The forms our pencil or our pen designed;
Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face,
Such the soft image of our youthful mind.
Illustrating this remarkable characteristic in her life are appended two
excerpts of a domestic nature from her diary in 1907, she then being
eighty-seven years of age.
“DOING MY WORK,” AT 87
Friday, October 18, 1907.
This is my first day (since my illness) of doing my work and having a
guest, but it has gone superbly. The breakfast table was neatly
elegant—all silver and glass except the plates and cups and saucers. We
had soft boiled eggs, cooked on the table, corn flakes, and a delightful
platter of cream toast, with grapes, apple sauce, Dutch cheese and thick
cream, and two kinds of coffee. Mr. Brown went to town returning at 5 P.
M., when we had supper (or dinner)—a nicely cooked steak and sausage,
fine potatoes, rice pudding, bananas, cake and tea—fruit.
I arranged the milk and cream, put the house in order, took care of
lamps and room, and drafted a long letter to the Grand Duchess (from the
medium), and Empress.
Doctor got Uncle Silas to come at evening and I engaged one hundred
bundles of fodder at .04 cents a bundle, to be bought and put in the
stable next week.
Have talked with Mr. Brown concerning Lucy.
“A RATHER HARD DAY”
Saturday, Oct. 26, 1907, Glen Echo.
Another fine day. But an experience this morning was anything but that.
As Mrs. Barker did not come I was “doing up” the breakfast dishes at the
sink and had put a kettle of beans on the stove to parboil for baking,
as Doctor had expressed a desire for them. A rather heavy coal fire was
going for this purpose. Suddenly I was startled by a great rush at the
stove. Supposing that my kettle of beans had boiled over, I turned to
see a flame three feet high from a vehicle larger than my kettle,
pouring a liquid out over the hot stove that blazed the moment it
touched. The Doctor had wanted to use some tar about the roof, and
brought in a two-gallon tin bucket partly full and set it on the stove
to warm up, and left it without speaking or in any way calling my
attention to it. It had gotten boiling hot, and my first notice of its
presence was the burst of blaze. The bucket of boiling black tar running
over all on fire, the flame streaming up some two feet high. I called
the Doctor at the cellar steps, at the windows—no response. The blaze
went higher and wider. The carpenters must be on the roof and to the top
I rushed, to find no one there—down again. I saw I was the only person
on the premises. The room was dark with smoke. I could see little but
the blaze. Four feet to the left stood a five-gallon can of kerosene oil
for the lamps. I could not remove it and, if I could, I must carry it
directly past the flame—if a spark reached, we would be blown to atoms,
house and all. The floor was bare, with one or two small _cotton_ mats.
I dared not use even them. There was but one way; I must grapple the
boiling, blazing mass, take it across the room and throw it from the
window. I had no inflammable material on me, being dressed in entire
black silk, waist and skirt. There was no time to lose. I tore away the
curtain, raised the window to its fullest height, seized the bucket
firmly with both hands and landed it on the ground. I knew the smoke
must raise outside help as I did it. The Doctor had been to the post
office. He rushed in to find me in the midst of darkness. I had closed
the doors at first, still the smoke poured out of the chamber windows we
kept closed. My right hand, which had taken the tip of the bucket, was
nearly covered in a coat of tar, put on boiling hot, and to stay. I did
not try to remove it but put it in hot water and went to work with it. I
need not say that the rest of the day was needed, and given to the
house, but we were only too thankful that we _had_ a house to clean up.
The tar coating and hot water saved the hand, so that a few heavy
blisters tell the story of their hardship. It is all over now. I write
this the _next_ day; last night I could not have done it.
Doctor went to Mrs. Warneke’s; I remained home. Mrs. Hinton came but I
made no mention of the morning adventure. She has commenced her new
home. I gave her butter, fruit, jellies, to help her table. A _rather_
hard day.
LI
All the world pays homage to the nurse—poets, warriors, statesmen,
kings, and the numberless multitudes of human sufferers.... EUGENE
UNDERHILL, M.D., author of “_Nursing—The Heart of the Art_.”
Efficient nurses are the most difficult to obtain of all aid in Red
Cross work. CLARA BARTON.
I never claimed to be a nurse. There are hundreds of women who could
nurse as well as I, if not better, than I could.
CLARA BARTON.
Time is the great physician. DISRAELI.
Physicians mend or end us. LORD BYRON.
Send for a physician;—but the sick man answered, “It is no matter for,
if I die, I’ll die at leisure.” LORD BACON.
