SECTION I.—ELIZABETH FRY.

“She pleaded unweariedly, and with the happiest results, for the persecuted, the ignorant, and the wretched of every class, and has left behind her a monument of grateful remembrance in the hearts of thousands.”

In the last census returns it was shown that females exceeded by half a million the number of males in these islands. In England there are fifteen thousand governesses. A few years ago eight hundred and ten women applied for a situation of £15 per annum; and two hundred and fifty for another worth only £12. What are we to do with these poor creatures? How can we find suitable employment for them? These questions pass from lip to lip, and are re-echoed on every hand. We join issue with those who of late times have come to the strange conclusion that there is no essential difference—beyond an anatomical or sexual one—between the two great divisions of the human race—men and women. As surely as the little girl takes to the doll, and the baby-boy to his whip, his pop-gun, and his miniature ship; so surely did God plant natural instincts for their different duties in the souls of the different sexes. But although we hold that men and women were made and adapted for their own peculiar walks in life, we think woman as well as man may have a laudable ambition—she as well as he may take “Excelsior” as the device upon her banner. All honour to every woman who, sustaining the dignity of her sex, and not forgetting her modesty, turns her talent to account. Moreover, it is permissible to believe that men have sometimes invaded the province of women. Is the unrolling of ribbons and measuring of tape a suitable employment for young men? Would it not be much more natural for linendrapers and silk-mercers to employ women? The silk would lose nothing in being turned over by their little white hands. True, it requires a tolerably strong frame to be incessantly taking down and putting back in their places, samples of goods. But what prevents the hiring of a small number of men to be specially employed on heavy jobs? Besides, would there be nothing to praise from another point of view? If ladies were forced to be face to face with their own sex, who would treat them on a footing of equality, would presume to be out of temper, and would lose patience with their sauntering through a world of curious things, and then going away without buying anything,—the making of purchases which is now a pleasure would become a business. Might not females labour in the tailoring department with as much credit to themselves, and satisfaction to their employers, as males? The needle is woman’s instrument, and if the society of operative tailors would nobly give it up to her, hope and work would visit many a family, and charm many a home. The question whether women, instead of being confined as at present to a few occupations, shall in common with men, be clergymen, doctors, lawyers, professors, bankers, members of parliament, masons, sailors, and soldiers, is felt by many to be one of great difficulty and importance. There is no reason in theory why women should not make good masons, sailors, and soldiers; and there are abundant instances on record in which they have succeeded admirably in these employments. If you say these vocations are adapted to men by physical conditions, and not to women, you contravene the programme of some very able men and many strong-minded women, and admit all that those contend for who say that a line must be drawn somewhere, and add that the line which is indicated by the twofold consideration that woman is physically weaker than man, and that the business of maternity requires more devotion, time, and energy than that of paternity, has every appearance of being a natural line. Of this we are certain—that women, who have time and money at their disposal, might take the advice given to Lady Clara Vere de Vere:—

To visit mission schools, ragged schools, Dorcas societies, and prisons, is womanly, consistent, and noble.

Elizabeth, third daughter of John Gurney, Esq., of Earlham Hall, near Norwich, was born on the 21st of May, 1780. By her mother, Catherine Bell, who died in 1792, she was descended from the ancient family of the Barklays, of Ury, in Kincardineshire, and great-granddaughter of Robert Barclay, the apologist of the Quakers. In natural talent she was quick and penetrating, but her education was rather defective. To the gaieties of the world, in the usual acceptation of the term, she was but little exposed. Music and dancing are not allowed by Friends; though a scruple as to the former is by no means universal. The Misses Gurney had all a taste for music, and some of them sang delightfully, especially Rachel and Elizabeth. They even danced, now and then, in the large anteroom; but with little of the display generally manifested on such occasions.

Years passed on, and little by little an all-wise Providence gradually led Elizabeth Gurney into the meridian light of day—the glorious liberty of the children of God. A severe illness first brought her to serious thought, but it was on the 4th of February, 1798, at the Friend’s meeting-house at Norwich, that the word was spoken which was destined to transform her into a new creature. The instrument of this great change was William Savery, an American Quaker, who had come to pay a friendly visit to this country.

The real goodness, self-denial, and devotion of the early founders and disciples of Quakerism, first brought it into existence, and kept it alive, in spite of much that was absurd, much that was bigoted, fantastic, and unmeaning. Like other strange mixtures of human error and Divine truth, it has lived its day, and is gradually dying out, as all phases of religious excitement must eventually die when based upon external peculiarities, and exceptional cases of personal consecration to a one-sided form of narrow sectarianism. It is computed that the number of Quakers in all England is now scarcely one in eleven hundred, while in their palmy days they reached one in one hundred and thirty persons. The Society of Friends now contribute much less to the great solid stock of intellectual wealth and spiritual worth which is constantly accumulating in the world, than they did in the days of our heroine. They can boast of no celebrities now such as Fox, and Penn, and Barclay, and Naylor, and Woolman. Their sole orator is Mr. Bright, who belongs to them in name rather than reality. But although Quakers may soon become extinct, their exertions in the cause of freedom will continue to bear noble and good fruit for many an age. But for the circumstances in which she was placed, there is reason to suppose that Elizabeth Gurney would have adopted some less strict, not to say more legitimate, form of Christianity. Be that as it may, she continued throughout life a Quakeress; singularly free from narrow-mindedness and intolerance.

