xt7fbg2h7b46 https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt7fbg2h7b46/data/mets.xml Duncan, Fannie Casseday. 1922 books b92-54-27062157 English Printed for the author by Presbyterian Committee of Publication, : Richmond, Va. : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. Casseday, Jennie, 1840-1893. Jennie Casseday of Louisville : her intimate life as told by her sister, Mrs. Fannie Casseday Duncan. text Jennie Casseday of Louisville : her intimate life as told by her sister, Mrs. Fannie Casseday Duncan. 1922 2002 true xt7fbg2h7b46 section xt7fbg2h7b46 JENNIE CASSEDAY of LOUISVILLE :. Al z r I JENNIE CASSEDAY of LOUISVILLE Her Intimate Lift Us TeId by Her SWier MRS. FANNIE CASSEDAY DUNCAN Auther .f The MJIssge ef the Lerd;s Prayer, The Sara .f the Making of L euisville The Ap.sts' Creed, c. Printed f.r the Auther by PRESBYTERIAN COMMITTEE of PUBLICATION RICHMOND, VIRGINIA 1922 'T Ziatrout, Women anb uen, alto yelpeb to IOafa the lite of !3ennie eCaoebap jilett anb a lessing hi31 tebiatetW tis ook COPYjRGHr 1 )21 FANNIg CASS.DAY OUNCAN Prefatory W HEN a life has been nobly lived, has made a strong impression upon its gen- eration and, passing away, has left to other generations a trail that may serve to blaze a way upward, it becomes a duty to make record of at least its salient features, that it may remain both as guide and inspiration. The world has been greatly enriched by the biographies of its leaders. More than twenty-five years have passed since Jennie Casseday went from earth, and most of those who knew her and loved her and were a part of her goings and comings have followed her to another sphere. But lives like hers never die. Instead, they become a type or a torch. So it is not primarily to magnify Jennie Cas- seday that this impressionist sketch of her is be- ing made. She herself would be the first to request that the least of herself be pictured. But this touch-and-go portrait is being etched because her beautiful life was fragrant of the indwell- ing Christ, and we would that its sweet incense might lead others to her conception of service in the name of Him who said "I am among you as one that serveth." In thinking of Jennie Casseday we are re- minded of a passage in the Analects of Confu- cius. One of his disciples asked him: "Master, is there one single word which may serve as a rule of practice for the whole of one's life " Confucius replied, "Is not SHU (reciprocity, or service) such a word " JENNIE CASSEDAY of LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY ATMOSPHERE. "In the beauty of the lilies, Like her Lord's, her sweet life ran, The same light within her bosom That He wore as Son of Man: The same mission to the sinning On her tender heart was laid; She too had the love that answered When griefs cried and grew afraid. "In the beauty of the lilies, Walked her soul in spotless white, Brightening up the world of shadows With a clear, reflected light. Where the shadows fell to blackness, Where the ooze of sin and crime Was the deepest, there her courage Proved her stricken life sublime." 1 UNE 9, i840, was Jennie Casseday's birth- J day, the day when this wee infant took on the outward form of the mystery which we call life. My thought often travels back to that birth- day and to the insignificant baby whose future no one could divine. Next comes the memory of her early years, as I afterward came to know them,- happy years, so soon shadowed-and of her ever- 5 after shut-in life, with only pain as a constant companion. In lighter mood I recall her as the normal little girl, born of rich, cultured parents who loved to give their children every equipment for happiness. She was so round and ruddy and sturdy that her big brothers called her "Dutch". That was her family nickname until she was nearly grown, until in fact it seemed pitiless to call her by it-until we came to speak of her, gently, as "Our Little White Shadow". When she was well in her 'teens her Aunt-Mother called her "Miss Gadabout" because she so loved to make one in all the good times going. Strangely enough, in thinking of her I often re- call her beautiful feet. They were exceptionally shapely, plump and white. As a young woman she was proud of her feet and loved to dress them richly. Whatever was novel in silk and leather she bought; and she was as light on her feet as a bird. Ah, those feet! Those snowy, blue-veined feet that trod the earth so airily. Those patient, twisted feet that lay quite quiet on the bed for more than thirty years, aching with pain! Those thin, pale feet, dumbly crossed in rest! Aye, those transfigured feet, floating upward to the golden gates of the Beautiful City of God! Her mother died when Jennie was only nine years old; but a maiden aunt took the place of mother and filled it so beautifully that we younger children scarcely knew we were mother- 6 VENOM 4 IM This page in the original text is blank. less. Our father was both mother and father to us all-yes, and teacher and preacher and chum and model. He lived to be eighty-two years young and often we thought of Browning's lines: "Grow old along with me! The