For the woman has a friend
Who will keep her to the end. IRONQUILL.
NURSING A FINE ART—OVER THE WASHTUB
Was Clara Barton a nurse? Yes, and Florence Nightingale said that
nursing is a fine art; and to succeed requires greater devotion than
that in the art of painting or sculpture, for nursing has to do with
“the living body, the temple of God’s spirit.” It’s probably the finest
of the fine arts. Clara Barton did not assume the rôle of an art-nurse;
she said others could surpass her in this art.
Miss Barton in her passion for service claimed to be only a
“working-woman.” Work did not undignify her; instead, she seemed to
dignify work—she surely made nursing popular. Work was a part of the
best religion she ever had. With her
Human hopes and human creeds
Have their seat in human needs.
The day preceding the delivery of her public address she spent washing
the clothes of the family and the linen of the household. Such exercise,
more useful than golf and serving like purpose, strengthened the
muscles, increased the blood circulation, made the brain active.
Commenting on the “wash-tub custom” her old physician said as she became
so very tired after a hard day’s washing at first he used to protest,
then facetiously remarked,
But her spirits always rose
Like the bubbles in the clothes;
and therefore he concluded that Miss Barton knew better than he did what
was good for her.
LII
Clara Barton—The millions she has blest.
KATE BROWNLEE SHERWOOD.
With the gleam of the scarlet she walks with the immortals now.
Haverhill (Mass.) _Gazette_.
One of the few immortal names. FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.
Oh! the love of woman, the love of woman! no coldness, no neglect, no
harshness, no cruelty can extinguish thee! Like the fabled lamp in the
sepulchre, thou sheddest thy pure light in the human heart, where
everything around thee is dead forever.
WILL CARLETON.
Will Carleton—author of “The New Church Organ,” “Betsy and I are Out,”
“Over the Hill to the Poor-house,” and many others. THE AUTHOR.
Thy voice sounds like a prophet’s word;
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK.
IMMORTAL WORDS—A MILLION THANKS
The following correspondence occurred between two beloved Americans:
On the occasion of Memorial Day, May 30, 1895, at Arlington, Will
Carleton delivered the poem. It was so fine that at its close I felt a
great desire to reach him with some word of appreciation and, tearing a
scrap from an envelope which I had, I wrote this upon it:
Thanks: Immortal thanks for immortal words.
Arlington, 1895. (_Signed_) CLARA BARTON.
Folding and addressing the scrap to Mr. Will Carleton, Miss Barton
passed it to the next person, who graciously passed it to the next, and
so on, through possibly a hundred hands, until finally it was lodged
with Mr. Carleton. In due course of time, another little scrap with the
following words came back to Miss Barton, through the same hands:
To Miss Clara Barton,
A million thanks to one,
Who hath a million plaudits won,
For deeds of love to many millions done.
(Signed) WILL CARLETON.
LIII
Wherever flowers cannot be reared, there man cannot live.
NAPOLEON.
A rose to the living is sweet. CLARA BARTON.
The roses are sweet, and blessed be they who bring them into one’s
life. CLARA BARTON.
A heaven-sent gift, and blessing, is the rose,
Its grace inspireth aspirations high. E. G. BROWNE.
The red rose has been blazoned with a boar’s head on the Barton crest
ever since the War of the Roses.
DR. WILLIAM E. BARTON.
All the world brings its roses to the bier of Clara Barton.
_Grand Rapids Herald._
My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the sky,
But ere the shades of evening close
Is scattered on the ground—to die.
RICHARD HENRY WILDE.
There’s the rosemary, that’s for remembrance;—and there is pansies,
that’s for thoughts. SHAKESPEARE.
THE PANSY PIN—FOR THOUGHTS
Once Friendship weaves its silken band
It cannot be by time or distance broken;
And severed friends are bound by Mem’ry’s hand
More closely by some little simple token.
The “Pansy Pin,” of which so much has been written, and which Miss
Barton continually wore, was given to her by the Grand Duchess of Baden.
The pin is about as large as the case of a lady’s watch and in the shape
of a pansy. The five petals are splendid amethysts and a single large
beautiful pearl rests in the center, like a dew drop. The gift was
accompanied with the words: “This is a simple gift, but it is a pansy
which means ‘for thoughts.’”
Jeweler—“Miss Barton, do you know the value of that pin?”
Miss Barton—“No, sir, it was a present to me.”
Jeweler—“Each of these jewels is almost priceless. They represent a
king’s ransom.”
Miss Barton—“The pin is priceless to me. I always wear it ‘for thoughts’
of a very dear friend.”
