Aspiration
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] ASPIRATION: BY MRS. MANNERS. * Very early I knew that the only object in life was to grow."* Margaret Puller Very vain The greatest speed of all these souls of men, Unless they travel upward to Thy Throne I ' There sittest Tnou, the satisfying ONE, With blood for sins, and holy perfectings For all requirements." Mrs. Browning. NEW YORK: SHELDON' LAMPORT .AND BLAKEMAN, No., 115 NASSAU STREET. 1856. page: [View Page ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, BY SHELDON, LAMPORT & CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. Ebbart . 3Stnekng, printtrt, No. 26 FR AxKFORT STREET, NEW YORK. PREFACE. I HAVE written the following pages with all earnest pur- pose which it would pain me to have misapprehended; and this result I cannot but fear, because I know that I have but/ imperfectly developed that purpose in the course of the narra- tive. It was my hope that I might appeal to all thoughtful single- minded School-girls, by this faithful story of a School-girl's ex. perience; that I might show them the quicksand in their path, the false lights which delude them, and lead them pray- erfully to " the Satisfying One," whose "holy perfectings for all requirements," can alone meet their needs. The undefined dissatisfaction which creeps into the soul, as it makes advances in all earthly knowledge, and the uncon- scious reaching out for the Divine Ideal, which marks an earnest nature, is the unwritten history of every thoughtful student. To teach- such that not wealth, nor position, nor. beauty, nor intellectual elevation, nor friendship, nor love, can dispel this dissatisfaction, is the aim of my book. I have tried to be faithful to the soul, advancing into a culti- vated maturity of womanhood. E M. page: -5[View Page -5] ASPIRATION: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. I. "You don't object, Edith, to my smoking, outside, for a few miles!" "No, Colonel Woodhouse, nor to your sitting outside to smoke, which I suppose you mean to ask." "Don't be critical-it shows the school-girl." "I am not ashamed of my present class and condition; --though I shall be wonderfully glad when I attain an- other,"-I added, to myself. "Wake up, Mary, and put your curly head in the window, Clara," said our good-natured friend and my travelling com- panion-"I leave you to your own company, which is very - delightful, Ralph Haine says." "Does your conscience trouble you for leaving us Sao much, that you must appease it by offering a little flattery, Colonel?" "No, Miss Edith, my conscience is very comfortable, I . - thank you; I hope you are all as, well off-but what sort of a personage is that-getting out of- the Boston stage?" "Oh, save us from him! a runaway- barber's apprentice, at the very least. Do take the seat, Colonel Woodhouse, for (5) page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6' ASPIRATION: he is coming here--how can I face such a moustache as that all this afternoon? Where are you going?" But the Colonel had stepped aside, and -the stranger, who had been watching our coach for a few moments, now came up, and laying a well-gloved hand on the door, said: ' You have a vacant seat; shall I take it?" ; "The seat is engaged to our escort," I replied coldly, for it was just opposite to me, and the question had been ad- dressed to me. "Where is the gentleman ." "Why do you ask-do you doubt me?" Large handsome brown eyes were lifted to mine, as if to read the lurking reason for the refusal, which he seemed intuitively to suspect. " beg your pardon, young lady--I asked that I might possibly effect an exchange -with the fortunate possessor. There are three unoccupied seats in the other coach." (' Why do you not take one of them?"It was rudely said, and I was becoming conscious of a foolish and forward per- sistence. "Because I choose to ride here, if I can do so," was the cool reply; and, discomfited by his superior self-possession, I was hesitating for an angry rejoinder, which should be also dignified, when Colonel Woodhouse, who was watching us with an amused air, came to my relief. "I am the escort of these young ladies, sir, and would prefer to keep an inside seat by them." "Certainly," and the stranger bowed and walked-not to the other coach, as I had hoped he would-but to the front of the one we were in, where he betook himself, in com- pany with Colonel Woodhouse, to the seat behind the coachman. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD, 7 "Now, Edith, what possessed you to be so cross? What a handsome man he was-wasn't he splendid, Mary?" "His face disgusted me, Clara; such whiskers, such a furi- ous moustache, and his outlandish dress." I was very much mortified that I had been so forward, and so pertinacious- and so grew contrary and ill-natured, of course. "You see he would be my vis-t-vis, and would very likely talk to me, and it was not to be borne." "His dress was peculiar," said sensible Mary Atkinson, "but his manner was very well bred, and his voice showed anything but vulgarity. I think it must be a military un- dre'ss which he has on; the cap- without a vizor-the jacket, the very whiskers, were soldierly." "Yes," said the voluble Clara, "and such a beautiful little hand, and such a lovely fitting patent-leather boot--and his linen was as fine and white as ever Fred. Turell's was, with all his dandyism. What teeth, too! and I declare those were the most becoming whiskers I ever saw in my life. I'd give any- thing to know who he is." "What foolish curiosity, Clara Turell!-I've travelled too much to care for every simpleton who crosses the path." "You're a very great lady, Edith, I know, and- profoundly v6rsed-irn a knowledge of the world. I don't suspect you of the least ignorance that you can help, my dear, but-I don't believe you have done yourself any credit in your judg- ment of whiskerando, up there I Do hear the Colonel ]augh- ing"-and Clara gave a long yawn, anticipatory of our weary ride. "Perhaps he is -a gentleman, after all, Edith, and would have been sociable." 7 "I like my own thoughts better than such company as his, Mary; but if you feel differently, you had better ask page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 ASPIRATION Colonel Woodhouse, at the first stopping-place,-to, let him come in, and I'll change seats with you." "Hold on, Edith, you'll take Mary's head off at this rate. We don't want him here, that's certain, for just as sure as he proved worth talking to, you'd monopolize him. Mary, wise and good, what has made our Lady Edith so cross?' I grew ashamed of my ill-humour, and laughed to shake off the mood. "His dress showed so much affectation in being unlike other people's, and his whole foreign aspect displeased me. I know I need not have been so rude-I'm sorry ;, but what are we stopping for?" The coach came to a dead halt, just as we were leaving : the elm-avenued street, and turning into the post-road, and the driver responded to a "Hollo there!" by a loud "Well, hurry along, Jonathan, if you are coming." In a moment a huge countryman was beside us. He opened the door without any ceremony, and tumbled into the disputed seat. I bit my lips at this fresh annoyance. Th6 man was coarse and vulgar, and redolent of tobacco and whiskey. I was well paid for my rudeness, and Clara was mischievous enough to take advantage of my mortification. "Aren't you glad you kept the' barber's apprentice' out, and that we have such a gentleman now in his place?" she whispered. "What lovely gamboge teeth, and beautifullv muddy shoes planted on your new dress, I'm sure! What a privilege a stage-coach confers in the way of choice proximi- ties! We'd rather not change seats now, we thank you, Edith dear--do be sociable. The wretch!" she added, half aloud, "he's going to smoke a pipe here."'N "To be sure I be, Miss; why shouldn'tI 9I?" "It is not customary to smoke in a stage-coach, where there are ladies," said an old lady, who, with her two young AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 9 daughters, occupied the back seat. "You had better put up your pipe, and when we stop to change horses, you can take an outside place, wheire the smoke will not annoy any one." The man seemed persuaded by her gentle and reasonable way of speaking, and put his pipe in his pocket. Clara's mirth was excessive, in spite of my dark looks and Mary's attempts to restrain her. "Balmy breezes--airs of Eden-ambrosial curls and lips of nectar-hyacinthine locks, and brow of marble--eagle eye and nose of Roman: shoulders-ahem-something like King Richard's, I guess-and hands like, like-why like Cin- cinnatus's-you know he ploughejd, Edith.". "You aint curm all the way from Bosting, to-day, gals?" "' Dulcet harmonies, proving speech the gift of the gods!" "What did you say, Miss?" "Que vous etez un bete." "Can't go that are lingo, no how," and he put his hands in his pocket, and whistled till I was sick with disgust. "Shade of Beau Brummell, appear to our relief, or even send thy worthy representative from the outside of this vehicle." "What a goose you are, Clara!" "Edith, you are most ungrateful-you don't deserve any pity--you reject all consolations, and wilfully shuit your eyes and turn a deaf ear to every blessing of sight or sound. There, hark! they are merry enough outside. Colonel Woodhouse has been laughing ever since we started." "He had something to laugh at when we stopped last, if he is ill-natured,enough to do so," Mary said. "Et tu, Mary!" "Well, my dear Edith, never again stand so completely -in your own light. You are too whimsical, entirely. Don't I* page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 ASPIRATION:, frown; you know neither Clara nor I would have sided against - you, if we had not thought you would, soon have laughed with us. You are nervous to-day, and easily excited. I don't wonder, after such a month as you have had." "Bless my stars, Edith, do you really care for my non- sense? Why, of course I don't blame you, only you are so fidgety. There is the stage-house, and now we'll dispense with our odoriferous Adonis for the good Colonel, or even Don Whiskerando." "Plague take women folks!" said the man, giving a short vent to his spite, as he turned oult of his seat. .* "The plague takes us on account of the women folks," said a pleasant voice at my side, as Jonathan disappeared; and before I could say a word, my first enemy was seated opposite to me, with the most provokingly complacent smile on his handsome face, and with his cap in his hand, revealing a pro- ' fusion of brown curls on the fine head which was bowing politely to me. The courtesy was returned with all the hau- teurI could summon, and I looked steadily from the window of the carriage. - "Will you pardon me, young lady, if I seem obtrusive? I bring with me a note addressed to Miss Edith Arden, by your escort, Colonel Woodhouse, with whom I have had a X half hour's chat. Be good enough to read it." "Colonel Woodhouse imposes upon us," I said angrily, taking the billet, nevertheless. " He had better have taken his own proper seat, and then he could have said all he wanted me to know." ?- "He could not do that, as there is room here for but one . of us, and he wishes you to know me." "Impossible." "Will you read the bill-et?" * I * * . . I AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOO). " I read: "My dear Edith-Let me introduce to you Capt. Walter Manners, a British officer, returning, after a furlough, to his regiment at Quebec. I believe him to be the gentleman he seems, and beg you will not refuse him the passing ac- quaintance he covets. EDWARD WOODHOUSE." I raised my eyes with a bewildered expression, and found those of my vis-a-vis fixed on me with a very respectful, but certainly very provokingly mischievous smile. I was fairly caught in my -own toils, and I hesitated for a moment whether ] to act the ungracious any longer, or to banish a spirit very, foreign to my nature, and make the acquaintance which seemed forced upon me. "It is unfair--I am left no retreat. Was this gentlemanly, when you saw my reluctance Q . "I beg your pardon once more, Miss Edith---I would not be ungenerous.' I would not have risked my character as a true knight, were I not hoping to be able to maintain my right to the title of honourable, which English heraldry, and the accident of my birth, allow me to use." "A very ingenious introduction to your social position, Ionourable Captain M/anners. Of course Colonel Woodhouse, being an Englishman also, could see no guile in any one who used the ancient and noble name of the house of Rut- land." "There is a freemasonry between menl of honour, young lady-an elective affinity, as philosophers say. Colonel Wood- house likes his cigar, and the rush of the mountain air ex- hilarates him ; but he feared you were dull, and so he sent me here, after a very earnest prayer on my part for the indul- gence" ' page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 ASPIRATION: "Good Colonel Woodhouse, he is so unsuspicious, so honest himself-- " "Then you doubt me V" "I neither doubt, nor believe." 'Ah, you must be ungracious. What can I do? I thought a word from Colonel Woodhouse would give me a claim upon your forbearance A "I might have expected this presumption." 'Why? "Because I saw you were conceited." The dash of sauci- ness in my manner pleased him. He knew I was not im- placable. "You saw me only for a moment." "I judged by the same rule by which I now measure your capacity for wisdom." "You are too oracular. Treat me as if I were reasona- ble. How do you know that I am conceited, or am no Solo- mon? If you have such wonderful penetration, I shall be in despair. I hoped to prove an enigma which should interest yQu till we reach the fortunate place that claims you for a resident. . Now see-I am very frank. I will answer any questions about myself. . I will do all I can to remove this mistake of nature, which has kept us strangers till this time. Elective affinities--" "Nonsense-there are none between us. You are giving such confirmation strong of my assertions, that I am over- whelmed with evidence." - How do -you know that I am--" Conceited, simple, rash, egotistical---" "I protest, Miss Edith---" "Elective affinities-Honourable Captain Manners." "Spare me that Honourable!" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 13 "What! when your elaborate circumlocution had no other object than to inform me of it!" "Will you reply to my repeated questions?'" "Anything to give you self-knowledge, the basis of all improvement, the only hope left for you. Nature having spent herself in giving you rank and-- " "Go on." "I was about to be personal-- " "She means whiskers," said Clara, with an assumption of simplicity which was very droll to me. He passed his hand over his face, and said to her, "Na- ture has been a churl to me, very likely ; but I am contented, since she has smiled so graciously on others. Miss Edith, -will you go back to first principles e" "Will you take the consequences, and forgive the person- ality T' "I am clay in your hands." "None but a conceited man dresses differently from other men, if he can help it. Only a simpleton would take so much pains to have a few hours' conversation with a school-girl. You arie rash to defy my displeasure, unless you despise it; and you are very egotistical to want to hear so much abode -s- yourself." "Excuse: me," elevating his eye-glass with a comical deprecation of my displeasure, "I was under the impression that I, was tilting with a school-girl; but now I see you are a woman of great discrimination and some wit. I should not have borne myself so frankly." "Shall we commence our acquaintance on a new footing? You shall treat me like a lady, though I am only a school- girl, and I will try to believe you a gentleman, in spite of your presumption." page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " ASPIRATION: "I have been nearly thirty years learning to behave, Miss Edith, and till now thought I had made some progress." - 'You would not tell us your age if you did not think so." "You have scarcely more than half that number of years, and " "Think myself wise, you would say. We learn very fast in America. It is of no use, Captain Manners. I shall not "tell you how old I am, or anything more about myself than you may have the wit to find out this afternoon." "' Colonel Woodhouse has told me " ". I pray your pardon, sir. Has he? Well, he tells what is true, so far as he knows, but he don't happen to know much about me. I am his ward for to-day only." "And previously, Miss Edith?" "What a question, Captain Manners, when I had just turned the key on the family Bible and the parish register.! However, I honour your daring. I am Edith Arden, of human birth, and very human temper. I am not over wise, I know, and doubtless I sometimes fight wind-mills. But to- day I am travelling, shut up against my will in a close car- riage, with a strange person facing me, who is politely imper- tinent and provokingly importunate. He makes great protestations, and proposes catholicity, makes profound bows, and looks at me through an eye-glass and calls me a school- girl." Your goodness in this new compact overwhelms me Miss Edith. I prostrate my spirit at your feet. Circum- stances prevent my doing it personally. I faint in the sun- shine of your presence. I canpnot offer even the resistance the Spanish Don found in the wind-mill. Annihilate me very soon, if you please, as suspense is terrible." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 15 II. I WAS weary of nonsense, and looked out of the window. We were passing through a glorious country. Such rocks and mountains, falling waters and clear lakes, were spread out before us, as have given to the northern part of New Hampshire the name of Swiss America. "This is magnificent," said my companion, reading my thoughts; " why have you not poets to sing it? Such a land should call them into being, as the mountains and lakes of Northern England have done." "Before the poets are born, these streams and rills will turn mill-wheels, and their music will be lost in the roar of machinery. Our Wordsworth will find no nature left- we only give bread in our country to those who labour with their hands-brains are of no use except to invent machines." Captain Manners looked surprised at my bitter tone, but he answered earnestly-- "Do not wrong your noble country, Miss Edith. There must needs be Fultons and Arkwrights, for if we do not take care of the body first, how can the soul expand . This great land is to be the home of the exile and the starveling fromnt the old world, and they must be fed and clothed-and when they come over by hundreds and thousands, unaided bhands could not feed and clothe them. So God has sent wise men first to take care of the body, that the spirit teachers should be able to work without restraint. Has not England her Manchester as well as Rydal Mount, and Sheffields and Birminghams as well as Westmoreland lakes and cloud- capped Helvellyn?" page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 ASPIRATION : "You, a British officer, pleading for the utilitarianism of the age!" "Be it a reproach or .even sneer, I cannot resent it, Miss , Edith. I am a very drone in a period of the world when every man should be a thinker or a worker. I use neither head nor hands for the good of mankind, but I honour, rever- ence -every humanitarian monument that large hearts con- ceive, and strong spirits push into the world's routine." I was silent, condemned. Here was a man whom I had doubted, even ridiculed; a man by birth, position, profession, . raised high in the social scale, despising the advantages and amenities of rank, sympathizing with every work which indicated progress--suffering with the people, aspiring with the people. He was no fop, scarcely a -man of fashion, in spite of dress and of a superb physique-or was I changing my opinion too fast? Perhaps he was mocking me--wear- ing a false character-simply antagonizing me. So I went on to learn more, and to detect the cheat. "I weary of the noise and jar--the struggle of life. I have had a month-a long time for me, a school-girl- -a month of life in the world. All worked, not for bread-they had great riches; not to do good, they were all too selfish. I can hardly tell what the labour effected. My Cousin Ger- trude was married, and her bridal was not so much a spirit union-a holy compact between herself and Horace May- as it was a feast of good things, a show of fine garments, a carnival for the senses, a whirl of all pleasures. Do you call such workers?" "No, I mean not such precisely; the excitement, the whirl, was only the result of depriving the soul of lofty aims, and impelling it to action. -So it rushed on through pleasures and amidst luxuries, till it reeled and slumbered only to 1 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD; awake with fresh vitality for another round of delights. All L indulgenes of dress, of living, of gayety in every form, were X inventedto stimulate this poor soul to greater activity,and i so the struggle goes on from day to day--and that is pleas- ure in the gay world." C "Now, I weary too of those who cry continually " "Is nothing good unless it feeds or clothes, or puts gold into the pocket . Is bread all our natures demand . When the world is perfect, must every mountain stream turn a mill, and every acre of land produce corn and potatoes, and every man and: woman work with their hands '" "Miss Edith, I see justwhere you are. But you have reached the point which comes, in every earnest life, very early. You have not learned these things in your schools, nor in your Boston life, nor from the lips of your associates." And he looked around to the quiet Mary and the gay Clara who sat beside him---"Why do you vex yourself with these things? "I shall not be a child always. I am not yet a woman in years; perhaps when Ham, some of these questions will be answered. But I must know what weworkfr. Wmplishes I study Why is every one busy ph most? What is my peculiar role?" "You will not call me, obtrusive, 1 think, now that we understand each other a little better, if I tell you why I am what I am?" "Tell me why you, who honour workers, are the veriest of idlers-at least such are most military men in times of peace-and this world's peace bids fai to last your life- time?" "You would not have it otherwise?" - page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] 18 ASPIRATION: "No; I would not have war, truly; but were I a. soldier, I would stifle my conscience and drug my sensibilities, and long to fight; that's all soldiers can do!" "Yes, Miss Edith; you are right, and how I chafe under the bondage, you can, I think, understand now. Our family have great wealth, but all its members are not Dukes of Rutland. There are younger sons and distant branches, and yet none must labour-for are we not all Manners-all noble?--and labour is very degrading-better starve. So Walter Manners grew up to an honourable name, but an al- most empty purse, because Henry must keep up the dignity of the house, as he inherits its title, and Philip could have a rich liv ing in the gift of the family- and he, Walter, had nothing left him, but the commission which his small patri- mony would afford him in a regiment of Hussars! I would a thousand times rather have been a Manchester machinist, a Liverpool merchant, or even a London attorney; all have the advantage of me in opportunities to serve their fellow- men!" "Is your destiny inevitable? Does the family honour prove a very Moloch, always, to honourable impulses such as you express?" "There you sound me, Miss Edith. You have struck home. I, who honour Arkwrights and Wilberforces, have grown up to ideas which I despise too much to name to you. I see what you think-you will not care for this fir- ther confirmation of your laughing theory in regard to nle. But I am not careless. I am breaking my bonds. I cannot tell you-for it would not become me to do so-every expe- dient by which I satisfy my conscience and stifle the re- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 19 proaches of my loftier nature. If you knew me better"- he stopped and smiled. I saw he was thinking of all the badinage which filled up our last half hour, and of the folly I then showed. "You think me only a school-girl-I was very simple an hour ago-will you forgive my frivolity, and believe me, that had I recognized in you, then, the earnest spirit I now believe you possess, I should neither have laughed at nor shrunk from you? I am sorry I was so childish-you will forgive it." He seemed surprised, but very much pleased. "This was not necessary," he replied; ," we met on even ground; indeed, you had rather the advantage of me in the tourney. I saw only your youth and your, bright eyes- don't turn them away, I would rather suffer anything than make them frown-and you saw in me a fantastic-perhaps you thought a fop; certainly you might distrust one who defied conventionality in forcing an acquaintance. It would have been folly to open to such, as I seemed to you, an earnest soul-I could not have blamed you had you kept your 'pearls' hidden still. I have a sister, Miss Edith, near your age-an only sister, whom I love most tenderly,-and I have the noblest, truest-hearted mother that ever blessed a son; you bear her name, the seldom heard, and dearly loved Saxon name of Edith. When Colonel Woodhouse frankly accepted my interest, and told me your name-be- lieving me to be a gentleman-he was willing I should come in here: and I came, determined that you shouhi listen to me, till I could tell you, in a more serious moment than at first seemed likely to occur, about my mother and my loving little Helen." page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 ASPIRATION: What could I say . How could I doubt the truth and honour of this singularly frank man? I stopped not to rea-' son. I allowed myself to be convinced at once. I did not disguise my interest-but said that which came first to my lips- "Thank you, thank you!-I do not doubt you now; do tell me about vour mother and sister. How strange that I have her name, ' Edith Manners!' But you do not hear her called so unless she has a title?"7 "She is an Earl's daughter, and so is called the Lady Edith-but titles and honours, worldly honours, do not add any dignity to her. She is all a woman can be, and thus ele- vated far above them. You would love her--as all do." "I have never known a mother's love; it must turn this world into a paradise. I have only two brothers. I seem to stand so much alone without mother or sister; perhaps that is one cause of the unrest which torturesme." "Helen is like her mother in many things, but her educa- tion has been peculiar; indeed, Helen herself is growing to be a psychological marvel to me. Madame Renau, her last governess, a Frenchwomana by birth, but a cosmopolitan by habit-I believe she has lived in every quarter of the globe-- has rather fostered some of Helen's peculiarities. They are the most unworldly duo I ever knew. My mother was early trained to the observance of the usual conventionalities of her station in life; and she observes them in a quiet way, which makes you forget the routine they indicate; but -against these, even, Helen has always rebelled. I think if spirits walked the earth, unencumbered by bodies, it would be a great relief to my singular little sister.' She is too loving, too earnest, too confident in the goodness to be AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 21 evoked from others, ever to- become a nun, did her religion allow her to think of it. But she would make a good mis-- sionary, after the religious fashion of the day, or perhaps. a very devoted district-school teacher in yonder school-house." "She is still with her governess?" "Yes, they have been in Paris for a few months, for some intellectual advantages better obtained there. My mother thought Helen should return to London, and be presented this winter, chaperoned by Henry's- young wife, the Lady Mary Seymour, whose beauty distracted all London two years ago. But the demure Helen had no such idea as that. She has persuaded Madame that she needs one year of quiet study, and they are going to an ancient chateau in the South of France, belonging to some old relative of-Madame's. There is a grand library there of cobweb-covered books, and the master is buried beneath the tomes, reviving only to such a call as these indefatigable students will give him. My mother is too indulgent to Helen." "You are very severe upon your little sister." "Little! Miss Edith-she is half a head taller than you are, and has, even double your disgust of life. xI wish you knew her. You would make a fair couple-only I fear you would encourage each other till you had turned the milk of human kindness into verjuice, as Hood says." "No, no-you do not imagine any such thing of us." "Well, you would grow dreadfully morbid, and would have-rno patience with the poor old world, thinking how much better you could have made it, and its inhabitants, had you had the management of things-as the Portuguese King did." "You are wrong again. We would only care to do what good we could, in a world where the natural proclivities of page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22 ASPIRATION: the heart are leading the unrestrained into error and misery. l That is, perhaps, such would be my impulse under the influ- ence of a devoted, high-minded woman. But I have too great a detestation of fanaticism and cant, to follow in the wake of most of our benevolent movements." "What do you applaud in life? (You are captious-I forgive me, but you are in danger of that spirit. You see only the faults of everything. Were men and women per- feet beings, Miss Edith, their efforts to do good would be faultless-but whatever they do now must be tinged with - the imperfections of the race--even tainted, oftentimes. And because of this, must we abstain from all effort? Oh, no; God helping me, I will some day prove my faith in man- kind, and in Gdd's designs for them, by joining the ranks of those who are struggling for a purer life and freer air, even on earth." We talked much more that afternoon, Captain Manners and myself. Mary and Clara listened, but neither of them talked with us; they were younger than I was; they were shy, and unused to the free, social intercourse which had given me confidence. Sometimes we would fall into a i lighter strain of chat. The Englishman told me a great deal, more of his mother, who, a Russel by birth, was worthy of her proud blood, and equal even to such demands as were S made upon her famous ancestress, the noble Lady Rachel. , ; My mother is very radical in her principles. She has A left our National Church, and attends at Chapel altogether. Poor Philip! it is a great trial to him to know how she, dissents, in opinion, from what he tries to believe is right. II don't know how it will end. Philip wants to marry; he has been betrothed ever since he left the University. His only hope of being able to marry is, to retain his living, and yet i [? AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 23 lly believe his heart is going over to those dissenters, with m my mother finds most sympathy. It were hard to which of us four she loves most tenderly, but just now ip arouses her warmest sympathies. Her health is fee- and she is much at the Rectory, which has been her ' home since Philip went there. Her influence over him reat. The issue will be an important one, and affect ip for life. Heart and soul have interests at stake." What course does your oldest brother pursue?" i Our branch of the family are famously conservative. ] ry is its head now, and seems content to follow in the well- en track. He is very- much -in love with his beautiful , and they have a dear baby, Mary writes me; so I sr think Henry, just now, is more devoted to wife and I than to any social or national affairs.'" e Can these satisfy a man? I know a woman concentrates aniverse in the little circle of her home, and neither heart i/ soul dwindles in consequence-she so expands the few s which displace all the- rest. But men are differently tituted." . Yes, and Henry will feel it some day. Our father was itriot, and Henry resembles him in appearance and acter. I am said to be-but judge for yourself." [e held up to me a small, richly-jewelled miniature, which rew from his bosom. It represented an elegant, high- woman, but the chief attraction to the face was the ineffa- sweetness of expression, which won your look again and n. I raised my eyes to the stranger - stranger no longer he intimate acquaintance he was determined I should ; with him and his family. Never did I see two faces e alike. They were mother and son, beyond all doubt; had I known the original of that sweet picture, page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 ASPIRATION always, I could not have had greater confidence than I felt, from that moment, in the son. "I have more pride in this resemblance than in the lofti- est quarterings on our coat of arms, and read the inscription on this precious relic of my beloved mother." I read on the back of the case, "The gift of Edith Man- ners, to Walter, her youngest son, on his finally leaving his home to join his regiment at Quebec. Fulham Priory, May, 183-." There was little more said after this. The day was closing, and already evening shadows fell fast in the ravines and mountain gorges through which we passed. I did not feel inclined to talk, and I dared not listen any longer. I ques- tioned myself what this strange adventure meant. Why was 'this man so wonderfully impressive in the nobility of his as- pect-for I had been forced to lay aside my prejudices, and recognize in him the finest specimen of manhood I had ever seen--why was this fascinating man sent across my path that day, and what had impelled himn to reveal to me his individuality, to win from me such revelations of my own? The frankness, the utter abandon of much that he had said, was contrary to all rules of social life-was even opposed to the dictates of good taste. It was hardly necessary to go so far behind the veil, to account for the fancy, or to apologize for the pertinacity, with which- he had forced the acquaintance. Why, whenever either of us had seemed to strive to keep the. conversation within the bounds of polite, but indifferent discus- sion, had it always reverted to the personal, until each knew the other as though we had been acquainted for years? It was a simple thing. We should never meet again. I was a crude and rather presuming girl, of seventeen, still at school; he a man nearly thirty, accomplished in all social arts-living 2 ..*"/, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 25 out of any sphere in which I might ever move, and very likely, by next week, forgetting there was such a being as Edith Arden. I was sure he loved his mother-and sister, and he loved to talk about them, and I had gratified him by my interest. Thus I accounted for the only possible sympa- thy between us, or interest he might feel in me. My own sensations were confusing to me. I had been exposed, for the first time in my life, to the strong magnetism which a man of taste, and refinement, and cultivation can exercise over our sex. I condemned myself for the interest which I discovered, but that did not extinguish it. I tried to doubt the truth of much that he had said, but my heart aided my reason, in making me believe him to be all he seemed. I called up a thousand thoughts of other things, which never before failed to move me, but they passed through my mind like the merest abstractions; and the only real object in the world seemed to- be this man, so unlike all others, in the romance of his story, in the lofty character of his physique, in the nobility of his soul, and in the tenderness of his emotional nature. I dared niot raise my eyes, or turn around from the window. I felt that his gaze was penetrating, it was fixed upon me. What he was reading, I knew not; perhaps he was not conscious that he was regarding me. Very likely his thoughts were with those of whom we had been talking, and this self-consciousness, which was oppressing me, was as foolish as it was distressing. The darkness increased, and only the glimmer of the coach-lamps revealed the road along which we were passing. Freed from the look I had dreaded to meet, I grew more at ease, andpwas about to speak, in as indifferent a tone as f could command, when Captain Manners spoke again, in so low a voice that it could meet no ear but my own, 2 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 ASPIRATION: "We shall part soon, Miss Edith, and I shall no longer be able to jest with you, or argue with you, or talk with you, who have listened so patiently, of my dear ones at home. I shall no longer be able to call you by the sweet name which is music to me, the name my mother bears; I would wish to be forgotten, unless you will remember me kindly. I shall think of you much oftener than I shall want to. for I cannot dare to hope to meet you again. The future is very blank to me, in the stagnating routine of inactive military life; and besides that, existence is all chaos to me.'l Then he added in a livelier tone- You will be wiser, when ten or twelve years shall have given you my experience of the world. I wish I could know if you ever succeed in evoking life from the dry bones of our present social existence-if you succeed in finding your ideal, and in recognizing its actual presence in your daily path. Every person's ideal can become an almost visible thing to them, and it may be surrounded by the practicalities of life, and be neither hidden nor encumbered, nor marred, nor blighted, nor dwarfed. Do you believe nle?" "It may be so. I am not sure yet what my ideal is-I only fight against that which it is not so far. I am seeking it-and in the turbid soul where I look for it, it has as yet taken no form or shape." "It may be nearer to you than you imagine; and evident as it is to me, as a looker-on, it cannot be long concealed, from your questionings. It would not be right for me, now, *to say all I may still permit myself to think of that which has interested me, to such a degree to-day. Youare too much alone, and I am too much a stranger, and we part too soon. I little dreamed when, a few hours, ago I caught my l\" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 27 first glimpse of you, and again when I learned your name was Edith, or afterwards, when you tried to punish me for my temerity by your badinage, that it-was to end thus--in a mutual confidence, and, I hope, a mutual respect. I am very grateful, believe me, that you did not repel me en- tirely, but have suffered this acquaintance. We may never meet again, Edith; God bless you-beyond this prayer I am powerless to aid you-God bless you always!" The stage stopped. He wrung my'hand-I was in a whirl with the greetings of friends. Uncle Ernest was there, and Aunt Eleanor, and Angela and Ralph Haine were on the steps of the stage-house. When I could recover myself and look around to speak to him again, it was too late- the stage was dashing off. I awoke, as if with a rude shock, from a bewildering dream. I was Edith Arden; no more. This was an every-day world. There were good, kind-loving people around me. Realities took the place of fancies-the familiar and the true repressed imagination, and stimulated the outward sense. There was a great deal to say and a great deal to hear, and I was weary in body; sleep came easily to my eyelids, and the rest was grateful. "I. I AWOKE early on the following morning. It had always been impossible- for me to sleep in the bright light of a new day. It was my keenest enjoyment of life-the. fresh per- vading vitality which glowed in every limb, brightened my eyes, cleared my mental vision, and gushed out, in involuntary snatches of song, during all the morning hours. Life-the simple fact of existence-was sufficient joy for me at such page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 ASPIRATION: times. I made no other use of my intellect than to lay hold by it of the abstraction which was vivifying my nature. I seldom attempted to study in the morning. I walked, re- cited, occupied myself in, music or drawing practice; if I was not at school, I worked, sewed, and sung, always to my- self, a gay and glad or gentle melody, as the mood might be. The routine I was accustomed to, satisfied me in the morning --till the energies were spent, whose exercise were such joy to me those physical powers which would not allow me to sit still and dream, which overcame imagination, and were so apt to bring the highest aspirations down to a dead level with my occupation. I was a perfect piece of prose\ in the morning. So now, I sprang from the bed without awaking Mary, my still sleeping companion; and, throwing open the win- dow, I leaned forward and hailed the coming day. The winding course of a little stream kept green always, in the fields before me, the grass which August suns were sure to parch' upon the surrounding hills. "Dear Nature, mother Nature! I thank God for your calm and holy influences!" Such was the burden of my morning prayer. What mat- tered it to me that my home was humble, that the ' oom was small, and its furniture simple-that in the household I had joined there were no idlers, and that I was theile a worker for daily service in the family? So were all-even Uncle Ernest, pastor and professor as he was-even Aunt Eleanor, with her pride, and her high cultivation, and her many accomplishments; there were no drones in our hive. It did not make any difference that Mary and I were only wards, and that both of us inherited much wealth. There was a primitive simplicity in our life, which set all social AN AUTOBIOGRAtlHY OF GIRLHOOD. 29 bondage to forms, and style, and hired service at defiance. There was no menial labour performed in the whole house- it was all a labour of love. I had another guardian, my Uncle Arden, from whose house I had just comp. So little 'was my character estab- lished, that I never passed, from one set of influences to the other, without a general overturning of habits, and almost of opinions, which was most unfortunate for me. At Uncle Ernest's, principles were instilled and nurtured; at Uncle Arden's, propensities were aroused and strengthened by in- dulgence. I always came home, to Northden, with a very unhappy, because very remorseful, feeling. Aunt Arden thought it her duty to hand me over, in Bos- ton, to modistes, and to dancing-masters, and to riding-masters, and to any others who would help to rub off the rusticity which six or twelve months in the country had given. This last vacation had been unusually gay; in spite of the unfash- ionable season of the year-Gertrude's marriage, and the festivities that followed, before the newly wedded sailed for Europe, had made a very gay time in the old house, which for more than a hundred years had known an Arden for its master. There was always something, before this time, very fasci- nating to me in the gilded occasions of fashionable life:--the gratification of taste in the harmonies of sound and colour- the indulgence of every sense, appealed forcibly to my ima- gination, and to my refined instincts. They never palled upon me, for'I enjoyed them too seldom, and for too short a time, and their contrast to the quiet routine of Uncle Er- nest's dwelling, made them as delightful as they were novel. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 ASPIRATION. Still I had never left these pleasures regretfully-or been otherwise than happy in my present home. I had always aclknowledged in myself a higher principle than taste, and a craving of soul which the cesthetics of life would not satisfy. There was a beauty in the simplicity of our life here, which I could not but recognize, by an inner sense, and there was a charm in the severe duties imposed by the austere sway held here, over the mental being. I had been more disenchanted, during this last month, with the world, in which I had before found such delight, than at any other time. As I had expressed myself on the previous day, the toil of pleasure had disgusted me. I saw, no longer, the effect which was so charming, but the effect to produce it which was so mortifying-the constant struggle-the exaggeration of trifles, as they had more or less influencee- the belittleing of the soul in the labour for--what? , "No, no," said I; " give me larger ideas, freer scope, wider sway, greater power, loftier aims, and a more perfect triumph of attainment!" But why should I hesitate? There was not a complete surrender to principle yet. There was a sweet sense still of joy possessed, which I was casting away. The nobler nature was in the ascendency, but the power of sense was not quite extinct. It mattered not that day. I was home again-for r this was a truer, better home, and I always felt it so. I could ,work-- I could call out every capacity of my being.' What boundless freedom I possessed amidst these hills and val- leys!