In August 1914, the world Isabella knew was rapidly changing. The assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand weeks earlier had set off a domino effect across Europe, throwing nations into war and leaving thousands of travelers scrambling to return across the Atlantic.
For most Americans, the conflict in Europe seemed a world away. But for Isabella the outbreak of World War I brought a sudden and very personal concern.
Her son, Dr. Raymond Macdonald Alden, was in the middle of it all.
Raymond Alden in an undated photo
Raymond was a brilliant scholar and head of the English department at Stanford University. He was an accomplished author in his own right, best known for his classic short story “Why the Chimes Rang.”
In early 1914 Raymond traveled to England to spend several months conducting research in the historic archives of the British Museum and Oxford University. It was a dream trip for an American professor of English literature. But as summer drew to a close, the gathering clouds of war suddenly broke over Europe.
Duke Humfrey’s Library, the oldest reading room at the Bodleian Library at the University of Oxford. Courtesy http://www.oxfordvisit.com
Germany declared war in early August, and almost overnight, the Atlantic Ocean became a danger for travelers as German U-boats began patrolling major shipping lanes.
Before matters could escalate further, Raymond wisely booked passage home on an ocean liner called the SS Arabic that departed Liverpool on July 28, 1914.
The SS Arabic of The White Star Line, 1904.
Raymond’s journey across the ocean was anything but peaceful. For most of the voyage, a British cruiser sailed alongside the Arabic as an escort to protect the liner from a potential u-boat attack.
While the Arabic made it safely across the Atlantic that summer, the ship would not always be so fortunate. Just one year later, in August 1915, the Arabic would be torpedoed and sunk by a German submarine off the coast of Ireland, an event that made international headlines and brought the United States to the brink of entering the war. But in August 1914, Raymond’s ship docked safely in Boston, delivering him back to America unharmed.
While Raymond was braving the ocean crossing, his parents were eagerly waiting for him in New York. The Aldens had always been a close-knit family, but given the circumstances in Europe, Isabella and her husband decided to travel clear across the country to New York so they could be close by when Raymond’s ship docked. The area where they stayed held a special place in their hearts
Isabella was born in Gloversville, New York, and had attended school at Oneida Seminary. It was there that she met Theodosia Toll Foster (who would write under the pseudonym Faye Huntington), and they became lifelong best friends, sharing a bond of faith and friendship that spanned decades.
Locust Shade, the Toll Family Homestead as it appeared before it was demolished in 1952 (from The Rome Sentinel, August 13, 1952
That August of 1914, while waiting for Raymond’s return, Rev. and Mrs. Alden stayed as guests at the Toll Homestead in Verona, New York. They also spent time in nearby New Hartford, where Rev. Alden had served as a beloved pastor of the First Presbyterian Church nearly forty years earlier.
But lurking beneath the family visits and conversations with friends, Isabella and her husband must have felt a good deal of anxiety over the safety of their son. Their prayers and the bond of faith they shared with family and friends must have been a comfort and support during that time.
After nine stressful days at sea, Raymond’s ship docked at Boston Harbor and he at last joined his parents in New York. He gave the local newspaper a brief (and very understated) account of his Atlantic crossing, describing it as “a somewhat exciting trip.”
from the Daily Sentinel (Rome, New York) on August 14, 1914
Four days later, the Alden family boarded a train together for the long journey back to the home they shared in Palo Alto, California.
To the residents of Verona and New Hartford, the war across the Atlantic might have felt distant. But Raymond’s close call on the Arabic was a reminder of how quickly major world events could reach right into the homes of American families.
For Isabella and her family, facing uncertainty with steady faith and holding fast to deep friendships brought them through another trial, surrounded with love and support until they were, at last, safe at home together.
YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT ISABELLA’S EARLY LIFE IN GLOVERSVILLE IN THESE POSTS:
In 1918, Isabella’s husband, Reverend G. R. Alden was a healthy, hardy 86-year-old. Though retired from his ministerial duties in the Methodist church, he remained incredibly active. The Aldens were living in Palo Alto, California at the time, and because the Reverend didn’t drive, his bicycle was his primary mode of transportation. Seeing him pedaling his bike around town was a familiar and endearing sight in the neighborhood.
A roadster bicycle from about 1915, described in advertisements as “admirably suitable for the young and middle-aged.”
