Miss Ellis's Mission Part 3

Yesterday [Sat.u.r.day] I was at the church all day to get the library in order. Was taken with vertigo, and for over an hour and a half couldn't walk straight. J---- S---- happened to be at the church at choir-meeting, and brought me home. By bedtime could walk alone, and to-day have been attending to duties at church. Succeeded in getting the Library settled to my satisfaction, and was glad there was no one there. Opened my library March 19. Mr. W----announced me "Miss Sarah Ellis" in the papers.

_March 28._ Have felt quite encouraged this week by applications for doc.u.ments. Have just mailed to Rev. ----, "Statement of Unitarian Belief in Bible Language." [This applicant is now in a Unitarian pulpit.]

_April 3._ A beautiful sermon in "Register" to-day--"Life's Shadows"--by Rev. J. Ll. Jones. [She copies two pages.]

_May 1._ Feel deeply interested in a correspondent we have in Springfield, ... who confesses himself something of an atheist, and I am hunting up all the convincing articles upon the subject of G.o.d and Immortality that I can find, and came across a "Unitarian Review," of June, 1876, which seems to have been written for his very case.... Hope these will be convincing to the Springfield Club, which was formed last Sunday, with ten members to begin with.

_June 2._ Am now quite interested in trying to manage it so as to keep the church open two hours Sundays during the vacation, for persons to come and read and take home books. Hope I may succeed.

_June 12._ Have felt tired to-day, but enjoyed the day, for Mr.

Wendte and mother dined here. He tells me I may "run the church"

during the vacation, which will make me very happy.

_June 29._ The hottest day of the month for ten years, and the hottest of the season so far. Intense. One hundred in the shade at noon. Have been reading W. R. Alger's "School of Life," from which the following abstract....

Then follow three pages of the "abstract," in a close, minute handwriting, ending this volume of the journal,--the last submitted to the writer's inspection, because, as has been previously said, there was almost no personal matter in the diaries of the remaining years.

Miss Ellis's ardent desire to keep the church open during the summer vacation had to be abandoned, owing to the reluctance of her family to have one so feeble at the church alone; and she went Sat.u.r.day afternoons instead, when the s.e.xton was there.

The Cincinnati branch of the Women's Auxiliary Conference, on its organization in March, 1881, looking about for work to do, remembered occasional letters received by Mr. Wendte in response to the doc.u.ments sent out by him and Miss Ellis. These letters seemed to hint at a possible opportunity awaiting this Unitarian church, standing so isolated in the heart of the great rich West, where the mult.i.tude of Ingersoll and Liberal clubs, and of intelligent people outside all churches, seemed to indicate a want that the evangelical denominations did not meet. It was therefore resolved to attempt extending the work begun by Mr. Wendte, by advertising in the daily papers Unitarian literature for free distribution,--an experiment never before tried.

Miss Ellis entered upon her duties as Corresponding Secretary "without money and without price" (though later a small annual salary of one hundred dollars was raised for her), but with an immense zeal. The advertis.e.m.e.nt's line or two of fine print, almost lost, apparently, on the broad side of the daily paper, inserted only once a week, nevertheless soon began to bring Miss Ellis letters that equally surprised and delighted us, showing that we had not over-estimated the demand for Unitarian literature in the West.

Rev. J. Ll. Jones being in Cincinnati, the first bundle of letters was read to him, and his opinion, as an experienced Western missionary, anxiously awaited. It was given in these words:--

"I think you Cincinnati women have got hold of the _little end_ of a _big thing_, and if Miss Ellis's health and your enthusiasm hold out, something is bound to come of it. Go on, by all means." He added, "I wish I knew that Miss Ellis had ten years more to live."

Four years and a half, however, was the short term of service allowed her in her mission, found at last after years of longing and groping towards it vainly. But now it was seen that all these years of suffering had not been in vain. She who had endured so much was quick to sympathize with others. The religious studies undertaken for her own consolation enabled her wisely to direct the reading of her correspondents. Even her deafness seemed specially to fit her for her work. Shut apart from the din and bustle of modern life in a quiet world of her own, from its peaceful communings she sent out light and strength to others. The poor, denied life, like a plant severely pruned by the careful gardener to insure a late, full bloom, now reached out and touched many lives with a wonderful uplifting power.

