PREFACE.
.. 
THE  importance of female culture cannot be too
highly estimated, especially in this country, where
our institutions depend on the virtue of the people.
A self-governed nation must be both intelligent and
religious; for if a principle of moral restraint dwells
not in the breast of a man, he cannot live peacefully
in society, without the terror of some external, constraining force. Society must sink into a state of
anarchy, from which a relentless despotism will be
evolved, unless it feels +th-ihoral force of the sentiment of duty.  And on what dgency are we to depend for the creation and cultivation of this mighty
conservative idea of DUTY, in the teeming millions of
our future population?  Are  our pulpits and our
educational appliances sufficient to accomplish this
great work?  Nay!   That they are indispensable
and potent instrumentalities, that they cannot be
too highly appreciated or earnestly supported, is
freely admitted; but there is A POWER BEHIND THE
SCHEOOL-ROOM  AND THE CHURCH, which is capable of
neutralizing the efforts of both. Maternal influence,
, k I
r 
PREFACE.
acting on te infant mind in its first stage of impress.
ibility, stamps an almost ineffaceable image of good
or evil upon it, long before it can be made to feel the
power of the teacher or the minister. Hence the
necessity of multiplied, earnest endeavors to promote
the growth of the loftiest and holiest traits of mind
and heart, in the young women who are destined to
be the mothers of a succeeding generation, and, consequently, to exert that fearful influence, which,
more than all others, will determine its character.
This book is an humble but earnest effort to stimulate and direct the growth of female mind, and thereby to fit it for the fulfilment of its high earthly mission, and for felicity in the world of spirits. If God
will be pleased to make it a dew-drop of love, beauty,
and fertility in the spirits of some of the daughters
of our land, the highest ambition of the author will
be satisfied.a
D. W.
ELM STREET PA.RSONAGE, 
NEw BEDFORD, Aug. 1851. s 
/ / d;
- j     II
u}. I IfI
|.       t.!;
*
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
'rT  death-   of a royal lady - A spectacle of sadness -The mistake
of her lileLime - A fear expressed — An appeal to the reader's views
of life - Hier mistake - The alchemist - His home described- His
theory and labors - His fate - Contempt for his folly - A similar
folly described - Voices of revelation and experience - Poetical
extract - A vital question proposed - A poet's answer - The answet
of inspiration - Relation of the visible world to the mind - Quota.
tion from Schiller - Bees and flowers - The laboratory of bliss - A
poet on the Alps - Beautiful description of an Alpine storm - Power
of the mind over nature-The mind independent of social evils-The
sick maiden - Her poverty, sufferings and bliss - The masquerade  Miserable minds in places of pleasure- The mind its own heaven or
hell - Unpalatable truth- The despised herb - The lock of hair  Danger of scorning truth - A happy escape........... 13
CHAPTER II.
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEAE
The Alpine fir-tree - Happiness must be brought into the heart - Pic ture of a soul trusting to its own resources- Lessons from the lips of
Jesus - The fountain of living bliss - Goddess of Grecian mythology
- A famine described - A national enigma -Its solution - The
evils of life - How to view them calmly- Picture by a German artist
- Loneliness of woman's lot renders religion necessary -Opinion of
the Duchess of Newcastle- The rich joy of a religious mind- The
subterranean homes of the polar regions - Religion renders woman
.k I
.1 
CONTENTS.
independent of outward circumstances - The ancient Christian, with
his arms of faith and love -Quotation from Vaughn ijThe pianoIts wires - The tuner - The mind out of tune - Religion necessary
to impart high womanly qualities- Schiller's Queen of Spain -False
jewels - Life like a natural flower..................... 33
CHAPTER III.
INFLUENCE.
The vain request - Influence eternal - What influence is - We must
exert influence-The cathedral and its mystic organ-The choice The dread alternative - An old English castle - Queen Judith and
her influence - Incredfulity of the reader removed - Woman's influ ence peculiar-Mothers of Augustine, Washington, Oberlin and Wes ley - Their influence on the characters of their sons - The broken
dyke - The heroic boy - His motive - Responsibility of a young
lady's position- The weed on the farm - Effect of consecrated influ enc - Adhesion  of plate-glass-  Invisibility of influence - The
punctured eye - Unconscious influence of a sister - Distance be tween an act and its final consequences - The lost arrow found - Re membered music - The praying mother - Her death - Apparent
death of her influence - Its harvest -Buchanan - Judson - Scott -
Legh Richmond - Rev. J. Newton - Louisa of Savoy an example
of evil influence - A fancy - Influence not the result of wealth and
station - The Syrian damsel - The evening party - Idle wishes -
Fruit of a careless word - An appeal in favor of religion..... 55
CHAPTER IV..
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
Joan of Arc and Hannah More - Their deeds - Repugnance to former
- Love for the latter - These feelings instinctive and universal_
Queen Elizabeth - Martha Glar - Jael - Volumnia and Virgilia -
Lady Jane Grey - Queen Victoria- A law of the mind - Claims set
up for women - Protest of woman's nature - Sustained by the Gos pel - Christ's truth made a Mary, a Dorcas, a Lydia- Martyrs - Did
not change the sphere of women - The lady's surprise - The pas tor's answer-A great truth-Diversity of sphere not inferiority
of employment-Woman's sphere described-Ship at sea-The
8 
9 
CONTENTS.
etormy petrel-The land bird-Fatal consequences of wandering
from an appointed sphere-John Adams and Gen. Howe-J. Q.
Adams' tribute to his mother-Kant-Pascal-Martyn-Woman's
mission gratifying to ambition- Pleasure of her mission- Washington and his mother at a festal scene -Religion needed to fit a young
lady for her work........................S.....g
CHAPTER V.
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
Character of Lucy -A lovely spirit the central star in female character
-Woman's sceptre and sword - Its strength - Ossian's maid of
Lutha - Loveliness the offspring of high qualities - The maniac ThL little girl - The proffered gift - Victory of love over madness -
The market-woman and her idiot boy -The death chamber- Love
and idiocy - The abbey - Cazotte and his daughter - A thrilling
scene - Love subduing the spirit of assassins- An inference -The
argument applied -Cornelia and the Gracchi -The R,mans and
their marble statues- A great truth- How loveliness wins its tri umphs -William Wirt to his daughter- Annette and Frederick -
The happy discovery - Caius Marius and the Gallic soldier- Mental
impressions - Mind must possess the qualities it imprints on others
- Effects of seeking lovely spirit - The twin children - Sympathy
- Extract from Schiller - Posa's question to Philip - Loveliness
not natural in woman, not attainable by human strength - Job's con fession- Paul's experience- Divine help necessary to genuine love liness,..................... 1a2
CHAPTER VI.
BELF-RELIANCE.
The Swiss huntsman - The discovered treasure - The enchantment of
gold - The fatal rock - The hunter's death - Pity for his fate -A
kindred folly- The future sacrificed to the present - A first duty Fitness for the emergencies of life -The ivy and the oak -A discred ited saying - Madame Letitia - Pictures of Marie Antoinette -
Mournful illustration of the uncertainty of L;ope -The illustration
applied - Independence on the question of marriage secured by self reliance - Marrying for a settlement -Superior position of a sellf
9 
CONTENTS.
dependent woman - Morvale's firmness - Advance into life brings
changes - Creates necessity for self-reliance - A great fact- Fallen
women-Influence of poverty on their fall- Self-reliance might have
saved them - Effect of self-reliance in women on observers- The two
queens- Marie Antoinette's failure in a crisis -Queen Esther's suocess in a great exigency - Causes of Marie's failure - Of Esther's
success -Elements of self-reliance..............  128
CHAPTER VII.
TIIE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.
The emir's daughter - Her love - Her pursuit and its success - Her
folly - Rash self-reliance described - True self-reliance- A decided
mind one of its springs - Example of Pizarro - Consecration to the
idea of duty- Effect on the feelings in view of danger - Illustrated
by Empress Josephine's affection for Napoleon- Extract from Joanna
Baillie - Courage a spring of self-reliance - The mother of Jonathlian
Harrington - Necessity of courage - Use of in woman - Count
Alberti and his noble wife- Ayxa the sultana - Poetic extract -
Learning how to support self- Henry Laurens to his daughters -
Madame de Genlis - Education a means of support - Skill in needle work- Life in a factory considered- Labor not degrading-Madame
Roland- Mary Dwight - Trust in God - Paul at the Roman tri bunal.....................................152
CHAPTER VIII.
OF SELF-CULTURE.
Ethwald's character - Sameness of human hearts - Seed of good and
ill - Culture a condition of growth - Sculptures in museums - Rela tion of skill and beauty- Diversity of female character- Vain women
-- Artful, selfish, malicious women - Slanderers - Model women -
The difference explained- Self-culture urged - Encouraged- Extract
from De Montfort- The embroidery pattern - Correct aim necessary
— Mutual relations of mind and body - Health must be cared for -
'ntellectual culture- Reading for pleasure- Novels-Their relation
to pleasure and to character - Their irreligious tendency - Object of
reading- How to find pleasure in reading - The Bible - How to read
it- Moral culture - A secret - Jeanie Deans - Princess Elizabeth A comparison -Constantine to Victoria- Impulses - Tbe sinking
10 
CONTENTS.
boat -- The runaway horses - Ascendenicy of the will - How maintained- Dress and amusements in their relation to self-culture-The
lady and her lost pearls - A lesson on improving opportunities --
Self-reproach- Divine aids -Present moment precious,..... 177
CHAPTER IX.
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME
Tullia- Her unwomanly and unfilial character- Resemblances to her
character - Beauty of filial love - A scene of suffering - A daugh  ter's sacrifice-Her reward-De Sombreuil's daughter and the glass
of blood-How to manifest filial affection- God's approval of filial
love - Sisterly affection - Its influence on the pleasure of home -
How to be exhibited-Influence on a brother-Jane de Montfort'
love - The horticulturist and his young  trees —Home a social
nursery -Beauty of home - Its adaptations to fit for fut:.e life  Golden seeds- Golden harvests - Sheaves - Pleasant recollections  A brightening home.......................200
CHAPTER X.
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
First lessons of life inaccurate- Moonlit landscape -Lessons of expe rience - The school - Siebenkis and his wife - The end of school
education - Its seriousness - Should be seriously treated - Effect of
appreciating its aims - The dull scholar encouraged - Jenny Lind's
perseverance and triumph-School manners-Ill manners at school
-Source of good manners-Benevolence a duty- The oriental
ascetic-The glass of water-The  well-Private and associated
benevolence-The Sabbath school-Tracts-Visiting the sick Pseudo reformers to be avoided -Travelling alone dangerous- Alice
-A caution.................................               215
CHAPTER XI.
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
The two trees-The divided heights-Images of marriage-Falso
notions of marriage - Magic castles -Marriage important- Desira-.
11 
CONTENTS.
ble - Hasty ma-riages improper -Single life better than a bad mar
riage- Picture of a miserable wife -What is marriage - Relation or
affection to genuine marriage -Injurious ideas- Nonsensical views
of love -The affections controlled by reason - Courtship - Its object
-A lover's character to be studied -A vital test- Passion leads the
young astray -The military chieftain enthralled by it- Passion's
dreamland - A young lady's love her greatest treasure - Poetical
extract - A reason for caution in courtship- Strangers - How to
regard them -Villains may be detected - Extract from Coleridge -
From Eliza Cook - Mental and moral purity a woman's armor -A
chaste woman described-The characteristics -requisite in a suitorSelfdenial -  Energy - Cultivation - Industry - Economy - Benevolence - Must not be a proud man -Nor a clown - Nor a fo)p - Nor
deformed - Should be religious - On consulting parents - Female
monsters - Myra's elopement - Her subsequent misery - Caution in
L"e intimacies of courtship -No haste to wed - Premature marriage
inat,;'able - Concluding remarks...............  231
12 
THE
YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELILOR.
CHAPTER I.
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
F-   -_ ~ —-ILL          the  light-hearted  maiden,
F~    ~         whose.aughing eyes glance at
~j~1_f~' these lines, permit her attention
A;''     __  ~to rest a moment or two upon the
sketch I am about to pencil? albeit,
j~ ~  )    ~it may be of a more sad and som   ak' ~~    bre hue than the bright images usually
t3]~ ~floating before her imagination. Be,,~' ~hold, then, a once puissant lady strug        gling with the agonies of life's last hours!
~'  She  is rich in  gold and  diamonds,  in
palaces and lands. The blast of her war-trumpets
can summon squadrons of armed men to the field.
Her word of command can cover the seas with the 
14       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
white sails of one of the proudest navies of the
globe. Her red-cross banner floats in pride from
many a "castled crag," and over
"A land of beauty
Fondled by the circling sea."
Yet is the face of this queenly sufferer deadly
pale; her eyes are wandering and restless; and her
expressive features indicate extreme mental distress.
Legions of sad remembrances are marching through
her mind, terrible as a phantom army to her fears.
A mitred prelate stands beside her royal couch,
vainly endeavoring, by his devotions, to soothe her
ruffled spirit, and fit it for its passage to the veiled
world beyond. Vain attempt! Every look of England's royal mistress, the great ELIZABETH, that once
haughty daughter of the Tudors, seems to say:
" Gladly would I surrender pomp, power, and empire,
fa. the sweet innocency of childhood; for
' A conscience free from sin! "
And thus, with her spirit tossed upon a sea of
doubt, restless and shuddering, she surrenders her 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
earthly throne, and stands undistinguished amidst a
crowd of spirits, a trembling subject at the bar of the
King of kings!
This is a spectacle of sadness. Such sorrow, in
such a mind, at such an hour, was very painful to
endure. Nevertheless, it was only the necessary
sequence of a great and fatal mistake which had
ruled the life of the queen. What was that mistake? She had relied upon things external to hersedf for enjoyment and content! She had looked to
her crown, her kingdom, her friends, as springs from
which streams of pleasure were to flow into her soul.
She had dreamed of attaining happiness by levying
contributions upon the vast array of outward and
visible objects which  the Providence of God had
placed within her reach.  Vain expectation! Illusive
dream! It made her life turbulent and uneasy, and
her death painful and unsatisfactory. She had obviously mistaken the false for the true, -  the evil for
the good.  Failing to discern the true "fountain of
living water," she lived and died in the vain attempt
to quench the mighty thirst of her undying spirit
15
. e
16 
16        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
at "cisterns," which, though of imposing mtnagnificence and peerless splendor, nevertheless "held no
water.,' "
I am seriously inclined to fear that the young
lady to whom I now write is entering the great
temple of life under the guidance of this same fatal
mistake.  Is it not so, my reader?  Are you not lookiug out upon the thousand gay things of life with the
expectation of deriving your choicest pleasure from
their possession? Is not life vocal to your ears with
alluring sounds of invitation to partake of its delights
and be happy? And do you tnot listen to those
voices with pleasing rapture, and fancy how completely blessed you should be, if wealth to purchase
admission to the halls of gayety and fashion were
yours?  If you were the " belle" of the ball-room,
the fascination of the soiree, the "admired of all
admirers" at Newport or Saratoga, the betrothed of
some noble-minded lover, or the wife of some doting
husband, then, you imagine, your heart would throb
with genuine and substantial bliss. The desire
which, by its restlessness, new keeps you from true 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
mental repose, would then, you fancy, be satisfied:
that sense of soul-emptiness of which you are so
painfully conscious would be removed, and you be
the delighted possessor of genuine bliss on earth.
These things being so, are you not self-convicted
of the same error whose disastrous consequences you
just now oeheld in my picture of th- royal Elizabeth?  That  fatal mis,k,-f looking wholly  to
things eterna! zo herself for happiness, which embitetredo Ilife and robbed her death-bed of all true
comfort, is already beguiling you. That mistake
must be corrected, or you will also live unblessed,
and die uncomforted.
Let us enter, at least in fancy, yon ancient
house, whose high-peaked roofs and gable ends
proclaim it a relic of the "days that are no more."
Within, it is desolate and lonely. A venerable lady
of the olden time is housekeeper; and a girl of rude
manners, but robust frame, is her servant.  Let us
ascend these rickety stairs, and introduce ourselves
to the owner of this antiquated pile. Here is his
room.  It is a laboratory, containing, as you mnay see,
2
17 
18      s.HE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
v vast array of bottles filled with chemicals, and
piles of musty folios. Bending over his alembic
with fixed attention, behold the philosopher himself,
wrapped in the folds of a huge dressing-gown, and a
high study-cap upon his head. Gray ringlets steal
down  upon  his shoulders.   His  studious face is
covered with d_ wrinkles;  for sixty years he has
steadily experimented by d       d dreamed at night,
in the vain hope of wringing frome   a mighty
secret.  Profoundly, and with unwearied pan.ec-.
has interrogated nature, and bent over that alem'.-            _
and its mysterious mixtures, until the manly vigor
of previous years has given way to the decrepitude
of trembling age. Still he toils and will toil on,
unltil he falls, a martyr to his theory, into the dreary
grave.   And  for what?. you inquire.  Lady! he
is an alchemist.  He seeks the philosopher's sone
by which all baser metals are to be transmuted into
gold; and the elixir of life, by which all diseases are
to be cured, and our race endowed with eternal
youth!
"Philosopher's  stone, indeed!   Elixir of life! 
THE RISTAKE OF A LIFETIME
What nonsense!  That old alchemist, with all his
philosophical learning, must be sadly lacking in com mon sense!" you vehemently exclaim, your pursed
bro* and flashing eyes expressing also the earnest ness of your indignation at his folly.
But why should you, young madam, be so incensed
against that harmless old alchemist, while you are
guilty of a folly equally obvious, but infinitely more
serious in its consequences? Why is that theorist
a fool? Simply because he seeks an obvious impossi bility: he pursues a dream,- he grasps a shadow!
You do the same; for have I not convicted you, on
the testimony of your own consciousness, of seeking
to extract true happiness from the external world
alone?  With equal discretion might you search
after the elixir of life, or the philosopher's stone.  For
how can perishing matter satisfy imperishable mind?
Can a mind like yours, endowed with cravings after
the Divine, the infinite, and the immortal, be satisfied
with the finite, tlh created, the ever-changing visible
world? Never! It is impossible, in the nature of
things.  And a mind unsatisfied is a mind unhappy.
19 
20       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Listen to the sad song of a poet, who dipped his per,
in an inkhorn filled with tears of bitter disappointment, and, writing from his own history, said:
" As charm on charm unwinds
Which robed our idols, and we see too sure
Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's
Ideal shape of such: yet still it binds
The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,
Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds;
The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,
Seems ever near the prize-wealthiest when most undone."
There never wvas a mind, since the world began,
which would not have sadly responded to the truth
of these lines, after a thorough trial of the power of
the external world to bless the heart. And to universal experience is superadded the emphatic declaration of Jehovah, who has written, with his own
fingers, on the arch which spans the great entrance
to real life, this significant inquiry, " Wherefore do
you spend money for that which is not bread? and
your labor for that which satisfieth Cot?"
Pause, young lady, in presence of this Divine question, and this universal experience! Permit your 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
mind to reflect gravely on the imminent risk, not to
say daring recklessness, of venturing into a sea where
every previous voyager has wrecked his bark, and
where so many have perished. Let the combined
voices of God and man settle the question for you,
without making the dangerous trial yourself. Receive
it as a mental conviction, that, although external
objects may please for a moment, as toys amuse
children,- although, in their appropriate uses, they
may swell the fountain of the mind's joy,- yet they
are necessarily and immutably unfitted to be its
portion.
Should you, my dear reader, concur witli me in
this opinion, you will have  taken  the first step
toward escaping from the fatal mistake which spoiled
the life of the royal Elizabeth.
"From whence, then, am I to derive true happiness? If it is so fatal to look for it to things
without myself, whither shall I look?" you very
properly and eagerly inquire.
. will permit a human and a Divine teacher to
solve your problem. The former is a poet. He says:
21
10 
22       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
" There are, in this loud stormy tide
Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
f0~ the everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their hearts.
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat."
The latter, speaking under heavenly inspiration,
writes that "a good man shall be satisfied from
himself" Both passages teach that the sources of
genuine pleasure are to be sought within the mind
itself: that the rich repose enjoyed by a happy mind
originates from something dwelling within itself:
that happiness does not flow in from the outer world,
but springs up, unseen by others, within the mysterious sanctuary of the soul: and that the power of visible things to swell the tide of harmony in the mind
depends upon the mind itself. The everlasting
chime of melody, which may charm the ear of her
who listens aright to the voices of the visible world,
originates in the soul of the listener. Whoso would
draw a "concord of sweet sounds" from the world
without, must carry music in her heart; just as the 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
maiden, who sits before the richly-toned instrument,
must first have the musical idea in herself, before she
can call forth floods of melody from its obedient
keys.
As SCMLLER justly inquires,
" Doth the harmony
In the sweet lute-strings belong
To the purchaser, who, dull of ear, doth keep
The instrument? True she hath bought the right
To strike it into fragments -yet no art
To wake its silvery tones, and melt with bliss
Of thrilling song! Truth for the wise exists,
And beauty for the feeling heart."
The flower blooms brightly, and exhales odoriferous perfume to myriads of insects; but the industrious bee, taught by its curious instinct, alone extracts
and stores away its delicious sweets. So, though
the earth contains ten thousand flowers, whose bloom
may delight the soul, and whose odor may ravish
the heart, yet those alone whose minds are fitly disposed can enjoy the luxury.  Outward things are
to the mind just what the mind is to itself. If the
mind be its own heaven, then. is earth its Eden; but 
4   THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
if it be its own hell, then the things and objects of
life are instruments of vexation and of torture.
Within the mnind itself, therefore, the elixir of life
must be produced. The human bosom is the little
chamber in which, as in a laboratory, bliss or woe
is created. There we must study the occult art of
extracting honey from the world's flowers, music
from its motions, and enjoyment from its relations.
There we must obtain strength to subdue it to our
service. There we must acquire the alchemy of
transmuting its poisons into nutritious sweets. There
must we look, and there find, if we find it at all,
the fountain of a joyous life-of all true pleasure.
"The kingdom of God is WITHIN You," said the Lord
Jesus; and so of a happy life,-its springs are WITIINI
YOU.
A lordly poet once stood amidst a fearful storm,
at night, on the Alps. Nature, in one of her most
savage aspects, in one of her most appalling moments, stood before him. The scene was sufficiently
dreadful to send the blood back to the stoutest heart,
and to hush even a courageous mind to trembling 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
reverence. But there stood the poet, in a rapture of
delight, which he expressed in these beautiful lines:
" 0 night
And storm and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, —
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman!-far along,
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the live thunder! -not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud I
*   -*         *      *       *      *
How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again't is black, and now the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth."
Whence the enthusiastic pleasure, worthy of the
spirits of the storm, which inspired these verses?
Why should this poet revel, as in a fairy-land of
beauty, over a scene which caused his companions
to tremble? Why should the same occurrence pro
duce precisely opposite effects on the different spec
tators?  Whence  the difference?  Plainly in the
minds of the spectators only. The poet, nurtured
among the most rugged scenes of nature and reck
25 
26       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
less of all danger, had a soul in harmony with the
storm, and could enjoy its terrors; while others,
unable to perceive the sublime and beautiful, through
fear of the terrible which surrounded it, beheld and
trembled. A striking illustration this, you now perceive, of the truth, that things without the mind bless
or curse it only as that mind is predisposed.   If
fearful, and alive only to the terrible, it will tremble;
if bold, and sensitive to what is sublime and beautiful, it will be delighted.
The mind has a similar power to determine the
influence which its condition in social life shall exert
upon it. The most abject poverty cannot compel it
to be unhappy; the most favorable state in life cannot insure its pleasure. Upon itself alone depends
the power of circumstance to embitter or to charm.
Let it be at peace with itself, loving the pure and
lovely, living on rational and cheerful hopes, and, as
the poet said of a mind animated by hope,
Hope, - the sweet bird, - while that the air can fill,
Let earth be ice- the soul has summer still."
Are you in doubt concerning the possibility of 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
maintaining a summer of warmth and beauty in the
soul, while the desolation of a Greenland winter
reigns around? Let me remove your scepticism by
portraying an illustrative fact. Enter with me the
chamber of a sick and suffering maiden. Observe,
as you cross the threshold, its utter barrenness of all
that ministers to taste or comfort. How bare its
cracked and smoky walls! No carpet covers the
uneven floor,- no couches or easy-chairs invite to
repose. A chair or two, a rude bed, whose wellpatched covering eloquently proclaims the dominion
of poverty, compose its entire furniture.   But see!
How pale is the face of that young sufferer!  Listen
to her suppressed groans - to her piercing shriek!
Her convulsive starts, her distorted features, alarm
you.  "Poor creature!  How she suffers!" is your
involuntary exclamation. But she grows more calm,
for the paroxysm is over. Now, mark the lovely
serenity which steals over and settles upon her
countenance! With what a radiant smile of welcome
she greets you! How heavenly is the expression of
her now lustrous eyes! How rich in sublime senti
27
I 
2   THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
ment are the words which flow from her thin lips!
What ardent love, what holy submission, what lofty
spiritual ecstasy, she professes! As you listen you
are astonished, and in an inward whisper exclaim,
' What a happy creature!"
Yes, she is happy; for this is no ideal picture, but
a faithful likeness of an actual sufferer.  For a
series of years, this dear girl was tormented by violent conviilsions, which, occurring every few hours,
dislocated her joints, and caused an unimaginable
amount of physical agony. Yet, through it all, her
unrepining spirit triumphed in God. With heroic
constancy she endured her unexampled sufferings;
and maintained an intercourse with God so elevated
and sublime, that her joys were more unspeakable
than her sufferings.  If her physical life was liter
ally full of anguish, her spiritual life was full of
glory! Her "earth was ice," but her "soul had
summer still."
In contrast with this painting of strong light and
deep shadow, permit me to place another, as sketched
by the brilliant pen of a poet. It is that of minds 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
surrounded by gayety and music, yet miserable in
the last degree:
"But midst the throng, in merry masquerade,
Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain,
E'en through the closest cerement half betrayed?
*      *       *       *       *       *
To such the gladness of the gamesome crowd
Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain;
How do they loathe the laughter idly loud,
And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud!"
Here you behold persons not only rejecting what
is pleasurable and joyous in a scene of revelry, but
actually busy at extracting torture from them. They
stand in a circle whose splendid gayety is adapted to
bewitch the senses, while jocund laughter and mirth
inspiring music ring in their ears, with their hearts
throbbing with keenest anguish, loathing the spectacle, and blindly longing for the solitude of the
grave.
Pray, tell me, lady, why the maiden was happy
under circumstances so adverse and painful, while
these inmates of the hall of pleasure were the vieS
of exquisite misery?  The former, t*O,lg   in physi
29 
30        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
cal torture and poverty, enjoyed a mental heaven;
the latter, though in an external Eden, suffered a
mental hell. Why this difference? Plainly because,
as we have before affirmed, the mind is its own
heaven or its own hell; and because, if pleasure
reigns not within the breast, it cannot come from
without: while, if it is queen within, outward things
may disturb, but cannot destroy its reign. How
consummate, therefore, is the folly of looking out of
the mind for your enjoyment! How wwe and prudent to look within yourself for that happiness which
is at once your aspiration and your privilege!
The truth unfolded and amplified in this chapter
may seem so trivial to my reader, that she may be
disposed to toss her little head, and throw down my
book in proud disdain.  She can hardly persuade
herself that the difference between looling within or
without herself for happiness is so great that to do
the latter would be a fatal mistake. But let me
assure her that
" Things are not what t iey seem;"
Tlt li tt di          erences often involve almost 
THE MISTAKE OF A LIFETIME.
infinite consequences; that it is the part of wisdom
to look well at those truths which the heart despises,
remembering that
"The poor herb, when all that pomp could bring
Were vain to charm, admits to Oberon's ring;"
and that a little scorn at little things may blast your
brightest hopes, and tumble your most magnificent
expectations to the dust. It was thus that an ancient
prince of Sardinia lost his own liberty and his
friend's lids He had fallen, by the chance of war,
into the prison of Bologna.   ASINELLI, his friend,
contrived a plan for his escape. He had him en      in an empty tun which had contained wine.
Trusty        were waiting, with swift horses, outside the city T1e
side the city.  Tbeing borne along the
passages of the prison.  It             gtes unsuspected, when a soldier observed a loc k              
truding from the barrel; it was  opened, and the
unhappy prince remanded to his dungeon. Asinelli
was banished, and another friend was put to death.
