What does it really mean for Christians to hope? D.L. Moody — Isabella’s friend and one of the most beloved evangelists of the nineteenth century — taught that biblical hope isn’t just optimism and positive thinking. It is the soul’s confident anchor in the promises of God.
Mr. D.L. Moody in 1897.
In his eighth Bible class, Mr. Moody explores the difference between false hope and the Christian’s true hope—and why the difference matters today more than ever.
If you grew up prior to the 1990s, you may remember what life was like before the Internet brought the world into our homes. If you wanted to research a topic, get help solving a riddle, or find the latest best-seller, you went to your local library.
Librarians were the original “human search engines” of their communities. They were masters of the card catalog, date-stamped every book checked out and returned, and stood ready with recommendations to help neighbors find the perfect “good book” to read.
In Marion, North Carolina, county librarian Alice Bryan shared the joys and quirks of her librarian job in a weekly newspaper column. She quickly noticed that readers had some very unique strategies for choosing their next read!
From the “Marion Progress” newspaper, 1946.
When one lady in the library asked, “How can I tell a good book when I see one?” another patron quickly spoke up: “See how many names are on the card!”
(For our younger readers: back then, every book contained a paper card that patrons physically signed when checking it out. A card packed full of names was the ultimate 1940s version of a five-star review!)
Other readers chose books based on its physical characteristics. “Lightweight books are the best,” one lady told Alice, while pre-schoolers often picked their books by size—the bigger, the better!
But when patrons weren’t judging books by their weight or size, an equally large number asked for them by author. Popular authors like Zane Grey, Agatha Christie, and Mary Roberts Rinehart were always in demand—but there was one name Alice Bryan saw flying off the shelves more than any other: Grace Livingston Hill.
From the “Marion Progress” newspaper April 3, 1947.
Alice frequently highlighted Grace as a reader favorite for “light fiction.” The appeal of Grace’s books even seemed to cross generations. One day Alice overheard this conversation between a group of sixth-grade girls at the library:
from the “Marion Progress,” April 17, 1947.
By the mid-1940s, Grace Livingston Hill was at the absolute peak of her writing career with almost one-hundred beloved novels to her credit. In an uncertain, complicated post-World War II climate, readers eagerly sought out her stories for their comfort, warmth, and reliable messages of eternal hope.
Of course, long-time readers of this blog know that Grace’s writing talent was practically a family trait—she was Isabella Alden’s cherished niece. Both women shared a remarkable gift for understanding what readers needed most. By seamlessly weaving messages of faith and comfort into their stories, they ensured that current and future generations of readers knew exactly where to turn for a truly “good book.”
Because of her popularity as an author of both Christian novels and Presbyterian Sunday school lessons, Isabella Alden was often invited to speak at churches, women’s groups, and community events. She and her husband, Rev. G. R. Alden, did their best to accept as many invitations as possible. During the years they lived in Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York, they frequently traveled up and down the mid-Atlantic states, going from one engagement to another.
One of their favorite places to visit was Asbury Park, New Jersey. Accompanied by Isabella’s sister and brother-in-law, and niece Grace, the Alden’s enjoyed church services held in the open air of the Asbury Park Auditorium.
The Seaside Sabbath School at Asbury Park, from a sketch in Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, August 1881.
On the first Sunday of the summer every year, Isabella would formally open the Sabbath school program for children, often assisted by her husband.
from the Brooklyn Standard Union, June 22, 1892
One of their trips to Asbury Park was particularly memorable, and Isabella described what happened in an article for her young readers in The Pansy magazine.
On the beach at Asbury Park in 1875 (New York Public Library).
As you read Isabella’s account below, you’ll notice it takes an unexpected turn at the end. What begins as a fascinating rescue story becomes a temperance lesson—a reminder of how differently some writers approached storytelling in the 1880s and how central the temperance movement was to Christian writers and publishers of that time.