LIV
AT A DINNER IN LONDON
Lord Stratford—Will the guests kindly write on a slip of paper the
name of the one, including the famous generals, who served in the
Crimean War they think will be the longest remembered?
Guests—Florence Nightingale (written on every slip).
THE AUTHOR.
Clara Barton is to America what Florence Nightingale is to us.
_London Times._
No general that led hosts to victory on the battlefield is nearly so
secure of lasting fame as is the name of Clara Barton.
Dayton (Ohio) _Journal_.
Miss Nightingale found herself misunderstood and lost her Governmental
position—suffering much from Governmental heartlessness and neglect.
England, in later Governmental acts, was more appreciative of her war
heroine.... PERCY H. EPLER.
English women are solid and sensible, learned and self-possessed, and
all the world respects them. CLARA BARTON.
Surely woman should bring the best she has, whatever that is, to the
work of God’s world. FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
A white marble cross, 20 feet high, overlooking Balaclava and seen
from ships crossing the Black Sea, is known as the “Nightingale
Cross,”—erected at the personal expense of Florence Nightingale in
memory of the soldiers and nurses who died in the War. THE AUTHOR.
[Illustration:
© _American Red Cross_
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
Clara Barton is to America what Florence Nightingale is to us.
London _Times_.
I will not speak of reward when permitted to do our Country’s work—it
is what we live for.
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
Florence Nightingale, covered with the praises and honors of the
world.
CLARA BARTON.
See pages 183; 197.
]
[Illustration:
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE MEMORIAL ON THE MALL, LONDON
(Left to right.) The monument erected at Waterloo Place, corner of
Pall Mall, London, England, to the memory of Florence Nightingale.
Funds, by public subscription. Unveiled, February 24, 1915.
“To the memory of 2162 officers, non-com. officers and privates of
Brigade of Guards who fell during the war with Russia in 1854–1856.
Erected by their comrades.”
(In front) Statue of Sidney Herbert, associated with the life work of
Florence Nightingale.
]
CLARA BARTON PAYS RESPECTS TO FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE
In the year 1854 occurred the Crimean War. At the Scutari and Barrack
Hospitals, Florence Nightingale rendered service that gave her immortal
fame. “Her services there,” said Clara Barton in 1882, “marked an era
never before reached in the progress of the world. When Miss
Nightingale, with her thirty-eight faithful attendants, sailed from the
shores of England, it meant more for the advancement of the world, more
for its future history, than all the fleets of armies and navies, cannon
and commissary, munitions of war, and regiments of men, than had sailed
before her in that vast campaign.
“This unarmed pilgrim band of women that day not only struck a blow at
the barbarities of war, but they laid the axe deep at the root of war
itself. When Florence Nightingale, covered with the praises and honors
of the world, bending under the weight of England’s gratitude, again
sought her green island home, it was to seek also a bed of painful
invalidism, from which she has never risen and probably never will.”
’Tis good that thy name springs
From two of earth’s fairest things
A stately city and a sweet-voiced bird.
LV
How age is a matter of individual commendation I have never been able
to see. CLARA BARTON.
We have no control over the beginning of life and, unless criminally,
none over its ending. CLARA BARTON.
It is not my fault, if my gray hairs are not honorable.
JOHN B. GOUGH.
One is as old as his strength. CLARA BARTON.
We can neither hasten, nor arrest, age. CLARA BARTON.
Let work be thy measure of life. W. E. H. LECKY.
We live in deeds, not years—we should count time by heart-throbs. He
most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
PHILIP J. BAILEY.
Although she had lived more than ninety years Clara Barton never gave
the impression to anyone that she was an old woman. ‘Her age knows no
time.’ She gave to the world nearly a century of work. ALICE HUBBARD.
A life spent worthily should be measured by a noble line—by deeds, not
years. PIZARRO.
Age is opportunity no less than youth itself, but in a different
dress. H. W. LONGFELLOW.
THE PASSING OF YEARS—RIGHT HABITS OF LIFE
At the age of 11 years Clara Barton was a nurse; at 15 years, a teacher;
at 34 years, a clerk in the Patent Office; at 40 years, a nurse in the
Civil War; at 59 years, an organizer of nurses in the Franco-Prussian
war; at 60 years, President of the American Red Cross; at 78 years as
President of the Red Cross in the Spanish-American war; at 83 years,
retired from the Presidency of the Red Cross; at 84 years, organizer and
the President of the National First Aid Association, which Presidency
she held up to the time of her death in 1912, when she was 91 years of
age.