--and there, on the table beside me, were piles of books,- giving boundless freedom to the soul. Books of foreign tongues, which won me to light labour only, butgave me abuln- dant reward ; books of mathermatical constraint-constraint, -' - AN AUTOBIOGARPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 31 ndeed, unless I bent myself over the anvil, and hammered out the solutions of those blind problems. I never loved itf-though I had a great respect for mathematical discipline, for I saw its use: books of history and of science, and of belles-lettres-charming pursuit!-and, best of all, books which expounded man's inner nature, and gave guide-posts to the explorer in those labyrinths. This soul, which willed, and loved, and hated; which was intelligent to know good and evil, and which God had shown to be the jewel of His creation --from this deep mystery emanated the rays which attracted me most firmly. Rhetoric and fine writing were very beautiful, but philosophy and noble thinking were the pas- sion of my nature. Thus I read, over and over, the pages of self-knowledge which I had gained from my life; thus I found such a charm in social intercourse, and such a fascination in every broad, distinct individuality which I encountered. It. may be supposed that my uncle and aunt--he a profes- sor of this very philosophy, and an instructor in it of young men who were to become shepherds of souls; and she, a profound and vigorous thinker, penetratinker, p en e ath the super- ficialities of life, and leading a separate existence from the world, in which her hands were busied-should be deeply in- terested in my mental growth. Then, too, the teachers who read my ambition, and my loftier aspirations, fostered my peculiarities; and I had friends amongst the pupils of the school. That I was proud, or selfish, or conceited, my dis- crmninating acquaintances did not hesitate often to say-for I was much apart from all but those- with whom I found sympathy and companionship. I had no popular talent. But my friends suffered my exactions and encouraged and aided me, keeping pace with my swift-footedness; or-they page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 ASPIRATION: -were no friends of mine. I could not ' decline upon a lower range of feeling" than my own. By-and-bye, as the morning advanced, and the rugged out- line of duty softened in the performance, and disappeared, with the passing hour, I relapsed into the self of yesterday. I sat down in my own room and clasped my hands over my eyes, and there, in garish daylight, and with my senses wide awake, I began to dream. I went through mental-struggles which had tormented me in the whirl of the city. I went over again and again the questions which I had pro- pounded to my travelling companion of the previous day. I summed up the past and examined the schedule of the present, and contemplated the problem of the future. I was woefully dissatisfied with myself. There was no resting-place around me; and I could hardly see the stepping-stones for my onward progress, through the thick mists which rolled up from the river of life, and blinded my sight. Is it to go onward, like " dumb, driven cattle," that we'are placed here? Is the old trodden path suited to all feet? Must all feed on the same food, which, nourishing some, be- comes a stone to me? This time of leading-strings is nearly passed. I should try my strength alone-a child does not learn to walk at its first attempt I checked myself, and thought of the road over which I had passed during that busy month, and I questioned if it were right to enter such a track again? Did I not see the earth-soil on those around me, and yet I had trailed my wings in the dust, likewise, till they were so heavy with the foul accumulation, that I might never have fieed them from it there. "Leading-strings!" I could not go alone; I had proved it. The best for me was, to pursue the plain path ' : the good and wise had prepared for me--to keep ever in u\ c ' . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 35 view the end of the labour, and to use the means, unquestion- ingly. Such struggles were vain now. Perhaps before the time came for my decision-for the future rested with me- I should gain wisdom. Sanctified knowledge is inspiration. There was a figure moving through all this dreaming life, which I could not but recognize. I did not regard him, but used him only as a type. "When I am free, in a few years, I shall enter a world where there are more men--he is not the only one. Frank Arden, my own soldier-brother,- is -a noble fellow. John Arden, the cold, high student-less stu- dent of books than of men-John is a grand, ample-souled man. What women there are in the world, too! Aunt Eleanor, a whole host in herself--Miss Hazeltine, ' less wo- man she, than shrined saint"--Margaret Crosby,- lofty crea- ture! there is hardly a man in the whole creation that could sound the depths of her soul. Sweet Angela Haine-lov- ing, graceful, beautiful type of womanhood! I had no lack of lofty standards. I had no need to complain of a world where there were such c beings owning human breath." Did they work on, and weary not of their recompense? And should I, who haq not borne the burden and heat of one day, faint before the gate? I cried shame on my sick soul! and arose, withdrawing my hands from before my eyes. I looked on the sunshine through the windows, and I remeli- bered " the need we have to feed and clothe the body, be- fore we can operate upon the inner life," as I had heard him say yesterday. Then, too, Mary was calling me- "Edith! Edith!--I want you. There is such a pitiful thing to tell you-Mrs. Adams has so much trouble!" and the good girl came in as she spoke. " See, here are some dresses to be made for the twins. The father has become a poor drunkard again, and Martha cannot go to school; Mrs. 2 - page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 4 ISPIIRATION1 : MAdams is sick; they have no clothes for tie coming cold weather; they have hardly bread to eat!" Best medicine for my sickl soul! I thanked Mary for the draught. But I did ot say so. I Only went to her and took the cloth, and repeated in sad surprise what she had told me. The dream, the vain questionings, were all 0gone. Hiere was something to do-" feed and clothe the body." "arv, you and I can help thelm)." "Yes, Edithh; I have been tgllslng with your aunt about it, and I propose that you look after Martha, her wardrobe and her school-bills-and I tax my ingenuity to give such ; aid at home as will supply her place to her mother." "Sensible Mary! how w ise and thoughtful yoU are!: Martha is one of the 'best scholars in every class. She is very ambitious; she will make a noble woman. What a delight it will be to aid her T She will leave school in twoi years, and will have before her a happylife, and a useful one. Yes, yes! it is a beautiful thing to do." u i "I was sure you would be delighted, Edith. I have not such plain sailing for my share. I hardly know how to go- to work. The Professor Says he call make Tom Adams use- . ul at the Hall--he is a discreet boy, you see-and give him pportunity for recitations at the same time. Now I must ook after the table and the wood-pile, and the hard labour of he family which Mrs. Adams cannot perform. Dearlady- br lady she really is-this must be terrible to her. Mrs. uyler says we have, both of us, enough money left over in meir hands, every, year, to do all that is needed for the . Lmily! Think of that, Edith! Did you know how much little money could do? I never was glad before for being :i It came to me like a new gospel. It was good news; to ,%!a * - *-ilX AN AUTOB1310GRAPIY OF GIRLHOOD. 35 my weary, stagnant being, new life; to my heavy, sinking nature, fresh strength. Shame on the dreamer, and long live thinkers and workers ! We must creep before we walk; and this is creeping, but not in the dust. Thank God ! IV. TuAT was a memorable evening which we spent in the library with the Professor. He would have a play spell in honour of our return, and he put aside with his books the ab- stracted air, with which he sometimes walked amongst us, like a man in a dream. Dear Uncle Ernest! he had the least worldly tact that ever fell to the share of a mortal! I think it would have been a great relief to him,--as Captain Manners had said of his sister Helen,-if spirits only dwelt in the.,world tuencumbered by bodies. Aunt Eleanor had to be, literally, his other half. They kept themselves in a kind, of poverty; he, by allowing his labours to be but half paid, and she, by charities which none but He who.seeth in secret could estimate. Hitherto, Mary and I had been of but little service to him, for unless a contribution was being made up for some definite purpose, when, of course, we had given suitably, we were heedless, or rather, ignorant; and had never done a complete work, aided by our judgment, such as we now proposed to ourselves. This evening in the library was a treat to us. It was Uncle Ernest's study also, and was sacred to spiritual as well as intellectual progress. I always seemed to be upon hallowed ground, and trod lightly. The shelves were crowded with books, and the belles-lettres department was choice and full; the books of reference were wonderfully page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] ASPIRATION:: numerous-with these we were most familiar. To consult hin and to attend at prayers, were the chief occasions of our X coming hither -but Aunt Eleanor spent most of her even- I ings here. Miss Landon said her idea of heaven--I think :I she meant an earthly Eden-was to sit in a rocking-chair and have a clever friend beside her with whom to gossip. My glimpses of that library in the evening gave me my ideas of the same state of bliss; Aunt Eleanor in a low easy-chair, busied with her embroidery-she had a famous skill in such dainty needle-work-and Uncle Ernest reading aloud to her: or sometimes, when he was much wearied, he would lie upon the couch and she would become the reader. It was an art in which they had rare excellence; it Was a ; treat to listen to them such'as is seldom enjoyed by the dis priminating in such things. That was a beautiful inner life which thev -led together my Uncleand Aunt Cuyler. I never saw two minds so un like and yet so concordant. He had most cultivation, and i by nature, most grace; moreover, he was learned, erudite, profound even, because he had been from his boyhood a close student, and his great memory was perfectly trained. She had more fire, vigour, originality: the strong individuality : which distinguished her-the clearness and justness of her ideas, and the precision of her reasoning made her the very X helpmate he required. On this evening, Aunt Eleanor busied herself as usual X:i with her needle, and Uncle Ernest lay upon the couch. Mary sat down beside him, and I in a shaded corner watched them and listened to them, rather than talked with them. Much of the time, however, what they were saying reached me only through that form of consciousness which exists ?;i without attention. Mary wals telling of our, ride fromn ".-'ii AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 37 Boston, and our brief visit with an -old school friend in Concord. "' Clara was as full of spirits as usual ?" "Yes, Mrs. Cuyler, at first,-but Edith did the chief talking in the afternoon." "How so ." "We had a rare travelling companion, thanks to: the worthy Secretary Woodhouse. He posted up on the out- side of the coach that he might smoke: he will die with a cigar in his mouth, and leave word to be buried in a shroud of tobacco leaves." ' What a speech for you, Mary !" " No matter, Professor. I have been taking lessons of Edith lately. You have no idea how she talked yesterday." "To a geltleman? a stranger? That is unlike, you, Edith !" " Oh ! she could not help it. The man contrived to get a 'permit' from Colonel Woodhouse; came into the carriage with a letter of introduction from him, and Edith was regu- ;larly bound over to talk and make herself agreeable or not, but talk she must." " Agreeable or not ?" 'Very disagreeable, at first, but the man would have 'witched' a soul into Pygmalion's statue. I should have talked, too, if he had condescended to notice me; but my gray eyes never serve any purpose when I am\ near Edith's great brown ones, except to count her admirers." " And it was worth while talking to him V'" "One could not help it. I was so interested that I en- tirely forgot the slight upon myself, and forgave it, too. I know Edith can hardly tell whether she had any corporeal or terrestrial occupancy yesterday." page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 ASPIRATION: Stage-coach travelling over mountain roads leaves I s soe self-consciousnessyou my depend upon it, Mary." "Of au Adonis, dooubtless?" My face flushed. "I a-ot careful to notice uch tilings, Uncle Ernest." to ti su "Nevertheless, 'such things' have their ownl weight, and it is::roper that they should. Beauty is as much God's gift as any mental endowment. We depreciate i' because with the narrow-minded and superficial it always takes the first place, and obscure the perception of other excellence. ; "'He was a remarkably fie-looking mal, Mrs.,Cuyler with the most superb figure 1 ever saw. e wore a military undress-he was a British officer from Quebec- and his dress set off his noble physique; The case of his movement was grace, and his apparent u nconsciousness of his appearance enhanced its effect, I assure you ; "What a wonderful man, lary! I don't marvel that Edith lost her senses." "I lost neither my senses nor my heart, aunt. I did not loolk at him enough to be able to give you anything like such a description as YMary has given." I had nothinD else to do than to look and listen, Edith His eyes never embarrassed me by the slightest notice, and I could scan and observe him. at will. I assure you, he might have stepped from Olymps for ersol perection" "4 You extra Og]Ytgiuf or personal perfetion., ouextra vaga ,Inta girl ' hat aln eye you have for a hand- some malnl You have improved, or detiorted, least changed, sincethe summer when you said you did not know that Miss Ha zeltine was a tall woman, or Ralph taine a "ha md though t of so many Other things in regard to both, I hardly remembered that either of them had bodies at : e, M'had bodies z :,! A N AUTOBIOGRAPHY -,OF GIRL00D. t3O all. But my senses were on the alert yesterday, while these people talked. I never heard Edith talk so well; she kept up with the gentleman, and her unreserve astonished me." "I was not conscious. of it till afterwards, you may be sure, - Aunt Eleanor. I found him an earnest-natured, right-minded man, awake to the needs of the age, and chafing unider the restraints of his profession. He told me about his family, as well as himself: he had much to say of his mother, and his only sister. His unreserve was infectious. I knew we should never meet again, and cast off the formality which he seemed resolved to wile me., from. You need not look so serious, Aunt Eleanor. I did not lose any portion of my heart. I shall remember him, doubtless, for he was the most fascinating person I ever saw: but I could only relmember him in sleeping or waiting dreams: and for the latter, for which only I am accountable, I have no time and not much propensity." '"Oh, dear! sitting on a low seat is a very uncomfortable thing to do," said Mary, rising and coming nearer to me. "I catn't understand the fashion some girls have of sitting on the floor, and throwing themselves down in interesting attitudes, as Ada Grayson does on the slightest notice." "You are not apt to let your feelings run away with you, at any time, Mary. How demure you were yesterday; how sedate always!" "Not because I feel slightly, believe mne, Edith,' said Mary, in a low voice, which had such a painful expression that I felt remorseful immediately. ': I have had some terri- ble lessons in self-control, in my ife. No- one knows the anguish which has been poured over my soul in my early years. I cannot talk about it-but any one who has borne page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 ASPIRATION: -: it, has no need of tightening the reins which check emotion now. I am seldom moved externally, I grant." I looked at Mary with a hitherto unknown feeling of respect. I respected any one who had suffered, and grown strong, for strength is the fruit of all endurance of spiritual suffering. I could not remember the deaths which had left ne an orphan, and real suffering had seldom come to my lot since. Mary had had a very painful life: I knew part of it, but not the whole sad story; .her mother wyas dead, and her father was believed to be, and she'was in ward of my uncle, just as I was. She never referred to the life she had' led before the last year, when she came to us, and I could not ask about it. She was a gentle girl, but a singularly pre- cise, exact scholar; undemonstrative and seemingly impassive, she moved serenely amidst the tumult of a school-girl's life at a large seminary, drawing few friends, but making no ene- mies, and commanding the respect of all. I used to wonder at the perfection of her " mental machinery," as I called the powers by which she was always able to be the first in every class; but the heart, the impulsive, glowing, vital organ, which I had so much difficulty in keeping in its place, seemed a dead letter with her. How differently she looked to me now ! I bent over her and whispered-" My dear Mary, do forgive me. I have done you wrong. I did not understand you." I included, in this penitential plea, all my unconfessed sins against her, in the long indifference which had refused to comprehend her. What a selfish being I was, in my self- absorption! how the circle of my hopes, fears, joys and sor- rows, filled up my thoughts and completed the sum of nay life! I longed to do for others because I should be happier in action, not because I could benefit others-I practiced no self-denial. I had no respect for the follies of fashionable AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRL HOOD . 41 life, but followed the errent wlmn near it--t simply acted from impulse, was no t the being of principle. I did not suffer, I only grew weary; so instead ^of g royn stuch hu- asidan er of becoing mrbid. I felt very much hu- noticed that I w as out of spirits, and he said very tenderly-- he was always tender when he was conscious of his human nature at all, my dear Uncle Ernest !- " ' You are exhausted, Edith, with the excitement of that gay visit, and feel still the fatigue of y our journey. g'Oh, Uncle E rnest! you always think, when I am not talking, that I am sick or sorry; never shall be e o e in Mary, for instane, ain Miss Hazeltine, and in argaret Crosby." " I doubt if you er do, dear. It is not natural to you; you will always be excitable, and while such a.disposition has its advantages--for it wll give you brilliancy in society and energy in all action-it ha s its disadvantages too, in leaving yo04jw and Wt bjged most unrigb eously by all around me. What staminaha s s uch a c haracter as that you describe ? Who will respect it . How clan such a person respect herselfs I shall always have this injustice done to me; some people will give me.too much credit; and others will find too much fault with me." "My dear child returned Uncle Ernest, very gravely, "your organ of Approbativeness is very sensitive, Fowlet would say. Do you speak thus through humility, or through the mortification of wounded pride "I am not proud, Uncle Ernest. Little reason have I- page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] ir- aLr'ilA I ION useless, unstable, inconsequent-very little reason have I for pride." / "You err, Edith, in measuring yourself by what people think or say of you. What kind of a standard is that, my dear? Cultivate that self-respect, founded upon a proper basis, which, shall be an inner tribunal to determine the justice of this ' say so' of the world. Approbativeness, by which I mean the instinctive desire all feel, more or less, for the approval of those around them, is, when not excessive, a very desirable quality in every character.- Without it, the child would not seek to please the parent, the pupil would not strive for the commendation of the teacher, and the Chris- tian would be indifferent to the welcome plaudit which shall bid him enter upon the joys of Heaven. It is really a great incentive to excellence, the real energizer of our noble nature. It makes people amiable, consistent, religious. You possess this quality largely. With you the danger is, lest it de- generate into vanity-lest you so much desire the good-will of the world that you would be inclined to strive for the ap- probation of those who are no judges of real wih.'" I said nothing. This all came home. I knew I never en- joyed any success I achieved, unless others knew of it, and approved and admired. My friends said it was because sympathy was so essential to my generous nature; but I was beginning to see myself in a new light. "Edith is generous, Mr. Cuyler," said Mary, coming to my defence, with the same free, bold spirit which she had- ;hown all the evening; ,L she always enjoys- the success of )thers, and she shows her own to please-to make other ,eople happy, just as she is made happy by them." "It seems to me, Uncle Ernest-I do not want to defend AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLtHOOD. 43 myself, nor am I quite sure that I deserve all Mary says for me so kindly_-but when I am much moved by joy or sorrow, there pr s .upon me more than I can bear alone. Either my soul is lacking in ordinary capacity, or I have a keenness of comprehension beyond the usual reach. I must share the emotion with another-it seems to me a safety-va]ve for my spirit. What sobs and'groans are to the suffering who writhe in bodily torment-and physicians say such demonstrations sometimes save life-is.the expression of my emotions to me. If I am happy, I involuntarily try to make my joy conta- gious-if I am miserable, I am very apt to proclaim that too-so I think what you sometimes mistake for approba. tiveness, is only an involuntary demonstration-regardless -of the praise or blame of those who hear it." "I see you have some self-knowledge, Edith, but you have stepped aside a little, dear childflrom the phase of character which I was considering. I grant you the gener- osity of soul which blMary ascribes to you. A spontaneous going forth for sympathy is never to be condemned, but a premeditated revelation, a selfish monopoly-an inconsider- ate pressing onward into the front ranks-these will be your temptations ; you will be inclined to magnify yourself, and- to inodre the equal rights of others-so be careful." " V. " You surely do not call this beautiful ." " I surely do, Frank Arden; why is it not ' " Ah, little sister, your eyes have had small vision in this wonderfully. lovely world. God. has spread out-in our Southern country vast gardens, any one of which might have page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] ASPIRATION: been the original garden of Eden, provided alligators, poi- sonous serpents, and so on, were as harmless as they are You surely do not call such creatures beautiful?" "Yes; there is where tastes differ, Edith. There are high hills here, but how sterile! What in the world does the farmer live on? Where are your flowers and your fruits?" 'Oh! you sensual man; you would Iverily reject the sublime idea of that sky-piercing peak yonder, for a luscious peach! I blush for my soldier-brother. I an more a man -I am braver myself!" "But see, Edith, the grass is burnedup--or eaten up by these innumerable grasshoppers-what an Egyptian plague they must be! anid those countless stumps-showing still where pine-trees grew-might pass for so many grave- stones! And you have fairly raved about the natural beauty of Northden! " "What was beautiful to you, Frank, 'iin the grim visage of war?'" "Don't catechise me, if you have any mercy, my little sister. I am a soldier because I am not anything else." "And, being a soldier, must y necessarily be nothing "Good gracious, Edith! your sharp questions prick me; they are not to be borne, you little mite,you. Don'the gnattish, child-what do you know about men 2" the"Nothing, IFrank; for I know no men but my bro- "Upon my word, Edith, you have a precious sharp tongue! I don't care to waste my ammunition on your AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 45 little one; so I'll suffer you to live still. -Tell me what you see beautiful in this mountain country of New Hamp- shire?" "Let beautiful alone, Frank; grant that it is pictur- esque." "Yes-and I can keep a clear conscience about that. Yes! if I were a painter, I'd leg here for a while-studies of rocks, studies of trees, studies of mountain ranges, studies of lakes and rivers, studies of stumps, and sand, and grasshoppers, and clodhoppers!" "This'is a great State to be born in." 'It's a dreadful State to be borne with! I mean this eternal going up and down hill; give me the level lands of the South and West instead!" " Ah, Frank! as the poet says-- ' Mortals miss Far prospects, by a level bliss.' "Magnificent prospects! There behind us is the ' Hall' where our worthy uncle holds forth, and our future patriots and parsons are preparing to push on the progress of the people. Miss Edith, that's a rhetorical figure called allitera- tion. Here before us-well, sis-I give up, all those girls coming up the hill make a pretty sight, and the old seminary and the village church are picturesque in another sense from the lofty rocks. Well, perhaps you are right-people get very much attached to their native mountains." "There, Frank, I am glad to hear a sensible admission at last. Certainly they get attached to their mountains. Who ever heard of a Hollander dying of the home-sickness --which overcomes the sturdy Swiss, or the brawny page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] " ASPIRATION: Highlander! Neither cabbages nor fine tulips equal the at- tractions which rocks and stumps, sterile hill-sides, or pene- trating mountain mists have for the true-hearted, simple mountaineer.. But these hill-sides are not always so bleak and brown, Frank ; their spring greenery is very lovely- and look around at the ' eternal hills'--I use the word in a better sense than you did-it is a brave thing to leave the little pigmy world of cities, where frivolity reigns, and school the spirit here. It was a wise thing to build seminaries and colleges up in this lofty region. If there is anything in a soul besides its small conceit, it will come out here; if such nature as this cannot wake up any nobility, there is none in a man's composition, that's certain." "You know, Edith, dear, that I was schooled at West Point, amongst scenes as wild as these; some day you shall go there with me, and then you will see that I was only trying your spirit by my depreciation of your Northden scenery-- but there comes the stage. I am just in time. Good-bye, my' darling little sister. God bless you." And my beloved eldest brother, Frank Arden, who had spent just one day of his hurried " leave" with us, hastened to take the stage which was to convey him southward, on his route to join the army in Florida. Dear, honest, true-hearted Frank! I loved him tenderly, but not with the worship- ful feeling which I had for John--that odd, reserved John. And this was the first day of the new term-the fall term -which commenced the scholastic year. Mary and myself walked a long mile to school every day during the fine wea- ther of the year. When the stern winter fairly set in, we had to live, with the great body of the scholars, at a board- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 47, ing-house close by the seminary. We dreaded that sort of life, and took the cold, or wet, or stormy walk with all the delight in the world, just as long as we were allowed to. The professors' houses were in a valley between- the two institutions-for "young men and maidens'--which flourished at Northden. To reach the seminary, we crossed the high hill, and from its summit Frank had discussed with me the remarkable landscape before us. We watched Frank till the coach was out of sight, in the gorge which led through a mountain from the village, and then we slowly descended the hill, noticing as we did so the stream of girls rolling up -human streams are the only ones which can roll up--to the seminary. "We are in good season, Mary. How many girls there seem to be! Those in the Tartan shawls must be the Shipleys; none but West Indian blood could feel any chill in this fine September air. There is a noble figure, see! the very height and step of Margaret Crosby-how strange! I did not know there was another such queenly girl in the- world. There is graceful Belle Conant-what a dainty toss of the head she has--and our indefatigable Lydia, and dear Angela Haine, the Philadelphia twins-awkward little cubs -and Judith Levering, and Ruth Owen, and the stylish Cham- berlains-there-! that shepherd's plaid wraps up Clara Turell -she wears it to mimic Anastasia Shipley, you may be sure; yes, see her yellow curls." And so I rattled on as we went down the hill, in the ex- citement of returning again to the school we all loved, and to the delightful associations which were balm to my un- quiet spirit at all times. The large hall was crowded with girls--there was hardly page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 ASPIRATION: a vacant seat. Our eyes were covered during the devotional exercises, and our heads were bowed down, but there was a great deal in those young hearts besides devotion, I'm sure. - Yet every teacher's heart was, or should have been, lifted up at that hour for grace from on high ; for that group of high-minded women were taking upon themselves the solemn trust of guiding the immortal natures of the two hundred young girls before them, and they had need of more than human wisdom, and patience, and forbearance. Next came the classification in the upper hall. There was very little for the older girls to do, and the leisure' we had we spent in observation of the new pupils, who timidly, shyly, awkwardly, or haughtily,.passed a review to the teachers whose business it was to enter them into classes, and then re- turned to their seats, believing that there was nothing in the world so hard to bear in the way of annoyance as this ordeal g of eyes, which scanned them' keenly, boldly, and often imper- tinently. Belle Conant was sister to one of the teachers, and had the advantage, therefore, of most of us in a knowledge of the new-comers. She sat beside me, and helped my conjec- tures considerably. Mary was much shocked by our cool dissection of dress, -and air, and gait, and by the readings I made of stupid or malignant faces. "Hush, girls-for the sake of gentle charity. Why, i never knew such malice prepense, in all my life! Any one i would think, Edith, that you were passing judgment on a set of convicts in a mild purgatorial establishment." "Pretty good idea that, Mary," said Belle-" a mild purgatorial establishment!' Well, JI never heard this place properly-really properly characterized before. If all those AN-AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 49 forty new girls won't agree with you, why they know even less than I give them credit for, that's all." "Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four. Forty-four new scholars, Belle! that's a freshman class for you! There were but fifteen two vears ago, when you and I were in the happy minority. Don't you remember, Belle, how your sister called you to her and scolded you for making faces at the old girls?" "Served them right, Edith--Clara Turell did the same thing last year; and she says that if Jane Chamberlain had not laid down her eye-glass when she did, she would have made something else than faces-something begining with f, though." "Who is that girl in the pale green Alpine with the superb-shawl drawn around her slender-figure? She looks as if she had just stepped out of a ball-room. What a cable of a gold chain she has on--and paper-soled shoes! Northden will take the nonsense out of that sort of rig." "Won't it, though! Now listen to her a minute: ' I wish to study Italian and music,'-elegant creature, of course you do! 'Yes, Miss Beekman, your guardian has written to me about the course he desires you: to pursue!' See how crimson her face is, and how she bites her lips. There is the funniest story about her that you ever heard. She is an orphan girl, and a ward of General Van Ness, of New York. For some reason or other, her guardian and his wife wentf off on a summer tour, and -left her in the city under- the care of a grand-aunt of Miss Estelle's, one of the wise women, by all accounts. They were bored to death by dust and dulness. One day they encountered a dashing foreigner whom Estelle had met at Cape May the summer before, and encouraged him to visit at their house. Estelle page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 ASPIRATION: Went off in a dreadful fit of love for him, and promised to marry him-I suppose he asked her to do so-though nothing was said about that. Well, the simple old maid of an- aunt was terribly frightened when she found it out, and wrote directly for General Van Ness. The letter chased him around from place to place, and he got- it just in time to rush to New York and take charge of the girl the very night before the marriage was to take place! This splendid Comte was a swindling scamp, papa said; he told us about it, worth nothing in the world but a handsome wardrobe and a fine pair of whiskers on his brass face. Estelle did not come to her senses after being locked up a week-so the old gentleman, who has a grand respect for Miss Hazeltine, has packed her off to spend a year here. Estelle refuses to believe that the villain is married, of course; and will not open her eyes to other enormities which would make his character plain enough to her. lie has found out Estelle's address, sister fears, for she thinks she saw him when we passed through Boston, and he was making inquiries about this very stage route--but perhaps he was only going to Montreal. What a ' den of thieves' those Canadian cities are!" (How I shivered at the latter part of the story--but I would not aslri myself what made me, or why I was so nervous, till she should have done with her tale.) "Look at Estelle now, leaning her head on her be-ringed and be-diamonded digits--she thinks she is the most persecuted individual in-the world; we shall have the benefit of all her would-be bridal finery this year, She says she paid forty dollars for her blue French cloth travellincg dress, and fifty more for the gold buttons which fasten it up. She was coming the military like her adorable." (There went another shiver-what a simpleton I was! I could have AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 1 cut myself with knives, I -was so disgusted by my weak- ness.) ' See that fine crimson and black dress, surmounted by such a wealth of brown curls, Belle." "Yes, that is Ellen McVicar; a dear, loving little girl, but as ignorant as a six years old. She's got a simple, sickly mother, down in Boston, who never could bear Ellen out of her sight. She made governesses hopeless, and her father! despairing. -Ie has sent her up here, at last, to try if it is lack of capacity, or only the foolish surveillance of her doting mamma, that keeps Ellen such an ignoramus.' "Who are those six or eight gaunt, awkward, grown-up girls, standing together in a group by the north window ." "We call them Lydia's body-guard. They cluster around her wherever she goes. You see they are splendid girls in spite of the outward woman. Some are from Lowell; two were teachers before, and the others are acquaintances of theirs. They are all fitting for teachers of High Schools, etc.' They will be the bone and sinew of our school, sister says-all the teachers think a great deal of them." "There is another gaunt individual settling her clumsy figure just behind your favourite Lowellians. That girl is a woman over thirty, or I am no judge of wrinkles and gray hairs. I think this might be called ' The Old Maid's Retreat.' " "Edith, you have less reverence for your sex about you, than I ever saw you show before." "I do reverence all things worthy, Mary, tried and proven. But you can't expect veneration to spring up from all the awkward, imbecile, frivolous, insane materials one can find in the two hundred girls, women, old maids, and widows, for aught I know, that this hall holds to-day. No, thank Heaven! while our teachers stand before us and show' what women page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] 52 ASPIRATION: - are and can be, I must .be excused from respecting all the refuse stuff which ought to be kept in the back shop of this great mill, for teachers and other useful women. 1 wish the graces were a little more in vogue here." i ( They are, by the end of the term, you know. The mere process of educating the mind refines the whole nature. ' The girls come instinctively to dress better, and lose much' of the awkwardness of movement and action which you see now. The self-consciousness, which makes them blunder at every step, wears off, and its-place is supplied by the dignity which true self-respect gives to the manner." This was said behind me, by a clear, sweet voice, but I knew it was dear Angela Haine; our girl-teacher, we used to call her, she was so petite and-so glad-hearted. "I came to you, Edith, to call your attention to two tall ladies who have just come out of the west recitation-room, where they have been closeted ever since prayers. Look, Miss Hazeltine and--" "Margaret Crosby! Margaret Crosby!--what in the world is she doing here again, Angela!"--but before I could get an answer, I was off like an arrow, inll the straightest possible direction, to take the extended hand of my dearest friend, my noble, beautiful, Margaret Crosby. "My dear Margaret! God' bless you, dear! What has brought you back to us? Where did, you come from? How is your--" but Margaret stopped 'the torrent of mv words by a kiss, and putting her arm around me, drew me close to her, saying: ' Hush, Edith! I cannot answer questions, my love. It is a long, sad story. I shall be here many months-a good long time-are you glad V" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 53 "Glad! why, Margaret, I am delectated, ecstatified, jubi- lant!" "You are always exuberant, at any rate, Edith. Well, I am glad to be here again; to be with you, my good girl"- her grave voice, which seemed to calm me at once, grew lower and sadder--"I have been through deep waters, Edith, which almost overwhelmed me. I have come here to rest, to find peace, to gather strength. You can know all by-and- by'; but others need only know that poor mamma is gone-- see, I wear this mourning for her; but I have had other sor- rows, for which only my soul can wear the weeds." I sat down behind Margaret, while she received with a lofty grace, peculiar to her, the greeting .of scores of-girls, who flocked around their old favourite and quondam vale- dictorian. I heard her tell them how she had been too busy-to write to any -one lately ; how she had not decided to return to Northden till late last week, and had been too un- well and too much fatigued to go to church the day before- so her return was not known to any one. She would proba- bly stay a few months, and review some old studies, read some Latin, continue her Greek, interest herself in Miss Haz- eltine's bible studies; and take another turn with Miss Wad- leigh, our mathematical teacher. While listening to Margaret, and looking at her with won- dering admiration, as I always did, I heard some one behind me say-"Don't look around, Edith!" Of course I did, and saw Martha Adams, her face all in a glow, and her lip quivering. She hesitated a moment, and went on hurriedly: "I could pot be contented, Edith, till I had said to you and Mary a little of what fills my heart to-day! I am so thank- ful for mamma; it has given her a new lease of life. All her hope: had gone out during this wretched summer, I \ page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 4 ASPIRATION: cannot tell you what a blank life had become to all of us-a great iron door was shut between me and the future, I was watching so eagerly; our poverty barred it, and would for- ever. -Liht and life came when you opened that door, you and Mary, and dear Mrs. Cuyler. These poor words, they can only say, bless you!" "Don't waste such gratitude as yours on me, Martha dear!" I had always loved the -bright, unassuming girl. It was my aunt and uncle, and Mary, who thought of every- 1 thing. My share was very small, iand so is my deserving; but you know if I had thought, instead of they, it would I have have been just the same, only I am too much wrapped up in myself" ! "It does not matter, Edith; you were necessary before all could be done, and now-oh! I cannot tell you what a grateful, loving feeling I have for every one. I never till now, had any respect for the rich girls here. You two are all Hever knew, who are not spoiled by their possessions." "You will outgrow that bitter feeling sometime-you wrong human nature by such a saying. It is a very weak mind that a little money can deteriorate."' "There have been some sad specimens of that class here first and last, Edith. But I don't mind my poverty--only when it makes my mother so miserable, and keeps Tom and myself from school. I can bear even that better than I can the sneer-' Ah, she is the daughter of poor Martha stopped-she could not allude to her flther's ill name-" he used to be so tender, I love him fondly still ;" and she hid her face, and great tears trickled through her fingers. I thought to divert her. "Martha, you saw that finey dressed girl, Estelle Beekman? She looked over here just I - . ' i AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 55 now, and saw my leather boots as Margaret brushed my dress aside. and she shrugged her shoulders and said, ' Good heavens, what, shoes--what savages!" Martha laughed. "About what I should expect of such a remarkable piece of pea-green womankind; she's got a very small soul of her own, judging from her shoes. An osten- tatious little foot, isn't it, Edith? Imagine it ploughing around here in December, and then again next March." I saw Martha was recovering, andt so reverted once more to the subject which I wanted perfectly settled between us. "I want you to make me a promise, Martha; I ask it for Mary and Aunt Eleanor, too. Now in the first place, never, as long as you live, say another word about anything we do; take it as we would take it from you, had it chanced that you, instead of us, were favoured by fortune; and in the second place, do strive against that harsh feeling towards rich girls. It is not money that makes people foolish, and weak; the possession of it gives some boldness to cowards, and, makes them brave, to show their imbecilities and their simple pride. No girl, whose opinion is worth having at all, ever takes airs upon herself, or considers her money as serving any other purposes than to keep herself from want, and to help others. You -know you are superior to those Chamberlain girls, or to that-silly Estelle Beekman; you belong to a -different race of beings-standing many degrees higher,: and breathing, already, purer air. You would not chalnge places with Estelle, if she had the diamonds and bank stock of ADngelica Coutts." ( Not I, Edith; it was very childish in me to notice any- thing they said; I never should but for the shame-" "Now, dear; you must so far forget all about money and kindred matters, that if ever, during these two years, the page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] t56 ASPIRATION: question is suddenly put to you whether or not you are rich, you will have to stop and think before you can say, no. I have heard Margaret Crosby say she always feels-so- independent of the world-you know she has just a pittance ---that if anybody were to talk to her about the investment of a hundred thousand dollars of her own money, she would listen to it without any surprise, and with the complacency of a familiar and pleasant idea. Neither your rich nature, nor Margaret Crosby's, could be bought by Chamberlain or Beekman coffers, that's certain, any more than your ' capa- cities' could. Grow, Martha, in the self-respect which you have a right to. Cultivate character, as Miss Hazeltine tells us,-three hundred and sixty-five- times in every year-and she means self-respect, self-reliance--and they give dignity." "What a sermon from you, Edith Arden! I've heard all. the latter part of it. I hope you will practice as well as preach, child, and then no more pets, and pouts, and no more haughty ways, and no more tempests of wind and sun- shine, too." "Now, Angela, you are too bad. Surely as I put on a little dignity somebody takes it down, and- leave me--" "Not quite denuded, Edith, but in garments which be- seem you better." "What are they?" "Learn to know yourself, Edith. You have no need to wear peacock feathers, if only you will brush the dust from your own brilliant plumage." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 57 VI. "COME with me to the south drawing-room, Edith," said Margaret, when the noontime sent the'weary girls and the wearier teachers back to their boarding-houses. We sat down there by the window, and the mild Autmn air came in and lifted up the bands of M argaret's dark hair which always lay like a crown on her beautiful head. She'sat with a blank expression in her large deep eyes, whose lids faced the wind without a quiver. Strong soul, what has made you faint by the wayside ' There was such a gloomy power of endurance in those eyes, I almost shud- dered to look at them. I crushed her hand between mine, and said, "Speak to me now, Margaret; do not defy your woe thus, with your unflinching eyes." She leaned her head against my shoulder, drooped her eyelids, and drew a long breath. This is peace. I knew I should find deep peace here; it penetrates me-a plain path--busy head and hands-kind voices, loving hearts--worthy souls. I will tell you all, Edith; and then I willcease to remember, even if I cannot quite forget the agoy'. You were surprised to see me here to-day." , Surprised-I was amazed! I am still. I thought of you only as I heard from you last-busy, happy-your mother improving-your little school prospering. You have not written to me- in two months, Margaret-in nearly three- months; you must have a pile of unanswered epistles from me." "Yes, dear, I was happy! I found mamma much better than I had feared when I reached H , last year. We * : page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 ASPIRATION: were very happy; together, she and I. She read With me- or rather I read to her my favourite books when I was not ia school, and she surprised me bythe clear, vigorous, intel- lectual comprehension which had survived so much of her physical decadence; then my girls were affectionate and well disciplined, and generally eager scholars; my school was a very pleasant one; and I had another cause for hap- piness, Edith--Iwas learning to love. I cannot tell you the name of the man whose strong individuality and titanic will drew me to him, with a force so superhuman, that I be- came a child before him.. You may some day encounter him-and -I would not prejudice you against one who, how- ever he mnay have ^ " :: hmTone who, how- ever he may have wronged me, has in him enough material to make a dozen pigmies such as usually usurp the titles of manhood."' Margaret's strong words made me smile involuntarily; she saw it. "I do not exaggerate; if ever you know this man, Edith -know him, I say-his power, his giant force of will, and intellectual might, you will not blanme me that I was weak before him, and fell downn i his path to be lifted up to his heart. I did not think of lovn him at first; he is not as much older than myself as I have alway s though t necessary and he came to me with a mutual-I was'about to say friend --but he was not a friend-only an acquaintance--who had tried to prejudice me, and who, when he saw-the superior influence which the other exerted, warned me; but I believed then, and still think, his warning was Only because his was a malicious ill-favoured spirit that went about sowing seeds of mischief."' "e must be Old, and tall, and stately enough for Olym- pus, Margraret, who would keep up a fair proportion with AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 69 yourself. Perhaps the looker-on saw, or fancied an inequal. ity." "No, not that moved him. I tell you it was the spirit of evil. He was cunning, and he saw I loved his friend. I may say it to you, Edith, for I have said it to myself a thousand times. As time went on, and I found how much my love was sought, I gave it freely, gladly, proudly., He told me such a beautiful history of his love for me, before ever he had seen me, from the first of his hearing about me. How humble I felt when he praised me so! and how proud when he traced that eloquent worded love to the time of its culmination in power and perfection! And now hear the sequel. I have not seen or heard from him in months. - We have had no trouble between us; our last parting was after an evening of calm, deep, strong emotion, when our hearts had seemed as firmly knitted as if united for eternity. I was expecting to see him as day after day went by, and just then, when his silence and his continued absence had excited a little wonder, and the first fear that something might be wrong was trembling in the calm light of my loving heart, mamma was -taken very sick. He was not in the same town, but very near us-near enough for me to know that he was well-near enough for him to hear at once of mamma's illness. Since that last evening I have named him to no one, and no one has mentioned his name to me. My dear mother grew worse rapidly; hemorrhage after hemorrhage succeeded her paroxysms of coughing,'and at first it seemed that she could live but a few days; she rallied -enough to hinger two months, but during all that time the angel of death was bending over her bed, and she never slept but I listened to hear her last breath. ;' in sshC a? time of distress, and watching, and agonizing , . . page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] AM ItRA'T'ION: suspense, I had neither opportunity nor strength to seek an explanation of the mysterious conduct of my fiiend. My cousin, Dr. Crosby, of whom you have heard me speak so often, attended mamma. I did not like the man, but he was very tender to her, and she had some confidence in his skill; she never trusted him much, I think, as a man-be- yond his profession, I mean. "At length I saw the flickering light of her feeble life was nearly gone. I sat beside her one night, as she lay sleeping like an infant. Something warned me of approaching disso- lution, and, overpowered by the burden of my accumulated anguish, I bowed my head in bitter woe. An orphan-- alone-desolate--bound, except by the tips formed here, to no living creature, for my guardian wins no love from me. He never did--the cold, old man, wrapped up in his law books. How wide -the world looked, and what an unconsidered atom I was in it,; so worthless, that I thought even my Heavenly Father would not find me. I drew no comfort from Heaven or Earth. I think I must have groaned aloud, for I- disturbed mamma, or perhaps she was already awake. She took my hand feebly in hers, and asked: * " Is the burden intolerable, my daughter ?" "I shall be alone, mamma." " Would you keep me with you still, my child ? Were Jesus of Nazareth passing by, would you wish to call him in to heal me ?' * "There is little for you to live for, dear m-amma; I know that to you '-to die is gain;' I would not bind you here in the ashes of your hopes, and of your happiness. But, oh ! my mother ! if the disembodied spirit can return to earth--be near me ever--make me-feel your love, and that your Spirit arms are around me i' AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD.. 61 She felt the anguish of the mortal cry. "Margaret, the Comforter will come; and the everiast- ing arms will uphold you. God is very merciful, my dar- ling. I will not leave you comfortless.' This promise sustains me; lean upon it, my stricken child. When I have left you--it will be very soon-I think you had better return to Northden, for a few months. You will have ample means for a time ; Judge Erskine has taken good care of the small remnant of our wealth, and you will never need for earthly comforts. I think, at Northden, you,will be won froln your solitariness, and can grow strong; you need it in mind and body. Promise mne." I promised her. She did not say much more. She did not refer to him, though she knew the relations we had borne to each other, and how he had deserted me. But whether she saw -farther into my future, and knew that peace was coming, or that her trust in God was perfect, I know not. The next day, at that hour, she fell asleep, and never wolke again. I had been reading to her just before, and she had said to, me :-- "That is enough, now, my precious child; God will bless you, darling. I have his promise." And so she kissed me, and turnel her face from me with a peaceful smile upon it-and she wore that smile when life had left her-the evidence of her happiness ins my love-and of her joy in going to her Heavenly Love. "You must not weep so, dear Edith.! I cannot weep for her ; and for myself, I am better, calmer, stronger.- I shall- soon be your own, old, earnest Margaret. I find much of the old charm left here. The summer glory has gone from , J page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 ASPIRATION : the woods, you see, but another and a new glory is given to them, and so will the world look to me by-and-bye." "My dear Margaret, I, would kiss the hem of your gar. ment in thankfulness for the lessons you teach me. It is well for me that my joy at your return is tempered by my knowledge of your saddened life. But oh! if my love were of any use, whyis it not potent to work your happi- ness?" "Mamma believed that a stronger love than yours,'my dear girl, had my well-being in charge. She was willing to leave the question to that wise keeping." 'I feel the rebuke; but it is human to long to serve those we love. Perhaps some time I may be appointed to such service-who knows--you will allow me to hope that?" "I read your thoughts, wilful Edith. No, you cannot hear the name you long to have revealed. If ever a time should come--I do not allow myself to expect it, but if ever a time should come-all things are possible with God--when you could aid me, you shall know it, and do it, dear Edith." "What are you going to do now?" "Study, dear." "Of course; but by-and-bye 12" ' I look forward to nothing but a few months of study. There are many paths of usefulness opening to us from this school. I shall deliberate, when I am able to, about the future. I can do a great deal for others, I know. In this I find much comfort. I do not think Happiness was ever 'found with the seeking; she comes to us oftentimes when we have no thought of h er. She generally follows in the train of duty. I must have duties-otherwise I should not have AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 63 powers, energies. I can write, and teach, and rule. I have found all that out since I was here." "I looked at her as she spoke, and longed to put a princely crown on that regal head. If ever nature fashioned a woman for dominion, it was she-heart and soul, and queenly figure--no woman ever sat upon a throne so gifted by provident nature as was this Margaret Crosby. How I chafed under the injustice, the deadly wrong which had been done to her! What could the man be, who would win the love of such a woman, and then cast her off? It was impossi- ble I said it aloud after a few moments' silence--" "It is impossible, Margaret, that that man can be un- worthy. I know you could never have been so deceived. Have you seen this' mutual acquaintance' since?" "Very often; and he has never named him." "As sure as you are living, Margaret, that man, that malignant being, has played you false-you see it yourself- you know he stands between you and him who loves you. Confess it." - "What, then, Edith? I can never remove him. I must not do it; nor you. You, must be silent for reasons which -I cannot tell you now. If you would not make me more 'wretched, my dear girl, and make me repent of having, told you this, be content to abide in patience the slow but sure workings of right. Is not God over all - His blessing has been invoked upon the compact that bound us. I cannot suffer you to take God's work out of His hands; when He shows me what you can do, you shall know it. You nay, be able at some future time to serve me, if you are patient now." The sound of steps in the adjoining room showed that the page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] (1:4 ASPIRATION: girls were coming up for their afternoon duties. We heard gay laughter and glad voices, which not one of sorrow had soft. ened yet. Margaret and myself were silent. It would- have been a pitiful thing to open my small sorrows to her who had shown me such depths of woe. She seemed com- forted by my silent sympathy, and when she saw me looking at her with the awed and tender emotion which her sublime endurance of sorrow had awakened, she smiled gravely, but very sweetly, and drew nle close to her. My love for her was the strongest feeling one of my own sex ever awakened in me. She held me by a power which would have laughed at bands of iron. "Edith," said dear Angela, at the half-open door, " do tear yourself from Margaret for an hour. How about your music? Miss Hazeltine seems inclined to fill up all your hours with recitations; but I am not to be swindled in any such away. Come, help me to a little time with you every day" Her loving, flattering appeal could not be resisted; so I left Margaret, who kissed me again. She was a person of few caresses, and therefore they were ever much prized by S me, the recipient of most of them. t "Oh!" thought I, as I left the room, "if that John Arden" who writes me such strange stoical letters, with such libellous things in them about womankind, could have such a wife as Margaret Crosby! .why," came the second thought, "he !I would have a wife who is much too good for him, that's ] all!" ' I might as well here complete the record of that fall term I of school. The chief impression left upon my mind, besides * my association with Margaret, was the progress which I AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. - 65 made in composition. Writing was not a task to me, as to most; besides my ambition--for, of course, as Margaret had taken the valedictory when she left school, it was an honour worth striving for--besides this, there was a certain satisfac- tion in writing, in seeing myself produced upon paper.' It was like taking out my inner nature and holding it in my hand, and scrutinizing it,-condemning or applauding it; alas! after the heat of the mood- of composition had passed off, I found very little to applaud in the crude and often af- fected effusions which came in time to crowd Iny desk. I was very school-girlish in these things, most certainly, what- ever else I was, in the reach of feeling which iny quick sym- pathies or my .precocious comprehension of my mental nature gave me. I used to talk with Margaret over every new idea that I fairly incorporated into my mind. Thus, we always dis- cussed every topic upon which I was to write, and- her sug- gestions did much for me. When she had faiirly interested me in my subject, she would say,-- "Now, go home, Edith, and take your pen, and write what you are thinking at this minute. Do not stop to talk to any one, or let slip the chain for a moment. To-morrow, you can read it over, correct it, remodel it, or throw it away, if you choose, but now is the time to write." By her advice, given one day when I had been wondering how people made books, I'took a subject, and making twelve divisions of it, I brought in every week a distinct chapter. The topic was Life, the sum of all my meditations, and the object about which every 'faiulty of my mind occupied itself. I wonder I was not more of a dreamer, with such- reveries always tempting me to fold my hands and close my eyes. I remember writing "Life a Dream"-"Lifei a Reality"- ' *, " , * page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " d ASPIRATION: "Life tne embryo of another existence"--"Life a state of probation"-"Life a continual struggle for something yet unattained." What experience had not done for me, my imagination and my sympathies with others did, and I often read over, with some complacency, the immortal effusions whose reflections were sage enough for gray hairs! These same chapters on Life did me good service, however., that fall, for I had in them a safety-valve for the excitement which I could not always keep in bounds, and which practicalities- my usual resource at'such times--did not subdue. Still, I came to no solution of the grand problem. I had put upon paper, and could at any time bring before my mind all I knew, and all I could imagine, about my present exist- ence; and a more unsatisfactory conclusion than I reached, no one could have given. Complete to my view as it was in parts, the sum-total was despicable; and I saw that the question with which I commenced was in nowise answered by all that I could do. "Why I lived i"-" to what end tended my precise individuality?"-still perplexed and haunted me, and sometimes made- me miserable. My school life was not nearly all the ripening time allowed to my intellect. The influence at home of such minds as Uncle Ernest's and Aunt Eleadnor's, and the use of Uncle Er- nest's library, under his supervision, did quite as much for my mental growth. When any serious difficulty presented itself in the course of my reading, writing, or even thinking, I went to the Professor for the remedy. His long and learned explanations were not always luminous enough for my blind eyes; and then Aunt Eleanor wduld come to my help with a few pertinent, strong words, that fastened them- selves in my mind, they were so inseparable from the idea they conveyed. No one ever comprehended and made AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 6 practical, for all purposes, t ine great advantages of the use of pure Saxon, as Aunt Eleanor did. She was always terse, pointed, exact. There was no possibility of misconception or misapprehension when she spoke. She notonly dled her mind, but she mastered it, and it servedher, as a well-traied subject will, to good purpose. Necessarily, it never soared high, otherwise it would sometimes have lost itself in the clouds, and we should have seen a haze; but it kept free from earth, and found its element in the clear, pure atmos- phere which divides'the- earth and the clouds. Thus, you see , she had not genius; she did not pierce through the vail which God has wisely drawn over that which is beyond the grasp of the mortal; she reverenced the mysteries of im- mortality, and did not seek to interpret the. intimations which every true spirit receives. Her eagle eyes never failed her, whengazing on the sun, because they lacked the exquisiteness of vision -which would penetrate the golden glory. She sustained all who came to her for support, and her influence was forever elevating and ennobling-but she gave no aid to the unquiet, venturous, daring spirit, which rebelled under the finite bonds of the flesh. She did me most good by calming the unrest which distracted me at times, by the riches her large nature held, and which ex- panding mine, as I received them, kept the capacity strained oto its utmost. I felt with her, how much better it was to grow large, strong, rich, rather than to aspire to an indefi. nite height, whose distance from me made me continually There wa-s still at mystery to me connected with my uncle aud aunt-with most of the cahnlm, high-mindedwomen who were our teachers-with Margaret Crosby, and others of the mature pupils of the school, which sometimes arrested my page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 ASPIRATION: attention and aroused my wonder. There was a reason for the repose ill their souls; there was trust in trouble, faith in place of the infinite vision I covetred, and love where my heart was hard and unmoved. I could not coprehend the quality of that repose which I called beautiful and sublime. That I wanted it, was the lack which most distressed me, and which I could not speak of in all the confidences I might give to these older and experienced friends. I suspected that Mary Atkinson had won the secret- there -was evidently some strength in that girl, besides a mor- tal nature. How often I tried her, to see its source, and cu riously watched her, in hours of sorrow and gloom which come - to the lot of all! Such sweetness, forbearance, real magna- nimity exercised towards nmyself--for, with so much excita- bility, you may be sure I was not free from irritability. such almost divine patience, and charity, and self-abne'ation as sheshowed!- Yes, she had already won the secret of a peaceful soul.1 "Pray /" said Uncle Ernest, " pray!" What good was there in that! The veriest abstraction in all the world of ideas was this of prayer. I had not the simple faith of child- hood, which gives a sweet sleep when it has "prayed the Lord his soul to keep," and I certainly could not comprehend the spell which those who, like myself, had asking, troubled 'ouls, found in their outpourings before their laker. I had :! !ried to pray, but'the words rose not above my head, as I - )owed it down, and my heart beat all the more wildly when cried for peeace! peace! and it came not. So I could not ray, and the mystery remained to me a mystery stili. And ill I struggled, and wrestled, and sent up My poor blind . astless spirit, to beat its wings vainly against the prison- ars of its mortal thrall. Like Richter's immortal old man, * .rmra oldman AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 69 ,there were great wounds in my happiness, which no medi- cine would cure; and I could not comprehend the skill of the Great Physician. I was so intent upon my pain, that I could not lift up my eyes to Him. I had ceased to reverence the child's faith, and I could find no faith to take its place.. 1 was stone-blind! No wonder I groped in the dark--and stum- bling, startew&resh those bleeding wounds. VII. IT was winter, and we were classed with the mass of pupils in the boarding-houses near the seminary. There werle nmany annoyances, for neither Mary nor myself were gregarious. But Margaret Crosby lived there, and did not blend with those around her. What could weaken such indi- viduality as hers? And Angela Haine was there too sweet, too spirituelle, for assoilment. Mrs. Hazeltine, the Lady Principal, moved amid us, always a spirit of light-Lydia worked on, unfretted by the turmoil; Belle Conant flitted here and there, laughing at trouble, and wondering at every profound emotion. Clara Turell ran a joust with every affectation she encountered, and cried "u What's the use." when the burden seemed heavier than it should. Fanl and Ella Chamberlain twisted up their profuse tresses into the new- est fashion, and concerned themselves about their flounced aprons and velvet trimmings; . Estelle Beekman lived in flannel dressing-gowns and blanket shawls, and vowed she was in Greenland-she certainly grew torpid enough; the Philadelphia twins warmed, their little chapped hands at every opportunity, and cried when they put on- their new shoes, because of chilblains; the eight tall girls studied and page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 70 ASPIRATION: wrote, and talked with each other, and made the same prog- ress that the fine autumn weather had witnessed-they never knew how cold it was that winter. Malry and I took very good care of a little iron stove in our room-and kept the body comfortable-" the first step, you remember, Mary, towards intellectual progress!" "You are out of spirits this morning, Edith." "I have the strangest, gloomiest letters from John, Mar- garet. The man is not sane on some subjects, I believe. He treats me like a child in regard to any confidences-but he wreaks his wrath with his kind upon me, as if I could not feel the stings which torture him." I looked up, for Margaret made no answer, and I seldom found her indifferent to my sorrows. "What can I say to him, Margaret?" I waited a moment for her to speak-- her hand was pressed against her side, and she was very I pale. I had noticed before now this indication of sufferingg in her, and, in much alarm, was running for a restorative but she put her hand on my arm and held me still. "It is nothing, Edith; I have such knife-thrusts in my side at any time, but they leave me well as ever. What were you saying, dear? Oh, about your brother John. What can you do for him? Love him, Edith. Nothing l helps a soul, when beating on the shoals of misanthropy, asmuch as the sunshine ofone warm, loving nature. There, don't you think I am well again, to grow so rhetorical? You must write him loving, genial letters." "He thinks me a complete ignoramus, and prates about his experience! Iwas angry at the great distance that wonder- rul experience of his seemsain his estimation to place between * ^ * ' ' ' * I i, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 71 us. John needs a prodigious alkali to neutralize the extra- ordinary acidity of his nature. I am out of patience that a man like him, so richly endowed by mother nature-for be has not a lack of soul or body, unless it is love--should be so miserable." "Write to him, simply, tenderly. earnestly; show no im- patience, no irritation. Soothe him, love him, and com- mend him to God. You have no other course with such as he, Edith." "Dear Margaret, you could influence him-I wish you knew himt-you are competent to such keeping as he needs, and can minister to such mighty throes as rack his soul.". God appoints to us all, our work, and our trials, and in His own good time, our repose, Edith. We must leave it to Him to minister to the needs of those whom our love cannot heal. I cannot go up to recitation this morning--mnake my excuses to Miss Wadleigh-don't be distressed. I shall be better after an hour's rest." And so I left her, half per- suaded, only, that she would be better-alone. "We will have a little gathering in the large drawing- room on Christmas night, and call it a family party. What do you think of it, young ladies? Show your approbation by rising." There was quite a hubbub in the great hall, and the de- monstration was not a very quiet one, in spite of the usual decorum of our formal assemblings there. The '4little gathering" would include the students from the other depart- ment, as well as, the professors and their families, and it would be a merry-making on a bountiful scale, of that you might be certain. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 ASPIRATION: It was truly a delightful evening! All were children together-even the professors joined in our games-occu- pations which stiff, stubborn, narrow-minded, priggish people hold in great aversion and contempt. I involuntarily withdraw a portion of respect from that person whose coun- tenance falls, and whose figure stiffens, and whose lips assume a rigidity of propriety when plays are proposed in an evening company. Of course I do not refer to hobble- de-hoy romping, kissing, tricking, and other vulgarities and improprieties. But those plays upon words and ideas, those taxes upon memory and imagination, which are the characteristics of the games we played that night, are re- freshing, really vivifying in the electric light they send into the mind. No one who is bright enough, quick enough in mental operation to engage in these sports with credit, but enjoys the recreation they afford; and those who reject them disdainfully, or even indifferently, prove their mental calibre, or their stubborn or vitiated taste. Who ever thought the less of George Canning for propounding the most beautiful of enigmas before the British House of Parliament? And are there not in the most ancient histories records of riddles and of sphinxes? Cannot we find them in the Bible itself? Naturally there were sore wall lflowers in our parterre-- there always will be while dulness flourishes in unfading verdure; of course there were incipient flirtations, for silly girls would talk nonsense with half-grown boys no wiser than themselves. -But there was much- sensible, much earnest, much brilliant conversation in various parts of the large halls, and in the side-rooms, all warmed and lighted, and thrown open for the company of the evening. It was a fine spectacle; we did not heed that the floors were un- carpeted, and the walls lacked stucco--that there were no AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIKLHOOD. 73- i huge mirrors, and uo glittering chandeliers. The rooms were tastefully decked with evergreens, the walls were half covered with pictures framed with wreaths of vivid green, and vines were wound around the pillars in every direc- tion. The girls were dressed simply, but tastefully, and the ease and good breeding of the older ladies would have com- nmanded admiration and respect in any city in the world. As usual, Margaret Crosby was unsurpassed in elegance and grace. Once, I saw her talking in an abstracted way with Ralph Haine. I was near enough to catch now and. then a word of their discourse, which fell, however, upon an inattentive ear, until I heard the name of "Arden" repeated once or twice. I looked at them again, and saw that Marga- ret had lost her indifferent air, and was listening with an eager countenance to the speaker. I thought, "'Dear Margaret, she loves me at least; nothing that concerns me is indifferent. to her." Then I heard Ralph say: "John is a grand fellowi; a little spoiled by too much prosperity, I think, but a rough-and-tumble with the world will take all the foolishness out of him ; and what a specimen he will make then of God's master-piece of creation!' I knew my eyes were full of tears as I watched these two interesting people, and I was delighted that Margaret should hear John's praises from one so well qualified to judge as was Angela's brother. John, Ralph, and Dr. Crosby had been classmates together, and had afterwards travelled to- gether over the -Old World. John was now pursuing law studies,--or that was his ostensible occupation,-under the "wing of his alma mater. Ralph was the youngest professor at the other department of our school, and Crosby, having completed a medical course, was giving up his time now to curious chemical and other scientific pursuits; his large '4 ' * page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 ASPIRATION: wealth leaving no necessity for 'the constant practice of his profession. Ralph was like his sister in disposition; their sunny natures gladdened all who came in contact with them, nor were they at all inclined to be superficial with all their gaiete de caour. It seemed impossible to be otherwise than happy with this charming brother and sister, and involunta- rily, concerned as I felt all the time for Margaret's happi- ness, the thought came into my mind, how bright life would be to her, seen by the aid of such sunshine as Ralph Haine would always diffuse! By-and-by, when I found. myself close by Margaret, I looked significantly at Ralph, and relieved my mind by saying: "' Oh! Margaret Crosby, if you -could only be per- suaded to love him." "Love him, Edith! would I not die for him g? , I was startled by the intense energy of her expression; and, seeing mry look of blank astonishment, she asked me, with some confusion, of whom I was speaking. "Why, of Ralph Haiie, Margaret! Whom do you imagine I meant?" Her face grew crimson as she said,-- "I so often have but one idea in my head, that you must pardon me, Edith, and try not to think me quite demented." And then" she went on to talk laughingly of Ralph Haine's devotion to my dear Mary, which was so very evident, as he bent over her now in earnest conversation, that there was nothing chimerical in any castles we might build for those. two together. Mary was looking very lovely, and Ralph was evidently not ignorant of a single charm: he seemed drinking in the beauty of the fair creature whose drooping lids showed a not unpleasant consciousness of his admiring gaze. As I looked at them, a thousand little things came to '-", . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 75 my mind with a new significance, and I said: "'Well, I am satisfied. I shall certainly never try my hand at matching or pairing. It would be an ill service, I believe, to defeat des- tiny in this case." ' Providence, Edith, takes care of these matters: that's a great consolation to me." So it was! I knew that. That was all the consolation my poor Margaret had. "Miss Hazeltine wants to see you, Miss Crosby," said Martha Adams, coming up to us. She proposes playing some games, and she wants to know how many will approve of it." "Oh! charming! I believe in that. There's ' Throwing a light,' Naming people,' perhaps ' Dumb Crambo.'" "( Then I shall call for a general expression of approbation. I shan't trouble Miss Beekman or Fan and Ella-et id onmne genus: they would be of no possible use, you know, with their vacant and obtuse craniums." "Seat yourselves as well you can, as compactly, and as much in a circle as possible," said Professor -Worden. "This will not be child's play; you must give your atten- tion to what is going on, and forget the players individually; as much as is possible under the circumstances, I mean, of course," said he, with a bachelor gravity, which did not prevent some, laughing amongst the young people, who sus- pected the Professor of more' interest in womankind than he was willing to acknowledge. "Now," he continued, "' Throwing a light,' which is a very -clever game, is played in this wise. One of the party takes up mentally some word which has various meanings, as, for page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] G76 . ASPIRATION: instance, glass. You know there is glass, a mirror, glass, a window-pane, and glass feor wine or water. You are not to be told what the object is, of which this person is thinking, only as you conjecture it from what they say. If you guess the word you must not name it, but must throw a light, by adding to the description given by others, anything- which you can think of that will throw a light on the sub- ject." " I understand," said half a dozen voices. "Then we will begin. Miss Hazeltine, you are familiar with the play: will you give us the first puzzle in it.2" ' I have a word," said Miss Hazeltine, after a moment's thought. "It is an object' held up to our respect and rever- ence in the Bible, and is of the same importance to us that it was to the Jews in the wilderness, for from it God speaks to mankind forever, while the world stands. It is here in this room. The good housekeeper loves to see it shine. Little children love it at home and hate it in school. It is indispensable to travellers, and it is equally indispensable to cooks." "It is ornamental in the parlour; useful everywhere. People were made knights by it in old times," suggested Professor Worden. "Yes, and were often laid under it in those days, too," said Aunt Eleanor. "' You have it," said Miss Hazeltine; " but keep on throw- ing a light." "'It was an article of importance in the Jewish Temple, and is no less essential in our Christian churches," said Uncle Ernest. " What can they mean, Miss Crosby? I never heard such -queer things said about one word.' - * ) , AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD, " "Pay attention, Clara, and by-and-by there will be ' light' enough for you to see." "If my girls overcome them easily, I have great hopes of them," said Miss Wadleigh. '"Oh! I know!" said I. "Throw a light, then, E1lith!' "We cover them with cloth or marble, or inlay them; they have four legs, and three legs, and one leg--" "Written and printed," said Margaret quickly, who saw my light was getting too obtrusive and evident; "yes, and figured off, too. Why, I have seen them when -they had hundreds of feet!"' "Hundreds of acres, too, especially in corn-time," said Ralph. Can I name such as are on the west shore of the Hud- son?" inquired Carrie Barr. "Yes, my dear, but only giants could use those." ': Does not Virgil tell of a certain prophecy which was fulfilled when people ate them?"I asked. "They are made of wood and iron, paper and glass, precious stones and brass; they are suggestive of God's ordinances, and of knighthood, of Jewish and Christian worship, of the belated and distressed traveller, and the poor child ' kept in' at school. Of the finest works of art, and of the menial services of the cook, and so on. We could keep up this mysterious subject some time longer, but there is so muh mnlore to be done to-night that we prefer to have you guess now." "Can it be tables that they mean?" said one of the twins. ' Yes, dear," answered Miss Hazeltine. "There were the tables of stone containing the Telln Commandments, the table of show-bread in the Jewish Temnple, the table used page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 ASPIRATION: for the Conlmunion service in Christian churches, the tables of weights and measures, found in the arithmetic, time tao'les on our public roads; then there were the Knights of the Round Table in King Arthur's time, when a too generous hospitality often laid people under the table; and Carrie Barr refers to the table-lards on the Hudson; Edith Arden to Virgil's account of the prophecy that Jlneas should know when to settle in a new home, by the people eating their tables, which was fulfilled by their eating the large wheaten cakes upon which their food had been served to them as they sat upon the ground on the shores of the Tiber; the attention of the chief being called to it by his son's exclama- tion,' See, father, we eat our tables.'" "How very ingenious, and how many multiplied referen- ces might have been made!" said Uncle Ernest. "I have a word," said Margaret Crosby, "which will serve us well. May I try it?" "Certainly, my dear." "That which I have chosen is the most valuable thing on earth-mines of Golconda are trash in comparison. Yet do we trample it in the dust beneath our feet. It finds its home in great waters; it is in its natural place in the paved street, in the highway; its abode is heaven, and its companions are angels! Were it lost, no tears could be ' bitter enough to bewail it adequately--were it -found, the beggar would not stoop to pick it up." "I am very fond of it firied!" said Aunt Eleanor. "I consider it as fiatal to life as the deadliest poison, when it is too thin,"' said old Professor Allan. "If. every one did not possess one, there would be no need of school-houses, and no need of churches," said Uncle Ernest. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 79 "Every one in this room is supposed to have one," said I. "Has three, Edith!" said Ralph. ' I would be one myself,' said Uncle Ernest, " but for my wife." "You would not. be anything else, Professor, if it were not for her, for you would exhale." "You prefer being doubled, then, do you?" said Professor Worden, who was unmarried. "Yes, if I am right to left, as is proper." "Do you mean-- "- "Hush, chatter box," said Margaret to Belle; " throw a light, if you have any ideas." (' Well, you mean shoes V." "No we aon't. I wonder what shoes do up in heaven." "Well, you mean soles, then," persisted the wilful girl. "Yes -but don't insist on setting fire to the edifice again, Belle,' said my uncle; "' let it rise gradually into view, so that the humblest may see it with unaided eyes." : "How. could you be a sole if it was not for Mrs. Cuyler?" asked the little Philadelphian. "I:Should certainly be alone, and that is sole; is it not, my child " "I meant her care was all that kept his body with his soul,' said Margaret, gayly. "Then you see we ha;re sole of the shoe or foot, sole alone, sole a fish, and the soul." I cannot remember all the clever things which were thought and said that evening in this game; my journal does neot give all the record, and I depend on it for what I now write, but I remember our Aunt Eleanor gave us- "I am large and small; I am fish, no, not fish, but flesh and fowl I am stone, bone, and wood; the traveller cannot page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80- ASPIRATION: ascend Mount Jura without me, and no excavation goes on beneath the earth, even in the bore of an artesian well, but I am used. I am only of service upon land, yet the sailor respects me at sea. I go through the air in -immense num- bers. The young mother kisses me, the proud young flther places me on his hand; little brothers and sisters think me more beautiful than anything in the world; the lover adores me, and sometimes gets a touch of me, which electrifies him. To beautify me is a sacred law amongst some nations. Yet I am generally on the ground, and often in mud and mire." "If you do happen to be pretty, there is no end to the vanity you awaken, eh, young ladies? and if large and clumsy, you excite a great deal of shame. You are often tortured to be made mnore beautiful]. "I never wear tight shoes." "Incorrigible Belle Conant, do be still." "I believe you are useful to most living creatuies, and to many objects that are inanimate?" "Yes." "You are kept in nails without the use of a hammer?" "Yes." "You are of particular advantage to the carpenter, house- builder, land surveyor, and so on?" "And you are useful in repelling presumptuous people, and teaching them to keep their distance, when hints are in- effectual?" , "Exactly. Now guess the word aloud." "' Feet!' feet!' ' feet!" said a dozen voices. Aunt Eleanor here proposed another game: one of the party should be sent from .the room, and a name should be chosen for him, the name of some distinguished person, living or dead. When all knew what the name was, the absentee AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. S1 should be sent for, and be obliged to gue ss, by the questions and remarks addressed to him, whom he was supposed to represent. As this play was familiar to me, I wasfirst sent out, and Uncle Ernest named me. I was then recalled, and he asked- "What gave you such wonderful power over the AraDs?" This question gave me no clue beyond carrying me to the East. "Was the climate fine at such an elevation?" This was nearer telling me, but the next remark threw me off the track. "You were highly cultivated for your times. You must have been endowed with fine intellectual faculties." "For your times," can they mean Zenobia? So I said aloud, "I am Zenobia." C"No, no," and I became more careful, for there were but three guesses allowed to me. "' What disgusted you with civilized life to such a degree- you had every advantage of rank and wealth?" "Why did you not go into a convent 2" "Did you know any learned monks 2" "You often entertained travellers. They must have been god-sends."' "Could you have known, during your lifetime, the selfish and mercenary characters of your attendants, would you not have been very miserable V' How stupid I am! I thought. These things to- which they refer are very familiar to me, and yet I cannot get hold of the name. "That seemed like the true spirit of prophecy, which made you declare that the first of poets-in your estimation, ' 4 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 ASPIRATION: I suppose-was coming. to receive honours, and riches, and lands in the East." t"Oh! Uncle Ernest! of course, I knoww now who I am: Lady Hester Stanhopc. That remarkable prediction of hers concerning Lamartine is not to be forgotten; and it was so wonderfully fulfilled by the possessions given to him'in Turkey."' As I had guessed from what Uncle Ernest had said, he by the rules of the game, became the next absentee. Pro- fessor Allan proposed to call him John Bunyan, but Aunt Eleanor said he would inevitably guess at the first remark. "Call him Alfieri." "No! Monti, rather." "Let him be King David," said one of the twins. They were all very proud of Uncle Ernest--both large girls and small--so the child was sent to call him in. "Who was your music-master, sir, and how many hours a day did you practice?" Very blank looked Uncle Ernest. "I did not know music was cultivated to such a degree in the country," said Belle. "Did you have a happy childhood?" asked Professor Allan. ' I have often wanted to know that." ' Where did you learn anything about political economy?" "'Vattel' would have been a good book for you to un. derstand. What took its place in your day?" "What do you think of the poet's words,- 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown 0' Or of the lines,- ' how sharperbthan a-serpent's tooth It is to have a thankless child - AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 83 "You were a good man, beloved of God, we know, but you were eminently human in your errors. Your poetry is the wonder and admiration of the world, even now." :"And well it may be, when it came through inspiration of God-to the ' sweet singer of Israel.' I thought, from the first, that I was representing David ; so I cannot tell to whom I owe the knowledge, or who should take my- place." Angela Haine volunteered to do so, and we were unan- imous in calling her Angelica Catalini, a distinction she was not slow in finding out. Belle Conant was sent out, and was named 1"Mother Hub- bard." She, was wonderfully puzzled by some of the sug- gestions of the rude verses, such as her fondness for pets, her solitariness in the world, her poor housekeeping, her un. wise indulgence, and the uncanniness of her pet. She was condoled with on the death of her only friend, and congratu- lated on the joy which finally befell her, and the beautifully calnm manner in which she bore it. Belle had half a mind to be indignant when the truth broke upon her. Aunt Eleanor had a turn of guessing by-and-bye, and Belle revenged herself by begging to have her called " the old -woman that lived in a shoe." As my aunt had also in- numerable protegees, this was not mal-apropos. Her baker, her cook-book, her nursery, her ideas of ar- chitecture, the climate, the whirl and tumult of her life, her separation from society, her weary days and nights, and her ideas of family government, were all discussed, and Uncle Ernest recommended to her '; Degerando on Self-education," as he feared the system of rule in her family tended to fa- vouritism. Aunt Eleanor laughed merrily, and took it in good part. But an end came even to thia careless, happy evenng, H page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 ASPIRATION': was sitting by Miss Hazeltina when the company was taking leave that night, and I heard Angela say to her: t"I have had another letter from my mother's friend, Madame Renau- I want to consult with you about a certain portion of it." After I had returned to my room that night, and the lights, and noise, and confusion had all passed away from my senses, I remembered this remark of Angela's, and tried again to think when I had heard the name of Renau. ' Mary, Mary!" said I to my sleepy friend, "' do we know,. anybody of the name of Renau?" I knew Mary Atkinson never forgot .anything:- it was unkind to awaken her to-night-she was very weary, but I could not rest with that name haunting my thoughts. "Renau, Renau," said' Mary with her usual sweetness, though too sleepy to awaken entirely; "' I never heard that name before, except, I believe, Captain Manners called his sister's governess Madame Renau. Good-night, Edith; I am too sleepy to talk to-night.' So she was, dear girl, and she was entirely at liberty to sleep now; for she had told me all I wanted to know, and supplied the link irn the chain of thought. Mary slept like a tired child, but I lay awakewith my thoughts until the gray dawn came. VIII. I think the precise nature of my individuality at that time can be best shown by some extracts from the'journal to which I make constant reference in this story. New Year's Eve. "I have-just had a visit from Miss Hazeltine,- What is the reason that my usual 'self-complacency seems to- desert me in her presence? How startling was her first remark to-night! ,'y AN' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 85 "Edith, I have come to see how the old- year is closing with you, and what treasure you have laid up for the new." "Though I had been laughing at Clara Turell's nonsense not five minutes before this, I was as solemn now as if I had heard a voice from heaven. Perhaps,-, anels are, not unlike that fair, noble woman. She is a little too good, I think sometimes. Uncle Ernest stands apart from the unholy, and prays for them; Aunt Eleanor frowns upon them as she rises above their follies; Margaret gathers her garments about her, and walks in their midst unhurt; -but Miss Hazeltine comes to the sinful, and lays her hand upon the plague-spot, and makes them feel their evil nature, and see that they are without God in the world-the God she serves and adores. "How differently she preaches to me--for all preach more or less in words or life. Angela, dear Angela'! she has South of Europe blood in her clear veins, and she comprehends beauty in the dolce far niente of life. Were I inclined, I should dare be indolent and wilful with Angela,-she loves me, and would only' try to win me to the right. MiissWad- leigh demonstrates to a matlhematical certainty, that I ought to be good. Aunt Eleanor says strong things-sometimes keen sarcasms--and I am stung into doing what is right. Uncle Ernest prays so tenderly and lovingly for me, that his very forbearance seems, to my froward spirit, half a license to continue in mriy error. "But Miss Hazeltine! She stands up before me and says; ' What treasure have you laid up for the New Year V I could not answer her then. H will stop now, and think. I have had a good many lessons given to my soul which were needed, which I could not but heed for the time-but is there left any treasure of resolve or principle? Lessons iat home, at school, even iv Boston; then there was a lesson in the, page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 ASPIRATION: stage-coach; for be that mall whomsoever he may, he/ preached to me. Margaret has taught me, and Marltha, and Mary, and Angela; and that wise woman, Miss Hazeltine, whom I think of to-night as an index hand, pointing to the Aceldama of my soul, and inquiring for the treasure which should be there, instead of ashes. Every lesson, every ser- mon, no matter who the preacher, has increased my respon- sibility before God. "Has all this year, Edith, been only anl accumulation of sure evidence against you, in the sight of God W." What solemn language! I felt her to be more un- approachable than ever before. Surely, with her, " soul wings have budded." "I wish, by any analysis of my nature, I could see in what my error consists. Every one, I know, is better than I am, purer in intention, simpler in purpose, and nobler too. I would not class myself with some of the ephemera, which disgust me in the world, and about me, here; but I have the feeling that I am more worthy of condemnation in God's sight than they are even, for I am able to comprehend more perfectly what lies before me in the way of duty. I have a larger soul--and, oh, God! I fear if Thy sight, a viler! "Miss Hazeltine says: "What do you live for, Edith?" It is the very question I ask myself, and ask others continu- ally. Why does she come to me with it? Am Ito answer it, from my own consciousness? I am studying earnestly; I have no right view of life under any aspect. My' earnest nature will not suffer me to be heedless or fri'volous-I think a great deal, but to very little purpose. I believe I waste time and strength in tho struggles I pass through. I work hard, but it is all fighting wind-mills, and meanwhile the enemy, unmolested, because unsuspected, grows stronger and more formidable, continually. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 87 "What would I like to be in the world? I have not thought of teaching-it is a great, a very noble work--but there is no necessity for me to engage in it,; and if it is only amateur business, it is apt to become irksome, and lose its deep sig- nificance. I shall never make a book. No, I spent myself on that famous production last fall; and who would give a groat :for the hodge-podge of sentiment and bombast-puerilitiess affectations, and crudities in general! Perhaps I am to be, like Aunt Eleanor, the wife of a learned man, who will come to me, as Uncle Ernest does to her; but what will he find? Aunt Eleanor offers the freshness of the fountain in the desert, the refreshing repose of the palm-tree's shade. - Aunt Eleanor is the beautiful column upon which is reared the dome of his happiness and usefulness. That is woman's true relation to man and to the world, but how few are capable of filling such positions; how few are chosen to such a blessed life of love and happy usefulness, as hers is, led, too, in the sanctuary of her home! '"Perhaps, I only study because it is expected of me, and I have too much pri3e to fall below a mark-or may-be the valedictory, -the little honour which that can give, will suffice me! The good I feel and the good I do, if I do any, is the result of an impetus given by good influences which fall upon me everywhere. These efforts are not the result of princi- ple, and Miss Hazeltine said very truly, to-night, that " there was no real good, permanent in its effects on ono's self, or in its influence on others, which is not the result of firm princi- ple, upon which, as upon a rock, character was to be based. Yes, all say to me, cultivate character-and: they mean more than they say. I do not comprehend the whole meaning of that injunction." , page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 ASPIRATION: New Year's Night, January 1st, 1840. -"I have been spending the day with Uncle Ernest and Aunt Eleanor. If I reverence Miss Hazeltine, how shall I express my feeling for Uncle Ernest? They say my mother was like him. What a shining spirit hers must be now, if it glowed so:brightly through her mortality! He has the kind- liest of human natures-a love for any one which is almost divine! If I believed in human supererogation, I should un- dertake to go to heaven on his righteousness. In all these years, when my waywardness has tried him so often, he has never said a harsh word to meo His "Edith!" has thrilled me sometimes, however, like a trumpet-tone. Then that injunction, "Pray, my child P'--what volumes of sermons could move me as that has done! Pray! yes, if I had, lile hinm, a key to beaven's gate. I can almost see the glory about him, as he kneels in prayer; but when I try to pray, I see nothing but a blank universe, with no God in it. Why should I pray when -no one hears my prayers? Does not Uncle Ernest know that they are not-heard? "Aunt Eleanor often speaks harshy; she is far less amia- ble than my uncle. And I must make here, a strange con- fession. I reverence him, butI love her more ; at least I care much more for one expression of her affection, they come so seldomn. I can remember and count every kiss she has ever given me. She says "Dear child!" and it thrills me like a lover's vow. Uncle Ernest says it to every one; they are all dear children to him. To-night she kissed me, and called me her " precious daughter,!"The blood mounted to my face and then rushed back again to my heart, and I felt dizzy, and too happy. I wish I dared compare sensa- tions with Margaret I but not for worlds would I " break the repose of her soul.", AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 89 "I have been talking with Uncle Ernest and Aunt Eleanor about the time when I shall leave school, a year from next August. I see but one thing that' I can do, and that is, to teach. I am resolved, however small the pittance may be which I shall receive, that I will restrict my personal expendi- ture to that small sum, and use my large income in some methodical charities. - Frank will not object; he is a care- less, good-natured fellow, with no small ideas on any subject. As for John, if he ever gets human enough to care anything about me, I think he would rather applaud my purpose. "Uncle Arden will scold and laugh! and the girls will won- der forever! and Horace May will quiz me most unmierci- fully! All that will delight me-such nonentities as all those people are in the " forward march" of the world. Such people will get trampled on, inevitably, when the-revolution shall be complete. This social progress will be a :very Jug- gernaut; I must join the ranks! How complacent I feel since I have come to this decision! Little sfool! What is in 'the heart which throbs so agreeably? Ah, me! so much littleness, so much vanity, so-much petty satisfaction, in view of the small stir which my unwonted course will make! "And why-'what are the reasons which I can give to John, and to Uncle Arden, who must be consulted, of course, and have a faiir showing of reason given to him 2?. "Because I want to do good!" I can do good enough in some way which will be more consistent with my wealth and position, Position, indeed! , They thinlk I should stoop to teach- stono] in leaving the decking of my poor body, and the gratifi- cation of my senses, for the occupations which bring me day by day into contact with the better nature, with the inner life. Stoop, in leaving mortal cares for immortal; the fashion page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 . --ASPIRATION: of this world for that " which passeth not away," the dictates of men and women for the dictates of nature and God! ' Why am I anxious "' to do good 2"Perhaps it is to satisfy the unrest of my nature, for my conscience gives me, most, pertinacious prickings. I have disposed of the eclat of the thing-I will rise above that. How do I know that I ant not really benevolent? I do "love my fellow-men." Alas! alas! I find no reason in my heart which reads like this: ".Do good to glorify God, and follow in, the footsteps of Him who event about doing good!" There is certainly a great lacking in my nature. God help me-man can do no more for me!" Jan. 6th.-'"I have a sad retrograding step to record ; I feel humiliated as I constrain myself to write it. I have had a leisure afternoon, and I have worse than wasted it! Henry Lovell sent me, last night, a new novel by Bulwer. "The Pil- grims of the Rhine" was a charming story; I thought so when I first read it. It was a love-story after my own heart. Very sentimental, truly! Perhaps I should -find it too much so for me now, when my reason craves something more salient. I find Corinne is not the book I thought it was, three years ago, when I read it all night. It is unmitigated sweetness, and every one knows the sum of that is ad nauseam. I remember saying to Henry Lovell that I admired the sad and loving pilgrinls. He rememnbers it too, and has sent me this book, and I have read it, and the effect has been an ill one. I might have known it. I never yet read anything BRulwer had written that was not more or less deleterious. Those '"Conversations with an Ambitious Student, in ill- health," moved me very much, but left no healthy germ in my soul. The time may come when that man shall write to AN AUTOBIQORBAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 91 do good-but he must know what good is first, and that he does not understand yet. What an account a man must render who perverts such talents as he has, unquestionably! "So much for my vaunted strength. I should do well be- fore the temptations of life. It is very easy to stay here, remote from them, and resolve to be strong-; to forego the allurements I despise when they are afar off. There were many things which I might have done to-day, and I knew I ought not to read this book. The old, familiar music of my dreams was in it; dreams which I have long ago forbidden to myself. What ideals, supplied by art and luxury, sur- rounded me as I read! and when I finished, I threw down the book and said: 'Why have we senses, and why have men genius and taste, and the power to move the sense so strongly? Why have I the means to indulge in all these gratifications, if it is wrong to do so?' "I know these things, in themselves, are not wrong; but who shall say what is the juste millieu, and who will be able. to follow it temperately? "Even nbw I can draw, with the materials of that book, so fair a picture of life; of life where the heart should be satis- fied--every craving for mortal- love and-sympathy satisfied; a life where the intellect should revel in the achievements of master minds, and its own conscious power; a life crowded with joy, and crowned with the glory of the world. Con- trast it with the actuality to which I resolved to consecrate myvself, less than a week ago! Labour, self-sacrifice, a primi- tive simplicity, even severity of dress, manners, table,fur- nitlure; of hours for work and rest, and the tedious round of duty ; a thanklless, dreary life!" "th.- "What do these letters from John mean? He says I cannot 'share his, confidences, because I have not yet page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 9-2 ASPIRATION: that insight into the penetralia of the heart, which would give me comprehension.' Well, perhaps I have not, 'grand John Arden!' as Haine says. But, if you loved me, you would not stop to reason so. You would take me in with you, as Margaret- Crosby has done, and you would be surprised to find how soon a woman becomes initiated. I cannot see what great advantage John has over me. He has a greater infusion of misanthropy. 'I know no other quality of his na- ture in which I cannot sympathize, even if I do not emulate it. Hear, too, how presumptuously he speaks of people he don't know! "You, say your friend, Miss Crosby, is busy studying again. I heard from the Doctor, that she had returned to Northden. I should think she had received lessons enough, before this, in her life's experience, to teach all Northden." ( What does he mean by that?) "What sort of a piece of per- fection is she, Edith? Is her heart human? Are you sure she has a heart, and is not all spirit? I have heard it said that she was only enchanted flesh. The Doctor has been very faithful, I must say, considering the jilt so long lago. She will have a curious fate with him." (There, I did not notice that before! What under the sun does John mean? I will ask Margaret about it. I wonder if that Doctor is not the fiend who stands between my friend and her happiness? There is a mystery here, certainly.)- "I wish I knew what sort of a woman you are growing up to be, Edith. Have you found out yet, that hearts have any other use than to act as vital organs merely; or are they, to, you, only curious pieces of clock-work, still?"Impertinent John Arden! You shall not kliow anything about it. My heart certainly is very little trouble to me, at present. I wonder, honestly, if there is any possibility of its being out of my possessions! AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY -OF GIRLHOOD. That wonder, my best journal, you may keep as entirely to yourself as you can." - Feb. lst.- '"Such a mysterious thing has come to my knowledge to-day. I aln out of breath with all the sugges- tions which my veryactive imagination is making. Madame Renau-the Madame Renau of Angela--is the Madame Renau of Helen Manners, too! It is like a play, or a fairy story; it ought to begin with ' Once upon a time,' and end with ' So they were married, and lived long and happily'- only I don't know whom to marry yet. The plain prose of it is, that Angela has had a. correspondence with this friend of her mother's, Madame Renau, for--well--always, I suppose, I kno'w she often receives foreign letters. Madame has been governess to Miss Helen Manners-the Honourable Helen Manners, I ought to write-for several years. -Her mother, Lady Edith Manners, is dead, having died of a rapid decline this past autlumnn. -Helen loves the good governess better than she does the beautiful Lady Mary, her brother's wife, and having no sister, and one brother already in this country (I know all about that!) she persists in remaining with Madame, even though the dear lady thinks of removing to the United States. My blessed Angela has procured Madame a situation in our old seminary. She is to take the place poor Pellico had to vacate in the fall, and become the senior instructor in Angela's own department! Now I'm out of breath again, anid while I am stopping to rest my scatter. brains, I will make, on paper, an amende to Captain Man- ners for an injury I have done him, only in my own mind. I could not help confounding -him with that ridiculous Compte, who made love to Estelle Beekman, last summer; and I have been thinking ever since I heard her story, bow page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] ": ASPIRATION: , I was duped in the coach by the impostor. Not even Mary has had the advantage ofn my suspicions-so I have no con- fessions to make, saving to my faithful little leather-covered blank book here, dubbed 'Journal.' I wish I was a boy, and could throw up my hat and 'hurrah!' What will the Honourable Miss Helen Manners do amongst us Yankee girls? is a very serious question--which I, who am supposed to know nothing about her ladyship, shall keep to myself." March 2d.-"Angela has been telling me about another very recent letter. Madame Renau writes that her ward, as she calls the young lady, will spend a year in our school, pur- suing the regular studies of the seniors (we shall be in the same classes) and then will probably join her brother Walter, in Quebec, he being the favourite brother, and a very worthy and high-minded man. The two brothers, in England, are rather annoyed, but Miss Helen has always been very pe- culiar; and as their mother was very indulgent to her, they dislike to constrain her now. I have not said a word to An- gela, of any previous knowledge of these people, and I shall enjoin it upon Clara and Mary to be equally discreet. An- gela suggests that Capt. Walter Manners must be a very wor- thy gentleman, and I reply, ' Doubtless.' She says brothers are apt to be load-stones, (she would not be here but for Ralph, I know), and I say, ' Some brothers are, I am aware.' Angela says, 'You seem indifferent to this intelligence, Edith; you will love her much, and I really think the young lady may be quite an acquisition to our school.' I say, ' I beg your pardon, dear Angela, I cannot be indifferent to any- thing that will make you happy ;' and -so she kisses me, and goes away.' -AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 95 March 8th.--' Miss Hazeltine has been spending the even- ing in my room. She said: "Why do you shun me, my dear Edith?" "I do not, knowingly." "You are too busy; you work too much. It will make you sick. It has been a bad thing removing the restriction of study-hours from your room and Miss Crosby's--neither of you have been in bed before twelve o'clock -at night, and you both look haggard." "I require very little sleep. Mary goes to bed at the usual time." ?"What has been, the absorbing occupation?' "Writing." "Have you many correspondents ." "Very few. All whom I love best in the wQrld are here in Northden." "You are writing for the valedictory?" "It mlay be in my mind to strive for it; but I write be- cause I am impelled to do so: I write for the flames; the papers burn brilliantly the next morning." "Is your aunt ambitious for you . Does she think you will take the valedictory?2" "I never heard her speak of my writing but once--and that was rather of my reading." "What was it I She is a very acute and discriminating woman.' "I asked her, last August, if she heard me read my com- position. I know I was rather vain-self-complacent about it; she saw it, and said coolly: ' I heard you s/nging some- thing out, at the other end of the Hall.' " Miss Hazeltine was obliged to laugh. "You read much better now, Edith. What has stimulated you V" page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 ASPIRATIO : "That, and Professor Worden's advice to keep to my Latin, and let English composition alone." "You have braved their opinions nobly, Edith. You should feel much encouraged. I see you strive for position. You will doubtless have a brilliant one. in the world. Your beauty (!) and your brilliancy, and your wealth, will all conm- mand attention, envy, admiration, but not happiness, dear child. If you would strive as ea(gerly for the wisdom from on high; for the commendation of your enlightened conscience; for the love, and peace, and trust, which make the sum of a Christian's happiness, what a future yours might be! But remember, Edith, with all your possessions, lacking these, you are poor." "She was exceedingly tender, to-night. She has softened, perceptibly, of late. There seems to have' been a new ,neas- ure of humanity poured into her nature. She recognizes the heart as the seat of the affections, John would say. Still this new quality could not be called ' earthness.' She is none the less ready to leave this world ; at least she-is quite well fitted for the abode of Him who is the source, as well as object of the purest and strongest of loves, a, she was on New Year's Eve, I being judge! When she spoke of being , able to marry a poor man, if one wished to-as if that was one of the advantages of being rich; ' not but true affection would overlook the absence of wealth on both sides, but to cumber a poor man with a poor wife, is often to bind him down by weights and chains to a poverty which would crip- ple his powers, and leave him a drudge always'--as she spoke, a crimson blush overspread her fair face. I would not wish to know more than she would like me to, but if that remark was not brought from her own experiende, I am more 'mistaken than I think. Verily, the fear of this has been the mitknta A V 1, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 97 secret of her remaining unmarried; and the noble sacrifice she has made, has invested her with such celestial purity', and assisted her to spiritual consecration. There was more hu- man nature in that blush than I ever saw in her before." Thus far, my journal; with its siftings of myself and others. It was a very necessary thing to me, in those days, to have such a safety-valve. Whether it was froth or sedi- ment which found its way there, certainly my spirit was left clearer for the effervescence, and my heart lighter of many a burden which I cast upon the unconscious pages. IX. THE last of March came, and with it the furious winds and -the storms of sleet and snow with which winter takes her leave of that northern region. The literary society, which was ambitiously kept up in our department of the Institution, was to have the annual public meeting, which always signal- ized the end of the'winter term. Amongst the pupils was an English girl, Charlotte Tremaine, of high birth, but of higher inheritance still, inasmuch as she had from her mother a gift of genius, which was the wonder of our school. Char. lotte had prepared, and adapted for this public meeting, a lit-- tie drama, which was well conceived and well written. It represented five eras in the chequered life of Josephine. In the assignment of characters, that of the Empress had fallen to me, and I was very much occupied with my part, study- ing and rehearsing before Charlotte, Angela, and one or two others, whose judgment in these things could be depended upon. The night for the meeting came, and in spite of the Egyp- f s. page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 - ASPIRATION, tian blackness and the driving sleet, the Hall was filled with guests. The exercises of the evening passed off with con- siderable eclat. I took part in a Spanish dialogue, which I had written myself, and I read a long treatise on something, I cannot remember what, now. When the time for the Dra- ma came, I looked around for Angela, who was to serve as my tiring -woman, but she was not to be found. Margaret Crosby came to my aid, and told me that Angela had beeln called away by -her brother, a few moments before, but would be in again soon. "Mr. Haine said it was an absolute shame, when so much courtesy was always paid to the young ladies at the public meetings of the societies at the Institution, that such a slight i should be put upon the young gentlemen now. It was pro- voking to call this a public meeting, and invite only ladies." ! "It is hardly fair, Margaret, but then they do not consider i that what is naturally a pleasure to them, to display to us ; their oratory, and so on, would be such an annoyance and 1 cause so much confusion to us. How would I feel, dancing about before those young men, in this child's dress, with only the edge of the pantalette showing below it! And how would Lydia keep a straight face with Uncle Ernest's cloak wrapped around her, his boots on, and Abby Dale's frizzes, by way of whiskers! Not much like Napoleon; is it-? But she does anything to make the face that of a man. I fear I shall laugh when my noble lord, the Emperor, makes i - his appearance." "Such a- night as this is only fit to watch the falling of Napoleon's star. What could Angela's brother want of her to-night? I think it was just a freak of curiosity, to see what we were about." "Don't worry those curls, Margaret, putting this bodice AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 99 on. I have twenty-two on each side! Josephine had a famous curly head at this rate. If I remember rightly, I never saw curls in any of her pictures." "No matter, they make you beautiful. Look in that glass, Edith. I know that careless little Creole- was never half so lovely! What a colour you have!" "Yes, it will be so nice, when I am fainting in that woman's arms, on that straw bed! But of all difficult things to do to-night, Margaret, the most so is to look and act the graceful, dignified, fascinating Josephine, of Napoleon's court. Why, that woman's fascinations were as much the gift of Heaven, as an artist's skill or a poet's power." "There comes Lydia-see the crown. Hold here, a mo- ment, Lydia. What is it made of?--real diamonds and pearls! "Oh, Edith knows! There is a general contribution from the school, in the shape of little pearl breastpins, which we have stuck on every one of these points. You know the French crown is characterized by these points, rising around the sides; are they not nicely covered with gilt paper? I did that-but Mrs. Cuyler completed the 'bauble,' as History always calls the pretty thing." "No, Philosophy calls it a bauble, Lydia; History always makes its bow to crowns, very reverently." "No matter, I want to explain our diamonds to you, and I must hurry, for the recess is almost over, and then the cur- tain will be drawn aside / and Mle. Josephine must dance into view. Mrs. Cuyler put all these large diamond buckles around the crown. That in front was a belt buckle, and the others were her grandfather's knee and shoe buckles. She has worked the velvet in with them, in such a way, that you would never have any suspicion of their former shape and page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 - ASPIRATION: use"--and she put it on and drew me to the glass again. "There, you'll do. Mind you don't laugh when you see the little Emperor. I have got a real little cocked hat for my own wear. You see I can't distress myself, and you too, by keeping that clumsy ol]d iron crown of Charlemagne's on, in the scene which follows the coronation. I shall look so-see!" And holding up the fierce-looking frizzes-she puffed out her cheeks and marched up -to me-such a comical figure that we were laughing greatly, when Charlotte Tremainue came running into the "green room." "Take your places; run, girls! Where's the witch? You've come out in your own character for once, Clara!" The curtain rose, and the famous scene was acted, which though a matter- of tradition, all lovers of Josephine choose to believe in-the scene in the island of Martinique, where Josephine is selected from her companions by an old crone, who predicts, to her, her future grandeur. From the -moment that I made my appearance before the audience, my own in- dividuality vanished.? I felt Josephine, and I know that went a long Way towards my acting the part. I have no very dis- tinct-idea of the first scene; my memory lies chiefly where the young girl's imagination was directed, in the courtly salons of gay Paris. I have no remembrance, whatever, of the audience. I think it might have changed character alto- gether, and become half gentlemen, without my knowing it. I :forgot the minute directions I had received ; but carried oyt my-owi1- vivid conception of my part. I thrilled with the ecstatic glimpse of the future-I quivered with the rush of my fate-I sunk beneath its woe! I was alike unconscious of the laughter of my Creole companions, and of the further mumblings of the old fortune-teller. In the second scene, poor Josephine was lying on a prison AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY' OF GIRLHOOD. 101- palliasse, in the death-like stupor: following the agony with which she had learned the fate of M. Beauharnois. About- her, sympathizing with her, were the noble ladies who firstq shared her prison, and then the splendours of her court. I recall every shiver of passion which followed the awaking from thatIsleep. I remember that I prolonged. them by- an improvisation, of which I would have been incapable at an- other time. The energy with which I kissed poor Fred. Turell's miniature, and the tears which moistened a long lock of RalphI Haine's black hair, were as unaffected as pos- sible. How passionately I paced the narrow cell! and how vehemently I called for my children, and invoked vengeance on the slayers of their father, the girls would tell me to this' day. "Tearing passion to tatters," was quite my native ele- ment, I found.'-' Josephine herself could not have been more indifferent than I was to the robing in queenly attire, which preceded' my interview with Napoleon after the coronation. HowI dwelt in my own mind on the character of the man who snatched that rude crown from the fumbling old pope, and fitted it to his own great head. The story of the diamonds and the pearls which adorned the diadem I was to wear, had faded from my mind, and I regarded the representation of French regality, or rather of my companionship with the singular being, whose destiny had been' mingled with my own, with as much reverence as if there were no such things in the world as school-girls' brooches, or old men's shoe- buckles. Those were truly courtly robes which I wore. They be- longed to the wife of one of our foreign Ambassadors)'and had been worn at courts, and savoured of royalty. So, too, the exquisite laces, much of the:jewelry, and those fine cam - bric evening dresses, which I afterwards put on. , I - page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 ASPIRATION: My good Hortense was a charming girl, Belle Conant's cousin, and the daughter of one of our distinguished public men. She never returned to school after. that win- ter. When May came the Conants came back without her. Marianne was sick with a cold, and she would not be J back till the fall. But in the autumn they brushed aside the crimson and yellow leaves from their family burial ground, and. there laid poor Marianne Unwin! I never saw her after the night of the Drama ti a, , It was very crude, I know, all our scenery (!) and our cos- tumes, and even our conceptions of the characters. But to more than myself it was all we imagined it. One moment I escaped from the thrall under whose spell I was acting, and said to myself, "This- would doubtless be very funny to Captain Manners, familiar as he is with the genius of those men and women who have given so much fame to his Maj- J esty's Theatre. There is nothing absolute-this is all to us- that the Keans and Fanny Kemble could have imagined it to themselves, or could have made it to the noble frequenters of that Theatre." In the fourth scene the poor Empress is informed of Na- poleon's will in relation to that abominable divorce. I had a heart-ache during that hour, which would have "pressed the young life out," if long continued. I could not conceive how people writhe through such agonies night after-night, and live long lives-happy, careless lives,! I had more sym-- pathy with the great Talma, whose passion passed from his soul, and stopped forever the beating of his heart, as it had extinguished life in the man whom he was representing. Truly, 1 have thought, I gained greatly in womanhood during that play! ! The place which I was supposed to fill at Malmaison, the AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 103, scene of my last appearance, was quite as foreign to me as we know it must have been to the loving Josephine. There, could not be peace on earth,.for one whose life had been so racked by chagrin and sorrow, and whose heart had ever a great gaping, bleeding wound. I trust her God has given it to her purified spirit now; and given what earth's grandeur could. Quite spent and faint with the excitement, I was lying on a couch in the dresing-room, entirely indifferent to the chat- ter of the girls about me, when Angela made her first ap- pearance since her desertion of me. -- "My dear Edith, it was perfection! You were Josephine. I congratulate you a thousand times. I cannot tell you a hundredth part of what I have heard said. You amazed every one.: They are all talking about you. How pale you. are, dear! very tired?" - "Yes, Angela, dear; I am too tired to know or care whether I am in the body or out. I wish you would go home with me.' "I cannot to-night, -Edith. Margaret will go: see, she is ready with your cloak and hood. Come." But I turned my face down, and choked back a great sob. It was useless; the tears would come, like a summer rain, plentiful but brief. I felt better, breathed freer. This was the relief I craved. The girls were very much alarmed; they ran -for restoratives, and whispered to each other, and looked at me. As soon as I could speak I tried to hush the, little tumult. "Nonsense; I am quite: well now, don't you see? Thank you for the vinegar, Belle, but I never needed it less in my life ;" and I rose up and tossed back the wealth of curls which had adorned the Creole maiden, and since then had been variously concealed under crown, caps, and veils. page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 ASPIRATION-: "That is Edith Arden again," said Angela. "Here, bathe your red eyes a minute. The people are going home, and you must speak to some. of them." "I cannot, Angela; I am too tired. I fairly stagger with weariness. I will see them all in the course of the vacation, and make all amends." 4"I will not distress you, Edith; you shall- only give them your'hand on your way- to the carriage. You need not say anything, dear. They all know how you have been taxed; but I have a reason for my request." We went down stairs, and Angela and Margaret half car- -ried me. I was really ill; shivering; but I would not own that. They stopped a moment by the door of the, small withdrawing-room, only opened for guests. I distinguished no faces; but, as I leaned on Margaret's arm, I heard An- gela say: "Edith is worn out, quite overcome to-night, Madame; but she is very glad to see you, and you will love her dearly some day. Edith, this is my mother's best friend!" I saw through the crowd of faces and figures which swam before my eyes a- serene and noble woman, who kissed me- tenderly, and said, "I shall love you, I know," and then the persevering Angela put my hand in that of another stranger, and said: "It is Miss Manners, Edith." A pale, sweet face bent to mine; warm lips pressed my own, and a gentle voice said, "I have been ready to love you a long time." I was beginning to rouse, as if some stimulant had been administered. I felt the hot- blood mounting to my face. Some of the rare excitement re- turned. I stood up and tried to think. I was conscious much was meant in what the stranger had said. She still * }. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 105 held my hand, and I saw growing, distinct between me, and the crowd around; the figures of two men. I knew the fore- most-yes, that was Ralph Haine, the young Professor; but the other-I did not need the military dress or, the words of Ralph as he introduced us. I knew those eyes now bent on my face. I felt my hand relinquished by his sister to be grasped by him. I heard as plainly as though no other voice had been near-that which spoke- to me alone-words which no -ear but mine might hear: "Edith-" how the tenders passion in that voice thrilled me!-"Edit h will you ever return from such an apotheosis to this life--to me?" I made no answer. Angela said I must go home; and he- almost carried me to the carriage: My handlstill lay in his, as he stood by the open door while the carriage waited for my aunt, and Mary and Margaret, who would not leave me. There was a moment in the dark night--in the storm. He spoke again : "Forgive me that I say' Edith.' You are no nearer to me than you have been every hour since we parted. I have had, always, a little hope of this meeting! I am beside myself to-night!, Cannot you speak to me:? You leave me your hand! Call my name, Edith! Let me hear you call me Walter. They are coming!-for the love of Heaven, speak!" He bent his head nearer mine, and I said "Not to-night, I have no strength." "To-morrow! say to-imorrow, I shall see y;ou." "Yes, to-morrow, Walter." They were coming down the steps.. Aunt Eleanor was speaking to me-I do not know what she said. I had no consciousness of life, but I remembered afterwards a: wild; kiss, pressed on the imprisoned hand, and the words "To- morrow! hope! life!" were floating through my mind. 5 . page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 ASPIRATION': Theysaw I was too'ill to talk.: My aunt blamed herself that she had allowed this excitement to follow the nervous prostration, which had been evident in me during the latter part of the term. I made no remonstrance. I did not speak. I could not raise my head from Margaret's shoulder. I did not think or dream. I was in a stupor. I had no need to envy Mary her ability to sleep that night. I lay like a baby, so quiet- and helpless, and inert. I did not know when morn- ing came-that significant "to-morrow" had no meaning to me now; I did not know that Captain Manners came up- that to-morrow was the last day his furlough allowed him to re- main. I knew nothing of his confidence with -Helen, telling her the whole of our previous acquaintance as he had already sketched it to her-nor of the consolation which only she could give him, when he had to leave without seeing me again-without one last word-with no other comfort than these words of Doctor Heron's: "She will live; she will be quite herself again in a few days. Foolish girl--studied too hard; can't bear it. Very excitable-'keep -books away--she'll get over it." They told me what the Doctor said, and what H had said myself during the hours when unconsciousness became deliri- um; how I had raved about Josephine, and a thousand other things. For one thing I was very thankful, I had said no- thing of Margaret-nothing of Captain Manners. That pas- sionate interview-though it had given the last stroke to the tottering brain, had come when I had too little consciousness left, for it to become incorporated into the excitement which was already doing its work upon my nervous system. It was many days before I recalled it all, and came to associate it with the idea of reality, and to comprehend what Mary did not, the- very great interest manifested by Captain Man- . , -AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 107 ners; an interest she could not account for fitly, even by the stage-coach reminiscence. X. THE first day tnat I was able to see her, Angela came up. She talked as much as Aunt Eleanor Nyould allow her to do, of that evening--of the drama, and of her new friends. - She told me that Helen Manners was most charming; different from any one she had ever known; that Helen was anxious to see me-anxious on her own account, and because her brother took such an interest in me. And then Angela ral- liedl me about that stage coach ride and acquaintance, which I had never mentioned to her, and I defended myself by say ing, "Why should I tell of it? How did I know that I should ever see or hear from him again? How foolish it would have been to expatiate upon the merest incident!" "But you knew it was his sister coming to school here. You knew so much about her, and Madame' Renau,:and all the family! Oh, Edith! you were so cool and indifferent. I begin to see--" ' What, Angela!", "That there must have been something to conceal. If it had been no more to you than the mere incident you say, you would have been more frank; but I will be generous, my dear child. I will never speak of it again, till you de- sire it. You shall tell me all, or nothing, just as you -wish." "Dear Angela, that is like yourself. I hardly know what. I could tell you. When I am stronger I will talk to you. I am a perfect baby now, and I have the poorest, shallowest brain that ever you can imagine," page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 ' ASPIRATION-: "(I have established the new comers at the boarding-house, after all, Mrs. Cuyler," said Angela to my aunt, when she ca me in to see that I was not getting too tired with rmy vis- itor. "When they found out that we wanted them to go to Col. Nelson's, because the room was larger and better furnished, and the table a little improvement upon our Com- mons, they protested against it most earnestly.. Miss Helep -though she insists I shall not call her Miss Helen-was almost angry that I should think she would care ab\out such things; and Madame said that was her peculiarity. She had as sovereign a contempt for the comforts even of life, to say nothing of its luxuries, as a human being could have. I never saw two plainer people, more simple, more earnest, more spirituelle." "How does Miss Beekman take to the new comers?" "She cannot make up her mind about Helen's sanity. But I believe her last idea is, that if it is really true that she is so nobly connected and well born as they say, that her family have become wretchedly poor, and that she is very thankful- to get even enough to eat. She said as much- to me to-day, and I told her Helen's own birthright of diamonds would buy a dozen Estelle Beekmans." 