great movement for the higher education of women which is one of the finest fruits of the nineteenth century. Beginning in the United States, in the establishment of endowed schools for girls about the time Wheaton was founded, it may be considered to have terminated in this country when the best universities had thrown open their doors to women.

In all the changes in schools for girls during this period, Mrs. Wheaton has taken a worthy part, standing always ready to further every change that would develop the mind, and especially the character of the girls, at whatever cost to herself.

This educational movement has spread into the most conservative countries in Europe, and is now taking such shape in Asia that, to many, the dawn of a new day in the Orient seems at hand. Wheaton girls who have gone as missionaries to Turkey, China, Persia, and India have borne a noble part in this work.

To this great movement, from beginning to end, Mrs. Wheaton's secluded life belongs.

In China, the Hartwells, mother and daughter, both alumnæ of Wheaton, have carried on a noble missionary work for many years. In India, Mary Sanford (Class of 1865) is the wife of Rev. Richard Winsor, on whom King Edward conferred one of the rarest orders in his gift for transforming one of the famine districts of the country into a garden that supports

thousands of natives, by the introduction of new plants suited to the conditions of the region, and she herself carried out a shipload of supplies from America to the sufferers during one of the great famines that occurred some years ago. Similar stories might be told of many other missionaries.— Ed.

CHAPTER XV

EXTREME AGE

MRS. WHEATON not only loved the Seminary girls, but she loved them as individuals, though this was perhaps not generally understood by the later generations of girls; she was so upright, so dignified, and so reserved that most of the girls stood in awe of her. Some of them never spoke to her all through their course at the Seminary till the final Senior Tea-party. And they often went to this party in some trepidation, fearing they might spill something on the tablecloth, or say something silly.

Mrs. Wheaton received them very sweetly, and they felt that. And they enjoyed the stroll through the garden, and the beautiful flowers she always gave them; but, probably, most of them would have been astonished to know how tenderly and affectionately she thought of each one of them. And yet, years afterwards, when they might have thought she had had time to forget all about them, in some crisis of their lives, help would suddenly come from her, effectual help, and as a complete

surprise. Then they began to understand her real feeling.

Miss Susan Hayes Ward writes on this subject: "My most vivid impression of [Mrs. Wheaton] was of the tenacious memory which kept in mind old scholars whom she had not seen for nearly fifty years. I asked her of this or that girl, and she would say: 'Wait a minute,' or 'Let me think a moment,' and then, after a short pause, she would tell me one and another matter of interest concerning the person in question. . . . How steady and strong her interest was in everything and every individual connected with the Seminary!"

Miss Frances Vose Emerson says: "I used often to be surprised when I went back [to Norton] to find her inquiring for girls whom I supposed she did not know at all."

Perhaps the girls felt her love, though they were not always conscious of it, for even the most timid among them remember the June tea-party as something exquisite and poetical.

The last of these parties was given in 1898. Mrs. Wheaton had now become so frail that the occasion was a great tax upon her. Still she was unwilling to give up the custom. The effort proved too much for her, however. Miss Pike, coming in the next morning to inquire for her health, found her so exhausted as to be really ill. Realizing Mrs.

Wheaton's age as she had never done before, Miss Pike threw her arms around her old friend, and exclaimed, "Oh, what shall we do when we lose you?" Mrs. Wheaton replied softly, "If I might, I would be your guardian angel."

In June of the following year, Mrs. Beane was dying, and the custom of the tea-party having been once set aside, it seemed best that it should not be renewed. After this, the schoolgirls still had one glimpse of Mrs. Wheaton. When they were ready, in their graduation dresses, to go to church on the final Anniversary Day, they went together to take leave of Mrs. Wheaton, who still knew all about them, and loved each one, though they knew very little about her. She received them with the radiant smile so characteristic of her, spoke affectionately to them, one by one, and gave to each beautiful flowers from her garden. The little ceremony was like a benediction.

In the summer of 1898, Mrs. Wheaton made an unusual change in her plans. The Spanish war had so jarred her nerves that she dreaded to go to the Isles of Shoals. She seemed to have an actual fear of being near Portsmouth while the Spanish prisoners were there. She accordingly decided to spend the summer at Princeton, Mass., where she could have the beautiful views and fine air of Mount Wachusett. The following year, she