I’m not going to tell you about Asbury Park; at least not much. Some other time I may say a good deal about this pretty city by the sea, but just now I’m anxious to tell of what happened at night. The day had been pleasant enough; not summer, but late spring, bright and sunshiny; we rejoiced over the thought of getting sight of the beautiful beach; reminding each other how lovely the sea looked by moonlight.
Alas, there was no moon for us that night! At least she did not once show her silver face; instead, the sky was black with clouds, and the sea took on its sullen look, and roared as it lashed the shore constantly with great angry waves. We shivered and tugged at our wraps as the wind tried to whirl them away, and said, as we turned to go home, how glad we were that we had no friends at sea.
“The ocean looks cruel,” said Grace; “I don’t like him tonight.”
The Atlantic Ocean off Asbury Park in 1907
Then we went home to our bright room; drew the curtains, closed the shutters, stirred the fire to a cheery blaze, and chatted and laughed and were happy, quite shutting out the roar of the angry sea.
But he did not calm; the waves ran high, and the sullen roar kept increasing, until, by midnight, we knew it was what seamen call a gale. Occasionally we heard the fog bell toll out, and once more we were glad that we had no dear ones at sea.
Somebody had, though; and while we slept quietly, knowing nothing of it, brave men were awake and at work. A danger signal was seen just off shore; what excitement there was! How did the men of the life-saving crew know that they were needed? They had been disbanded for the summer, the dangerous season being supposed to be over; and here was blowing one of the worst storms of the winter! I don’t know how they heard the news. Their hearts waked and watched, perhaps; anyway, they came, great stalwart men, and in a twinkling opened their boathouse, and got out their apparatus which had been carefully put away, and before the third signal went up through the stormy water, were ready for action.
A windy day on the pier in 1905 (New York Public Library)
I don’t know how they did it. At this time of which I write, they had no regular lifeboat such as is now in use; they were not regularly manned for work in any way. Never mind, they did it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Oh, I do not know how many people rode, some way, over the stormy water, on a rope, and reached the shore. Drenched, powerless, almost breathless, yet alive!
Who do you think was one of the first to arrive that night? Why, a little baby less than three months old! What! She did not cling to ropes! Oh, no. All she did was to lie in utmost quiet in the hands of a great strong man; he was lashed to the rope in such a way that the men on shore could pull him in, but the baby he held in his two strong hands, as high above the fury of the waves as the hands would reach. What if he had dropped her? Then the sea would have swallowed her in an instant! An awful journey, but the baby did not know it. She must have gasped a little for breath, and she may have cried, but no one heard her; the roaring ocean took care of that.
You don’t see how she lived through it? They did not think she could; not even the mother, when she took a second to kiss her, before she gave her into the strong arms, thought that she should ever see her darling again. But it was the only possible way of escape; they could but try.
So the baby rode into shore, and I think as many as a hundred mothers stood waiting to receive her, with hot blankets enough to smother her, and warm milk enough to drown her in; for it had gotten abroad in some way that a baby was on board the sinking ship. If you could have heard the shout that went up when the baby was landed in the arms of one mother, who said, after a second of solemn hush: “Yes, she is living!” you would have felt as though you almost knew what a life was worth.
The next morning what a walk we had along the coast! How still the sea lay; the waves crept up softly one after another as if so ashamed of their last night’s work that they would rather not be seen or heard at all. Bits of board, and old tarred rope, and barrel staves and seaweed lined the beach for miles, and coffee sacks by the hundred kept washing in to shore. The vessel had been laden with coffee.
People were very busy putting the beach in order, planning how to reach the wreck, wondering whether she could be gotten off, or would have to lie half-buried in the sand and slowly fall to pieces. Here and there were groups of people, listening, while one man talked excitedly; he was a sailor and had his wonderful story to tell of danger and escape.
Shipwreck in a Rocky Bay, 1904
But the happiest man on the beach that morning was one who rubbed his hands in actual glee, and smiling broadly on every one who came up to him, would say in a loud, glad voice:
“Yes, I lost everything I had in the world, but my wife and children are all here; yes, baby and all!” and then he would wipe the great tears from his eyes, and laugh so loud and glad a laugh that all the people around would have to join in.
