章节正文
made. During it I felt not only the heart-sick
disappointment of the moment, but the cumulative
unhappiness of the years to come. I was friend-
less, penniless, and starving, but it was not of these
conditions that I thought then. The one over-
whelming fact was that I had been weighed and
found wanting. I was not worthy.
I stumbled along, passing blindly a woman who
stood on the street near the church entrance. She
stopped me, timidly, and held out her hand. Then
suddenly she put her arms around me and wept.
She was an old lady, and I did not know her, but it
seemed fitting that she should cry just then, as it
would have seemed fitting to me if at that black
moment all the people on the earth had broken into
sudden wailing.
``Oh, Miss Shaw,'' she said, ``I'm the happiest
woman in the world, and I owe my happiness to
you. To-night you have converted my grandson.
He's all I have left, but he has been a wild boy,
and I've prayed over him for years. Hereafter he
is going to lead a different life. He has just given
me his promise on his knees.''
Her hand fumbled in her purse.
``I am a poor woman,'' she went on, ``but I have
enough, and I want to make you a little present.
I know how hard life is for you young students.''
She pressed a bill into my fingers. ``It's very
little,'' she said, humbly; ``it is only five dollars.''
I laughed, and in that exultant moment I seemed
to hear life laughing with me. With the passing
of the bill from her hand to mine existence had
become a new experience, wonderful and beautiful.
``It's the biggest gift I have ever had,'' I told her.
``This little bill is big enough to carry my future
on its back!''
I had a good meal that night, and I bought the
shoes the next morning. Infinitely more sustaining
than the food, however, was the conviction that
the Lord was with me and had given me a sign of
His approval. The experience was the turning-
point of my theologicalcareer. When the money
was gone I succeeded in obtaining more work from
time to time--and though the grind was still cruelly
hard, I never again lost hope. The theological school
was on Bromfield Street, and we students climbed
three flights of stairs to reach our class-rooms.
Through lack of proper food I had become too
weak to ascend these stairs without sitting down
once or twice to rest, and within a month after my
experience with the appreciativegrandmother I
was discovered during one of these resting periods
by Mrs. Barrett, the superintendent of the Woman's
Foreign Missionary Society, which had offices in
our building. She stopped, looked me over, and
then invited me into her room, where she asked
me if I felt ill. I assured her that I did not. She
asked a great many additional questions and, little
by little, under the womanly sympathy of them,
my reserve broke down and she finally got at the
truth, which until that hour I had succeeded in
concealing. She let me leave without much com-
ment, but the next day she again invited me into
her office and came directly to the purpose of the
interview.
``Miss Shaw,'' she said, ``I have been talking to a
friend of mine about you, and she would like to
make a bargain with you. She thinks you are work-
ing too hard. She will pay you three dollars and
a half a week for the rest of this school year if
you will promise to give up your preaching. She
wants you to rest, study, and take care of your
health.''
I asked the name of my unknown friend, but
Mrs. Barrett said that was to remain a secret. She
had been given a check for seventy-eight dollars,
and from this, she explained, my allowance would
be paid in weekly instalments. I took the money
very gratefully, and a few years later I returned
the amount to the Missionary Society; but I never
learned the identity of my benefactor. Her three
dollars and a half a week, added to the weekly two
dollars I was allowed for room rent, at once solved
the problem of living; and now that meal-hours
had a meaning in my life, my health improved and
my horizon brightened. I spent most of my evenings
in study, and my Sundays in the churches of Phil-
lips Brooks and James Freeman Clark, my favorite
ministers. Also, I joined the university's praying-
band of students, and took part in the missionary-
work among the women of the streets. I had never
forgotten my early friend in Lawrence, the beautiful
``mysterious lady'' who had loved me as a child,
and, in memory of her, I set earnestly about the
effort to help unfortunates of her class. I went
into the homes of these women, followed them to
the streets and the dance-halls, talked to them,
prayed with them, and made friends among them.
Some of them I was able to help, but many were
beyond help; and I soon learned that the effective
work in that field is the work which is done for
women before, not after, they have fallen.
