Tag: Isabella Alden

A Visit to Asbury Park

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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:

The Dangers of Soda Fountains

Just What the Doctor Ordered

New Free Read: Benjamin’s Wife

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In honor of Mother’s Day this month’s free read is a story about the debt of love we owe to those who raised us.

After a life of sacrifice, widowed Mrs. Kensett finds her twilight years spent shuffling between the homes of her adult children, where she’s treated more like a burden than a beloved guest. She expects more of the same when she arrives at the doorstep of her youngest son and his new bride—only to find an unexpected sanctuary at long last.

You can read “Benjamin’s Wife for Free!

Click here to download “Benjamin’s Wife” from BookFunnel.com, then read it on your computer, phone, tablet, Kindle, or other electronic reading device.

Or you can select BookFunnel’s “email” option to receive an email with a PDF version you can read, print, and share with friends.

Mary Titcomb, Isabella Alden, and the Quest for the Unreachable Reader

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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’s novel Ester Ried’s Namesake is available on Amazon.

Or click here to read Tony Keating’s Surprises for free.

A Letter about Prayer

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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” reminder 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 it’s purpose?

New Free Read: Faith and Gasoline

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Isabella Alden’s novel Ester Ried, Asleep and Awake opens with a memorable scene: Ester Ried—barely eighteen years old—finds herself with much more responsibility than a girl of her age should have. With an ill mother, four younger siblings, and several boarders to care for and feed, she is often pressed for time, thin on patience, and struggling to keep up with a never-ending list of things to do.

Much of her time is spent in the kitchen cooking, washing dishes, and supervising laundry; and on scorching summer days, the heat from the wood stove makes the entire room even hotter, so her cheeks were always in a state of “glowing.”

Trade card for a traditional wood-burning kitchen stove, about 1890

When Ester Ried was published in 1870, kitchen stoves were large, cast-iron pieces of furniture; and while their primary function was for cooking, stoves also served as essential elements of a home’s heating system. In winter a wood-burning stove helped keep the house warm and cozy. In summer, the same stove could make a kitchen unbearably hot.

Isabella’s readers could identify with Ester Ried’s plight. Isabella, too, must have had more than her share of summer days spent “glowing” in an overheated kitchen while she cooked her family’s meals, heated water for bathing, and tended to a litany of household tasks.

An 1884 trade card from the Detroit Stove Works, manufacturer of wood-burning, oil, and gasoline stoves.

So in 1880, when a new type of cooking stove—the gasoline stove—appeared on the market, Isabella took notice.

Unlike traditional wood-burning stoves that required constant monitoring of logs, flues, and dampers to manage the temperature, gasoline stoves offered a revolutionary level of control. They worked much like a kerosene lamp: a cloth wick pulled the gasoline up to the burner where it turned into a gas, creating a steady, hot blue flame.

Trade card depicting a maid, wearing an apron, pointing to a gasoline stove with pots cooking on top, and the oven doors open to reveal pies and breads baking. Nearby, an woman, man, and two children look on as the maid says "Work's so aisy now, I was thinking Mum I wouldn't object to a small reduction of my wages."
An 1890 ad for the Sun Dial gas stove.

By simply turning a knob to adjust the wick, a woman could make her cooking and baking incredibly precise. Best of all, because they didn’t radiate intense ambient heat like massive cast-iron wood stoves, they spared homemakers from suffering in a sweltering kitchen.

In 1880 Isabella wrote about a young wife and mother who learned about the advantages of a gasoline stove in a short story titled, “Faith and Gasoline.”

Book cover showing a lovely white cottage with green window shutters and trim. Across the front is a charming porch with a white railing. The cottage is nestled among mature trees and rolling hills. In the foreground is a garden of yellow daffodils and purple crocus. At the top, the title "Faith and Gasoline" is surrounded by a classic border.

Summer heat and money troubles force Faith Vincent to face the heartbreaking prospect of being separated from her husband for the entire summer—until a neighbor’s wisdom, a clever “gasoline stove,” and a good amount of prayer help Faith secretly transform her despair into a promising future for herself and her family.

YOU CAN READ “FAITH AND GASOLINE” FOR FREE!

