THE LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

Rare Book Room
GIFT OF

John W. Beckman

/V//V

Page 212.

THE

YOUNG LADY'S

HOME,

MRS. LOUISA C. TUTHILL.

AUTHOR OF " I WILL BE A LADY," " I WILL BE A GENTLEMAlf,'
"MY WIFE," ETC.

"A traveller betwixt life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill,
A perfect woman, nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command ;
And yet a spirit still, and bright,
With something of an angel light."

WORDSWORTH.

PHILADELPHIA:
LINDSAY & BLAKISTON,

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, by
LOUISA C. TUTHILL,

in the clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

STEREOTYPED BY J. FAGAN.

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CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

PAGE

LEAVING SCHOOL 7

CHAPTER I.

FORMATION OF CHARACTER 12

CHAPTER II.

MENTAL CULTURE 15

CHAPTER III.

MEMORY 22

CHAPTER IV.

IMAGINATION 35

CHAPTER V.

JUDGMENT 43

CHAPTER VI.

HISTORY 48

CHAPTER VII.

NATURAL SCIENCE 55

CHAPTER VIII.

ENGLISH LITERATURE , 57

(iii)

iv CONTENTS.

CHAPTER IX.
COMPOSITION 65

CHAPTER X.

MODERN LANGUAGES - 70

CHAPTER XI.

CULTIVATION OF TASTE 73

CHAPTER XII.

PHYSICAL

EDUCATION . , 78

CHAPTER XIII.

POLITENESS 83

CHAPTER XIV.
WOMAN'S HOME INFLUENCE 90

CHAPTER XV.
A DAUGHTER'S DUTY 103

CHAPTER XVI.
A SISTER'S INFLUENCE 120

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ECONOMY OF HOME T 149

CHAPTER XVIII.
DRESS 163

CHAPTER XIX.

CONVERSATION 168

CHAPTER XX.

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME , . . .178

CONTENTS. V

CHAPTER XXI.

FRIENDSHIP 187

CHAPTER XXII.

ACTING FROM GENERAL PRINCIPLES 191

CHAPTER XXIII.

PREJUDICE 198

CHAPTER XXIV.

CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER 207

CHAPTER XXV.

MARRIAGE 212

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY 261

CHAPTER XXVII.

READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES 281

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER 286

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHRISTIAN DUTY. CHEERFULNESS 299

CHAPTER XXX.

CHRISTIAN DUTY. FORGIVENESS AND FORBEARANCE, SELF-
DENIAL, SELF-GOVERNMENT, PRAYER 309

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHRISTIAN USEFULNESS 318

CHAPTER XXXII.

CONCLUSION 325

"There are few individuals whose education has been conducted, in every
respect, with attention and judgment. Almost every man of reflection is con-
scious, when he arrives at maturity, of many defects in his mental powers, and
of many inconvenient habits, which might have been prevented or remedied in hia
infancy or youth. Such a consciousness is the first step towards improvement ;
and the person who feels it, if he is possessed with resolution and steadiness, will
not scruple to begin a new course of education for himself. It is never too late to
think of the improvement of our faculties."

DCG.VLD STEWAPvT.

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THE

YOUNG LADY'S HOME,

INTRODUCTION.

LEAVING SCHOOL.

" Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship formed and cherished here |
And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams."

ISABELLA, CLARA, GERALDINE.

SCENE. A room, with dresses, bonnets, books, music, fyc., scattered about
in dire confusion; the three young ladies employed in packing their
travelling boxes and portmanteaus.

Isabella. Home ! home ! Done with school- for ever !
Delightful! Isn't it, girls, perfectly delightful to be
free as air ? I will not carry home these hateful, hum-
drum books. Hedge's Logic ! a hedge of thorns !
(throwing it across the room.) Brown's Philosophy,
you take up too much room. Cruel Colburn's Sequel,
how many bitter tears you have cost me ! I hope never
to see your ugly faces again.

Clara. But, Isabella, are you going to give up study
entirely ? What will you do with yourself when you
get home ?

8 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

Isabella. Make the most of my little self, create a
sensation, make a dashing debut. You know I am
eighteen, and I am coming out as soon as I get home.
Clara Wilton, that reproving look does n't become you,
dear ! You have toiled and moiled for the gold medal,
and have gained it. What good will it do you ? Per-
haps you intend to wear it on all occasions, suspended
by its yard of blue ribbon around your neck, as the In-
dians do the great silver medals given them by their
kind father, the President.

Clara. Isabella, I value a good education for its own
sake. The medal may testify to my parents that I
have appreciated the advantages they have generously
bestowed. I shall give it to my mother.

Isabella. Well, my parents don't care a sous about
all these sober studies that Goody Blue has bored us
with ; they know it gives one a sort of reputation to be
educated by Mrs. Z., so here I 've been these four
years. They expect me to come out with eclat, and I
do mean to produce a wonderful sensation. I believe
I shall throw the rest of these books overboard to-day,
on my way to New York, just out of spite for the
trouble they have given me.

Geraldine. I shall be half-inclined to join you, for I
do not know what good they will ever do me. What
use shall I ever make of the mathematics and phi-
losophy? '- . V

Clara. You will not find them useless ; you may be
disposed to resume them by yourself, after you have
been home awhile.

Geraldine. J>en doute. I am going to Europe with
my father and mother, to finish my education. We

LEAVING SCHOOL. 9

shall reside a year or two in Paris, and I shall come
home parfaitement Franqaise.

Clara. Parfaitement Franqaise, to reside in this
country and be a good, useful American woman !

Geraldine (laughing). A good, useful American
woman ! How that sounds to ears polite ;" absolutely
vulgar. I seek for something more recherche, more ele-
gant than that. I go abroad to obtain that retenue, that
abandon of manner, that cannot be acquired in this half-
civilized land.

Isabella. And to be laughed at for your abandong, as
you call it, which will sound very droll to French " ears
polite."

Geraldine. That is another object in going to Paris,
to acquire a true Parisian accent. I shall not venture
to speak in foreign society until I have had a master
some months. When I return, two years hence, you
shall have no occasion to laugh at my French.

Isabella. -The French are so ridiculous they are
enough to make a milestone laugh. What are you going
to do, Clara ?

Clara. I expect to continue my studies, that I may
more perfectly understand them. I hope to be useful
to my mother, who has kindly promised to teach me
domestic economy ; so long as life lasts, there will be
knowledge to which I have not attained, virtues to be
perfected, and good to be done ; " vulgar" as it sounds,
my highest aim is to be a good, thorough-going Ameri-
can woman.

Isabella. Spoken like our old country schoolmistress
herself! Pity you could not have mounted her high
cap and green spectacles for the occasion. Keally, she
never made a bettor preachment in her life.

10 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

Clara. Well, girls, be merry if you will at my sober
notions, but let us part kindly; we may never meet
again.

Geraldine. You will both write to me, girls ?

Clara. I will, with pleasure, if you will let me know
your father's foreign address before you sail.

Isabella. I doubt if I shall have time to write to either
of you. I have formed a thousand plans for next winter.
I am still to have a music-master, and must practise at
least three hours a day, or I shall never rival the Hamil-
tons and the Moores, who, papa writes me, play so ex-
quisitely that all the world are in love with them.
Here comes an Atlas in the midst of my music-books,
like a clown in genteel society ; stay where you are,
I am not going to take you to town with your betters.
Shall I put up my French Testament ? No ; I '11 make
you a present of it, Clara, and one of these days you
may give it, with my compliments, to you know who,
that ministerial personage who often glides before
your imagination.

Clara. That personage is all in your own imagina-
tion, Isabella ; but I thank you for the gift, and if I
ever have an opportunity shall present it, with your
compliments, if you will promise to officiate as bride's-
maid on that occasion.

Isabella. Delightful! I'll come, unless I am led to
the hymeneal halter before you.

Geraldine. Invite me too, Clara ; I shall perhaps
have just returned from Europe.

Clara. And will then be, I fear, un peu trop Fran-
gaise.

Geraldine (coldly). C'est possible.

LEAVING SCHOOL. 11

Isabella. Write to me, Clara, now and then, from
your hermitage, and tell me how you endure it; but
don't bore me with too much grave advice.

Clara. I will write to you both (holding out her hand
Idndly to Geraldine) ; forgive me for seeming to reject
your kindness. I thought some whiskerandoed Fran-
$ais might claim you for his bride, long before the time
to which you alluded.

Geraldine. You are forgiven. I know how dearly
you love your own country ; that is your prejudice ;
mine is the other way ; I would give half my expecta-
tions to have been born in France.

Isabella. And I would rather have been bom in New
York, than in any other place on the wide earth.

Clara. And I am only proud of being an American.
North or south, east or west, makes no difference ;
every inch of the United States is home to me. Hark !
There goes Mrs. Z.'s bell, the last time we shall hear
it. Who would have thought that any possible associa-
tion could have made that shrill, tingling bell interesting !
The last time, the last time ; it makes any sound
mournful.

[Exeunt omnes.

CHAPTER I.

FORMATION OF CHARACTER.

" Reason frowns on him who wastes that reflection on a destiny
independent of him, which he ought to reserve for actions of which
he is master." SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.

WHEN a young man has finished his collegiate course
of education, he enters immediately upon the study of
the profession, or into the business, which he is to pur-
sue. He looks forward with eager anticipation to the
time when his name shall be honored among his fellow-
men, or his coffers overflow with wealth, or when he
shall be the messenger of rnercy, and win many from
the error of their ways. His course of study is still
plainly marked out. He does not waste time in the
choice of a pursuit, for his natural talents, the habitual
bias of his mind, or the wishes of friends, have already
decided the question.

Not so with a young lady. Having passed through
the usual studies at school, in a desultory manner,
generally too desultory to produce a disciplined, well-
balanced mind, she considers her education finished,
or continues it without any special object in view.

Perhaps, my young friends, you have been absent for
years from the home of your childhood ; its gayer vis-
ions have flitted away; life begins to assume a sober
reality. Casting a mournful glance of retrospection, you
inquire, Of what value is the little knowledge acquired,

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FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 13

if I go no farther? Like an armory in time of peace,
arranged with much attempt at display, it seems brilliant
and useless. You have, indeed, been collecting the
weapons for life's warfare ; their temper is not yet tried,
but the strife has already begun.

This is the season for castle-building. How fascinat-
ing the rainbow visions that flit before a vivid imagina-
tion, yet how dangerous the indulgence ! Exhausted
with these wanderings wild, lassitude and ennui succeed.

" Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart.

And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight;
To joy each heightening charm it can impart,
But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night."

As their only resource, many young ladies in town
rush with eagerness into society, drowning reflection in
the all-absorbing career of fashionable gayety, filling up
its brief intervals with novel-reading. They whose home
is in the country are disgusted with this working- day
world, " and its plain, good folks. Their refined edu-
cation has unfitted them for cordial companionship with
their friends and neighbours, whose useful common sense
they cannot appreciate, and whose virtues, unadorned
by the graces of polished life, they cannot admire. Too
often, making no effort to settle themselves to the em-
ployments that should now devolve upon them, they live
in a world of their own creation, or find one equally
well fitted to their taste in the contents of the nearest
circulating library.

Instead of wasting this precious period in fascinating
dreams of future happiness, in enervating idleness, or
unsatisfying gayety, let me urge upon you, my kind
readers, the importance of the present golden moments.
Sheltered beneath the paternal roof, guarded from out-
2

14 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

ward evil by the vigilance of love, the perplexing cares
and overwhelming anxieties of life are not yet yours.
You now enjoy the best possible opportunity to gain a
knowledge of yourself, your disposition, habits, preju-
dices, purposes, acquirements, deficiences, principles.
Much may have been done for you by parents and
teachers ; the strength of the foundation they have laid
will be tested by 'the superstructure, which must be built
by yourself. Cheerfully, then, commence that self-
education, without which all other education is compara-
tively useless. Shrink not from your high responsibili-
ties ; He who has encompassed you with them will give
you strength for their fulfilment. Has He not showered
benefits upon you with unsparing hand ? Your country,
is it not a blessed one? Parents, kindred, friends,
talents, and the means for improving them, com-
petence, wealth, does not your heart overflow with
gratitude to the Giver? Even now, he grants you that
quiet home, where you may prepare yourself for another,
with more tender affections and more solemn responsi-
bilities, and for another still beyond, and not very far
distant, a home in heaven.

Woman's lot may be deemed a Jowly one, by those
who look not into the deeper mysteries of human life ;
who know not the silent, resistless influences that mould
the intellectual and moral character of mankind. Wo-
man's lot is a high and holy one ; and she " who fulfils
the conditions required by conscience takes the surest
way of answering the purposes of Providence." Con-
scientiously and cheerfully, then, go on with your own
education, mental, physical, and moral.

CHAPTER II.

MENTAL CULTURE.

" Past and future are the wings,
On whose support, harmoniously conjoined,
Moves the great spirit of human knowledge."

WORDSWORTH.

THE traveller, resting for a moment upon a com-
manding eminence, views with interest the ground he
has already passed over. The sunny hills and green
vales still smile upon him ; the rugged pathways, the
fearful precipices, the deep rivers, are lessened to insig-
nificance in the distance ; the road seems short and easy ;
taking courage from past success, he presses onward
with cheerful hope and renewed energy.

Thus, my young friends, let us take a review of the
past, and, seeing what progress you have already made,
find encouragement for new efforts and unfaltering perse-
verance.

You have " been tutored in several desperate sci-
ences." After the usual course of elementary studies,
you have pursued, to some extent, the mathematics.
You have often wondered, while puzzling over a propo-
sition in geometry, or a problem in arithmetic or alge-
bra, what possible advantage you could derive from it ;
if you have no mathematical genius, the task was borne
with little patience. The direct advantage you may

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never perceive ; for if you go abroad, you will not meas-
ure Alpine heights, or if you stay at home, you will not
calculate eclipses ; but indirectly, you will be benefited
through life, by that increase of power in mind itself
which this study has undoubtedly produced.

If it has unfortunately happened, through your own
negligence, or that of your instructers, that your mind
wants discipline, it is by no means too late to remedy
the defect. If you have leisure which no other duty
imperiously demands, go through with the first six books
of Euclid's Geometry, by yourself, if possible ; if not,
with the aid of a friend or teacher. What you submit
to at first as a task, may soon become a source of pleas-
ure ; whenever it does so, the point is gained ; you have
learned to fix the attention, and to reason with clearness
and precision.

Mental philosophy. Doubtless this has proved an
agreeable study ; if only learned, however, from a mea-
gre class-book, it is not sufficient. Read Stewart's
Philosophy, and make a careful analysis of it. Let me
recommend another very useful little work, now some-
what out of fashion, Watts on the Mind. This still re-
tains its place in some seminaries, but in general has
been supplanted by more recent publications. Your
main object at this time must be, to acquire a knowledge
of your own mind, its capabilities and wants ; make a
thorough investigation, take its " gauge and dimensions."

Acuteness of sensation and quickness of perception
depend originally upon organization ; yet even these may
be greatly increased, as we see in the case of the blind,
whose other senses become so vigilant and discriminat-
ing. Attention, close, habitual attention, stimulated by

MENTAL, CULTURE. 17

necessity, thus increases the blind man's sense of hear-
ing, of touch, and even of smelling -and taste. Atten-
tion is a faculty much under the control of the will ;
upon its careful cultivation, the concept! ve faculty, the
memory, and the judgment all depend. To ascertain
whether this faculty has been favorably developed, we
must inquire what are our habits of reading, of study,
and of thought.

The hasty, indiscriminating perusal of the host of an-
nuals, scrap-books, and pamphlets that crowd the centre-
table not only vitiates taste, but is destructive to atten-
tion. A literary souvenir may be taken up during a
morning call, if your friend keep you waiting half an
hour or more, while she makes her elaborate toilet, and
if your habits of attention are good, the time will not be
entirely lost ; an engraving, or a flower, may afford sub-
jects for attention and reflection, and even well-chosen
furniture and its neat and tasteful arrangement may give
you a lesson in housekeeping. To the well-regulated
mind no time nor place can be destitute of suggestive
objects of profitable thought. But to return to reading.
Does your mind fix with a firm grasp upon every leading
thought ? Can you become so completely absorbed as
to be unconscious, page after page, whether you are in
the body or out of the body ? And this, not in the en-
trancing pages of a novel alone, but in history or philos-
ophy. Or do you revel in fairy-land, while your eyes
glide over the pages without conveying a single idea to
the mind ? The story has often been told of the mis-
chievous wag, who moved back from day to day his
friend's mark in the book he was reading. The poor
fellow, opening honestly at the mark each day, read over

and over the same pages, till at length, a gleam of recol-
lection coming over his mind, he exclaimed, " Well,
it really seems to me, as if, somehow, I must have read
this before."

In a moral point of view, attention to what is passing
around us is a duty. How often may we deceive others
in matters of consequence, if we walk blindfolded through
the world. How complicated, how perplexed, is the
narrative of a heedless person, even when he is describ-
ing an event of which he has been an eyewitness ! It is
next to impossible for such an one to carry on a clear,
consecutive train of thought. Truth is often violated,
or, at least, the veracity of conversation is doubtful,
where this defect exists in a high degree. Like the
dubious man described by Cowper,

" His evidence, if he were called by law
To swear to some enormity he saw,
For want of prominence and just relief,
Would hang an honest man, and save the thief
Useless in him alike both brain and speech,
Fate having placed all truth above his reach ;
His ambiguities his total sum,
He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb."

The faculty of attention is often impaired for life by
habitual reverie. When you are employed with your
needle, fair reader, you are often building chateaux d'Es-
pagne, and may think it hard to be denied the delicious
enjoyment. The trifling mechanical employment of the
fingers is a gentle promoter of thought, and many an
hour may pass most profitably to mind in this manner,
if your thoughts are rightly directed. Recall some book
that you have studied ; analyze it ; compare it with what-
ever else you may have read on the same subject. Or take

MENTAL CULTURE. 19

some subject of practical moment, contentment, for
example ; arrange in order all the reasons you have for
it, count over the rich blessings that cluster around you,
until your heart overflows with gratitude.

Attention, we know, must form the basis of memory ;
difference of taste and sentiment produces difference of
association of ideas.

Three young ladies may have studied the history of
the reign of Elizabeth of England. The manners,
dress, and fashion of those days interested the first.
The second dwelt with delight upon the character of
the men of genius who immortalized that reign. While
the third was most attracted by the character and con-
duct of Elizabeth herself. Some one asks in their
presence, "Will the reign of Victoria rival that of
Elizabeth ?" The picture before the mind's eye of the
first is the chivalric cavalier, with silken suit and em-
broidered cloak, bowing to his lady-love, who rejoiceth
in broad ruff and stiff brocade, assaulting her heart with
euphuistic compliment. The second asks, Where is the
Burleigh to guide the counsels, or the Spenser and the
Shakspeare to glorify this reign ? The third immediately
draws a parallel between the education and early char-
acter of the royal maidens. And so far all is well ; each
follows her taste, but her attention has probably been too
exclusively fixed upon her favorite subjects. The first,
when asked about Sir Anthony Cook and his daughters,
does not remember that such persons existed. The
second might laugh outright, if asked how Elizabeth was
apparelled, and how many dresses she had in her ward-
robe at the time of her death. Inquire of the third
how the Spanish Armada was arranged for battle, she

remembers nothing in connection with it, excepting the
royal heroine riding down the ranks and haranguing the
soldiers. If your attention has been thus despotically
ruled by your peculiar tastes and partialities, it is high
time to correct the error. Read first the index of a
book, and know what are the topics of most practical
value ; what knowledge it contains of which you are
ignorant ; what that you ought to be most anxious to fix
in memory. Mark such subjects with your pencil, and
in the course of reading rivet your attention upon them.
Absence of mind has been so long considered a mark
of genius, that few take pains to avoid the pernicious
habit. It is one of the infirmities of great minds, and
is almost unpardonable, even when associated with the
overpowering splendor of superior talents. It is no pos-
itive proof of genius ; the weakest minds are prone to
extreme absence. This is very different from the power
of abstraction, which belongs, in a preeminent degree,
only to minds of the highest order. It is peculiarly in-
convenient for women to be absent-minded. The thou-
sand and one daily cares and employments, which must
each receive due attention in a well-ordered household,
render it necessary for a woman to have her thoughts
always about her. Suppose, at the head of her dinner-
table, she falls into a fit of absence ; her guests are
neglected, the servants are at fault, and make dozens of
blunders in consequence of hers, and when at last she
comes back again, she resumes the conversation where
it had been dropped, ten minutes before, much to the
amusement or embarrassment of her guests, and her own
and her husband's mortification. An absent-minded
woman cannot be uniformly polite. She may be kindly

MENTAL CULTURE. 21

disposed and perfectly well-bred, yet she will pass her
most intimate friend in the street without speaking to
her ; take the most convenient and comfortable seat at a
neighbour's fireside, appropriated to an aged and infirm
member of the family; fix her eyes in church upon
some one until the person is exceedingly annoyed and
embarrassed ; interrupt conversation by remarks entirely
irrelevant, and commit many other peccadilloes while
under this temporary alienation of mind, which would
shock her, at another time, as offending against the plain-
est rules of propriety.

CHAPTER III.

MEMORY.

"When I plant a choice flower in a fertile soil, I see nature pres-
ently to thrust up with it the stinging nettle, the poisonous hemlock,
the drowsy poppy, and many such noisome weeds, which will either
choke my plant, with excluding the sun, or divert its nourishment to
themselves; but if I weed but these at first, my flower thrives to its
goodness and glory." WARWICK.

MEMORY, glorious treasure-house of mind! Earth,
with all its pageantry, shall pass away, but memory shall
survive, endless source of bliss or woe. We cannot
realize the full import of this truth; if we could, very
different would be our pursuits.

Locke says, " Memory is of so great moment, that
where it is wanting all the rest of our faculties are in a
great measure useless ; and we, in our thoughts, reason-
ings, and knowledge, could not proceed beyond present
objects, were it not for the assistance of memory, where-
in there may be two defects ; first, that it loses the idea
quite, and so far it produces perfect ignorance. Sec-
ondly, that it moves slowly, and retrieves not the ideas
that it has, and are laid up in store, quick enough to
serve the mind upon occasions. This, if it be in a great
degree, is stupidity ; and he who, jrough this default in
his memory, has not the ideas that are really preserved
there, ready at hand when need and occasion call for
them, were almost as good be without them quite, since
they serve him to very little purpose."

The vague ideas in a weak mind are at best " the base

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MEMORY. 23

less fabric of a vision," and time's effacing finger soon
obliterates them. In order that an idea should be re-
tained, it is necessary that the attention should be fixed
upon it, and the conception of it perfect. We are not
aware how many of the thoughts of others, that we have
labored to fix in our minds, passed rapidly away because
we did not perfectly understand them ; the conception
of them was incomplete, yet, as we had the shadow of
an idea, we were satisfied ; it was too much trouble to
examine it thoroughly until it assumed a definite form,
and would thus have retained a " local habitation" in
memory. Instructers cannot know whether children
perfectly comprehend what they learn. We probably all
remember having recited lessons very glibly, and having
received the commendations of our teacher, when we
knew no more of the true meaning of the lesson than if
it had been in Hebrew. You are now old enough to be
emancipated from the rote-system, that thraldom of
mind which enchains all its faculties, and so weakens them
that for a long time they cannot act with natural energy.

Minds of much quickness and vivacity are prone to
take ideas in this vague, confused manner, and all their
knowledge, while they do so, will be superficial. They
should check their too rapid thoughts until they become
distinct and true, and patiently go over a subject until
they are certain the conception of it is complete.

Stewart tells us, the qualities of a good memory are
susceptibility, retentiveness, and readiness.

By the first, he means easiness of impression ; as the
wax yields to the. signet, so should the mind take the
perfect impress of every subject ; but not like the wax,
which so easily melts away, leaving not a trace ; the mind
should retain its images like sculptor's marble, and,

moreover, should be quick to produce them when they
are needed.

Classification is a powerful auxiliary to memory. In
a well-ordered mind, every new fact is immediately re-
ferred to its proper place, just as in botany a newly-dis-
covered plant is set down in its class and order ; and if
the genus is already known, it forms a new species under
it. If you once acquire the habit of placing every idea
in its category, a chain will be formed over which mem-
ory will pass like electricity.

Look into your own mind, and see if every thing lies
there in a heterogeneous mass. It may appear, at first
sight, as does this terrene sphere to uninquisitive igno-
rance, a mass of rough materials, thrown together
without order or arrangement. The scientific geologist
reduces the whole to order. He discovers the regular
strata of rocks covering the globe, and demonstrates the
uniformity of the series, from the imperishable granite to
the crumbling sandstone upon its surface. Lay down
first principles, as the granite foundation upon which you
are to build the whole superstructure of knowledge.

Habits of correct association of ideas aid memory.
It is not our intention to go into the depths of mental
philosophy, but only to suggest a few practical hints, in
simple language, that you may be induced to pursue the
subject much farther.

Ideas are so associated in the mind, that the presence
of one suggests another.

The associations in common, uninstructed minds are
those of time and place, resemblance and contrast. The
following couplet of Swift's may serve as an illustration
of the first; others, from Shakspeare, will undoubtedly
occur to your minds.

MEMORY.

4 Yes," says the steward, " I remember when I was at my Lady

Shrewsbury's,
Such a thing as this happened, just about the time of gooseberries /"

More philosophical associations are those of cause and
effect, premises and conclusion, genus and species, &c.

To assist memory, and to form a habit of philosophi-
cal association, it is of use to arrange a Mnemonica, or
commonplace-book, and to write down under the sepa-
rate divisions what you most wish to retain. All know-
ledge may be said to consist of FACTS, SENTIMENTS,
and PRINCIPLES ; and this may furnish a simple classifi-
cation for such a Mnemonica. Divide a blank book into
three parts, reserving one half or two thirds for the first
part, and the remainder divide equally for the two after
parts.

I. FACTS.

Allow two or three pages under this division for eatu
of the following subdivisions; namely,

1. RELIGIOUS.

2. POLITICAL.

3. LITERART.

4. SCIENTIFIC.

5. PRACTICAL.

6. MILITARY.

These may be extended much farther.

II. PRINCIPLES.

1. AXIOMS.

2. GENERAL TRUTHS.

3. CAUSE, OR ORIGIN.

4. ELEMENTS, OR CONSTITUENT PA.BTS.

III. SENTIMENTS.

1. RELIGIOUS.

2. MORAL.

3. POETICAL.

Such a Mnemonica will be found very useful ; but
do not rely too much and too long upon it. Memory is
like a true friend, the more you confide in her the
better she serves you.

Various systems of artificial memory have been in-
vented, but they are of doubtful utility. It is far better
to form habits of correct classification, than to depend
upon the arbitrary and often ridiculous associations of
systems of mnemonics. Feinagle's system has been
one of the most celebrated. The foundation of it is in
locality, or the association of place. He divides a room
into compartments ; sides, ceiling, and floor are each
divided into nine parts. " In order to remember a se-
ries of words, they are put in the several squares or
places, and the recollection of them is assisted by asso-
ciating some idea of relation between the objects and
their situation ; and, as we find by experience that
whatever is ludicrous is calculated to make a strong im-
pression upon the mind, the more ridiculous the associ-
ation the better. To illustrate this idea, Mr. Feinagle
places the names of certain sensible objects in the differ-
ent compartments, and connects the ideas of their images
by some story, so as to make it almost impossible to
forget the order in which they are arranged." All this
complicated apparatus is first to be fixed in the memory.
In the first square you have a pump, perhaps ; in the
second, a monkey; in the third, a fool's cap, and so on.
If you wish to remember a sermon, enter into your
mnemonical room, hang the first division of the dis-
course upon the pump-handle, place the second on
the monkey's head, and the third in the fool's cap.
By these arbitrary and ludicrous associations, you are to

MEMORY. 27

fix them in memory. Surely, there can be no real utility
in such an absurd system.

The memory of words and the memory of ideas
are very different. Numerous instances of wonderful
memory of the first kind are given. Seneca, in his
youth, could repeat two thousand words, in their order,
after hearing them once. Joseph Scaliger could re-
peat the contents of whole books in foreign languages.
Kl op stock, the German poet, when a boy at school,
could recite the whole of Homer's Iliad. An English-
man once came to Frederick the Great, of Prussia, for
the purpose of giving him some specimens of his extra-
ordinary memory. Frederick sent for Voltaire, who
read to his Majesty a pretty long poem, which he had
just finished. The Englishman was concealed in such a
manner as to be able to hear every word that was said.
When Voltaire had concluded, Frederick remarked thai
a foreign gentleman would immediately repeat the same
poem to him, and therefore it could not be original.
Voltaire listened with astonishment to the stranger's
declamation, and then fell into a great rage and tore the
manuscript in pieces. When Frederick informed him
of his mistake, the Englishman again dictated to Voltaire
the whole poem, with perfect correctness !

It is impossible for us now to discover whether these
efforts were owing to a naturally strong memory, which
had been habitually exercised, or to artificial memory :
probably to the former.

The memory of events and of ideas may be good,
when that of words is very defective. Both should be
cultivated in due proportion. It is better to enrich the
memory with a fine sentiment, or a beautiful piece of
poetry, than to doom it to banishment in your portfolio.

28 THE YOUNG LADY J S HOME.

which is, generally, only one way of consigning it to
oblivion.

It has been often asserted, that a very superior memory
is seldom found in connection with invention, or with
uncommon judgment. A memory of words may not be ;
but that which depends upon powerful conception, or
philosophical arrangement, may be very tenacious of
ideas, even where there is genius of the highest order, or
the most consummate judgment.

" Maria Gaetana Agnesi, a lady of extraordinary
genius and most extensive acquirements, was bom at
Milan, on the 15th of May, 1718. Her father, Pietro
Agnesi, of Milan, was royal feudatory of Monteveglia
and its dependencies ; and being a man of some rank
and consequence, he was disposed, from paternal affec-
tion, to provide suitably for the education of his infant
daughter, who gave the most striking indications of tal-
ent. From her tenderest years she discovered a won-
derful aptness, and a vehement desire for acquiring lan-
guages. Under the direction of proper masters, she
studied at the very same time the Latin and Greek, the
French and German; and while the rapidity of her
progress excited universal astonishment, such were the
prodigious powers of her memory that she could easily
pursue these diversified objects without feeling the small-
est degree of confusion. When yet scarcely nine years
old, this surprising child delivered a Latin oration, to
prove that the cultivation of letters is not inconsistent
with the female character, before an assembly of learned
persons, invited to her father's house.

" At the age of eleven, the young Agnesi could, not
only read Greek, and translate it instantly into Latin, but
..ould even speak that refined language, and with the same

MEMORY. 529

ease and fluency as if it had been her native tongue.
Nor did these acquisitions absorb her whole attention ;
a nobler field was opened to the exercise of her mental
faculties. She now began to read Euclid's Elements,
and proceeded in algebra fcs far as quadratic equations.
Thus prepared, she advanced with ardor to the study of
natural philosophy ; but, not content with the sober
truths there unfolded, she soared to the heights of met-
aphysics, and engaged in the most abstruse and intricate
disquisitions of that contentious science.

" After the young lady had attained the age of four-
teen, her father, anxious to forward her ardor for im-
provement, and willing to gratify her ambition for literary
distinction, invited occasionally to his house a number
of persons, the most respectable in Milan by their rank
and learning. In the midst of this grave auditory,
Donna Agnesi made her appearance, and without re-
signing the native delicacy of her sex, she maintained a
new thesis on various difficult parts of philosophy, and
handled the arguments with such dexterity and com-
manding eloquence, as singly to vanquish every oppo-
nent that entered the field of controversy. These dis-
putations were carried on, all of them, in the Latin lan-
guage, which she spoke with the utmost ease, purity, and
copious elegance. Every thing conspired to heighten
the impression produced on the admiring spectators.
In the full bloom of youth, her person agreeable, her
manner graceful, an air of gentleness and modesty gave
irresistible charms to her whole demeanour.

"Such, for several years, was the great theatre of
her glory. But having nearly completed the circle of
philosophy, and exhausted the chief topics of discus-
sion, she resolved at length to close that career with a
3*

30 THE YOUNG LADY ? S HOME.

solemnity suitable to the occasion. In the year 1738,
at the age of twenty, Agnesi made her last brilliant dis-
play before an august assembly, composed of the most
learned and illustrious of the Milanese nobility, the
senators, and foreign ministers, with the most distin-
guished professors in all the branches of science and
literature. The substance of these philosophical con-
ferences was afterwards published in a quarto volume,
in Latin.

" Agnesi now bent her whole attention to the culture
of mathematics ; and without guide or assistance, she
composed a very useful commentary on L'Hospital's
Conic Sections, which is said still to exist in manuscript.
In the sublimer departments of that science, her studies
were directed by the matured experience of Rampinelli,
Professor of Mathematics in the University of Pisa;
but she soon gave proofs of her amazing proficiency in
digesting a complete body of the modern calculus.
This excellent work, entitled, "Analytical Institutions
for the Use of the Italian Youth," appeared in 1748, in
two volumes, quarto, and was highly esteemed by the
judges, and justly regarded as exhibiting the fullest and
clearest views of the state of the science at that period.
She was, in consequence, elected by acclamation a
member of the Institute of Science of Bologna ; and
the Pope farther conferred on her the title of Professor
of Mathematics in the University of that city.

" But Agnesi was already sated with literary fame.
That sun which in its ascent had shone forth with such
dazzling radiance was, through the rest of its course,
shrouded in clouds and darkness. The fever of genius
had preyed on her rnind, and the high fit of excitement
was quickly succeeded by a hopeless depression of

MEMORY. 31

spirits. She repelled the seductions of human learning,
and abandoned for ever her favorite mathematical pur-
suits. Renouncing the vanities of this world, she with-
drew from society,-embraced a life of religious seclusion,
and sunk by degrees into the languor of religious melan-
choly. She studied nothing but Hebrew, and the rhap-
sodies of the Greek fathers of the Church. For up-
wards of twenty years she denied all access to strangers.
Indulging that gloomy temper, she retired into a con-
vent, and assumed the habit of a blue nun. She sought
to forget the world, and was herself forgotten."

<! And wliat, alas ! is human fame

To woman's heart? A cold, vain word,
Impalpable as air, a name

For feeling blighted, hope deferred,
Visions o'ershaded, thoughts that steal

The secrets of the heart away ;
For all that lofty souls may feel

When, in their prison-house of clay,
They half reveal their holier light,

And cast abroad the splendor given
To burn but in the Giver's sight,

Upon the altar-shrine of heaven."

Let us hope that Maria Agnesi, with her wonderful
talents, was not left without the consolations of true re-
ligion. Let us believe, that during that long and gloomy
seclusion, there were occasional bright revealings of a
world of purity and happiness, and that her clear and
comprehensive mind, though shackled by an absurd
creed, shook off at last its trammels, and rejoiced in the
glorious liberty of a true follower of Jesus Christ.

To this bright but melancholy example of genius, we
add one from our own age and country, far more lovely
and attractive. One " early loved and early lost" ;
whose memory has been embalmed in a sweet memorial,
written by a young lady, her intimate friend. The close

of her life furnishes a striking contrast to that of the
gifted Maria Agnesi.

"Hers was. a mind entirely unlike that of common
characters, peculiarly individual in its nature. It was a
clear, vigorous, and well-balanced mind. There was
great maturity, and independence, and discrimination, in
her habits of thought ; and an enlargement of views,
that led her to examine a subject in all its bearings.

" She had true poetic genius, and early manifested it.
The world in which her imagination lived was altogether
a different place from that inhabited by common minds,
for it was peopled with the bright and beautiful creations
of her own genius.

" But, notwithstanding her poetic temperament, she
applied herself closely to study, and made high and va-
rious attainments. And she preferred those studies that
taxed her powers to the utmost, and required the deepest
reflection.

" Some have supposed that she studied so hard as to
injure her health ; her friends consider this a mistake.
She almost invariably exercised great judgment and dis-
cretion in regard to the^amount of time she devoted to
study. She did not spend as great a proportion of each
day in study as many scholars do ; but she had an un-
common power of abstraction, and when she studied
she applied herself to it closely and in earnest.

" She never entertained that absurd notion, which is
too prevalent among young ladies, that her education
was completed when she left school. She felt then that
she had taken only the first step in the pursuit of know-
ledge, and saw before her with delight

'The varied fields of science, ever new,
Opening, and wider opening to the view,'

MEMORY. 33

and she went on, through life, with unwearied per-
severance, in the acquisition of valuable knowledge.
Mathematics and mental philosophy were decidedly her
favorite studies before she left school. In mathematics
she had pursued a very thorough course through trigo-
nometry. In mental philosophy, she had studied with
care the works of Stewart and Brown, and in the latter
part of her life, Edwards on the Will and some of the
works of Coleridge. From the last-mentioned author
she thought she derived much more benefit than from
either of the others. But her study of mental philoso-
phy did not consist merely in collecting various opinions
and theories from books. It was rather deep and pa-
tient thought, enlivened occasionally by an animated
discussion of difficult points with some intimate friend.

" She had a good knowledge of Latin, and had read
numerous authors in that language. Those who are best
qualified to judge, spoke of her knowledge of Greek as
being considerable. She had studied with great interest
a part of the works of Xenophon and Homer, one vol-
ume of Plato, and some parts of the New Testament.
She read French with great ease. During the last few
months of her life, she acquired some knowledge of
German, and was greatly interested in and delighted
with this language. She said, in a letter to a friend,
written shortly after she commenced the study, I
do not know why it is, but the German words are com-
pletely fixed in my memory. Indeed, there is some-
thing in the German that fastens "itself upon the mind
strangely."

" She occasionally had some doubts in regard to the
utility of her studies ; and, once or twice, thought of
giving them up partially or entirely.

" These scruples soon vanished. She thus writes to
her friend : You will smile when I tell you that I
have commenced studying again, with great zeal. I
have discovered one thing, at least ; that is, that some
hard study, every day, is absolutely necessary for my
health ; and while I study Phaedo and the Tusculan
Questions, I think my conscience will not trouble me
any more on that score. The more I read Plato and
Cicero, the more I am convinced that I may study them
with profit.'

" In another letter she writes : c I lately met with
a sentiment, in a piece of Dana's, which I know will
delight you ; at least if you dwell upon it a moment or
two, for its most obvious meaning is not the most strik-
ing, " Religion ought to be the home of our thoughts."
Is it not beautiful ? How like the sweet soothing feel-
ings, which fill our hearts when we return to our homes,
are those which steal upon us with the thoughts of the
love and mercy of our Almighty Father! There is rest
and peace for the weary mind, and balm and warmth for
the chilled and wounded affections.' It was but a few
weeks after she wrote this, that she went to dwell for
ever among the invisible realities that had long been the
home of her thoughts.

" So should we live, that every hour
May die as dies the natural flower,
A self-reviving thing of power;

"That every thought and every deed
May hold within itself the seed
Of future good and future meed."

CHAPTER IV.

IMAGINATION.

"Not willingly in his presence would I behold the sun setting be-
hind out mountains, or listen to a tale of distress or virtue; I should
be ashamed of the quiet tear on my own cheek.' ; COLERIDGE.

THE word Imagination has been perverted from its
true signification, and used in various others. In com-
mon parlance, it stands for memory and for conception.
For example : "I cannot imagine what you said to me
yesterday," for, "I cannot remember." "I have not
seen my most intimate friend for a year, and cannot im-
agine how she looks," meaning, "I cannot conceive,"
&c. We say, too, when we are lost in thought, that
something occupies our imagination, when it is in fact
an act of reflection. Metaphysicians describe imagina-
tion as that power of the mind which is exerted in the
selection and formation of new combinations of ideas.
When we summon at will any particular class of ideas,
it is sometimes called Fancy. A creative imagination
must have the aid of conception, judgment, abstraction,
and taste. It is the power that inspires the poet, the
historical painter, and the landscape-gardener. To en-
joy and appreciate the efforts of their genius, we must
possess no inconsiderable degree of imagination.

The poet may give to " airy nothings a local habita-
tion and a name," but if his reader has neither concep-

(35)

36 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

tion nor imagination, they remain in his mind " things
invisible."

The painter's delineation of passion, or of noble and
virtuous sentiments brought into action, may strike the
sight agreeably, but calls forth no throb of sympathy
where there is no imagination. Neither will the beautiful
wood, the velvet lawn, the limpid river with its spark-
ling cascade, the secluded hermitage, the more classic
temple and gray ruin, when combined by the skill of the
artist in imitation of living landscape, affect an ordinary
mind, destitute of imagination, more than any other
combination of earth, wood, and water.

" A primrose on the river's brim,

A yellow primrose was to him,

And it was nothing more."

But the absence or weakness of imagination affects not
the taste alone ; it may exert a potent influence upon
the moral character.

Sensibility depends chiefly upon imagination.

Observe the effect produced by the reading of Shak-
speare's Lear upon two young ladies of different charac-
ter. Observe the quivering lip, the moistening eye, the
trembling voice of one, while that master-spirit reveals
Regan and Goneril's filial ingratitude and cruelty, and
the faithful Cordelia's simple and tender affection. See
the other turn a cold, dull eye of wonder upon her friend
who is thus moved, or curl her lip in scorn at what she
deems weakness or affectation.

Some of the coldness and selfishness existing in the
world have been traced by philosophy to a want of im-
agination. She who steps over the low threshold of
poverty, and takes her seat by the humble bed of sick-

IMAGINATION. 37

ness, without one gieam of imagination to reveal the
deep and hidden miseries of the sufferer who lies there,
cannot offer sympathy as true, as acceptable, as one
whose imagination at once portrays all the gloomy ac-
companiments of poverty and woe, and by a natural
transition makes herself the sufferer. The latter may
smooth the pillow with a more trembling hand, and pre-
sent the healing cup with less firmness ; but the thrilling
voice of kindness, and the beautiful glow of sympathetic
tenderness, find their ready way to the sufferer's heart.
In this case we suppose, of course, that sensibility is un-
der the control of right reason. The one whose heart
is thus softened will make greater sacrifices of personal
comfort and convenience than the less imaginative one,
who, because she cannot conceive of suffering, and can-
not, by any possibility, place herself in the same situa-
tion, remains unmoved and comparatively selfish. We
are to suppose in this case, that they are both governed
by principle, and that the desire to do good has brought
them both to the home of poverty.

Imagination is a powerful incentive to virtue; it
exalts the standard of excellence, enlarges the sphere
of benevolent action, and vividly depicts the glories of
a future state of reward. It thus gives wings to that
faith which is "the substance of things hoped for, and
the evidence of things not seen."

Who doubts that Howard, by his solitary fireside,
often called up those pictures of misery, the grates,
chains, and dungeons of incarcerated men, until he was
led to minister to their wants and woes ? Or, that the
missionary has often portrayed the miseries of those
" who sit in darkness," until he resolves to venture life
4

38 THE YOUNG LADv's HOME.

itself to bear to them the light of truth ? Or, that the
servant and soldier of Christ, who has contemplated the
character of St. Paul until he has formed a perfect con-
ception of it, would be warmed in zeal and stimulated
to action, by imagining Paul surrounded by his own du-
ties and responsibilities?

Imagination often leads to trustfulness of disposition
and warmth of friendship. The bright side of charac-
ter presents itself, embellished with hues of the mind's
creation. Virtues cluster around the loved, and trans-
form them from the weakness and sinfulness of human
nature to perfection. A distinguished female writer of
our -own times says, " I never met in real life, nor ever
read in tale or history, of any woman, distinguished for
intellect of the highest order, who was not also remarkable
for this trustingness of spirit, this hopefulness and cheer-
fulness of temper, which is compatible with the most
serious habits of thought, and the most profound sensi-
bility."

But we are compelled to acknowledge that the noble
power of imagination is often uncontrolled by reason,
especially in the female mind.

An ill-regulated imagination may produce too great
exhilaration and too ardent expectations, or morbid sen-
sibility and causeless melancholy.

If all objects are to you couleur de rose, it seems
cruel to rob them of this facinating charm. Yet the
sober coloring of truth best suits the mental eye ; it is
like the refreshing green in which nature has clothed her
fields and groves, it does not "dazzle to blind";
but a too vivid imagination, like the aurora borealis,
throws upon all objects its beautiful but unnatural hue.

IMAGINATION. 39

You imagine yourself a heroine, and exult in your air-
built castles ; how can you descend to the homely reali-
ties of life ? You picture a " sweet little isle of your
own," with all the means and appliances for happiness ;
how will this world of sober reality disgust you !

Perhaps you have already met with disappointment,
and are sinking into a state of sickly sentimental-
ism. You sit at your window by moonlight, and sigh to
the echoing breeze ; you scribble a dolorous ode to her
pale ladyship, complaining of the fickleness of friend-
ship, the unsyrnpathizing world, and the heart's loneli-
ness. Your pillow is nightly bedewed with tears, but
for what, or for whom, it is impossible to tell. Your
griefs flow from the wild and disjointed views of your
situation, furnished by an ill-regulated imagination,
combinations of circumstances such as never did and
never will come within your own experience. Zimmer-
man tells us, that " the learned Molanus, having, during
a course of many years, detached his mind from all ob-
jects of sense, neglected all seasonable and salutary di-
version, and, given an uncontrolled license to the imagina-
tion, fancied, in the latter part of his life, that he was a bar-
leycorn; and although he received his friends with great
courtesy and politeness, and conversed upon subjects
both of science and devotion with great ease and ingenu-
ity, he could never afterwards be persuaded to stir from
home, lest, as he expressed his apprehension, he should be
picked up in the streets and swallowed by a fowl." This
author adds, "The female mind is still more subject
to these delusions of disordered fancy ; for as their feel-
ings are more exquisite and their imaginations more
active than those of the other sex, solitude, when earned

40 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

to excess, affects them in a much greater degree '
Beware, " gentle reader" ; you are not much in danger
of imagining yourself a barleycorn, but you may think
yourself a heroine, and be picked up by some fool whom
you fancy a hero. Pardon me ; you will smile at your
own follies, when sobered by coming years and the
rough realities of life. To prevent imagination from
leading you far from duty and happiness,

1. Inquire earnestly what are the object and end of
your existence. You will find they are too serious and
momentous to allow you to dream away any part of life.
A brief probation, involving the interests of eternity,
demands all your energies.

2. Learn your true condition in life, and enter active-
ly into its duties. Regular employment will give you a
healthy tone of mind, as well as invigorate the body.
Early rising and laborious occupation are admirable cor-
rectives to a disordered fancy.

3. Endeavor to relieve or to alleviate the sufferings
which come within your reach. Instead of wasting your
feelings upon fictitious sorrow, seek out that which is
real, and be zealous in the ministry of consolation.

4. Read books of sound reasoning or sober fact ; ab-
jure novels, and deny yourself, for a time, the luxury of
poetry of a sentimental character.

5. Cultivate and learn to value the society of people
of practical plain sense ; they will teach you the folly of
romantic expectations ; by contrasting their cheerful
contentment with an humble lot with your own wild reach-
ings after ideal happiness, you may learn to extract com-
fort from your condition. The imagination and sensi-
bility that are elementary constituents of poetical genius

IMAGINATION. 41

often bring misery to their gifted possessor. Common-
sense is needed as a balance-wheel. But there may be
some who have been so closely fastened down to matters
of fact, that imagination has been entirely repressed.
There is, however, little danger in youth of clipping too
closely the wings of fancy. Carefully cultivate atten-
tion, conception, judgment, abstraction, and imagi-
nation will usually take care of itself. Still it is possible
that, either from education or from temperament, there
may be but little imagination. If so, endeavor to soar
a little in fancy-land. Read the Merchant of Venice.
It is very far from being one of Shakspeare's most ima-
ginative plays, and is on that very account better to
begin with. Read it thrice; first for the story, then
for the characters, especially that of Portia. Mrs.
Jameson's splendid development of this character in her
Characteristics of Woman, will assist you to understand
and appreciate it. Lastly, read it again for the poetry
profusely scattered over it, and commit to memory some
of the finest passages. Then read the Tempest. These
will but introduce you into the vestibule, and prepare you
for the glories of the inner-temple, the thrilling splen-
dor of Macbeth, the deep pathos of Lear, and the all-
searching philosophy of Hamlet. Milton's Comus you
must admire; who can help it? and L'Allegro, and II
Penseroso, and, after a time, the Paradise Lost. You
may think yourself happy if you have been denied the
perusal of the Waverly novels until your judgment is
matured ; for now you can read them for their perfect
delineations of human character. When read too early,
they are very imperfectly understood. Joanna Baillie's
splendid tragedies cannot fail to give pleasure to a
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42 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

cultivated mind, to improve the taste, and correct the
imagination.

It would have been deemed unnecessary to say any
thing here of books that pollute the imagination, did they
not abound in the land, and everywhere open their re-
splendently decorated pages to beguile and betray. No
lady wishes to have her mind filled with impure thoughts ;
she should, therefore, avoid many publications that are
freely spoken of, even among those whose delicacy is
deemed unquestionable. Never read a book without
having first ascertained its character from some friend ;
and never peruse one that you would not read aloud to
your father or brother.

A pure imagination is a pearl of great price ; dim not
its lustre, sully not its purity. How holy should be that
inner sanctuary of the soul, where none but God may
enter !

CHAPTER V.

JUDGMENT.

The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill."

WOHDSWORTH.

IT is not our intention to enter into a metaphysical dis-
cussion, or to decide upon the proper use of terms.
Reason or judgment we wish to treat of practically, and
we use the latter word in preference to the former, trust-
ing that it will be perfectly understood.

It is a reproach often cast upon our sex, that we are
either naturally deficient in the reasoning faculty, or, that
it is so little cultivated in education as to remain very
feeble. Is it so ? " We hope better things of you."
Woman, in being raised to the true dignity of her station
by Christianity, has also been exalted to her proper rank
as an intellectual being. Her dark age" has long since
passed away, and there are no inquisitions where you
will be tried for witchcraft, though there are still some
where, if you are " learned, wise, judicious," you may
be pronounced a decided blue and a decided bore. But
what says the learned, the elegant Story ? These
things have, in a great measure, passed away. The
prejudices that dishonored the sex have yielded to the
influence of truth. By slow but sure advances, educa-
tion has extended itself to all ranks of female society.
There is no longer any dread that the culture of science

(43)

should foster that masculine boldness or restless inde-
pendence, which alarms by its sallies, or wounds by its
inconsistencies. We have seen that here, as every-
where else, knowledge is favorable to human virtue and
human happiness ; that the refinement of literature adds
lustre to the devotion of piety ; that true learning, like
true taste, is modest and unostentatious ; that grace of
manners receives a higher polish from the discipline of
the schools ; that cultivated genius sheds a cheering light
over domestic duties, and its very sparkles, like those of
the diamond, attest at once its power and its purity.
There is not a rank of society, however high, which
does not pay homage to literature, or that would not
blush even at the suspicion of that ignorance, which half
a century ago was neither uncommon nor discreditable.
There is not a parent, whose pride may not glow at the
thought that his daughter's happiness is, in a great mea-
sure, within her own command, whether she keeps the
cool, sequestered vale of life, or visits the busy walks
of fashion."

Your taste, your imagination, may be exquisite, my
young friends ; but the objects upon which they are to
be exercised are few, compared with those that will
call for judgment. It is as important in the management
of the domestic machinery, of which woman is the main-
spring, as in the management of a state or army. " The
reason firm" is the efficient cause of " the temperate
will," ever ready to yield where obedience is due ;
" foresight" to avoid the rocks and quicksands that hide
themselves from the unwary; "the strength" that lies
in religious principle and self-respect, and " the skill"
which extracts from life its balm, and renders woman
indeed " a ministering angel."

JUDGMENT. 45

You may think that your situation, under parental
watchfulness, precludes the necessity for the exertion of
much judgment. You may ever cpntinue under the au-
thority of another, but that need not prevent you from
possessing independence of opinion, resulting from the
clear conviction of a reasoning mind, from fixedness of
purpose originating in the same source, and moral cour-
age, that sure test of a strong mind.

1. Bring your accomplishments and employments un-
der a strict scrutiny. Are they such as to strengthen
the judgment from day to day? Does the morning find
you reasoning upon the best disposal of time, and the
evening lead you to a close survey of the manner in
which it has been spent ?

2. Some directions have already been anticipated in
the chapter on Imagination, especially with regard to
reading. Your mind will be invigorated by the perusal
and reperusal of Wayland's Moral Philosophy and But-
ler's Analogy. A few good books, faithfully perused,
will strengthen the judgment more than a cursory glance
at a whole library.

3. Do not think it a mark of judgment to despise the
appropriate duties of woman. The pursuits of your
school-days may have given you habits of study, incom-
patible with the present demands upon your time. The
true excellence of your education will now be tested. If
you can practise cheerful self-denial^ in yielding up for
a time your own tastes and pleasures, and learning with
readiness many things in domestic economy, as useful,
but less agreeable, than your former pursuits, you have
acquired something of the art of self-government. In
amusing your younger brothers and sisters, you may ex-
ercise judgment as well as good-nature. Good sense

may be shown about trifles, and not wasted upon them
either. Dr. Johnson used to say of Mrs. Elizabeth
Carter, "that she could make a pudding as well as
translate Epictetus from the Greek, and work a hand-
kerchief as well as compose a poem."

4. Read Mason on Self-knowledge, and write out the
divisions in a little note-book. Try yourself by that
standard, and mark every thing in which you find your-
self deficient. It will be a good moral as well as intel-
lectual exercise.

5. Endeavor to think consecutively and clearly on
every subject. That hastiness and impatience of mind
which results from a lively and sanguine temperament,
must be carefully guarded against, as well as that indo-
lence which perpetually haunts a quiet and easy disposi-
tion. Neither of these will sift the motives of conduct,
reason from facts to principles, or enter into a minute
investigation of causes and effects.

6. Examine whether you perfectly understand all the
words which you employ in conversation and in writing;
whether you have full, clear, distinct, and accurate ideas
on the subjects with which you are most familiar. It is
wonderful how we skim over the surface, just dipping
here and there, without ever going down to bring up the
pearls that lie in deep water. This is in consequence
of a want of due cultivation of the conceptive faculty in
early education. This has not been dwelt upon at length
here, as it belongs more properly to an earlier period.
It was the duty of those who had the charge of the early
development of your mind, to know whether you had
clear conceptions ; perhaps they neglected it ; if so, you
have serious obstacles to encounter ; the first step now
is to ascertain the fact ; the next, to remedy it as far as

JUDGMENT. 47

lies in your power. Whenever you discover that you
do not perfectly understand any thing, be diligent and
patient in inquiry, until the idea is perfect in your mind.
By the application of concentrated thought, many ideas
that have been but floating, vague shadows, will assume
fixed and definite form.

" Experience should effect changes, must, with all
rational beings, produce innovations ; they are the result
of its lessons. It should implant enlarged charity where
bigotry lurked before, should exchange presumption for
humility, rashness for caution, precipitance for habits of
investigation ) passion for reason."

CHAPTER VI.

HISTORY.

"And he, whose heart is weary of the strife
Of meaner spirits, and whose mental gaze
Would shun the dull, cold littleness of life,
Awhile to dwell amidst sublimer days,
Must turn to thee." Mas. HEMANS.

HISTORY is the scroll of time, the mighty record
of the transactions of man, in all ages and climes. It
tells of the foundations of empires, their progress
from the first outlines marked out by the ploughshare,
to that exalted pitch of grandeur which calls forth won-
der and admiration. It shows what constituted their
true glory and happiness, and the causes of their decline
and fall.

History makes us acquainted with the great and good
of all nations, and the great and bad, for

"Les grands crimes immortalisent
Ainsi que les grandes vertus ; "

thus stimulating by example to virtue and warning
against crime.

The laws, genius, customs, manners of mankind,
history reveals, furnishing to all coming ages the prin-
ciples of government and the maxims of civil society.

From history we acquire a knowledge of the progress

of the arts, science and literature of every age and

country, from the first rude hut of a savage, to the

glorious Parthenon ; from the first idea of numbers, to

(48)

HISTORY. 49

Newton's Principia ; from the rude minstrel's strain, to
Milton's Paradise Lost.