All his children safe! They clustered around him, several sturdy-looking boys, and I watched them with eager interest. Were they all safe? Could the father be sure? The ocean had not swallowed them, but suppose some awful rum saloon caught them in its clutches and drew them in until they went down in a storm of drunkenness to utter ruin! What was an ocean storm to that? Pitiless ocean, rave as it might, could not touch the soul; but the rum saloon has power to destroy both body and soul.
What joy there was over the three-months-old baby! And yet she may live to be a drunkard’s wife, or a drunkard’s mother, and to cry out in bitterness of soul because the ocean did not swallow her flint night. Isn’t it strange and sad to think of? The father thought his children safe, and yet sit many oceans of temptation lay ready to engulf them! none more bitter, more fierce, more wide-spread in its raging, than this ocean of alcohol. Dear boys and girls, what can we do to help save the children for their fathers? Will you all join the life-saving crew, and work with a will, to rescue victims from this ocean?
Pansy
Isabella’s abrupt shift from celebrating the baby’s rescue to warning about “the ocean of alcohol” might feel a little jarring to us today, but it reflects the deep anxiety many families felt about alcohol in the 1880s—when alcohol contained some highly-addictive ingredients.
And she never missed an opportunity to teach. She couldn’t tell a story about saving a baby from the sea without thinking about all the other ways children needed saving—and she used her platform as “Pansy” to rally her young readers to join the temperance fight.
You can read more about alcohol’s secret ingredients in the nineteenth century by following these links:
In honor of Mother’s Day this month’s free read is a story about the debt of love we owe to those who raised us.
After a life of sacrifice, widowed Mrs. Kensett finds her twilight years spent shuffling between the homes of her adult children, where she’s treated more like a burden than a beloved guest. She expects more of the same when she arrives at the doorstep of her youngest son and his new bride—only to find an unexpected sanctuary at long last.
In Lesson Six, D.L. Moody taught that assurance is the privilege of every believer. But how does faith—the root from which assurance grows—actually work?
In this month’s lesson, Mr. Moody explains that “faith is the simplest and most universal experience in the world,” yet Christians often overcomplicate it or misplace it entirely.
Through memorable illustrations Mr. Moody shows that biblical faith consists of three essential elements: knowledge, assent, and action. “Without action they accomplish nothing,” he writes. He also shares a powerful story from his own life when he discovered that “Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God.”
While April 15 marked the celebration of National Library Outreach Day, many long-time book lovers still remember it by its original name: National Bookmobile Day. No matter the name, it’s a day to celebrate traveling libraries and the dedicated people and organizations that deliver great books to people who can’t get to bookstores or libraries on their own.
Bookmobiles were the brain child of Mary Titcomb, a visionary Maryland librarian who devised a plan to reach readers who lived in rural areas so remote, they were unable to visit a library. In 1905 Mary loaded as many books as she could into a horse-drawn wagon, and set off to deliver books to isolated areas of the county.
Maryland librarian, Mary Titcomb.
Drawn by two horses, the first book wagon was designed by Mary herself. It had shelves on each side with doors that opened outward for easy browsing, while the interior was packed with additional cases of books to replenish the stock on long journeys.
At first she laid out 16 routes that covered 500 square miles of territory. Sometimes the wagon was out one day, more often two or three. To drive to the most distant outpost of the routes took four days round-trip.
A bookmobile at a rural Minnesota farm about 1920 (courtesy of Minnesota Digital Library)
Her program was an immediate success and its fame quickly grew. In 1912 Mary replaced the horse-drawn wagon with an automobile, which allowed her to not only complete the routes more quickly, but add additional routes as well. Soon she began setting up book “stations” in some areas, where residents could borrow books and return them after reading. Then, on a set schedule, a book wagon would deliver a fresh inventory books to replace those already read—a routine that was the precursor of our current system of library branches.