Commenting on the passing of years, Clara Barton philosophizes: “Age is
no business of ours. We have no control over its beginning and, unless
criminally, none over its ending. I have never, since a child, kept a
‘birthday’ nor thought of it only as a reminder by others.
“I have been able to see that persistent marking of dates, and adding
one mile-stone every year, encourages the feeling of helplessness, and
release from activities which might still be a pleasure to the
possessor. Somehow it has come to me to consider strength and activity,
aided so far as possible by right habits of life, as forming a more
correct line of limitation than the mere ‘passing of years.’”
LVI
Clara Barton, the good angel of comfort, will live enshrined in the
hearts of America and of the world.
_Western Christian_ (Ohio) _Advocate_.
Great evils die hard. CLARA BARTON.
Don’t drink. A. LINCOLN.
Cold water,—the only beverage I have used, or allowed, in my family.
A. LINCOLN.
The saloon, the most blighting curse;—liquor traffic, the tragedy of
civilization—I am a practical prohibitionist. A. LINCOLN.
Intemperance is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of all the
evils among mankind. A. LINCOLN.
The one victory we can ever call complete will be that one which
proclaims there is not one slave nor drunkard on the face of God’s
green earth.
A. LINCOLN—(In a letter to George E. Pickett.)
Although the temperance cause has been in progress for nearly twenty
years, it is apparent to all that it is just now being crowned with a
degree of success hitherto unparalleled.—Hail, full of fury! Reign of
reason, all hail! A. LINCOLN, February 22, 1842.
Humanity is the peculiar characteristic of great minds.
CHESTERFIELD.
Lincoln’s tenderness was as gentle as a woman’s.
HENRY WARD BEECHER.
Lincoln was human and thus touched the chord that makes the world
akin. H. W. BOLTON, D.D.
God has placed the genius of women in their hearts, because the works
of their genius are always the works of love. LAMARTINE.
SHE WON HIS HEART
The son had broken a mother’s heart, and crushed out her life. The
relatives and other mourners were at the open grave, made ready to
receive her. Among them stood the son, then maudlin with drink. In that
pathetic scene was Clara Barton. She stepped to the side of the boy, and
grasped his arm. The ceremony halted. In a low voice she made her
appeal; she won his heart; he promised—The casket was lowered; the group
separated and she led the boy away. A few more words, then humanity’s
friend and the boy parted, she to other deeds of mercy and he to a new
life.
LVII
The philosophy of the old-time African servitor was of the most
consoling character—he preached the gospel of contentment, perhaps as
divine as any other principle of the moral law.
LASALLE CORBELL PICKETT—“_In de Miz Series_.”
America had freed a race. CLARA BARTON.
A gift must be outright. CLARA BARTON.
Our gifts fall short of the best. CLARA BARTON.
Charity and beneficence are degraded by being reduced to a dependence
upon a system of beggary. CLARA BARTON.
Charity bears an open palm; to give is her mission.
CLARA BARTON.
How good it is to make two blades of grass grow where was one.
CLARA BARTON.
I know I am right because I know liberty is right. A. LINCOLN.
The colored people would probably help, in some trying time, to keep
the jewel of liberty in the family of freedom. A. LINCOLN.
My early history is perfectly characterized by a single line of Grey’s
elegy:
“The short and simple annals of the poor.”
A. LINCOLN.
The history of philanthropy has few brighter pages to record than at
the Sea Island Hurricane, and its pleasant memories will gladden the
hearts long after its weary hours are forgotten.
CLARA BARTON.
YOU BUY IT FOR HIM
The policy of the Red Cross was to help people to true independence by
enabling them to support themselves by their own work. In Galveston
after the flood had produced widespread ruin, Clara Barton authorized
her field agent to visit the coast towns, ascertain the needs of the
people, and send in requisitions by telegraph. As the agent was leaving
on this mission she said:
At the Sea Islands one day a negro came to see me. He said that we had
built a little house for him, fenced in his field and garden and given
him seed and plow and tools to work with. Now if he had a horse or a
mule or a little bull to pull the plow he could put in his crops. I gave
instructions that his need should be supplied and, as the horse or mule
could not be found, a two-year-old steer was bought for him.
Now you are going to the coast country, but wherever you go in all the
world if you find anybody who needs a horse or a mule or a little bull,
you buy it for him.
Oh, chillun, life’s contra’wise,
But you’ll neber know no diff’unce
’Twel you’s knockin’ at de skies.