Having visited London, the south of England, and Wales, she began when not more than eighteen years of age, those manifold labours of philanthropy, which have raised her to a distinguished place among the benefactors of mankind.

In 1800, she became the wife of Joseph Fry, Esq., of Upton, Essex, then a banker in London. The wedding was on the 19th of August, at the Friends’ Meeting House, in Norwich. We shall quote her own description of the day. “I awoke in a sort of terror at the prospect before me, but soon gained quietness, and something of cheerfulness; after dressing we set off for meeting; I was altogether comfortable. The meeting was crowded; I felt serious, and looking in measure to the only sure place for support. It was to me a truly solemn time; I felt every word, and not only felt, but in my manner of speaking expressed how I felt; Joseph also spoke well. Most solemn it truly was. After we sat silent some little time, Sarah Chandler knelt down in prayer; my heart prayed with her. I believe words are inadequate to describe the feelings on such an occasion. I wept a good part of the time, and my beloved father seemed as much overcome as I was. The day passed off well, and I think I was very comfortably supported under it, although cold hands and a beating heart were often my lot.” It was much more the custom then than it is now, for the junior partner to reside in the house of business; and accordingly Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Fry prepared to establish themselves in St. Mildred’s Court, in the city of London. The house was suitable in every way; and continued to be an occasional residence of different members of the family, till it was pulled down in consequence of alterations.

Elizabeth Fry was, by her marriage, brought into completely new circumstances. Unlike her own parents, her father- and mother-in-law were “plain and consistent Friends;” and thus she found herself the “gay, instead of the plain and scrupulous one of the family.” This brought her into difficulty and trial; and she feared, lest in the desire to please all, she should in any degree swerve from the line of conduct she believed right for herself. Nevertheless, for several years her life flowed smoothly on, in a round of domestic and other virtues. But God visits His people with trials, for the very same reason that the refiner casts his silver into the furnace. He tries them, to purify them. Again and again had sickness been permitted to enter her immediate circle, and she was frequently called upon to witness the last moments of dear relatives. In 1808, her father-in-law, William Storrs Fry, died at St. Mildred’s Court, where she had nursed him for several weeks. His decease produced an important change in her circumstances, causing the removal of the family to Plashet, a hamlet in the parish of East Ham, Essex, in the spring of 1809. The change from the din of the city to the quiet of the country, was not the less appreciated because years had left traces of hard-earned experience.

In 1811, she was publicly acknowledged by the Society of Friends as one of their ministers. A Mrs. Fry, or a Miss Marsh, may with much success labour for the eternal weal of souls. Those who would hinder them ought to bear in mind that God inspired women of old with the spirit of prophecy, and gave the songs of more than one of them a place in sacred literature. In the memoir edited by two of her daughters, we read as follows: “One thing is obvious, that it was as a minister of the Society of Friends, and as such only, shielded by its discipline and controlled by its supervision, that she could have carried out her peculiar vocation in the world and the Church.” She attended the first meeting of the Norwich Bible Society, and ever after took a deep interest in that noble institution. Elizabeth Fry evidently entered upon the scene of her future labours among the poor female felons in Newgate, without any idea of the importance of its ultimate results. That career, while presenting an almost inexhaustible fund of instructive thought, is yet, necessarily, somewhat repetitive. It is the glory of benevolence to be uniform.

Queen Charlotte heard of this exemplary woman, and in 1818 she went by royal command to the Mansion House. She should have been presented to her Majesty in the drawing-room, but by some mistake, she was conducted to the Egyptian Hall. The queen perceived Mrs. Fry, and advanced to address her. A murmur of applause ran through the assembly, when they saw the diminutive queen covered with diamonds, and the tall Mrs. Fry, in her simple Quakeress’s dress, earnestly conversing together. It was royal rank paying homage at the shrine of royal worth. In 1831, she had an interview with the Duchess of Kent and the Princess Victoria; and reminded the young princess of King Josiah, who began to reign when eight years old, and did that which was right in the sight of the Lord. The same year she had some conversation with Queen Adelaide, chiefly on benevolent subjects. In 1840, Lord Normandy presented her to Queen Victoria, at Buckingham Palace. Her present majesty had sent her £50, for a refuge at Chelsea, and inquired about Catherine Neave’s refuge, for which she had sent another £50. Mrs. Fry thanked her, and before withdrawing, reminded our noble queen of the words of Scripture, “with the merciful Thou wilt show Thyself merciful;” and assured her that it was her prayer that the blessing of God might rest upon her and Prince Albert, to whom she was about to be married.

Her health now began to fail, from over-fatigue and anxiety; but she rallied, and only ceased from works of benevolence when her strength was entirely spent. As increasing infirmity prevented her from active employment, she occupied herself with correspondence, which by degrees became enormous.