During my vacation in the summer of 1876 I went
to Cape Cod and earned my expenses by substituting
in local pulpits. Here, at East Dennis, I formed the
friendship which brought me at once the greatest
happiness and the deepest sorrow of that period of
my life. My new friend was a widow whose name
was Persis Addy, and she was also the daughter of
Captain Prince Crowell, then the most prominent
man in the Cape Cod community--a bank president,
a railroad director, and a citizen of wealth, as wealth
was rated in those days. When I returned to the
theological school in the autumn Mrs. Addy came
to Boston with me, and from that time until her
death, two years later, we lived together. She was
immensely interested in my work, and the friendly
part she took in it diverted her mind from the be-
reavement over which she had brooded for years,
while to me her coming opened windows into a new
world. I was no longer lonely; and though in my
life with her I paid my way to the extent of my
small income, she gave me my first experience of an
existence in which comfort and culture, recreation,
and leisurelyreading were cheerful commonplaces.
For the first time I had some one to come home to,
some one to confide in, some one to talk to, listen
to, and love. We read together and went to con-
certs together; and it was during this winter that I
attended my first theatricalperformance. The star
was Mary Anderson, in ``Pygmalion and Galatea,''
and play and player charmed me so utterly that I
saw them every night that week, sitting high in the
gallery and enjoying to the utmost the unfolding of
this new delight. It was so glowing a pleasure that
I longed to make some return to the giver of it; but
not until many years afterward, when I met Ma-
dame Navarro in London, was I able to tell her
what the experience had been and to thank her
for it.
I did not long enjoy the glimpses into my new
world, for soon, and most tragically, it was closed
to me. In the spring following our first Boston
winter together Mrs. Addy and I went to Hingham,
Massachusetts, where I had been appointed tempo-
rary pastor of the Methodist Church. There Mrs.
Addy was taken ill, and as she grew steadily worse
we returned to Boston to live near the best availa-
ble physicians, who for months theorized over her
malady without being able to diagnose it. At last
her father, Captain Crowell, sent to Paris for Dr.
Brown-Sequard, then the most distinguished special-
ist of his day, and Dr. Brown-Sequard, when he
arrived and examined his patient, discovered that
she had a tumor on the brain. She had had a great
shock in her life--the tragic death of her husband
at sea during their wedding tour around the world--
and it was believed that her disease dated from that
time. Nothing could be done for her, and she failed
daily during our second year together, and died in
March, 1878, just before I finished my theological
course and while I was still temporarypastor of the
church at Hingham. Every moment I could take
from my parish and my studies I spent with her, and
those were sorrowful months. In her poor, tortured
brain the idea formed that I, not she, was the sick
person in our family of two, and when we were at
home together she insisted that I must lie down and
let her nurse me; then for hours she brooded over
me, trying to relieve the agony she believed I was
experiencing. When at last she was at peace her
father and I took her home to Cape Cod and laid
her in the graveyard of the little church where we
had met at the beginning of our brief and beautiful
friendship; and the subsequentloneliness I felt
was far greater than any I had ever suffered in the
past, for now I had learned the meaning of com-
panionship.
Three months after Mrs. Addy's death I grad-
uated. She had planned to take me abroad, and
during our first winter together we had spent count-
less hours talking and dreaming of our European
wanderings. When she found that she must die she
made her will and left me fifteen hundred dollars
for the visit to Europe, insisting that I must carry
out the plan we had made; and during her conscious
periods she constantly talked of this and made me
promise that I would go. After her death it seemed
to me that to go without her was impossible. Every-
thing of beauty I looked upon would hold memories
of her, keeping fresh my sorrow and emphasizing
my loneliness; but it was her last expressed desire
that I should go, and I went.
First, however, I had graduated--clad in a brand-
new black silk gown, and with five dollars in my
pocket, which I kept there during the graduation
exercises. I felt a special satisfaction in the pos-
session of that money, for, notwithstanding the
handicap of being a woman, I was said to be the
only member of my class who had worked during
the entire course, graduated free from debt, and
disappointment of the moment, but the cumulative
unhappiness of the years to come. I was friend-
less, penniless, and starving, but it was not of these
conditions that I thought then. The one over-
whelming fact was that I had been weighed and
found wanting. I was not worthy.
