{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-12:tribute-to-mrs-mary-h-fiske",
  "slug": "tribute-to-mrs-mary-h-fiske",
  "title": "A Tribute to Mrs. Mary H. Fiske",
  "subtitle": "Memorial tribute.",
  "excerpt": "Memorial tribute to Mrs. Mary H. Fiske.",
  "year": 1888,
  "volume": 12,
  "category": "Tribute",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/tribute-to-mrs-mary-h-fiske/",
  "wordCount": 705,
  "body": "A Tribute to Mrs. Mary H. Fiske\n\nAt Scottish Rite Hall, New York, February 6, 1889.\n\nMY FRIENDS: In the presence of the two great mysteries, Life and Death,\nwe are met to say above this still, unconscious house of clay, a few\nwords of kindness, of regret, of love, and hope.\n\nIn this presence, let us speak of the goodness, the charity, the\ngenerosity and the genius of the dead.\n\nOnly flowers should be laid upon the tomb. In life's last pillow there\nshould be no thorns.\n\nMary Fiske was like herself—she patterned after none. She was a genius,\nand put her soul in all she did and wrote. She cared nothing for roads,\nnothing for beaten paths, nothing for the footsteps of others—she went\nacross the fields and through the woods and by the winding streams, and\ndown the vales, or over crags, wherever fancy led. She wrote lines that\nleaped with laughter and words that were wet with tears. She gave us\nquaint thoughts, and sayings filled with the \"pert and nimble spirit of\nmirth.\" Her pages were flecked with sunshine and shadow, and in every\nword were the pulse and breath of life.\n\nHer heart went out to all the wretched in this weary world—and yet she\nseemed as joyous as though grief and death were nought but words. She\nwept where others wept, but in her own misfortunes found the food of\nhope. She cared for the to-morrow of others, but not for her own. She\nlived for to-day.\n\nSome hearts are like a waveless pool, satisfied to hold the image of a\nwondrous star—but hers was full of motion, life and light and storm.\n\nShe longed for freedom. Every limitation was a prison's wall. Rules were\nshackles, and forms were made for serfs and slaves.\n\nShe gave her utmost thought. She praised all generous deeds; applauded\nthe struggling and even those who failed.\n\nShe pitied the poor, the forsaken, the friendless. No one could fall\nbelow her pity, no one could wander beyond the circumference of her\nsympathy. To her there were no outcasts—they were victims. She knew\nthat the inhabitants of palaces and penitentiaries might change\nplaces without adding to the injustice of the world. She knew that\ncircumstances and conditions determine character—that the lowest and\nthe worst of our race were children once, as pure as light, whose cheeks\ndimpled with smiles beneath the heaven of a mother's eyes. She thought\nof the road they had traveled, of the thorns that had pierced their\nfeet, of the deserts they had crossed, and so, instead of words of scorn\nshe gave the eager hand of help.\n\nNo one appealed to her in vain. She listened to the story of the poor,\nand all she had she gave. A god could do no more.\n\nThe destitute and suffering turned naturally to her. The maimed and hurt\nsought for her open door, and the helpless put their hands in hers.\n\nShe shielded the weak—she attacked the strong.\n\nHer heart was open as the gates of day. She shed kindness as the sun\nsheds light. If all her deeds were flowers, the air would be faint with\nperfume. If all her charities could change to melodies, a symphony would\nfill the sky.\n\nMary Fiske had within her brain the divine fire called genius, and in\nher heart the \"touch of nature that makes the whole world kin.\"\n\nShe wrote as a stream runs, that winds and babbles through the shadowy\nfields, that falls in foam of flight and haste and laughing joins the\nsea.\n\nA little while ago a babe was found—one that had been abandoned by\nits mother—left as a legacy to chance or fate. The warm heart of Mary\nFiske, now cold in death, was touched. She took the waif and held it\nlovingly to her breast and made the child her own.\n\nWe pray thee, Mother Nature, that thou wilt take this woman and hold her\nas tenderly in thy arms, as she held and pressed against her generous,\nthrobbing heart, the abandoned babe.\n\nWe ask no more.\n\nIn this presence, let us remember our faults, our frailties, and the\ngenerous, helpful, self-denying, loving deeds of Mary Fiske.\n"
}