1' Estelle never saw below the surface of life-never will." ( No, I suppose she never looks around her room without a mental contrast between it and the luxurious apartment she left in St. Mark's Place. After calling Helen's attention to the table-furniture-you know they do use very queer- looking dishes, as mis-matched as possible-she referred to the:parlours, the uncarpeted halls, the girls' rooms." "It. makes me miserable," she said, "that clumsy red- stained wardrobe, and square unpainted wash-stand, with the little bowl and pitcher. I had: never made a-bed in my life AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD . 109. till I came here; and we have to take care of our wash- stands too.. Ernestine Shipley rooms with me. She is no more used to it than I am, but she takes to it quite naturally, so I allow her to do it; her own turn and mine too." "'I am surprised that you should suffer her to do your por- tion of the duty, too, Miss Beekman," said Helen, quite se- verely. "-I beg Madame to permit me to do all that is required in our room, for of course, as I am so much the younger, I might be allowed to. But she says 4 No, it would be setting a poor example to others.' It is no hard- ship; it is exercise; it is a kind of recreation. I am getting- very much interested in doing these little things well. So, I am only allowed, occasionally, to bring her some fresh water, by way of serving her.' Estelle looked at her a moment, in surprise, and then said: "You are Madame's ward and pupil, are you not?" "Yes," said Helen, smiling. "She ought to wait on, you then, I should think. You should have seen the way old Mademoiselle de Vere used to wait on me when I was a child in my father's -house--my maid had scarcely anything to do for me." ( I should have blushed to receive such service from a cul- tivated alid superior woman," Helen said severely, again. "Superior, indeed! She was as poor as poverty! She had been used to taking care of herself, and waiting on. her mother for years, till the old woman died. But mamma always paid her for doing extra work. I could not tell you the quantity of things she gave Mademoiselle, and the clothes o papa, which the poking creature made over for her little nephew, who was an orphan, and lived with them." They separated then, Estelle going off in ,disdain from the low-mninded creature, as she seems to considers Helen. The page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O - ASPIRATION: English girl drew a deep sigh, and said that she hoped there were not many in our country like Miss Beekman, so narrow- minded, and, she was going to say, innately vulgar, I'm sure-but she stopped just then-and of course I defended our country-women. I held Edith up as a specimen of a dif- ferent disposition, under similar circumstances. Helen said she was very anxious to know her better, for her brother had told her a great deal about a journey she had made in company with him, and he wanted her to know her and love her like a, sister. Certainly you would find innumerable sympathies in common. "The poor Captain was half distracted, Edith, that he had to leave without seeing you, again; -his disappointment and his anxiety were so great, that he just walked the parlour floor for half the evening, forgetful of Helen, Madame, and everybody else." "There, Angela," said Aunt Eleanor, as she saw the blood rushing to my face at this information, " you have talked all I can allow you to, this afternoon; Edith is very weak still, and Dr. Heron forbids the least excitement." So Angela kissed me and went away, and I turned my face from the light, and closed my eyes and seemed to sleep. It was well Angela stopped when she did. It would have been better had she stopped sooner. I had heard more than was needful to convince me of Captain Manners' feelings for me, and I had no need now to study the character of my emotions for him. There was no question of the resting- place my heart had found, and I often wondered at my se- renity during the winter. It was all owing to the torment- ing conviction, that Captain Manners was the identical Compie-a conviction against which I rebelled every time the - t I AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. Ill ideas met-so truly had I been impressed at the time with the truth and earnestness of the person before me. My fancy was always engaged, and my heart was ready to fol- low it, when I learned from Angela's letters, that CaptainMfan- ners was the high-minded, honourable ,man, I longed to ; believe- him. His presence that night, his eager, impas- sioned manner and words, brief though the whole scene was, were enough to give the love that had sprung up, something tangible to grasp. I knew this would not be the last; I felt sure I should hear from him, should see him again; and mean- while, in those long quiet hours, I lay in waking dreams of happiness, which were quite as effectual towards my restora- tion as Dr. Heron's prescriptions, or Aunt Eleanor's care. Margaret had been indefatigable in her loviing attentions, but she did not remain very long with me; when she knew I was no longer in danger, she insisted upon leaving. She had promised to pass the vacation with her guardian. She had no particular pleasure in the prospect; she had, indeed, rather be with me than anywhere else; but there were reasons relating to others which rendered it desirable for her to go. I told her that Uncle Ernest had written to John, and he was coming; she must wait a dax or two and see him. "No, Edith, you cannot tempt me. If it were not very necessary for me to go away, I would remain while you are sick, my poor girl." "But, Margaret, you said yesterday, you were only think- ing about leaving. You can do me more good than any one in the world. You are the only person Aunt Eleanor really trusts. Angela excites me too much, Mary is not lively enough, and poor Martha Adams is too much occupied at home." page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 ASPIRATION: '"That plea, for yourself, ismthe strongest one that you can make, dear. But do not blame me; it would be taking my destiny in my own hands to remain-the reasons against it grow more and: more imperative." "How can your feel so, Margaret! I am astonished at you. You do not' expect to meet him at Milton?" "If I did, Edith, I should not go. I would rather not see him now." "Why would you avoid, an explanation, which would cer- tainly take place were you, to meet . You have not ceased to love him. I believe a person. having once loved you, could never say, ' loved: once ;' and I do believe he loved you--for I know how you impress people. Why do you persist in shunning anything-which. would lead to a meeting? Why suffer any one to come between you, and remain there? Truly, it seems to me as if you were bent upon thwarting Providence." "Edithj" said my friend, almost sternly, "'he knows, where I am; why does he not write to mee? Why did he leave me alone in H--, alone day after day, week after week, month after month, till, I was alone with my dead? Edith, do not urge me; do not recall him. I am struggling to forget him-it is my only hope for peace. Your faith in him does me no good. He was 'an angel of light,' Edith, but you know the transformations that can be made in all parts of God's creation. Oh, if you had seen him as I have, with his glorious eyes, and his noble head, a very: crown of intellect; had you heard- him soften that voice, majestic as a god's, to words of such infinite tenderness, and seen in his eyes a new gospel of love; had you been gathered up to that great heart, and heard its mighty throbs of emotion, of what you felt to be intense living love for yourself; had AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP GIRLHOOD. 1 3 you been won thus to the gates of heaven by this son of the morning, and when its glories were opening upon you, and its music was ringing in your ears-had the same hand that held you up, thrust you down from that great height to the cold hard earth, and sent you, staggering under, the blow, into a waste howling wilderness, would you care to live? Would you long for the presence of the tempter? Would you crawl to his feet and beg to be lifted up again,? Would you sigh for the heaven he was in? Say, would you tear open the great wound in your heart, and beg him to pity you and love you? Answer me, Edith--shall I seek an ex- planation?"' Before I could answer this proud, sad woman, my aunt came in and laid upon my pillow a letter from John. Mar- garet started to leave, but Aunt Eleanor said, "It is only a short note from John, saying he will be here in the afternoon stage, Edith need not read it yet. You are pale, Margaret. That long -walk was too much for you. Stay with us till evening." Poor Margaret was indeed pale, and quivering with the strength of the emotion she had given utterance to; but she persisted in leaving me, and now I could not urge her any longer to stay. I could only say, "God bless you, my Margaret, and bring you back clothed and in your right mind." She tried to smile, but the attempt was idle. This- was our last interview for a month. She wrote to me from her guardian's, 'that she was regaining her serenity ; that per- haps the cold, unsympathizing Judge was the bestCompanion she could have just now. "I sit beside this compendium of law, this huge digest of legalities, 'clothed and in my right' mind.' He-says I am a sensible woman, a modicum of praise which amazed me; but you may judge from it, Edith, that I have improved some since our last interview. Have page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 ASPIRATION: o no anxieties about me. Get well as quick as you can, for- when I return I shall have some questions to put to you. I must tell you now, that I have read in your eyes ' the secret of a happy thought you do not care to speak V!" Yes, of course she had; thanks to my tell-tale face and manner, and even lips! I had written to Margaret before this letter came, the first long letter which I had written since my illness. I had ex- patiated at great length on John's arrival, on his tenderness to me, so new from him, and what Ralph Haine had said about John on Christmas Eve, and added : "You would be- lieve it, could you see him now. He will stand by himself in the great world, soon, and strike doughty blows at the follies of the age. He is the Titan in mental power that he is in physical. His head is modelled from Olympian Jove, and were he a little less cynical, his heart would do honour to it. He seems almost to recoil from stepping forth into the world. He seems to feel that it is given to him to move men, and he dreads the tumult. Thus I interpret his perti- nacious seclusion. We have been talking about you to-day, and I told him all about your mother's sickness and death. He never moved his eyes from me while I was speaking. I could not read them--they sometimes wear such a set, hard look, as if he held his heart in a vice, and was afraid to trust it out of that iron clasp, lest it should soften like other men's. You need not be alarmed, dear. Your secret was entirely untouched--indeed, I would rather John would never know that part of your history. He did not make many comments, but I know he was much interested, for when I waked up after a nice sleep, which followed this long talk, there was John, sitting as if he had not moved his eyelids, and his book was open at the same page at which he had AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 15 stopped to talk with me. I wish you knew my brother, Margaret; you are the only woman in the world who could move him-the only one worthy of standing beside him- able to reach up to his aspirations." To my surprise, Margaret never referred in her letter to what I had written of John. I felt a little hurt, but I con- soled myself with thinking, "Poor girl, she has taken a sort of vow against mankind. I will not worry her any-longer with my misanthropic brother." One day John was particularly bitter, and I was stung by Some harsh things which seemed the involuntary expres- sion of a tortured heart. I was very unhappy, I was almost angry with him, but I only allowed myself to rally him-on his mood. "I have seen more of the world than you have, little g"q," he answered me. "I have broken through some of the crust which glosses over society. I found hollowness and deceit in the fairest show the world ever saw. Edith, I have been duped, and I say it. I confess my shame, and despise in myself the faith which suffered it. I had yearnings in my soul which Europe, with its storied Past, and our land, with its mighty Future, could not satisfy. I sought in society some solace for these cravings-but man is hard and selfish, and woman frivolous or false." "Nonsense, John, you encountered a flirt, in the first turn you, took in the world, and by her you judge all women. I am ashamed of you; if the first man you had seen on landing in England had been a Chinese, would you have re- turned to the ship and reported the inhabitants to be China- men? First, you show so little discrimination as to fall in love with a flirt, and then when naturally enough you are page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 ASPIRATION: thrown aside-the orange being found too- sour, perhaps- you say that you know all womankind, and all are flirts." "I did not fall in love with a flirt, Edith., I never was interested in but one woman, and she was a Minerva for wisdom, and a Venus for- beauty." "-Stately as Juno, and cold as Diana." "Perhaps so; all women are made of ice, or else they are fools." "Now hush, John Arden, you confess that a woman who would love you would be a fool--who would not, is a block of ice." "Laugh -away, little sister; if you- encounter no shoals in the course of your ' true love,' whenever that time comes, you will be befriended by more than human prescience. All others land high and dry on rocks, or go down in deep seas. But you have to deal with men, my encounter was with a woman; and I tell you, that man does not live who could not be deceived by a woman-he has not lived. since the days of Adam; whether you trace the race through the- Rebeccas and Delilahs of the Bible, or the Helens of profane history." I have watched John with the girls who have come up to see me. Nearly all my favourites are here during the vaca- tions, and I see he is a stone to every woman he meets. Nothing moves him, no one would make him turn around for another glance. I wish so earnestly, and oh, so vain-ly, that he could have met Margaret Crosby when both were free. Such an untoward, fate as has befallen these people, and yet with such, examples before me, how confident I feel. I have a kind of satisfaction sometimes in falling back upon my happiness, as if, of all uncertain, indefinite things, my hap- piness were not the most uncertain, the most indefinite. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 17 XI. ONE day when Angela came up to the house, she asked me if I thought I was well enough to receive Madame PRenau and Miss Manners on the following day. Aunt Eleanor answered for me that I was, and that she too would be most happy to see them. So they were invited to spend the day. I was in great perturbation when I found out that thev were coming for the day; my trouble, which was kept to myself, lasted just five minutes, and then an angry "don't be a fool,'Edith," which I sent in amongst the mutineers restored order and brought me to my senses. I met them in Aunt Eleanor's little sitting-room, where John had carried me that morning, and laid me down on the couch as tenderly as a mother could carry a sick baby. Then after he had retreated as far as the fire-place, where he leaned his huge shoulders, he quizzed me for a few minutes till the colour came back into my face, and the banter had provoked a lively retort from the lips generally now so still and colourless. "There'! droop the lids over those enormous eyes a little, Edith, and smooth -the waves of your brown hair, and you would do to put in a glass case--don't frown, my dear, it spoils the effect. I shall really be proud to introduce you to these strangers, for I suppose this is as good as a first appearance. The honourable Miss Helen Manners! Is my cravat properly tied? The honourable Miss Helen Manners, and here I am in my slippers!"' So John disappeared, and in a moment the. new friends for whom I was looking, came in. Angela was delighted to find me downstairs, and Madame ;and her ward offered page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 ASPIRATION: their sincere congratulations to me on my convalescence.- did not try to talk much, but I watched Helen Manners till I encountered her eye so often, that I quite lost my self-pos- session. She smiled as if well pleased with the scrutiny, and yet there was certainly no vanity in the smile. It seemed the result of a pleasure which was as remote from herself as possible. By-and-bye Ithe party adjourned to the library to look over some of Uncle Ernest's treasures in the shape of very old books. Helen remained with me, and sat beside me on a low seat, where she could talk to me in an undertone, that suited best what- she had to say. "I cannot tell you how impatient I have been for this hour, Edith. I want to talk to you of my brother Walter. He left a thousand messages for you-he told me so many, and sometimes such curious, contradictory things, which I was to repeat to you, that you will not blame me if I resolve them all into one importunate appeal. In truth, I don't know that I am needed to say anything, for I received a letter from him, a few days ago, containing one addressed to yourself. Here it is, of goodly size and thickness. Will you read it now?" "I cannot read it now, I would rather save my strength." "And the letter too, perhaps. Well, you are right. There will be nothing new in it. You know, I'msure you cannot doubt, Edith, that Walter loves you." "I felt my face and neck grow crimson as I listened to this breathing aloud of the thought that stirred only in my inner heart. "That bright flush is a tell-tale, dear Edith; Walter would rather see it than any spectacle on earth. Oh, you do not know what a man that brother of mine is, dear." AN AUTOBIOGRAPEHY OF GIRLHOOD. * 119 "Hush, hush-how can he love--how can I believe, it, when he saw me but that once-he knows nothing of me. It is all unreal-he deceives himself-I must not rest upon it." "You would not dislike to believe it-the conviction of it does not give you any pain?'? "Oh no, but it was so sudden-he said that night that he was beside himself-some strange influence possessed him.; he has repented by this time." "Then he does not tell the truth in his letter to me.- Oh! Edith, you wrong him. From the day you first met, his feelings have been stirred, and, finally, long before he saw you on that night, he had resolved to throw himself at your feet. You were the ideal he had been seeking; you moved him as no other woman could: but I need not explain this- his letter will say all that needs to be said. I only want to hear you say that you will not be unmerciful to him, the best and kindest brother that ever lived! Mamma idolized 'him. She would have idolized him, I mean, had not her -piety kept her heart from idols. Dear mamma! she knew all about it; Walter wrote to-her firs".' Was not this an excess of happiness which might kill me! My heart was beating too wildly. I could not speak, had I tried. I lay quite still, therefore, and listened to the con- firmation of my blessedness. "Mamma talked with me about you. She wished so much that she could have seen you. - She bade me tell you, -for she knew I was coming to America when she was gone,-that she left for you the blessing of a mother." "How could she knotw-?"I began to ask, but the fast rolling tears forbade my speaking. -"I know what you mean, Edith-how could she know page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 ASPIRATION: that you would love Walter. She knew how formed he was to be loved, and she knew such love as he felt for you would not plead in vain, unless another had the heart he sought. Of that he has always seemed to have a strange security- whatever causes it, whether it be his vanity-and, indeed, I never knew him affected with that disease-or something you carelessly said, or some happy presentiment, which has foreshadowed to. him his fate." "I have heard nothing from, him since--" "No, poor fellow, that was a great trouble to him. He hardly knew how to write-or dared to, before mamma was taken sick, and then he was miserable about her. She died in the last month of the autumn, and immediately after Walter was apprized of our intention of coming to this country. It was his wish that I should come here to this school, and if Madame had not procured the position in it she has; for his chief idea, from the first, was that I should know you, and should plead his cause. Hasty Walter that he is! he told me merely what he had said to you that night, and while he was half crazy with the ray of hope he won from you, I was half angry that he should be so impatient; so regardless of the ,real illness which 1, in a- moment, saw you were suffering." "That did me no harm-seeing him or listening to him: I was, indeed, sick that very evening; I was conscious oi- strange feelings even before the evening came. But little accustomed to attend to my physical sensations, I was re- gardless of them. It would have been all the same had I not seen him, except," said l, covering my face with my thin hands, "except that I should have lost the sweet dreams which, waking and sleeping, have-blessed me." Dear Edith! darling sister '" said the enthusiastic girl, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 121 kissing my forehead, " how happy, you make me! Walter will be here in August-he cannot come earlier; he is trying to find a purchaser for his commission. He will be- plain Walter Manners when you see him again, I hope. None the- less admirable to you for that, I'm certain." t "I do not care how he comes, Helen. I have never really seen him in my life, however: first, I saw his uncouth dress and those outlandish whiskers; then, when I was forced to talk to him, I would not look at him, and when he had won me by his eloquent words, I could not look at him." "So you would not know this face, my dear Edith " I opened my eyes quickly, and saw in Helen's hands a miniature the counterpart externally of the one he had shown me of his mother in the fall. The face was the same--yes, I knew it instantly and, involuntarily, I put out my hands for it. It seemed looking at me just as he had looked at me in the stage-coach. I could almost see in it the thrilling look he had bent on me in the hall, that night, when I first dis- cerned him. Again tears filled my eyes, as I looked on that loving face, and they did not vanish when I heard Helen say,- "It was mamma's own picture of him, Edith; she gave it to me for you, if you desired to have it-if you would wear it as she had always done, on her heart;, there," slip- ping the- slender chain around my neck, "put it away, dear; it is yours-we all wish it so." Then Helen kissed me, and said she would leave me for a while. I was getting excited-she had talked to me so much ---she would shuit the door, and tell them I was trying to sleep, and that would give mre a quiet half hour "to sleep, if you can, you know, dear Edith, for I must tell them so," and then, smiling archly, the sweet girl went out and left me, page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 ASPIRATION?': To sleep! Oh! Helen Manners, well you knew, there was no sleep for my eyes, ache as they minght, with that dear face looking on me, as I held the picture in one hand and in the other the letter, whose contents I could so well imagine:! At first, I thought I would not break the seal now-I would save it till tiight, but I could not resist the temptation to see the tracery of his dear hand--I must read a little, and thus I read,- "My Edith :- May I write it so . dare I call you mine, when you have given no answer to -all ,this irresistible out- going of my heart to you. But how could you answer me? I have seen you but that once, and then you were:suffering- my'poor love--and I only increased it by my mad'pertina- city. But you did answer me-you called me by mynatme, as I had implored you to do. Yes, I will not doubt my happittes- I carinot delay for formts and proprieties--I do noit ask if another has the heart I covet. I know it is mine -a'blind faith has led me on all the time, since I saw you that autumn day. I have had faith as well as hope.: It has seemed to me as if I was often taking spiritual cognizance of the shul for which I was waiting--of the heart Which I longed to hiaveein my keepilg. :I have twice attempted to come to you. The first time the leave was granted; but unexpected orders froth head-quairters cau'sed it to be revoked. The second time I went first for my sister alnd Madame, and when I reached you it was too late to see you-no, not too late to see you -do not blame your friend that she was gener- ous to us strangers. I saw you through all your little play; - nivy first glimpse of you was when you bounded on the stage in the pretty Creole dress, and I almost sprang for- -walrdto catch you and push back those curls that I might seo y} s ee XAN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 13 your face, and meet again the bright glances which first ,bound me to you. Need I tell you how .I watched you all through that evening-in every aspect which you wore? Once I even fancied you were thinking of me; you see how -wild I grew under your spells. You enchanted me-you beguiled my soul from my body by your faiscinatiols. Ah, Edith, be merciful to me; you had enough to answer for that night. "I tried to be very calm, and to restrain myself most resolutely when I met you. I was calm, externally, when I remember the tumult which possessed my heart. Did I not speak gently to you?-did H not carry you tenderly to the carriage, my darling?-even when my words seemed abrupt to you, I tried to measure them, but in vain. I knew you were ill-I was distracted. I saw you going away from me, and there was a chance-I bethought it even then--that I might not see you on the morrow. Then you called my name, and I knew I might call you mine; that little hand which lay in mine-ah, you were willing it should lie there. I knew then that you would give it to me some day; that when I could prove to you my love, and time was ripe for so much bliss, you would place that little hand again in mine, that I might clasp it forever. God bless you, my darling, for the words you spoke; for the hand I held pledged to mine. This has been a rash, impulsive wooing; we have neither of us had the fear of man before our eyes ;what I said in my :sweet madness, and you -forbade not in your love, we will not'repent. I shall see you again ere many -months. Helen will tell you what I am trying to effect here. I will be very quiet, then, Edith. I: whM woo you with such grave pro- priety . I will win the little maiden, as noble lovers should, page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 - . ASPIRATION: with courtly words; and with the will of those who hold her now in charge-they little dream for whom. "Do you think me 'beside myself, still,' Edith--that I anm so secure in my happiness?- Should I be more timid? Should I doubt and hesitate, write formally, coolly, defer- entia]ly? Should I still distrust and fear the hand meant falsely, and the voice that called me Walter then would speak now coldly and say anything I would not wish to hear? Perhaps I ought to doubt and question, but for my life I cannot. Go where I will, the sweet hope goes with me; and in dreams I hold you all my own, little maiden and stately- woman-school-girl now-don't frown, my Edith. I never said it mockingly, even when I scanned you through that impertinent glass. Oh, you tried to be very angry with me then, but I won you from it; confess it, darling, I have won my love, and some day the 'school-girl' will be my sweet wife. "Edith, can you ever pardon my presumption? I try to write to you gravely, for it is no light thing, this love of mine; but grave words will not come from my pen, it is bewitched-this gray goose-quill--and suddenly while I ami resolving courtly phrases, I find ithe words upon the paper which lay in my heart in wait for you. You can frown. I've seen it, Edith. You can wear high looks and walk with stately mien. Your eyes can flash, soft and fringed as they are with beauty. Sometimes you say yoh'll only yield to courtly wooing and to dainty courtesy. Will you read this poor letter in:such a mood, and throw it from you* with all its wealth of the love of a true heart, becaus t is so bold of speech? Do you frown, sweet love? Do you rise up with that high look, and lift up the stately head with scorn on the crimson lips, and pride in: the round. white neck? No, no, not so, my Edith; poor suffering darling, how X AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 125 I have raved about you; how I have. pictured you as I saw you last, proud and lofty, queenly little being; not as you I will be when you read this, pale and feeble, without roses and diamonds.' You will lift up your languid head and say, 'this is tiresome, ill-judged, its vehemence wearies me, its presumption disgusts me ;' and the dear hand, smaller than ev;er, I fear, and thin, and weak, will brush away the offend- ing paper. "You see how it is, Edith, I say I believe in your love- then I torment myself with these doubts. I remember the B love will force me to; for poor love, it must have something to feed on; so I hope till I grow confident, and then I speak sternly to myself and ask how it is possible that .Edith can love me? When did she learn it? What could have won her? And then I see the frown and the weary look. Have I not suffered with your suffering, darling? And oh! to love you so, to come away with no comfort but this: ' She will live.' To know you were almost at death's door, and I must hasten away; fifty times I resolved to stay and brave the displeasure here, and the scandal there. I left Northden in a mental agony which exceeded your physical suffering. I was alone that night, and how I raved amid the noise of the rattling wheels, of the fate which was hurrying me away from you. Helen has sent me such consoling letters; I ; know when this reaches you, you will be almost yourself again. I cannot tell you upon paper the restlessness which possesses me; how I murmur at the length of days and months which lie between me and the joy of meeting you again. But I cannot come; even if I could, it would be un- wise, I know. See how calm, and wise, and patient I have become, how I can reason and decide what is best to be done. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 AxSPIRATIO: Best for you, darling, happiest for us both.. I write to you first, I know not to whorm else to- write. Tell me, Edith, when shall I ask for the little maiden? Who will give me the sweet wife I have won? Do not punish me for my boldness, however I meit it. I know I am most audacious, but I know you are magnanimous. I have waited along time for that blessed' to-morrow.' Send me quickly the first line the poor feeble hand can trace, and oh, Edith, tell me to live for you, my darling. He who pleads, you have trusted ere now-it is ' Walter.' " "EDITH, are you awake?" said Aunt Eleanor, at the half- open door, where it seems she had been standing for some time, watching me as I lay with closed eyes, in this happy maze. "I want to talk to you about May-day, two weeks from to-morroW. If you are well-enough, we will have a pic-nic on Arch Island." "By all mBeans, Aunt Eleanor. I shall be well enough, I know. You have no idea how strong and well I feel to-day, I believe I could accomplish anything with this amount of bodily nerve and sinew." "Is that the elixir in your hand?" I became conscious, for the first time, that I was holding before her the miniature and the letter. ^Without speaking, but with a burning face, I placed them both in her hands, and lay with closed eyes while she read the letter, and while I felt her scanning that bold, ingenuous face as-if to read in it any lurking deceit. I had hesitated what course to pursue. 1 knew that some person should be told of this, but I did not e AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 1t27 want either of my uncles to canvass: it yet. This- confidence. in Aunt Eleanor, thus easily given, was the very best thing to be done in the circumstances. I had full reliance oi her judgment; I had no longer any fear of doing wrong id in holding such a treasure in my own heart, if she approved. Aind she did not forbid it. "My dear child, I hardly thought it had come to this. Helen brought you these things.? I see that you have had,'till now, nothing to re- veal. Write to him, by-and-bye; tell him to write to your uncles; they have equal claims to be consulted in this matter. But there need be no haste. Nearly two years longer you must stay with us, and then you are going to teach, you know, my dear!" We both laughed a little. "'I shall have nothing to. teach him." "Nonsense, no man is so well learned, but a woman, a woman of inferior capacity, can instruct him still. What puzzles me, Edith, is to know how, in this new future, you will even find the discipline which your self-denial, and pa- tience, and forbearance were to give you in the other." "' I know not myself. But am I wrong, Aunt Eleanor, in this?" "No, dear. God knows what you need, and you may be sure the discipline will come in some way. I trust to Him, that it may be sent in love." ; "With Walter I could hear anything, Aunt Eleanor," I said, in a low voice. "Faithful, earnest affection is a great compensation : and even when that fails us, God can comfort us. There is such a broad, glorious sunlight over your future, Edith, as you look out to it, that you can see nothing but joy and gladness. I hope, dear child, that the promise you have will be all you look for it to be. There is no need of croaking in this page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 ASPIRATION: world where every one feels that he still is human and must encounter mortal pangs. To rob you of your dream now, would be a grievous wrong. I would not do it if I could, but I would have you chasten even this dear delight, and' subdue the keen feelings of the hour to a beauty and a rich- ness which shall only fertilize, not scorch the heart. When you feel strong- enough, write to Captain Manners. I will trust you to write all that you may and should say. Answer this, love, as your maidenly heart prompts you to. 'I am sure my confidence will not be misplaced in you, my daughter." Dear Aunt Eleanor, this trust and affection was very delightful to me! But I need not question Margaret now to compare emotions; there was a dearer love in life even than hers, even than that which I received from my proud, high- minded aunt!' ': And I shall arrange for the Mayday, Edith?" "Anything you please--I hope John will stay. I will keep him. I have an idea in my brain relating to him and Helen Manners."- "You may dismiss it as soon as you please, child. She is not made for John Arden." "Oh, Aunt Eleanor, you can't be certain of that." "I am certain that John has no heart to bestow." / "You don't mean to say that he is still in love with-" "I don't know with whom, Edith. But I do know that no man walks in a dream nas John does who has not had his senses ravished from him by a woman. He may talk as he will, he lives in the maze yet, poor fellow, for I do not believe he is happy in his affection." Miss Hazeltine, who had been in Boston during the vaca- tion, joined us that evening before our guests were gone. It was cheering to see the meeting between herself and Madame -I AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 129 Renau. I saw at once how they measured each other, and said inwardly, "I am glad to meet you again, we can walk side by side." This mutual respect and admiration made Angela completely happy. I smiled so often to hear her say complacently, "I've done that, what a- beautiful harmony it has lnade." Miss Hazeltine remained with us for several days before returning to her severer life at the village, for even before the term opened, she had a thousand demands made upon her. I remember very vividly the events of that evening, and reading as I did, with a new language in my heart, I am sure I read much farther into our Lady Principal's heart than she had any idea of my doing. I never saw her so much excited ; she was fairly gay. My uncle went out after tea, and as I lay upon the couch again in the little sitting-room, I saw Aunt Eleanor and her guest in the library. Aunt Eleanor was making her needle fly very rapidly at first, but by-and-bye, when Miss Hazeltine, who, sitting in a low chair before her, talking very earnestly, came to some parts of her narrative, Aunt Eleanor let the brisk needle fall from her hand, and leaning forward, looked steadfastly at the speaker. Those fair curls, so peculiar to Miss Hazeltine, fell over her face, but did not quite conceal it even from me, and now "flushed by feeling," she seemed so girlish, that at first I was astonished at the transformation. There was a willowy grace in her figure, too, when sometimes the head bent low in the conversation, which was so entirely unlike her usual dignified, independent mien, I knew whatever she said, a touching consciousness of her femininity pervaded her being. "Dear lady," I thought. I'could not help it. I could but --sympathize that night, "dear lady, your sad heart, so long A - page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 1BO ASPIRATION. put by, and kept even from your own view, has had new light andc life poured into it, and you have returned to the feeling of your youth. God bless you with as much happi- ness as He has given me." When Uncle Ernest prayed that evening, before we retired to our own rooms, he asked with great earnestness that God would direct us in all our purposes, that He would give us wisdom from on high,- and grace withal, and add IIis bless- ing which maketh rich, and bringeth no sorrow. A great sigh, an almost sob, came struggling up from the full heart of Miss Hazeltine, who was kneeling beside me. It pene- trated me-I was sure 1 understood her, and longed to put my arms around her and tell her so. But when we arose after prayers, she was as tall and stately, and apparently as impassive as she had looked to me, even on that New Year's Eve. I looked up with astonishment, and' chided myself for my fatncies, and wondered how anything could makeeher look girlish, and was thankful that 'my presumption had been kept in my own foolish heart. Yes, foolish heart, for it seemed to think there was no emotion in the world, no joy, no sorrow that had not its source in the one feeling, which was so moving it now. Some two or three days after the Lady Principal had return- ed to her duties at the Seminary, when one morning my aunt, and Mary, and myself were sewing in the little sitting-room, and John was reading aloud to us those pretty fancies of Long- fellow, which he has chosen to cluster together, and call Hy- perion-a note was brought to Aunt Eleanor, by the post- man from the village. , "' Ah!" she said cheerfully, having read it: "So all's well that ends well. Now, young people, I can tell you a real AN AUTOBIOGRAIT- OF GIRLHOOD. It romance, more feeling-full than any thing the Professor has put into his book. The name of the student was not Hieronymus, and the name of the maiden was-Esther Hazeltine." "I knew it-I knew it,' I said involuntarily. "Knew what, Edith?" said my aupt with a 1pok the least in the world surprised. "One would really think that you had eaten of the tree of knowledge lately." (I did not mean, Aunt Eleanor, that I knew it, but to nly eyes- ' "Wise eyes-yes, I doubt not observant, initiated eyes have seen it before this; but- you do not know, and can- not think, what our friend has borne and struggled under, and how worthy she is even of this late gladness. I have but one fear, lest, when the time comes, and the consummation of her joy seems to be at hand, she should find herself at such a height that she cannot descend, nor can she draw up to her- self him she loves. But I will make a clear story of it. Twelve years ago, Esther Hazeltine, a beautiful light-hearted but wise-minded girl, loved, and her love was won by one who seemed worthy, and but that both were poor, there was not any obstacle to be foreseen. The young man was then preparing for college. She acknowledged the duty he owed to his intellect, and refused to suffer him to swerve from the path he had marked out for himself. He would have married her then, but she said, ' No, Richard, you are going upward; God forbid that I should!hinder such progress. I can wait, I can so occupy myself, that when you come to lme with University honours, you will find me not wanting. You are mine as if a vow had made you so, and so am I thine, Richard Mason. - Now go- on, and my prayers shall bless you for the beauty which a knowledge of your affec- tions will shed on the otherwise dreary and diffioult path I , ( -* page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 182 ASPIRATION: must tread alone.' So she wrote to him, and I read the letter, and saw in the fair face of the noble girl how she had risen by this strong act of self-abnegation." Here was her first real advantage. She made the sacri- fice, and by every sacrifice we rise. He mnade none, he kept the loving heart, and went on his way. He had lost nothing, rather had he gained much. But -truly, it seemed to me, that from her virtue went out, to bless him, and hold him up and aid him in every way. How beautiful it was to see her-how she stood even then, and alwaysksince, transfigured before me, " a spirit, yet a woman too." When Richard Mason had finished a protracted collegiate course, a gentleman who saw the real talent of the man-for' his-intellect was of a lofty order-proposed-to him to go to Germany with his two sons, not quite as tutor, for all three were to enter the University there; but the younger men were youths yet, while Mason was a man of thirty now, and had given pledge of his established character. He had the grace to come to his fiancee and hear her judgment. It was a great blow to her. Those almost six years, since she had, promised to be his wife, had been much longer toher than to him. She was a woman,- and lived in her affections--he was a man. Men sometimes step aside to the heart for re. pose, but they do rnot live in it and by it. "Of course, Aunt Eleanor, she did not hesitate, but told him to go." "Yes, Edith, and so calmly that he was almost hurt. He wanted to see her show more feeling; in fact, like most self- ish men, though he had made up his mind to go, with the least encouragement frotn her, he was disappointed because she did not lay open her sick, weary heart, and show him all the woe which she must bear alone, if he left her. She- has told mo that when she bade him good-bye, she gave up from AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 133 I her heart the hope upon which she had lived. A cloud settled 'down between her and her happiness-she went out from herself from that hour, and found all her life in others. She has walked in the world as one not of the world, and buried in her heart hope, and every selfish feeling." "I see it ,all," I said. "I can interpret everything which was a wonder to me before. But let' me ask one question. She heard from him just before the winter term closed, and a little light beamed uponl her pathway?" "Yes,; Edith-letters had been lost between them, and a pique had grown up, and then on his part a coldness, which I do believe nothing but shame had kept him from showing before. But last winter he came to his senses. Whether he was sick, or in some great scheme disappointed, iwhat- ever may be the causejhe at last remembered the jewel which was lying in its casket at home, saving all its sheen for him, ungrateful one that he was.' The letter which he wrote to her, was really a very touching one-for, as I told you before, he has no lacking of soul-at least he has a complete appre- ciation, when he chooses to use it, of the woman he has been slighting. She answered it like a woman. I sometimes think it would have pleased me better if she had shown a lit- tle more pride ; if she had drawn herself up and said,' World- weary, you are glad to find one fresh, warm heart. Selfish always, you have taken your pleasure, when and where you could. All things failing you, you are glad to turn to me, and claim the love you know I have kept always bright, and you would enter with soiled and travel-stained feet, the sanc- tuary where only my, God, beside thee, has penetrated.' What do you think, John? These girls-these incipient wo- , men, will judge with women's judgment. But would not the slighted woman have found full justification from every