Preface

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Stepping «£ *£ Heaheritoard
By
ELIZABETH PRENTISS.
T o which is prefixed a Sketch by her Husband of the Book and its Author.
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Elizabeth Prentiss was born at Portland, Maine, October 26, 1818. Her father, the Rev. Edward Payson, D. D., is still held in remem- brance as one of the best and most gifted men of his generation. He was a graduate of Harvard College, became pastor of the Second Parish in Portland in his twenty-fourth year, and died there, after a ministry full of spiritual power and blessing, in the forty-fifth year of his age. Just before his departure, in the midst of agonizing bodily sufferings, he wrote to his sister :
Were I to adopt the figurative language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the land of Beulah. The celestial city is full in my view. Its glories beam upon me, its breezes fan me, its odors are wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ear, and its spirit is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river of death, which now appears but an insignificant rill that may be crossed at a single step whenever God shall give permission.
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11
STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
Elizabeth, who was nine years old when her father died, tenderly cherished his memory and felt the influence of his extraordinary faith and piety in all her religious life. The influence of her mother, Ann Louisa Shipman, of New Haven, was also very great in shaping her own character. Mrs. Payson was the impersonation of womanly energy, brightness, generosity and good sense. Some of the most strik- ing traits of Katy’s mother, in Stepping Heavenward, were drawn, no doubt, from Mrs. Prentiss’ recollections of her own mother. Her intellectual training she owed largely to her sister Louisa, who, later, married Professor Albert Hopkins of Williams College and was widely known as a religious writer, and also by her scholarly Review articles on Goethe, Lessing and Claudius. While yet a young girl Elizabeth may be said to have begun her lit- erary career as a frequent contributor to The Youth's Companion , whose founder, Mr. Na- thaniel Willis, was an intimate friend of the Payson family.
In April, 1845, Miss Payson was married to the Rev. George L. Prentiss, pastor of the South Trinitarian Church in New Bedford, Mass. Five years later he was called to the Second Presbyte- rian Church, in Newark, N. J.; then to the Mercer-street Presbyterian Church, and, later still, to the Church of the Covenant in New
A SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR .
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York. This city became thus Mrs. Prentiss’ home during the rest of her days. Here some of her strongest and most delightful friendships were formed ; here she passed through many of her deepest experiences of life — experiences full of grief and suffering, full also of sweetness, domestic bliss and joy unspeakable ; and here chiefly she wrote the books which have made her name so dear to myriads of little children and to myriads of Christian women — especially to suf- fering, careworn wives and mothers — wherever the English tongue is spoken. Among the best known of these books, besides Stepping Heaven- ward, are Tittle Susy’s Six Birthdays and its companions, Henry and Bessie, The Flower of the Family, Little Lou’s Sayings and Doings, The Little Preacher, Nidworth and His Three Magic Wands, The Percys, Gentleman Jim, The Story Lizzie Told, The Six Little Princesses, Fred and Maria and Me, Aunt Jane’s Hero, The Home at Grey lock, Pemaquid, Urbane and His Friends, and Golden Hours.
Of her religious character the key-note is given in her hymn, More Love to Thee, O Christ. This hymn, which has passed into nearly all the later collections, expresses her ruling passion in life and in death. Writing to a young friend from Dorset, in 1873, she says :
To love Christ more, this is the deepest need, the constant cry of my soul. Down in the bowling-alley,
IV
STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
and out in the woods, and on my bed, and out driving, when I am happy and busy, and when I am sad and idle, the whisper keeps going up for more love, more love, more love !
In a letter to a friend, dated March 27, 1870, she says :
I am glad you liked that hymn. I write in verse when- ever I am deeply stirred, because, though as full of tears as other people, I cannot shed them. But I never showed any of these verses to any one, not even to my husband, till this winter. I have felt about hymns just as you say vou do ; as if I loved them more than the Bible. But I have got over that. I prayed myself out of it — not loving hymns the less, but the Bible more. I wonder if you sing ; if you do I will send you a hymn to sing for my sake, called More Love to Thee, O Christ. There is not much in it, but you can put everything in it if you make it your prayer.
