Chapter XXI: Closing Scenes, 1870-1889 (1)

LITERARY LABORS.--COMPLETE LIST OF PUBLISHED
BOOKS.--FIRST READING TOUR.--PEEPS BEHIND
THE CURTAIN.--SOME NEW ENGLAND CITIES.--A
LETTER FROM MAINE.--PLEASANT AND UNPLEASANT
READINGS.--SECOND TOUR.--A WESTERN JOURNEY.--VISIT
TO OLD SCENES.--CELEBRATION OF SEVENTIETH
BIRTHDAY.--CONGRATULATORY POEMS FROM MR. WHITTIER AND
DR. HOLMES.--LAST WORDS.

BESIDES the annual journeys to and from Florida, and her many interests in the South, Mrs. Stowe's time between 1870 and 1880 was largely occupied by literary and kindred labors. In the autumn of 1871 we find her writing to her daughters as follows regarding her work:--

"I have at last finished all my part in the third book of mine that is to come out this year, to wit 'Oldtown Fireside Stories,' and you can have no idea what a perfect luxury of rest it is to be free from all literary engagements, of all kinds, sorts, or descriptions. I feel like a poor woman I once read about,--

"'Who always was tired,
'Cause she lived in a house
Where help wasn't hired,'

and of whom it is related that in her dying moments,

"'She folded her hands
With her latest endeavor,
Saying nothing, dear nothing,
Sweet nothing forever.'

"I am in about her state of mind. I luxuriate in laziness. I do not want to do anything or go anywhere. I only want to sink down into lazy enjoyment of living."

She was certainly well entitled to a rest, for never had there been a more laborious literary life. In addition to the twenty-three books already written, she had prepared for various magazines and journals an incredible number of short stories, letters of travel, essays, and other articles. Yet with all she had accomplished, and tired as she was, she still had seven books to write, besides many more short stories, before her work should be done. As her literary life did not really begin until 1852, the bulk of her work has been accomplished within twenty-six years, as will be seen from the following list of her books, arranged in the chronological order of their publication:--

1833. An Elementary Geography.
1843. The Mayflower.
1852. Uncle Tom's Cabin.
1853. Key to Uncle Tom's Cabin.
1854. Sunny Memories.
1856. Dred.
1858. Our Charley.
1859. Minister's Wooing.
1862. Pearl of Orr's Island.
1863. Agnes of Sorrento.
1864. House and Home Papers.
1865. Little Foxes.
1866. Nina Gordon (Formerly "Dred").
1867. Religious Poems.
1867. Queer Little People.
1868. The Chimney Corner.
1868. Men of Our Times.
1869. Oldtown Folks.
1870. Lady Byron Vindicated.
1871. The History of the Byron Controversy (London).
1870. Little Pussy Willow.
1871. Pink and White Tyranny.
1871. Old Town Fireside Stories.
1872. My Wife and I.
1873. Palmetto Leaves.
1873. Library of Famous Fiction.
1875. We and Our Neighbors.
1876. Betty's Bright Idea.
1877. Footsteps of the Master.
1878. Bible Heroines.
1878. Poganuc People.
1881. A Dog's Mission.

In 1872 a new and remunerative field of labor was opened to Mrs. Stowe, and though it entailed a vast amount of weariness and hard work, she entered it with her customary energy and enthusiasm. It presented itself in the shape of an offer from the American Literary (Lecture) Bureau of Boston to deliver a course of forty readings from her own works in the principal cities of the New England States. The offer was a liberal one, and Mrs. Stowe accepted it on condition that the reading tour should be ended in time to allow her to go to her Florida home in December. This being acceded to, she set forth and gave her first reading in Bridgeport, Conn., on the evening of September 19, 1872.

The following extracts from letters written to her husband while on this reading tour throw some interesting gleams of light on the scenes behind the curtain of the lecturer's platform. From Boston, October 3d, she writes: "Have had a most successful but fatiguing week. Read in Cambridgeport to-night, and Newburyport to-morrow night." Two weeks later, upon receipt of a letter from her husband, in which he fears he has not long to live, she writes from Westfield, Mass:--

"I have never had a greater trial than being forced to stay away from you now. I would not, but that my engagements have involved others in heavy expense, and should I fail to fulfill them, it would be doing a wrong.

"God has given me strength as I needed it, and I never read more to my own satisfaction than last night.

"Now, my dear husband, please do _want_, and try, to remain with us yet a while longer, and let us have a little quiet evening together before either of us crosses the river. My heart cries out for a home with you; our home together in Florida. Oh, may we see it again! Your ever loving wife."

From Fitchburg, Mass., under date of October 29th, she writes:--

"In the cars, near Palmer, who should I discover but Mr. and Mrs. J. T. Fields, returning from a Western trip, as gay as a troubadour. I took an empty seat next to them, and we had a jolly ride to Boston. I drove to Mr. Williams's house, where I met the Chelsea agent, who informed me that there was no hotel in Chelsea, but that they were expecting to send over for me. So I turned at once toward 148 Charles Street, where I tumbled in on the Fields before they had got their things off. We had a good laugh, and I received a hearty welcome. I was quickly installed in my room, where, after a nice dinner, I curled up for my afternoon nap. At half-past seven the carriage came for me, and I was informed that I should not have a hard reading, as they had engaged singers to take part. So, when I got into the carriage, who should I find, beshawled, and beflowered, and betoggled in blue satin and white lace, but our old friend ---- of Andover concert memory, now become Madame Thingumbob, of European celebrity. She had studied in Italy, come out in Milan, sung there in opera for a whole winter, and also in Paris and London.

"Well, she sings very sweetly and looks very nice and pretty. Then we had a little rosebud of a Chelsea girl who sang, and a pianist. I read 'Minister's Housekeeper' and Topsy, and the audience was very jolly and appreciative. Then we all jogged home."