best of life is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand Who saith 'a whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God, see all, Nor be afraid."' The Casseday home was notable in its day. In i844 father bought an elevated plateau right in the heart of Louisville, Kentucky. There were eight children of us and he built a 'big sunny house, providing winter romp-rooms for his four little girls and a completely furnished carpenter- shop for his four growing boys. This wise pro- vision kept his girls and boys at home and also supplied companionship with the boys and girls of his friends. Jennie Casseday's intense love for flowers, and for all nature, was an inheritance from her mother. Our spacious grounds were 'laid off in figures and wide serpentine walks, with rare trees and flowers. There was a high stone re- taining wall with a plantation border which was filled with dear old-fashioned things, such as lilacs, peonies, altheas, weigelias, golden elder, barberry bushes and calacanthuses and moss roses. There were broad stretches of bluegrass, 7 ending in circles and squares and half moons of exquisite roses. It was a place to dream of and to dream in. It was father's love gift to his idolized wife. But she lived less than five years to enjoy it. Jennie's father, Samuel Casseday, was a Vir- ginian, a Presbyterian, and a slave owner. Her mother, Eliza McFarland, was born in Philadel- phia of Ulster parents and held the British view of slavery. Her slaves almost worshipped mother and delighted to render her obedience. In this home one saw only the happiest side of slavery- provision and prevision, motherings for the sick, religious schooling, and respect from mistress to slave and slave to mistress. I wish this were the place to tell the charming story of how our slaves were freed and sent to Liberia at my father's cost almost before the world knew there was an Abraham Lincoln. I hope to incorporate it in a book I am preparing-"The Old Slave On Old Kentucky Plantations"'. Perhaps this is all that Jennie Casseday's bi- ographer needs to tell, in this short sketch, of her home life. We were a big, happy, cultured family, bookish and artistic. I think we were modest withal, for our very fortunate circum- stances did not strike us as exceptional at all or a matter to be vain of, but only as a happy mat- ter of course. Father and mother, both, early taught us the Golden Rule as a rule of life. 8 Fetters "Behind the dim Unknown, Standeth God within the shadow Keeping watch above His own." I N moments of contemplation, did you ever think how long Nature takes to round her creations to perfection, or through what painful stages her fruits must pass before they reach maturity-storms, wind, rain, frost, the pruning shears If such are the methods of Nature, is it any wonder that highest spiritual completions must often come through great travail of soul Just before Jennie graduated, her years of too- intensive study told upon her brain, and fever carried her out on its drifting tides, bewildering her for months; but after that came a period of happy young womanhood, of beaux and travel and dress and the usual whirl of social life. They seemed good to her. But better things were in store for Jennie. They did not appear better at the time, but worse, -oh much worse. They assumed, in i86i, the dis- guise of a terrible accident-runaway horses, an overturned carriage, a broken body dragged along under the wheels, and hopelessly maimed forever. Then the awful shadow of a life bereft 9 of all the things that make womanhood dear to women-wifehood, motherhood, and "The red, sweet wine of youth. She gave up the years to be Of work and joy; and those who would have been her sons." Next appeared a sculptor, with mallet and chisel, sent to hew out of this fine marble all that it possessed of the image of God, things so heroic and noble, so clear-cut and ideally beautiful that the work should stand for a model to all gen- erations. This sculptor's name was PAIN. Jennie told me years after that he really was an angel, though she did not then recognize him as such. Into a corner of her pretty bedroom he thrust her, darkened the windows, and the work of slow transformation began. Now came another period in this girl's life-a period of adjusting. Such are critical periods. One never comes out of them exactly the same being. When they have passed, something has gone out of us, or something has come into us which has made us over again, has made a new US. After a time even our faces have changed: a new light has come into them, or an old light has gone out of them. Bitterness and cynicism have settled over them, or age and care have withered them; or sweetness and light have trans- figured them so that they are like the faces of angels. IO "The test of greatness," says one, "lies not so much after all with those who, being highly en- dowed, accomplish great things, as with those who retain their greatness under narrowing con- ditions and influences." I think Jennie Casse- day, "honored, wept, sung of" on all the conti- nents, was not greater, not so great, perhaps, as