The hymn was written in 1856, in a season of great anxiety and suffering. It was then thrown aside and forgotten. After fourteen years she showed it to me and was persuaded to let a few copies be printed for distribution among a few of our friends. It had been written so hastily that the closing stanza was left unfinished. This hymn was, so to say, the blossom which flowered into Stepping Heavenward. I am sure, therefore, that the lovers of that book will be glad to see a fac simile of the original. Here it is :
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The handwriting of the line added in 1870 indicates how long a time had passed since the hymn was written. But though printed in 1870, it was not given to the public until several years later. After Mrs. Prentiss’ death, through the kindness of American missionaries, I received copies of it translated into Arabic, Chinese and various other languages of the Orient. I will give one of them. Here is a fac simile of the Arabic version :
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VI 11
.S' TEPPING HE A VEN WARD.
An important incident in Mrs. Prentiss’ life was a residence of two and a half years abroad, chiefly in Switzerland, between 1858-61. An- other, still more important, was the building of a country home in Dorset, Vt., wdiere she spent her last ten summers. It would be hard to imagine anything more real or more ideal than one of her Dorset summers. The place itself is exceeding lovely, and when, early in June, she appeared with her children, the mountain valley seemed clothed with sudden brightness. Men, women and children told each other that they had seen her, accompanied by her young- est daughter, in the little phaeton, driving Coco or Shoofly again round Kent Square, past East Rupert to Hager’s Brook, up the Hollow, through Covers’ Lane and West Road in quest of ferns, or on the way to Manchester Street. She had a sort of fascination for all sorts and conditions of people. A queer old fellow, known by everybody as ’Rastus, and helping her at times in her flower-beds, used to announce his presence, much to her amusement, by calling out under the window of her chamber, “ Hollo ! Hollo ! ” But her .special delight was to meet and have a talk with “ Uncle Isaac,” the patriarch of the town, who loved to watch her passing to and fro on her mountain tramps. He was a typical Vermonter of Revolutionary stock. The celebration of his centennial in 1879 was
A SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR.
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the most striking observance of the sort I ever witnessed. Near the grove where it took place were five hundred carriages from far and near. Shortly after Mrs. Prentiss’ death, I drove past his house with her eldest brother, Edward Pay- son, Esq., of Portland. Uncle Isaac accosted us in his usual cheery way, and on learning that my companion was a brother of Mrs. Prentiss, turned to him and recalled various instances in which he had seen her climbing through the fences laden with wild flowers. He then expressed his tender sympathy with me in my sorrow, adding, ‘ ‘ She was the most wonderful woman in this town, and you will never get another like her ! ’ ’
On revisiting Dorset I have seemed always to breathe the very atmosphere of ‘ ‘ Stepping Hea- venward.” The mountains, the valley, the brooks and river, Eovers’ Dane, the village lawn and church are all associated with the book. Here its closing chapters were written. Here I talked over with her some of its principal scenes and lessons ; and here by a happy inspi- ration in the wakeful midnight hour, she named it Stepping Heavenward, linking it thus with her favorite poet, and revealing, as by a flash, her high aim in writing it. And here, on its publication, it became at once enshrined in the hearts of a goodly company of loving friends and neighbors. One of them, writing years
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STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
later from the Pacific coast, thus depicted the Dorset life :
For seven successive summers I saw more or less of her
in this “ earthly paradise,” as she used to call it
She brought to that little hamlet among the hills a sweet and wholesome and powerful influence. While her time was too valuable to be wasted in a general sociability, she yet found leisure for an extensive acquaintance, for a kindly interest in all her neighbors, and for Christian work of many kinds. Probably the weekly meeting for Bible-reading and prayer, which she conducted, was her closest link with the women of Dorset : but these meet- ings were established after I had bidden good-bye to the dear old town, and I leave others to tell how their “hearts burned within them as she opened to them the Scrip- tures.”