History proclaims the power, the wisdom, and the
justice of the Almighty, and proves that He who created
still controls this world as its Sovereign Lord.

History may be read for amusement. Facts are al-
ways agreeable to the human mind ; " if any moral feel-
ing be instinctive, it is respect for truth." The little
works of fiction, which too often constitute the first in-
tellectual food, would lose half their value with children,
if they suspected they were not true. Let it not be
supposed, that we would on this account prohibit all
works of fiction at that early age. They often inculcate
lessons of wisdom, and furnish bright examples of moral
excellence, which may be of lasting benefit ; they some-
times afford to those of riper years that knowledge of
refined and elegant society, which cannot be gained in
any other way. But tales and romances often induce a
disrelish for history. To the reflecting and philos9phic
mind it furnishes a rich fund of intellectual enjoyment.

The study of history strengthens the judgment. The
observation and experience of every individual must be
limited ; we see only minute parts of the great whole,
even when interesting events pass before our own eyes.
" The immortal hero of three revolutions," although an
actor in soul-stirring events that would fill many folios,
could not relate from his own experience what history
will unfold to future ages. The collected testimony of
many witnesses must make up the whole train of causes,
with their results. The impression made upon the mind
by passing events is more vivid, but the knowledge we
derive from authentic history is more correct ; because,
seeing them at a distance, we .have neither the partiality
5

of an actor, nor the prejudices of an eyewitness. The
close study of character, and this investigation into
causes and effects, increase discrimination and invig-
orate the judgment.

The knowledge that we gain from history is various
and important. But, in order to make the knowledge
thus acquired of any real value, it must be made the
subject of mature reflection. We should have a spe-
cific object in view in reading a particular history ;
name this object or subject, and make it a leading one.
For example :

The causes that have advanced religious liberty.

The progress of civil liberty.

The influence of laws and government upon national
character.

The gradual improvement in the useful arts.

The progress of the fine arts.

The evils of war.

TJie influence of literature upon the character of the
age, and vice versa.

The misery occasioned by daring and sinful ambition.

The influence of Christianity upon national pros-
perity.

The influence of ivomen.

All these subjects may come under cognizance in
reading the history of a single period ; but to give clear-
ness and precision to our ideas, and to methodize what
we read, a leading subject may thus be taken, and, after
finishing a book, an abstract of all the knowledge gained
on this particular subject may be written in your mne-
monica, in its proper place. This will serve as a chain
to bind the whole together.

Geography, ancient and modern, it is presumed, has

HISTORY. 5.1

been sufficiently studied at school ; yet maps should be
always used in reading history.

Some remarkable eras should be chosen, and im-
printed in memory, as landmarks in chronology. The
intervening events may be placed in their order, and
thus save the memory from being burdened. For ex-
ample :

B. C.

The creation of the world, 4004

The deluge, 2348

Astronomical observations begun at Babylon, 2234

The Chaldean monarchy founded, . . . 2221

The kingdom of Egypt commences, . . . 2188

Abraham born, 1996

Joseph sold into Egypt, 1728

Sparta built, 1718

Cecrop settles in Attica, 1582

Moses born, 1571

Athens founded, 1556

Tyre built, 1252

The Trojan war begins, 1174

Solomon begins to build the temple, . . . 1012

Lycurgus, the Spartan lawgiver, born, . . 926

Rome founded, 753

Death of Isaiah, the prophet, 696

Cyrus conquers and terminates the kingdom of

Babylon, 538

Xerxes begins his expedition against Greece, 481

Malachi, the last of the prophets, .... 436

Socrates, the Grecian philosopher, flourished, 429
Philip of Macedon defeats the Greeks at Che-

ronea, .---? ;*R- . 338

Alexander the Great dies, ^-^ *.,; ^- : -^K* j 323

52 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

Silver first coined at Rome, 269

Hannibal passes the Alps, 218

Carthage destroyed, 146

Julius CaBsar born, 100

Caesar killed in the Senate-house, . . % 94- 44

Antony and Cleopatra's death, 30

Rome at the meridian of its glory, under Au-
gustus CaBsar, 19

The birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, four
years before the common era, termed

Anno Domini.

If these dates are not numerous enough, a larger se-
lection might be made ; these, surely, can be perfectly
committed to memory. Sacred and profane history are
here mingled as they should be ; the events recorded in
the Bible are too apt to be disconnected in the mind
from all others, to stand apart, as if they belonged to
some other world.

A chronological table of the same kind should be
made out for modern history. It is better for each one
of you to select the events for yourself, and their number
will depend upon the confidence which you have in your
own memory.

The general outlines of history being thus fixed im-
movably, separate portions may be read and referred to
in their chronological order, without difficulty.

Most young ladies are ignorant of every thing in
Sacred History but a few leading characters. It should
be taken up now, and read with the same attention that
you would bestow upon a new study. Read it for the
sake of fully appreciating its valuable treasures. Take
separate portions for perusal ; for example, the reign of

HISTORY. 53

David. Learn every thing relative to the laws, conq.iests,
mode of warfare, government, manners, arts, literature,
customs, music, poetry, religion, of that memorable
reign. Compare the condition of the Israelites with other
nations at that period ; compare it with their condition
under the Judges. See if David, the " monarch min-
strel," the warrior, the generous friend, the noble foe,
will not bear a comparison with the brightest heroes of
profane history. Read the wonderful reign of Solomon,
and other portions, in the same manner. A rich fund
of historical truth may thus be collected from the Old
Testament.

It is presumed that young ladies become familiar at
school with general history, ancient and modern, and
they will now fill up the grand outlines as they have
time and opportunity.

The history of our own country should be well under-
stood. This is too often neglected. The wonderful
achievements of " Macedonia's madman, and the Swede,"
the pomp of Eastern magnificence, the splendor of
thrones and coronets, have dazzled the imagination,
until the plain, rational history of our own country seems
tame and insipid. Its simplicity and moral beauty are
not appreciated ; as the eye, long accustomed to glaciers,
cataracts, and precipices, looks with indifference upon
the mild beauty of a rich, cultivated landscape.

In the best times of the Roman republic, an intimate
acquaintance with the history of their own country was
deemed requisite for all who expected to occupy ele-
vated stations, or to administer public affairs; but in
later times and more degenerate days, it was said, that
"they did not begin to read the history of their country,
till they were elevated to the highest offices of the state ;

they first obtained the employment, and then bethought
themselves of the qualifications necessary for the proper
discharge of it." May this disgraceful reproach, never
be deserved by the young men of our country ! May
their sisters set them a noble example, by making the
deeds and characters of the heroes of our father-land
as familiar as housohold words !

The history of the United States of America pre-
sents to the Christian and the philanthropist heart-
stirring events, which need no false coloring to give them
a thrilling interest. Specimens of moral excellence,
equal to any the world has ever produced, adorn its an-
nals, and the benign light of liberty and religion encircle
it with a mild halo of glory.

The French introduced that kind of historical writing,
which they termed Memoirs. For example, Sully's
Memoirs of the Reign of Henry the Fourth. Numerous
works of the same kind have appeared in English,
Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici, and Leo the Tenth ;
Watson's Philip the Second and Third ; Miss Aildn's
Courts of Elizabeth and James ; Scott's Napoleon ;
Irving's Columbus; Prescott's Ferdinand and Isabella,
Conquest of Mexico and Peru ; and others, affording
agreeable and profitable reading.

Political economy is so much the fashion of the day,
that every well-educated young lady is expected to give
some attention to this popular study. Smith's Wealth
of Nations is an old-fashioned book, said to contain
many errors; but formerly it was the authorized text-
book on this science. Among the many writers of the
present time, on this topic, Professor Wayland holds a
distinguished place.

CHAPTER VII.

NATJJRAL SCIENCE.

" Such pleasures are pure and refined ; they are congenial to the
character of a rational being ; they are more permanent than sensitive
enjoyments ; they afford solace in the hours of retirement from the
bustle of business, and consolation amid the calamities and afflictions
to which humanity is exposed." DICK.

NATURAL science opens a wide field for study and
recreation. The book of nature and the book of reve-
lation, written by the same unerring finger, are in perfect
and beautiful harmony, demonstrating the wisdom and
goodness of the Almighty Creator.

Botany is a favorite science, and a very pleasant one
for young ladies. The care of flowers is represented by
Milton as not unworthy of Eve in her state of perfect
innocence and bliss; he describes her,

" Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, . .

oft stooping to support

Each flower of tender stalk, whose head, though gay
Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold,
Hung drooping unsustained ; them she upstays
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while
Herself, though fairest unsupported flower,
From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh."

The nomenclature of this science is rather difficult to
learn ; but, that obstacle once overcome, all the rest is
delightful. Among American botanists are Torrey,
Tully, Eaton, Ives, and a host of others, worthy to be
known to every lover of the science.

(55)

Mineralogy and Geology will prove sources of high
enjoyment to the lover of nature. The knowledge of
ihese sciences is usually communicated through the me-
dium of popular lectures. The specimens necessary to
illustrate these sciences are seldom within reach of the
retired reader ; lectures, however, should not be deemed
sufficient; they should be followed by a course of read-
ing and observation.

Chemistry must be acquired in the same way, for the
sake of the experiments ; but it is wrong to give up
entirely the study, the moment the impression of these
splendid experiments has passed away ; many valuable
hints in domestic economy have been given, which
should be treasured up for future use ; the " manipula-
tions" of a housekeeper will test their value.

Conchology and Entomology will furnish rational rec-
reation, which may save you from hours of ennui, or
redeem your time from gossip and folly.

Astronomy is a science whose sublimity exalts the
mind, and whose variety gives infinite scope to the
imagination. Its amazing truths reveal the power and
wisdom of the Almighty Creator, and give us a faint
glimpse of the magnificence of that light, unapproachable,
where dwells the King eternal, immutable, and full of
glory.

CHAPTER VIII.

ENGLISH LITERATURE.

" I have been four days confined to my chamber by a cold, which
has already kept me from three plays, nine sales, five shows, and six
card-tables, and put me seventeen visits behindhand ; and the doctor
tells my mamma that if I fret and cry it will settle in my head, and
I shall not be fit to be seen these six weeks." RAMBLER.

A TASTE for reading is indeed a never-failing source
of enjoyment. How many vacant hours of life would
pass heavily away, w r ere it not for the companionship of
books ! During a course of school education, very little
time can be devoted to miscellaneous reading. Many
are the illustrious names stored up in memory, whose
more intimate acquaintance is now to be sought. The
long-wished period has arrived ; but is it a season of
leisure? Let the young lady who is out in society
answer. Innumerable are the demands upon her time ;
like the belle quoted at the beginning of the chapter, she
might say, " If at any time I can gain an hour by not
being at home, I have so many things to do, so many
alterations to make in my clothes, so many visitant's
names to read over, so many invitations to accept
or refuse, so many cards to write, so many fashions to
consider, that I am lost in confusion. When, shall I
either stop my course, or so change it as to want a
book?" If all young ladies had thus given themselves
over to frivolity, we might write in vain. Some there

(57)

are, we trust, \vho find time for the improvement of
mind.

" The world has people of all sorts," says Locke ;
literature has books of all sorts, and how shall one know,
among the infinite variety, what to choose, or where to
begin ?

The best writers in the English language should be
known to every well-educated young lady. She will,
of course, be able to read but a small portion of what
they have written, yet she may by so doing become
familiar with their style and sentiments ; she may at least
save herself from the blunders and perplexities into
which she will inevitably fall, if ignorant of English
classic literature. It happened, one evening, in the
course of a little play, called Characters, among some
young people, that the name of Pope was given. A very'
fashionably-educated young lady whispered to her next
neighbor, "Pray tell me who they mean; the pope?"
"No; A. Pope." "Why, which pope? there have
been thousands." " Not a Roman pontiff', our Eng-
lish Pope, the poet." " Never heard of such a man in
my life ; is he now living ?" asked the young lady.

Some of the older English poets are now almost un-
intelligible from their quaint phraseology and obsolete
words. Chaucer and Surrey have been modernized ;
but there is little before the Augustan age of English
literature that affords much pleasure to the reader. In
1558, Elizabeth succeeded to the throne of Great Britain.
In this reign, says Campbell, the English mind put
forth its energies in every direction, exalted by a purer
religion, and enlarged by new views of truth. This was
an age of loyalty, adventure, and generous emulation.

ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59

The chivalrous character was softened by intellectual
pursuits, while the genius of chivalry itself still lingered,
as if unwilling to depart, and paid his last homage to a
warlike and female reign. A degree of romantic fancy
remained in the manners and superstitions of the people ;
and allegory might be said to parade the streets in their
public pageants and festivals. Quaint and pedantic as
those allegorical exhibitions might often be, they were
nevertheless more expressive of erudition, ingenuity, and
moral meaning, than they had been in former times.

" The philosophy of the highest minds still partook of a
visionary character. A poetical spirit infused itself into
the practical heroism of the age ; and some of the wor-
thies of that period seem less like ordinary men, than
beings called forth out of fiction, and arrayed in the
brightness of her dreams. They had high thoughts
seated in a heart of courtesy. The life of Sir Philip
Sidney was poetry put into action."

That illustrious age furnished a constellation of genius,
which will be conspicuous and brilliant in the hemisphere
of literature to the end of time. Spenser, Sir Philip
Sidney, Sir Walter Raleigh, Shakspeare, Bacon. The
last named was born in the reign of Elizabeth, as we
may remember from his ready reply when the queen
asked him his age: "Just two years younger than
your Majesty's happy reign."

Edmund Spenser, the first in point of time in this
reign, immortalized himself by his Faery Queen. It is
an elaborate allegorical poem, of which only six of the
original twelve books remain ; the others are said to
have been trusted to the care of a servant, who lost them
on his passage from Ireland to England. The adven-

60 THE YOUNG LADv's HOME.

tures of a knight personifying a particular virtue, as
Courtesy, Holiness, &c., occupy each book. Such a
host of sentiments and ideas, also personified, attend the
knight, that, although we acknowledge the unparalleled
niceness and beauty of his fancy, the profusion bewil-
ders. Queens, fairies, knights, dwarfs, giants, acknow-
ledge the enchanter's spell, and rise in gorgeous arms
and apparel at the touch of his wand. Mountain and
woodland, " plants both humble and tall," cottage and
castle, fresh flowerets and "mouldy moss," "heaped
snow" and lovely lake, all glide before the mind, like a
moving panorama. Such exuberance of fancy belonged
to that poet who has been called " the inspirer of Mil-
ton," less chaste and refined than his successor, but
glowing with the fire of genius. Spenser was the friend
of Sidney and Raleigh.

Sir Philip Sidney was the author of an incomplete
romance, called Arcadia, which is now nearly obsolete.
He was more distinguished for his conversation and his
elegant manners, his bravery and noble heart, than for
his writings, though they have been said to possess
"fervor of eloquence" and "purity of thought."

Sir Walter Raleigh is associated in our minds with
the colonization of Virginia, and is better known as an
accomplished courtier, and an unfortunate one, than as a
poet. During his long confinement in the Tower, he
wrote many fugitive poems, and a prose work, entitled,
"A History of the World," which is now nearly for-
gotten.

Francis Bacon, Lord Chancellor of England, wrote
upon law, history, the advancement of learning, and
many other subjects. He established human knowledge

ENGLISH LITERATURE. 61

upon a new and firm basis, facts, tested by experiment.
His prose partakes of the figurative style" of the age,
though always clear and precise. A volume of Essays
which, to use his own words, " come home to men's
business and bosoms," retains its place as a popular
book in almost every library.

Shakspeare ! for how many thousand volumes has this
immortal name served as a text ! " An overstrained
enthusiasm, it has been said, is more .pardonable than
the want of it ; for our admiration cannot easily surpass
his genius." It was reserved for the German critic,
Schlegel, to give the best criticism upon the plays of
Shakspeare that had appeared. Mrs. Jameson has
thrown a new and brilliant light upon his heroines.

" Never, perhaps, was there so comprehensive a
talent for the delineation of character, as Shakspeare's.
It not only grasps the diversities of rank, sex, and age,
down to the dawnings of infancy ; not only do the king
and the beggar, the hero and the pickpocket, the sage,
and the idiot, speak and act with equal truth ; but it opens
the gates of the magical world of spirits, calls up the
midnight ghost, exhibits before us his \vitches amidst
their unhallowed mysteries, peoples the air with sportive
fairies and sylphs. We are lost in astonishment at seeing
the extraordinary, the wonderful, and the unheard-of, in
such intimate nearness."

" He gives a living picture of all the most minute and
secret artifices by which a feeling steals into our souls ;
of all the imperceptible advantages which it there gains ;
of all the stratagems by which every other passion is
made subservient to it, till it becomes the sole tyrant
of our desires and our aversions. He has never var-
6

nished over wild and blood-thirsty passions with a pleas-
ing exterior, never clothed crime and want of principle
with a false show of greatness of soul."

The next name of note in English literature is Ben
Jonson. His plays are very far inferior to Shakspeare's,
and his miscellaneous poems are now little known ; a
few specimens will continue to hold their places in col-
lections of English poetry.

Jeremy Taylor may be considered as having added
much to the literature of his country. He was born
about the year 1600, and on the accession of Charles
the Second was promoted to a bishopric. His " Holy
Living," " Holy Dying," and many of his sermons,
still hold their place as favorites with the intelligent and
serious. His works possess much originality, brilliant
imagery, and all the vivid and glowing conceptions of
poetry.

Like Sirius among the ever-during gems of night,
shines the next name in England's coronet of genius.
A critic, analyzing the character of Milton, says,
" He has sublimity in the highest degree ; beauty in an
equal degree ; pathos next to the highest ; perfect char-
acter in the conception of Satan, Adam, and Eve ;
fancy, learning, vividness of' description, stateliness, de-
corum. His style is elaborate and powerful, and his
versification, with occasional harshness and affectation,
superior in harmony and variety to all other blank verse ;
it has the effect of a piece of fine music."

Next to Milton, in time, comes Dryden. His "Alex-
ander's Feast" is still read as a lesson in elocution ;
but, generally, his works contain glaring defects, that
render them unsuitable for young ladies. A poet of

ENGLISH LITERATURE. 63

a later day has thus characterized Milton and Dry*
den :

"He that rode sublime
Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy,
The .secrets of the abyss to spy.
He passed the flaming bounds of space and time;
The living throne, the sapphire blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze ;
He saw, but, blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.
Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,

With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace.
Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictured urn
Thoughts that breathe and words that burn. ; '

Sir William Temple, Locke, Stillingfleet, and Tillot-
son are among the elegant prose-writers of this period.

The old English writers, prose and verse, have been
called from their retreats and presented to modern eyes,
adorned with all the graces of elegant typography and
splendid binding. No excuse can no^.be found for
ignorance. Many names of lesser note appear, mingled
with those of the first order, whose works will gratify
curiosity and give pleasure.

Another luminous period in English literature is
adorned with the names of Pope, Addison, Steele,
Swift, and a host of secondaries, poets, philosophers,
and statesmen, distinguished for genius, and still more
for elegance of style. At this time the English lan-
guage appears to have received its most perfect polish.
Wanting in the strength and spirit that characterized a

64 THE YOUNG LADY^S HOME.

former period, it was now adorned with all the grace
and beauty of which it is, perhaps, susceptible.

Then follow Thomson, Collins, Shenstone, Akenside,
Gray, Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Chapone, Mrs.
Elizabeth Carter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Burke, &c.,
differing as " one star differs from another in glory,"
shedding a benign influence on every succeeding age.

Since the American Revolution, our literature may
be included with that of England and Scotland, for the
latter country has contributed largely to the general stock.
The present century thus far has been a lustrous period,
and will doubtless in subsequent times be called another
golden age in literature, another era of invention.

CHAPTER IX.

COMPOSITION.

Books, paper, pencil, pen, and slate,
And columned scrolls of ancient date,
Before her lie, on which she looks
With searching glance, and gladly brooks
An irksome task." JOANNA BAILLIE.

IED defence of woman's rights might do for
an of Constantinople. All the rights which
;o claim are allowed in this blessed country.

danger now is, that she may overstep the
ich modesty and delicacy prescribe, and come
Don that arena of strife which ought to belong
r to man. All such encroachments should be
pon by an enlightened community, for " they

masculine boldness or restless independence,
ms by its sallies or wounds by its inconsisten-
'he bold and fearless spirit with which men
lie discussion and controversy well becomes

it should excite our admiration without pro-
emulation. The paths that are open to us are
t they lie along " the cool, sequestered vale."
the vicissitudes of life, that we need all the
which can be accumulated. Few of you, my
robably either expect or wish to become au-

but you all wish to enjoy the pleasures of lite-
d will not deny the utility of being able to write
ions and pleasing style. Were it only for the

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sake of those "winged messengers of love" despatched
to absent friends, you need an agreeable vehicle of
thought. Letters should never be carelessly written ;
the style may be easy and graceful, and at the same time
show that care and attention which is a mark of respect
to the person addressed. Even the folding and super-
scription of a letter tell something of the character of
the writer, and the deference she deems due to her cor-
respondents. In early life we are not aware what insight
these trifles give to the character and feelings, to those
who have knowledge and experience. Far be it from
you to cultivate the exterior graces alone ; the respect
and regard should be felt, of course, and a careful ex-
pression of it should be exhibited. A letter ought to be
written in legible, neat, and, if possible, elegant hand-
writing ; not that delicate cobweb scribble, which costs
more to read than it is generally worth. When a letter
is franked, or sent by a private conveyance, it should
be folded in an envelope as neatly as possible. Fashion
regulates the mode of sealing ; sometimes a single wafer
is deemed almost an insult ; the fastidious Chesterfield
thought it so ; at other times it is preferred by those who
are tired of the sickly sentimentality of mottoes. Suffi-
cient attention should be paid, even to this seeming trifle,
to know what is the custom of the day, and to follow it.
Many fine examples of the epistolary style are to be
found in the English language. Miss More could lay
aside her elaborate style, and all the pomp of diction
which she could use on occasion, for the simple, playful
language of confiding friendship. Some of her letters
are delightful, and many of her learned correspondents
have given fine specimens of easy, sprightly, and grace-
ful letters. Charles Lamb's letters, for vivacity, warmth,

COMPOSITION. 67

and colloquial simplicity, are unrivalled. Sir Walter
Scott's letters to Miss Baillie and other friends, are
charming, though they deal less than we could wish in
the domestic details which he could render so amusing.
Cowper, and his friend the Rev. John Newton's letters
have been universally admired. There is in Washing-
ton's epistolary writing, not only the dignified simplicity
that we should of course expect, but a pleasing, easy
style. The letters of Franklin are so characteristic of the
man as to be very amusing. They are written in the
concise and spirited style of his other writings, and
ornamented with occasional flashes of wit and humor.
Modern memoirs furnish many excellent examples of
this kind of composition ; so many, indeed, that it would
be impossible here to name them. None of them should
be imitated, however, as models ; a letter, to be agree-
able, should be individual ; that is, it should show ex-
actly the author.

In some seminaries for young ladies, it is customary
to insist upon their writing poetry for a school exercise.
O, the intolerable burden of counting out lines upon the
fingers, and making them match to words from the rhym-
ing dictionary ! Doubtless, facility in versification may
be thus acquired, by long practice, where there is no
natural ear for the harmony of numbers. The altar is
built, the wood is laid, but w r here is the fire, and where
the burnt-offering? Sentimental scribblers, puffed up
with self-conceit, they are in danger of becoming ; and
it is difficult to conceive of any advantage to be derived
from forcing, or endeavouring to create, a talent which has
not been bestowed by the Almighty Author of our being.

But should young ladies never write poetry? If
they are poeta nascitur, non fit, they will write " by

68 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

stealth and blush to find it fame ;" not because it is
wrong, but true genius and true sensibility are ever ac-
companied by modesty and a high standard of excel-
lence. There is little danger to be apprehended from
repressing the early exhibition of poetical talent ; if it
really exist, it will in time manifest itself; let education
be judiciously conducted, and the mind well-disciplined,
and it will not extinguish the fire of genius, but (to use
a homely comparison) find fuel for it to act upon.

Exercises in prose composition, often much disliked
at school, are of acknowledged utility, and should not
now be discontinued. Bacon says, " He seeth how
they (his thoughts) look when turned into words." We
seldom know whether we have thoughts on any particu-
lar subject or not, until we endeavor to express them,
and if we have, the expression gives to them more
clearness and precision. Often when some idea seems
beautiful as it floats vaguely in the mind, it is painful
to find how all the beauty vanishes when it is "turned
into words ;" as the lovely vision of the painter's fancy
often resists all his attempts to fix it upon canvass.
The conception was imperfect, and this could be de-
monstrated as the most frequent cause of failure in com-
position.

Coleridge somewhere says, or it may be in one of
his translations from Schiller, /

"There exist

Few fit to rule themselves, but few that use
Their intellects intelligently.

Many, perhaps, who feel that they are made for
something better than mere ephemera, nevertheless sup-
press the noble aspirings of their nature, and strive to
be like the fluttering myriads around them. Unworthy

COMPOSITION. 69

effort! you may for a time tame down your mind to
dull mediocrity ; but have you thus gained the good-will
of those for whom you sacrifice so much ? No ; they,
even they, would despise you for trampling under foot
the glorious riches of genius. You may be unfavorably
situated for the cultivation of mind, for it is " not pos-
sible for the best minds to attain their full development
but amid an atmosphere highly charged with the electri-
city of thought," yet, to the Giver you are accountable
for all his gifts, and your means are proportioned to
your responsibilities. Although every one is thus bound
to use the talents that God has given, none need covet
the possession of genius ; well might the sainted Hemans
exclaim,

"A mournful gift is mine, friends!
A mournful gift is mine."

Something might here be said of the importance of
the study of grammar and philology. They fill so con-
spicuous a place in the modern system of school educa-
tion, that it may be deemed unnecessary to recommend
them for farther attention. The philosophy of language
is seldom understood by the young, and you would
doubtless derive much advantage from a thorough ex-
amination of this subject. Home Tooke's Diversions
of Purley afford amusement and profound knowledge
on this subject ; Campbell's Rhetoric is not generally
employed as a class-book, and should by all means be
attentively read, as should also Alison on Taste, and
Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful.

CHAPTER X.

MODERN LANGUAGES.

"Frenche she spake ful faire and fetisely,
After the school of Stratford at Bowe,
For Frenche of Paris was to her unknowe."

CHAUCER.

WHEN female education is conducted in a very lib-
eral manner, young ladies acquire a knowledge of Latin,
and occasionally of Greek. A good knowledge of Latin
furnishes so excellent a foundation for modern languages,
that you may deem it a valuable possession. The
French, being a language so universally spoken, has long
been considered indispensable to a young lady's educa-
tion ; from the imperfect way in which it is usually ac-
quired, as a spoken language, it can be of little use. In
many cases, the difficulty of gaining a correct pronuncia-
tion and accent is so great, that it is not advisable to
make the attempt. To be able to read and w r rite it well,
is much better than the useless smattering which many
possess. If the foundation has been well laid at school,
you can continue to perfect yourself in the language,
without the aid of a teacher. You have already become
familiar with the amiable Madame Cottin and Madame
de Genlis, arid can now perhaps enjoy Moliere, Racine,
Corneille, and Madame de Stael. In cultivating a

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MODERN LANGUAGES. 71

knowledge of this language, however, beware of becom-
ing too familiar with modern French literature. Better
to be ignorant of it entirely, than to learn it from the
debasing, corrupting pages of French fictitious writing.
Among modern lady authors, Mesdames Guizot, De
Saussure, and Necker furnish unexceptionable reading ;
but be careful to learn their character before you venture
upon French books.*

The Italian is easily acquired after the French. The
sweet strains of Tasso, and the sublime visions of Dante
and Ariosto, cannot be perfectly transfused into another
language. Modern Italy can boast of much that is inter-
esting in elegant literature, besides the splendid Alfieri,
and the well-known letters of Ganganelli. Silvio Pellico,
whose long and cruel confinement at Spielberg has been
made known to the world by that most interesting book,
Mia Prigione, which has been translated into many lan-
guages, has written pure, classical drama, which may
safely be placed in your hands. The Spanish can be
added with so little trouble, after French and Italian,
that it should not be neglected ; it is a beautiful and
dignified language. The German, as it is much more
difficult, will remain with a favored few ; but such are
its treasures, that time arid labor would not be wasted in
its acquisition. German literature has a freshness and
vigor of thought, a strength and raciness of style, beyond
comparison.

* The following brief list of French authors may possibly be of
some assistance to the young reader in the choice of books:
Montaigne, Corneille, La Fontaine, Moliere, Pascal, Madame cle Se-
vigne, Bossuet, Flechier, Bourdaloue, Racine, Fenelon, Rollin, Mas-
sillon, Saurin, Montesquieu, Buffon, Barthelemy, D'Alembert, Saint
Pierre, Delille, La Harpe, Madame de Stael, Chateaubriand, Cuvier,
Sismondi, Guizot, Cousin, Lamartine, Deiavigne.

Because Milton has said, forsooth, that " one tongue
is enough for any woman," and thousands of meaner
minds have echoed and reechoed this saying, fear not ;
we live in another age, the charge of bas-bleuism is no
longer a bugbear. The great danger is, of becoming
mere smatterers. The scanty gleaning of the school-
room should not content you ; go on with every thing
\vhich you have commenced there, until you make your-
self mistress of it. Having begun to build, do not incur
the ridicule that falls upon him who is not able to finish.
Read at least a chapter in your French or Italian Testa-
ment every day ; if you have- leisure, take up some
standard work, read it critically, and write out its beau-
tiful passages in your note-book; this is an admirable
way to fix a language in memory.

CHAPTER XL

CULTIVATION OF TASTE.

Blest be the art that can immortalize ;
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it." COWPER.

IN every country the useful arts must first occupy
attention ; as wealth and luxury increase, the ornamental
follow. In our country, mind has been, till recently,
occupied upon government, laws, religion, health, com-
merce and the mechanical arts. This has been thrown
upon us as a reproach ; but in the infancy of a country
these are the legitimate objects for the energies of mind.
If it be averred, that the efforts for the mere accumu-
lation of wealth, and the immense amount of invention
expended upon the means to facilitate its acquisition,
are a waste of mental power, there is truth in the asser-
tion. But the time is past when questions, such as
Edinburgh Reviewers were wont to ask, were unan-
swerable. "Who reads an American book?" Every
body. " Who ever heard of an American painter or
sculptor?" Leslie, Sully, Cole, Weir, Greenough,
Augur, Clevenger, Powers, and many more, have an-
swered upon the speaking canvas and breathing marble.

Our countrymen have shown great ingenuity in the
mechanical arts ; we know not why they may not in
time become equally distinguished for genius in the fine

7 (73)

74 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

arts. Whenever the taste of the people demands grati-
fication, artists will find compensation for their labors,
and be stimulated to exertion ; genius will be called
forth from her retreat, and find patrons even in a re-
public. During the revolutions which have overturned
Europe, many specimens of the masters, that had been
kept from age to age in the cabinets of the prince and
the noble, have found their way to this country. Our
artists, too, have such facilities for going abroad, that
they may be found studying in the galleries* of Italy,
France, and Germany ; in the cathedrals of Spain ;
seated on the prostrate columns of the Parthenon, the
pride and glory of Athens ; or sketching, amid the once
mysterious glories of Egypt, the splendid temples of
Karnac and Luxor. A taste for the higher efforts in
painting and sculpture must depend upon the culti-
vation of the imagination. It is that which must give
life and reality to the representations of the painter and
sculptor.

Drawing is a fashionable accomplishment for young
ladies ; unfortunately, it is seldom any thing more than
the mechanical ability to draw a brush over theorems
cut by the teacher, or at least to copy with cold cor-
rectness ; or, it may be, to paint sprawling Cupids and
glaring rosebuds, to decorate an album. When the art
is taught as it should be, it improves the taste for fine
pictures, and for landscape in nature ; it quickens the
perception of beauty in all its infinite variety.

Although many may derive pleasure from drawing, as
amateurs, few will become artists. It is an art in which,
however, young ladies who have genius may excel, and
practise even for a support. There are numerous ex-
amples for the encouragement of female artists, from

CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 75

Angelica Kaufmann down to the lady miniature-painters
whose beautiful pictures ornament our -exhibition rooms.
And so few are the ways in our country in which females
can gain an honorable independence, that this one is
worthy of particular attention.

A knowledge of the rise and progress of Architecture
ought to be acquired by every well-informed lady. She
ought, not only to be familiar with the established orders,
but with the terms of the art, to enjoy fully the descrip-
tions of travellers, and the minute views of buildings in
engraved representations. From ignorance on this sub-
ject, much that is interesting in all modern tours and
sketches must be unintelligible. The pleasure derived
from seeing a fine building, too, will be greatly enhanced
by knowing something of the style in which it is built.
The simple, chaste Doric, the graceful Ionic, the more
elaborate and beautiful Corinthian, stand unrivalled mo-
dels down to the present day. The Romans claim two
orders, the Tuscan and Composite ; but they are in part
but alterations and additions to the Ionic and Corinthian,
and far from being improvements. Then the Gothic,
the elaborate, magnificent Gothic, so perfectly suited to
the solemn grandeur of the cathedral and the church ;
the mingled style of St. Peter's, and the many splendid
European specimens of modern architecture, all these
furnish a wide world of taste, that will richly reward the
home-student, as well as the traveller.

Music. While the ear is sensible to melody, and the
voice capable of producing it, music will remain, to
every " nation, kindred, people, and language," a source
of exquisite pleasure. Let those, then, who are gifted
with genius for this divine art cultivate it as they should
every other " good and perfect gift ;" not as a means

76 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

of gratifying vanity, but of contributing to human happi-
ness. Surely, it is a glorious privilege which the few
possess, to be able to thrill with delight, or to solemnize
to deep devotion, or to rouse to enthusiasm ; a privilege
for which they should be grateful to Him who made the
air susceptible of such infinite variety of pleasing sounds,
and gave the power to call them forth.

But a fondness for music is so universal, that the dan-
ger is, that young ladies will devote too much time to its
acquisition. Those who have no genius must sacrifice
years, and, after all, give little pleasure by their mere
mechanical performance. But fashion wills it, and who
dares to dispute the despot ? Her martyrs at the piano
and the harp we may pity, but cannot rescue. Are
they not wasting there the energies given them for other
and nobler purposes? Can they not confer happiness
in other ways, less costly and more enduring ? What
an immense amount of good might be done, if all the
hours wasted in the vain attempt to become skilled in
music were devoted to the cause of philanthropy !

It is pleasing to observe that a better taste in music
characterizes the present day. Instead of those displays
of brilliant execution which astonished without giving
pleasure, we have more of the sentiment of music.
Singing, too, has greatly improved ; in lieu of the un-
intelligible jargon which might, for all the auditors could
tell, be the language of Afghanistan, we now have the
benefit of the words, which probably the authors intend-
ed should be heard ; excepting some objectionable songs,
which, instead of being slurred and mumbled over, had
better be omitted entirely. Even the punctuation and the
emphasis of the language can be preserved without injur-

CULTIVATION OF TASTE. 77

ing the expression of the music, linked to immortal
verse."

But, fair readers, let those of you, whose musical tal-
ents can thus afford pleasure, yield to solicitation without
affected reluctance. Who is not tired of the rigmarole
reiterated in every drawing-room, " bad cold," " out of
voice," " only sing a little," " never play for company,"
&c., &c.? In fact, it is almost considered a want of
modesty to play for company, until you have exhaust-
ed every body's patience in urgent entreaties. All who
understand human nature will confess, there is much
more true delicacy and modesty in the young lady,
who, dreading to be so long the object of exclusive atten-
tion, yields to entreaty without all this coquettish delay.
And be not displeased if there are persons in society, still
so barbarous as to prefer animated intellectual conversa-
tion, where there is harmony of mind produced by vari-
ety, to all but the most exquisite music.

CHAPTER XII.

PHYSICAL EDUCATION.

" Dearly earned is the volume's wealth,

That opes to the lamp at night,
While the fairer ray of hope and health
Goes out by the sickly light."

MRS. HALE.

IT has been thought vulgar to possess health, rude
health ; not that any one would acknowledge herself so
ridiculously absurd, yet the old adage in this case is
true, " Actions speak louder than words." It is gen-
erally believed that beautiful, fragile beings, too delicate
to meet the first rude blast without shrinking, are the
most interesting to those arbiters whose taste is all- deci-
sive on this matter. Man, strong and robust, likes to be
the defender and protector of the weak ; he likes, too,
that his superiority should be felt and acknowledged. The
natural delicacy and weakness of the other sex are thus
fostered. That it should be so, is owing to a refined
state of society which has its many advantages, and this
one, among its evils. But the arduous, imperative du-
ties that in life's progress devolve upon woman call for
physical, as well as mental, vigor. To hover around
the couch of sickness, and smooth the pillow of the dy-
ing; to bear patiently with the querulous impatience of
the aged, and the petulance of childhood ; to lead into
the right path the boisterous waywardness of youth ; and
to soothe, by unwearied kindness, tempers rendered

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PHYSICAL EDUCATION. 79

harsh and irritable by intercourse with a cold, unfeeling
world; are not these a part of her humble ministry?
It seems preposterous to urge the necessity of health ;
yet when we consider the many ways in which it is
heedlessly injured, we may infer that it is considered of
little importance. Want of exercise at one time, and
too violent exertion at another ; exposure to cold and
dampness ; imprudence in dress and diet ; all these con-
spire to impair the constitution, and produce premature
old age.

Want of exercise. Perhaps you have no regular
system with regard to this, and spend whole days in lan-
guid inactivity. Occupied with reading and needle-work,
days pass without any more exercise than is necessary
to take you from one room to another. Your reluctance
to move demonstrates the vis inertia of matter; the
slightest labor becomes an intolerable burden. Beware !
the monster dyspepsia is beckoning you for one of his
sallow, meagre train. Escape for your life! Regular
active exercise is indispensable. Walking, riding, and
in a rainy day, or on other days if it be possible, active
employment within doors. If your situation precludes
the necessity for assisting in keeping the house in order,
you can fill the flower-vases, tastefully arrange the fur-
niture, put the books in their places, keep your own
room in the neatest possible order, and find many either
things to give you employment, not entirely sedentary.
" Exercise is not only useful in adding to the symmetry
of the form, but also in lighting up and invigorating the
spark by which that form is animated and beautified."
It is a wonderful promoter of cheerfulness. In the coun-
try, the care of a garden, and the delightful walks that
abound, offer inducements to exercise scarcely to be

THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

resisted ; in town, the change from habitual inactivity to
fatiguing effort is exceedingly injurious. Standing for
two or three hours in a crowded party, or dancing a
whole evening, is often attended with fatal consequences.
Coming into the air, after being heated in this manner,
often induces consumption. Alas! how many can trace
this fell disease to the ball-room !

" Away ! away ! there is danger here,
A terrible phantom is bending near;
Ghastly and sunk, his rayless eye
Scowls on thy loveliness scornfully ;
With no human look, with no human breath,
He stands beside thee, the haunter DEATH.

" In the lighted hall where the dancers go,
Like beautiful spirits, to and fro,
When thy fair arms glance in their stainless white,
Like ivory bathed in the still moonlight,
And not one star in the holy sky
Hath a clearer light than thine own blue eye,

"0, then, even then, he will follow thee,
As the ripple follows the bark at sea;
In the softened light, in the turning dance,
He will fix on thine his dead, cold glance;
The chili of his breath on thy cheek shall linger,
And thy warm blood shrink from his icy finger!"

Our climate is so variable, that its changes should be
carefully guarded against. Warm and comfortable cloth-
ing, and shoes impervious to dampness, if not recom-
mended by the Graces, good sense and prudence will
insist upon. The American ladies, in this respect, are
perhaps more imprudent than any in the wide world.
It is a ridiculous vanity to expose life itself for the sake
of exhibiting a pretty foot in the most becoming attire,
a paper-soled kid or satin shoe upon a cold or damp
pavement !

So much has been said upon the subject of tight-

PHYSICAL EDUCATION. 81

lacing, that little need be added here. The tocsin of
alarm has sounded through every land where the pre-
posterous fashion reigns. You have seen the Venus de
Medici contrasted with a modern belle; which did you
most admire ? Undoubtedly the latter, for thus fashion
blinds to true symmetry and perverts the taste.

Physicians have been faithful in reporting the deaths
occasioned by these unnatural contortions, and sur-
geons have dissected the miserable victims. What
more can be done ? Forewarned thus, no more can be
said. As rational beings, as accountable ones,
abstain from a practice so deleterious, so wicked.

With regard to diet. A caution is necessary against
cake, sweetmeats, and confectionary. A surfeit of
sweets deranges the system, and should be carefully
avoided. A healthful, wholesome appetite should be
desired, and an indulgence in these articles at every
hour in the day will soon destroy it. There is a mor-
bid delicacy in regard to eating, which is absurd ; be-
cause Byron in his squeamishness could not bear to see
a woman eat, some ridiculous coxcombs affect the same
antipathy, and many a young lady has gone fasting in
their company, rather than be disgusting. Really, it
would seem too absurd to mention such a thing, were it
not a fact that some young ladies seem quite troubled if
they have a good appetite, and make many apologies for
indulging it. It may be gratified without the gusto of a
gourmand, which is too shocking. A refined and deli-
cate manner of eating is expected, of course, in every
young lady.

Among the means of preserving health, Franklin, in
his letter to a young lady " On the Art of procuring
Pleasant Dreams," mentions " having a constant supply

82 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

of fresh air in your bed-chamber. It has been a great
mistake, the sleeping in rooms exactly closed, and in
beds surrounded by curtains. No outward air that may
come in to you is so unwholesome as the unchanged
air, often breathed, of a close chamber.

"Physicians, after having for ages contended that
the sick should not be indulged with fresh air, have at
length discovered that it may do them good. It is there-
fore to be hoped, that they may in time discover, like-
wise, that it is not hurtful to those in health ; and that
we may then be cured of the aerophobia that at present
distresses weak minds, and makes them choose to be
stifled and poisoned, rather than leave open the window
of a bed-chamber, or put down the glass of a coach."

Frequent bathing is another means of preserving
health. In our climate, it has been thought that neither
the cold nor the warm bath should be used, unless pre-
scribed by a physician. The water should be slightly
warmed so as not to produce a chill, and not warm
enough to relax the system. Ten or fifteen minutes is
long enough to remain in the bath.

The Cold Water System, so popular among many
modern physicians, is quite in opposition to this notion.
" Who shall decide when doctors disagree ?"

CHAPTER XIII.

POLITENESS.

'There is nothing so difficult to learn, as the kind of politeness
which is neither ceremonious nor familiar; it seems a trifle, but it
requires a foundation in ourselves, for no one acquires it, if it is not
inspired by early habit or elevation of mind." MADAME DK STAEL.

TRUE politeness has its origin in the heart ; but the
external expression of it is what is commonly called
good-manners. Who has not acknowledged its charm,
and yielded to its influence ?

1. It is necessary to understand the customs of the
place where you are, to avoid any departure from con-
ventional good-manners. In going into company, a
young lady should learn the mode of entree. In most
places in our country, it is customary to take a gentle-
man's arm, to walk up to the lady of the house and drop
a courtesy, very gracefully, of course. If this is the
custom, she should take his left arm here, and in
walking, riding, entering church, and at the hymeneal
altar the left side, thus leaving his right arm free.
These things seem trifling; but by understandingjhem,
much embarrassment may be escaped. At a dinner-
party, be sure to know before you leave the drawing-
room, whether the first seat at the table belongs of right
to yourself; if so, never decline it ; if it does not, you
will find yourself very awkwardly situated, if some gen-

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tleman, not knowing his own place, interfere with the
arrangements of the lady of the house, and place you at
her right hand. A quick and observant eye will soon
give you a knowledge of any local peculiarities in eti-
quette, to which you can readily conform. A truly
well-bred lady is such everywhere ; she would handle
an ivory chop-stick in China as gracefully as a silver
fork at home, or a steel one, if she happened where they
used no other. Even if it should have but two prongs,
and incommode her not a little, she would t^ke no notice
of it ; for true politeness avoids giving pain. We have
seen young ladies assume such airs, on occasions
where they have met with things different from what
they have been accustomed to see at home, such airs
as made them quite ridiculous. The spectators proba-
bly would reason in this way : " You may have eaten
with a silver fork at home, but you are no lady."

A young lady, who stopped at a country tavern to
dine, perplexed the clumsy waiter by calling for a finger-
glass, and annoyed her party by bitter complaints about
the vulgarity of a place where they had never heard of
such an article. She might have been told of a gentle-
man, an elegant gentleman, too, of the old school,
who, when offered the finger-glasses at a friend's table,
very innocently took one, and drank off the contents ;
the lady of the house immediately perceiving it, called
the waiter, as if for some other duty, and ordered him
not to pass them around, knowing that her guests would
dispense with the ceremony, rather than give pain to an
extremely polite gentleman.

2. A well-bred woman should be perfectly self-
possessed.

POLITENESS. 85

To acquire this, a young lady must overcome that
natural diffidence, or rather, the mauvaise honte, that will
otherwise follow her like her shadow. The fashion-
able nonchalance, so much admired, cannot be acquired
without sacrificing much that is interesting in female
character. Every body repeats, " When a girl ceases to
blush, she has lost the greatest charm of beauty ;" yet
many of these very persons insist upon that imperturb-
able self-command in a young lady, which cannot be
attained without some loss of truthfulness and natural
modesty. Novelty and beauty must call forth, in the
unsophisticated mind, wonder and admiration ; there is
no need of the vociferous exclamations of ignorance and
vulgarity, nor the gaping wonder of a backwoodsman ;
but it is really unjust to compel the young to suppress
entirely their enthusiasm, and practise the nil admirari.
From practising this show of indifference, they come at
last to feel it, and half the pleasure of the spring-time of
life is crushed, and the mind and heart hopelessly in-
jured. Even the attentive and observing habit of mind,
upon which so much depends, is destroyed, and those
tame, unmeaning characters are formed, who move about
like automata, the mindless puppets of the ball-room,
the pretty " wall - flowers " of the drawing-room.
Every well-educated woman should be self-controlled ;
this comes more properly under moral discipline, yet it
should form the foundation of that self-possession which
is to be desired, very different from that self-satisfied
and self-confident manner, which is so disagreeable in a
young lady. The opposite extreme from the retiring
diffidence of a young lady, which is pardonable, is that
noisy, hoydenish freedom of manner which is not, inas-
8

86 THE YOUNG LADv's HoMC.

much as it is extremely troublesome, as well as contrary
to good taste. The dull monotony, arising from the Pro-
crustean system of bringing every body to the same stan-
dard of quiescence, can be borne with more patience than
the din of these romps, or the hue and cry of sentiment-
alists, like Dr. Syntax, in search of the picturesque. The
quiet, unpretending dignity of a perfectly polite lady, is
as far removed from one extreme as the other.

3. Gracefulness of motion is delightful, especially
where it springs from an innocent and free spirit retained
from childhood. A voice " sweet and low," and a
manner courteous and gentle, are indeed "excellent in
woman," but they should flow from the law of kindness
written in the heart. These pleasing expressions of po-
liteness should not be neglected ; they are like the beau-
tiful color and rich perfume of the flower, or the grace-
ful meandering of the rivulet ; who denies their utility ?

4. Due deference to age and superiority. The
primness of boarding-school misses has called forth suf-
ficient animadversion and ridicule ; there is little danger
that these manners will continue long after their emanci-
pation from the stocks and back-board ; there is com-
monly excitement, and pleasure enough in recovered
freedom, to overcome the temporary formality which
has been thus produced. It has been said by phrenolo-
gists, that the organ of veneration, or reverence, is not
largely developed in this country. One would think so,
from the behaviour of young ladies at public places.
The best places are yielded by courtesy to ladies ; but
have we lost all respect and consideration for others ?^
It is provoking to see an aged, respectable man turned
out of his seat ; (often even at church,) by some pert girl

POLITENESS. 87

of sixteen, who goes there, perhaps, for no better pur-
pose than to exhibit herself and her finery. She might
better take an inferior seat, or even stand for an hour or
two, than thus incommode the infirm and venerable man
who comes to listen to the messenger of mercy, it may
be for the last time. Time was, when gray hairs were
honored, when elders were respected, when a life spent
in -the service of the country was a title to veneration ;
but now, tempora, mores !

At public places young ladies cannot be too quiet, nor
too reserved; here, indeed, "silence is gold." Their
chattering and giggling, at concerts and other places,
where some people go to hear, are intolerable. It is not
only ill-bred, but actually unjust thus to deprive our
neighbor of his rights. Who does not dread the neigh-
bourhood of a reigning belle on such occasions ?

It is a grievous fault for a young lady to be so exclu-
sively occupied with the gentlemen, in society, as to pay
no attention to the ladies ; not a very uncommon fault,
either. A beautiful and admired lady, the centre of at-
traction, appears truly lovely when she endeavours to
make others appear to the best advantage, and when,
seeking out some modest, retiring girl, who has retreated
to a corner, she forgets herself in contributing to the en-
joyment of another. The older ladies, too, have a
claim upon your attention ; they, to be sure, do riot
like to be neglected, especially when they act the chape-
ron ; doubtless they often forego their own pleasure
thus to oblige you, and it is ungrateful to show yourself
insensible to their kindness. Another offending trait, is
[hat restlessness and impatience that may be observed
when others are the objects of attention ; an eye wan-

00 THE YOUNG LADY S HOME.

dering in pursuit of.some one to make up the deficiency,
or seeking for some more acceptable person than the
one who is endeavouring to make himself agreeable.

Haughtiness is so offensive to the self-esteem of every
one, that it is with common consent pronounced insuffer-
able. Pride may exist without contempt, \vhich is an
essential ingredient in haughtiness.

That confidential, communicative manner with gentle-
men, commonly called jKrftrffcw, cannot be too severely
reprehended. Gentlemen indulge in it for their own
amusement ; but, even in their eyes, it stains the purity
and lessens the dignity of a young lady's character.
They doubtless often think, when they see a young lady
confirmed in this habit, something like what Godfrey
Percy, in Patronage, says :

"Sir, she's yours; from the grape you have brushed its soft blue,
From the rose-bud you 've shaken its tremulous dew ;
What you 've touched you may take ; pretty flirter, adieu ! "

Flirtation should hardly have been mentioned as an
offence against good manners, for it encroaches upon
good morals, good taste and good-sense.

It has, we trust, been shown, that, after due attention
has been paid to etiquette and those forms of society
that are conventional, something more is necessary to
constitute true politeness. It must have its origin in the
heart. Where shall we find a better code of politeness
than the one furnished us by St. Paul ; it " suffereth long
and is kind, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked,
vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave it-
self unseemly." True, he calls it chanty; but where
shall we find anything to equal it, as a guide, even in
what we term good-manners? Politeness, in order to

POLITENESS.

be easy, must be habitual. It cannot be donned and
doffed, as readily as Goldsmith's Chinese philosopher
said an English fine lady could put on and off her com-
pany face, made up of patches, paint, and smiles. Like
a fine dress, fine manners, to be pleasing, must not
occupy constantly the thoughts, but must be borne about
unconsciously, as if " part and parcel " of the owner.

CHAPTER XIV.

WOMAN'S HOME INFLUENCE.

" Victoria. I 'd put a white coif o'er my braided locks,
And be a plain, good, simple dame!

Albini. And is, indeed, a plain domestic dame,
Who fills the duties of an useful state,
A being of less dignity than she
Who vainly on her transient beauty builds
A little, poor, ideal tyranny?

Isabella. Ideal, too!

Jllbini. Yes, most unreal power ;

For she, who only finds her self-esteem
In others' admiration, begs an alms ;
Depends on others for her daily food,
And is the very servant of her slaves ;
Though oftentimes in a fantastic hour
O'er men she may a childish power exert,
Which not ennobles, but degrades, her state."

BAILLIE.

AMONG the refined and intellectual Greek.^ woman
occupied a very subordinate station. Although a mere
slave to her haughty lord, not acknowledged as possess-
ing the least power or influence, nevertheless, if we
could have looked into their hearts and homes, a strong
under-current might have been discovered, swaying the
movements of heroes, philosophers, and statesmen.

The Roman women possessed more individuality and
strength of character, than the light, soft, untaught
Grecian dames. Their influence was not only felt, but
acknowledged. It was a popular subject for the ridicule
of the satirist, and of grave philosophical inquiry to the
(90)

moralist. The Roman historians have portrayed the
characters of some of the noblest, and some of the vilest,
of the sex. Who has not felt a glow of enthusiastic
admiration for the beautiful matronly virtues of a Cor-
nelia, and a blush of shame and indignation that woman-
kind should have been disgraced by a Tullia ?

So highly were domestic virtues prized in ancient
Rome, that the following epitaph was deemed worthy
to be engraven upon the splendid tomb of a Roman
matron :

"Domum mansit, lanum fecit."

Homely and faint praise would it be thought for a
modern dame,

" In her own house she staid,
And woollen garments made."

But all Roman women were not such mere notables
as to be deserving of no higher eulogium. Calphurnia,
the wife of Pliny, was his friend, counsellor, and intel-
lectual companion. Writing to Hispula, the aunt who
had educated her, soon after his marriage, Pliny says :
" Her ingenuity is admirable ; her frugality is extra-
ordinary. She loves me, the surest pledge of her vir-
tue, and adds to this a wonderful disposition to learning ,
ivhich she has acquired from her affection to me. She
reads my writings, studies them, and even gets them by
heart ; you would smile to see the concern she is in
when I have a cause to plead, and the joy she shows
when it is over. She finds means to have news brought
to her of the success I meet with in court, how I am
heard, and what decree is made. If I recite any thing
in public, she cannot refrain from placing herself private-
ly in some corner to hear, where with the utmost delight

she feasts upon my applauses ; sometimes she sings my
verses and accompanies them with the lute, without
any master except love, the best of instructers. From
these instances I take the most certain omens of our
perpetual and increasing happiness, since her affection is
not founded on my youth or person, which must gradu-
ally decay, but she is in love with the immortal part of
me, my glory and reputation." In a letter addressed to
Calphurnia herself, Pliny thus writes : "You tell me
you are very much afflicted with my absence, and that you
have no satisfaction in any thing but my writings, which
you often lay by you upon your pillow. You oblige me
very much in wishing to see me, and making me your
comforter in my absence. In return, I must let you
know I am no less pleased with the letters which you
write to me, and read them over a thousand times with
new pleasure."

When the Roman republic had increased in wealth,
and the people revelled in luxury, the women retained
not their primitive industry and frugality. How were
the latter days of Cicero embittered by the extravagance
of the proud Valeria ! As she brought him a fortune,
she thought she had a right to indulge her expensive
taste to the utmost ; this involved him in such pecuniary
embarrassment, that he, after enduring it many years, at
length divorced her. His domestic enjoyment, however,
was not insured by this measure ; for soon after, marry-
ing his rich and beautiful ward, Publelia, he became so
unhappy in consequence of her misconduct that he repu-
diated her.

The retired, quiet enjoyment of earlier days was so
rare in Rome during the reigns of the emperors, that a
wife like Calphurnia, possessing "frugality," might well

WOMAN'S HOME INFLUENCE. 93

be deemed a wonderful phenomenon. The folly and
extravagance of Roman women were only equalled by
Cleopatra herself. Their time was spent at the theatres,
baths, and other places of public amusement, and the
moral influence of home was no longer felt among a
degenerate, corrupt people, hastening to their downfall.

The inhabitants of northern countries, the Germans,
Saxons, and other nations of the Gothic race, were dis-
tinguished from time immemorial for their considerate,
dignified treatment of women. Among the Anglo-
Saxons, the head of the table, as in modern days, was
assigned to the lady of the house, who was called the
bread-giver, a name from which the English word lady
is derived. Much of the time was spent by the men of
these rude nations in social enjoyment, of which their
wives and daughters were partakers. Doubtless their
manners, though rough, were rendered much less so by
this circumstance. How shall we account for the horri-
ble custom among the Anglo-Saxons, of selling their
beautiful daughters into slavery ? The temptations of
avarice led to this abominable traffic ; and the fair sons
and daughters of England were " sold like cattle in all
the markets of Europe."

