All the Days of My Life: An Autobiography Part 62

Now, I am a mite of womankind, I am neither tall nor strong; I can only read, and dream, and think, And put my thought into song.

But I smile at the mighty giant Beating his iron so bold; And think of a slender little pen Turning my thought into gold.

I sit in my room so bright and warm, And my tiny tool I lift, "The battle is not unto the strong, Nor the race unto the swift."

But the hammer shall never cease to beat, And the song shall never fail, Be busy, O pen! And blacksmith brave, Beat rivet, and shoe, and nail.

The world has need of us both I trow: The giant so strong and tall And the woman who only has a thought They are comrades after all.

So, brother, be busy, I would hear Thy hammering all day long; The world is glad for the anvil's ring, And glad for the Singer's song.

APPENDIX V

LETTERS

The following letters are a few taken from a great number as evidence of the faithfulness with which my work has been done, but more especially interesting as showing the marked individuality of the different writers. It is in the latter respect I offer them to a public already well acquainted with most of their names and work.

NEW HAVEN, December 24, 1889.

MRS. AMELIA E. BARR,

Dear Madam:

Many thanks for your kind note. My criticisms of "Friend Olivia"

addressed themselves only to minute points of historical accuracy, and I fear that some of them may have seemed to you, what the Germans call _spitz-findig_. This you will pardon, however, when you consider that my duty was to pick all the small holes that I could. As regards historical accuracy in a larger and far more important sense, I think that you have succeeded admirably in catching the atmosphere of feeling of the period, and especially the spirit of the Friends. It must be hard to think back into a past century in this way.

In any case, I am sure that you have made a very charming story, and one which I shall re-read with much greater pleasure, when I no longer have to read it pencil in hand, in search of microscopic slips in the chronology, etc.

Very respectfully,

HENRY S. BEERS.

KELP ROCK, NEW CASTLE, N.H., Oct. 14th, 1887.

MY DEAR MRS. BARR:

Mrs. Stedman has written our appreciation of your charming remembrance of us, but I must have a word of my own. My wife said to me, that "she loved you at first sight," but she was too Saxon to write this to you, and being Saxon, it was a most unusual thing for her to feel, or say. As for me, I have not forgotten the evening you made so pleasant for us, in which your instant suggestions for my Christmas poem, explained to me the rapid and ceaseless inventiveness, displayed in your succession of books. Another one is out, as I see by the papers, so I have another pleasure in store. You might not soon see a review of your "Border Shepherdess" which came out in Wednesday's _Boston Advertiser_; so I enclose it to you. Compet.i.tive criticism usually stings somebody; in this case, your neighbor Mr. Roe suffers; and he really seems one of the most unselfish and agreeable members of our Authors' Club in N.Y. I presume you have seen the other notice from the _Tribune_, whose literary editors are justly proud of your tales.

Of course, I shall see you in town this winter.

Very sincerely yours,

E. C. STEDMAN.

MONTCLAIR, N.J., Oct. 2, 1896.

A beautiful story, dear Mrs. Barr, is "Prisoners of Conscience." I have just finished it, and am moved to say "thank you." n.o.ble characters, rich in human and divine love, yet frozen into poverty of life, by that awful logic with which saintly fools shut out the sunlight of G.o.d's heart, and shut in men's souls to despair.

It is a sad tale but made well worth your strong, fine telling of it, by the illumination of David's life, when G.o.d's truth has set him free. Such a tale is worth unnumbered barrels of sermons, and whole libraries of theologic disputation.

What a wide range you are getting! It is a far cry from the dainty romance of "The Bow of Orange Ribbon" to "Prisoners of Conscience,"

but all fresh, unhackneyed, in fields of your own finding out. I have not read all your books, but I never read one, without vowing to get at the others. They are instinct with life, one feels them true, however distant and unfamiliar the scene, however strange the types of characters. And they are so full of joyous sympathy with youth and love and brightness, so tender and understanding of trouble and grief, and stress of soul, so large and n.o.ble in the interpretation of spiritual aspiration, that they must be twice blessed--to us your readers, and to you the bountiful giver.

Well pardon this little outburst! Since the early _Christian Union_ days I have always felt a peculiar interest and pleasure in your growing success, and have regretted that circ.u.mstances should have carried me into lines of work, that did not give me the pleasure of an a.s.sociation with it, which I should have so greatly enjoyed. But your well built s.h.i.+ps have been skillfully piloted, and I wish you ever fair seas, and many a happy voyage.

Sincerely your friend,

J. R. HOWARD.

CHRISTIAN HERALD 91 to 102 Bible House May 6, 1897.

MRS. AMELIA E. BARR, CORNWALL-ON-HUDSON, N.Y.

DEAR MRS. BARR:

From present prospects we will have five or six vessels sailing for India laden with corn, and I still think it would be a grand thing if you could see your way clear to join us on our India expedition; and be among those, who at Calcutta, will represent Christian America, and transfer this enormous contribution into the hands of those who will gladly and honestly administer it; so that it may do the greatest good to the greatest number, but I presume the heat deters you from going.

A three days' journey through the Suez Ca.n.a.l and Red Sea, is not one of the most delightful excursions, but what there is beyond, will more than compensate for the discomforts endured. Should you change your mind do please let me know at once, that I may arrange for your trip.

With kindest regards, and best wishes, I am

Very cordially yours,

L. KLOPSCH.

PRINCETON, N.J.

Nov. 11, '09.

MY DEAR MRS BARR:

I can not tell you how touched I was in receiving just now your new book with its tender dedication.[9] I shall have to confess it brought the moisture to my eyes, and I really appreciate it all so deeply.

Now come to us, and let us both show you how much we think of you. I know that Alice can be happy here for a little while at least, and you would make us very happy; you describe those forty years beautifully, let us celebrate the anniversary.

It is needless to say that I shall read the volume with pleasure. I always do enjoy your stories, and they are about the only stories I ever read.

Give our love to Alice, and believe us both to be your loving and admiring friends.

Yours very truly,

WILLIAM LIBBEY.