In August, 1845, Mrs. Fry was removed to Ramsgate, as sea air was considered desirable for her, and after some difficulty her husband obtained a house exactly suited to her necessities. For some time the hopes and fears of her relatives were kept in a constant state of alternation regarding her recovery. On the 10th of October, she appeared better, but shortly after was seized with a paralytic attack, which, though it did not render her speechless, destroyed her capacity for rational communication. The will seemed gone, and the inclination to resist or even desire anything, passed away. The last words she spoke were, “Oh! my dear Lord, help and keep thy servant.” She died on the 12th, aged sixty-five. The night had been dark, but the morning broke gloriously; and soon after the eternal light had dawned upon her soul, the sun rose from the ocean, and

A vast multitude attended her funeral, not to listen to the language of inflated eulogy, but to testify the estimation in which the departed was held. The procession passed between the grounds of Plashet House, her once happy home, and those of Plashet Cottage, to the Friends’ burying-ground at Barking, Essex, where her grave was prepared. There is no appointed funeral service among Friends. A deep silence pervaded the mighty assembly. At length her brother, Joseph John Gurney, addressed the thousands gathered around her tomb, and offered solemn prayer.

During seventeen centuries of the Christian era, the only associations of a benevolent character were the family, the school, and the church; and the peculiar form of operation in which such societies are now seen, virtually began at the commencement of the present century. It is only of the England of the last sixty years that we can emphatically say, “on her head are many crowns, but the fairest and brightest is that of charity.” Had this great benefactor of her race lived but one half century earlier, her plans would have been circumscribed, and in all probability would have ended with her own life. But it pleased Almighty wisdom to raise her up at a time when it was not only beginning to be whispered, but even loudly asserted, that each individual was bound to spend and be spent in the service of God and humanity. At a very early age Elizabeth Gurney commenced those habits of visiting and relieving the poor, both at Earlham and in Norwich, especially the sick; reading the Bible to them, and instructing their children. She established a school, which gradually increased, from one little boy to so great a number, that the house became inconvenient, and a vacant laundry was appropriated to that purpose. How she managed to control above seventy scholars, without assistance, without monitors, and without the countless books and pictures of the present day, must ever remain a mystery to many. Nor was her attention confined to the very poor. The widow of an officer, who was living alone in a small house near Norwich, was surprised during her confinement with her first child, by a loud ring at the bell. Her servant came running up stairs with a basket in her hand, and in the broad dialect peculiar to Norfolk, informed her mistress that it had been left by a beautiful lady on horseback, in a scarlet riding habit, whose servant had told her it was Miss Elizabeth Gurney. The basket contained a chicken and some little delicacies.

In 1813, the deplorable condition of the female felons in Newgate attracted the attention of Elizabeth Fry, and she resolved to visit them. We will not attempt to describe the details of miscalled prison discipline, nor of those flagrant abuses which, under the very eye of law, encouraged rather than diminished crime, by destroying the last remnant of self-respect in the criminal. Suffice it to say that the condition of the female convicts was a disgrace to any civilised country. Four rooms, comprising upwards of one hundred and ninety superficial yards, were crowded with nearly three hundred women, besides their children, without classification or employment, and with no other superintendence than that of a man and his son! Into this scene Mrs. Fry entered, not mailed in scorn, in hatred, or contempt, but in the armour of a pure intent. She respected human nature however fallen, and worked with it, not against it, as prison systems often do. Her gentleness at once fixed the attention of those insolent, violent, and insubordinate characters. She then read and expounded a portion of Scripture, and uttered a few words in supplication. Many of the poor creatures wept from a hitherto unfelt motive, and Mrs. Fry left, deeply affected, but without any idea of the importance or ultimate results of the labours she had begun. It was not, however, till about Christmas, 1816, that she commenced her systematic visits to Newgate, being then particularly induced by the reports of those gentlemen who, in 1815, originated the society for “The Improvement of Prison Discipline.” Under her influence the Association for the Improvement of the Female Prisoners of Newgate, was formed in 1817. The almost immediate result was order, sobriety, and neatness. This surprising change soon attracted attention, both in and out of Parliament, and in 1818, Elizabeth Fry was called upon to give evidence before a committee of the House of Commons. Arrangements similar to those adopted at Newgate were subsequently introduced into all the metropolitan gaols; and she personally inspected the prisons, lunatic asylums, and other kindred institutions in the United Kingdom, and afterwards those in the most influential nations of Europe. The enlightened and benevolent of her sex, both in our own and foreign lands became her coadjutors. Through her instrumentality important improvements took place in the treatment of female convicts sentenced to transportation. Her active and untiring philanthropic exertions on behalf of felons of her own sex, acquired for her in her lifetime the name of “the female Howard.” Only to hang, banish, and imprison convicts, ill becomes those who have sinned more against God’s laws than the worst of criminals have sinned against man’s. It has been clearly proven that women discharged from prison, and thrown upon their own resources, without a character, and consequently without any means of obtaining a livelihood, relapse into their former evil habits. We ought to provide suitable employment for them, and thus restore them to society, and prevent their children from sharing their poverty and learning their crimes.