She had in a remarkable degree the lovely feminine gift of home-making. She was a true decorative artist. Her room when she was boarding and her home after it was completed were bowers of beauty. Every walk over hill and dale, every ramble by brookside or through wildwood, gave to her some fresh home-adornment. Some shy wild-flower or fern, or brilliant tinted leaf, a bit of moss, a curious lichen, a deserted bird’s nest, a strange fragment of rock, a shining pebble, would catch her passing glance and reveal to her quick artistic sense possibilities of use which were quaint, original, charac- teristic. One saw from afar that hers was a poet’s home ; and if permitted to enter its gracious portals, the first impression deepened into certainty. There was as strong an individuality about her home, and especially about her own little study, as there was about herself and her writ- ings. A cheerful, sunny, hospitable Christian home ! Far and wide its potent influences reached, and it was a beau- tiful thing to see how many another home, humble or state-
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ly, grew emulous and blossomed into a new loveliness. Mrs. Prentiss was naturally a shy and reserved woman, and necessarily a pre-occupied one. Therefore she was sometimes misunderstood. But those who knew her best, and were blest with her rare intimacy, knew her as “ a perfect woman, nobly planned.” Her conversation was charming. Her close study of nature taught her a thousand happy symbols and illustrations, which made both what she said and wrote a mosaic of exquisite com- parisons. Her studies of character were equally constant and penetrating. Nothing escaped her; no peculiarity of mind or manner failed of her quick observation, but it was always a kindly interest. She did not ridicule that which was simply ignorance or weakness, and she saw with keen pleasure all that was quaint, original or strong, even when it was hidden beneath the homeliest garb. She had the true artist’s liking for that which was simple and genre. The common things of common life appealed to her sympathies and called out all her attention. It was a real, hearty interest, too — not feigned, even in a sense generally thought praiseworthy. Indeed, no one ever had a more intense scorn of every sort of feigning. She was honest, truthful, genuine to the highest degree.*
In Dorset, on the thirteenth of August, 1878, after a brief illness, she entered into the joy of her Lord. I never knew any one who looked death in the face with an assurance more perfect or with greater joy than she did. There is a passage in The Home at Greylock, which was evidently inspired by her own ex- perience. It is where old Mary, when her first burst of grief was over, said :
*Mrs. Frederick Field.
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STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
Sure, she’s got her wish and died sudden. She was always ready to go, and now she’s gone. Often’s the time I’ve heard her talk about dying, and I mind a time when she thought she was going, and there was a light in her eye — “what d’ye think of that ? ” says she. I de- clare it was just as she looked when she says to me, “Mary, I’m going to be married, and what d’ye think of that ? ” says she.
We like to be told how those who have en- deared themselves to us by their writings, looked while still in the flesh. Here is a pen-picture of Mrs. Prentiss, drawn by one of her most gifted and beloved friends :
Her face defied both the photographer’s and the painter’s art. She was of mediu^i height, yet stood and walked so erect as to appear taller than she really was. She was perfectly natural, and, though shy and reserved among strangers, had a quiet, easy grace of manner that showed at once deference for them and utter uncon- sciousness of self. Her head was very fine and admir- ably poised. She had a symmetrical figure, and her step to the last was as light and elastic as a girl’s. When I first knew her, in the flush and bloom of young mater- nity, her face scarcely differed in its curving outline from what it was more than a quarter of a century later, when the joys and sorrows of full-orbed womanhood had stamped upon it indelible marks of the perfection they had wrought. Her hair was then a dark brown ; her forehead smooth and fair, her general complexion rich without much depth of color except upon the lips. In silvering her clustering locks time only added to her aspect a graver charm, and harmonized the still more delicate tints of cheek and brow. Her eyes were black,
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and at times wonderfully bright and full of spiritual power, but they were shaded by deep, smooth lids which gave them when at rest a most dove-like serenity. Her other features were equally striking ; the lips and chin exquisitely moulded and marked by great strength as well as beauty. Her face, in repose, wore the habitual expression of deep thought and a soft earnestness , like a thin veil of sadness which I never saw in the same degree in any other. Yet when animated by interchange of thought and feeling with congenial minds, it lighted up with a perfect radiance of love and intelligence, and a most beaming smile that no pen or pencil can describe, least of all in my hand, which trembles when I try to sketch the faintest outline.*
Before closing this part of my sketch I will say a word about Mrs. Prentiss’ writings from the literary point of view, Her books w^ere warmly praised for their high aim and their use- fulness, but little else was said about them. This always struck me with some surprise. A few months before her death she received a letter from her old friend Mr. J. Cleveland Cady, the distinguished architect, thanking her for The Home at Greylock. In the course of this letter occurred the following passage :
Though you cared less about the manner than the matter, I was impressed by its literary qualities. The scene at the death of Mrs. Grey, and parting of herself and Margaret, is as highly artistic and beautiful as any- thing I can think of. The contrast of good and bad, or good and indifferent, is common enough ; but the con-
*Mrs. Horace B. Washburn, herself one of the best, as well as brightest and loveliest, of women.