While on her routes Mary visited farms, remote cabins, and homes of invalids. In some cases, she found that only the children in a home knew how to read, so she helped families select books written at a level so the children could read to their parents. In other districts, men who knew how to read outnumbered the women and children. For these and each area she visited, she made notes and returned with books that suited the residents.
A bookmobile at a rural school in 1920.
In different newspaper accounts, Mary reported that the most requested books were practical and educational on topics like truck gardening, fruit raising, poultry culture, and domestic science.
Books on religion were also popular, “with a preference for those of a devotional nature.”
About 75 percent of fiction she delivered was juvenile, which she said meant “the books are read by both parents and children.” Susan Warner’s novel The Wide, Wide World was a favorite, as were other religious fiction titles. And since Isabella Alden’s novels were staples in public library systems across the country at that time, there’s a strong possibility the library outreach movement brought Isabella’s novels along on those bookmobile deliveries.
A bookmobile serving soldiers stationed in Kentucky, 1917.
It’s not hard to imagine that rural readers would have identified with the characters in Isabella’s books, like Esther in Ester Ried’s Namesake. Imagine being a young girl living on an isolated farm, opening a book to find Esther Ried Randall—a character whose life mirrored her own. Like the reader, Esther lived far from the bustle of the city, yet she harbored a dream of going off to college as an independent young woman. How much that book would have inspired that young girl to follow her educational and spiritual ambitions!
Or imagine a young boy with a penchant for getting into trouble and how much he would have identified with the main character in Isabella’s novel, Tony Keating’s Surprises.
In many ways, Isabella’s books (and others like them) were the only window some readers had on a larger world of instruction, culture, and good taste. Isabella’s skill for using stories to explain God’s love and plan for salvation ensured that traveling libraries delivered more than just entertainment—they delivered spiritual nourishment, as well.
A busy bookmobile in 1927.
Isabella’s books and Mary Titcomb’s outreach program were a perfect pairing. Both women were dedicated to making sure that God-given talents and wholesome reading were not restricted by geography or social standing.
For the girl dreaming of college or the boy seeking a better path, Mary Titcomb’s book wagon was more than just a vehicle; it was a lifeline that brought the world—and The Word—directly to their gate.
Isabella Alden was blessed with two striking talents: she was a gifted storyteller and a skillful teacher. She used those God-given talents to explain sometimes difficult Biblical truths in simple terms her readers could understand. In 1895 she wrote this short but effective letter to readers of The Pansy magazine about what it means to be intimate with Jesus:
DEAR YOUNG PEOPLE:
Why should we pray, do you think?
I have been looking in the Bible for a reason. I find a splendid one; it is because God hears, and helps. Look at the seventeenth verse of the thirty-fourth Psalm and see if it does not say so.
“The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.”
To be sure it begins, “The righteous cry,” but that means the people who try to do right. There isn’t much use in the prayers of other people; because, of course if we do not mean to try to do right, what use in asking God to help us? But now, what a wonderful thing it is that he is ready to hear us at any time and at all times! You know people, I presume, who are often too busy to hear what you have to say. Suppose God were so. Suppose he had to wait until he had answered twenty-five thousand other prayers before he could listen to yours!
When should we pray?
I know a girl who is troubled over the verse:
“I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.”
“I can’t do that; “she said. “I have to think of lots of other things, and talk about them. How can anybody?”
It happens that this girl has a young friend about whom she talks a good deal.When she has any company her friend is sure to be one of them; if she has a gift she is sure to share it with her, if possible; and her brother said to her once, “You are always talking about Fannie Pierce.”
I reminded her of this, and of how much she made people realize that she loved Fannie, and said to her that I supposed the verse meant something like that. There were people who loved Jesus so much that they thought about him whenever any question came up as to where they should go, or what they should do, or be; wondering what would please him, and going to him about it, and thanking him for help. There is a sense in which they might be said to be “always thinking about him;” yet they think of many other things; only they are sure not to plan things which will not be pleasant to their friend.