Click here to download “Faith and Gasoline” from BookFunnel.com, then read it on your computer, phone, tablet, Kindle, or other electronic reading device.

Or you can select BookFunnel’s “email” option to receive an email with a PDF version you can read, print, and share with friends.

Quotable

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In an 1899 issue of The Pansy magazine, Isabella shared these wise words:

“A good conscience is more to be desired than all the riches of the East. How sweet are the slumbers of him who can lie down on his pillow and review the transactions of every day, without condemning himself! A good conscience is the finest opiate.”

You can find more of Isabella’s words of wisdom to read, print, and share. Just enter “quotables” in the search box to see more.

A Newspaper Curiosity

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In February 1881 Isabella was thirty-nine years old and an extremely busy woman. She was editor of The Pansy magazine, and was also the magazine’s primary contributor of fiction and non-fiction articles.

The cover of an issue of the Pansy magazine.
The March 1887 issue of The Pansy magazine.

She was the primary creator of the Presbyterian church’s Sunday school lessons for young children, which were published in The Sabbath School Monthly and distributed to Presbyterian churches across the country. She also wrote stories for other Christian magazines that were published in America and Europe.

Photo of Isabella Alden seated at a writing table. She holds a pen in one hand pressed against paper as if caught in the act of writing. In her lap she holds another sheet of paper. She is dressed in the style of the 1890 in a dark colored gown with a high color that covers her throat, and long sleeves with a bit of white lace peeking out at the cuff. Her hair is parted in the center of her head and drawing back into a tightly braided bun on the back of her head.

Almost every week she had a speaking engagement somewhere in Ohio—where she and her family were living at the time—or in a neighboring state. Sometimes her appearances included a public reading of her newest story or novel; sometimes she lectured on the proper content and delivery of Sunday school lessons for young children, a topic on which she was an acknowledged expert.

At home in Cincinnati, she was a busy minister’s wife in a demanding household that also included:

  • Her seven-year-old son Raymond
  • Her fourteen-year-old step-daughter Anna
  • Her forty-four-year-old sister Julia  
  • And her precious seventy-seven-year-old widowed mother, Myra Spafford Macdonald, whose health was slowly declining.

How Isabella managed to juggle so many responsibilities all at once is a mystery, but there must have been times when the mounting pressures threatened to overwhelm her.

One of those pressure points may have occurred in January 1881, when her husband became pastor of a congregation in Cumminsville, Ohio. The new church was only about five miles away, but it meant the family had to once again pack up their lives and begin again in an entirely new place.

Is it any wonder, then, that this curious little paragraph appeared in a Cincinnati newspaper just one month later:

Word reaches here that the wife of Rev. T. R. Alden, a former pastor of the Presbyterian Church here, but now of Cumminsville, is an inmate of the Cleveland Sanitarium for treatment of threatened paralysis of the brain, the sad result of over brain work. Mrs. Alden is widely known as "Pansy," the gifted authoress of Sunday-school literature.
From The Cincinnati Enquirer, February 10, 1881.

The “Cleveland Sanitarium” was a polite name for an inpatient psychiatric hospital near Cleveland (some 250 miles from Isabella’s new home in Cumminsville).

At that time the hospital was formally named “The Northern Ohio Hospital for the Insane,” and “paralysis of the brain” was among the many conditions they treated. In the hospital’s 1880 annual report to the governor, they gave this definition of the condition:

General paralysis is a form of insanity dependent on a slow, progressive degeneration of brain structure, giving rise, mentally, to delusions of a peculiar character, and bodily, to paralysis, sooner or later, of the organs presided over by the brain and spinal cord, and always terminating fatally.

It wasn’t the first time Isabella had sought help for her physical and emotional needs. Twenty years earlier, as a new bride, Isabella checked into the Castile Sanitarium in New York and stayed five months. During her stay there she gardened and played croquet, walked and spent as much time out of doors as possible in between her scheduled therapy treatments.

She may have had the same experience during her stay in Cleveland. The Cleveland Illustrated Guidebook, published by William Payne in 1880, describes the hospital’s grounds where “nature and art have united to make [them] attractive.”

Immediately in front is a stream, separating the grounds from the … railroad track. A grove skirts the entire grounds, affording an abundance of shade and strolling room for the patients, and adding to the general beauty of the location.