XIV
STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
trast of what is noble and what is “saintly,” is some- thing infinitely higher and subtler. I cannot imagine anything more exquisitely tender and beautiful than Mrs. Grey’s departure, but it is the more realized by the previous action of Margaret. The few lines in which this is told bring: their whole character — in each case — vividly before you. But I .see that if the book previously to this point had been differently written it would have been impossible to have rendered the scene so remark- ably impressive. The story of “Eric” is extremely quaint and charming ; it is a vein I am not familiar with in your writings. It is a little classic. The quaint child’s story and the death of Mrs. Grey affect me as a fine work of art affects one, whenever I recall them. The trite saying is still true, “ a thing of beauty is a joy forever.”
Here is a part of Mrs. Prentiss’ reply :
Your letter afforded me more satisfaction than I know how to explain. It is true that I made up my mind, as a very young girl, to keep out of the way of literary peo- ple, so as to avoid literary ambition. Nor have I re- gretted that decision. Yet the human nature is not dead in me, and my instincts still crave the kind of recogni- tion you have given me. I have had heaps of letters from all parts of this country, England, Scotland, Ire- land, Germany and Switzerland, about my books, but in most cases there was no discrimination. People liked their religious character, and of course I wranted them to do so. But you understand and appreciate everything in Greylock, and have, therefore, gratified my husband and myself. Nobody has ever alluded to Margaret save yourself. * * * I am not sorry that I chose the path
in life I did choose. A woman should not live for, or even desire, fame. This is yet more true of a Christian woman. If I had not steadily suppressed all such am- bition I might have become a sour, disappointed woman,
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seeing my best work unrecognized. But it has been my wish to
“ Dare to be little and unknown,
Seen and loved by God alone.”
I have asked Him a thousand times to make me smaller and smaller, and crowd the self out of me by taking up all the room Himself.
In a memorial address, delivered by Dr. Vin- cent, her old pastor, soon after Mrs. Prentiss’ death, will be found a very lucid and discrimi- nating estimate of her writings from the literary, as well as the religious, point of view. So far as I know this estimate was the only attempt ever made to point out and analyze the sources of her power as an author. But the task was per- formed with so much judgment, skill and delicacy of touch, as well as loving sympathy, that it left little to be added by any other pen. The memorial address, referred to, may be found in The Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss,
pp- 559-568-
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II.
Stepping Heavenward appeared thirty years ago. Mrs. Prentiss had become known already by her “kittle Susy’s Six Birthdays’ ’ and other books for children, as also by “The Flower of the Family,’’ and a succession of volumes for youth of both sexes ; but in Stepping Heaven- ward she struck a higher and stronger note. In this work she aimed to help and to cheer all her readers, whether old or young, in the hard struggle of life. She composed the larger part of it in the winter and spring of 1867-8, while absorbed in caring for a little motherless nephew who died shortly after. Referring especially to this part, she once said to a friend, “ Every word of that book was a prayer, and seemed to come of itself. I never knew how it was written, for my heart and hands were full of something else.” On going to Dorset for the summer she carried the manuscript with her, but in 110 mood to finish it. In a letter dated August 3, she said:
(xvi)
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XVII
“ I feel now as if I should never write any more. Book-making looks formidable.” I begged her to take the story up again, and two gifted Christian ladies, then sojourning in Dorset, joined their persuasion to mine. Several years later one of them, Miss K. A. Warner, wrote to me :
Do you remember coming into the parlor one morning where Miss Hannah Lyman and I were sitting by our- selves, and telling us that your wife was writing a story, but had become so discouraged she threatened to throw it aside as not worth finishing? “ I like it myself,” you added, “ it really seems to me one of the best things she has ever written, and I am trying to get her to read it to you and see what you think of it.” Of course both of us were eager to hear it, and promised to tell her frankly how we liked it. The next morning she came to our room with a little green box in her hand, saying, with her merry laugh, “Now you’ve got to do penance for your sins, you wicked women !” and, sitting down by the window, while we took our sewing, she began to read to us in manuscript the work which was destined to touch and strengthen so many hearts — “ which,” to use the words of another, “has become a part of the soul- history of many thousands of Christian women, young and old, at home and abroad.” It was a rare treat to listen to it, with comments from her interspersed, some of them droll and witty, others full of profound re- ligious feeling. Now and then, as we queried if some- thing was not improbable or unnatural, she would give us bits of history from her own experience or that of her friends, going to show that stranger things had occurred in real life. I need not say we insisted on its being fin- ished, feeling sure it would do great good ; though I
XV1U
STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
must confess that I do not think either of us, much as we enjoyed it, was fully aware of its great merits.