Woman owes her present elevation of character and
condition to Christianity ; in all countries where its be-
nign, holy influence is unfelt, she is still an unintellect-
ual, a degraded being, and just in proportion to its
purity and its power over a people, is her domestic
happiness. In France, during the reigns of many of her
volatile and vicious sovereigns, the women of the higher
ranks were worshipped as goddesses, ruling the court
with despotic sway, while the lower ranks were treated
like field-slaves. During "the Reign of Terror," what

were the women of France ? The mind recoils and the
heart shudders at the contemplation of the fiendlike in-
fluence they exerted. It is doubtful if at any time there
has been a healthful home-influence exercised by woman
upon that theatrical, fickle nation. Their language does
not furnish the words home and comfort, and they live
too much in public to enjoy either. French women,
however, have given examples of heroism, fortitude,
and devoted attachment, that have few parallels ; the
names of Mesdames Lavalette, Roland, and Lafayette
will readily occur to the memory. They have more sen-
timent, enthusiasm, and romance, than English women ;
and less principle, stability, and good sense. Formerly,
English wives were said to be the best in the world.
One of the old writers, Lord Clarendon, says of the
days of his grandfather, \vho lived in the reign of James
the First, " The wisdom and frugality of that time
were such, that few gentlemen made journeys to Lon-
don, or any other expensive journey, and their wives
never ; by which providence they enjoyed and improved
their estates in the country, and kept good hospitality in
their house, brought up their children well, and were be-
loved by their neighbours."

In these comfortable homes were nurtured some of
the strongest minds that England ever produced ; and
thus were formed some of those admirable wives, whose
influence was afterwards perpetuated in New England.
The national character was far more moral, and more
respectable, than in the dissolute reign of Charles the
Second, when those delightful English homes had been
broken up by civil commotions, and London became
the centre of gayety, luxury, and dissipation. The
homely virtues were then quite out of fashion ; unfor-

tunately, among a numerous class of high-born and
wealthy English wives, they have ever since been con-
sidered mauvais ton. Noble and honorable exceptions
there are at this day, and were, even during that season
of turmoil and strife. During the reign of the first
Charles, when the eloquence of Jeremy Taylor was
often wasted upon " ears polite," there were some who
listened to his pungent preaching, doubtless, with intense
interest. He has left us a portrait of one of these old-
fashioned wives, which may serve as a model of excel-
lence, even for our own times. In a funeral sermon,
preached on the death of the Countess of Carberry, the
wife of Lord Vaughan, he says, in his usual quaint style,
" I must be forced to use summaries and arts of abbre-
viature, in the enumerating those things in which this rare
personage was dear to God and all her relatives." He
then gives the following summary of the Countess's ex-
cellences : " If we consider her person, she \vas in the
flower of her age ; of a temperate, plain, and natural
diet, without curiosity or an intemperate palate ; she
spent less time in dressing than many servants; her
recreations were little and seldom ; her prayers often ;
her reading much ; she was of a most noble and char
table soul ; a great lover of honorable actions, and as
great a despiser of base things ; hugely loving to oblige
others, and very unwilling to be in arrear to any, upon
the stock of courtesies and liberality ; so free in all acts
of favor, that she would not stay to hear "herself thanked,
as being unwilling that what good went from her to a
needful or an obliged person should ever return to her
again ; she was an excellent friend, and hugely dear to
very many, especially to the best and most discerning
persons, to all that conversed with her and could under-

stand her great worth and sweetness: she was of an
honorable, a nice, and tender reputation ; and of the
pleasures of this world, which were laid before her in
heaps, she took a very small and inconsiderable share,
as not loving to glut herself with vanity, or take her
portion of good things here below.

"If we look on her as a wife, she was chaste and
loving and discreet, humble and pleasant, witty and com-
pliant, rich- and fair; and wanted nothing to the making
her a principal and precedent to the best wives of the
world, but a long life and a full age.

"If we remember her as a mother, she was kind and
severe, careful and prudent, very tender, and not at all
fond ; a greater lover of her children's souls than of their
bodies, and one that would value them more by the strict
rules of honor and proper worth, than by their relation
to herself.

" Her servants found her prudent and fit to govern,
and yet open-handed and apt to reward ; a just exacter
of their duty, and a great rewarder of their diligence.

" She was in her house a comfort to her dearest lord,
a guide to her children, a rule to her servants, an ex-
ample to all."

We look back with unfeigned reverence to those ad-
mirable women, whose sacrifices, labors, and courage
were instrumental in laying the foundation of our own
country. The early legends of New England are adorned
with names that are embalmed in the memory of their de-
scendants. In the days of our Revolution American wo-
men had not degenerated. Their self-denial, fortitude,
and sincere simple piety are beyond all praise. It may
be said, that the "times that tried men's souls" de-
veloped these virtues in the other sex. Perhaps it was

so. They, like their husbands, had that unity of pur
pose, intent upon the attainment of a great object, which
produces strength and true greatness of character. They
remained at home, discharging their duty, while their
husbands were engaged in the senate or on the field of
battle. While these devoted wives were thus left to
depend upon their own resources, did not the thought of
them in their distant homes give intenser fervor to the
eloquence of the patriot statesmen, who pleaded her cause
in the colonial congress, and more deliberate valor to
the patriot warrior on the day of battle? Who can
forget " the Stark of Bennington ? "

"When on that field his band the Hessians fought,

Briefly he spoke before the fight began :
'Soldiers! those German gentlemen are bought

For four pounds eight and seven pence per man,
By England's king, a bargain, it is thought.

Are we worth more ? Let 's prove it now we can,
For we must beat them, boys, ere set of sun,

Or Mary Stark's a widow.' 1 It was done."

Has the mantle of these venerated mothers descend-
ed upon American women of the present day ? With
all the improvements in modern education, are wives
better qualified to make a happy home?

"Nothing lovelier can be found.
In woman, than to study household good,
And good works in her husband to promote."

The brief learning of our great-grandmothers was
comprised in that respectable trio, reading, writing, and
ciphering ; but in strength of mind, decision of charac-
ter, skilful domestic management, persevering industry,
sound, sober sense, and practical religion, where are
their equals?

We have not adverted thus far to the influence of
mothers. Tim* would fail to tell" of Timothy,
9

98 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

Alexander, Julius Csesar, Napoleon, Newton, Wesley,
Sir William Jones, Beattie, Cecil, Hall, Hooker, Dod-
dridge, D wight, and an innumerable cloud of witnesses
to the power of this influence. Other and abler pens
have portrayed the startling reality of this verity.

The influence thus committed to woman is the tenth
talent not to be spoken of vauntingly ; with humility
and lowliness of mind, it is to be considered a solemn
and a sacred trust, which must be accounted for at the
bar of God.

From the examples which have been given, as well as
from our knowledge of the original design of the Crea-
tor in thus endowing woman for a companion and help-
meet for man, we infer that her true and most powerful
influence must be at home. That their influence may
be happy and permanent, women must be keepers at
home ; earnest that the sphere which Providence has
allotted them should revolve with perfect order and har-
mony.

What shall we say of those bold and daring innova-
tions which of late have given startling proof that some,
at least, are not contented with that humble sphere.
Has any female demagogue, though condemned by all
sober well-wishers to their country and to the interests
of the human race, exerted a baleful influence? Has
she aided in persuading American women that they
are not allowed the rights of free citizens? Alas!
are we to be persuaded out of our best and truest in-
terests by these masculine marauders? Can any one
deny that there is a desire to mingle in public affairs, a
wrangling in controversy, and a hankering for public
applause, unbecoming the dignity and delicacy of woman ?
If any doubt this, look at the societies formed of both

WOMAN'S HOME INFLUENCE. 99

sexes, where the ladies take an active part in debate and
management. Listen to their voices, from various parts
of our land, loudly claiming the right of suffrage, the
right to have endowed colleges of their own; in short,
the right to be free independent Americans ? These
encroachments are to be looked upon with jealous eyes
by every lover of the country's welfare. Among the
thousand and one flood-gates, open for her destruction,
this is not the least. Where will these bold inno-
vators stop ? Not, if they love power as well as these
manoeuvres indicate, till they snatch the reins of govern-
ment itself into their own grasping hands. From such a
consummation nothing could deliver us, but the still
greater love of power, and superior strength to maintain
it, on the side where it now lies. Public opinion, hap-
pily, is still strongly against these bold " strikes," and this
"turn out" for higher privileges. Among the other
dangers to which our free institutions expose us, this
departure of American women from the sweet and serene
sphere for which Providence designed them was never
predicted, even by the most gloomy early prophet of our
country's downfall.

The silent, resistless influence of home and the affec-
tions, this is woman's true glory. If it be, as the
poet sings, that "domestic happiness is the only bliss
that has escaped the Fall," how sedulous should she be,
to whom it is most precious, to preserve it inviolate !
Instead of stepping forth upon the arena of strife, she
should make her home and her fireside a quiet, sweet
sanctuary for less favored ones, who must mingle amid
the jarring and conflicting elements of the world,
whose hearts would otherwise be hardened and seared by
constant intercourse with such a world.

100

Some fair reader may inquire, why this advice to
young ladies ? Do you not expect at some future day
to become a wife ? Why should you affect to deny it ?
The voice of nature speaks out, and innocently, too,
Such is my anticipation. Why should you disavow
what is implanted in your heart by an Almighty hand ?
If any circumstances counteract this original design, you
can be useful, contented, and respectable in a single
state : there are too many examples of exalted and
amiable character in women who have remained single,
to render this doubtful ; mean and despicable is it to
attach odium to that situation, which is made honorable
by some of the brightest and best of the sex.

The same resources which will enable you to be
happy and useful in one situation will avail you in
another.

Low and ill-natured must be the spirit of that being,
who would ridicule the idea of a young lady's thinking
of those virtues, and cultivating those dispositions, which
will insure connubial happiness. Every generous, high-
minded man will understand that this is her duty, and
would despise the mawkish fastidiousness which affects
never to think of such a condition.

A young lady who would be prepared for the respon-
sible situation of a wife and the respected mistress of a
household, has much to learn at her mother's fireside.
A cumbrous set of rules and maxims hung about one,
like the charms which the gree-^rce man sells to the
poor African, will not ward off the evils, nor furnish an
antidote to the trials, of life. It is by th^ L^bitual exer-
cise of those affections and those principles wiJcii make
her the light and life of her father's hearth arA b^ that
a young lady becomes fitted for another stetioo At

WOMAN'S HOME INFLUENCE. 101

home she is in the genial school ordained by Providence
for the nurture of those "flowers of loveliness" which
will beautify another habitation. The habit of cheerful
acquiescence in the will of others may be acquired by
submission to the will of parents ; self-denial, by yield-
ing to brothers and sisters ; consideration for the welfare
of dependants, by care not to give unnecessary trouble to
servants. A young lady who is not an affectionate,
docile daughter, a loving, kind sister, cannot make a
good wife. Woe be to the man who, relying upon a
promise made at the altar to " love, honor, and obey,"
trusts his happiness to such an one. A promise cannot
implant new dispositions ; a new affection does not often
change at once the whole tenor of conduct and feeling.
If it be a very strong one, it may remould the character
in time ; but time alone can test its strength and power.
It is the dutiful daughter who will make the obedient
wife. Obedient ! How antiquated ! True : almost as
old as the creation. Many a silly girl exclaims, "I
never will obey." What says the philosophical Paley
on the subject of obedience ? " One very common error
misleads the opinions of mankind on this head ; namely,
that, universally, authority is pleasant, submission painful.
In the general course of human affairs, the very reverse
of this is nearer to the truth. Command is anxiety, obe-
dience ease." If strength and courage are given to
man, he must be foremost in action and danger. If
feebleness and timidity claim from him support and pro-
tection, what is due in return but love and obedience?
The Germans have very orthodox notions on this sub-
ject. The famous Jean Paul Richter thus writes to his
friend some time after his marriage :

" How happy I am you should see rather than read.
9*

102

My Caroline, who wins the love of all, of the men by
her beauty, of the women by her captivating, cordial
kindness, subdues rne by happiness to contentment.
We have the whole town for friends. Her almost too
great indifference to going out, her sinking into quiet
industry, her strong, maidenly love, her unconditional
resignation to my will, all this makes our love even
younger than at first, when it w r as merely young. That
thou wilt be in love with her is most certain."

About the same time this submissive wife writes to
her father. Does she complain of her bondage, and
assert her rights ? She says :

" My husband is perfectly contented with every thing
as it is, and I am so happy that he is so, and conform so
willingly to his wishes, which to one of more pretensions
would seem too limited, that I enjoy the sweet satisfac-
tion of being to him what he requires. Let me ever
repeat, that we grow happier every day. Nothing with-
out or within disturbs us."

Lady reader, the well-spring of the affections is in
your own heart ; let it not be a sealed fountain ; let your
love cheer your father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends,
and your gentle, docile submission to lawful authority
prove, that it has been well for you " to bear the yoke in
your youth."

CHAPTER XV.

A DAUGHTER'S DUTY.

" With sympathies that have their birth
Where woman's best affections lie ;
With hopes that hover o'er the earth,

But fix their resting-place on high." ANON.

How few daughters are fully aware of the sacrifices
made for them by their parents ! Your father, it
may be, year after year has toiled, for that wealth which
enables him to give you the luxuries and elegances of
life. Day and night has his anxious mind been exer-
cised for your welfare. He has spared you from home
and its duties, and given up the pleasure of your society
and your assistance, to fit you for life. Or, if you have
been so happy as to remain beneath the parental roof,
you have probably been so occupied with your intellect-
ual education as to have had little time to devote to
him. Now, that you have more leisure, inquire how
you shall contribute to your father's comfort and enjoy-
ment. Have you acquired accomplishments? Con-
sider it the highest gratification they can afford you to
exercise them for his amusement. Let the voice which
he has been the means of cultivating yield its sweetest
notes for his pleasure ; let his praise be more welcome
to your ear than the applause of thousands. Is he fond
of reading? Select your favorite passages, and read
them to him when he has leisure to listen. Madame de

(103)

104

Stael's strong attachment to her father, M. Necker, was
one of the most striking and pleasing traits in her char-
acter. In her " Ten Years' Exile," she thus mentions
him : " His mind had so much vivacity and penetration,
that one was excited to think by the pleasure of talking
to him; I made observations to report to him, I lis-
tened to repeat to him. Ever since I have lost him, I
see and feel only half what I did, when I had the object
in view of giving him pleasure by the picture of my im-
pressions."

How elevating, how ennobling, is such a confiding
friendship between father and daughter! Where it is
possible, cultivate most carefully such confidential inter-
course. Seek that advice which a father's superior
knowledge of the world renders invaluable to the timid
novice, ever needing a guiding hand.

Yield to your father that ready obedience which
the sacred relationship demands. Increasing years and
knowledge on your part, will not free you from this obli-
gation. One of the wisest and best men of our country,
the late President Dwight, remarked, that in the course
of a long experience he had observed that "there were
two sins which were almost invariably punished in this
life, disobedience to parents, and falsity in love."
The melancholy lives of many offending daughters bear
witness to the truth of this remark. How can it be ex-
pected that they who practise habitual dereliction of
duty in one relation, would do honor to any other ?

The respect due to a father is often violated by those
who have received a better mental education than their
parents. And have you been thus elevated in mind for
no better purpose than to despise him who has toiled
for you, and sacrificed his own pleasure to give you

105

this very elevation ? If so, your intellect has been cul-
tivated at the expense of your heart, an odious defect
in a woman. With what agony of grief might your
father exclaim, " How sharper than a serpent's tooth
it is, to have a thankless child !" A delicate sensibility
will lead to the greatest caution where this mental dis-
parity exists, and the most assiduous efforts to repay, by
respectful attention and kindness, the immense obligation
thus incurred. The noble sentiment of the Theban
general, Epaminondas, has been universally admired.
After his famous victory at Leuctra, while the thrilling
applause of Greece was sounding in his ears, he ex-
claimed, "My joy arises from my sense of that which
the news of my victory will give my father and my
mother." However high the elevation to which you, in
the providence of God, may be raised above your
parents, they, by an immutable law of the same provi-
dence, must remain in some respects your superiors.

Can you not find some way of making yourself use-
ful to your father ? In a large manufactory, not many
leagues from Paris, the daughters of trfe wealthy ownei
are the only clerks for the large establishment. They
keep the books, and, with very little assistance from
their father, write all the letters of a most extensive for-
eign correspondence. In the evening they have leisure,
and elegant leisure ; but until three o'clock in the after-
noon they are entirely devoted to their employment. In
this country such a thing would be an anomaly. The
delicate daughters of America shrink from the idea of
industrious occupation, as if it were disgrace. Better
would it be for them if they were prepared for the vicis-
situdes which they may encounter, by some knowledge
of business, and habits of industry. True, custom does

106

not sanction their sitting at the high desks of the count-
ing-room, but they may receive from their fathers that
insight into the mysteries of book-keeping by double or
single entry," which may qualify them to keep family
accounts, or manage their affairs if left alone in life. If
your father is a professional man, my young friend,
perhaps you hold " the pen of a ready writer," and can
lighten his labors. You, who have scarcely known
weariness except by name, cannot imagine the wearing,
distracting nature of his employment. Study to be use-
ful to him, so far as your ability will permit ; when his
brow is contracted with thought, and the multiplicity of
his cares and duties almost drives him mad, aid him, if he
will permit you to do so, and soothe him by your kind
attentions.

Has a change come over his prosperous days ?
Has the wealth that patient industry or daring enterprise
had gained, or that had been inherited from honored an-
cestors, passed away, like the dew of the morning?
"What will you do to comfort him, during the heat and
burden of this day of trials ? It may have gratified his
pride in the day of his prosperity, to see you making a
splendid appearance. Lessen the pain that he will feel
in denying himself this gratification, by indifference on
your own part. Put far away false shame, and a mis-
taken desire to "keep up appearances." Demonstrate
to him that your heart was not fixed on splendid appar-
el ; at the same time, show a scrupulous attention lo
neatness and good taste. Whatever changes may come,
maintain that dignified self-respect which will secure you
from contempt. You will not be lessened in the estima-
tion of one single wise or noble-minded being, by accom-
modating yourself to an altered worldly condition. And

A DAUGHTER'S DUTY. 107

here I am tempted to digress, to tell a short story, which
is more than half fiction.

THE long rows of elms, that ornament one of the love-
liest streets on earth, had burst their wintry buds, and
the light and graceful branches gently waved in the breath
of early spring. The grass, starting fresh from its long
rest beneath its snowy covering, now wore its softest
verdure. The far-reaching vista presented in the dis-
tance a perfect Gothic arch, formed by the limbs of the
lofty elms which intersect each other, through the whole
length of that beautiful street.

Two strangers, arm in arm, were slowly sauntering
along, apparently deeply engaged in conversation ; stop-
ping occasionally, however, to admire a scene so new
and delightful.

The taller of these strangers was a splendid girl of
eighteen or twenty, with large, dark eyes, of too dazzling
brilliancy, and a person and gait that might have belonged
to the "widow Dido." Her dress and manner pro-
claimed her an ultra-fashionist.

Her companion was a pale and exceedingly delicate
girl, of nearly the same age. If the comparison of a rose
and a lily had not been worn out a thousand years ago,
it would doubtless have served for this occasion. The
lily moved with an air so sweetly feminine, so graceful
arid becoming, that it would have been a sad disappoint-
ment had the face not answered the expectation formed
by that prepossessing air ; one glance at the fair face
proved that the whole was in keeping.

" The loveliness of this beautiful world ! I had nev-
er eyes for it before," exclaimed the latter, whom we
shall call Alice. It realizes the truth of poetical de-

108 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

scription," continued she, leaning against one of the
trees, and looking upwards.

"You might think of one stanza, at least, as realized,
if you could see yourself, Alice, at this moment," re-
plied the other, Irene by name.

" White bud, that in meek beauty so dost lean,

The cloistered cheek as pale as moonlight snow,
Thou seem'st, beneath thy huge, high leaf of green,
An Eremite beneath his mountain's brow."

" Why, even you, Irene, feel the influence of this
charming scene, as your quotation proves ; is there not
another stanza?" said Alice.

u There is," replied Irene, " but it is too sentimen-
tal ; however, to gratify you, I will repeat it ; but posi-
tively you are growing too romantic ; it is mauvais gout.

'Sweet bud ! thou 'rt emblem of a lovelier thing,

The broken spirit that its anguish bears
To silent shades, and there, sits offering
To Heaven the holy fragrance of its tears.'

Alice, dear, I verily believe the tears are in your
eyes. I would not have repeated this scrap, if I had
suspected you of so much sensibility. Nonsense ! I
would most willingly exchange, at this moment, this long
row of tall trees, for the same length of tall houses in
Broadway."

" Will you tell me candidly, Irene," said the first fair
and gentle speaker, " what tastes, what passions, and
what sentiments are gratified by a walk in Broadway ?"

" Who would believe it of the belle of New York !
The admired, the courted, the idolized Alice Carson,"
exclaimed her gay friend, " absolutely becoming philo-
sophical !"

"Do not ridicule, Irene, but answer me."

109

" Well then, ma belle, candidly and methodically.
Under the first grand division, What tastes are gratified
by a walk in Broadway ? Firstly, a taste for the beauti-
ful. Secondly, a taste for the sublime. Thirdly, a taste
for eloquence. Fourthly, a taste for wit."

Alice. Still jesting, Irene ; cannot I persuade you
to speak seriously once in your life ?

Irene. You will not listen to me ; be patient. A
taste for the beautiful, the human face divine is there
exhibited most bewitchingly ; the finely proportioned and
graceful person, decorated by able artistes, feathers
of all hues, collected from nature's aviary, flowers,
out-rivalling nature herself; the silkworm's laborious
thread, beautified to such a degree that the poor worm
would never recognize his raw material, gems of
" purest ray serene," no longer doomed to obscurity in
dark, unfathomed caves of ocean. Have I not proved
that a taste for the beautiful may be gratified in Broad-
way, that most delightful of all promenades ?

Alice. Most satisfactorily to yourself. And what
passions are called into exercise ?

Irene. Love, ambition, envy, revenge, hatred, hope,
fear, joy, all, Alice, of which the human heart is sus-
ceptible. These are the chief source of enjoyment.
They keep up excitement, and prevent the sluggish cur-
rent of life from absolute stagnation.

Alice. Are all these passions pleasurable ?

Irene. You are departing from the question ; you
asked what passions were gratified.

Alice. You can tell me, then, how they are gratified ?

Irene. Ambition, a desire to excel ; did we not so
define it at school? When you prepare yourself for a
walk in Broadway, do you not desire to be more elegant,
10

110 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

more recherche, mo~e attractive, than any one else ?
When you first put on that pure, sweet chip-hat, with
its delicate wreath of blushing white rose-buds, for,
now I think of it, they are exactly the color of your
blush at this moment, did you not cast another, and
still another, look at your mirror?

Alice (interrupting). Stay, Irene ; that is vanity.

Irene. Granted ; that is woman's ambition.

Alice. What a confession !

Irene. Confess yourself, now ; have you not thus
surveyed your pretty self, from the topmost plume to the
delicate heel of your shoe, and, finding all as beautiful
as though you had been fitted out by Cinderella's
grandmother, have you not gone forth exulting to
conquest? And when you saw all eyes upon you, and
drank in admiration from every one, then you were tri-
umphantly joyful.

Alice (sighing). Such things have been, but even
then I felt that I was made for better things. There
was a far-reaching hope of happiness, still unsatisfied.
When admiration was new to me, I was intoxicated,
bewildered, by it ; but it was not long before I could
read envy in many an eye, and the whispers of malice
and uncharitableness reached my ears.

Irene. That, of course, enhanced your enjoyment. I
love to be envied, and it raises my pride to be hated.

Alice. It gives me no pleasure to be the cause of
misery to others. My health, too, suffered in conse-
quence of late hours and constant excitement. Satiety,
ennui, and disgust, have since haunted my footsteps.

Irene. A goodly trio ! But you have named the true
cause of all, ill health.

Alice. You mistake ; those artificial pleasures, those

Ill

factitious enjoyments, were not suited to my nature ;
they palled upon the lip. Here, in this sweet spot, my
soul expands ; I am like an uncaged, bird, soaring free
into a pure, unclouded sky. Those powers that were
given me for nobler purposes, but which were stifled
during my butterfly career, now make themselves
known ; I am not all of " earth, earthy."

Irene was silent for one brief moment, and then re-
sumed, in the same light strain, You have not allowed
me to tell you how my taste for the sublime is gratified
in glorious Broadway by the boundary line, the magnifi-
cently ridiculous ; nor how the compliments of the beaux
display their eloquence, and how my wit is called into
exercise to parry them, and how

Alice. Spare me, Irene ; your mirth does not har-
monize with the calm serenity of this beautiful evening.

Irene. I fear we have already strolled here too long ;
it is getting late, and somebody says,

"The dews of the evening most carefully shun ;
They 're the tears of the sky for the loss of the sun."

So saying, they hurried across the public square to
the , their temporary home.

As they were ascending the steps of the hotel, they
encountered a bevy of romping girls, dressed in the ex-
treme of fashion, talking and laughing very loudly;
some of them had their bonnets in their hands, swinging
them about, and all appeared in high glee, perfectly re-
gardless of the attention they attracted. A gentleman
who was passing them said to his companion, " That
is a party of Broadway dashers ; they have come
up to astonish the natives; they have no idea that
tfiere can be respectability, or gentility, out of their own
city."

112

Alice gave her friend a meaning smile, as she said,
" Do you recognize them as acquaintances, Irene ?"

" No, indeed ! What vulgarity !" said Irene, hasten-
ing into the parlour with Alice, and shutting the door
quickly, to avoid them. It was useless, the party came
rushing in. " Did you see me stare at that young man ?"
said one; "I never done any thing more complete; the
poor youth did not know what to make of it ; I like to
make these country gawks wonder." " 'T is real sport,"
said another ; " how they do stare and grin !" " There
goes them fellows again, that we have met so many
times," said a third, stretching her head out of the win-
dow; "I declare, the impudent creatures are bowing to
me." "I suppose they never saw a fashionable lady
before, and think they must bow," said the first speaker.
"Have you been taking a walk?" said one, addressing
Irene. "Yes," she replied, rising with dignity, "and
I am going to take another." So saying, she walked
out of the room, followed by Alice.

The windows of their sleeping apartment overlooked
the beautiful " Green," of that " City of Elms." The
moon, now rising, shed her magic light over the scene,
throwing the long shadows of the trees far across the
open space, and silvering the tall spires and cupolas.
Irene sat gazing, wrapt in thought. Alice, too, was
disposed to contemplation. A full hour passed in si-
lence. It was broken by Irene: "Those provoking
hoydens! they have put me out of conceit of myself.
Broadway dashers ! how much of cockneyism in the
very name ! I will not acknowledge myself to belong
to such a class; yet how, after all, do we differ? our
pursuits and enjoyments are much the same."

Mice. Exactly the same, excepting that superior

113

wealth and education have given more refinement to our
circle.

Irene. I cannot imagine any happiness but such as
wealth confers, or rather procures ; yet I do despise the
"rich vulgar;" so it is not riches for their own sake,
that I hold in such estimation ; yet I could not be poor,
the thought is agony.

Alice. You do not know your own resources ; with
such a mind as yours, talents so superior, you might find
contentment without wealth.

Irene. Never ! You do not know my pride. I would
not step down one round upon the ladder of society, to
save that right hand from amputation.

*******

Again the young friends were walking, arm in arm,
through their favorite street. The light foliage had
deepened to the richest verdure of summer, and the high
grass bent to every breeze. But is that the dazzling
Irene ? What a change ! Gloom sits heavily upon her
brow ; her proud, elastic step is gone. And has the
dreaded evil come? Has penury marked that bright
being for his own ? Her father has shared the fate of
thousands, and is penniless. Her high hopes of happi-
ness were " visions loved and lost."

Alice, the kind, the gentle Alice, is also changed.
The roses of health bloom upon her cheek, serene
cheerfulness lights her blue eye ; but it turns with sooth-
ing sympathy to her friend, as she says, " There is no
reason for this despondency ; you have the means of in-
dependence, Irene ; you are a fine performer on the
harp, and on the piano ; you can teach music."

Irene. How calmly you speak of it, Alice! / teach
music! I should be bored to death with teaching; I
10*

114

should be so mortified, too, to meet any of my former
friends.

Alice. Do you think it would lessen you in my esti-
mation ?

Irene. Perhaps not, you are so wondrous philo-
sophical.

Alice. It would not lessen you in the opinion of any
one who is governed by right feelings or right prin-
ciples.

Irene. Do not speak of it, Alice ; your intentions
may be good, but you don't understand my character.

Alice was hurt, but she did not reply. Her own
heart acquitted her ; she sought her friend's best inter-
est. After a few moments' silence she said, " Irene,
it would give me great pleasure to have you make
your home with me ; but as my father has listened to
my entreaty, and purchased a country-house where we
shall be very retired, on account of his delicate health,
I feared it might not be agreeable."

" Thank you ; I am not quite destitute of a home,"
haughtily replied Irene. " If my father has been obliged
to give up his house in Broadway, he will probably take
one in some genteel street. I do not think, however, I
shall remain with him the next winter ; it will be so in-
tolerably dull ; I can stay with my aunt Y , or un-
cle T ; they both live splendidly."

Alice. And who will comfort and cheer your father ?

Irene. O, my sister Mary, you know, is not yet out,
and will not be these two years ; she is with him, and
will not mind our mortifying downfall as I do.

Alice. But, dear Irene, think how much she needs
an elder sister's society and advice. Deprived, as we
both are, of our sainted mothers, we ought to endeav-

115

or to make up the loss, as far as possible, to our
younger sisters.

Irene. I tell you plainly, Alice, I have none of your
philosophy ; my heart is set upon another dashing season
in New York, and my pride is up, to carry it through
with as much eclat as we did the last. I shall show
those who are rejoicing in our misfortunes, that I carry
my head as high as ever.

Alice saw that it was useless to reason with her
friend; she sighed to think of the misery such false
views must produce, and changed the subject. "Are
not these trees still more beautiful every day ?"

Irene. No ; they are hateful, abominable ; the filthy
worms come streaming from every branch, and give one
the horrors.

" Who can minister to a mind diseased ?" thought
Alice, and continued the remainder of the walk silent
and thoughtful.

" This is the state of man ; a passing shadow
Throws down the baseless fobric of his joy."

Irene, although endowed munificently with nature's
gifts, felt the loss of wealth as the greatest earthly evil.
She would not employ her musical talents, as had been
suggested by Alice, as the means of honorable inde-
pendence, but accepted an invitation from her aunt Y

to pass the winter in her gay and fashionable mansion.

Meantime her father had removed to a small, but
neat and comfortable house, in a genteel street, as Irene
was delighted to hear, for otherwise her step would sel-
dom have passed the threshold. Happy for him that he
had another daughter! She, though rejoicing in the gay
spring-time of life, was sobered by sorrow, and taught

116

wisdom by early misfortune. A blessed thing was it for
him that he had a Mary !

Hard, indeed, was the struggle for the proud Irene
to "hold up her head as high as ever." Many there
were, who slighted, who ridiculed, who slandered, her.
Many, who had courted her society when the mistress of
the elegant mansion in Broadway, now passed her with
a supercilious nod, for she had not borne the honors
of her former station meekly. Still she fluttered among
the gay throng, and, with a desperate effort, seemed the
very spirit of joy.

During the latter part of this anxious winter, a former
suitor, whom, in the meridian of her glory, she had
scornfully rejected, again paid his addresses. She ac-
cepted, although she detested, him. He had one sole
recommendation, he was rich. It needs no prophet
to foretell, that hers will be a life of splendid misery.

How acceptable are the kind attentions of a daughter
in the chamber of sickness ! Who can administer the
healing draught, move about with soft and silent tread,
and lay "the cool hand upon an aching brow," with
more tenderness than a devoted daughter ?

And should age be creeping on with stealthy pace, be
it your blessed privilege, my young friend, to make it
" a green old age," by your deeds of love and your ex-
cellence of character. Then, from your venerated fa-
ther's lips shall escape the heart-felt testimony, Many
daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them
all."

In some communications from Egypt, dated at Cairo,
it is most interesting and encouraging to find, that, after
so many centuries of midnight darkness, the light of

A DAUGHTER'S DUTY. 117

knowledge is at last dawning there upon woman's mind.
Mehemet Ali, whose strong mind has overcome so many
prejudices, has at length determined, among his many
improvements, to introduce the European system of
education into his own family of daughters. One of his
principal officers, Hekekyan Effendi, said to the English
lady, who was requested there to assume the charge of
an instructress, " This is only the beginning of female
education in Egypt, for the Pacha has much larger
views ; but he wishes first to try the experiment on his
own family. Much depends upon tJie approbation of his
oldest daughter, whether instruction shall spread through
the country ; only gain her favor and regard, and you
will carry every point to your utmost wishes." This is
saying much for a daughter's influence. In a letter
addressed to the English lady on the same subject,
Hekekyan Effendi writes:

"Previous to the Viceroy's departure for the Said,
I was directed to inform you, that his Highness had ex-
amined the specimens of needle-work and the drawings
which you had the kindness to send ; and that his Serene
Highness had expressed his desire that you should visit
his daughter, Nazly Hanum, two or three times a week,
at Castle Guibarra, and that you should give her your
advice as to the best course to be pursued in commenc-
ing the education of his children.

" I congratulate you on this opportunity offered you
to extend the blessings of instruction to the highest
families of this benighted country. It is impossible to
foresee the vast results which must proceed from the intro-
duction of civilization in the lamily of the prince. Nazly
Hanum herself pays great filial deference to her illus-
trious fathers will in all things ; and it is difficult to

118 THE YOUNG LADY J S HOME.

imagine that any obstacles should arise from her part,
unless they should be determined by any, the slightest,
impolitic conduct on the part of the teachers themselves.

" In seconding my illustrious prince and benefactor in
his work of civilizing Egypt, I have been led to reflec-
tion by the nature of my duties, and have as yet been
able to trace our debasement to no other cause than
that of the want of an efficient moral and useful educa-
tion in our females. I believe that, in elevating the soul
by initiating it in the mysteries and beauties of nature,
through the means of geography, astronomy, botany, ge-
ology, natural history, &c., in proportion as we better
comprehend the power, wisdom, and goodness of the
great First Cause, so are we enabled of ourselves to
detect our own errors, and feel a secret invitation in our
own bosoms to abandon them. In instructing the mind
and the body in those innocent, useful, and varied occu-
pations, which are the peculiar enjoyment of females,
we enable them to escape those dangers and misfortunes
which are induced by the disorders of ignorance and
idleness. Habits of industry, cleanliness, order, and
economy, by increasing domestic happiness, will not
only tend to make us better beings, but will also secure
to our children that maternal education, which is, per-
haps, the most important provision which can be made
for after life in this narrow world, and without which
no succeeding efforts to obliterate the evil impressions
received in early youth can be effectual."

This sounds quite rational, coming from a land where
the Mahometan creed that women have no souls, has
so long prevailed. Miss Holliday, the English lady to
whom the above letter was addressed, writes, that she
hopes to enter on the work as soon as she has com-

119

pleted some necessary preparations. She says, "I
will then pursue every measure, just so far as prudence
and duty seem to dictate ; holding myself at liberty to
turn back, whenever I find it involve any thing contrary
to Christian principle."

It is impossible to estimate the amount of good that
may be done through the influence of Miss Holliday and
Nazly Hanum.

Imagination portrays the delight these young Egyp-
tians will feel, when the long-hidden mysteries of litera-
ture and science shall be revealed to their wondering
minds. And in ages hence, perhaps, Mehemet Ali's
eldest daughter will be loved and honored as the noble
benefactress of Egypt, the day-star that first cheered
them on their way to civilization, and, would that \ve
might add, Christianity.

Influence, like charity, begins at home, and like it,
too, is in its nature diffusive. The sequestered moun-
tain lake sends from its embowered solitude perennial
streams, to gladden many a fair and fruitful field.

It may be thought an unpardonable omission, if the
daughter's duty to her mother should be passed over
without a \vord. And yet, my dear friends, I feel dis-
posed to commend it to your own hearts and con-
sciences and there leave it. If generous impulses do not
produce tenderness and obedience, kindly aid and con-
sideration, and entire confidence, advice is powerless. If
filial affection gush not, spontaneously, from an over-
flowing heart, what magician's rod can call it forth ?
In early Rome there was no law against parricide, be-
cause it was deemed impossible. It seems equally im-
possible, that a daughter should be wanting in affection
and duty to her mother.

CHAPTER XVI.

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE.

CLARA WILTON.

Jane. All sisters are not to the soul entwined

With equal bands; thine has not watched foj thee,
Wept for thee, cheered thee, shared thy weal and woe,
As I have done for him.

De Montfort. Ah ! has she not?

The sum of all thy kindly deeds

Were but as chaff poised against massy gold,

Compared to that which I do owe her love.

Miss BAILLIE.

"I WILL be a German in literature, an Italian in
virtu, a Frenchman in gourmandise, an Englishman in
politics, and a Spaniard in love. My role has been
well studied, and it will show a pitiful want of spirit if
it be not well played." So said George Wilton, as the
vessel which bore him to his native land neared the
shore. He left home to travel in Europe, and to study
a profession, when he had just attained his one-and-
twentieth year, and had passed nearly four years abroad.

"New York is a fine city, a glorious city; I am not
ashamed of her ; she bears comparison with any of the
boasted cities of the Old World," said George, as her
hundred spires, far-reaching streets, forest of masts, and
busy-plying steamboats scattered over her beautiful har-

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121

bor, all bathed in bright sun-light, glittered before his
ardent gaze.

Among the many who crowded to meet long-absent
and loved ones, and welcome the wanderers home,
Wilton recognized not one well-known face ; yet all
looked familiar, for they were his own countrymen,
speaking his own language, which, spite of his affecta-
tion and foreign prejudices, sounded like music to his
ears.

" I am too completely a cosmopolite," thought he,
"to be troubled at not meeting with friends, and too
long an isolated being to care much for kindred ; but
home I must go, to see the old man and woman, and
their hopeful progeny."

He ordered his valet, for he sported such an appen-
dage, to collect his luggage, consisting of trunks, port-
manteaus, boxes, dressing-cases, hampers, and baskets,
which spoke as plainly as luggage could, of the virtu,
literature, and gourmandise of which he boasted.

" And this hotel I am not ashamed of," thought Wil-
ton, as he drove up to the Astor House ; " few hotels
in Europe are superior to this immense structure."

A formidable array of consommes and wines about his
place at table, established his reputation with men of
sense, as a regularly-spoiled American, and with the
young and silly of both sexes, as an elegant travelled
gentleman. Unfortunately, the exhibition of such ele-
gance or folly has become too common to attract much
attention. Wilton found himself equalled by many at
table in the variety of his wines and liqueurs. Hock, sau-
terne, lachryma? Christi, champagne, &c., &c., grati-
fied the pride more than the taste of extravagant young
11

122

men. Abroad, the expense of wine was comparatively
trifling ; here it was enormous. Wine-drinking, though
too frequently a vice, is often a mere matter of display.
A journeyman-tailor calls for his champagne, that he
may appear like a gentleman. The parvenu exquisite,
too, in the superlative fineness of his broadcloth, the
variety of his trinkets, chains, rings upon his fingers and
thumbs, and even in the delicacy of his perfumery, rivals
any petit-maitre. Poor Wilton's hopes of distinction
from these sources were entirely frustrated. The con-
versation at table was also Parisian in the extreme.
The reigning stars at the opera and theatre, and their
crack performances, the races, with the pedigree of
racers, gastronomic discussions upon ragouts and pates,
and other still more questionable subjects, convinced
Wilton that his own country had made rapid progress,
during four years, in European luxuries and follies.
The older men raved of politics, and day after day con-
demned their "favorite aversions." Brokers talked of
the rise and fall of stock, as learnedly and as eagerly as
upon " 'change" in London. In short, W T ilton, in spite
of all the efforts of Monsieur Toupet, his valet, and his
own exquisite nonchalance, found himself but little no-
ticed. Displeased with an exhibition where he could
not " play first fiddle," he resorted to the yet untried
field of German literature. " Them Germans are a
mighty poor people," said a puffing little piece of pom-
posity, who had made himself quite an oracle upon some
fashionable topics; " their learned men would live a
whole year on what one of us spends in a month."
" Them are the folks what sell their rats and other var-
mints for pies," said another who sat opposite him ; " I

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 123

have read about them somewhere." 0, no, them are
the Chinese," said the first speaker ; " but nilly desper-
tandum der gustibus, as we say, they are as good as a
patty de grofor is to us" Here he was greeted by a
laugh at his Latin and French, which he took for ap-
plause ; and having gained the floor, congressionally
speaking, he entered on an elaborate discussion upon
bear-meat, and the best mode of cooking it among the
Indians, and continued till some wag asked him, if he
had ever lived upon beaver and raccoon, and what was
the best mode of dressing them, which effectually silenced
the little man. Wilton did not again venture upon the
German. But one resource was left, virtu.

His raptures upon foreign chef- d'ceuv res were met by
a cool assertion, that the Academy of the Arts of De-
sign could show as fine an exhibition as any in the
world. When he spoke with enthusiasm of the old mas-
ters, he was told, that was merely a prejudice ; and one
gentleman who had seen them, said they were nothing
but dark shadows, " all covered with smoke, and were
not half so neat and gay as our pictures." Of statues,
" we had casts of all of them, which were just as good
as the originals." Wilton took refuge in contemptuous
silence.

Another week, and Wilton was near the home of his
childhood. Why should he have wandered from it so far
and so long? It was a beautiful, picturesque village in
the western part of the State of New York. The lovely
lake glowed like burnished silver beneath the sky of sun-
set. It \vas a calm and trancuil hour. Those thousand
associations linked with his boyhood came thronging
around the traveller, and that half painful, half pleasur-

124 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

able emotion which a return after long absence produces,
overpowered him. A gush of genuine natural feeling
warmed his heart, and glowed upon his countenance.
A tear even started to his eye, but he brushed it hastily
away, saying, contemptuously, " Am I still a boy?"

Four years had produced only that change in the fam-
ily of Wilton, which years always produce. Time had
dealt kindly with the hearty, good-natured father ; no
wrinkles yet furrowed his smooth brow ; a few gray
hairs alone silvered his side-locks. Mrs. Wilton, too,
was but little changed. William, the brother of George,
from a stripling of seventeen, seemed a young giant,
looking down upon his delicate older brother. The
grasp of his strong hand, and his loud, "How are you,
George ?" quite unsettled the nerves of the elegant ex-
quisite. Striking, too, was the change in his three sisters,
children when he left them, now, all young ladies.

What are you going to do with these great staring
girls, father ?" was George's first salutation.

" Do with them !" exclaimed the proud father ; "keep
them at home as long as I can ; they are the prettiest
and best-educated girls in the country. Don't be bash-
ful, girls, before your brother George ; if he has seen
foreign countries, he has not seen any better than his
own, nor any better folks, either." George acknow-
ledged to himself that they were fine girls, but doubted
much if he should find them well educated.

Uncommon preparations had been made for the recep-
tion of the travelled brother. The tea-table was spread
with a variety of cake and sweetmeats, cold ham, smoked
beef, cheese, waffles, biscuit, &c., &c.

The patience of the whole family was tested while

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 125

George made his elaborate toilet. Mr. Wilton paced the
hall, drawing out his watch every five minutes. "We
have waited tea, two hours before he came, and one hour
since," said he; " spoilt entirely, spoilt entirely!"

"What is spoilt, papa?" said Julia, the oldest
daughter ; " the tea ? I can make it fresh at table."

"No," replied Mr. Wilton half sorrowfully, "not
the tea ; your brother is spoilt ; you can't make him
fresh again."

" O, he is not at all injured by travelling," replied
Julia; "he is a superb man, a perfect gentleman."
She had been educated at the fashionable institution of
Mrs. Z , and was considered the belle of the family.

"What do you think, Clara?" continued Mr. Wil-
ton, turning to his second daughter; "shall we ever
take any more comfort in your brother? Is he not
quite a foreigner ?"

"He is very much changed, undoubtedly," replied
Clara; "but that you expect of course, papa; we have
yet seen him but a moment."

" I think he is changed altogether for the worse, for
I am afraid to speak to him," said Mary, the youngest
sister, a black-eyed romp of sixteen. "What do you
think of him, Bill ?"

" I nabbed his white paw, and gave it such a grip he
won't get over it very soon," replied William ; " and
as for his Mounseer, I had a great notion to give him a
hoist into the yard, when he came parley-vooing to me
about some varm vater for Monseer Vilton.' "

" My children," said the kind-hearted mother, "how
can you be finding fault already with your long-absent
brother ; he is the finest looking man I have seen in
many a day."
11*

126

Just then, George made his appearance.

" Come to tea," said Mr. Wilton ; " we have waited
long enough in all conscience."

" So you take tea yet, mother?" said George, gal-
lantly offering his arm.

" Take tea ! to be sure we do ; how could we get
along without it ?"

" Why, in Europe we dine about this hour, and tea,
as a meal, is quite unknown. Diable!" exclaimed
George, as he reached the bountiful tea-table ; " what a
profusion of Yankee sweets! cold ham, and raw beef,
too ! barbarous !"

" Barbarous indeed," lisped Julia ; " we never had
any thing but a bit of dry toast or sponge cake at tea in
New York, and it looked so odd to me when I first
came home."

"Come, sit down, Bill," said Mr. Wilton, "we can
eat cold ham or raw beef, after waiting three hours be-
yond our usual time."

"That we can, for I am half starved," said Bill,
driving his fork into the ham, and cutting off a goodly
slice ; "I don't see what difference it makes whether
we call it tea or dinner, it 's all the same thing ; we eat
when we are hungry, and drink when we are dry."

Clara poured tea, and presided at table with ease and
dignity. George balanced his tea-spoon upon his cup
awhile, and then called his valet to bring some claret,
and he would "just taste a bit of cheese. He did not
know T , however, that he could venture, as it was neither
Stilton nor Parmesan." Clara saw an angry frown
upon her father's face, and changed the subject by ask-
ing George if New York had not improved during his
absence.

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 127

" Very much ; I am not at all ashamed of our city ;
she looks proudly as you approach her, and very
well sustains a nearer view; but the people, the peo-
pie "

" Take anotker cup of tea, George," interrupted
Clara, fearing again to see the unwonted visitant upon
her father's pleasant face.

George now remained silent, attentively studying the
countenance of his sister Clara. " Hazel eyes, no;
deep, dark gray ; the finest eyes without exception that I
ever saw ; but so hidden beneath those long lashes and
overhanging brow, that half their power lies waiting to
be called forth. Beautiful, brilliant complexion, Eng-
lish entirely ; a most feminine mouth, and a very tolera-
ble straight nose, not handsome, after all ; don't like
the expression, don't understand it." Thus thought
George, as he scrutinized his sister's face with the most
complete nonchalance. During this time silence had
been maintained ; it was broken by Mr. Wilton.

" Clara, what is the matter, child ? are you ill ? You
have much more color than usual."

" I am perfectly well, thank you."

" Where are your spirits, then ?"

" Somewhat like the spirits of Glendower ; they will
not always come, even when you do call them. When
a long-expected pleasure arrives at last, I am apt to be
a little sad ; I cannot tell why. Have you not felt so,
papa ?"

" Yes, often and often, dear child ; but I never quite
understood the philosophy of it. I thought you would
have a thousand questions to ask your brother when he
came home."

128

" I shall, when we are better acquainted."

"Acquainted!" said Mr. Wilton; "that sounds
Strangely between brother and sister."

"Excuse me, father,'' said Clara, slightly blushing;
" my brother does not know me at all ; and why should
he ? Eight years have elapsed since we have lived to-
gether, excepting during his short vacations while at col-
lege. Our characters must have changed as much as
our persons during that time."

"Very true," said George; "I only remember you
as a curly-headed, blue-eyed, laughing girl, whom I used
to call my bacchante, and crown with vine-leaves to
make the resemblance complete."

" Or pin paper wings on my shoulders, to make me
look like a fairy, sylph, or something else," said Clara,
her countenance brightening at the recollection of her
merry childhood.

"Blue eyes!" said Mrs. Wilton; "Clara never had
blue eyes ; they were always a sort of gray."

" N'importe," said George; "I always thought they
were blue ; I should not have known Clara at all, she
has become so staid, so dignified. What do you think
of rne, sis?" continued he, playfully.

" I have not made up my mind what to think of you
yet, brother."

"Will your high mightiness be pleased, when you
have fully perused me, to inform me of the important
decision ?" said George, changing his tone to one in-
tended to be very sarcastic.

The large orbs of Clara were quickly suffused with
tears ; she fixed them seriously upon George and re-
plied, "The opinion of a simple country-girl like

129

myself can be of little consequence to an accomplished
foreigner "

"I don't know what to make of her; was she ever
from home ?" whispered he to Julia.

" From home ! she was two years with me at Mrs.
Z 's."

" Possible ! then I am more puzzled than ever."

They then rose from the table. Mr. Wilton said he
and William had some business to transact, and George
might go and entertain his mother and sisters in the
drawing-room. When there, George drew his mother
some distance from his sisters, and began questioning her
in a low voice. " Mother, don't you think your son
has improved by travelling?"

"Very much indeed, with the exception of those
monstrous whiskers ; they really disfigure you."

" 0, they are all the fashion, and quite indispensable
in Europe. You really have got three nice girls ; rough
and unpolished, but brilliant gems. Julia, with her city
airs and graces, I perfectly understand ; she is beautiful.
Mary, the laughing hoyden, wild as a young squaw ; she
is a splendid creature ; but I don't know what to make
of Clara."

" Clara !" said Mrs. Wilton, her eyes brightening.
"You don't understand Clara! why, she is the pride
of your father."

" That may be, but what are her pretensions ?"

"Pretensions! she is the most unpretending girl in
the world ; our domestics idolize her."

" That may all be true, yet it gives me no insight to
ner character."

" I lean upon her for every thing. You know I have

130 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

delicate health ; Julia is fond of music and drawing, and
can't bear to do any thing in the kitchen ; she has no
taste for household matters, and Mary is too young ; so
the burden comes upon Clara."

" Then she is one of your bustling notables, I sup-
pose ; a mere household drudge, like most Yankee
women."

" You will find her out in time," said Mrs. Wilton,
smiling significantly.

"As for Bill, he is a rough, coarse fellow; one
needs a vocabulary for his slang ; it is utterly unintelli-
gible."

" He is a driving fellow. He loves horses rather
too well, and has been a little wild ; but lately he has
made some great speculations, and is getting to be very
rich."

"The flouring business goes on yet, I suppose ? I
hoped father had retired from it before this time."

"0, your father has not confined himself to that
alone, in these stirring times. He has been speculating
in almost every thing."

" Then I hope he is rich enough to leave off making
money, and enjoy it like a gentleman."

They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Wilton
and his second son. " William has got to start for the
West on business of importance, to-morrow morning,
bright and early, and as I suppose you don't rise before
the sun, George, you won't see him again soon."

"I was just thinking about retiring," said George,
" for I am intolerably fatigued ; I must summon Toupet ;
where is the bell ?" said he, looking around the room
for a bell-cord.

131

" We don't use them ; help won't come for bell-
ringing here ; they are too independent," said Bill.
" Your Johnny Crapeau ought to be tied to a bell-rope,
or have one round his neck, for making a white slave
of himself; a fellow, too, dressed in broadcloth and
satin. George, how can you have such a man-doll
about you ?"

" Good night," said George, bowing around. "Bon
soir, mes belles sceurs."

Only one week had passed away ; George had seen
all the natives, as he called the villagers, and excited
their wonder or scorn, and was dying of ennui. He
must be off to Saratoga. The country was too intoler-
ably stupid.

" Well, George," said Mr. Wilton, " what have you
been about in Europe? I have not questioned you
much yet. Have you got your M. D. ?"

" No M. D. for me. I hate the whole study and
practice of medicine."

" Why, you went to Paris to walk the hospitals."

" I did, and walked through them and out of them
for ever. I found I had too delicate nerves for a phy-
sician."

" Then what in the name of common sense have you
been studying these four years, spending my thousands
abroad ?"

" Tableaux , statues, gems, coins, architecture, an-
tiquities, la belle science de la cuisine, &c., &c."

" Enough, enough ! by which of these are you going
to earn your living ?"

" By the last, I suspect ; but that is such a homely
question."

132

"It's a home question, and one that must be an-
swered, Sir. Here, Bill has been staying with us ever
since you left, with no advantages but common-school
learning ; but he is a keen one, a real man of business ;
he is worth a round hundred thousand, himself."

" I am glad he has been so successful ; you will have
the goodness, Sir, to allow me to take time for consid-
eration ; and as this is the season of travelling, I should
like to take Julia to Saratoga. She is too pretty to be
cooped up for ever in this mean little village."

"The village is good enough, the prettiest village
in the country, everybody says."

" 0, certainly, the scenery is very beautiful ; but
you know, father, Julia never can make her market
here ; there is nobody good enough for her. All the
world goes to Saratoga at this season."

" The more fools they, to leave their own comfort-
able homes to be shut up there in rooms ten feet by six,
when the weather 's melting hot. Besides, I don't want
to send my girls like hogs to market."

"An unseemly comparison, father; they are beauti-
ful girls, and I should not be at all ashamed of Julia, at
Saratoga, or anywhere else."

"Of Julia! why not Clara, too ; you are not ashamed
of her, are you ?"

" Not exactly ; but she is quite eccentric, has some
very common, plain notions, and is rather country-bred.
You must excuse me, father ; most American women
are rather deficient in manners."

" The American women are the most virtuous women
in the world, whatever their manners may be ; and as
for Clara's not being fit to go to Saratoga, she is fit to

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 133

go there, or to Washington, if she is not fit for the court
of King Louis Philippe, which I hope and trust she
never will be. If she wants to go to Saratoga, she
may go." So saying, he went to seek his favorite
daughter.

George cared little how his point was gained, if he
only succeeded. The thought, however, crossed his
mind, "I should be ashamed of Clara's downright
honesty among fashionable people."

Mr. Wilton soon returned to say that Julia wished
very much to go to the Springs, and Clara would like
it, if it were perfectly agreeable to him, and her dear
mother could spare her. " Dear child," continued Mr.
W., brushing a tear from his eye, " we don't know how
to spare her a single week ; but we will not be selfish ;
she needs some recreation. You may go, George, and
look out sharp for your pretty sisters, there. It is the
haunt of fortune-hunters."

George was not very much pleased to owe his father's
consent to one whom he styled " a pert little miss, who
had unaccountably gained the ascendency over her doting
father."

Every thing was soon put into a regular train of pre-
paration. George superintended all things, giving di-
rections to the mantua-maker about sleeves, boddice-
waists, and frills ; very much to the amusement and an-
noyance of the village artiste.

Two hundred miles are nothing at all in these railroad
times. Every thing in the country drives too fast. An
impetus has been given that has sent us fifty years too
far ahead. But to our story.

" This is a brilliant assemblage," said George, as he
12

134

promenaded the ball-room of the at Saratoga, with

Julia and Clara ; "I am not ashamed of it."

" You often make use of that expression, George
Why should you be ashamed of your country or your
countrymen ?" asked Clara.

" I shall be ashamed of one of my countrywomen, if
she chooses this time and place for a sermon."

They were interrupted by the approach of the Hon.

Mr. G , a United States Senator, who had become

acquainted with both the girls, when on a tour to the
West the preceding summer. Julia introduced him to
her brother.

"Allow me to rob you of one of these ladies," said
the honorable gentleman, offering his arm to Clara. She
modestly accepted it, and thus they promenaded the
room until the dancing commenced.

The beautiful sisters attracted much attention. Julia
was pronounced, by connoisseurs, a belle, the leading star
of the season. Clara, from her animated conversation
with the senator, and her decidedly intellectual physi-
ognomy, was declared a blue. With a sensible man
like Mr. G , she was perfectly at ease. His con-
versation interested and amused her, and her own be-
came animated and brilliant. Her countenance was as
variable as her feelings, and ever a true index to them,
the vivacity and spirit which now illuminated it, gave a
new brilliancy to her eyes, and a finer glow to her com-
plexion.