Death frequently entered the family of Mrs. Fry, and “sorrow upon sorrow” often formed the burden of her wounded spirit. Her sister, Elizabeth Gurney, died rejoicing that the hour of her deliverance had arrived, and that she was about to lay down her frail tabernacle, and appear in the presence of her God and Saviour. Her little grandson, Gurney Reynolds, was an especial object of interest to her. He left her not more unwell than usual. News came that he was worse, and three days afterwards he breathed away his patient spirit, as he lay upon the sofa in his mother’s room. The lovely little Juliana, the second daughter of her son William, one of the sweetest blossoms that ever gladdened parents’ hearts, was cut off after thirty hours’ illness. But the storm had not blown over; again the thunder-clouds rolled up. Her son, William Storrs Fry, the beloved and honoured head of that happy home, was himself laid low. On the day of the funeral of his little Juliana, he exclaimed, “I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me.” His last words were, “God is so good!” Emma followed her father, whom her young heart had loved and desired to obey, just one week after his departure, and eighteen days from the death of her sister. One grave contains all that is mortal of the father and his daughters. Mrs. Fry felt these blows acutely, but He who sent them bestowed His Holy Spirit; and so her faith proved stronger than her anguish. When the lips turn pale, and cold damps gather upon the brow; when the loved one is laid in the shroud; when the screws go into the coffin, and the mould rattles hollow on its lid,—faith can rise above things below, and see the ransomed spirit, singing and shining, before the throne.

The marriage union is, of all human relations, that involving the most delicate, profound, and various responsibilities. It is only when the hearts of husbands and wives are right with God that high conjugal life can be attained. Mrs. Fry knew what was necessary to adorn the estate of matrimony—even virtuous love. “No happiness,” says Dr. Macfarlane, “can be expected at home, if love do not preside over all the domestic life. How blessed is that husband who is the loved one, who is made to feel that the reverence and obedience due to him are not only ungrudged but cheerfully conceded! This lies at the foundation. That wife is not only wicked, but a very fool, who contests with her husband for authority. It is against the law of marriage, and, therefore, it is against nature. Ten thousand times ten thousand wrecks of domestic happiness have been the consequence.” Although more liberally endowed with the qualities adapted for government than most women, Mrs. Fry rejoiced that it was laid upon broader and stronger shoulders. Her husband loved her, and therefore had a right to rule over her; she loved her husband, and therefore willingly obeyed him. Both were happy because both drank into the spirit of love.

As a mother she shone with peculiar brightness. In that most important sphere—home, she was at once the inspiring genius and the guardian angel. By her visible action and invisible influence, she efficiently prepared her children for passing through the inevitable struggles, and for securing the great ends of life. She knew that they might be fitted for the idols of coteries and the lights of drawing-rooms, and yet be utterly unable to grapple with the first onset of temptation. As a sure proof of their excellent education, her children rose from infancy to childhood, and on to youth, womanhood, and manhood, with hearts full of affection and grateful recollections of the worth of their mother.

Some mistresses seem to think that little responsibility attaches to them with regard to servants, and that so long as they provide them with home, food, and wages, they perform all the duty required. Mrs. Fry believed that servants should be rightly directed and kindly treated. She did not look upon domestics as foreigners or as aliens, but as members of the household; not mere living machines, hired to cook well, scrub well, wash well, and attend the table well; but living persons of flesh and blood, with nerves and muscles, liable to pain and weariness—with hearts capable of feeling joy, sorrow, love, and gratitude—with souls that may be saved or lost! Her conduct met its immediate reward. The servants cared for the mistress, they had an interest in the family, they were attached friends.

Her figure was tall and, when young, slight and graceful. She was an excellent horsewoman, and rode fearlessly and well, but suffered a good deal from delicacy of constitution, and was liable to severe nervous attacks, which often hindered her from joining her sisters in their different pursuits. When young she had a profusion of soft flaxen hair. Finery in dress was always avoided, but she was slow in adopting the costume worn by the Friends. She first laid aside all ornaments, then chose quiet colours for dresses, and had them made with perfect simplicity.

We must say something of Mrs. Fry’s mental powers. Old Byrom, in one of his quaint humours, tells us that,—

In many cases it may be as he has said; and not only in regard to men, but also in reference to women. Here, however, we have a splendid exception—one who was a cedar in the Lebanon of intellect, as well as in that of flesh and blood. In natural talent, she was quick and penetrating, and had a depth of originality very uncommon. She was not exactly studious, yet her “upper rooms” were well furnished.

Her moral character is not difficult to describe. As a child, though gentle and quiet in temper, she was self-willed and determined. In a letter, written before she was three years old, her mother says:—“My dove-like Betsey scarcely ever offends, and is, in every sense of the word, truly engaging.” As she grew older, what at first seemed obstinacy, became finely tempered decision; and what was not unlike cunning, ripened into uncommon penetration. Enterprise and benevolence were predominant traits in her character. While she believed that domestic duties had the first and greatest claims; she overflowed with sympathy for suffering humanity. Utter unselfishness was the secret of her power.

SECTION II.

AMELIA WILHELMINA SIEVEKING.

“An actual life, that speaks for itself with that force of conviction which pierces like a purifying fire to the conscience, and demands of everyone who hears its voice, an answer, not in words, but in deeds.”