The next letter finds Mrs. Stowe in Maine, and writing in the cars between Bangor and Portland. She says:--

MY DEAR HUSBAND,--Well, Portland and Bangor are over,
and the latter, which I had dreaded as lonesome and
far off, turned out the pleasantest of any place I
have visited yet. I stayed at the Fays; he was one of
the Andover students, you remember; and found a warm,
cosy, social home. In the evening I met an appreciative
audience, and had a delightful reading. I read Captain
Kittridge, apparently to the great satisfaction of the
people, who laughed heartily at his sea stories, and
the "Minister's Housekeeper" with the usual success,
also Eva and Topsy.

One woman, totally deaf, came to me afterwards and
said: "Bless you. I come jist to see you. I'd rather
see you than the Queen." Another introduced her little
girl named Harriet Beecher Stowe, and another, older,
named Eva. She said they had traveled fifty miles to
hear me read. An incident like that appeals to one's
heart, does it not?

The people of Bangor were greatly embarrassed by the
horse disease; but the mayor and his wife walked over
from their house, a long distance off, to bring me
flowers, and at the reading he introduced me. I had
an excellent audience notwithstanding that it rained
tremendously, and everybody had to walk because there
were no horses. The professors called on me, also
Newman Smith, now a settled minister here.

Everybody is so anxious about you, and Mr. Fay made
me promise that you and I should come and spend a
week with them next summer. Mr. Howard, in Portland,
called upon me to inquire for you, and everybody was so
delighted to hear that you were getting better.

It stormed all the time I was in Portland and Bangor,
so I saw nothing of them. Now I am in a palace car
riding alongside the Kennebec, and recalling the
incidents of my trip. I certainly had very satisfactory
houses; and these pleasant little visits, and meetings
with old acquaintance, would be well worth having,
even though I had made nothing in a pecuniary sense.
On the whole it is as easy a way of making money as
I have ever tried, though no way of making money is
perfectly easy,--there must be some disagreeables. The
lonesomeness of being at a hotel in dull weather is
one, and in Portland it seems there is nobody now to
invite us to their homes. Our old friends there are
among the past. They have gone on over the river. I
send you a bit of poetry that pleases me. The love of
the old for each other has its poetry. It is something
sacred and full of riches. I long to be with you, and
to have some more of our good long talks.

The scenery along this river is very fine. The oaks
still keep their leaves, though the other trees are
bare; but oaks and pines make a pleasant contrast. We
shall stop twenty minutes at Brunswick, so I shall get
a glimpse of the old place.

Now we are passing through Hallowell, and the Kennebec
changes sides. What a beautiful river! It is now full
of logs and rafts. Well, I must bring this to a close.
Good-by, dear, with unchanging love. Ever your wife.

From South Framingham, Mass., she writes on November 7th:--

Well, my dear, here I am in E.'s pretty little house.
He has a pretty wife, a pretty sister, a pretty baby,
two nice little boys, and a lovely white cat. The last
is a perfect beauty! a Persian, from a stock brought
over by Dr. Parker, as white as snow, with the softest
fur, a perfect bunch of loving-kindness, all purr and
felicity. I had a good audience last evening, and
enjoyed it. My audiences, considering the horse disease
and the rains, are amazing. And how they do laugh! We
get into regular gales.

E. has the real country minister turn-out: horse and
buggy, and such a nice horse too. The baby is a beauty,
and giggles, and goos, and shouts inquiries with the
rising inflection, in the most inspiring manner.

_November 13._ Wakefield. I read in Haverhill last
night. It was as usual stormy. I had a good audience,
but not springy and inspiriting like that at Waltham.
Some audiences seem to put spring into one, and some
to take it out. This one seemed good but heavy. I had
to lift them, while in Framingham and Waltham they
lifted me.

The Lord bless and keep you. It grieves me to think
you are dull and I not with you. By and by we will be
together and stay together. Good-by dear. Your ever
loving wife,

H. B. S.

_November 24._ "I had a very pleasant reading in
Peabody. While there visited the library and saw the
picture of the Queen that she had painted expressly
for George Peabody. It was about six inches square,
enameled on gold, and set in a massive frame of solid
gold and velvet. The effect is like painting on ivory.
At night the picture rolls back into a safe, and great
doors, closed with a combination lock, defend it. It
reminded me of some of the foreign wonders we have seen.

"Well, my course is almost done, and if I get through
without any sickness, cold, or accident, how wonderful
it will seem. I have never felt the near, kind presence
of our Heavenly Father so much as in this. 'He giveth
strength to the faint, and to them of no might He
increaseth strength.' I have found this true all my
life."

From Newport she writes on November 26th:--

"It was a hard, tiring, disagreeable piece of business to read in New London. Had to wait three mortal hours in Palmer. Then a slow, weary train, that did not reach New London until after dark. There was then no time to rest, and I was so tired that it did seem as though I could not dress. I really trembled with fatigue. The hall was long and dimly lighted, and the people were not seated compactly, but around in patches. The light was dim, except for a great flaring gas jet arranged right under my eyes on the reading desk, and I did not see a creature whom I knew. I was only too glad when it was over and I was back again at my hotel. There I found that I must be up at five o'clock to catch the Newport train.

"I started for this place in the dusk of a dreary, foggy morning. Traveled first on a ferry, then in cars, and then in a little cold steamboat. Found no one to meet me, in spite of all my writing, and so took a carriage and came to the hotel. The landlord was very polite to me, said he knew me by my trunk, had been to our place in Mandarin, etc. All I wanted was a warm room, a good bed, and unlimited time to sleep. Now I have had a three hours' nap, and here I am, sitting by myself in the great, lonely hotel parlor.

"Well, dear old man, I think lots of you, and only want to end all this in a quiet home where we can sing 'John Anderson, my Jo' together. I check off place after place as the captive the days of his imprisonment. Only two more after to-night. Ever your loving wife."