" That is the finest face that I ever saw," said an
elderly gentleman /,o his friend ; " who can it be ?"

"You observe, Mr. G is the gentleman in at-
tendance."

135

" I did not observe it before. I must seek an intro-
duction," said the first speaker, who was one of the
most distinguished of our countrymen.

Although Julia's beauty had at first attracted universal
admiration, at the end of a week Clara was the centre
of attraction. George was surprised to hear her now
talking French with a foreign minister, perfectly self-
possessed ; then chatting, with the same simplicity and
ease as she would have done with her father, with the
gallant senator. " I might well say I did not know that
girl," thought he. In spite of all his efforts to be dis-
tingue, his wines, gastronomic science, &c., &c.,
with the efficient aid of Monsieur Toupet at the toilet,
poor George was obliged to owe his distinction and the
attention he received, to the beauty of one sister, and the
talents and charming manners of the other. He had to
submit to being constantly named as "the brother of the
Misses Wilton." He was acting a part that sat un-
gracefully upon him, and made pretensions which every
body's pride resisted. Clara, on the contrary, was
independent and original, without being conscious that
she was so. She pleased, because she made the grave
and the gay, the young and old, pleased with themselves.
Her object was not to attract attention, not to compel
admiration, but the same that it had been habitually at
home, to make every one happy. Of course, those
who- approached her put on their holiday faces and ap-
peared to the best advantage. There was a truthfulness
in her very nature that won confidence. She gave her
opinions, when they were asked, with unshrinking moral
courage, but obtruded them upon no one, and was ever
the gentle but firm advocate of virtue and right princi-

136

pies. Vice stood abashed in her presence, and " felt
how awful goodness is ; and truth, how lovely."

George paid but little attention to his sisters. They
had found an excellent chaperon in an aunt of the Hon.

Mr. G , an elderly and very respectable lady from

the South, who took a truly maternal interest in them.

Mr. G himself was constantly of the party, and

rode, talked, walked, just as it suited their pleasure.

" Girls," said George, one morning as they walked
in the piazza of the hotel, " I have spent my last penny,
I am literally sans argent. This Saratoga is a horrid
bore after all, where one spends money deucedly. Your
purses, girls, if you hav.e any to spare." The sisters
handed them, most readily; they had been scarcely
touched.

"Pay our bill," said the straightforward Clara, " and
let us go home immediately, George, if you have enough."

" O, cannot we stay a little longer, Clara ?" said
Julia, eagerly ; " I do not wish to leave yet."

" Stay ! to be sure we can," replied George ; " and
I have no idea of quitting yet. You must write home to
the old man for more money, Clara ; you can get any
thing out of him."

" What shall I tell him you have done with the ample
funds with which he supplied you ?"

"Nothing; the old fellow 7 knows there are ten thou-
sand ways of disposing of the needful."

" I beg of you, George, to speak more respectfully
of our kind father."

" Spare your eloquence for the Hon. Mr. G ,"

said George, and was off in a twinkling.

The next morning found George Wilton extremely ill,

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 137

threatened with fever and delirium. He insisted upon
going home immediately. As Saratoga was no place
for them under these circumstances, they immediately
consented. " But what shall we do," said George ;
" I spent all your money last night at the billiard-table.
I came home somewhat tipsy, I believe ; for I have a
faint recollection of scolding and kicking Toupet, and
the rascal has decamped with my watch, broaches, rings,
and even my snuff-box." The girls looked at each other
in consternation. Just at that moment a knock was
heard at the door of George's room, where they were
holding this consultation ; a waiter handed a letter, say-
ing it had been sent by express. It contained the mel-
ancholy intelligence that Mr. Wilton had been seized
with a fit of apoplexy, and was in imminent danger.
William had not yet returned. Mrs. Wilton and Mary
begged the immediate presence of George and his
sisters.

" What will our poor father do without his Clara?"
exclaimed Julia, bursting into tears.

"We must start for home to-day, live or die, Clara,"

said George, " and you must go and consult Mr. G

about the readiest means of conveyance."

Poor Clara blushed, and for a moment hesitated.

" It is no time for fastidiousness," said George.

"It is no time for reproaches," thought Clara, and

went to ask for an interview with Mr. G in the

drawing-room.

With modest embarrassment, she asked his advice
and assistance, candidly stating all the difficulties in
which they were involved.

"My dear Miss Wilton," said Mr. G , "the

12*

138

pleasure I feel in being able to assist you in the slightest
degree has* one drawback ; gratitude is not the senti-
ment that I wish to inspire in your heart. I am grieved
to place you under the least obligation to me for a mo-
merit. "

" You need not regret it, since I am not unwilling to
incur such obligation."

" There spoke my noble Clara. I thank you a thou-
sand times. And will you allow me to accompany you
home? My carriage will be easier for poor George
than any other conveyance."

Clara's heart throbbed, and she could only say,
" O, Sir, you are very kind."

"I would, Clara, that any other time had offered,
rather than this, to urge my hopes and ,wishes. It seems
almost cruel to improve this occasion, when you are in
the granting mood; but your frankness and independ-
ence are such, as to leave no doubt on my mind that
you will act freely. Will you, at no distant day, give
me* a legal claim to be your protector ? You have
known for some time how entirely my happiness is in
your keeping."

Clara replied, her eyes filling with tears, "We
shall soon see my dear father. I must hasten to tell
George and Julia of your arrangements for our return."

George's illness increased every hour, until at length,
when they reached home, he was in a violent fever, at-
tended by most alarming symptoms.

Although Mr. Wilton had apparently nearly recovered
his bodily health, his mind was hopelessly impaired, and
it was deemed imprudent to mention George's illness in
his presence. He was delighted to see his darling

139

Clara again, and wondered at her frequent absences,
while she was in her brother's room, ministering to his
comfort. He seemed, indeed, to have forgotten his
son's return from Europe, for now he never spoke of
him.

Mr. G left the village soon after seeing the

family reunited. Although Mr. Wilton was in such a
state as to be entirely oblivious to many things, his
mind was not altogether deranged. To the proposal

of Mr. G , he yielded a pleased consent, saying,

his beloved Clara would do honor to any station.
It was affecting to hear him, at the same time, solemnly
commit her to his care, as if she were still a little child,
imploring him to be gentle and kind to the helpless
lamb that he spared from his own bosom.

George, whose constitution had been somewhat in-
jured by excess in the luxuries of the table, continued
alarmingly ill, and entirely hopeless himself of recovery.
Julia had been his favorite, but her inefficiency in a
sick-room was painful to him and to herself. Clara,
unable to be with him much during the day, watched by
his bed-side night after night. She slept only at inter-
vals during the daytime, in her father's easy-chair.
He was perfectly contented so long as he could look at
her lovely face, and seemed not to perceive that it was
pale and anxious.

" Clara," said George, one night, as she sat by him,
" I have made" a discovery."

"What is it, brother?"

" I know your governing motives ; those deeply
rooted religious principles, which I have never appreci-
ated, and scarcely till now believed in their existence.

140 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

It is your perfectly feminine character, hamonizing so
beautifully with these strong principles, that excites my
wonder. I see they are the moving power of the whole
moral machine. I have sought only my own pleasure,
lived to no good purpose, and look back upon a spent
life of utter worthlessness with remorse."

"Say, rather, dear George, with repentance."

" Talk to me often, dear sister, on this subject ; I
am but a heathen."

" I can do better than talk to you, George ; I can
send for our excellent friend, Dr. Molesworth."

" No, no, Clara, I prefer listening to you ; it is his
business, his duty "

"Stay, brother; he then understands better than I
do these momentous truths."

" That may be ; but you feel their happy influence ;
while the dew is still upon the flowers of life, you have
thought deeply, and given the incense of obedience from
a warm, pure heart."

" You know not how sinful that heart is; but
since you are willing to listen to these sublime truths,
I will read to you from a book that can give you in-
struction and consolation." So saying, she took up
her little Bible, which she had often used while her
brother slept, and only waited for a suitable opportunity
to read aloujd.

" What shall I read to you, George?"

" The parable of the prodigal son, if you please."

As she read with touching pathos this inimitable par-
able, George made no comment, but tears were upon
his emaciated cheeks. Soon after, he said to her,
"t have been viewing the character and conxluct of

141

young men in the light of eternity. It will not even bear
the light of common sense ; but in view of that ac-
count, which all must render at the judgment-seat of
God, how does it appear? Fearfully wrong. If I could
but live my life over, but that may not be, and if
I should be spared, could I persuade the infatuated be-
ings who are chasing delusive bubbles, of their folly,
of their crime ? Clara, your sex have much to answer
for. Your influence is all powerful with us; why is it
not more frequently exerted for our good ?"

" The influence is mutual ; the things which you
admire, in general, are not such as exalt our character
as rational and immortal beings, beauty, wealth, wit,
fashion ; but as long as they are the main object sought
by man, you must not wonder that we are eager for
their possession."

" Yet, how many more of your sex are found on the
side of religion, than of ours! What is it that so fatally
blinds us? Alas! that I should have discovered my
folly too late!"

" It is not too late," said Clara.

" Not too late for repentance," he replied, mournful-
ly, " but too late for renovation ; I cannot now lead a
new life, for it is almost spent."

"Not too late for regeneration," replied Clara; "for
a new heart, God, through the influence of his Spirit,
will give you, if you earnestly desire and ask for it."

< 'My mind is all dark upon these subjects ; they are
mysterious, and I have called them a delusion."

Clara was now summoned hastily out of the room.
Her brother William had arrived ; his schemes had
proved visionary. The two largest debtors of his

142 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

"*. ^i-

father and himself had failed, and involved them deep-
ly. Various speculations had been engaged in with his
father's capital ; even his mills and house had been
mortgaged to furnish funds for these speculations.

William had not been prepared for the trying circum-
stances that awaited his arrival. A generous, merry-
hearted fellow, thoughtless and venturesome ; when the
gales of summer floated the family bark, a pleasant com-
panion, but totally unfit to take the helm during the
wintry storm. He shrank dismayed from the respon-
sibility that now devolved upon him. Clara encouraged
him to have more confidence in himself.

" O Clara," he replied, " would that I had your
strength of mind!"

Clara replied, " You have not hitherto been called
upon to exert your own ; you will find it sufficient, if
you have more reliance upon yourself. You must come
to the task with courage and humility, for they are not
incompatible. If my father should inquire of you about
his affairs, tell the truth ; it is the safest and the best
course. If he should not, do not allude to business at
all. Take courage, and all may yet be well."

"Take courage," said William; "yes, I will;
when I have such a sister, shall I shrink from my
duty ?"

Clara was just leaving the room ; she turned back,
and said solemnly, "You have a mother and three
sisters, who must lean upon you; look to God for
strength in this trying hour."

Scarcely had the words passed her lips, when they
were summoned to the bedside of their dying father.
A second fit of apoplexy had seized him, and he was
already speechless ; a few moments, and all was over.

143

Poor George rang the little bell by his bed-side,
again and again, unheeded. Alarmed at the long ab-
ence of Clara, he crept from his bed, and slowly made
his way to his father's room. With his ghastly counte-
nance and emaciated figure, he looked like a spectre
among the weeping family. He cast one look of agony
at his departed father, and then suffered himself to be
led by his brother to his own apartment. " How un-
kind 1 was to you, George, when last I saw you," said
William, with honest frankness; "I hope you don't
remember it now."

" My brother, the unkindness was all on my part ;

forgive me !"

* # * * * * #

Weeks passed away, and George Wilton, after a
severe struggle for life, was decidedly convalescent.
Still he needed much attention. William was now ever
at hand to aid him ; and Clara, though now obliged to
devote much time to her woe-stricken mother, was still
" his ministering angel."

"How could I have been so blind as not to perceive
that admirable girl's worth, when I first returned from
Europe ?" exclaimed George, one day, as she left his
room.

" Because," replied William, " you were then a for-
eigner, and she is a true American girl."

"She is more, a true Christian, unostentatious,
not given to cant, charitable, cheerful. I am amused
sometimes, however, by her strong attachment to our
church ; for so I trust I may term it, unworthy member
as I am."

" I do not think she is illiberal, nor bigoted."

144

" By no means, or she would never have exercised
such a blessed influence over my mind. I came home
a swaggering fool ; ashamed of my country, and God
forgive me ! of my relations, too ! If my life should be
spared, I hope I shall redeem my character, that they may
never again have occasion to be ashamed of me."

"You are too severe upon yourself, brother; only
a little inflated you were ; a few severe puffs, and you
are quite natural again. If you owe much to Clara, I
am equally her debtor. When you are stronger, I will
tell you all about it."

After the expiration of a number of months, when
health and some degree of cheerfulness were restored
to the Wilton family, and the affairs had all been set-
tled, so that every creditor was satisfied, George re-
sumed the study of his profession. There was still
a sufficient sum remaining to purchase a good farm.
William became a thorough, persevering agriculturist,
making his house a pleasant home for his mother and
younger sister.

It was not until all the duties which Clara owed to
her family, in their bereavement and affliction, had been
affectionately and faithfully performed, that she gave her
hand to Mr. G .

On that occasion, though the wedding was a private
one, Clara remembered her promise to her school-mates *
Isabella and Geraldine. The former accepted the invi-
tation ; Geraldine had not returned from Paris.

"Now, Clara, you shall wear the gold medal," said
Isabella, taking it from a jewel-box upon the dressing-
table. "You are all arrayed for this fearful ceremony ;

* See Introduction.

145

but I do insist that you wear this, as a testimony of youi

worth, for fear the Hon. Mr. G will repent before

he gets to church, and turn back, unless there is golden
proof of your superiority, mental and moral, right be-
fore his eyes."

Clara. Isabella, dear, you are the same gay, thought-
less creature as ever.

Isabella (sighing deeply). "Yet, Clara, I am not hap-
py ; the pleasures that I so fondly anticipated grow wea-
risome. I have partaken of them to satiety : but I can-
not withdraw from the brilliant circle, of which, they
flatter me, I am the life and soul. Come, we must go
down into the drawing-room ; and since you think there
is no danger that the honorable gentleman will change
his mind, I'll leave the medal where I found it. O,

how I burned with envy, when Mrs. Z presented

it to you, before the elite assembled at our examination.
You deserved it, dearest, you were the best, the kind-
est scholar, you have maintained that superiority as a
sister and daughter, and I know you will make such an
obedient, loving wife, that when men want to recom-
mend a pattern to their wilful ones, they will say,
" Now only look at Mrs. G ."

Clara. Spare me, Isabella ; I am painfully conscious
of my imperfections, and you deepen this consciousness
by your extravagant praises. My reliance is upon Him
who has hitherto been my guide arid strength, and in this
new and solemn relation, I humbly trust, His grace will
be sufficient for me.

To the younger brothers and sisters of a family, the
eldest sister stands in a deeply interesting and responsi-
ole relation. With wondering and admiring eyes they
13

146

look up to her, and as she walks in loveliness and beau-
ty, the boy's heart throbs with exulting pride, as he ex-
claims, "She is my sister ;" and the little girl lisps
her sayings, or pleads her example, " Sister does
so."

One of the most beautiful delineations of this charac-
ter has been drawn by Miss Baillie, The young, the
sweet, the good, the brave Griseld." Her father was
one of Scotland's patriots, who in perilous times fled
his country and found a refuge in Holland, where his
scanty means afforded but a meagre maintenance. The
poem is founded upon fact, the Lady Griseld being one
of the ancestral worthies of the Baillie family. Much
is sung of the dauntless courage and daring deeds of the
brave heroine, " though o'er her head had scarcely run
her nineteenth year." But the simple, domestic virtues
so graphically described by the accomplished author-
ess, furnish a fine example for my gentle readers,
especially if troublous times should cloud their life's
mo :ning.

" And well, with ready hand and heart,

Each task of toilsome duty taking,
Did one dear inmate play her part,

The last asleep, the earliest waking.
Her hand each nightly couch prepared,
And frugal rneal on which they fared ;
Unfolding spread the servet white u
And decked the board with tankard h right.
Through fretted hose and garment rent,
Her tiny needle deftly went,
Till hateful penury, so graced,
Was scarcely in their dwelling traced.
With reverence to the old she clung,
With sweet affection to the young.
To her was crabbed lesson said ;
To her the sly petition made ;

A SISTER'S INFLUENCE. 147

To her was told each petty care ;
By her was lisped the tardy prayer,
What time the urchin, half undrest
And half asleep, was put to rest.

" Who does not love to see the grandam mild
Lesson with yearning looks the listening child?

But 'tis a thing of saintlier nature,

Amidst her friends of pigmy stature,

To see the maid in youth's fair bloom

A guardian sister's charge assume,

And, like a touch of angel's bliss,

Receive from each its grateful kiss,-
To see them, when their hour of love is past,

Aside the grave demeanour cast;

With her in mimic war they wrestle ;

Beneath her twisted robe they nestle ;

Upon her glowing cheek they revel,

Low bended to their tiny level ;

While oft, her lovely neck bestriding,

Crows some arch imp, like huntsman riding.
This is a sight the coldest heart may feel;
To make down rugged cheeks the kindly tear to steaL

"But when the toilsome sun was set,
And evening groups together met,
Her feet still in the dance moved lightest,
Her eye with merry glance beamed brightest,
Her braided locks were coiled the neatest,
Her carol song was thrilled the sweetest;
And round the fire, in winter cold,
No archer tale than hers was told.
And do not, gentle reader, chide,
If I record her harmless pride,
Who sacrificed the hours of sleep
Some show of better times to keep ;
That, though as humble soldiers dight,
With pointed cuft' and collar white,
A stripling brother might more trimly stana
Like one of gentle race mixed with a homelier band.

"And thus some happy years stole by;

Adversity with virtue mated,
Her state of low obscurity

Set forth but as deep shadows, fated
By Heaven's high will to make the light
Of future skies appear more bright.

148

"At length,

From Britain's isle glad tidings came,

And her kind parent and herself depart

In royal Mary's gentle train.
And Britain's virtuous queen admired

Our gentle maid, and in her train

Of ladies willed her to remain;
What more could young ambition have desireu*

But, like the blossom to the bough,

Or wall-flower to the ruin's brow,

Or tendril to the fostering stock,

Or sea-weed to the briny rock,

Or mistletoe to sacred tree,

Or daisy to the swarded lea,

So truly to her own she clung;

Nor cared for honors vain,

From courtly favor sprung."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE ECONOMY OF HOME.

" She loves a rainy day who sweeps the hearth,
And threads the busy needle, or applies
The scissors to the torn or threadbare sleeve ;
Who blesses God that she has friends and home."

BRAIKARD.

IN our country, women, even of the highest rank,
must " study household good." There may be many
servants, and they may be under the vigilant superintend-
ence of a hired housekeeper ; but the order and ele-
gance of the menage will depend chiefly upon the good
judgment and correct taste of the lady of the mansion.
If she be deficient, it will be visible in spite of the splen-
did decorations of her drawing-rooms, and the costly
luxury of her table.

If the home-education of a young lady be not such
as to fit her for any station, however high or however
humble, it is incomplete. A discriminating mind,
quickness of observation, strong judgment, correct
taste and principles, these will enable her to accom-
modate herself gracefully and cheerfully to the condition
in life assigned by Providence. To fulfil its duties, she
must have a practical knowledge of the whole economy
of housewifery.

Lady reader, it may be, that, in a missionary cottage
on an island of the Pacific, you may set the example
of a well-ordered house, and a neat frugal table, to
13* (149)

150

savages, who are thus to be instructed in the home
comforts of civilized life ; or, in a refined and polished
land, you may do the honors of a diplomatic mansion, so
that American manners and American hospitality be not
contemned ; or you may be compelled, upon the lim-
ited means that most young men have to offer, to main-
tain the dignity, neatness, and elegance of an establish-
ment far inferior to the accustomed splendor of your
father's house ; or, upon the meagre stipend of a country
clergyman "to entertain strangers," and "be given to
hospitality."

Keeping accounts, the order and regulation of family
expenses, the table, servants, furniture, visiters, &c.,
&c., these must be learned under the paternal roof.

The expenses of a family must of course be regu-
lated, in part, by the wealth and station of its head.
That there may be unity of purpose, the husband and
father should make his family sufficiently acquainted
with his resources, and the style in which he wishes
to live.

In order to acquire a habit of systematic expenditure,
every young lady should, if possible, receive a stated
allowance for her personal expenses ; be this large or
small, a part of it how large a part depends upon the
charity and self-denial of the donor should be devoted
to benevolent purposes. This gives a freedom and a
pleasure to acts of charity which cannot be enjoyed
where the demands are made upon a parent, and the
bounty thus only passes through the hands of the merely
nominal donor.

However large your allowance may be, unless you are
systematic in its expenditure, trouble and perplexity
will harass you. If at the beginning of the year you

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 15J

are needlessly extravagant, its close will find you with-
out the means of purchasing even a pair of gloves.
With splendid shawls and rich dresses, which have ex-
hausted your funds, soiled gloves and untidy shoes are
not in keeping ; they give you the air which has well
been called " the shabby genteel." White kid gloves and
satin shoes with a calico dress, for a morning walk, give
the same appearance. These incongruities will fre-
quently occur, if you do not make a careful " calcula-
tion" for all the articles indispensable to your wardrobe.
Beside this care of her own accounts and expendi-
tures, a daughter should sometimes be allowed to keep
" The House Book," as it is called. By so doing, she
will learn the price of servants' wages, of all the articles
for family use, and for the table. Of these things most
young married women are so ignorant, that they might
be cheated to almost any extent by trades-people and
servants. What, for instance, do they know of the
prices of coal, wood, soap, potatoes, &c., &c. My
young lady reader will smile, perhaps contemptuously,
at the idea that any such knowledge could come within
her province. The head of a family is not always at
home ; and when there, the all-absorbing duties of a
profession may render such cares burdensome, and an
obliging wife will endeavour to relieve him. If the mis-
tress of a family trust entirely to servants to make pur-
chases, while herself ignorant of prices, she places before
them too great a temptation to dishonesty. If the gro-
cer's book is sent month after month, where an account
is kept open, without examination, if butchers' and
fishmongers' bills are suffered to run on from quarter to
quarter without being paid (seeming at last enormous,
and discharged reluctantly), if servants' wages are

152 THE YOUNG LADY J S HOME.

called for just when they please, sometimes receiving
more than is due, and at others falling short of it,
now are family expenses to be regulated ? Often, in
this manner, every thing is left to take care of itself, and
by the wastefulness and extravagance resulting from such
a course, thousands have been ruined. It was Napole-
on's custom, even when emperor of France, to inquire
the price of every article used for his household, and to
make accurate calculations with regard to the necessary
quantity to be consumed. It may be said that this was
royal meanness; nevertheless, it prevented fraud and dis-
honesty. Many think it a mark of gentility, as well as of
generosity, to be regardless of economy. They think
that spending money with reckless freedom proves that
they have always been accustomed to wealth. It is
proverbial, that the sons of misers are spendthrifts, and
men who have acquired wealth suddenly generally spend
it rapidly ; while they who have lived year after year in
the same respectable style, usually impart to their chil-
dren their own habits of regular systematic economy.
It is said with much truth, that the Americans are not an
economical people. Money-making and rnoney-loving
even to a universal monomania, that which is acquired
with such mighty effort they spend with lavish profu-
sion. We know nothing about economy as practised in
Europe, by men of high-sounding titles, that would de-
light ears democratic. The Frenchman's invariable
practice of taking up his two or three remaining bits of
sugar, wrapping them in paper and carrying them from
the cafe, in his pocket, is only one example of the mi-
nuteness of their economy. The French women are
wonderfully good managers ;" the care they take of
their furniture and wardrobes can scarcely be imagined,

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 153

even by a notable Yankee woman. An excessive love
of display, and the tormenting desire to rival European
luxury and elegance, have brought already so much
misery upon our country, that it is high time that Ame-
rican women should inquire how far the blame comes
deservedly upon them ; and what measures they must
pursue to avoid such ruinous extravagance.

Having learnt the prices of articles of home consump-
tion, and the quantity necessary for an ample supply,
you may be able to regulate your expenses. You will
know how your table should be furnished on ordinary
and extraordinary occasions, avoiding the extremes of
niggardly frugality and wasteful superfluity. You will
find that a skilful manager purchases most articles by
large quantities, as they are thus reduced in price ; be-
sides, it is a saving of time.

The better to understand what to order for the table,
acquire some insight to the mysteries of the culinary
department. If your delicate fingers have hitherto only
been familiar with the piano and harp, embroidery and
letter-paper, can you bring them into contact with vulgar
.butter and sugar, eggs and flour? Horrible! Yet you
may go to the Far West and be without " helps," as the
Trollopes, &c., aver that we call servants ; or, in town,
they may leave without " giving warning." And it should
ever be remembered, that the varying tide of fortune
may leave many who now ride triumphantly at the top
of the wave upon a barren strand.

The American ladies of lang-syne were exceedingly
notable ; their pride in pastry, puddings, pickles, pre-
serves, and the rest of the category, was certainly more
palatable than the boasted ignorance of their degenerate
daughters. Sensible men will assure you, that it is no

154 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

proof of talents, good-sense, or good taste, to despise
the manipulations of the pantry and kitchen. A good
housekeeper need not be a mere domestic drudge ; if
compelled to devote some hours every day to active
employment, it would doubtless be an antidote to dys-
pepsia and ennui, and need not lessen her refinement of
rnind and manners. A good " Cook's Oracle" should
belong to every educated woman's library, not dis-
playing its homely face among the elegant titled nobility
of the drawing-room, or respectable gentry of the parlour
library, but upon the kitchen book-shelf, by the side
of the Bible, Cheap Repository, Almanac, &c. Many
such receipt-bocks have been compiled for housekeepers,
but they must be tested by actual experiment before
they can be relied upon. A young lady should be al-
lowed to make these experiments under her mother's
supervision. If a daughter can relieve her mother by
sometimes taking her place, it will be a mutual ad-
vantage.

Kindness to servants, genuine, judicious kindness
is not the most common thing in the world. In your
father's house, be careful not to tax them too heavily ;
be considerate for their welfare, and endeavor to gain
their respect and good-will.

You can scarcely conceive of the labor you may save
them by neatness and carefulness, by putting your
books, working materials, and wearing-apparel in their
proper places, when you have done using them, by
early rising and early retiring. Never ring for a servant
unless it be absolutely necessary ; consider whether you
have a right to make even your own waiting-maid take
forty steps to save yourself one. Nothing shows a per
son's ill-breeding more plainly than a harsh, imperious

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 155

manner towards servants. Knowing how much more
agreeable it is to be requested than commanded, it
would seem as if every one might say, " Will you do
this?" or even, " Please do that;" and there would
be no want of propriety in saying, " Will you have
the kindness to do it?" Human nature resents the im-
perative mood, but yields a ready acquiescence to gentle
entreaty. You must not suppose that all servants are of
course merely mercenary ; they may serve with affec-
tion, and possess a keen sensibility to kindness. An
amiable dignity of deportment, joined with considerate-
ness, and a hearty desire for their good, may secure
faithful, humble allies, whose interests are identified with
your own. This happy union is sometimes secured
even in this country, where a love of change is the uni-
versal passion. The yoke of servitude is very galling
to a free-born Yankee ; is it not often rendered doubly
so, by the meanness and vulgarity of the master and mis-
tress ? Avoiding that familiarity which the old proverb
says "breeds contempt," consider what is really due to
the feelings and character of a faithful domestic, and
demonstrate by your conduct, that you have no contempt
for those whom Providence has placed in a subordinate
station, and that you recognise no vulgarity but such as
arises from a low and vicious character. By uniform
sweetness of temper, a grateful acknowledgment of faith-
ful services, and a conscientious regard for their tem-
poral and eternal welfare, you may promote their happi-
ness, and lighten the evils of their condition.

The freedom of our country, its liberal institutions,
and much more its moral condition, place unmarried
women in a less restricted and more influential situation
than they enjoy in any other enlightened nation. They

156 THE YOUNG LADY 3 S HOME.

are of more importance at home, and take a more ac-
tiye part in receiving visiters, than is customary in Eu-
rope. Yet, while under the paternal roof, there is no
propriety in their receiving company without the counte-
nance of their parents. All invitations should be given
out in the name of the mistress of the family, and the
delicacy and modesty of a young lady will prevent her
from monopolizing the attention of her mother's guests,
old or young. There is, however, an opposite extreme,
where young ladies pay no civilities to their parents'
visiters, but either whisper and giggle by themselves in a
corner, or sit in a formidable row, like dumb, uninterest-
ed spectators. At a dinner-table, at home or abroad,
you are expected to be an attentive listener, or at most
an intelligent questioner ; by no means to take the
lead in conversation. At home, you may endeavor to
draw out the modest and diffident, and to relieve them
from awkward silence ; but can you in a party talk to
half a dozen beaux at once, and find them all some em-
ployment ? Do you feel dissatisfied unless you create a
sensation and attract much notice? Do not think the
men whose admiration you claim cannot perceive your
motives. When displaying your accomplishments, be-
ware of seeming to say, Mmirez moi, admirez moi.

It is almost insulting to a guest to invite him just to
make a display of an elegant, richly furnished house, or
in any other way to extort from him the tax of admira-
tion and flattery. The frank cordiality of old-fashioned
hospitality is a thousand times more acceptable.

The substantial comfort of a house depends mostly
upon its mistress; but its graceful elegance is frequently
imparted by the younger members. The arrangement
of furniture, books, pictures, prints, and the care of

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 157

them, may devolve upon young ladies. Even the ar-
rangement of a vase of flowers, and the placing of it,
may tell favorably of the taste of the presiding genius of
the drawing-room.

Although domestic economy must necessarily occupy
much of a woman's time and thoughts, it should be made
as seldom as possible the subject of conversation. The
affairs of the kitchen should never be discussed in the
parlor, or at table. The regularity, order, and smooth-
ness with which the machinery operates should be per-
ceived only as it is upon the face of a watch, by the
effects produced. A man of studious habits, who is
much at home, should never be annoyed with the bustle
of notable housewifery, the complaints that might hourly
be made of the carelessness of servants, and the horrors
of dust and cobwebs. The merits or demerits of ser-
vants are sometimes made the subject of conversation in
society ; but young ladies, it is hoped, have too much
taste and refinement to choose such a topic.

There is little danger, under the present system of in-
tellectual culture, that a young lady will become too am-
bitious to excel in housewifery ; the danger is, that,
despising the homely but useful knowledge, you will in
time bring discomfort and discredit to that home where
confiding love has placed you.

Charlotte," said a lately married man to his young

wife, " my classmates, F and N , are in town,

and I have invited them to dine with us to-day. I have
been to market this morning, and will give you the bill
of fare; a calf's head for my favorite soup, beef,
pigeons, oysters, and a fine striped bass. You must or-
der the cook to do every thing according to your own
liking, and prepare such a dessert as suits your own
14

158 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

taste. Our guests are both bachelors, and N has a

foolish notion that girls now-a-days know nothing that
they ought to know. I wish you, my dear, to show
him that one, at least, does honor to her husband's
choice."

The happy husband, with a look of trustful affection,
bade his wife good morning, saying that he should not
see her again until he had the pleasure of introducing his
old friends, at dinner-time.

Charlotte was in trepidation. Her cook, a stout,
wholesome-looking country-girl, was unskilled beyond
the most simple cookery ; the mistress did not like to
lose respect by betraying ignorance. The blushing hon-
ors of a housekeeper were still in their first week's
freshness. " What shall I do ? what shall I do ?" she
mentally exclaimed. After musing a while, the thought
struck her, "I'll go ask mamma." On went bonnet
and shawl, and off* went Charlotte to confess her em-
barrassment and ask advice. " It 's all easy enough,"
said mamma; "you have my excellent receipt for calf's
head turtle-soup. Then you must have the bass boiled,
the beef roasted, the oysters fried in batter, and the
pigeons stuffed, stewed, and browned." Home went
Charlotte, saying over her lesson of boiled, stewed,
and roasted, all the way. She summoned the cook.
" Sally, we have company to dine to-day ; I wish
to give you some directions about the dinner. Here
is my excellent receipt for calf's-head turtle-soup."
" 0, goodness me !" exclaimed Sally, " I never heard
of turning a calf's head into a turtle before." "It is a
fine soup, Sally ; be patient, and I will show you how,"
continued Charlotte, with becoming dignity, although
somewhat disconcerted. "Listen now; the beef,

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 159

yes, the beef must be boiled, the bass roasted, the oys-
ters stewed and browned, and the pigeons fried in bat-
ter." "The pigeons fried in batter! Lor me ! what
queer ways they do have in this town !" exclaimed the
unsophisticated cook. " Different places have different
modes, my good girl ; I dare say you will do very well.
We dine an hour later than usual to-day, and you will
have plenty of time."

Sally was a shrewd Yankee girl, and suspecting that
her mistress did not know quite as much as she pretend-
ed, determined to follow the directions she had given,
come what might. Charlotte, putting on her neat brown-
linen apron, went to work with right good-will. Re-
ceipt-book in hand, she got together the variety of ingre-
dients and condiments for the mock-turtle soup, and read
the directions for the suitable preparation of them to the
attentive Sally, who then applied herself with all her
might to boiling, roasting, stewing, and frying, according
to her mistress's orders.

Having thus discharged her arduous task, perfectly to
her own satisfaction, Charlotte made choice of fruits and
sweetmeats for dessert, and, to relieve the cook, she
undertook to make custards and a whip-syllabub herself.
Before they were finished, the clock struck three ! It
was but an hour to dinner ; four o'clock was a late din-
ner-hour in the good town of . When she had

seen that the table was spread, and given orders to the
waiter for the arrangement of her beautiful dessert, which
she looked at again and again with satisfied pride, she
had only fifteen minutes for her toilet, a task which
usually occupied nearly an hour. The company arrived
before it was completed, and the husband looked disap-
pointed at not finding his wife in the drawing-room.

160

Still more disappointed and chagrined was ne when she
did appear, heated by the unusual occupation of the
morning, flurried by her hasty toilet, and anxious for
the success of her dinner; her face looked red, shiny,
and absolutely swollen, and her manners were as des-
titute of their usually graceful politeness as possible.

F and N looked surprised, for they had heard

much of the beauty and accomplishments of their friend's
wife. Conversation flagged, and yet the waiter came
not to announce the wished-for relief; minutes seemed
hours to Charlotte ; her husband fidgeted and looked

anxiously at N , who, in spite of his customary

good-breeding, had a positively saucy look, that seemed
to say, " So much for the housewifery of these very
accomplished women." At length, however, the waiter
announced that dinner was ready ; the doors were thrown
open, and the smoking viands were welcomed by all ;
for long waiting had given them keen appetites.

The soup was dark as midnight, having derived its
superlative blackness from burned instead of browned
flour, and an extra quantity of port-wine. However, it
passed off tolerably well; even an experienced gour-
mand would have pronounced it only a trifle too bitter,
and a trifle too acid.

The soup discussed and removed, the master of the
house cast his eye over the table, but not a dish could he
recognize. " This is some abominable French cook-
ery," thought he, " where every thing is intentionally
disguised ; however, I must undertake to carve." Be-
fore him stood a shapeless mass of pinkish and yellowish
stuff, floating in a puddle of grease, which threatened to
overflow the platter. Fish-knife in hand, he gazed at it
awhile ; what could it be ? Why, boiled beef, to be

THE ECONOMY OF HOME. 16.1

sure ; the large sirloin of fat beef boiled to rags, with-
out a particle of salt, the bones all nicely removed.
He looked for the excellent striped bass. The dark
debris of something of the fish kind certainly lay upon
the opposite platter, for there was the head at least,
the bones roasted to wonderful brownness. There was
still hope that the pigeons might be eatable. A parcel
of strange-looking dumplings made up a side-dish, but
no birds were discoverable ; neither could he form a
conjecture as to the contents of the opposite dish,
little dark, shrivelled things, like nothing of the fish or
flesh kind. Not a vegetable appeared, for Charlotte had
forgotten to order them, and Sally obeyed orders.

Relieved from embarrassment by the success of her
soup, Charlotte had recovered her usual ease, and was
talking quite agreeably with N , when she was star-
tled by an unwonted exclamation of anger from her
husband.

" What the hae we got here? Madam, please

to have your cook called, to tell us what villanous stuff
she has placed before us; for the life of me, I can't
discover."

Poor Charlotte, utterly confounded, bade the waiter
call Sally. The girl appeared, her arms akimbo, and
an expression of irrepressible drollery lurking about her
mouth. "Woman!" exclaimed the enraged husband,
" what messes have you given us in place of what I
sent home for dinner?" "Why! there's just what
you sent home, cooked exactly as Mrs. ordered it to
be done. My rule is, < Obey orders and break owners.'
I said it over and over, till I got it by heart," point-
ing to each dish, "boiled beef, roasted fish, pigeons
fried in batter, and oysters stewed and browned. I
14*

162

hope they are done to your liking, inarm," curtseying
low.

It was impossible longer to refrain from laughter.
The irritated husband burst forth into a peal, in which
he was joined by his guests, and even the waiter and
cook tittered, while Charlotte, no longer able to endure
the mortifying scene, burst into tears, and retreated to her
own chamber. Sally, as soon as she could be heard,
said, "Just let me obsarve, gentlemen, you can have
a disart for dinner, for the lady got all them gimcracks
ready herself, and very nice you '11 find them." Suiting
the action to the words, she began removing the mangled
and disgusting messes, and soon the dessert was upon
the table. The friends merrily finished their dinner, or
rather substituted the dessert, which really did credit to
Charlotte, who, nevertheless, could not be prevailed
upon again to make her appearance.

CHAPTER XVIII.

DRESS.

"My yellow silk petticoat looped up with laurel,

So elegant, yellow and green!
My train of blue satin! (judiciously chosen,

'T will make a pelisse in the spring,)
And then my red feathers ! I 'm sure, Lady Susan,
I must be remarked by the king."

T. H. BAILET.

THE satirists of every age have considered woman's
vanity and love of dress legitimate subjects for their
keenest strokes. The enormous hoops, crape cushioned
head-dresses, furbelows, powder, and patches of the
days of Addison and Goldsmith only gave place to
other fantastic modes, which have in turn called forth
the ridicule of lesser wits down to the present day.
Whether all their poignant witticisms ever lessened the
number of patches, made " top-knots come down," or
reduced the size of a sleeve, is somewhat doubtful.
Fashion is a goddess who will not be laughed out of
countenance. Her frown is terrific ; her votaries pro-
claim from her high places, "It is better to be out of
the world than out of the fashion."

As a first rule, then, (though last in importance), let
your dress be in the fashion, provided, always, that it
does not infringe upon any of the following rules ;
namely,

2. Let dress be adapted to the season of the year.
Many a bright and beautiful girl has gone down to an

(163)

164

early grave in consequence of neglecting to guard against
the inclemencies of this changing climate. You have
hitherto been watched by the vigilant eye of maternal
affection ; now your life is, in a measure, in your own
keeping ; yes, your very life, for one single night's im-
prudence in laying aside a warm garment might prove
fatal. Do not object to any precautions for the preser-
vation of health, because they have a clumsy appearance.
Flannels are indispensable a greater part of the year.
India-rubber, fur, and thick-soled shoes should be worn
much oftener than they are. How absurd to risk health,
and life itself, for the sake of having a foot look an eighth
of an inch smaller! How preposterous to be exposed
to an atmosphere near zero, wearing thin silk stockings,
and expect to escape uninjured ! Not only absurd and
preposterous, but absolutely wicked. We have no right
thus to tamper with life.

3. The dress should not fit so tightly as to impede
motion or respiration. It is believed that the evils
of 'tight-lacing have been so faithfully delineated during
the past ten years, that none can be ignorant of them.
Thus forewarned, if you continue a. practice so de-
structive to health, life, and even to true beauty, a
lingering suicide, surely, a fearful account must be
rendered to Him whose laws are thus daringly violated.

4. Dress should be neat. Some one says that neat-
ness is next to the cardinal virtues. It seems, indeed,
allied to purity of thought, and delicacy of sentiment,
giving a charm to the plainest attire, and rendering the
richest more elegant.

5. Dress should be simple. The most expensive
apparel should possess this grace ; in this, as in every
art, elegant simplicity is the highest beauty.

DRESS. 165

6. Dress should be modest.

7. Dress should be appropriate. There is a natural
fondness in the young for gay colors. And why should
they not admire what has been made so beautiful?
Earth wears her robe of pleasant green, the sky melts
into its lovely blue, or glows with crimson, purple, and
gold, the flowers blush with delicate hues, or are
sprinkled with gorgeous dyes, the gems of ocean shine
with dazzling lustre, and our Maker has deeply im-
planted a love of the beautiful in every human heart.
The utilitarian may deny this, but, with all the splendors
of creation around us, we have but to open our eyes, and
his arguments are forgotten. Youth, buoyant with hope,
and radiant with gladness, why should it be shroud-
ed in sombre hues? Hate we not here the teachings
of nature ? Should not life's spring-time and summer
be clad like their prototypes, and old age wear the sober
livery of winter ? Goldsmith compares the style of dress
appropriate to different periods of life to the three or-
ders of Grecian architecture. The elaborate and beau-
tiful Corinthian, for youth ; the graceful, but less orna-
mented Ionic, for middle life; and the chaste, simple
Doric, for venerable age.

Children love the gayest colors ; but, as the mind ex-
pands, and the taste refines, more delicate hues are pre-
ferred. Colors, in dress, that do not harmonize or con-
trast agreeably, pain the eye, as discords in music do
the ear. Light blue and pink, purple and blue, green
and' blue, yellow and pink, worn as contrasts, are un-
pleasant to almost every eye ; while purple and yellow
or orange, blue and brown, salmon and blue, green and
pink, lilac and green, are pleasing contrasts. This is
not a factitious taste, but is, as the painty well knows,

166

derived from observation of the harmonies of nature.
Fashion may reconcile us for a time to almost any ab-
surdity ; but good taste, being founded in natural sensi-
bility to beauty, will not yield entirely to her caprices.

It is much to be desired, that the young ladies
of our country would dress with more plainness and
simplicity in the street and at church. A Frenchman
who had just arrived in one of our larger cities, the
first morning after his landing walked through the favor-
ite street for promenading; on returning to his hotel,
ne inquired of a lady, " Madam, where is the ball this
morning?" "The ball! what ball?" " I don't know
what ball, but you Americans have one very strange
custom ; the ladies all go to the ball before dinner ;
some ride, more walk, all dressed for the ball ; ha ! ha !
ha! republican vulgarity."

In no other civilized country do reputable women walk
or ride out in full dress. In Europe, ladies do not go to
church to display their finery; they have other public
places where their vanity may be gratified. Almost the
only arena for display in many places in this country, un-
fortunately, is the holy sanctuary ; the place for humiliation
and self-abasement. Gay as a parterre of tulips and hya-
cinths at one season, and waving with plumes, like a regi-
ment of soldiers, at another. Is this a Christian assembly,
met to worship God ? Not that such an assembly
should be clothed in sackcloth, or any other peculiar
and homely garb ; but surely a simple and unostentatious
style of dress would be far more appropriate.

On a journey, a plain dress is most becoming. We
form an opinion of strangers from their appearance ; it
is the only index. When a young lady carries her light
silks, her embroidery and jewelry, upon her person, in

DRESS. 167

stage-coach, car, and steamboat, through the length and
breadth of the land, we conclude that they are her only
letter of recommendation, and there may be those to
whom it is sufficient.

7. Dress should correspond in some degree with the
wealth of the wearer. There should be moderation and
sobriety, however, arising from principle. The extrava-
gance of wives and daughters has doubtless increased
men's desire to be rich, and led them in many instances
to those rash endeavors and wild speculations, that lately
threatened destruction to our country. Is the present
comparative calm a proof that they have become more
considerate, more economical ? Are there none who
still encroach upon a father's fond indulgence to gratify
vanity? If you follow Shakspeare's rule, "Costly
as your purse can buy," how will you be able to obey
a charge coming from higher authority, " to do good,
to be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to
communicate ?"

8. Dress should not occupy too much time and
thought, nor be made the subject of never-ending discus-
sion. Well chosen, neatly made, and carefully put on,
it has already been a cruel monopolizer of time ; give it
no farther attention than is necessary to preserve it from
injury, and let not that care be apparent. A splendid
dress may be worn so consciously as to lose all graceful-
ness and elegance.

CHAPTER XIX.

CONVERSATION.

"Talk to women, talk to women as much as you ran. This is the
best school. This is the way to gain fluency, because you need not
care what you say, and had better not be sensible. D'JSRAKLT.

IT is not very unfair to believe, that most young men
have adopted this motto as their own ; at least, their
conversation in ladies' society generally indicates that
they think they "had better not be sensible." If
young ladies are flippant and silly, may it not arise from
a similar desire to please ? It is morally certain, that the
tone of conversation will not be much improved, until
the taste of your superiors is more correct.

Every lady thinks it complimentary to have sensible
rational conversation addressed to her ; it proves that
her mind is not considered vastly inferior. She need
not say much ; a good listener is invaluable, and Bacon
says, " The honorablest part of talk is to give the oc-
casion." Let us learn farther from his wisdom : " She
that questioneth much shall learn much, and content
much, but especially if she apply her questions to the
skill of the persons whom she asketh ; for she shall give
them occasion to please themselves in speaking, and her-
self shall continually gather knowledge." Shakspeare
makes Gratiano say, "Silence is only commendable
in a neat's tongue dried." But a severer satirist on the
sex says :

(168)

CONVERSATION. 169

11 A dearth of words a woman need not fear
But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear."

The solemn fop, the flippant coxcomb, the prosing
pedant, all may like " to please themselves" by prat-
ing to you, each in his peculiar style ; and to " apply
questions to the skill" of this category, requires more
than the wisdom of a Bacon ; and to listen to them, "not
poppy nor mandragora" can be so consummately nar-
cotic.

Flattery, censoriousness, slander, sarcasm, egotism,
tittle-tattle, exaggeration, dark catalogue ! Yet of all
these conversational vices, ladies, young and old, have
been accused. Flattery sometimes arises from too
strong a desire to please, without any baser motive.
Compliments are not always wrong ; they may come
from an affectionate heart, that can with difficulty con-
ceal its sentiments and emotions. When there is not
the slightest deviation from truth, and when nothing is
sought, or to be gained, they should be given very spar-
ingly, not entirely proscribed.

Flattery implies an intention to deceive, to mislead
with regard to appearance or merit, either to gain favor,
or to make sport of another's vain credulity. It is a
base, a mean and craven spirit, that offers this incense
at any shrine. Every lady should have too much self-
respect to offer or to receive such incense.

Censoriousness brings so much unpopularity to those
who indulge in it, that few are willing to appear so
unamiable. But there are some fine ladies who com-
plain,

"Folks are so awkward, things so unpolite,
They 're elegantly pained from morn till night."

170 THE YOUNG LADY^S HOME.

Every thing appears to them as distorted as their own
faces in a cracked mirror. They are careful to suggest
to their friends every defect that they discover in dis-
position and character, and vastly ingenious and quick-
sighted in the discovery. The bright side of character
has no charms for them. Instead of depicting their
acquaintances, as Queen Elizabeth would have her
face painted, without shadow, their censoriousness casts
every feature into the deepest shade.

It is said of the profound Locke, by his biographer,
that "he was at first pretty much disposed to give
advice, where he thought it was wanted ; but experi-
ence of the little effect it had, made him grow more
reserved."

But censure of the present is far less malicious than
slander of the absent. False, treacherous, hateful
slander, whose wounds no balm can cure ! In times
gone by, the gentler sex were accused of a strong pre-
dilection for that " sweetener to a female feast ;" but
in days of better education and less tea-drinking, let us
hope that they are not so culpable. God's holy law
has protected " our neighbor" from this violation of
his rights, and all mankind cry out against him who
"filches a good name." Even in the most retired mo-
ment, with your tried and faithful friend, beware of
whispering one word to injure the reputation of a fellow-
being. Condemn vice, by word and deed, and have
moral courage to avoid the society of the vicious, what-
ever be their rank and station. You are partakers in
others' sins, if you do not thus openly show detestation
of crime. But sully not the reputation of the virtuous
by the venomous breath of slander; it will not pass

CONVERSATION. 171

away, like your breath upon the mirror, leaving it bright
and pure ; it will go out into a world of wickedness, and
rest a dark cloud upon their once fair fame.

Vanity leads to unprofitable conversation. Hour after
hour is oftentimes wasted upon the discussion of the
color of a ribbon, or the shape of a shoe. The dress
of the fashionable and the unfashionable is a most fertile
topic of conversation, giving zest to the vapid hours
*of the unintellectual. Who doubts that due attention to
dress must be rendered ? But the interminable discus-
sions to which it leads, to the exclusion of better subjects,
lowers the intellect, and tells too plainly the ignoble aim
of female vanity, to spread every sail to catch the
breeze of admiration.

Sarcasm is a dangerous weapon, often recoiling upon
the wielder with keen and biting stroke. A dull weapon
will wound, if directed to a vulnerable spot, and those
who have little sense and no wit can be spitefully severe.
Of such, Hannah More says, " They exhibit no
small satisfaction in ridiculing women of high intellectual
endowments, while they exclaim with affected humility,
and much real envy, that < they are thankful they are
not geniuses.' Now, though one is glad to hear grati-
tude expressed on any occasion, yet the want of sense
is really no such great mercy to be thankful for ; and
it would indicate a better spirit, were they to pray to be
enabled to make a right use of the moderate under-
standing they possess, instead of exposing, with a visible
pleasure, the imaginary or real defects of their more
shining acquaintance."

It is dangerous to be severe upon the faults of our
friends, even in jest. Like blows given by boxers, at

172 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

first in sport, they often end in angry earnest. Lively
repartee may sometimes be agreeable ; when it delicately
avoids personality, it may give brilliancy to conversation ;
but this can seldom be avoided. Defend us from the
quips and quirks of an habitual punster, who snaps up
your honest \vords, and turns them into traitors before
your eyes.

"To women, wit is a peculiarly perilous possession,
which nothing short of the sober-mindedness of Chris-
tianity can keep in order. Intemperate wit craves admi-
ration as its natural aliment ; it lives on flattery as its
daily bread. The professed wit is a hungry beggar,
that subsists on the extorted alms of perpetual panegy-
ric." The rational, sensible conversation of those who
prefer being agreeable to being witty is vastly repugnant
to such ; if others writhe under their inflictions, they
yawn under this.

Woe to the woman who gains the reputation of wit.
She is expected never to open her mouth to speak,
without dropping pearls and diamonds ; if her wit be
not chastised into meek subordination, she is feared by
one sex and hated by the other. Even although it be
thus chastised, there are many who look upon it in its
harmless playfulness as they would upon the gambols
of an uncaged tigress.

But of all faults in conversation, egotism is the most
common, only because pardoned by all those who in-
dulge in it themselves. A tete-a-tete between two ego-
tists is a laughable strife for the balance of power. The
eagerness of each to maintain the ground, the volu-
bility of the one who gains it for a time, the anxiety
of the other to seize the first faltering pause, impa-

CONVERSATION. J 73

tience overcomes at length all politeness, and both talk
till one has fairly talked the other down. In society,
the thoughts of these egotists cannot by any means be
diverted from themselves. It appears as though there
were not a spot in the universe, that fond self-love did
not associate in some degree with their interests.

" When I was with Parry," says the traveller, " we

encountered some of those tremendous icebergs "

" That reminds me," interrupts the egotist, " of what I
suffered during a ride last winter, when the snow-drifts
were as high as the horses' heads," and so on, and on,
with a tedious tale of egomet, while all wait with impa-
tience for the solicited narrative of adventure. The
traveller again commences, but goes not far before
another chord is struck in the egotist's mind, which
inharmoniously interrupts the speaker, who now despairs
of finishing his story. Neither iceberg nor volcano,
geyser nor maelstrom, tornado nor avalanche, can ar-
rest the egotist's thoughts, and turn them from beloved
self. Were every member of the social circle equally
governed by this monopolizing egotism, they would re-
semble a flock of chickens fighting for a delicate morsel
thrown among them, one snatches it up and runs,
another seizes it and begins to enjoy it, when a third
makes off with it, but chances to drop the prize ; half a
dozen new claimants fly at it, until it is finally trampled
under foot and lost. It would be an effectual cure,
were the egotist to bite her tongue every third time
that I or me came to the tip of it. " The unruly mem-
ber" would run the risk of being totally disabled.

" Conversation is the music of the mind, an intellect-
ual orchestra, where all the instruments should bear a
part, but where none should play together."
15*

174 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

The silly tittle-tattle of meddlesome busybodies is
almost too contemptible to be noticed. " They live

very expensively at Mr. B 's; so their cook told

our waiter. They spend for the table alone forty
dollars a week, week in and out, through the year."
"What do they have for dessert?" "Creams and
ices, fruits and pastry, sweetmeats and jellies, every
thing in its season." "Well, then, I think they must
pinch in wine or meats, for, after all, that is no great

sum." " Mr. G is said to be engaged to Miss

K ; is it so?" "I think it must be, for they

walked home from church together last Sunday, and
she looked very lovingly upon him."

" Stale, flat, and unprofitable" stuff; yet this makes
up the sum total of the conversation of a class of young
ladies who have much leisure, few intellectual resources,
and little moral principle.

Girls often bring from the boarding-school a sort of
school slang, which they have sported among themselves,
and which appears as awkwardly in society, as would
the red morocco shoes that delighted their infant fancy.
Others, who have been educated at home, introduce
the bywords and pet phrases, which are playfully em-
ployed, and may be tolerated, in the family circle, but
which it is extremely ill-bred to use before strangers.
Indeed, 'every thing that savors of cant, slang, and
vulgarism should be most carefully avoided. Young
men at college become familiar with a set of words
which the uninitiated need a new vocabulary to under-
stand. Every profession and employment has its cant ;
now if all these were brought into society, what a Ba-
bylonish jargon should we hear! By common consent,

CONVERSATION. 175

every thing of this kind is pronounced in bad taste ; but
so i'nveterate are habits, that even refined people \vill
betray their pursuits and their places of residence, by
local and professional cant. And often the habit of ex-
aggeration is acquired at school, where sweetest, super-
latively beautiful, delicious, the most beautiful, the most
hateful, most horrible, &c., &c., are epithets with which
all conversation is plentifully spiced. Truthfulness is
thus endangered, and although there is no intention to de-
ceive, exaggeration is a species of falsity, morally wrong.

It is said that in this country there is not enough of
Vesprit du societe to elicit that brilliant play of thought
and language, which gives zest to the conversation of
some European women ; that men in general are too
much occupied with business and politics, and meet sel-
dom for social intercourse, and women have too little
gayety, taste, and cultivation, to render conversation
spirited and amusing. "Things are often said." How
true it may be, those who have lived much in town can
best determine. There is a style of conversation want-
ing in dazzling brilliancy, and, perhaps, in light and
graceful playfulness, but which will better satisfy reason
and conscience, and accords better with the dignified
and rational character of a well-educated American wo-
man. Though not as amusing, it is characterized by
more truthfulness and kindliness. Sacred subjects are
never treated with lightness or unholy familiarity ; vices
are not softened down before ^e roue into innocent
gayeties, very pardonable in wealthy young men ; exple-
tives bordering upon profaneness do not give it pungen-
cy, nor indelicate allusions sully its purity.

" She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her

176 , THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

tongue is the law of kindness." This is what gives to
conversation its crowning excellence, the law of kind-
ness, the philosopher's stone that transmutes all to
gold. Thoughts, breathed forth from a warm, true
heart, a heart forgetting selfish interests in a generous
sympathy with others, find a ready ear.

