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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 Mil III III III II II 111 
 
 3 1822 02772 6702
 
 ELISABETH REBECCA SPRAGUE 
 A TRIBUTE 
 
 BOSTON : PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 MDCCCCV
 
 THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, CAMBRIDGE
 
 When hearts whose truth was proven, 
 Like thine are laid in earth, 
 
 There should a wreath be woven 
 To tell the world their worth.
 
 This is the story of a quiet life, a life for the 
 most part devoted to the nearest duties. Yet 
 this quiet life was so full of wide and ever- 
 widening influence and beneficence, so rich in 
 friendships, so inspiring in its example of devo- 
 tion to duty, whether to the family or the state, 
 so beautiful in its loving kindness and exqui- 
 site courtesy of daily habit of intercourse, so 
 deeply encouraging in its never flagging 
 growth, that its story is the right of those who 
 loved her. 
 
 It is interesting, also, as the portrait of a 
 New England gentlewoman living during a 
 most picturesque epoch of our history, con- 
 nected by her birth and position with the most 
 eminent of New England, associated with all 
 the forces of the time. 
 
 Most of all is it a life to give hope. The 
 service to her family, her state, and her coun- 
 try was not the less important that it was given
 
 so unobtrusively. She was a blessing to her 
 kindred and her friends, and an ever present 
 help to the poor and needy. Nor did this power 
 of helpfulness wane with the years; rather it 
 grew steadily and continuously as years ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 And finally, from the days when a laughing, 
 quick-witted, and high-spirited child, some- 
 times sharp of tongue to her followers, but 
 always generous, loyal, and loving, played 
 in Pemberton Square, with the ample old 
 Georgian houses blinking their many paned 
 windows above their wrought-iron balconies, 
 and the old-fashioned doorplates bearing his- 
 toric names on their shining brass, to the days 
 when the courteous and gracious lady whom 
 we all loved gathered her friends about her 
 in her stately drawing-room on the noble 
 avenue which had not so much as a foothold 
 during her childhood, it was a happy life — a 
 life of many keen sorrows, but a happy life; 
 and the happiness as well as the sorrow sprang 
 from her unselfish love. She was a happy 
 daughter and sister, and a most happy wife; 
 this in spite of the fact that her mother died,
 
 that her father's health gave way immediately 
 after, making him dependent on her care for 
 the short remainder of his life, that her hus- 
 band's father was an invalid, confined to his 
 room for many years, and later, that one by 
 one the brothers and sisters whom she loved 
 left the world, until she was the last of her 
 family. Through sickness, through loss and 
 anxiety, through weary bodily pain, her high 
 courage remained and her daily cheerfulness. 
 
 Surely such a life has an enduring inspiration. 
 
 The one who knew her best has briefly 
 outlined its main events. 
 
 "Mrs. Sprague filled so large a place in the 
 hearts of her relatives and friends, and gave 
 so much of her time and labor for the benefit 
 of others, that her memory deserves some- 
 thing more than a passing notice, and claims 
 a recognition that shall endure. Although her 
 life was an uneventful one, it was filled with 
 good deeds and kindly courtesies and warm 
 affections, and behind these was a personality 
 which created for her a wide circle of friends 
 and admirers, to whom these few words of 
 affectionate remembrance are addressed. 
 
 iii
 
 Her father, John Amory Lowell, widely 
 known for his high character and intellect, and 
 as the administrator of the Lowell Institute, 
 was twice married, first to Susan Cabot Lowell, 
 who had two children, a son and a daughter; 
 second to Elizabeth Cabot Putnam, a daugh- 
 ter of Judge Putnam of Salem, by whom he 
 had one son and three daughters. Mrs. 
 Sprague was the eldest of the daughters by 
 the second marriage, and the last survivor of 
 the six brothers and sisters. 
 
 The Lowells were of distinguished family, 
 and held high place both in the social and 
 intellectual world. Their home exemplified 
 the best traits of New England life, and was 
 the scene of much pleasant hospitality. The 
 mother of Mrs. Sprague was a hostess of rare 
 grace and dignity, and her entertainments had 
 an air of distinction not easily equaled; but 
 her great object in life was the welfare of 
 her family and those near to her, and to these 
 she gave unremitting care and devotion. Her 
 daughter inherited her disinterestedness and 
 self-sacrificing spirit, and was always ready 
 to help others. 
 
 iv
 
 Such opportunities readily occur when one's 
 thoughts are turned towards them, and Mrs. 
 Sprague, in the midst of her social duties 
 and pleasures, found time to give assistance 
 in many directions. She was early interested 
 in charitable work and charitable societies. 
 She labored zealously in the ranks of the Sani- 
 tary Commission, organized during our Civil 
 War, and appealing especially to the women 
 of the country for aid in its task of minister- 
 ing to the wants of our soldiers. She helped 
 largely in the work of her church, the historic 
 King's Chapel, for which she had a love and 
 loyalty that never ceased. 
 
 As time went on her sympathies and inter- 
 ests enlarged, and she took part in more public 
 matters. A true Bostonian, anything connected 
 with the history or improvement of her native 
 city appealed to her; and fortunately of late 
 years the influence of women has been brought 
 to bear on many civic questions. The preser- 
 vation of our State House, which a few years 
 since was in great danger of being torn down, 
 to be replaced by a new structure, was largely 
 the work of patriotic women, and among these
 
 Mrs. Sprague was an earnest and efficient co- 
 worker. 
 
 The limitation of the height of buildings 
 and the enforcement of the law concerning 
 them, the saving from destruction of the Old 
 South Church, the protection of the Common 
 from encroachment of various kinds, and the 
 preservation of its trees were some of the mat- 
 ters in which she was actively interested by 
 word and deed. She was foremost in the at- 
 tempt made several years ago, by means of an 
 appeal to the city government, to relieve the 
 main thoroughfares of the city from the crowd 
 of electric cars, which at that time were a 
 source of great danger and inconvenience. 
 Although this appeal had no immediate result, 
 its force and the way it was presented aroused 
 public attention to the necessity of some rem- 
 edy, and led, through much opposition, to the 
 construction of the subway. Later, when the 
 railway company sought to replace the tracks 
 on Tremont Street on the plea of public con- 
 venience, she was among those who opposed 
 this return to old conditions, and who, de- 
 spite the influence of a powerful corporation 
 
 vi
 
 and a hostile press, finally won over the sup- 
 port of the public, and defeated the measure. 
 
 These large questions, while holding a place 
 in her thoughts, and benefiting by her energy 
 and liberality, were not allowed to interfere 
 with other claims, or those daily duties which 
 seem so insignificant in detail, yet in bulk are 
 so important. She had no desire to attract 
 public notice, but was essentially a domestic 
 person, who found pleasure in her charities, 
 in the activities and intercourse of daily life, 
 and in all matters pertaining to her family or 
 friends. Her charities were many, and re- 
 ceived a large share of her attention. Some 
 of them, which remained unchanged, were of 
 long standing. In one society she served 
 thirty-eight years ; in another thirty-two years ; 
 in a third twenty-three years. This did not 
 mean a mere formal membership, but an 
 active participation in all that concerned the 
 society and its work. Where she could not give 
 of her services, she gave of her means. 
 