She went on with her work, occasionally reading to us what she had added. In those days she always spoke of it as her “ Katy book,” no other title having been given to it. But one morning she came to the breakfast table with her face all lighted up. “I’ve got a name for my book,” she exclaimed, “ it came to me while I was lying awake last night. You know Wordsworth’s Stepping Westward? I am going to call it Stepping Heavenward; don’t you like it ? I do.” We all felt it was exactly the right name, and she added, “I think I will put in Wordsworth’s poem as a preface.”
The work was first printed as a serial in The Advance of Chicago. As it drew to a close Mr. J. B. T. Marsh, one of the editors, wrote to her :
You will notice that the story is completed this week. I wish it could have continued six months longer. I have several times been on the point of writing you to express my own personal satisfaction and to acquaint you with the great unanimity and volume of praise of it, wdiich has reached us from our readers. I do not think anything since the National Era and Uncle Tom’s Cabin times has been more heartily received. We have had hundreds of letters of which the expression has been: “ We quarrel to see who shall have the first reading of the story.” I think if you should ever come West my wife would overturn almost any stone for the sake of welcoming you to the hospitality of our cottage on the Lake Michigan shore.
When issued in book form its reception sur- passed all expectation. Notwithstanding the
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favor it met with in The Advance , Mrs. Prentiss had still great misgiving about its success — a misgiving that constantly haunted her while en- gaged in writing it. But all doubt on the sub- ject was soon dispelled.
Stepping Heavenward seemed to meet so many real deep, inarticulate cravings in such a multitude of hearts, that the response to it was instant and general. Others of Mrs. Prentiss’ books were enjoyed, praised, laughed over ; but this one was taken by timid hands into secret places, pored over by eyes dim with tears, and its lessons • prayed out at many a Jabbok. It was one of those books which sorrowing women read to each other, and which lured many a bustling Martha from the fretting of her care-cumbered life to ponder the new lesson of rest in toil. It was one of those books of which people kept a lending copy, that they might enjoy the uninterrupted companionship of their own.*
The circulation of Stepping Heavenward was very large. In this country not less, prob- ably, than a hundred and fifty thousand copies have been sold ; while abroad, where it was not copyrighted, the sale is estimated to have reached a much larger number of copies — perhaps half a million. Four leading houses in Great Britain republished the work. It was translated into German, French, Norwegian, Swedish, Italian, and I know not what other languages. The German version long ago passed into the sixth
*Dr. Vincent’s Memorial Discourse.
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STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
edition. Baron Tauchnitz, the celebrated Leip- sic publisher, inserted it also in his noted Col- lection of British Authors. In a letter asking my permission to do so, he praised the work in very high terms. Indeed, the testimonials to its power and beauty from beyond the sea were even more striking than those at home. Men and women known the world over as scholars and authors or for their high culture, social posi- tion and leadership in the service of God and humanity, expressed their admiration without stint. One of them, said to have been an eminent German theologian, used this language respecting- it : “Already many a good, noble gift, rich in blessing, is come to us from North America ; but we do not hesitate to designate Stepping Heavenward as the best among all from there which we have ever seen.” *
An interesting chapter might be written about the different translations of Stepping Heaven- ward. I will refer to one of them, the German version. It was made by an invalid lady of Gottingen, and led to a correspondence, which has not yet ceased. Her letters, overflowing with grateful affection and giving details respect- ing the successive editions of the work, the wel- come it received into thousands of German homes
* “ Schon matiche gute, edle, segensreiche Gabe ist uns aus Nord-America gekommeu, aber wir stehen nicht an Himmelan als.die beste zu bezeichnen unter alien, die uns von dort zu Gesichte gekommen.”