A pleasant colloquial style appears to be scarcely at-
tainable to those who are not so happy as to enjoy it
from nature. Many examples might be given of men
of genius, who have been sadly destitute of conversa-
tional talents; yet all have by no means been thus defi-
cient. Coleridge was distinguished above all his con~
temporaries for the wonderful fluency and richness of
his conversation ; yet one of them remarked, that " he
discoursed, he never talked." Walter Scott talked
with people ; we might know that from his works. With
his warm-hearted kindness, infused into his racy style,
his exhaustless fund of anecdote, and immense field of
illustration, how could he be otherwise than a delight-
ful companion ? Hannah More, as you well know, was
remarkable for her colloquial talents ; in early life, how
difficult would it have been for her to deny herself the
intense delight which she enjoyed in that circle of learn-
ing, wit, eloquence, and rank, where she shone with
such unrivalled brilliancy ; not altogether unrivalled ei-
ther, for there were the warm-hearted Mrs. Boscawen,
the elegant Mrs. Montague, and the learned Mrs. Eliza-
beth Carter. v

Madame de Stael was so fond of conversation, that it
was misery for her to live out of Paris ; for there only,
in her estimation, could anything deserving the name of
conversation be enjoyed. Happily, American women

CONVERSATION. 177

know little of conversation as a fine art, and therefore
seldom talk for display. Although the just demands of
society often call them from their own firesides, may
their sweetest, dearest enjoyments be there, may they
ever find home a sphere wide enough for sprightly, ra-
tional, intellectual conversation, that, whenever they
mingle with larger circles, it may be easy, useful, cheer-
ful, and agreeable.

CHAPTER XX.

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME.

" Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state ;
If thine the leaf's lightness, not thine the leaf's fate;
It may flutter, and glisten, and wither, and die,
And heed not our pity, and ask not our sigh ;
But for thee, the immortal, no winter may throw
Eternal repose on thy joy, or thy woe ;
Thou must live, and live ever, in glory or gloom,
Beyond the world's precincts, beyond the dark tomb."

Miss JEWSBUIIY.

ISABELLA ' S JOURNAL OF A WEEK.

Monday. Heard the morning bell ring, but felt too
sleepy to mind it ; turned over and tried to resume the
thread of a delightful dream, where it had been broken
off by the vexatious jangling. Could not sleep again,
but continued the dream in a sweet reverie. Enjoyed it
so long, that there was no time to dress for breakfast.
Slipped on my dressing-gown, and rang for Fanfan.
Good creature, she brought me. delicious hot coffee, an
egg, and toast, and, while I discussed my breakfast, I
revelled over Bulwer's last, fresh from the press. Don't

believe Geraldine M has seen it yet. So delighted

with its gorgeous pictures of human life, that I nearly
forgot an engagement to go out shopping, and paying
half a dozen morning visits. Dressed in a hurry ; look-
ed blowzy as a milkmaid, in consequence. Mem.
Must give myself more time to arrange my toilet. Hur-

(178)

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME. 179

iy discomposes the countenance, and gives one a sort of
consciousness that is decidedly vulgar. These morning
visits are a horrid bore. Mrs. M has new furnish-
ed her drawing-room! Salmon and brown! odious!
Ottomans, chairs, lounges, and cushions, all embroidered
by the girls. Salmon groundwork, and patterns of oak-
leaves and acorns. Horridly natural ! And this is the
taste they have brought from Paris, after a two years'
residence there. Praised every thing to the skies ; poor

Mrs. M most exquisitely delighted. Geraldine

looked a little suspicious. Had company to dine,
some of papa's " sensible men ;" could n't bear their

prosing ; left them to come and dress for Mrs. B 's

ball. Find it a good time to write journal, while Fan-
fan dresses my hair. I can now and then take a peep
in the mirror, and am not so over-anxious and impatient
as when I watch all her movements. Ordered the car-
riage to be at the door at half past nine ; hate to be too
early.

Tuesday. Awoke at ten o'clock, so exhausted that I
could not rise. Breakfasted in bed. The glare of light,
and the crowded, suffocating rooms, gave me an intoler-
able headache. Could scarcely open my eyes. Made
Fanfan bring me a mirror. How pale and ugly I look-
ed, eyes inflamed, lips dry and feverish. Obliged
to get up at one, to dress for Mrs. M 's dinner-par-
ty. Was glad enough that they dine at decent hours.
Should have made a sorry figure in broad daylight.
Splendid porcelain, glass, and plate ; but still that odi-
ous salmon and brown everywhere. They must have
ordered their porcelain from Sevres, themselves, for no-
body else ever had such a want of taste. Thought I
should have died with suppressed laughter to hear poor

180

Mrs. M ask Monsieur Brouillard, in her Yankee

French, " Admirez-vous mes filles ouvrage?" Un-
lucky man! he bowed, and " Pardonnez moi, pardon-
nez," was all he could utter, for not a word could he .
understand. How ridiculous for her to attempt to speak
French! I never try, for my four years' study has
taught rne that I know nothing about it. Geraldine

looked as if she would flirt with W if she durst ;

but her father's eyes were seldom turned away from her
long. Papa says he is a shocking roue; but then he is
so elegant, talks such brilliant nonsense, and makes
everybody so superlatively ridiculous, that he is delight-
ful. Handed us to the carnage, and then, with most
imperturbable impudence, jumped in, right in the face
of Aunt Susan's civil " Good evening, Sir," and her
significant farewell bow, and rode home with us. I
verily believe he would have walked in and made a
call, even at that late hour, if aunty had but paid him
the compliment of inviting him.

Wednesday. Rainy. Went down to .breakfast, and
for my pains got a horrid scolding from papa, for letting

W attend me home. He says Aunt Susan will never

do for a chaperon, if she can't keep such silly sparks away.
Insisted that I should cut his acquaintance. Can't pos-
sibly just now, as I have made an engagement to go with

him to look at some new prints at C 's in . Half

sorry, but can't break my word. Papa scolded me, too,
for not practising more ; so, to get into favor again, sat
two hours at the piano and two at the harp. Papa
says, if I don't read and speak French, I shall have a
master. Horrid ! when I pass for accomplished ; what
a disclosure that would be! Told Fanfan to give the
word " not at home" to the waiter, for all day. Was

THE EMPLOYMENT OF TIME. 181

vexed half to death when I found W 's card among

those that had been left. Geraldine M 's, too ; won-
der if they came together. A tete-a-tete dinner with papa.
Lectured me constantly about my awkwardness ; first, I
spilled half a drop of soup ; then, because I laid my
fork upon the table-cloth ; then, because I did not say
what part of the bird I would have that he was carving.
Mimicked me in the most ridiculous manner, "It is
immaterial, Sir." Then I was vexed, and cried, and
at length was obliged to leave the table before dessert ;
threw myself upon the bed and bawled outright. I am
wretched. I wish papa was not so dreadfully particular.
He really could not have been more severe upon me
for some very great fault than he was for my gaucheries.
Then, to add to all his other severities, he would not let

me go to Mrs. G 's to-night. I know why ; she is

W 's aunt, and my wise papa says she is an in-
triguing, manoeuvring woman. Thank my stars, I can
manoeuvre for myself.

Thursday. Awoke early, refreshed with a long night's
sleep. A kind message from papa, hoping I had recov-
ered from my headache. Went down all smiles and
good-humour. The good man was quite delighted ; filled

my purse nobly. Went into street at twelve.

Met W and walked with him for an hour. He is

a delightful creature ; his remarks upon everybody so

piquant. How he ridiculed poor Mrs. Zebediah K

and her fat daughters ; and, more than all, my favorite

aversion, Mrs. M . Bought four splendid prints

for my portfolio, because W admired them. Came

home and dressed for dinner. Some of papa's " sen-
sible men" to dine with him. Tried to talk to a trav-
eller, but found I had quite forgotten my geography;
16

182 THE YOUNG LADY 7 S HOME.

can't imagine where Apulia is. Made some egregious
blunder in talking to Dr. R about English litera-
ture. Papa looked mortified and vexed. Wonder if
he thinks I ought to know every thing. Promised to
take me to the theatre to-night ; a great privilege, for
he will not allow me to go often, because it is not
genteel.

Friday. Exquisitely entertained. 's perform-
ance was magnificent. She well deserves her reputa-
tion, and is, sans doute, the leading star. I am glad I
saw her in her crack character. I can't see why papa
is so rigid about the theatre. He says three times in a
season is enough for a young lady ; it is not in good
taste to go oftener. Do not know what to do with my-
self till it is time to dress for dinner. Dull, formal
dinner at Mrs. F 's ; nobody ever there but cler-
gymen and doctors. Wish I could get resolution to
take up a book from that immense pile, for the improve-
ment of my mind. Fanfan carefully dusts them every
day, and that is all the handling they have yet had. O,
I can't touch them now, for I must practise ! Papa

intends I shall play at Mrs. R 's this evening; a

select party ; not more than a hundred. Let me see,
what shall I play ? Dl tanti palpiti ? It is as old as

the hills, and voted passe; but W admires it, and

if I play it, he will thank me so expressively !

Saturday. W does turn over a music-book

more gracefully than any other living being. All the
world allows he has uncommonly fine taste in music.
He said I played divinely last evening. How jealous
somebody looked. Going to leave my card at a dozen
places where I know they are out. All gone to the
raffle this morning. It is a shame that I could not have

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME. 183

a ticket ; only twenty dollars apiece, and but fifty tick-
ets, and such a splendid diamond snufF-box ! It really
was given by Napoleon to one of his generals. It
would have made such a splendid addition to my bijou-
terie. I hope Geraldine M will not get it. Her

pearls are finer than mine. Poor Mrs. M says

they were " bought in Paris ; and it stands to reason,

that they should be le mieux." These M s are not

genteel after all their fuss; yet I am eaten up. with envy

and hatred towards them. Must go to Madame 1 s

and try on my bonnet. How many hours' reflection it
has cost me ! and now I am anxious about it. If it
should not be becoming, O, dear, dear! what should I
do ? I must wear it to-morrow.

Sunday. Hoped it would rain, because I had a pimple
on my nose ; but ;uo, it is bright and clear as possible.
Must begin to dress. My bonnet is perfect.

Sunday Evening. What a sermon from Dr. !

While I listened, the tears actually came into my eyes.
It was upon the uncertainty of life. But I am yet so
young ; life is bright before me ; how could 1 deny
myself delightful balls and parties? Yet, if what Dr.

says, is true, I am made for something better.

When he described the self-pleaser," I am sure he
looked at me ; his dark eyes seemed to pierce to my
very heart. Papa said, coining home, that I had shown

uncommon taste in the choice of my bonnet, and W

bowed to me as I passed him, with such empressement !
Well, I will read a chapter in the Bible to-night, for I
mean, some time or other, to be good.

Can it be, that an immortal creature thus spends
years of a brief probation ? How precious is the treas-

184

ure whose golden sands are thus treacherously wasting
away ! The question comes home to every con-
science, How shall I perform the duties that I owe
to my Creator, my fellow-beings, and myself? "As
he that lives longest," says a great moralist, " lives
but a little while, every man may be certain that he has
no time to waste. , The duties of life are commensurate
to its duration, and every day brings its task, which, if
neglected, is doubled on the morrow. But he that has
already trifled away those months and years in which
he should have labored, must remember that he has
now only a part of that of which the whole is little ;
and that since the few moments remaining are to be
considered as the last trust of Heaven, not one is to be
lost."

It would be well for every one, after a careful con-
sideration of her own condition and responsibilities, to
make out a set of rules for the arrangement of time.
The peculiar circumstances of each individual would
have their influence in modifying these rules ; but every
one should be systematic. Something like the following
might be appropriate to your condition, namely :

1. My waking thoughts shall be upon my Heavenly
Father, who has spread over me the wings of love, and
opened my eyes upon another day. Sensible of his
mercy, and anxious for a continuation of his blessings,

2. I will spend half an hour (or more), before break-
fast, in reading his Holy Word, and in prayer. .

3. After breakfast I will endeavor to assist my
mother. Should she need my aid in the nursery, or
in the pantry, or elsewhere, it shall be cheerfully yielded.

4. If the occupations of the morning do not afford
sufficient exercise, I will walk with my younger sis-

EMPLOYMENT OF TIME. 185

ter, and call upon some poor pensioner upon my moth-
er's bounty. I can set her room in order, perhaps, and
my little sister can carry some flowers to give it a more
cheerful look. I can read the poor old woman a chap-
ter in her beloved Bible, and then return home. I must
devote some time every day (or every week) to this, or
some other benevolent purpose.

5. My next hour must be for study. As one hour is
all that I can now devote to it, my application must be
such as to make it profitable.

6. My wardrobe must be kept in order. A portion
of time, sufficient for this purpose, must be daily devoted
to it, or to some other needle-work.

7. I must be on my guard against time-stealers, who
would entertain me for hours with scandal and unprofita-
ble gossip. Endeavor, when making those visits which
friendship and the etiquette of society demand, to avoid
these faults myself.

8. An hour or two for miscellaneous reading, to writ-
ing letters, or an analysis of what I have been reading.
I will not indulge myself in sleep, when in health, dur-
ing the day.

9. I will endeavor to spend my time at table profit-
ably, promoting, as far as lies in my power, cheerful
social intercourse.

10. If my father require any assistance that I can
render, my time must be appropriated to it. If I can
entertain him with music, or reading aloud in the even-
ing, I will endeavor always to be in readiness.

11. At the close of every day, I will spend some
time in self-examination,

" Talk with my past hours,
And ask them what report they bore to heaven."

16*

186

12. I will again read a portion of God's holy book,
and of some other book of practical or devotional re-
ligion.

13. Again will I commend myself to the care of Al-
mighty God ; confess my sins ; implore his pardon for
the sake of Jesus Christ ; ask for his grace and inter-
cession, and for the aid and guidance of his Holy Spirit.

Such plain, specific rules, conscientiously written,
and conscientiously acted upon, may keep you from that
temptation which you pray not to be led into ; but to
which idleness, and the want of arrangement in the em-
ployment of time, would expose you every hour.

God may have showered upon you noble gifts ; life
is passing away, and are these gifts still used only for
self-gratification, ministering to your own pride ? The
moral influence that you exert at this period of life,
when the spell of youth and beauty is around you, is
incalculable. It is fearful to consider with what thought-
less unconcern you are exerting this influence. Hith-
erto, your time has been mostly under the control of
others; now r , you have more freedom, more leisure,
and the one, five, or ten talents which the all-wise Dis-
penser has bestowed, must be doubled by your earnest
zeal and untiring perseverance. The work of self-
education must go on ; but self must not monopolize
your time and heart. " The varied air and scenery of
nature are not more intended and adapted to renew
bodily health, than are the varied spheres of benevolence
to promote mental health. Have something good to
live for, beyond yourself, if you would live happy."

CHAPTER XXI.

FRIENDSHIP.

"Friendship is no plant of hasty growth :
Though rooted in esteem's deep soil, the slow
And gradual culture of kind intercourse
Must bring it to perfection." JOANNA BAILLIE.

THE human heart needs the solace of sympathy ; the
mind, too, seeks companionship. During life's early
morning, friendships are the result of accident rather
than of choice ; yet even then, there is some real or
fancied congeniality of feeling. As the judgment ma-
tures, you will be able to analyze character, and to
choose friends with more discrimination. Yet how sel-
dom, even at the noon of life, is the judgment exercised
in the choice ; some fortuitous circumstances bring us
into propinquity with one of whose mind and heart we
know little ; an intimacy is formed which bears the
name of friendship, though wanting in some of its essen-
tial ingredients. This companionship is what usually
passes current in the world for the pure beaten gold of
friendship. You may, in the course of life, complain
of the selfishness, the inconstancy, the desertion, of
friends, when they were never such ; they were only
united to you by those cobweb-chains with which inter-
est binds society together. A heart filled with integrity
is never distrustful, and they who are most in danger
of being deceived are themselves strangers to suspicion

(187)

188

and deception. Yet the friendship of such is often
sought by the self-interested. The cunning, who have
not sincere and upright hearts, know the value of them.

But we are romantic enough to believe, that there is
such a treasure as true friendship, even in this imper-
fect state ; the true metal, but not without the dross
that alloys every thing of human origin. If you feel a
modest consciousness, my kind reader, of deserving a
sincere friend, you will doubtless gain one. Well says
the wise man, " He that would have friends must
show himself friendly."

Our blessed Saviour, when on earth, enjoyed, we
may reverently believe, the pleasures of friendship.
With Martha, and Mary, and their brother, he seemed,
emphatically, at home. In his human nature, a man of
sorrows and acquainted with grief, he needed the sym-
pathy and kindness of intimate friendship, and found
them in the disciple who leaned upon his bosom, the
loving and beloved John. What touching proof the
dying Jesus gave of trustful faith in this friend ! " When
Jesus saw his mother and the disciple standing by, whom
he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold
thy son ! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy
mother! And from that hour, that disciple took her unto
his own home."

True friendship cannot exist without entire confidence,
a self-sacrificing spirit, and mutual forbearance.

There must be confidence in the character of a
friend.

Unless you believed your friend to possess generosity,
sensibility, and affection for you, there would be little
love on your part; sincerity, prudence, and integrity,
or there would be no respect. This belief leads to

FRIENDSHIP. 189

trustfulness and unreserve in communicating your senti-
ments, hopes, sorrows, fears, plans of usefulness, in
short, every thing that interests you, that you may elicit
sympathy or advice. How important is it, then, that
your friend should not only possess an amiable character,
but, in addition, those fixed principles which alone give
stability and permanence to the qualities that you love
and respect!

A self-sacrificing spirit is indispensable. Wait not
to be told how you can oblige your friend, but find ways
of doing it yourself; invent them. If she is more ad-
mired and caressed than yourself, rejoice that you pos-
sess the love of one so amiable. If, on the other hand,
you have the superiority, make it up by the more assi-
duity and tenderness on your part ; at the same time,
be careful that her delicacy is not wounded by these
efforts ; you do not wish to burden her with gratitude,
lest the equality of friendship should be destroyed.

But this spirit has its severest trial, when sincerity and
honesty compel you to reprove and admonish. There
are times when you will be obliged to run the risk of
losing a friend by your faithfulness. Shrink not from
the responsibility. If you consider it one of the advan-
tages of friendship that it is the means of refining and
exalting human character, you will receive advice and
reproof thankfully, and offer it kindly and sincerely.

Imperfect and sinful beings as we know ourselves to
be, we need much forbearance, even from those who
love us best. Because you find a friend has some faults,
that is no reason why you should discard her. God for-
bid that you should ever have the bitterness and anguish
resulting from the discovery that you have loved and
trusted one who was utterly unworthy ! There should

190

be a constant endeavor to elevate and purify the heart
and mind of your friend, and a still more vigorous effort
to improve your own. Sad and disheartening would it
be, if we could never have friends until we felt perfectly
worthy of their love. Then, in mournful desolateness,
might we exclaim,

"Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe,
Our hermit spirits dwell, or range apart."
\

We have much on our side to be borne with and to be
forgiven. How much it becomes us, then, to look with
a charitable, tender and forgiving spirit upon the faults
of our friends !

The youthful aspirant for friendship must put far away
"the romantic expectations which spring from a too vivid
imagination. Her Utopian dreams may prevent the en-
joyment of that calm, rational, but still imperfect friend-
ship, which alone exists in this fallen world.

"But for those bonds, all-perfect made,

Wherein bright spirits blend,
Like sister flowers of one sweet shade,

With the same breeze that bend,
For that full bliss of thought allied,

Never to mortals given,
O, lay thy lovely dreams aside,

Or lift them unto heaven!"

CHAPTER XXII.

ACTING FROM GENERAL PRINCIPLES.

U I do not put abstract ideas wholly out of any question, because I
well know that, under that name I should dismiss principles; and
that without the guide of sound, well-understood principles, all
reasonings would be only a confused jumble of particular facts and
details, without the means of drawing out any sort of theoretical or
practical conclusion." BUEK.E.

A principle is a truth admitted as fully proved, in-
volving many subordinate truths. A rule may be merely
arbitrary or conventional, formed to suit some particular
condition of society, established without other authority
than that of the members of that community, and only
obligatory upon them. The manners and customs of
different nations are such rules. A precept is a com-
mand respecting moral conduct, having the sanction of
revealed truth. Neither rules nor precepts can be found
suited to all occasions and to every individual being ; but
there are principles which are universally applicable.
The Bible contains a few such general principles, found-
ed in immutable truth, and of infinite obligation. Un-
fortunately, they are not the governing principles of many
of the human race ; instead of them, rules and maxims
are substituted, without questioning their origin or their
tendency. Among these maxims sanctioned by long
usage is the very popular one, "Do at Rome as the
Romans do." It has ruined millions. It makes no ex-
ceptions, but, sweeping away the whole moral code,

(191)

192 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

leaves you to be governed entirely by public opinion,
which changes, like the clouds of a sunset sky, into thou-
sands of fantastic shapes, taking their momentary hues
from apparently accidental causes. You reply, perhaps,
" We must do as other people do ; the many proba-
bably are right, and we should be ridiculed or blamed by
them if we were singular." So far as regards fashions,
customs, and modes, that do not involve moral consid-
erations, it is w r ell to show an accommodating spirit; it
is no proof of greatness or goodness to affect singularity,
or to despise suitable attention to these things. But
then nice discrimination must be used, to ascertain
whether they encroach upon what is true, lawful, and
right.

What will people say ? Alas ! how many have been
driven from the path of duty by this intangible phantom !
Terrific consideration ! What will people say ?

" They praise and they admire, they know not what,
And know not whom, but as one leads the other
And what delight, to be by such extolled,
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk,
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise,
His lot who dares be singularly good?' 1

Until this dreaded people's opinion is based upon
Christian principles, it cannot be a safe guide.

Neither is it safe to take for a model a fallible mor-
tal, ever liable to err. Your admiring partiality may
lead you even to imitate the faults and imbibe the preju-
dices of your model. How will you act for yourself,
under new circumstances, when you have not your guide
at hand ? Encompassed with doubt and perplexity, you
hesitate until the time for action is lost, or necessity
brings you to a hasty, irrational decision.

Will it be for my worldly interest ? Such a motive

ACTING FROM GENERAL PRINCIPLES. 193

looks glaringly odious in black and white ; yet how large
a portion of mankind are governed by no other! Who,
that has not been sullied by long intercourse with the
world, does not turn from it with aversion? Besides,
it is often difficult to decide what is for one's worldly
interest ; the world is an exceedingly capricious idol,
and, when you have served her too openly, may turn
upon you with contempt.

It becomes, then, of the utmost consequence, to fix
some general principles of conduct in the mind, that you
may not be driven about, like thistle-down, by every idle
breath.

The Bible contains two grand, ultimate principles ;
namely, holiness produces happiness; sin, misery. All
the commands of God are founded upon this immutable
truth ; the precepts of the gospel flow from the same
source. " Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy heart,
and thy neighbour as thyself." " Do unto others as you
would that others should do unto you."

But my young friends may say it is difficult to act
from general principles ; it requires reflection and reason-
ing. Arid for what else were reason and conscience
given, but to control accountable beings ? When these
ultimate principles, and those directly deduced, are un-
derstood, and the decision is made to act from them, the
whole conduct will in time be habitually referred to
them ; and instead of being hampered and burdened
with thousands of rules and maxims, that may or may
not be applicable, the freed spirit rejoices in the glorious
liberty of truth.

You are surrounded by a circle of your acquaintances,
who are dissecting the character of an absent member of
that circle. They magnify her faults, they ridicule her
17

194 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

foibles, they misinterpret her motives. What are your
principles? Is it immovably fixed in your mind, that
slander is a violation of the ninth command of the deca-
logue? Then your countenance will express disappro-
bation, and, if possible, you will gently, but courageously,
defend the absent.

Is it customary, in the place where you reside, to send
the message, " not at home," when it is not convenient to
receive visiters ? In defence of it, it is said, that it is per-
fectly understood ; it is the fashion; everybody thinks it
right. But is it truth, simple truth, more precious than
gold ? Truth is essential to holiness ; falsehood is sin.
You not only depart from strict verity yourself, but also,
oblige another to utter a falsehood. You teach deception,
perhaps, to an ignorant being, who may thereby be led
into an endless train of dishonesty and crime. You shud-
der at the idea of uttering an absolute falsehood, when
it is thus presented to you ; but have you not often been
guilty of it, in this manner, without compunction ?

You are in company w r ith young men, who are called
" gay, fashionable, spirited, good-hearted fellows. 3 '
They jest about sacred things. Do you smile with
them, or does your countenance, " more in sorrow than
in anger," administer deserved reproof? Do you accept
from their hands two or three glasses of champagne,
while they, following your example, think ten or twelve
glasses not too much for themselves ? And then, can
you make sport of it, if they are a "little merry"?
Perhaps your smile has encouraged the first step on the
fearful road to irretrievable ruin ; your example severed
the last restraint ; your levity sealed the doom of an
only son, the joy and hope of his aged parents. If
things were called by their right names, what you fre-

ACTING FROM GENERAL PRINCIPLES. 195

quently hear mentioned as gayety and fashionable folly
would excite disgust and abhorrence.

Fixed principles will produce true independence of
mind, an excellence rarely found, even among men ; by
some, it is thought incompatible with the natural delicacy
of female character ; but since God has created you
rational and accountable, and given you principles for
your guidance, you cannot say to any human being,

"God is thy law, thou, mine; to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise."

You cannot fulfil the duties that devolve upon you in
relation to others, without some independence. You can-
not live without exerting influence ; perhaps many look
to you for example ; if your course is as uncertain as
that of the fluttering insect, governed by the impulse of
the moment, you can hardly fail to mislead. Generous
impulses, noble impulses, are often lauded ; but so long
as the human heart is sinful, you may not trust implicitly
to its impulses ; they may be right, but it is mournfully
certain, that they may be wrong.

Independence of mind gains confidence. They who
seek popularity by listening with a pleased and acquies-
cent ear to everybody's opinion, without advancing any
themselves, may gain it for a time, but it cannot be last-
ing. The self-love of the multitude will be thus grati-
fied, until they reflect; then, they despise the passive
beings who have flattered and cajoled them. The
wavering, yielding mind has no confidence in itself, and
surely can inspire none.

True independence, or moral courage, based upon
Christian principles, secures peace of mind and a quiet
conscience. That being must resemble " the troubled
sea when it cannot rest," who has a knowledge of right

196

principles, without moral courage to act from them ,
wave after wave sweeps them away, leaving the vacil-
lating theorizer a prey to tormenting and unavailing re-
grets. Broken resolutions ape thorns not easily extract-
ed from the conscientious mind. There is no rational
cheerfulness but that which flows from a good con-
science.

This independence, or moral courage, should never be
obtrusive, never savor of self-sufficiency. " It vaunt-
eth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself
unseemly." Having for its foundation those principles
which are " pure, lovely, and of good report," it should
carry itself modestly and gently. Although every one
ought to possess moral courage strong enough to bear
them right onward in the path of duty, judgment, sober
judgment, must teach ihem.when they are called upon to
act. It is not your province, fair reader, to be censor-
general; nor, "with the cant of philanthropy, to go
Quixoting for adventures on the fields of humanity."
What can be more dangerous for a young lady, than
what in common parlance is styled disregarding public
opinion 7 It would not be very convincing proof, either
of the delicacy of her sentiments, or the correctness and
strength of her principles. A truly delicate-minded
young lady shrinks from the idea of being subjected to
public opinion. She ought to love and cherish the good
opinion of her friends as inestimably precious ; but, in
general, she should desire that the world at large say as
little as possible about her. She asks not the world's
praise, and hopes to escape its censure, in the quiet,
noiseless path that she pursues. It is pitiable if any,
misled by excessive love of admiration, are seen in
the streets, and rn public assemblies, till they become

ACTING FROM GENERAL PRINCIPLES. 197

the talking- stock of every idler and gossip in the com-
munity.

"Virtue itself 'scapes not calumnious strokes;
The canker galls the infants of the spring,
Too oft before the buttons are disclosed ;
And in the morn and liquid dew of youth
Contagious blastments are most imminent."

It is not, then, that daring masculine independence
which braves the world that becomes a woman. Nei-
ther will her own fixed principles make her less rever-
ential, less docile. Happily, the sphere in which
her Creator places her, though it calls for the habitual
exercise of moral courage, does not often demand
unshrinking boldness. She is, from physical constitu-
tion, timid and dependent; the affections are the no-
blest part of her nature, and they are exalted and
strengthened by those principles by which she should
for ever be governed.

CHAPTER XXIII.

PREJUDICE.

'Prejudice. Wise men imbibe, and fools never get rid of it. It
is a little vile weed, which grows in. every man's garden. ANOIT.

ALL that we call opinions, which are not the result of
reasoning and reflection, are prejudices.

There are prejudices of childhood ; prejudices im-
bibed from parents and teachers; prejudices derived
from books ; and selfish prejudices.

We revel amidst the sweet reminiscences of child-
hood ; but the glory that like a halo surrounds it gives
it the dim uncertainty most favorable to prejudice.
They who were kind and indulgent to us were good and
lovely ; we knew no other criterion of excellence ; the
bad excited wonder and abhorrence only as they figured
in the tales of the nursery. If, unfortunately, the Su-
preme Being was represented as awful in power and fear-
ful in severity, without his most distinguishing attribute
of love, the infant mind shuddered at the idea of his
presence. The darkness was horrible, for the terrific
being was there, and the effort was made to drive
him entirely from the thoughts. Here were the first
prejudices against religion ; deeply-rooted prejudices,
haunting us in long after years. Had God been uni-
formly represented as a kind and benevolent being, sup-
plying all the wants of childhood, making the glorious
sun to shine, and the beautiful flowers to bud and blos-

(198)

PREJUDICE. 199

som, far different would have been the first impressions
of his character. While moral distinctions are faint as
the first dawn of morning, the mind cannot bear the full
effulgence that beams from the justice of God. Care-
fully examine what prejudices on this sacred subject,
thus derived, still remain. There are, perhaps, many
such which interpose a dark cloud between you and your
Heavenly Father.

Yet there are some prejudices of childhood which we
would not remove. If the early loved and lost are excel-
lent even to perfection, so let them remain. Who, with
unhallo\ved hand, would tear away the veil ? If your
mother was better than any other mother, your home
more comfortable, your garden more beautiful, or even
your own dog the most faithful, it is well. Memory will
there linger with delight, so long as this world is your
dwelling-place.

Prejudices imbibed from parents and teachers. Al-
most the whole of your knowledge comes under this
denomination. You have taken it from others without
examination, and it is natural and right that it should be
so. Weak, dependent youth must be kept in lead-
ing-strings; but when years have given maturity and
strength, the bounding spirit frees itself. Prejudices,
venerable from antiquity, are often fondly cherished,
possessing a poetical beauty, of which philosophy in
vain attempts to rob them. Many prejudices derived
from parents, it would be almost sacrilegious to destroy ;
such are those of home and country.

But each human being has an individual, moral, and
intellectual existence, and must think, reason, judge, and
act for itself, as an accountable moral agent. It be-
comes, then, a solemn duty, to divest yourselves of those

200

prejudices which dim the intellect and obscure the right
and the wrong , which should ever shine out in as clear
and luminous contrast as the stars upon a wintry sky.

Some superstitious prejudices, handed down from one
generation to another, are merely absurd ; every one can
laugh at them, and yet be more or less affected by them.
Not the school-girl alone, but many a wise and strong-
minded man, will turn away with anxious look from the
crescent moon, as she lightly sails in the eastern horizon,
if the first glance of her be caught over the left shoul-
der. The folly of this superstition is readily acknow-
ledged, yet there are few who have heard in their child-
hood that this was ominous of evil, who have not a
preference for seeing her pale majesty peering over the
right shoulder, although the next hour, or even the next
moment, it may be forgotten.

So it is with Friday, poor unlucky Friday, from time
immemorial under the ban of prejudice. Many carry
through life an absolute dread of beginning any impor-
tant undertaking on this unfortunate day. They may
have been told there was one, who, despising this super-
stition, a bold adventurous mariner, purposely com-
menced building a ship on Friday, launched it on Fri-
day, named it Friday, and sailed from port on Friday ;
and the consequence, it was lost, presumptuous
captain and all ! Doubtless this is the invention of some
would-be wise one, to perpetuate this silly superstition.

The ill-omen that accompanies the breaking of a look-
ing-glass has saved thousands of them from destruction,
and was probably invented by some cunning housewife,
to secure the valued piece of furniture from rough hand-
ling by careless servants. These, and sundry other
foolish superstitions, are harmless matters of sport to

PREJUDICE. 201

instructed philosophic minds, to which they nevertheless
cling with surprising tenacity. There are other super-
stitions long maintaining their tyranny of fear over the
youthful mind. How powerful, how mysterious, are
these influences ! Shadows have been cast over life,
by tales told at the nursery fireside, or during stolen
visits to the kitchen chimney-corner.

And in after years, what witchery held the listening
circle of staring school-girls spellbound, while the
graphic narrator of ghost-stories made the heart thrill
with mingled fear and delight. So felt Orra, the heroine
of one of Joanna Baillie's splendid tragedies.

" Orra. How, pray! what fearful thing did scare him so?

Cathrina. Hast thou ne'er heard the story of Count Hugo,
His ancestor who slew the hunter-knight?

Orra (eagerly). Tell it, I pray thee.

Mice. Cathrina, tell it not; it is not right;

Such stories ever change her cheerful spirits

To gloomy pensiveness; her rosy bloom

To the wan color of a shrouded corse.

(To Orra.) What pleasure is there, lady, when thy hand,

Cold as the valley's ice, with hasty grasp

Seizes on her who speaks, while thy shrunk form,

Cowering, and shivering, stands with keen-turned ear

To catch what follows of the pausing tale?

Orra. And let me cow'ring stand, and be my touch

The valley's ice; tkere is a pleasure in it.

Alice. Say'st thou, indeed, there is a pleasure in it?

Orra. Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein;

When every hair's pit on my shrunken skin
A knotted knowl becomes, and to mine ears
Strange inward sounds awake, and to mine eyes
Rush stranger tears, there is a joy in fear.
Tell it, Cathrina, for the life within me
Beats thick, and stirs to hear it. :!

How hard it is for cool, sober reason to overcome
these phantoms of prejudice! it grapples with them, and
they are overthrown, but not vanquished until after long
and severe struggles.

202 THE YOUNG LADY^S HOME.

But far more hurtful are the tangible prejudices
against nations, sects, parties, and individuals, derived
from high authority. Here, indeed, our opinions are
as two grains of wheat in two bushels of the chaff of
prejudice. Many years since, when party strife ran
high, a writing-master gave his pupils, for a copy in their
writing-books, the following climax :

"Deist, Atheist, Democrat, Devil."

If prejudices are thus sedulously infused into the
fountains of knowledge, the streams must flow forth
tinctured with bitterness.

The respect due to superiors does not involve the
necessity of adopting their hurtful prejudices. The
law of benevolence, superior to every other law, for-
bids it, " Love thy neighbor as thyself."

Besides, blind prejudice cramps and degrades the un-
derstanding as well as the heart. The "semi-civilized
nations of the East, bound by the adamantine chains
of caste, reject all innovations and improvements,
although they might thereby be relieved from the op-
pression and suffering which they endure. The Chi-
nese remain, from generation* to generation, imitative
and ingenious; but, fettered by prejudice, they rarely
adopt the improvements of other nations. The Turks
seemed by their religion and civil polity as impregna-
bly fortified against "the march of mind," as their
beautiful Golden Horn is against a foreign foe. The
wonderful genius of the present Sultan has exercised
its gigantic strength in levelling these barriers; more
has been thus accomplished by his single might, than
had been effected by all other Moslem minds since the
days of Mahomet.

PREJUDICE. 203

The prejudices of individuals, in the same manner,
prevent that range of thought, that expansion of the un-
derstanding, in which an emancipated mind rejoices.

Prejudices derived from books. More weight is at-
tached, and firmer credence given, to what is printed,
than to what is orally communicated. No little child
doubts what he has read in a book. " Why, I have
seen it in print !" is no uncommon assertion to prove
that a thing is true. The very wood-cuts scattered
about the nursery may give lasting prejudices. Some
pictures, not designed for children, are most unlucky
caricatures, indelibly fixing ludicrous associations in
the memory. " In a picture^pf the temptation of Eve,
Fuseli has put on the serpent the head of a young
man with wings. The reptile is there the size of a
boa-constrictor, smiling to fascinate, and twisting round
the fatal tree. With the same degree of attention to
literal construction, such painters, if they intended to
represent a scene in the land of Canaan, might charac-
terize it, probably with equal truth, by a river of milk,
and another of honey, with whatever else might in their
ideas add to the effect." Almost every child in our
country has been /enlightened on the subject of the
temptation, by a similar design, with the explanatory
couplet,

"In Adam's fall
We sinned all;"

which, by the way, modern theologians have discov-
ered to be as heterodox in doctrine, as its illustration
is apochryphal. Another fanciful, or rather matter-of-
fact illustration, represents the prophet Isaiah, with
his tongue extended, while a large-winged angel, with
a pair of immense tongs, is touching it with a coal.

204

Sacrilegious as such illustrations are, yet they abound,
filling the memory with images that no effort of the
will can obliterate. Many of the nursery-books sub-
stituted in lieu of Mother Goose's Melodies, and Torn
Thumb, give gloomy views of human life, spreading
a dark pall over infant hope. The little hymns, about
the dark grave, the deep, cold pit-hole, where babies
are so pathetically represented as lying in dreary soli-
tude, add tenfold to the natural dread of death. It is
dangerous at this early period to summon terror to the
aid of religion. How much more beautiful beautiful
in truth as well as poetry is that well-known hymn of
Mrs. Oilman's, beginning, "Mother, how still the
baby lies !"

Who does not wish that her infant imagination
might have been gladdened, and her infant reason
satisfied, with such a view of death? With more ad-
vanced childhood come the story-books, from whence
so many false notions of human life are derived.
The reward of virtue, and the punishment of vice, are
described as invariably enjoyed and suffered in this life ;
or worse, the pleasures of sense are set up as idols for
the full heart's first worship.

Then, the enchantress's spell of romance held you,
not in durance vile, but in fancy-land, lovely, beauti-
ful fancy-land ; looking from its fascinating realms upon
the world around you, even the most elevating and use-
ful pursuits of the beings of real life were disgustful.
No moated castles and gallant knights, as of olden
times. No Almacks, no royalty, not even the hope
of a countess's coronet, gilds the future. Your own
country seems a rude, inelegant corner of creation, the
poorest possible field for refined romance.

PREJUDICE. 205

History -and poetry implant their prejudices. War,
painted by genius, has a glory not easily dissipated.
Strange, that the timid, shrinking nature of woman
should delight in the recital of deeds, the sight of which
would freeze her heart's blood !

Military greatness, in this age of nobler aspirations,
must be cast down from the high pedestal where it has
so long been worshipped. Ambition has a lofty look
and noble bearing, as poetry delineates him ; but rob
him of the mask and graceful drapery in which she has
enveloped him, and often he stands forth contempt-
ible selfishness.

Each historian, too, has his peculiar prejudices ; ac-
cording to one, Oliver Cromwell is a patriot, almost a
demigod, while many more represent him a villain, an
arch-fiend. Looking at the vast array of prejudices
which have thus usurped dominion over the human
mind, perhaps you are ready to exclaim with Pilate,
"What is truth?"

Selfish prejudices. Their name is Legion. How
readily we turn what we call in our pride "the tele-
scope of truth," to magnify or diminish, as suits our
self-love! Frivolous pursuits, unattainable pleasures,
difficulties to be encountered, enemies to be overcome,
how mighty they appear! Reverse the tube. The
more noble, the philanthropic, the patriotic pursuits of
the good, their excellences of character, the sacred in-
terests of others, how insignificant they seem ! " The
reason why we so seldom carry on the happy vivacity
of youth into mature age is, that we form to ourselves
a higher standard of enjoyment than we can realize,
and that our ppssions gradually fasten on certain favorite
objects, whioh, in proportion to their magnitude, are
18

206

of rare occurrence, and for the most part out of oui
reach."

Instead of thus wasting life in grasping at shadows,
look at your real condition ; consider its capabilities
for happiness and for doing good. C'est le premier pas
qui coute. Give up to-day some darling prejudice to
which you have fondly clung, and to-morrow another,
and still another will be vanquished. Be not disheart-
ened. Be candid, be sincere, be in earnest, and you have
the promise of a holy Guide, who will lead you into
" all truth." And if the weakness of a spirit enshrouded
in clay shut out some glorious truths from dwellers on
earth, the promise shall be fully accomplished when you
drop this mortal covering, and pass from the shore of
death immediately into that world where error and pre-
judice are unknown.

CHAPTER XXFV

CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER.

"Thy hopes, are they steadfast, and holy, and high?
Are they built on a rock ? Are they raised to the sky?
Thy deep secret yearnings, O, whither point they?
To the triumphs of earth, to the toys of a day?
Thy friendships and feelings, doth impulse prevail,
To make them, and mar them, as wind swells the sail?
Thy life's ruling passion, thy being's first aim,
What are they? and yield they contentment or shame?

Miss JEWSBUBY.

CONSISTENCY of character is the very keystone of
the arch, giving completeness and strength to all the
virtues.

In order to be consistent in the right way, you must
have a just sense of the importance of the objects at
which you aim. A consistent lawyer is one who ap-
plies all his learning, his zeal and his eloquence, to
gain a bad cause as well as a good one. A consistent
fine lady is one whose parties are the most splendid,
whose dresses are. made by the most fashionable mo-
diste, whose bonnets are the perfection of elegance,
whose manners are as regulated as her watch, to suit
all times and occasions, and who pays her bills or not,
just as suits her convenience. A consistent politician
goes all lengths with party, right or wrong, even though
the measures of his party tend to the destruction of his
country. In these cases, unity of purpose produces

(207)

208

consistency. It therefore becomes of the utmost con-
sequence to ascertain what is your aim. The question
here is, not what you know, or what you are, but what
you intend to be. The passionate lover of science
climbs the fearful precipice, and perils life itself for a
single little flower, belonging to a genus that is wanting
in his herbarium. What efforts should be deemed too
great, to attain each flower of beauty that adorns the
garland of woman's worth ?

I know a lady, would that her modesty would per-
mit me to name her, who furnishes an admirable ex-
ample of consistency of character.

Jls a Christian, she has fervent piety, without the
least tincture of austerity. She is liberal and catholic
in her views and feelings towards other denominations,
and at the same time maintains a strong and wholesome
attachment to the church to which she belongs. With
genuine meekness and humility, she possesses self-re-
spect, and does not disclaim the respect of others.
Her cheerfulness springs from good health and a good
conscience ; she is never light-minded and frivolous.
In her most sober moments, she is not gloomy. She
has quickness of perception to discern whatever is sin-
ful in others, and moral courage to warn and reprove,
without severity or bitterness towards the offender.
Her charity is open, but not ostentatious. Possessing
uncommon disinterestedness, her motives are often mis-
understood by the selfish, and oftener misrepresented ;
yet she submits to reproach without a murmur ; though
naturally extremely susceptible to public opinion, she
has fortified her mind to meet injustice. She yields to
the world when it would be unwise to differ ; but mak *f

CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 209

no compromise that involves a sacrifice of principle.
Although uncommonly active in doing good to all within
her sphere of usefulness, she neglects not the culture of
that personal, spiritual religion, which results from devo-
tion and close habitual introspection.

This lady's intellectual character has been mostly
formed by self-education ; the foundation, however,
must have been well laid ; in perfecting the superstruc-
ture, the ornamental part has not been neglected, though
it is rather of the simple, chaste Doric order, than the
more elaborate Corinthian. She is learned, /without the
slightest approach to pedantry. Her memory is so tena-
cious, that she is minute and circumstantial, but not
tedious. The expressions she uses in conversation are
so clear and correct, that you become possessed of her
ideas, scarcely perceiving the medium through which
they have been communicated. Her imagination is
vivid and lively, but sobered and chastened by a strong
discriminating judgment. Hers is not a masculine mind;
it is peculiarly, sweetly feminine, so that her learning
and her superiority are pardoned by the other sex ;
they set so gracefully and becomingly, that they never
obtrude themselves into notice.

My amiable friend's manners are " the outward and
visible sign" of her noble character. Perhaps, in these
free and easy days, they may be thought too formal ;
when dignity was considered essential, they would have
been admired as a model. She is self-possessed, with-
out that impudent assurance which provokes censure
from its total indifference to public opinion, and wounds
the beholder's self-esteem. In her dignity there i& no
haughtiness ; the most timid and bashful girl would seek
18*

210

shelter under her superiority, sure of that kind consid-
erateness which the highly gifted and naturally modest
ever show to shrinking diffidence. The grace of this
lady's manners is not altogether the borrowed grace of
art that is termed elegance ; her heart, full of love and
good- will, diffuses kindness and unction over her whole
demeanor.

In her intercourse with the world, and in her family,
she has all the prudence necessary for the safe conduct
of affairs. Her economy is systematic, without a touch
of meanness. She knows the value of wealth for the
comfort it secures, and as a means of bestowing bene-
fits ; her mind is too noble for avarice to find there a
dwelling-place.

Her decision of character prevents her actions from
being the sport of circumstances. Her generosity is
far removed from prodigality ; she has the courage to
say " no " to the most earnest solicitation to a popular
charity, if her judgment does not fully approve, or her
funds have been consecrated to some other use. In-
dustrious herself, she is careful that her family imitate
the example ; yet their hours of recreation she strives to
make agreeable, by joining cordially in promoting inno-
cent hilarity.

This sketch might be thought incomplete, if nothing
were said of the momentous business of the toilet. Our
friend is not neglectful of her apparel ; her dress is al-
ways scrupulously neat ; but if it does not fit with the
trim precision of a milliner's doll, she would be satisfied.
She would not willingly offend the eye of good taste in
the choice of colors; she would prefer being in the
fashion to being out of it ; yet it is evident that no time

CONSISTENCY OF CHARACTER. 211

has been taken from other duties to attend to this, and
that dress is not the first, second, and third thing in her
mind.

Being thus beautifully consistent herself, is not this
lady a severe censor upon those \vho are less so ? In
example she may be, but in words, never. The law of
kindness dwells upon her lips, and the bright side of
character seems ever present to her generous mind.

CHAPTER XXV.

MARRIAGE.
**The last ungathered rose on our ancestral tree." HOLMES.

"WERE you ever in love, Aunty?"

The lady to whom this startling question was ad-
dressed had seen at least fifty summers. Her sweet
and tranquil face had been ruffled by few storms, yet
there was just that shade of pensiveness which gives in-
terest to such a countenance. A blush mantled the
still rounded cheeks, and shot over her fair high fore-
head, as she replied, " That is a question seldom
asked of an old maid of forty-nine ."

"Forgive me, dearest Aunt, but answer me," said
Isabella, throwing her arms around Aunt Susan's neck,
much to the detriment of her snow-white plaited ruffles.

Aunt Susan. I will do both on one condition, that
you tell me what you have been thinking about this last
half-hour ; for, even by the dim light of the grate, your
countenance betrayed that the subject was one of intense
interest.

Is. Indeed ! Well, then, it is a great secret to-day,
but to-morrow everybody will know it. Geraldine

M- was married this morning to that insufferable

coxcomb, W .

(212)

MARRIAGE. ' 213

Jlunt S. What ! that very fashionable young man,
whom you extolled last winter as so elegant, so inter-
esting ?

Is. I might have been silly enough, then, to think
he was interesting ; but I never should have run away
with him, as Geraldine has done, in opposition to her
father.

Jlunt S. And you, Isabella, were at the marriage !
That accounts for your agitation and hurry this morning.

Is. Yes, Aunty, I had the honor of being bride's-maid
to the happy couple ; only two other persons were
present, and, alas! there was no groomsman. I sup-
pose, had it not been for a promise of long standing,
there would have been no bride's-maid either. This,
you remember, is the second time I have had to officiate
in this manner. Geraldine made a match, all for love,
in opposition to the wishes of every friend she has on

earth. Poor Mrs. M will die with vexation, for he

is not worth a sous. They told her long ago, father,
mother, sister, brother, and all, down to the fourteenth
cousin, that they would renounce her for ever, if she

married W . Now there is romance for you. A

very different affair from Clara Wilton's prim, unsenti-
mental, humdrum wedding.

Jlunt S. Different indeed ! That was every way a
suitable match.

Is. Chacune a son gout. I have always thought
Clara's the most commonplace, dull, matter-of-fact
courtship and marriage that ever happened, as the

saying is. Mr. G , fifteen years older than Clara,

formed upon the old Sir Charles Grandison school, so"
accustomed to debating in Congress, that he always
speaks as though he had the floor, and would not be in-

'214: THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

terrupted. And as for Clara, she is a good girl ; but
now I think of it, the very counterpart of Miss Byron.

Aunt S. The disparity in age, of which you com-
plain, is nothing at all.

Is. Well, Aunty, we will waive that discussion, and
even leave Geraldine's affair for the whole town to
discuss to-morrow morning, and take up the pre-
vious question. Were you ever in love? But, dea*
Aunt, I am a naughty child, and don't gratify my curi-
osity at the expense of your feelings.

Jiunt S. Years have done their kindly work of heal-
ing ; I had almost said of obliteration. Yet I can re-
member enough to satisfy you, and can relate with calm-
ness, I trust, what has never before passed my lips.
Let me see, all stories begin, " Once there was"

Is. There was a young lady once in love.

Jiunt S. And only once, Isabella. I had just re-
turned from school, when I became acquainted with
Leslie. For several years he was a frequent visiter at
the house of my guardian.

Is. And you fell in love with him, Aunt Susan ?

Jiunt S. (with dignity.} By no means. My affec-
tions were not so easily won. Avoid prudish reserve,
and affected indifference ; but sully not the purity of
your young heart by carrying it in your hand, ready to
offer to the first man whom you encounter. I accepted
Leslie's attentions, and a simple liking grew to a strong
affection, when he professed the same for me ; but I
must shorten this part of my story.

Is. O no, no, I wish to hear all about it. Did he
propose ?

Jiunt S. He did, and, after but little delay, was ac-
cepted.

MARRIAGE. 215

Is. But why any delay, if you loved him ?

Aunt S. Nature, strong, all-powerful nature.

Is. Art, all-powerful art. Were you not a little
prudish in those days }

Jlunt S. At the lisk of seeming sentimental, I must
answer, in the words of my favorite poet :

"Love's lightest, fondest weakness, maiden shame;
It was not pride that hid my bosom's flame."

Is. But I interrupt your story.

Aunt S. I have little to tell. The day was set
for our marriage. Leslie had wealth, and the world
pronounced him every inch a gentleman ; but, alas ! he
was totally destitute of religious principle. In a con-
versation with my brother, your respected father, a few
weeks before the time appointed for our marriage, Les-
lie betrayed his opinions; he was an infidel. You
would not wish me to describe the agony that this dis-
covery produced. I will only add, that, after mature
deliberation, I wrote to him, that until his prejudices
were removed, and his opinions based upon revealed
truth, I could never be his. Such an answer as he
wrote ! it would chill you with horror ; he ridiculed my
weakness, and all that is sacred and holy. Can I be
sufficiently grateful for that protecting Providence which
saved me from uniting myself with one who might have
destroyed my happiness in this life, and perilled that of
my soul hereafter ?

Is. Did he ever marry, Aunt ?

Aunt S. He did, and broke the heart of a lovely
woman, who lies in an untimely grave. Unrestrained
by principle, and disappointed in schemes for political
distinction, b i resorted to gambling for excitement, and

216 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

intemperance for forgetfulness ; he died, and it is not
forbidden to weep even over an infidel's grave. These
melancholy reminiscences have brought others to my
mind, which may serve as warnings to my sanguine
Isabella. One of my early friends, much resembling
yourself, married a weak-minded, vain man, whose self-
love was so much stronger than his love for her, that
she has been subjected to continual mortification. Not-
withstanding her vivacity and gayety in youth, she is a
highly respectable and talented woman ; but her hus-
band everywhere makes himself ridiculous, so that she
cannot be very happy, at home or abroad.

Is. Never fear for me, Aunt ; I detest a fool.

Aunt S. But the glare of dress and fashion might
blind you as it has done Geraldine.

Is. I confess I was blinded for a short time ; but

W is not an absolute fool. To be on the safe

side, I resolve that I never will marry a fashionable
dandy.

Aunt S. Poor Amelia Saybury! She was the
heiress of our circle. Her embroidered satins, her
splendid muff and tippet, and, more than all, her beauti-
ful set of pearls; what envy they excited! She mar-
ried a man of fortune, which, added to her own, seemed
inexhaustible. They were excessively extravagant, and
squandered it all ; and now as he has no profession,
nor any kind of business, it is difficult to conceive how
they are supported. It is said, they are reduced to the
most distressing poverty.

Is. But you would not infer from this, that every
man should have a profession, or employment.

Aunt S. In our country, even a man of wealth
should have some occupation ; not that he may increase

MARRIAGE. 217

his wealth, but to render him more useful to the world,
and more prepared for the vicissitudes which all have
reason to apprehend.

Is. I never will marry an old curmudgeon, who
would grudge me every dollar. Indeed, I would not
marry an old man, whatever might be his rank, talents,
or wealth.

Jiunt S. Even at the risk of being that despised
creature, an old maid !

Is. That does not alarm me at all. Who is more
beloved than Aunt Susan ? And you surely are infinitely
more happy than any of your companions who married.

Aunt S. You speak extravagantly, Isabella. I am
more contented and cheerful than many of my married
friends; but I know some, wno are united to men of
sense and worth, who enjoy that assistance in life's rough
journey, and that protection and guidance, which are
very important to our feeble, timid sex. I would not
have you suppose, my dear, that I undervalue what I do
not possess.

Is. There is one frightful fault that you have not
mentioned, a violent temper. I was once visiting at a
house where every one stood in mortal dread of the ty-
rannical master. His poor wife trembled when she
heard his step upon the threshold ; the children ran and
hid themselves ; and the servant who opened the door
durst not look \vithin a yard of his countenance. When
he entered the room where we were sitting, the poor
woman cast a furtive glance to know what mood he was
in, and when she saw the flush and frown upon his ugly
face, she grew pale, but endeavoured to smile. Such a
lugubrious smile! I have heard of the smile of a mile-
stone. hers looked more like the smile of a grave-
19

218

stone. I resolved then, that I would keep out of the
way of such torments.

Jlunt S. But even worse than the temper you have
described is the sullen, dogged, morose disposition that
never breaks out into sunshine. You may sometimes
expect generosity from the passionate man, and occa-
sionally good-humor ; but in this case, you have only
dull, sluggish indifference, however much you may need
sympathy and kindness.

Is. Well, Aunty, there are as many obstacles in the
way of matrimony as the damsel found who went for the
talking bird, singing tree, and golden water.

Aunt S. And I cannot tell you of any enchantress's
spell against them. Prudence and Principle, two very
serviceable handmaidens, may guard you on the right
and left, and yet you may not escape all evils.

Is. I fear I should make but a fickle fiancee. The
moment I discovered any odious trait in a man's charac-
ter, I should say, Excuse me, Sir, and be off.

Jlunt 8. Be careful, then, how you enter into such
an engagement. To break fealty without the most
urgent reasons proves either contemptible weakness of
mind, heartlessness, want of delicate sensibility, or ol>
tuseness of moral feeling. I hope, Isabella, you will not
be so dishonorable nor so unprincipled.

Is. Don't speak so seriously. I believe the best
way is not to trouble myself about the matter.

Jlunt S. You are right ; and think as little about it,
too, as possible. Make yourself worthy of love, and
you will be contented in any situation. You have now
to set yourself earnestly about improving your own char-
acter, lest you bring some of the evils upon another
which you wish to avoid yourself.

MARRIAGE. 219

Is. Well, with the terror of bad husbands before my
eyes, I shall, at least, not marry without the consent of
my father, and the approbation of my prudent aunt.
Let me see (holding up her fingers and counting upon
them), I have predetermined not to marry, First, the
infidel. Secondly, the immoral man. Thirdly, the
silly Narcissus, who would make me blush for him every
moment. Fourthly, the old man, rich or poor. Fifthly,
the old no, the young curmudgeon, for there are
misers young and old ; and the young will grow worse
and worse every year, till he will out-Elwes Elwes, so
I '11 none of him. Sixthly, the extravagant idle man,
who will soon be at his money's end and his wit's end.
Seventhly, the furious, passionate tyrant. Eighthly, the
morose, sour creature, who would turn the cream in my
coffee by looking at it. Ninthly, have I counted all?
Do give me a ninth and a tenth to make up the deca-
logue. I know there are a dozen more that would
come upon the proscribed list, if I could only remember
them.