Mrs. Stowe made one more reading tour the following year, and this time it was in the West. On October 28, 1873, she writes from Zanesville, Ohio, to her son at Harvard:--

You have been very good to write as often as you have,
and your letters, meeting me at different points, have
been most cheering. I have been tired, almost to the
last degree. Read two successive evenings in Chicago,
and traveled the following day for thirteen hours, a
distance of about three hundred miles, to Cincinnati.
We were compelled to go in the most uncomfortable
cars I ever saw, crowded to overflowing, a fiend of a
stove at each end burning up all the air, and without
a chance to even lay my head down. This is the grand
route between Chicago and Cincinnati, and we were on it
from eight in the morning until nearly ten at night.

Arrived at Cincinnati we found that George Beecher had
not received our telegram, was not expecting us, had no
rooms engaged for us, and that we could not get rooms
at his boarding-place. After finding all this out we
had to go to the hotel, where, about eleven o'clock, I
crept into bed with every nerve aching from fatigue.
The next day was dark and rainy, and I lay in bed most
of it; but when I got up to go and read I felt only
half rested, and was still so tired that it seemed as
though I could not get through.

Those who planned my engagements failed to take, into
account the fearful distances and wretched trains out
here. On none of these great Western routes is there a
drawing-room car. Mr. Saunders tried in every way to
get them to put one on for us, but in vain. They are
all reserved for the night trains; so that there is no
choice except to travel by night in sleeping cars, or
take such trains as I have described in the daytime.

I had a most sympathetic audience in Cincinnati; they
all seemed delighted and begged me to come again. The
next day George took us for a drive out to Walnut
Hills, where we saw the seminary buildings, the house
where your sisters were born, and the house in which
we afterwards lived. In the afternoon we had to leave
and hurry away to a reading in Dayton. The next evening
another in Columbus, where we spent Sunday with an old
friend.

By this time I am somewhat rested from the strain of
that awful journey; but I shall never again undertake
such another. It was one of those things that have to
be done once, to learn not to do it again. My only
reading between Columbus and Pittsburgh is to be here
in Zanesville, a town as black as Acheron, and where
one might expect to see the river Styx.

Later. I had a nice audience and a pleasant reading
here, and to-day we go on to Pittsburgh, where I read
to-morrow night.

I met the other day at Dayton a woman who now has
grandchildren; but who, when I first came West, was a
gay rattling girl. She was one of the first converts
of brother George's seemingly obscure ministry in the
little new town of Chillicothe. Now she has one son
who is a judge of the supreme court, and another in
business. Both she and they are not only Christians,
but Christians of the primitive sort, whose religion
is their all; who triumph and glory in tribulation,
knowing that it worketh patience. She told me, with
a bright sweet calm, of her husband killed in battle
the first year of the war, of her only daughter and
two grandchildren dying in the faith, and of her own
happy waiting on God's will, with bright hopes of a
joyful reunion. Her sons are leading members of the
Presbyterian Church, and most active in stirring up
others to make their profession a reality, not an
empty name. When I thought that all this came from the
conversion of one giddy girl, when George seemed to be
doing so little, I said, "Who can measure the work of
a faithful minister?" It is such living witnesses that
maintain Christianity on earth.

Good-by. We shall soon be home now, and preparing for
Florida. Always your own loving mother,

H. B. S.

Mrs. Stowe never undertook another reading tour, nor, after this one, did she ever read again for money, though she frequently contributed her talent in this direction to the cause of charity.

The most noteworthy event of her later years was the celebration of the seventieth anniversary of her birthday. That it might be fittingly observed, her publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. of Boston, arranged a reception for her in form of a garden party, to which they invited the _literati_ of America. It was held on June 14, 1882, at "The Old Elms," the home of Ex-Governor Claflin of Massachusetts, in Newtonville, one of Boston's most beautiful suburbs. Here the assembly gathered to do honor to Mrs. Stowe, that lovely June afternoon, comprised two hundred of the most distinguished and best known among the literary men and women of the day.

From three until five o'clock was spent socially. As the guests arrived they were presented to Mrs. Stowe by Mr. H. O. Houghton, and then they gathered in groups in the parlors, on the verandas, on the lawn, and in the refreshment room. At five o'clock they assembled in a large tent on the lawn, when Mr. Houghton, as host, addressed to his guest and her friends a few words of congratulation and welcome. He closed his remarks by saying:--

"And now, honored madam, as

"'When to them who sail
Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past
Mozambic, off at sea northeast winds blow
Sabean odors from the spicy shore
Of Arabie the blest,'

so the benedictions of the lowly and the blessings of all conditions of men are brought to you to-day on the wings of the wind, from every quarter of the globe; but there will be no fresher laurels to crown this day of your rejoicing than are brought by those now before you, who have been your co-workers in the strife; who have wrestled and suffered, fought and conquered, with you; who rank you with the Miriams, the Deborahs, and the Judiths of old; and who now shout back the refrain, when you utter the inspired song:--

"'Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously.'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
'The Almighty Lord hath disappointed them by the hand of a woman.'"

In reply to this Mrs. Stowe's brother, Henry Ward Beecher, said: "Of course you all sympathize with me to-day, but, standing in this place, I do not see your faces more clearly than I see those of my father and my mother. Her I only knew as a mere babe-child. He was my teacher and my companion. A more guileless soul than he, a more honest one, more free from envy, from jealousy, and from selfishness, I never knew. Though he thought he was great by his theology, everybody else knew he was great by his religion. My mother is to me what the Virgin Mary is to a devout Catholic. She was a woman of great nature, profound as a philosophical thinker, great in argument, with a kind of intellectual imagination, diffident, not talkative,--in which respect I take after her,--the woman who gave birth to Mrs. Stowe, whose graces and excellences she probably more than any of her children--we number but thirteen--has possessed. I suppose that in bodily resemblance, perhaps, she is not like my mother, but in mind I presume she is most like her. I thank you for my father's sake and for my mother's sake for the courtesy, the friendliness, and the kindness which you give to Mrs. Stowe."

