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No Interpreter Needed.

A few years since, Professor Jones wrote out his recollections of me as a student in respect to the vital question of Christianity. He did this a quarter of a century after I was his pupil, and though he is mistaken as to some of the dates, the general historical statements of his letter have afforded me much consolation, and I reproduce them here, disclaiming all responsibility for his too generous and partial estimate of his old pupil. This was the last paper penned by him:

You have requested me to contribute a few reminiscences of Miss Frances E. Willard and her sister Mary when students at the Northwestern Female College. Those are memories very precious to me, and some of them I will gladly sketch, so far as I can do it in words. How certainly I know, however, that I must fail to give them to you with the freshness and inspiration of life!

In the first of these Willard memories, I recall only the father—a man of singularly original manner and expression. Always urbane and polite, while always observing, he was as full of inquiry on almost every topic as a novice, yet ready at any moment to express an opinion on nearly any subject in thought and language breathing the fragrance of originality. He came to inspect the institution for himself before placing his daughters in it. He had evidently caught the prophecy that they were to make the world better, and was determined to aid them all he could. He told with natural pride of the prize taken by Frances for the best essay read at the State Fair of Illinois a truly meritorious production-and described her so fully that when she entered college I needed no interpreter of her state of mind and character. She had reached an age when every old belief was required to give a reason for being retained, or else was told to stand aside. Many of father's and mother's teachings, once accepted without question, were being quietly subjected to further inquiry. Fragments of sophomorean eloquence from a neighboring college, questioning nearly everything in morals taught by college professors or believed by the Christian world, had reached her ears and helped to excite her doubts. The parents had hitherto attended to her instruction in a model way under their own roof;— the mother being by heredity a teacher, and by education and experience unusually fitted to lay the foundations of her children's education deep and broad. But the time had come when Frances longed to go to college, and the parents were convinced that it was fully time to place her under other instructors than themselves, and to let her contend in all the higher branches of study with minds of her own age.

When the daughters entered college, what I had learned of the father, kept closely locked in my own breast, was of priceless service to me in giving direction to other members of the faculty, as well as in my own

treatment of them.

It did not take long to discover the taste of Frances as regarded studies. She would take mathematics as a disagreeable mental tonic recommended

"She Doubted Her Doubts."

121

by the learned of all ages. The sciences drew her strongly, and won close study, but her delight was, first the Belles-lettres studies, and then, as she advanced in her course, mental and moral science and the argumentative

Butler's Analogy.

Among the stu

They loved to

From the day she entered, she made friends rapidly. dents, she was an emotional and intellectual loadstone. cluster around her and hear her talk. She would set them to discoursing on subjects quite out of the ordinary range of college girls' conversations, interspersing her own wise, quaint and witty speeches, to the great delight of her listeners. Possessed of a worthy ambition to live for a purpose, she inspired the same feeling in many of her school-mates. Her lively imagination drew plans for the future, not only of herself but of those around her, into which they entered with a spirit that showed itself in all their work. If they built castles in Spain, they, nevertheless, laid foundations for character and future achievement in real life, which endured long after their airy visions passed away, as their lives since have well attested.

Though inclined to be reticent in presence of the older teachers, it was not long before her novel questions and original remarks in the recitation rooms, uttered in the agreeable spirit she always manifested, won the hearts of all the faculty. Very soon what proved to be a life-long attachment grew up between her and one of the junior teachers, Lydia M. Hayes, subsequently that devoted missionary to India, Mrs. Rev. Dr. Waugh. The influence of the sweet, consistent, Christian life of this excellent woman worked as a constant rebuke to any doubts Miss Willard might have of the truth of Christianity.

Imagine, if possible, with what joyful surprise these two congenial spirits met years afterwards in far-off Egypt, as Miss Willard was making her pil· grimage to Palestine and Mrs. Waugh was returning with her children from India. One moment the hotel register revealed to Miss Willard the fact that Mrs. Waugh was under the same roof; the next, they were in each other's arms. There, oblivious for the time being of the monuments of fifty centuries, eloquent with the marvelous history which fills that wondrous land, they thought only and talked only of life in the college and Evanston, and of the friends of college days.

From the first, I was concerned to learn whether in the gatherings of students in her room and elsewhere Miss Willard was disseminating skeptical notions. I soon ascertained that her skepticism was of a mild form. Most of all, she doubted all her doubts, and in regard to other students, was of her own good judgment pursuing very nearly the course I would have advised. Of course, it was impossible for one so frank as she to conceal her doubts altogether, although she did not try to foster them in others. One day, one of her dearest friends came to me exclaiming,

"What a queer girl Frank Willard is! She won't confess that she knows or believes anything. She says she does n't know whether there is a God, and she does n't know whether the Bible is true;-she is trying to find out."

"Don't be distressed, Mattie," I said, "if she will only keep on trying

to find out, she will find out. All her friends have to do, is to pray that she may persevere."

There were students' prayer meetings, class meetings, and missionary meetings, revivals came and went, and few except Miss Willard failed to take lively interest in them. Still I was confident that she was not indifferent. She never scoffed at others' piety, never sought to deter any one, but always encouraged her friends to do what they believed was right. At the same time, it was evident that she was not one to be brought into the faith by the mere entreaties and importunities of her friends, and I discouraged attempts of that kind. And yet the incident so tenderly recalled by Miss Willard in one of her addresses when she spoke of Mrs. Jones as the only teacher who had ever gone to her room, and, putting an arm about her, asked her to let her pray for her, shows how deeply she appreciated any manifestations of interest in her spiritual welfare.