Her records of this four and a half years' work show that she received 1,672 letters and postals, wrote 2,541, distributed at church and by mail 22,042 tracts, papers, etc.; sold 286 books, loaned 258 books, and obtained about sixty subscribers to religious papers.[3] Mere figures, however, but poorly tell the story. Several young men have entered or will enter the ministry, as one result of her efforts. Many souls wrestling in utter loneliness with doubts they dared not confide to their nearest friends, received, from her wise sympathy and counsel, restoration to religious faith, and strength to bear heavy burdens with renewed courage, animated by trust in a loving Father hitherto concealed from them behind the outgrown phraseology of antiquated creeds,--creeds which their reason rejected. Many, indeed most of these correspondents, overjoyed with their new faith, hastened to share it with friends, and many a little missionary centre began to grow in localities far from any Unitarian church, fostered by people who had never heard a Unitarian sermon. So the ground was being prepared for the State missionary. Her work, too, opened the eyes of her denomination to its opportunities, and did much to promote that missionary activity in which lies our brightest hope for the future. She is the acknowledged pioneer of the Post Office Mission.

[Footnote 3: Besides this, much reading matter was sent to the City Workhouse, to the Old Men and Women's Home, and other inst.i.tutions.]

As her work began to attract attention, many letters came from those desiring to undertake like work, both East and West, asking advice, full and explicit accounts of her methods, etc.; and many long letters were written in reply. A Unitarian Club formed among the soldiers in the Columbus barracks was one of her interests, until its dissolution by the ordering of its members to other posts. She supplied much reading matter to, and corresponded occasionally with, soldiers at the Dayton Soldiers'

Home. A soldier in Wyoming Territory was for a long time a most grateful recipient of reading from her, which he shared with his company. Small clubs in several localities were supplied by her with matter for discussion and study during their existence. Wherever she had two or three correspondents, she always urged the formation of reading or Unity clubs. For some months she had an interesting correspondence with a young man of more than usual intelligence in our City Workhouse, loaning him such books as Channing's "Life and Works," Dewey's "Human Nature,"

and Merriam's "Way of Life." She never heard from him after he left the workhouse, but always had faith that he was somewhere living up to, or towards, the good resolves so often expressed to her. Through him, and Mr. Beach, of Joliet, Ill., our attention was called to the need of supplying prisoners with good reading matter, both religious and secular. Correspondence was opened with the warden and chaplain at the State Penitentiary, Frankfort, Ky., which led to the sending of their "Registers" there regularly by two Boston ladies, and eventually to the sending of many barrels of reading matter both to Joliet and Kentucky by the Women's Auxiliary Conference of Boston.

A great pleasure of her last years was attending the Western Conference at Chicago in May, 1883. Published accounts of her work had made her well known in the denomination; so that, as the Cincinnati party reported on their return home, "Miss Ellis was decidedly the belle of the Conference." Every one wanted to see and talk with her, ask her advice, etc. It was an immense satisfaction to her to meet personally, to see and hear (for she almost seemed to hear through the eager eyes), men and women whose fame and writings were so familiar to her. Every session of the Conference saw Miss Ellis seated in the front pew, audiphone in hand, eagerly intent on the exercises. Social beguilements might make other people late at the morning devotions, but never Miss Ellis, who took her conferences, like all else, conscientiously.

In May, 1885, she again attended the Western Conference at St. Louis, though in great feebleness of body. Rev. W. C. Gannett, in "Unity," thus speaks of her:--

"A last summer's letter from the little mother of the Post Office Mission, who has just died in Cincinnati, will be of interest now.

Some who were present at the last May Conference in St. Louis may remember the pathos of the quiet figure sitting in the front pews and trying on her echo-fan to catch the patter of the words said round her. The wee, sick, deafened body in which she did her work so strong-heartedly makes that work all the more an example and an inspiration. Strange enough should it prove that this bit of a lady, almost caged from the world by cripplings, had opened the most effective channel yet made for carrying our liberal faith to the world. Perhaps it _takes_ a thorn in the flesh to make a missionary. She certainly has done more than many a stout _son_ of the Gospel to keep her name remembered in our Western churches.

This letter hints her pluck and her joy in the work, and the struggle of it. She had been urged to go into the country for a short rest, but replied:--

The country is not the place for me to stay in any time. The morning and evening air keep my head roaring so, and increase catarrh. I have learned that to stay home during the summer, make no special effort, and work on slowly, is the better plan. If I go away, there is constantly an effort over something. I return tired, work has acc.u.mulated. I have to work doubly hard, and soon use up the little gained. I am too weak in summer to wish to come in contact with people to whom I have to be agreeable. Another difficulty,--the country is too _quiet_ for me. I am inclined to be a "hermit," and when I do go out, which I do daily, even now I am so sick, I need the stir, bustle, commotion, and the stores to change the thoughts. I loved the country before I was so deaf,--now city life is better for me; but I love to refresh myself by a ride into the country in the street cars, where I can study _human_ nature on the way.... I work on principle, and for the real love of working. I am not happy unless at work, and can't bear to tear myself away from my little congregation, my papers, books, etc.