Thus the trifling neglect to conceal a lock of hair
cost years of sorrow to many hearts. Perhaps the
31 
32       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
men who closed the barrel saw that lock of hair, a
you see this truth; and perhaps they thought, in
their haste, it was hardly worth while to hinder
themselves by stopping to enclose it. If so, how
fatal their haste!  It undid their labors, and ruined
their plan. Even so, my dear young friend, a hasty
contetnpt for the counsel which teaches you that
"earth's real wealth is in the heart," and assures
you that to rely on outward things for happiness is
a fatal mistake, may be ruinous to all tlot is really
precious in your life and destiny. Receive it, therefore, with reflection; follow it with resolution; adhere
to it with determination. Then shall you esca,p
the experience of an earthly mind, w          e,  in
the bitterness of his disappo -' That
a Dark t  -... uood grows the heaven that smiled
A  the clear vision nature gave the child." 
CHAPTER 11.
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
(''    PON  the loftiest and most rug; -_. Satged peaks of the Alps, a species
of  fir-tree is said  to  flourish
~ 5~  i tamong rocks whose almost utter
' h ~ —  n   ~destitution of soil refuses support
to plant or flower.   Yet there this
pine-tree grows, defying the barren
~ ~ ~.. soil and the "howling tempests,"
*6..~~J') "Till its height and frame
Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks
Of bleak gray granite into life it came,
)  And grew a giant tree."
Whence is the life of this gigantic tree supported?
The scanty soil, in which its straggling roots scarcely
find a covering, is obviously insufficient. Is it, then,
self-supported?  Does its nutriment arise from itself
alone?   Nay,  for we  can hardly  conceive  how  a
3 
34       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
stripling fir could wax into a "giant tree," without
obtaining the materials of its growth from some
source besides itself. Hence we infer, that, while its
roots exhaust the little nutriment contained in the soil,
its branches embrace and absorb the atmosphere; and,
by an invisible process of almost infinite skill, the
tree elaborates the elements of life from -'ts particles.
Thus, while its growth and greatness may be said to
be from within itself, yet are they not wholly of itself.
" The mind may do the same." It may enjoy its
healthiest and highest life amidst the most rugged
features of external existence; for, like the Alpine
fir, it may find invisible elements of support, which,
though not originating in itself, nevertheless sprii)ng
up within it as from a fountain of living rapture. If
left wholly dependent upon itself, it could not find
real enjoyment in an Eden of beauty; for, in fallen
human nature, happiness is not an inborn spring; it
is a living fountain, brought into the heart by a power
which, though dwelling in the temple of the soul, is
not of it, but infinitely above it.
Nor is it possible to attain real enjoyment without 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
the presence of this power. In the preceding chapter
I have shown that no height of intellectual greatness,
no elevation of social condition, no amount of terrestrial wealth, no softness of climate, no beauty of
landscape,- nay, nor all human things combined,can, of themselves, enable the unassisted heart to discourse sweet music, or attain to blissful tranquillity.
Yet I cannot forbear to fortify this vital point by
another striking example. Hear the confessions of a
wealthy peer of England, - a scholar, a poet, a
traveller, a man in whom every visible condition of
human happiness met, - and learn the total insufficiency of all to cheer the spirit; yea, learn how desolate a thing is the human heart, when it proudly
leans upon itself alone, in the following melancholy
language, which this "poor rich man" addressed to
his sister:
"I was disposed to be pleased.  I am a lover of
nature and an admirer of beauty. I can bear fatigue
and welcome privation, and have seen some of the
noblest views in the world. But in all this, the
recollection of bitterness, and more especially of
.35 
36       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
recent and home desolation, which must accompany
me through life, has preyed upon me here; and
neither the music of the shepherds, the crashing of
the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the
glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one
moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor
enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the
majesty and the power and glory around, above and
beneath me."
If this sad lament of a weary heart were a solitary
fact in human history, it would not be admissible to
infer a general principle from it. But it is not.
Every soul that has trusted to itself alone, since the
world began, has uttered a corresponding wail of
agony; and it is therefore a fair example of what tho
human mind is, when left to its own resources,- a
miserable, empty, wretched thing. Miss L.ANDON'S
harp gave forth a note of truth when it sang
"The heart is made too sensitive
Life's daily pain to bear;
It beats in music, but it beats
Beneath a deep despair."
0 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
What, then, is the sacred source of true and lasting
bliss? What is that which must be brought into the
mind to give genuine enjoyment? If my young
friend will humbly take her seat where the beautiful
Mary sat,'she shall be taught the mighty secret, in
wvords of authority, from the lips of Jesus. He says:
"4rhosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give
tim shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give
7him SHALL BE IN HIM a well of water, springing up
into eternal life."
" If a man love me, he will keep my words; and my
Father will love him, and we will come unto him and
snake oztr abode with him."
" I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice,
and your joy no man taketh from you."
"My peace give I unto you."
Here, then, my beloved reader, the great truth
stands out before you. God received into the soul
by simple faith, is the grand and only source of true
happiness.   He  is that fountain of living water,
whose streams re resh the weary Spirit, and satisfy its
immortal thirst. Where he dwells there abide peace,
37
la 
38       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
love, joy and hope, in all their beauty: the storms
of passion arise not in His presence. The visible
world, gilded by the rays of His glory, can be really
and innocently enjoyed, because he brings the inter
nal faculties into harmony with external things.
The relations of social life can be enjoyed; their
duties performed with efficiency and pleasure. The
future is invested with grandeur and glory.  All the
interests of life are felt to be safe, for they are in the
keeping of GOD,- of God not afar off in clouds and
darkness, but of God abiding in perpetual spiritual
manifestation  within  the  breast.    The  beautiful
ideal of the Grecian mythology, concerning the goddess whose soft and delicate tread caused the green
herb and lovely flower to spring up on the island of
Cyprus, becomes a literal fact in the experience of a
christian lady; for, in whatever soul God enters a
welcomed guest, every lovely plant springs up, and
every beauteous flower grows with divine fertility.
He  is "a well of water springing up into eternal
life."
Can you conceive of any calamity more appalling 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
thar. a widely-spread famine? Iow terrible the
idea, ev(en to the fancy, of a whole nation cut off
from its resources by universal sterility!  But how
much more so must be the fact itself! With what
fearful eagerness the people watch for signs of rain!
Yet weeks, months and years pass, and the sky is
clear and cloudless; the sun glows fiercely in the
heavens; the air is hot and sultry; the earth is
parched and cracked; every blade of grass, every
herb and every tree, dries up, until all is arid and
barren as the desert. Nature languishes, and in her
feebleness oppresses her children, until disease and
groaning fill the land, and hecatombs of dead cover
its surface with-graves.
Yet, in the certain prospect of such an event, behold
the sublime serenity of the Egyptian nation in the age
of Joseph. The face of the people is gay and cheerful. The voice of song resounds all over the land,
from thehundred gates -of Thebes to the mouths of
the Nile. Though the nation was assured that for
seven years the sway of this terrible evil would be
maintained, yet a most absolute fearlessness of death
39 
40       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
kept every heart strong, and excluded all apprehen.
sion of serious suffering, alike from the proud palaces
of Pharaoh and the mud hovel of the peasant,
Famine reigned in the land, yet peace dwelt in the
hearts of the people.
Whence arose this astonishing national repose in
the midst of so menacing an evil? Behold the
immense stores of food with which the vast granaries
of the land are groaning! And, at the head of the
government, behold the inspired man whose prophetic
wisdom foretold the event, -whose forecast prepared
these almost boundless supplies, and whose wisdom
presides over their distribution! These facts explain
the great enigma of so much calmness aiimid so
much that was formidable! The people knew their
inability to cope with the sterility of nature, but
their reliance on the predictions and ability of Joseph
was so strong they could not fear. Famine might
rage, -they were helpless to resist it; but Joseph had
provided an ample supply for their wants, and they
rejoiced in a happy consciousness of security from
starvation and death. 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UTNSEALED.
You have no difficulty, my young reader, in
understanding the action of this confidence in the
minds of the Egyptians, and that without it they
would have been absolutely wretched. It will therefore be easy for you to transfer the idea to your own
necessities and resources. Viewing yourself in your
relations to human society, you cannot fail to perceive much of evil, of danger, and of suffering, before
you. You everywhere behold women whose early
career was as gay, as secure, as promising, as your
own, the victims of heart desolation, of acute suffering, of neglect, of poverty,   to whom  life is as a
desert waste, where suffocating winds sweep rudely
past them, and stifling sands threaten to bury them
in death. In one direction, you see a daughter
thrown upon her own resources by the premature
death of her parents; in another, a wife, but yester.
day a happy bride, left to indescribable sorrow by the
neglect of an unfaithful husband, or plunged into a
mournful widowhood by the visitation of death.
What multitudes of women, who, a little while ago,
rejoiced as gayly as the joyous lark in the thought
41 
42       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
lessness of a happy girlhood, are living in weakness,
toil and sadness, weary of life, yet unwilling and unfit
to die! True, much of this vast amount of female
misery might have been avoided; yet, in the full
knowledge of its existence and of your own weakness,
you cannot avoid the conviction that you are liable
to similar experiences. With the Egyptians you can
see dark forms of evil thronging your path. You
dare not face them alone! They are calculated to
affright your spirit. What, then, is necessary to give
you an intelligent and stable peace of mind?  What
to save you from these sufferings and sorrows of your
sex? Plainly, you need a confidence like that of the
Egyptians. Your heart must rely upon some power,
able and willing to preserve you from such manifest
evils. A friend, who will guide your steps, watch
over and secure your interests, support you in your
trials, and deliver you in trouble, is a necessity of
your nature. Could you be sure of such a friend,
you could gaze upon the ills of life with as fearless a
smile as that with which the people of Pharaoh
looked upon the sterility of their country. 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
But where is the human friend whose qualities are
such as to inspire you with this essential confidence?
Alas! he is not to be found; for every other mortal is
like yourself exposed to trouble and danger. If it
were otherwise,- if that venerable parent who has
watched your infancy and youth with so much solicitude, and in whose love you feel so secure, possessed
the power to protect you through life,- you know that
the thread on which his existence hangs is more frail
than a lute-string.  How, then, can you calmly face
your destiny with such a trust?  You cannot do it!
You need power, wisdom, love, sympathy, duration,
in the Being on whom your spirit can repose in perfect serenity. And who is such a friend but Jehovah?  Whose friendship can calm your soul but his?
What but religious faith can inspire so delightful a
trust? What is there in the human soul to create
this sense of safety, amidst the unquestionable dan
gers by which it is surrounded?   Nothing! positively
nothing! Self-reliance is presumptuous arrogance.
'I'o trust in man is to pluck the fruit that grows on
"folly's topmost twig."  To be without cornfidence is
43 
44       THE YOUNG LADY'S CCUiNSELLOR.
to be wretched, whether your home be the palace of a
merchant prince, or the cottage of a toiling peasant.
To a religious faith, therefore, are you shut up. The
point before you is as plain as a self-evident truth;
you must be wretched or religious. Embrace the
faith of Christ, and forthwith a confidence will spring
up in your soul which will disarm life of its terrors,
enable you to defy its emergencies, assure you that all
chance is excluded from the government of the world,
that your interests are all safe in the hands of the
infinite God, whose attributes are pledged to promote
your safety. You will then see Omnipotence as the
wall built around you; infinite resources ready to be
employed  in your behalf, and boundless love distributing the mercies requisite to supply your necessities.
Blessed with this sublime trust, you will walk the
ways of life as calmly as the ideal pilgrim, in the
picture of a German artist, whose beautifiul painting
contained a lovely child walking slowly along a nar-.
row path, bou nded on each side by a terrific precipice, the edges of which were concealed from himrn by 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
a luxuriant border of fruits and flowers. Behind this
infant pilgrim there stood an angel, his white wings
spreading upward into the evening sky, his hands
placed lightly on the shoulders of the little traveller,
as if to guide him safely along the dangerous path.
The child's eyes were closed, that the beautiful flowers and luscious fruit might not tempt him to pause
or step aside; and he walked calmly forward, smiling ineffable content, as if perfectly satisfied, so long
as he felt the gentle pressure of those angelic hands.
With religious faith you may walk through the evils
of life equally fearless, safe and happy.
Nor is the influence of a religious faith on the
fears of the heart its only relation to your present
enjoyment. It is peculiarly adapted to that comparative isolation from active life which falls to the lot
of your sex. Home is woman's world, as well as her
empire. Man lives more in society. The busy
marts of trade, the bustling exchange, the activity of
artisan life, are his spheres They call forth his
energies, and occupy his thoughts. But woman's
life is spent in comparative sclitude.  She is, there
45 
46       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
fore, if possible, more dependent upon her inward
resources than lher more stirring companion. And
how is s.e to feel contented with the loneliness of
her lot, in spite of that "longing for sympathy that
belongs to her nature"? She cannot be, unless she
enjoys the supports of religion.   But, with  this
divine life within her, she becomes, to use the language of the Duchess of Newcastle, "a beautiful
creature, tremblingly alive to the influences of this
beautiful world, tremblingly conscious that but a thin
veil separates this actual daily life from the world of
spirits. A being with whom the sense of imrnmortality is an actual presence, lingering about her bed
and about her path, and whose heart is cheered as
by the breathings of the air of paradise. Such a
being as this, finding herself unguided and alone
among those of her sex whose talk is of Paris fashions, bonnets and balls, - whose lives are worthy of
their conversation, - such a being can lean on no
earthly arm for support, nor look to any earthly
sympathy for comfort. Over her heart God must
breathe the hf)ly calm of his peace." 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
And sweet is the calm he breathes, - rich and
exuberant the joy he  inspires.   While  "worldly
women are poor, suffering ones, who wander in the
thorny paths of life, pining for happiness and going
astray after its very shadow," religious women find
an "unspeakable joy" in religion, which enriches
every inferior and earthly pleasure.  To them" there
is joy in feeling the first breath of the morning fanning the cheek; joy in the balm of April sunshine
and showers, and in the flowers of beautifua May.
There is joy in the joyous laugh and the silvery
voice of childhood,- in the romance of youth ire care
shades her heart; there is joy in the breast of the
bride as she gives' her hand, with her heart in it,'
to her lover; joy in a mother's bosom as she presses
her first-born to her breast. Yes, even earth has its
joys; but, alas! they are as fleeting as sunshine, as
perishable as flowers; but they have also a joy
deeper, fuller, richer, sweeter, imperishable as the
undying spirit, - it is the joy of religious love."
How desirable is this joy to you, my dear young
lady, whose life, in common with that of most of
47 
48       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
your sex, must necessarily be spent in comparativ#.
isolation!
In some portions of the frigid zones the inhabit.
ants provide themselves with habitations beneath thfe
surface of the ground. During their brief summer,
they convey large stores of food and fuel to these
subterranean abodes.   When  winter comes,  they
cnter them and live peacefully there, indifferent to
the desolating storms and dreary snows which fall
and rage above their heads. Their home is their
winter world, and it contains all their little wants
demand. Hence, they live in secure plenty, smiling
at the howling storm which leaves their abode
untouched and safe.
Very similar is the influence of religion in human
life. It makes its possessor independent of outward
circumstances; it enables her to defy the changes of
life. What if friends are false, health decays, for
tune fails, wasting storms drive furiously around hei
head?  Is her happiness lost?  Nay! for she has
not depended upon friends, health or fortune, for her
highest pleasure. As superior streams of comfort 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
sne has welcomed and enjoyed them, but Dot as the
lountain of her delight. Their removal, therefore,
leaves her in full possession of her chlief'good. A
sterile, snowy winter may rage without, but she has
her God  within herself, and  is satisfied.  He  is
her world.  His presence and favor constitute' her
heaven, though her visible life is filled with discornfcit and woe. Very strongly, yet very beautifully,
did an ancient Christian, according to TAULERIUS,
once express this divine bliss, when a doubting friend
inquired, "What would you do, if God should cast
you into hell?"
"Cast me into hell!  God will not do that.  But
if he were to cast me into hell, I have two arms,
an arm of faith and an arm of love; with these I
would'lay hold on God, and cling to him so firmly
that I would take him with me!  And surely no evil
could befall me there; for, I would rather be with
God in hell, than to be in heaven without him!"
This is very strong - perhaps too strong - language; yet it nobly expresses the superiority of the
Christian to adverse circumstances, - his independ                        4
49 
50       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
ence of human events and troubles. The old poet,
VAUGHN, has a stanza which is so instinct with this
spirit of Ieroic triumph over outward vicissitudes, 1
cannot forbear quoting it. Viewing the Christian in
an era of persecution and martyrdom, he puts these
burning wvords into his lips:
"Burn me alive with curious skilful pain,
Cut up and search each warm and breathing vein;
When all is done, death brings a quick release,
And the poor mangled body sleeps in peace.
Hale me to prisons, shut me up in brass,
My still free soul from thence to God shall pass;
Banish or bind me, I can be nowhere
A stranger or alone,- my God is there.
I fear not famine. How can he be said
To starve, who feeds upon the living bread?
And yet this courage springs not from my store, Christ gave it me, who can give much more."
How desirable, in a world so changeful as this,
that a young lady, so feeble and so exposed, should
possess this hidden peace from Christ, which neither
creature nor circumstance can take from her!
Peinaps, lady, you are a lover of music. The
piano is your favorite instrument, from whose keys 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED.
you draw many pleasant sounds. Permit me to give
you a lesson upon it. You know it contains many
wires, all of which are called into use at ames, and
are necessary to its perfection. Each of these wires
has its own peculiar sound, which it must render
precise]y, else a discord jars on your ear, and destroys
the harmony of the music. To create and to pre serve this harmony, it has to be submitted to the
zkilful hand and ear of the tuner; otherwise, as a
musical instrument, it would fail to afford you pleasure. However costly in its materials and magnificent in its external finish, you would only be pained
by its presence, so long as its tuneless state forbade
you to touch a key. But, once in perfect tune, you
enjoy exquisite delight, as its delicious melody fills
your enraptured ear.
It is thus with your mind. It has various functions and qualities, intellectual and moral, each of
which is designed to act in a specific mnanner; and
which must so act, to constitute you happy in yourself, and an instrument of good to society. But, like
the piano, the mind is out of tune.  Though  in
51 
52. THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSILLOR
tensely pained by the discords it utters, it neverthe.
less continually produces them. It requires tuning,
therefore,'or it must be a self-tormenting thing of
discords forever-magnificent in its construction, glc,rious in its powers, yet failing to attain the sublime
end of its creation. To drop my comparison, the
mind is unable of itself to develop those qualities
which are necessary to its own enjoyment, and to its
right influence over others. And nothing less than
the power of religion can repress its evil tendencies,
and develop its'superior qualities.  As the tuner of
instruments may justly say of the piano, "without
me it is nothing," so does Christ actually say to
you, lady, "without me ye can do nothing." Christ,
and Christ alone, is sufficient to clothe you with that
loveliness of moral character which will cause youy
life to pass happily to yourself and to be beneficial,(,
others. How else can your life be
"A sacred stream,
In whose calm depths the beautiful and pure
Alone are mirrored "?
How else can you acquire that guileless ingenu 
THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE UNSEALED
ousness, that dignity combined with tenderness, that
prudent reserve unmixed with haughtiness, that calm
patriotism so modest and yet so heroic, that courage
without fierceness, that energy without rashness, that
purity without a spot, that earnest self-denying
industry, that wise forecast, that prudent economy,
that constellation of high moral qualities, whose mild
light sweetly gilds the gloom of external circumnstances, and makes  woman  a "spotless form  of
beauty," -arms her with power to move the soul, to
win the affections, to attain the ideal excellence of
SCHILLER'S QUEEN ELIZABETH OF SPAIN, who movedi
"With inborn and unboastful majesty,
Alike from careless levity remote
And a behavior schooled by selfish rules,
Alike removed from rashness and from fear.
With firm and fearless step she ever walked
The narrow path of duty - all unconscious
That she won worship, where she never dreamed
Of approbation"?
Qualities like these can grow to harmonious perfection by nothing less than God in your soul.
Their sem.nblances may be produced by simple self 
THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
culture; but they will be only as jewels of paste,
compared with genuine stones. His presence will
adorn you with genuine excellence, render you inde
pendent of life's changing joys, satisfy you, and
enable you to extract what of pure pleasure exists in
earthly things. Thus may your life pass,
' That every hour
Shall die as dies a natural flowerA self-reviving thing of power;
That every thought and every deed
May hold within itself the seed
Of future good and future need." 
CHAPTER I11.
INFLUENCE.
ATHER UP MY INFLUENCE, AND
BURY IT WITH ME!"  exclaimed a
__              youth, whose unforgiven spirit was
~: By  sinking into the invisible world.
~3~             Idle request!  Had he begged his
Y O U:   ~  friends to bind the free winds, to
chain the wild waves, to grasp the fierce
{!!S ~lightning, or make a path for the sand       blast, his wish would have been more
feasible; for past influence is unchangeable.
The sceptical thought that fell as a seed of
evil from the lip and grew in the heart of the
listener into defiant infidelity, the light word that
pierced the spirit like a poisoned dart, the angry
glance which stirred the soul to anguish and made
tears flow at the midnight hour, are alike beyond 
56       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSEL,LOR.
our reach. The mind thus wounded sighs on, and
after we are dead the chords vibrate which our fingers touched. The measure of that influence, for
weal or woe, will lie hidden, a terrible secret, until
the day when the spirit, blindly driven to despair
and guilt, or blasted by sceptical thought, shall stand
writhing and wretched to confront those by whom
the offence came, and -to teach that influence is immutable and eternal!
Such are the fearful sentiments contained in a
fugitive poem which once met my eye.  They are
thoughts peculiarly adapted to the consideration of a
young lady; for, whatever may be her grade in
society, her talents or opportunities, it is a necessary
condition of her existence that she must exert this
potential thing we call influence. It is not a matter
of choice.  She cannot say she will not exercise it,
for she must. From every glance of her eye, every
word of her lips, every act of her life, there goes
forth, in a greater or less degree, an invisible power,
which produces an effect upon the minds around her.
This power to affect others is influence. It is a gift 
INFLUENCE.
of Heaven to every human being. Whether it shall
be productive of evil or good, is for each possessor to
determine. It is like the rod of Moses, which was
either the prolific instrument of plague and woe, or
the means of driving evil and destruction from the
land, as the inspired will of its great owner determined. Thus with this precious gift. It may scatter pestilence. desolation and death, or it may bring
forth life and beauty; it may be a harp of sweetest
melody, making glad the heart of the world, or it
may be a discordant trumpet, rousing the passions
of mankind to angry and tempestuous strife, as its
possessor may decide.
Will you imagine yourself in one of the vast
cathedrals of Europe? Behold its spacious aisles
and lofty galleries, crowded with masses of spectators of all ranks and of every age, from the gray
bearded patriarch of eighty to the fawn-like girl of
five or six. Suppose yourself placed before the keys
of its magnificent organ, and required to execute a
piece of music, with the information that certain
keys, tearing particular marks, have the power, if
57 
58        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
improperly touched, of producing violent pauis in the
audience, which no medical science could assuage or
cure; while, if they are skilfully touched, their
delightful melody will create the most exquisite
sensations of enduring pleasure. In such a position,
would you not exert your utmost powers to avoid
those movements which would thrill your auditory
with anguish? Would you not enter, with grave
earnestness, upon those which would be followed
with bursts of joy?   Your ardent response is in
your heart and eye; and you almost wish for the
opportunity of choosing between such alternatives.
If my previous remarks are true, you have not
only such an opportunity, but one of far higher and
nobler character. By a proper use of this more than
fairy gift of influence, you can call into existence
emotions of pure delight, capable of infinite se]f-mult:plication in the multitude of human spirits which
will come within your sphere during your lifetime.
By neglecting the proper use of your gift, you will
create agonies of equal duration and intensity. Can
you, therefore, refilse a few moments of grave thought 
INFLUENCE.
fulness to so weighty a point?  What if life is young,
and its paths are strewed with flowers?  What  if
the current of your ordinary ideas runs in a contrary
direction? What if a due sense of the true responsibilities of life should restrain, in some degree, the
gayety of your spirits?   Are you, therefore, to
trample upon the happiness of others? Are you to
peril your own best interests? Remember, as is
your influence, so is your destiny. There is a woe
for those who suffer from evil influence; but a
heavier, direr woe for her "by whom  the offense
cometh." Consider, therefore, my dear young lady,
with a seriousness worthy of your immortal nature,
and a gravity beyond your years, the bearings of this
momentous question. Resolve, in the silent depths
of your reflecting spirit, "I will take care of my
influence!"
Transport your mind back, through departed time,
some thousand years, and enter with me one of the
royal castles of England. Within one of its turret
chambers behold a youthful bride, the daughter of an
emperor, the wife of a king. Why is she secluded
59 
60       THE Y)UNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
here, while the old halls of the castle are resounding
with the merry voices of high-born youths and noble
ladies? What is her occupation? Let that antique
volume of illuminated manuscripts, containing the
gems of Saxon poetry, be your answer! She finds
her pleasure not in the idle pastimes of an ignorant
court, but in the study of polite literature.  She is
devoted to the duty of self-culture to the full extent
of her means and opportunities. Now, as we gaze
on this enthusiastic young woman, it would appear
romantically improbable, if I were to predict that her
influence would lead to the elevation of England
from a state of semi-barbarism, obscurity and impotency, to a position so potential and commanding as
to make her feared, envied and admired, by all the
other nations of earth. Yet what would have then
seemed romantic as a prediction, is now an historical
fact.   For this lady's name  is JUDITH, the stepmother of that great prince, ALFRED, whose talent.
and genius laid the foundations of England's legal,
commercial and intellectual superiority.  And it was
to Judith he was indebted for the first awakening of 
INFLUENCE.
nis intellectual life, the development of his noble
qualities, and the formation of his splendid character.
Hence, but for the influence of this superior princess,
Alfred would never have been what he was; and his
country would never, perhaps, have achieved the
stupendous greatness which it now possesses,.by
which it does, and will, perhaps to the end of time,
affect the destinies of the world.
The design of this illustration is to remove from
your mind that incredulity which arose in it as you
read my remarks concerning the immense extent and
duration of individual influence. You thought it
impossible that you, a young lady, could possess
such a fearful power  for good or ill.   Had  the
youthful Judith been told the precise results of her
influence on the world, she would have ridiculed the
statement, and have pronounced its author insane.
Yet there stands its living record, in the h-story and
condition of the British nation.  And, sin,e a corresponding power resides in your soul, who can
imagine the fathomless depths of the consequences
which are yet to proceed from its exercise? Your
61 
62       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
sex, instead of shielding you from the necessity of
exerting such power, exposes you to it in the strong est man, er; for it brings you in contact with mind
when in its most impressible state, and when your
influence over it is abounding, and almost absolute.
You think, perhaps, if you were of the other sex, and
your sphere was with warriors, statesmen and magis trates, on the public arena of life, there might be at
least a possibility of your casting a stone into the
sea of humanity, whose ever enlarging influence
would be seen circling immeasurably far into the
misty future. But your sphere is private, limited
and feminine, and cannot afford scope for such
results, you think. Vain thought! You are a sister, and may mould a brother's mind to virtue and to
usefulness. You are a daughter, and for your salke
your father may put forth efforts of unbounded
might. You may hereafter bear the honored name
of wife, and the more sacred one of mother. Your
influence may then determine the character of your
husband, and fix the destiny of your children. It
may make youi son all Augustine, a Washington, 
INFLUENCE.
an Oberlin, a Wesley; or it may leave him to curse
his race, with pestiferous teachings, like Socinus or
Murray, with wars of ambition, like Napoleon, or
with a baleful legacy of infidelity and  vice, like
Hume  or Carlyle.  For who can imagine that if
Monica had been an irreligious woman, Augustine
would have been a holy bishop?  If Washington's
mother had not inspired him with the principles of
self-denying  patriotism, his  country  might  have
found him a tyrant,instead of a father.  And but for
the sterling qualities found in the mothers of Oberlin
and Wesley, the name of the former would never
have adorned the annals of benevolence with such
enchanting beauty; nor would the latter have erected that vast ecclesiastical fabric, whose strong and
rapid growth is the greatest moral wonder of the last
century. Say not, therefore, that because you are a
woman your influence must be limited, but remember that your sex places you at the head-waters of
the great river of humanity, where a pebble mlay
,e
change the direction of the streamlet.