Rev. Alden was also a well-known dog lover. Years earlier, he had written two children’s novels centered around a canine protagonist named Major: Major’s Autobiography and Major’s Friends, were both serialized in the pages of The Pansy magazine in 1892.
An illustration from the 1892 serial story, “Major’s Friends.”
He was very open about his affection for four-legged friends. In the opening lines of Major’s Friends he declared to his young readers:
“By this time you will begin to believe that I am fond of dogs. Well, I am, if they are good, and I am especially fond of large, intelligent dogs.”
With such a deep affection for man’s-best-friend, it must have come as quite a shock to the Alden family—and the community—when the local papers ran a startling headline in July 1918.
According to the July 17, 1918 issue of the Peninsula Times Tribune, Rev. Alden was riding his bicycle near his home one evening when he was suddenly “assaulted” by a vicious bull terrier. The dog bit him, leaving a painful injury on his left leg just above the ankle. The next morning, Rev. Alden reported the attack to the police, requesting that immediate action be taken to muzzle or properly handle the dangerous dog.
Because Isabella and the Reverend were such prominent figures in the region, the story quickly spread beyond Palo Alto to nearby San Jose. The Aldens were frequent visitors to the Mount Hermon Christian Camp in Santa Cruz, where they owned a cottage, so two days later, the Santa Cruz newspaper also picked up the story and added a few additional details for its readers.
The article made sure to note that Mrs. Alden was the famous author of the beloved “Pansy” books, and proudly mentioned that their son, R. M. Alden, was currently serving as a professor at nearby Stanford University.
Thankfully, an injury above the ankle couldn’t keep a robust 86-year-old retired minister down for long, and Rev. Alden was soon back on his bicycle, pedaling around Palo Alto. It’s fascinating to see how a minor local mishap can reveal so much about the Aldens’ daily lives, their tight-knit family, and their enduring fame in California.
Did you know Reverend Alden wrote children’s stories about dogs? Have you ever read about Major’s adventures? Leave a comment below and share your thoughts!
Isabella Alden was a teacher at heart. She learned at an early age that the best and most lasting lessons are often taught through real-life examples (read more about that here). It was a philosophy she shared frequently with other parents—whether she was speaking to mothers at church, during her summers spent at Chautauqua, or while traveling on her lecture circuit.
Isabella loved discussing the unique challenges of raising children with Biblical truths as their guide. In a 1901 article in American Mother magazine, she shared a bit of advice she had learned from a mother who found a brilliant way to do just that:
Teaching Self-Reverence.
I knew one mother who, before her son could speak the words plainly, taught him the Bible verse, “I will give thanks unto thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
Then, every evening, during their half-hour of confidential talk, she gave him, in minute detail, some proof of the truth of this verse. He was interested in “chu-chu cars,” and had been allowed to stop and examine the great engines, and to ask numberless questions about them.
That evening, his mother told him of the engine in his body that worked day and night at its appointed task. He had a chance, one evening, to look through a small telescope and saw wonders; and was led to think of the two perfect telescopes that he carried about with him daily.
For days, for weeks, for months the marvels went on, given in serial chapters; the revelation of one small human being to his human self. Every night he repeated, with increasing reverence, the words, “I will give thanks unto thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
Can you imagine Isabella nodding and smiling as she listened to this mother’s clever idea? Long before modern science had mapped out the intricate inner workings of the human body, this mother used a child’s natural curiosity over trains and telescopes to inspire a deep, foundational reverence for how God made him. It’s a reminder for us today that Isabella’s philosophy was right, and that the greatest truths can often be taught in the quietest moments of a daily routine.
Do you have a favorite way you’ve seen scripture or deep Biblical truths made simple for children?
Dwight L. Moody was one of the most beloved evangelists of the nineteenth century, who preached to millions on both sides of the Atlantic. For Isabella Alden, Mr. Moody was more than a famous name; he was part of her world.
Dwight Lyman Moody (portrait by Edward Clifford)
The connection ran deep in her family. Isabella’s uncle, Horatio Spafford, was a close personal friend of Mr. Moody’s, a supporter of his evangelistic campaigns, and a fellow laborer in Chicago’s Christian community. It was a personal letter from Moody (then preaching in Europe) that invited Horatio and his family to join him in England in 1873, a voyage that ended in tragedy and gave the world the hymn “It Is Well With My Soul.” Mr. Moody himself traveled to be with the grieving Spaffords in the aftermath of that loss. (You can read more about that here.)