At the present time the question of woman’s rights is being widely, and in some quarters warmly, discussed. Our serial literature, both at home and abroad, is claiming for woman freedom from all political, social, and legal, disqualifications. That women have legal grievances of a serious nature, cannot for a moment be questioned. How much longer will seduction continue to go unpunished, except as a civil injury and by a fictitious and costly suit! How much longer is woman to bear all the consequences flowing from the sin of two souls, and to be goaded into child-murder or suicide by the monstrous injustice of law! We punish every crime save the wrong that is deepest and most cruel of all. Then again, the absolute right of the husband to the property of his wife, unless secured to her by special settlement, is both cruel and unjust in its practical operation. Anything so injurious to woman ought immediately to be erased from the statute-book. Yet with every disposition to secure for woman all that she can wisely claim, we have no sympathy with those who would draw her into public action in opposition to man to whom she is so closely allied. Some time ago we read that the Aylesbury magistrates had appointed Mrs. Sarah Wooster to the office of overseer of the poor and surveyor of highways for the parish of Illmire, and that during the previous year four women filled similar offices in the Aylesbury district. As surely as a good housewife would give her husband a Caudle curtain-lecture were he to proffer his services in sweeping the floor, dressing the linen, or cooking the dinner, so surely will a good husband cry out against and turn with disgust from a wife who would invade his province. In the sick-room, woman, by her quick perception, her instinctive decision, and her tender sensibilities, may accomplish infinitely more for the well-being of society, than man. For all the services of philanthropy she is peculiarly fitted. The rights of woman do not obtain their due measure of attention even in this country. Nothing but good could possibly accrue from the full acknowledgment of her claims to be educated as well as man is educated, and thus to be provided for the many contingencies to which her sex is subject.

Amelia Wilhelmina Sieveking was born at Hamburg, on the 25th of July, 1794. Her father, Henry Christian Sieveking, was a merchant, also a senator of the city, and seems to have been a man of considerable literary cultivation. Of her mother, Caroline Louisa Sieveking, whom she lost before she had completed her fifth year, Amelia retained no distinct recollection. During the illness of Madame Sieveking, Miss HÖsch, a niece of her husband’s, entered the family, and, after their mother’s death, carried on the housekeeping, and took charge of Amelia and her four brothers. At an early age she received a succession of dry lessons in writing and arithmetic, French, drawing, music, and when old enough to enter on a more regular course of instruction, Mr. Sieveking gave his daughter her choice between two rationalistic theologians. Amelia had no means of making a choice between them; she had recourse to drawing lots, and the gentleman on whom the lot fell gave her instructions in German grammar and literature, history, geography, and religion. But his method of teaching was so stiff and formal, that he soon lost the affection and respect of his pupil.

Up to the time of her father’s death, in 1809, her education had been so badly conducted as to awaken positive dislike in the child’s mind, and her religious instruction in particular was so defective as to leave her not only without joy, but tossed with doubts and difficulties. After the death of her father, as he left no property, the family was scattered, and Amelia was put to board with a Mdlle. Dimpfel, a very pious but ill-educated person. Her Bible, however, the old lady knew from beginning to end, and had the happy art of telling Bible stories in such a way as to interest the young. Her dependent position deprived her of all paid tuition, and she had to work at ornamental needlework for her maintenance. About this time, although she had not learnt to know Christ as the Son of God, as her Redeemer, and the only source of happiness, she was nevertheless confirmed. In 1811 she went to live with Madame BrÜnnemann, an excellent and kind-hearted woman. Her duties consisted in reading aloud to an invalid son, and assisting his mother in the household. The son died in September of the same year, and Amelia could not leave the poor mother in her bereavement. It was arranged that an aged aunt of Madame BrÜnnemann’s should take up her abode with them, but she fell ill and died. From this lady and Madame BrÜnnemann, Amelia inherited a small sum of money, which, together with a pension from a fund for the daughters of deceased senators, supplied her modest requirements and insured her independence.

The many losses and calamities brought on Hamburg in consequence of the French occupation in 1812, led her to retrench her expenditure by doing her own washing. For a whole summer she washed all her own clothes in secret. She also endeavoured to learn dressmaking and cooking, and besides these household accomplishments, gave some attention to others of more use in society; but the instruction of youth was the only vocation that seemed to satisfy both her intellect and heart.

In 1817 her brother Gustavus died at Berlin while studying for the ministry. He was the nearest in age to herself, and had been her chief and favourite companion. The stroke was heavy, and intensely felt. Amelia herself says, “I had not felt so deeply the death of my father, still less that of my elder brother. This profound grief became a turning-point in my life.” At the pressing invitation of her now, alas! only brother and sister-in-law, she visited London in June, and found refreshment for her own heart at the sight of their domestic happiness. Soon after her return from England, the house next to the one where she lived in the city was burned down, and five persons perished in the flames. This event impressed her deeply. Thomas À Kempis’s “Imitation of Christ” now fell into her hands, and its devout and tender teachings shed a balm over her wounded spirit. She sought explanations of the Bible from all the books that came in her way; but unfortunately they were all rationalistic in their tone, and gave no light. At last Francke’s “Preface to the Bible” fell into her hands, and there she was taught to compare the different passages one with another, and to apply all she read to herself by prayer. She was hungering and thirsting after righteousness, and the promised blessing was soon to be hers. In June, 1819, she says: “I feel myself now strongly inclined to adopt the orthodox doctrine which I have so long rejected, but I must have clearer light on it first.” That clearer light was soon given to her, in conversations with an evangelical pastor of the name of Rautenberg, and at last she arrived at childlike faith in “that most comforting doctrine of atonement.”