It is said that a little boy in Holland was return
63 
64       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELL1OR.
ing one night from a village, to which he had been
sent by his father on an errand, when he observed
the water trickling through a narrow opening in the
dyke. He pautised, reflected on the consequences
that might follow if that aperture was not closed.
He knew, for he had often heard his father relate the
sad disasters proceeding from such small beginnings,
that in a few hours that opening would enlarge, and
let in the mighty mass of waters pressing on the
dykle, until, the whole defence being washed away,
the adjacent village would be destroyed. Should he
hasten home and alarm the villagers, it would be
dark before they could arrive, and the orifice might,
even then, be so large as to defy attempts to close it.
Prompted by these thoughts, he seated himself on
the bank of the canal, stopped the opening with his
hand, and patiently awaited the approach of some
villager. But no one came. Hour after hour rolled
slowly past in cold and darkness, yet there sat the
heroic boy, shivering, wet and weary, but stoutly
pressing his hand against the dangerous breach.  At
last the morning broke.  A clergyman, walking up 
INFLUENCE,
the canal, heard a groan and sought for its author.
'"\Why are you here, my child?" he asked, surprised
at the boy's position.
"I am keeping back the water, sir, and saving the
village from being drowned," responded the child,
with lips so beiiumbed with cold they could scarcely
articulate the words.
The astonished minister relieved the boy. The
dyke was closed, and the danger which had threatened hundreds of lives averted.  "Heroic boy! what
a noble spirit of self-devotedness he displayed!" you
exclaim. True; but what was it that sustained himrn
in his mission through that lonesome night? Why,
when his lips chattered; his limbs trembled and his
heart palpitated, did he not fly to the warmth and
safety of home?  What thought bound him to his
seat?  Was it not the rsponsibility of his position?
Did he not restrain evei;esire to leave it, by the
thought of what would follow, if he should?  His
mind pictured the quiet homes and beautiful farms
of the people inundated by the flood of waters, and
he determined to maintain his position or to die.
5
65 
66       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
And ought not the higher and more weighty responsibility of your position- possessing, as you do, the
power to turn a tide of endless death, or a stream of
perennial life, upon the pathway of mankind - to
beget in you a purpose, stern, resolute, inflexible, to
be true to your position, and to use your influence
for good, and not for evil?  Say not of yourself, in
careless, self-abandonment to circumstances,
" I am as a weed
Flmung from the rock, on ocean's foam to sail
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail."
But take your stand before the world, with an invincible determination- with
"An earnest purpose for a generous end."
Consecrate your influence to virtue, to humanity,
to God.  Thus, in you  life, you shall be "like a
star glittering in its ow    ld lustre, undimmed by
the radiance of another, and-uneclipsed by the deep
shades of the midnight heavens."
In that remarkable work, entitled the "Connection
of the Physical Sciences," by MARY SOMERVILLE I 
INFLUENCE.
find this interesting example of the cohesive power
by which the atoms of material substances are held
together. The manufacturers of plate glass, after
polishing the large plates of which mirrors are to be
made, carefully wipe them and lay them on their
edges, with their surfaces resting on one another.  It
not unfrequently happens, that, in a short time, the
cohesion is so powerful they cannot be separated
without breaking. Instances have occurred where
two or three have been so perfectly united, that they
have been cut and their edges polished, as if they
had been fused together; and so great was the force
required to make their surfaces slide, that one tore
off a portion of the surface of the other!
How mighty must be that force, which, acting on
these plates, binds them in inseparable unity! The
same cohesion unites the particles of our globe, and is
the forc('hat prevents it from crumbling into atoms.
But, mighty as it is, it is invisible. How it acts, no
mind has yet discovered. We see its effects, but we
cannot perceive its operations. Yet who is so foolhardy as to deny its existence, because it refuses to
67 
6S8     -THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
reveal its presence, or unfold the mystery ~f its
action? Nay, we concede it as a fact demonstrated
by every material substance that meets our eyes.
By similar evidence-  that of facts - we are compelled to admit that powerful influences are exerted
by one mind upon another. These facts are overwhelning, both in number and in weight.   Yet who
can perceive the transmission of influence?  Often,
when we are utterly unconscious of what we do, others are receiving indelible impressions from our
words, looks or actions, - impressions which will
affect their destiny, and that of the world, forever.
We forget this, and act without respect to others, in
a great degree, because we do not see the power we
exert. A young lady, who would shrink appalled at
the idea of daily puncturing her brother's eye with a
needle, to the destruction of his sight, will breathe a
spirit of discontent, pride and folly, into his mind;
and thus, by disturbing his happiness at home drive
him to seek congenial society abroad, where hi- morals grow depraved, his character is lost, and his soul
ruined. This fearful result she brings about, without 
INFLUENCE.
a sigh of regret or a pang of sorrow. When the evil
vwork is done, she weeps over the wreck, and would
give the gold of the world to restore the fallen one.
Yet for her share in causing this destruction she sheds
not a tear; indeed, she is unconscious that any portion of the blame lies at her door. Her influence
was silent and invisible when in exercise, and yet it
drove her brother to ruin.
Another peculiarity of influence is the distance of
the effect from the cause. Years will often elapse
between the sowing of the seed and the ripening of
the fruit —between  the uttered thought, the angry
glance, or the decisive act, and its result. LONGFELLOW has a beautiful illustration of this, in one of his
poems. He bids you stand on the bright greensward!  Shoot an arrow into the air!  You watch
its upward flight, as it cleaves the sky; but its fall is
so swift that your eye fails to detect its resting-place.
You search in vain to find it, and pronounce it lost.
Long, long afterward, while wandering over the field,
you perceive the lost shaft entire, sticking in an
aged oak!
69 
70       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELi OR.
I. 
Again: you breathe a sweet song into the air. It
falls, you know not, think not, where; but long, long
afterwards, you may find it in the heart of a friend!
It is thus with influence, for good or evil.  Its consequences are often hidden from the eye for many
years. Many of them - perhaps the most - will remain thus secret until the day which will discover
to a universe the things that were done in public or
in private life.
Picture to your mind a youtng mother, with her little
boy scarce seven years old. She lifts him from his
couch in the morning, and with mild words bids himn
kneel and say his infant prayers. Obediently he
drops upon his knees. With upraised hands, closed
eyes, and gentle voice, he sends up his oft-repeated
petition. Presently he is silent. Then, with her
hands softly resting upon his head, a voice of touching melody, and a heart overflowing with true maternal love, she breathes a holy prayer for her child.
Sweet is the air of that chamber; delightful the
emotions of that little bosom; and pure is the love
with which he embraces his devoted mother, when 
INFLUENCE.
their matin prayers are ended. At the resper hour
this scene is repeated; and thus, day by day, this
pious woman strives to bring down holy influences
upon her child's heart. Before her boy has well
passed his seventh year, however, she is called by
the angel of death to the spirit land, little dreaming
of the immense power and duration of her influence,
hereafter to be exercised over the world through that
boy. Yet, in after years, her pure image haunted
his memory, rebuking his vices and beckoning
him  to the ways of virtue and religion, until he
kneeled at the cross of Christ. He became an eloquent and successful minister, an author and a
sacred poet. Through his labors, CLAUDIUS BUCHANAN, one of the apostles of missionary effort in India,
and the instrument of awakening the attention of
that great Burmese missionary, JUDSON, to the wants
of India, was converted. Through him, also, SCOTT,
the commentator, was led to Christ, and to the
consequent production of his valuable commentary.
Another  of his  converts was  WILBERFORCE, the
champion of African freedom, and the author of that
71 
1    THE YOUIG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
" Practical View of Christianity," which, among
other great results, brought LEGH RICHMOND into the
ranks of Christian discipleship, and inspired him
with that heavenly spirit which fitted him to write
that most useful of tracts, " The Dairynman's Daughter." That boy was the Rev. JOHN NEWTON, and
that woman  was his mother.  How immeasurable
was the influence she exerted in that solitary chami.
ber, so silently, and through the heart of a child!
Yet it was long before it began to yield its fruit.
For nearly twenty years it was apparently dead in
his heart; but it sprung forth at last, and was, as we
have shown, superabundantly fruitful.
An example of evil influence, working through
centuries of time, and upheaving like a volcano, long
after its author slept in death, is found in the case of
LOUIsA OF SAVOY, the mother of Francis the First,
King of France. She lived when the Reformation
began to unfold its energies on the soil of France.
For a moment it commanded her attention; it seized
on her convictions, but obtained no hold upon her
lepraved affections.  The Princess MARGARET, her 
INFLUENCE.
daughter  witk other noble ladies, the aristocratic
Bishop of Meaux, and several eminent scholars, em braced it with fervor, and labored for it with zeal.
It needed only the friendship of LOUISA to secure its
triumph. For a time she permitted it to spread
unchecked; but when her son Francis had endangered the stability of his throne, and lay a prisoner
of war in Spain, political considerations decided this
dissolute queen-mother to assume an attitude of persecuting hostility towards it.  She invoked the spirit
of persecution set the unhallowed machinery of the
inquisition in motion, and thus began that terrible
process of cruelty, which, after centuries of conflict
and bloodshed, succeeded in extirpating it from the
soil. Sad have been the consequences to France.
The Reformation expelled, infidelity sprung up, rank
and poisonous; it became the animating spirit of the
people, until, mad with its excitement, they waded
through pools of blood to the altar:f reason, and
daringly defied the God of heaven. It is by no
means difficult to see the connection between the
anarchical proceedings of modern France and the
73 
74       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
conduct of Louisa of Savoy. It was in her power
to confirm and establish the Reformation, and thus
give blessing, honor and prosperity, to her country:
she chose to persecute it.  Her spirit was transmaitted to posterity, and lives, in its most baleful effects,
at the present hour. How truly has influence been
compared to the bubbling spring, which dances up
from a little crevice in a mountain recess, and sends
forth a tinkling stream, so small that a "single ox,
on a summer's day, could drink it dry." Yet it
speeds unnoticed on its way, levying contributions
upon its sister springs, and mingling with other
streams, until it acquires force sufficient to cut itself
a broad, deep pathway between the hills; and lo!
hundreds of miles from its source, it flows in imposing magnificence, bearing proud navies on its ample
bosom, until, with resistless impetuosity, it rushes
into the vast waters of the "boundless sea."
I fancy-perhaps I am mistaken- that your mind
refuses to feel the full impression concerning the
importance of individual influence which the facts
herein described are calculated to produce, because 
INFLUENCE.
of the comparative obscurity of your sphere. You
say to yourself, "Were  I a princess or a queen, I
might, like Judith or Louisa, set in motion immutable, potent and immortal influences; but I move in a
narrower sphere, and such things are impossible for
me."
Reason not thus, young lady, I pray you, lest you
throw off a sense of responsibility that it were better
to retain. It is influence that is thus powerful, not
the influence of those in high stations. The effect
of their conduct is more easily traced, because it
works through public affairs. But the influence of a
beggar girl is as potential in her sphere as is that of
a queen in her more enlarged circle. Wealth, station, talent, may add to the force and extent of influence, but they cannot create it. It is an attribute of
your nature, inseparable from it, inherent in it
Obscurity cannot prevent its exercise. The possible
consequences  of your actions upon others  are as
measureless as those that proceed from the acts of
that puissant lady, Queen VICTORIA. They may be
equally, nay, transcendently more precious, even
715 
76       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
tl'ough you are a lonely orphan girl, dependent upon
others for your support. That timely word of affectionate interest for her lord, dropped by the Syrian
damsel in the ear of her mistress, is an example. It
brought health to a great warrior,- it led him to a
knowledge of the true God; to the spread of the
Divine name; and it has lived through centuries,
stimulating untold thousands to speak words of love
and to do deeds of benevolence. Obscurity has no
power, therefore, to neutralize this gift. If you exist,
you must exert power over others, for weal or woe.
At the close of a summer's day, a group of laughing girls sat on the steps of a pavilion which stood, a
summer residence, in the midst of beautiful grounds.
The air rung with their merry voices, and the groves
echoed back their laughter.  "What," said one of
them, "should we choose for our lot, if some good
fairy should stand before us, and grant us each a
wish?"
"I would choose to be a countess, with my hawks
and hounds to hunt withal," cried one, her dark eye
gleaming with the pride which inspirea the wish. 
INFLUENCE.
"I would found a college," said another, whose
ample brow and intelligent features proclaimed her
own love of literature.
"I would build a hospital that should be a house
of refuge for the poor, and a home for the sick,where love might soothe their pains and lighten theii
burden of sorrow," replied a third, while a tear of
benevolence, sparkling in her eye, declared the tenierness of the heart that prompted this wish.
"And if I were married, I would -"
A loud laugh interrupted this fourth speaker. It
came from the father of the girls, who, unperceived,
had approached the party, and overheard their
wishes. After some exclamations of surprise had
died away, the father, who was no less a personage
than the famous Sir THOMAS MORE, announced his
purpose to grant the wish of his daughter 5I,rcy,
and build a hospital. The hospital was erected, and
many a disconsolate heart found shelter and comfort
within its walls.  So  potent was  that wish, idly
uttered in a moment of girlish gayety.
The lesson inscribed on this fact is the uncer
77 
78       THE YOUNG- LADY'S COUNSELLO0.
tainty which attaches to the particular acts of life
It shows a careless word prolific of highly beneficial
results, bringing joy to many hearts. In like man
ner, a careless word may do evil. Hence, we nevel
know the real importance of our own acts. We cannot judge which of them will be most influential. A
truth that invests every detail of life with moral
grandeur, and demands the liveliest attention to our
minutest actions.
Permit me, young lady, to ask you how you are
to wield this tremendous element of power, with benefit to others, unless you do it by the aid of Divine
grace? How can you consecrate it to goodness, unless the Almighty Spirit of goodness imparts the
power? How can you attain the wise thoughtfulness, the lofty aim, the unselfish motive, the resolute
will, so essential to right influence, unless from the
indwelling of the Holy Spirit of love, wisdom and
purity? How can you, so weak, so thoughtless, so
inexperienced, safely guard and rightly expend, this
priceless treasure, in your own unassisted strength?
It is impossible! You could as easily create an 
INFLUENC.E.
archangel with a word, as to rightly exert your influence without the religion of Jesus Christ. Reject
him, and retributive justice will write anathema on
your influence. You shall feed on its terrible fruit
forever. As a spectre, with your name written in
distorti)n on its face, it shall stand before you. It
shall draw the curtain of your couch when you sleep,
and extend you an  ice-cold hand.   It will stand
before you at the hour of death, and thrust aside your
last prayer. It will stand upon your grave in the
resurrection, and at your side when God shall judge
you.* But, by embracing Christ, the will, the motive, the power to consecrate your influence to beneficent ends, will be given you. You will move as an
angel of goodness on earth. Your influence, living
after your death, will remain
" A rill, a river, and a boundless fla,"
upon whose waters numberless trophies shall be
borne, to adorn your triumph when you take your
place among the victors in the kingdom of God.
* See Schiller.
79
rI 
C(HAPTER IV.
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
HE  heroic achievements of  the
shepherdess of Domremi, JOAN or
ARC, are no doubt familiar to my
young reader.  Her imaginary in            ~   spiration; her enthusiastic persist            ence in the execution of her supposed
mission; her daring courage, as, armed
cap-a-pie and mounted on a fiery war            horse, she led the embattled hosts of
France to victory; her success, her sincel.
ity, her melancholy fate,- have awakened
your wonder, your admiration, and your pity. Her
romantic elevation from the peasant's hut to the palaces of kings, her brilliant but brief career, her astounding influence over proud ecclesiastics, haughty
nobles and great princes, her unquestionable and suc 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
cessfNl1 patriotism, are written indelibly upon your
imagination. But I am bold to presume that, with
all your surprise at her deeds, you have never really
loved her character   Not that there is nothing lovely
in it; but her masculine attitude casts so deep a
shadow upon her more womanly qualities, you feel
constrained to withhold your love. You cannot sympathize with a woman warrior. Her position, as a
military leader and combatant, unsexes her before
your feelings, and you rank her with the anomalies
of your sex.
On the contrary, you can contemplate the character of HANNAH MORE with a truly affectionate regard
-albeit she too was a patriotic defender and savior
of her nation. You can contemplate her amiable
spirit, heaving with anxious concern at the dangers
which hung over her country, at a period when revolution and anarchy threatened its institutions. You
can study her mind laboring to discern a method by
which she could aid in warding?ff the impending
danger. You can witness her studious labors with
the pen, and read her earnest appeals to the loyalty
6
81 
82        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
and good sense of the English people, through her
popular tracts. You can trace the success of these
appeals in the altered feelings of thousands toward
the government, and in the constitutional and peaceful reforms subsequently brought to pass in that
country. You can hear her named, by the voice of
Fame, as having been one of the principal instruments of saving the nation, - but no repugnant feeling rises in your breast toward  her.   You  can
admire her talents, her patriotism, wonder at her
success, and, withal, you can ardently love her character.  While Joan of Arc lives in your imagination,
Hannah More occupies a place in your affections.
For this difference in your feelings, you are not
responsible. Your repugnance to the character of
Joan of Arc, and your affectionate regard for that of
Miss More, are alike instinctive.  They both flow
from the constitution of your nature. They are not
peculiar to your own mind, nor to your own sex.
There are few, if any, minds uninfluenced by peculiar opinions, that would not be similarly affected, at
once, by an impartial view of these two characters 
THE TRUE SPHERIE O1' WOMAN.
The same remarks are applicable to all other women
of corresponding qualities. Who, for example, can
love the masculine energy of that really strongminded woman, Queen ELIZABETH?  Her qualities,
great and high as they were, cannot command our
affections, even though she stands before us as the
good Queen Bess."  So with MARTHA  GLAR, the
Swiss heroine, who led over two hundred women to
the field of Frauenbrun and to death, in defence of
liberty; with JAEL, the destroyer of Sisera; and with
every other woman who has stepped over the sphere
which nature, with unerring wisdom, has assigned to
her sex.  While VrOLUMNIA and VIRGILIA, the mother
and wife of Coriolanus, who saved their country by
affectionate appeals to the love and patriotism of that
indignant warrior, - Lady JANE G.REY, who chose
imprisonment and death rather than to shed English
blood in defence of her claims, -and even Queen Vicroars., in whom the woman is more prominent than
the queen, with hosts of others, who have blended true
womanly qualities with great and heroic deeds, live in
the affections of both sexes. How clear, therefore, is
sa 
THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLC'
the truth, that women in their proper sphere can mar -
ifest noble qualities, and be appreciated; but women
out of their sphere, while their deeds may command
partial admiration, cannot be beloved or appreciated
like the former. And this is not the result of conventional habits or opinions.  It is a law of the
human mind, from which there can be no successful
appeal. If nature designed men and women to move
in one and the same sphere, this intuitive repugnance toward masculine ladies would be unknown.
They would rather be hailed with acclamation and
viewed with pleasure, as models for their sex.
I should not have intruded the question of woman's sphere upon your attention, young lady, but
for the claims so notoriously set up by a certain class
of modern agitators in favor of what is technically
called " woman's rights." These invaders of ancient
ideas, who appear to regard everything as error
which has the sanction of antiquity, and C verything
as truth which is novel, would lead you on a vain
crusade, for political, governmental and ecclesiastical
-arity, with the other sex. The ballot-box, the 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
hustings the bar, the halls of legislation, the offices
of state, the pulpit, are demanded as fitting arenas
for the exercise of your talents. There ought to be
no barrier in your way to any position in society
whatever, merely because you are a woman. And
you are wronged, injured and proscribed, so long as
you are debarred, either by law or prejudice, from
entering any sphere you may prefer. Such are the
claims set up and advocated for your sex, by those
who would have you not a woman, but an Amazon.
Against these views I know that your woman's
nature utters its indignant protest, which is endorsed
with equal emphasis by your physical constitution.
And the voice of that sacred charter of woman's
rights,-  her great emancipator,-  the Gospel of Jesus Christ, supports this protest of your nature, and
rebukes the audacity of these modern innovators.
The Saviour, while he invited woman to listen to his
voice, permitted her to minister to his comfort, and
to hover, like an angel of love, about his path of sorrow, never called her to his side as an apostle, nor
sent her forth as a public teacher of mankind. His
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86  THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
truth, entering her gentle spirit, added lustre to her
virtues, and consecrated her skill to deeds of mercy.
It produced a MARY, with her meek loveliness; a
DORcAS, with her benevolent care for the poor; a
LYDIA and an "ELECT LADY," with their noble hospitality. It made delicate and trembling girls heroic
martyrs; but it never produced a bold declaimer, an
Amazonian disputant, nor a shameless contender for
political and ecclesiastical rights. It elevated her,
but left her in her own sphere. It increased heI
influence, but it never changed her mission. Neither
does the Gospel intimate that at the climax of its
triumph it will remove her from her distinct and
appropriate sphere.
Permit me, by way of illustrating another feature
of this question, to lead you into the sitting-room of
a respectable and pious lady.   She is neatly but
plainly attired, and is busy, with the aid of a servant,
dusting and cleaning the room. The door-bell rings,
and the girl hastens to see who is the visitor. She
finds the lady's pastor at the door, and, without ceremony, ushers him into the sitting-room. The lady's 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
face is suffused with blushes, as she confusedly lays
aside her dusting-brush, and offers her hand to the
minister, saying,  "Sir, I am ashamed you should
find me thus."
"Let Christ, when he cometh, find me  so doing,"
replies her pastor.
"What, sir! do you wish to be found in this enmployment?" earnestly inquires the astonished lady.
" Yes, madam, I wish to be found faithfully performing the duties of my mission, as I have found
you fulfilling yours."
And was not the minister right? He recognizea
a great, but a despised truth. He saw as high a
moral importance in the humble task of the lady as in
the missions of Gabriel to the ancient prophets: for
both did the will of God in their respective spheres;
and diversity of sphere does not necessarily involve
real inferiority in the employment. The lady in her
home could exhibit an affection as true, and an obedience as sincere, as the angel in his sphere. It
would be difficult to show therein her employment
was morally and necessarily inferior to his, inasmuch
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88        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
as the character of an act derives all its moral greatness, not from the sphere of the actor, but from its
conformity to the will of God.
Do you perceive the bearing of my illustration
upon the question of woman's sphere? It shows you
that your sex is not necessarily inferior to the other.
because it is called, by God and nature, to act in a
different sphere.   Your exclusion from the stage of
public life does not imply your inferiority,-only the
diversity of your powers, functions and duties. Indeed, it would  defy- the loftiest powers  to show
wherein the work, the mission or the sphere of
woman, is a whit beneath that of her more bustling
and prominent companion- man.
What is the sphere of woman? Home. The
social circle.  What  is her mission?   To  mould
character, - to fashion herself and others after the
model  character of Christ.   What are her chief
instruments for the accomplishment of her great
work?  The affections.  Love is the wand oy which
she is to work moral transformations within her fairy
circle. Gentleness, sweetness, loreliness and purity, 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
are the elements of her power. Her place is not on
life's great battle-fields. Man belongs there. It is
for himn to go forth armed for its conflicts and struggles, to do fierce battle with the hosts of evils that
throng our earth and trample upon its blessings.
But woman must abide in the peaceful sanctuaries
of home, and walk in the noiseless vales of private
life. There she must dwell, beside the secret springs
of public virtue. There she must smile upon the
father, the brother, the husband, when, returning like
warriors from the fight, exhausted and covered with
the dust of strife, they need to be refreshed by sweet
waters drawn "from affection's spring," and cheered
to renewed struggles by the music of her voice.
There she must rear the Christian patriot and statesman, the self-denying philanthropist and the obedient
citizen. There, in a word, she must form the character of the world, and determine the destiny of her
race.  How awful is her mission!  What dread responsibility attaches to her work! Surely she is not
degraded by filling such a sphere. Nor would she
be elevated, if, forsaking it, she should go forth into
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90       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
the highways of society, and jostle with her brothers
for the offices and honors of public life. Fame she
might occasionally gain, but it would be at the price
of her womanly influence.
Fancy yourself far out at sea, in a noble ship, contending with a furious storm.  A  "war of mountains" rages on the surface of the great deep;- they
seem "to swallow each other," and to "reproduce
new Alps and Andes from their monstrous depths,"
to keep up the strife.
"Beneath is one wild whirl of foaming surges;
Above, the array of lightnings, like the swords
Of Cherubim, wide brandished, to repel
Aggression from heaven's gates."
Behold, amidst this scene of grandeur, tile stormy
petrel gliding up the face of a huge wave, darting
above the foam of a breaker, or sweeping along the
watery valleys, as composedly and as naturally as it
ever swept over the same sea in an hour of calm.
Behold, too, another bird, whirling and darting above
the spray, with a cry of seeming despair; now flying
before t. monster sea, and anon struggling to keeu its 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
wet and weary wings from folding into helpless
inaction. B3ut see! it descries  your  ship, and,
Irompted  by an  instinct of self-preservation, flies
toward;t for shelter.  Alighting, it hides under the
lee of your bulwarks, in a coil of cable. Mark its
exhaustion! See how its wet breast heaves with the
violent beating of its little heart!  Its fright is excessive, and it is questionable if it will recover itself
or live.
Tell me, lady, why this little trembler is in so
pitiful a plight, while  the stormy petrel gambols
freely among  the  waves!   You  cannot  answer.
Then listen! The petrel is in its appropriate sphere.
The little trembler is a land-bird, tempted, at first, by
sunny weather, to wander among the islands, and
driven, at last, by a strong wind to sea. He is out of
his sphere; and hence his quiet has fled, his song is
silenced and his life endangered. God made him
tor the land; the grove is his home, and his sphere
is among the flowers.
It is thus with the entire creation. Everything
has its appointed sphere, within which alone it can
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92        THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
flourish.  Men and women have theirs.  They are
not exceptions to this truth, but examples of it. To
be happy and prosperous, they must abide in them.
Man is fitted for the storms of public life, and, like
the petrel, can be happy amidst their rudest surges.
Woman is formed for the calm of home. She may
venture, like the land-bird, to invade the sphere of
man, but she will encounter storms which she is
utterly unfitted to meet; happiness will forsake her
breast, her own sex will despise her, men will be unable to love her, and when she dies she will fill an
unhonored grave.
That great patriot, JOHN ADAMS, paid a high compliment to the power of your, when, in an hour
of deep political gloom, he wrote the following lines
to his wife. Alluding to the attack of the British
on the city of Philadelphia, he says: "I believe the
two Howes have not very great women for their
wives; if they had, we should suffer more from their
exertions than we do. A smart wife would have
put Howe in possession of Philadelphia a iong time
ago." 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
This remark of the statesman, playfully as it is
expressed, was, nevertheless, the offspring of an
opinion which he seriously maintained concerning
the influence of women. He contended that much
of the merit of the great men, whose names are on
the roll of fame, belonged to their sisters, wives and
mothers. Hence he attributed the faults of Howe to
the lack of high merit in his wife.
JOHN  QUINCY ADAms, the "old man  eloquent,"
once paid the following precious tribute to his
mother. "It is due to gratitude and nature, that I
should acknowledge and avow that, such as I have
been, whatever it was, such as I am, whatever it is,
and such as I ho   to be in all futurity, must be
ascribed, under Providence, to the precepts and example of my mother."
Very similar is the confession of the celebrated
German philosopher, KANT, who says, " I shall never
forget that it was my mother who caused the good
which is in my soul to f,ructify."
It was to his devoted sister that the pious PAsCAL
was indebted for preservation from a worldly spirit,
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94       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
which at one time threatened to drag him down frorn
the heights of a holy experience to the depths of sin.
But for her, his light might have been quenched forever.
The martyr missionary, MARTYN, was also led to
Christ by the gentle hand of his sister, who thus
called into action those mighty energies in his soul
which made his life an example of self-denying
labor.
I quote these honorable acknowledgments from
these great minds to confirm the opinion of John
Adams, and to impress it forcibly upon your heart.