 What has been written may serve in some 
 degree to indicate how full her life was, and 
 how broad were the channels in which it ran, 
 
 VII
 
 but her many occupations and all that she ac- 
 complished in more private ways cannot well 
 be recorded. It is still more difficult to describe 
 the spirit that animated all she did, or the 
 qualities of mind and heart that attracted to 
 her so many friends. The foundation of her 
 character was a practical wisdom and good 
 sense, combined with a loyalty, a sympathy, 
 and a disinterestedness unsurpassed. She had 
 great energy and industry, and a perseverance 
 that carried through whatever she undertook, 
 no matter how long or tiresome the task. She 
 accomplished much because she had the envi- 
 able faculty of utilizing those fragments of time 
 that appear of so little consequence, yet can be 
 made so productive. She seized upon the spare 
 half hours, or even the few stray moments, she 
 found at her disposal, and made them serve 
 her purpose. She possessed, moreover, the 
 accompanying gift of being able to turn read- 
 ily from one subject to another. Interruption 
 seldom troubled her, and she could resume 
 whatever had previously occupied her thoughts 
 without difficulty. As might be inferred, her 
 mind worked easily and directly, going straight 
 
 VUl
 
 to the substance of the matter before her. This 
 was especially noticeable in her writing. She 
 wrote without hesitancy, yet expressed herself 
 with a clearness and compactness that rarely 
 required revision. If consultation suggested 
 a change on some occasions, it was almost 
 invariably one of minor importance. 
 
 She was one of the incorporators of the 
 Society of Colonial Dames of America, and its 
 first registrar, holding that office for ten years, 
 and resigning a year before her death. Those 
 familiar with the society know something of 
 the registrar's duties, but it may be said in 
 brief, that through her hands passed all the 
 papers, genealogical and otherwise, connected 
 with the admission of new members; and that 
 she was the person to whom all applicants 
 turned for instruction or advice. As the many 
 descendants of Massachusetts families are to 
 be found in all parts of the Union, this implied 
 a wide correspondence which was perhaps 
 especially voluminous in the earlier years of 
 the society before its scope and purpose were 
 fully understood. Any new society, even if 
 framed on the experience of others, finds many 
 
 ix
 
 unforeseen questions to deal with; and the 
 registrar had not only to systematize her de- 
 partment, but to answer numberless inquiries, 
 some of them requiring much consideration, 
 and a wise interpretation of rules, which had 
 not then been fairly tested or acquired the 
 authority of a precedent. The amount of 
 writing involved was very great, and she added 
 to her labor by her anxiety to assist applicants 
 in every possible way, and the pains she took 
 to soften her refusals when these were neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Her family relations were of the closest 
 and warmest. While all the members of the 
 family were strongly united, Mrs. Sprague and 
 her two younger sisters, Mrs. Lyman and Mrs. 
 Blake, were especially drawn together by asso- 
 ciation and feeling. The early marriage of 
 Mrs. Lyman, the one next her in age, which 
 took place before the others, gave her an op- 
 portunity to be of much affectionate assistance. 
 Mrs. Lyman's devotion to the cares of a grow- 
 ing family often overtaxed her strength. On 
 such occasions, and indeed at all times, Mrs. 
 Sprague was at hand, seeking to be of service,
 
 and her cheery presence was of almost daily 
 occurrence in the household. To the children 
 she gave a companionship and loving care 
 second only to that of a mother; and they in 
 return repaid her with an overflowing affec- 
 tion and appreciation. On all like occasions, 
 when sympathy or help could be given, and 
 in all family happenings, her first thought was 
 how to be of service. 
 
 The fact that she had no children permitted 
 her to devote much time to her parents, and 
 in the case of her mother's long illness to be a 
 constant companion. After her mother's death, 
 her father was left alone and in broken health, 
 and Mrs. Sprague went to live with him, and 
 take charge of his household. The watchful- 
 ness and anxiety caused by his condition taxed 
 her strength so severely that after some months 
 her physician compelled her to give up her 
 post in order to avoid a complete breakdown. 
 Her father's death took place shortly after, 
 and it was her lasting regret that she had not 
 been able to be his companion until the end, 
 Her health was restored by a voyage to Europe 
 and a thorough rest. 
 
 XI
 
 She was exceedingly fond of children, and 
 it was a delight to her to make friends with 
 them and win their confidence, which she 
 easily accomplished. Her many nieces and 
 nephews were at all ages an unending source 
 of pleasure, and nothing gave her greater 
 gratification than a visit from them, or a call 
 upon her hospitality. She was so young in 
 her feelings that she could interpret their 
 thoughts and wishes, and enter into all matters 
 that concerned them with an interest similar 
 to their own. 
 
 In addition to this youthfulness of feeling, 
 and perhaps somewhat fostered by it, was an 
 inborn shyness and modesty that she never 
 outgrew, and that at times prevented her from 
 taking her fitting position and assuming a re- 
 sponsibility for which she was abundantly 
 qualified. She shrank from public situations, 
 or the putting forth of her opinion in any 
 public manner; but when occasion demanded, 
 her earnestness of purpose overcame her hesi- 
 tation, and she spoke clearly and well. 
 
 She was keenly alive to the affection and 
 demonstrations of regard of her friends, which 
 
 xii
 
 she repaid in full; but her modesty did not 
 allow her to appreciate how many people felt 
 a personal friendship toward her, either from 
 correspondence or from having been thrown 
 with her in working for some common end. 
 On these occasions and in her many societies, 
 her high standards, her courtesy, amiability, 
 and good sense, invariably won esteem, and 
 it was the one most frequently brought in 
 contact with her in discussing certain ques- 
 tions who spoke of her as "so high minded," 
 and was the foremost in consulting her opinion. 
 Mrs. Sprague was a person with whom 
 loyalty was a predominant trait. As has been 
 already said, it was a part of her nature. She 
 was loyal to her family, her friends, her church, 
 to whatever cause she undertook. One sees 
 such a number of persons in the world whose 
 opinions, even when established, are so easily 
 influenced, who change with the wind or cher- 
 ish indifference as a virtue, thinking it a mark 
 of superiority, that it is comforting to find some 
 one with firm convictions, unhesitating, and 
 outspoken in their support. Mrs. Sprague's 
 beliefs were of the positive, not the negative 
 
 xiii
 
 kind ; and if they led at times to expressions 
 of disapproval, down in her heart was a kind- 
 liness that only needed opportunity to assert 
 itself, and obliterate all feelings of censure. 
 Her criticism was evanescent, her charity 
 deep and lasting. Pervading all she did, and 
 making a part of it, was her cheerfulness. This 
 was partly natural and the result of faculties 
 well employed, but also took strength from 
 her determination to look on the bright side 
 and her courageous acceptance of whatever 
 trouble came to her. In her final illness, at- 
 tended by paroxysms of acute pain, she kept 
 this resolute cheerfulness unchanged, always 
 greeting her household with a smile, and with 
 thanks for any service rendered. In the shadow 
 of these last days, she was uniformly patient, 
 considerate, grateful, and uncomplaining. 
 
 As we think of her loss it seems to become 
 greater. She was the centre of such a large 
 circle, she so made a part of the life of those 
 about her, that we cannot get accustomed to 
 her absence, and the irremediable void it 
 leaves. Perhaps the feeling of many may 
 be described in the words of a woman in 
 
 XIV
 
 her employ, a faithful friend and dependent, 
 who had worked for her for over thirty years. 
 "I cannot get used to Mrs. Sprague's death, 
 but feel it more and more. Whenever I was in 
 trouble, and I have had some sad experiences, 
 she would sympathize with me, and advise me 
 and comfort me. In any perplexity or trial 1 
 went to her, and in any good fortune she would 
 rejoice with me. Now she is gone, I have no 
 one to turn to, as I could to her, and the world 
 seems a different place." 
 
