--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Frost, Grace Ingles collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 24 number: 11 published: 1921-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Grace Ingles Frost, "Maud Baggarley," *Improvement Era* 24, no. 11 (September 1921): 1020–1021.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera24011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera24011unse start_page: 1020 end_page: 1021 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1921-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera24011unse publication_year: 1921 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1921, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Maud Baggarley 1020 IMPROVEMENT ERA by their teachings; let us hear their testimony and seek to gain one for ourselves; let us render honor, praise, and obedience, that we may have our days prolonged, and after mortal time has ceased that we may abide with them forever. May God speed this little message. May it find its way into the heart of someone and be useful. Denver, Colo. Maud Baggarley By Grace Ingles Frost It is going three years now since Maud Baggarley, success- ful nurse, teacher, author, wife and mother, better known to Era readers as Maud Ellen Baggarley, passed away, November 29, 1918, yet I trust the Editor will not refuse to print these few words in behalf of one who has so often freely contributed to the pages of the Era and other home magazines. She was born in Missouri, September 20, 1879. She was, as it were, a southern rose destined to bloom on northern soil; her father, Charles Baggarley, was born and bred in Kentucky, while from her mother, she inherited some of the best blood of old Virginia. During Maud Baggarley's early childhood, her parents journeyed west, locating first in California and later residing alternately in the states of Oregon and Washington. In the state of Oregon, she received her early scholastic training and in the same state, at the age of nineteen years, she entered a Portland hospital to prepare herself for the profession of her choice. It was there that I first met her, not by chance, but by the divine grace and will of the heavenly Father. In less than two years from the time of our meeting, Maud Baggarley became a mem- ber of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. From the day of her conversion to her last hour on earth, she proved herself a faithful disciple of the truth. By nature, Maud Baggarley was endowed with a wonderful intellect. Her education was broad and her experience wide and varied. As a writer she is best known in the west, though she has also some recognition elsewhere, having had her work published in the Cosmopolitan Magazine, and in other eastern periodicals. Her verse is yet appearing in local magazines. Added to her natural talents and her attainments, she possessed a charm of personality which caused many of her friends to call her "the Sunny Southerner." MAUD BAGGARLEY 1021 One of her chief characteristics was her unimpeachable in- tegrity. The final summons came to Sister Baggarley at her father's home in Washington while attending the funeral of her mother and sister. Her last words were, "Bury me with my people." Like Ruth of old, the God of Israel had become her God, and the people of Israel her people. BEREFT The house wherein you dwelt is desolate, Its echoes speak of days that come no more, The pitter patter of uncertain feet Of each wee one who from your arms to mine, Did tottering wend his way across the floor; Then I beheld the pride of Motherhood Glow in your eyes and glorify your face, As each in turn the journey safely made, And we 'tween us to him, gave lengthened space. O Heart, dear Heart, no more my soul can bear! I leave the empty rooms, the portal close, Perchance, the garden may a solace yield, But blooms no heart's ease in its borders broad: 'Twas here for me you erstwhile plucked the rose Of richest hue and of most fragrance rare; 'Twas here your choicest fruit was to me brought, That from your smile more sweet did grow and fair. And now, I seek the spot where once for you, Fraught with the brightness of a noon-day sun, With forms responsive in their lithesome grace, Unto the breath of each caressing breeze, The blossoms you so cherished everyone, Those deep-lipped golden poppies radiant grew, But here naught greets mine eye save barren sod — Do their immortal sisters bloom for you Where you walk in the Sunshine Land of God? At length with reverent hand I latch the gate, No more will I this habitation view, This lone, lone place where you so lately dwelt; It matters not whoe'er shall dwell therein, What matters it when they can ne'er be you? No more I'll wander down the garden paths, Where arm in arm we strolled in times of yore, And converse held of themes to us most glad, It is too sad when you are here no more.