is
gone forever." She told what she knew of the
noble purpose that guided the active intellect now
translated from this world. She declared that her
young- friend was a stalwart of the stalwarts ;
that her devotion to the great work of temperance
and woman was sublime, and that the results which
followed her efforts would forever be a stimulus to
the temperance workers who are to come after her.
She said if she could put to her lips the trumpet of
the immortals, she would waft to onr beloved Yo-
lande the words, " Thou hast triumphed gloriously."
^xiWtt^.
[The following are selected from the many tributes sent by
loving friends. Lack of space forbids the publication of all,
but they are treasured with tender appreciation by those who
received them. — Ed.]
BON VOYAGE.
;N the early spring of 1890 Miss Wil-
lard wrote, " Miss Ames is going
to Europe on a vacation this sum-
mer. If we can arrange for her to
leave here in May, how would you
like to have her for a companion and sis-
ter-delegate to the annual meeting of the
British Women's Temperance Associa-
tion ? ' ' adding, ' ' You know what a test to friendship
a foreign trip is." The reply that immediately arose
in my heart and was forwarded without delay, was
this, " Delighted with the prospect of such a pleasant
companion. Do plan, if possible, for Miss Ames to
sail with me May 7."
At this time my acquaintance with Miss Ames
was very slight. We had only met at National con-
ventions, where there had never been opportunity
for more than a passing word ; but I knew from
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 213
her genial smile and gracious bearing that I had
nothing to fear and much to enjoy in the close asso-
ciation anticipated. And I was not disappointed.
Of the many special blessings that attended my sum-
mer abroad, I count the voyage across the Atlantic,
the visit to England, Scotland and Ireland in com-
pany with Miss Ames, among the chiefest. To think
over our experiences, and the happy hours spent to-
gether, is like taking down a treasured volume filled
with precious sentiments and graphic illustrations.
My journal and home letters contain many allusions
to the name of "Yolande," and are filled with inci-
dents which came to us during the first weeks spent
in Great Britain, and the last week, when we were
there together.
Miss Ames' high standard for herself in speaking
and writing seemed to prevent her from even making
an attempt ; with a musical, cultured voice, and
natural gifts as a writer, it was almost impossible to
induce her to speak in public or even to write a
paper. Knowing her capability I felt an intense de-
sire that she should present to our British sisters the
plan of Press Work which had been so largely her
own in this country, and which she had so faithfully
put into practice. She also felt that there was a need
and an opening for some work in this line, but it was
only after the utmost persuasion that she was pre-
vailed upon to prepare and read the " Paper on Press
Work" at the Conference of the British Women's
Temperance Association held at the Headquarters,
Farringdon Street Hall, June 26. I quote the follow-
ing from a home letter :
214 ^ YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
' ' Met ' Yolande' at the Hall at three ; Lady Henry
Somerset presided. We were so glad to see her again.
Hannah W. Smith was also there with her cordial
words and dear, good face. Miss Ames' excellent
paper was well received, and the discussion afterwards
showed real interest, w^iich resulted in appointing
Mrs. Ward-Poole Superintendent of Press Work.
This was just what Miss Ames wanted. I was so
glad I had insisted on Yolande's paper coming first ;
after it, followed the hour given to Young Women's
Work, and it was announced that Lady Henry had
accepted the Superintendency. All seemed satisfied
with the Conference, for which we felt relieved and
thankful."
Immediately following this meeting Miss Ames
left London to join Mrs. Willard's party for the jour-
ney on the continent and we did not meet until the
last of August, in Paris ; we were together again
in London before sailing, when one of the happy
events was the visit to the home of Wm. T. Stead,
the editor of the Reviezv of Reviews, at Wimbledon.
Miss Ames, through a long editorial correspondence
with Mr. Stead, had come to know him quite well,
and seemed to revel in the congenial atmosphere of
his pleasant English home. She paid kindliest at-
tention to Mrs. Stead, whom she likened to a sweet
English violet, she swung with the children in the
swing suspended from a grand old oak in the garden,
and laughed over the stuffed, muzzled lion which
would still roar, that had been presented to Mr. Stead
by the employes of the Pall Mall Gazette when he
was in prison. I like to think of how radiant she
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 2 15
was that evening, and how intensely interested in
Mr. Stead's book on Ober-Ammergau, and in his
plans for bringing out the American edition of the
Review of Reviews.