The following poem from John Greenleaf Whittier was then read:--

"Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
And golden-fruited orange bowers
To this sweet, green-turfed June of ours!
To her who, in our evil time,
Dragged into light the nation's crime
With strength beyond the strength of men,
And, mightier than their sword, her pen;
To her who world-wide entrance gave
To the log cabin of the slave,
Made all his wrongs and sorrows known,
And all earth's languages his own,--
North, South, and East and West, made all
The common air electrical,
Until the o'ercharged bolts of heaven
Blazed down, and every chain was riven!

"Welcome from each and all to her
Whose Wooing of the Minister
Revealed the warm heart of the man
Beneath the creed-bound Puritan,
And taught the kinship of the love
Of man below and God above;
To her whose vigorous pencil-strokes
Sketched into life her Oldtown Folks,
Whose fireside stories, grave or gay,
In quaint Sam Lawson's vagrant way,
With Old New England's flavor rife,
Waifs from her rude idyllic life,
Are racy as the legends old
By Chaucer or Boccaccio told;
To her who keeps, through change of place
And time, her native strength and grace,
Alike where warm Sorrento smiles,
Or where, by birchen-shaded isles
Whose summer winds have shivered o'er
The icy drift of Labrador,
She lifts to light the priceless Pearl
Of Harpswell's angel-beckoned girl.
To her at threescore years and ten
Be tributes of the tongue and pen,
Be honor, praise, and heart thanks given,
The loves of earth, the hopes of heaven!

"Ah, dearer than the praise that stirs
The air to-day, our love is hers!
She needs no guaranty of fame
Whose own is linked with Freedom's name.
Long ages after ours shall keep
Her memory living while we sleep;
The waves that wash our gray coast lines,
The winds that rock the Southern pines
Shall sing of her; the unending years
Shall tell her tale in unborn ears.
And when, with sins and follies past,
Are numbered color-hate and caste,
White, black, and red shall own as one,
The noblest work by woman done."

It was followed by a few words from Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, who also read the subjoined as his contribution to the chorus of congratulation:--

"If every tongue that speaks her praise
For whom I shape my tinkling phrase
Were summoned to the table,
The vocal chorus that would meet
Of mingling accents harsh or sweet,
From every land and tribe, would beat
The polyglots of Babel.

"Briton and Frenchman, Swede and Dane,
Turk, Spaniard, Tartar of Ukraine,
Hidalgo, Cossack, Cadi,
High Dutchman and Low Dutchman, too,
The Russian serf, the Polish Jew,
Arab, Armenian, and Mantchoo
Would shout, 'We know the lady.'

"Know her! Who knows not Uncle Tom
And her he learned his gospel from,
Has never heard of Moses;
Full well the brave black hand we know
That gave to freedom's grasp the hoe
That killed the weed that used to grow
Among the Southern roses.

"When Archimedes, long ago,
Spoke out so grandly, '_Dos pou sto_,--
Give me a place to stand on,
I'll move your planet for you, now,'--
He little dreamed or fancied how
The _sto_ at last should find its _pou_
For woman's faith to land on.

"Her lever was the wand of art,
Her fulcrum was the human heart,
Whence all unfailing aid is;
She moved the earth! Its thunders pealed
Its mountains shook, its temples reeled,
The blood-red fountains were unsealed,
And Moloch sunk to Hades.

"All through the conflict, up and down
Marched Uncle Tom and Old John Brown,
One ghost, one form ideal;
And which was false and which was true,
And which was mightier of the two,
The wisest sibyl never knew,
For both alike were real.

"Sister, the holy maid does well
Who counts her beads in convent cell,
Where pale devotion lingers;
But she who serves the sufferer's needs,
Whose prayers are spelt in loving deeds,
May trust the Lord will count her beads
As well as human fingers.

"When Truth herself was Slavery's slave
Thy hand the prisoned suppliant gave
The rainbow wings of fiction.
And Truth who soared descends to-day
Bearing an angel's wreath away,
Its lilies at thy feet to lay
With heaven's own benediction."

Poems written for the occasion by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney, Miss Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, Mr. J. T. Trowbridge, Mrs. Allen (Mrs. Stowe's daughter), Mrs. Annie Fields, and Miss Charlotte F. Bates, were also read, and speeches were made by Judge Albion W. Tourgée and others prominent in the literary world.

Letters from many noted people, who were prevented from being present by distance or by other engagements, had been received. Only four of them were read, but they were all placed in Mrs. Stowe's hands. The exercises were closed by a few words from Mrs. Stowe herself. As she came to the front of the platform the whole company rose, and remained standing until she had finished. In her quiet, modest, way, and yet so clearly as to be plainly heard by all, she said:--

"I wish to say that I thank all my friends from my heart,--that is all. And one thing more,--and that is, if any of you have doubt, or sorrow, or pain, if you doubt about this world, just remember what God has done; just remember that this great sorrow of slavery has gone, gone by forever. I see it every day at the South. I walk about there and see the lowly cabins. I see these people growing richer and richer. I see men very happy in their lowly lot; but, to be sure, you must have patience with them. They are not perfect, but have their faults, and they are serious faults in the view of white people. But they are very happy, that is evident, and they do know how to enjoy themselves,--a great deal more than you do. An old negro friend in our neighborhood has got a new, nice two-story house, and an orange grove, and a sugar-mill. He has got a lot of money, besides. Mr. Stowe met him one day, and he said, 'I have got twenty head of cattle, four head of "hoss," forty head of hen, and I have got ten children, all _mine, every one mine_.' Well, now, that is a thing that a black man could not say once, and this man was sixty years old before he could say it. With all the faults of the colored people, take a man and put him down with nothing but his hands, and how many could say as much as that? I think they have done well.

"A little while ago they had at his house an evening festival for their church, and raised fifty dollars. We white folks took our carriages, and when we reached the house we found it fixed nicely. Every one of his daughters knew how to cook. They had a good place for the festival. Their suppers were spread on little white tables with nice clean cloths on them. People paid fifty cents for supper. They got between fifty and sixty dollars, and had one of the best frolics you could imagine. They had also for supper ice-cream, which they made themselves.