Miss Willard grew dearer to all, and every one, teachers and students, grew prouder of her as she moved on to what we knew would be a brilliant graduation. Her intellectual lineaments had grown stronger, and shone brighter, and, best of all, the unrest of doubt seemed to be disappearing. It began to be remarked by teachers that she took more interest in the college religious meetings, attending them without solicitation.

We were reviewing Wayland's Moral Science, preparatory to the final examinations. I entered the class without a book, and having occasion to ask for one, Miss Willard handed me hers. It opened of itself at the beginning of the chapter on "Virtue," and on the blank half page opposite, I read (as nearly as I can recall the words) the following memorandum : "When I began this study, I could not say whether there was a God or no- and if there was, whether He cared for me or not. Now, thanks to President Wayland and my faithful instructors, I can say from my heart I believe that there is a God, and that He is my Father."

I exchanged glances with Frances, and sat silent until the mist of joy cleared away from my eyes, and the swelling of my heart subsided enough to allow me to proceed with the recitation. The students began to look at each other in surprise; then I poured questions in upon them, and in the midst of question, answer and discussion, the unusual opening of the recitation was overlooked.

Of course, I seized the first opportunity to tell Miss Willard how overjoyed I was to learn that she had escaped from her doubts, and how much I hoped she would soon frankly acknowledge her Heavenly Father before the world, and zealously work for Him.

"She did not know that there was a God;" "she did not know that the Bible was true;" "she was trying to find out." The Divine Spirit had led her on in her search. The many influences of the college had aided her, and the child of God had felt her way back to His arms. Father's and mother's teachings were holy truths to her once more.

Weeks passed on-weeks full of the arduous labors preceding the college Commencement, absorbing the minds and hearts, and consuming the

days of teachers and students. Miss Willard was as busy as the rest, yet, unknown to us, a subject of still greater importance commanded her chief

concern.

It was Sunday evening. A large congregation in the Methodist church had listened to an ordinary sermon and seemed somewhat impatient for dismissal, when the pastor, to the surprise of every one, extended an invitation to those who wished to unite with the church on probation to meet him at the altar. The revival wave of the last winter had rolled by; there had been no special meetings; not a ripple of religious excitement was discoverable on the smooth current of the church. Under the circumstances, no one was expected to respond to the pastor's invitation. A moment's pause, and a single young woman moved out into the main aisle and with a firm step approached the altar. Instantly, all eyes converged on her. There was no mistaking that form and face; it was Miss Willard.* No sign or faintest token of doubt clouded that countenance now. There was that firm expression of the features which clinches faith, and says, “Here I stand. I can do no other." The effect on the congregation was electrical. For a few moments the solemnity of the occasion held all other feelings in check, but soon hundreds of faces turned to hundreds of others, filled with surprise and joy, and many an eye was moist with tears. Some one began the doxology, “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow," and it was sung as if the very stars were expected to join in the chorus.

Of Mary Willard I shall write but little. That charming memoir, prepared by her devoted sister, through which she still lives and works with saving power, “Nineteen Beautiful Years,” reveals her pure, loving nature so transparently and faithfully that I can not do better than refer to the latter part of it, immediately preceding her final sickness, to point out Mary Willard as known to her college teachers. From the first, it was easy to read in her serene, open, intelligent face that she was less troubled about faith than works. She was a close student, punctual in her performance of all her duties as the coming of the days and hours. After the parents removed to Evanston, and she had to brave all kinds of weather between home and college, this punctuality seemed still more remarkable. But it was not merely her studies that engaged her mind; ways of making others happy-particularly her friends at home and college mates-occupied much of her thoughts and time. If spiritual doubts came to her, she was so busy struggling to perform what was her duty, that she had no time to pursue them. "If everybody would only do right," she exclaimed, "that would end all the trouble in the world, would n't it?" "Why don't people do more to make the world good?" She had an extremely sensitive conscience rendered quicker and stronger by her constant practice. I never knew a more endowed nature ethically, and her love of all high and beautiful things was a perpetual delight to her teachers and friends. It is a comfort to know that this bright intelligence lives on "in minds made better by her presence" the world around.

This was one year later than Professor Jones supposed.

CHAPTER III.

THE FIRST YEAR OUT OF SCHOOL.

The

This period, often very dull and sometimes very gay, according to the nature of the graduate and the sense or nonsense of her family, is, perhaps, the most difficult in a young woman's life. She has not yet found her "vocation." Friends wait and watch. Materfamilias fears and paterfamilias hopes. It is a time full of unuttered pathos for a gentle, refined and modest girl. truth is, she ought never to be put into a position so equivocal one whose tendency is to tinge her soul with at least a temporary bitterness. Girls should be definitely set at work after their school days end, even as boys are, to learn some bread-winning employment that will give them an independent status in the world of work. Better still, this education of the hand should be carried on for both, side by side with that of head and heart. But these high views had not dawned on the world in my day, so for two years after my graduation I stayed at home, with three brief intervals of school teaching. My journals show that the unfailing resource of books and pen kept me in pretty good heart, while our delightful home life, rounded into completeness by my brother's return from college, rose "like the swell of some sweet tune," then died away forever in the pitiful minor strains of my sister Mary's death.

September 28, 1860.—I remember that I used to think myself smart. I used to plan great things that I would do and be. I meant to become famous, never doubting that I had the power. But it is over. The mist has cleared away and I dream no longer, though I am only twenty-one years old. If it be true that we have need to say, God help us when we think our