Perhaps the beautiful grounds reminded Isabella of the New York sanitarium and the benefit she’d found in similar treatment twenty years earlier.

Illustration of an extensive hospital building in the gothic style with a center entry marked on either side by tall 6-story towers. To the right and left of the entry four-story buildings stretch out across the landscape filled with trees and walking paths. Below the illustration reads: "Cleveland Hospital for the Insane. Newburgh, Ohio."
Illustration included in the “Twenty-Sixth Annual Report of the Cleveland Asylum for the Insane to the Governor of the State of Ohio for the Year 1880.”

Here’s what is most striking about this episode: Isabella didn’t hesitate to get help when she needed it. She checked into a hospital that literally had “Insane” in its official name, and she didn’t seem worried about the stigma. Maybe that’s because mental and emotional health were viewed differently in the 1880s. Conditions like “paralysis of the brain,” melancholy, and nervous exhaustion were treated as medical conditions—ailments that could be cured with rest, therapy, and proper care. Or maybe Isabella was just remarkably practical about her own wellbeing. When life became overwhelming, she took action.

Unlike Isabella’s previous stay at a sanitarium (which you can read about here), we can’t know what treatments she received this time. But just a little more than a month later, on March 14, 1881, the Cincinnati Enquirer published a single line update about Isabella:

NOTES FROM THE NORTH SIDE. Mrs. G. R. Alden, "Pansy," is home again.

And just like that, Isabella was home. A little over a month of treatment, and she was back to her family, her work, and her impossibly busy schedule. We don’t know exactly what happened during those weeks in Cleveland, but we know the outcome: she recovered and went on to maintain her extraordinary productivity for decades to come. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is admit we need help—and then actually get it.

What strikes you most about Isabella’s decision to seek help? Do you think it would have been harder or easier in the 1880s compared to today?

Have you ever had a moment when life’s responsibilities threatened to overwhelm you? What helped you get through it?

YOU CAN READ MORE ABOUT ISABELLA’S HEALTH AND HOW ILLNESSES WERE TREATED DURING HER LIFETIME BY READING THESE PREVIOUS POSTS:

Isabella’s Mystery Illness and the Water Cure

Fantastic Cures for What Ails You

A Dose of Beef Tea

Isabella and the Bottle that Took America by Storm

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Between 1900 and 1910 American consumers were introduced to some revolutionary new inventions and products that would significantly change their lives. In 1903 the Wright Brothers powered their first sustained airplane flight at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.

In 1908 the first Model T Ford automobile rolled off the production line in Detroit, Michigan.

Other inventions during the decade included the safety razor (1901), Cornflakes (1907), teabags (1904), washing machines (1908), and vacuum cleaners (1901).

From a 1909 issue of The Saturday Evening Post.

But in 1907, an entirely new product took the country by storm: the Thermos bottle. This cleverly designed vacuum bottle could keep drinks hot or cold for hours—something no other portable container could do.

Ad in a 1909 issue of Life magazine.

It’s easy to imagine Isabella Alden embracing this new invention, especially given the lifestyle she adopted after she and her family moved to California around 1901.

The Aldens settled in Palo Alto, where son Raymond was teaching at Stanford University. A few years later, Isabella and her husband became involved with the newly-founded Mount Hermon Christian camp near Santa Cruz. Mount Hermon reminded her of her beloved Chautauqua Institution, and it quickly became her summertime place of peace where she could rest, read, and worship among the giant redwood trees. Isabella recalled:

“Tent life seemed to belong to it as much as houses belong in most other places. We ate out of doors, and worked out of doors, and practically slept out of doors, with all the curtains of the tent looped high.”

When Thermos bottles first appeared in stores, they were luxury items. Depending on size, prices ranged from $3.50 to just over $5.00—the equivalent of about $125 to $150 in today’s money.

From a 1908 booklet, “Everything for the Autoist but the Auto.”

Travelers quickly embraced the Thermos bottle as a necessity worth the investment. Upper-middle class households purchased them, too, using Thermos bottles to keep food and drinks at stable temperatures without relying on wood-fire stoves, electricity, or refrigeration—all expensive options.