 As we look back upon her life, that busy, 
 useful existence, vibrating with activity, en- 
 ergy, and purpose, those many years filled 
 with devotion, disinterestedness, and affec- 
 tion, that example of loyalty, cheerfulness, and 
 courage, it is hard to believe that the places 
 that once knew her shall know her no more; 
 that her kindred and friends have seen her 
 welcoming smile for the last time, that those 
 dependent upon her will never receive of her 
 bounty or counsel again; but her memory re- 
 mains with us as a benediction, and for the 
 record of her life it is written in the hearts of 
 her friends." 
 
 XV
 
 The present writer, in talking with the kin- 
 dred and friends of Mrs. Sprague, has come 
 upon some pleasant pictures of the days of her 
 youth, the days before the Back Bay had being, 
 when Boston was so compact and quiet that 
 little children played unattended in Pemberton 
 Square, and all society attended the lectures 
 of the Lowell Institute. Those were the days 
 when some old-fashioned gentlemen still wore 
 ruffles to their shirts and removed their bell- 
 shaped hats with a graceful curve, and chil- 
 dren not only loved their parents, but obeyed 
 them. They even obeyed their deputies. One 
 of Mrs. Sprague's intimates in those days has 
 a pretty, quaint story of her first visit to the 
 little Lissie, and how with vague trepidation, 
 after they sat down at table she saw the older 
 brother, Augustus, produce a plate of crusts, 
 saying severely, "Lissie, mother says you've 
 got to eat every one of those crusts before you 
 can eat anything else!" 
 
 The small guest glanced at her friend, who 
 was a high-spirited child. Mrs. Lowell, as well 
 as Mr. Lowell, was away; the children were 
 quite by themselves. But although the little girl 
 
 xvi
 
 protested, she surrendered, she ate every one of 
 the scorned crusts. In spite of the authoritative 
 pose of youth, the relation between the brother 
 and sister, even then, was peculiarly close and 
 tender, and his unselfish care for his sister's 
 interests grew with the years. 
 
 Long after, during the first desolation of his 
 loss, she wrote of him to one of her nieces in 
 these touching words : — 
 
 "No one knows all that he has been to me 
 and done for me ever since we were little chil- 
 dren together, and I have leaned upon him 
 always for help and advice never refused me. 
 Few people have such a brother, and I am very 
 grateful to have had him, even if I must give 
 him up now — and I must try to be as brave 
 as he would have wished me to be. He ad- 
 mired fortitude always." 
 
 The Lowells indeed were a most united fam- 
 ily, devoted to each other, while interested in 
 all their world. 
 
 It was while the Lowells lived in Pemberton 
 Square that Mrs. Lowell held the Saturday 
 receptions of which the memory still is fra- 
 grant. Her own beauty, charm, and tact, and 
 her husband's high character and position 
 
 xvii
 
 drew about them a remarkable circle. At this 
 time there were living in or about Pemberton 
 Square, on Temple Place, on Summer Street, 
 on Chestnut Street and Beacon Hill, many of 
 the old Boston families in which distinction 
 seems hereditary, and whose strong hands 
 have helped shape the conduct of the common- 
 wealth in every generation. The Winthrops, 
 the Endicotts, the Cabots, the Everetts, the 
 Lowells, the Crowninshields, the Putnams, the 
 Peabodys, the Lawrences, the Ticknors, the 
 Russells, the Bryants, the Perkinses, the Eliots, 
 the Shaws, the Amorys, were all more or less 
 connected by marriage or neighborly ties, and 
 they were all prominent figures in the social 
 life of the time. 
 
 Boston was linked as closely then with Sa- 
 lem and Cambridge as now. The Lowell fam- 
 ily had cousins and friends in Cambridge who 
 visited them often and had uniquely delightful 
 visits. 
 
 Picturesque as life was in Boston, it was 
 happier and more picturesque in Mr. Low- 
 ell's country seat at Roxbury. A visit to it is 
 thus described by one of the cousins : — 
 
 XVlll
 
 "My earliest distinct recollection of my 
 cousin Lissie is of her kindness to my trouble- 
 some self on a certain Sunday afternoon in 
 Roxbury, where I had been invited to make 
 a visit to my playmate Ella. Whether it -was 
 the coming of so many strangers as were as- 
 sembled for Sunday evening tea, or simply 
 that it was my first visit alone away from 
 home, I do not know, but I was seized with a 
 sudden homesickness, and cried to be taken 
 back to Boston. Though not more than eight 
 years old, I can distinctly recall Lissie's sym- 
 pathy with my woe and the cheerfulness with 
 which she agreed to start away with Augustus, 
 just as tea was ready, to drive me home. I 
 can also recall her amusement without any 
 (to me) perceptible sign of annoyance, when 
 no sooner were we well on our way than I be- 
 gan to sing for joy. I am very sure that this 
 was my only time of homesickness in Uncle 
 Lowell's family, where year after year I spent 
 many delightful weeks. Lissie and her friends 
 were just enough older than Ella and myself 
 to be regarded by us with great respect. I 
 remember Lissie at the age of twelve as dread- 
 ing an appointment at the dentist's and start- 
 ing off for Boston quite a heroine in our 
 estimation ; whereupon Ella and I, deeply 
 sympathizing, proceeded to play dentist and 
 
 xix
 
 made a hole in the cheek of one of our favorite 
 dolls. 
 
 "The Roxbury place was a delightful 
 country seat in those days. The old-fash- 
 ioned house was shaded by tall trees, mul- 
 berry trees, and others in front. The garden 
 with its box hedges stretched along to the 
 woods, where there were green acorns and moss, 
 and in the tower a dark wooden rocking-horse 
 which had lost its legs, its ears, and its tail, 
 but was none the less a horse to us. Farther 
 along the path stood the statue of Pash, now 
 in the Egypt room of the Museum of Fine 
 Arts, the best preserved statue in the collec- 
 tion, sent home from Egypt by John Lowell, 
 Jr., cousin to Mr. John Amory Lowell, and 
 founder of the Lowell lectures. Not far away 
 were the grapery and the greenhouse with its 
 rare orchids. Miss Rebecca Amory Lowell 
 and Miss Anna Cabot Lowell had just moved 
 into their cottage at Broomley Side. The 
 wood extended over the slope to the present 
 Broomley Park, down to a brook where 
 a broad seat had been made between the 
 branches of a willow tree overhanging the 
 water. 
 
 "From the piazza of the house one en- 
 tered the large hall, which was papered with 
 scenes of huntsmen and ladies in a forest. 
 
 XX
 
 The dining-room opened upon ;i garden. 
 Some of the rooms upstairs were furnished 
 with dimity curtains and coverings, and on 
 the glass of one window were some rhymes 
 that had been scratched upon it by an earKer 
 generation of Lowells. 
 
 "Relations and friends used to drive over 
 from Cambridge and Watertown and Boston, 
 especially for the Sunday evening teas, and 
 stroll about the garden and wood, as had been 
 the custom when Uncle Lowell's aunts were 
 the young people of the house." 
 
 To go out to Roxbury was an intoxicating 
 experience to these well-behaved, demure little 
 Boston children with their beautiful leghorn 
 hats and their white pinafores, which must 
 always be treated with respect. There was an 
 annual May day picnic. It was a thrilling 
 occasion. The children were met and led by 
 the Lowells to a certain wood, where, fearless 
 of kidnappers or tramps, they ate their rustic 
 feast. 
 