Closer to home, Mr. Moody was a contributor to Isabella’s own work. In 1897 — the same year he was writing these monthly Bible lessons for a popular women’s magazine — he contributed a piece on prayer meetings to a Christian magazine Isabella edited, a collaboration that speaks to the mutual respect and shared mission between them.
What makes lesson nine of Mr. Moody’s Bible Class so interesting is that its central message was one Isabella had been sharing for decades in her stories and novels. Mr. Moody teaches that love is not a feeling reserved for the lovable — it is the very essence of God, extended unconditionally to the unworthy, and expressed in small acts of grace that leave impressions that last a lifetime.
If you have read any of Isabella’s novels, you’ll recognize that theme immediately. Her stories are populated with difficult people — the prickly neighbor, the harried, impatient mother, the unlovable child, the proud and self-righteous churchgoer — and her heroes and heroines choose to love them anyway, to speak a kind word, and to see the person beneath the surface. Isabella was writing fiction; Mr. Moody was preaching theology; but they were both saying the same thing.
In his ninth Bible class, Mr. Moody explains how God’s love differs from man’s love, and he shares the ultimate way in which we can show our love for God in return.
In 1892 Isabella Alden—writing under her pseudonym, Pansy—was one of the most popular fiction authors in the U.S. Her novels were translated into multiple languages and sold around the world. A “Pansy book” was guaranteed to occupy an honored place on bookstore and library shelves.
She wasn’t alone on the best-seller lists. At that time the literary world was dominated by books like:
The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde The Sign of the Four by Arthur Conan Doyle Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
These novels were praised for their new “realistic” writing style that featured characters and plots that were “true to life.” By comparison, some critics complained the characters in Isabella’s books were “too good to be true” and her themes were “sentimental.”
Isabella clapped back.
She wrote an essay for a Christian magazine titled “How to Read a Story.” In it, she fiercely defended her work and taught a master class on how a Christian should select and read fiction. Her essay gives us a wonderful insight into Isabella’s philosophy as a writer—and the high expectations she had for her audience.
Read Isabella’s essay below. When you’re finished, continue on to see how her 134-year-old words still hold true today and perfectly describe one of her most famous characters.
HOW TO READ A STORY
BY “PANSY”
My complete subject is: “How to read a story so as to get the most good out of it.” Let me emphasize the thought involved; first choose your story. There are stories which are not and cannot by any process be made helpful. Busy young people, at least, have a right to the best.
Of course there is a difference of opinion as to what is the best, and perhaps the first thing to be done in order to get help from a story is to decide why it should be helpful. We hear a great deal about realistic writers, or those who picture life as it is. At first thought these seem to be the ones whom we should choose for helpfulness, because of what use is it to study a life which is not helpful? But a closer look shows you that there are two sides to this question. The police reports, the murder trials, the accounts of bar-room fights, and the like, are intensely realistic; but why should we grovel in such scenes as these, merely because they are too sadly true to life?
We hear a great deal about sentimental writers, until some of us are in danger of learning to think that sentiment of any sort is a very weak and offensive thing. The fact is, there is a vast difference between sentiment and sentimentalism, and we young people must learn to discriminate between them. For instance, the sentiment of love is ennobling, uplifting, immortal in its power; but the sentimentalism of love which makes a parade of its outward forms—dishes them up for silly readers, giving to the public words and caresses which should be held in sacred privacy—merits our stern disgust. To discriminate between them is what we want to learn.
It has become a fashion of the present day to sneer at what is called the “goody-goody” book; by which too often is meant the book written with an evident purpose to accomplish good in the world. But whatever others may say, of course no Christian reader will be found sneering at the book which was “written for a purpose,” for without a purpose worthy of an immortal, what right has one to write, or one to read, who is pledged to “try to do, every day, just what Jesus would like to have him do?”
Only yesterday a young lady, speaking of a character in a well known book, said, “He is too good—unnaturally good; there never lived a man like him.”
Did there not, dear friend? Have you forgotten the man Christ Jesus, who came to be our example?