One in a series of trade cards distributed by The American Thermos Company.

The American Thermos Bottle Company of Norwich, Connecticut, launched a full ad campaign in magazines, trade journals, and newspapers. As sales increased, they launched additional products—pitchers and carafes, food storage bowls, and even completely furnished picnic baskets. With growing demand came increased production, and by the 1920s Thermos bottles were much more affordably priced.

Isabella never specifically mentioned a Thermos in her memoirs or her stories, but throughout her life she eagerly embraced new inventions and technologies. It seems probable that during those early rustic summer days at Mount Hermon, she might have had a Thermos bottle at her side for a cool drink of water.

Isabella’s niece, author Grace Livingston Hill, was also quick to embrace new inventions, and mentioned Thermos bottles in her novels, including The Prodigal Girl (1929) and The Street of the City (1942). In her novel Ladybird (1930), Grace wrote about the main character Fraley MacPherson marveling over a picnic lunch:

“There were other little packages with other sandwiches, some with fragrant slices of pink ham between them. There were hard-boiled eggs rolled in paper. There were olives and pickles, and chocolate cake and cookies, and white grapes and oranges—a feast for a king! There was coffee amazingly hot in a Thermos bottle. And in the wilderness!”

Thermos magazine ad from 1909

Whether or not Isabella actually owned a Thermos, she certainly lived during one of the most innovative decades in American history—and she took advantage of it. Her writing shows someone who was genuinely curious about new inventions and quick to see how they might improve her daily life. That openness to change and progress is just one more reason her work still feels surprisingly modern today.

You can read more about how Isabella embraced new inventions and technology in these posts:

New Free Read: “Midnight Callers”
A New Luxury
iPhones and Isabella
It’s National Sewing Machine Day
The Edison Connection
“She’s a Beauty”

New Free Read: Family Portraits (Taken Unawares)

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Have you ever listened to someone tell a seemingly ordinary story, only to realize halfway through that they’re actually revealing something profound? That’s what happens in this month’s free read. “Family Portraits (Painted Unawares)” is a short story Isabella Alden published in a Christian magazine in 1900.

The story introduces us to Mrs. Andrews, a chatty neighbor who drops by on a hot summer day to tell about her son Harlan’s brief visit home from Boston. What begins as simple rambling about the weather, dinner plans, and a fishing trip gradually reveals itself as something much deeper—a portrait of a family bound together by selfless love.

Mrs. Andrews doesn’t realize she’s painting this portrait. She’s just telling her story in her own enthusiastic way. But it isn’t long before we begin to see what she can’t: a family where people consistently choose each other’s happiness over their own desires and where love—not biology—creates the deepest bonds.

A Note on Isabella’s Craft

What’s striking about this story is Isabella’s restraint. She doesn’t preach. She doesn’t tell us what to think about Mrs. Andrews or her family. She simply lets Mrs. Andrews talk, and trusts us to see the beauty in what’s being revealed.

Isabella has a gift for finding profound spiritual truth in everyday lives. In her stories, she elevates working-class people who live out their faith in practical, unassuming ways.

Maybe that’s why, more than 120 years after she wrote it, this story still has meaning. Today we still struggle with the tension between our own desires and others’ needs. We still wrestle with complicated family relationships. We still chase after perfect holidays and celebrations, forgetting that love is what makes any day special.

This story reminds us that the best relationships are built on small, daily choices we make, like prioritizing someone else’s happiness above our own, or spending time together, even if it’s brief and imperfect. Even more importantly, it reminds us that we don’t have to be extraordinary people to create extraordinary love.

You can spend time with Mrs. Andrews and her wonderful family for free!

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Isabella, Chautauqua, and “True Education”

Published on by Isabella Alden2 Comments

Isabella Alden was a teacher at heart. Before she became a bestselling author, she earned her living as a schoolteacher and devoted countless hours to preparing meaningful Sunday school lessons for her students. So when the Chautauqua movement began in the early 1870s, it was a natural fit—she was involved from its earliest days.

The Chautauqua idea started simply enough as a summer gathering where Sunday school teachers could learn best practices for their work and enjoy a bit of recreation when classes weren’t in session.