proud nature, if she had resented this appeal?" page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 1SL - ASPIRATION: ' Do not press me, aunt, for an answer. My faith in wo- men has been so shaken, that I am no impartial judge. I only wonder when I see Esther Hazeltine's." "Poor sceptic.! I am afraid you lack in your soul the divinity to which a woman's will always answer, and to that alone." "Perhaps so," said John, gloomily. "And I suppose this woman answered ' Come,? and the ' selfish' man has come-!" ' Yes-you must not resent the term I used in regard to your sex. They are, as a classi the- most selfish of God's creatures. Yes, he -has come, and she is to be married to" him at the end of the summer term. It is settled; my hus- band is to perform- the ceremony, and she is just as- happy as a girl in her first love. Indeed, I believe. she is happier. The repose which she sees in this union, the consummation as she believes it to be of all -her hopes, which now that they may, have sprung up in her soul in full vigour and bloom. All this is very charming, could I only believe it will ever be realized." : "W VVhy have you such a mistrust of her future?" asked John. , She does not see that Mr. Mason has been so selfish. I have no doubt, from what you tell me, that she believes him' to be entirely actuated by as pure, fresh, worthy feelings as she is." "But it is not so. I only hope her eyes will always be blinded bv her love. She believes all that he tells her. She knows, and that is the truth, doubtless, that he neverloved another woman, and that satisfies her. She does not know enough of men, to see that selfishness and ambition, which is a common form of selfishness, can so fill a heart that the love of woman is superseded. Many a wife has found this out, to her sorrow. I only hope for her, that Mason, having AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD.! 82 passed the ordeal, and finding his need of Esther, will never suffer her to suspect how unnecessary she has been to him during the most of these-twelve years." ' You said, Mrs. Cuyler, that you feared Miss Hazeltine would find herself elevated far above Mr. Mason?"' said Mary, inquiringly, " and yet you represent him to be a very talented and very highly cultivated man." "There is a culture which the mindl receives, Mary, that is quite independent of the heart, and the soul thus trained be- comes so cold and dead to life, such a mere abstraction, that it has no sympathy with living, acting, human souls. It be- comes only a repository for learning-a mere dead-letter amongst people whose great hearts vitalize all humanity. The soul, which is the intellect, as I use it here, and the heart which is the emotional nature, and the moral sense which is conscience, must be trained to work together to perfect a man. Lord Bacon had a mighty intellect, and for all we know, may have had a heart that responded somewhat to the demand made upon it, but he was lacking in the moral sensae No matter how lofty his position might be in the world, be- fore God and the holy angels he was seen to be low and gro- velling. Possessed of the finest order of intelligence, he per- verted it by trampling on his conscience." "The times in which he lived must be considered, Aunt Eleanor," said John. "Consider that bribes and extortions, and all underhanded work, was, if not legalized, winked at by all judges and justices, and by any who could profit by them- " "And so aclear, far-seeing mind, like that of Lord Bacon, was bewildered, and mazed by his times! Fye, John! Was his philosophy the philosophy of the times? What was it to him what others thought or did, saving as it gave him an page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 ASPIRATION: excuse, which never satisfied him,- 'll warrant, for carrying out his villanies. There was Sir Thomas Moore, of almost cotemporary times-was he at all influenced by the low morality which surrounded him? Does he not rather stand out from the men about him, like a clear white column, against the dark back-ground of a scorched and smoke-black- ened city? No! no! Bacon's history is one of those sad things which should keep men humble, and reveal to them all the miserable'proclivities of their nature. Intellect did all she could- for her favourite-fortune followed with her favours, but the God he defied in his proud position, over- \ took him with His wrath, and Lord Bacon found his level* before he died. I have sometimes tried to think what Ba- con might have been, had he been aided in his progress by such a heart, and such a conscience as Sir Thomas Moore cherished and followed. What a real height he had risen to amongst men! How almost God-like his stature would have become."' '"Now, Aunt Eleanor, we can all make the application you intend to mnake to these two people. But I would like to have you give us, in your own way, the analysis, and the sum total of them both. I want to see just where the lady has been the gainer.7" "You can see in a few words how I judge of them. Clog- ged by self, no soul can rise--" "Granted." "Mason had a purely selfish motive in going abroad, and in remaining there as long as it suited his purposes; as long as he could derive any possible benefit frommthe sojourn. To accumulate knowledge, to acquire power, for L knowledge is power,' indeed was the man's object. He wished position, eminence-he sacrificed to this wish the brightest years of AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 137 Esther's life. He did not consider how precious, how costly the sacrifice might be. It was all as nothing to him. He could rise, therefore, just as far as wings burdened with the soil of earth, clogged by his lower selfish nature, would carry him. Miss Hazeltine, when she told him to go, laid down and trampled beneath her feet every selfish consideration. But she did not give herself up, as some would do in such cir- cumstances, to inertness. The very strength which enabled her to make the sacrifice, sustained her afterwards. There was nothing to burden her, nothing to lower her. She de;- voted herself to others with a nobility, an entireness, a consist- ency, which was wonderful. The same lessons brought very different teachings to his soul and hers. She could appre- hend the subtle and exquisite, which his grosser sense never informed him of. She could follow the lofty, to remote ce- lestial regions, where earth-wings could not rise. She could see a divine significance in the whole design of the external world, and in the heart and soul of man, which was not re- vealed to his duller sight. She is already purer, and fitter for another, higher life. He has walked about on the plain below, and gathered together great heaps of what the world calls treasures-not quite so gross as worldly wealth, but far different from the treasures which surround her in the ambient air, and on the beautiful mountains where she wallrs, almost an angel. I pray she may be happy-happy as her dreams-but how can it be?" XIII. "MERRY as a cricket, Edith." "I ought to be, John; only think of spending such a day page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 1838 ASPIRATIOXN: as this in the woods, and on, Arch Island, where the woods are always green first, and the earliest flowers are found. I shall spend life at a rapid rate to-day." "I never saw any one so much improved by a little sick- ness as you are, Edith. You are getting to. be all dimples again as you used to -be, when you were the pet of our old home--when Frank and I were always quarrelling which should have you to hold, and carry about and please with plays, and puzzle with tricks, and delight in generally. Why, you were dimpled from your cheeks to the soles of your lit- tle white feet in those days, and your continual laughter brought them always in sight. And so now: I can't come upon you unawares, or look up suddenly from my book, or turn around when you. are doing some imprudent thing or other to scold you, but there you are dimpling your cheeks at some happy thought, as if you were practicing for a Cupid."' "Now, John, is that a tirade against dimples, or a eulogy on dimples, or an' insinuation that there is a secret cause for them which you would like to understand 2" '"Take it just as you please, Edith." Then changing his light tone for one more accustomed, he added, "If you are happy, heaven forbid that I should interfere with you. There is so much darkness around my soul, that I know I am no fit companion for happy people, and yet I am not selfish as that man Mason, is either. I am not selfish." "Perhaps you are proud, my dear brother," I ventured to say. "Proud! of what? IDo you mean that pride stands be- tween me and happiness? Oh, Edith! you cannot judge me-you do not know." "I do know, John, that if I were a man and loved a AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY QF- GIRLHOOD. 1389 woman, I would not relinquish her till I had from her own lips the- most convincing, insuperable proofs of her unworthi- ness, of her incapacity to return my affection. But it seems to me I never should get myself into. such an uncomfortable position as to love first and then have to begin to doubt." "Of course you would not-you would be wise beyond what is written. I have known such people before; and for you, little sister, to set up for a wiseacre is too ludicrous." "But I have never been deceived." "Indeed! Well, then,. no one should be and still pretend to common sense! If Edith, with all her experience of life, with all her temptations, and all her encounters with rogues and rascals, has never been deceived, why, John Arden, you are a great dolt!" "So you are, John-so stop your nonsense, and see if it isn't time to put your horse in; you are to have the felicity of driving me to the river this morning. Uncle anrid aunt, and Mary and her shadow, Ralph Haine, have been gone half an hour." This was the last day of John's visit. He had remained longer than he had intended, that he might take part in'this May-day festival. All the- students, whom distance from home, inclination to study, or any other reasons, had kept at the two departments during the, vacation, were to be of the party--even the professors and teachers joined us, but that was not an unusual thing, as you have seen. We were all astonished--we who knew her austerity at this season of the year-at the blandness with which the fickle, never-to-be-de- pended-upon weather ushered in May. There were full sixty men, women and children went a-pleasuring that day; How could they stay at home, when the heavens were wooing them with balmiest breezes? Nature, which leaps to nature's page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O ASPIRATION: heart- got the better of their caution and of their reserve, and sent them all out together with the merry laughter of childhood. These May-day parties had usually been held in anr old wood beyond the Institution, where after a walk of more than a mile through milch underwood, and even some swampy districts, we would come to a cluster of small, deep, clear lakes-as charming bits of water as an artist could desire for his canvas, or an angler for his line. There, were boats kept by a wood-cutter, whose cottage was near the lakes, and there we often passed the day with hooks, with rod and line-or hunting the crimson wax-like wintergreen berry, which, with the tender green leaves about it, was found in great abun- dance all over those woods. This old haunt would have been inaccessible for me that day, and the people considerately concluded to hold the festival on one-of these sunny little islands which dotted the Pemmigewassett. Carriages conveyed most of us to the river's bank, and there a half dozen boats, nmanned by the young gentlemen themselves, carried us out into the stream. By good John was as tender to me that day as a brother could be. It almost seemed as if he had just awakened to the consciousness of having a sister. Yet we were not even now perfectly frank with each other. I knew John had had experiences which- he thought me incapa- ble of understanding in their full extent, and I buried deep- in my heart the only secret which I had ever possessed. I could not refer to it-even to Aunt Eleanor-and my eyes involuntarily drooped before the bright intelligence which Helen's smile betrayed. As our boat neared the Island, for the sunshine was too ardent for me to try a sail up the river as others were doing, an exclamation from my brother arrested my attention. A AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 141t moment more, and he had sprung to the land, and was greet- inog a gentleman who was making very warm demonstrations to John, which were hardly reciprocated in their full force. "' Ned Crosby! what ill wind blew yoll here? I thought y ou were burned up in-your own furnaces before this. You have- not sent me a line in six weeks., How could you tear y ourself from that beloved laboratory?" "Because, John, there are some attractions stronger than those in the natural world." "What do you mean?"' ," I have been to Judge Erskine's." "Well?" "Well! is that all you know? Well, then, Margaret is there." ' I know it," said John. "Edith has had several letters- from her while there." "And you have no questions to ask?" "I have-to present you to my sister," said John, coldly. "Edith, dear, this is Dr. Crosby, a cousin of your friend Margaret. He has just seen her at Judge Erskine's, and can tell you of her welfare." He went away as he spoke, and offered his arm to Madame Renau with as grave an air as if he were a veteran beau of forty years. "Queer fellow that brother of yours, Miss Edith. Pity he should pride himself on his stoicism in all matters con- nected with the ladies. Now there is your friend and my cousin, the Lady Margaret--"' "I say, Crosby, you are to tell Edith no tales about me, especially- eschewing those serenades in Heidelberg," said John, as he passed us at that moment. There seemed a stern point in what he said, and his face was as cold and hard page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] lt 2 A;SPIRATION :: in its expression as stone could be. Crosby seemed to com- prehend him, and shrunk visibly as he met his eye, but ill a minute he only laughed lightly and answered: "I am as true to my vows as a knight of old, John ;" and then he turned-to me and said, "I was going to tell you about your friend, Miss Edith. I left her at her guardian's yesterday very well, as far as I could judge, but the death of her mother has certainly had a very great and depressing effect upon Margaret. She was as gay as a wild-bird's song before I went to Europe, and now she is transformed into a quiet woman. She is fairly lofty in her manners, even to me, her own cousin, brought up with her, more like :a bro- ther -than :anything else." ! thought to myself--"He little imagines how well I know of his persecutions to my poor Margaret, and now very likely he has been renewing his hateful addresses; so I made no reply to what he said, for I dared not speak what my heart prompted me to say, and I only begged ,that he would allow me to be seated, as I was very weary with the walk up the -bank. "I beg your pardon,. Miss Edith; your brother would never .forgive me if I did not take good care of his sister. Indeed, I should never forgive myself; for once I should rival John in implacability." ' "Surely you do not consider John unforgiving in disposi- tion!" '"There are some things he never forgives--the smallest violation of honour, it matters not -howgreat the end which maty be gained by it, would :be an offence forever to him. :Ie should never go into public life-he-will never make a diplmat--he is utterly. anti-Machiavellian in :allhis ideas. I iknw3 ast how farto :go with him. " AN AUTOBiORfAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 1:43 "You have tried him, then, in solme things, and can speak knowingly of his implacability!" -I was growing rather sus- picious of this very wary gentleman "Ah! you are John's own sister-there would be no hope for any si aagainst those brown eyes, I see." There was an affectation of gallantry in his manner which was distasteful to me. I answered him indifferently, and begged him to conduct me to my own party now,:as I was quite able to twalk again. He looked a little disconcerted by the check-- and proceeded to commonplaces in our conversationj in which there would be less danger of giving offence. Hils diplonmacy was of no avail. I was in no humour to reward his atten- tions with any graciousness. When we 'reached thee middle of the island we found my aunt and uncle; Mary and her squire, the admirivg Ralph, whose attentions were very plain- spoken; Martha Adams and her handsome little brother Tom; -Professor Worden and Lydia--well-mnated people, as they were finding out; John and Madame Renau, to whom clung the slender figure of Helen Manners, as if she could not reconcile herself to the variety and strangeness of the people about her. Angela was standing behind Ralph, watching him as he drew Mary's arm closer to-his, and spoke to her in that low voice which is so .expressive of the onefeel- ing. I read her thoughts as she drew near to me and -said "It will be no-leap in the dark for either of them, Angela." "' No, Edith, and I declare I could pat Ralph on. the shoul- der, I am so pleased with him; won't she make him a charm- ing little wife? I used to wish it might be you, Edith, but yours is such an eccentric star that you were now dazznge Ralph, and now quite out of his sight. I found out that wouldn't do.'" page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 ASPIRATION: "Mary will not leave school till two years from August, you know." "That will make no difference. My brother must go to Boston and put out a piece of tin with ' Ralph Haine, Attor- ney-at-Law,' on it, and men must give him briefs of business and lengths of purse before he will be ready to get married. I think he will soon be fitted for special pleading!" she said, gayly. "Nature makes all men eloquent at such times, Angela. I wonder if she would not teach us every thing, if we only gave her the opportunity." "She must teach these young people patience, any way. They can afford to wait, though. But I am downright proud of the boy." "Boy, indeed!" said Ralp'n, who caught her last word, and guessed she might be speaking of him; "a whole head and shoulders taller than you, dear lady patroness; boy, indeed! Don't you think I am tall enough, Miss Mary? Now,answer, would any more inches be of any use to me?" "I protest against Mary being judge," said I; "she is known to have a bias. She has given her opinion already on that head." "On this head," said Ralph, doffing his cap-" what is it, pray tell me, Miss Edith." "You may put on your cap again, Mr. Ralph Haine. I am ' bound over' by Mary 'to keep this piece' of her mind. She is the most merciful person in the world, and I would not 'answer for the consequences to herself, if she were to know tht I had told what would be sure to hurt your feeling; very much." "Miss Edith, I here return thanks to the god of love, who has kept my feet from straying into your net. The man AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF, GIRLHOOD. 145 whom you finally entrap will need a double-amount of sense, and senses too, if he attempts to escape from its meshes.", "I flatter myself that whoever walks in there will be con- tent to stay, Mr. Haine. I can be magnanimous." "Yes, Haine," said my brother, 'c you are mistaken about Edith. If she ever finds out that she has got a heart, she will take it out and lay it in the hand of the first person who helped her to the knowledge." "Fie, John, you give Edith credit for no feminine tact." "For as mnuch, dear Aunt Eleanol; as a woman need have. She is as clear as daylight. She may learn deceit, but I can read her through and through now." I met Helen's eye, which had such a merry twinkle in it that I could not keep the tell-tale blushes down. "You can read through and through as many pages as she has opened to you, John, I dare say," said my champion, doughty Aunt Eleanor; "but there never lived a woman yet, but had sense enough to keep part of her heart locked up. Few women go through their. lives who not only do this, but throw the key into the sea of mystery which sends its waters around every islet that holds a heart." "Is that so, Eleanor?"' said Uncle Ernest; "what have you locked up to throw the key away ." "Chiefly small items belonging to yourself, professor,". said his wife, laughing; "such as tact, selfishness, and guile generally. You don't suppose you never had those manly qualities, do you? Of course, you grew up to these appur- tenances of mankind; but I saw you considered them worth- less, and so I disposed of them." "With some of your own possessions in the same line, Eleanor," said Uncle Ernest. 'No! no! I looked out for a little of'those qualifications- page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 ASPIRATION: for myself when I found out that I was to do the fighting in this very pugnacious world." "Oh, Eleanor, what an idea you give these young people of my manliness," said Uncle Ernest. But Aunt Eleanor was off in another direction, talking to Madame Renau. She did not often treat us-to such samples of her wit--for she was the most loving, idolizing wife I ever knew; and love is not the point which tips the arrows of re- partee. The old leaven would show, however, sometimes, when she choose to draw the veil between her heart and in- quisitive eyes, I watched her as she stood talking with Madame Renau, and thought to myself, what a magnificent woman Aunt Eleanor Cuyler mioght have made if she had been trained in worldly, but still intellectual circles,whereher pride-and she was intensely proud, in her way-and her wit, and her general brilliancy could have been fostered and called forth by culture -and attention. -Helen came and seated herself beside me. ': Your country is full of picturesque elements, Edith; yonder arch of gray stone, for instance; were we on the Rhine instead of the banks of this Indian named stream, we should hear some fairy or gnomish, klnight!y or :monkish legend hung about it. What is its true story " "' You should not ask for its ' true story,' Helen; that is not the way you do on the Rhine, is it? You have seen no chance to weave in any romance. We have romantic as well as picturesque elements here, I assure you." ' You intimate only prose, however, in connection with the stone arch." "' Yes; the history of it is plainly this: several years ago the direct road to the Canadas, instead of running as now, through the village, used to run through these woods, and AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 147 cross the Pemiglwassett here. That arch was part of the very solid masonry of the bridge which spanned the river." "But about its destruction --what became of that very solid bridge, Edith?" "That I know nothing about. If you had been less perti- naciously matter-of-fact in your inquiries, I would have con- trived some romance for it always has seemed to me that this road to the Canadas might tell tales of many sorts." "Yes--for instance, here is one: Less than a year ago a stage-coach left Concord--" "That cannot be told yet, for it has no conclusion." "It could come out in numbers, Miss Arden. 'Golden numbers,' equal to old Herrick's. But no matter-I will not bring any more blushes, notwithstanding they are amaz- ingly becoming-Walter's was really a case of falling in love at, first sight. I don't know whether I feel quite sure that the charm will last." "You need give yourself no trouble on that account, Helen. You've ' acted well your part' and shall have the true honour." 4"But to go back again to that heap of stones and the old arch, Edith! You don't know what an impression it pro. duced upon me at first. The deep hush of the woods through which we had passed in coming here--the peaceful expression of this little gem of an island--the low music of the ripples which wash its shores--the shiver of those tender aspen leaves, as a bird whirred through them, or stirred them with his song-the still-sailing cloud, the remoteness of the whole scene from busy life, giving the impression that none but the great heart of nature ever beat here, wonderfully en- hanced the picturesque effect of the ruin.! thought it might mark an outpost in your eras of Indian wars and revolu- page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 ASPIRATION: tionary conflicts, or perhaps it had been a church belonging to some of those persecuted -sects, which found here ' free- dom to worship God.' Those sects which were hunted out of England by the Romanists, and away from the sea-board here, by the strait-laced Puritans. Alas! if this is the end of romance here'!" "Do you think, Miss Manners," said my brother, " that there is any less romance now, than formerly, in the world 2" "It surely is the tendency of civilization to destroy it, Mr. Arden." "Though born to great restraints, hearts have the same great and strong pulsings now that they had in the days of knight-errantry. The world is quite as full of romance, if you will break through this crust ,of civilization, as it was then-it will always be the same while deep hearts throb with strong passions." "John, these proprieties, and indeed graces of life, which you call the ' crust of civilization,' makle us very confortable here, I assure you; whatever effect they may have upon the romantic or picturesque elements." "Aunt Eleanor, D'lsraeli says that ' life is always a rou tine ;' but in old times it was a routine of great ideas, ant now it is a routine of small ones." "You must not go to D'Israeli for inspiration, Edith," mJ hbrother said quickly; " his philosophy is by no means infalli ble. He has a little more light than some in Old England He upholds the strong conservatism which is at once Brit ain's safeguard and her foe ; but, like many of the other party he is struggling for an indefinite good." "There are plenty rising around to carry on the contest I foresee that Chartism is to have a fierce struggle yet fox 8Ji , AN' AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 149 the power it demands-for the freedom it covets, rather," said Haine. "Thousands see the great evils which loom up over the land in the train of the Conservative party-a party which does not, cannot provide bread, for the body even ; so the souls of these starving multitudes grow demoniacal, and these thousands are sowing a bitter crop for Old England to reap I fear. The efforts of the liberalists, thus far, seem painfully futile." "Do you say this, John, so soon after the passage of -the noble Reform Bill?" "Yes, Uncle Ernest, that is a tangible blessing, truly-yet you see it has not abated the struggle." "No, John; because this reform party are human enough to run into great errors. A great many of them will 're- form' away the Bible, and then -will have no land-marks. 'As many infidels will -grow up in the shaldow of this new movement, as were spawned upon the world by the slime of the French Revolution. The Parisians caught at -the infidel philosophy, to find a- plea for the sensual indulgence which disgraced them; the liberalists of our day seek freedom for the soul, rather than the body; they seek for it that which shall nourish it-for, it has been fed upon husks alone, long enough. But in throwing away the formalities of this religion, they throw away with the Prayer-Book, the Bible,which thev cannot separate in their prayer-books from forms and fasts, and celemonies. They seek to read the soul's destiny by the light of Nature. 'Most imnportunately, even frantically, do they grasp at every glim- mer; but after all it only reveals to them the darkness which nothing can penetrate but the voice of God, saying, ' Let there page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 ASPIRATION: be light.' It is pitiful to see men groping about in dark- ness, shutting their eyes to the Divine light, which, above them and around them, blesses and illuminates, and cheers and directs." "So Walter thinks," remarked Helen, modestly. "He said he would rather walk alone than after a blind leader-or one who, like D'Israeli, has but one eye open, such being more apt to go astray than the totally blind, who move more cautiously." "Your young Englishwoman has a fancy for political questions, I see," said Dr. Crosby, with a polite sneer. "I do not know what woman would not be interested in the progressive movements of the age, Dr. Crosby, weho had enjoyed the companionship of intelligent and Christian men. That would be a dull soul, for instance, that could not be warned and irradiated by the light of Uncle Ernest's hope for mankind, founded on his faith in God's assurances." "I should never accuse you of radical tendencies, Miss Edith. I should rather have expected to find you-leaning lovingly upon the arm of the lofty Conservatism which so reverences the past." "( I confess that I think a little more conservatism would be an advantage to our country. We are running ahead, without any light sometimes--we so despise here, as the lib- eralists do in the old country, the light of their forefiathers' lanterns. Is it not shameful to stumble over rocks, in the full blaze of gas-lamps, which our grandfathers avoided by the use of horn lanterns! It is that men were men in those days, and worked on to the end of their tether, that I respect them. I am not so blind, however, that I cannot see reason in this onward movement, nor is my devotion to an ideal past, equal to my conviction that mankind is capable AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 151 of infinite progress, limitless even in this life-who can tell ." "And accountable to God for all such capacity," said Uncle Ernest, gravely. Not long after I overheard Dr. Crosby asking John how old his "little sister" was. "Not that I should call her so very little, John. By Jupiter, you ought to have her at old Dartmouth, and get but a diploma for her. You must-look out for her. She is posted up to her capacity in Political Economy, and so on. She'll be a rabid new light when she reaches ' womanas estate."' "When a girl gets old enough to hold her own, as I see Edith does, she never has any, particular age to tell," John answered, with a ,quiet smile. "The child surprises me by her early maturity." "Crudeness is the inevitable consequence of such precocity," said Crosby; " but we can't look for organ-tones from penny- whistles." "Crosby, an infusion of aloes would be a very useless pre- scription for you to-day-did you know it? What is the matter? Are they Sicily oranges? Your mouth is in bad order. For myself, I am taking lessons in love and charity." "Thank you, brother John! I am gratified and compli- mented by your taste still for a penny-whistle, whichdis,- turb the nerves of your friend so much. How grandmamma used to dread those penny-trumpets, John! Dr. Crosby re- minds me of her--his nerves are easily jarred." "I understand that you compare me to an old woman, Miss Edith!" - "Do you understand what I said in that way?"I asked innocently. "Why, my comparisons seem as obvious as page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 ASPIRATION: your own-but I beg grandmamma's pardon for, the com- parison." Not long after this, John heard the Doctor discoursing with Angela, and complaining of my impertinence, and my affectations of wit, which he said were really nauseating. "That's because you had too large a dose, Dr. Crosby- when taken in small quantities, Edith's mirthfulness is very agreeable." "Miss Arden's money makes her a general favourite, I perceive.' "Do you! Well, I suppose that is because you have taken that- part of her appurtenances into consideration. We never think of it--I am sure she never thinks of the fact of her being an heiress." The evil-minded, fault-finding man, did not make a good im- pression anywhere, that day. His real character would come out in the fulll warm light of the May-day sun. He even felt his mal-apropos position, and came to take leave of us early, that he might take the stage again to H---. We parted with him with a courtesy, which came very graciously, when fwe found he was going away. He had stopped on his way down from Milton, where he had been to see Margaret, and Haine had invited him to join our wood party. He alone was accountable for his unpopularity-yet he was a hand- some man, and quite accomplished. He had spent several years abroad, having out-staid both John and Igalph. He was a fine chemist, and being, by fortune, independent of his profession, he devoted himself to science, in a very commendable manner. John's association with him had commenced, for a year at College, and their sojourn together in Europe, had formed a tie between them, which was quite as much habit as anything else. Crosby, in spite of books and AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 153 -men, would always be a narrow-souled individual. In his favourite science, he could go no farther than others had gone before him. He lacked the element of faith-as n6ces- sary to the true devotee of science as to the Christian. I have heard John say, that one day coming to his room, and read- ing there Macaulay's fine essay on Milton, he threw the book on the floor, and kicked it across the room, saying, "That Edinburgh Review is the vehicle of more-trash than any other paper in the land. Milton and Macaulay! a pre- cious pair! Liebig is worth all the poets and 'historians that ever drew breath." But evening came, and that charming "'first of May" came to an end, and with it our revelry. It was a rare pic- nic, for its only cloud was the presence, during part of the day, of the unwelcome guest. For the rest, "young men and maidens," had a very festal day-they sought for winter- green, waxberries. and the bright red pigeon-plum-they wove chaplets of vines with these crimson berries, or with the small white star-flower-some went out in the boats to row and angle--some paired off to sunny nooks by serene lit- tle inlets, and philosophized, or talked in the verses of those poets whose writings should only be read by two souls ex- isting for each other alone. Ah, these poets, how much they have to answer for! for they lead many hearts to reveal themselves that otherwise might never fathom their own emotions. What helps to heart and soul, these inner-life writers have been! Jonn and Ralph were very merry all day. Angela was in her sunniest humour, transmuting everything into gold. Helen and Madame Renau were of the opinion that this kind, of festivity equalled all they had dreamed of in the New ' orld-and H-what could I do, but drink in the influences 7. page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 15{ - -ASPIRATION:. of the spring weather, and forget the weary hours of my sick- ness? I did not wish for Walter that day, the thought of him was all I dared to carry with me-my heart with that was full, and very content. Helen was such an earnest -of him, I loved to listen to and watch her--to remember and hope-to thank God, and pray that I might not forfeit this gladness by my indifference to the Good Giver of it. This was the fulness of joy which kept mle sedate, but blessed me even when weariness and sleep overcame me in my quiet chamber that night. XIV. AUNT ELEANOR, with a consideration for me which delight- ed me, invited Helen to remain with us from the May-day till the opening of the term. My aunt never said or looked anything which intrenched upon my secret. I told' Helen of her knowledge and approval, but she never spoke to Helen about it. She only made her royally welcome by a delicate courtesy which we both appreciated. There was no preparation of delicacies for our guest; the ordering of the household was in all respects as usual; indeed, I took my accustomed place in its service, for I could hardly be con- sidered an invalid -any longer. There was no pretension made in our home--consequently, there was never any vul- garity to cause a blush. What refinetment could do to make things elegant-and 6ne who has not tried it has little idea of the effect of a refined taste-had been done. What- ever deficiencies there were, arose from an unconsciousnegs of the need which all could see, and, therefore, which none could take offence at. These, indeed, could not be obtrusive AN AUTOBIOGRAPHy OF GIRLHOOD. 155 or many, for my aunt was a lady by birth and education, and yet more by the teachingr of her religion; and and as for Uncle Ernest, no man could be more unpractised in conventional- ities, or more utterly ignorant of them; yet. his kind heart, full of the precepts of his Saviour, was always inciting him to gentle and generous courtesies. I observed one thing at prayers, the first night of Helen's stay with us, which moved me. We had a set of hymns suitable for family worship, and appropriated to particular days, thus saving the annoyance of books; that for Thurs- day night was the one commencing- "While Thee I seek, Protecting Power, Be my vain wishes stilled ; And may this consecratedt-hur With better hopes be filled." We sung it to the tune of Brattle-street. Helen leaned her head against the back of her chair, and I saw large tears stealing oult from under her long, heavy lashes, which were quietly wiped away, but I am sure did not cease to flow during all the service. After prayers, it was a family custom for us all to kiss Uncle Ernest-it was a pledge of hope in the morning, and of memory in the evening, and he must have been a sad heretic to the heart'who could give such a pledge insincerely. As the oldest, I, as usual, went first with my kiss, then Mary came, and then he said, "Is not Helen to be one of my children too?" She kissed him with a sweet and timid grace, and locking her arm in mine, she hastened Ime fromn the room. "Edith, when' Walter sees you in this Eden of' your loving home, he will hardly find it in his heart to take you away." , , page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 ASPIRATION: {' I hope the effect will not be quite so hostile to my hap piness, Helen!" "' But, Edith, what will ever supply the place to you of these sweet and holy influences? You do not know what an ark of refuige this-home is to you, Edith. You have no idea of the noisy, heartless, selfish world from which you are shut in here.'" "Now stop, Helen-do you not candidly think that there is a great deal of cant about the wickedness of the world . -Is it impossible for good people to live in elegant houses? Do you really think it is a sin to wear fine clothes, or drive superb equipages, or give grand parties?" By this time we had reached my room. Helen walked in with a gravity of manner which amused me, and taking a seat before the low rocking-chair into which I had thrown myself-for it was the evening of May-day only, and I was quite worn out with fatigue-she commenced to expostu- late with me. I listened for a few moments in the character I had assumed, but she caught a twinkle in my eye, and ex- claimed, "Fie upon me, that you have beguiled me for a minute into a belief of this kind in regard to yourself. I beg your pardon, Edith, for the homily I was reading to you so gravely, I see I may save my breath. You and I are nearer together in our opinions than you would have me believe." "Of course you are," said Mary. "Why, Edith has a head full of the queerest ideas, very good, I know, only I have not got along so far yet, as to make them mine. I see what her stand-point is, however; but for myself, I have a great many other things to think about, and so I've not made up my mind yet to keep school.' "To keep school!" echoed Helen, in a surprise that to me AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 157 was really comical. "Is that what you intend to do when you leave studying '" she continued, recalled to self-posses- sion by my look of warning. "Oh yes," said Mary, quite innocently. "Edith decided upon that last winter. She was full of it then. I have not heard her say much of it since she was sick, but she is not the person to go back, having once put her foot forward in such an undertaking." "I suppose if she were to take it into her little head to get married instead of teaching school, it would be no sin for her to withdraw from her purpose, would it, Mary?" "I cannot say, Miss Helen; I only know that Edith has thought of a -great many other things than marrying. I 'never knew her condescend to notice a young gentleman. She has the most patronizing air in the world towards them as a class. Her politeness to your brother, last fall, was wonderful-would have been, I mean, had it been shown to any one else. She could not resist his fascinations." 'And if he should propose to marry me, Marv, I should be excusable for saving yes?" Mary turned around from her occupation of putting away her out-of-door dress, with such an expression of surprise on her face, that I was almost overcome in my resolution to keep my correspondence with Captain Manners un- known to her at present. I, however, only laughed, in the most natural way, and Mary remarked that I was improving in such affairs if I could only venture a jest on such a subject. "Now stop a minute," said Helen, as Mary, who had magnanimously given up her place in the room to Helen, was going out to go to bed in another chamber. "I have a small account to settle with you, Mary. I am plain Helen page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 A*SPIrHATION: Manners to your friend Edith, who is a; sensible girl, and to Mrs. Cuyler and the Professor-you will please me very much if you will call me so too. I want to come so near to your heart, that you could not put a Miss or any other formality between us. Will you not be good about this, and hurnour me in what is more than a whim?'. Mary put her arm around the dear English girl and gave her a sweet sisterly kiss. She only said, however, "Good- night, girls; if you can't sleep I must," but I knew by the way her voice faltered, that Helen had made straightway to her heart, and would never need to complain again of any for- mality. While we were preparing for the night, Helen reverted again to the conversation commenced when we entered the room. "I see that you have fine tastes, dear Edith, and I believe we may-cultivate taste to a certain degree-a degree which each persoi's circumstances must decide, but which no law can regulate.- These things are not sinful in'themselves, only they may be indulged ini to a sinful excess. Even the smallest attention to such things is forbidden to some-at least becomes inexpedient. I care so little really for the vanities of life, as I persist in calling much that passes for the cultivation of fine taste, that had. I fallen into the hands of a Romish governess, I do believe I should have been in a convent by this time. Therefore, the simplicity of your life here, charms mne. You do not shut yourselves up from sympathy with you' kind; on the contrary, I never saw more outgoing love and universal charity than I find. here. Besides, you ;unite with your simple, earnest lives, the grace of domestic ties and social bonds. Walter must come here and take some lessons before he erects his household altar, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHTOOD,. 