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[Illustration: MRS. O. A. CARR]
THE STORY OF A LIFE
BY
J. BRECKENRIDGE ELLIS
AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUL OF A SERF," "THE DREAD AND FEAR OF KINGS," "HOLLAND
WOLVES," "SHEM," "ADNAH," "ARKINSAW COUSINS," "TWIN STARRS,"
"GARCILASO," "IN THE DAYS OF JEHU," "KING SAUL," "STORK'S
NEST," "THE RED BOX CLEW," ETC.
PRESS OF
REYNOLDS-PARKER CO.
SHERMAN, TEXAS
1910
TO HER GIRLS
and to the
MEMORY AND PERPETUATION
OF
CARR-BURDETTE COLLEGE
MRS. CARR'S PET--THE CHILD OF HER
BRAIN AND HEART
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
I. A KENTUCKY GIRL.
II. IDEALS.
III. A KENTUCKY BOY.
IV. A SCHOOL-GIRL'S NOTE BOOK.
V. A UNIVERSITY STUDENT.
VI. LOVE AND SACRIFICE.
VII. "I WILL GO."
VIII. AN ENGLISH PRIMROSE.
IX. THE LONG VOYAGE.
X. LIFE IN MELBOURNE.
XI. BUSY YEARS IN AUSTRALIA.
XII. EXPERIENCES IN TASMANIA.
XIII. TRAVELS IN THE ORIENT.
XIV. WORK IN KENTUCKY AND MISSOURI.
XV. LADY PRINCIPAL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI.
XVI. IN PURSUIT OF ONE'S IDEAL.
XVII. ACHIEVING ONE'S IDEAL.
XVIII. CROWNING MONUMENT OF A LIFE.
INTRODUCTION.
The story of any life, if fully portrayed, should be more interesting
than the story of a dream-phantom of fiction. In hearing of one who
really lived, there is with us the feeling that the sunshine which
greets our eyes, the rain which dashes against our window, in brief, the
joys and sorrows which like flowers and thistles grow everywhere, were
all known to that real character in the world's drama. Therefore, since,
in a measure, our experience and his are in common, his life, inasmuch
as it touches us at so many points, should lead us into new fields of
interest and instruction, as it goes on its way alone.
This is true of any life, if we could know it in its entirety. But how
much more strikingly true it is found, when the life selected is one
that leads from the twilight dawn of infancy to the twilight close of
life, in one straight line of definite desire and inspiring achievement.
It is the purpose of this book to trace such a life, from the little bed
in the nursery, a bed of weakness and tears, to the huge pile of brick
and stone which stands as a monument to that life as if to show what may
be accomplished in spite of tears and weakness.
In the story of this life will be found stirring scenes and distant
travels; romance will not be lacking; here and there the faces of famous
men and women will, for a moment, appear; across the bloom of youth and
hope will fall the shadows of war. All these realities will be presented
in the colors of truth. But something deeper than an interest in
connected links of a story is here to be found; it shall be our endeavor
to discover the causes that lead to wider activities.
In endeavoring to divine, and clearly reveal, the motives that prompt
action, we shall try to hold ourselves detached from the subject,
finding no fault, and indulging in no encomium, defining beliefs and
ambitions, not because they are ours, but because they were those of
Mattie Myers, and, to understand her, one must understand them.
It will not be sufficient to consider her work, and the opinions of
those who knew her, in order to reach the desired result. As far as
possible, she shall speak out herself, out of her old diaries and the
abundance of her letters. As her biographer, I would be but the setting
to uphold the gem, that it may shine by its own light. And yet, there is
no life whose story may be fully understood, unless a knowledge is
gained of those other lives with which it comes in contact. In the
present story, this truth is of wider significance than one finds in the
lives of the majority. Here will be painted scenes as widely separated
as Kentucky, Missouri, Texas, Australia, England, and the Levant.
THE STORY OF A LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
A KENTUCKY GIRL
"I don't believe she's going to live long," said the black nurse,
mournfully shaking her head. "She's so thin and weak, and she cries
nearly every night!"
The nurse was speaking of little Mattie Myers, who lived in the old
Kentucky town of Stanford. The child was seldom to be seen engaged in
those sports natural to children. She was grave, quiet, thoughtful. Her
one amusement was found in her family of dolls; she was always their
teacher, and they were daily going to school to her. For companions, she
chose those who were much older than herself, and she would sit by the
hour, soberly listening to theological discussion, weighing, in her
infant mind, the arguments of learned men.