You must consider them as specimen facts. Could
every great and good man ari   rom the dead, to
make known from whence the power came which
called his noblest qualities into action, each would
point to a sister, wife or mother. What can ambition in a woman's heart ask more? What if she is
forbidden to stand in the forum, to mount the rostrum, to enact the part of a Cicero, a Washington, a
Wesley?  Has she therefore nothing great in her dest,ny?  Is it nothing to sit beside young, unformed 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WVOMAN.
intellect, and, by the skilful strokes of her chisel, give
it such shape and beauty as shall command the
admiration of a world? Is that gift to be despised
which enables a woman, with almost unerring certainty, to determine the character of her brother, husband  or son?  Nay!  She who  trains  a soul to
right and noble deeds "stands higher in ie scale
of benefactors than he who unshackles l continent
from thraldom; for she adds more to the sum of
human happiness, if we estimate the effects by their
duration." *
Nor are the pleasures of success less delightful in
a woman's breast, because she attains it through another.  If a rich ti;:fjoy flows through the breast
of an applauded h,a triumphant statesman or a
useful philanthropist, there is another Equally delightful in the bosom of the woman who is conscious
that, but for her, the great man would never have
mounted the pedestal of his greatness.
Behold, for an example, a splendid scene enacted
at the close of the Revolutionary war.  COrNWALLI.
*See Chalmers' Memoirs, vol. i., p. 246.
95 
96       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
and his army had been captured. The Revolution
was successful. The great chiefs and officers of the
victorious armies were assembled at a festival in
honor of their victory. The spacious saloon was
crowded. There were those chivalrous Frenchmen,
in their gorgeous uniforms, who, at the cry of liberty.
had bravely rushed to arms, and whose valor hal
been prod in many a hard-fought field.  Theie
were those sturdy continentals, whose daring courage and unconquerable spirit had triumphed over
the disciplined bravery of their English opponents.
There, also, were the women, the matrons of that
heroic age, with their blushing daughters, all radiant
with the sunny spirit of joy       reigned throughout that brilliant assembly.
Presently the doors of the saloon open to admit a
personage, whose entrance awakens universal attention. His figure is noble and commanding; his bearing dignified, without haughtiness; his expression
lofty, but mild. He treads the floor with unaffected,
yet unsurpassed majesty. His presence kindles every
eye and heart with the ardor of rapturous enthusiasm. 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
lie is regarded with reverence, yet with affection,:s a superior, and yet as a friend.  He presents to
tbheir gaze the rare sight of a Christian soldier and
Ian unaml)itious statesmanl.  He combines in himself
the daring of.I CTsar with the caution of a Fabilus,
-the patriotism of a PRegulus and the virtue of a
Cincinnatus.  THe is the man whose en         -'fortitude, military prowess, and overawiing i    ce, had
sustained tihe spirit of tTie Revolution, crowned it with
success, and earned for himself the glorious preerrinence of being the "first in war, first in peace, and
first in the hearts of his countrymen,"- for that personage was GEORGE AsHINGTON!
Never, perhap          homage  more sincerely or
heartily rendered    man than by the brave and
beautiful in that hall; and never was it more deserved.  Nor is it possible to conceive of a purer,
sweeter human  joy, than that which swelled his
bosom.
There was another heart, however, that shared in
the homage and the joy of thea,t occasion. Leaning
on the arm of the hero, in simple stateliness of mien,
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7 
98       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
there walked MARY, THE MOTHER OF WASHINGTON
She had trained him in his boyhood, -taught him
the principles and developed the qualities which lay
at the foundation of his greatness. It was her hands
which had moulded his character to symmetry and
moral  beauty.   Her  prayers,  her influence, and
her instrutions, had repressed and restrained  the
growth 6e il qualities, and cultivated that divine
life in his soul, which led him to take counsel of the
God  of battles-  the Governor of nations.   Her
early influence over her glorious son was well understood, and silently acknowledged, in that gay assembly. Yea, her son had owned it, -was proud of it.
He laid his lofty honors at he        and prized her
smile above the noisy voices of.  Did she then
experience a pleasure aught inferior to his? Who
shall decide which bosom was the happiest on that
triumphant day.? The joy of Washington was
great; the joy of his mother was, at least, equal.
Would she have accomplished more, or tasted a
sweeter pleasure, if, forsaking her sphere, she had
mingled directly in the councils of the states and the 
THE TRUE SPHERE OF WOMAN.
movements of the camp?  Impossible!  She helped
to achieve the Revolution, - she shared the richest
enjoyments of its success; but she did it through her
heroic son,- just as God would have every woman
win her honors and rewards, through her brother,
husband or child.
Away, then, from your heart, young lady, with all
the' vagaries of these pseudo reformers! Treat their
crude opinions with the contempt they deserve.
Glory in the true greatness and real sublimity of the
sphere you are called to fill. Labor to qualify yourself to fulfil your mission with distinoguished success.
Obtain, by persevering self-culture, those high qualities which lift   /mind above another.   For you
must not fail to    ember, that you cannot communicate high qualities anid noble sentiments to other
minds, unless they first exist in your own. Cultisvate, therefore, the loftiest virtues, the highest elemnents of great character. Let them be chastened in
yourself by that sweet sunniness of spirit, and that
affectionate gentleness, which command the avenues
of the human heart. Thus will you secure both
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100      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
respect and love.  You will impress your image on
some precious masculine mind in whom  it shall go
fLrtli upon the great'theatre of life, to act with bless
-i, aid power upon future generations.
Such lig your sipere, with it. weiighty respons
-',ity, yott reqluire the aids of religion to fill it witlh
,)~'oyriety and eftfect.  Flighi qualities are not the o,'1spriii,r of an ungracious nature.   There is too much
of the ii'loral weakless of depravity in the human
soul, to permit its harmonious and useful developmenit, without  the restraints  and  aids of grace.
Where the spirit of revealed religion does not reign
there will be moral deformity.   Selfishness with i s
forbidding aspect, pride, envy,        discontent, fret.
fulness, ill-temper, and troops Of -ilndred vices, -will
wound and( sear your c,haracter, diminish your influence, and disturb your peace.   But, by surrendering
yourself to the claims and influences of the Saviour,
your life will be as a fruitful branch in a beautiful
vine. The fruits of the Spirit will adorn it. Clusters of graces, such as love, joy, peace, gentleness,
goodness and meekness, will give it attractiveness. 
THE TRUE SPIHERE OF WOMAN.
its beauty will impress the minds around you, and
act as a mighty restraint firomr sin upon them, as
they wander over the earth.  Your image will stand
before a brother, a husband or a father, as a good
genius in his hour of temptation, and forbid the triumrph of the tempter. For, calling up your character, his full heart will exclaim of you,
"She looks as whole as some serene
Creation minted in the golden moods
Of sovereign artists; not a thought, a touch,
But pure as lines of green that streak the white
Of tile first snow-drop's inner leaves."
To impress such an image of yourself upon some
loved mind witbp your circle, is worth a litfetime of
effort.   And you have nlo effectual meanLs of accomplislhin  so noble a tasklc, LUt by communing deeply
with the spirit of Jesus.  iResolve, therefore, to live at
his footstool, ande he w.il'. inspire you with every high
and holy quality necessary to enable you to filfil
your earthly mission.
10! 
CHAPTER V.
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
HE  author of "THE NEw TIM.ON,"
)    describing the character of a young
heroine,  who  won  all hearts  to
;Q =     v ~  herself thus explains the philoso
\ phy of her influence:
"It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still
It was not wit, wit l1es the heart more
chill;"''!:
But that continuous sweetness, which, with
ease,
Pleases all round it, from the wish to please..
This was the charm that Lucy's smile be            stowed;
The wave's fresh ripple from deep fountains
flowed;
Below, exhaustless gratitude, - above,
Woman's meek temper, childhood's ready
love." 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
Here the poet places an abiding sweetness of
spirit, a meek loveliness of temper, as the central
star.n a constellation of virtues which adorn his
ideal woman. The inspired writer expressed the
same high estimate of a kind and loving spirit, when
he drew his admirable picture of a "virtuous woman," whose "price isfar above rubies."  Of her he
says,  " She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in
her tongue is THE LAW OF KINDNESS."
This loveliness of spirit is woman's sceptre and
sword, for it is both the emblem and the instrument
of her conquests. Her influence flows from her sensibilities, her gentleness, her tenderness. It is this
which disarms prjudice, and awakens confidence
and affection in all who come within her sphere;
which makes her more powerful to accomplish what
her will resolves than if nature had endowed her
with the strength of a giant. For, while the will of
a pigmy may resist, to his destruction, the commands
of a Cyclops,
" The heart must
Leap kindly back to kindness."
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104       TIlTE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Speaking of this power, an elegant writer says:
"If there is such a native loveliness in the sex as to
makre a woian victorious whlen in the wrong, how
resistless her pover whei she  is on the side of
truth!"  And even the ancient bard of Erin, OSSIAN,
sung the same idea, in the days of old.  Describing
a maiden heroine, he says' Loveliness, with a robe
of beams, clothed the maid of Lutha, the daughter
of niany isles."
I would not have you imagine, young lady, that
loveliness of spirit alone  is  a source  of high  and
aht)ding  influence, nor  that  other  great  qualities
may be dispensed with, if this one is obtained.   So
far is this from the truthi, th,at this quality is depenclicut upon the existence of the most ex-alted moral
excellences.  Nature  may  ha,e en ewd you with
exquisite sensibility, with a hio'l,r rei~,ed and d1 icate physical organization,  whecl mzay,v oe yie  t-he
appearance of beinr  lovely,r and eal1e yoe  to make(
a favorable impression, anl to exert an irrsi stib le
power over the mind you aitmn to f1siinate.  But, if
vowr lheart is lacking in hi,hnT1i     lf-("(dc s:-r(votio,,, in 
LI,OVELINESS OFF SPIRIT.
self-control, in sincerity, in genuine meekness, your
loveliness, like a coating of gold upon a counterfeit
coin, will disappear before all who  behold you in
contact with the realities of life.  Genuine loveliness
is the effulgernce of sublime virtue; it is a soft and
mellow light, diffusing a delicious radiance over.the
entire character, and investing its possessor with a
halo of indefinable beauty.  It is the " fresh ripple
from deep fountains" of inborn love. It is the gentle
dew descending from the clear heaven of a pure
and lofty mind    the mystic charm that "pleases al~
around, froni the wish to please."
Permit Ie to leaid you to what may appear ant
unlikely spot to learn much of the power of lovelines -  to the cell of a maniac.  Behold his furious
ravirg's at our approach!  Mark his  ild and terrifyiln  expression    How fearful a thing is madness
But see!  Here is a beautiful child, just able to talk.
Sh  holds a rosy apple in her tiny fingers, anu  with
timid steps is approachiing the,rating of the cell.
Placing the apple between two bars, sle addresses
the nmaniic in thle soft and musical voice of child
.
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106      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
hood, saying,  "Sir, will you  please to take  an
apple? "
He gazes at the child a moment in stupid wonder,
and then retires raving to the corner of his cell. Let
a day pass, in your imagination. Again the little
girl comes toddling towards the cell, and repeats her
offer of love. In vain, as yet, is her appeal. Another and another day passes, with the same offer
and  the same  result.   Unwearied  the little one
stands, an angel of love, in the madman's presence,
warbling forth her offer of "Sir, will you take an
apple?" The eyes of the maniac rest a moment
upon those of the child; they are full of the expression of love. He is attracted. Her sweet voice
renews the request, "Will you take an apple, sir?"
He is fascinated. She smiles. He is subdued.
He accepts the fruit, and eats it. The keeper now
opens the door of his cell. The little girl takes him
by the hand, leads him forth docile as a lamb, and
presents us with a lovely picture of madness conquered by the persevering kindness and loveliness of
a gentle girl. 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
From this life-painting let us turn to another
equally affecting and instructive. It contains a venerable old English market, with its busy crowds of
buyers and sellers. Beneath its shadow, and near
one of its corners, is a humble stall, in which stands
a poor woman, rough in her exterior, but very benevolent in her looks.  Her mind seems divided  between the care of her stall and of an idiot boy, who
sits on the ground near by, swinging backwards and
forwards, and singing, in a low, pathetic voice, an
unmeaning strain. The poor creature is thoroughly
demented. He knows nothing, and he spends all his
time seated as we behold him. His mother's love is
the only ray that penetrates the chambers of his
darkened mind.
One day the neighbors missed this old market.
woman and her idiot son from their accustomed
places. Seeking her humble hovel, they found her
lying dead upon her comfortless couch, with the boy
seated beside the corpse, holding her cold hand in
his, and mournfully singing his accustomed strain.
I hey spoke kindly to him. He looked at them with
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aTHE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLIOR.
a tear standing in his eye, and then, clasping the
dead hand with increased tenderness, resumed his
unmeaning song, but in a softer andt sadder key.
( Door wretch! what shall we do with him?" inquired the visiters. As they stood gazing on the
melancholy spectacle, the boy gathered the dust from
the floor in his two hands, sprinkled it upon his head,
and broke forth, with a wild, clear, heart-searching
pathos, into his monotonous song.  Thus affectingly
did this idiot lad proclaim the depth of the imnpression made upoln his spirit by the continuous kindnes3
.of his mothe, years of whose life had been wearily
spent in self-devoted care for her child.  The  loveliness of a mrother's devotednless had penetrated  th'
soul of An idiot.
I have yet another illustrative sketch, by which to
impress your heart with a conviction that the nower
of a kind and  lovely spirit is almost irresistible.
The  scene  is fromn  one of those sad and  dre.ry
events  so  plentiful  in  the  French  RPevolution.
tAmong the prisoners in the Abbey was the venerable CAZOTI'TE and  his lovely daughter  ELTzA.EITI. 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
Finding no proofs of royalism against the daughter,
the revolutionary leaders sent an order for her dis l.}'.sal from the prison.  H-cr filial heart refused the
l_ift of liberty, and, at the cost of muclh personal  suff('rinfg, she cluing tL o h    lc  11c fathicr's sicde ill )ris,l.
-r 7   rous  ei-doi hr  vir'il-otus deportiinecr,,
::e1 tice er,tlire, l Ioveilines of lie   irit, wrout,ght wAto'.iuilly oil ill wzithin tile  trism;.  -velt those:lur
(i/,J'oll,s  Iialrseilli c,:cse 1  eartts were harder tha-i
the steel of their swords, acknowledged her povwer,
>tid protected the person of her iather for her sake.
Blit, on the terrible second of September, 1792, after
t carnag,e of thirty hours in the court of the Abl)bey,
C;,zotte was  summoned  to meet  death.   " Wly
'ere you imprisoned'?" demanded one of tihese niurdIerers.
You will find the answer in the ja-ler's book!"
Nwas the old man's stern reply.
An axe was already uplifted. The blood-stained
hands were outstretched to pierce his aged breast.
Hlis daughter rushed wildly through the crowd,
threw herself on the old minan's neck, and presenting
109 
110     TTHE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
her bosom to the swords of the assassins, exclaimed,
" Strike, barbarians!   You shall not get at my
father until you have pierced my heart!"
The effect of this act was irresistible. The pikes
were checked. The hands of the murderers were
paralyzed.   The  mob  was  overawed.   A   voice
shouted "Pardon!"  "Pardon! pardon!" replied a
thousand voices, and the beautiful Elizabeth, rendered doubly beautiful by her agitation, and defended by a band of Marseillois, led her father forth
from that scene of blood, amidst the thunders of their
applause, to liberty and home. An example of the
power of self-devoted loveliness of character over the
fiercest minds.
These illustrations of the power of a kind and
lovely spirit are, I admit, extreme cases. I have
chosen such examples in preference to others, because they best subserve my purpose.   For if kindness has power over a maniac, an idiot, an assassin,
it must be sufficient to subdue minds that are more
accessible to influence.   If love in the heart and
sweetness in the manner of the gentle girl could sub 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
due a raving maniac, - if in the market-woman it
could awaken affection in an idiot's breast, - if in
Elizabeth it could charm the minds and change the
purpose of murderers,- surely, in your hands, it is
capable of doing much with the almost infinitely
more susceptible minds that move within your
sphere. Possess it, and you may bind the soul of
your brother, in bonds softer than velvet and stronger
than gyves of brass, to religion and virtue. You
may awaken the mind of your scholars to noble aspirations after excellency on earth and glory in heaven.
You may sustain the spirit of your father, and save
him from yielding to despair in an hour of temptation. You may mould the destiny of your husband,
and breathe the air of Paradise around his tried
spirit, until he shall acknowledge you to be the good
genius of his existence. You may train your children, if you ever become a mother, so that, as CoRNELIA found her highest honor in being the MOTHER
OF THE GRACCHI, it may be the richest thought of
your life that you are the mother of patriot, philanthropic and Christian children, and that through the
ill 
112      1'TIE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
deeds of brother, father, husband or son, your iname
is to be wvrit in the affections of posterity.   Seel,
therefore, and  seekl earnestly, after a lovely spirit!
Fi]idl it, and you will b)0 enthroned queen of the
sphleLre ill wvlli('l you imove.
The citizles of ancieont Rome w vere accustolled to
)pl[ce tlhe images of their great ancestors in thle vestihIues of their houses.   Tihese venerable     busts coistaltly met their eyes, andl reminded  tlheIa of the
glorious  actions of  the  dead.    They  were  thus
prompted to imitate the heroic  examples  of their
illustrious fathers, and to transmit a worthy name to
posterity.   The idea was certainly a noble one, and
was, to some extent, successful.   It created a pride
of character, which ledcl to noble deeds, in a long line
of glorious  IRomans,  through  many  ages  of that
gig,Iantic commonwealth.
This fact recognizes a g(reat truthl, which has ai
important bearing on the subject of power over other
minds. It teaches the depth and practical results of
oft-repeated impressions. Those marble busts, cold
and lifeless as they were, repeated their silent les.
A 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
sons of virtuous heroism every day. They constantly reminded the young Roman of the glory that
gathers round the name of him who formns a high
character, and  lives for noble  aims.   The  idea
entered his heart. He mused upon it until he did
reverence to the virtues of the ancients, and resolved
to tread in their consecrated steps.
It is by a corresponding process that a spirit of
meek loveliness in a woman achieves its ends.  Its
abiding presence, its constant exhibition in the thousand daily acts of her life, in the tones of her voice,
and in the spiritual atmosphere which she creates
around her, gradually wins the affections of the most
wilful minds.  It is not by one striking act of kindness
she gains her influence, but from the impression which
her daily deportment makes on her associates. Her
presence is a beam of light, gladdening the family
circle, and its members soon learn to rejoice at her
presence, to feel charmed by her character. She
breathes words of kindness in every ear, her eyes
beam with the light of love upon all, her feet hasten
to assist all. There is a noble unselfishness in her
8
113 
114      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
actions, a benevolent devotion to the interests and
pleasure of others, which throws a spell of enchantment over them. In her the song of the poet is
realized:
" Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords
with might,
Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, passed in music out
of sight."
The celebrated WILLIAM WIRT, in a letter to his
daughter, discourses on the power of this unselfish
loveliness in woman, in the following sensible manner.  He says, "I want to tell you a secret.  The
whole world is like the miller at Mansfield; he
cared for nobody, -no, not he, - because nobody
cared for him. And the whole world will serve you
so, if you give them the same cause. Let every one,
therefore, see that you do care for them, by showing
them what STERNE so happily calls' the small sweet
courtesies of life,' in which there is no parade
whose voice is too still to tease, and which manifest
themselves by tender and affectionate ooks and little
acts of attention- giving others the preference in 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
eve y little enjoyment at the table, in the field, walking, sitting or standing.  This is the spirit that gres
your sex its sweetest charm.  It constitutes the sum
total of the witchcraft of woman. Let the world see
that your first care is for yourself, and you will
spread the solitude of the upas-tree around you, in
the same way, by the emanation of a poison which
kills all the juices of affection in its neighborhood.
Such a girl may be admired for her understanding
and accomplishments, but she will never be beloved.
"The seeds of love can never grow but under the
warm and genial influence of kind feelings and affectionate manners.   Vivacity goes  a great way  in
young persons. It calls attention to her who displays it.  If it then be found associated with a generous sensibility, its execution is irresistible. On
the contrary, if it be found in alliance with a cold,
haughty, selfish heart, it produces no other effect
than an adverse one."
I remember a young lady, ANNETTE by name, who
was remarkably beautiful and extremely vivacious.
These qualities attracted a splendid young man,
115 
116      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
named FREDERICK, to her side. Annette seemed sc,
cheerful, so pleasant and so agreeable, that the youth
was fascinated. He became first her daily companion, and, shortly after, her accepted lover. They
appeared as if nature designed them for each other;
and, in the beautiful language of TENNYSON, it
" Nor stranger seemed that hearts
So gentle, so employed, should close in love,
Than when two dew-drops on the petal shake
To the same sweet air, and tremble deeper down,
And slip at once all fragrant into one."
But, alas! the sweetness of Annette's manners
was not the beaming of a lovely spirit. It was a
mask worn only in the court of pleasure, and in the
gala hours of love. At home, when unwatched by
all but the eyes of her family, the true features of
her really unlovely spirit displayed themselves in all
their hatefulness. Selfish and proud, she tyrannized
over her mother, and spread the infection of a wayward temper over the entire household.  If she was
the idol of the party she was the affliction of her
home.  Alas for her betrothed! — he was in danger 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
of finding tinsel, where he sought gold. Happily he
one day made a call at an unexpected hour. The
door was open, and with a justifiable familiarity he
entered the parlor.  A shrill voice reached his ear;
it was speaking in angry tones.  Could it be Annette's voice? He listened with painful attention,
and heard her, whom he supposed to be the mirror
of all gentleness, scolding her mother in most unfilial
language, and in all the vehemence of unwomanly
passion.   He quietly retired, and from that hour
Annette had no lover. She had deceived him, and
he felt justified in shrinking from an alliance which
would be sure to embitter his life.
You may pronounce this an unfortunate discovery
for Annette.  Butwould she have gained aught for
herself, if, by blinding Frederick, she had become his
bride? Would not that unlovely spirit have accompanied her to her bridal home?  Would it not have
become a grim destroyer of its peace? Revealing
itself to her husband, it would have dashed his cup
of bliss to the dust, and have uncovered the deception when too late for a remedy. Then his love
117 
118      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
would have turned to loathing and to scorn, and the
miserable pair would have spent their lives in mutual
disgust and sorrow. Annette, though she had the
power to appear lovely, lacked true loveliness of
mnind, and could not create an empire of pleasure
without first remedying so essential a defect.  Remember, therefore, young lady, that loveliness must
exist in the spirit. Outward gentleness, like odor
from a flower or music from a harp, must proceed
from a soul made lovely in itself
When that iron-minded warrior, CAIUS MARIUS,
was taken prisoner in the marshes of the LIpis, his
captors sent a Gallic soldier to his prison, with orders
to put him to death. - The captive sat in the darkest
corner of his chamber. His eyes gleamed fiercely
on his executioner, and in a voice of thunder he
exclaimed, "Man! durst thou kili Caius Marius?"
The looks, the language, the voice, the energy of
Marius, produced so powerful an impression upon the
Gaul, that he threw d wn his sword and fled, declaring it was impossible to kill the prisoner.
Now, often thousand other men, probably not one min 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
similar circumstances would have so moved this fierce
Gallic barbarian, even had he used the same words.
Why, then, did Marius affect him so powerfully?
There was uncommon might and power in his great
spirit. He possessed extraordinary energy of mind,
which, from a habit of commanding others, he had
learned to throw into his words and looks. Thus
his mind acted, beyond the power of the mere words
he uttered, upon the mind of the soldier, and completely paralyzed his action. All minds possess this
attribute of expressing their qualities through words
and looks, and are constantly making impressions
upon other minds thereby, according to the kind and
measure of their power.
This power of the mind to act on others by spiritual impressions is one of its most surprising qualities, and perhaps, from the constancy of its operation,
its chief source of influence. And as is the mind, so
is the impression it makes. As the image must first
be in the die before it can impress the coin, so must
the impression made upon other minds exist first in
the spirit of her who makes it. Hence the impossi
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120       THF YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
bility of simulating a lovely spirit. The manners
of a lady may be polished, her air soft and graceful,
and the countenance wreathed in smiles; but unless
the soul itself is lovely, the impression made by the
character will be unfavorable, at least, on those with
whom she constantly associates. The mental habil
will betray itself. If unloving and unlovely, it will
display its features, in spite of the most artful precautions. If really lovely in itself, its beams will cast
their lustre on the outward manners, and thereby
attract other minds, as surely as the fierce mental
energy of Marius conquered the spirit of the Gallic
soldier.
Seek, therefore, young lady, to adorn yourself
with this most charming of all ornaments. Shrink
from every secret moral deformity, more than you do
Tom physical disfigurement. Repress every inward
movement  of unlovely emotions.   Regard  envy,
pride, hate, revenge, selfishness, rage and kindred
passions, as serpents which must have no abode in
your heart; or as poisons, which, if admitted into
your mental life, will produce loathsome eruptions, 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
disgusting deformities and deadly results   Keep the
chambers of your soul clean and unpolluted. But
every pure emotion and generous sentiment you
must sedulously cultivate and foster, with persevering care. Breathe a kindly feeling for all. Desire
to impart a pleasure to all with whom you meet.
Live to scatter flowers of joy in every path you
tread. - to be a golden beam of soft and mellow
light in every home you visit. Aim to move as a
loving seraph in every circle. Thus animated by
inward emotions and purposes, your outward life and
actions will shine with softened lustre upon all.
You will sway a sceptre of hallowed power over
many hearts; and, while you "draw to yourself the
love of others, as the diamond drinks up the sun's
rays, only to return them in tenfold strength and
beauty," you will put on charms which "no beauty
of known things, nor imagination of the unknown,
can aspire to emulate.   You will shine in colors
purer and brighter than pearl or diamond or prism
can reflect. Arabian gardens, ill their bloom, can
exhale no such sweetness as a lovely spirit diffuses.'
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122     THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
A faithful mother was accustomed to interrogate
her children, at night, concerning the good they had
tried to do during the day. One night her twin
daughters were silent, yet seemed, by their manners,
to wish to say somewhat.    By  kind solicitation
from their judicious mother, they were induced to
tell their little tale of love. One of them said:
"I remember nothing good: only, when one of my
school-mates was happy because she had gained the
head of the class, I smiled on her and ran to kiss
her.  And she said I was good."
Her sister then said: "A little girl who sat next to
me at school had lost her baby brother; I saw that
while she studied her lesson she hid her face in her
book and cried. I felt sorry, and laid my face on the
same book, and cried with her.  Then she looked up,
and was comforted, and put her arms round my
neck. But I do not know why she said I had done
her good."
This is a picture of beauty which appeals to the
hleart. I love those sweet children, thiough I nevei
saw them Their young spirits appear to me as vir 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
gin founts of unselfish sensibility With what artless simplicity they unveil their souls to our eyes!
Their actions were not for effect. It was not to be
beloved or praised, that the one mingled her tears,
and the other her smiles, with the tears and smiles
of their respective companions. No. The weeping
one shed tears because she "felt sorry;" the other
smiled because she felt glad at her companion's joy.
This was genuine loveliness, bringing forth one of its
most delightful fruits, in that pure sympathy which
their conduct so finely exemplified.
Let the rare sympathy of these lovely children,
also, adorn your life, young lady. It is the natural
and certain growth of the sweet, unselfish spirit
already urged upon you.  To  "rejoice with them
that rejoice, and weep with them that weep," is the
delicious pleasure of a mind rightly disposed towards
others; it is also the surest method of imparting joy.
We are never so precious, in the eyes of mankind, as
when we enter into their feelings.  As saith SCILi
LER,
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124      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
"How lovely,
How sweet it is, in a fair soul, to feel
Ourselves as holy things enshrined: to know
Our happiness another cheek doth kindle,
Our trouble dobh another bosom swell,
Our sorrow fill with tears another's eyes."
On the contrary, a selfish, unsympathetic nature,
however it may triumph over others by superior
mental power, neither imparts nor gains a pleasure.
It must stand dumb forever before the question of
the indomitable POSA to the Spanish PHILIP, whose
towering spirit aimed to stand in isolated triumph
above the rest of mankind:
"When you've sunk mankind
To be your harp-strings, who will share with you
The harmony struck from them?"
I have now described and illustrated the nature,
power and necessity, of loveliness of spirit. You
clearly see the nature of that charm which constitutes the "witchcraft of woman." Suffer me, in all
the frankness of friendship, to say, that this essential
and wonder-working quality is not natural to your
sex, notwithstanding the delicacy of your physicai 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
organization and the sensibility with which you are
endowed. To say that women are all kind, self devoted, sympathetic and lovely, is to contradict ex perience. Pride, jealousy, discontent, envy, malice,
and other baleful fruits of a sinful nature, however
modified in their manifestation, are as common in
women as in men.   As far as they exist, they make
her character unlovely, they weaken her power of
attraction, they reduce her measure of influence for
good. How are they to be expelled? Can it be
done by self-culture- by vigorous resistance of will
-by the mind itself?  Without doubt, much of the
outward manifestation of such qualities may be thus
hindered; but their growth cannot be prevented, nor
their existence terminated, by human strength alone.