 As the Lowell girls grew older they learned 
 to enjoy one feature of the life which probably 
 did not impress their childish minds. Many 
 men of mark were the Lowells' guests, for- 
 
 xxi
 
 eigners as well as their own countrymen, 
 drawn hitherward by the Lowell Institute 
 and its administrator. Sir Charles Lyell, 
 Agassiz. Tyndall among the foreigners, and 
 Palfrey, Sparks, Bowditch, Felton. James 
 Russell Lowell, and Rogers more particu- 
 larly of the home contemporaries, were enter- 
 tained at Boston or at Roxbury. 
 
 Agassiz was almost a child of the house. 
 He went and came at will. Neither Mrs. 
 Lowell nor the maids made objection to the 
 pincushions used as butterfly mats, or the 
 water-jug stuffed with ferns, or even the bu- 
 reau drawers turned into the transient home 
 of what the maids called "the professor's 
 little beasts." 
 
 It may have been at Mrs. Lowell's that 
 Mrs. Agassiz shrieked over her shoe. "Louis! 
 there's a snake in it!" and the great Louis 
 anxiously replied, "Only one snake, my dear? 
 Why, where 's the other? There were two!" 
 But I have been told that Mrs. Lowell drew 
 the line at snakes. 
 
 The Lowell Institute was a feature of the 
 time. It was the palmy age of the Lyceums. 
 
 wii
 
 Every one went to lectures and discussed 
 them. The great orator of the day, Edward 
 
 Everett, spoke the universal sentiment when 
 he closed his introduction to the lectures and 
 his account of the founder with a glowing 
 tribute to the future usefulness awaiting such 
 an institution and the prophesy that it would 
 perpetuate forever the name of Lowell. 
 
 The lectures were of extraordinary ability, 
 and affected the thought of all cultivated 
 people. But they waned in compelling inter- 
 est before the rapidly approaching storm in 
 national affairs. The anti-slavery agitation 
 was spreading like a fire, bringing anger, fear, 
 and discord in its wake, as well as pity and 
 high devotion. Most of the leading Boston 
 families were conservative, but young James 
 Russell Lowell, and young Sumner, and 
 some of the Shaws had joined the Radicals. 
 There was no lack of excitement in the world 
 into which young Elizabeth Lowell stepped, 
 after her happy childhood and her school- 
 days. An old friend of hers gives this little hint 
 of a sketch : — 
 
 "Lissie was not quite a young lady then. 
 
 XXIII
 
 We were too young to go to parties, but we 
 went to the bread and butter dances, as they 
 were called. She had the most lovely arms 
 and shoulders, and she was always beauti- 
 fully dressed, and I used to admire her so 
 much!" 
 
 She was a spirited, witty young woman, but 
 all her old intimates speak of her sensitive 
 modesty and her shyness. Of course she was 
 moved by the mighty passions of the time. 
 As she grew older the tragic march of events 
 reached the whirlpool of civil war. Her young 
 kinsmen and friends passed over Beacon Hill. 
 No doubt she saw among them some of the 
 cousins whose names on the tablet over the 
 gates of Soldiers' Field have moved how 
 many young hearts; but she did not see Shaw 
 ride by at the head of his black regiment or 
 turn for the last boyish smile and wave of 
 his hand to his wife. At this time the Lowells 
 were in Europe. They went for the benefit of 
 Mr. Lowell's health, remaining over a year. 
 Often afterwards Mrs. Sprague used to tell 
 of the innumerable small trials and irritations 
 caused by the general sympathy with the 
 
 XXIV
 
 cause of the South. They had great difficulty 
 in getting any news, as the French papers kept 
 back bulletins favorable to the Federals, and 
 gave but scant accounts when there remained 
 no doubt of their victories. Indeed, they 
 heard of the battle of Gettysburg through 
 the American minister some time before the 
 French newspapers published any news about 
 it. Upon their return to America, Mrs. Lowell 
 and her older daughter were deeply interested 
 in the work of the Sanitary Commission. To 
 the Boston headquarters of the Commission 
 came boxes and bundles from all parts of the 
 State, which required arranging and redis- 
 tributing. From one of these bundles, on which 
 she was employed, Mrs. Sprague caught 
 scarlet fever. Though fortunately the disease 
 was not of a dangerous type, it was a suffi- 
 ciently severe experience. After the war she 
 had other vivid interests. She was always 
 devoted to her sisters and their families. At 
 the time of her sister Ella's marriage, she did 
 wonders of fine hemming and embroidery on 
 the wedding linen. She was an exquisite 
 needlewoman all her life. 
 
 xxv
 
 Her brothers' and sisters' children were 
 none the less her joy after her own marriage. 
 She was so fortunate as to have a husband 
 who entered into all her interests, who gave 
 her not only counsel and aid, but a never 
 failing sympathy. In return, his interests, his 
 hopes, and his cares became her very own. 
 Dr. Sprague's parents were in feeble health. 
 It was their son's custom to give up a certain 
 time every day to visiting them. He let no- 
 thing avoidable interfere with this duty, and 
 he interpreted the excusing adjective with 
 austerity. The regularity of the daily visit 
 was not the least part of its value. The in- 
 valids could expect it. They knew that it was 
 sure; it brought a breath of the outside world. 
 Mrs. Sprague used to collect amusing and 
 entertaining bits of news and stories. Some- 
 times she read aloud. It was the custom to 
 read aloud in the last century. She was a 
 charming reader; she read with sympathy 
 and without elocutionary poses — like a gen- 
 tlewoman, not an actress. She could read a 
 long while without tiring; and this art, which 
 whiled away many hours for her own father, 
 xxvi
 
 and which was a delight to her husband's 
 father, gave her a multitude of happy asso- 
 ciations later, for she often read to her hus- 
 band. I remember her saying once, " I some- 
 times forget books I read myself, but never 
 books we read together. There is a different 
 impression made by a book one reads aloud; 
 it seems to stay." 
 
 Her husband has spoken of her devotion to 
 her nephews and nieces; but one of her nieces 
 has told the story from their point of view. 
 Mrs. Cabot says : — 
 
 "The single word that best characterizes 
 Aunt Lissie is devotion, and devotion in as 
 intense and penetrating a sense as that in 
 which Lincoln uses it in the Gettysburg 
 speech, so that in thinking of her his words 
 arise: 'It is for us the living rather to be dedi- 
 cated here to that cause for which they gave 
 the last, full measure of devotion.' Devotion 
 such as hers has its double aspect of over- 
 flowing love and of unswerving loyalty. This 
 loyal love brought with it undaunted courage, 
 the rare quality of endurance to the end, an 
 entire humility, a readiness of self-sacrifice, 
 and the perfected grace of courtesy and of 
 xxv ii
 
 constant sunniness. Part of what made the 
 world alive to us as children was her loving 
 kindness that overflowed in countless bounty. 
 It was as sure, as steadfast, and as far-reach- 
 ing as our mother's love; it went back to the 
 day of our birth, and kept those days with 
 unforgetting welcome. It was she who trea- 
 sured our early sayings and to whom they were 
 as vivid thirty years later as when they were 
 uttered; she who gave the wonderful French 
 doll, and she who made every one of its many 
 beautiful dresses. Her absorption in our in- 
 terests was so great that we never doubted 
 that she was as glad to make marvelous white 
 and negro wishing-bone dolls with sealing 
 wax heads and bead eyes, as we were to 
 receive them. They were dressed in the gay- 
 est and most varied silks, never any two alike; 
 their sealing-wax shoes were not forgotten, 
 and they often had a necklace of beads round 
 their throats. We did not ask how long it 
 took to make them, nor did she ever hint at 
 being too busy to give us all we wanted. 
 Every year she gave me a birthday party, 
 and year by year it changed in character as 
 she recognized my need for different amuse- 
 ment, until when I was grown up, it became 
 an evening dance in her beautiful drawing- 
 room. 
 