"That is the sort of thing I see going on around me. Let us never doubt. Everything that ought to happen is going to happen."

* * * * *

Mrs. Stowe's public life ends with the garden party, and little more remains to be told. She had already, in 1880, begun the task of selection from the great accumulation of letters and papers relating to her life, and writes thus to her son in Saco, Maine, regarding the work:--

_September 30, 1880._

MY DEAR CHARLEY,--My mind has been with you a great
deal lately. I have been looking over and arranging
my papers with a view to sifting out those that are
not worth keeping, and so filing and arranging those
that are to be kept, that my heirs and assigns may
with the less trouble know where and what they are. I
cannot describe (to you) the peculiar feelings which
this review occasions. Reading old letters--when so
many of the writers are gone from earth, seems to me
like going into the world of spirits--letters full of
the warm, eager, anxious, busy life, that is _forever_
past. My own letters, too, full of by-gone scenes in
my early life and the childish days of my children.
It is affecting to me to recall things that strongly
moved me years ago, that filled my thoughts and made
me anxious when the occasion and emotion have wholly
vanished from my mind. But I thank God there is _one_
thing running through all of them from the time I was
thirteen years old, and that is the intense unwavering
sense of Christ's educating, guiding presence and care.
It is _all_ that remains now. The romance of my youth
is faded, it looks to me now, from my years, so _very_
young--those days when my mind only lived in _emotion_,
and when my letters never were dated, because they were
only histories of the _internal_, but now that I am no
more and never can be young in this world, now that the
friends of those days are almost all in eternity, what
remains?

Through life and through death, through sorrowing, through sinning,
Christ shall suffice me as he hath sufficed.
Christ is the end and Christ the beginning,
The beginning and end of all is Christ.

I was passionate in my attachments in those far back
years, and as I have looked over files of old letters,
they are all gone (except one, C. Van Rensselaer),
Georgiana May, Delia Bacon, Clarissa Treat, Elisabeth
Lyman, Sarah Colt, Elisabeth Phenix, Frances Strong,
Elisabeth Foster. I have letters from them all, but
they have been long in spirit land and know more about
how it is there than I do. It gives me a sort of dizzy
feeling of the shortness of life and nearness of
eternity when I see how many that I have traveled with
are gone within the veil. Then there are all my own
letters, written in the first two years of marriage,
when Mr. Stowe was in Europe and I was looking forward
to motherhood and preparing for it--my letters when my
whole life was within the four walls of my nursery,
my thoughts absorbed by the developing character of
children who have now lived their earthly life and gone
to the eternal one,--my two little boys, each in their
way good and lovely, whom Christ has taken in youth,
and my little one, my first Charley, whom He took away
before he knew sin or sorrow,--then my brother
George and sister Catherine, the one a companion of my
youth, the other the mother who assumed the care of
me after I left home in my twelfth year--and they are
gone. Then my blessed father, for many years so true an
image of the Heavenly Father,--in all my afflictions he
was afflicted, in all my perplexities he was a sure and
safe counselor, and he too is gone upward to join the
angelic mother whom I scarcely knew in this world, who
has been to me only a spiritual presence through life.

In 1882 Mrs. Stowe writes to her son certain impressions derived from reading the "Life and Letters of John Quincy Adams," which are given as containing a retrospect of the stormy period of her own life-experience.

"Your father enjoys his proximity to the Boston library. He is now reading the twelve or fourteen volumes of the life and diary of John Q. Adams. It is a history of our country through all the period of slavery usurpation that led to the war. The industry of the man in writing is wonderful. Every day's doings in the house are faithfully daguerreotyped,--all the mean tricks, contrivances of the slave-power, and the pusillanimity of the Northern members from day to day recorded. Calhoun was then secretary of state. Under his connivance even the United States census was falsified, to prove that freedom was bad for negroes. Records of deaf, dumb, and blind, and insane colored people were distributed in Northern States, and in places where John Q. Adams had means of _proving_ there were no negroes. When he found that these falsified figures had been used with the English embassador as reasons for admitting Texas as a slave State, the old man called on Calhoun, and showed him the industriously collected _proofs_ of the falsity of this census. He says: 'He writhed like a trodden rattlesnake, but said the census was full of mistakes; but one part balanced another,--it was not worth while to correct them.' His whole life was an incessant warfare with the rapidly advancing spirit of slavery, that was coiling like a serpent around everything.

"At a time when the Southerners were like so many excited tigers and rattlesnakes,--when they bullied, and scoffed, and sneered, and threatened, this old man rose every day in his place, and, knowing every parliamentary rule and tactic of debate, found means to make himself heard. Then he presented a petition from _negroes_, which raised a storm of fury. The old man claimed that the right of petition was the right of every human being. They moved to expel him. By the rules of the house a man, before he can be expelled, may have the floor to make his defense. This was just what he wanted. He held the floor for _fourteen days_, and used his wonderful powers of memory and arrangement to give a systematic, scathing history of the usurpations of slavery; he would have spoken fourteen days more, but his enemies, finding the thing getting hotter and hotter, withdrew their motion, and the right of petition was gained.

"What is remarkable in this journal is the minute record of going to church every Sunday, and an analysis of the text and sermon. There is something about these so simple, so humble, so earnest. Often differing from the speaker--but with gravity and humility--he seems always to be so self-distrustful; to have such a sense of sinfulness and weakness, but such trust in God's fatherly mercy, as is most beautiful to see. Just the record of his Sunday sermons, and his remarks upon them, would be most instructive to a preacher. He was a regular communicant, and, beside, attended church on Christmas and Easter,--I cannot but love the old man. He died without seeing even the dawn of liberty which God has brought; but oh! I am sure he sees it from above. He died in the Capitol, in the midst of his labors, and the last words he said were, 'This is the last of earth; I am content.' And now, I trust, he is with God.