JOB has strongly expressed human imbecility, in its
conflict with these evils of the heart. Hear him.
"If I wash myself with snow water, and make my
lzands never so clean, yet shalt thou plunge me in the
ditch, and mine own clothes shall abhor me."
By this striking. language, we are taught that
when man has done his best to purge himself, God
125
I 
126      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR,
has but to let light shine upon his heart, to make
him as morally loathsome in his own eyes, as he
would be physically if he were to fall into a ditch.
SAINT PAUL also made this experiment of selfpurification, with all the might of his great soul.
What was the result? Behold it in his pathetic cry
of despair:
"0, wretched man that I az! who shall deliver
mne from the body of this death?"
By whom, therefore, is deliverance to be won?
Whose hand can break the yoke of evil passions?
Whose wand can bring forth beauty in the spirit?
Let the apostle answer.   Hear his " Io triumphe!"
"The law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus HATH
MADE iME FREE!"  That is, the Holy Spirit, received
into the heart by faith in Christ, was the means of
delivering him from his evil propensities, and of enabling him to produce those fruits of the Spirit
which were the ornament of his life. Go, then, dear
young lady, and imitate the holy apostle. Lay the
foundations of a lovely character in a converted
heart. Let the grace of the Lord Jesus create you 
LOVELINESS OF SPIRIT.
anew in his image, which is the perfection of all
loveliness.  Thus will you be put in possession of
genuine virtue, whose lustre, shining in all your
actions, will invest your character with real glory.
Living to bless others, you will yourself be blessed;
oecause,
" All worldly joys are less
Than that one joy of doing kindnesses."
And when, in the dying hour, you are feeling that
" Power, will, sensation, memory, fail in turn,
Your very essence seems to pass away,
Like a thin cloud that melts across the moon,
Lost in the blue immensity of heaven."
Then those you have loved, and blessed in loving
them, shall watch your departing soul, and breathe
after it the prayer of
" Heaven's peace upon thee, even as thou hast
Over this soul a calm of-sunshine cast."
127 
CHAPTER VI.
SELF-RELLINCE
SWISS hunter, who support        it~__    ed his family, for many years,
D         o    * — ~by hunting the wild chamois in
:,,  the mountains around his humble
"~ ~~,~-chalet, was induced to give up his
n abode, and  remove  to a cottage,
which stood beside a pass in the lower
G  Alps.  Here, he was often required to
act as guide or host to lost or weary
travellers. For these servioes he frequently
received liberal rewards; and, for the first
time in his life, became the possessor of
gold. It fascinated him, and he learned to taste a
strange pleasure in hoarding it up, and in listening to
its chink, as he counted it unnumbered times.
It happened, on a certain day, while he was en 
SELF-RELIANCE.
gaged in hunting, that he found a cavern in a lone
mountain nook. He removed a stone which filled
the entrance, that he might eat his noontide meal
beneath its roof. Judge of his surprise, on entering,
to perceive a vase filled with golden coins and glittering ore!  The sight enchanted him.   He handled the precious treasure, gazed at it, counted the
coins and was half frantic with insane joy.  Nor did
he stir from the spot until the day had waned.
Then he securely closed the cave, for he was afraid
to reveal the secret even to his wife, and returned to
his cottage to dream of his magnificent discovery.
Day. after day, he visited his treasure. Fromr
" early morn to dusky eve," he lay beside it, feasting
his eyes upon the dazzling wealth. All his interest
in his home, his wife and children, seemed extinguished. He no longer bounded over the hills in
search of the wild chamois, nor cared to lend his
services to the mountain traveller. His familypined
for want of food. His own person grew gaunt and
poor. His spirit waxed sullen and gloomy. That
cave became his world. To watch the vase, and
9
129 
130      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
gloat upon its contents, was his life. The gold
demon had enslaved him;  he was dead to every
2  ther passion, save that terrible idolatry of gold.
One day, as he lay upon the ground, absorbed in
counting the money, a portion of the rock that
formed the cave fell from above upon his waist, and
pinned him to the earth. Vainly he struggled and
writhed, to escape from his strange imprisonment.
Vain were his cries for aid. The cave was in a spot
so wild, that even the hunters of the Alps rarely
passed it in their wanderings. There, then, in fear ful agony, he perished. And when, after searching
vainly for a week, his friends discovered his. body,
the fatal gold was found firmly clutched in his dead
fingers.
The folly of this foolish huntsman is so apparent,
that pity for his fate is almost lost in indignation at
his insane sacrifice of all the interests of life to a
destructive passion. My reader shrinks from such
an example, with disdainful pity. Yet many of her
sex are the victims of a folly equally egregious, and
no less dangerous. Possibly my reader may herself 
SELF-RELIANCE.
be guilty of spending these golden years of her life
in devotion to the frivolous and transitory joy of the
passing hour, paying no regard to those qualifications
which are absolutely necessary for her subsequent
conflict with real life.  Her daily, hourly devotion,
is paid at the shrine of some idle pleasure, which,
like the hunter's gold, sways her as with the enchantment of some great magician. Amused, infatuated, thoughtless, she lives on the plenty of her
paternal home, an absolute dependant upon its bounty. The future, with its thousand possibilities and
probabilities of affliction, stands before her, claiming
her attention and demanding  preparation  for its
duties. It whispers her need of mental and moral
qualifications, as strong foundations within her heart
for self-reliance, in the day of desolation. It bids
her imitate the high example of the poet, who
said:
"I from that secret store
Wrought linked armor for my soul, before
It might walk forth to war among mankind."
131 
132      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
To this whisper she is deaf; or, hearing it, she
turns, like GINEVRA,
"Laughing and looking back, and flying still."
She will live in and for the present only; -for the
present, which will not stay with her, but which
glides past and leaves her to the mercy of that future,
which, in spite of her neglect to prepare for it, will
come, with its harsh realities. Will it be wonderful,
if its coming should be as the falling of the stone
uponi the unhappy Swiss,- a cause of suffering, of
ruin, of sorrow unto death? -if she should erewhile
sit amid the desolations of a life-storm,
"Like a scorched and mildewed bough,
Leafless'mid the blooms of May?"
I hope, therefore, young lady, you will pluck the
fruit of wisdom from my illustration, and learn that
one of your first duties is to acquire those qualifications which are necessary to fit you for the emergencies of life, and to enable you to rely upon yourself, if, at any time, your natural protectors should
be removed by death, or forsake you thro'gh the 
SELF-RELIANCE.
want of affection. Young ladies whose parents are
in liberal circumstances, whose wants are anticipated by loving friends, are in great danger of growing into a habit of depending wholly upon others.
They insensibly learn to lean upon the arm of parental strength. They fail to acquire the power of
depending upon themselves. Nay, they dare not
contemplate the possibility of being compelled to do
so. They transfer their sense of dependence from
the father to the husband, and vainly hope that one
or the other may always be at hand with the means
and disposition to sustain them. They look upon
themselves as on the ivy whose tendrils cling for
support to the majestic oak or lofty crag; forgetting
that the lightning may rend the crag or smite the
oak: then, what is left to the ivy but to trail in the
dust, to be
"Soiled beneath the common tread"?
Now, though dependence upon others is nrere
natural and more fitting to woman than to man,
though, in the providence of God, she generally finds
133 
134      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNgELLOR.
a male protector,- yet since she may be, by adverse
events, thrown wholly upon her own'resources,and since, in the actual conflicts of life, with the best
of parents, brothers or husbands, she will need to
lean much upon herself,- I earnestly counsel you,
my dear young reader, to assiduously cultivate a
habit of self-reliance. Seek such attainments as will
enable you to confide in yourself, - to rise equal to
your exigencies. Acquire an inward principle of
self-support.   Then,  if the  rock  of your  early
strength be smitten, and the proud oak on which you
lean, with the fondness of a first affection, be blasted,
you may, nevertheless, stand erect, in mournful but
triumphant superiority, amid the hapless wreck.
"Hopes are fallacies.  Disappointment is the only
certainty of life." This is a saying you can scarcely
credit. You are yet too young to readily believe
that life is anything worse than a sea,
*' Calm as a cradled child in dreamless slumber bound."
A few years more of life, however, will write that
saying in deep lines upon your heart.  You will
I 
SELF-RELIANCE.
then understand the wisdom of Napoleon's mother,
Madame LETITIA, who, in the palmiest days of her
son, when he was giving away crowns, dividing
kingdomns, and standing on his splendid throne as
the arbiter of European destiny, diligently saved her
income.
"Why do you, the mother of a great emperor, so
carefully labor to amass money?" asked one of her
friends.
"Who knows but that one day I may have to
give bread to all these kings? " was her sensible and
prophetic reply.  She had learned that "hopes are
fallacies;" and, when the wrecks of her children's
thrones lay in melancholy magnificence around her,
it could hardly be said that she was disappointed.
Picture to yourself a lady in the flower of her
youth, and at the height of her beauty. She is tall,
and exquisitely formed. Her head is erect in natural majesty, her gait is graceful. Her features are
cast in a mould of beauty. Her blue eyes, her brilliant complexion, her loveliness of expression, give a
power of absolute fascination  to her face.   Her
135 
136      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
conversation is as charming as her countenance.
Hence, she is not only the queen, but the star, of the
magnificent court over which she presides. Her
husband idolizes her. Her people welcome her presence with enthusiastic plaudits, that proclaim the
intensity of their admiration.
Turn now to another and sadder portrait., -See,
standing before a legal tribunal, a woman  clad in
coarse rags. Her tall form is slightly bowed, yet
it betrays an air of dignity. Her eyes are dim with
sorrow, but at times are lighted with a few brilliant
rays. Beneath the eyelids is a black circle, graved
by grief and woe.  Her face is pallid, and her long
hair, flowing down upon her neck, is white with
anguish. All eyes are turned upon her, not in love
or pity, but in curiosity, in hate, or in triumph.
Do you demand the name of these ladies?  Alas!
both these pictures represent one celebrated woman,
MARIE  ANTOINETTE.!   In the first, she is newly
arrived from Austria, and recently wedded to King
Louis; in the second, she is deposed from her
throne, and placed at the bar of a remorseless revolu 
SELF-RELIANCE.
tion, to receive sentence of death. A few hours
after its pronouncement, her once beautiful head fell
into the blood-stained basket of the guillotine, and
her fair form was buried amid heaps of common
dead in La  Madeleine.   On  the register is this
record: " For the coffin of the widow Capet, seven
francs."
Such was the descent from the pinnacle of human
splendor, greatness and glory, to the profoundest
deep of earthly gloom and nothingness, experienced
by that once proud and haughty queen. I urge it
upon you as an example of the uncertainties attached
to human condition, as a warning not to place too
much dependence upon those props which support
your hopes, and as a reason for cultivating those
qualities which lie at the basis of a reasonable and
Christian self-reliance. What if fortune has a home
in your father's halls, and the ease and elegances of
fashionable life are at your command? What if you
are the bride of a scholar, a genius, a statesman, a
merchant?   What  if you are so surrounded by
strong friends and loving hearts, that, to human eyes
137 
138.   THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
it seems impossible you could ever fail of either
friends or external resources?  What security have
you for the permanency of all these friends? May
not death smite your father and mother to the dust?
May not adversity dissolve the fabric of your fortunes? Yea, may not some terrible passion enter
the heart of your beloved, blight all his virtues, and
transform him into an incarnate fiend?  May you
not, in consequence, find yourself friendless, helpless
and unpitied? May you not thus be called upon to
draw from your own inward resources?  To stand
alone in society, amid cold hearts and unsympathizing spirits?   Ask the shade of the unfortunate
Marie Antoinette for an answer.  Inquire of ten
thousand living daughters of misfortune, who, on
life's "unsheltered walk," are like myrtle-leaves,
" Flung to fade, to rot and die."'
Yes, my young friend, you may believe me, when
1 affirm that all life's wealth and friendships are so
fickle and fading that even the most favored young
lady owes it to herself and to society to learn the art 
SELF-R] LIANCE.
and to acquire the power of relying upon her own
energies and attainments.
A consciousness of power to grapple with actual
life is indispensable to a woman, in deciding the
greatest question of her earthly life, - marriage.
Nothing else can enable her to act independently, if
she is poor, or likely to be so. Dependent poverty is
one of the saddest and most tyrannical of human
ills. Life is a dreary waste, its storms are heralds
of certain destruction, to a helpless, friendless woman,
who is conscious of an utter impotency to conquer its
difficulties. There is no heart so brave as not to
quail and tremble in such a hapless condition. Hear
a poet, speaking of the helpless poor, under the pressure of heavy trials:
"Their labor all their wealth;
Let the wheel rest from toil a single sun,
And all the humble clock-work is undone;
The custom lost, the drain upon the hoard,
The debt that sweeps the fragment froir the board.
How mark the hunger round thee and be brave, -
Foresee thy orphan, and not fear the grave?"
139 
140      THE YOUNG LADYS COUNSELLOR.
Ay, who can be brave that gazes upon an approaching evil, which she is utterly impotent to subdue? None. Hence it is that many a young lady,
bereft of her parents, or anticipating such a bereavement, gives her hand, without her heart, to a husband, for the sake of a settlement. She does not
love him. She is clearly aware of his unfitness to
make her happy. She even shrinks, at first, with
ill-concealed inward loathing, from the idea of surrendering herself to a man her heart has not chosen.
She tries to summon courage sufficient to refuse him.
But the consciousness of her entire inability to depend upon herself prompts the inquiry, "What shall
I do?  I need a home.   He will at least keep me in
a respectable condition in life. I must marry him."
And, forthwith, she stands at the altar, and plights a
love she does not feel. She becomes a wife, not
from a sense of love and duty, but from the mercenary desire to obtain a shelter from the fierce storms
whose violence she is unable to resist by her own
powers.
How exalted and superior is the position of that 
SELF-PRE    CE.
young lady, who, by a careful process of self-culture,
lLas acquired a noble consciousness of power to suslain herself in womanly independence, should death
deprive her of her natural protectors and supporters!
True, she may shrink from the conflict, as the bravest
soldiers may tremble in the terrible silence that precedes the hour of battle. But she makes no sacrifice to her fears. A sense of power to cope with
circumstances inspires her with confidence and courage. She exhibits the firmness of M1ORVALE, of
whom the poet sings, in his romance, that,
It Life glowed vigorous in his deep set-eye,
With a calm force that dared you to defy;
And the small foot was planted on the stone,
Firm as a gnome's upon his mountain throne."
Thus firmly she views the lonely struggle with
life. She is prepared for it, and can stand self-supported amid the selfish throngs that crowd its motley
stage. She is therefore at liberty to consult her
heart, whenever a candidate for her hand appears.
The mercenary idea is excluded.   She withholds
her hand, until she can give it "with her heart in
141 
142      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
it." How precious a talisman of safety, therefore,
is this invaluable po ver of relying upon yourself!
But, laying aside the arguments already adduced,
-admitting that God may vouchsafe you friends and
protectors throughout the period of your mortal life,
and that you are in circumstances to exclude the
mercenary idea from the question of marriage,- still,
self-reliance is indispensable to your happiness. As
your youth changes into womanhood, whether you
marry or remain single, new duties, new responsibilities, will devolve upon you, and new circumstances will grow up around you. Instead of having
others to think and plan for you, you will have to
think and plan for yourself. Instead of being led,
you will have to lead others. You will, in many
things, be thrown upon your own resources. You
will be called to act new parts in society, and to
meet new expectations.  Should you become a wife,
your husband's interests may demand the exercise
of the highest attributes of character in you, to
enable you to sustain, with becoming dignity, the
difficulties or honors of his Position. You must, 
SELF-RELIANCE.        ~
then, be either as weakness and disease to his pinions, or as beauty and vigor to the wings by which
he ascends to honor and fortune. And it may be
that your character will determine the question of
his success or defeat, in the mighty battle of life, --
for many a man of high promise and golden gifts has
been dragged deep into despair, by a weak-minded,
inefficient wife or daughter? while, as already shown,
in others, the secret springs of great achievement
have been set in motion by female power. By all
your hopes of a happy and prosperous life, you are
bound to rely upon yourself.
There is a great fact written with the tears of
woman's remorse, which, but for its immense importance, I would not name in these pages. Yet, if 1
forbore to do so, I might be deemed unfaithful to the
task I have undertaken. Know, then, young lady,
that of the thousands of your sex who have fallen
from the serene heights of virtue to the deep infamy
of an impure life, by far the largest number have
been driven to their degradation by the iron rod of
destitution. Their virtue was subdued by the fear
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144      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
of beggary. Trained in the lap of plenty, untaught
in the art of self-dependence, they leaned upon others for support. Death or abandonment left them
without guardian or protector, -
:'Like the wreck left to drift amidst the roar
Of the great ocean with the rocky shore."
They knew not whither to fly, nor what to do for
the means of subsistence. Clothed in rags, the pale
and emaciated spectre of utter destitution stood before them, and filled their hearts with forebodings of
a pauper's death. Thenr appeared the vile seducer
with his eyes of fire, his smiles of deceit, his whispers of falsehood, and his promises of gold. Affrighted by poverty, and lured by insinuating voices of
hypocritical pretensions, they took the fatal leap
which plunged them into fathomless caverns of unutterable despair. Had they, in earlier and happier
years, acquired the power of supporting themselves,
and of relying upon their own mental resources, they
would, in all probability have stood pure and beautiful in the ranks of virtue. Self-reliance, that strong 
SELF-RELIANCE.
bulwark of female virtue, would have,aved them;
for by it a woman defies the terrors of poverty, and
maintains such an attitude of strength and dignified
self-respect as keeps even the boldest tempters afai
off. Her very independence of character is as ar
armor of proof, invulnerable to the arrows of the
destroyer. Instead of attracting the eye as a suitable victim for the temples of sin, such a woman
awakens only sentiments of respect and admiration;
and all are ready to exclaim, as they behold her,
" Honor to her, who, self-complete and brave,
In strength, canl carve her pathway to the grave,
And, heeding naught what others think or say,
Make her own heart her world upon the way."
Let me draw your attention to two queens, and to
the diverse effect of their efforts, in two appalling
exigencies.  The one is MARIE ANTOINETTE, whose
sad fall from a magnificent throne to a seven-franc
coffin, in La Madeleine, I just now described. The
other is ESTHER, once queen of the Persian Ahasu.
erus. The former saw her throne menaced by a
terrible revolution. It hung like huge masses of
10
145 
146      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
black cloud over her palace; it rose formidable and
furious as the dashing wave around her husband's
throne. She was his idol, and had obtained irresistible ascendency over his mind. Alarmed at the danger, anxious for her husband's honor, eager to main
tain the ancient monarchy, she undertook the perilous task of governing and subduing the revolution.
But, alas! every step she took only increased its
fury, and added to its power. Instead of appealing
to the confidence of the people, and thus fanning the
latent sparks of loyalty to a flame by manifestations
of real regard for their interests, she contrived to
appear as the personal enemy of the revolution, and
thereby brought down defeat and death upon herself
and fimily, ats the reader very well knows.
Queen Esther, also, was called to behold a terrible
destruction menacing herself and her entire nation.
The uplifted axe, in the irresistible hand of potent
despotism, gleamed horribly as it swept the air with
intent te fall on the neck of a doomed nation. The
dark decree for Jewish extermination, signed by the
unalterable seal of Persian majesty, and committed 
SELF-RELIANCE.
for execution to the malicious HAM,AN, seemed fated
to inevitable consummation.   To  human  wisdom
there appeared no possible door of escape. Then it
was that the sage MORDECAI appealed to Esther, and
summoned her to the mission of saving her people.
At first, her womanly spirit shrank from the trial.
Roused by another appeal from Mordecai, she at
length undertook the task. Most sublimely did she
devote herself and crown to the heroic work. First,
she consecrated her life to the national cause. Then,
by fervent devotion and pure communion with her
Creator, she wrought her spirit up to glorious enthusiasm. A fire like that of inspiration flashed in her
dark, expressive eyes.   All the majesty of high
resolve, softened by the mild glow of womanly affections, irradiated her features, and made her the loveliest of "Judah's lovely daughters."  Thus prepared,
she entered upon her work. She appealed to the
affections of her husband, and to the pride of the nation's enemy. While she inflamed the love of her
lord, the king, until he panted with desire to bestow
upon her the costliest proofs of his attachment, she
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148      THE YOUNG ofDY'S COUNSELLOR.
also, with wondrous skill, drew around her foe the
meshes of that net which was to entangle and
destroy him. Thus holding the prey in her grasp,
she seized the fitting 1 ioment, and then, with all of
woman's wit and witchcraft, she converted the rushing
torrent of love, that bounded through her husband's
heart towards her, into a fierce tide of terrible rage
against Haman. The effect was instantaneous and
complete. Her foe perished, her people lived. The
power that sought their death defended them. A
woman's love, guided by exalted wisdom and selfsacrificing heroism, had rescued a nation from destruction.
Whence proceeded the melancholy failure of the
French queen, and the complete success of Esther?
Both acted in a great crisis,- both aimed at a national result, - both exerted their utmost powers.
Marie failed, and perished; Esther succeeded, and
lived to enjoy her triumph. That there were many
and important differences in their circumstances, is
admitted; and yet, it is difficult to escape the conclusion, that the strong, shrewd wisdom which saved 
IMLF-RELIANCE.
the Jewish nation, would have gone far toward
achieving  victory over the French revolution, had
it been direc.ted to that object; and that the disqualification of Marie Antoinette would have been as fatal
to Mordecai and the Jews, as it was to Louis and
the French monarchy.  The reason of the failure of
the beautiful Austrian princess is patent to all. Her
youth had been misimproved. Hear the testimony
of the historian ALISON.  He says: "She had little
education; read hardly anything but novels and
romances; and had a fixed aversion, during her prosperous days, to every species of business, or serious
employment."
Here is the secret of that vacillation and contradictory action which ruled in the court of Louis, at
the outset  of the  revolution.   His queen, who
attempted to steer the ship of state in that temipestuious sea, was not competent to the task. She knew
this, and hence dared not rely upon her own judgment. And her unfitness is to be traced to the absence;f those lofty qualities of mind, which are the
14.9 
i50      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
offspring of that early self-culture which she not
only carelessly neglected, but heartily despised.
Esther, on the contrary, spent her youth in the
company of Mordecai, listening to the wise counsels
of his powerful and comprehensive intellect. By
this means, she acquired a vigorous, reflecting and
commanding mind; a consciousness of power, a confi dence in herself, by which she rose equal to her
duties, in a terrible crisis. Had she resembled the
French queen in her youth, her illustrious name
would not have stood, as it now does, at the head of
the list of great, good and patriotic women.
Let Esther stimulate you, young lady, to the
patient cultivation of the sources of self-reliance.
Mental strength, firmness, courage, industry, perseverance, and skill, in some art or profession, lie at
the foundation of this essential spirit. Seek these
qualifications, and exercise them, that they may
grow in you like thrifty plants.  Prepare yourself
for any crisis or position to which you may be called.
Then, if fortunate and trosperous, your character
will glow with resplendent beauty in your happy 
SELF-RELIANCE.
sphere. If unfortunate, and summoned to battle
with adversity,
" Your spirit, long inured to pair.
May smile at fate, in calm disdain;
Survive its darkest hour, and rise
In more majestic energies."
While, if you despise the wisdom which distils
from these examples, - if you live in slothful, idle
self-neglect during the sunny hours of youth, and
trouble suddenly bursts on your defenceless head,
" Your mind shall sink, a blighted flower,
Dead to the sunbeam and the shower;
A broken gem, whose inborn light
Is scattered, ne'er to reufinite.'
151 
CHAPTER VII.
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.
URING  the crusades, a British
knight, named GILBERT, was taken
prisoner, and made the slave of a
Saracen emir.  His misfortunes ex              cited the pity, and his manly beauty
[ X. awakened the love, of the emir's daugh        ter.  By her assistance, he escaped from
4  A his ignoble bondage, and returned to
England.   Shortly after, the lady left
her father's home, and followed him, not      withstanding  she  knew  nothing  of his
address, nor of his language, except two English
words, London and Gilbert.  By repeating the first,
she found a vessel, and reached that city. Arrived
in London, she traversed the streets, crying Gil 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   153
bert! Gilbert!"   Curious crowds gathered round
her, asking a thousand questions, none of which she
understood, and to which she responded  by  the
watchword of her love- "Gilbert!"   At last, a
servant of the knight recognized hby:, nd informed
his master. Admiring the strength and romantic
heroism of her affection, and bound by a sense of
knightly honor, the brave crusader led her to tihe
altar, and made her his rejoicing bride. That lady
afterwards became the mother of the celebrated
Thomas a Becket, - a prelate, whose power was
feared even by his royal master, the King of England.
Now, however we may admire the simplicity and
the love of this maiden, we cannot fail to perceive
her imprudence. That she was successful, does not
diminish the actual folly of her enterprise; for she
was far more likely to perish than to succeed. She
cast herself upon a sea of dangerous adventure,
relying upon the resources of her affection; which,
viewed apart from the casualty which saved her,
were uttvrly insufficient for her purpose. She relied 
154      THE YOUNG LADY S COUNSELLOR.
upon herself only because she was  too ignorant to
understand her own insufficiency. Her self-reliance,
therefore, was more culpable than praiseworthy, -
more likely to plunge her into ruin than to lead her
to success.   It lacked proper  foundations.    The
qualifications necessary to make her advent into
society in search of her knight successful were
wanting; and, but for its favorable results, would be
viewed as the rash enterprise of a love-sick girl.
A self-reliance equally rash is possible in my
reader. She may rely upon herself, without reflecting on the real difficulties of life, or the inadequacy
of her powers to combat them. With the weakness
of the lamb, she may falsely deem herself able to
contend against the strength of the lion. Confident
in her abilities, she may go forth, like the emnir's
daughter; but no similar fortunate intervention of
Providence may snatch her from danger, or hinder
an army of difficulties from trampling her in the
mire of misfortune and ruin. True self-reliance is
cognizant of all the ills of earthly existence, and it
rests on a rational consciousness of power to contend 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   155
with them   It counts the cost of the conflict with
real life, and calmly concluc es that it is able to meet
the foes which stand, in frowning array, on the
world's great battle-field. Such is the self-reliance
whose necessity I urged in the preceding chapter,
and whose secret springs I intend to describe in this.
One of these springs is a decided mind - an
established purpose of the heart not to be turned
aside from the path of duty by any consideration of
pleasure, pain or profit.
A notable illustration of decision of character is
found in the conduct of the rough but brave PIZARRO, in his celebrated conquest of Peru.  He and
his warriors had already endured the most fearful
sufferings and extreme privations. Theyhad warred
with nature in the vast solitudes of the Andes,they had contended with the undisciplined but
fierce bravery of the Indian native. Worn out by
fatigue, prostrated through want of nourishment,
condemned and recalled by their superiors at Panama, they stood, forlorn and discouraged, on the Isle
of Gallo, resolved to return, and to abardon their 
166       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
enterprise. Then Pizarro stood forth in the greatness of his character. Tracing a line in the sand
east and west, with the point of his sword, he turned
towards the south and said, "Friends and comrades!
on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching rain, desertion and death; on this side, ease and
pleasure.  There  lies Peru, with its riches; here,
Panamna, and its poverty. Choose each man what
best becomes a brave Castilian! For my part, I go
to the south!"
With these words, he crossed the line, followed by
as many spirits as had caught the infectious energy
of his speech. That act, so timely and characteristic, made him the conqueror of Peru.
The point I wish you to notice, in this incident, is,
the consecration of life and fortune to a favorite
idea which it manifests in Pizarro. He had deliberately weighed the dangers and the glory of his
ideal conquest. He had devoted his life to its realization. Hence, the prospect of danger and death
could not intimidate him, nor move him from his
purpose. He preferred to die  aspiring and contend, 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCEe 157
ing for an empire, rather than to live an easy, inglorious life. This spirit made him invincible.