Her mother was dead, but Mattie could recall her sympathetic touch, and
tender smile. It seemed to her that out of the shadow of death her life
had emerged, to be clouded by new losses. One after the other, her two
sisters were taken from her. Then the brother, who was her only
intimate companion, went to another town to teach school. Mattie found
herself the only young person in the large house of her wealthy father.
Of course she received all care; her slightest wishes were granted; the
love of her widowed father was doubly hers, because of his bereavements.
But the little girl was very lonely. When the flowers sent forth their
perfume on the warm Kentucky breezes, she was reminded of three graves;
and when the sunshine gilded the level pike leading toward Lancaster,
she felt as if her brother Joe were calling her to come and nestle
against his loving breast.
At every turn, the big house in Stanford reminded her of her mother's
footsteps, her sisters' voices forever hushed, and that beloved brother
from whom, for the first time, she found herself separated. Is it a
wonder that the nights often witnessed her tears? Is it strange that
there should have grown up within her, the intense desire to go to her
brother? She made this wish known to her father, and her brother
seconded her in the plan. Why not stay with Joe during the school year?
Then they could spend the vacations at home, together.
Henry Myers, the wealthy and influential father, considered this
proposition. He was an ambitious man. He had spared no expense in giving
his son a thorough education. He was pleased, now, to find that little
Mattie should show a disposition for learning. She was only eight years
old, and yet he felt that, in the companionship of her brother, she
would find ample protection. Moreover, while a child of eight is usually
no fit inmate of a boarding-school, and while it is not best to send one
so young, to dwell among strangers, Mattie was no ordinary child.
Nor was her mother an ordinary woman. Mary Burdette possessed a cultured
and original mind, related in sympathies to that of her cousin who is
known to the world, in the familiarity of affection, as "Bob Burdette."
When Mrs. Mary Burdette Myers died, it was supposed that Mattie was too
young to appreciate her loss. She could not, of course, appraise that
loss at its full value, but its shadow rested upon her girlhood. This
death, and that of her sisters, had rendered her serious, had brought
enforced reflections upon death and immortality. The letters that she
wrote, almost to the days of maturity, are found inclosed in faded
little envelopes, which show the black band of mourning.
No, there was no danger in sending Mattie to Lancaster where brother Joe
would be her protector. Her father consented.
The ambition to teach school, entertained by one who was a man of means,
was a rare thing in the South before the Civil War; or, at any rate, it
was rare in Kentucky. Yet that was the ambition of Joe Myers, and to
this ambition he devoted his life. He was a natural teacher, and Mattie,
who admired him above all others, imitated him in all things. What he
liked, she liked, and what he wanted to do, she meant to do. The young
man was very fond of music--so was his little sister. He opened up an
academy at Lancaster--Mattie established her first school, as we have
seen--a college of dolls.
When at last it was decided that Mattie should go to Joe, great was her
joy. Some of those few golden hours of childhood, which she afterward
recalled, came to her then. She went--the pike had not called in
vain--but she did not leave her dolls at home. She boarded with her
brother Joe Myers, and her education began in earnest.
"I was only eight," she afterwards said, "when I entered a boarding
school; my whole family of dolls matriculated with me."
Lancaster and Stanford were not far apart, though in different counties.
It was a short journey to go home Friday evening, and visit there until
Monday morning. But of course these visits were not of weekly
occurrence.
There was Joe to stay with, and these two never tired of each other's
companionship. In the twilight-hours, the young teacher would play his
flute, and the little girl would sit listening with all her soul,
translating his music into definite resolves. Just as he had given his
life to teaching, so would she. She declared her purpose at that age of
eight. She would teach a school--a school for girls. It was a purpose
she never changed.
Thus the years passed by, in sweet companionship with her brother during
the school months, and with the reunited family every summer. Mattie did
not grow strong. The black nurse still shook her head. "We never thought
she would live!" she often declared, in after years.
In the meantime, Mattie still associated with those who were much older
than herself, still found pleasure in discussion of religious
differences. We shall find her, at the age of eighteen, saying that most
of her friends are married or dead, thus showing that no intimacies
existed between herself and girls of her own age.