It is impossible to suppress the thought or the
question that arises, as to what her young life might
have been, what heights she might have attained had
God seen fit to perfect the life here. The half-blown
fragrant rose was gathered before it could be blighted,
or fade, or wither. We must rejoice in its promise,
and rest satisfied that its unfolding was in the hands
of the Heavenly Husbandman.
In an old cemetery at Baden-Baden there is a
beautiful monument to Queen* Victoria's half sister,
the Princess Hohenlohe. It was designed by one of
her sons, and consists of a high, white marble cross,
against which leans a lovely female figure in an
attitude of repose that would suggest sorrow ; but
the fine face turned heavenward seems illuminated,
and as one gazes admiringly the interpretation comes.
It is the representation of Eternal Hope.
Such, now, it seems to me, must be the counte-
nance of our translated friend ; the brief journey of
life is over, like the summer vacation across the seas,
and there in the safe harbor she watches for the white
sails of the coming fleet, which one by one enter the
port after a bon voyage.
New York City. Frances J. Barnes.
No truer word did Miss Willard speak than when
she said of Yolande, ' ' Her thirst for knowledge was
2l6 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
only excelled by her thirst for goodness." No one
knew this better than I, for how often did she pour
out to me her wishes, her aspirations toward
the highest ideals, and beg me to aid her in the
things in which she thought me able to give her
help.
She now sees "face to face." How well I re-
member two 5'ears ago, when, in conversation con-
cerning the holiest spiritual things, she cried, out of
her inmost longing, " IVou/d that I could have one
glimpse of Jesus ! ' ' She has known long since the
blessedness of realizing the promise, " They shall see
His face." What must this be to her ! Hundreds of
memories crowd upon me to-day of her goodness,
gentleness, thoughtfulness for others, affection, eager
aspiration, and spiritualit}-. Hour after hour these
beautiful remembrances have trooped by me to-day in
endless procession, like angelic visitants. She had
the deepest conviction that she was destined to die
young, and often spoke of this to me, always adding,
'* I have no dread of death whatever, and it does not
trouble me in the least to know that my earthly life
will be short." At one time she spoke to me of
dreaming that a voice said to her in clear, solemn
tones, over and over, " Eternity ! Eternity ! " And
when she told me, she said, " It means what I have
often told you." For days after this she said to me,
every now and then, " Mrs. Andrew, I hear that word
reverberating in my ears, and waking my whole soul
to be ready.'' I saw the word written on the backs of
envelopes and slips of paper on her desk several times
during this period, and was thrilled at the sight, for it
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 21 7
showed me how her whole thought and even her un-
conscious action were filled by it.
Elizabeth Wheeler Andrew.
Calcutta, India.
It will be a long time before we cease to miss her
smiling face and her almost invariable greeting as
she came into the composing-room : "Well, how is
everything ? ' '
Mrs. a. E. Pratt.
(Make-up of The Union Signal.)
I like best to remember Julia Ames in her hours
of recreation. Had such hours been less rare the
golden bowl might not so soon have been broken.
Natures like hers do not long endure in the tread-
mill of business, where duty requires conformity to the
plummet and line of regular hours and measured pro-
duction. Theirs are better gifts and higher talent
than can be put to use in any ''office" — save the
tender offices of home, whose warmth is their native
air, where they unfold beauty in the sunshine of love,
bending to every breeze of joy, and giving out the
balm of unselfishness to make all around them hap-
pier and holier. Such women are cut closest to God's
pattern of womanhood, and so I fill to the brim the
largest cup of praise in saying, " Miss Ames was a
sweet home woman ! "
Numerous temperance pilgrims, visiting the shrine
of their national paper — The Union ^/^wa/— immedi-
ately recognized her social talent and marked her as
hostess. She was too genial ever to have a "busy
2l8 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
day," and so it came to pass that copy and proof
pressed upon the hours when others ate and slept.
Luncheon at her desk, with a sandwich in one hand
and a "galley proof" in the other, was so frequent as
almost to be the rule. I tried to be a sort of Fresh
Air Mission to her, and when I succeeded in coaxing
her away for a little while was richly repaid, for she
was charming to rest with.