The biographer of Miss Sieveking, in a memoir in itself of unusual interest and value, by means of apt quotations from her diary and letters, has presented us with a very complete portraiture of her outer and inner life. From these extracts we learn, that in her early years she was in the habit of casting lots, when in difficulty as to the path of duty; but in after-life she discontinued the practice. Doubtless, like many others, she was led to feel that we have no right to ask for a sign in circumstances which are sent to train us in the use of our judgment. We also find her complaining of a certain slowness and awkwardness in the transaction of business, which often prevented her from managing all her household and social duties to her satisfaction.

Miss Sieveking published several works. These were for the most part merely transcripts of the religious instruction given to her pupils. They were read in many circles, and met with very different receptions; but they certainly contain a vast amount of practical wisdom and judicious suggestions on the whole subject of charitable work, and organizations of women for that purpose.

Amid these varied labours and experiences, one thought was ripening in her soul. She had read a little French book in which there was much said of the sisters of charity among the Roman Catholics, and it awakened in her a strong desire to found such a sisterhood in the Protestant Church. She had been led to this by the fact, that in hundreds of instances unmarried women are not permitted to do the good to which their hearts impel them, because they have not the settled position which would be given by a definite calling, recognised as such by the world without. With a longing after this work which had only increased in intensity from being so long pent up within, we cannot but admire the Christian wisdom and moderation with which she viewed the matter, even when encouraged by the approval of friends.

In the autumn of 1824, Miss Sieveking became acquainted with Pastor Gossner, a Bavarian by birth, who had been a priest in the Roman Catholic Church, but by deep study of the holy Scriptures had been converted to the evangelical doctrines. This good and great man gave a new and powerful impulse to her aspirations after what now floated before her as the future vocation of her life. Charitable work now engaged so much of her thought and sympathy that her health, usually so strong, began to give way; but the water of Ems proved beneficial, and old strength and fresher looks returned. In 1826, Professor Tscharner of Berne, who had been imprisoned in his own country, was giving lectures in Hamburg, and Miss Sieveking spent many happy hours with himself, his wife, and his son. Here also, in 1828, she became intimately acquainted with the celebrated Neander, of Berlin.

Nursed amid the sultry climes of India, where it periodically slays its thousands and tens of thousands, the cholera seems occasionally to take migratory and comet-like excursions to Europe, spreading on every hand sickness, death, lamentation, and dismay. In 1831, it suddenly appeared in Hamburg; and Miss Sieveking felt constrained to take a step which, in the eyes of the world, had something unusual in it, and was judged by that world accordingly. With the full consent of her adopted mother, she offered her gratuitous services as nurse in the French wards of the town hospital. She also inserted in a journal an appeal to other females to offer themselves for the same work, but her letter found no response. Our own Florence Nightingale had not yet set the example of a lady voluntarily consecrating herself to such an office.

The labours in which Miss Sieveking now engaged form a deeply interesting chapter in the history of philanthropy, but they must not be detailed here. Suffice it to say that her society was attended with the most blessed results. She at first found some difficulty in obtaining coadjutors, although she required nothing “beyond sound sense, a certain amount of bodily strength, and a knowledge of domestic matters—except love to the cause and a living principle of Christianity.”

Miss Sieveking’s robust bodily constitution and elastic spirits enabled her for many years to sustain the pressure of charitable work in its many branches. But in 1857, her strength began to fail; the physicians were unanimous in advising a journey to some watering-place, and Soden, near Frankfort-on-the-Maine, was recommended. In 1858, her active employments were gradually and with great reluctance given up, and for many months she had to learn the harder lesson of waiting patiently on the Lord in weakness and suffering.

On the 1st of January, 1859, she felt so ill, that she took leave of her servants with the words, “We part in tears, but we shall meet again with smiles.” Some time afterwards, her physician, at the request of her nephew, Dr. Sieveking, in London, examined the state of her lungs, and declared that he found things even worse than he expected; one half of the lungs was entirely gone, and only so much left as that, with entire silence and perfect rest, her life might perhaps be prolonged for a short time. Miss Sieveking thanked him, but remarked that as long as she was alive, she would act like a living person, and see and speak to her friends. On the 1st of April, after the reading of the psalm, “Like as the hart panteth after the water brooks,” she folded her hands, and said, “My Lord! my Lord!” Her work on earth was done, and she entered on the higher service above.

In order to conquer the prejudice of the poor people against a pauper funeral, she had desired to be buried as a poor person; and out of respect to her wishes, the plain coffin, made of four black boards, was carried by the two appointed pauper bearers, on the pauper’s bier, to the churchyard of the parish of Ham and Horn, and set down on the church path. It was soon covered with flowers and garlands, while a vast assembly, composed of all classes, flocked out of the city and the suburbs. Pastor Rautenberg spoke some impressive words, and the minister of the parish, Pastor Mumssen, uttered the concluding prayer and blessing. Then, as if from the depths, arose the chant of the brethren and the children, and amidst the sounds of the doxology and the apostolic benediction, the coffin was lowered into the vault of the Sieveking family.