 XXVlll
 
 "In the days of our childhood she took her 
 nieces and nephews on many exciting jour- 
 neys, to the Philadelphia Centennial, to Niag- 
 ara, to Brattleboro; and it seemed natural 
 at the time, though it seems amazing jaow, 
 that her sympathies with our childish desires 
 made her urge my grandfather to take the 
 New Haven Railroad home instead of the 
 Albany solely in order that we might have the 
 triumph of saying that we had passed through 
 Connecticut and Rhode Island. These were 
 the days, too, of long games of cards with her, 
 first solitaire and then whist. Would any one 
 else have thought of asking a little girl who 
 devotedly loved whist to play with a stately, 
 middle-aged gentleman on an evening when 
 his partner gave out? 
 
 "It was the same endless devotion that has 
 enriched us with many letters, for never did 
 she forget to write to the many members of 
 her family, and her letters to those of us 
 who were abroad were to be counted on as 
 absolutely regular and as filled with all the 
 news that would interest us most. 'I can't 
 possibly do enough for my precious chil- 
 dren.' 
 
 " Her letters show he* never failing remem- 
 brance of our tastes : ' I have thought of dear 
 Arthur a good deal to-day. Last year we were 
 
 XXIX
 
 together in Paris, and I tried to get some 
 mousse au chocolat for him, but it was not 
 what he remembered, though called by the 
 same name. Do any of you keep stamps 
 now ? I will send for some if any of you want 
 them, or will collect them in the countries 
 where we go.' 
 
 "In 1882, after she had had a great shock 
 and sorrow, she wrote : ' I was as always most 
 glad to receive your dear letter, and the 
 love of my dear nieces is even more pre- 
 cious to me, if possible. I shall not write to 
 you at all about my sorrow, because I know 
 you are sorry for me, and I do not want to 
 sadden you.' This was always her brave 
 attitude. 
 
 "One rare characteristic of her sympathy 
 was that it included not only ourselves, but 
 our intimate friends, so that her letters are 
 full of the doings of our contemporaries, and 
 they were so much with her that the name 
 'Aunt Lissie' came readily to their lips. 
 
 "During our childhood I associated her 
 very much with dancing school, where she 
 knew every child and parent, and watched 
 with zealous care over the advance of her 
 special charges, endlessly patient and perse- 
 vering till every one could dance well. 
 
 "As I look back it seems as if almost all 
 
 xxx
 
 her time must have been passed in sharing 
 and enriching our lives, and yet they were 
 the years when she was daily bringing help, 
 and sunshine to her own parents and to Judge 
 and Mrs. Sprague. Her wonderful embroidery 
 was of these days, too, and beautiful pieces 
 of lace work testify to the devotion that 
 would take unwearying pains, and to the high 
 standard that made her insist on taking 
 out all the stitches that did not reach her 
 ideal. 
 
 "There still hang in some of our chambers 
 another lovely expression of her taste, illumi- 
 nated missals in water color like those in old 
 Liturgies, gay with bright-colored birds and 
 tracery, and with some text woven in the 
 centre. 
 
 "She was by nature a lover of children, 
 and having none of her own, she did not give 
 up the hope of their close companionship, 
 but so won them by her own great devotion 
 that they were perennially an intimate part of 
 her life. 
 
 "'I don't want the children who come to 
 see me to ask for candy,' she said a few years 
 ago, 'so I always give it to them quickly be- 
 fore they have time to ask.' 
 
 " I never remember hearing her say or imply 
 that the care of children was any trouble; 
 
 XXXI
 
 her accent was always on the generosity of 
 the parents who 'lent' her their children for 
 a little visit or pleasure trip, and on the 
 'goodness' of the children in being willing to 
 come. 
 
 "Her devotion, so constant always, was 
 trebled when any one of us was ill. During 
 a long illness of mine some years ago, she 
 sent me every day some different token, a 
 wax blackberry, a flowering azalea, a decora- 
 tive tape measure, or a book. When I thanked 
 her for them she called these gifts 'little duds,' 
 and utterly minimized the trouble and thought 
 it must have taken to daily devise and bring 
 to me something new. On another occasion, 
 one of her nephews had what was at first 
 called scarlet fever, but which turned out to 
 be the first case of an epidemic of German 
 measles which ran through the entire family. 
 Contagion was no barrier to her, and she vis- 
 ited us every day. When a few weeks later, 
 she found that she had caught the infection, 
 she acted in her characteristic way. She went 
 into her spare-room, taking with her a supply 
 of books to read, gave orders that food should 
 be left at her door, admitted no one, took the 
 entire care of her room, and when the rash 
 disappeared, threw the sheets and mattress 
 out of the window, so that they might be thor- 
 
 XXXI 1
 
 oughly aired before any one had to handle 
 them. 
 
 "Even in writing only of her relation to 
 her nieces and nephews, no account would In- 
 adequate which did not speak of her tie... to 
 King's Chapel, for we all felt its influence 
 in her life, all knew that whatever the church 
 needed in money, in committee work, in the 
 development of stronger ties among its mem- 
 bers, she would always respond whole heart- 
 edly to the need. It counted greatly to us also 
 that we often found her waiting to greet us at 
 the door of the church with a warmth that 
 never grew less, however frequent the meet- 
 ings. 
 
 "Up till within the last ten or fifteen years 
 she often went abroad for the summer; arid 
 then her eager inquiry was as to what she 
 could buy for us. To secure in Paris the 
 entire outfit of a debutante was to her 'no 
 trouble at all,' and I doubt if she ever went 
 abroad without a long list of commissions or 
 returned without a specially chosen present for 
 each child. So at Christmas, in order to get 
 the very best and newest gifts, she took a 
 yearly trip to New York, and because it was 
 great fun to go to New York, she often took a 
 niece with her. 
 
 "Through all the years up to 1892 her life 
 xxxiii
 
 was one of intense and unwearied devotion to 
 her family and friends, to the needs of the 
 church, and to charitable societies, but it had 
 not yet reached out to take part in the wel- 
 fare of the city, and had not yet found the 
 relations to people all over the country which 
 added so greatly to the richness of the last 
 twelve years. 
 