Aunt S. Don't puzzle yourself, child, to muster any
more. You will think me prejudiced, perhaps, in favor
of my own condition, because I seem to you so happy.
It is not so. As I look toward the downhill of life, it
is a melancholy thought, that I am alone ; that I do not
hold the first place in any human heart.

Is. (fondly embracing her). But you have the love
of everybody, dear Aunt Susan, and a home wherever
you are ; next to my father, I love you better than any-
body in the wide world.

The next week, a little packet was handed to Isabella
by Aunt Susan's waiting-maid. It contained an affec-

THE Yorxo LADY'S HOME.

*ote, intimating that her dear niece had

iaKM them, a touch of tin
MI endeavored to portray for her benefit in the

STORY OF AGXES FLEMING,

T * 1 ' 1 Fiji Thesonhad

with tempered bcdfiancy, and now a soft and lovely twi-
ngjht 8MC.c.mlSj, mvnng all to come forth to revel in the
bland and balmy atmosphere of Jane, Voices of mirth
are on the breeze, that tefl of rosy health and joyous
Bat who is she, lone watcher in that snail
Eeriest chamber? A bedstead stands in one

fines spread over k do not correspond with the plain
foraibne of the apartment. Here lies the only son of
his mother, and she is a widow." Bat why goes he not

i that covers his face, and read the answer there,
lookout opon morning's
TheddMteqpdimi

no more be fifted. Tne ear, so readj to listen to the
sfcghtest soond of joy or grief from that loved mother, is

Who can measore the depth of agony in that lonely
mover's htart, as she gazes on the remains of her noble
hoy? How 1 i HM are the features of that &ce in
their calm repose! From the air and Wry

k wkh scrapoloas care.

PRIDE. 221

There is a fearful composure in her manner ; it is not

the composure of Christian resignation.

Agnes Fleming was an only child. A tender mother
and a careful nurse watched over her infancy and early
childhood ; but when she left the nursery, her education
was entirely given over to her father. The young
Agnes, gifted with a mind of no common order, received
with avidity the knowledge which her father poured into
it from his own deep, full fountain. Not only her intel-
lectual culture devolved upon her father, but her whole
moral culture. Mrs. Fleming never interfered. Her
husband exercised over her that sorcery which the famous
Leonora Galligai was accused of employing with Mary
de Medici, namely, the power which great minds have
over weak ones. She was never known to dissent from
him in opinion ; his infallibility was unquestionable.

The rapid development and the astonishing progress
of Agnes encouraged and delighted Mr. Fleming; his
new employment rendered a life, which had formerly
been monotonous, varied and interesting. His own fac-
ulties, aroused from a lethargy which the indolent habits
of a man of wealth^ without occupation, had induced,
started with the freshness, force, and accumulation of an
ice-bound river loosened from its thraldom. Agnes,
like the genial influence of spring, had freed them from
their frozen uselessness. Mr. Fleming possessed all
those traits of character which, hi the eyes of the world,
are most brilliant and fascinating. His chivalrous devo-
tion to woman would have done honor to the most palmy
days of knight-errantry ; and his graceful courtesy, ro-
mantic generosity, and " high sense of honor," could
only have been equalled by the chevalier tc sans peur et
scms reproche." If, however, you sought for correct
19*

222

principles as the foundation of this character, you would
seek in vain ; there lay pride, indomitable pride.
Wealth, as such, he despised; family distinction was
quite another thing. Descended from a long line of
gentlemen, who had possessed station and rank in Eng-
land, he neither despised, nor affected to despise, these
distinctions. He dwelt upon them with exultation to
Agnes; but it was not his intention to make her proud
of these alone ; from her earliest years, he instilled into
her mind that it was disgraceful to be vicious, that she
should avoid falsehood, meanness, and every thing akin
to it, because they were beneath the dignity of human
nature. For the honor of her sex, she must be refined,
well-bred, and elegant ; for the honor of her family, she
must be intelligent, noble-minded, and generous ; above
all, she must have that pride of character that would enable
her to dignify any station, or to bear up under the frowns
of fate. From such works as Pope's Essay on Man and
Cicero's Offices, as she advanced in age, he taught her
morality and virtue. His plan was to give Agnes a
masculine education, without destroying the sensibility
and delicacy of the female character ; perhaps he thought
nature had done enough in making them a part of her
physical constitution, and they therefore needed no fos-
tering care. At the age of twelve, she had read through
Virgil, the ^Eneid, Bucolics, Georgics, and all, and
could recite Eclogue after Eclogue with admirable flu-
ency. She was more familiarly acquainted with Jupiter
and Neptune, Mars and Apollo, Juno, Minerva, and
Venus, than with any living beings out of her own home ;
for it was a part of Mr. Fleming's system to keep Ag-
nes entirely secluded until she had finished her education.
To give vigor to body and mind, she was allowed active,

PRIDE. 223

and even athletic, exercises. With her father, she could
take long rides on horseback, play ball, pitch quoits, and
roll ninepins, and when he left her to amuse herself, she
could climb trees and rock on their topmost branches,
and build bridges over her favorite little rivulet.

As Agnes increased in years, she displayed an inde-
pendence of mind, that would not have yielded to any
tutor but one possessing the strength and decision of her
father. As it was, they often disagreed, and their long
and animated discussions sometimes aroused a storm of
passion, upon which the placid mildness of Mrs. Fleming
acted like oil upon the tempestuous waves.

The philosophical, mathematical, and classical educa-
tion of Agnes had not entirely destroyed her intuitive
sense of the beautiful in nature. Her rambles among
the hills and woods about her father's dwelling were her
greatest pleasure ; but they cherished a love of solitude
and reverie, which had been produced by being denied
communion and companionship with those of her own
age.

Mr. Fleming was a firm adherent to the church of his
ancestors, although there were few of its members in the
part of the country where he resided, and its solemn
services were there seldom performed. When Agnes
was about sixteen, her father mentioned to her that the
right reverend bishop of that diocese would soon visit
the little church, about ten miles distant, for confirmation,
and that he wished her to be prepared for the holy rite.
Agnes very innocently asked what preparation was
necessary. The Catechism, the Creed, and the Lord's
Prayer, was the reply. The two latter she knew by
heart ; but of the former she was entirely ignorant.
"How did this happen?" he exclaimed, surprised and

224 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

half angry ; he then remembered that it was his own fault,
for he had wished to teach every thing himself. "It is
strange that I should have forgotten it; but you have
time enough now to commit it to memory, daughter,
and I wish you to begin this very day."

Agnes's mind was too inquisitive not to be arrested by
a study so new, so different from her usual course ; she
made many inquiries of her father ; but they were an-
swered in such a way as to check, without satisfying her
curiosity.

Dressed in a simple robe of white, with her dark hair
floating upon her shoulders, as in childhood, Agnes knelt
to take upon herself those solemn baptismal vows, that
had remained as if forgotten by her sponsors.

" And many a blooming, many a lovely cheek,
Under the fear of God, turns pale ;
While on each head his lawn-robed servant
Lays an apostolic hand, and with prayer
Seals the covenant."

Agnes had been awed, but not with the holy fear
of God ;" the solemnity, the beauty, of the scene had
excited emotion, but not religious emotion ; it was natu-
ral sensibility. So little had she been instructed in the
Christian religion and Christian duty, that she doubt-
ed not the propriety of taking upon herself those solemn
vows which she was unprepared to fulfil. If there was
a pang of conscience produced by a glimpse of her un-
\vorthiness, it was stifled by the consideration, that she
had endeavored to be such as her father wished ; he was
her guide and her exemplar. She arose from that sa-
cred service, with a half-mournful, half-joyous feeling,
that she was no longer a child.

From this period, until Agnes had arrived at the age

PRIDE. 225

of seventeen, Mr. Fleming devoted himself, with more
than his usual zeal, to the completion of that education
which had hitherto so gratified his ambition. She was
mistress of almost as many languages as the learned
Elizabeth Smith, and in mathematics could enjoy New-
ton and Laplace. As for accomplishments, as they arp
usually termed, Agnes had not many to boast ; upon an
old harpsichord, which had been in the house from time
immemorial, she could play by ear all the tunes she ever
heard her nurse sing, and that was the extent of her
musical science. Although this was proof enough of
genius to have induced almost any parent to cultivate
it, Mr. Fleming would not do it, because he must for
that purpose have employed a teacher in the house, or
spared Agnes from home. To avoid this, he had taught
her the elements of drawing, with the rules of perspect-
ive ; but she had neither genius nor taste to pursue the
art ; he even taught her to dance, with the aid of a dark
Orpheus, who, if he did not draw the bow of a Pagani-
ni, excited equal wonder and envy among contemporary
musicians of his own color. Agnes did not dance with
remarkable grace; this was no disappointment to Mr.
Fleming, for he was not anxious that she should. He
had never allowed her to be complimented about her
personal appearance; her mirror might have told her
that it was fine; but Agnes was "too proud to be
vain."

The time arrived for Agnes to make her debut. A
splendid ball, given by the members of a hunting club
in the neighborhood, was chosen as the suitable occa-
sion. The company were mostly assembled, when Mr.
Fleming walked into the ball-room, with 'hie elegant
daughter leaning upon his arm. He was yet in the full

226

glory of manhood ; time's rough hand had not been laid
unkindly upon a single trait of manly beauty. The air,
the lofty bearing, of father and daughter were striking-
ly alike, and there was also a strong resemblance in
countenance ; the expanded nostril, that gives an animat-
ed, spirited expression, was a remarkably characteristic
feature in both faces.

As Agnes knew nothing of the world, excepting from
books and the conversation of her father, a scene so
trying to a novice might have disconcerted her ; but the
desire to do honor to her father, and the consciousness
of her own superiority, enabled her to maintain perfect
self-possession. For some time, no one approached to
beg an introduction ; the effort she had made to over-
come the timidity, natural to every young woman, had
given more than usual coldness and hauteur to her de-
meanour, and an expression of face as far from agreeable
as could well be conceived. A bachelor, who was a
friend of Mr. Fleming, near his own age, too, but who
still flourished as a young man, at length solicited her
hand for the dance, and led her to the head of the room.

The delighted father could not keep his eyes from his
idolized child. He unconsciously kept time with his
foot, as she moved through the dance, and when she
stopped, his gaze was fixed upon her alone. Fearing
that this might be observed, he endeavoured to turn off
his attention, and to converse with a gentleman who
stood near ; but his eye would occasionally wander to
the object of attraction. Suddenly he thought he per-
ceived a change in her countenance ; it w r as deeply
flushed ; but that might be from the exercise of dancing ;
but then her eyes were flashing with indignation, and the
curl of her lip denoted any thing rather than pleasure.

PRIDE. 227

*"' *

Mr. Fleming grew anxious, excited, and Agnes at
length cast an imploring look towards him, as if for
protection, while her partner was bowing and smiling as
if he were saying the most polite and agreeable things
imaginable.

Mr. Fleming could bear suspense-no longer ; he walked
up to his daughter, and said, " Agnes, for Heaven's sake
tell me what ails you ; are you ill ?" Not ill," she
replied, "but offended. Will you lead me to a seat?

Mr. has insulted me." Mr. Fleming turned a

fierce look upon the bachelor, and was about to say,
I must ask for an explanation in another place ; but the
unsuspecting man grinned in his face so provokingly,
that he lost all self-command, and knocked him down.

The dancing ceased, and great was the commotion in
the ball-room. While some were inquiring into the
cause, and others assisting the fallen man to arise, Mr.
Fleming left the apartment with Agnes, and, ordering his
carriage, was soon on the way homeward. The agitated

father inquired what Mr. had said, that offended

her so deeply. She replied, that she was ashamed
to mention the gross flattery that he had addressed to
her. That it was " an insult to her understanding to
suppose that she was so vain as to be delighted with
such silly compliments." The flattery was such as
most men address to young ladies, ridiculous, it is
true, and often disagreeable ; but so much the custom
of the world, that only Agnes's ignorance of its cus-
toms, and her pride made her deem it insulting. Mr.
Fleming was exceedingly chagrined that he had been so
hasty, but had the generosity not to blame Agnes, or
we might say the justice, for the seclusion from so-
ciety, the high cultivation of mind, the pride and inde*

228 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

pendence of character, the want of vivacity, softness,
and gentleness that unfitted her for the light gayety of
a ball-room, had all been owing to himself. Tears
were unfrequent visiters in Agnes's eyes ; but now they
flowed freely, from anger and mortification. It was in
vain that her father endeavored to soothe her wounded
pride, by telling her that men were much addicted to
the language of compliment, that perhaps her modesty
had exaggerated its impropriety, that he was gratified
that she had so much nobleness of mind as to be
above the meanness of vanity. She would not be con-
soled. < Mr. thought her a fool, and everybody

else would think her the same, because she had no self-
command."

The next morning a friend of the ill-treated bachelor
waited upon Mr. Fleming, to " demand satisfaction."
Mr. Fleming was not willing to offer any apology.
" Time, place, and weapons" were therefore agreed
upon ; his nice sense of honor would not permit him to
refuse a challenge. It was decided that the meeting
should be at sunset, in a sequestered spot about two
miles distant.

Agnes was called into her father's library to hear the
result of her resentment. With surprising calmness,
her father spoke of the possible consequences ; the
necessity that his wife should at present remain in igno-
rance of the whole matter ; for, in consequence of in-
disposition and an exceedingly nervous temperament,
she had not been informed of the events of the preced-
ing evening. He then gave her various directions about
his affairs, recommending the continuance of his faithful
agent in his present situation, and naming to her the gen-
tlemen he had appointed as executors to his will,

PRIDE. 229

Agnes loved her father as deeply as she was capable of
loving; but she heard this without fainting, and even
without tears. She blamed herself as the cause, but
never once thought of entreating her father to refrain
from vindicating his honor. She firmly believed that he

would escape unhurt, and hoped Mr. would come

off with a very slight wound. The proud father, press-
ing her to his heart, called her his noble, heroic girl,
and, imprinting a kiss upon her high forehead, bade her
farewell.

Agnes sat at the window, watching with intense anxi-
ety for her father's return. The stars came out one by
one upon the clear sky, until the host of heaven was
marshalled in glorious array. She listened to catch the
faintest sound, all was silent but the tumultuous beat-
ing of her heart. The very stars, in their pure and
lovely light, filled her with awe ; a fearful dread of ap-
proaching evil brought her to an agonizing sense of
dependence upon Almighty power. She sunk into the
attitude of devotion, with her hands convulsively clasped,
but she could not pray. A low, distant sound sum-
moned her to the window ; nearer and nearer it came,
until the slow motion of a carriage could be distinctly
heard. O, he is wounded ! he is wounded ! thought
Agnes, and breath and motion seemed suspended. Soon
she heard heavy footsteps and suppressed voices in the
hall below ; then came a shriek so loud and piercing,
that it thrilled through her frame like electricity. In an
instant she was in the hall. There lay the lifeless form
of her father, covered with blood ; her mother rushed
by her a raving maniac. The unusual noise in the hall
had startled Mrs. Fleming ; she opened the door of the
parlour, and the first object that caught her eye was the
20

230

corpse of her husband! In that wild shriek reason
vanished, and memory passed into dark oblivion. She
never recovered.

*******

And Agnes is alone. She sits with arms folded
upon the marble table, her eyes fixed upon its curious
mosaic, yet she sees it not. The soft light that comes
through the window of the vaulted ceiling falls upon her
face, revealing the change that grief has wrought ; the
deadly paleness where the roses of health glowed upon
cheek and lip ; the thin nostril, expanding with every
breath ; the dark eyes that flashed with dazzling lustre,
dull and sunken in their sockets ; yet that countenance
has not the calm, subdued expression that sorrow often
produces. Around her are the records of the wisdom
of past ages, arranged with scrupulous care in their
beautiful cases of polished rose-wood. The marble
busts of men of immortal genius seemed mounted as
sentinels over the treasures of learning and science.
An Apollo, in his sublime majesty, looks from a pedes-
tal in one corner ; a Minerva decorates the opposite
corner ; while the others are ornamented with a group of
the Graces, and Cupid and Psyche. Appropriate dec-
orations these, for the library of the Tusculan villa,
and the cold philosophy that Agnes is endeavoring to
cultivate, is such as might have suited Cicero's daugh-
ter. As she looks at the splendid portrait of her
father, which the artist's skill has rendered so like
life that it seems to be reading her every thought,
does not self-accusation make her shrink from that eagle
eye ? Does she not feel that the pride of intellect,
which led her to construe into an insult the trifling of
a man of fashion, laid that father into the self-murderer's

PRIDE. 231

grave? No, she gazes upon it almost with adoration,
and glories in a death so noble, in defence of his honor
and his daughter's delicacy. So deeply, so firmly, had
Agnes imbibed her father's opinions with regard to du-
elling, that she would have deemed it craven cowardice
to refuse a challenge. And now, where so large
a portion of her life had been spent in the pursuit of
knowledge, day after day she sits with her father's favo-
rite books before her, endeavoring to find consolation
or temporary forgetful ness. The kind nurse, who had
been retained since her infancy as a companion and an
assistant to her mother, has just returned from a distant
journey. There, far away from home and kindred, her
mother lies in a lonely grave ; the skill of physicians,
and the most tender treatment had failed to restore
reason ; a feeble constitution could not sustain the
shock, and in three months from that awful event she
was no more.

Agnes was now the sole heiress to an immense fortune.
The neighbors and acquaintances of her parents had
called to offer condolence, and had been refused admit-
tance ; after a while they called again, dropped their
cards, and then left Agnes to her chosen solitude.
She now saw no one but the servants, and the excel-
lent nurse, who was tenderly and devotedly attached,
and now watched over her with maternal care. Agnes
was a kind, considerate, and even a gentle mistress.
Her pride never exhibited itself to her inferiors ; it
would have been beneath her lofty character to treat
them with contempt.

The first time that Agnes visited her father's library
after his death, she found a letter addressed to herself,
in which he revealed to her his favorite plan. His

232

nephew, George Stanley, was at an university, where
he had nearly completed his education. It had been
his intention, on his return, to receive him into his fam-
ily, with the hope that he might become attached to
Agnes, and a union take place which would make up
to him the want of fortune on his own part ; no intima-
tion of this scheme had ever been given to Stanley.
Mr. Fleming conjured his daughter to receive him in
the same way that he would have done, and if they
were mutually pleased, as he had not left him even a
legacy, he hoped the consummation would be such as
he fervently desired.

A request made in such a manner, Agnes felt bound
in honor to fulfil. George had occasionally been the
playmate of her childhood, the only one, and
therefore remembered with some interest and pleasure.

Some months passed away in the same monotonous
manner with Agnes, when she was aroused to exertion
by the arrival of her cousin George. The idea that
she must make herself as agreeable as possible was not
exactly suited to Agnes's taste ; however, she was com-
pelled to make the effort. Pearson, as the nurse was
called, must do the honors of the house, and receive
him as her guest.

George Stanley was a gay, impulsive young man,
whom a collegiate education had not cured of a passion
for hunting and fine horses. Agnes was spared for a
while from having much of his society, by the attrac-
tions the neighborhood offered for his favorite amuse-
ments. Remembering, however, her former fondness
for riding on horseback, he urged her to accompany
him, and this exercise, so beneficial to the health arid
spirits, brought back to Agnes a portion of her former

PRIDE 233

vivacity. She endeavoured to discover if she had
made a favorable impression upon her cousin, and if
the progress she was making in his good opinion were
such as to encourage hope. O, what a sacrifice of
maidenly pride ! She, who of all women

" Would be wooed, and not unsought be won,"

must " stoop to conquer." She suspected that he
liked her fine horses better than her fair self; more-
over, if she could have seen into the depths of his
heart, she would have discovered that he had never
once thought or cared whether she liked him or not.
After a visit of a few weeks, Stanley, finding it rather
dull, made the apology of business in town, and left Ag-
nes to the enjoyment of her former solitude.

Nurse Pearson grieved to see her dear young lady
relapsing again into gloom, and wondered that any hu-
man being could be insensible to such transcendent ex-
cellence : her anxious eye could discover nothing but
indifference in the manner of Stanley ; but in her dar-
ling foster-child she thought her shrewdness had de-
tected an emotion that she probably wished to conceal.
No such emotion, however, existed. The strong de-
sire of Agnes to fulfil the last request of her venerated
father had deceived the good woman, and perhaps
Agnes herself was deceived by it into a belief that she
was not indifferent to her cousin. It is not necessary
to dwell upon the mortification she felt at the sudden
departure of Stanley. It is certain that she was not
lowered in her own estimation by it, and one source of
consolation was, that he was not capable of appreciating
her merit.

Again Agnes resorts to the library, and her father's
20*

234

eyes are bent upon her, she fancies, with kind appro-
bation. His generous intentions towards his nephew
had been frustrated by the young man's own want of
taste and discernment.

One evening, at twilight, as she sat in the loneliness
of this beloved sanctum sanctorum, " musing upon the
checkered past, a term much darkened by untimely
woes," she heard the approach of a horseman, and
almost immediately the door of the library opened, and
in rushed George Stanley. The unceremonious en-
trance, and familiar manner in which he saluted her,
abashed the startled girl ; in that place, too, where he
had never been permitted to enter before.

"You did not expect me, coz, hope my coming
again don't displease you, taken lodgings at the hotel
two miles off, nearest place I could find to put my
head in, got a fine horse, come to you in five min-
utes, come every day."

There was a bold audaciousness in Stanley's manner,
from which Agnes shrunk with disgust. What could it
mean? She was compelled to treat him with polite-
ness, though every pulse in her body throbbed with
indignation.

"Why, my sweet coz, my pretty Agnes, here
you sit moping among the gods and goddesses, looking
almost as pale as their marble selves. And there is the
old gentleman himself, if the dim twilight don't deceive
me. I should think you would die with the blues.
Come," continued he, seizing her hand, let us take a
stroll about the grounds. You have played Niobe here
quite long enough."

The dim light alone prevented George from seeing
the flush of indignation upon his cousin's face, the con-

PRIDE. 235

temptuous curl of the Jip, and that most superlatively
proud lifting of the head and flashing of the dark eyes.
She withdrew her hand, but could not speak.

" Have I taken you so by surprise, that you can't
find voice to welcome me ? How is Pearson ? Good
creature, I hope she is as charming as ever."

" We will go and find her if you please," was the
brief reply.

******

Two weeks had passed since this interview, and
Agnes was betrothed to the man whom she despised.
That Stanley had learnt from some source, which she
could not discover, her father's intentions, and her wish
to fulfil them, she could not doubt. Never for a moment
did she flatter herself that he loved her ; she believed,
that, deserving his respect and esteem, they must be
yielded as her right ; what more could she wish?

The eremite seclusion, in which Agnes passed the
year that intervened between her betrothal and nuptials,
was spent in endeavouring to fortify her heart against
all misgivings. Nature had not gifted her with uncom-
mon sensibility, and the stern, masculine education she
had received was not calculated to increase it ; yet,
woman's nature would at times assert its rights, and
the repugnance she felt to an union in which her heart
bore no share, it was difficult to quell. In her mind,
the distinctions between virtue and vice were such as
had been fixed by the Latin and English classics.
She never brought her motives before the tribunal of
an enlightened conscience, never trembled in view
of the sinfulness of her heart in the sight of a Holy
Being.

236 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

Before the altar where Agnes had received the im-
position of hands from the reverend minister of God,
she kneels, again to take upon herself solemn vows,
which she is unprepared to fulfil. A benumbing apathy
seized her, like one in a bewildered dream ; she could
not articulate the words that made rift- a wife. But the
ceremony was over, and Stanley handed her to the car-
riage which was to take them to town. Arrangements
had been made by him for spending the winter in such
a manner, as to impress every one with an exalted opin-
ion of his wealth and taste.

Agnes, as the mistress of a splendid mansion, was
compelled to receive crowds of strangers, for whom she
could not feel the least interest. Her manners, cold,
repulsive, and haughty, rendered her an object of univer-
sal dislike. This mortified Stanley, whose greatest
ambition was to be popular among his own set, the elite
of the town.

"Wife," said he, "I cannot see what good your
dignity and magnificent airs will ever do you or me in
town ; I advise you to lay them aside until you can play
them off again among the sages and goddesses of the old
library where you were educated."

The shrug with which this inelegant speech was utter-
ed expressed sovereign contempt, and the peculiar em-
phasis upon the last word was such a reflection upon
the generous man to whom he ow r ed so much, that it
sent a sharp pang to the very heart of the indignant
Agnes. She did not reply, but laid it up " for the re-
membering of after years."

In society she was cold and reserved, because she
had no sympathy with the people whom she met ;
knowing nothing about the subjects that interested them,

PRIDE. 237

and caring less. Occasionally, some one who had
heard that she was a literary woman would venture a
remark about the last novel or play, or ask some such
unmeaning question as, "Are you fond of poetry?"
or, " Which do you like best, Italian or Spanish liter-
ature ?" Dressed in a splendid velvet, or embroid-
ered satin, with her hair arranged in the most tasteful
manner, and profusely ornamented with diamonds, at
the request of her vain husband, Agnes would stand in
a drawing-room, leaning against a column, with an air
as abstracted and mournful as Lady Macbeth's in the
sleep-walking scene, and her lofty mien and carriage
bore a striking resemblance to a tragedy queen at a
masquerade. Stanley she seldom saw, excepting on
these occasions ; he was engrossed by a continual round
of dissipation.

With a lively pleasure, that was an unwonted visitant
to the heart of Agnes, she left town, to return to her
much-loved home. She had long known that Stanley
was worse than indifferent ; he had openly manifested
positive dislike ; but she maintained towards him that
outward respect due to her own dignity and his situation
as her husband. Notwithstanding the rough jokes about
the library and its grave society, Agnes found more
happiness in returning to it than she had enjoyed else-
where. Nurse Pearson's ardent warmth of affection,
too, was like a ray of sunshine upon the frozen sterility
of her heart.

The summer was quickly over, and Agnes feared
she should be again compelled to return to town; to
her glad surprise, Stanley readily consented to her re-
maining at what he now termed his country-house.
After calling upon the faithful agent, whom Agnes, at

238 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

her father's request, had retained, for large sums of
money, to be forwarded as soon as possible, he return-
ed, to prepare to appear- at the approaching races with

great eclat.

******

A new vein was struck in Agnes's heart, when she
became a mother. The fountain of tenderness, which
had long been sealed, gushed with pure and renovating
freshness. For a while, the stream of affection was
unsullied by earthly mixture. But as she gazed upon
her lovely boy, she thought he was like her idolized
father, and she would educate him to be such as he and
all the world would admire. Visions of his greatness
floated before her imagination, her ambition would at
length be satisfied, that education which had been
ridiculed should be transferred to her son, her pride
would be gratified by seeing her own mind reflected by
another, who would shine with transcendent lustre be-
fore the world. She named him after his grandfather,
Alfred Fleming.

On receiving news of the birth of his son, Stanley
wrote to Agnes, expressing his joy, and requesting that
the child might be named George. He pleaded his nu-
merous engagements in town as an apology for not
paying her a visit, and promised to be home early in the
spring.

The next day, Agnes despatched a messenger for
the nearest clergyman, and for two of her acquaint-
ances to stand as godfather and godmother for her son.
Before evening he was baptized, and named Alfred
Fleming.

During the winter, Stanley occasionally wrote to
Agnes, making many inquiries about his little George,

PRIDE. 239

vvnich were dutifully answered, without mentioning the
child by name. Spring had long donned her loveliest
robes, and was about yielding her sweet reign to her
warmer sister, before the tardy husband was ready to
return to his neglected wife and child.

It was not possible for the father to resist the sweet
influence of his beautiful boy. A bright smile played
around the infant's lovely mouth, as he looked into his
face, and glowed warm to his heart ; for his sake, the
mother was met with cordial kindness.

It seemed as if the horizon of Agnes could never
remain long unclouded. Stanley had been home three
days, and the boy's name had not been mentioned. He
was brought into the parlour one morning after break-
fast, and was amusing his father with some infantile
pranks that he had already learned. "Clap your hands,
Alfred," said his delighted mother. He was in the act
of putting his little dimpled hands together, when a loud
exclamation from Stanley changed his merry laugh to a
scream of terror. "What did you call the boy? His
name is George," said Stanley in a thunder-toned
voice.

"His name is Alfred Fleming," quietly replied Ag-
nes.

"No such thing. I named him George ; you know,
Madam, I did. How durst you call him by any other
name? From this time henceforth and for ever, see
that he is so called, or, by Jove "

Agnes interrupted him. "That name was given him
in the holy sacrament of baptism, and cannot be taken
from him."

"Then he shall be unbaptized, for I forbid that he
shall retain that hated name."

240

" To the noble-hearted man who bore that honored
name, you are indebted, Sir, for house, home, every
thing that you possess," replied Agnes, no longer able
to control herself.

" Yes, his cunning plan of robbing me of what I had
a right to expect from him, drew me into the snare.
On my return to town after my first visit to you, Madam,
I learned from one of the executors of his will what
he expected of me ; that I should marry his daughter,
whom his foolish notions had so spoiled that probably
no one else would take her. I was the victim of my
own generosity; for, pitying you, I have brought all
this upon myself; but I have not sold myself into bond-
age. I will be master here." So saying, Stanley flung
out of the house, and during several days after, spoke
not a word to Agnes, nor inquired for the child.

This shocking altercation had raised the spirit of
Agnes to its utmost height ; she determined never to
call her boy by any other name than the one she had
given him. In this she was seconded by Nurse Pear-
son, who venerated his grandfather. A message from
the father, in the most imperative terms commanding
the servants to call the young master, George, was
therefore totally disregarded.

About a week after this matrimonial quarrel, Agnes
had been out taking an airing with her child and nurse.
As the carriage drove up the avenue leading to the
house, she caught a glimpse of some one at work upon
the wing that was used for the library. As she drew
nearer, she perceived that several men were employed
in pulling it down, and had already made some progress
in the work of destruction. Agnes alighted from the
carriage, and entering the house, flew to her father's

PRIDE. 241

beloved library. What a scene of confusion ! books,
prints, statues, pictures, globes, all were removed from
their places, and men were employed carrying them as
fast as possible to an old lumber-room. She ordered
them to desist. They replied that they were obeying
the directions of Mr. Stanley, who was about to build
a new wing, and make some other alterations. Then
I countermand his orders. Leave your sacrilegious
work immediately." There w r as energy and power
in the manner of Agnes, that could not be resisted.
The men on the exterior came down, and those within
walked off amazed and intimidated. " Here at least
I will be mistress," said Agnes, wrought up almost to
frenzy ; and seeing her father's portrait, which had not
yet been disturbed, she apostrophised it in language that
was almost impious.

When the first fury of the tempest that raged in the
mind of the unhappy wife had subsided, she commenced
replacing some of the scattered books ; while thus in-
tently occupied, Stanley entered the apartment, and de-
manded who had ordered his workmen to leave the
business about w r hich he had employed them.

Agnes, with assumed calmness, replied, " That her
father's library should remain as he left it, for his .grand-
son, and she had not thought there w r as a man living
who could be so mean and so debased, as to show such
ingratitude as he had done to his benefactor."

It is useless to dwell upon the tornado that followed.
Stanley was naturally violent and impulsive ; his rage
knew no bounds ; after dashing in pieces several busts,
and raving for a while like a madman, he snatched up
his fowling-piece, which happened to lie near him, and,
whistling for his dogs, went off into the neighboring
21

242 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

woods, as if in pursuit of game. He had not been ab-
sent an hour, \vhen one of his dogs, a sagacious pointer,
came running home at full speed. He barked, whined,
and tugged at the coat of one of the servants, till he be-
came alarmed, and calling another man, they followed
the dog. They reached a swamp covered thickly with
bushes, and penetrated with some difficulty to the spot
where the pointer led. Suddenly, the other dog set up
a terrible howl; they reached the spot, there lay
Stanley with his fowling-piece beside him, discharged in
such a way as to shatter his head and face in the most
shocking manner. The men ran back, the coroner
was summoned, the inquest holden, and th^ verdict
given, "Killed by the accidental discharge of a fowl-
ing-piece." A surgeon had been called, but arrived
after the body was removed. On examining the wounds
he was seen to shake his head and pronounce the word
" accidental," in a manner that implied a fearful doubt.
******

In a quiet little village more than eight hundred miles
from her home, lives a widow with her bright and beau-
tiful boy. Old Nurse Pearson regards him with won-
der and delight as he reads aloud to his mother ; five
years have changed him, from an infant in her arms, to
this prodigy of learning.

Agnes, before she left home, had restored every thing
in her house to the same condition in which it was left
by her father. She had then caused it to be shut up,
and leaving it, with all her affairs, to the care of her
faithful agent, determined that it should never again be
opened, until Alfred Fleming was of age to take pos-
session of the mansion of his ancestors.

The small, plain house that she now occupied the

PRIDE. 243

villagers had dignified with the name of u the widow's
cottage." There was nothing about it that indicated
wealth ; but when Agnes walked out, leading Alfred
by the hand, her proud step and striking air led them
to say, " She has seen better days." Her object in re-
moving so far from her native home was twofold, that
Alfred should know nothing of the melancholy events
of former years, and that, believing himself to be in pos-
session of a bare competency, he should exert himself
to become distinguished by his talents. She determined
to educate him in the same manner as she had been
educated herself, until he should go to the University.
Her father's noble spirit, his high and honorable senti-
ments, his pride of family and pride of character,
her heart throbbed with exultation, when she thought
how perfectly they would be reflected by the brilliant
creature who bore his name.

The curiosity of the good people of the village had
been exercised, in vain, upon the inhabitants of the
widow's cottage. Nurse Pearson maintained the only
intercourse which was kept up between the two pow-
ers, and this amounted only to the buying of some of
the necessaries of life. The occasional arrival of boxes,
hampers, and barrels, containing the productions of a
different climate, which had undergone the closest scru-
tiny as they passed through the long street of the vil-
lage, gave them the information, that the widow came
from afar, and that her name was Mrs. Fleming. A let-
ter through the little post-office three or four times a
year was subjected to a still more close inspection ;
but no new facts were obtained.

Mrs. Fleming, for Agnes chose to be called by that
name alone, had for two years been thus the object of

244

insatiable curiosity, which now, " mocking the meat it
fed on," was ready to do or dare any thing for more
substantial aliment.

Agnes would not subject herself to the necessity of
taking an humble seat in church, nor of being obliged
to any of the villagers for a more elevated one ; she
therefore never attended public worship. Nurse Pear-
son went occasionally, and at Christmas there was a
fifty-dollar note among the charitable offerings ; on other
festivals, ten or twenty-dollar notes made their appear-
ance. This was a sort of expiation, which soothed the
conscience of the donor, for never entering the conse-
crated place of worship.

The lawyer's, doctor's, and merchant's wives were
the magnates of the village. Over their tea, they had
consulted again and again whether the widow 7 was a
suitable person for them to patronize. The plainness,
and almost meanness, of the house she occupied, had
hitherto decided them to the negative side of the ques-
tion ; those fifty and twenty-dollar gifts brought them
over to the affirmative ; they must know more about
the ivoman, or they should die, like Aunt Charity, of
curiosity.

Accordingly, the three ladies, dressed in their " best
bib and tucker," went one morning " to make a call."
When they arrived at the humble door, they tittered
among themselves, before they lifted the black, old-
fashioned knocker, to think that persons of their re-
spectability should be seen knocking at such an humble
habitation. "Never mind," said one, "if any of our
acquaintances from town should happen to see us, they
would think we were out on some charitable visit."

The door was opened by a tidy-looking Irish girl,

PRIDE. 245

who, on their inquiring for Mrs. Fleming, showed them
into a small, neat parlor. The only movables that be-
tokened wealth in the occupant of the house, were a
bookcase filled with books in splendid bindings, and a
full-length portrait of a gentleman. He did not look
upon them with a remarkably complacent air of wel-
come ; his large, dark eyes staring them full in the face,
seemed to ask why they had intruded upon his retire-
ment. They were awed to silence by his dignity, and
began wondering what apology they should offer to the
woman; but before they had decided, she entered the
room. A widow's cap, of the finest lawn, set off to
advantage the regular oval face and Grecian features of
Agnes ; the black dress, which fell in rich and ample
folds around her tall figure, was relieved by a collar and
cuffs of the same material as the cap, which seemed to
add to the pure complexion of a beautiful throat and ex-
ceedingly delicate hands. Agnes had resolved to wear
a widow's weeds as long as she lived. Whether she
wore them as hair-cloth is worn, for penance, is con-
jectural.

The lawyer's wife was to introduce the other ladies ;
but so great became her embarrassment at the entrance
of Mrs. Fleming, that she quite forgot to act as mistress
of ceremonies ; so they all made their lowest courtesies,
and sat down again. They then looked and nodded at
each other, to begin conversation, but the lofty and re-
pulsive manner in which they had been received, so dis-
concerted them, that, it was some time before even the
lawyer's wife could say, "A very pleasant day,
ma'am." Agnes looked as if she wondered whether
they were a committee on the weather sent to announce
to her the important fact. Another pause. The mer-
21*

246 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

chant's wife began in an affected tone, "I think,
ma'am, you must have found it lonesome here these two
years, among us strangers ;" and gaining courage at the
sound of her own voice, though her neighbors could
scarcely recognise it, she went on, "I have taken a
great fancy to your delightful little boy, and have tried
to coax him with apples, and nuts, and gingerbread, to
come into our house ; but he is very shy." The other
ladies joined in, " He is a sweet little fellow." Mrs.
Fleming bowed, and her countenance relaxed a little
from its stern gravity, as if to thank them for their good
opinion of her son.

The ladies by this time had recovered in part their
self-possession, and apologizing for not introducing each
other, named themselves as Mrs. This, That, and The
Other, the lawyer's, doctor's, and merchant's wives, of

the village of . Mrs. Fleming, at this information,

did not express surprise or pleasure at their wonderful
condescension, but asked "the cause to which she owed
the honor of their visit."

The doctor's wife now acted as spokeswoman ; she
had studied her part beforehand. " We seldom call
upon people who bring no letter of introduction, and
that is the reason we have not called upon you before ;
but from what we have seen of you and your little boy,
we thought as how you might have been in better cir-
cumstances, and so was still entitled to the best society."
Although this speech had been recited before, to the sat-
isfaction of the other ladies, it now sounded peculiarly
inappropriate ; they blushed and hemmed, and winked at
the doctor's wife ; but she went through with it. Mrs.
Fleming thanked them for their infinite condescension,
but said she did not go into society.

PRIDE. 247

Another pause that was truly "awful." But the
merchant's wife determined that she would gain some-
thing from this visit ; making a bold push, as she called
it, scarcely daring however to turn her eyes toward the
stately picture, she inquired, "Pray, ma'am, is that
the likeness of your husband ?" From the day of Stan-
ley's death to the present moment, no allusion had
ever been made to him, either by Agnes herself, or by
any other person in her presence. She grew fearfully
pale, and in a voice whose deep tones were thrilling,
replied, "It is not ;" then, after a moment's pause,
added, "If you wish for any farther information, allow
me to call my woman." She arose and withdrew.
The discomfited ladies completely stumbled over each
other as they rapidly retreated out of the house, the
merchant's wife casting a furtive glance at the picture,
to be quite sure that it had not stepped forth to chastise
her impertinence.

V What lofty airs !" "Did you ever see the like?"
"What pride!" "What insolence!" "How pro-
voking!" "There is something mysterious about all
this !" Such were the exclamations of the angry vis-
iters on their way homeward. Their curiosity was stim-
ulated to agony, their invention taxed to the utmost to
make discoveries ; just then, there happened to stop a
load of those boxes and barrels, that had hitherto thrown
the only light upon the subject. They were directed to
the care of a small grocer, a still, quiet man, who had
no wife ; no other inference is to be drawn from this,
than that the ladies were not acquainted with him. In
the eagerness of their desire for information, they step-
ped into the little shop, and inquired for cloves and nut-
megs. Flattered by the politeness of his new customers,

248

the man was very carefully doing up the small bundle of
spices, when one of them turned and said, " You have
the care of Mrs. Fleming's business ?"

"I have, ma'am."

" Do you know where she came from ?"

" I do not ; these barrels and boxes are consigned to
my care by a merchant in New York. All that he told
me was, that the lady was worth a power of money.
That her father and husband died very suddenly, and
that she now goes by her maiden name."

All this was "strange, 'twas passing strange, 'twas
pitiful, 't was wondrous pitiful" ; they were astonished
that they had not heard it before. Home they went to
the lawyer's house, and before they parted at ten o'clock
that night, they had concocted out of it a most horrible
story, which, before the week ended, was in the mouth
of every man, woman, and child in the village, except-
ing only the tenants of "the widow's cottage."

About a fortnight after "the call," the Irish servant-
girl, who had been sent from New York, when Mrs.
Fleming first arrived in the village, and had continued
with her, presented herself in the parlor, without being
summoned. Engaged in her morning's task of instruct-
ing Alfred, Mrs. Fleming did not for some time lift her
eyes from the book over which they were leaning.

" If you please, ma'am, I 've something to say,"
said the girl.

Well, Kathleen, what is it?"

" I 've come to give warning ; I wish to leave,
ma'am."

" To leave me, Kathleen ! What has displeased
you.?"

PRIDE. 249

'Tis not that I'm displeased, at all, at all. A
kind misthress have you been to me."

" Well, then, why do you wish to leave ?"

" Becaase, becaase, for the life of me I don't
know how to tell it ; but I don't like to live on ill-gotten
money."

" I do not understand you, Kathleen ; I believe you
to be perfectly honest."

"And it's not me, ma'am, that's not honest. They
do say such things of you, that I dare not stay longer
under the same roof."

"And where are you going to live, Kathleen?"

" Up at the big white house yonther, with the law-
yer's lady."

This, in part, unravelled the mystery. Doubtless,
some spiteful revenge for the ill-received visit, thought
Agnes, and she merely said, " Well you may go im-
mediately; your wages were paid last evening."

Kathleen's great blue eyes were overflowing with
tears, as she dropped a low courtesy, and said, "Fare
you well, Master Alfred ; God bless your swate face,
and dear kind heart !"

As soon as she left the room, Alfred turned, with
wondering looks, to his mother; "What does she
mean, mamma?"

" I cannot tell you, my child ; I did not understand
the poor, foolish creature, at all."

" Why did you not ask her, then, dear mamma?"

" Because, my child, it was beneath me ; I have too
much pride to condescend to ask an explanation of a
servant. Let us now go on with our lesson."

The mysterious manner in which Kathleen had
spoken implied a great deal. Alfred was troubled at

250

the remembrance of it. He loved his mother tenderly ;
but yet, like every one else, felt awed in her presence ;
he durst not question her farther, but he made many in-
quiries of Nurse Pearson, which were cautiously evaded.
The child felt that something was wrong.

Mrs. Fleming requested Nurse Pearson to go out and
find another servant ; adding, that some mischievous
person had been frightening poor Kathleen. Nurse had
learnt the whole story from the girl, but feared to speak
of it. It was a serious undertaking for Nurse to go
among even the poorest villagers. Although she had
been the dispenser of Mrs. Fleming's bounty among
them, they looked frightened when she appeared, and
refused, with one consent, to live with that wicked
woman. It was in vain that the good \voman reasoned,
ridiculed, and besought ; they applied the proverb,
" Like master, like man," and dismissed her very un-
ceremoniously from their doors. The only one whom
she could find to fill Kathleen's place was a poor deaf
and dumb girl, who had just returned to her indigent
parents, from one of those benevolent institutions where
the light of knowledge is poured into the minds of these
unfortunate beings. Bulah, for that was her name, was
duly inducted into office, although Nurse could only
communicate with her by natural signs. She had a re-
markably sweet and earnest face, wonderfully attractive
to Alfred ; even Mrs. Fleming was won by it to treat
her with uncommon gentleness.

Mrs. Fleming devoted herself entirely to Alfred, and
well did he repay her efforts. He was a child of un-
common sensibility and fine talents. He loved her with
all the ardor of his affectionate nature, and looked up to
her with unbounded reverence. Having known only his

PRIDE. 251

mother and Nurse Pearson, he was exceedingly shy and
bashful, and Mrs. Fleming was alarmed for the conse-
quences, when he should be compelled to mingle with
the world.

Bulah had been some months in the house, when
Nurse was taken ill. The physician was called, and
pronounced her, at once, in great danger. Mrs. Flem-
ing nursed her with the greatest possible tenderness, for
many weeks, assisted only by Bulah. She knew that
there was now no hope of her recovery, yet was unwill-
ing to impart the fearful tidings to her humble, faithful
friend. One evening, much exhausted with fatigue, she
went to her room to sleep for a few hours, that she
might be prepared to watch through the night. Alfred
was left, with Bulah, to sit by the sick woman. Nurse
called him to her bed-side, and looked anxiously in his
face.

"Pearson," said he, "are you going to heaven?
Bulah says she hopes you are."

Poor Nurse was astonished that the dumb should tell
him this. Alfred explained, that, since she had been ill,
he had been often left alone with Bulah, who had taught
him the finger alphabet, and many of the signs used by
mutes.

" She says, dear Nurse, that if you are good, you
will go to that beautiful place, where Christ lives, with
the holy angels."

Do they think, Alfred, that I shall die soon ?"

" Very soon," was the child's simple reply.

There was a pause for some minutes, and then a deep
groan : O, I am afraid to die !"

Alfred spelt, on his little fingers, the mournful words
to Bulah, who replied, "Tell her that Jesus Christ
died to save sinners."

252

Alfred, in a voice of tender solemnity, repeated the
words.

"0, I am a poor, ignorant creature!" exclaimed the
alarmed Nurse. " Who will tell me what to do ?"

" But mother is not ignorant," said Alfred. " She
knows every thing."

"Alas! I fear she does not know the way of sal-
vation."

" Bulah does, though, for she learnt it in her Bible.
She reads it every day, two or three times, and when I
asked her what made her love it so much, she said, it
taught her the way of salvation."

" And has the dumb been taught to speak, and the
child to understand these things, that I might not go
down to the grave without warning?"

" I can bring Bulah's Bible, and read to you, Nurse.
Shall I ?"

Nurse thanked him, and he brought the well-worn
book.

"What shall I read, Nurse?"

"Ask Bulah."

The dumb girl found the fifty-first Psalm. With a
sweet, solemn voice, Alfred read those breathings of
penitential woe, those earnest cries for mercy; while
the deep sighs and streaming tears of the nurse attested
that her heart went up to the mercy-seat with the inspired
Psalmist.

" And now, Nurse, Bulah says you are tired, and I
must not read to you any longer ; but we will come
again, and I will ask her what I shall say then. Good
bye till I see you to-morrow." And, kissing Nurse's
forehead, Alfred left the room.

When Mrs. Fleming returned, and was seated by

PRIDE. 253

Nurse Pearson, to watch with her through the long
night, the poor woman fixed her eyes anxiously upon
her, saying, " Do you think I shall recover?"

" I hope so," was the brief reply.

Nurse made no farther inquiry, but remained a long
time silent, apparently engaged in fervent devotion. Mrs.
Fleming then heard her faintly articulate the words,
" Jesus Christ died for sinners." She arose, and, stoop-
ing over her, asked if she wished for any thing. The
dying woman lifted her hand, and indistinctly murmured,
Tell Alfred," Heaven," Prepare," and
sank into insensibility. Mrs. Fleming summoned Bulah
immediately, and sent her for the physician. When he
arrived, Nurse Pearson was no more. He had been very
kind and attentive during her illness, and now relieved
Mrs. Fleming from all care of the burial of her faithful
nurse.

By the advice of the physician, who observed that
Alfred was painfully diffident, Mrs. Fleming urged him
to mingle with some of the boys of his own age, who
played upon the village green. The doctor's own son,
of his age, was brought to " the widow's cottage," and
they were made acquainted. Alfred's timidity gradually
gave way, so that he frequently joined in their merry
sports and gambols.

Mrs. Fleming was one of those who never mention
the dead. Alfred was told by her, with kindness, but
decision, that he must never speak of Nurse Pearson
more, as it was too painful to think of her now. She
repeated the unconnected words, the last words of the
dying woman, saying that she did not know what they
meant.

I know, I know," said Alfred, with joyful anima-
22

254 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

tion. She meant that she was going to heaven, and
that we must all prepare to go there."

" I hope so ; but we will say no more about it ; it is
a very painful subject."

It was a cool evening in autumn. The leaves were
already rustling with every breeze, sounding like the low,
melancholy requiem of the departing year, filling with
solemnity the thoughtful mind, and with sadness the im-
aginative. Mrs. Fleming sat by her little window, waiting
for Alfred, who was at play upon the green. Gloomy
thoughts oppressed her heart ; the past, so full of dark
events, would intrude. She endeavored to chase away
these recollections; but twilight and autumn are impor-
tunate prompters to sober contemplation. In vain Ag-
nes tried to summon cheerful visions of the future ; she
endeavored to laugh at what she considered weakness
of mind and superstition. She was startled from her
reverie by the hasty approach of Alfred ; his face was
bruised and scratched, his neat ruffle stained with blood,
clothes covered with dust, and eyes red and swollen
with crying. Mrs. Fleming, intensely alarmed, endea-
vored to learn what was the matter, but in vain ; neither
threatenings, entreaty, nor commands could prevail upon
Alfred to give the least explanation. For the first time
in his life he was guilty of an act of disobedience to his
mother, and went from her, sobbing under the weight of
her displeasure.

While Alfred was playing with the boys upon the
green, a ball was knocked by one of them against a
window, and broke a pane of glass. The owner came
out to inquire, and the boy who knocked the ball pointed
to Alfred, saying, "It was his ball that broke your
window." Alfred replied, "I did not break it, Sir,
but I can pay for it." So saying, he took out a little

PRIDE. 255

silk purse, and emptying the contents into the man's
hand, told him to take his pay. He did so, and returned
the remainder. Among the silver was a large ancient
gold coin, which Mrs. Fleming had given him upon his
ninth birthday, for a pocket-piece. The boy who had
accused him of breaking the window was angry, as they
who are in the wrong usually are, and, as soon as the
man had entered the house, said to Alfred, "I won-
der how you came by all that money."

" My mother gave it to me," said Alfred, gently.

"Well, everybody knows your mother killed your
grandfather, and your father, too, and came off with all
their money."

" Take back that lie," said Alfred.

" It is not a lie ; take that, you coward !" said the
boy, giving him a blow. Alfred endeavored only to
act upon the defensive, but he was much smaller than
his antagonist, and was soon thrown upon the ground
and severely beaten. The majority of the boys were
of course with the victorious party, and as the unoffend-
ing Alfred slowly dragged himself from the playground,
they shouted, Don't come here showing your
money again ; your mother is a proud woman ; ask her
who killed Cock Robin." This was followed by a burst
of laughter.

When Alfred had walked some distance from them,
he sat down by the side of the road, and gave vent to
his wounded feelings in heart-rending sobs and burning
tears. His mother, his beautiful, his learned, his per-
fect mother, what could all this mean ? He remem-
bered Kathleen's words; they must have meant the
same thing. He bravely resolved that his injured mother
should know nothing about it, whatever it might cost
him ; and with that resolution he arose and went home.

256

Alfred was a changed being; the "iron had entered
into his soul." He could no more be persuaded to play
with the boys. Since the death of Nurse Pearson, he
\vas no longer left alone with poor Bulah, although she
continued faithfully to serve his mother. He would sit
thoughtful and abstracted for hours, and the large tears
would roll down his rosy cheeks. Mrs. Fleming had
several times surprised him with his eyes sorrowfully
fixed upon the portrait of his grandfather, and when he
was observed he turned suddenly away. She had often
spoken to him of the character of her father, and pre-
sented him to Alfred's youthful mind as the model for
imitation, the highest standard of excellence. He
had another standard upon which he pondered. His
studies no longer interested him. The suspicion at
length arose, that some one had poisoned her child's
mind with the calumny that she knew had for a long time
been circulated in the village. The very looks of the
young and the old told her that she was an object of
suspicion and dislike. Instead of humbling, this exalted
her in her own estimation, and a deep sense of injustice
increased the misanthropy that had been creeping upon
her for years.

Alfred's health was rapidly failing. Mrs. Fleming
entreated him to ramble abroad with her, although the
weather was cold ; and with much reluctance he con-
sented. If he saw any of his former companions in the
street, he would persuade his mother to cross over to
the other side to avoid them. He had done this several
times, when one day the boy who had beaten him so un-
mercifully determined he should not so escape ; he yelled,
in a triumphant voice, "Coward, are you afraid I
shall fight you again for telling me I lie ? Who killed
your father?" Alfred grasped his mother's hand and

PRIDE. 257

trembled exceedingly, but made an effort to continue
conversation as if he had not observed the savage con-
duct of the ruthless boy. The conflicting emotions in
Mrs. Fleming's mind were terrible. Anger, contempt,
astonishment, and pride raged in her bosom ; above
them all, pride at length rose predominant. She had
never spoken to Alfred of his father, she could not
do it now. She could not endure the self- degradation of
defending her conduct to her child, of denying such a
horrible crime. Her step was more firm, her bearing
more lofty, than ever ; the scorn that darted like lightning
from her eyes, and played about her mouth, rendered her
countenance absolutely fearful. Alfred, as he caught a
glimpse of it, shuddered as if he had seen a serpent in
his path.

There was now an impassable gulf between mother
and child. Alfred never cherished a momentary belief
that his mother was guilty of crime. His deepest sor-
row was, that she should suffer from such calumny.
But then there was mystery, inscrutable mystery,
and day after day he dwelt upon it ; he pondered, con-
jectured, and despaired of solving it. Meantime his
health was rapidly declining. Mrs. Fleming resolved to
quit a place where she had met with such cruel injustice ;
but before she could make arrangements for leaving,
Alfred was so ill as to demand all her attention. The
most skilful physician, from a distant town, was sum-
moned as counsel with the kind physician of the village.
The disease baffled their skill to discover its cause or
remedy. Mrs. Fleming, to cheer him, painted bright
pictures of future happiness in this world. She told
him of his beautiful house and its splendid furniture, of
the immense wealth he would inherit. He smiled a
22*

258 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

sweet and radiant smile, for his treasures were laid up
in heaven. His affectionate Bulah was sometimes al-
lowed to sit by his bedside, and with her he held high
and holy communings. Mrs. Fleming had not allowed
one despairing thought to cross her mind. She believed
that returning spring and change of scene would restore
her darling boy to perfect health.

He faded as fades the young and beautiful tree,
stricken at the root, its branches fair and green to the
last. The rose had deepened upon his cheek, but it
was the false, deluding hectic of consumption, and the
brilliancy of the eyes told of the presence of that fell
destroyer of the young and lovely. Subdued to the
gentleness of the lamb, and taught by the Spirit of
Truth to look beyond this world with a holy religious
hope, to be released from such a world, so cold and
cruel, was joy to Alfred, except when he thought of his
desolate mother. Stern and repulsive to all but him,
he was now the only being whom she loved. Once,
and only once, did Alfred speak to his mother of his
departure. " Do you remember, dear mamma, Nurse's
last words ? ' Heaven !' < Prepare !' That heaven
will soon be my home. Jesus Christ has gone before me,
and I am not afraid. Dearest mother, prepare for death."

He died ! His mother alone stood by his death-bed,
and closed his eyes for their last sleep.

******

And there she sat, watching her dead. A gentle
knock at the door was thrice repeated before it gained
attention. Mrs. Fleming arose and opened it mechan-
ically. It was a clergyman, a venerable man, a father
in Israel. Bulah had run for him, and in her mute, but
exjyessive language communicated the melancholy sit-
uation of the desolate widow. He had often met Mrs.

PRIDE. 259

Fleming in his walks, but, as she never was seen within
the church, could not consider her as his parishioner.
He had regarded her with pity, even while she remind-
ed him of the words of the wise man, "Pride goeth
before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."