To enter life with safety, you require a corresponding consecration of life and fortune to the idea
of duty.  You must deliberately dedicate yourself to
the claims of right. You must habituate yourself to
resist every motive to wrong, whether it appeals to
hope or fear, pain or profit; and to decide instantly,
and finally, in all cases, great and small, in favor of
right and truth. By such self-training, your moral
instinct will acquire such quickness and strength,
that it will be difficult to resist it, and easy to follow
it. Right will become your guiding star. You will
grow conscious of an adhesion to it so strong, that
any measure of physical agony, or even death itself,
will be preferable to a departure from its dictates.
With a mind conscious of such noble decision,
sure of itself in moments of temptation,-how justly
may a young lady rely upon herself, when called by
the providence of God to stand bereft of earthly supporters, on the bustling stage of life! Poverty, sorrow, toil, scorn, she may suffer; but shame, guSit 
158  *   THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
and remorse, never.   Her  decision of character
shields her from gui t, which is the worst of ills.
With this security, she call afford to hurl defiance at
all the rest. She may walk through fire, but she
cannot be burned. Floods may roll around her, but
she cannot be overwhelmed. She carries an amulet
of mysterious power in her heart, and is safe.
I have often admired the decision of Josephine's
affection for the emperor Napoleon. Notwithstanding his infamous cruelty in divorcing her for nothing
but reasons of cold-hearted state policy, she never
swerved for a moment from her attachment. Though
separated from him, she cherished his image in her
heart; brooded over the past with melancholy fondness; rejoiced in his success, and grieved over his
fall. Though no one had been so greatly wronged,
no one continued to love him with so pure a regard.
No evil passion was permitted to break forth against
him,-but he remained the idol of her heart, unti
it broke with the swellings of anguish and sorrow.
It is from such a decided and incorruptible affection for the idea of duty, I would have the sentiment 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE. 159
of self-reliance flow in my young reader's soul.
Thus supported, she may gaze on the armed troops
of temptations which frown upon her, and say, in
the language of a bold general to his mutinous
legions:
" Put up your paltry weapons!
They edgeless are to him who fears them not.
Rocks have been shaken from their solid base,But what shall move a firm and dauntless mind?"
Courage that shrinks not from the coming of danger, but bravely girds itself for assault and victory, is
another secret spring of self-reliance in a young lady.
A weak and timid spirit cowers and weeps, in imbecile fear, when evil rises frowning in her presence.
But a courageous woman resembles that noble
matron at Lexington, -  Mrs. HARRINGTON, -  who,
when the tramp of the British soldiers startled the
ears of the patriots, and proclaimed the coming of
war and death, instead of sitting down t remble
and shed useless tears, hurried to the foot of the
stairway, and shouted to her sleeping son of sixteen 
160      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
"Jonathan, you must get up;  the regulars are
coming.  Something must be done!"
This is an example of genuine courage. It looked
tile danger in the face, and conceived a bold and settied purpose to assail it. Fear was subdued by the
stern resolve to confront its object.  The "regulars"
were viewed not merely as messengers of death, but as
the minions of royalty, to be driven back to Boston by patriotic valor.   "SOMETHING" was to" BE
DONE."
The young lady may imagine that in these days
of peace courage is unnecessary in a woman. This
is a mistake. Courage is as necessary to-day as in
times of war or martyrdom. It is not battle-fields or
scaffolds, alone, that try the soul and demand courage. Every-day life calls loudly for its exercise.
Does it require no courage for that young lady, long
nursed in the lap of indulgent kindness, who has just
returnedfrom her father's grave, to go forth into the
world a penniless orphan? Can that mother, reared
by kind parents in her girlhood, but left to support 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.  161
herself and little ones by a brutal husband, who
nobly fulfilled all the early promise of his youth,
"Till cursed passion
Came like a sun-stroke on his mid-day toil,
And cut the strong man down,"
and taught him to forget his vows, waste his means
in profligate dens, and carry unmitigated abuse to
his home, -can she dispense with courage?  Can
that widow, bereaved of her husband, and suddenly
left in poverty, with helpless children to maintain,
struggle with her lot without courage? Can woman
minister to the sick, or endure her own heritage of
sorrow, without it?  Nay, young lady; courage is as
necessary to you as to a warrior, - and without it
you never can possess genuine self-reliance.
One important use of courage in woman is to inspire the spirit of her father, brother, husband or son,
ill the hour of trial.  Some women sink, and drag
tneir friends with them, in the hour of trouble.  A
fathcr's difficulties are greeted with the tears of his
wife and the lamentations of his daughters. They
even reflect upon him, and charge his conduct with
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162      TIIE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
folly.  Shame  on such women!  They  pour  the
overflowing drop into a full cup.  They tread upon
the fallen one.  They plunge the drowning victim
beneath the wave.  Such women are unworthy of
their sex. Their spiritless conduct plucks down ruin
upon themselves and on their households. Wher
too late, they survey their wretched work, and gazing
on the ruin they helped to create, they are forced to
cry, with the VICTORLU of the tragic poet,
"What have I done?  I've fooled a noble heart -
I've wrecked a brave man's honor!"
It is a woman's duty to cheer, not to depress; to
encourage, not to alarm; to inspire with fresh spirit
for renewed struggles against misfortune, not to
plunge into despair and inactivity. How beautifully
is this noble trait exemplified in the COUNTESS ALBERT, the wife of an Austrian nobleman! Before
his marriage, he was guilty of fighting a due with a
general of the imperial army, in opposition to the
express commands of the emperor. His shot took
effect upon his opponent. He fled for his life, and 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   163
was captured by a band of banditti which infested
the Istrian forests. He was afterwards arrested, and
sentenced: to be broken alive upon the wheel at
Vienna. But, upon his person and rank being discovered, his sentence was modified into one of perpetual banishment to the quicksilver mines of Idria.
The count was betrothed to a German lady, who
belonged to one of the noblest families in the country. She was beautiful, educated and opulent, and
had, in the circumstances of the count, reasons sufficient to satisfy an ordinary mind for dissolving
their engagement. But her attachment was one of
the highest and most exalted character. Instead of
joining in the voices of censure that fell so freely
and deservedly on the count, she exerted herself, to
the utmost of her influence, to procure his liberation.
Failing in this, she formed the extraordinary purpose of sharing his sufferings, and of cheering him
by her presence in his toils. Thither she went, and
in those dark, dismal mines, so unhealthy and so
destructive of life, became  his wife.   There her
cheerfulness sustained his spirit; her constant love 
164      THI YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
calmed his soul; her voice animatea him with h. pe
Magnanimous woman! What courageous love was
hers, t., brave the sentiment of the world, to face the
horrors of an abode more gloomy than a prison, and
to incur the certainty of a speedy death, that she
might, by the lustres of her affection, irradiate the
dreary heart of her husband!
In contrast with this unchiding devotion to a husband in misfortune, behold AYXA, the mother of ABO
ABDELI, the Moorish monarch, as she stood by his
side, on the hill of Padul, which overlooks Granada.
The brave Ferdinand, with his chivalric Castilians,
had just expelled him and his defeated troops from
the city. He had lost his throne and his palaces,
and could not avoid a flood of tears, as he gazed, for
the last time, on the beautiful city which was no10
more to own him as its lord. The sultana beheld
his sorrow, and addressed him in taunting words,
saying:
"Thou dost well to weep, like a woman, over the
loss of that kingdom which thou knmewest not how to
defend and die for, like a man!" 
THE SECR1T SPRINGS X SE-EuLIANCE.  K
This bitter reproof was merited, for the king
lacked the enthusiastic bravery which had characterized his ancestors; but it wxas not fitting to a mother's lips to utter it at that time. Doubtless it string
him deeply, increased his wretchedness, and added
to his burdens, already too heavy to be borne. It
was his mother's duty to stimulate his courage, by
soothing his subdued spirit, - to awaken new hopes
in his breast, and rouse his slumbering energies.
This bitter vexation of the sultana places her at
an immeasurable distance from the exalted, unrepining wife of the Austrian count.
Learn, then, young lady, to become the good,
guardian genius of the opposite sex.  Breathe hope,
vigor, encouragement, into all hearts that live around
you.  But, to do this, you must be brave yourself.
You require a strong, trustful, courageous spirit in
your own breast. You need to carefully cultivate it,
by subduing fear, and laboring to rise equal to your
present emergencies. It is not fear alone, but fear
unrestrained, that makes a coward; nor is bravery
the absence of fear. 
166      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
" The brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;
But he whose noble soul his fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from."
Nor is it necessary for you to be led into extraor
dinary circumstances, to learn or to practise courage
If it were, you might despair of acquiring it, since
" Small occasions in the path of life
Lie thickly sown, while great are rarely scattered."
Therefore, seek to be brave in the affairs of youi
girlhood. Overcome the timidity of your sex, by
undaunted resolution to meet and conquer all difficulties that may arise, and you will be the possessor
of a second element of self-reliance.
A third spring of this essential quality is a consciousness of ability to support yourself by the fruit
of your own labor.
Listen to the advice of a noble Carolinian, HENRY
LAURENS, who had nursed his daughters in the lap
of luxury and refinement, but who, by the reverses
of fortune, found himself a prisoner in the Tower of 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   167
London, during our Revolutionary war. Writing to
his children, he said:
"It is my duty to warn you to prepare for the trial
of earning your daily bread by your daily labor.
Fear not servitude. Encounter it, if it shall be
necessary, with the spirit becoming a woman of an
honest and pious heart!"
I have said it before, but feel justified in saying
again, that the experience of vast numbers of tried
and suffering women justifies this judicious advice,
and bids every young woman, whatever her condition may be, acquire some trade or skill by which
she may be confident of earning her own bread.
Nay, young lady, curl-not that beautiful lip in proud
contempt, though you are clad in silk and live in the
halls of wealth; for in many a dark cellar and comtortless garret there toil, with weary fingers, the
wrecks of women, who, in their youth, were proud
and rich as you. The wheel of fortune has revolved,
and, for plenty and ease, they have poverty and pain.
You may suffer similar reverses. Courage to face a
descent in the social scale you cannot have, unless 
168      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
you become mistress of some means of self-support,
any more than a really brave man could be courageous amid armed bands, without a weapon of defence.
As arms are necessary for the display of courage iL
a soldier, so is the consciousness of ability to live on
the fruits of her personal industry essential to a
woman of self-reliance.
But what can I do? you inquire.  Anything you
attempt.  But what should I attempt?  Everything
Within your reach. The intellectual Madame DE
GENLIS could boast the possession of thirty various
employments, by which, if necessary, she could earn
her own living. You do not need so many modes
as this; but you may require, and can acquire, several, if you please. You can be very thorough in the
acquisition of the elementary studies which are embraced in your educational course; and thus, while
fitting yourself to act well your part in society, you
may also be gaining the power to live by teaching
others. Do you pursue music, drawing, the lan
guages, as accomplishments?  Be as perfect in them
as possible; use your knowledge by gratuitously 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   169
instructing some humble friend or neighbor, and it
will repay your toil with compound interest, in the
day of your necessity; for a lady who  is fully cotpetent to teach, especially the ornamental branthes
of study, is almost sure to find profitable employment.
Your skill in needle-work may be turned to similar account. Learn to use your needle in the manufacture of every article that female fingers can construct. Do not be dependent on a milliner for your
bonnet, nor upon a mantua-maker for your dress.
Acquire their arts yourself. A few dollars will purchase all the instruction necessary. It is a shame
for any young lady of ordinary abilities and good
opportunities not to learn these simple arts. Even
if she is pecuniarily above the need of using them,
she should acquire them, and put them to charitable
uses, - like that ancient matron, who made coats
and dresses for the poor. Then, if the fiery hour of
calamity overtake her, she is prepared to defy its
flames. She has a fortune in her skill.
The factory is resorted to, by many young ladies, 
170      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
as a suitable place to maintain themselves. Many
of these possess superior abilities, and earn considerable sums of money; respectability, intellect, beauty,
and high moral excellency, characterize them; nevertheless, my honest conviction is, that life in a cotton-mill il unfavorable to their best interests. The
factory has not given them their superior qualities.
These were acquired in the more congenial atmosphere of a happy home, and are nurtured, not by the
influences of the cotton-mill, but in spite of them.
The factory is unfavorable to a healthful, happy life. 
How can a young woman enjoy perfect health, for
any length of time, who is confined in the hot, impure air of a spinning or weaving room, for nearly
fourteen hours of every day? - who is allowed from
twenty minutes to half an hour only to her meals,
half of which has to be spent in going and returning? How can she cultivate either mind or heart,
who is roused from her morning slumbers at halfpast four or five o'clock, by the iron-mouthed bell,
and who hurries, half awake, to her task, - at which
she tolls, wearily enough, until half-past seven at 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.  171
night?  Even then, she has to take her supper; for,
during the last six hours and a half of her toil, she
tastes no food! What time, disposition or strength,
has such a girl left for mental or religious culture?
What opportunity to enjoy social pleasure? Is it
surprising that the wheels of life drag heavily, under
such  circumstances?- that  hundreds  go,  with
broken constitutions, to their mountain homes, to die
of lingering consumption? Nay, it is not wonderful.
The wonder is, that the victims are not more numerous. I counsel you, therefore, young lady, to avoid
the factory, if not in it; if already in it, leave it and
become independent of it, by acquiring some more
congenial means of self-support, before you resume
your post. The time may arrive when the hours of
factory toil will be abridged to some ten hours a day,
and the compensation remain adequate to a respectable support.  In that case, I might slightly vary my
counsels. But, even their, I would urgently insist
on the necessity of your having nore than one
means of living, so that you might be prepared for
the emergencies of trying hours. 
THIE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Do not think, from these hints, that I indulge or
encourage any acrimonious sentiments towards millowners. Nay, I believe many of them to be humane, benevolent, godly men, who would willingly
do for their help all that ought to be done. But
such men do not control the system. Greedy capitalists, who care more for a rise in stocks than for
human happiness or divine approval, -men, whose
creed, learned in the temples of Mammon, teaches
that
"He best the doctrines Christ bequeathed fulfils,
Who slays most hirelings and employs most mills,"
are the most guilty and responsible parties for the
abuses of the factory system. They force many,
against their wishes, to accept the system as it is, or
to abandon it altogether. These are the men whose
inhuman policy, of getting the largest amount of
labor for the smallest amount of money, renders my
advice necessary,- and they, too, are the men whom
Gotl will judge.
I need not add to these hints on self-support the 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   173
necessity of a thorough knowledge of domestic and
household labor. Your own common sense teaches
you how sadly embarrassed a dependent woman
must be, who is unskilful in the arts of the kitchen
and the laundry. Even at the head of a household
with abundant means, such skill is indispensable to
quietude and happiness.   Your good sense also
teaches you to despise the notion that such labors
degrade a woman. She is degraded who cannot
perform them; and even a poor ignorant Irish girl
will despise a mistress whose household skill is beneath her own. Neither can you imagine that such
duties are inconsistent with high intellectual culture
and usefulness; for the lives of such gentlewomen
as Madame ROLAND, who could prepare her husband's dinner with her own hands in the daytime,
and in the evening attract the admiration of the
greatest minds in France by her learned and brilliant wit; Mrs. MARY DWIGHT, the daughter of
JONATHAN EDWAR:DS, who, while she performed her
household duties with inldustry and propriety, also,
by her' great mental vigor, awakened the souls of her 
174       THE YOIJUNG LADY'S COUNSEI LOR.
children to a love of letters and virtue, with a success which made her worthy to be the mother of
such a son as TIMOTHY DWIGHT, - these, and scores
besides, prove, beyond dispute, that devotion to household duties is not at variance with the cultivation
of refined and liberal learning.
Seek, therefore, young lady, for skill in household
labors; acquire some means of living by your own
labor; cultivate a courageous spirit; learn to be decided in your adhesion to the voices of duty, -and
you will be fitted to confront, with a consciousness
of strength to overcome them, the most trying ordeals of life. Resting on these qualities, you will
feel strong, your heart will be bold, you will not sink,
with a crushed and broken spirit, under the pressure
of difficulty, - but, erect and mighty, you will be
mistress of your circumstances, and victor over your
trials. Provided, however, you trust for the divine
b.essing on your personal attainments and efforts.
Behold an ancient Roman tribunal, with its venerable - judges, its lictors, its councillors and its
crowds of spectators.  A man of benevolent counte 
THE SECRET SPRINGS OF SELF-RELIANCE.   175
nance and lofty dignity stands at the bar. He casts
his expressive eyes over the assembly, as if looking
for some sympathetic face. An air of sadness suddenly darkening his features, proclaims his disappointment. Not one familiar friendly face is there.
All have left him in his extremity. The sentence
of that court may be the highest penalty of law, and
his admirers and adherents are unwilling to risk
their own liberties, by being present to encourage
their friend. But see! the shadow departs. Light
streams from his enraptured eyes, a lovely smile
plays upon his lips, a rich glow irradiates his countenance. His bearing becomes more fitting to a triumphant conqueror than to a prisoner liable to a
violent death.  Who is he?  What is he?  Whence
his power?
Reader, that man is PAUL THE APOSTLE, at tne
bar of imperial Rome, to answer for the offence of
the cross. His converts had forsaken him, and for a
moment he felt sad. That sudden change shall be
explained by his own words to a beloved friend, to
whom he wrote: 
176      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
"At my first answer, no man stood wtoitk me; but
all men forsook me. Notwithstanding, THE LORD
STOOD WITH ME AND STRENGTHENED ME."
Here is the glorious secret. All his eloquence, his
learning, his logical skill, were insufficient in that
hour. He looked for further aid. He dared not
rely wholly upon his gifts. But when his faith dis
cerned the presence of God, to bless his gifts and
control events, he felt sure. The ground became as
solid rock beneath him. Learn, therefore, young
lady, in addition to all other trusts, to lean on the
aid of God. Look for his energy to operate through
your gifts and attainments, and to give them their
chief efficiency. Rest not, until you are able to say,
"The Lord stands with me!"  Then, though you
are of all women most delicate, weak and exposed,
you shall stand a pillar of invincible strength, defying alike the roaring of the waves and the howling
of the wind. The springs of self-reliance will be in
you indeed. 
CHAPTER VIII.
OF SELF-CULTURE.
e   n
head,
O'ertopping all the rest; which favoring
circumstance
. Did foster up into a growth so monstrous,
That underneath its wide and noxious shade
Died all the native plants of feebler stem."
This passage unveils the heart of the reader, as
fully as it does that of the poet's ideal hero.  For,
12 
178       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
"as face answers to face in a glass;" so does ont
human heart to all others. In all there is a living
seed of good deposited by that Almighty quickener,
the Holy Ghost. In all, imperious passion, latent
but potential, dwells like a torpid worm, awaiting
the warmth of opportunity to awake and sting the
soul, and to corrupt the budding fruits of virtue.   Out of this fact springs the duty and the necessity
of self-culture. The soil of the human heart, and
the aliment on which it is fed, are not only not favorable to the growth of the divine seed, but absolutely
adverse to it, -while to the development of the
destructive worm they are precisely adapted. Left
to its own workings, the heart is as sure to warm its
passions into a controlling life, and to hinder the
vegetation of virtuous fruit, as a worm, lodged in a
rose-bud, is to prevent its blooming to perfection.
The holy seed, it is true, possesses an infinite energy, and a mysterious vigor. Nevertheless, it demands, as a condition of its growth, that, with careful
and assiduous diligence, the passions should be
trained, subdued and ruled, by the intellect and con 
SELF-CULTURE.
science of her who desires it to bear the unpurchaseable fruit of happiness and moral beauty. Nor is
this a light task; for, as FLAVEL remarks, "It is
much easier to pull many weeds out of a garden,
than one corruption out of the heart, and to procure
a hundred flowers to adorn a plot, than one grace to
beautify a soul."
In extensive museums there are usually collected
various specimens of marble statuary. The rudelysculptured, grotesque figures of half-civilized art are
there, looking like caricatures, rather than resemblances of any living thing. Ranging from these
unseemly offsprings of an untutored genius, there
are images in every stage of perfection and imperfection, up to the loveliest and highest creations of
the artist, inspired by the purest conceptions of
beauty. But all these varied forms were once unhewn and shapeless portions of the quarry. They
owe their several differences of form and figure to
the diversity of skill employed in giving them their
respective shapes. Had the chisel of Canova or
Chantrey wrought on the block of stone which ruder
179 
180      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
artists converted into a resemblance so obsc are that
the spectator can hardly decide whether it represents
a monkey c a man, it had become a form so lifelike
and beautiful as to awaken emotions of admiration,
and sentiments of heroism, pity or love.
Society presents similar varieties of human char
acter, and for reasons somewhat corresponding.
One woman is vain, and answers the poet's description:
"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."
Another is artful, capricious and unprincipled. Sel
fish and unlovely, she courts the love of others for
her own advantage or pleasure. Finding herself
despised a stream of bitter hate flows through her
heart,- a pitiless tide of sorrow, which compels the
cry,
"But now the wave of life comes darkly on,
And hideous passion tears my aching heart."
Others are given to slander; serpents, who 
SELF-CULTURE.
" In the path of social life
Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun,
And sting the soul! Ay, till its healthful frame
Is changed to secret, festering, sore disease,
So deadly is the wound."
Others, again, lack modesty, or sincerity, or purity
of spirit. They are bold, false, ignorant and disgusting.   On  the  other hand,  there stand those
women who are the models of their sex.  Refined in
feeling, pure in heart, gentle in manner, of noble and
exalted minds, they command the admiration and
secure the love of all beholders.   They  are lovely
images of the divine ideal of woman; their character
is the offspring of that sacred seed whose ripened
fruit is a complete resemblance to Him who is the
model of all human perfection.
All these women were substantially the same
when as yet they lay cradled in maternal arms.
Whence the difference in the years of their matur
ity? It lies in the diversity of their culture. While
one class carefully repelled every evil motion of their
spirits, and studiously cherished every desire for
good, the other left the seed of good  neglected, per
181 
182     THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
mitted their evil passions to gain strength by indulgence, until, like tares in a field of grain, they over
run her soul. The lovely and the good are what
they are through a faithful improvement of heavenly
grace deposited within them; the evil are evil
because they neglected such self-cultivating efforts.
Would my young reader belong to the model class
of women?  Does  she desire  to rank with those
females whom  God  and  man  delight to honor?
Then she must turn the eyes of her mind upon her
self, as the sculptor gazes on a choice block of mar
ble, and resolves to shape it into the beauteous ideal
which is dimly floating in his mind. So, also, she
must resolve, by the aid of grace, to make for herself
a character in purity like the cherubim, and in loveliness like the seraphim.
But what if you have hitherto neglected this
duty? If the seed of pride, of ambition, of unholy
love or of bitter hate, has already germinated, and
covered your soul with its dark and poisonous
shadows? Is your case hopeless, tht refore? Nay!
Though by early culture the soul is most easily
Air 
SELF-CULTURE.
moulded to virtue, still it is never too late to improve
it, so long as the mind retains strength to form a
noble purpose. However conscious of unloveliness
you may be, 1 summon you, nevertheless, to the
sacred task of self-cultivation, in the language of
JANE DE MONTFORT to her brother, who had yielded
himself a slave to the passion of hatred:
"Call up thy noble spirit,
* Rouse all the generous energy of virtue,
And with the strength of Heaven-endued man
Repel the hideous foe! Be great, be valiant!
0, if thou couldst, e'en shrouded as thou art
In all the sad infirmities of nature,
What a most noble creature wouldst thou be!"
If a young lady is about to work a piece of em
broidery, she is at great pains to procure the best of
patterns. This she carefully studies, until she oh
tains a clear conception of the figures she is to produce by the magic of her own needle. Without this
idea of her task, her production would probably be
inferior and worthless.
Self-culture implies a similar apprehension of its
end. A distinct vision of the work to be done, and
183 
184       THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
how it is to be accomplished, must be before the
mind, or every effort will be like an arrow aimlessly
shot into the air.  What, then, is the appropriate aim
of all attempts at self-cultivation?  Is it not the
highest and most harmonious development of your
entire being, physical, intellectual and moral.? It
comprehends the health of the body, the expansion
of the intellect, the purification of the heart. It
guards the health, because a feeble body acts powerfully on the mind, and is a clog to its progress. It
cherishes the intellect, because it is the glory of a
human being. It trains the moral nature, because, if
that is weak or misdirected, a blight falls on the soul,
and a curse rests upon the body. As each faculty
reacts favorably or unfavorably upon all the others,
true self-culture attends with a due proportion of
care to each.  It strives to restrain one power whose
action is too intense, and to stimulate another which
is torpid. Thus by degrees the several faculties are
balanced, - they act in delightful harmony with
ach other, and the result is the healthful progress 
SELF-CULTURE.
of the person toward the highest point of attainable
perfection.
Self-culture includes, as just stated, a proper care
for the health of the body. So much has been wri:.
ten on this subject, that I forbear enlarging upon it,
except to say, that a resolution to be careless of your
health is a purpose to be both stunted in intellect
and miserable in feeling. You might as wisely expect to enjoy life in a dilapidated and ruined habitation, which affords free admission to the freezing
blast and the pitiless rain, as to be happy in a body
ruined by self-indulgence.   Is not  the body  the
house of the soul? Can its mysterious tenant find
rest and unmixed joy within its chambers, if daily
exposed to sharp and shivering shocks through its
aching joints or quivering  nerves?   Impossible!
absolutely  impossible!   Attend,  therefore, young
lady, to your health, as a condition of happiness;
and that you may do so successfully, consult your
common sense in relation to many popular injurious
habits, and some simple work on physiology, that
you may learn those laws of your physical organiza-m
185 
196      THE YOUNG LADY S COUNSELLOR.
tion, upon whose observance so much of the true
pleasure of life depends.
Self-culture also implies suitable efforts to
strengthen and expand the intellect, by reading, by
reflection, and by writing down your thoughts.
Reading suitable books stores the mind with facts
and principles; reflection converts those facts and
principles into a real mental aliment, and thus quickens the soul into growth; while writing tends to
precision of thought and beauty of expression.
Every young lady should, therefore, read much,
reflect more, and write as frequently and carefully
as she has opportunity.
The principal object of reading, with most young
persons, is pleasure. They seek for excited sensibilities and a charmed imagination. Hence, novels
and poetry form the staple of their reading. Grave
history, graver science, and dull philosophy, they
eschew, while they actually abhor the sober pages
of theology. The novel is well thumbed; the poem,
if it is not too Miltonic, is well turned down at the
comers; but poor Gibbon, Mosheim, Newton, Buf 
SELF-CULTURE. 
fon Buder, Blair and Wesley, lie quietly in some
snug corner, robed in cobwebs, beside the dust-covered and despised Bible.  What is the consequence?
Obscured, feeble intellect, a weakened memory, an
extravagant and fanciful imagination, benumbed senslilities, a demoralized conscience, and a corrupted
hleart! A troop of evils more to be dreaded by a
young lady than the advance of an invading army,
-for soldiers only kill the body, but these strangle
the immortal mind.
Would you admit a thief to your cabinet of jewels?  Would you invite a base profligate to your
society?   Nay.   The  question itself pains  you.
Pardon me, lady,-  I would  not willingly inflict the
slightest wound on your spirit,- but I must deal
frankly with you, or forfeit my claims of friendship.
Hearken, therefore, to my statement. If you are an
indiscriminating novel reader, you admit both thieves
and profligates, not merely to your society, but to
your most intimate companionship,- yea, into the
pa.ace of your soul. Novels rob you of a higher
pleasure than they afford, since the same attention to
187
I* 
188      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLI,OR.
solid reading would procure you a loftier, purer pleas
ure. Hence, they are thieves who rob you of real
delight.  Then, what are their heroes, chiefly, but
villains, robbers, profligates and murderers? These
you take to your fellowship, listen to their language,
grow interested in their adventures, and imbibe a
portion of their spirit; for all this is necessarily
implied in the devotion with which your tossed and
excited mind follows them in the windings of their
history. Can your soul be a bright mirror, in which
none but pure images are reflected, after such read    ing? Can they leave you wholly free from sympa    thy with impure thought? Can you escape contam    ination?  Nay.  As soon might the mirror be un    dimmed in the densest fog, or a person walk unde    filed through an overflowing ditch.
Novels are also injurious to your religious inter    ests. They create a loathing at the bare idea of a
spiritua. life, and bind you in chains to a life of sin.