My part of this composite photograph shall be a
glimpse of her in one of these outings. It was the
occasion of unveiling General Grant's monument in
Lincoln Park, October 7, 1891. The Army of the
Tennessee and the Grand Army of other states
were in the city. Street-cars of every kind had been
taken off to give right of way to the procession, while
the sidewalks teemed with non-military folk. Into
this hot tide of hero- worshipers we plunged, feeling
ourselves part of it. After "marching with the pro-
cession " half a mile, we turned into a shop owned by
a German friend of ours, to see the pageant pass.
There, like school-girls, we stood upon chairs just
outside the door, eating apples offered by our gener-
ous host— exchanging thought and word as the
human kaleidoscope went by. In such a scene the
little touches that make us all akin are numberless,
and she was alive to all. One feature of the parade
was a bwgade of policemen, eight hundred strong,
nearly every man leveling up to the stature of six feet.
As they passed she spoke her sympathy with my
work for drinking men in Bethesda Mission, and
said : " I have always thought that some time I shall
do something of that kind, and I want it to be for
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 219
policemen" ; and as we talked, I learned it was an
idea she had long cherished.
Miss Ames looked upon that day as a forecast of
the great days of the World's Fair, in which she was
much interested. This was her opportunity to speak
of what she had previously hinted, as a " pet scheme"
to be unfolded as soon as we could talk it over ; so
she told me her desire that I should be World's Fair
correspondent for The Unioii Signal, which she be-
lieved could do nothing better for its twin causes,
temperance and women, than to give large space to
the great world's tournament of industry. "I am a
perfect enthusiast about the opportunities there will
be for doing temperance work and helping women,"
she said. She had bought two large scrap-books, ex-
pecting to fill them with current matter, in order to
have such a history of the development of the Colum-
bian Exposition as could only be obtained from the
flash light observations of newspaper correspondents
at every stage.
Passing a confectionery shop on our return, she
announced with merry twinkle of eyes and twist of
mouth, "I'm going to treat. What will you have ? ''
That was the last of sweets together. I never again
saw her "with shoulder-straps off," until I looked
upon the still, white coat of mail laid aside by the
gentle warrior as she entered the heavenly ranks, to
march by higher harmony to greater victory than is
known to earthly soldiers of the cross.
Bessie V. Cushman.
Chicago, III.
220 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Ofttimes along the "many years" have I been
called upon to lay away the young and lovely of my
own family, and to offer sympathy to others in like
bereavement. Now I come softly with dear white-
ribbon sisters, to lay a fresh garland of love and ten-
der admiration upon the memory of our own precious
Julia Ames.
To me she was an inspiration : her face so attract-
ive, her form so assuring of health and success in all
undertakings, and the sweet fragrance of her affec-
tionate nature so touching, that memory calls up
most readily each incident of past association with
her, each new token of affection and respect, each
generous action.
So much has been said and written that it only
remains for me to say — / sorely miss her — for even
her business notes, (often much hurried) were fra-
grant with the sweet kindness of her heart and
I always felt happier for having received them. I
thank the dear Father for the blessed privilege of
meeting "Julia" in Boston at our grand convention,
for the loving interchange of thought, and for sym-
pathetic relation of past experiences ; for the precious
opportunity of sending the dear sufferer a fragrant
token of my overflowing heart-sympathy, when she
was no longer able to see me.
" Rest iu peace, thou geutle spirit.
Throned above, —
Souls like thine with God inherit
Life and love ! "
Eliza J. Thompson.
Hillsboro, Ohio.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 221
Just a few weeks ago we came with our tears and
our lilies and roses, hyacinths and violets, a tribute to
the lovable girl who had been so suddenly called from
us. That she "was not," was all we realized that
day ; we could not comprehend the great blank in
our circle, the great void in our hearts.
We were just facing that question of the ages,
asked anew by her little nephew, "Mamma, what
did God take out of Auntie Du and take up to
heaven ? ' '
To-day we come with the tribute of the bay leaf
and the palm branch, and " pansies for thoughts, " —
the appreciation for a beautiful life and the incentive to
other girls to make their lives felt. We know better
to-day what we have lost, and with sore and bur-
dened hearts tell where we miss her, that others may
take heart. I think of my first meeting with her,
and how, in my jealousy for our beloved Union
Sigyial, I watched her to see whether behind that
young, bright, beautiful face there was power for her
responsible position. Just one little remark, casually
made, set me at rest and I saw the hands were strong
enough for the burden. She was that rare character,
a born editor. A fine writer, she always shrank from
writing, leaving it to older, more experienced pens ;
but her keen discrimination, her sound judgment and
her strong good sense, gave quick insight into the
suitabilities of material ; and her unfailing sunny
temper and kindly courtesy made it impossible for
an author to resist her appeals for some specialty
which she discerned was needed.