He walked to the bed-side, and, leaning over that
blighted flower, the large tears rolled over his venerable
face. He turned, took the widow's hand, and said,
"Daughter, the Lord hath touched thee." He
spoke in tones of sweet, affectionate, soothing kind-
ness, then, kneeling, made a touching appeal in her
behalf to the God of mercy. The unwonted sounds
melted the icy apathy that benumbed her soul, and
Agnes wept. Few, however, were the words that the
good man uttered, his own heart was too full. On
parting, he commended her to the compassionate friend
of the widow of Nain ; that merciful Saviour who had
" broken to heal and make whole."

On leaving the house the good minister went home
to his wife and daughter, and pleading with them the
cause of the widow, whom they, like the other villagers,
had feared and avoided, persuaded them to go to her
house and perform every act of kindness that her situa-
tion demanded.

That heart, which had exalted itself in prosperity,
had enveloped itself, fold after fold, with pride at neg-
lect and suspicion, had hardened under calumny and
injustice, and frozen to dull apathy under the last mis-
ery, now melts with penitential sorrow. The worm of
the dust that had lifted up its head, saying, " I am per-
fect, who shall condemn me?" exclaims with Job,
" I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but
now mine eye seeth Thee. Wherefore I abhor my-

260

self and repent." " The Lord gave and the Lord hath
taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
******

" Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time
to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is
cut down like a flower."

" Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

" I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me,
Write, From henceforth, blessed are the dead which- die
in the Lord. Even so, saith the Spirit ; for they rest
from their labors."

" The last deep prayer was said," the last green sod
laid over the grave of the sainted Alfred ; and the rev-
erend man took the bereaved desolate one and the poor
Bulah to his own home.

Agnes told him all her story. He knew the sinful-
ness of the human heart, he knew the world, and believ-
ed the melancholy tale. She deplored her inordinate
pride. " Daughter, it was a grievous fault, and griev-
ously have you answered it."

"And she is sometimes happy now

But yet her happiness is not
Such as the buoyant heart may know,

And it is blended with her lot
To chasten every smile with tears,

And look on life with tempered gladness,
That undebased by human fears

Her Hope can smile on Memory's sadness,
Like sunshine on the falling rain, . <

Or as the moonlight on the cloud.

"Her ear is ope to sorrow's call,

Her ready hand lends aid to all
Who claim her love and care ;

She scatters blessings like the dew,
And waiteth for her summons, where
The pure in heart their love renew."

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY.

"I 'm weary of the crowded ball ; I 'm weary of tie mirth
Which never lifts itself above the grosser things of earth ;
I 'rn weary of the flatterer's tone ; its music is no more,
And eye and lip may answer not its meaning as before ;
I'm weary of the heartless throng, of being deemed as one
Whose spirit kindles only in the blaze of fashion's sun.
Away ! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given,
Nor stoop the pinion back to earth that beareth up to Heaven."

WHITTIEU.
i

IF a claim be made upon the purse or the real estate
of any one, immediately the questions are asked, What
right has the person to make this claim ? What is the
extent of it ? It must be defined precisely, and estab-
lished legally, before it will be allowed. " The claims
of society" is a phrase that is iterated and reiterated,
and everybody acknowledges that it has a great deal of
meaning, excepting only the misanthrope and the an-
chorite ; while it is extremely difficult to decide the
extent of those claims, differing, as they do, in almost
every individual case.

Then what do we mean by society ? Not our own
family-circle, the very heart's core, nor the next cir-
cle, consisting of kindred and intimate friends, nor
still the next, which may be termed the circle of benev-
olence, but the outer circle, widening and still widen-
ing till lost in the vanishing distance. And this, at first
sight, seems terra incognita ; yet its geography and to-

(261)

262 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

pography are tolerably well understood, although the
boundary-lines are not quite settled, and remain, as did
our north-eastern, the subject of contention and ani-
mosity. Every town and village is thus divided into
sets, determined chiefly by the station, intelligence,
wealth, gentility, and fashion of their members ; and my
lady-reader will doubtless think it quite superfluous to
have taken all this pains to come at the simple fact,
that " the claims of society" are the rightful demands
of the set to which she belongs, and the strangers who
may be introduced to that set. Beside general benevo-
lence and good-will, she does not acknowledge any
claims from other sets or coteries. In town, what are
the claims of the set or circle denominated society ?
Bowing in the street and at public places, making cere-
monious calls, giving and attending dinner and evening
parties. In the country they are much the same ; for
every little village apes, to the full extent of its ability,
the manners and customs of the town.

It has often been said, that the character of a nation
can be determined by its amusements ; by this criterion
individual character can be ascertained with satisfactory
precision. Custom reconciles to the greatest absurdi-
ties, and even the most revolting cruelties. By way of
amusement, the Roman women could watch with in-
tense interest the sanguine gladiatorial exhibition, and
behold the infuriated wild beast let loose upon the mis-
erable captive, and tear in pieces the holy martyr.
The ladies of Christian Europe, in the boasted days of
chivalry, could look with joyous delight upon the tour-
nament, where the gallant knight-errant was not alone
exposed to hard blows, wounds, and overthrow, bitt to
death itself; for the interest of the scene was of course

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 263

enhanced, when, in defence of the boasted charms of
their ladie-loves, the wise and valiant knights challenged
each other to mortal combat. The dark-eyed daugh-
ters of Spain grace with their dignified presence the
horrid bull-fights ; and the fair dames of England often
become as excited as the gentlemen, by the pleasures
of a horse-race ; and (pardon the propinquity) the
lady-squaws of the American Indians are delighted
spectators of the savage war-dance. Custom must
have amazing power, thus to change the very nature of
\voman.

If the amusements of our own country are disgraced
by no such revolting features, yet there may be some,
which, if custom did not cast upon them a very becom-
ing light, would look absurdly grotesque, or frightfully

ugly-

The immoral influence of the theatre is so generally
acknowledged, that it seems unnecessary to dwell upon
it here. The minds of the pure and the virtuous revolt
from a delineation of the crowds that enter its polluted
walls, and the shocking scenes that are presented as
lessons in this school of vice. Its defenders talk much
of its " holding the mirror up to nature," and thus
teaching morality ; the author of the phrase is guiltless
of the intention, or the act of supporting, by word or
works, the pseudo-morality of modern theatres.

Lord Londonderry, in his visit to Russia, was much
surprised at the splendor and neatness of the ladies'
dresses at the court of the autocrat ; not a wrinkle
nor accidental fold; they all looked fresh from the
light fingers of the modiste. On inquiry, his Lordship
learnt that they were all brought from Paris, the mart
of fashion for the world, and that the same dress was

264

never worn twice. A lady, who had three daughters
in society, told him, that their dresses each cost two
hundred roubles for an evening ; the ornaments were
not included. Many of the nobles are compelled to
mortgage their estates to live in the style they are ex-
pected to maintain. This display is for the purpose
of giving imposing splendor and elegance to a court,
ambitious to vie with other European courts in refine-
ment and taste as \vell as magnificence. In our repub-
lican country, where there is no such apology, there
is, nevertheless, an universal passion for display. Are
we falsely accused of it by foreigners, as the ruling
passion ?

" Wend ye with the world to-night ?" The elegant
mansion is blazing in the full effulgence of gas-light.
Its anxious mistress takes a last survey of the splendidly
decorated apartments, and then a last look at herself in
a mirror, before which a giantess might have arranged
her paraphernalia, from top-knot to shoe-tie. The foot
falls soft upon the luxurious carpet, whose flowers
seem scattered fresh from Flora's munificent hand.
The rich and beautiful hangings of blue damask might
have been thrown by the Graces over those golden
arrows ; a Sybarite would have luxuriated upon the
velvet-covered divan, and a sultana have coveted the
embroidered cushions for her harern-throne. Flowers,
whose parent buds dipped their pure petals in the
Nile, whose fragrance floated upon the breezes of Ja-
pan, or were wasted upon the dull sense of the Chinese,
fill the air with mingled perfume. Oranges hang amid
their dark leaves in exuberant profusion, tempting to
the eye, but as unsatisfying to the taste, as bitter,
as the "grapes of Gomorrah," presenting to the lady

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 265

of the mansion an apposite emblem. These splendid
preparations were to have astonished some of her most
fashionable acquaintances, who, instead of giving eclat
to her brilliant assembly, have pleaded " a previous
engagement," and grace a rival party in an adjoining
street. The very, very persons who, of all the world,
she had exerted herself most to please and to win, have
deserted her in this her hour of anticipated triumph.
With a heavy heart she chooses the most becoming at-
titude and eligible position for the reception of those ac-
cepting guests whom she felt constrained to invite, but
does not feel exceedingly desirous to see.

The rooms are filled, crammed like a drum of figs,
the heat intolerable, dresses are crumpled and torn, or
cannot be seen to any advantage. "Is it not strange

the So and So's are not here ?" " Mrs. B is at

home' to-night." "O, I understand. Well, there are
the Flingos and the Flareups ; who would have expected
to meet them here ? I declare, there is not a creature
of my acquaintance in the rooms but yourself."

Music and compliments. Then a push for the dan-
cing-room, floor beautifully chalked, but " so small
you might as well get up a set of quadrilles in a bathing-
tub." A rush and a crush for tho supper-room. To
the table, loaded with its splendid garniture of plate,
porcelain, and glass, every clime has contributed its del-
icacies, and the purple vintage from many a sunny hill
supplied the sparkling and glowing wines. " Can you
see any thing?" "Nothing but the top of a pyramid,
which I am no more likely to reach at this moment than
the pyramid of Cheops." " Pray take something."
"Thank you, I never taste any thing in a party."
"One grape only?" "Not for the world!" " Chick-
23

266 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

en-salad or lobster-salad, Sir, or do you prefer a bit of
the pate de fois gras ?"

Everybody has tried to see and be seen, and neither
wonder nor admire, and made their most graceful
conge. The sound of the last carriage has died away,
and the lady of the mansion retires to her own chamber.
With the aid of Asmodeus we will enter, or perhaps
Mephistopheles would give more efficient aid in revealing
the lady's secret communings with her own heart. " I
have discharged the claims of society to their full satis-
faction. How much have I promoted the happiness of
our circle ? I have been the means of increasing their
kindly feelings towards each other, of allaying the
envy and jealousy with which they have hitherto been
tormented. By discussing their plans of usefulness, they
have caught new ardor from the electric spark of sym-
pathy. They will be cheered by these healthsome
hours of recreation for the duties of the morrow. How
sweet, how refreshing, will be my conscience-satisfied
sleep!" Ha! did we hear aright? Mephistopheles
must have played us false ; for look at that care-worn,
regretful countenance, as she lays aside her costly orna-
ments before the faithful mirror ; such is not the expres-
sion of " perfect peace."

And you, fair reader, what are your reflections, as
you rattle over the pavement on your way homeward ?
" I have been amused and instructed by the conversa-
tion of the evening. I was so happy to meet dear
friends and pleasant acquaintances, and hold with them
that kind, cordial intercourse, that makes the heart glow
with benevolence and complacency. How extremely

kind it was for Mrs. to bring her friends together

for an evening of unalloyed enjoyment, at such an ex-

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 267

pense of time and money ! What fine taste and generous
hospitality ! How perfectly well she can afford it !
How invigorating to body and mind is the healthful exer-
cise of the dancing-room ! How cheerfully shall I lay
my head upon my pillow, with this delightful conscious-
ness of a well-spent evening!" Has Mephistopheles
played us false again ?

The question is not, whether large parties are morally
wrong. It would require a nice casuist to decide that
to be wrong for two hundred, which is not wrong for
twenty. We would merely inquire, whether parties,
large or small, usually effect the object for which they
are, or ought to be, designed ; namely, to promote
cheerfulness, social feeling, intelligence, kindness, and
healthful recreation.

Wearied with the racking toil of business, or the
wear and tear of a profession, or the discord of politi-
cal life, or the intense application of the scholar, men
need, occasionally, a rarer atmosphere for the lighter
play of thought ; a fresh field, where mind may be di-
verted awhile from those deep-worn channels through
which it rushes so impetuously. They seek it in the
society of " the gentler sex," where the weightier mat-
ters of life are not to be brought upon the carpet. Thus
seeking refreshment and renewal of strength, they re-
quire subjects for conversation in society not altogether
destitute of material for intellectual exercise ; and in
their companions, something better than dull inanity or
flippant insipidity. Another advantage which they ought
to expect from female society is, that the harsher fea-
tures of their characters, and the ruggedness of their
tempers, may be softened ; it is neutral ground, where
rival politicians may dismiss those bitter feelings and that

violent animosity too often engendered by party strife,
where the money-making may forget their worldliness,
and the unsuccessful their disappointments.

Every American woman should be familiarly ac-
quainted with the history of her own country, its consti-
tution and form of government. She should know that
the stability and permanency of a republic depends upon
the intellectual, moral, and religious character of the
people; upon this broad principle she must act, and
endeavor to induce everybody to act, over whom she
exercises influence. To enter as a fiery partisan into
the contentions of political opponents is unbecoming the
delicacy and dignity of female character. Men talk
much of a conservative principle. We trust we shall
not be accused of presumptuousness if we name one :
A high moral and intellectual character in the women of
our country, that shall make them true patriots, preserv-
ing a consistent neutrality, and exerting their influence
for the good of the whole. Leaving government, and
all its multifarious concerns, to those to whom the all-
wise Creator has delegated authority, let us be content
with that influence which is "pure, peaceful, gentle,
without partiality, and without hypocrisy."

Let not a meddlesome spirit, in matters that do not
concern you, mar the pleasures of social intercourse.
Must they, who fly to your society for relief from the
jarrings of men, be teased with the perpetual din ? Has
the miasma of politics infected the whole moral atmo-
sphere ? Is there no elevated ground, where they can
breathe a purer air, and escape for a while into a serene
and tranquil region ? We remember, some time since,
hearing a gentleman say of a great statesman, who was
his intimate friend, that, in the society of an amiable and

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 269

interesting young lady whom he admired, " he was
like a great mountain by the side of a little flower, and
forgot that he was a mountain."

A man possessing political influence is sometimes, in
society, beset by a swarm of female philanthropists,
urging their claims, or, as they call them, the claims of
humanity, of benevolence, &c. " Now, Sir, you can-
not refuse me that slight favor." "Do vote, for my
sake, on my side; I shall be superlatively grateful."
What is a gallant man to do? If he drive off this
swarm, like the fox in the fable, another more clamorous
may succeed, until he is robbed of every drop of enjoy-
ment in society. And is it certain that every politician
has principle enough to withstand these fair petitioners,
when they urge him contrary to his own better judg-
ment? A sage and potent Senator, one of the most
polite and elegant men in the world, once confessed that
he left the Senate-chamber, when a vote was taken on a
question in which a splendid woman of his acquaintance
was deeply interested, because he could not vote against
her while her dark eyes were fixed upon him from the
gallery. True, it was a question of no great importance
to the welfare of the country, and involved no party in-
terests ; but his opinion and his- vote were sacrificed to
his chivalrous gallantry.

These female politicians, among themselves, in the
heat of debate, become as furious, and almost as noisy,
as a throng of sailors brought up to the ballot-box ; the
spectator almost fears that they will come to pulling caps,
or some other pugnacious demonstration of ire. If ad
vised to leave an arena where the fiercer passions are
thus excited, they will, peradventure, accuse the adviser
of tameness of spirit, want of intellectual power, or of a
23*

270 THE YOUNG LADY*S HOME.

just appreciation of the rights of woman* Happily, the
great majority of the women of our country, in spite of
female demagogues, still appreciate the right to move in
the calm, sequestered sphere which Heaven in mercy or-
dained for them, far removed from the heated, murky
atmosphere of politics. Beware of those who would
tempt you from this sphere, as Satan tempted Eve from
Eden. Do they not say to you, that you occupy an
humble, subordinate degraded station ? That man de-
nies you equality of rights,

"Why, but to awe?
Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant,
His worshippers?"

Hapless, deluded Eve, when she had fallen into irreme-
diable ruin by these wiles, began to plume herself upon
the attainment of Jier rights, and to reason upon the
propriety of keeping to herself the " odds of knowledge
in her power, without a partner!"

"And perhaps

A thing not undesirable some time
Superior ; for, inferior, who is free ?"

Mother of mankind ! Adam's fervent advice to thee
may still apply to thine erring daughters :

"0 woman, best are all things as the will
Of God ordained them ; his creating hand
Nothing imperfect or deficient left
Of all that he created ; much less man,
Or aught that might his happy state secure,
Secure from outward force ; within himself
The danger lies, yet lies within his power ;
Against his will he can receive no harm.
But God left free the will ; for what obeys
Reason is free; and reason be made right,
But bid her well beware, and still erect;
Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised,
She dictate false, and misinform the will
To do what God expressly hath forbid.

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 271

Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins,

That I should mind thee oft; and mind mou me.

Seek not temptation then, which to avoid

Were better.

Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve

First thy obedience.

For God towards thee hath done his part; do thine."

If some men seek society for relaxation from, severe
mental application, there are others who consider it as
only one mode of that amusement, which is the occupa-
tion of their lives. These prefer that frivolity and non-
sense should reign with undisputed sway in ladies' soci-
ety. That in the giddy whirl, not only sober thought,
but the very semblance of thought, should be annihi-
lated. They are contented with the whip, and care not
for the cream, of conversation, which, in conscience, is
light enough ; and it must be confessed, that many young
ladies show a very accommodating spirit in yielding to
their taste.

Because pedantry is odious, and blues are voted ri-
diculous, there is no reason why modest learning and
real intelligence should be proscribed. Women often
mingle in society, to escape for a while from petty cares,
and merely mechanical employments, which would oth-
erwise be so monopolizing, that by constant devotion to
them they would be rendered selfish and narrow-minded.
After giving up their studies, when school-education is
completed, they have but little leisure for gaining know-
ledge, while men of education find no resting-place. It
is too late in the day to revive the time-worn, hackneyed
dispute about the mental equality of the .sexes ; let it
rest in the tomb of the Capulets. In mixed society,
they may meet on terms of equality ; they do not come
together to make invidious comparisons; they expect

272

no admirable Crichton, nor astonishing Maria Agnesi, to
contend for an intellectual prize, to be borne off in tri-
umph.

But neither should the ultra-refinement of society de-
stroy that individuality of character which gives zest
to human life. It is this refining and polishing process,
reducifig all natures to a seeming resemblance to a fash-
ionable standard, that renders society dull, vapid, and
unprofitable. The whole works of creation may, by
some peculiar characteristics, be ranked in classes ; yet
no two of any species are in all respects similar. So it
is with the lords of all created things, upon this well
ordered earth; there are peculiarities and associations
of qualities, which mark the individual character of each
human being. He who comes to the warfare of life
armed by his own suspicious nature against all deceit
will never be thrown off his guard ; whilst the confiding
and unsuspecting, though experience may have obliged
them to don the armor of prudence, will still leave crev-
ices through which the arrows of the designing may
pierce to the very heart. Upon the thorn-bush blos-
soms the rose in its native simplicity ; cultivation may
vary its size and beauty, ad infinitum^ but still it is a
rose ; the dahlia by its side may rival it in brilliancy,
but not in delicate texture and delicious perfume. Thus
modest sensibility and warmth of heart may stand in so-
ciety side by side with keen wit and sparkling vivaci-
ty. The collision of different characters will bring out
difference of opinion, without destroying the harmony
of society. Here, as in the economy of the material
universe, there is a centripetal and centrifugal force.
The man of cool temperament checks his passionate
friend ; the charitable repairs the evil done by the cen-

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 273

sorious ; the timid and diffident .are encouraged by the
bold and daring; the man of persevering common sense
puts into execution the plans devised by the less patient
man of genius. Each should avoid the affectation of
characteristics which he does not. possess. As the coun-
teracting muscles of the arm, by acting different ways,
perfect their usefulness, so these varieties of character
give energy and power to society.

If all go into society, as to a mental masquerade,
where each is acting a studied part, how much both of
utility and pleasure must be lost ! We should lose the
agreeable surprise arising from the discovery of a vein of
golden ore, where we had only seen common clay ; of
striking out a latent spark of genius, which seclusion had
hidden even from its possessor ; of seeing the warm tear
of benevolence in the earnest eye of one deemed cold
and calculating. No man's self-love would permit him
to view his exact counterpart with good feelings ; for
though we love to see our opinions reflected by our
friends, who could bear to be mirrored forth by thou-
sands to whom he was indifferent ?

Preserving, then, that individuality of character which
gives delightful variety to society, all should bring to it
affability, good-sense, good taste, and kind feeling.

The literature of the day, improvement in the arts,
discoveries in science, the important events that are tak-
ing place in the world, the efforts being made for the dif-
fusion of knowledge and religion, these, and a thou-
sand other interesting topics, men might talk about in the
society of ladies, without lowering their own minds, or
elevating beyond their capacity those of their auditors,
or rather colloquists ; for it is assumed, that here they
meet on terms of perfect equality. If it be said, that by

274

courtesy it is left for the ladies to take the lead, then
they are to blame if they find no higher themes for en-
tertainment than fashions, beauty ,*dress, manners, flat-
tery, and scandal. Making large allowance for their
fondness for these topics, candor must acknowledge, that
modesty in many instances, and the fear of ridicule in
others, deter them from bringing forward other less trifling
subjects, in which they are deeply interested. Cicero
says of silence, " There is not only an art, but an elo-
quence in it" ; let then your silence be eloquent, when-
ever frivolous or unsuitable subjects are introduced ; it
is often the only delicate way in which you can manifest
disapprobation.

Acknowledging that society has claims, and that you
are to maintain kind and friendly relations with the circle
to which you belong ; yet neither these claims, nor your
love of display, nor your fondness for amusement, should
lead you to the sacrifice of personal happiness and of
principle.

The frequent demands upon the purse, from young
ladies who wish to make a splendid appearance in society,
are often reluctantly answered by the purse-bearer, and
should, if justice were heeded, not seldom, be denied.
While debts are unpaid, and the hire of the laborer is
withheld, conscience should not let any one remain at
ease and self-satisfied in magnificent apparel. The old
fable of the daw in peacock's feathers might, in such a
case, be admirably exemplified, were the milliner, man-
tua-maker, and jeweller each to claim their own share
of a fashionable belle's gay adornings. And the fine
horses and splendid equipage, which a fond father, to
gratify a daughter's pride, has raised by the magic wand
of credit, might, if touched by the sword of justice, be

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 275

transformed like Cinderella's, into rags, mice, and a
pumpkin-shell. It is urged in defence of the luxuries
of the rich, that they are the support of the poor. Some
political economists deny this. Be that as it may, no
one can deny that the extravagancy of the reputed rich
greatly increases the misery and sufferings of the poor.
The pale sempstress or mantuamaker, who has toiled all
day for you, goes, perhaps, like Kate Nickleby, to the
home of indigence and sorrow unpaid, to weep over the
woes she cannot relieve by her untiring industry ; while
you, fair reader, array yourself, with a light heart and
gay smile, in that dress which her skill has wrought into
its graceful elegance. Could you wear it cheerfully, if
you knew her to be suffering for the reward of her labor ?
Certainly not ; yet you, and thousands of others, forget
that every dollar is usually wanted immediately, by those
who thus earn their daily subsistence.

It may be said in self-defence, that a young lady sel-
dom knows the extent of her father's pecuniary resources.
That may be ; yet, if she receive a regular allowance,
she can be certain that no one suffers directly through
her ; and if not, she should never employ work-women
without knowing positively, beforehand, that she can
pay them as soon as their work is done. Justice should
be satisfied before pride.

Benevolence must not be set aside for more vociferous
but less worthy claimants. Vanity may sometimes De
denied an additional flower or feather without disparage-
ment ; fashion be boldly confronted, in a dress un pen
passe, worn for charity's sake ; and pleasure's frown
need not be dreaded, if, instead of wreathing her roses
around your own brow, you sometimes extract from
them the balm of consolation.

276 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

Does society claim an exorbitant share of time?
This sacrifice is often yielded as if demanded by that
" necessity that knows no law." The hours spent in
society are but a small proportion of the time thus
yielded ; previous preparation for these hours makes a
far more exorbitant demand. Tasteful embroidery and
fine needlework afford pleasant occupation to young
ladies ; but when employed solely for the decoration of
the person, they may be treacherous monopolizers. One
young lady has been known to spend two months upon
the trimming to a ball-dress ; and another, a half year
upon an embroidered satin dress. Patient, persevering
industry, which, applied to better purposes than the gra-
tification of vanity and selfishness, would deserve high
encomium; and, perhaps, after all this pains-taking,
society would have been as well pleased without the trim-
ming and embroidery. The choice of a dress for a
single evening often costs many hours of meditation,
and distracting doubts between rival colors, many
more. The toilet demands much time ; to all these,
add the time spent abroad in shopping, and the time in
society, they make up a large amount, leaving but a
meagre modicum for home and its duties.

Fashionable morning visits. Who has not uttered her
testimony against them as time-stealers, and stupid ones,
too ? yet who would say, they can be entirely dispensed
with ? Not she who hopes during her round of visits to
leave more cards than viva voce compliments ; nor even
she who would gladly make more cordial and less un-
meaning visits.

Do you sacrifice health to the claims of society?
We have, in a former chapter, alluded to the danger of
exposure after standing or dancing for hours in heated

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY 277

rooms. If all the young and lovely who have thus been
hurried to their graves could be summoned to bear tes-
timony to those who still expose themselves in this man-
ner, the cloud of witnesses would strike terror and dis-
may to many a gay and thoughtless heart. Dancing may
be a healthsome and delightful exercise at home, or
where there is ample verge and pure free air ; but in the
cramped confines of the drawing-room and the crowded
ball-room, where the exhausted atmosphere renders
respiration difficult and laborious, such exercise cannot
be beneficial. No wonder the Chinese, on seeing the
efforts of English gentlemen and ladies under these cir-
cumstances, exclaimed with exultation, " We hire our
dancing done in China."

Late hours at night, continued for a length of time,
give a sallowness to the complexion, indicating that
health is on the wane. The restorative virtues of morn-
ing air seldom lend their aid to freshen the departing
bloom ; the fatigue and exhaustion of a night of gayety
are frequent preludes to a morning headache and a train
of attendant evil sprites.

" Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,
On the dull couch of luxury to loll,

Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen?

"0, how canst thou renounce the boundless store

Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,

The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields ;

All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven !
O, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?"

And cheerfulness, too ; are not her smiles often sacri-
24

278 THE YOUNG LADY S HOME.

ficed ? The sadness arising from physical suffering is
not the only sadness induced by devotion to the claims
of society. Disappointment and disgust often take the
place of anticipated enjoyment ;

" The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy !"

Some imprudent word uttered, some unintentional se-
verity, or some supercilious slight, frequently embitters
the recollection of an evening. There is, too, a heart-
lessness, a coldness, in society, that chills the ardor of a
warm, ingenuous nature, and sends back the current of
kindness, until it is finally frozen to apathy. The severe
scrutiny and unsparing criticism bestowed upon a novice
are often painfully endured ; blushing at the conscious-
ness of her own awkwardness, and vexed to be thus sub-
jected to ill-natured remark, she might exclaim, with one
of Miss More's pastoral damsels in the " Search after
Happiness,"

" Are these the beings called polite ?
Is this the world of which we want a sight ?"

Domestic happiness is sometimes sacrificed. A happy
fireside is forsaken for the mingled crowd. Sacrifice as
it is, it must sometimes be made ; but not too frequently,
lest the taste should become vitiated, and the quiet
enjoyment of home no longer be yours. Habits thus
formed will not readily yield to a new situation and new
circumstances. Woe to the man whose wife is thoroughly
imbued with the spirit of party-going and party-giving!
His house can scarcely be called his own ; in it, he is
a mere movable, that must submit, like other furniture,
to be tossed to and fro, for the accommodation of so-
ciety. This extreme fondness for display at home and
abroad in gay wives, this entire want of home-feeling

THE CLAIMS OF SOCIETY. 279

and quiet contentment, have driven a fearful number of
husbands to the theatre and the gambling-table, to dis-
sipation and ruin.

When the winter campaign is finished, travelling and
watering-places take all the world of fashion from home.
The sacrifice of comfort here is immense. Alas for our
country, her old-fashioned firesides, her rural pleas-
ures, her comfortable homes ! If those families who
are forced during the summer months to leave town, or
an unwholesome climate, would but expend the same
amount of money now spent in travelling, year after
year, upon the purchase of a neat country-house, with
a few surrounding acres, how greatly would their com-
fort and usefulness be increased ! It delights the imagi-
nation to revel amid the quiet little Edens that might
thus be created by the hand of taste in every " bosky
dell," and by the side of the wide clear rivers of our
beautiful country. A taste for horticulture and the
planting of trees, among the gentlemen, would har-
monize with the ladies' taste for flowers, grottoes, and
fountains. We are not so Utopian in our day-dreams,
as to believe this would quite bring back the Golden
Age ; but we do believe that the sterling worth and
domestic enjoyment of the men and women of other
days would be renewed, and our country, already old
in luxury and vice, be rejuvenated. And the claims of
society ! how would they be thus answered ? Much
better than they now are by the itinerating mania that
has seized all ranks. Those families, whose places of
residence are permanently in the country, would be
better contented to remain there, if citizens and stran-
gers were half the year their neighbours. Social inter
course between them might be placed upon a rational

280 THE YOUNG LADY J S HOME.

and agreeable footing ; but it is quite preposterous thus
to speculate upon what might be if, and if, and he
who dares to attack the usages of society may chance
to meet with as cordial a reception as Spenser's man,
Talus, who went about the world with his iron flail.

And is there no sacrifice of principle ever made to
keep on good terms with society? Do you never
meet there the dissipated, the vicious, from whom your
whole soul revolts ? But you say, even these must not
be given up entirely. Certainly not, if you can do them
any good. The influence exerted upon them by ladies'
society should be a strong, decided moral influence. Yet
how can this be if you may not show, even by a look,
that you disapprove of their characters ? Until society
has a sanative power through your instrumentality, it will
not retard their progress in dissipation. A fearful respon-
sibility thus devolves upon ladies who are leaders in
society. If things good and holy are allowed to be ridi-
culed there ; if the parsons, the righteous , the sanctimonious,
as the ministers of religion and its professors are jeer-
ingly termed, are made the target for their light missiles ;
if they are allowed to look upon the wine when it is
red," and quaff it while it sparkles, unreproved, until
reason vanishes and folly reigns, what happy influence
do you exert ? You lend the most powerful aid in accel-
erating their downward course. But it need not be, and
it is not always thus. We hope and believe better things
of you, kind readers, in this day of more enlightened
morality and quickened sensibility. Be it your noble
privilege to elevate still higher the standard of morals.
God grant you a clear perception of what is due to
society, and the power to benefit it, without the sacrifice
of economy, time, health, cheerfulness, domestic happiness,
and religious principles !

CHAPTER XXVII.
READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES.

" We mourn not that prophetic skill

Is found on earth no more ;
Enough for us to trace thy will

In Scriptures' sacred lore." HEBER.

OF all knowledge, the most important to man is that
which unaided reason seeks in vain, and philosophy, in
her boldest flights, could never reach, the knowledge
of the character of the Supreme Being, and our rela-
tions to him. Without divine revelation, not a ray of
light illumines the past or gilds the dark future ; man
stands alone, a mournful mystery to himself; but, bless-
ed be God! in the moral, as in the natural world, he
saidj Let there be light, and there was light."

The Old Testament reveals the Creator, his wis-
dom and goodness in calling forth from chaos this beau-
tiful world, and furnishing it with magnificent richness
for a habitation for man, the creation of man in the
image of his Maker, his departure from the law of
holiness, and the direful consequences of his guilt ; pro-
claims pardon to the penitent, and restoration to the
Divine favor through a Redeemer. It tells of the fear-
ful increase of sin and horrible depravity, by a mon-
strous race polluting the earth, until at length the right-
eous judgment of God swept them from the face of it by
an universal deluge ; while praise for saving mercy as-
24* C 281 )

282

cends from one only family, who float securely upon the
world of waters. It proclaims a covenant between God
and one whom he condescends to style his friend, and
his special love and favor to his descendants, to whom
he promulgates the moral law ; confirming by mira-
cles, his authority, and by prophets keeping alive from
generation to generation the hope of that Saviour " in
whom all the families of the earth should be blessed."
Through its sacred pages are profusely scattered the
sweetest, purest strains of poetic fancy, and the sub-
limest effusions of heaven-born eloquence. Its imper-
ishable literature has inspired the noblest efforts of
human genius. What other book contains such aston-
ishing, such inexhaustible materials for thought and
investigation ? Bring to it all the treasures of know-
ledge to aid in its explanation and illustration. Profane
history, ancient and modern, will throw light upon the
prophecies, Eastern travels offer striking illustrations
from existing customs and manners, and delineate Scrip-
ture geography with satisfactory precision. Search and
compare Scripture with Scripture. Where there is ob-
scurity that you cannot penetrate, resort to critical
commentators, and where there are difficulties that you
cannot solve, have recourse to the pious and the learn-
ed ; but at the same time use the reason which God
has given you for this noble purpose, the deep, daily
study of his Holy Word.

The New Testament is the authentic record of the
long promised Redeemer's miraculous birth and spot-
less life ; his death, resurrection, and ascension to
heaven ; the efforts of the witnesses of these events
to make them known to the world, and the success of
their labors ; their letters to the converts to Christianity,

READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES. 283

explaining its doctrines and enforcing its duties ; ending
with a sublime apocalypse of the thrilling scenes that
shall precede the dissolution of the world, the terrors
of the judgment-day, and a heart-cheering vision of the
mansions of blessedness.

We should each know for ourselves, the evidences on
which belief in these stupendous truths is founded.

It is not designed to enter here at length into the evi-
dences of Christianity. Chalmers, Erskine, and Paley,
on this subject, are earnestly recommended to your seri-
ous and attentive perusal.

The New Testament depends upon the evidence of
testimony and internal evidence, or its adaptation to the
wants and condition of man.

Upon the strength of the first argument, our belief
mainly rests. The writers of the New Testament,
were they intelligent, honest, and true witnesses ? They
were plain, sensible men, who had no other motive in
writing, but to make known truths which would expose
them to contempt, persecution, and death, in obedience
to the command of their crucified Master ; they exhib-
ited their authority as Christ's witnesses by working mira-
cles, which were seen and known by thousands of their
fellow-men, in full possession of their senses and their
reason. The knowledge of these events has been trans-
mitted to the present time, in the same way that other
historical truths have been ; namely, by written testi-
mony. No one ever doubted that there was such a man
as Alexander the Great, or that he had such a friend as
Parmenio, or that he conquered the Persian monarch,
Darius. We believe these things as firmly as if they
had occurred in some distant land, in our own day; the
length of time that has elapsed does not invalidate the

284

testimony of the historian. No history in the world is
so well supported by testimony as the history of Jesus
Christ. A number of eye-witnesses have given their
separate but concordant narrations of the same events,
and the severe scrutiny that has been exercised upon
them has only laid open the immovable basis upon
which they rest.

These brief hints have been given, merely to lead
your minds to a thorough investigation of this subject.

The second argument, namely, whether the truths re-
vealed are adapted to the condition of man comes home
to every heart. Look into your own ; are its yearnings
after happiness satisfied with any thing that earth affords ?
What shall purify and elevate its affections? What
moral power do you possess to escape from wretched-
ness ? What human philosophy will afford consolation
in death, and hope of a blissful immortality? The
Bible ! The Bible alone reveals the mystery of man's
being, his fallen, sinful state, and the means of restora-
tion ; points out the path of duty, and opens wide the
golden gates of immortality. The Bible, then, my
young friends, must be your text-book of duty, your
guide in self-education. But you must come to the
reading of it with one petition, uttered with the earnest-
ness of the last cry of a drowning man : "God be
merciful to me a sinner!" "You must flee to it as the
only refuge of the lost, as well as the only remedy of
the unholy." Then, the same Spirit which inspired
" holy men of old" to write its solemn truths will ren-
der it to you "a pillar of fire by day and a pillar of
cloud by night," to guide you through life's wilderness
to the promised land.

In this age of sectarianism and heresy, cling closely

READING THE SACRED SCRIPTURES. 285

to the Bible. Consider it more honorable than any sec-
tarian appellation to be called "a Bible Christian."
In the stillness and solitude of evening, before you
throw yourself upon the protecting care of Divine Lbve,
read its glorious promises. By the rosy light of morn-
ing, study its holy precepts, to regulate your thoughts,
animate your love, and fortify your heart against tempta-
tion. Imbibe its principles, so that they shall run
through the whole tenor of your conduct, form the
very warp upon which your life is woven. You need
not fear that you will become too well acquainted with
the blessed book. To adopt the eloquent language of
another, "If all the minds now on earth could be
concentrated into one, and that one applied the whole of
its stupendous energies to the study of this si|^gle book,
it would never apprehend its doctrines in all their divine
purity ; its promises in their overpowering fulness ; its
precepts in their searching extent ; even that glorious
mind, sufficient to exhaust the universe, would onlj dis-
cover that the Scriptures were inexhaustible."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER.

"At kind distance still
Perfection stands, like happiness,
To tempt eternal chase."

WHEN Corregio first saw the paintings of Raphael,
his heart throbbed with exultation, and he exclaimed,
"I, too, am a painter!" An artist of our own country
was once standing with folded arms, gazing with intense
delight up5n a beautiful picture ; the question was asked,
"Do you ever expect to equal that?" He turned
quickly, his dark eye flashing with the enthusiasm of
genius, and replied, " My aim is perfection." Would
such an one be daunted by the ridicule of those who have
no taste for his art, or his ardor cooled by the sober advice
of the utilitarian, who declares it to be a most unprofita-
ble employment ? They no more retard his progress,
than the " dewy cobwebs on the morning grass" retard
the journey of the early traveller. The painter's ardor,
his devotedness, his perseverance, call forth unbounded
praise from all lovers of the art ; they know that such
concentration of power, such unity of purpose, will pro-
duce surpassing excellence. All the world acknowledge
that " it is good to be zealously affected in a good
cause," excepting only the best of all causes, the
cause of religion.

Among those who are professedly Christians, the di-

(286)

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 287

versity of character is immense. The heart may be
right, where there are errors in judgment, and the under-
standing may be enlightened and convinced, while the
heart remains untouched. It is, nevertheless, to this
cloud of witnesses" that the young look for example.

The poetical religionist, admires the beauty and the
thrilling grandeur of many parts of the Bible. Its won-
derful truths exercise the intellect, and give unbounded
scope to the imagination. His taste is charmed with
the bold rhetorical figures, and the beautiful imagery with
which it abounds. He is not insensible, perhaps, to the
noble examples of moral sublimity there exhibited. He
admires, too, the splendid actions of illustrious men of
every age and country, "the lofty deeds and daring
high" of the patriot, the philanthropy of a Howard
or a Wilberforce, the dauntless courage of a Luther
and a Knox, but with the same kind of admiration
that might be bestowed upon equal energy and intellec-
tual power directed to entirely different purposes. It
is the admiration of greatness of character, of a gran-
deur and power which belong, in a superior degree, to
Milton's Satan and Goethe's Mephistopheles. It is
possible he may sometimes admire what is called the
beauty of virtue, but it is not "the beauty of holiness."
To him there is nothing picturesque, nothing interesting,
in the daily life of the serious, humble, unobtrusive
Christian ; nothing to excite the imagination, or charm
the overwrought feelings, in such an one's self-denying
duties. If such a Christian, however, were brought to
the stake, and endured, with unyielding fortitude, the
agonies of martyrdom, then he would become worthy of
admiration. Or it is possible that the magnanimity or
the moral courage of a Christian might strike the poet-

288 THE YOUNG LADY 5 S HOME.

ical religionist with awe, as Milton's Satan, at the grave
rebuke of the cherub Zephon, struck with his angel
countenance, " severe in youthful beauty,"

"Felt how awful goodness is, and saw
Virtue in her shape how lovely."

Rousseau could admire the beauty and moral grandeur
of Christianity, and could even pen an eloquent enco-
mium upon that Saviour whose divinity he denied, and
whose precepts he daringly violated. He says, " The
majesty of the Scriptures strikes me with astonishment,
and the sanctity of the gospel addresses itself to my heart.
Look at the volumes of the philosophers ; with all their
pomp, how contemptible do they appear in comparison to
this ! Is it possible that a book, at once so simple and so
sublime, can be the work of man ? Can he, who him-
self is the subject of its history, be a mere man ? Was
his the tone of an enthusiast, or an ambitious sectary ?
What sweetness ! What purity in his manners ! What
an affecting gracefulness in his instructions ! What
sublimity in his maxims ! What profound wisdom in his
discourses ! What presence of mind ! What sagacity
and propriety in his answers ! How great the command
over his passions ! Where is the man, where the phi-
losopher, who could so live, suffer, and die, without
weakness and without ostentation ?"

Madame de Stael, in her works, discovers the same
admiration, the same enthusiasm, for the grand and the
beautiful in religion, while it is not uncharitable to be-
lieve that she never felt its power.

The worshipper of nature may be called a poetical
religionist, and even the glorious achievements of art call
forth, in such a mind, similar emotion. But this is not
religion, unless adoring love of the Creator mingle

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 289

with admiration of his works. Another gifted being,
whose whole life was a practical demonstration of his
impiety, could worship nature with enthusiast zeal.

"The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man ; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness,
I learned the language of another world.
I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's walls
'Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome.

"And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon
All this, and cast a wide and tender light,
Which softened down the hoar austerity
Of rugged desolation, and filled up
As 't were anew, the gaps of centuries ;
Leaving that beautiful which still was so,
And making that which was not, till the place
Became religion, and the heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old."

To the young, such a religion often appears like an
angel of light, while true religion robed in the garb of
humility with the tears of penitence upon her cheek,
meekly bearing the cross, and trampling under foot the
glittering gold and dazzling gauds of earth, has no
" comeliness," and is " despised and rejected."

Nearly allied to the poetical, is the sentimental re-
ligionist. Sentimentalism, on any subject, is to be dep-
recated ; but where it is substituted for genuine Chris-
tian sensibility, it is deplorable. A young lady may be
melted to tears by the eloquence of a favorite preacher.
Music has the same effect. The sorrows and sufferings
of her fellow-beings call forth sighs innumerable, and
touching expressions of sympathy and commiseration ;
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290

but her fee-ings are too delicate, her sensibility too exqui-
site, to allow her to come in contact with actual misery.
The luxury of emotion in which she indulges is not
willingly exchanged for the performance of the ordinary
duties of life. It is nunlike and saintlike to look pen-
sive, and have the eyes surcharged with unshed tears ;
but are they caused by broken-heartedness for sin ?
Does she not more frequently weep over the weakness
and degradation of human nature than over its sinfulness ?
The purity, the loveliness, of religion, she can eloquent-
ly describe, while, perhaps, the warfare within, and that
spirituality that this religion requires, are utterly incom-
prehensible. By this morbid sensibility, the tone of re-
ligious character is destroyed. It softens, but it also
enervates and saddens; it " imparts poison in an odor;
slays with a jewelled scimitar."

"An ardent spirit dwells with Christian love,
The eagle's vigor in the pitying dove
'T is not enough that we with sorrow sigh,
That we the wants of pleading man supply,
That we in sympathy with sufferers feel,
Nor bear a grief without a wish to heal;
Not these suffice ; to sickness, pain, and woe,
The Christian spirit loves with aid to go,
Will not be sought, waits not for want to plead,
But seeks the duty, nay, prevents the need,
Her utmost aid to every ill applies,
And plans relief for coming miseries."

Unlike the poetical and the sentimental, the harsh,
severe religionist holds no communion with nature. He
fears to look upon the beauties profusely showered upon
field and forest, mountain and vale. He seldom lifts his
eyes to " the moon walking in brightness," or yields to
"the sweet influences of the Pleiades," lest his admira-
tion of the heavenly host should touch that sensibility

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 291

which he thinks it duty to repress. He forgets that the
same hand which wrote the law amid the thunders of
Sinai lighted up those glorious orbs, and tinted with its
beautiful hues even the delicate flower that he tramples
beneath his feet. When this magnificent world was fin-
ished, the Almighty Creator pronounced it " very good,' 7
and in his holy word calls upon all men to " praise his
wondrous works." Moses, David, Solomon, and the
prophets looked upon nature with a loving and poetic
eye, and found types of things spiritual in things mate-
rial. Our blessed Saviour himself drew his similes and
illustrations from the natural objects around him, and a
garden was his chosen place for retirement and holy
meditation.

The Christian of cultivated mind and refined taste
may have a keen and delicate perception of beauty in
all its infinite variety. " He looks with admiration on
the fair, the rich, the magnificent, in architecture ; on the
master-sketch, the coloring, the light and shade, of the
painter ; on the transforming power and decorative taste
of the sculptor. He gazes with a child's rejoicing on
the bud and the blossom, on the flower and the leaf; on
the gaudy butterfly, the glittering scales of the fish,
and the dazzling plumage of the bird. He gazes with
a poet's feeling, if not with a poet's eye, on the cheer-
ful landscape of morning, and the pensive scenery of
evening, on the beauty and serenity of the lake and
the woodland. He gazes with a religious awe upon
the deep silence of the heavens, and the calm majesty
of the ocean, on the gloom of the forest, on the fury
of the storm, on the savage rush of the cataract, and
the solemn grandeur of the mountain." But not alone
in the magnificence of nature does the Christian rejoice;

292 THE YOUNG LAD\ 's HOME.

the Almighty Creator has flung abroad over the wide
earth tokens of his wisdom and goodness, which cause
the pious heart to glow with admiration and love.
This is beautifully exemplified in a simple description of
a passage around a dangerous precipice, written for a
juvenile magazine. The traveller says : The river in
the valley below seemed, in the distance, like a white
silken thread ; and the bare, barren, perpendicular rock
was frightful to behold. < Be steady,' said the guide
who went before me, < and keep your eye on the rock. 7
I went on, scarcely daring to draw my breath, grasping
with my hands every projection that I could lay hold of,
for the shelf on which we stood was only a few inches
wide. I asked the guide if we had almost passed the
danger, but he was silent as the grave ; not a word es-
caped him. A slip, a false step, a breath of air, would
almost have been sufficient to have plunged me headlong
down the fearful steep. Now and then our feet displaced
the small, loose pieces of granite which lay on the ledge
we stood upon ; they fell over, but we never heard them
strike against the rock, it was so perpendicular. I felt
that my life was held in a balance, and that none but the
High and Holy One could preserve me. At last we
came to a spot where the path was much broader, so
that we could all stand comfortably upon it ; and here
we paused a minute, that I might recover a little from the
fear I had endured. In this place I observed a small,
beautiful, dazzling blossom, on a plant which grew from
a crevice in the rock. It was a lovely little flower, and
gave me wondrous comfort, for it told me that God was
on the edge of the precipice with us. The flower was
his divine workmanship ; so I plucked it and placed it in
my bosom.

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 293

"In that eventful hour

My heart had failed with fear:
But, gazing on the lovely flower,
I felt that God was near."

This deep consciousness of the benevolence of the
Supreme Being renders the beautiful in his works ever
emblematic of himself. Henry Martyn could rejoice in
his Almighty perfections, even when "a single leaf"
was the only visible type ; and the world of beauty, that
lies beyond the ken of unaided sight, revealed by the
microscope, fills the mind of the pious contemplatist
with adoring wonder. Earth sends up her perpetual
hymn of praise to the Creator, and dull and gross must
be that heart in which there is no response. Strong,
earnest faith in the invisible will not degrade things vis-
ible ; to those who " dwell in the house of the Lord to
behold the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his tem~-
ple" a single dew-drop may be a memento of his wis-
dom, benevolence, arid mercy.

Of another class of religionists, whom Miss More
calls " the phraseologists," she says : "These are as-
siduous hearers, but indifferent doers ; very valiant talk-
ers for the truth, but remiss workers. They are more
addicted to hear sermons, than to profit by them. They
always exhibit in their conversation the idiom of a party,
and are apt to suspect the sincerity of those whose
higher breeding and more correct habits discover a bet-
ter taste. The language of these technical Christians
indisposes persons of refinement, who have not had the
advantage of seeing religion under a more engaging form,
to serious piety, by leading them to make a most unjust
association between religion and bad taste. With them,
words are not only the signs of things, but things them-
selves."

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294

These " phraseologists " would have all Christians,
however differing in natural, individual character, come
under their flattening machine. The sanguine must be-
come phlegmatic, the cheerful must wear a sad counte-
nance, the impulsive must never act without cold calcula-
tion, the young must have the sobriety of the aged, and
the heart beating warm with generous sensibility must be
cooled down to the zero of their thermometer. They deal
much in denunciation and condemnation, and spend their
strength in endeavoring to proselyte to their own sect, but
do not like to commune with their own hearts and be
still.

Another class, differing but little from the last, would
keep the mind in a continual state of excitement. Fer-
vor, with them, is the alpha and the omega. Devotional
retirement, solemn self-examination, does not suffi-
ciently excite their zeal ; they must keep it up to a
white heat, by the sympathy of others. They are in
danger of sometimes mistaking mere animal feeling for
religious fervency. They are in danger of saying in ac-
tion, if not in words, to those who are more calm, and
would have every thing done " decently and in order, " *
"Stand by, for I am holier than thou." They may be
following the ignis-fatuus of their own heated imagina-
tions, instead of the leadings of an unerring guide.
They may, by this over-excitement of feeling, envelope
in perpetual mist that strait and narrow path which
they sincerely wish to pursue.

Very different from these zealots are the cool moral-
ists. They are extremely careful not "to be righteous
overmuch." They have a fearful dread of enthusiasm.
They keep on good terms with the world, by complying
with most of their customs, and practically acknowledge

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 295

the wisdom of their maxims. The timid sailor-boy,
who for the first time climbs to the top of the mast,
keeps his eye downward; he dare not "look up aloft."
These moralists, with their eyes fixed upon the earth,
can they go "onward and upward, and true to the
line ?"

Dear reader, are you " bending a pinion for the deep-
er sky?" Look to Him who said, "Learn of me,
for I am meek and lowly of heart." Christ is the only
perfect standard of human character. Many bright ex-
amples of the beauty of holiness you may meet to cheer
you on your heavenward course, and they will grow
brighter and brighter as they increase in their likeness
to this perfect standard. Many you will find, who bear
his divine lineaments but imperfectly ; we may mourn
over \heir imperfections, but still more over our own.
Though weak, erring, sinful, and conscious, of it all,
still your aim must be perfection. That " faith, which
is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence
of things not seen," by uniting you to Christ, will give
you a blessed hope of forgiveness through his merits and
blood-bought atonement; but love for that character
which was holy, harmless, and undefiled will lead you
to imitation. " Whatsoever things are pure, lovely, and
of good report," will then adorn your Christian charac-
ter. It is not enough to enlist under the banners of the
cross. The Captain of your salvation must have your
entire allegiance ; you must put on the whole panoply
of faith for the conflict that awaits you. The perfect
soldier must go through a course of severe discipline,
he must never slumber at his post, he must never com-
municate with the enemy, his weapons must be untar-
nished, bright, and ever within his reach. Above all,

296 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

he must have no will but the will of his commander ;
his obedience must be perfect. The Christian warfare
is chiefly within. You may have enemies without, who
assail you with ridicule or with false reasoning, but the
kingdom of heaven is to be built up in your own heart,
and there .are your worst enemies. If no traitors lurk
within, you may defy the puny weapons that are hurled
by the outer foes. The ridicule of the thoughtless, the
gay, the dissipated, dare to look it in the face, and its
terrors, like those of a painted mask, will vanish. Do
you shrink abashed from their commonplace taunting?
They tell you " there is no reason for being so starched
and prim." That "you make yourself very disagreea-
ble by being so rigid." " Religion should not make you
gloomy." "There is no use in making so much pa-
rade about it." If you are intimidated by such attacks,
you will lose ground, which it will be very difficult to
retain. Retreat not an inch. It is your duty to make
religion as engaging as possible, to be kind, to be
courteous, to be gentle, to be forbearing ; at the same
time, to be courageous, to be firm.

Think not that the pure and holy example of Jesus
Christ is too exalted for your imitation. One object of
his divine mission was to exhibit the capabilities of hu-
man nature for moral excellence, and the loveliness and
purity of human affections, unsullied by sinfulness.

His character, in some of its most striking traits for
imitation, has been beautifully delineated by an elegant
female writer of our own country in the following lan-
guage :

"In the character of our Saviour, the mind and the
heart rest satisfied ; the more it is studied, the more
holy and beautiful it becomes. Does the mind ask for

THE STANDARD OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. 297

submission, seek it in his childhood, while he was sub-
ject to his parents ; for youthful dignity, see him stand-
ing in the midst of the temple, sublime in youth and
power, reasoning with the doctors and lawyers, with a
wisdom which astonished even those who questioned
him on subjects which had been to them the study of a
lifetime. Does it ask for humility and forbearance,
find him washing his disciples' feet and sitting at the
same board with publicans and sinners ; for true and
gentle chanty, listen to his voice when he says to the
sinful woman, < Woman, where are thine accusers?
Go in peace, and sin no more.' Does it ask a heart
full of gentle and domestic sympathy, follow him to the
grave of Lazarus, or to the bier of the widow's son;
for benevolence, let the mind dwell for a moment on the
cleansed leper, on the blind restored to sight, and on
that heart-stirring scene where he stood in the midst of
the multitude, while the sick man was let down through
the roof, that he might heal him ; for firmness, go to the
wilderness where the Son of God fasted and was sorely
tempted forty days and forty nights ; for energy, wit-
ness it in the overthrowing of the money-tables, while
those who had desecrated the temple were cast forth
from the place they had polluted ; for wisdom, read it in
every act of his life, and in every line of his Sermon on
the Mount ; for prudence, see it in his answer given to
the chief priests, when they brought him the tribute-
money ; fa? patience, forgiveness, and all the gentle attri-
butes that form the Christian character in its perfection,
follow him to the garden ; witness his prayer and his
agony of spirit ; dwell on his patient and gentle speech
when he returned from that scene of pain, and found
even his disciples asleep ; reflect on his meekness and

298

forbearance when the traitor's lip was on his cheek ; on
the hand so readily extended to heal the ear of the
maimed soldier. Go with him to the place of trial, and
to that last fearful scene which caused the grave to give
up its dead, and the solid earth to tremble beneath the
footsteps of his persecutors. Dwell upon his life and
upon every separate act of his life, and the soul must
become imbued with a sense of its truth, beauty, and
holiness."

Happy Martha and Mary, to be allowed the blessed
privilege of receiving such a guest ! Where is the aus-
terity that piety sometimes assumes at the fireside ?
Where the pharisaic severity that says, "I thank
Thee that I am not as other men are," while mingling in
the social circle ? Love and tenderness beam from his
countenance, as he encourages the humble Mary to sit
at his feet ; and even in his reproof to the bustling Mar-
tha, there is no unkindness ; he would relieve her from
being "cumbered with much serving." This glorious
guest you may still welcome to your hearts, and in the
attitude of an humble, earnest, docile learner, study his
perfect character, until your own shall be transmuted,
by a divine alchemy, to a complete resemblance.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHRISTIAN DUTY. CHEERFULNESS.

'Sunbeam of summer ! 0, what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!
One thing is like thee, to mortals given,
The faith, touching all things with hues of heaven."

IT is a common saying, that youth has few trials ; and
so it may appear to those persons, who, amid the cares and
turmoil of after life, look back upon this comparatively
tranquil period. Yet how many of the young are ready
to exclaim, in bitterness of heart, " If this be the
happiest portion of existence, would that I could die !"
Can we expect uniform cheerfulness in those who,
with keen sensibilities, unsupported by the strength and
fortitude of maturer years, and devoid of religious prin-
ciple, are discovering each day more and more of the
trials of life ? The thoughtless, in the pride of health
and spirits, excited by gay visions of future pleasure,
may pass many a merry hour; but their joy is as differ-
ent from real cheerfulness, as the music of a ball-room
from " the minstrelsy of leaf and bird." Reflective
and feeling minds must suffer from sympathy, experi-
ence, or anticipation.