_They_ suffer for it. The family do not wish me to keep so busy, but I am better for it, and my physician is on my side. "Keep up!"

[The next few sentences have already been given, in reference to Mr. Noyes.] Don't give me undue credit for my appearance at the St.

Louis Conference. I tried to kill three birds with one stone (I don't wear bird's wings in my hat, however),--to attend the Conference, visit a brother, and gain strength. The last I failed in.... I have written this long letter in two sittings. I have improved decidedly within the past few days, and with pleasant rides and good food and care shall soon be better. Most sincerely and cordially your friend, SALLIE ELLIS.

CINCINNATI, July 28,1885."

Strangely enough, one's first thought of Miss Ellis was never as an invalid. She so ignored the poor, weak body that she made you forget it too. She was always so _alive_, so full of interest and joy in her work.

With what delight would she say, "This new tract is exactly the thing to send ----," or announce, "such a good letter from ----." Even during the last months, when the ravages of disease could no longer be concealed, she _would_ not be sick. She set aside your sympathy. She was always "better," "only my limbs are so weak to-day," or "my breath is so short," or "it always makes me cough to walk," as if these were mere casual incidents quite unworthy of notice.

The last of her life, it was pitiful to see her still clinging to her work, still persisting in caring for her own room, declining all offers of help. She often rose at five o'clock Sundays, because obliged by weakness to work slowly, that she might reach church early, to prepare her Tract Table before the congregation arrived. When no longer able to remain to the services, she still came and ministered to her own special congregation at the Tract Table, though obliged by weakness to sit. When she no longer had strength to arrange her hair, she quietly cut it off.

But she went on with her work. To one offering help she said, "When I cannot do my work, I don't want to live." Again, she said, "There are many who need me, and they keep me alive." To the last she declined being considered an invalid,--did not wish any one to walk out with her, although the family were very uneasy to have one so weak and so deaf on the street alone. She walked out every day, until the last time she was forced to lean against the door-post and gain breath and strength to take the final step up into the house.

All this time she was writing letters of cheer and strength, seldom intimating that all was not well with her. When finally obliged to keep her bed, she faded away rapidly, only living about two weeks. The last postal card to a correspondent was begun in bed, in a trembling hand, ending abruptly, "Too sick to write," and it was finished for her.

Although at times she had a little of the consumptive's feeling that she might possibly rally, and even recover strength to work again, yet she perceived, as she said to her mother, that "the sands are running out fast," and made all her preparations for death in the quiet spirit of one merely going on a journey into a familiar country. One who watched with her one of the last nights spoke of a beautiful prayer she offered in the middle of the night. She was unable to turn herself in bed, and said to this friend with a smile, "This body wants turning so." Poor body! not much longer had she to endure its weaknesses. Her religion was too habitual, too much a part of her very soul, for many outward words or professions. It was her life, her self. Why should she talk about it?

Mr. Thayer had always given her a list of the hymns and the full order of service, and the sermon to read. The Sunday before her death the sermon was returned, with the message that Miss Ellis was unable to read it, but had asked her mother to copy the text for her. A week before her death a friend, finding that in her excessive conscientiousness she was letting business details of the Women's Auxiliary Conference trouble her lest she should forget some item, went over all the books, wrote business letters, and settled accounts, at her dictation. Speaking of her work, she expressed faith that "G.o.d will raise up some one to do it." She said earnestly, "I have always wanted to do something for my denomination." It had evidently been a little of a struggle for her to leave the work she loved, just as it began to be so successful in many places, to die and be forgotten. In her modesty, she had no foregleam of the afterglow of praise and public testimony to her worth that was to follow the setting of her sun. Speaking once, near the end, with great pleasure, of Mrs. Paine's successful work in Newport and New York, she added, sadly, "They must increase, but I must decrease." But at last she was "ready not to do," able to give all up and repose in perfect peace upon the Father.