was Jennie Casseday under the anvil, shut out, shut in, in those years of pauseless torture and slow transformation. I was with her through that long dark night of adjustment, during which no one of us could understand; and I was witness to the heroism with which she fought, for us as well as for herself, the battle with doubt and despair and black unbelief. Many and many a time arguments failed her own soul, as well as mine, and then she would lie back exhausted with the double battle, the spiritual and physical, and say only these words: "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Sometimes she would fortify us both thus: "If I knew, Fan, as well as God does, and as far, either I would be God, or he would not be God. Take my hand in yours and let us trust him wholly." Thus the little grain of faith rooted itself firmly in the soil and prepared us both to withstand many a shock of tempests. A favorite hymn of hers in those dark days was this, written by Cow- per in the twilight of his departing reason. HI "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm. "Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his b:right designs And works his woncrous will. "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling lace" Yet Jennie Casseday wELs very human. She was full of humour: she loved poetry and music and pretty gowns, and a good novel now and then, when she could spare the time to read it. I do not believe that at any time of her life she thought of herself as "entering a career". She had no desire or intention "to arrive." She just lay quiet on her little bed, awaiting God's leadings day by day, doing what came to her to do, and suffering what she must suffer, often repeating to both herself and me these lines: "Just as God leads nie I would go. I do not ask to choose my way, Content with what He doth bestow, Assured He will not let me stray." 12 And these: "Yes, leave it to Him, The lilies all do And they grow- They grow in the rain, And they grow in the dew- Yes, they grow; They grow in the darkness, all hid in the night They grow in the sunshine, revealed by the light, Still they grow. "The grasses are clothed And the ravens are fed From His store; But you, who are loved, And guarded, and led, How much more Whatever you need, if you ask it in prayer, You can leave it with Him, for you are His care, YOU, you know." '3 Daybreak 0, trusting Jesus with all her might Jennie Casseday held on with a determination that knew no faltering, praying constantly and with every fibre of her soul for hourly guidance, until, out of her travail, came a new born being. She had been anointed through suffering and she was henceforth ready to minister. But how could she minister A frail little figure, pitiable in its helplessness and tied to a bed-what could she do to help in this great, busy, bustling world, that roll; like a modern Juggernaut, crushing out human lives in utter remorselessness, or in conscious lust for prey What could she do I will tell you what she did do. In the first place she forgot self. She put pain and worry out of sight so that her room was a centre of brightness where one and another grew to love to come. She became an inspiration to her household. She gave to each and every one who entered her presence a ray of brightness, suiting, with fine instinct, the gift to the need-to one a smile, because smiles were fitting; to one a tear, because tears were uppermost; for one an uplift, because burdens are weighty and there are few who understand. And so, little by little, people grew to love to come to her, and to go and tell others: Andrew told Simon, and Simon, Philip; 14 and Philip, Nathaniel, so to speak, until the mul- titude thronged. We will touch lightly upon Jennie's days of torture and nights of pauseless pain, though they continued for more than thirty years.. She her- self spoke of them only to her physician, to God, and to her own heart. I, living with her, knew them, of course; but she had a strong tempera- mental reserve which one, knowing her gener- ous sympathies and simple manners, hardly sus- pected. "How did you get hurt" "Where do you suffer" "Have you constant pain" were questions left deftly unanswered. Replies could help no one, she said, tended to morbid selfness. and would only waste precious time for both her- self and her visitors. This psychologic reserve soon became known and thereafter her room was as free from all sorrowful things as is the nave of a cathedral. Her bedside was a shrine, not a mausoleum. Where lay her strange power I cannot ex- plain it. Probably the ways of God's spirit act- ing on human affairs are never explicable. The more one tries to explore them the more mar- velous do they appear. We come upon strange modes in the makeup of the individual who is Spirit-filled, and surprising moods in those who come under his or her influence. It does not seem to be a human problem at all, but one to be solved along mystic lines. Among the letters concerning Jennie after her death is one in the handwriting of Lady Henry Somerset, a great I5 friend of Miss Willard's. It is only a