222 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Untiring, indefatigable, conscientious, her con-
stant aim was to make of her part in The Union
Signal all that was needed for its grand constituency,
ever to lift it to the highest planes and the broadest
outlook, and she always walked with clearest integ-
rity and highest sense of honor.
But those of us who lived nearest her, love best the
home and social side, the quick flash of wit, the
thousand and one expressions of constant aff'ection,
the little "domesticities" which could be accorded
to such a busy life. From these, I can not lift the
veil ; the memories are too tender, the sense that in
these places she is ever beyond our ken and call,
gives such a heartache that I can not tell of them.
She enriched all lives that she touched. How much
this is to say of a life which went out in the early
morning, with all the dew and freshness of her girl-
hood upon it ! The years of my friendship and love
shall be laid away in the lavender of those things
which I desire to keep forever, to which I turn for
comfort and hope in weariness and disappointment.
. Her Christian faith was always reverent, hopeful
and deeply rooted — the daily walk, the marked Bible
evidence this. To the natural, most attractive
endowments was added the crowning glory of life
early dedicated to Christ, and thus the years so few
were rounded up to' completion, and the cycle so
soon run, filled the measure that for so many requires
far greater span. She realized " all things are yours,
and ye are Christ's and Christ is God's."
Esther Pugh.
Evansioii, III.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 223
HIS MEANING.
What could it mean ? On the joy of our day
This swift gloom of night !
Can He mean us to work, or to think or to pray,
With her face out of sight f
Had He need of an angel, gracious and fair,
To wait near heaven's door,
To welcome the pilgrims entering there?
Ah, we needed her more !
What NEED in a land of such blessed release
From all sorrow and ache.
Of the voice and the touch that were comfort and peace
To hearts here that break ?
Could it be that up yonder, the souls true and strong,
Their earth conflicts o'er —
Caught the thrill from afar of our battle with wrong.
And longed to know more ?
Could it be that those angelic forces of God,
Aye seeking new grace.
Could be stirred by her tale of the ways we had trod.
And the light in her face ?
And throbbing and thrilling with news of our strife
For the tempted and lost.
Would rally all powers of the heavenly life
To help our " great host " ?
God knows ! If upon us fell power from on high
To strive and. to pray,
224 ^ YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
If, eacli even, the banner we fling to the sky
Marked a conquering day —
It forces unseen and divine held us up
When strength was nigh spent.
Our lips would find sweet e'en the dregs of this cup-
We should know what He meant.
Mary Lowe Dickinson.
New York City.
I think Miss Ames, as she passed away, must
have been in some such frame of mind as the good
Quaker woman, who being asked if she had made
her peace with her Maker, replied : "I am not aware
that there has been any trouble." Goodness was her
normal state, or, at least, a state in which she luxu-
riated, as a tropical plant luxuriates, all the year
round. She was the embodiment of so many moral
graces that she seemed the queen and priestess of
grace itself. And now that she has become a ' ' par-
taker of the inheritance ' ' reserved for such as she, it
seems not irreveirent or sentimental to think and say —
though our eyes are not permitted to see it — " How
well the halo becomes her."
It was my privilege for a period of several years
to meet her almost dailj'. The details of work in
the publication house with which we were both asso-
ciated, frequently brought us together. Her executive
skill and able judgment, often in matters for which
experience had not trained her, were a continual
surprise to me. I think she was a journalist by
instinct. Her equanimity was a perpetual marvel,
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST, 225
her courteousness a constant charm. Courage and
sincerity went before her, gentleness and cheerfulness
were ever her handmaids, and in their train were
patience, unselfishness and humility —
" Humility, that low, sweet root
From which all heavenly virfues shoot."
These are the things I remember of Miss Ames—
these and her friendship, which all who shared will
cherish as a gleam of sunshine, the memory of which
" Brightens o'er the past,
As when the sun, concealed
Behind some cloud that near us hangs,
Shines on a distant field."
Mather Dean Kimball.
Ravenswood, III.
I had been a neighbor of the Ames family for
some years, but not particularly acquainted with
Julia, till, in the latter part of the seventies, a ''tem-
perance wave" struck Streator, bringing in its wake
a great amount of work for a few people. I was at
that time president of the district W. C. T. U., and,
as a consequence, much of that work came to me.
