HELEN BELL'S WORK IN THE N. C. GUILD FOR WORKING WOMEN.
The feeling which overshadows all our hearts at this time is the loss of our beloved director, teacher and fellow-member, Helen Bell. She has been so constantly with us and a part of us from the first inception of the Guild, that we almost grew to accept her as something we had a right to, like our air and sunshine; but now we realize that it was a gift which could be taken away. Now one and another recalls what she was in her class-room, how she was the life of the summer walks and little country journeys, how she had been a strengthening influence in this young life, and an awakening light in that; how, as one girl said, she never came near you but she brought a pleasantness in some little way; and now as we elders begin to remember, she was habitually bringing a new friend to take an interest, or an invitation to an afternoon at some country house, or the entree to some place of historical interest; or it was tickets to some musical entertainment, or a piece of her own china-painting for our dining room, or a timely contribution for something we wanted very much, and knew we could not afford; how, in short, she was not an outside friend, but one of us, as she had the faculty of being one of many other circles, diverse from ours and from each other. And now we and many others are saying, "How can we do without her?" One thing, at least, we shall always have with us: the memory of a fresh, original, forceful, sweet and noble character, and the feeling that everyone who came within her influence is the better that she lived.
From N. C. Guild Report.
HELEN BELL. FEBRUARY 11, 1895.
Death wished to borrow something of thy grace;
And now that thou art lying 'neath the snow,
The grave that holds thee seems a favored place,
Where one might willing go.
But life is not so rich in things divine,
That it would part with such a soul as thine!
A voice of comfort breathes from sorrowing Earth
If winter is the nursery of flowers,
If purity and loveliness have worth
Beyond this world of ours,
If there is pity for the tears we shed,
If any truly live—thou art not dead!