fragment of a letter and does not include the name of the writer in its present charred and imperfect state, but I suppose from the manner of its coming to me that Lady Henry is speaking of Jennie Casse- day, so fitting is it. The letter says: "What was it that made it possible for every- one who came into her presence to feel that they had found a friend That their interests, their lives, their work, their advancement, their devel- opment, was the thing that was always near to her heart I think first of all it was a profound belief in humanity. She saw the divine in hu- manity as I have never known it realized by any one else; and in the very darkest, dingiest human life she recognized the aureole that no one else saw. It was not that she made herself believe in people, but it was that she did believe in them. She had an intuition of their best, and although at times that intuition possibly made her exag- gerate the good and minimize the ill, it never failed to call out for the time in that human soul a real desire to live up to what she believed it to be." Jennie kept a Day-book in which she wrote each night the blessings of the day as they had been experienced by her. Its first page was headed with this quotation: "Count your bless- ings, one by one." Under it she had written: "I cannot. They rush upon me like waters from a gargoyle." On one page I find this poem. Some friend found and copied it as expressive of their own attitude towards her. It bears no signature. "I never crossed your threshold with a grief But that I went without it; never came Heart-hungry, but you fed me, eased the blame, And gave the sorrow solace and relief. "I never left you but I took away The love that drew me to your side again Through that wide door that never could remain Quite closed between us for a little day." "Man proposes: God disposes." If Jennie Cas- seday had no intention of creating a "career," Heaven surely appointed to her a mission-the mission being to reach as many lives as possible and make them sweeter, gladder, and more worth while. Those who came first to her bedside came for the joy of her friendship, largely women of her own well-circumstanced class; but soon she found that anywhere one may have a mission, and that fashion or wealth do not guarantee hearts at peace with themselves. Let me give an illustration: One evening a. gentleman called. Something within Jennie-some magnetic, un- analysible power divinely bestowed now and then on a few elect ones-drew out confidences in the strangest way. In a short time this young man was weeping and telling her all his sorrows. He and his beautiful young wife were on the eve of a divorce. He loved her dearly but, like many another husband, he tried to form her anew, after some old-time, straight-laced pattern, left by his New England ancestors. The girl was South- I7 ern, high strung, an only child and spoiled to the limit, and she rebelled. The "little rift within the lute" was slowly widening to "make the music mute". As the handsome, masterful young man, his heart crazed with bewilderment and grief, sat beside Jennie's bed, she, with quick compre- hension of the whole situation, told him plainly where his trouble lay. By a strange (was it Providential) coinci- dence the very next day the wife called. Her young heart was simply breaking for her lover- husband, who now, she said, only found fault with her. Not letting the wife know of the hus- band's visit, but holding the key to their mutual misery, Jennie was in a position to offer expert advice. Neither, so far as I know, ever knew of the visit of the other; but a happy houseful of boys and girls afterward gathered around their fireside, wholly unconscious of the averted trag- edy. This was not an unusual case. People came to her as to a Father-confessor and went away shriven and with new purpose. But there was another class over whom Jen- nie's heart yearned-a class whose burdens were more tangible, more oppressive, harder to deal with. These were the over-worked, over- tempted, under-fed, battle-scarred folk of her own city. Night and morning she prayed for them. At the time that was all she felt she could do, for the Civil War had come, was over, and our father was very nearly impoverished. His i8 interests had been in the South and the South was ruined. Merchants who owed him great sums of money were either killed or their prop- erty was eaten up, and all hope of collecting bad debts was forever gone. Soon his home was turned into apartments. Rentable houses were built right over the rose beds, and were mort- gaged to pay for the building. Within a decade our father died, the big old mahoganies were, most of them, sold and Jennie and I resorted to boarding house life. Brothers and cousins lay on the "Flanders Fields" of the Southland, and we had to make ourselves content with life from this new angle. Within three years I married; we secured a lovely old English cottage; two growing nephews, whose father also slept in "Flanders Fields", came to us at the death of their beloved mother, and we all went again to the delights of housekeeping. How happy she was with a home once more, with rose beds out- side her window and a backyard full of Collie pups. And soon came my fairy baby to live beside her for six short months. 