LVIII
Clara Barton—perhaps the most perfect incarnation of mercy the modern
world has known. _Detroit Free Press._
Peace and good will to all the world. CLARA BARTON.
Animals are such agreeable friends; they ask no questions, pass no
criticism. GEORGE ELIOT.
Humanity is much more shown in our conduct towards animals than
towards our fellow creatures. CHESTERFIELD.
Some animals are so faithful that I hate to call them brutes.
LORD ERSKINE.
There is in every animal’s eye a dim image and gleam of humanity.
RUSKIN.
Clara Barton’s affection for dumb animals showed itself in almost
every letter. REV. PERCY H. EPLER.
Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. CORIOLANUS.
Asoka, Ruler of India, about 300 years before Christ, organized
hospitals for the treatment of animals. LAJPAT RAI.
Clara Barton had some reward in the fact that every human living thing
that knew her loved her. Roanoke (Va.) _News_.
OR GOD WOULDN’T HAVE MADE THEM
Just back of the old Red Cross house at Glen Echo, the hills slope
somewhat abruptly about 100 feet down to the Chesapeake and Ohio canal.
The canal is still in use, with its locks intact, the boats plying day
and night up and down between its banks. The canal is historic—one of
the oldest in the United States. It is of unusual interest because the
first construction work was under the supervision of George Washington,
he being the President of the canal company. The canal was operated long
before railroads came into use in this country. From the Red Cross house
forest trees and thick underbrush cover the slope of the hills down to
the canal.
One day Miss Barton had a distinguished guest, who wanted to stroll down
to the edge of the canal and have her tell him about it. Miss Barton
accompanying him, they made their way slowly through the growth of
ferns, tall brakes, thick underbrush and dead timbers. On their way a
“cotton tail” jumped out from the brush. The visitor suddenly pulled out
of his pocket a pistol to kill the rabbit but Miss Barton protested,
saying: “I do not permit wild animals to be killed around my place.
These animals are my friends; I am very fond of them.” The visitor,
disappointed in not enjoying the “sport” of killing, tried to convince
his hostess that the squirrels, rabbits, muskrats and other such animals
would injure her fruit trees, destroy her flowers and ruin her garden.
Miss Barton mildly responded: “I suppose they do, but they also must do
some good in the world too, or God wouldn’t have made them.”
LIX
All creeds in need of help enlisted Clara Barton’s sympathies and
received her cordial assistance. HARRIETTE L. REED, Past National
Secretary, Woman’s Relief Corps.
Neither “Mental” nor “Christian” Science, nor Theosophy claims to be
new, but only the distinct enunciation of great world-wide truths.
TOLSTOI.
I read “Science and Health” very conscientiously at all times.
CLARA BARTON.
I accepted Christian Science as something better than I had known,
without seeing its text books, without ever having heard an argument.
CLARA BARTON.
Isn’t it blessed that the way is opening for the relief of the ills of
the human race—poor, suffering race, how many of our ills we make
ourselves. CLARA BARTON.
CLARA BARTON—MARY BAKER EDDY
Clara Barton and Mary Baker Eddy[6] were warm personal friends.
Footnote 6:
Born July 16, 1821, five months and nine days before Clara Barton.
For three years Clara Barton attended the Christian Science Church, but
did not become a member. On numerous occasions Miss Barton expressed
high estimation of the work done under the leadership of that most
wonderful woman, Mary Baker Eddy, in the religious life of the people.
Spiritually these two great women were in harmony.
“Miss Clara Barton,” says Mrs. Eddy, “dipped her pen in my heart, and
traced its emotions, motives and objects. Then lifting the curtain of
mortal mind, she depicted its rooms, guests, standing and seating
capacity, and thereafter gave her discovery to the press.
“Now, if Miss Barton were not a venerable soldier, patriot,
philanthropist, moralist and stateswoman, I should shrink from much
salient praise, but in consideration of all that Miss Barton really is,
and knowing that she can bear the blame which may follow said
description of her soul visit, I will say ‘Amen,’ so be it.”
On December 5, 1910, in her diary, Clara Barton writes: “This morning
brings the sad news of the death of Mrs. Mary Baker Eddy.” In the diary
the following day Miss Barton writes: “More particulars concerning the
passing of Mrs. Eddy. All so quiet, correct—no form, no excitement, no
mourning; all peaceful, thoughtful, proper. What a lesson she has taught
the world, and what faithful, apt scholars she has taught and trained!
The greatest woman of all; her life a signal triumph and her death the
greatest of all.