I take it, young friends, that if there be a legitimate realm for fiction in a Christian’s life, it is found in an earnest attempt to portray, and an earnest effort to study, a character which represents not what most people are, but what people might become who tried to live each day a life hid with Christ in God. When next you hear the cry of “unnaturalness” raised against a book or character, try to learn whether it should be unnatural, or whether it is not your privilege to live just as round and full and beautiful a life as that.
Well, we have chosen our story; how shall we read it?
“How not to do it, is the first rule to apply,” said a young reader to whom I appealed the other day. And when I further questioned, he explained, “Why, don’t plunge in, and read for twelve consecutive hours, straight through. If you do, you will feel at the close as if you had been to a three days’ circus, and on the whole you will be disgusted with the performance. I have discovered it to be a good plan to lay aside a story as soon as I have found I don’t want to … I do not want a story-book to be my master.” I think so many stories get out of their proper place in our lives.
Do you ever try to study a writer’s power over you? To define what pleases you in the story? Why you want to read it? I think that is one of the ways of making a story helpful.
“I mark books freely,” said one young reader who reads to good purpose, “stories as well as other matter. I mark the passages which thrilled me, and go carefully over them when the story is finished, to discover, if I can, why they thrilled, and whether, on sober second reading, they still have that power. Moreover, it is not much of a book which does not give you one or two thoughts that you want to remember and quote for the benefit or pleasure of others.”
Sometimes we get good out of a story by carefully studying the characters whom we admire, and discovering why we admire them. If we find that in certain situations their conduct has been admirable, and that in like situations we should be tempted to act differently, we can use this story to forewarn and forearm ourselves against a future temptation. The reverse of this proposition is also true. I remember reading, years ago, a story in which I disliked a certain character. A careful analysis of my reason and a little careful thinking developed within me the astounding thought that I was often guilty of the same line of conduct, though I had never realized it before.
I would have you learn to note with exceeding care the effect which a story is having on you as you read. Does life seem to you a better, nobler, grander thing as you read of its dealings with these creatures of fiction? Do you admire true courage and unselfishness more? Do you feel more eager than ever to overcome within you that which mars your usefulness and cripples your influence? Do you rise up from its pages feeling stronger to do that day’s’ duties, however small; to bear that day’s crosses, however irksome? Then indeed such a story may be to you a voice from the King himself urging you to higher and better endeavor in his service.
But if, on the other hand, as you read, the every-day commonplace life that you are called upon to live grows petty to you, grows irksome; if sin in any form looks less appalling to you because your story has awakened some weak interest in the sinner; if, in short, God, and duty, and endeavor in His name and for His sake seem less important and less inviting because of the story you are reading, let me beg you to put the book from you as unworthy of the thought of an immortal soul.
In her essay Isabella wrote, “Sometimes we get good out of a story by carefully studying the characters we admire, and discovering why we admire them.”
Were truer words ever written? Isabella wasn’t just lecturing readers about an impossible standard—she shared her secret for creating enduring fiction. Her books still have the power to make readers examine their own lives, leaving us feeling “stronger to handle our daily duties [and] to bear that day’s crosses.” Perhaps more importantly, her stories showed us “what people might become who tried to live each day a life hid with Christ in God.”
Ester Ried is one of Isabella’s most beloved characters because she fulfills that exact role. Ester’s struggles with a never-ending to-do list, financial worries, and family friction feels incredibly modern because we still wrestle with the very same problems today.
Isabella also wrote that sometimes we can learn from the reverse, by looking at a character we dislike and realizing “we share the exact same flaws.”
This also applies to Ester Ried. Ester wanted a deeper spiritual life, but she was too tired, too cynical, and too overwhelmed by her daily “crosses” to find it. We readers might initially judge Ester’s grumbling attitude, until we realize we often handle our own busy, stressful lives with the same grumbling spirit.
Ester’s eventual transformation isn’t an overnight miracle that makes her rich or takes away her chores. Instead, the grace Ester finds altersher heart toward her daily duties. Because Isabella grounded Ester in real human emotion, Ester’s journey still inspires us to find that same grace in our own hectic lives.
What do you think of Isabella’s essay?
When you first read Ester Ried, did you see your own daily frustrations reflected in her? How did her journey help you look at your own “every-day commonplace life” with fresh eyes?