 "In 1892 Mrs. John Lowell, wife of her 
 elder brother, was severely injured by an 
 electric car; and I think that it was her feeling 
 that under safer conditions this catastrophe 
 might have been avoided which led her to 
 strive for a change in the system of running 
 these cars and to support and work for the 
 passage of a law requiring a subway under 
 Tremont Street. During the agitation of this 
 bill, she became familiar with legislative hear- 
 ings, with members of the House and the 
 Senate, and with the lawyers on both sides. 
 Her interest grew and she took part in efforts 
 to protect the Common, to prevent high 
 buildings in certain sections of the city, and 
 to enforce the law when it was violated. No 
 winter passed that she was not interested in 
 some such measure, and the eagerness these 
 interests added to her life was beautiful to 
 watch. She still found time to welcome all 
 the nieces and great-nieces and nephews, from 
 
 xxxiv
 
 the little one who came nearly every day to 
 the school girls who dropped in with their 
 friends at recess, and the elder nieces and 
 nephews who came for her wise counsel and 
 for the constant sunshine of her presence. 
 Her public interest only strengthened her 
 family life, and gave to all who knew her the 
 wonderful inspiration of a growing life which 
 makes age seem wholly irrelevant. Her life 
 became more and more what Shakespeare 
 expresses in the words of Juliet : — 
 
 " ' My bounty is as boundless as the Sea, 
 My love as deep ; the more I give to thee 
 The more I have, for both are infinite.' " 
 
 The same note of loving gratitude and strong 
 admiration is struck by all the large company 
 of her nieces and nephews, and by their 
 children. One speech out of many may be 
 given here; it is that of a nephew very dear 
 to her. 
 
 "I do not remember," he said, "any time 
 of life when a meeting did not make the day 
 happier and encourage me, even when a little 
 boy, if things went wrong. That kindly sym- 
 pathy of hers understood so well, while it com- 
 forted, and never lost its nameless charm as 
 I grew older, but was as fresh and grateful to 
 
 XXXV
 
 me the last time I saw her as when I first 
 remember it." 
 
 Dr. Sprague has quoted the affecting testi- 
 mony of one who had been in Mrs. Sprague's 
 household. She truly represents those who 
 are often closer observers of us than many of 
 our own blood. My friend was loved by them 
 who served her. It was a mutual affection 
 and respect. And I found it easy to believe 
 the niece who said to me, once, speaking of 
 the general household unrest, the quicksands 
 of shifting service, and the consequent domes- 
 tic cataclysms, "That was one thing about 
 Aunt Lissie; she never had domestic cata- 
 clysms!" 
 
 Remembering the warm terms in which 
 she spoke of her domestic helpers and the con- 
 sideration which she showed in a rare degree, 
 one might give a guess at the reason for her 
 immunity. But there was more than justice 
 and kindness in the ordering of her household ; 
 there was the ability of the born executive, 
 and the taste of the lover of beauty who had 
 grown up amid beautiful things. The machin- 
 xxxvi
 
 ery never creaked in her establishment. Ex- 
 quisite cooking and service, dainty care of 
 details came so naturally that the guest — who 
 did not keep house — might fancy they were 
 spontaneous, that like Topsy "they growed." 
 
 In her wide charities there appears con- 
 tinually the same "understanding heart." 
 "I really can't expect a woman to have more 
 of the virtues than I have myself simply be- 
 cause she is poor," she said to me once. "We 
 ought to expect a great deal less of the very 
 poor than of ourselves; sometimes I think we 
 expect more." 
 
 A certain society to which she belonged had 
 the care of poor widows. Mrs. Sprague vis- 
 ited the widows, she found out their pitiful 
 histories, she helped them not only in what 
 is called a substantial fashion, but with what 
 is often the most real of help, comprehension 
 and good will. She never read them moral 
 lectures. She heard their confidences, making 
 her shrewd, humorous, kindly comments much 
 as she might make them to a friend of her 
 own class. When she gave advice it was 
 always in response to a demand, and given 
 
 XXX VI 1
 
 with such an incidental casual air that like 
 drugs in the modern capsule, it was felt but 
 not tasted! 
 
 People do not abandon their names because 
 they enter an institution, and they like to be 
 called by them. Mrs. Sprague always re- 
 membered the names of those whom she vis- 
 ited. She kept their circumstances apart, and 
 did n't inquire for the crippled son with six 
 children of the widow who had only one blind 
 spinster daughter. She was quite as carefully 
 polite with them as with her friends. They 
 felt — and with justice — that it was they 
 themselves that interested her; they were 
 not merely a charitable "case." This respect 
 for unfortunate people's personality may be 
 the secret of the love which so many had for 
 the Lowell sisters. 
 
 Resolutions of the societies to which she 
 belonged have a note of feeling not often 
 found in official resolutions. A paper read at 
 the Widows' Society, October 5, 1904, says: 
 " She was the last of three sisters whose mem- 
 ories will ever be dear to the heart of many 
 a poor woman and many a friend." On the 
 xxxviii
 
 part of the quaintly named society, "The 
 Needlewomen's Friend," in which she be- 
 came a manager in 1866 and vice-president 
 in 1877, holding this latter office till her death, 
 the secretary says: "I cannot express to you 
 how much we miss her from our meetings. 
 She was so regular in her attendance that we 
 never commenced our meetings until she 
 came, unless we were sure that she was not 
 coming. She had been connected with the 
 society longer than any one living now. Her 
 pleasant cordial manner made her beloved 
 by all, and especially by the younger members 
 of the board." 
 
 Dr. Sprague has spoken of the fight made 
 for the subway. Of a kindred nature was the 
 warfare on the high buildings. The owners 
 of one notorious skyscraper determined in 
 their own minds that possession of the air on 
 the earth was nine points of the law. There- 
 fore they ran up their building craftily, and 
 before their intent was suspected were bat- 
 tering the horizon far above the sky-line. In 
 that locality the law forbade a height over 
 ninety feet. 
 
 xxxix
 
 "They can't build above ninety feet," said 
 Mrs. Sprague to the desponding good citi- 
 zens who mourned, but had no plan of re- 
 dress. 
 
 "But they have built," was the dejected 
 reply. "What can we do about it?" 
 
 "Make them come down," said Mrs. 
 Sprague, undaunted. And this very thing was 
 done. After every legal device of obstruction 
 had been used in vain, the illegal addition was 
 taken down. 
 
 Another example of the family spirit is 
 given merely as an instance. All her life Mrs. 
 Sprague was deeply attached to King's Chapel. 
 Her whole family had this attachment; it was 
 inherited like their coat-of-arms and their 
 sense of humor. 
 
 At one time attendance on a special yearly 
 service waned to a painful leanness. Light- 
 minded people said, why not abandon the 
 service; nobody but the Lowells came. The 
 remark reached the Lowell family, and they 
 rose as one man — or one woman. They has- 
 tened to interest nearly every member of the 
 congregation in the service. One of them even 
 
 xl
 
 took her little daughter to it because she said 
 every one counted. In the end an amazed 
 rector gazed upon the big square red-cushioned 
 pews overflowing with heads. The special 
 yearly service was not abandoned. 
 
 It was through her sister, Mrs. Blake, and 
 her niece, Mrs. Clarke, that Mrs. Sprague's 
 interest was enlisted in the Society of Colonial 
 Dames. Mrs. Blake, Mrs. Hale, Mrs. Clarke, 
 Mrs. Sprague, were among the incorporators 
 of the society. Mrs. Blake was the second 
 president. Mrs. Hale was vice-president; 
 later (after Mrs. Blake's death) president of 
 the society. Mrs. Sprague was registrar, and 
 her niece, Mrs. Clarke, historian. The first 
 Board of Managers was a band of kindred 
 and intimate friends. From the beginning, 
 beside their fundamental, patriotic, and pious 
 ends, which the national constitution recites, 
 they worked for two objects: to knit closer 
 the ties between the widely scattered daugh- 
 ters of the makers of Massachusetts, and to 
 renew the ancient kindliness between the 
 States. The story has been told more than 
 once, but it has its place here, how at the 
 
 xli
 
 council held at the time of the Spanish War, 
 during which the method of aiding the sol- 
 diers and sailors came up, there was an inevit- 
 able recurrence of memory and speech to the 
 Sanitary Commission. Finally there was a 
 proposal to call the proposed organization of 
 aid in the society by the old name. Mrs. 
 Sprague, Mrs. Blake, and Mrs. Hale had been 
 ardent workers in the day of the Commission, 
 and although Mrs. Clarke was too young to 
 have taken part in the Civil War, all the tra- 
 ditions of her own family and of the Clarkes 
 were intensely Federal; yet so delicately and 
 with such sympathetic wisdom did they help 
 Mrs. Blake's proposal to substitute another 
 title for a name laden with so many cruel 
 memories to the South, that they won the 
 gratitude of every Southern State. In that 
 they had the cooperation of the whole Massa- 
 chusetts delegation; Mrs. Blake's substitute, 
 "The National Relief Association," was 
 adopted. At the close of the council some of 
 the South Carolina dames came to where the 
 two sisters, their niece, and Mrs. Hale were 
 standing, and one of them, extending both 
 
 xlii
 
 hands to Mrs. Blake, cried, "Massachusetts, 
 we have loved you!" 
 