"All, all are gone. All that raged; all that threatened; all the cowards that yielded; truckled, sold their country for a mess of pottage; all the _men_ that stood and bore infamy and scorn for the truth; all are silent in dust; the fight is over, but eternity will never efface from their souls whether they did well or ill--whether they fought bravely or failed like cowards. In a sense, our lives are irreparable. If we shrink, if we fail, if we choose the fleeting instead of the eternal, God may forgive us; but there must be an eternal regret! This man lived for humanity when hardest bestead; for truth when truth was unpopular; for Christ when Christ stood chained and scourged in the person of the slave."

In the fall of 1887 she writes to her brother Rev. Dr. Edward Beecher of Brooklyn, N. Y.:--

49 FOREST STREET, HARTFORD, CONN., _October 11, 1887._

DEAR BROTHER,--I was delighted to receive your kind
letter. _You_ were my earliest religious teacher; your
letters to me while a school-girl in Hartford gave
me a high Christian aim and standard which I hope I
have never lost. Not only did they do me good, but
also my intimate friends, Georgiana May and Catherine
Cogswell, to whom I read them. The simplicity, warmth,
and childlike earnestness of those school days I love
to recall. I am the _only one living_ of that circle
of early friends. _Not one_ of my early schoolmates is
living,--and now Henry, younger by a year or two than
I, has gone--my husband also.[21] I often think, _Why_
am I spared? Is there yet anything for me to do? I am
thinking with my son Charles's help of writing a review
of my life, under the title, "Pebbles from the Shores
of a Past Life."

Charlie told me that he has got all written up to my
twelfth or thirteenth year, when I came to be under
sister Catherine's care in Hartford. I am writing daily
my remembrances from that time. You were then, I think,
teacher of the Grammar School in Hartford....

So, my dear brother, let us keep good heart; no evil
can befall us. Sin alone is evil, and from that Christ
will keep us. Our journey is _so_ short!

I feel about all things now as I do about the things
that happen in a hotel, after my trunk is packed to go
home. I may be vexed and annoyed ... but what of it! I
am going home soon.

Your affectionate sister,
HATTIE.

To a friend she writes a little later:--

"I have thought much lately of the possibility of my leaving you all and going home. I am come to that stage of my pilgrimage that is within sight of the River of Death, and I feel that now I must have all in readiness day and night for the messenger of the King. I have sometimes had in my sleep strange perceptions of a vivid spiritual life near to and with Christ, and multitudes of holy ones, and the joy of it is like no other joy,--it cannot be told in the language of the world. What I have then I _know_ with absolute certainty, yet it is so unlike and above anything we conceive of in this world that it is difficult to put it into words. The inconceivable loveliness of Christ! It seems that about Him there is a sphere where the enthusiasm of love is the calm habit of the soul, that without words, without the necessity of demonstrations of affection, heart beats to heart, soul answers soul, we respond to the Infinite Love, and we feel his answer in us, and there is no need of words. All seemed to be busy coming and going on ministries of good, and passing each gave a thrill of joy to each as Jesus, the directing soul, the centre of all, "over all, in all, and through all," was working his beautiful and merciful will to redeem and save. I was saying as I awoke:--

"''Tis joy enough, my all in all,
At thy dear feet to lie.
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.'

"This was but a glimpse; but it has left a strange sweetness in my mind."

FOOTNOTE:

[21] Professor Stowe died August, 1886.

INDEX.

ABBOTT, Mr. and Mrs. Jacob, 292.

Aberdeen, reception in, 221.

Abolition, English meetings in favor of, 389.

Abolition sentiment, growth of, 87.

Abolitionism made fashionable, 253.

Adams, John Quincy, crusade of, against slavery, 509;
holds floor of Congress fourteen days, 510;
his religious life and trust, 511;
died without seeing dawn of liberty, 511;
life and letters of, 510.

"Agnes of Sorrento," first draft of, 374;
date of, 490;
Whittier's praise of, 503.

"Alabama Planter," savage attack of, on H. B. S., 187.

Albert, Prince, Mrs. Stowe's letter to, 160;
his reply, 164;
meeting with, 271;
death, 368.

America, liberty in, 193;
Ruskin on, 354.

American novelist, Lowell on the, 330.

Andover, Mass., beauty of, 186;
Stowe family settled in, 188.

Anti-slavery cause: result of English demonstrations, 252;
letters to England, 160;
feeling dreaded in South, 172;
movement in Cincinnati, 81;
in Boston, 145;
Beecher family all anti-slavery men, 152.

"Arabian Nights," H. B. S.'s delight in, 9.

Argyll, Duke and Duchess of 229, 232;
warmth of, 239;
H. B. S. invited to visit, 270, 271;
death of father of Duchess, 368.

Argyll, Duchess of, letter from H. B. S. to, on England's attitude
during our Civil War, 368;
on _post bellum_ events, 395.

"Atlantic Monthly," contains "Minister's Wooing," 327;
Mrs. Stowe's address to women of England, 375;
"The True Story of Lady Byron's Life," 447, 453.

BAILEY, Gamaliel, Dr., editor of "National Era," 157.

Bangor, readings in, 493.

Bates, Charlotte Fiske, reads a poem at Mrs. Stowe's seventieth
birthday, 505.

Baxter's "Saints' Rest," has a powerful effect on H. B. S., 32.

Beecher, Catherine, eldest sister of H. B. S., 1;
her education of H. B. S., 22;
account of her own birth, 23;
strong influence over Harriet, 22;
girlhood of, 23;
teacher at New London, 23;
engagement, 23;
drowning of her lover, 23;
soul struggles after Prof. Fisher's death, 25, 26;
teaches in his family, 25;
publishes article on Free Agency, 26;
opens school at Hartford, 27;
solution of doubts while teaching, 28, 29;
her conception of Divine Nature, 28;
school at Hartford described by H. B. S., 29;
doubts about Harriet's conversion, 35;
hopes for "Hartford Female Seminary," 37;
letter to Edward about Harriet's doubts, 38;
note on Harriet's letter, 43;
new school at Cincinnati, 53, 64, _et seq._;
visits Cincinnati with father, 54;
impressions of city, 54;
homesickness, 62;
at water cure, 113;
a mother to sister Harriet, 509;
letters to H. B. S. to, on her religious depression, 37;
on religious doubts, 322.