1 and writes himself Master in the beautiful sense in which the word is used in our old English homes." "I can hardly think Walter will require any such teach- ings, Helen. I wish I could divest myself of the feeling that he is so much more than mortal in all his knowledge and perfections. I tell you, Helen," I spoke rapidly and nervously, " except when I am talking with you or looking at this face, which wiles my heart to my lips continually, I cannot believe freely in my own happiness. Do you think when he knows me better, when he hears me repudiate, as you often hear me doing, what he may esteem or reverence, when he finds that I am weak and immature, and sees in me the faults for which here, my friends often seem to love me the more instead of less-in pity, I doubt not-but he does not want to pity his wife; when he finds me as I am, -will he still love me and call me by the sweet names which now express his love? Oh, I dare not believe it!;' "You silly little maiden!"' said my sister that was to be, "if Walter had heard all that tirade of self-depreciation, he' would tell you just what I say now, that you are human, or he would not love you; he don't care about marrying an angel, as some men seem to think they must; he would see that you love him dearly; and so, had you a hundred times greater fiults, you would be able to learn all a good wife should know. He would protest with a clear conscience against his own apotheosis, for I assure you, Miss' Edith, in all sincerity, the man has the temper of a mortal, and some other imperfections which you have had no opportunity to see, but which a few days' ordinary association with him would disclose even to your love-blinded eyes. He is not half as good as your Uncle Ernest, nor as noble and com- manding in his aspect as your own brother John. That he page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 ASPIRATION: is very good, however, very worthy, I will not deny; and that you will be as happy as a mortal maiden can anticipate, I really believe; but you need not get up any extravagant fears of the sort you have just expressed. Now will you go to sleep and try not to wake up ill, after all this weari- ness and excitement?" "Yes, Helen, only one thing-how old is Walter ." He- is about twenty-eight." "And you, how old are you?" "I am nearly nineteen." ' Are you? Well, I am-glad you are fully a year and a half older than I am; you see I can have that much timre to be growing up to your-present wisdom. But I never shall be as good as you are, or good enough to be your brother Walter's wife." "Now -good-night again, I say, Edith, dear, if not for your own .sake, for Walter's. I must. take such ble ed good care of you! Dream of him, darling, if you want but not another word to-night." "-Is this the way you keep your promise that I shall help you, Edith?"' Tjle voice belonged to Helen. How charming she looked as she stood at the door of the dining-room, her fair' face and delicate morning-dress in relief against the tall geraniums which I had just drawn before the hall door for the benefit of the bright and warm sunshine. Helen was unlike any one of all my favourites; she had such repose, combined with the perfect elegance ofher manner; she was tall and slender, and fair-not so queenly as Margaret, or so winsome as Angela, or grave and simple-hearted as Mary; there was nothing piquant about her; there was no pride in her mien-but she AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP GIRLHOOD., 161 was true to her pure, loving, lofty soul, which gave her, when she was talking earnestly, a spirituelle expression. She was Helen Manners and no other person; delicately but strongly individualized. "Come in, Helen. I have just come back to my old su- premacy in this department. I had no idea how I should find my closets and store-rooms, and so I stole away from you this morning to find out their condition, before I. took you in with me to see our New England housekeeping." "Do you do this every morning before going to school?" "Yes. Mary has a kind of supervision over the sleeping arrangements, while I come down stairs and make the coffee and lay the table for breakfast. There is no cooking to be done, good Helen; unless when sometimes I mould up a few biscuit or boil some eggs." "Charming; and you understand doing these things?" "I ought to--having had two or three years' practice. Im- mediately after breakfast we have prayers; then Mary and I go off to school." "Can you do anything else in the way of housekeeping?" "'A great many things! In the vacations I have learned' to make bread and pastry, and I can do some plain cooking of meats. But I am not ready for a diploma from Soyer yet! Aunt Eleanor will not let me learn some things which rouse my ambition somewhat. I can do up muslins and other finery, and I can make good custards; but I cannot wash clothes, or milk a cow, or do sundry other great feats in the domestic line. Generally, I am only of service aesthet- ically." "Your aunt, Mrs. Cuyler, is not as much of a lark as you are." ;' No, I'm happy to say she likes a morning nap." page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 ASPIRATION: "Why should that please you?" "Because she has so few weaknesses that an infirmity of that sort is really refreshing. It is a wonderful relief to find out that some people still belong to the flesh." "You are a lovely little maid, Edith. So it's your taste that- arranges the glass, and the china, and the silver, with such effect. What do you do Wednesday and Saturday afternoons-any more of this kind of business?" "Oh, yes; when we get home from school, at noon, on those days, we have an extraordinary dinner; we only lunch at the seminary on other days, you" know. After dinner, Mary and I take all the business into our own hands. The dining-room and all the closets undergo a thorough putting to rights. I have it all my own way down here-Mary reigning up stairs, you perceive. So for a little while I am mistress and she is maid. Then we go up stairs, and if any- thing is needed to be done we change characters, and I do her behest as gracefully as she has done mine." "That take; all your leisure on those days?" "Dear no, Helen; you have no idea how soon it is all ac- complished. By three o'clock, yes, generally before that time, we are given up to something else. Wednesdays I generally prepare for the composition classes, which are ex- amined Saturday morning. Saturdays, if we have studied well the previous evening, we write letters, go into the woods, or have a real treat with a charming book. Such a zest as there is in our few hours for reading!'" "Such a zest as there is in your whole life! But for leav- ing Madame, I should plead to be admitted here on equal terms with you and Mary." "You would be admitted on no other terms, I assure you." "Except in some German and Danish households, I have AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 163 never seen the ideal and the practical carried along so har- moniously. I no longer wonder at the dainty appointments here, when dainty fingers arrange them. But who does the really hard labour, of which there is more or less in every family V. "Aunt Eleanor has\ various pensioners, who come in some- timnes every day to her assistance." As I told you, there is much that we are not allowed to do, and which she gives into other hands. But these persons are not members of our family, at any time.' Sometimes, when Aunt Eleanor goes away for a few weeks we have a housekeeper; but be- fore she comes home again, I do a day or two of special 'houselieeping myself. You can't imagine what a change Mrs. Sanborn's homely ways effect here, even in a few weeks." "They live very differently at your uncle's in Boston!" "Indeed they do; and so it was in our home when we were children. I remember more servants than there were members of the flamily, and a housekeeper taking all the care from mannma. ' Poor mamma, 1 sometimes think if she had anythingL in the world to do, she would not have died so soon after papa. But; she was very loving and very dependent inl her disposition-she did not exercise a single physical faculty as I can recollect. For that reason Aunt Eleanor first ar- ranged this way of life for me. She thought me wanting in the stamina of a good, healthy constitution, and she seeks by exercise to stimulate and strengthen every part of my nature. Uncle Ernest thought it quite carrying the thing too far when she insisted upon my becoming a proficient in so much housewifery, and Uncle Arden made a great protest against it; but Aunt Eleanor reasoned hiin into a sort of acquies- cence-she can m'anage any one, you know." "Your cousins in Boston are not as accomplished in these things as you are ." page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 - ASPIRATION: "They cannot take care of their own rooms, Helen, or even of their own wardrobes. It is the most senseless way to train girls that I ever saw. You know a great deal more than they do. Not because you have done so miuch more, but because you can exercise common sense, and do anything- that is necessary or even expedient. They are like Estelle Beekman-what a credit she is to girlhood generally!" C"Come, come, Edith, how you chatter this morning," said my brother; " don't you know the stage will be here in an hour's time, or'rather, will pass within a mile of us, which mile I and my carpet-bag must do a-foot, besides eating breakfast and going to prayers?" In the excitement of Helen's society I had almost forgotten John's departure-but now I could think of nothing else. When the time came for him to go, the tears rained down my face. My brother wiped them away, and called me "a little goose ;' but he came to kiss me last, and he promised to come again as soon as possible, with .such an unsteady voice, that I was very well consoled for his scorn of my tears. "' Take good care of yourself, little girlie. You are all I've got. Don't let her study herself sick again, Aunt Eleanor," and John was crossing the little foot-bridge which connected the knoll upon which the hous'e stood with the road. In an- other minute we had lost sight of him behind the screen of alders, and my good, dear John, was alone again with his sad, strong heart, and his bitter memories. XV. WHEN fairly at school again, we soon left the long bright weeks and months behind us. I was studying almost as hard AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 165- as the winter before, but I seemed to possess a marvellous skill in going over much ground with great ease. Whether that in some things, Helen was my co-labourer, and the study really was divided, as the Irishman said the walk of ten miles. would be between his friend and himself--" only five miles apiece!"-or whether the beautiful hope which. nmoved its white wings around me everywhere, gilding every cloud, and marking out a plain, bright pathway through all difficulties, whichever of these brought the inspiration, I certainly did not lack it all that summer. With Angela,. Margaret, Mary and Helen, what a band of beloved ones walked everywhere with me. I felt a special drawing to- wards each of them, a peculiar sympathy with each, a com- munion with every one, which still the other could not share." Margaret was so chastened; Mary so calm, sensible, and womanly; Angela sprung so gaily over every chasm, and Helen walked always by my side, my own good angel. She had not the sympathy with my ambition that Margaret used to give me, she did not meet nie with gay jest or banter as Angela did sometimes, but she steadied me, and sustained me when the gaiety was gone, and the strength spent in am- bitious effort. Through Helen, came to me every month the dear letters from her brother, which made me almost sick and dizzy with the excess of the happiness they brought, and to her alone could I talk of him. Walter had talken Aunt Eleanor's ad- vice not to apply to my uncles till he should come down in August, by which time he hoped to be able to sell his com- mission, and to decide upon some plan for future occupation. This, decision he found it very hard to reach. In one of his letters was this passage: page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 1686 ASPIRATION: "Edith, I feel so keenly every day this truth,' that I am not my own? not yours either, my sweet love, as entirely I belong to another-to my God. Now the work that I have to do is His work, and in what way am I to accomplish it most thoroughly; I would not spend vain strength or breath. I desire to work right on to an evident and worthy end. Henry and Philip have each their paths plainly traced for them, but I have no tenantry, no church and people. How I have. always envied them their direct pursuit of life's proper aims. How much nobler is, it to serve my God as Philip is doing, than to serve my king--or even call it my country-as I was waiting to do! Stephen Meredith will take my place in my regiment. I have some regrets in giving it up, for I have grasped some strong and manly hands amongst the officers here.. The two or three, however, to whom I have confided my reason for leaving the service, with hardly an exception, call me fanatical. They give, indeed, greater credit, to the little Yankee girl, whom there is a rumour here that I love, for a share in my disaffection than she deserves. But while I know that you would love me all the same as the English officer, I am sure you will love me none the less when I stand by you, divested of all eclat, simple Walter Manners--bound to you first on earth, and after you, through his fellowmen, to God." At another time he wrote like this. How proud and thankful I felt that it was my Walter who wrote thus: "I was delighted with your confidences in regard to the future which you craved far yourself. I should despise pmy- self, my Edith, if I should come between you and such a noble life of devotion to others, without giving you any opportunity you might select to carry out' some wise plans even as my wife. One thing allow me to say, my precious little woman, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 167 your private income shall be devoted to the same good pur- poses that you at first intended that it should; and I am proud that I may share the future which such devotion will chasten and bless.' Do you know, Edith, that I have thought of teaching? I do feel that the young man requires, in many respects, a different training from any thing received -at the schools and colleges of our land or your own. I cannot well see how a new professorship could be erected, but those who now fill professors' chairs should have such an infuision of ear- nestness poured into their souls, that they should teach some- thing else besides the shells and husks of knowledge. They may make learned men, but not cultivated men, not wise men. I know a wealthy planter in one of your Southern States, -who opened a boys' school, to the immense surprise of his friends. He answered them in this way: 'We inherit our slaves, and at present I see nothing better for them, than that we should keep them; but our young men are not so in- structed as to become good masters. I shall rnake it my business to train up the future slaveholders into humane and Christian masters.' With such a purpose I would like to teach. I would aim at moulding men ;-a teacher can effedt this much more directly than a lecturer or even a writer. I do not consider myself called to be a spiritual teacher-- speaking to men in God's name from the pulpit; but I do feel authorized to instruct in a more humble way those whose still plastic natures can take somewhat of the ' upright im- age' in which they were first created. I cannot decide this question at present. I shall be at Northden in August, and I purpose being then freed from all bondage here, and able to spend most of next year in the States, where I shall be instructed and guided, doubtless, to a wiser decision than I can attain here." page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 ASPIRATION: This letter pleased Helen very much, and in my pride I 'could not help going with it ,to Aunt Eleanor. I was quite repaid for the effort it cost me, by her quick apprehension of the character of the writer, and her hearty approbation of his quite unusual course. She congratulated me tenderly upon the happiness I would have with such a co-worker, and said she should be proud to have such a man atmongst her connections. Such a commotion as there was in the school when all knew that Miss Hazeltine was to be married! Who would take her place? Whom was she to marry? and then, where did she know this man who seemed to have dropped down from the moon, or from some other unknown quarter, to claim her? The ordinary gossip of the schools fairly stood still during all the rest of the term. Everybody so respected and loved the dear lady that they forgot all their own private interests, and were ready in heart, hand and purse, for any furtherance of her happiness or well being. In the first place, she was to be married before all the school! and it was to be on the last day of the annual, examination in August. Then, aside from all individual gifts, the school as a body decided to give her an elegant present,-a complete set of table silver,--for the purchase of which all should con- tribute according, to their ability, and as many of her old pupils as could be reached by the information should be allowed to share in the gift. How eager, and busy, and important every one felt; aLnd how we worked on, aided by the counsel of one or two of the teachers whom it. seemed wisest to- take into our confi- dence. Margaret especially enjoyed it so much. There was enough magnanimity in her for anything, for any possible AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 169 demand. Her joy in this happiness of Miss Hazeltine, whose story we told her, was entirely free from any tinge of the sad feelings which it could but awaken in her own heart. It really seemed such a relief to her to find the cloud lifting from other souls. Not. one of us happy or careless girls really rejoiced as Margaret Crosby did, or worked harder in carryving out the plans of the school. Margaretnevertalked with me about it, but glad tears overflowed her eyes, and she murmured blessings and thanks as if the greatest of all im- aginable happiness had fallen to her portion. At the request of some of the girls, made through Angela, Miss Hazeltine allowed many of the arrangements for the ceremony to be made for her by them. The details of that day seem of no kind of interest to her. I am sure she had but one idea connected with it, and that was of the beautiful consummation which awaited her life-long hope. Our zeal in our studies was only augmented by all this preparation, and never did such unequalled recitations bless the teachers at Northden; we studied as we did everything else, with a keener feeling than we had ever known before. Especially were we perfect in her own classes I She must be conducting our ex- aminations upon the very day which she was to be married! Few persons could have had self-possession enough to do it; but in what could she fail now! Mfich better would it have pleased her to have given her hand to Richard Mason as she had given him her heart years ago, in the sanctuary of her mother's house. But that mother was dead now. Saving her father, a very aged man,- she, the youngest of a large family, stood alone in the world. For half a score of years she had been the Principal of this school. Under her care it had risen to an eminent station amongst such institutions. Per pupils had been to her as; children, and there, was therefore page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 ASPIR TION: some propriety in granting their request that they might i witness her marriage. "(It is the last favour I shall have it in my power to grant them," she said, "and I anm not now a timid girl, afraid of herself, and of every step she is taking. Apart from its bliss, there is a pride in my heart in becoming the wife of Richard Mason, and I do not mind that my girls should wit- ness the union.. I should be worth Leah and Rachel both to him," she added gaily. How my heart sunk! Involuntarily, I would have spoken to her, and, proved how unworthy, how unlike he was to her ideal; but my aunt,-who heard her with a grave sweet sympathy in her happiness-listened to this so calmly, that J felt rebuked. It -was very well. Small thanks would that one merit who could have destroyed a single link in the gold- en chain which she was twining about her life. God was watching over her-she was beloved of Him. He would, in His own good time, give her all her longing heart was asking. It was decided that Madame Renau was best qualified to succeed Miss Hazeltine. It was feared at first, that she, a stranger until now, however well qualified, would feel some hesitation in accepting such a situation. Moreover, Miss Hazeltine's department had been so different from Madatne's. Miss Hazeltine gave up all her time to Biblical studies and to Mental and Moral Ethics, while Madame came here to take charge of Music and Drawing. But Miss Hazeltine \ gave the decisive word, saying- "She does teach music and drawing, but I might have been easily instructed by her in my own department-except that she does not read the Hebrew, which has been a study pursued by me rather for my own satisfaction than for any good I could derive from it for my pupils. She is moirethan AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF- GIRLHOOD. 171 my equal in Biblical studies, especially in an exegetical course. In a conversation in her room, one evening, on cer-. tain mooted questions, she gave -me an exegesis of parts of the Epistle to the Hebrews, which would have done credit to Professor Cuyler. I have a proposition to make, however, in connection with this appointment of Madame, Renau. I think it would be a very desirable thing to have another teacher, who with some few other duties, could assist Madame in this very department, which hitherto I have filled alone. I feel now that I have been, overtasked, and I should be un- willing for any one to have so arduous a position. I have heard more recitations, often, than any other teacher, and have, besides, had hours of every day Occupied in disciplin- ary and other duties. Miss Crosby is preparing to teach- she is remarkably adapted to the position. If we can secure her for the post I have been speaking of, she will come up to the work as no other person that I know of can; and Madame Renau will find inher an able and worthy coadju- tor in all things.' Of course this decided opinion of Miss Hazeltine, had its due weight with the regents of the school, and Madame Re- nau was elected to be the Principal, with Miss Crosby for an assistant. The greatest satisfaction was felt in the school when this was known. The age, address, -learning, and ac- complishments'of Madame, entitled her, before all others, to the position; and as for Margaret, never was there a girl of her dignified and reserved character so popular amongst teachers and scholars. We beheld in her, already, a future Lady Principal, when Madame Renau had served her term in that difficult post. I was delighted and disappointed at Margaret's appoint- ment-delighted that she was to be with me another year- page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 ASPIRATION: delighted more than all at the honour done her, and the pleas- ure all felt in doing it. But I wasUdsappointed, and this feeling I had to keep to myself, because I feared that Mar- garet was now put out- of the way of all communication with her lover, as I persisted in calling him. I would be glad to see her Lady Principal some day; but H would be much happier, because I knew how much her happiness would be enhanced, if I could see her heart healed and sound, and know that she was the wife of a worthy, and therefore a kingly man. "Ah, my Margaret, I hope no part of Miss Hazeltine's destiny will descend to you-those twelve long, cruel years! And you would bear it just as she has done, could you be persuaded that you loved worthily. Why am I so happy, when such women as these must suffer ." Thus I questioned, and the future alone could answer me. Margaret met me one morning in her room at the Semi- nary, where our committee held their discussions concerning the arrangements for the wedding. It was a dear little cosy room, with windows opening on the upper balcony. I had been looking around at its simple furniture, arranged by Miss Hazeltine's own hand, for comfort and beauty too, for it was her favourite recitation room; and I thought sud- denly, that the resplendent "tea service" which was then be- ing made for her, was not by any means the most suitable thing we could have given her. While I was busy with this rather uncomfortable thought, Margaret came in. 1 pointed to the book-shelves, which nearly filled the end of the room opposite the windows. "Consider that a minute,Margaret Crosby, and see if you don't think that we might have planned something which would be quite as useful, and much more apposite and de- \ AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 173 sirable for Miss H.! How charming it would have been to have furnished her library. What stupid people we were! We know what kind of books she lilkes, and we could easily have ascertained what works they both already possess. Well, the only consolation I have, is in my own private spec- ulation. I intend to fill a fine book case with such volumes as will please her most, and have it placed in her sitting- room."' "We were wrong, I know, Edith, about the silver. You know I once proposed to purchase only forks and spoons, and some knives, etc., and expend the most of the money in some/other way, but I was quite talked down by some of the eager girls. IDon't you remember Anastasia Shipley saying, 'Suppose they had distinguished guests to entertain, as very likely they will have, how mortifying it would be to have Britannia or China, or even plated tea-things.' 'Poor Anastasia! She, would be mortified, no doubt, and her guests might notice the absence of the pure metal; but it was very funny to think of Miss Hazel- tine, or Mr. Mason, or any of their friends, caring about such a thing." "I had long ago resolved on a gift which will please you, Edith, and correspond with your bookcase. Don't you re- member the fine picture I drew a year or two since from the ' Art Union,' which the artist called so justly, ' Memories of Lake Winnipisseogee ' -It shall hang over the mantle-piece of that same sitting-room; it is a very large picture, and will fill up the space over the fire-place of any room I know of?') "Charming! Why, Margaret, a hundred thousand dol- lars could not have selected anything more beautiful! And think what it will speak to her! Why, I doubt not they page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 . ASPIRATION: made scores of excursions to Winnipisseogee, in their young days! You know she had a married sister, living at Centre Harbor, with whom she often passed vacations."' Where is Mary? Let us know her private cogitations on this subject." But Mary made her appearance before the window on the balcony, as I spoke. "I have heard all your plotting, girls, and didn't interrupt it, I was so busy thinking about myself in the same light. I was just concluding on a picture, when Margaret forestalled me with the most apropos thing in the world-I hadn't a word to say. What can I do? I would like to furnish a complete and elegant sewing apparatus. How would that do? You know I could get any number of beautiful things peculiar to that part of a woman's province a work-table, a work box to stand on a side table by it, and on the match-table on the other side, the daintiest and most beautiful of baskets-such thimbles and needle-cases, and silk-winders, and scissors and pin-cushions, and crotchet- racks, as I can hunt up. She will not go to her house till nearly a month after she is married, and I will go to Boston and search for enough graceful sewing appurtenances to make Victoria envious, supposing Victoria was woman enough to like to sew. Mr. Mason is a good musician, and Miss Hazeltine sings--you know how, as if she had a heart and soul-so Angela and Ralph together will give her a fine parlour-organ-" "Which must go into this same sitting-room. She will not have a parlour, I know. Their fine rooms will be his study and this room which we are furnishing, you may de- pend upon it." "Very likely it will be so," said Margaret; " and now we may let the rest of the girls do the cabinet ware and the up- holstery, of this delightful room." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 175 "Only, a reading and writing chair go with my book- case!" "And a sewing chair with my work-table, of course," said Mary. "Ah! here is Helen, just in time; listen to me a mo- ment"-and I recapitulated the plans we had been making. "How unkind to leave out Madame and myself! You have left us nothing to do, unless-oh, yes--Madame has something, which perhaps her own idea has already appro- priated to that room. She encountered, at a sale of works of art in Paris, those exquisite medallions of Thorwaldsen's, "Night" and "Morning," selling for a song, and she availed herself of the opportunity to get them. You have seen the bas-reliefs, probably, Edith-these medallions are true to the original, and very impressive, I assure you. For my- self, what can I do or think of? I could get Walter to pur- -chase a couple of statuettes, or busts, or something." "Statuettes will be best-busts would be out of place be- side the sewing chair and work table; they would suit bet- ter in Mr. Mason's room." "I hardly know what to get-I don't want any mytho- logical affairs-soine pretty German thing or other. - You don't know howfeelingful German sculptors are. The Greeks did the soul and the heart, in various expressions, and really we are greatly obliged to them for their ideas and abstrac- tions. But give a German artist a piece of clay, and he will model for you, not the idea of a heart or soul, but a combi- nation of the two. Girlhood or incipient womanhood, and the matron-not Niobe-but a home mother-heart mother- the mother of the little baby." "I think a home is twice a home in Germany, is it not, Helein?" page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 ASPIRATION: 'C Oh, yes! Those old Teutons could not live in the open air, as they did in the South of Europe; so they have witched into their homes, around their hearths, as much as they could gather together of spirit treasures."' "Superficial ideas with the Italians-affaires de societe with the French-national and political discussions and legislations with the English, modified, however, by the old Saxon blood which reverences the hearth-stone; but in Germany, dear Germany, we find the land of homes-not out-of-door Italian life, not social Parisian life, not politico-economical English life-but such simplicity, wisdom, man-loving and God-fearing domestic life as the Germans only fully feel and carry out into actual being. But for the beautiful promise which we find in this country, combining as it does the good of all countries, I should have preferred to live in Germany, of all lands I ever saw. Our six months at Heidelburg, were worth two years of Parisian hot-bed culture." ' When I am married"--I checked myself, seeing Helen's quizzical start of surprise--" if ever I get along so far, in the world, I mean, I intend to go to Germany and spend a year, provided I can bring the gude man that chooses me to such an idea." "It is a very good idea, Edith," said Helen; "I would keep to it.' Your brother John is a good Germanl by nature--take him over with you." . "Not till he gets a wife, Helen. Don't you see that a man without a wife would not half see Germany, according to your account of it--unless, indeed, he was very much in love, and looked at things through that medium instead of his wife's eyes. Somehow, I never think so much about Frank, but I do want to have John married, more than I want any- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 1" thing else. A good wife would do him more good than any one I know." ' "Every man is better for such an appurtenance." 't They need wives and children to keep them human." if "Cool and self-complacent judgments," said Margaret, who had been sitting by very quietly, listening till now, when she laughed at the ludicrous gravity with which unconsciously we were writing ourselves down better halves to mankind. "What judgment do you suppose a man would pass on such assumption and arrogance " "It makes very little difference what they say or think. 'Necessary evils,' and all those, vulgar stereotyped express- ions, which they sometimes use to represent our sex, don't go half so far as the involuntary deference paid to us every- where. No! no! while men remember their mothers and sisters, the wives will have their full share of regard. -There are times, I am sure, in every man's life, when the worth of the love of a true-hearted woman meets with a full acknowl- edgment from him.'" "How well informed, and how much interested you are in this subject, Edith!" "May-be I've been taking lessons, Mary! Don't make eyes at me!" XVI. WHAT a terrible commotion there was when the second week in August fairly set in! I think I should have lost bal- ance completely, but that a very sad thing had happened to me not long before. Only the very day after the discussion about the wedding presents, John had appeared before us very 8* page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 178 ASPIRATION. suddenly, and with a grave face, which had plenty of company when he told us what brought him to us. A letter from a brother officer had reached him, with the information that in a desperate skirmish with a party of Senm- inoles in the everglades of Eastern Florida, poor Frank had been very severely wounded, and was now lying in the hos- pital at St. Augustine. There were no great fears to be en- tertained for his life, but it bade fair to be a long and pa- tience-trying case; "and Captain Arden--he has been pro- moted for his gallantry on that occasion-really pines for a familiar, home face. He begs you to come to him, and re. main till he is able to accompany you back to the North. He will doubtless be invalided for some time." Thus the gen- tleman wrote. I longed to go myself, but it was not advisable. I knew I John could be a tender nurse, and that this demand upon his ( feelings might benefit him, as my sickness had done in the spring, so I let him depart the evening of the day he came, carrying with him as much of my heart as I had at my own disposal. I only hoped poor Frank would get well faster than Lieutenant Claire seemed to anticipate--and then they were coming together to my dear Northden-this being more like home than any place the poor fellow could be taken to. Except for this, I should have been crazy with the excite- ment and anticipations of this anniversary week. First had been John's coming; then how my heart throbbed as I whis- pered it to myself, Captain Manners- my own Walter-was to be here; and to crown all, the marriage of our dear Prin- cipal, which was to end the day of examination in our depart- ment. We were not quite sure when Walter would arrive. Young Meredith had not yet made his appearance, and Wal- ter was to remain at his post till his successor came.- This AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 179 was annoying; perhaps he might not get here at all during that week. However, Helen said we might as well keep on hoping, and so we did. But Monday night, Tuesday night, went by without him, though a great many-even hundreds of guests--were crowding to our anniversaries, and Hwas growing hopeless. Wednesday; the great day of examination with us, had come. There were a multitude of minor annoyances occur- red to me, which at any other time I should not have minded, but they contributed now to my discomfort and uneasiness. In taking off my bonnet at the hall, my curls already woefully affected by the damp air of the early morning, caught in the malicious straw, and their dishevelment was comical. - Then there was not in all the building anything like a looking-glass, and my elaborate toilet, to which Mary and myself had be- taken us by early dawn, was quite thrown away. I was im- patiently twisting up thertumbled tresses with many ungentle jerkings and pullings, when Helen came in as fresh, and fair, and dainty as if she had just alighted from fairy-land. "Oh stop, my dear Edith! what are you doing? Here, let me get my gloves off, and I will try my skill with those poor curls." So her immaculate gloves were taken off, the'exquisite lace was turned up from her delicate wrists, and 1 found myself in the hands of a maid whose taste atoned for her lack of ex- perience, and who soon reduced my cheveux de frise to some kind of order. The curls took shape and form, and those which\ had hung gracelessly over my neck now fell over a comb which Helen procured in some mysterious manner, to the admiration of all the beholders. $"You must always wear your hair like that, Edith," said Angela; " who would ever know that your head was set page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 ASPIRATION: upon your neck like one of the Graces, if you let that mass of curls fall down again? Why, your head would enchant Canova now, and your neck has just the proper arch for pride and beauty." "You are very good to try to put me in good-humour with myself again, Angela. I really did care this morning to look well, and took a vast amount of pains to accomplish that end." "^You never looked to better advantage in all your life, dear.. Say, Margaret, won't she do?" "Will I, Helen?"I whispered. "You foolish girl, do you want any more flattering?" "I want to know whether -Walter- will be pleased if he should come; that is all you know, Helen." "Don't speak so reproachfully, dear. If Walter is not more than satisfied, he deserves to be handed over to-what spiteful thing shall I say-" "( Come, girls, take your places," said Miss Wadleigh; and in a moment, ranged two and two, according to oiur seats in the Hall below, we went down stairs, almost two hundred young girls, white robed and bright faced, with our young hearts warm and bounding, and our young souls eager and aspiring. I know it must have been a pretty sight! I saw a similar scene in the same halls, a few years after, and even seen through tears, (which I could not repress;) as it was, it was one of those beautiful visions which haunt us evermore. Imposing spectacles and fine arrays have passed before my sight many a time since-but nothing so moved me as to see those lovely maidens, fitting for important and beautiful futures, and bearing- now the stamp with which they were to seal others for happiness, here and hereafter. ' Womar's lot was on them,' but they were gaining strength AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 181 and wisdom, and nurturing every virtue, and opening to the beams of a pure love of goodness and learning, the petals o, their folded hearts, thus keeping away the worm in the -bud, which often blights the fairest promise. Beautiful were the serene and calm-browed woman who received this bright band, and before the hundreds who filled the hall, gave ac-, count of their stewardship, with a proud humility. They had laboured faithfully in their high trust, and while with bound. less longings for the good of all they had prayed and worked and waited for the end, they had also risen by their labours to a lofty rank amongst their kind, and the men who stood around all reverenced the teacher, and did homage to the wo- manhood, whose mission was thus-being fulfilled. As we entered the hall, my eye rested at once on our Prin. cipal. She stood a little in advance of the others, and there was a peculiarity in her usual aspect which the circumstances of the day conspired to render more evident than ever. She was tall, erect, very noble in stature and bearing; her voice was fill, rich, deep-toned, and modulated like an instrument of music; about/ the forehead there was a massiveness which- the delicacy of the chin and mouth relieved, and the expres- sion of her finely-chiselled nose and her deep blue eyes was in perfect harmony with the general effect of her appearance -but her hair-her fair Saxon complexion-these were the marvels in the picture. Her hair was fine and soft, and as fair as ever we see it on a blue-eyed little girl, and hung in large soft curls on each side of her face. It was this which gave such a spiritual, sometimes almost angelic, expression to her. - Now she stood up before us, so self-possessed, and yet so softened jn her aspect, that I could not remove my eyes from her. Every word, every gesture was appropriate, easy and f por page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 ASPIRATION: simple. When we were all in our places, Angela took her seat at the organ, and struck the noble chords of Old Hun- dred, and all the school joined in a grand chorus in this most wonderful of choral strains. A prayer followed in the breath- less hush which succeeded the music - then came another triumphant song of sacred meaning. Now the committee of learned and dignified men who were chosen by our regents to report upon our examination took their places, and the usual duties of the day commenced. Class after class passed through the ordeal with commendable accuracy and readiness. Already had I become so intent upon what was passing around me, that even the absence of Walter could not give me uneasiness. Suddenly Helen, who was 'sitting immedi- ately before me, and whose interest in all the exercises was most intense, novel as they were to her, turned round to me, and with a beaming face, but without a word of explanation, slipped into my hand a scrap of paper- "I am here, dear Helen. I cannot make my way to you, but I can see you both. I will come to you at the earliest moment. W. M." All the blood in my body rushed to my face, and then back again to my heart. I did not raise my head from the desk upon which I had leaned it to read the note. At- length, while in this bewildered condition, ( heard my name called. I looked up and around in amazkment-for a mo- ment I could scarcely tell where I was, or wBat was meant by that sound. One or two of the girls repeated the words- "Miss Edith Arden, you are called; don't you hear?" I could not possibly tell for what purpose. I had known at just what hours my classes, music, -and so forth, were to . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 183 be called for, but I had no idea now of time or place. I hur- riedly left my seat, and almost staggered to the platform where Miss Hazeltine stood; there I heard her low, calm voice, saying, slowly and impressively- "Edith, command yourself, my child. Where is your thTemne?" Where was it? At the seat from which I had with so much difficulty found my way hither. I had some sense re- maining, and with a crimson flush usurping the place of the previous pallor, I hastened to my desk and brought the fair ribbon-bound roll back with me. I trembled very much, but I was trying to calm myself. I was intensely mortified by this emotion, which all could see, but whose source none could: rightly know. I began to read-my voice shook into unknown and very provoking quavers. Aunt Eleanor was sitting near, and leaning forward, she said sternly-- "What is the matter, Edith? Do you not know what you are doing H At any other time that stern tone would have brought tears, but now it had the effect she intended. I said in an equally low voice, which could not speak the words steadily- "Oh, Aunt Eleanor, Walter has come!" And now, the secret out, my agitation instantly subsided, and I read aloud in a clear, strong voice, my thesis for the day. The subject was "Memories of the Departed," and it was an annual assignment counted the honour of the fourth year, and contained as graceful and truthful notices as could be written of those old scholars, members of our Literary Society, or of any who had once been teachers there, and had now passed away from earth. Some of whom I now $ page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 ASPIRATION: spoke, I had known and loved myself; and in the touching memories which their names brought to my mind, myself, and all that now concerned me, faded away. Before I had finished, I was so subdued, so calmed, and soothed, and quieted, that I needed neither self-control, nor the repose which was too often absent from my usual manner. Three hours had passed since we came into the hall, and all were glad of the recess which followed my reading. I returned to my seat -slowly, and Helen was surprised by my unwonted self-possession. "Come with me, Edith, you need the air; we can easily reach:the eastern gallery. See, all the crowd is making for the other end of- the building." And so leading me, without a word of what filled her heart and mine, we soon found ourselves alone in the small draw- ing-room, of which I have spoken once before, which opened into this eastern gallery. Alone-no, not alone with Helen, but alone with another, who held me in his .arms and kissed my brow, and cheek, and lips with an abandon which I could not resist, and would not., I had no wish to speak or move, or know anything else of life-I would stay so forever. Selfish Edith! for there was my dear Helen, giving me the' i first, because dearest right, while she stood aside, willing to give, what had always before been her place, to me. "Come, Walter, I will -not be forgotten forever-you uncommonly selfish people you. I do believe you think there is no one else in the universe now, but your two simple selves. If you please, Miss Arden, and can spare that gentleman a minute, -I will take a few kisses myself, and refresh myself with setting eyes ori the poor decapitated man." "Dear Helen-" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 185 "There, you need not say a word, Edith, I don't blame you for being so contented. It- was only this ungrateful Walter who was to blame for forgetting me, -when I so humbly stepped aside." But Walter made amends now, and we sat down- together as blessed a trio as this round earth held that day, I'm very certain. Walter had a great deal to say, and while he was talk- ing chiefly to Helen, I used my eyes as I had never dared to do before, and looked at him till I was even, as Helen said, contented. Contented, indeed! If I did not know that I was the happiest girl that ever lived, then I did not deserve to have that dear hand clasping mine, or meet, as I often did, those most loving eyes, revealing- a power in them before which my own instinctively drooped, as in sweet duty bound. By-and-bye, Helen's importunate-ques- tions ceased, and then Walter, suddenly relinquishing my hand, sprang to his feet. I looked at him inquiringly, as he stood before us, retreating step by step, till he found us at a convenient distance. "Well, Walter--' "Oh, I was not thinking of you, Helen." "As if I did not know that!" "Iwas merely looking at Edith for the first time." "' Take an eye-glass, Captain Manners?" "No, I don't need one, thank you. I knew you looked just like this, Edith. I want you to look so always-all but those painful blushes. Don't think I am rude, -my little maiden, but how can you help it? I must seem very brusque and ill-mannerly-there was that determined con- versation, the first we ever had, then that presumptuous letter, and now this unkind scrutiny. Upon my word, I am not a credit to'my family, am I, Helen? Do you approve page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 ASPIRATION: of such wooing, Edith? Tell me what I shall do to please you--I am just as resigned as possible." Helen laughed. "Why don't you put him down a trifle? Don't you see the man is overcome with arrogance? I don't think it would hurt him to open a vein. You have no idea how Edith's words can stab, on occasion, Walter." "Have n't I! I think there were bright and sharp tips to the arrows the very first time I ever saw her." "Is the wound still rankling?" "No, Edith, thanks to your skill which applied the balm. Thanks to my presumption, too, which showed you that it was needed!" ^ Edith, Walter's zelf-complacency is intolerable. I won- der at your patience with it." "Helen, is Edith always as beautiful as this?" "Walter Manners, such impertinence ." "Now, Helen, tell me honestly, for I am in dread lest the vision vanish." "You would not have needed to ask that question if you had been here when we first came to the hall." 