Why I chose Julia Ames, a school-girl, for my helper,
I can not tell, unless (as I think) I was divinely led.
The result showed that to be the case, for never
worker had a more efi5cient and trusty helper. What
Julia Ames agreed to do was done, if it were among
the possibilities, and sometimes more was accom-
plished than seemed possible. I remember saying to
226 A YOUXG WOMAN JOURNALIST
her, " It would be an improvement if there could be a
piano in the hall where the meetings are to be held,"
but I added, " It is no use thinking of such a thing ;
it is raining, and we could get no one to move a piano
for us to-day." The evening came and the piano
was there ; on my asking Julia about it, she
said, with one of those lovely, arch smiles so well
known to her friends, "Oh, I managed it." I
coveted Julia for the W. C. T. U. work, and it
was a proud and happy day for me when she came
into the place for which the Lord designed her, and I
easily predicted for her a long, brilliant and useful
career in this field so much to her liking.
But death came, and we feel that he loves, indeed,
"a shining mark." We know the Lord had some
great design in thus cutting short a work which we
thought had but just begun, but it is hard to say,
" Thy will be done."
Mrs. L. H. Plumb.
Streator, III.
COMRADES TWO.*
We Stood in an eloquent silence.
These holiest days.
When thoughts of the Christ have been woven
In sweetest of lays ;
We came where the years were dividing
The new and the old,
And pausing 'twixt grave-heap and garland,
* Mrs. S. J. C. Downs, President of New Jersey W. C. T. U., passed to
' the life beyoud, ' November lo, 1892.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 227
We counted the gold
Of sands that for joy or for sorrow
Move on where awaiteth the morrow,
With story untold.
All songs have seemed far in the stillness,
Like strain of a lute
That trembles alone o'er the waters
When voices are mute ;
But years that divide do not move us
To sharpness of pain,
So little they seem, with their burden
Of losses and gain,
When souls have come near the immortals,
And treading the edge of life's portals,
Been thrilled with their strain.
We heard in the circle of silence,
The falling of tears,
Have scented the fragrance of roses
Love brought to a bier ;
Have listened while low, tender voices,
Half under their breath,
Were speaking of farewells and partings—
And talking of death.
But out from a glory supernal
There thrilled a great voice,—" Life eternal
I give them," it saith.
One life was a sheaf at its ripeness,
Of goldenest grain,
Its wealth had the glory of sunlight,
And sobbing of rain ;
228 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
Ah ! who shall dispute with the Master
For whom it was grown,
That now in its day of completeness
He gathers His own ?
Or who to earth's duty and sadness
Would call the great soul from the gladness
That heaven makes known ?
One life was a flower prophetic,
Aglow with the June ;
Why tarried it not for the fruitage,
But faded ^o soon ?
Ah ! who shall declare in what region
Should come to its best
The soul that so utterly loving
Is utterl}' blest ?
Or who, in these daj^s of bereaving,
Would break by a sob of our grieving.
Ineffable rest ?
Ah, comrades ! we stand in the silence^
Homesick for a day.
But how can our anguish be bitter ?
We follow that way.
L,et us lift up our hearts, our beloved
Love on as of yore ;
Who knows but in stress of the battle
They haste to the fore ?
'* Then onward, ye brave," to the duty; .
Not far, with the King in His beauty,
We greet them once more.
M.^Rv T. Lathrai'
Jackson, Mich.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 229
When Miss Ames died, there went back to God a
soul as sweet as a singing thrush. The world for
many of us will be a little lonelier and a little chillier
for her going, but, after all, it is blessed to think
how early she finished the journey, and how while
yet the sunshine lay upon its sails she turned the
prow of her swift boat heavenward and homeward.
Many of those who loved the true heart that has left
us, know something of the tender friendship that knit
the soul of Julia Ames to that of her faithful friend
who watched her night and day through the last
bitter illness, brought her back across the stretch of
dreary country that lay between the eastern sea and
her western home, sat close to the coffin while it lay
in the little parlor at Rest Cottage during those
never-to-be-forgotten memorial services, and only
turned back to her work, and resumed its 'burden,
when the grave had forever closed over the bright
and beautiful face of the sister of her soul. It is not
often that two women love each other with the large
and perfect love that existed between Miss Hood and
Miss Ames, and in the future whenever a tear is
dropped to the memory of one, another tear will
fall for the other, whose steadfast so ill will never
cease its mourning while it lingers on these earthly
shores= Mrs. m. E. Holden.