I think she understood me, for she said, “Oh, I know how I feel about Fannie. Do you really think I could be as intimate with Jesus as that?”
What do you think? Doesn’t he call us to be very intimate with Him?
Isabella’s “Letter about Prayer” reminder us that the best lessons are often the simplest. Although it was written for children, Isabella used a very relatable example of a girl’s friendship with “Fannie Pierce” to explain a spiritual concept. For today’s readers, Isabella’s words still challenge us to consider if we are truly as “intimate with Jesus” as we are with those we love most on earth.
Do you think Isabella’s letter accomplished it’s purpose?
Isabella Alden’s novel Ester Ried, Asleep and Awake opens with a memorable scene: Ester Ried—barely eighteen years old—finds herself with much more responsibility than a girl of her age should have. With an ill mother, four younger siblings, and several boarders to care for and feed, she is often pressed for time, thin on patience, and struggling to keep up with a never-ending list of things to do.
Much of her time is spent in the kitchen cooking, washing dishes, and supervising laundry; and on scorching summer days, the heat from the wood stove makes the entire room even hotter, so her cheeks were always in a state of “glowing.”
Trade card for a traditional wood-burning kitchen stove, about 1890
When Ester Ried was published in 1870, kitchen stoves were large, cast-iron pieces of furniture; and while their primary function was for cooking, stoves also served as essential elements of a home’s heating system. In winter a wood-burning stove helped keep the house warm and cozy. In summer, the same stove could make a kitchen unbearably hot.
Isabella’s readers could identify with Ester Ried’s plight. Isabella, too, must have had more than her share of summer days spent “glowing” in an overheated kitchen while she cooked her family’s meals, heated water for bathing, and tended to a litany of household tasks.
An 1884 trade card from the Detroit Stove Works, manufacturer of wood-burning, oil, and gasoline stoves.
So in 1880, when a new type of cooking stove—the gasoline stove—appeared on the market, Isabella took notice.
Unlike traditional wood-burning stoves that required constant monitoring of logs, flues, and dampers to manage the temperature, gasoline stoves offered a revolutionary level of control. They worked much like a kerosene lamp: a cloth wick pulled the gasoline up to the burner where it turned into a gas, creating a steady, hot blue flame.
An 1890 ad for the Sun Dial gas stove.
By simply turning a knob to adjust the wick, a woman could make her cooking and baking incredibly precise. Best of all, because they didn’t radiate intense ambient heat like massive cast-iron wood stoves, they spared homemakers from suffering in a sweltering kitchen.
In 1880 Isabella wrote about a young wife and mother who learned about the advantages of a gasoline stove in a short story titled, “Faith and Gasoline.”
Summer heat and money troubles force Faith Vincent to face the heartbreaking prospect of being separated from her husband for the entire summer—until a neighbor’s wisdom, a clever “gasoline stove,” and a good amount of prayer help Faith secretly transform her despair into a promising future for herself and her family.
“Confidence is essential to success in every pursuit of life,” evangelist D.L. Moody writes in his April 1897 Bible lesson—and this truth applies equally to spiritual matters. Many Christians, he tells us, live imprisoned in what John Bunyan called “Doubting Castle,” experiencing weary, gloomy faith instead of joyful certainty.
Through the Apostle John’s five tests and some very memorable illustrations, Mr. Moody shows how every Christian can move from doubt to confident trust in their salvation.
Then, join us again on April 28, 2026 for Lesson Seven of Mr. Moody’s Bible Class. If you missed Lessons One through Five, you can find them by clicking here or on the Free Reads tab above.
In an 1899 issue of The Pansy magazine, Isabella shared these wise words:
“A good conscience is more to be desired than all the riches of the East. How sweet are the slumbers of him who can lie down on his pillow and review the transactions of every day, without condemning himself! A good conscience is the finest opiate.”
You can find more of Isabella’s words of wisdom to read, print, and share. Just enter “quotables” in the search box to see more.
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Isabella Alden 