I stumbled along, passing blindly a woman who
stood on the street near the church entrance. She
stopped me, timidly, and held out her hand. Then
suddenly she put her arms around me and wept.
She was an old lady, and I did not know her, but it
seemed fitting that she should cry just then, as it
would have seemed fitting to me if at that black
moment all the people on the earth had broken into
sudden wailing.
``Oh, Miss Shaw,'' she said, ``I'm the happiest
woman in the world, and I owe my happiness to
you. To-night you have converted my grandson.
He's all I have left, but he has been a wild boy,
and I've prayed over him for years. Hereafter he
is going to lead a different life. He has just given
me his promise on his knees.''
Her hand fumbled in her purse.
``I am a poor woman,'' she went on, ``but I have
enough, and I want to make you a little present.
I know how hard life is for you young students.''
She pressed a bill into my fingers. ``It's very
little,'' she said, humbly; ``it is only five dollars.''
I laughed, and in that exultant moment I seemed
to hear life laughing with me. With the passing
of the bill from her hand to mine existence had
become a new experience, wonderful and beautiful.
``It's the biggest gift I have ever had,'' I told her.
``This little bill is big enough to carry my future
on its back!''
I had a good meal that night, and I bought the
shoes the next morning. Infinitely more sustaining
than the food, however, was the conviction that
the Lord was with me and had given me a sign of
His approval. The experience was the turning-
point of my theologicalcareer. When the money
was gone I succeeded in obtaining more work from
time to time--and though the grind was still cruelly
hard, I never again lost hope. The theological school
was on Bromfield Street, and we students climbed
three flights of stairs to reach our class-rooms.
Through lack of proper food I had become too
weak to ascend these stairs without sitting down
once or twice to rest, and within a month after my
experience with the appreciativegrandmother I
was discovered during one of these resting periods
by Mrs. Barrett, the superintendent of the Woman's
Foreign Missionary Society, which had offices in
our building. She stopped, looked me over, and
then invited me into her room, where she asked
me if I felt ill. I assured her that I did not. She
asked a great many additional questions and, little
by little, under the womanly sympathy of them,
my reserve broke down and she finally got at the
truth, which until that hour I had succeeded in
concealing. She let me leave without much com-
ment, but the next day she again invited me into
her office and came directly to the purpose of the
interview.
``Miss Shaw,'' she said, ``I have been talking to a
friend of mine about you, and she would like to
make a bargain with you. She thinks you are work-
ing too hard. She will pay you three dollars and
a half a week for the rest of this school year if
you will promise to give up your preaching. She
wants you to rest, study, and take care of your
health.''
I asked the name of my unknown friend, but
Mrs. Barrett said that was to remain a secret. She
had been given a check for seventy-eight dollars,
and from this, she explained, my allowance would
be paid in weekly instalments. I took the money
very gratefully, and a few years later I returned
the amount to the Missionary Society; but I never
learned the identity of my benefactor. Her three
dollars and a half a week, added to the weekly two
dollars I was allowed for room rent, at once solved
the problem of living; and now that meal-hours
had a meaning in my life, my health improved and
my horizon brightened. I spent most of my evenings
in study, and my Sundays in the churches of Phil-
lips Brooks and James Freeman Clark, my favorite
ministers. Also, I joined the university's praying-
band of students, and took part in the missionary-
work among the women of the streets. I had never
forgotten my early friend in Lawrence, the beautiful
``mysterious lady'' who had loved me as a child,
and, in memory of her, I set earnestly about the
effort to help unfortunates of her class. I went
into the homes of these women, followed them to
the streets and the dance-halls, talked to them,
prayed with them, and made friends among them.
Some of them I was able to help, but many were
beyond help; and I soon learned that the effective
work in that field is the work which is done for
women before, not after, they have fallen.