Kind parents seek to conceal from an idolized
child the sorrow that is preying on their hearts, and
thank Heaven that, shielded from trials like theirs, she
basks in the sunshine of happiness. But does not the

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300 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

quick eye of the affectionate daughter perceive the least
shadow that rests on faces so dear ? Yet she is aware
that to believe her a participator would add to their
pain, and therefore appears as unconscious as they
would wish her in reality to be. As their footsteps die
away, how fades that bright smile that afforded them
such pure pleasure, while her busy mind hurries over all
possible sources of their distress, and perhaps fastens on
a cause greater than the true one. Day after day, she
watches each shade of expression on their countenances,
and a frown on her father's brow, or pensiveness in her
mother's eye, adds to the heaviness of her heart, from
her incapability to afford comfort or relief.

Or, it may be, health has been refused to some dear
member of the family circle. Who feels more keenly
for the sufferings of the poor invalid, than the tender-
hearted sister? Is it nothing to watch the bodily anguish
of those we love, to know that the happiness of all
who are nearest and dearest to us is bound up in one
frail life, and then mark the wasting form and failing
strength ?

If sympathy may thus be the cause of sorrow, expe-
rience must teach even the young many a bitter lesson.
Variously clad, the skeleton still dwells in every man-
sion. The unworthiness of those whom nature teaches
us to cherish with untiring affection is a source of incal-
culable misery. This sorrow asks not pity from the
world, and may be hid beneath forced spirits an-d a gay
smile, or betray itself in the careworn cheek and sunken
eye. While sin reigns, this spring of unhappiness will
exist, and religion only can remove its bitterness.

The unsuspecting innocence of youth often lays itself
open to calumny, and many, wounded by injustice, for

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 301

which they were unprepared, early have the seeds of
misanthropy implanted in their hearts. And evil pas-
sions in their own hearts assault the young with a thou-
sand temptations. If these are submitted to, misery
must ensue ; if not, the struggle will be obstinate and
painful. To form good habits is more difficult than to
maintain them, and this should be the task of the young.

But there is one trial common to all. Death is in
the world. This thought is enough to scatter the roses
from the most blooming cheek, and dim the brightest
eye. The first loss of a near friend is an era in life.
It seems to awaken us from the dream we had so long
indulged, to open to our view the realities of the un-
seen world. A tie is formed between us and the Invis-
ible, and now a familiar form appears to us among the
unknown ones of that spirit-land. The heart can hardly
believe that the friend on whom it had lavished such
affection, with whom all its plans of bliss for life were
blended, is indeed removed, and shrinks back from
forming any bond which can be so suddenly, so entirely,
annulled. It had given its affection with a fulness and
confidence, unlike the trembling insecurity of those
whom years have reft of many dear ones ; and this
confidence has been completely destroyed. Then first
is realized the truth, that the lost cannot return to us,
that we must go to them. Too often this bright
world is then viewed, not as a sphere where we have
allotted duties to perform, but a dreary void, where
they are not ; and we look up to heaven with delight,
not because it is our Father's mansion, but because they
are there. Happy are those who have learnt from their
first affliction to set their hearts on things above !

Anticipated trials are a class of troubles which meet
26

302 THE YOUNG LADY'S HOME.

with little sympathy, but must often cloud the brow of
the thoughtful and imaginative. The propensity to
look forward is natural, and is, in our lighter moments,
a source of pleasure ; but there are times when the
dark side of the picture will present itself. Even with
the flush of delight, when we anticipate the acquisition
of some long-desired object, blends the idea of melan-
choly changes that must occur ere our wishes are ful-
filled. If our own lives are spared to any length, we
must see the decay, if not the death, of our best friends.
For the moment, the grief at such calamities is ours,
without the strength to sustain it which mercifully ac-
companies real trials. The first gray hairs that steal
around the brow we venerate, carry a chill to the heart,
for they remind us, that, when age has set its seal upon
that brow, the strong mind we reverenced may be
broken down, and the firm tread changed for the tot-
tering step of infancy. O, who can anticipate without
emotion the helpless second childhood of the honored
and loved ! But we must sustain the departure, as well
as the decay, of many of these dear ones. How fraught
with wretchedness is this idea ! It seems, indeed,
" easier to die for those we love, than to live without
their vanished light," and we cannot believe a ray of
joy will fall upon us when these stars are set.

To a woman, the view of the future must be a source
of deep anxiety. The uncertainty where her home will
be, is more trying, because her greatest happiness or
misery will centre within that home. How must she,
the timid and retiring, shrink from the idea, that a time
may come when she must stand alone and unprotected,
a solitary woman, a forsaken wife, or a desolate widow.
The possibility of such an event steals upon those who,

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 303

to all outward appearances, have the greatest prospect
of happiness.

"O prophet heart; thy grief, thy power,

To all deep souls belong,
The shadow in the musing hour,
The wail in the mirthful song."

Such are some of the trials to which the young of our
sex may be subjected, even in the bosom of their own
kind families. To those arising from misplaced or
hopeless affection, we will not advert. They who have
felt them know their bitterness ; and may those who
have not, long remain in ignorance ! A thousand little
perplexities and contrarieties are common to all, and of
daily occurrence. Though small in themselves, by
their frequency they may injure the temper and impair
the happiness.

Yet, after this terrible array of possible and probable
trials, we would assert that uniform cheerfulness is im-
peratively a Christian duty. The worldling may turn
away from trouble ; the philosopher look upon it with
calmness ; but the Christian only can smile upon it.
Turn now to your blessings and privileges, and see how
far they outnumber privations and sorrows. Nay, were
your lot all darkness, with no ray of hope for this
life, the possibility of attaining immortal happiness were
enough to fill your heart with gratitude. How have
you ever deseived the kindness that has reared you,
made you capable of enjoyment, and surrounded you
with blessings? Do you not fear if in the midst of
these you indulge in repining, something may be taken
from you, whose loss will make all you have ever suf
fered before, seem as nothing ? You acknowledge, per-
haps, the claims of gratitude, and desire to fulfil them,

304

but cannot maintain your composure when the pressure
of trouble is upon you. It will require great effort to
attain that even tenor of mind ; but still it is possible.
Many suppose that persons of naturally excitable disposi-
tions can easily preserve uniform cheerfulness ; but this
is far from the truth, for they have constantly the double
task of guarding themselves from elevation or depres-
sion of spirits. There is continual danger that they
will incur the charge of inconsistency, by the appear-
ance of levity or thoughtless mirth. But such should
not despair, for if they can properly regulate their unruly
spirits, they will become an honour to the cause of reli-
gion, and a blessing to those around them.

Cheerfulness may be essentially promoted by the cul-
tivation of a firm trust in the providence of God, active
benevolence, and a constant sense of the realities of the
world to come.

All evils, excepting those attendant on our own sins,
whether coming through the instrumentality of our fel-
low-beings, or what are called the chances of life, are
inflicted by the hand of God. Let us bear this con-
stantly in mind, with his assurance that all things work
together for good to those who love him. If it be as-
certained that we are of those who love him, we have
no reason to fear, whatever they may be, that our trials
will result in any thing but our best good. Your cheer-
fulness, then, should be founded on the belief that you
are one of that number, to whom the Ruler of all, has
vouchsafed so many promises of his care and protection.
It is sometimes difficult to realize that the most trivial
events are ordained by the Omnipotent, yet he often
brings from them the most important results. Some
slight occurrence will suggest to our minds a thought

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 305

followed by a train of others, producing a material
change in our conduct. Trace in your lives and your
hearts the steps by which you have been benefited, and
you will see, that what at the time seemed to be trials
have proved blessings. With the firm persuasion that
every affliction is intended for some beneficent end,
study, as it were, the purposes of God, and see how
you can aid in rendering his chastening useful to yourself.
Is a wish denied, think what evils might have resulted
had it been gratified. Are those who are nearly con-
nected with you unworthy of respect, and the inflicters
of continual pain ? Here is a special call upon you to
let your light shine, to exercise kindness and forbear-
ance, to avoid those faults which produce such misery,
and to place your affections more strongly on that
Friend who knew no sin. Do not seek to forget or veil
from yourself the extent of your trials. Nothing can
produce a more unhappy frame of mind, than that caused
by turning away from an evil, yet carrying the conscious-
ness of its existence like a load upon the heart. View,
then, your situation in all its bearings, and school your-
self with divine assistance, till you can exclaim, with
deep sincerity, " Thy will be done!"

From all anticipations of future suffering, perfect faith
alone can secure us. How often in the Bible we are
exhorted to refrain from anxiety as to what may befall
us, and encouraged to cast all our care upon the Lord !
If you have consecrated yourself to Him, you have
placed yourself entirely at his disposal, do you fear
that your confidence has been misplaced ? Many of the
evils you dread will never happen, and if they do, your
Almighty Father has promised, that " as your day is,
so shall your strength be." The fear of death may
26*

306

have obtained dominion over you, but it may be con-
quered by fixing your eyes on Him who will guide you
through the dark valley himself has trod, and who will
receive you in his everlasting arms. Trusting in the
wisdom and love of an Almighty Friend, what is there
in your present afflictions or future prospects to cloud
the sunshine of Christian cheerfulness ?

The cultivation of active benevolence is of great as-
sistance in promoting this virtue. Selfishness is always
a cause of misery, and the more disinterested we can
become, the more our happiness is increased. The
mind that continually dwells upon its own thoughts and
feelings will inevitably become gloomy ; but, when it
looks away from itself, finds a healthful glow of satisfac-
tion. How many, almost heart-broken, have engaged in
works of philanthropy, and found, in their prosecution,
that cheerfulness which they feared had for ever fled
from them ! The consciousness of being the instru-
ment of good, of adding to the sum of human happi-
ness, if only by a kind word, will drive away sad
thoughts. When you compare what you deem trials
with those of the poor and ignorant, you will learn to
blush for your ingratitude. Education has opened to
you a thousand sources of pleasure, and competence
and station have given you the means of enjoying them.
See what bitterness is mingled in every cup, and until
you can find one with whom, in every respect, you
would wish to exchange, deem not yourself unhappy.
Let your life be a succession of efforts for the happi-
ness of others, and you will never complain of being
miserable.

But a habit of looking forward to our brighter inherit-
ance is the greatest solace amidst the cares of our pres-

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 307

ent condition. Who heeds the inconveniences of a
wintry journey, when at its close he finds himself in the
bosom of his dearest friends ? How very slight should
every evil appear, while the hope of that blest state re-
mains to cheer us! "It will not matter a hundred
years hence," is a common saying, but it is not the lan-
guage of Christian resignation, or founded in truth.
Every trial, if improved, will help us on our way to that
rest, where we hope, when ages have elapsed, we may
dwell. The sainted spirits that stand around the throne,
who "have through great affliction trod," will not con-
sider as of little importance any chastening, which, by
purifying their hearts, may have aided in preparing them
to sing the song now swelling forth, of " Worthy is the
Lamb."

Christian cheerfulness is a valuable auxiliary to Chris-
tian morals. They who witnessed that of the ancient
martyrs were induced to seek the cause which could
produce such effects, and in our day many may be thus
led to the fountain from which such happiness appears
to be derived. Those young persons who profess our
holy religion, should engage in its duties, not as if they
were tasks, but pleasures and privileges, and manifest
to the world that it is their chief enjoyment, as well as
their chief obligation, to worship God. The spirit of
love should beam forth from their countenances, and dis-
play itself in their actions, in a kind word to the old,
or a smile of encouragement to the child. Contradict,
then, by your daily walk and conversation, the erroneous
idea, that piety is too gloomy for the bright period of
youth.

It is the peculiar duty of woman to maintain a cheerful
heart. Protected from the trials and cares to which the

308

other sex are exposed, to her they turn for comfort and
consolation. And nobly does she afford it in the time
of darkness and affliction ; but too often in apparent
prosperity, instead of cheering those who are annoyed
with a thousand nameless vexations, she adds to their
perplexities and cares. How lovely does she appear
to whom all in the domestic circle turn for sympathy in
their joy, and who, with winning kindness, beguiles them
from their sorrow ! The little one, tottering on the floor,
clears his discontented face and breaks into a merry
laugh, as he catches the reflection of her sweet smile.
The poor, too, pray that God may bless her, whose
presence is ever to them such a rich blessing. Cherish,
then, in the spring-time of life, that cheerfulness which
is the bloom and effluence" of Christianity, and its
fragrance shall be shed around your declining years, and
linger, when the spirit is fled, in a sweet smile, over the
face that even in death it can make lovely.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHRISTIAN DUTY.

FORGIVENESS AND FORBEARANCE; SELF-DENIAL, SELF-GOVERN-
MENTj PRAYER.

"Wisdom is humble, said the voice of God.
'T is proud, the world replied. Wisdom, said God,
Forgives, forbears, and suffers, not for fear
Of man, but God.
Wisdom mistrusts itself, and leans on Heaven."

ALTHOUGH happily sheltered from the rough encoun-
ter of the world, yet you may not altogether escape un-
kindness and injustice. Your motives may be misun-
derstood or misinterpreted ; envy may watch you with
spiteful eye ; jealousy be inquisitive and quick-sighted
to your faults; and malice vent itself in contemptuous
sneers and calumnious words. And what are you to
oppose to these hateful passions? Forbearance and
forgiveness.

It was the saying of a wise heathen, "Reform an
injurious person if you can ; if not, remember your pa-
tience was given you to bear with him ; that the gods
patiently bear with such men, and sometimes bestow
upon them health, and fame, and fortune." Christian
morality goes farther, commanding not only forgiveness,
but the exercise of kindness, towards those who have
injured us ; to do good to those who hate us, thus call-
ing into exercise the noblest effort of which human na-

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310

ture is capable, the fulfilling of the law of holiness,
" Love your enemies."

If your enemies misunderstand your motives, it mat-
ters little if they are such as you can lay open to the
eyes of Him who sits as a "refiner and purifier." If
you are led, by their severity, to a clearer discernment
of your own motives, to a closer scrutiny into your
own conduct, they in effect serve you better than your
flatterers, even better than your friends. "You will
form your own character, nor can your enemies pre-
vent it. Their calumny will injure you less than you
imagine."

Injuries, real or supposed, are not to be met with a
haughty and contemptuous spirit. Loathing and dis-
daining meanness and sinfulness, avoid transferring your
hatred to the beings who are guilty of them. Hatred,
malice, and all evil passions, burn themselves with the
firebrands they throw, poison themselves with their own
deadly mixtures. They whose bosoms are haunted by
these demons should not meet with condemnation alone ;
they should call forth the deepest commiseration. When
you can "pray for those who despitefully use and per-
secute you," not generally, but individually, it is the
surest proof that they are entirely forgiven. The Chris-
tian's heart should bound to offer forgiveness, even to
those offending ones who will not ask it. Blessed in-
deed is that spirit, which, in humble imitation of the
divine Redeemer, can say, "Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do."

But not alone towards enemies is the spirit of Chris-
tian forbearance to be exercised. Such, alas! is fallen
human nature, that the best and loveliest of earthly
friends have their darker shades of character. We

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 311

should be foolishly employed in endeavouring, day after
day, to count the spots upon the glorious sun ; to dweL
upon the faults of those whom we love would be equal
folly. Habitually to interpret their motives kindly, to
make charitable allowances for their weakness, to use
every favorable opportunity to draw forth their excel-
lence, to endeavor to correct their faults by example
and by advice, unostentatiously offered ; this is the task
of Christian forbearance.

Excessive sensitiveness to unkindness or to dislike
should not be suffered to mar your happiness. This
may arise from morbid sensibility, or from pride. In
either case, you will be disturbed by

"A something light as air, a look,
A word unkind or wrongly taken,"

from the friends whom you fondly love, and weeks of
dejection be the consequence. No better remedy can
be prescribed, than a cordial, wholesome kindliness of
manner on your own part, which will most probably call
forth the same manner from your friends. Practise that
true Christian courtesy, recommended by the Apostle
Paul, and so beautifully exemplified by our blessed
Saviour in all his social intercourse. This courtesy
exhibits itself from day to day, in those "thousand
decencies" that give to life its sweetness. If, notwith-
standing your own kindliness, you have true friends who
are deficient in courtesy, their want of suavity should
not alienate you ; with this unfortunate deficiency, their
hearts may be kind and benevolent. Habituate yourself
to their unpleasing manners, and steel yourself against
them ; a rough rind often incloses fruit that is sweet and
nutritious.

The sensitiveness that leads you to entertain sus-

312

picions of your friends may arise from pride ; their neg-
lect or apparent unkindness may have been accidental,
and you must exercise severe censorship over yourself
to overcome this tormentor. There is need of forbear-
ance towards persons who differ from you in opinion.
A dogmatical, bigoted spirit will never win any one to
the truth. Error may be maintained with the utmost
pertinacity, even when it is seen to be error, if those
who oppose it do it in an ungracious, obnoxious manner.
When endeavouring to manifest your firm adherence to
right principles, Christian forbearance demands that you
should not " be puffed up," nor " behave yourself un-
seemly." To the obstinacy of error you must oppose
a spirit "kind, gentle, easy to be entreated," without
sacrificing an iota of truth.

The question is often asked by the young, " How can
I practise the duty of self-denial ?" An enlightened con-
science will alone lead to the answer. The endless dif-
ferences in the condition and circumstances of individuals
render it impossible to offer rules that will be universally
applicable. A sordid, selfish Christian ! This is an
utter impossibility. The very foundation of the Chris-
tian character is that love which is self-denying, self-
sacrificing. A mother's love, a mother's self-denial,
are often spoken of as strong and wonderful ; but this
is a law of her nature ; she cannot break it without be-
coming, in the eyes of all beings, a monster. A selfish
mother! Who does not burn with indignation at the
very idea ? The law of the Christian's nature is love,
and how can it exist where selfishness reigns ?

Can He, whose whole mortal pilgrimage was a series
of self-denying labors, ending with the sacrifice of his
life upon the ignominious cross, can He recognize his

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 313

own image in a sordid, selfish, grasping being, whose
thoughts are bent upon the display of beauty or wealth,
and self-glorification ?

Not a single revolution of the earth takes place, with-
out affording you many opportunities for self-denial.
Vanity makes large demands upon your time and money ;
examine how many things, that minister solely to her
gratification, you can strike off and make over to another
account.

It is very trying to you to be thought less intelligent,
less generous, less worthy, than you really are ; still
more so, to be accused of what you are not guilty ; you
may practise self-denial, by patiently leaving these erro-
neous opinions to be rectified just when Divine Provi-
dence shall afford you the opportunity ; by being con-
tented, without administering rebuke in any other way
than by becoming more worthy and more humble. The
Lord of glory, adored by cherubim and seraphim, made
himself, for your sake, a man of no reputation ; it is a
small matter to deny yourself the praise of men, if
thereby you become more assimilated to him in meek-
ness and lowliness of heart. It is possible that pride is
the very plague-spot in your heart, which the chastening
mercy of your Heavenly Father is thus eradicating, that
the beauty of holiness may be perfected. Love, peace,
joy, cannot maintain their kindly companionship, where
selfishness wields her tyrannic sceptre.

The gratification of your own taste, the exhibition of
your accomplishments, and even your highest intellectual
pursuits, you may be called upon to sacrifice for the
good of others. If there is unity of principle in your
mind, these opportunities, whenever they occur, will call
Into exercise Christian self-denial. It is not alone the
27

314

great occasions of life, where heroic magnanimity that
will dazzle every beholder can be shown, that will test
the strength of your principles. " It is easier to die
like a martyr than to live like a Christian." It is
easier to bestow a large amount of time and money
upon a popular charity, cheered by the world's applause,
than to practise some silent, simple act of self-denial
from day to day, for the good of a friend, for which,
perchance, you receive nothing but blame from that
very friend. The mountain cataract dashes down the
precipice with deafening roar, and sends up its iris-
bedecked spray, exciting wonder and admiration, while
the nameless little river pursues its noiseless way, im-
parting freshness and beauty to overhanging trees
and water-loving plants, till it loses itself in the larger
stream which bears its tributary waters onward to the
ocean.

The task of self-government has been already com-
menced if you have entered upon the Christian warfare,
and you find it no easy task. The passions have the
mastery in minds not controlled by philosophy or by the
religion of Jesus Christ. Precepts and prohibitions are
of little avail, unless the whole soul is brought under the
dominion of holiness as a governing principle. No tem-
per is so perfectly sweet, as not to require watchfulness ;
there is not a sinful being in the universe, who does not
need to set a guard over all the avenues to temptation.
The Apostle does not say, " Be not angry;" for
there are occasions when it would be as impossible to
prevent the momentary emotion of anger, as it would be
to stay the mantling blood, whose " ready play" crim-
sons the cheek of wounded modesty. He says, " Be
angry and sin not ; let not the sun go down upon your

CHRISTIAN DUTY. 31b

wrath." Anger may glance into the breast of a wise
man, but it, "rests in the bosom of fools."

Self-government is, of course, a much more difficult
task for the irritable, the passionate, the sanguine, than
for the naturally amiable. The disposition which a hap-
py few possess resembles the climate of some sweet
island of the Pacific Ocean, where no violent storms
ever agitate the mild and uniform temperature ; while
others are like our West Indies, where the hurricane and
tornado are frequent visitants. If you possess an equa-
ble flow of animal spirits, it is impossible for you to
conceive of the difficulty of restraining arid controlling
an impetuous, impulsive temperament. The Apostles St.
John and St. Paul exemplified this natural difference in
temperament. The beloved disciple must have possessed
an angelic sweetness of disposition, a kindliness, and a
beautiful equanimity, which rendered him the soothing,
gentle friend, upon whose bosom the Saviour could lean
at the social board ; he maintained in old age the same
characteristics, and when he could no longer write or
preach the blessed gospel, his benign countenance ex-
pressed the fulness of his heart as he went about, say-
ing, "Little children, love one another." St. Paul,
fiery, impatient, and sanguine, "When he would do
good, evil was present with him ;" yet what fervent
zeal, what self-sacrificing devotedness, what watchful-
ness, what fearless and persevering ardor, resulted from
such a temperament, brought, by divine grace, into sub-
jection to the law of holiness! Like an avalanche ar-
rested in its course of devastation, and made a monu-
ment of glory and beauty upon some lofty eminence,
stands the Apostle Paul. With such an example in
view, let none despair. If the crown of glory is won

316 THE YOUNG LADY's HOME.

through intensity of strife, will it be less brilliant ?
When it shall be cast down at the foot of His throne
whose grace was sufficient aid for the final victory, will
the song of " Worthy is the Lamb " flow with faint and
feeble love from such a redeemed spirit? No; these
are the sealed servants of the Lord, " who have come
out of great tribulation," and triumphantly joyous will
be their song, when "God shall wipe away all tears
from their eyes."

All other Christian duties will be performed with little
pleasure, and with faint, remitted effort, without habitual
performance of the first of Christian duties, prayer.
Unless this be to you the very gate of heaven, where you
delight to linger, you will not have that fulness of evi-
dence of things not seen, which is the life of religion.
Where else can you catch a glimpse of the glory of
heaven, but in the sanctuary and in the closet, where
this world, with its dangerous allurements, is shut out,
and the soul holds communion with its Maker and Re-
deemer ? A devotional spirit is the best guard against
temptation, and the surest pledge of fidelity to your Lord
and Master. The true ends and design of prayer are
" to impress deeply upon the mind a sense of the pres-
ence of God, our dependence on, and accountableness to,
him ; suitably to dispose and prepare the mind for the
reception of divine favors ; to draw down upon us, as
the means divinely constituted, the blessings which we
may from time to time need ; and to accustom ourselves
beforehand to the exercises of heaven."

To the altar of grace you may go, and lay open freely
all your hopes, joys, desires, fears, disappointments.
plans of usefulness, temptations, and sorrows." His ear
is open when the morning dawns, when the sun sheds

CHRISTIAN DUTV. 317

his noontide beams, and when night comes on, with her
starry train. The peerless prophet Daniel knew this,
when he knelt three times a day to worship the God of
his fathers in a strange land, in defiance of the idolatrous
king who had threatened death as the consequence.
You, who have no monarch's frown to dread, is there
still no tyranny of fear that keeps you at a distance
from the mercy-seat ? Are you bowing to another idol
that your own heart has set up ? May conscience lead
you back to the altar of the Lord your God, and his
Holy Spirit henceforth be your guide and inspirer to
that " effectual fervent prayer which availeth much !"

27*

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHRISTIAN USEFULNESS.

" The dews came down unseen at even-tide,
And silently their bounties shed, to teach
Mankind unostentatious charity.
With arm in arm, the forest rose on high,
And lesson gave of brotherly regard."

A MORE favorable opportunity than the one you now
enjoy for usefulness, in the wide circle of benevolence,
may not present itself during your whole life. Not yet
encompassed by those many cares that may shut you out
in a measure from this wide circle, you may now learn
the luxury of doing good.

It is possible that you have fancied this period of your
life would be one of dreamy leisure. The stirring spirit
of the age allows not the Christian to be a secluded con-
templatist. Much as there is holy and heavenly in calm
retirement and lonely meditation, they cannot be indulged
in freely, and for a length of time, without encroaching
upon other imperious duties. There is little danger,
however, that the young Christian, at this eventful era,
should spend too much time in this manner ; yet there
may possibly be here and there an individual, feeling so
strongly the necessity for habitual introspection, and the
difficulty of keeping a peaceful, quiet frame of mind
while mingling much with human beings, as to be solici-
tous to preserve tranquillity by retirement. But your

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CHRISTIAN USEFULNESS. 319

divine Exemplar, although occasionally retiring to a
mountain for prayer, and to a garden for meditation and
communion with his Heavenly Father, spent his life in
active benevolence. One of the old divines says,
" Doing no harm is the praise that might be bestowed
upon a stone." The Christian virtues are not all pas-
sive, the Christian life must be active, energetic, en-
terprising.

" The God of glory walks his rounds,

From day to day, from year to year,
And warns us each, with awful sound,
No longer stand ye idle here."

If you have expected romantic excitement and. inter-
est in the circle of benevolence, you have not entered
upon it with right feelings. The stimulus will soon be
exhausted. Instead of the woodbine- wreathed cottage,
with its neat and rosy tenants, grateful and good, the
poor to whom charity may lead you will have none of
these graceful accompaniments. You may find in the
abodes of poverty much to disgust a refined taste ; in
the gross manners and vulgar ignorance of their inmates,
some things to alarm your scrupulous delicacy. You
may find them ungrateful, and not seldom in our country,
with that spirit of independence which sorely feels the
necessity of receiving alms.

You have discharged but a small part of the duty of
benevolence to the poor by bestowing money. To the
sick, you may afford the ministry of consolation ; you
may make with your own hands, those little delicacies
that their situation requires, and, while you do good to
the perishing body, your gentle kindness may open their
hearts to receive the more able ministrations of the ap-
pointed messengers of mercy. You may stand by the

320

bed of death, and calm the spirit that is passing away
with the blessed promises of the Saviour. Let your
Bible be a constant companion in these visits. Select,
beforehand, such passages as will be applicable to the
condition of the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, and
read to them with that solemnity and earnestness that
firm faith inspires. To those in health, you may render
assistance in various ways. The poor woman who goes
out to daily labor may not have time for the making of
her children's clothes, when she can earn them ; or may
not have ingenuity enough to cut them. You can often
render relief in this way, where it would be deemed al-
most an insult to offer pecuniary aid. It is always well
to encourage this spirit of honorable independence and
self-respect in the poor. There is a numerous class to
whom you may be useful, by seeking out employment
for them. Alas! how many are driven to despair be-
cause they cannot find occupation, how many fall into
vice and ruin ! Benevolent societies, which on the
whole do so much good, might sometimes do more, by
furnishing work for the poor than by doing it for them.

There is much to be learned, with regard to the man-
ner in which you should approach those whose station
in life is different from your own. Delicacy, as well as
Christian meekness, suggests that a proper regard should
be paid even to your dress and demeanour, when you go
to the abodes of indigence and misery. The contrast
is already too striking between your condition and those
to whom you offer sympathy and assistance ; health,
competence, and cheerfulness, sickness, want, and sor-
row ; remember the weakness of human nature, and you
will not make the contrast still more repulsive by a gay,
luxurious exterior, when you go upon errands of mercy.

CHRISTIAN USEFULNESS. 321

It may seem absurd to some young ladies even to pro-
pose that their dress, on such occasions, should be pecu-
liarly neat, but very plain and simple ; but it is hoped
there are others who will deem it not beneath their
notice.

In your manners, avoid, by all means, a display of
condescension. Remembering that all mankind are your
brethren, and that God, in his providence, has given you
those things wherein you differ, go to the home of the
destitute with a heart filled with fervent gratilude, deep
humility, and Christian love. Your sympathy will then
go from the heart and reach the heart ; your gifts will be
received without pain, because the giver will be loved
and respected. If your manners, on the contrary, are
haughty, cold, and repulsive, necessity may compel the
acceptance of proffered charity, but the whole heart of
the recipient of your bounty will revolt, no gratitude
will be felt toward yourself. Your manners must be
gentle and kind, simple and sincere, and thus possess
the dignity that will insure respect.

To the glorious efforts of the present day for the dif-
fusion of Christianity, you may lend your aid. What
cheering, what astonishing intelligence is wafted by every
breeze from each quarter of the globe! China, long
impregnable China, is opening her imperial gates to
Christian men: Persia, Hindostan, Greece, Africa,
the whole world is missionary ground. You may say,
despondingly, "And what can I do?" Gain in-
formation from every accessible source, and, while you
take a general interest in the missionary cause, adopt
some particular object as your own, in which you will
take a special interest ; for this, spare all that you can
do all that you can. By this concentratior. of effort

3*22

you will accomplish more, than if your benevolence
were entirely diffusive. Classic Greece will have pecu-
liar attractions for some, " the Celestial Empire " for
others, and even degraded, miserable Africa will not
be forgotten. Console yourself with the words of the
philanthropist Howard, "In God's hands no instru-
ment is weak." Leave yourself in his hands, that he
may work with you for his glory, and the extension of
his kingdom. If there be but a " willing mind," he may
so employ you that at last you may receive the joyful
sentence, "Well done, good and faithful servant!"

The Sunday school affords a pleasant field of useful-
ness. To meet, from Sabbath to Sabbath, a class
whose young affections you have gained, and into whose
minds you have poured the best of all knowledge, and
to see their faces brighten with pleasure at your ap-
proach, is indeed' a sweet satisfaction. But it is also
a solemn responsibility. These are immortals, upon
whose plastic minds you are leaving an impress for
good or for evil. You will need heavenly wisdom and
prudence to guide you in this labor of love. It is your
duty to look after the welfare of those who are thus
committed to your trust on other days besides the
holy day of teaching. Visit them occasionally at their
homes ; endeavor to gain the good-will of their pa-
rents, and to call in their aid to deepen and fasten any
good impressions that you may be enabled to make
upon their children. If you do not immediately see
the fruits of your labor, patiently wait for the grace of
God to ripen the seeds you have sown ; and labor on,
in full faith that he will, in his own good time, bring
forth an abundant harvest.

All who are faint-hearted, when they consider the

CHRISTIAN USEFULNESS. 323

trifling apparent results of their labors in the field of
Christian usefulness, may be encouraged by the follow-
ing remarks from one of the most powerful writers* of
this or any other age.

"The state of the matter is very simple. The Su-
perior Cause of man's being made wise to salvation, in
appointing a system of means to be put, by human ac-
tivity, in operation towards this effect, has connected
certainly and inseparably with that system some por-
tion of the accomplishment of this sovereign good, which
would not take place in the absence of such application
of means ; only he has placed this certainty in the sys-
tem of operation, as taken generally and comprehen-
sively ; leaving, as to human foresight, an ?4?icertainty
with respect to the particular instances in which the de-
sired success shall be attained. His subordinate agents
are to proceed on this positive assurance, that the suc-
cess shall be somewhere, though they cannot know 7 that
it will be in one case or in the other. < In the mornino-

sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy
hand ; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper this
or that.' There unquestionably gleams forth, through
the plainer lines and through the mystical imagery of
prophecy, the vision of a better age, in which the ap-
plication of the truths of religion to men's minds will be
irresistible. And what should more naturally be inter-
preted as one of the dawning signs of its approach, than
a sudden wide movement at once to clear their intel-
lects, and bring the heavenly light to shine close upon
them? Let them regard as one great undivided econ-
omy and train of operation these initiatory efforts, and

* Foster.

324

all that is to follow, till that time when < all shall know
the Lord ;' and take, by anticipation, as in fraternity
with the happier future laborers, their just share of that
ultimate triumph. Those active spirits, in the happier
stages, will look back with this sentiment of kindred
and complacency to those who sustained the earlier
toils of the good cause, and did not suffer their zeal to
languish under the comparative smallness of their suc-
cess."

These brief hints on Christian usefulness are design-
ed merely to lead your minds to full and conscientious
inquiry ; the happiness of an immortal spirit cannot be
foun.l in selfish gratification.

CHAPTER XXXII.
CONCLUSION.

LETTEB FROM MRS. CLARA G TO ISABELLA .

You going on a mission ? You, my dear Isabella, a
1 single woman," going to be a teacher of heathen chil-
dren ? Pardon me, it makes rne smile to think of it.
Glad am I that your warm heart is interested in so ex-
cellent a cause; but yet, " But yet is as a jailer to
bring forth some monstrous malefactor," but yet, allow
me to say, that your education and mode of life have
not fitted you for the arduous undertaking. Brought
up in the lap of luxury, neither your physical nor your
mental constitution, renders you a suitable person to en-
dure the trials of the missionary life. I fear it is not
alone the sun-light of an awakened conscience that has
led you to this decision; your fervid imagination, dear
Isabella, has had much to do in the case; you must
look at it with the clear eye of sober reason. Bright
revealings of a future world have dawned upon you ;
joy and hope have sprung up, and a noble disdain of
earth has for a time taken possession of your ardent
mind. But, dear Isabella, the self-denying, much-
enduring missionary must be clad in the whole Chris-
tian panoply ; must possess stability , and firmness, and
courage, to encounter hardships, danger, and death
itself. If you are prepared for martyrdom, you are
prepared for a missionary. Thanks be to God, few of
28 ( 325 )

326

those who now take " their lives in their hand" and go
to the heathen are called to offer them up on the altar
of missionary zeal; yet, they have need of the very
firmest faith, the most undaunted courage ; for even that
last trial, if need be, may come. If God, in his all-
wise providence, has not fitted you nor me, my dear
friend, for this calling, which seems so glorious and
beautiful, let us be grateful that there are many whom
he has chosen and called, whose self-denying labors
will meet their reward, we trust, on earth ; if not, it is
secure in heaven.

Since the death of your lamented father has left to
you the uncontrolled disposal of a large fortune, you
have the means of extensive usefulness at home. It
will require much wisdom and piety to be a judicious
steward of your Lord's bounty. Faithful, laborious,
and intelligent endeavors will enable you to do as
much good I had almost said as heart could wish ;
but when would the heart, touched with compassion for
the woes of the human race, be satisfied ?

I would not have you, dear Isabella, a visionary reli-
gionist, carried away with the romance of religion, and
knowing little of its reality; there is a "fatal facility
wherewith imaginative spirits pass over from the solid
ground of piety and virtue, to the illusory region of en-
thusiastic excitement."

I know your generous nature, and believe I have not
relied upon it too far in thus giving free scope to can-
dor. My love for you, and undoubting faith in the sin-
cerity of your motives, have prompted me to exercise
freely the privilege of early and long-tried friendship.

Come, my own Isabella, and make us a visit ; we
will then discuss these matters at leisure. Mr. G

CONCLUSION. 327

joins with me in urging that you do us the pleasure
without delay.

Yours, I trust, in the best of all bonds, Christian
love.

CLARA G .

ISABELLA TO AUNT SUSAN.

You will be surprised and pleased, my dear good
aunt, at the change a few weeks have effected in my
resolves and purposes. Clara is the same kind, judi-
cious friend as ever. Her arguments, ably supported

by Mr. G , have convinced me I can do good at

home. I am not yet wise and prudent enough for a
missionary.

Another project of mine, of which you have not
heard, they cordially approve. I will tell you the whole
story. A few days before I left home, as I went into

a store in street, I caught a glimpse of a face that

I thought \vas a familiar one, but it was immediately
averted. The lady who thus attracted my attention
was dressed in a rich, but faded, lilac silk, and a soiled
bonnet, whose flowers were in " the sere and yellow
leaf." She had a shabby, foreign air, which led me to
conclude I never could have claimed the acquaintance
of such an impersonation of forlornity. She was mak-
ing some trifling purchase ; the sound of her well-known
voice startled me, it was my quondam friend, Ger-

aldine M , now Mrs. W . Dear aunt, I had

not seen her since the marriage morning, when we part-
ed at the church-door, and you cannot conceive what a
shock it gave me. Not wishing for a scene in the
shop, I waited until she had completed her purchase.

328

and then followed her into the street. She walked
rapidly, so^that I was obliged to call, " Geraldine,
Geraldine." She turned, and such a haggard, woe-
stricken face met my eye, that I started back, about to
beg pardon for my mistake, when she reassured me,
by saying, " Isabella, I thought you would not wish
to recognize me, and hurried away." I held out my
hand, but for a moment could not speak. We walked
on together, until we came to a mean-looking house,
where Geraldine hesitated, blushed, and at length invited
me to walk in, if it would not be " too great a con-
descension." I excused myself, saying, that I w r ould
call the next day, and should have done so before, had
I known that she was in town.

I had heard, some time since, of Mr. M 's fail-
ure, and that, notwithstanding his own misfortunes, he
continued to refuse to see Geraldine. I called the next
day, but she was not at home ; again I called, and re-
ceived the same message from a dirty little servant-girl,
who looked at my card as if such a curiosity had never
come into her hands before. I requested our good

minister to make inquiries about W , and learn, if

possible, how he supported his family. He did so, and
informed me that they had very recently returned from
Italy, where they had resided since their marriage, and
had taken one room in the boarding-house where I at-
tempted to call. The elegant, the splendid Geraldine

M reduced to such extremity ! They are very

poor. W has been a dissipated gambler, but

would now gladly be employed in any honest way for
a support. He has been unkind, too, very unkind, to
Geraldine. God forgive and amend him !

And now, my dear aunt, conscience would not let

CONCLUSION. 329

me rest until I had done something for them. Through
the merciful providence of God, I was spared from the
fate of Geraldine. You remember my girlish fancy for

W . Rejoice with me that he never suspected it !

Besides, you know I was a witness of the marriage, and
in that way an abettor of Geraldine's disobedience to
her parents.

I have consulted Mr. G , and through his agency

have purchased a snug little farm, with a pretty cottage
upon it, which is to be secured to Geraldine. I wished
not to be known in this affair; but Clara, with her
straightforward honesty, insisted that it would give
Geraldine less pain than to be indebted to an unknown

benefactor. Mr. G <- has had the kindness to write

to W and his wife, and (how shall I be sufficiently

grateful?) they have accepted the offer with thankful-
ness. W says, his father was a plain farmer, who

educated him at college for a profession ; but instead of
reaping the advantage of a collegiate education, he set
up for a gentleman. So you see, aunt, this idea of a
farm was a lucky Yankee guess. He says farther, that
both Geraldine and himself will gladly escape from a

place so fraught with painful associations as . They

will be within two miles of our excellent friends, Mr.

G and Clara. With their example and advice,

what may they not become ? And what a beautiful ex-
ample of conjugal happiness do I behold from day to
day ! The most cheerful piety adorns their life, the
most active usefulness exalts it. Happy in each other's
society, to fulfil the apostolic injunction "to be given
to hospitality" must cost them no little self-sacrifice.
Yet they do fulfil it to the utmost. How sweet, how
delightful, is their kind attention to me ! Who can leave
28*

330

this happy home, without having been made wiser and
better? Yet believe me, dear Aunt Susan, my resolu-
tion is firm. I shall emulate your goodness in single
blessedness. I must have your assistance and your
counsel, in dispensing "judiciously," as my much-loved
friend says, "the ample fortune that the Almighty
Disposer has intrusted to my stewardship." Our home,
too, may be a happy one, dearest aunt,

"For in thy heart there is a holy spot,

As 'mid the waste an isle of fount and palm
For ever green ! The world's breath enters not,
The passion-tempests may not break its calm."

And my impulsive, impetuous spirit shall be calmed ;
for, with God's blessing, I will learn self-government.
"I am weak, but he is mighty," and, with his holy
guidance, I hope to pass safely through the world, to mv
heavenly home.

With all my faults, love me ? dear aunt, pray for ini>
and expect soon to see your

ISABELLA.

THE END.

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON'S PUBLICATIONS
A CHOICE SELECTION OF PROSE QUOTATIONS.

TREASURED THOUGHTS

FROM

FAVOURITE AUTHORS,

COLLECTED AND ARRANGED

CAROLINE MAY,

MDITOR OF "THE AMERICAN FEMALE POETS,

"The 'treasured thoughts' that come from thence,

Are not for vain display ;
But sterling coins for free expense,

The use of every day :
A currency for inner life

To keep its revenue,
Of joy and sorrow, love and strife.

In balance straight and true."

A neat 12mo. volume.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

This 's a collection of miscellaneous extracts, which betoken a cultivated taste and extenaiv*
reading. They embrace choice paragraphs from the writings of

Bishop Hall, Dr. Johnson, D'Israeli,

Lord Bacon, Southey, Carlyle,

Bishop Taylor, Coleridge, Schiller,

Goethe, Irving, Chalmers,

Jeremy Taylor, Macauley, Charnock,

Adam Smith, Bethune, Lowell,

Hannah More, Caroline Fry, Mrs. Sigourney,

Mrs. Jameson, Miss Edgevvorth, Miss Jewsbury.

The extracts are alphabetically arranged, and will be found invaluable as a book of reference.
The volume is neatly bound, and its typographical execution does great credit to the publishers.
The Sun.

cultivated by the habit of refreshing her spirit from the richest and purest fountains. The namei
of Taylor, dear old Jeremy Taylor! Fuller, Izaak Walton, Coleridge, Goethe, Korner, Lowell, Car-
lyle, Thomas a Kempis, and a host of other glorious spirits, men and women, shed some of their

The editor of these choice extracts gives the public a proof of her excellent taste, evidently

The namei
Lowell, Car-

. , .. _ r ome of their

selectest beams of light upon these pages. We cannot too often or too lovingly commune with tha
<reat and good the ever-living benefactors of their race, whose noble words of rebuke or of lofty
cheer renew in us continually ou^highest ideal of virtue. Saturday Post.

The compiler has shown in her selections, superior skill, and a sense of what is really valuable.
Pie extracts are lively and diversified. The whole forming an agreeable and profitable book.
.Vu> York Christian Observer.

They are literally thoughts, and memorable ones, too. The reader has but to turn to the paire
indicated, and find what Barrow, Jeremy Taylor, Hooker, old Fuller, Coleridge, Carlyle, and other
thinkers, believed and felt on things of universal and absolute interest. The lanre class of readers
who like Tupper's "Proverbial Philosophy," and books of the kind, will find this book of "Trea-
ured Thoughts" a delightful and instructive companion. Home Journal.

A genuine treasury of what deserve to be " treasured thoughts," is eiven IP 'his beautiful volume.
The selections are from the rich stores of the best writers of pure English, from the earliest period,
up to and including those of the present day. Each passage contains some valuable thought or bit
of Christian philosophy, or s;>me pointed anecdote with a tine moral Miss May gives evidence of
very extensive reading:, and of reading, too, with profit. Her selections all indicate a high moral
sense, as well as n delicate and refined taste. Her book will be found to perform the office of
library, without the labour of searching for good things through whole ranges of shelves.

Reared in the seclusion of a refined domestic life, pervaded by an atmosphere of religion and
flne literary taste, we know what of necessity must be the character of Miss May's " Treasured
Thoughts," and that they were really so to their gentle guardian. So it has proved to be. No
olume of " Elegant Extracts." edited on the spur of the moment, and " for a consideration" but
eollection of years, selected with judgment, and sincere admiration for the noble ttuths or delinat*
Mntiments which the vass;ves contain Saturday Gaxeilr

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON

PUBLISH THE

AMERICAN FEMALE POETS

BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES,

BY
CAROLINE MAY.

AN ELEGANT VOLUME, WITH A HANDSOME VIGNETTE TITLE,

AND

PORTRAIT OF MRS, OSGOOD,

The Literary contents of this work contain copious selections from

the writings of

Anne Bradstreet, Jane Turell, Anne Eliza Bleecker, Margaret!
V, Faugercs, Phillis Wheatley, Mercy \Varren, Sarah Porter,
Sarah Wentworth Morton, Mrs. Little, Maria A. Brooks,
Lydia Huntley Sigourney, Anna Maria "Wells, Caroline Gil-
man, Sarah Josepha Hale, Maria Jimes, Jessie G. M'Cartee,
Mrs. Gray, Eliza Follen, Louisa Jane Hall, Mrs. Swift,
Mrs. E. C. Kinney, Marguerite St. Leon Loud, Luella J.
Case, Elizabeth Bogart, A. D. Woodbridge, Elizabeth
Margaret Chandler, Emma C. Embury, Sarah Helena
Whitman, Cynthia Taggart, Elizabeth J. Eames,

&c. fcc, &c*

The whole forming a beautiful specimen of the highly cultivated state ol

the arts in the United States, as regards the paper, topography,

and binding in rich and various styles.

EXTRACTS FROM THE PREFACE.

One of the most striking characteristics of the present age
* the number of female writers, especially in the department
-f belles-lettres. This is even more true of the United
States, than of the old world ; and poetry, which is the lan-
guage of the affections, has been freely employed among us
to express the emotions of woman's heart.

As the rare exotic, costly because of the distance from
which it is brought, will often suffer in comparison of beauty
and fragrance with the abundant wild flowers of our mea-
dows and woodland slopes, so the reader of our present
volume, if ruled by an honest taste, will discover in the effu-
sions of our gifted countrywomen as much grace of form,
and powerful sweetness of thought and feeling, as in the
blossoms of woman's genius culled from other lands.

LINDSAY & BLAK1STON

PUBLISH THE

BRITISH FEMALE POETS:

WITH

BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL NOTICES,

GEO. W. BETHUNE.

&N ELEGANT VOLUME, WITH A HANDSOME VIGNETTE TITLE,

AND

PORTRAIT OF THE HON. MRS, NORTON,

The Literary contents of this work contain copious selections from

the writings of

/time Boleyn, Countess of Arundel, Queen Elizabeth, Duchess at

Newcastle, Elizabeth Carter? Mrs. Tighc, Miss Hannah More,

Mrs. Hcinans. Lady Flora Hastings, Mrs* Amelia Opic, Miss

Eliza. Cook, Mrs* Southey, Miss Lowe, Mrs.lVorton* Elizabeth

B. Barrett, Catharine Parr, Mary Queen of Scots, Countess

of Pembroke, Lady Mary \Vortley Montague, Mrs. Grc

ville, Mrs. Barbauld, Joanna Baillie, Letitia Elizabeth

London, Charlotte Elizabeth, Mary Russell Mitford,

Mrs. Coleridge, Mary Ho\vitt, Frances Kenible Butler,

&.C. &C. fcc.

The whole forming a beautiful specimen of the highly cultivated state of

the arts in the United States, as regards the paper, typography,

and binding in rich and various styles.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

In the Department of English poetry, we have long looked for a spirit cast in nature's finest, yel
most, elevated mould, possessed of the most delicate and exquisite taste, the keenest perception
cf the innate true and beautiful in poetry, as opposed to their opposites, who could give to us a
pure collection of the British Female Poets ; many of them among the choicest spirits that evei
graced and adorned humanity. The object of our search, in this distinct and important mission,
is before us ; and we acknowledge at once in Dr. Bethune. the gifted poet, the eloquent divine,
and the humble Christian, one who combines, in an eminent degree, all the characteristics above
alluded to. It raises the mind loftier, and makes it purified with the soul, to float in an atmosphere
of spiritual purity, to peruse the elegant volume before us, chaste, rich, and beautiful, without anil
within. The Spectator

We do not remember to have seen any previous attempt to form a poetical bouquet exclusively
from gardens planted by female hands, and made fragrant and beautiful by woman's gentle culture.
We know few men equally qualified with the gifted Editor of this volume for the tasteful and
ludidous selection and adjustment of the various flowers that are to delight with their sweetness,
soothe with their softness, and impart profit with their sentiment. The volume is enriched witii
Biograpnical Skelcnes of some sixty poetesses, each sketch being followed with specimens charac-
ts;:stic of her style and powers of verse. In beauty of typography, and general getting up, th*
tt'lume is quite equal to the best issues of its tasteful and enterprising publishers. Episcopal Recorder.

It is handsomely embellished, and may be described as a casket of gems. Dr. Bethune, who
Himself a poet of no mean genius, has in this volume exhibited the most refined taste. The work
may be regarded as a treasury of nearly all the best pieces of British Female Poets. Inquirer.

This volume, which is far more suited for a holyday gift than many which are prepared expressly
for the purpose, contains extracts from all the most distinguished English Female Poets, selectod
wiln the laste and judgment which we have a right to expect from the eminent divine and highly
gifted poet whose name auorns the title page. It is a rare collection of the richest gerns. Haiti-
ttore American.

Dr. Bethune has selected his materials with exquisite taste, culling the fairest and sweetort
Bowers from the extensive field cultivated by the British Female Poets. The brief Biographical
Notices add much interest to the volume, and vastly increase its value. It is pleasant to hud Hard-
working and close-thinking divines thus recreating themselves, and contributing by their racr**-
tious to the refinement of the age. Dr. Bethune has brought to his task poetic enthusiasm, and
?culy perceution of the pure and beautiful N. Y. Commercial.

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON PUBLISH

WATSON'S .--*-,
DIOTIONARY OF POETICAL QUOTATIONS

CONSISTING OP

ELEGANT EXTRACTS ON EVERY SUBJECT,

COMPILED FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS, AND ARRANGED U N D I 8
APPROPRIATE HEADS,

BY JOHN T. WATSON, M. D.,

WITH

NINE SPLENDID ILLUSTRATIONS ON STEEL,

INCLUDING

The Noontide Dream,

Contemplation,

Modesty,

The Thunder-Storm.

The Village Tomb-Cutter,

The Parting Wreath,

Bereavement,

The Bashful Lover,

Love and Innocence.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

We may safely recommend this book as a collection of some of the most beautiful conception!
elegantly expressed, to be found in the range of English and American poetry. Saturday Conner

We regard this as the best book of a similar character yet published. Germantown Telegraph

In this Dictionary of Quotations every subject is touched upon ; and, while the selection has been
carefully made, it has the merit of containing the best thoughts of the Poets of our own day, wluch
no other collection has. U. S. Gazette,

The selections in this book are made with taste from all poets of note, and are classed under
l,Teat variety of subjects. Presbyterian.

The Quotations appear to have been selected with great judgment and taste, by one well acquainted
with whatever is most elegant and beautiful in the whole range of literature. Christian Observer.

A volume exhibiting industry and taste on the part of the compiler, which will often facilitate r
searches in the mines of gold whence it was dug.Maysville Eagle.

In his arrangement, the compiler hns assisted the immortal Shakspeare his deserved pre-eminence,
and illumined his pages with the choicest beauties of the British Poets. Herald.

We do not hesitate to commend it to our poetry-loving readers, as a book worth buying, and wort*
wading. Clinton Republican.

The extracts display great care and taste on the part of the editor, are arranged in chronologi-ai
wder, and embrace passages from all the poets, from the earliest period of our literature to the jire-
*>ti. time. State Gazette.

This book will be read with interest, as containing the best thoughts of the best poets, and is con-
venient for reference, because furnishing appropriate quotations to illustrate a vast variety of subjects.
Old Colmy Memorial

We iew it as a casket filled with the most precious gems of learning and fancy, and so nrranjre^
to /vcinate, at a glam e, the delicate eye of taste. By referring to the index, which is arranged ID
alphabetical order, you can find, in a moment, the best ideas of the most inspired poets of this country
H tvell as L'uDpe, u[on any desired subject. Chroniclt.

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON

HAVE JUST PUBLISHED

THE WOMEN OF THE SCRIPTURES,

EDITED BY THE

REV. H. HASTINGS WELD;

WITH

ORIGINAL LITERARY CONTRIBUTIONS,

DISTINGUISHED AMERICAN WRITERS:

BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED BY

TWELVE SUPEKB ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL,
BY J, SARTAIN, PHILADELPHIA,

FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS, EXPRESSLY FOR THE WORK,

BY T, P, ROSSITER, NEW YORK!

INCLUDING

Miriam,
Eve,
Sarah,
Rachel,

Hannah,

Ruth,

Queen of Sheba,

Sh una mite,

Esther,

The Syrophenicia*

Martha,

The Marys.

Elegantly Bound in White Calf, Turkey Morocco, and Cloth
Extra, with Gilt Edges.

PREFACE.

THE subject of this book entitles it to a high place among illustrated
olumes. The execution, literary and artistic, will, we are confident, be
found worthy of the theme ; since we have received the assistance ot
authors best known in the sacred literature of our country, in presenting,
in their various important attitudes and relations, the WOMEN OF TH*
SCRIPTURES. The contents of the volume were prepared expressly for it,
with the exception of the pages from the pen of Mrs. Balfour; and for the
republication of her articles, no one who reads them will require an apology.
The designs for the engravings are original; and the Publishers trust that
in the present volume they have made their best acknowledgment for uie
favour with which its predecessors have been received. The whole, they
oeiieve, will be found no inapt memento of those to whom St. Peter refer*
the sex for an enyainpie : " ''IP holy women, in the old time."

LINDSAY & BLAKISTON

HAVE RECENTLY PUBLISHED,

SCENES IN THE LIFE OF THE SAVIOUR, t

BY THE

POETS AND PAINTERS:

C OBTAINING

ANY GEMS OF ART A W D G-E2TXU8,

ILLUSTRATIVE OF

THE SAVIOUR'S LIFE AND PASSION,

EDITED BY THE

REV. RUFUS GRISWOLD.

THE ILLUSTRATIONS, WHICH ARE EXQUISITELY ENGRAVED ON STEEL,
BY JOHN SARTAIN, ARE :

Walking on the Sea, by Henry Richter ;
The Ten Lepers, by A. Vandyke ;
The Last Supper, by Benjamin West ;
The Women at the Sepulchre, by Philip Virt.

The Holy Family, painted by N. Poussin ;
The Saviour, by Paul Delaroche ;
Christ by the Well of Sychar, by Emelie Signol ;
The Daughter of Jarius, by Delonne ;

THE LITERARY CONTENTS, COMPRISING SIXTY-FOUR POEMS, ARE BY

Milton, Ilemsviis, Montgomery, Keljle, Mrs. Sigonrney, Miss L.aas

don, Dale, Willis, Bulftnch, Betliune, Longfellow, Whittier,

Croly, Klopstocls, Mrs* Osgood, Pierpoiit, Crosswell, and

other celebrated Poets of this and other Countries*

The volume is richly and beautifully bound in Turkey Morocco, gilt, whita
talf extra, or embossed cloth, gilt edges, sides and back.

We commend this volume to the attention of those who would place a
Souvenir in the hands of their friends, to invite them in the purest strains of
poetry, and by the eloquence of art, to study the Life of the Saviour. Christ. Oba.

The contents are so arranged as to constitute a Poetical and Pictorial Life
of the Saviour, and we can think of no more appropriate gift-book. In typo-
graphy, embellishments, and binding, we have recently seen nothing more
tasteful and rich. North American.

We like this book, as well for its beauty as for its elevated character, ft
is just such an one as is suited, either for a library, or a parlour centre-table j
and no one can arise from its perusal without feeling strongly the sublimity
%nd enduring character of the Christian religion. Harrisburg Telegraph.

This is truly a splendid volume in all its externals, while its contents are
richly worthy of the magnificent style in which they are presented. As illus-
trations of the Life and Passion of the Saviour of mankind, it will form an
appropriate Souvenir for the season in which we commemorate his coming
tpon earth. Neal's Gazette.