What began as a “Sunday School Assembly” in 1872 gradually evolved into something much bigger—a “summer university” that welcomed people of all incomes, backgrounds and education levels. It was, wrote Harper’s Monthly Magazine in 1879, “a school for those who, conscious of their need, earnestly desire the highest culture possible for them.”

One of Chautauqua’s founders was Rev. Dr. John H. Vincent, who served as Sunday school secretary of the Methodist Episcopal Church and was a close friend of Isabella’s. Like her, he prized knowledge, learning, and mental discipline.

Rev. Dr. John Heyl Vincent

But what really united them was their shared conviction: that it was possible—even essential—to study art, science, literature, and history through the lens of religious truth.

In 1909 Rev. Vincent addressed the Chautauqua Women’s Club on a topic close to both his and Isabella’s hearts: the importance of education in religious experience. Fortunately, his speech was preserved in an issue of Chautauqua Herald, the assembly’s monthly newspaper.

In many ways, his thoughts on balancing education with Christian faith feel remarkably relevant today—more than a century later. Below are some key points that illustrate the heart of his message. See if you agree with his ideas.

“The Educational Factor in Religious Experience.”

Education and religion used to be too separated. But that is not the case in our time.

In our time education and religion are drawing closer together every day, and one sign of our progress is the growing recognition of religious teaching. I believe that people will increasingly see the value in religious teaching as it becomes purer and freer from the bigotry that once characterized it.

We all remember when fanaticism, bigotry, and opposition to sci­ence (as if science were opposed to religion!), found theirplace in the church and prejudiced the minds of scholarly people. As we broaden our perspective and gain a wider view of the world of Nature, this fanaticism is dying out and the scholars and the religious teachers are no longer enemies.

Religion opens the whole field of education, in which theology is fundamental. Religion in its truest sense is education.

Educated people ought to be religious. Religious people ought to be educated. When we surrender our intellect to God through religion, He returns it to us as a precious gift to use. Let us, then, as a form of religious expression, learn how to think—and delight in it.

There are seven points in the consideration of religious life as related to personal culture.

First, religious ex­perience and personal growth work together by developing power of thought.

Second, we should cultivate our ability to reason. Let us ask, why is this? and, why is that?—applying our reasoning not only to intellectual pursuits, but to the realities of daily life.

Third, religion is a great thing to culti­vate imagination, and we must develop imagination if we want to broaden our lives. But we must also keen imagination in check.

Thought, reason, imagination—these are all effects of re­ligious experience.

Fourth, we should identify a noble, guiding purpose in life. What am I living for? That is the question we should ask ourselves. How can I beautify my little corner, and how can I do good to my neighbor? Why, every line I read or word I speak leaves its mark on some other human being. Men and women can sink to a lower level very easily. It is a great thing when one woman influences to higher thought one man or ten men.

Fifth, religion should help us see ourselves accurately—not too high, not too low.

Sixth, let us remember that a genuine religious spirit combined with the pursuit of learning will develop philanthropy—a pure phi­lanthropy rooted in Christian values.

And seventh, let us remember that religion develops character. Practice builds virtue—the hallmarks of character that Peter describes when he says “add to your faith courage—add to your faith integrity—add to your faith strength.” Peter understood the secret of inner spiritual life.

“Add to your faith virtue, and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge mod­eration, and to moderation”—patience, strength—“godli­ness, and to godliness, brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness charity. For if these things be in you and abound, they make you that you shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” (2 Peter 1:5-8)

Religion thus becomes a process of self-mastery in which we take time to focus our abilities and de­velop them.

Rev. Vincent’s speech captured so much of what Isabella believed and practiced throughout her life. She never saw a conflict between being educated and being faithful. Her novels explored complex themes and moral questions. The articles she published in The Pansy magazine taught children about science, geography, and literature—all while maintaining a foundation of Christian values. Like Rev. Vincent, she understood that true education develops the whole person: mind, character, and spirit. It’s a vision of learning that, at the time, was both revolutionary and deeply needed.

What do you think?

Is it possible to pursue knowledge while maintaining spiritual grounding?

Can we cultivate our minds without losing our moral compass?

Dr. Vincent and Isabella would say yes. And given the lives they both lived—dedicated to learning, service, and faith—their example suggests they might be right.