Tag: Isabella Macdonald 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

Published on by Isabella Alden5 Comments

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.

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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.

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To the Wives of Ministers

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Isabella Macdonald Alden and her sister Marcia Macdonald Livingston were always very close. They were both married to Presbyterian ministers, and both found success as writers of Christ-centered novels, as well as short stories for Christian magazines.

Isabella Alden (left) and her sister Marcia Livingston (right).

In 1898 the sisters learned through their churches about the plight of a retired minister and his wife who were in danger of losing their home. The couple needed just $150—about $5,900 in today’s money.

Isabella and Marcia knew from experience how difficult it was to live on a minister’s inadequate salary, and how that meager income made it nearly impossible to save anything for retirement. The elderly couple’s plight touched the sisters’ hearts and they decided to take action.

The sisters wrote a joint appeal for donations on behalf of the elderly couple. Their letter was published on May 4, 1898, in a weekly Christian magazine and read as follows:

TO THE WIVES OF PRESBYTERIAN MINISTERS.

Dear Friends: Let us beg your pardon in the beginning for addressing you. Our excuse must be that we feel we are not strangers, but friends; the mystic bond which unites the wives of all those who have given themselves to the ministry of the gospel of Jesus Christ unites us, as well as that dearer, stronger one, Jesus Christ being our Elder Brother. It is because it seems that he has put it into our hearts to send you this word that we do it.

It has come to our knowledge that there is in our beloved Church a minister and his wife who sorely need a little help just now to tide them over a hard place. The facts are, briefly, these:

A Presbyterian minister, formerly in active service as pastor, now broken in health and nearly seventy years of age, invested his little all several years ago, in a small place in California, hoping to make a living by raising fruits and vegetables for the market. He and his wife, who is now partially crippled by rheumatism, have worked heroically on their home, but the unprecedentedly hard times of the past few years, as well as increasing ill health, were against them. The little home, so carefully and prayerfully worked for, is in danger. A mortgage of only $150 rests upon it; but, unless even that small sum be raised promptly, it must go.

A minister and his wife belonging to our grand Church, sick and old and with no home! Isn’t it pitiful that such a thing should be, when they have given their best years to the Church?

Why are we telling you? It has come into our hearts that possibly 148 ministers’ wives will each spare $1, to be placed with our $2, to be sent at once to this dear minister’s wife, who can no longer work with her crippled hands, as she has bravely done, to help support her sick husband. This, as a token that we are sisters and recognize the bond.

While we write the words we remember that probably some cannot do even this, and are moved to ask that any who can will make their offering $2 or $3, or even $5, for the sake of those who would respond but cannot, and for the sake of those who will mean to do it, when they read these words, but who will let the cares of this busy world crowd it from their minds.

The sisters closed their appeal by providing their home addresses where donors could send money, and a promise to provide updates in a future issue of the magazine.

Photo of Isabella Alden about 1880 (age 39)

It’s hard to know what their expectations were. Perhaps they thought they’d eventually receive a few donations that they could add to their own and forward to the retired minister and his wife.

But that’s not what happened! You can imagine Isabella and Marcia’s excitement when they wrote the following update, which appeared two weeks later on May 18 in the same magazine:

AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
 

Dear Friends: It gives us pleasure to report at this date the receipt of $41 towards the $150 that we are trying to raise to save the little home, of which we wrote you last week. As the magazine containing the appeal has been issued only four days, including Sunday, the replies thus far have been instantaneous.

The sum of $41 in today’s economy is about $1,600. That’s an astonishing amount to receive in so short a time! The sisters continued:

Our gratitude for these kindly and prompt responses is very great. We are looking to receive many more before the week closes. One friend writes that she hopes we will excuse her for not being a minister’s wife, and yet for sending her offering! We are delighted with her.

We remember that there are ministers’ wives by the score who gladly would, but cannot; it is fitting that some more blessed with this world’s goods should reply for them. Two dear ladies have already done so; one sent $5, the other $10.

One friend hopes that we will receive much more than the sum called for and be able to make an additional gift. We echo the hope.

Later it will be our pleasure to give a somewhat more detailed account of this pleasant work, and of some of the precious letters that have come to us. There have already been received gifts that represent sacrifice and letters that would touch your hearts. Yours sincerely,

What a promising start for the sisters’ fund-raising campaign!

Marcia Livingston around 1905.

Their next update was published three weeks later on June 8 with the following headline:

THE MORTGAGE LIFTED

The sisters’ wrote:
 

Dear Friends:

It is with pleasure and gratitude that we come to you with the final result of our appeal for those dear servants of God in California, asking you to lend a helping hand in saving their home.

You will remember the amount of the mortgage was $150, and we have the joy of telling you that we have received in all the sum of $210.

That $210 would be equal to about $8,300 in today’s money! The sisters continued:

Undoubtedly it will be a blessing to our dear friends to receive these tokens of fellowship, but the Lord’s own statement, that it is “more blessed to give than to receive,” seems again to have been verified.

Nearly every letter writer has taken time to add a word of tender sympathy and to express the wish that the sum desired might be much more than realized.

As we read the heart-lines accompanying them, we wished that you could all enjoy them with us. It has been interesting to note how many ministers’ daughters responded, “begging the privilege” of being counted in.

One friend wrote that she was not in any way connected with ministers, but she was a member of the Presbyterian Church, and she felt it a precious privilege to lend a helping hand to these servants of the Lord in their hour of need.

Another, who said she “had just begun to be a minister’s wife,” was only too glad to inaugurate her service in this way. Still another begged admission to the circle on the plea that she expected “very soon” to become a minister’s wife.