Beecher, Charles, brother of H. B. S., 2;
in college, 56;
goes to Florida, 402;
letters from H. B. S., on mother's death, 2-4, 49.

Beecher, Edward, Dr., brother of H. B. S., 1;
influence over her, 22, 25;
indignation against Fugitive Slave Act, 144;
efforts to arouse churches, 265;
letters from H. B. S. to, on early religious struggles, 36, 37;
on her feelings, 39;
on views of God, 42, 43, 44, 48;
on death of friends and relatives, and the writing of her life
by her son Charles, 512.

Beecher, Esther, aunt of H. B. S., 53, 56, 57.

Beecher family, famous reunion of, 89;
circular letter to, 99.

Beecher, Frederick, H. B. S.'s half-brother, death of, 13.

Beecher, George, brother of H. B. S., 1;
visit to, 45;
enters Lane as student, 53;
music and tracts, 58;
account of journey to Cincinnati, 59;
sudden death, 108;
H. B. S. meets at Dayton one of his first converts, 499;
his letters cherished, 508.

Beecher, George, nephew of H. B. S., visit to, 498.

Beecher, Mrs. George, letter from H. B. S. to, describing new home,
133.

Beecher, Harriet E. first; death of, 1;
second, (H. B. S.) birth of, 1.

Beecher, Mrs. Harriet Porter, H. B. S.'s stepmother, 11;
personal appearance and character of, 11, 12;
pleasant impressions of new home and children, 12;
at Cincinnati, 62.

Beecher, Henry Ward, brother of H. B. S., birth of, 1;
anecdote of, after mother's death, 2;
first school, 8;
conception of Divine Nature, 28;
in college, 55;
H. B. S. attends graduation, 73;
editor of Cincinnati "Journal," 81;
sympathy with anti-slavery movement, 84, 85, 87;
at Brooklyn, 130;
saves Edmonson's daughters, 178;
H. B. S. visits, 364;
views on Reconstruction, 397;
George Eliot on Beecher trial, 472;
his character as told by H. B. S., 475;
love for Prof. Stowe, 475;
his youth and life in West, 476;
Brooklyn and his anti-slavery fight, 476;
Edmonsons and Plymouth Church, 477;
his loyalty and energy, 477;
his religion, 477;
popularity and personal magnetism, 478;
terrible struggle in the Beecher trial, 478;
bribery of jury, but final triumph, 479;
ecclesiastical trial of, 479;
committee of five appointed to bring facts, 479;
his ideal purity and innocence, 480;
power at death-beds and funerals, 480;
beloved by poor and oppressed, 481;
meets accusations by silence, prayer, and work, 481;
his thanks and speech at Stowe Garden Party, 501;
tribute to father, mother, and sister Harriet, 502;
death, 512.

Beecher, Isabella, H. B. S.'s half-sister, birth of, 13;
goes to Cincinnati, 53.

Beecher, James, H. B. S.'s half-brother, 45;
goes to Cincinnati, 53;
begins Sunday-school, 63.

Beecher, Rev. Dr. Lyman, H. B. Stowe's father, 1;
"Autobiography and Correspondence of," 2, 89;
verdict on his wife's remarkable piety, 3;
pride in his daughter's essay, 14;
admiration of Walter Scott, 25;
sermon which converts H. B. S., 33, 34;
accepts call to Hanover Street Church, Boston, 35;
president of Lane Theological Seminary, 53;
first journey to Cincinnati, 53;
removal and westward journey, 56 _et seq._;
removes family to Cincinnati, 56;
Beecher reunion, 89;
powerful sermons on slave question, 152;
his sturdy character, H. W. Beecher's eulogy upon, 502;
death and reunion with H. B. S's mother, 509.

Beecher, Mary, sister of H. B. S., 1;
married, 55;
letter to, 61;
accompanies sister to Europe, 269;
letters from H. B. S. to, on love for New England, 61;
on visit to Windsor, 235.

Beecher, Roxanna Foote, mother of H. B. S., 1;
her death, 2;
strong, sympathetic nature, 2;
reverence for the Sabbath, 3;
sickness, death, and funeral, 4;
influence in family strong even after death, 5;
character described by H. W. Beecher, 502;
H. B. S.'s resemblance to, 502.

Beecher, William, brother of H. B. S., 1;
licensed to preach, 56.

Bell, Henry, English inventor of steamboat, 215.

Belloc, Mme., translates "Uncle Tom," 247.

Belloc, M., to paint portrait of H. B. S., 241.

Bentley, London publisher, offers pay for "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 202.

"Betty's Bright Idea," date of, 491.

Bible, 48;
Uncle Tom's, 262;
use and influence of, 263.

"Bible Heroines," date of, 491.

Bibliography of H. B. S., 490.

Biography, H. B. S.'s remarks on writing and understanding, 126.

Birney, J. G., office wrecked, 81 _et seq._;
H. B. S.'s sympathy with, 84.

Birthday, seventieth, celebration of by Houghton, Mifflin & Co.,
500.

Blackwood's attack on Lady Byron, 448.

Blantyre, Lord, 230.

Bogue, David, 189-191.

Boston opens doors to slave-hunters, 144.

Boston Library, Prof. Stowe enjoys proximity to, 509.

Bowdoin College calls Prof. Stowe, 125, 129.

Bowen, H. C., 181.

Bruce, John, of Litchfield Academy, H. B. S.'s tribute to, 14;
lectures on Butler's "Analogy," 32.

Brigham, Miss, character of, 46.

Bright, John, letter to H. B. S. on her "Appeal to English Women,"
389.

Brooklyn, Mrs. Stowe's visit to brother Henry in, 130;
visit in 1852, when she helps the Edmonson slave family, 178-180;
Beecher, H. W. called to, 476;
Beecher trial in, 478.