 Undoubtedly the relief work drew North 
 and South closely together, and the affection- 
 ate regard which had its birth in that season 
 of sorrow and courage has steadily grown 
 deeper and stronger. We may say now that 
 there is an absolute obliteration of sectional 
 feeling in the councils. 
 
 Mrs. Sprague's sunny humor and her toler- 
 ant friendliness were a potent help in this 
 work, and her position as registrar made her 
 of equal value among the Western States. 
 She went to endless trouble to hunt up missing 
 links in genealogical lines. In those earlier 
 days — we do things better in the associate 
 States now — some of the papers nearly gave 
 the genealogists apoplexy they were so con- 
 fused, so deficient, and so artlessly careless 
 of authority. No one could appreciate order 
 or precision — or practice it — better than 
 she ; but where other registrars might return 
 the erring paper with a crisp comment, in- 
 variably she took pains to write at length, 
 without criticism, but with the pleasantest 
 
 xliii
 
 sympathy and the most illuminating ex- 
 planation of what was needed. 
 
 It is no exaggeration to say that she never 
 had a correspondent for any length of time 
 who did not become her warm friend. 
 
 I remember so many, so very many, who 
 came to me during the last council of the 
 society to ask about her, to regret her absence, 
 and to say heartfelt words of gratitude and 
 affection. "All I want to know," said one 
 delegate, "is where Mrs. Sprague stands in 
 this matter; that's where / am! She has stud- 
 ied it up in all its aspects , and I have unlimited 
 confidence in her." 
 
 From all over the country when Mrs. 
 Sprague died, there came words of sympathy 
 and grief to her husband and nieces. A single 
 extract will show how her influence was felt 
 and how she was loved by those who had never 
 seen her face. 
 
 "Her death came to us as a personal loss, 
 as she had endeared herself to our hearts 
 through her charming letters extending over 
 a period of more than ten years. There was 
 a sympathetic magnetism in the utterances of 
 
 xliv
 
 her pen, which never failed to impress us that 
 she was one of the truest of friends, although 
 we have never had the pleasure of meeting 
 her. Her refined courtesy, genuine interest, 
 and warm sympathy made her year by year 
 seem nearer to us; therefore we were greatly 
 overcome when the message came that she 
 had passed to the higher life. 
 
 "Mrs. Sprague's influence was far-reach- 
 ing, and she will be missed and mourned by 
 a very large circle of friends. We cherish the 
 sweet, kind, consolatory letter she wrote to us 
 in our recent bereavement. The memory of 
 her true, beautiful Christian life will be ever 
 an inspiration and solace to our sorrowing 
 hearts." 
 
 It is not always that charm and business 
 ability are combined in a woman. Mrs. 
 Sprague inherited her mother's charm and 
 her father's power of organization and ex- 
 traordinary mastery of all the details of work. 
 Her mind worked with swiftness and accu- 
 racy, and so admirable was her system that 
 no accumulation of work or sudden stress 
 ever excited her. Many are the testimonials 
 to the accuracy with which she kept all the 
 records of her office as registrar; and no one 
 
 xlv
 
 offers ampler testimony to the value of her 
 work than her successor in the office, while 
 the present president of the society said : — 
 
 "Words are inadequate to express our feel- 
 ing at the loss of Mrs. Sprague. Her interest 
 in the society, her knowledge of its affairs, 
 her wisdom, her judgment, and her kindness 
 made her indispensable to the Colonial Dames 
 of Massachusetts. We are indeed like a ship 
 without a rudder." 
 
 Mrs. Cabot's words regarding the hospi- 
 tality and the lavish generosity of her aunt's 
 heart are echoed by all who knew her well, 
 not only by those whom she loved, but by 
 that larger circle who did not know her inti- 
 mately. She had the great gift of genuine 
 interest in many people. Often the women of 
 our New England race love a few intensely, 
 while they have merely a tepid feeling of good 
 will towards the most of their acquaintance. 
 My friend loved with a wonderful passion 
 of devotion those who were nearest of all, 
 yet she kept a wide and widening enjoyment 
 of the multitude outside. Truly said one 
 who knew her well that " she made friends as 
 
 xlvi
 
 long as she lived, but she never gave up an 
 old one." 
 
 And another in the circle of those remoter 
 friends, herself far younger than Mrs. Sprague, 
 and seeing her but seldom, has expressed a 
 kindred feeling. 
 
 "How she will be missed!" she wrote. 
 "Even I who knew her slightly can realize 
 that. It used to give me a glow of pleasure 
 every time I met her in the street or anywhere, 
 her smile and glance were so kindly and 
 cheery." 
 
 After Mrs. Sprague's death a number of 
 letters came to the writer from her friends 
 and members of the Society of Colonial Dames. 
 A striking feature in these letters is the stress 
 laid by every writer upon her sympathy, 
 which was not only consoling but inspiring. 
 She never belittled her friends' troubles, but 
 she never despaired of them, either. If there 
 was a gleam of hope to be found for a situa- 
 tion she found it; if not, she was sure it was 
 there ! 
 
 Some vivid quality in her cheerfulness de- 
 fied those strong years that dull as they con- 
 
 xlvii
 
 quer. It was not the less vivid that it was so 
 quiet and sane. One could not be with her 
 without believing more in the duty of tran- 
 quil happiness. That she was a happy woman 
 herself, in spite of many cruel griefs, impressed 
 one most of all. No doubt her sunny temper- 
 ament was helped by her happiness in the 
 closest relation of life. She not only loved her 
 brothers and sisters, her nephews and nieces, 
 she enjoyed their society with a frank plea- 
 sure that was beautiful to see. With the deep 
 happiness of her married life a stranger may 
 not intermeddle; yet no one ever was in her 
 home who did not feel its presence. 
 
 "Her married life," says one who has a 
 right to speak, "was one of rare and ever 
 increasing beauty. More and more upon her 
 and her husband shone the grace of lovers, 
 and more and more they exemplified the beau- 
 tiful comradeship of workers for mutual and 
 noble ends." 
 
 Perhaps nothing in that charming house 
 impressed those of the younger generation 
 more than the delicate courtesy shown by 
 master and mistress to each other, quite as 
 
 xlviii
 
 much as to their guests. Mrs. Sprague's po- 
 liteness was indeed not a graft, it belonged to 
 the intimate texture of her soul. She learned 
 its gracious manner of expression at her mo- 
 ther's knee, but the constant thought for 
 others which was the root grew out of her un- 
 selfishness. How rare, how unconscious, how 
 pervading, that unselfishness was! How it 
 bound the hearts of her friends to her with 
 the subtlest but the most compelling force! 
 Over and over, too often to be enumerated, 
 their grief for her told the same story : — 
 
 "She was the most sincere, loyal, and lov- 
 ing friend, not only to me, but to many others ; 
 and the most unselfish woman I have ever 
 known." 
 