Many ministers’ widows, out of their small incomes, sent glad offerings. One who was nearing her eightieth year, but who had a good home, the rent from which supported her, joyfully offered her gift. Another token was from an old minister and his wife, who said that they had no home to save, but the Lord had taken care of them for seventy-eight years, and given them a little with which to help others.

One wrote, “Your appeal coming so soon after our Sunday-school lesson on ‘Giving,’ afforded some of us an opportunity to show our faith by our works. How thoughtful of our Lord!”

There were gifts from those who “had to count even the dimes carefully to make the ends meet, but were glad to share with others.”

Times without number we were thanked for affording the opportunity, and the wish was constantly expressed that much more than the sum called for might be received. 

Now, in regard to the recipients of these gifts, nothing would afford us greater pleasure than to copy at length the beautiful and touching letter received from the dear wife, in response to the check sent her. The length of the letter and the personal character of some of it deter us. A few sentences, however, we feel that we must quote. The letter commences:

“Dear, dear friends: What can I say? Words will not express my feelings! God only knows the heart, and he knows how thankful, oh, how thankful, we are to you for all your great and noble kindness. God bless you all, and ever keep you in the hollow of his hand, safe from all want. I want to tell you how it was, so far as words will. My husband was out in the yard when your letter came. I called to him and said: ‘Come in; I want to show you something.’ When he came in I said: ‘Put on your glasses;’ then I handed him the check. He is a man who thinks before speaking. As he sat looking at it I said: ‘Cannot we trust the Lord?” Then I could not keep the tears back any longer, and still he had not spoken. He sat with bowed head, and I knew he was thanking God for his loving kindness. When he looked up his eyes were full of tears, and when he heard how it was, he said: ‘The Lord guided you.'”

Was there ever a more beautiful word picture made than that? The entire letter, which is long, is the out-pouring of hearts almost over-burdened with gratitude. As we read we could hardly help feeling that the offerings were small and poor as compared with the wealth of the return; but, after all, that is what was promised: “Good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over.” May the blessing of him who “maketh rich and addeth no sorrow” be upon every giver.

Yours sincerely,
Marcia Macdonald Livingston
Isabella Macdonald Alden (Pansy)

What is most striking about this story is how Isabella and Marcia immediately moved from sympathy to action. They didn’t just feel bad about the elderly couple’s situation—they did something about it. Using their talents as writers and their influence in the Christian community, they rallied others to join them in making a difference.

Isabella around 1885.

The sisters are an example of practical Christianity at its finest. They believed wholeheartedly that even the smallest gesture done in Christ’s name mattered, and the overwhelming response they received proved they were right! Within weeks, they hadn’t just raised $150—they’d collected $210 and created a community of givers who experienced the blessing of helping others.

Isabella and Marcia were women of action who used every gift God gave them to serve others. It’s a reminder that we all have something to offer, and that acting on our faith—even in small ways—can create ripples far beyond what we imagine.

Meet Myra Spafford … and a New Free Read!

Published on by Isabella Alden10 Comments

This post is part of our blogiversary celebration! Leave a comment below or on Isabella’s Facebook page to be entered into Friday’s drawing for a $25 Amazon gift card!

Isabella Alden’s father Isaac Macdonald is often credited with instilling in her a love of writing. He gave her a journal when she was very young and—to teach her to pay attention in church—he encouraged her to take notes during Sunday sermons so they could discuss the minister’s message later in the day.

“A Writer” by William Adolphe Bouruereau, 1890.

But it was probably Isabella’s mother, Myra, who taught Isabella to be a great story-teller.

At a young age—even before she could write—Isabella’s mother encouraged her to make up little stories about things.

“Make a story out of it for mother,” she would say; and out of those beginnings, Isabella began to develop the writing skills that would serve her as an adult.

Myra was herself a story-teller, and often entertained her six children with stories of her own younger years.

Myra’s father was Horatio Gates Spafford, a well-respected author and New York newspaper editor, so she developed her own writing skills at a very early age.

Isabella credited her mother Myra with teaching her how to weave a story centered on a well-loved Bible verse. It was Myra’s habit to gather her children—and later, her grandchildren—around her in the evening to tell them stories that were entertaining and and helped make sense of a Bible verse or Sunday-school lesson.

Her stories always contained a practical lesson in walking daily with Christ—a theme Isabella adopted and perfected in her own stories.

When Isabella’s father Isaac Macdonald died in 1870 Isabella and her husband Ross made certain Myra came to live with them. Although Ross’s career as a Presbyterian minister caused them to move regularly from one town to another, Myra made her home with the Aldens for the next fifteen years.

Myra’s entry in the 1880 Cincinnati directory shows she resided with the “Rev. G. R. Alden’s.”

They were living in Carbondale, Pennsylvania when Myra died at home in 1885. Isabella was 43 years old when her mother passed away, and she missed her terribly.

At that time Isabella was editing The Pansy magazine; and since she and her family members—including Ross, her son Raymond, her sister Marcia, and Marcia’s husband Charles—were all contributing articles and stories to the magazine, Isabella and Marcia found a way to pay tribute to their mother in the pages of The Pansy.

The cover of an 1891 issue of The Pansy.

They began publishing short stories for children in The Pansy under the pseudonym “Myra Spafford.” The stories were reminiscent of the kind of stories Myra told her children and grandchildren.

In 1887 Isabella published Grandma’s Miracles; Stories Told at Six O’clock in the Evening. The book is a fictionalized account of those tender and loving evening story-times Myra had with her children and grandchildren.

You can read Grandma’s Miracles for free!

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