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and its great usefulness, have been running on now for nearly thirty years.*
The Secret of its Infeuence.
Stepping Heavenward, while deeply religious, is wholly free from either sectarian bias or theo- logical formulas. Every page bears the stamp of earnest conviction. The tone throughout is honest, sympathetic and full of good cheer. No false or jarring notes are struck. All is natural and true to life. The “one human heart ” beat- ing in the bosom of the race and, more or less feebly, in its humblest members, is depicted with a skill, fidelity, gentleness and soothing touch, which could come only of deep personal experience and the keenest observation. If the lessons taught by the story are at times painful, they are yet sweet, inspiring and fresh as a spring breeze. No discouraging, still less gloomy or pessimistic sentence can be found in the entire volume. Stepping Heavenward is its dominant, animating, ever-recurring thought as well as its aim and name. And this is largely the secret of its influence. This, too, explains the fact, at- tested by innumerable witnesses, that the book
* Here is the dedication of the sixth edition , published in 1894 : DER GELIEB TEN E NEE LIN der verewigten Verfasserin von “stepping heavenward”
' ELIZABETH PRENT1SS-HENRY widmet.
diese sechste Aujlage von “ Himmelan" die Uebersetzerin.
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STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
is almost equally adapted and dear to all classes and conditions of readers who aspire to a life in harmony with the holy will of God. I say “almost equally adapted and dear”; for I cannot forget that it was written expressly to give aid and comfort to women, both young and old — more especially to suffering wives and mothers — hard-pressed by the terrible cares and battle of life. If I may judge by the letters in which they poured out to the author their feel- ings of grateful love and admiration Stepping Heavenward was better adapted and dearer to them than it could possibly be to men. Mrs. Prentiss used to say, laughingly, that she did not understand men and could not write for them.
The letters referred to came from all parts of this country, from Europe and even from the ends of the earth ; and they were written by persons belonging to every class in society. Among them was one which Mrs. Prentiss specially prized. It wTas written on coarse, brown grocery paper by a poor crippled boy in the interior of Pennsylvania and led to a correspondence that continued for years. The book wras read with equal delight by persons not only of all classes from a queen to a poor negro woman, but of all nationalities and creeds ; by Protestants and Roman Catholics, by Cal- vinists, Arminians, High Churchmen, Evan- gelicals, Quakers and Unitarians. It had that
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XXlll
touch of nature which makes the whole world akin. Thousands of its readers appeared to think their own case was described, so plainly did they see themselves mirrored in its pages. The num- ber of Katys, Katy’s mothers, Marthas, Mrs. Campbells, Dr. Cabots, Dr. Elliotts, both son and father, who were positively identified as originals of these characters, was a marvel. The questions put to her on this point in letters and conversation greatly amused Mrs. Prentiss, es- pecially the questions relating to Katy. She ridiculed the suggestion that she herself had sat as the model for Katy. ‘ ‘ Everybody is asking (she wrote to her daughter, then in Germany) if I meant in Katy to describe myself. * *
The next book I write I’ll make my heroine black and everybody will say, ‘Oh, there you are again, black to the life ! ”
Nevertheless, she and Katy were astonishingly alike. Who that knew her well could fail to see it at every turn. In depicting Katy she was, unconsciously no doubt, drawing a most life-like picture of herself. As for example in such passages as this: “Why need I throw my whole soul into whatever I do? Why can’t I make so much as an apron for little Ernest without the ardor and eagerness of a soldier marching to battle? I wonder if people of my temperament ever get toned down and learn to take life coolly ? ” At all events, if there had
XXIV
STEPPING HEAVENWARD .
been no Elizabeth Prentiss I feel quite sure the Katy of Stepping Heavenward would have been impossible.