What other Pansy novels have you read that served as a mirror that made you examine your own life?
While Isabella Alden captured the hearts of millions with her stories, her husband, Reverend G. R. Alden, occasionally added his own gentle voice to the pages of The Pansy magazine.
In this charming poem from the June 1891 issue, Rev. Alden shares the sights and sounds of tranquil Victorian summer days that the Alden family very much enjoyed.
The winds are wafted through the woods, The birds are singing in the trees, The buttercups with yellow hoods Are bowing to the passing breeze.
The brook glides lazily along Beneath the shadows of the birch; The kine are listening to the song, Silent and sober, as in church.
Cheering his mate the sparrow sings, The catbird scolds about his nest; The bee flies homeward as he brings His gathered sweetness with the rest.
The crowned thistle shapely stands, The elders bloom along the lane; The furrow marks the harvest lands, The gay colt tosses high his mane.
O, lovely June! With clover clad, Writing they pledges o'er the field; Thy smiling makes the farmer glad With thoughts of what shall be the yield.
But I inhale thy fragrance now Upon the present gladly look, And watch the branches as they bow Their greeting to the laughing brook.
If you grew up prior to the 1990s, you may remember what life was like before the Internet brought the world into our homes. If you wanted to research a topic, get help solving a riddle, or find the latest best-seller, you went to your local library.
Librarians were the original “human search engines” of their communities. They were masters of the card catalog, date-stamped every book checked out and returned, and stood ready with recommendations to help neighbors find the perfect “good book” to read.
In Marion, North Carolina, county librarian Alice Bryan shared the joys and quirks of her librarian job in a weekly newspaper column. She quickly noticed that readers had some very unique strategies for choosing their next read!
From the “Marion Progress” newspaper, 1946.
When one lady in the library asked, “How can I tell a good book when I see one?” another patron quickly spoke up: “See how many names are on the card!”
(For our younger readers: back then, every book contained a paper card that patrons physically signed when checking it out. A card packed full of names was the ultimate 1940s version of a five-star review!)
Other readers chose books based on its physical characteristics. “Lightweight books are the best,” one lady told Alice, while pre-schoolers often picked their books by size—the bigger, the better!
But when patrons weren’t judging books by their weight or size, an equally large number asked for them by author. Popular authors like Zane Grey, Agatha Christie, and Mary Roberts Rinehart were always in demand—but there was one name Alice Bryan saw flying off the shelves more than any other: Grace Livingston Hill.
From the “Marion Progress” newspaper April 3, 1947.
Alice frequently highlighted Grace as a reader favorite for “light fiction.” The appeal of Grace’s books even seemed to cross generations. One day Alice overheard this conversation between a group of sixth-grade girls at the library:
from the “Marion Progress,” April 17, 1947.
By the mid-1940s, Grace Livingston Hill was at the absolute peak of her writing career with almost one-hundred beloved novels to her credit. In an uncertain, complicated post-World War II climate, readers eagerly sought out her stories for their comfort, warmth, and reliable messages of eternal hope.
Of course, long-time readers of this blog know that Grace’s writing talent was practically a family trait—she was Isabella Alden’s cherished niece. Both women shared a remarkable gift for understanding what readers needed most. By seamlessly weaving messages of faith and comfort into their stories, they ensured that current and future generations of readers knew exactly where to turn for a truly “good book.”
Because of her popularity as an author of both Christian novels and Presbyterian Sunday school lessons, Isabella Alden was often invited to speak at churches, women’s groups, and community events. She and her husband, Rev. G. R. Alden, did their best to accept as many invitations as possible. During the years they lived in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York, they frequently traveled up and down the mid-Atlantic states, going from one engagement to another.
One of their favorite places to visit was Asbury Park, New Jersey. Accompanied by Isabella’s sister and brother-in-law, and niece Grace, the Alden’s enjoyed church services held in the open air of the Asbury Park Auditorium.
The Seaside Sabbath School at Asbury Park, from a sketch in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, August 1881.
On the first Sunday of the summer every year, Isabella would formally open the Sabbath school program for children, often assisted by her husband.
from the Brooklyn Standard Union, June 22, 1892
One of their trips to Asbury Park was particularly memorable, and Isabella described what happened in an article for her young readers in The Pansy magazine.
On the beach at Asbury Park in 1875 (New York Public Library).