They fit you to resist the awakenings of the Holy
Spirit.  A love for them often becomes the rallying    point ot conflict between Christ and sin. As, in a 
SELF-CULTURE.
certain revival, two persons were awakened who
were inveterate novel readers. Their favorite books
stood in the way of their conversion. They were
willing to be Christians, if their idol could remain
undestroyed.   This, of course, was impossible, and
they saw it.  One of them yielded, gave up her
novels, and became a joyful convert. The other
determined to cleave to her favorite books, whether
she obtained religion or not, and was soon freed from
serious feelings. She preferred novels to Christ, and
Christ forsook her! Nor is she alone. Thousands
have made the same choice, and have experienced a
similar fate. Reader, will you abandon novels?
By all your desire for intellectual and moral improvement, I beg you to forsake them at once, wholly,
and forever.
When you read, you should do so for the purpose
of gaining knowledge, or to invigorate your intellect,
or to stimulate your moral faculties, according to the
character of the book before you.  In either case, do
not hasten over the paragraphs as the high-mettled
racer rushes along the course. After every sentence,
189 
190      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
pause, close your eyes, oi lift them from the book,
and repeat your author's thought in your mind. Inquire if you understand his meaning, if he states the
truth, or if he,reasons correctly. Then proceed to
the next sentence, and repeat this mental process.
In this way, you will taste a hitherto unknown pleasure, and derive vast profit from the books you read.
As to the best books for your use, you had better
consult some judicious friends. Your parents, your
pastor, or your teacher, will give you all necessary
advice on this point.
There is no book so well adapted to improve both
the head and the heart as the Bible. It is a tried
book: its utility is demonstrated by experience; its
necessity is confessed by all who have studied the
wants of human nature; it has wrung reluctant
praises from the lips of its foes. Adopt it for your
daily companion.   Read  it thoroughly, patiently,
carefully. Read a portion of it daily, on your knees,
pausing at each sentence, and asking its great
Author to teach you its import, to stamp it on your
neart, and to make it a means of life and health to 
SELF-CULTURE.
your soul. Do this, and you will shortly learn to
set a price upon its worth far above the costliest
rubies.
Your moral faculties also demand the most careful
attention. Indeed, your first and principal care must
be in this direction, since your happiness depends
more upon their healthful condition than upon the
state of your body and intellect. With disordered
moral faculties, you will be as a ship without a
hielm, dashed on bars and rocks, at the will of winds
and waves.
The secret of moral self-culture lies in training the
will to decide according to the fiat of an enlightened
conscience.   When  a question  of good or ill is
brought before the mind for its action, its several faculties are appealed to. The intellect perceives, compares, and reflects on the suggestions. The emotions, desires and passions, are addressed, and solicited to indulgence. The conscience pronounces its
verdict of right or wrong, on the proposed act.
Then comes the self-determining will, coinciding
either with the conscience or the emotions. The
191
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192      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNIELLOR.
end of right moral culture is to habituate it to decdlae
against the passions, desires and emotions, whenever
they oppose the conscience,- thus establishing the
supremacy of divine claims over the soul.
The "magician of the north," Sir WALTER SCOTT,
has made tne name of JEANIE DEANS a household
word.  The real name of this noble girl was Helen
Walker, the orphan daughter of a Scottish farmer.
Her younger sister, ISABELLA, whom in childhood she
had supported by her own industry, and whom she
tenderly loved, was arrested for the murder of her
babe, born out of wedlock. When the day of trial
arrived, Helen was told that her sister's life was in
her power. If she would testify that she had known
Isabella to make even the slightest preparations for
its birth, the scale would turn in her favor, and her
life be saved from the gallows. All her sisterly affection, all her family pride, all her fear of the prospective ignominy growing from a connection with an
executed felon, were thus appealed to.   But her
sense of duty triumphed. Without a moment's hesitation, she gave this lofty answer: 
SELF-CULTURE.
"It is impossible for me to swear to a falsehood;
and, whatever may be the consequence, I will give
my oath according to my conscience."
Noble woman!  How supreme was the authority
of duty in her soul! Between a temptation and a
wrong volition in her mind, there stood a stern
IMPOssIBILITY! That her decision sprang from any
lack of strong sisterly affection, cannot be imagined.
Her heroic journey on foot from Scotland to London, her plea for her sister's life, when, clad in her
simple plaid, she gained an audience before the Duke
of Argyle, and her pure joy at her sister's pardon,
combine to place this question beyond dispute, and
to prove that her decision was the offspring of a
will trained to acknowledge the supremacy of conscience.
Let us place Helen in contrast with another womnan, whose character, in many respects, deserves
much praise. I mean the Princess ELIZABETH, sister
to the unfortunate King Louis of France. When
the Parisian mob broke into the royal palace, they
demanded the head of tile queen, whom they hated
13
193 
194      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
most sincerely.  "Where, where is she?  We will
have her head!" was their terrible question, as they
met the princess in one of the chambers.
"I am the queen," replied Elizabeth.
" She is not the queen," cried her attendants, as
they rushed forward to rescue her from their murderous hands.
"For the love of God," exclaimed the princess,
" do not undeceive these men! Is it not better that
they should shed my blood than that of my sister? "
The self-devotion of this act is certainly admirable; but its morality sinks far into the shade, beside
the resplendent truthfulness of Jeanie Deans. It
was noble to offer her life to save a sister, but not
right to violate the law of truth for that purpose.
The answer of the lost Constantine, in Joanna
Baillie's tragedy, to Valeria, when she hinted her
purpose not to survive his death, is in point here.
To her he said,
" It is not well, it is not holy.  No!
O no, my noble love, mine honored love!
Give to thy fallen lord all that the soul
To widowed love may give.  But oh, stop there!" 
SELF-CULTURE.
The deceit of the princess merits the same reply,
and proves that her will was not completely subjected to the control of an enlightened conscience.
Here, then, you discover the nature of your great
and difficult work. And is it not a high and worthy
task to place God and right on the throne of the
soul? Will you not engage in it with all the vigor
of your spirit- with all the might of your nature?
If you say " I will," then suffer me to add, that you
must diligently enlighten your conscience by the
study of God's law, and strengthen your will by constant efforts, in the daily acts of life, to subordinate
the feelings to its decisions. You must never permit
a feeling, even if harmless, to grow into a controlling
impulse; for just in proportion as impulses strengthen, the will is weakened and overborne. Hence the
impulses must be habitually restrained by the commands of the will.
To illustrate my meaning; suppose yourself sailing in a boat. A sudden flaw of the wind causes
her to lurch, so that the gunwale is almost submerged. You feel an impulse arising from your
195 
196      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
fears to spring to the opposite side of the boat. by
doing so, you increase the danger, and probably capsize the boat. Or, you are riding in a carriage
The driver leaves his seat. The reins are beyond
your reach.  The horses move on without a driver.
You are alarmed.  An impulse moves you to scream
and hold out your arms for aid. Your screams set
the horses into a run, and what might have been
remedied, had you been silent, becomes a sad, ruinous disaster. In either case, you should resist your
impulse; restrain it by a resolute refusal to submit
to it. You can do this, for there is not a faculty of
mind or body which the will is not capable of controlling. But it is only by habituating the mind to
reflect, and the will to command, on right principles,
in all things great and small, that its power can be
established.  And, in moral self-culture, this is the
grand point to which your mightiest efforts must be
directed.
One condition of success, in all endeavors after
self-improvement, is the avoidance of everything
which tends to strengthen evil dispositions or desires. 
SELF-CULTURE.
DRESS, for examtle, by being ornamental and fashionable fosters pride and vanity, is unfavorable to
economy, occupies too much time, and leads to many
other ills. Dancing, cards, and other fashionable
amusements, awaken the various passions, weaken
the power of conscience, and create a positive disrelish for the sober pursuits and graver ends of human
life. What, then, will self-culture avail, if these
things are not given up?   You  might  as easily
extinguish a fire, which is fed by streams of oil, with
tiny cups of water, as to restrain the growth of your
propensities, while indulging in sinful amusements
and silly fashions. To gain moral distinction and
serene joy, you must wholly abandon the former;
and in regard to the latter, simplicity and neatness
are more tasteful and beautiful than ornament and
show. She who would acquire the highest and most
attractive loveliness must walk by the rule of those
ancient women "who trusted in God," and after the
counsels of Peter, who said to the women of his age:
"W'ose adotning iet it not be that outward adorning of pzlaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or
.,.w
197 
198      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
of pntting on of apparel; but let it be in THE  ORNA
MENT OF A MEEK AND QUIET SPIRIT."
Imagine the spectacle of a light boat floating gayly
over a wide sunlit sea. Its sole passenger is a lovely
lady who appears to be suddenly wakening from
sleep. Her hand is stretched out to grasp the string
of a magnificent pearl necklace, which, during her
sleep, became unfastened. One end is still hanging
about her neck, the other is loosely dangling over
the water. Pearl after pearl has slipped off into the
deep abyss, until there are but few remaining. The
expression on the lady's brow is sad and self
reproachful. Each lost pearl reproves her; each
remaining one reminds her of those which are gone
while several more must fall, before her hand can
reach the string to save the small remainder.
Do you perceive the IDEA embodied in this beauti
ful spectacle? It is, that if the opportunities of
early life for self-improvement are wasted in idle
day-dreams, the loss can never be repaired. Lost
opportunities are sunken pearls.  Young life spent
i-. 
SELF-CULTURE.
in self-neglect will bring self-reproach in later years.
Then you will cry,
" Untaught in youth my heart to tame,
My springs of life were poisoned."
Spend your early years in frivolous pleasures, and at
your tomb it shall be said of you,
"Her life had been quaffed too quickly, and she found
The dregs were wormwood! "
Begin, therefore, young lady, to labor upon your
self with a diligence worthy of so great an end.
Aim to develop yourself physically, intellectually,
and morally, to the extent of your ability. Do it,
depending on the grace of Jesus Christ,- or, as St.
Paul  says,  "looking  unto  Jesus;"  for, without
Christ, you "can do nothing." Begin to-day, for
this is your only certain opportunity.
"This moment
Is precious as the life of man! Who knows
If from the Judge's hand already fall not
The last scant drops for thee?"
199 
CHAPTER IX,
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
i   HERE  is not a female name  in
history that reflects so much dis: ~,  honor on your sex as the Roman
TULLIA, the wife of Lucius TAR               QUINIUS.  She  left no natural  tie
unviolated, that she might accomplish
her ambitious purposes.   A  sister, a
husband and a father, were sacrificed to
her passion.  But the crowning act of
her vileness was  the shameful  indignity
with which she treated her father's dead
body. It lay across the street, weltering in blood.
Her charioteer reined up his horses, lest he should
drive them over the royal corpse. "Drive on!"
cried the incensed Tullia, in a voice which made the
O 
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
horrified driver tremble. He obeyed; and, as the
wheels of her chariot bounded over the corpse, the
father's blood spirted upon the daughter's dress.
The Romans expressed their horror of this inhuman,
unfilial act, by naming the street Vicus Sceleratus, 
Wicked  Street.  Her name  is synonymous  with
infamy, in the mind of every reader of ancient history.
I know you shrink disgusted from her character.
Every humane and filial feeling in your breast
revolts at her image. This is well. But it does not
prove you wholly free from some participation in a
crime like hers. Not that I surmise you to bear the
smallest degree of resemblance to her in cruelty or
inhumanity. No. You have too much refinement
of feeling, tenderness, and self.-respect, for such a
supposition. But Tullia's crimes are crimsoned by
the fact of their being committed against a sister, a
husband, a father. She stifled the sweetest voices
of her nature. She crushed the dearest affections
of the heart. She trampled upon the strongest ties
that bind human beings together. She immolated
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202      THE YOUNG LArY'S COUNSELLOR.
within herself, every beauty of the soul, that she
might gratify the insatiate demands of her ambition.
And may not these things be done by young ladies
who shiver at the bare recital of the mode through
which she displayed the workings of her unfilial and
unsisterly heart?   What  shall  be  said of that
daughter who treats a mother with contemnpt, and a
father with disregard?   What  of her, who  idly
wastes her time, and leaves an aged or a feeble
mother to toil unaided in domestic duties? What of
her, whose insufferable temper destroys the happiness of the family circle, who tyrannizes over her
brothers and sisters, whose wastefulness and vanity
exhaust a father's means, and burden him with care
that crushes his soul?  Or of her, who, despising all
parental counsel and authority, wilfully and blindly
rushes into forbidden and dangerous society, thereby
inflicting pangs more painful than the dagger's
stroke upon the anguished spirits of her father and
mother? Are such young ladies wholly free from
the sin of Tullia?  Nay! She violated filial and sis.
terly ties; they do the same. Thus far they resem 
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
ble each other. And there are some, whose secret
conduct so poisons the springs of life in their parents,
as to hurry them prematurely and sorrowfully to the
grave. Such girls certainly partake largely of Tullia's spirit, and justly merit the severest reprobation.
Earth has no more hateful object than an unfilial
child; nor is there anything which the sentiment of
mankind so severely censures and despises as ingratitude in a daughter. When known, she is
" Scorned, hooted, mocked!
Scorred by the very fools who most admired
Her worthless heart."
On the ether hand, how beautiful is filial love!
How admirable is a daughter's gratitude! Behold
an affecting example, in a scene that occurred some
seventy years ago. See, in a scantily furnished
chamber, a patriarchal man, with his wife, an aged
and feeble dame. On both, time has set deep seals.
Their faces are wrinkled, their hair is gray, the
palsy of feebleness is on their limbs, and they sit
upon their straight-backed chairs, dependent on the
attentions of an only daughter.
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204      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
And  there she sits in gloomy silence, gazing on
the cheerless grate. She is young, but grave beyond her years.  Why  is she so sad?  Alas! she
has ample reason for sorrow. Her hands have been
the support of her parents; but it is a season of
public distress, and work has failed. The last crust
has been eaten, the last stick of wood burned, the
last penny expended. Dread starvation stares her
and her parents in the face. But see! A ray of
sunshine  darts from her tearful eyes.   Her face
lights up, for a thought of love has suddenly found
birth in her heart.  With silent haste she roses herself in her well-worn shawl, and leaves the chamber.
Let us follow her.
Her steps are rapid, and directed toward the principal street of the city. She pauses before a dentist's office. She had heard that he had offered
three guineas for every sound front tooth that the
owner would permit him to extract. Her loving
heart had determined to sacrifice her teeth to save
her aged parents from death, and she is here to bear 
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
the pain. Entering the office, she offers the dentist
all her front teeth, at three guineas for each tooth.
" But why do you sacrifice all your front teeth,
young lady? " the dentist inquires, astonished that
so young and pretty a girl, should make such a proposal.
With a fluttering heart, she tells her simple story,
fearful lest the dentist should refuse to make the
purchase. Fortunately, he is a man of feeling. His
heart is touched,- tears fill his eyes; he opens his
purse, gives her ten guineas, and refuses to touch a
single tooth. Filial love has conquered, and the
happy daughter hastens to comfort the desponding
spirits of her aged parents.
Behold yet one more example. An aged man
was in the hands of the revolutionary murderers at
Paris, and the sword was already uplifted to destroy
him.   Rushing  through  the mob,  his daughter,
MADEMOISELLE  DE  SOMBREUIL, threw herself upon
his neck, and cried,
"Hold your hands, barbarous wretches!  He is
my father!" And then she pleaded, with floods of
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206      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
tears, and with all the eloquence of love, for his life.
A monster in the besotted crowd cried out,
"; Drink the blood of the aristocrats, and save your
father!"
The girl shuddered at this revolting proposal, and
instinctively retreated a few paces. But the savage
glances of the mob assured her that her venerable
father must perish, unless she accepted the loathsome conditions. The test was terrible, but love
triumphed. She took the proffered glass, and swallowed its contents. Her father was saved.
Such heroic love as this commands your highest
admiration. It should stimulate you to its imitation.
Not that you will ever have opportunity for such
extraordinary proofs as these two ladies gave of their
affection; but you are bound to manifest the same
spirit, in all your deportment toward your parents.
You should study to anticipate and obey their slightest wishes; address them in tones and words of
respectful  affection;  never  disgrace  yourself by
uttering an unkind word to either of them; make
them your confidants; keep nothing secret especial 
THE YOUNG IAEY AT HOME.
ly from your mother; consult them concerning your
plans, studies, amusements, and friends; relieve
your mother as much as possible, by rendering her
assistance in household labors to the very limit of
your ability; never permit yourself to be disagreeable or resentful to your brothers and sisters, and
study to find your own pleasure in promoting the
happiness of the family circle. Thus will filial
affection grow strong and beautiful in your soul.
Your  home  will be sweet and delightful.  Your
parents will rejoice over you, as an olive plant of
valued loveliness, and you will be fitted to make
those heroic sacrifices, if the exigency should ever
occur, which have immortalized the names of RUTH,
of ELIZABETH the exile's daughter, of SOMBREUIL's
child, and of other illustrious women. Your Creator
will also hold you in remembrance for your fidelity
to filial obligations. God loves a faithful child, and
has condescended to incorporate his high regard for
such in the "commandment with promise:"  " Honor thyfather and mother, that thy days  nay be long
in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee."
207 
208      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Another duty that claims your attention, with
imperial authority, is the cultivation of proper affec tions for your brothers and sisters. The tie that
binds you to them is a precious, golden link in the
chain of life, and should be preserved unbroken.
Discord between childen of the same parents is the
perfection  of youthful  misery.   Envy,  jealousy,
bickering, are horrible monsters in any home; for
their devastating appetites will devour every fruit of
household  bliss.   On  the contrary, fraternal and
sisterly love is a soft, gentle star of beauty, in the
domestic heavens. The voices of such affections are
bewitching melodies, enchanting the soul by their
bird-like tones.  It is impossible  to measure  the
amount of pleasure or misery, in a family, procured
by the lovingness or hatefulness of its sons and
daughters.
Be kind, therefore, young lady, to your brothers
and sisters; and especially so, if you are an eldest
daughter. Be unselfish and attentive. Exert yourself to please them, so that you may strike a chord
of delight whenever they approach you. Encourage 
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
them in their studies and amusemen,s. Gently
check any wrong manifestation of character, both in
them and in yourself. By these means, you will
wind cords of enduring affection round their hearts.
They will love you, and they will also love home for
your sake. And, if your brother should be lured
into the tempestuous seas of passion, your image,
gleaming through the surrounding mists and vapors,
will revive the strength of his virtue, and inspire him
with the energy to escape from those foaming breakers where so many strong men have perished.
Many a brother has fallen for lack of such a vision.
A distasteful home has driven him into sinful
society.
"His father's house
Has unto him become a cheerless den.
His pleasant tales, and sprightly, playful talk,
Which once their social meals were wont to charm,
Now visit them but like a hasty beam
Between the showery clouds."
Parents and sisters lament this sad alienation. Had
they, by mutual affection, made their home a miniatu-e paradise, -  had his sister clothed herself in the
14
209 
210      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
angelic loveliness of sisterly affection,- he might
still have been the household joy. But if not, how
ennobling to her character would have been the
consciousness of entire blamelessness for his fall!
Therefore, I say again, be as an angel of goodness
to your brother. Treat him with forbearing kind.
ness, resembling DE MONTFORT'S sister, who, having
followed his restless steps to his retreat, and finding
him amused at a mixed assembly, refused to be
announced, saying,
"I am his sister,The eldest daughter of his father's house,Calm and unwearied is my love for him;
And, having found him, patiently I'11 wait,
Nor greet him in the hour of social joy,
To dash his mirth with tears."
The skilful horticulturist, in preparing young
trees to enrich his orchard or beautify his grounds,
keeps them, at first, in some congenial nook, where
they are sheltered from the winds and frosts. When
at a proper degree of maturity, they are transplanted
to some other spot, to brave the winds and to bear
fruit.  And  it pleases the Divine Husbandman, to 
THE YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
4,
treat his creatures with an analogous but more loving
consideration.   He does not expose them suddenly
to tile bleak winds and sharp frosts of life, but places
them in a downy nest, called homine, where, duly
sheltered, they may acquire power, experience, and
Vlisdom, to go forth and boldly dare the severer
responsibilities of life.
Therefore, home should be viewed as a social
nursery, within whose protecting walls a young lady
must fit herself for a higher and more difficult sphere.
It is the place of opportunity; the dressing-room of
life; the antechamber leading into the great hall of
assembly, in which she is bound to enact some more
or less important part.
How beautifully fitted is this blessed arrangement
to the contemplated end!  Home,  "sweet, sweet
home!" we may indeed call it; for there never was
nor will be any other "place like home."
'' The parted bosom clings to wonted home,
*f aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth."
Hiome frees you from all care for present self-suste.
211 
212      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSE,LOR.
nance, and thus leaves your mind free for study and
self-improvement. Home has voices of experience
and hearts of genuine holy love, to instruct you in the
ways of life, and to save you from a sense of loneliness,
as you gradually discover the selfishness of mankind.
Home has its trials, in which are imaged the sterner
struggles of your after years, that your character may
gain strength and manifestation; for which purpose
they are necessary.  They "open the portals of the
heart, that its jewels, otherwise concealed in its hidden depths, may shine forth and shed their lustre on
the world." Home has its duties, to teach you how
to act on your own responsibility. Home gradually
and gently increases its burdens, so that you may
acquire strength to endure without being overtasked.
Home is a little world, in which the duties of the
great world are daily rehearsed. And so perfect is
the adaptation of home, that if a young lady learns
its lessons well and truly, she cannot well fail of fitness for any subsequent station which God may call
her to fill. A dutiful daughter, a loving sister, an
industrious girl, will make a happy wife, a good 
TI  YOUNG LADY AT HOME.
motihe, and  a valuable  woman.   Fidelity  to the
duties )f her girlhood fits her for a glorious and blissful womanhood; while the undutiful daughter, the
ill-tempered sister, the idle girl, whose pride is in the
whiteness of her hands and the ornaments of her
apparel, will as certainly grow into an odious wife, a
foolish mother, or a lazy, disgusting woman.
Be faithful, therefore, young lady, to the calm and
priceless opportunities afforded you in the pleasant
home of your youth. They are golden seeds of
golden fruit. Sow them assiduously, and sow them
carefully.   The harvest-time will surely come with
smiles and gladness. Among the sheaves will be a
husband's admiring love, a brother's gratitude, perhaps a child's affection. There, too, will be sheaves
of rich reflections. As you gaze upon the past, the
venerable faces of your departed parents will rise,
distinct and smiling, among the dim and cloudy
images of the mind.   How delightful it will be to
gaze, and to remember a loving, faithful past; to recall no unkind word, act, or look; but to feast on the
thought of those affectionate interchanges of mutual 
214      TlIE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
kindness, which caused those well-remembered faces
to look with ineffable love upon you! How delicious,
how real, are such remembrances! Hear the poet
describing a lady musing thus upon her early life.
ie says:
II As some fair lake reflects, when day is o'er,
With stiller deeps and clearer tide the shore,
So night and calm the lengthening memory glassed,
And from the silence rose distinct the past:
Again she sees her mother's gentle face;
Again she feels the mother's soft embrace;
Again the mother's sigh of pain she hears,
And starts - and lo! the spell dissolves in te' s!"
Blessed tears! provided they are tears that come
swelling from a precious tide of love, and not from
the overflowing of a remorseful spirit. Dear lady,
be faithful to the present hour! And, that you may
have the power to be so, give Christ your heart.
Let him purify your affections, and guide your spirit.
Then will your experience justify the poet's exclamation of
a How the home brightens where the heart presides I  
CHAPTER X.
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
OTWITHSTANDING all the
yvoices of  wisdom  which  fail
on childish  ears, in  the  sweet
little  home-world,   where   the
~/~;~~ young heart so fearlessly nestles,
',    pi~ *our first lessons of life are usually
inaccurate;  our first impressions  of
~~, its character and duties obscure and
false.   Peeping out at the windows of
our early home, we see the big world, as a
traveller sees a landscape by the light of a
waning  moon,  through  pale,  midnight
vapors, and it appears to us a romantic scene of
beauty only, fitted solely for our pleasure.  B3ut, as
the rising sun wears the fog into "shreds and rifted
masses, whose openings give' glimpse after glimpse
of slow revealed" reality to the wanderer, No does 
216      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
an actual entrance into life gradually unfold, to a
reflective young lady, the great truth, that the immutable law which forces her into the theatre of
social life, aims to constitute her an actor on its
stage, and not a mere pleased spectator of its shifting
scenes. She learns, at least she may, if she is true
to her opportunities, that she has a useful part to
perform in the great drama of existence.  That a
constant, personal approximation towards the all-perfect, and a ceaseless endeavor to communicate good
to others, are the sublime aims and duties proper to
every human being! Happy is that young lady
whose perception of this truth is clear, and whose
adherence to it.is firm and immovable! Let her
follow it, as seamen the beaming of the northern star,
or as the ancient magi the mystic star of the Saviour, and it shall guide her to the throne of Midessiah,
-  to Him "who is over all, God blessed forever "!
As the academy is often the first sphere in which
a young lady is called to lean somewhat upon herself, a few counsels, to regulate her life at school,
may not be improper. I will, therefore, first present 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME
one important end of school education, by giving a
somewhat humorous  extract from  the imaginative
JEAN  PAUL   Describing the griefs of one  of his
characters, lie says:
'" SIEBENKAS pored over a fatal iron mould,-a mark
or wart in his wife's heart. He could never raise
her to a lyrical enthusiasm, in which she might forget heaven, and earth, and all things. She could
count the strokes of the clock between his kisses, and
listen to the pot boiling over, with the big tears,
which he had drawn forth by a beautiful story, or
a discourse from the outpourings of his heart, yet
standing in her eyes. She sat in the adjoining roonm,
and sang to herself quavering psalms, and in the
middle of a verse she interpolated the prosaic question,'What shall I cook this evening?'   And he
could never forget, that once, in the midst of a most
moved attention to a closet-sermon of his, on deathL
and eternity, she looked thoughtfully downwards,
and at length said,
"'Don't  put  on your left stocking,  to-morrow
morning.  I must first mend a hole in it!'"
217 
218      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Poor Siebenkais! With what pain must he have
cast away his man uscripts, when called from the
height of sublime reflection to the ridiculous depth
of a darned stocking! His wife was not blameworthy
for her domesticity, but for the want of that high ap
preciation of the wealth of thought,- that literary
sensibility and mental culture, - by which, in a
leisure hour, she might have soared with her husband into the glowing regions of an elevated, ideal
world, untrammelled, for the time, by thoughts of
cooking and darning. For, to quote Jean Paul again,
every woman should be capable of soaring to a certain
height. She should be a woman on whose opened
eyes and heart the flowery earth and beaming heavens
strike, not in infinitesimals, but in large and towering
masses; for whom the great whole is something
more than a nursery-room or a ball-room. Her
feelings should be at once tender and discriminating,
and her heart at once pious and large.
To impart this discrimination, - this intellectuality, - this largeness of soul, - this noble sympathy
with the great and beautiful,- is the work of edu 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
cation; the aim of your literary instructors. They
would save you from the ridiculous littleness of the
lady whose mind had closer sympathy with the
iarning-needle and the scullery than with those
great thoughts that stir the truly elevated mind.
They would not create any distaste for domestic life,
- that were both sinful and foolish; but they would
so expand your intellect, that in the spare, lonely, or
social hours of after-life, you may live in a world of
pure  and  blessed thought, -be  fit for the companionship of superior minds; and escape that awful
ennui, -that loathsome sense of soul-weariness,which is the torment of uncultivated women.
This is a serious aim, and you must seriously
entertain it, and enter thoroughly into it, or it cannot be accomplished. You must view the laborious
struggle with crooked conjugations, difficult definitions, and perplexing thecries, as having a positive
relation to it. You must regard every fully digested
lesson as a certain step toward a larger mental world.
The grandeur of this idea will stimulate you when
wearied, restrain you when attracted to improper
219 
220      THE YOUNG LADY' COUNSELLOR.
objects, and sustain you in the little trials and self.
denials of school-life. It will spur you to ascend
every hill of difficulty, and cheer your struggles in
every valley of confusion. It will make you the
pride of your preceptors, and the model of your fellow-scholars. Your parents will feel repaid for the
expenses of your education, and you will reap a rich
harvest of enjoyment all the way through life.