The children’s world was Miss Sieveking’s element, and she therefore felt happy among them. It was while attending confirmation classes that she began her career as a teacher. Among those who received the instructions of the clergyman, was a peasant girl, whom she found weeping under a tree, because unable to read aloud like the other scholars. Miss Sieveking offered to teach her, and for some time she came regularly for lessons, but after a while, probably finding the distance from home too great, she appeared no more. The impulse to work and make herself useful never slumbered in Miss Sieveking’s heart. She often fetched the little daughter of the family that lived in the same house into her room, to instruct her in knitting, and when the governess was leaving, she asked permission to educate the second girl. Finding that she could get on better if she had more pupils, and that no one had any objection to make, she took six others from families of her acquaintance, and at the age of eighteen began her little school. With what earnestness she set to work is shown in numerous letters to Miss HÖsch. Madame BrÜnnemann’s married daughter had no children, and she had adopted a little girl, whom she was most anxious to place under Miss Sieveking’s tuition; and as the child was much younger than her other pupils, she was obliged to open a second set of classes. About this time, a small circle of ladies, of whom Miss Sieveking was one, established a school, in which twelve poor girls, afterwards increased to eighteen, received gratuitous instruction. She found increasing refreshment in her intercourse with her children, and as she had correct views on the subject of education, she aimed at something higher than the cultivation of the memory, viz., the development of the whole nature. Such training could not fail to sweeten domestic life, and realise the essential elements of a true home. If we would have security, virtue, and comfort in our dwellings, we must give our girls a thorough education.

When that new terror-inspiring spectre of our age approached Hamburg, Miss Sieveking put her services at the disposal of the board of the cholera hospital of St. Eric, on the Hollandisch Brook, and was summoned when the first female patient was brought in. We cannot conceive of a more engaging spectacle than a pious female, who, amid all the abstractions attendant on her rank in society and personal accomplishments, can find time to visit the sick and the dying. At the same time, we must remember that certain duties require certain qualifications. Many excellent women who would spend their fortunes in soothing the sick, cannot bear the sight of blood; and a “rank compound of villainous smells” is to others positive poison. We do not say this to detract from such philanthropic heroines as Miss Sieveking, but in justice to those who would do what she did if they could. To Miss HÖsch she thus writes: “I have not the slightest fear of infection; and as far as this danger is concerned, I can enter the hospital as calmly as my school-room. This absence of all dread is unanimously said by the physicians to be the best preventative against illness, and hence, nurses, comparatively speaking, very rarely die from infection. So you see there is no need for you to feel any painful anxiety on my account.” The letters written during the eight weeks she spent in the hospital, given almost entirely by her biographer, present us with a most graphic picture of her life and labours. In the men’s ward, her special duty was to observe what diet was prescribed, and to draw up the daily bill of fare for the housekeeper. She had also charge of all the linen belonging to the attendants. She also occasionally took part in nursing the patients; but the general superintendence was of more importance even in the women’s ward. Although called to the work of Martha, when the hospital afforded her opportunities she gladly engaged in Mary’s work, and was the means of saving at least two young girls from utter ruin, and restoring the one to her aged mother, and the other to a married sister. There was a strong prejudice against her entering upon this kind of work, not only in the outside world, but in the hospital itself; and it required no little wisdom and self-control to take up and keep her right place. However, she was enabled to meet and overcome all difficulties, and when her work ceased to be an experiment and became a success, those who had blamed, praised. On the morning of the day that she left the hospital, she received a formal visit from Dr. Siemssen and Dr. Siemers, accompanied by three other gentlemen of the special commission, when Dr. Siemers, in the name of the rest, made a speech, and then handed her a written address of thanks; and another of a similar kind was sent to her in the afternoon by the General Board of Health.

At an early age we catch glimpses of that thought which, in the secret depths of her heart, Miss Sieveking cherished as her possible future vocation. In 1819, she writes in her diary:—“Has not God different vocations for His different creatures, and has not each its own joys? May I not find in mine some compensation for what is denied me elsewhere? To be a happy wife and mother is not mine—then foundress of an order of Sisters of Mercy!” While in the hospital her original plan assumed a more attainable form, and was shortly afterwards carried into execution. The first principles of the plan, however, remained the same, and they are those which have been so thoroughly tested, and so nobly advocated by our own Mrs. Sewell, Mrs. Bayly, Miss Marsh and others,—“personal intercourse with the poor, and the exhibition of a love towards them manifested in action and rooted in faith.” Miss Sieveking believed that under their rough exterior, the poor had considerable intelligence, and knew whether their visitors thought them fools or not. We sometimes blush to see how well-meaning men and women unwittingly insult the working classes in their efforts to do them good; there was no shrinking at dirt or personal infirmities—no talking down to or patronizing those whom she visited,—with Miss Sieveking. She treated them as human beings.