As you read Isabella’s account below, you’ll notice it takes an unexpected turn at the end. What begins as a fascinating rescue story becomes a temperance lesson—a reminder of how differently some writers approached storytelling in the 1880s and how central the temperance movement was to Christian writers and publishers of that time.
I’m not going to tell you about Asbury Park; at least not much. Some other time I may say a good deal about this pretty city by the sea, but just now I’m anxious to tell of what happened at night. The day had been pleasant enough; not summer, but late spring, bright and sunshiny; we rejoiced over the thought of getting sight of the beautiful beach; reminding each other how lovely the sea looked by moonlight.
Alas, there was no moon for us that night! At least she did not once show her silver face; instead, the sky was black with clouds, and the sea took on its sullen look, and roared as it lashed the shore constantly with great angry waves. We shivered and tugged at our wraps as the wind tried to whirl them away, and said, as we turned to go home, how glad we were that we had no friends at sea.
“The ocean looks cruel,” said Grace; “I don’t like him tonight.”
The Atlantic Ocean off Asbury Park in 1907
Then we went home to our bright room; drew the curtains, closed the shutters, stirred the fire to a cheery blaze, and chatted and laughed and were happy, quite shutting out the roar of the angry sea.
But he did not calm; the waves ran high, and the sullen roar kept increasing, until, by midnight, we knew it was what seamen call a gale. Occasionally we heard the fog bell toll out, and once more we were glad that we had no dear ones at sea.
Somebody had, though; and while we slept quietly, knowing nothing of it, brave men were awake and at work. A danger signal was seen just off shore; what excitement there was! How did the men of the life-saving crew know that they were needed? They had been disbanded for the summer, the dangerous season being supposed to be over; and here was blowing one of the worst storms of the winter! I don’t know how they heard the news. Their hearts waked and watched, perhaps; anyway, they came, great stalwart men, and in a twinkling opened their boathouse, and got out their apparatus which had been carefully put away, and before the third signal went up through the stormy water, were ready for action.
A windy day on the pier in 1905 (New York Public Library)
I don’t know how they did it. At this time of which I write, they had no regular lifeboat such as is now in use; they were not regularly manned for work in any way. Never mind, they did it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Oh, I do not know how many people rode, some way, over the stormy water, on a rope, and reached the shore. Drenched, powerless, almost breathless, yet alive!
Who do you think was one of the first to arrive that night? Why, a little baby less than three months old! What! She did not cling to ropes! Oh, no. All she did was to lie in utmost quiet in the hands of a great strong man; he was lashed to the rope in such a way that the men on shore could pull him in, but the baby he held in his two strong hands, as high above the fury of the waves as the hands would reach. What if he had dropped her? Then the sea would have swallowed her in an instant! An awful journey, but the baby did not know it. She must have gasped a little for breath, and she may have cried, but no one heard her; the roaring ocean took care of that.
You don’t see how she lived through it? They did not think she could; not even the mother, when she took a second to kiss her, before she gave her into the strong arms, thought that she should ever see her darling again. But it was the only possible way of escape; they could but try.
So the baby rode into shore, and I think as many as a hundred mothers stood waiting to receive her, with hot blankets enough to smother her, and warm milk enough to drown her in; for it had gotten abroad in some way that a baby was on board the sinking ship. If you could have heard the shout that went up when the baby was landed in the arms of one mother, who said, after a second of solemn hush: “Yes, she is living!” you would have felt as though you almost knew what a life was worth.
The next morning what a walk we had along the coast! How still the sea lay; the waves crept up softly one after another as if so ashamed of their last night’s work that they would rather not be seen or heard at all. Bits of board, and old tarred rope, and barrel staves and seaweed lined the beach for miles, and coffee sacks by the hundred kept washing in to shore. The vessel had been laden with coffee.
People were very busy putting the beach in order, planning how to reach the wreck, wondering whether she could be gotten off, or would have to lie half-buried in the sand and slowly fall to pieces. Here and there were groups of people, listening, while one man talked excitedly; he was a sailor and had his wonderful story to tell of danger and escape.