In planning and writing Stepping Heaven- ward, she seemed to have no thought whatever of pecuniary profit or of reputation. “Even Satan never ventured to suggest that I write for money,” she once said. Nor had literary am- bition, so far as I could perceive, anything to do with her books. Once written and published she rarely alluded to them, or cared to hear them mentioned. “Mr. R. (she wrote to her daughter in Germany) has sent me a letter from a man in Nice, whose wife wants to translate Katy into French. I sent word they might translate it into Hottentot for all me.” But if the message was to the effect that some poor, bed-ridden old woman, or a sorrow-stricken young mother, had found comfort in one of her books, it would send a thrill of joy through her whole frame. “Much of my experience of life (she wrote to a friend, not long before her death) has cost me a great price and I wish to use it for strengthening and comforting other souls.”
If the whole secret of the charm of Stepping Heavenward were told, it would be needful to point out the literary, as well as the practical and religious sources of its power. All through the volume, from the poem of Wordsworth at
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xxv
its beginning to the hymn of Faber at its close, one sees constant indications of familiarity with the best literature. Mrs. Prentiss was not only a great reader, but, like her father, she possessed a wonderful faculty for absorbing and assimi- lating what she read, whether in English, French or German. Her taste was very catholic; and she could pass from Bunyan, Baxter, Leighton, Fenelon, Tauler and Tholuck, George Herbert, Keble and Manning, to Sir Walter Scott, Goethe, Victor Hugo, Dickens, Irving, Longfellow, Hawthorne and Mrs. Stowe, without the slight- est jar or sense of incongruity. Everything genuine and truthful ; everything that taught her a new lesson in the study of human nature, interested her deeply and passed readily into her own style and thought.
The letters Mrs. Prentiss received thanking her for Stepping Heavenward, along with those that have reached me since her death, form a very beautiful tribute to her memory. One, addressed to her, arrived from London a few days before her last illness. It was written by a young wife and mother closely related to two of the most honored families in England, and sought counsel in regard to certain questions of duty that had grown out of special domestic trials. Stepping Heavenward, the writer said, had formed an era in her religious life ; she had read it through frcn?i fifty to sixty times ; it had
XXVI
STEPPING HEAVENWARD.
its place by the side of her Bible ; and no words could express the good it had done her, or the comfort she had derived from its pages.
Here is an extract from a letter to me written by a distinguished Methodist divine of the Northwest :
In a letter from my daughter, who is the wife of a mis- sionary in China, she speaks of spending a part of a Sunday afternoon in reading Stepping Heavenward , and adds, “This must be at least the twelfth time I have read it through.” She is a cultivated and devout Christian, fully occupied in studying, teaching, trans- lating and a hundred other things ; and yet finds time to read and re-read again and again her favorite book.
Here is an extract from a recent letter of Mrs. John R. Mott, describing a visit to a girls’ school in Shanghai :
The school is the only attempt I know of to reach the daughters of the highest classes. The principal is Miss Laura Havgood, a sister of Bishop Haygood of the Southern Methodist Church. The school is Anglo- Chinese, English being a great attraction in a port. The principal is a very strong, womanly and Christian character and the conduct of the school is thoroughly Christian. There were, I think, about thirty girls in the school when I was there, but it has been growing rapidly since. They were naturally the most attractive girls I saw in China. Some of them were beautiful in person, dress, manners, and, best of all, Christian character. It was such a satisfaction to be able to talk to them in English. A smile went round when I asked the ques- tion as to their favorite book, aside from the Bible, and the answer Stepping Heavenward left no doubt on
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the subject. The teachers also told me that Stepping Heavenward had a remarkable influence among them and that they talked and wrote of it as of no other book.
Testimonies like these have been so numerous that if printed they would form a large volume. Here is an extract from a letter from Old Eng- land that comes even while I am writing :
My mother, who has been staying with me, says that among the last books she read aloud to my father was Stepping Heavenward, and that they both enjoyed it ex- ceedingly. Your mother wrote it, did she not?”
The father who had just passed away was that admirable Christian man and eminent theo- logian, Professor A. B. Bruce of Scotland.