During my vacation in the summer of 1876 I went
to Cape Cod and earned my expenses by substituting
in local pulpits. Here, at East Dennis, I formed the
friendship which brought me at once the greatest
happiness and the deepest sorrow of that period of
my life. My new friend was a widow whose name
was Persis Addy, and she was also the daughter of
Captain Prince Crowell, then the most prominent
man in the Cape Cod community--a bank president,
a railroad director, and a citizen of wealth, as wealth
was rated in those days. When I returned to the
theological school in the autumn Mrs. Addy came
to Boston with me, and from that time until her
death, two years later, we lived together. She was
immensely interested in my work, and the friendly
part she took in it diverted her mind from the be-
reavement over which she had brooded for years,
while to me her coming opened windows into a new
world. I was no longer lonely; and though in my
life with her I paid my way to the extent of my
small income, she gave me my first experience of an
existence in which comfort and culture, recreation,
and leisurelyreading were cheerful commonplaces.
For the first time I had some one to come home to,
some one to confide in, some one to talk to, listen
to, and love. We read together and went to con-
certs together; and it was during this winter that I
attended my first theatricalperformance. The star
was Mary Anderson, in ``Pygmalion and Galatea,''
and play and player charmed me so utterly that I
saw them every night that week, sitting high in the
gallery and enjoying to the utmost the unfolding of
this new delight. It was so glowing a pleasure that
I longed to make some return to the giver of it; but
not until many years afterward, when I met Ma-
dame Navarro in London, was I able to tell her
what the experience had been and to thank her
for it.
I did not long enjoy the glimpses into my new
world, for soon, and most tragically, it was closed
to me. In the spring following our first Boston
winter together Mrs. Addy and I went to Hingham,
Massachusetts, where I had been appointed tempo-
rary pastor of the Methodist Church. There Mrs.
Addy was taken ill, and as she grew steadily worse
we returned to Boston to live near the best availa-
ble physicians, who for months theorized over her
malady without being able to diagnose it. At last
her father, Captain Crowell, sent to Paris for Dr.
Brown-Sequard, then the most distinguished special-
ist of his day, and Dr. Brown-Sequard, when he
arrived and examined his patient, discovered that
she had a tumor on the brain. She had had a great
shock in her life--the tragic death of her husband
at sea during their wedding tour around the world--
and it was believed that her disease dated from that
time. Nothing could be done for her, and she failed
daily during our second year together, and died in
March, 1878, just before I finished my theological
course and while I was still temporarypastor of the
church at Hingham. Every moment I could take
from my parish and my studies I spent with her, and
those were sorrowful months. In her poor, tortured
brain the idea formed that I, not she, was the sick
person in our family of two, and when we were at
home together she insisted that I must lie down and
let her nurse me; then for hours she brooded over
me, trying to relieve the agony she believed I was
experiencing. When at last she was at peace her
father and I took her home to Cape Cod and laid
her in the graveyard of the little church where we
had met at the beginning of our brief and beautiful
friendship; and the subsequentloneliness I felt
was far greater than any I had ever suffered in the
past, for now I had learned the meaning of com-
panionship.
Three months after Mrs. Addy's death I grad-
uated. She had planned to take me abroad, and
during our first winter together we had spent count-
less hours talking and dreaming of our European
wanderings. When she found that she must die she
made her will and left me fifteen hundred dollars
for the visit to Europe, insisting that I must carry
out the plan we had made; and during her conscious
periods she constantly talked of this and made me
promise that I would go. After her death it seemed
to me that to go without her was impossible. Every-
thing of beauty I looked upon would hold memories
of her, keeping fresh my sorrow and emphasizing
my loneliness; but it was her last expressed desire
that I should go, and I went.