At twelve, a change came into her life. So thoroughly had she pursued
her studies at Lancaster, that it was determined to send her away to
college. At that time, the strongest college for girls of her father's
faith, was at Harrodsburg, Kentucky. The name of it was "Daughters'
College." Mattie's brother and father, justly proud of her attainments,
and still resolved to encourage her in her desire to become thoroughly
educated, sent her to Harrodsburg to be instructed by John Augustus
Williams, the President of "Daughters' College."
Boarding among strangers, now far from home, Mattie found accentuated
both her spirit of self-reliance, and her attitude of reserve toward
others, two traits always shown in her childhood. The six years at
Harrodsburg served to strengthen and deepen her already-preconceived
ideals. John Augustus Williams carried on the work that Joe Myers had
begun. The Harrodsburg President was as devoted to learning as the
Lancaster professor; and he had farther penetrated its depths. He was,
indeed, a remarkable man, one who magnified the dignity of his calling,
always conscious that the better he succeeded as a teacher, the greater
would prove his blessing to the lives of others.
On Sunday we may follow the college girls to church. There goes Mattie
Myers, in her solid-green woolen dress, her wonderful suit of hair
arranged as plainly as such a wealth of heavy brown will permit. We see
the neat and unpretentious hat from under which appear the serious brow,
and the eyes always bright and intelligent. We note her reliant step;
her form, too thin; her face a little weary from over-hard studying.
Shall we not enter this church on Main street, and watch the young
ladies as they seat themselves in a bright oblong of femininity, if not
of beauty?
We shall certainly do so, if we are young ministerial students,
attending the University! Unfortunately, young Oliver Carr cannot enter
with us, for he is still over yonder at May's Lick; but never mind--he
will presently be coming down to find out what Latin is like! What happy
fortune has brought the University for young men into the same town that
affords a college for young ladies? That, too, we shall presently
understand.
At any rate, here sits Mattie Myers, decorously listening, it would
appear--we hope she is not thinking about her studies--while Dr. Robert
Richardson, or Robert Graham, or Robert Milligan--all teachers at the
University (among whom "Robert" seems a favorite name)--preaches and
preaches. About what? Why, about what we must do to be saved, to be
sure. And Mattie listening eagerly--for of course she listens--finds
that these distinguished men agree entirely with her father, that what
we must do to be saved is very much like what Peter declared we must
do--nay, is exactly what Peter declared, to the very words. Far, indeed,
is it from the mind of this thin, erect girl in the dress of
solid-green, and under the hair whose splendor refuses to be
concealed--far is it from her mind that any young man of the Kentucky
"froglands" is ever to enter her life as an integral part!
[Illustration: Pres. Jno. Aug. William.
Daughters College.
Harrodsburg Ky]
Little time is there for day dreams for this child!--Little time, and no
inclination. Study--ever deeper and more persistent study for her; late
hours after the lamps are out, sitting in the window with long hair
streaming, borrowing favor from the moon--that means spectacles in no
very short time! Study--ever more absorbed, and absorbing study, at
noon-recess, in early morning, on holidays--till the form grows thinner,
the face paler; and, indeed, she had better have a care, or all this
will come to an end, with pain and disappointment!
The sermon is nearly ended. Are you sorry you missed it? An hour and a
quarter, already! Do the school girls move uneasily in the
straight-backed benches? Let us hope they are entertained by this
searching examination of sectarian "positions." How new that church
building seems to them! Why, it was finished only a few years ago--that
is to say, in 1850. There was a time when two bodies of believers met in
Harrodsburg; one organized by the followers of Barton Stone, who called
themselves "Christians", another the "disciples" who had followed John
Smith and John T. Johnson out of the Baptist church. The Christians met
from house to house; the "disciples" in the old frame building at the
corner of South Main and Depot streets, nearly opposite the public
square. Each body was suspicious of the other till, one day, they found
out that they taught the same things, believed the same truths, were, in
short, blood-brothers of faith and practice. So they came together and
formed the church which Mattie is attending. She comes every Sunday; and
every Sunday you will find, if you examine her closely, that she is a
little paler, a little weaker. Working too hard! The end must come if
this is kept up, year after year.
We find the girl subject to an unappeasable hunger for facts. Is she not
to devote her life to teaching her sex? Now is the time to store the
mind. John Augustus Williams spurs her on, leads her into untold
scientific difficulties; lets her realize how little is her strength;
then aids by teaching her to help herself. One thing he does not help
her do--that is to husband her physical forces. As he stands before his
"daughters" in chapel he hammers away at this idea:
"Teaching is woman's profession and her natural vocation. No lady can
claim to be well educated, therefore, or trained for her proper sphere
in life, until she has learned to teach, and to govern the young. The
learning which prepares her for the school-room, prepares her at the
same time for the highest social and domestic position. No time is lost
by such a training, even should the student never become a professional
teacher."