19 "I Was Sick and Ye Visited Me" T HROUGH this straying pathway I now come to Jennie Casseday's first public- service work and its queer beginnings- the Flower Mission. From its initial number, the New York Ob- server, the most notable religious paper of its day, had been taken in our home, my father's home. In i869 it was full of the story of a young Boston girl, teaching in Roxbury, -who, as she passed from place to place, noticed the great waste of flowers and fruits in the gardens of the rich, most notable when the owners were absent, or in summer, when the sight of any blossom or the perfume of any flower that has survived the scorching heat is so welcome to the inhabitants of a crowded city. Sometimes the teacher was given a bunch of roses and these she invariably gave away to the children of the streets, children of poverty, who ran after her, begging "One flower, Lady, please!" Later she secured bas- kets of flowers and small fruits and made little detours on her way to school, so as to reach even the more denied districts. It was a simple act, simply done. This story fired the heart of Jennie Casseday, as she lay there in her little bed, shut out from the green earth and the glorious flowers, love for which was her passion and her inheritance. Day 20 and night she thought of the sweet young teacher of Roxbury. Her vision grew deeper and wider, and she came to realize the possibilities of such a ministry. With Jennie Casseday to see a need was to feel a call. She did not pause to bemoan her helplessness or even to think of it. Instead she covered her face with her handkerchief (which was her way of kneeling in prayer; her only way. Whenever we found her so screened we trod lightly, for we knew the place on which we trod was holy ground) and asked for guidance in planning. Then she planned. She called to her bedside the influential women of Louisville, the specially consecrated women, and also that beau- tiful body of women plodders who win success through patience and service. She recognized that what she hoped to create demanded team work and delicate organization. Those whom she called came and plans were perfected at her bedside. A public meeting was arranged. Edi- tors offered their columns gladly: reporters did their best to float her project out on the tide of popular favor, and the Courier-Journal presented the use of a large room in its building with tables ready for tying up flowers. By the time of the first going forth this room was crowded with flower missionaries and these tables burdened with heaps of flowers of every class and hue. It did not take long for the story of the Louis- ville Flower Mission and its invalid designer to get abroad. Letters came to Miss Casseday from 21 north, south, east and west u ntil Flower Mis- sions were inaugurated in forty different States and countries. In the course of time there came to Jennie's door a most elaborate music box, pre- sented by the members of Flower Missions in forty States west of the Mississippi. Our sister, Mrs. Eliza Casseday McElroy, of Richmond, Vir- ginia, fell heir to this box and holds it as a most precious possession. This was long before the days of the Victrola. Next came a letter from Harper Brothers, pub- lishers, begging an article from Jennie's pen for its "Harpers Young People". I will quote from that article: She wrote: "Thank you for your request. The mission of flowers has in it such possibilities, such deep meanings, so much cheer and brightness for the sick, the aged, the poor, the shut-ins, and for the missionaries themselves, that I find my heart bounding with gladness at the new avenue you have opened for its enlargement:. "As you may well guess, flowers are used merely as a wedge. Their beauty, purity, and fragrance, teaching of the love of God, who made them, and of the human sympathy which brings them, opens the heart to gratitude, and prepares the way for the little text card, which they must always have attached to them. They can do no real good without this card, which must contain a message from God's own Word. Trust the 22 flowers to do the wedging; they have inherent power for that. The very gift of them implies a compliment which is quickly recognized, and tends to create self-respect and that something God-implanted in all of our hearts which responds to their silent influence. Both giver and receiver are the better for the gift. I have come to believe that it is for this very use flowers were made, and we have been all this time finding out God's Thoughts: "God might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree, and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. "Then wherefore, wherefore, were they made, All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night "To comfort man, to whisper hope Whene'er his hope is dim; For whoso careth for the flowers Will much more care for him." Think of one lying shut in with pain, sur- rounded with the ill conditions