THE CONGRESS OE WOMEN.
185
Having made a study of this literature for the past seven or eight years, in order to prepare a work upon the subject, I have been much impressed by the part women have played in this literary movement.
There has been a list of books by California writers catalogued by a society of San Francisco women. In this list I find the names of ninety women and one hundred and fifty-five volumes. In the list of the Pacific Coast Woman’s Press Association I find the names of over one hundred women connected with matters of the pen and pencil. Besides, there are many (women writers unchronicled and unrecorded) who are connected with newspapers, or who have been occasional contributors all along the route for the past thirty years or more, making about fifty more. Today their services are necessary, to the columns of the journals or magazines; today they carve out niches which no one but themselves can fill. And today the work from their pens is so honest and so correct that in many cases their ephemeral articles may be classed under the head of literature, while the vivid short stories which appear from time to time are gems which have come from the lapidary’s hand. But this story of the literary movement in California for women begins rather sorrowfully. Woman has been called the “Peaceful Invader,” but along her path is to be found tragedy as well as comedy. The first literary effort made in California by women was as far back as 1-858. A sincere and honest publication was the “ Hesperian,” which lasted till 1864. But as is now said of both publication and publisher, “Like her nice little magazine, Mrs. Day is dead.” The first woman who entered journalism and tried to live by means of her pen fared poorly and died. She wrote under the names of “ Topsy Turvy ” and “ Carrie Carleton ” as early as 1865. She was a bright, sweet, lovable little woman, with a cheery style of composition which has earned her that most unusual title for a woman of “ humorist.” A few days before her death some one said to her: “ When you are dead I shall kiss this lily-white hand.” That night she set up to write the poem which has made her best known. It is entitled “When I Am Dead.”
WHEN I AM DEAD.
When you are dead and lying at rest,
With your white hands folded above your breast—
Beautiful hands, too, well I know,
As white as the lilies, as cold as the snow—
I will come and bend o’er your marble form,
Your cold hands cover with kisses warm,
And the words I will speak and the tears I will shed Will tell I have loved you, when you are dead!
When you are dead your name shall rise From the dust of earth to the very skies,
And every voice that has sung your lays Shall wake an echo to sound your praise.
Your name shall live through the coming age Inscribed on Fame’s mysterious page;
’Neath the towering marble shall rest your head,
But you’ll live in memory, when you are dead!
Then welcome, Death! thrice welcome be!
I am almost weary waiting for thee;
Life gives no recompense, toil no gain,
I seek for love, and I find but pain;
Lily white hands have grown pale in despair Of the warm red kisses which should be their share.