 " She was a woman of wonderful courage and 
 endurance and self-control, and more than all, 
 unselfish for others." 
 
 "To see her kindly smile approaching in 
 the street was to feel that help and comfort 
 were at hand." 
 
 " She was a tower of strength to her friends 
 in the emergencies of life, but she was a con- 
 tinual giver of small pleasures as well." 
 
 xlix
 
 A multitude of such tributes came from 
 those who mourned her. 
 
 One who was of no kinship to her which 
 they could trace, but whom she affectionately 
 called "Cousin," once described graphically 
 Mrs. Sprague's Christmas shopping. 
 
 "Mrs. Sprague always likes to go to New 
 York about Christmas time because she can 
 find different Christmas gifts there, you know, 
 for her many nephews and nieces, and this to 
 her is a great pleasure. Dr. Sprague sees to 
 it that besides the shopping they see any good 
 play running, and that Mrs. Sprague does n't 
 tire herself. I say they run away to have a 
 good time." 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Sprague's radiant face, as 
 she described one of those times to me, bore 
 out the description. 
 
 Mrs. Cabot has spoken of these Christmas 
 gifts. They were chosen not only with her 
 beautiful taste, but with a never failing mem- 
 ory of individual preference. Only one at 
 once unselfish and keenly observing could so 
 remember the circumstances and the wishes 
 of her friends. Such thoughtfulness takes an 
 
 1
 
 enormous amount of time. But hers, as one 
 of her cousins wrote, truly was "a life that 
 never knew lack of time when there was a 
 duty to be done or a kindness to be rendered." 
 In the same strain her kinswoman and life- 
 long friend paints her portrait : — 
 
 "If I were asked to describe in a few words 
 what Lissie was, I should say there were two 
 things which always stood out in my thoughts 
 of her character. First, her tender and unself- 
 ish devotion to others, the warm sympathy 
 and constancy to her friends, united with 
 great kindness to every one. 
 
 "And next, what is perhaps quite as rare, 
 the way in which she kept on growing to the 
 end, so that she was a finer woman at fifty 
 than at thirty, and yet more unusual, still 
 finer at seventy than at fifty. 
 
 "And so we who have loved her could not 
 help loving her more and more as the years 
 went by, finding more to love." 
 
 While her sympathy most impressed her 
 newer friends, her loyalty is as tenderly re- 
 membered by the older ones. One who knew 
 her for many years says : — 
 
 li
 
 "It was more a continually meeting and 
 interchanging of thoughts and personal con- 
 fidences than anything else — a knowledge 
 of each other's family interests and circum- 
 stances, unknown to other friends; and as 
 one by one our families dropped away, we 
 clung closer and felt we were nearer and more 
 dependent upon each other. To me her loss 
 is irreparable! No one can take her place. 
 And now I on my journey all alone proceed. 
 And I must be reconciled because she is no 
 longer suffering, and God has given her rest; 
 and in another world in which she firmly be- 
 lieved, she sees the faces of those she so much 
 loved." 
 
 And another writes : — 
 
 "She was my earliest friend when we were 
 eight years old, and I came with my parents 
 for a visit. After I was married and had not 
 one relation in all Boston, she renewed the 
 old friendship, and made me feel at home. 
 The most loyal, kindly, tender of friends. I 
 feel desolate without her." 
 
 All her old friends mention her courage, 
 which faced life and death with a smile. Hers 
 was not only the courage of action and excite- 
 ment, but the calm fortitude so much rarer. 
 
 lii
 
 " I recall her serene face," said one friend, 
 speaking of her at the last, "her patience and 
 quiet acceptance of pain, her resignation as 
 she put aside one thing after another, not 
 understanding, yet smiling and willing." 
 
 No mention of my friend would be com- 
 plete that did not touch on a trait which made 
 much for her happiness, her love of beauty. 
 She had an instinct for beauty in material 
 things, in art or literature, from whence came 
 what we call so lightly "a charming taste;" 
 and it was reflected in her homes, whether in 
 the stately elegance of the great house in 
 Boston, or in the simpler but not less dainty 
 old-time 'plenishing of the house on the rocks 
 at Nahant. But the pleasure which beauty 
 of this sort brought her is not comparable with 
 the happiness given her by her love of nature. 
 From her childish days amid the green fields 
 and the woods of Roxbury to the last of her 
 life she felt the enchantment of the sun. She 
 loved the rich bronze on the tree trunks, the 
 moist grays on the rocks, the jeweled glow 
 of the green hillsides, the changing mould 
 and hues of the waves, the violet shadows of 
 
 liii
 
 the snow. And she loved the sea as the Swiss 
 love their mountains. She delighted in every 
 mood of the ocean. It was always a happy 
 moment when the household moved to their 
 Nahant home. The Nahant house was charm- 
 ing in every way, furnished with the old fam- 
 ily treasures of Chippendale and Sheraton, 
 and having a situation on the rocks which 
 poised it like a ship above the waves. 
 
 Mrs. Blake used to say to those who ad- 
 mired the beautiful view from her own house 
 by the sea, "Ah, but you should see my sis- 
 ter's view; the ships come in to her dining- 
 room windows!" 
 
 The sunsets at Nahant were pageants. A 
 letter to a niece describes one of them with 
 loving and vivid touches. 
 
 "The evening that you left us we had the 
 most wonderful sunset I ever remember, and 
 we did so wish for you and Julia to see it. 
 On the one side the lovely roseate glow, and 
 at the other end of the piazza the moon al- 
 ready high enough for quite a wake, and yet 
 daylight enough to distinguish the deep blue 
 of the sea, and the green of the grass, and 
 several white sails. It was really enchanting." 
 
 liv
 
 The last time I saw Nahant the west was 
 faintly crimsoning in the glow of such a sun- 
 set, and its glory was on her face and her smile, 
 as standing by her husband's side she waved 
 us farewell. 
 
 She was preparing to go to the sea the May 
 in which she died. Her illness was of several 
 weeks' duration, but until the last few days 
 she went downstairs every day, and in spite 
 of almost constant pain she was her own cheer- 
 ful self. Once I said to her, "I always heard 
 that intercostal neuralgia was so painful; 
 doesn't it hurt you all the time?" She 
 laughed. "Well, I know it's there /" said she. 
 Her gayety, her splendid vitality, her interest 
 in every personal or public detail, were so un- 
 abated that her death came as a shock even 
 to her nearest friends. They could not real- 
 ize a bravery which made so light of pain. 
 Yet in truth it was not so much because she 
 was stoical as because she was loving and 
 unselfish that so far as in her lay she spared 
 those who loved her the knowledge of her suf- 
 fering. To the very end she smiled her thanks 
 and love. 
 
 lv
 
 And to us still who loved her she is always 
 smiling; it seems the noblest and the rarest 
 part of her who had so many rare and noble 
 traits, this faithful cheerfulness which irra- 
 diated from her brave soul, blessing all who 
 felt its light, and of which the very memory 
 lifts our fainter hearts. 
 
 MDCCCXXXI v MCMIV 
 
 lvi
 
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