Perhaps, my reader, you are one of those who find
the acquisition of learning to be very difficult. You
pursue it reluctantly, indolently, and almost hopelessly. This is wrong; for no young lady should
ever be discouraged with herself, or despair of
making indefinite improvement. You have elements
of unknown power in your soul, and persevering,
hopeful effort will draw them forth. Never despair
of acquiring any study you earnestly enter upon, for
you can acquire it if you will. Study, therefore,
with cheerful diligence,-  with faith in yourself,
and you shall, at length, rejoice in the consciousness
of victory. Where would have been the unequalled
triumphs of the peerless JENNY LIND, but for her 
THE YOt NG LADY FROM HOME.
persevering energy? Deprived of the control of her
voice, just as it was winning green laurels for her childish brow; discouraged by the predictions of Garcia, he.
miusical instructor, who dismissed her with the remark
that "she had made great progress under his tuition
and should her voice fully return, he would prophesy
her success; but of this he could see no prospect;"
triumphed over by Mademoiselle Nissen, her rival
at Berlin, this amiable songstress had difficulties
enough to crush an ordinary mind. But she had
the indomitable energy of true genius, and persisted
in the severest endeavors to recover her voice, and to
attain the highest artistical power to direct it. She
had her reward. Her voice came, at last, as suddenly as it had left her. She felt conscious of her
victory, and appeared before the audience with a
radiant countenance. They had heard her often,
and expected no surprise; but when she struck her
first note, on that eventful night, every ear was
ravished; and as she poured forth the gushing flood
of music, they were enraptured, and, with bursts of
admiration, they proclaimed her the "Queen of
221 
222      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Song."  She deserved her triumph, because she had
earned it by the self-denying discipline of years.
Therefore, I say, young lady, persevere! You may
not be formed for such transcendent excellence as
some of the more highly gifted of your sex, but you
are capable of unlimited improvement.
As to school manners, they are, or should be, the
same as in any other circle of society. Ill manners
in an academy or among its associations, are as disgusting and blameworthy as in any other place.
.
They do their possessor much harm, for the evil
character thus acquired at school often cleaves to a
lady through life. Cultivate good manners, therefore, with as much assiduity as if you moved in a
court circle. (Inly feel kind toward all, -have a
sincere wish to impart pleasure to all you meet; be
modest, be unassuming, be humble, and you cannot
fail being well-mannered; for the most refined courtesies are those which proceed from a sincere and
gentle spirit. Such a spirit, animating your intercourse with others, will color all your conduct with
propriety, and prepare you for association with 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
teachers or scholars, rich or poor, village coteries or
city assemblies. Be careful, therefore, of your dispositions, and they, with a little common sense, will
regulate your manners far better than all the foppish
dancing-masters in existence.
I have already spoken of that necessity of exerting
good or evil influence which is immutably linked to
your existence, and of your duty to exert only a good
influence over others.   A benevolent spirit toward
society, manifested in habitual acts of kind endeavor
to benefit its members, is, therefore, not merely a
question of choice, but a fearful obligation resting
upon you. You form a part of the human family,
that you may diminish its miseries and add to its
pleasures. By a smile, a tear, a word, or a gift, you
may daily send a beam of gladness into the sad
spirit of some forsaken child of sorrow. By making
this a principal object of your daily life, you will
answer the grand end of social life, and your efforts
will flow back upon your own soul in swelling seas
of perennial joy.
An oriental ascetic, who had taken up his lonely
223 
224      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
abode in the desert, was accustomed to carry watel,
in a glass, from a spring in his hermitage, to the
weary  travellers who  passed his door.   For this
they blessed his habitation, as an oasis in the sandy
waste. At last he bethought himself that it would
be better to dig a well in front of his house, that the
travellers of the desert might, even for ages after his
death, freely slake their thirst. He obeyed the suggestion of his heart; and for generations the caravans
paused at his well, and rejoiced in his far-reaching
benevolence.
Even thus it should be, young lady, with you and
your deeds of kindness. While, by private acts of love,
you resemble the hermit bringing the single glass of
water from his bubbling spring, you should, by lending your influence to the church of Christ and its
various institutions, aid to perpetuate living fountains of public beneficence, to the latest ages of time.
There is no mode of benevolent action more suited
to a young lady, than to labor as a teacher in a
Sabbath-school. The beauty, the greatness, and the
blessedness of this delightful work, are well expressed 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
in the following lines, which I quote for your careful
study.
' IT is a fond, yet a fearful thing to rule
O'er the opening mind in a Sabbath-school.
Like wax, ye can mould it in the form ye will;
What ye write on the tablet remains there still:
And an angel's work is not more high
Than aiding to form one's destiny."
The distribution of tracts, visiting the sick poor,
aiding to sustain seamen's bethels and homes, and
all kindred tasks, are also admirable spheres of
benevolent action. Only be careful of associations
of ultra reformers,-  of men and women who decry
all existing good, in their blind devotion to a particular idea. Such persons are like hunters, who, to
capture a wicked fox, will trample down a field of
valuable wheat, -and these pseudo reformers, in
.ike manner, while aiming at a good end, do immense mischief in the attempt; and the amount of
good they accomplish is very insignificant. Beware
of such spirits! Cleave to those institutions which
are sanctioned by the church of the living God.
Nor must you suffer your zeal for society to lead
15
22X 
226      TILE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
you to neglect the duties of self-cultivation, and of
making  the companions  of your domestic hearth
happy. These are first duties. Fulfil their claims,
and then do your utmost for the world without.
You may be called, by the force of circumstances,
to travel from home, without the protection of a
friend, to places in which you are totally unacquainted. There is danger in this, because of the
numerous villains who lurkl around large cities in
search of prey; yet, with proper precautions, you
may do so safely. You should always ascertain
before going to a strange place where you are to
stop.  Nothing should induce you to go into a large
city, utterly ignorant of the person or place you are
to inquire for. To do so, is to throw yourself in the
way of danger; for in all such places there are
creatures whose souls are steeped in the deepest
dyes of wickedness, ready to beguile the unwary
into places of shame; as was the sad fate of a young
lady I will name  ALIcE.  -Ier connections were
quite respectable, but, with a praiseworthy spirit of
independence, she resolved to support herself by 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
entering a cotton mill. Unfortunately for her happiness, she hastened to a certain city, without any
previous knowledge of the place, or acquaintance
with any of its inhabitants. She began to make inquiries of the persons who stood around the depot,
when a well-dressed man stepped up and told her he
was an agent for a corporation in a neighboring city,
where her opportunities for self-support would be
much superior. Pleased with his apparently disinterested manner, and scarcely knowing what else to
do, she accepted his'proposal to conduct her thither.
He accompanied her to the place, and led her, —
poor, deceived girl, - to a haunt of sorrow and sin,
where, by dint of cruelty, threats and confinement,
she became lost to virtue, to society, and to heaven!
Beware, therefore, young lady, of placing confidelce in strangers!  But beware still more of put
ting yourself in a situation where that confidence is
necessary. A woman's helplessness is her danger,
and she is never more helpless than when she enters
a strange city, unknowing upon whom  to call, or
where to make it her home. Her sense of helpless
'227 
228      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
ness embarrasses her action, and points her out i 8 a
suitable person to be beguiled. On the contrary, if
she knows her destination, she moves with confidence and ease; the vile dare not molest her if she
acts with common prudence, and she is comparatively safe; though it is my opinion that unless she
has gained experience by first travelling in company
with others, a young lady ought not to travel alone,
unless circumstances make it her absolute duty. In
such a case, her safety must be secured by proper
precaution and demeanor, and'by a fitting trust in
God, as her almighty protector and guardian.
Did you ever study that picture of the royal Hebrew melodist, which,with seeming unconsciousness,
he drew of himself, in the third psalm?  Absalom,
his ingrate son, had driven him from his throne, and
compelled him to maintain his kingly and paternal
rights by an appeal to the sword. By various acts
he had also succeeded in winning thousands of tlhe
bravest sons of Judah to join the standard cf revolt.
The weary old warrior was thereby placed in extremely perilous circumstances. He was a fugitive 
THE YOUNG LADY FROM HOME.
king, an injured and abused father, a strongly-tried
sufferer. But, in the midst of this fierce storm of
woes, behold him, at eventide, quietly reposing on
his couch, and sleeping as calmly and sweetly as a
babe slumbers on its mother's breast.  With amiable
simplicity he sung, " I laid me down and slept!"
Yes, he slept with the voices of unnatural war
ringing in his ears! But how could he sleep amidst
such sounds? Was he insensitive and stupidly resigned to his fate? Nay, he was keenly alive to his
condition; but let him reveal the hidden philosophy
of his slumbers, in his mournfully pleasant psalm.
Hear him singing, "I cried unto the Lord with my
voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill! "
FAITH IN GOD, yOU see, supported him. But for
that, his strong soul would have sunk in deep waves
of despairing sorrow. And what but such a TRUST
in God, my dear young friend, can sustain you,
when, leaving the home-world of your youth, you go
out into society, to meet troops of dangers, and to
combat with powerful enemies to your peace and
safety?  Poor, friendless, and desolate of heart, you
'29 
Tit) THE YOUNG LADY' S COUNSELLOR.
, will be without faith in Jesus. Turn your heart,
then, to him, with tears of penitential love; and you
may go out into the great world, singing,
" What though a thousand hosts engage,
A thousand worlds, my soul to shake;
I have a shield shall quell their rage,
And drive their alien armies back.
Portrayed, it bears a bleeding Lamb 
I dare believe in Jesus' name." 
CHAPTER XI.
COURTSIIIP AND MARRIAGE.
-  AD          Y, I wish  you to study tile
- _rrpk~,beautiful image of mutual  affec; tion contained in  the following
lines:
" Side by side we stood,
i Like two young trees, whose boughs in early
Screen the weak saplings of the rising grove,
U  And brave the storm together."
And now, behold yonder two heights. be       tween which  rolls a furious river!  They
are parted, and the "mining depths" so intervene that they can meet no more.
Can you believe that those loving trees with
their infolded branches, and these jagged rocks with
their dark torrents, are images of the same thing?
3w-,
p 
232      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
Widelyas they contrast, they are, nevertheless, both
equally fitting figures of the marriage state: the
former of a happy, the latter of an unhappy marriage. In the first, kindred spirits, governing their
hearts by mutual wisdom, are united in blissful and
pleasing affection; in the second, two unmatched
souls are held in hateful contiguity by a legal bond,
but divided in heart by a torrent of passionate aversion.
If you are among the multitude who form their
notions of love and marriage from sickly novels,
from theatrical performances, and from flippant conversation, you probably question the correctness of
my second figure. Marriage, to your uninstructed
fancy, is a "seed of ineffable joy only.  Its future is
spread as a bright May day, and before your eyes
golden years dance in bridal hours."
Thus, in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic power produced in haste,
As old romances say,
Castles and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the trav'ler cheat,
And stop him in his may.
I 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
But, while he gazes with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies,
'T was but enchanted ground."
Thus wit. your ideal of married life be changed into
a wilderness by experience, unless it be entered upon
with wisdom and precaution.
Marriage is a high and holy state, designed by its
almighty Author to promote the health, happiness,
purity and real greatness of our species.   It is
proper, therefore, for you to desire it, to prepare
yourself for it, and to accept it, under fitting circumstances. It is equally improper for you to fancy that
you cannot be truly happy in a single state, or to
hastily accept the first offer that you may receive,
lest you should never have a second. Better, fai
better, will it be for you to live and die unwedded,
than to give your hand and person to one who is
unsuited to your disposition, or unfitted, by bad hab ts, to make you a happy wife; or than to enter so
responsible a relation without those mental and
moral qualifications which are essential to its enjoy
ment. A single life is not without its advantages
233 
234       THE YOUNG LA)DY'S COUNSELLOR.
while a married one which fails of accomplishing
its true end is the acme of earthly wretchedness
There is many a wife, who, having married incautiously and hastily, has buried even her hopes of
happiness deep in a grave of despair; who sees
nothing to cheer her in the future; whose silent
sighings, had they a voice, would cry,
"Mine after-life!  What is mine after-life?
My day is closed! the gloom of night is come!
A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate:
My doom is closed! "
" How terrible!" you exclaim.  Yes, it is terrible,
indeed; but it is truth, - and it may be your experience, if you are not careful concerning the character of him you accept for your husband.
Marriage, properly viewed, is a union of kindred
minds,- a blending of two souls in mutual, holy
affection,-and not merely or chiefly a union of persons. Its physical aspects, pure and necessary as
they are, are its lowest and least to be desired ones;
indeed, they derive all their sanctity from the spiritual affinity existing between the parties. So em 
COURTSHIP AlD MARRIAGE.
phatically is this the fact, that marriage without
mutual affection is defilement and sin. Virtuous
love alone can give dignity and innocency to the relation. Hence, the holy Scriptures enjoin husbands
to " love their wives," and wives to "reverence their
husbands," with the same authoritative voice as that
with which they enjoin marriage itself.
These are the only views of this subject, young
lady, that you can innocently entertain; and, in:this
light, it will not harm you in the least to reflect
upon it.  There are ideas, romantic, impassioned,
immodest, derived from impure novels and impurer
fancies, which you must prayerfully exclude from
the chambers of your soul, or they will prepare you
for the tempter, and lead you captive into an un.
timely marriage, if not into still deeper wretched ness. But those loftier conceptions of it will only
stimulate you to cultivate those mental and moral
qualities which will fit you to enjoy the state, and
to the exercise of a calm judgment in the disposal of
your affections.
Many young ladies indulge in very nonsensical
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236      THE YOUNI LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
opinions, or, I should rather say, notions, concerning
love. They foolishly farn,y themselves bound to be
4 "smitten," to "fall in love," to be "love-sick," with
almost every silly idler who wears a fashionable
coat, is tolerably good-looking, and pays them par ticular attention. Reason, judgment, deliberation,
according to their fancies, have nothing to do with'
love. Hence, they yield to their feelings, and give
their company to young men, regardless of warning
advice or entreaty.  A  father's sadness, a mothers
tears, are treated with contempt, and often with jt ter retorts. Their lovers use flattering words, and,
like silly moths fluttering round the fatal lamp, they
allow themselves to be charmed into certain misery.
Reader, beware of such examples; eschew such
false notions! Learn that your aflections are under
your own control;  that pure affection is founded
upon esteem; that estimable qualities in a man can
alone secure the continuance of connubial love; that
if these are not in him, your love has no foundation,
it is unreal, and will fall, a wilted flower, as soon as
the excitement of youthful passion is overpast. Re. 
COURTSHIP AND  ARRIAGE.
strain youl affections, therefore, with vigor; it will
cost you far less pain to stifle them in their birth,
than to languish through the years of woe which are
inseparable from an unsuitable marriage.
If I am correct in my statements concerning love
and marriage, the true idea of courtship is already
obvious. What is it in its beginning, but an opportunity for the parties to ascertain their fitness for
each other?  What, in its progress, but a means of
forming and strengthening that genuine affection,
which is the true basis of marriage?  With every
young lady the paramount question concerning him
who offers her particular attentions, ought to be, " Is
he worthy of my love? " Her first aim should be
to decide it. She should observe him well and
thoughtfully, - study his character as it may be
expressed in his countenance, his words, spirit, and
actions. Through her parents she should inquire
into his previous history, and learn especially IF HE
HAS  BEEN A DUTIFUL  SON  AND  AN  AFFECTICNATE
BROTHER.  This last is a vital test, though it is generally overlooked; but very sure I am, that a young
237
i 
238      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
man devoid of filial and fraternal love, will not, can,
not make a good husband
Now all this advice is perhaps lost upon my al.
most scornful reader.   She thinks me a cold, calcu lating adviser, and perhaps pronounces r e heartless.
Be it so. Yet if she despises my counsel and marries an unworthy man, she will often turn back to it
with remorseful reflections. Lady, mine is not a
cold heart. I understand the ardor of youthful feeling, and comprehend all your difficulty in yielding
to my instructions. Passion is strong in a young
breast; it is often delirious- mad! It blinds the
judgment, steels the conscience, bewilders the imagination, captivates the reason. Study its wild workings, as before a mirror, in the following words of
BASIL, a military chieftain, who, enthralled by a sudden affection for a beautiful woman, allowed himself
to be detained with his troops from the field of battle, and thereby placed the fate of an empire in jeopardy. Hear him debating the opposing claims of
duty and affection:
"Well, there is yet one day of life before me,
And, whatsoe'er betide, I will enjoy it. 
COIRTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
Though but a partial sunshine in my lot,
I will converse with her, gaze on her still,
If all behind were pain and misery.
Pain! were it not the easing of all pain,
E'en in the dismal gloom of after years,
Such dear remembrance on the mind to wear,
Like silvery moonbeams on the nighted deep,
When heaven's blest sun is gone? "
Poor Basil! All his rhapsodical heroism evaporated a few hours afterwards, when he learned that
he was disgraced by his commander-in-chief, for his
absence from the battle-field, and, in a fit of furious
despair, he rushed uncalled into eternity!
And it is ever thus. Passion leads us into a
dream-land of folly. Time dissolves the airy fabric
of the fancy, and the soul awakes to mourn, disconsolate, amid the ruins which surround it. Listen
not, therefore, lady, to the voices of passion. Heed
your reason. Keep the precious love of your young
heart, until you find a man every way worthy of it.
Yoi1 have no treasure like that love. Bestow it unworthily, and you are hopelessly ruined. Give it to
some manly heart, full of noble qualities, and you
will drink joy from a pure fountain. If no such
239 
240      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
heart seeks it, then let it remain in your own breast,
reserved for heaven alone. Say of your love,
"It is
The invaluable diamond, which I give
Freely away, or else, forever hid,
Must bury - like the noble-hearted merchant,
Who, all unmoved by the Rialto's gold
Or king's displeasure, to the mighty sea
Gave back his pearl - too proud to part with it
Below its price."
The human "heart is deceitful above all things,"
says its great Creator. Perhaps it is never more inclined to conceal itself than in the intercourse of
the sexes. Duplicity, to some extent, is almost universal in courtship. Hence follows the necessity of
the utmost caution on the part of a young lady, in
admitting a lover to her confidence. The value she
places on her purity must be very trifling, if she admits a stranger, however plausible his  nnners, or
however specious his pretences, to the sacred intimacy of courtship, without some unquestionable assurances of his morality and  respectability.   He
may wear the garb of a gentleman, he may use the 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
most courteous language, he may profess the utmost
regard for virtue, and yet be a villain! Be wary,
therefore, of an entire stranger, who professes to adinire you. Demand references, ascertain his principles, study watchfully his spirit.  A  man soon exhibits his real self in the interchange of thought;
and the chief reason why so many women are cheated by seducers, is because they are not sufficiently
anxious to know the true characters of the men who
flatter them. If they were, the hollow hypocrisy of
passion would betray itself to their cautious minds,
as shown by COLERIDGE:
" Soft the glances of the youth,
Soft his speech and soft his sigh;
But no sound Like simple truth,
But no true love in his eye."
So, also, a man filled with generous and honorabe
love wil make his soul most visible when most
unguarded.  He is like young TRACY DE VERE, in
ELIZA CooK's poem:
"There's a halcyon smile spread o'er his face,
Shedding a calm and radiant grace;
16
241
0 
242      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
There's a sweetness of sound in his talking tones,
Betraying the gentle spirit he owns."'
But if, instead of watching to detect character, a
young woman tolerates the utterance of sentiments
and the manifestation of a spirit from which her
moral sense secretly recoils,- if she permits the
unholy word, the passionate glance, to pass unrebuked and unresented,- if she persuades herself
that these displays of a wicked mind are foibles she
must consent to endure in order to become a wife,
she rushes blindfold into the wolf's den, and becomes
a willing partner in effecting her own ruin. But if
she herself wears the impenetrable armor of mental
and moral purity, - if she is resolved to wed only
with a good and virtuous man,- if her heart be unspotted, and if it shines with the dazzling splendor
of holy affection, —a false-hearted man, a hypocritical pretender toher affection, will soon flee *om her
society, convinced that his case is absolutely hopeless. This thought is most beautifully presented in
the following description of a pure-minded girl,- a
model for all her sex: 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
" Impure desire
Round that chaste light but hovered to expire;
Her angel nature found its own defence
E'en in the instincts of its innocence;
As that sweet flower which opens every hue
Of its frank heart to eyes content to view,
But folds its leaves and shrinks in sweet disdain
From the least touch that would the bloom profane.
O'er all the woman did the virgin reign,
And love the heart might break-it could not stain."
The man whom you accept as your suitor should,
therefore, be pure-minded, sincere, and spotless in
his moral character.  He should be a selfdenying
man; rejecting the wine-cup, tobacco, and all other
forms of intemperance; if any single vice acts the
tyrant over him, it is-not safe to intrust your happiness to his keeping. He should be an energetic
man, or he will sink in seas of difficulty, and drag
you  down  to cavernous  depths  of  sorrow.    He
should possess a cultivated intellect, otherwise he
will either keep you in obscurity, or subject you to
incessant mortification by his ignorance. He should
be industrious; if he is a drone, he will pluck down
ruin on your habitation   He must be economic'; a
243 
244      TIIHE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
spendthrift husband will sow the field of your after.
life with the seed of unknown struggles and trials,
with thorns and briars. He must be benevolent, since
a covetous man, who sacrifices his own soul at the
shrine of the gold demon, will not hesitate to immo
late your happiness on the same accursed altar. He
must not be a proud man; for pride is always cruel,
selfish, remorseless. He should not be clownish on
the one hand, nor foppish on the other, because a
stupid clown and a conceited fop are alike mortifying to the sensibilities of every woman of good sense.
He should not be deformed or badly defeatured; I
do not say he must needs be handsome, for beauty is
far from being necessary to goodness, yet he should
not be repulsive; if he is so, your heart will recoil
from him. Above all things, he ought to be religious. No man's character is reliable, if his virtues
are not founded on reverence and love for his Cre.
ator. How can he be depended upon to be faithful to wife or children, who despises the loftier
claims of his God?  It is true that many irreligious
men are kind, indulgent, and affertionate to their 
COUILTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
families; nevertheless, they are in constant danger of
falling away from the conventional virtue which is
their only adornment. The pure gold of real goodness is not in the hearts of men who fear not God.
A young lady ought to be afraid to unite her destiny
with a man who makes daring but fatal war on Jehiovah! She who does so risks all that is precious
to a woman in both worlds.  Therefore I exhort my
reader to " MARRY ONLY IN THE  LORD."
Should you be addressed by a young man who
combines these excellences, you may rightly encourage his attentions, after consulting your parents,
especially your mother. The habit of concealing
matters of affection from a parent is not only dangerous, but wicked. There may be exceptions to
this statement, I know, for there are women, - no,
female monsters! they are not true women, - who
hold their daughters for sale to the highest bidder.
They wish them to marry fortunes, not husbands;
they would wed them to rank and station, not to
worthy, loving hearts.  They would send them to
unsanctified bridal chambers, where the absence of
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246-    THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
pure spiritual affection insures their defilement, by ex cluding the true spirit and higher ends of marriage.
Shame! shame! on such unwomanly mothers.  My
reader, thank God, is not cursed with such an one.
They are found chiefly among the heartless worship pers of fashion. Your mother is, most likely, a true
woman. She has a mother's heart. She seeks to
secure your best interests. Consult her, then, in
these matters of the heart.   She will advise you
wisely, prudently, safely. Even if she has imprudently indulged you, her maternal instinct will judge
acutely of the man who asks her daughter's love.
Beware how you slight her opinions! Should you
be already listening to the bewitching whispers of a
youth from whose presence your mother shrinks with
fear, gaze a moment on the etching I will now lay
before you.
There was a lady who had two graceful, accorm.
plished daughters.  The eldest,.call her MYRA, -
was addressed by a very prepossessing young man.
He had talents, opportunities, and connections, but he
had vices also. He was a lover of wine. With 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
itany a word of entreaty, with tears, the mother of
Myra besought her to refuse his attentions. Myra
met her affectionate labors by exclaiming, in the
most unfilial spirit, "I am determined to receive his
visits."
Finding persuasion to be vain, her mother exercised her authority, and forbade the young man to
enter her house. Myra was obstinate and wicked;
deprived of his visits, she corresponded with him,
eloped with him, married him. Trampling on her
mother's wisdom, she followed the bent of her inclinations, and scornfully triumphed over all restraints,
as she walked proudly by her husband's side.
Alas, her triumph was very short! A few days
after their marriage, her husband came home intoxicated. From that hour her doom of misery was
sealed. Abuse, poverty, degradation, rags, wretchedness, became her heritage. Her hopes were all
quenched in bitter tears; her unfilial conduct was
terribly rewarded by years of unspeakable remorse.
May her example excite you to record a solemn pur.
pose to be guided by a parent's wisdom, and to be
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248      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
married, if possible, with a parent's smile. Sweet is
a parent's kiss, when it approvingly touches the lips
of a daughter in the bridal hour. On the contrary,
that bridal day s dark which has its sun obscured
by the shadow of a parent's frown.
Having a parent's approval, and a kindred Spirit
for a suitor, you still need to cultivate caution in the
intimacies of courtship. While you avoid all coquettishness of spirit, you must also guard against
too much freedom. Be frank, simple, trustful in
your intercourse, but avoid all boldness on your own
part, and shrink from the least approach to impropriety on his. Do not permit your lover to remain
in your company later than ten o'clock in the evening; -it ought to make a young lady blush even to
listen to a proposal to sit up all, or nearly all, night,
-an ancient practice, which, I am pleased to know,
is becoming unfashionable. I condemn it, because
it is wrong, and disgraces the parties in their own
estimation, as well as in the opinion of all virtuous
persons. Your conversation ought also to be seasoned with common sense. All mere soft, silly talk 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
about love should be discarded by sensible young
persons. You and your suitor are not silly children,
but intelligent and immortal minds. You do not
meet to sigh and look foolish at each others, but to
grow into a high and holy unity of mind and heart;
and your intercourse should be governed by this
exalted purpose.
Do not be in haste to marry. I favor early, but
not premature marriages.   A  girl of sixteen or
eighteen is unfitted in every respect to enter on
this state. Her physical organization, her mind,
her moral character, are alike unripe for it, and
will involve her in a net-work of pains, trials,
and griefs, of which she has little conception. No
young lady, except under very extraordinary circumstances, should wed before she is twenty, and
twenty-two  is a  still better  age.   Wait,  then,
my young friend, however solicitous your betrothed may be to consummate your engagements.
Bid him improve his circumstances, cultivate his
intellect, and lay sure and broad foundations for
your future happiness. Thus, doing all that human
249 
250      THE YOUNG LADY'S COUNSELLOR.
prudence dictates, diligently studying the will of
God, you may rationally expect the divine blessing
to fall upon you, and to abide with you through the
tangled paths of your earthly life.*
And now, my young friend, I bid you an affectionate farewell. I have given you sulch hints and
counsels as my experience in the ways of mankind
suggested. I have the fullest confidence in the fitness of my advice. I lay down my pen, delightfully
conscious that if you give due heed to these pages,
they will add to your enjoyment, and improve your
character.  Fail not, therefore, to attempt the paths
of duty. Achieve the victories of virtue! Seize the
crown of a holy life, and remember that all true
strength of character has its foundation in faith. It
is by believing the truth that human hearts are purin
fied from sin, fitted for the struggles of life, and
raised to fellowship with God. When the woman,
whose vasting disease had reduced her to poverty,
to melancholy, and to weariness, moved by a divine
*For counsels to the married, see the author's book entitled
' BRIDAL GREETINGS,) &C. 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE.
confidence in her heart, which assured her that if
she could only touch the hem of the Saviour's garment her disorder would disappear, put forth her
hand, in that instant a healing virtue went forth
from Christ, and renewed her trembling body. Divine power followed human trust. It is ever thus
with those who seek the gifts of God. No sooner
does a human being bring a scriptural promise, and,
with humility and contrition, ask God to fulfil it,not doubting but that it is then and there fulfilled,
than God immediately imparts his grace, and continues to do so as long as the soul believes.  To BELIEVE
GOD, and TO BELIEVE IN GOD, under all the circumstances of life, are the steps that lead infallibly to a
pure life on earth and to a blissful eternity after
death; and there, dangers, trials, fears, and sorrows
will never intrude their shadows to disturb the
happy inmates, but " GOD SHALL WIPE AWAY ALL
TEARS FROM THEIR EYES; AND THERE SHALL BE NO
MORE DEATH, NEITHER SORROW, NOR CRYING; NEITHER
SHALL THERE BE ANY MORE PAIN, FOR THE FORMER
THINGS ARE PASSED AWAY!" 
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