First, however, I had graduated--clad in a brand-
new black silk gown, and with five dollars in my
pocket, which I kept there during the graduation
exercises. I felt a special satisfaction in the pos-
session of that money, for, notwithstanding the
handicap of being a woman, I was said to be the
only member of my class who had worked during
the entire course, graduated free from debt, and
- existence [ig´zistəns]
n.存在；生存；生活 (初中英语单词) - conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- career [kə´riə] n.经历；生涯；职业 (初中英语单词)
- ascend [ə´send] v.登；上升；追溯 (初中英语单词)
- grandmother [´græn,mʌðə] n.(外)祖母 (初中英语单词)
- additional [ə´diʃənəl] a.附加的，额外的 (初中英语单词)
- sympathy [´simpəθi] n.同情，怜悯 (初中英语单词)
- bargain [´bɑ:gin] n.买卖合同 v.议(价) (初中英语单词)
- allowance [ə´lauəns] n.津贴；配给量；考虑 (初中英语单词)
- weekly [´wi:kli] a.&ad.每周一次(的) (初中英语单词)
- gratefully [´greitfuli] ad.感激地 (初中英语单词)
- amount [ə´maunt] n.总数；数量 v.合计 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- vacation [və´keiʃən, vei´keiʃən] n.假期；休庭期；腾空 (初中英语单词)
- prince [´prins] n.王子；亲王；君主 (初中英语单词)
- director [di´rektə] n.指导者；....长；导演 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- extent [ik´stent] n.长度；程度；范围 (初中英语单词)
- income [´inkʌm] n.收入，所得 (初中英语单词)
- culture [´kʌltʃə] n.修养；文化；饲养 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- performance [pə´fɔ:məns] n.履行；行为；工作 (初中英语单词)
- player [´pleiə] n.游戏的人；选手 (初中英语单词)
- utmost [´ʌtməust] a.最大的 n.极端 (初中英语单词)
- steadily [´stedili] ad.坚定地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- wedding [´wediŋ] n.婚礼，结婚 (初中英语单词)
- relieve [ri´li:v] v.救济，援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- abroad [ə´brɔ:d] ad.海外；到处；广泛 (初中英语单词)
- constantly [´kɔnstəntli] ad.经常地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- satisfaction [,sætis´fækʃən] n.满意；满足 (初中英语单词)
- hereafter [hiər´ɑ:ftə] ad.&n.将来；来世 (高中英语单词)
- approval [ə´pru:vəl] n.赞成，批准，认可 (高中英语单词)
- superintendent [,su:pərin´tendənt, ,sju:-] n.管理人，负责人 (高中英语单词)
- missionary [´miʃənəri] a.传教(士)的 n.传教士 (高中英语单词)
- freeman [´fri:mən] n.自由民；荣誉市民 (高中英语单词)
- earnestly [´ə:nistli] ad.认真地；急切地 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- confide [kən´faid] v.委托；吐露；信任 (高中英语单词)
- pastor [´pɑ:stə] n.牧师 (高中英语单词)
- distinguished [di´stiŋgwiʃt] a.卓越的，著名的 (高中英语单词)
- tragic [´trædʒik] a.悲剧的；悲惨的 (高中英语单词)
- temporary [´tempərəri] a.暂时的 n.临时工 (高中英语单词)
- parish [´pæriʃ] n.教区(的全体居民) (高中英语单词)
- subsequent [´sʌbsikwənt] a.其次的；其后的 (高中英语单词)
- loneliness [´ləunliniz] n.孤独，寂寞 (高中英语单词)
- notwithstanding [,nɔtwiθ´stændiŋ] prep.&conj.虽然；还是 (高中英语单词)
- blindly [blaindli] ad.盲目地；没头脑地 (英语四级单词)
- humbly [´hʌmbli] ad.恭顺地，谦卑地 (英语四级单词)
- infinitely [´infinitli] ad.无限地；无穷地 (英语四级单词)
- theological [θiə´lɔdʒikəl] a.神学(上)的 (英语四级单词)
- leisurely [´leʒəli] a.从容地，慢慢地 (英语四级单词)
- theatrical [θi´ætrikəl] a.戏院的；戏剧(性)的 (英语四级单词)
- sorrowful [´sɔrəuful] a.悲伤的，使人伤心的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- wanting [´wɔntiŋ, wɑ:n-] a.短缺的；不足的 (英语六级单词)
- timidly [´timidli] ad.胆怯地 (英语六级单词)
- fitting [´fitiŋ] a.适当的 n.试衣 (英语六级单词)
- appreciative [ə´pri:ʃətiv] a.欣赏的；感激的 (英语六级单词)
- assured [ə´ʃuəd] a.确实的 n.被保险人 (英语六级单词)
- preaching [´pri:tʃiŋ] n.说教 a.说教的 (英语六级单词)
- identity [ai´dentiti] n.身份；同一性；一致 (英语六级单词)
- benefactor [´beni,fæktə] n.捐助人；恩人 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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