The interest of the Chinese girls in Stepping Heavenward surprised me at first not a little, notwithstanding that “More Love to Thee, O Christ,” as I had been told, was a special favor- ite in the native churches. The hymn is so simple and so spiritual that it is equally adapted to the expression of religious feeling and aspira- tion everywhere and among all races ; but the story is occidental, modern and even American in style of thought, in manners, and in local coloring. The reason why these bright Chinese girls were so delighted with it can be found only in the Christ-like spirit and the deep knowledge of human nature which mark the book. The inspiration of gospel faith and hope and love is no more a thing of place and race than is sun-
xxviii STEPPING HE A YEN WARD.
shine, or the air we breathe. That is why the New Testament and the story of the Cross may become as precious, and to all intents and pur- poses as intelligible also, to a poor Hottentot as to the greatest scholar, scientist, philosopher or theologian in Christendom. The foolishness of God is wiser than men. If we understood better what penitence, pra}^er and saving grace really mean, according to the Scriptures, we should, perhaps, cease being puzzled to find such spiritual unity amid the most grotesque and repulsive diversities of human condition.
It has been to me a solace and joy, ever since the departure of its author, to give away copies of Stepping Heavenward far and near, and then to note the happy influence of the book. Of course every book, even the Bible itself, is powerless to bring light and strength into unwilling souls ; but where there is any real interest in religious things, any sincere desire for spiritual counsel and help, Stepping Heaveirward, I have found, always brings with it a benediction, especially where relief is most sorely needed. What Dr. Vincent said in his memorial address more than a score of years ago, may be said with equal truth to-day :
I am sure that hers is, in an eminent degree, the bless- ing of them that were ready to perish. Weary, overtaxed mothers, misunderstood and unappreciated wives, ser- vants, pale seamstresses, delicate women forced to live
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XXIX
in an atmosphere of drunkenness and coarse brutality, widows and orphans in the bitterness of their bereave- ment, mothers with their tears dropping over empty cradles — to thousands of such she was a messenger from heaven.
And not only, I may add, to thousands of such was she a messenger from heaven, but to thousands also whose path in life was full of sunshine and flowers, did she bring the same message, teaching them that in. prosperity as well as in adversity our supreme felicity is in loving God and doing His blessed will as He has made it known to us in Jesus Christ. This les- son of lessons runs, like a golden thread, through Stepping Heavenward, and all the rest of Mrs. Prentiss’ writings. It is, indeed, only another version, varied in form and by story, of the sub- lime answer given to the first question in the old Catechism : What is the Chief End of Man ?
Man' s Chief End is to Glorify God and to Enjoy Him Forever. G. L. P.
New York , Christinas Day , iSgg.
I
/
Stepping Westwart*.
While my fellow traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Katrine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a hut where, in the course of our tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed women, one of whom said to us by way of greeting, “ What, you are stepping westward ? ”
“ What, are you stepping westward f ” "Yea.”
— ’Twould be a wildish destiny,
If we, who thus together roam
In a strange land, and far from home,
Were in this place the guests of chance :
Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter he had none,
With such a sky to lead him on ?
The dewy ground was dark and cold ;
Behind, all gloomy to behold ;
And stepping westward seemed to be A kind of heavenly destiny :
I liked the greeting ; ’twas a sound Of something without place and bound :
And seemed to give me spiritual right To travel through that region bright.
The voice was soft, and she who spake Was walking by her native lake :
The salutation had to me v
The very sound of courtesy ;
Its power was felt ; and while my eye Was fixed upon the glowing sky,
The echo of the voice enwrought A human sweetness with the thought Of travelling through the world that lay Before me in my endless way.— WORDSWORTH.
Faint not ; the miles to heaven are but fezu and short. — R UTHERFORD .
Hozu shall I do to love? Believe. How shall I do to believe? Love. — Leighton.
Always add, always walk , always proceed ; neither stand still , nor go back, nor deviate; he that standeth still proceedetli not; he goeth back that continueth not ; he deviateth that revolteth ; he goeth better that creep- eth in his way than he that moveth out of his way. Augustine.
Stepping Ifoeavemvarb.