Brown and the phantoms, 431.

Brown, John, bravery of, 380.

Browning, Mrs., on life and love, 52.

Browning, E. B., letter to H. B. S., 356;
death of, 368, 370.

Browning, Robert and E. B, friendship with, 355.

Brunswick, Mrs. Stowe's love of, 184;
revisited, 324.

Buck, Eliza, history of as slave, 201.

Bull, J. D. and family, make home for H. B. S. while at school in
Hartford, 30, 31.

Bunsen, Chevalier, 233.

Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," Prof. Stowe's love of, 437.

Burritt, Elihu, writes introduction to "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 192;
calls on Mrs. Stowe, 223.

Butler's "Analogy," study of, by H. B. S., 32.

"Byron Controversy," 445;
history of, 455;
George Eliot on, 458;
Dr. Holmes on, 455.

Byron, Lady, 239;
letters from, 274, 281;
makes donation to Kansas sufferers, 281;
on power of words, 361;
death of, 368, 370;
her character assailed, 446;
her first meeting with H. B. S., 447;
dignity and calmness, 448;
memoranda and letters about Lord Byron shown to Mrs. Stowe, 450;
solemn interview with H. B. S., 453;
letters to H. B. S. from, 274, 282;
on "The Minister's Wooing," 343;
farewell to, 313, 339;
her confidences, 440;
Mrs. Stowe's counsels to, 451.

Byron, Lord, Mrs. Stowe on, 339;
she suspects his insanity, 450;
cheap edition of his works proposed, 453;
Recollections of, by Countess Guiccioli, 446;
his position as viewed by Dr. Holmes, 457;
evidence of his poems for and against him, 457.

"CABIN, The," literary centre, 185.

Cairnes, Prof., on the "Fugitive Slave Law," 146.

Calhoun falsifies census, 509.

Calvinism, J. R. Lowell's sympathy with, 335.

Cambridgeport, H. B. S. reads in, 491.

Carlisle, Lord, praises "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 164;
Mrs. Stowe's reply, 164;
writes introduction to "Uncle Tom," 192;
H. B. S. dines with, 228;
farewell to, 248;
letter from H. B. S. to on moral effect of slavery, 164;
letter to H. B. S. from, 218.

Cary, Alice and Phoebe, 157.

Casaubon and Dorothea, criticism by H. B. S. on, 471.

Catechisms, Church and Assembly, H. B. S.'s early study of, 6, 7.

Chapman, Mrs. Margaret Weston, 310.

Charpentier of Paris, publishes "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 192;
eulogy of that work, 242.

Chase, Salmon P., 69, 85.

Chelsea, H. B. S. reads in, 492.

Chicago, readings in, 498.

Children of H. B. S., picture of three eldest, 90;
appeal to, by H. B. S. 157;
described by H. B. S., 198;
letters to, from H. B. S. on European voyage and impressions, 205;
on life in London, 228;
on meeting at Stafford House, 232;
on Vesuvius, 301, 416.

"Chimney Corner, The," date of, 490.

Cholera epidemic in Cincinnati, 120.

Christ, life of, little understood, 127;
communion with Him possible, 487;
love and faith in, 513;
study of his life, 418;
his presence all that remains now, 507;
his promises comfort the soul for separations by death, 486.

"Christian Union," contains observations by H. B. S. on spiritualism
and Mr. Owen's books, 465.

Christianity and spiritualism, 487.

Church, the, responsible for slavery, 151.

Cincinnati, Lyman Beecher accepts call to, 53;
Catherine Beecher's impressions of, 54, 55;
Walnut Hills and Seminary, 54, 55;
famine in, 100;
cholera, 119;
sympathetic audience in, 498.

Civil War, Mrs. Stowe on causes of, 363.

Clarke & Co. on English success of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 190;
offer author remuneration, 202.

Clay, Henry, and his compromise, 143.

Cogswell, Catherine Ledyard, school-friend of H. B. S., 31.

College of Teachers, 79.

Collins professorship, 129.

Colored people, advance of, 255.

Confederacy, A. H. Stephens on object of, 381.

Courage and cheerfulness of H. B. S., 473.

Cranch, E. P., 69.

Cruikshank illustrates "Uncle Tom's Cabin," 192.

"DANIEL DERONDA," appears, in "Harper's," 473;
his nature like H. W. Beecher's, 481;
admiration of Prof. Stowe for, 482.

Da Vinci's Last Supper, H. B. S.'s impressions of, 305.

Death of youngest-born of H. B. S., 124;
anguish at, 198.

Death, H. B. S. within sight of the River of, 513.

"Debatable Land between this World and the Next," 464.

Declaration of Independence, H. B. S.'s feeling about, 11;
death-knell to slavery, 141.

Degan, Miss, 32, 41, 46.

Democracy and American novelists, Lowell on, 329.

"De Profundis," motive of Mrs. Browning's, 357.

De Staël, Mme., and Corinne, 67.

Dickens, first sight of, 226;
J. R. Lowell on, 328.

"Dog's Mission, A," date of, 491.

Domestic service, H. B. S.'s trouble with, 200.

Doubters and disbelievers may find comfort in spiritualism, 487.

Doubts, religious, after death of eldest son, 321.

Douglass, Frederick, 254;
letters from H. B. S. to, on slavery, 149.

Drake, Dr., family physician, 63;
one of founders of "College of Teachers," 79.

"Dred," 266;
Sumner's letter on, 268;
Georgiana May on, 268;
English edition of, 270;
presented to Queen Victoria, 271;
her interest in, 277, 285;
demand for, in Glasgow, 273;
Duchess of Sutherland's copy, 276;
Low's sales of, 278, 279;
"London Times," on, 278;
English reviews on, severe, 279;
"Revue des Deux Mondes" on, 290;
Miss Martineau on, 309;
Prescott on, 311;
Lowell on, 334;
now "Nina Gordon," publication of, 490.

Dudevant, Madame. See Sand, George.