This new kind of labour for the good of the poor, was attended with the most blessed results. At first she met with many refusals. One considered herself too much tied by her household duties, another was afraid of the objections of her family, and a third was alarmed at the difficulties of the undertaking. But the Lord strengthened her to persevere, and by degrees led her to find some who formally bound themselves to take part in the work. In May, 1832, the members,—thirteen in number, and all voluntary workers from private families, six married women and seven unmarried,—met for the first time at Miss Sieveking’s home. Many perils threatened the young institution. It would be strange not to find a new thing objected to. The medical men were the greatest barrier. But by-and-by they changed their minds, and many of them recommended their poor patients to Miss Sieveking. In a few years the number increased to thirty-three visiting members, besides other ladies who undertook on certain days of the week to cook for invalids. The public confidence in the work so increased that contributions of all kinds were forthcoming as soon as wanted.

The great fire of Hamburg in 1842, gave occasion for the enlargement of the Amalienstift. The association erected two large white houses, each comprising twenty-four tenements, which were incorporated with the one already existing as the Amalienstift. At the celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the association, she stated that she had no fears for her work; she believed it would survive her; for it was built upon the only foundation that ensures permanence—faith in Christ. The idea that filled her whole soul, the raising and ennobling of her sex by works of saving, serving love, had become a fact and a reality. There grew out of the parent stem in Hamburg several kindred institutions; and similar associations on the plan of Miss Sieveking’s have been founded in many cities of Northern Germany, in Switzerland, in the Baltic provinces of Russia, in Sweden, Denmark, and Holland. It was the experience of this eminent philanthropist, as it is the experience of all who have thought carefully on the subject in the light of Scripture, that all higher kinds of benefit to the poor are connected with personal intercourse with them.

Miss Sieveking had on two occasions cherished in secret those wishes and dreams which probably no young girl is wholly without. In both cases the object was worthy of her regard. She was not likely either to shut her eyes to reason and common sense, and marry a fool; or to flirt with a man, and in consequence die an old maid. In fact she declined an offer of marriage from a man whom many would have looked upon as a desirable match, because he was not after her own heart. She knew that the married life was only beautiful and happy when wisely entered and truthfully lived. In December, 1822, she writes:—“Doubtless it is sweet to be loved by a truly good man with his whole heart, and to give one’s self to him in return. I can understand this, and I am not unsusceptible to the happiness of the wife and mother; on the contrary, their joys seem to me among the sweetest and highest on earth.” Yet she well knew, that the married state was not essential to the respectability, happiness, and usefulness of woman. In novels and in Campe’s book, “A Father’s Advice to his Daughters,” she found marriage represented as the only proper destiny for a girl; but something within her secretly protested against that view. Yes; to her it constantly grew clearer that an all-bounteous God could not have given His blessing to one state of life alone, but must have a blessing for each. God had evidently reserved her for another career; and, like many other spinsters, she was unquestionably respectable, and evidently enjoyed more real happiness, and was more extensively useful, than numbers of married females. The marriage relation must be rightly used or it turns to evil. Some young men marry dimples, some ears, some noses; the contest, however, generally lies between eyes and hair. The mouth, too, is occasionally married; the chin not so often. Some of the most haughty, cold, equable, staid, indifferent, selfish creatures in the world are wives; and some of the noblest women are spinsters.

In stature Miss Sieveking scarcely reached the middle size; was sparely made; mercurial in all her motions; and very short-sighted. There was nothing remarkable in the head or forehead. Her figure was easily recognised from a distance, as she hurried along the streets, generally with a heavy basket of books and papers. Never arrogant in her dress, she was always neat and clean; cared little for fashion or elegance, and believed firmly that freedom consisted in having few wants. She was not handsome or graceful, in the ordinary sense of the words; and never wasted time over her toilet.

Mentally Miss Sieveking was simply a woman of good sense, conversant with tangibilities; but singularly ill fitted to calculate regarding the invisible elements of power by which the tangible and the material are moved and governed. She was not in any respect a genius; but eminently a matter-of-fact woman. Her knowledge of the human heart was profound, but her insight into individual character was not remarkable. She was, however, right in believing that most women underrate their own powers; and that besides discharging the duties which the conjugal and filial relations bring with them, they would do well to develope a different kind of activity, in schools, churches, and charitable societies.

Her character morally was of a high order. Few persons are so exactly what they profess to be as she was. Once she fell asleep in church, and when her brother charged her with it, denied it out of shame: but she could get no peace until she acknowledged the fact. In her conscientiousness and self-control, the earnestness which she carried into the smallest matters, the diligence with which she followed every good work, her severity towards herself and mildness towards others,—she may serve as a pattern to her sex. The great idea of compassionate and ministering love which was embodied in the life and work of Amelia Sieveking, is an idea which can and will set woman free—not from the restraints of law and custom, not from her vocation of quiet retirement and domestic virtue, but from the dominion of vanity, of false appearances, and of self-love. Naturally impetuous and impatient, at times sharp and abrupt, and prone to carry out her own will, she might have turned all her faculties to bad account. But by careful moral culture she built up a noble character, and in the language of her biographer, “Hamburg accounted it an honour and a joy to call Amelia Sieveking her own.”