Shipwreck in a Rocky Bay, 1904
But the happiest man on the beach that morning was one who rubbed his hands in actual glee, and smiling broadly on every one who came up to him, would say in a loud, glad voice:
“Yes, I lost everything I had in the world, but my wife and children are all here; yes, baby and all!” and then he would wipe the great tears from his eyes, and laugh so loud and glad a laugh that all the people around would have to join in.
All his children safe! They clustered around him, several sturdy-looking boys, and I watched them with eager interest. Were they all safe? Could the father be sure? The ocean had not swallowed them, but suppose some awful rum saloon caught them in its clutches and drew them in until they went down in a storm of drunkenness to utter ruin! What was an ocean storm to that? Pitiless ocean, rave as it might, could not touch the soul; but the rum saloon has power to destroy both body and soul.
What joy there was over the three-months-old baby! And yet she may live to be a drunkard’s wife, or a drunkard’s mother, and to cry out in bitterness of soul because the ocean did not swallow her flint night. Isn’t it strange and sad to think of? The father thought his children safe, and yet sit many oceans of temptation lay ready to engulf them! none more bitter, more fierce, more wide-spread in its raging, than this ocean of alcohol. Dear boys and girls, what can we do to help save the children for their fathers? Will you all join the life-saving crew, and work with a will, to rescue victims from this ocean?
Pansy
Isabella’s abrupt shift from celebrating the baby’s rescue to warning about “the ocean of alcohol” might feel a little jarring to us today, but it reflects the deep anxiety many families felt about alcohol in the 1880s—when alcohol contained some highly-addictive ingredients.
And she never missed an opportunity to teach. She couldn’t tell a story about saving a baby from the sea without thinking about all the other ways children needed saving—and she used her platform as “Pansy” to rally her young readers to join the temperance fight.
You can read more about alcohol’s secret ingredients in the nineteenth century by following these links:
While April 15 marked the celebration of National Library Outreach Day, many long-time book lovers still remember it by its original name: National Bookmobile Day. No matter the name, it’s a day to celebrate traveling libraries and the dedicated people and organizations that deliver great books to people who can’t get to bookstores or libraries on their own.
Bookmobiles were the brain child of Mary Titcomb, a visionary Maryland librarian who devised a plan to reach readers who lived in rural areas so remote, they were unable to visit a library. In 1905 Mary loaded as many books as she could into a horse-drawn wagon, and set off to deliver books to isolated areas of the county.
Maryland librarian, Mary Titcomb.
Drawn by two horses, the first book wagon was designed by Mary herself. It had shelves on each side with doors that opened outward for easy browsing, while the interior was packed with additional cases of books to replenish the stock on long journeys.
At first she laid out 16 routes that covered 500 square miles of territory. Sometimes the wagon was out one day, more often two or three. To drive to the most distant outpost of the routes took four days round-trip.
A bookmobile at a rural Minnesota farm about 1920 (courtesy of Minnesota Digital Library)
Her program was an immediate success and its fame quickly grew. In 1912 Mary replaced the horse-drawn wagon with an automobile, which allowed her to not only complete the routes more quickly, but add additional routes as well. Soon she began setting up book “stations” in some areas, where residents could borrow books and return them after reading. Then, on a set schedule, a book wagon would deliver a fresh inventory books to replace those already read—a routine that was the precursor of our current system of library branches.
While on her routes Mary visited farms, remote cabins, and homes of invalids. In some cases, she found that only the children in a home knew how to read, so she helped families select books written at a level so the children could read to their parents. In other districts, men who knew how to read outnumbered the women and children. For these and each area she visited, she made notes and returned with books that suited the residents.
A bookmobile at a rural school in 1920.
In different newspaper accounts, Mary reported that the most requested books were practical and educational on topics like truck gardening, fruit raising, poultry culture, and domestic science.
Books on religion were also popular, “with a preference for those of a devotional nature.”
About 75 percent of fiction she delivered was juvenile, which she said meant “the books are read by both parents and children.” Susan Warner’s novel The Wide, Wide World was a favorite, as were other religious fiction titles. And since Isabella Alden’s novels were staples in public library systems across the country at that time, there’s a strong possibility the library outreach movement brought Isabella’s novels along on those bookmobile deliveries.
A bookmobile serving soldiers stationed in Kentucky, 1917.