("Amber.")
Chicago. III.
I sit here at my study desk paralyzed and dazed
at it all. I can not write any more on my notes for
Sunday's sermon, for thinking about it. Julia Ames :
230 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
I did not know her as I know some of you, but some-
how it does seem personal. It seems like a sister
gone. I only met her in that serene and sacred land
of friendly conventionality where in daily sympathy
and in pursuits beneficent, we of the despised set of
radicals, met ; but I caught an inspiration of her pure
soul, majestic mentality and her womanly grace.
She had natural ability, dignity, tenderness, yet reso-
lution indomitable. There are many great ones nowa-
days. Had she lived earlier she would have stood
without a peei among many hundreds of her sister-
hood. As it is, she was nobly fashioned, cultured of
our God, and developed into something resplendent as
well as lovely. One man, in addition to all men and
women in whose hearts she had place, shall bear this
speedy testimony, namely, to the great and full-orbed
influence for purity and goodness and strength coming
into his life from her. Her great magnanimity, her
large intelligence, her steadfast dutifulness, her roy-
alty of womanhood my wliole heart felt. I can not
make her dead. I can not associate paleness with
that glowing face.
" I can not think she wished so soon to die,
With all her senses full of ea^er heat,
And the hright years that stood expectant by
To buckle their winged sandals on her feet."
My wife and I, tearfully, lovingly, bear you all in
our hearts and prayers,
Henry A. Delano.
Evanston, III.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 23 1
At the time Miss Ames passed to the higher life I
was too ill to pen the deep sorrow with which I read
the announcement of your loss.
Our loss, I may say, for I, too, loved her truly and
counted her as friend.
Only once did we meet. It was in New York,
the day before she sailed for England. It was a
sweet meeting — one I shall never forget. Nor shall
I ever lose the charm of her sincere, enthusiastic
nature. It was felt in all the many notes and letters
she sent me, even to the last, written shortly before
the Boston convention.
Brave, lovely, brief young life ! In it were com-
pressed the work, the thought, the development of
threescore and ten ! It is not ended, it is only
begun. Here, where she still lives and loves and
labors, her work gloriously goes on.
Hester M. Poole.
New York City.
HER LAST DAY.
And with the dawn those angel faces smile
That I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
—Cardinal Newman.
That day in its wonderful splendor of light
Grew fairer as onward it rolled ;
It dawned in a glory of sapphire and rose.
It died in a glory of gold.
We spoke much of life, of its promises fair,
Its sweetness, its sorrows, its fear,
Of its work to be done, of its burdens to bear,
And we dreamed not one Presence drew near, —
232 A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST.
We dreamed not there waited, unseen by our eyes,
The angel to lead her away ;
Unguessed was that Presence, unheard the replies
That thrilled through the air of that day,,
And still all that wonderful glory of light
Enchanted the fast gliding hours.
And an undefined prescience touched her with its spell
While the sunshine lay low on the flowers, —
And the angels whose faces had smiled from the dawn
Drew near her with beckoning hand ;
One look, one last word, and with " Victory gained" —
She had gone to the Wonderful lyand.
Lilian Whiting
Boston, Blass,
My heartfelt sympathy goes out to 3^011 all ai
"Rest Cottage" in the loss of the rare, beautiful
soul ; life was so young, so full, so inspiring with
promise for Yolande. My eyes rest upon the little
volume, *'The Diary of an Old Soul," by George
Macdonald, a book given me by her, and I read
this therein :
" All tilings seem rushing straight into the dark !
But the (lark still is God."
That was Yolande's beautiful faith, I know. It takes
the rarest heroism to attain to it.
Rkna A. Michaels.
Albion, Mich.
A YOUNG WOMAN JOURNALIST. 233
I write to say how deepl}' I sympathize with you
in the death of one whose life is a national loss.
Some day you can say,
" Well done of God to halve the lot
And give her all the sweetness,
To us the empty room and cot,
To her the heaven's completeness."
SalliE F. Chapin.
Charleston, S. C.
I know you are full of sorrow for the loss of your
noble, loving friend, your rare Julia Ames. She came
to me in Washington to arrange a meeting for L