It is no wonder that the enunciation of these ideas strengthened the
girl's resolutions. Here was the most learned man she had ever met in
daily life, a polished speaker, a graceful author, a correct translator;
one who reads the pages of his manuscript, "The Life of John Smith,"
that his class may parse it;[1] a preacher, too, who pointed the way
back to Pentecost. Wisdom flowed from his lips, and his lips proclaimed
teaching the "natural vocation" of woman.
And the way in which this teaching was to be done--in a word, his
conception of what an education means--that justified his dictum. He
said over and over again:
"You have an infallible criterion by which you may determine the success
of your own and your teacher's labors. If you feel in your heart a
greater susceptibility to truth, a livelier appreciation of the purely
beautiful, a profounder regard for virtue, a warmer affection for the
good, and sublimer devotion to God, esteem your labors as eminently
successful; but if your attainments, varied and extensive as they may
be, are to render you less amiable in disposition, or less pure in
thought--less charitable to your fellows, or less devoted to God, then
have we labored in vain, and your learning, also, has been in vain."
To such a teacher as this, every year is a book written full of sweet
influences,--books far deeper and more permanent than any work of the
pen. The girl understood this; that is why her determination to be a
teacher grew and ripened; not to impart facts but, by means of facts, to
inculcate the love of learning and of truth. She wanted to come into
touch with the world, and to send the ripple of her personal influence
far out into those magic circles of infinite distance, which the casting
of an idea forms on the sea of thought. She wanted girls, many girls,
countless girls,--to receive a higher view of life by having known her;
to enter more fully into the inheritance of their estate through her
ministration. No other relation than that of teacher and pupil, could
connect this circuit of spiritual influence.
Teachers--the world was full of them in those days, just such as they
are now; teachers who bend beneath their burden, who seek in their
business but a means of livelihood, and who are ready to lay aside the
textbook and close the desk, when fortune smiles: who see their day's
end at four o'clock, and their happiness, at the dawn of vacation. But
there have always been, of teachers, a few who regarded their work as
Williams regarded his, and who, as in Mattie's case, with no spur of
necessity, selected it from all careers the future had to offer.
But we do not mean that these highest ambitions of a teacher's sovereign
realm took definite shape in the girl's mind in her twelfth year; for
see! She is no longer twelve, but thirteen--fourteen--fifteen--how fast
she is getting her education!--sixteen--
And then the blow fell--we said it would!--hours too late, and thought
too intense, and eyes too severely taxed! Has it been for nothing, after
all? She must flutter back home, now, like a disabled bird; high ideas
all lost in a maze, definite purposes fused white-hot in a raging
fever.
Not only so, but in her sudden breakdown of vital force, there is no one
to understand the despair over her own weakness, except, indeed, that
brother Joe who alone understands her. Mother and father are both dead,
now; and the sisters who are proud of her attainments--for she had
finished in the Junior Year at Daughters' College,--wonder that she is
not satisfied. Is it not enough? Already she is "educated."
And she is sixteen; and her inheritance assures her of future freedom
from necessity. It will be a long time, the doctors say, before she can
resume her studies--a year, at least; maybe two. But does that matter?
In two years she will be of age, and rich, or nearly so, in her own
right.
"And then," said brother Joe, "I will find her a rich husband, and see
her handsomely established for life!"
Not that Joe had himself married; he was too busy teaching school, and
too absorbed in his beloved work; but he felt the responsibility of his
guardianship. Mattie was too ill, too broken in spirit, to combat his
plans or to form any of her own. She could only lie silent and,
suffering, uncertain of the outcome.
Leaving her thus, as we found her at the beginning, in suffering and
tears, let us make a journey to Mason County, in search of that possible
husband. He may not prove so rich as brother Joe could desire. We shall
see.
[1] That "drill in Rhetoric, in English pure and undefiled" when she
analyzed and parsed every sentence of the Manuscript read to the class
Mrs. Carr often spoke of, and of John Smith who, in his last days, abode
at Daughters' College to furnish material for his biography. She was
always proud of the fact that John Augustus Williams taught her English.