of poverty, noth- ing to brighten or alleviate lonely hours, and of what it would be to have a tender-hearted woman or a bright-faced young girl come with a little knot of "something white, something bright, and something sweet" (my rule for making bou- quets), and lay it on the pillow or in the hand. Imagine a hospital, with row after row of beds filled with sufferers. Fancy the Flower Mission- 23 aries entering the ward with baskets of heliotrope, rose-buds, sweet violets, lilies, fresh with the dew of the day. See how eagerly pale hands are out- stretched to receive them, with what glad delight they clutch the beautiful blossoms and press them to their faces, as if to drink in the message they carry. Can you not see where their ministry begins Now, follow the Flower Missionaries to a jail or penitentiary. Within the iron walls are de- graded men and women, prisoned in the cells, forsaken, disgraced, disowned. What, think you, must it be to these poor creatures, by the outer world neglected, to have gentle Christlike women come to them to tell them Jesus loves them and longs to save them, how He sends the pure beauty of the flowers into their darkened lives. The subtle fragrance brings to them tender associa- tions of the old home garden, of mother, and days agone, when all the world was fair to their inno- cence and youth. The heart, in this softened mood, is ready to receive these words of God, heard in better times, and they come with the ring of truth from Heaven and speak to them in tones of love. The Holy Spirit seals the im- pression, and eternity alone can reveal the re- sult." This beautiful organization was not left to the emotions. While it was essentially a merciful society, it was also a judicious one, with wise committees sent to investigate families who ap- plied for aid, or to search for those who needed 24 help but had not applied for it. In fact it was the report brought in by its workers that formed the embryo which, later, developed into Miss Casseday's District Nurse Work. It was characteristic of Jennie that nothing she touched remained long local. She entered upon each of her many benefices only after much prayer and much thinking. Also she had a strong impression, each time, that she was specially called to lead or organize the things in hand. Then she went to it with the ease of one so equipped and so supported. I think successes which seem phenomenal may often be thus accounted for. A5 "In Prison and Ye Came Unto Me" IT was but a short step from the local Flower Mission to criminals confined in prisons. Jennie, herself confined to. narrow quarters, soon began thinking of all sorts of prisoners and began planning to send the message of the flowers to States Prisons. Her board co-operated with her loyally and gladly. Heil birthday, June 9th, was set apart as Flower Mission Prison Day. By this time Flower Missions had grown up in most of the States of the Union and large plans were made to visit all State and local prisons and reformatories on June 9th. The co-operation of officers of prisons was secured beforehand, the number of prisoners learned, and it was asked that prisoners be asked to assemble in their chapels at a fixed hour. It was arranged to present each prisoner with a bouquet made of "something white, something bright, something sweet." A requisite was that each bouquet must have a text of scripture attached to it by a fine wire. Jennie herself selected a large number of texts and had them printed. But a missionary was at liberty to choose her own texts and write them with a pen. In fact fennie thought the latter way might seem more personal and might bring good to the selecter, as well as to the one for whom it was intended. 26 Enter The Women's Christian Temperance Union I N i889 the "Society of Christian Workers" held its annual meeting in New York and its secretary requested Miss Casseday to send to it information regarding her Flower Mission work. She responded by sending a letter, which was read from the platform. There was at once a large demand for copies of this and it was soon put in booklet form for the convenience of all who wanted to know about this public service. I quote a bit from the booklet: "It was four years after the Louisville Flower Mission was organized that Miss Frances E. Willard was in Louisville, the guest of my sister, Mrs. John Duncan. On the very last morning of her stay she came to my room and asked me to tell her all about my Mission work. I told it as simply and fully as I could and she listened in- tently. When I had finished, Miss Willard, with that quick perception and ready insight for which she is so remarkable, saw how Flower Missions might be grafted on to temperance work and bring forth rich harvests of good to both. She rose to her feet exclaiming, 'I have an inspira- tion; it is to establish a Flower Mission depart- ment of the Women's Christian Temperance 27 Union, and put you at its head as National Su- perintendent.' "The very idea appalled me, and I felt it was impossible for me either to take on more work or to think of undertaking, from my little corner, a National