She had always thought much of Christmas, always remembered her friends'

birthdays. Her skilful fingers and untiring industry made the slender means go a long way in devising innumerable tasteful presents on these days for a large circle of friends. She loved children, and loved to make them happy, and her little friends were always remembered. This year, a day or two before Christmas, when so weak that only by the closest attention could the feeble, broken utterance be understood, she directed Christmas gifts, prepared long before, sent to all her friends.

To one whom she knew needed it, went "Daily Strength for Daily Needs;"

to one, a teacher, the little "Seed Thoughts from Browning." "I thought it might help her in her work, tell her." Even her washerwoman and her little girl, and the postman,--"he has brought me a great many letters,"

she said,--were not forgotten.

A friend took her a Christmas card sent by a little girl. Her feeble vision could barely discern the design. "Birds and flowers," she said; "what could be more beautiful? It cheers me so. Yet I hardly need that.

I am very happy and cheerful. I feel that everything is right."

Afterwards she spoke of the "Happy, happy Christmas-tide," saying, "We must try to make it bright for the young." To the last, her thoughts were of others.

Having closed all her earthly affairs, she lay awaiting the end in great peace. Sunday, Dec. 27, 1885, in the evening of the peaceful day she always loved, just as her little clock was striking seven, she pa.s.sed gently away in sleep. Well may we believe that hers was a joyful wakening into a bright New Year.

Her funeral was attended in the Unitarian Church, December 30,--a service of rare beauty and appropriateness. A thoughtful friend had covered the Tract Table in the vestibule with moss, ferns, and flowers, among which were placed a few tracts. In the church, wreathed with Christmas evergreens, a large concourse of friends a.s.sembled. To the strains of the Beethoven Funeral March, the coffin, nearly concealed beneath emblematic palm branches and lilies, was borne by the brothers whose loving-kindness had brightened all the life now ended, to its resting-place beneath the pulpit, close to the front seat where, for so many years, Miss Ellis's familiar form had never been missing. The choir, composed of young friends of hers in the church, sang the first three verses of "Nearer, my G.o.d, to Thee," and Whittier's appropriate hymn, "Another hand is beckoning us."

From the text, "She is not dead, but sleepeth," Rev. George A. Thayer paid a just and beautiful tribute to the spirit pa.s.sed from our midst.

To few, he said, could these words of Jesus be so fittingly applied.

Though seemingly dead, she would live in ever-increasing power in the influence she had exerted over other lives. If, from cities and villages far away, from lonely farm-houses, all could to-day be a.s.sembled within these walls who had received help and strength from her, large indeed would be the concourse. More truly of her than of most might it be said that she had

"joined the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence."

It would be well could we all imitate her example in cultivating a love of religious reading, and that habit of religious meditation and communion which was the source of her strength. Her leading characteristic was conscience, an all-dominating power of conscience.

Whatever she felt it her duty to do, that she did, at all costs. He closed by reading Bryant's

THE CONQUEROR'S GRAVE.

Within this lowly grave a Conqueror lies, And yet the monument proclaims it not, Nor round the sleeper's name hath chisel wrought The emblems of a fame that never dies,-- Ivy and amaranth, in a graceful sheaf, Twined with the laurel's fair, imperial leaf.

A simple name alone, To the great world unknown, Is graven here, and wild-flowers, rising round, Meek meadow-sweet and violets of the ground, Lean lovingly against the humble stone.

Here, in the quiet earth, they laid apart No man of iron mould and b.l.o.o.d.y hands, Who sought to wreak upon the cowering lands The pa.s.sions that consumed his restless heart; But one of tender spirit and delicate frame, Gentlest in mien and mind, Of gentle womankind Timidly shrinking from the breath of blame: One in whose eyes the smile of kindness made Its haunt, like flowers by sunny brooks in May, Yet, at the thought of others' pain, a shade Of sweeter sadness chased the smile away.

Nor deem that when the hand that moulders here Was raised in menace, realms were chilled with fear And armies mustered at the sign, as when Clouds rise on clouds before the rainy East-- Gray captains leading bands of veteran men And fiery youths to be the vulture's feast.

Not thus were waged the mighty wars that gave The victory to her who fills this grave.

Alone her task was wrought, Alone the battle fought; Through that long strife her constant hope was stayed On G.o.d alone, nor looked for other aid.

She met the hosts of sorrow with a look That altered not beneath the frown they wore, And soon the lowering brood were tamed, and took, Meekly, her gentle rule, and frowned no more.

Her soft hand put aside the a.s.saults of wrath, And calmly broke in twain The fiery shafts of pain, And rent the nets of pa.s.sion from her path.