It’s not hard to imagine that rural readers would have identified with the characters in Isabella’s books, like Esther in Ester Ried’s Namesake. Imagine being a young girl living on an isolated farm, opening a book to find Esther Ried Randall—a character whose life mirrored her own. Like the reader, Esther lived far from the bustle of the city, yet she harbored a dream of going off to college as an independent young woman. How much that book would have inspired that young girl to follow her educational and spiritual ambitions!
Or imagine a young boy with a penchant for getting into trouble and how much he would have identified with the main character in Isabella’s novel, Tony Keating’s Surprises.
In many ways, Isabella’s books (and others like them) were the only window some readers had on a larger world of instruction, culture, and good taste. Isabella’s skill for using stories to explain God’s love and plan for salvation ensured that traveling libraries delivered more than just entertainment—they delivered spiritual nourishment, as well.
A busy bookmobile in 1927.
Isabella’s books and Mary Titcomb’s outreach program were a perfect pairing. Both women were dedicated to making sure that God-given talents and wholesome reading were not restricted by geography or social standing.
For the girl dreaming of college or the boy seeking a better path, Mary Titcomb’s book wagon was more than just a vehicle; it was a lifeline that brought the world—and The Word—directly to their gate.
Isabella Alden was blessed with two striking talents: she was a gifted storyteller and a skillful teacher. She used those God-given talents to explain sometimes difficult Biblical truths in simple terms her readers could understand. In 1895 she wrote this short but effective letter to readers of The Pansy magazine about what it means to be intimate with Jesus:
DEAR YOUNG PEOPLE:
Why should we pray, do you think?
I have been looking in the Bible for a reason. I find a splendid one; it is because God hears, and helps. Look at the seventeenth verse of the thirty-fourth Psalm and see if it does not say so.
“The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.”
To be sure it begins, “The righteous cry,” but that means the people who try to do right. There isn’t much use in the prayers of other people; because, of course, if we do not mean to try to do right, what use in asking God to help us? But now, what a wonderful thing it is that he is ready to hear us at any time and at all times! You know people, I presume, who are often too busy to hear what you have to say. Suppose God were so. Suppose he had to wait until he had answered twenty-five thousand other prayers before he could listen to yours!
When should we pray?
I know a girl who is troubled over the verse:
“I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.”
“I can’t do that; “she said. “I have to think of lots of other things, and talk about them. How can anybody?”
It happens that this girl has a young friend about whom she talks a good deal. When she has any company her friend is sure to be one of them; if she has a gift she is sure to share it with her, if possible; and her brother said to her once, “You are always talking about Fannie Pierce.”
I reminded her of this, and of how much she made people realize that she loved Fannie, and said to her that I supposed the verse meant something like that. There were people who loved Jesus so much that they thought about him whenever any question came up as to where they should go, or what they should do, or be; wondering what would please him, and going to him about it, and thanking him for help. There is a sense in which they might be said to be “always thinking about him;” yet they think of many other things; only they are sure not to plan things which will not be pleasant to their friend.
I think she understood me, for she said, “Oh, I know how I feel about Fannie. Do you really think I could be as intimate with Jesus as that?”
What do you think? Doesn’t he call us to be very intimate with Him?
Isabella’s “Letter about Prayer” reminds us that the best lessons are often the simplest. Although it was written for children, Isabella used a very relatable example of a girl’s friendship with “Fannie Pierce” to explain a spiritual concept. For today’s readers, Isabella’s words still challenge us to consider if we are truly as “intimate with Jesus” as we are with those we love most on earth.
Do you think Isabella’s letter accomplished its purpose?
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![Newspaper Article: Verona, Aug. 14. Dr. R.M. Alden of the department of English of Stamford [sic] University, Palo Alto, Cal., has been the guest of Mrs. T. M. Foster and family. Dr. Alden was en route from London to Palo Alto. He reports a somewhat exciting trip by the steamer Arabic. A British cruiser was near at hand the great part of the way, as it was suspected that a hostile cruiser was following the Arabic. Dr. Alden has been in England several months studying in the libraries of the British Museum and Oxford. His parents, Dr. and Mrs. G. R. Alden, have been visiting friends in Verona and New Hartford for the past week, and the party left for their California home on Monday. Dr. G. R. Alden was pastor of the New Hartford Presbyterian Church about 38 years ago.](https://isabellaalden.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/08/article-snagged-ed.jpg)
Isabella Alden 