'How so ." "Oh, I was a fright, truly. You must thank Helen's tiring skill that I am presentable now." "Yes, Walter, her hair was all tumbled about, and pulled out of curl, and as rough as if March winds had had their will with it. The child sat down to cry; would have done so, if I had not come and twisted the tresses up, and put the curls where the graces ordained them to be. Then when we were all comforting her, and telling her how nicely she looked, she would take no consolation till she had asked what you would think, 'if she would do for you!' forsooth-- foolish Edith!" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 187 A"Foolish Helen! you have no mercy on me." "Oh, I just wanted Walter to know that you were not always 'so beautiful.' I wanted him to see how much credit I deserve. There is the bell-how fast half an hour has slipped away! You have nothing to do for an hour after we return to the lower hall. I hope Miss Hazeltine will forgive me for countenancing the impropriety of leaving you two people alone here during that time." "We will forgive you any way, Helen. I would forgive anything to-day, however heinous." "Let me know, Helen, when the class in Spanish comes on." And Helen was gone, and I was left. alone- for the first tiine with Walter Manners! "Class in Spanish! Yes, you are nothing but a school- girl yet. Somehow, you seem very different to me from the Edith of less than a year ago." "You began to love me then, Walter?" "Don't speak so reproachfully; I did not say how differ- ent. I may be going of to love you at a tremendous rate. No, that I am not. Do you know, Edith, I cannot love you any more than I do? I have no capacity left for a deeper feeling. Only I shall love you differently as you wear your various aspects. Now you are my pearl, my little dove- gentle, sweet; you even tremble now; you dare not lift up your eyes. But there is another Edith, a diamond girl, who flashes, and dazzles, and cuts, oh, how sharply!" "Will you have diamonds or pearls?" "I'll tell you, darling--forme the pearl, for me alone; but to others, though mine still, you may turn the flash, and glitter, and glory of the diam6ind. Be always to me my pearl-my pearl of a wife. That is a sweet word, Edith- * t * . , page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 ASPIRATION: that is the sweetest word in all our language to me, /and to think that I can give it to you." We were Silent for some time-there was no longer any need of words, and they never did, they never could ex- press what was in our hearts then. By-and-bye, when those hearts were beating quietly, and we could talk of something besides ourselves, the bewilderment of this first meeting having in some measure passed off, I looked up to-speak to the man sitting still so gravely by my side. I found him looking at me with a serious face; there was a smile in his eyes, though, and he was going to speak to me; so I held my peace, and he asked me if I remembered all our stage-coach conversation. "I believe I do. I have rather a keen remembrance of that very eventful day." "What did I say that impressed you most?" "What a question!" "Nay, answer it, Edith. Did I not tell vou that your ideal was nearer to you than you imagined .' I moved aside where I could look at him for a moment, and then said slowly-- "Walter, I shall begin to think Helen was just in her banter-" "Concerning my arrogance and complacency! Oh, Edith, do you think so? But I know you do not. I could not speak thus of myself; but I know, I am certain, that when you promised this dear hand to me, you ceased dis- tressing yourself about that ideal, which before -that time had always come between yourself -and your present life. The restlessness, the- questionings of life, of the laws of existence, and of its end, subsided. You felt, at least, that having 'taken one important step -forward, you could now AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 189 work on quietly, and leave the event of the effort to Him who seemed directing your destiny. Now, darling, listen to me a few moments and judge me if I am conceited. I knew from the way in which you talked to me in the coach that your young life had never been disturbed by more definite emnotions than those which prompted your questions, 'Why do -1 work, what is my role, for what do study V The future had a dim, painful vagueness about it. Had you been studying to teach, you would not have asked this; for though the teaching is not the ultimate purpose of study, it satisfies at first the young intellect. Had you the future in view, which now we see together, thank God, you would have felt the peace which gives you now this quiet, even pulse. Not that to marry is the end of a girl's thoughts-- and of the aspirations of a clear soul-but this would have marked a resting-place. I am sure you have studied as much, or more than ever, since you promised to become my wife., Is it not so?" "Yes-I would not have you ashamed of me!" "There! that seemed the reason. I knew it would be your answer, for your heart would reply; but there has been an- other, nobler impulse, which, so far from failing because you found another reason, the very satisfactory one of pleasing me, has only gained an imperceptible but sturdy strength in these summer months.- The love you so sweetly ac- knowledged to me, the expression, I truly feel, of your im- mortal nature, revealed a profounder depth than you had yet encountered in your soul. This new capacity urged you to new effort. The more we love man or, God, the more capa- ble we become of great progress in knowledge. The really intelligent mind is elevated into a new being by this richest page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 ASPIRATION: and profoundest of emotions; every faculty is quickened, every other feeling is intensified, and the labour is greater than before, while the feeling of repose increases too. The strug- gle goes on with unabated ardour, but no longer wearyingly, no longer painfully." "It is so, Walter,-you have expressed it well. There is but one thing which you have omitted. The intensity of the struggle does not weary me now. I find much repose; but there are times when I am still conscious of a want-a need; there are hours of dissatisfaction which I feel the more, I some- times think, for this very love which has so stimulated my soul. If I could think aloud, I should sometimes say this: ' I love, by the help of my soul, which is immortal; but I love a soul, like my own, cumbered by mortality. I can love that- which is infinite in perfection, immortal in being, and which alone will satisfy every need.' Does it pain you to hear me talk so2" "My precious little helper to immortality, can you think that I would listen to this with pain! Did I not tell you that teaching was not the ' ultimate purpose' ;-that -this love which has given you some peace was not the fulness of your soul; it is only a landmark, not the end of the pilgrimage. It shows you that you may go on with a fellow-pilgrim, not that you may rest there always. No, I should be illy satis- fied with the heart which found itself satisfied with me; whose aspirations went no further; with the soul whose capa- cities were filled by a mortal love. All these things which occur to us in our lives are simply relative; but to the earnest, true-hearted, and God-fearing and loving, they point us to Him the absolute;--we still want Him--we still need Him. I should not dare to take this little hand in mine and AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 191 walk onward, leading you, did I not trust that God would lead us both to the Eternal City ,Now, Edith, have you found your ideal?" "! am coming nearer to it. I have found out that I am on the right path. I am satisfied as. I go onward. I can trust in my leader when he trusts in God. I feel sure that now the efficient aid will come; there is so much hope in my future-so much brightness dispelling the clouds, even though I see not yet the glorious Sun, the source of this light." XVII. IT was a very long day. It seemed a week to me-as I sat by a west window that afternoon, watching the going down of the sun-since I had last seen that sun rise ; so much had occurred in the meantime. I had lived many days in that twelve or more hours. Life is not counted by risings and settings of the sun, but by pulsings of the blood; not simply by physical growth and expansion, but by mental strengthening and spiritual progress. I had-returned in due time to the public hall, and under- gone the examination in "Spanish," and in several other studies during the day. Walter, who was nearly a stranger to every one, established himself where I could see him when- ever I chose to look that way; where I could feel his eyes upon me with a pertinacious, but often, I doubt not, uncon- scious gaze. 'It must have been a strange scene to the Eng- lishman, this examination of nearly two hundred young girls. I was charmed with Helen's whole-hearted, vivacious interest in it. She respected our teachers and many of the older girls with whom she had found a sweet companionship. Both she and Madame Renau had entered- so zealously into all the page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 ASPIRATION: - interests of the school, that whoever thought about them did so with a sincere feeling of delight in the acquisition they had been to us. During the mid-day recess, Helen, to whom I had left it to do the honours to Walter, presented him to my uncle, and to those ladies whom he had already met in the spring. He and I were very friendly and cordial, but there was nothing more in our manners, and no one but my aunt and Helen dreamed of the connection between us. This was delightful to me; this very first bit of mystery which I had had about myself. I enjoyed it vastly now from my usual unreserve. I was a little afraid Margaret would not take it kindly that she had not known of it, but there was nothing small or pitiful about my friend. It would be enough for her and for Angela that there was yet no authorized engagement, and that it had been Aunt Eleanor's advice to be quite silent about the matter till it was more decided. More decided! Why, Walter and myself, Helen too, felt as secure about it as if we were already made one by priestly word! However, I was resolved that Margaret, and Mary, and Angela should know all about it as soon as possible after that first day. How I anticipated their surprise! The long day we had commenced in this lower hall at seven in the morning was closed at last. There had been a little stir a few moments before the crowd began to disperse, and Aunt Eleanor had told me it was caused by the appearance on the scene of Mr. Mason. He did not come into the public hall, however, and save that the flush faded quite away from the face of Miss Hazeltine, no trace was to be seen of the emotion which must have almost stifled her. There was no public leave-taking on her part, and no public recognition of Madame Renau as her successor. Nearly all there knew \ AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 193 that the Lady Principal was to be married that day, but the where and when was not generally known. The careless all went away. Then the girls went up into the beautiful draw- ing-hall, which was nearly the size of the room below-there they filled up the depths of the apartment; then the senior class of the young gentlemen at the Institution came by par- ticular invitation, and those of Miss Hazeltine's very inti- mate friends, who had been amongst the guests of the day. The professors and their families were there, and one more guest of whom I will speak presently. One side of the room was carpeted, and beautifully trimmed with flowers and wreaths. In the centre of it was a canopy of greenery, from which flowing vines descended, so as nearly to veil those who stood beneath it. They came in, Esther Hazeltine and Richard Mason; and the teachers and several of the gentle- men who had accompanied him there, arranged themselves as bridesmaids and groomsmen. Uncle Ernest stepped forward, and with a simple, but most impressive ceremony, united for life Esther's future to that of the lover of her girlhood. I have never witnessed a more solemn bridal. Whether it was the emotion which the whole history of their love stirred within me, or that my arm resting in that of my own betrothed was pressed to his side, and I felt the beating of his loving heart as we listened together to those binding words, or whether it was the fair and now pallid face of the bride, whom angel wings would have befitted as well as that bridal veil, I know not, but I was faint with the excess of my feel-- ings when all was over. I have named one most honoured guest. Sitting in alarge arm-chair in front of the bridal party-for he was too feeble to stand-with his perfectly silvered hair falling over his grand head; and as he leaned forward on his cane, and with 9 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 ASPIRATION : his tears falling upon the floor, as he listened to the holy words, was the venerable father of our dear teacher. When the prayer was ended, my uncle went to the old man, and aiding him to rise, walked with him to the loving daughter, who stepped forward to meet him., "'I am eighty years old, Esther, and you sat on my knee a baby, when these locks were already silvering with age. I did not think I should live to see this. She has loved you faithfully many years, Richard Mason-see to it that her life wears the glory of the happy wife; cherish her in your bosom while God gives her to you; and God bless you both, my children, here, and for- evermore, in the life to come." And so the marriage was completed, and whatever the future betided to them they were to share together. "God bless them," echoed a hundred hearts; and did He not bless her beyond our hopes even? When with her own noble grace the bride had received the congratulations of many of her friends-arid they were soon offered, for all knew she must be worn to death with the- fa- tigues of the -day-she, with her husband, who might well look proud at last of such a wife, went to the carriage that was to convey them in the long twilight of the summer's evening, to a friend's at Centre Harbour. "It was too late in the day to be married-a marriage should take place before noon, or after night closes in. They will be overtaken by the darkness before they can ride eight miles." "Yes, married when the sun was setting! It is a bad- omen." I was not in the least superstitious, but I could not help clinging closer to Walter's arm, as, standing on the balcony, we watched them drive away and -heard these various com- ments, and I said in a low voice- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY, OP GIRLHOOD.. 195 "We will not be married so. We will not give the dark- ness a chance to overtake us." "No, Edith, we will have the glad sunshine, and imprison it in our hearts from that hour." We were all too tired, with the livelong day's events, to think of anything now but rest; but as we were going away, Walter said-- ' I shall come up a few moments after tea, this evening. I am not coming to see you, however, Miss Edith. You had best take yourself off to bed very soon, heavy eyes." "Keep your good advice for those who need it, young gentleman," I said, laughingly. "I don't go to bed when the birds do, now-a-days, but I always know enough to sleep when I am sleepy." And so I did. I had a most refreshing sleep of two long quiet hours, and when Walter had astonished Uncle Ernest out of all propriety by asking him for his niece, and telling him how long we had loved each other, and how Aunt Elea- nor had known of it all the time, and had always favoured his suit--and when Uncle Ernest had given his consent-how could he do otherwise, with Aunt Eleanor there, saying all manner of kind things, and using her own stout arguments in Walter's behalf?-when all this was settled to the voung man's content, and he was going out of the library, having been assured by Aunt Eleanor that I was fant asleep; there was I, fresh as the dawn, standing before him. Of course he put his hat down on the rack again, and-led me into the library to Uncle Ernest, who kissed me in the tenderest manner, and blessed me more earnestly than ever before in his life, and put my hand in Walter's and blessed us together. Then Aunt Eleanor, with most unusual gra- ciousness, told me to conduct Captain Manners to the little page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 ASPIRATION: sitting-room, and saying the library lamp would give us light enough to talk by, she and Uncle Ernest betook themselves to the deep window-seat, where they discussed Miss Hazel- tine and her romance-and doubtless Edith Arden and her romance. But of this I cannot say. I only know that I sat on the couch by Walter, and told him how I had lain there that bright spring day and read his letter, and how I had told Aunt Eleanor-and he- But how can I repeat all a lover will say, and who will thank me if I do . I remember I thought it had been a very few moments only that we were there, when Aunt Eleanor reminded me that it was nearing the small hours of the night, and if I had slept off my weariness, others had not; I'd see quite enough of Captain Manners, and he of me, in the two or three weeks we would be together, for all of this vacation Walter and Helen would be with us; and she would advise us to save a few topics for discussion for some other day. So Walter bade good-night, Whispering to me as he left us, "I feel half married, Edith, since your 'good uncle blessed us together here. I am glad I am, going away from you a little while; I want to ask Walter Manners, if ' I be I, as I think I be.' I am -afraid it's a fairy story, or a dream, and that I shall wake up and find myselfa mere mor- tal again, 'flat, stale, and unprofitable.' There, good-night, my sweet-named little maiden; there is a sweeter name in store for you." At the head of the stairs I met Mary Atkinson, who, like myself, had been sleeping most of the evening, but had been spending the last two hours very unlike myself; having found me gone from my room, and, at last, after some re connoitring, ascertained that I was sitting alone -with- Captain Manners in the sitting-room. she had been spending AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 197 herself in a thousand wonders. As I advanced to her, she caught me by both hands, and drew me into our room in a most precipitate manner; and then fastening the door, she turned around and asked me with the most frowning face and in the sternest voice she could assume, what-was the meaning of all this? "Of what, Mary?" "Of the performance to-night, Miss Innocence. What time is it?" "Respectable bed-time, I suppose. Uncle Ernest and Aunt Eleanor came out of the library at the same time with myself." ;' What were you and that Englishman talking about in the sitting-room?"' "About love and marriage, and so on." "Shameful; I never heard the like of this in all my htfe. "Then Ralph has not improved his opportunities, that's all I can say." "But Ralph and I are engaged, you know we are." "So are Walter and I, and as vou know that, now we are even." "I would not have believed this, from any one else in- the world." "Mary, such a compliment to my veracity does me honour."' "How long have you been engaged V" "Well, it's a number of months now, since he may be said to have proposed, but till to-night I have had no one's consent to this disposal of myself, except Aunt Eleanor's." Mary sat down and drew a long breath. "A proper fool I have been making of myself, telling you all Ralph's foolish speeches, and my silly feelings in conse- quence, while you have been learning wisdom from it-- page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 ASPIRATION: holding your tongue and reading your love letters to your- self! I suppose you have had any number of letters from this man .' "No; the very definite number of five, only; here they are-you may read them at your leisure, Mary." "Impertinent! But why in the world, Edith, have you kept all this so secret?" c; Can't you see, my dear 'Mary; the first letter brought me by Helen, when she and Madame spent the day with us, last spring, was such an outpouring-such a gushing letter, as Ralph would say-that I could not make up my face to show -it to you, who I then thought had no comprehension of such things. I showed it to Aunt Eleanor, because I had to tell her, you know, and that was bad enough; I thdught if I survived that, I would let other people find it out as best they might. There seemed to be such a vagueness about the whole affair, that, she counselled me to say nothing of it, while she sanctioned the correspondence. If I had told you, I ought to have told Margaret also, and Angela, who half divines it, and John, who thinks me a little goose, quite ignorant of such things as hearts-and so it went, dear, and I concluded I would mind Aunt Eleanor, and if you were very angry I would throw the blame on her very desperately, and get you to forgive me for my share, in it." And so she did forgive me, the dear Mary ; and we spent more than half the short night left to us, in talking the affair over; the only wonder was that we were prudent enough to go to sleep at all. But suddenly I grew very much afraid that I should be sick the next day, which I would not be for any mortal consideration, and so we concluded to go to sleep, and how we slept is signified by the prayer-bell ring- ing twice before either of us were awoke, and then Aunt .,( AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY. OF GIRLHOOD. 199 Eleanor came in and opened our blinds,-and showed us an hour of sunshine lost, which amazed us very much, and an- noyed us too. There was to be a great speech pronounced at the Chapel on that Thursday, and all the company of the previous day were to'be there to listen to it. Captain Manners, as I continued to call him for a long time, to his annoyance, often, came up very early, with his sister, and stopped at the house to go up in company with-us. Ralph and Angela came in too, and Ralph very unceremoniously left his sister to offer his services to Mary, for which Aunt Eleanor reproved him heartily, but said, as Angela would not care for -his com- pany after such a manifestations of indifference, and as the Professor had already gone before to join the faculty on some business consultation, she would escort her with all the pleasure imaginable, and Helen, too, if she would accept her offer. "That looks very much as if you intended leaving Edith to Captain Manners, Mrs. Cuyler. - Are you sure it is agreeable to him to take charge of the young lady 1 Edith is very perverse and difficult to manage, sometimes." : "Well, he can try his skill a little, to-day. As he for- mally asked her uncle for her last night, and the Professor, finding I had no objections, gave his consent to this arrange-- ment, it will be Captain Manners' own fault if he is not pleased to takb charge of her to-day." "And you are, you must be, in earnest," said Angela, while Ralph for a moment forgot even Mary's existence in his surprise . "Of course I am. What do you think about it' Captain Manners? Will it be' agreeable to you to take charge of the young lady '?" page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 ASPIRATION: Walter was just then buttoning my glove with the most lover-like assiduity. He started, when thus addressed, and answered: "Yes, to the ends of the earth, Mrs. Cuyler, and we are agreed as to the way of reaching that ultima thule. I believe Edith really feels relieved to find herself so well bestowed, and, for myself, I assure you, Mrs. Cuyler, and the people here generally, that I should walk upon my head, if that were the politest expression of intense satisfaction. Oh, we are alarmingly happy, Miss Edith Arden and I. Shall we survive it, Mr. Haine; I believe you are a veteran, compar- atively speaking? You and Miss Mary must take preced- ence of us by reason of seniority--I might be awkward in the command."' So they went on in this order--Aunt Eleanor and the two girls, Mary and Ralph, while Walter and I walked soberly behind them, thinking a great deal and saying very little. I am sure it is a matter of not the slightest consequence what the great speech was about, or who was there, or what was don' , generally, during the day. Only. one thing inter- ested ;me, and that was that I saw nothing of Margaret. Madame Renau informed me that she was too much fatigued to come out, and she had left her nicely petted in a darkened room, with every comfort about her, and a staid good girl to wait on her. I was pained and saddened to learn that Margaret was sick, and when I told Aunt Eleanor of it, she proposed to me to go down, when the services at the Chapel were over, and sit a couple of hours with my friend. This pleased me more than anything else could have done. So after lunch at home, I accompanied Helen and her brother to the village, and found poor Margaret as they had described her, low in mind, and really overcome with fatigue., , f AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 201 The shock which her system had received the year before, had left her with comparatively little strength, considering the burden which she had to sustain. When she -faltered we might be sure the last spring had given way, for she was resolutely strong, so long as human nature would aid her. "Margaret, I want you to do me a favour." "What can I do for you, my dear girl '" "You have been lying here a good many hours-it is warm and close in this dark room. There is a fine, fresh air stir- ring out now; you will feel better to get up and put on a pretty muslin wrapper, and come into the west parlour. There is no one there, and you need see no one except Helen --and-and her brother. I have a particular reason for wanting you to see him. Margaret, will you come?" The dear Margaret! She was soon ready to accompany me, and as I laid my hand on the door-knob; I stopped for a moment. and took heart in that-extremity to say-- "Margaret, Captain Manners and Helen are in there, and- i must tell you something before we go in. I am to be mar- ried to Helen's brother in another year. I have known of his love for me since he was here last spring. Uncle Ernest told him last night he should have me, if I was willing, which I have been for a long time. I might as well acknowledge it. , Margaret sat down at the foot of the stairs. She shook from head to foot, and could not speak. I was getting alarmed at her silence, which she saw, and then she smiled and said- "No matter--how foolishy faint I am-I was not strong enough to come down stairs, and you tell me now such strange things 1! I am glad to hear it,.however, Edith. I have a feel- ing that Captain Manners is an honourable, high-minded man, 9* page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 ASPIRATION: and I think from all Madame has told me about him, and all I know of Helen, that you have a chance to catch a good shate of sunshine together.:' ( You don't scold me for not telling you before?" '"No, dear; there has been -too much else going on this summer. Well, Edith, I give you both joy. Here is a kiss for you, my little girl, and now I will go in and shake hands with my Edith's betrothed ;" and so we went into the room. "Captain Manners, you have won a golden girl in this dear friend of mine.. I hope she can love you as satisfactorily as she loves her friends. She will need steadying sometimes; but a little love leads her a great ways, and gives her a great deal of strength-we have to manage her yet some-as you will find out; for she is very fond of being run away with by her impulses. I believe I can trust her to you." ' I hope I shall prove worthy of the trust, Miss Crosby; the strong attachment which so many feel for Edith seems to me the highest praise that can be given to her. I loved her very impulsively, almost instinctively, at first, and so I won her to me; but I have confidence to believe that itjis an im- pulse which arises from the depths of an affinitive nature- 'elective affinities,' you remember, Edith?" "Oh yes, I remember about that. Margaret would tell you, Walter, that it is Providence which has sent you to me. She has great faith in such things being managed for us by a wise ruler of hearts and souls." "So have I, Miss Crosby. I consider these affinities as the indication by which -we can trace the hand of God dis- posing of us.. The true-hearted and God-fearing are not apt to be led astray when they follow their impulses." "Oh, Margaret, I am so relieved that you -know of this. And now you, and Angela, and Mary, and Uncle Ernest ANl AUTOBIOGRAPHY. OF GIRLHOOD. 208M have all given your consent; you don't know how glad I am what a burden is off my mind. I would not be burdened with another secret for even youj Walter! I thought it would be so delightful to keep it, and then so delightful to tell you all; but I find it a thousand times more delightful to throw it away and let everybody know how happy I am." "Edith," said Helen, " you flatter Walter beyond toler- ance. How can you]" XVIII. , WALTER, how long could you- be happy here-really contented, I mean ;-doing nothing, as we have been doing all the week, and taking in our enjoyment in this glorious place, so much through the outward sense-?" "Look, Edith, at the reflection of this magnificent sunset in the waters; see it where the keel ripples there; how it breaks into molten gold.' The air is delicious; everything around us is in harmony with the evening; those islands are true emeralds; the little village-the vale of Avoca had nothing in it as serene and beautful as that abode of humanity nestling before us, between those lofty hills." "But everything within us is not in harmony. I asked you if this life satisfied you?" , What more can I desire, Edith; are you not here? Do we not seem to be in Eden?" "But I tire; even rational pleasures cannot satisfy us for- ever." "You use words wrongly, my love: rational pleasures are pleasures which cannot tire us, because they are used with reason. We know when to work and when to play, if we use our common sense, and the play which follows the labour is page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 ASPIRATION: rational. It is recreative-necessary; and when it palls then we may know that it is no longer necessary, no longer ra- tional. Now, if you are tired here at this lake, with your aunt and uncle; with all your intimates; with me--why, what shall I say! It is quite a confession to make, Edith, when heretofore you have been 'so happy you could stay so always.' "Oh, don't repeat my words, Walter ; that makes them sound so silly. It is very simple for a person to say of any- thing that they could enjoy it forever. I think I can say this, however, very safely. I could always enjoy spending a week at Winnipiseogee with you, after such a summer as I have had of toil and excitement." ,'What a moderate and safe expression! Then you have had a very happy week up to this time, and now at suchanhour, such a scene, your friends near you, your mind unperturbed, you are not at rest! Once you panted for repose; the struggle of life was the Sisyphean stone to you; now when a week's rest from severe toil, and a degree of excitement which you know endangers even your physical being, is hardly over, you begin to ask for the labour again!" "I cannot help it. Perhaps I am never to be satisfied; in this life, I mean. Is it best that I should be? Can I expect it ." "No; you cannot ask for more than life can give." "There is one comfort." "I am rejoiced t. hear it." "I think, if you and I were working together; if this rest which we are enjoying; if this very sail on this beautiful lake, came to us in the necessary interval of repose; the hap- piness which we found here at first and have missed of late, and have been searching for, would come to us then." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 205 "'You would never live through the dolce far niente of the month of seclusion, which they give to young married people in England, and call the honeymoon." "Not I, I see." '"You will not expect to find me always such a dull com- panion as this, Edith; you don't think we are going to get mutually tired, when we begin to sail together alone for life ." "Oh, Walter, how can you ask such questions? You un- derstand me,.". "Do I! Well, a year ago you asked if there was no re- pose; if life must always be a struggle; if, when the world was perfect, every one would be working with his hands, and- every acre of ground would be planted in corn and potatoes.'" "Did I say all that to you?" "Yes, and a great deal more, to the same effect." "Well, you know, Walter, you and 1 are going to post it through life, and we shall enjoy the stopping places, the ' taking our ease at our inn,' very much. If we were going along on a canal boat, even around such lakes as this, we- should get dreadfully bored." "What an Edith. My pearl shows a strange light to-night; let-*me see, have I mistaken an opal for my jewel?" "Don't laugh at me, and persist in saying you don't un- derstand what you do understand very well. You are-well I was about to tell you, Walter-to begin with my views of our future life - what you are to me; but I do not find any words to express myself in. You know what I am to you." "Dear as my own soul, Edith; my idol-no, I will -not say that silly thing, you are a great deal better and dearer page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 ASPIRATION: th a lny idol that ever glowed in a young man's fancy or a poet's dream. I am satisfied at least.' "Wrell, really, it is very good natured, and very magnani- mous in you to say so, Captain Manners, when you may as- sume, perhaps, that I am not satisfied. But we will not jest, Walter. I want you to answer some of my questions. I want satisfaction." "With coffee and pistols?" "How can you! Walter?" "What can I say, Edith?" "Just tell me why we cannot live so -forever." "Because, my dear little girl, you must go back to school, and I must go and find something to do that will provide a nest for my bird-go to pedagogueing, for instance." "What a tease you are! do be magnanimous; indulge me in my ill mood for a while, and answer my questions." "What is this; Edith; a tear! If you cry, it would be proper, I think, to kiss the tears away, and then you will be glad to stop," "I don't doubt that." "Glad to stop crying, 1 mean." "The heavens may be weeping for me, Walter, but I have not commenced that duty for myself yet. Now answer me honestly. .Don't you believe I am just as happy, as loving, as proud, as much blessed in this present hour, and in my hope of our future, as a maiden can be?" "I would like to believe it. I should be miserable if 1 thought otherwise. But, Edith, you surely- had an ances- tress named Eve, and she had the garden of Eden for enjoy- ment, and Adam, no doubt, a much more proper man than I am for a companion, and yet she wanted more than was given to her. So when evening was come, and Adam sat t AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 2)07 down by her side, and she looked into his 'eyes and read there how much he loved her,--for she was the light of his life, given by God to perfect his being,--this incompre- hensible ancestress of yours, very likely, said, ' Adam, I am not satisfied, I weary of this, how long can you be happy "Nonsense, Walter, you are not telling the story rightly, either; you ought to say that Adam had been working hard all day, and was tired, and now as he and Mrs. Eve were sitting on the mossy bank, they were resting; very likely she was tired too, but I think not--I think if she had been at work through the day she would not have felt so dissatis- fied." "Do you suppose they felt physical fatigue in Eden ." "If they did not, they certainly lost one pleasure, that of rest; well, we will imagine it; then instead of taking this pleasant rest, the evil spirit which the serpent had' created in Eve began to worry her, and she began to worry Adam about wanting the apple." "Precisely. And now, Mrs. Eve, instead of taking this pleasant rest, you worry Adam about the apple." "Dear Walter!" "I like that-here, I'll pay you for that." "There, I know you are satisfied now, so you must listen to me. Don't you remember the poem we were reading the first day we came here, in that Boston paper? 'Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way?'- 'But to live that each to-morrow, Finds us farther than to-day.'" page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 . ASPIRATION: "Yes, I remember it very well. It will do for a motto for' us, it will make a new coat-of-arms, and suit 'the American branch of the Manners' family. I grant you, Edith, that it is time for enjoyment, or our efforts for it, to be given up when we see that each to-morrow' finds us, no ' farther than to-day.' I comprehend what you mean, and you must forgive the teasing, You will, won't you, dear. I love you all the more, you may be sure, that you cannot rest inactive, that youhave gained some more just views of life than you possessed a year ago. You crave a healthful exercise of your faculties, your capacities; you find then enjoyment in exercise, in this very labour, and when fatigued by it, you find the repose to be enjoyment also. By each, the labour- and the repose, we advance. The farmer sows his seed and then waits for the seed to grow; they are equally neces- sary that he may be enriched-the sowing, and the waiting, and tending or nursing of the young grain. I spoke the other day of the ultimate purpose for which. we labour. The Westminster Catechism says, 'the chief end of man is to glorify God,' and I believe it heartily, and so order my life, Edith ; for that I gave up my profession, and for that I shall look in any other upon which I shall enter." "That answers my questions, Walter, in a general way. Now, how shall I glorify God? would be the next question, but I find that too solemn a thought to deal with alone. I do not study with that end in view. I have a vague idea that some way or other my studying is desirable; yet more is necessary. I knew that studying, so that you would not be ashamed of me, was not all, though it was a motive; but I needed a higher motive, just as I needed a higher love, just as I need the perfection, the eternal and infinite perfection AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 209 of all that I find good and lovable, and worthy in you. I can easily set aside the paltry ambition awakened by emulation. I can forget the eclat of standing alone, admirable and most excellent in all accomplishments, and yet I do not so heartily as yourself, say 'to glorify God.' I know it ought to be the end, but I do not make it so, and I cannot make it so. "That person whom we love best, we try to please the most earnestly." "Certainly ; and you would say, if I felt in my heart the love of God before all other love, to please Him would be the object of my life. I know I lack this, Walter, I feel it every day." " And you remain just there, dear'Edith; you make no progress beyond the conviction of that duty." "What can I do? Uncle Ernest says pray. I try to pray, but of what use is itl I don't see any good in it; no answers come, no light breaks in. Your love, the- tangi- bility of this one object, appeals to me, I respond to it. How can I take hold of this abstraction which you, with Uncle Ernest, present to me, in the words 'glorify God,' ' pray for direction 2.' " ^'"Edith, when we reach the house, we will take the New Testament and learn together from it. We will see what the lessons are which you need. You do not believe. You hear those whom you" trust say things are so, and you assent because they say it, but you do not believe for yourself; you only take these things on the testimony of others, not on God's own word. 'Walk while ye have light,'--but do not shut your eyes for fear the light will not last you to the end of your journey." "See the lights in the village and in the hotel, how plainly page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 - ASPIRATION: we can see them now, we ought to go back to the land, Walter-; Aunt Eleanor will be worried. about me. We have talked too long now; perhaps after tea Uncle Ernest will talk with us about these things. I have often talked with him, Walter, scores of times about these very things, and have not comprehended- what I must do. Maybe I shall understand soon, through your sympathy with me." "You could not comprehend what you should do?" said Walter, when he had turned the boat in the direction of the town, and came to sit down by me again. "That thing of doing is your trouble here. You want to do in the first place, but the first thing required of you is to believe, then you will find out what to do." "Help Thou my unbelief." "That is essentially your prayer, dear Edith; and hear what Jesus says, 'He that believeth on me, the works that I do, shall he :do also.' He did the will of His father, and God's will is our work. We do not depend upon our works; that is not the thing, but upon the faith which works prove to be within us." "It must be great happiness, great peace, deep peace, to feel that we love God supremely, and that we do His works." "It is, my Edith; and I pray that I may soon see you in the possession of that deep peace. I have been waiting to hear from you just the confession that you have made. I wanted it to come as spontaneously as it did come. I was glad when you felt even here, even now, this lacking to your happiness. I bantered you to test the earnestness of the feel- ing. I see the secret of your unrest, the secret of your too in- cessant occupation. You must give over that, and learn to work wisely. I cannot see this cheek growing pale and these AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 2" eyes dim and heavy; besides, you do not work to advantage e now. You overtask yourself; and then stop in a sad per- plexity, and ask why you must work thus. You thuslose much of the pleasure which I see you enjoy so keenly-the pleasure of the exercise of your faculties, and you are dis- appointed in the end; for you find no adequate reward for such unremitting ardour-no aim which has merited it. I will- try to help my little maiden to a more efficient course." Uncle Ernest walked down to the boat-house to meet us. "We were intending to send a deputation after you, if you had not come up very soon. You forget that the postman has been here over an hour." "From whom is the -letter? I see you have news for us." ' Yes, there is a letter from your Uncle Arden, Edith, for Captain Manners, and one from John for you." "Now stop, Edith," Walter called to me, "they have waited for you an hour ;" but I did not hear any more, I left the two gentlemen coming home, with the dignified deliberation which characterized Uncle Ernest's movements, while I fled to hear about my dear Prank. Such good news! but here is John's despatch relating to him: "You don't know, Edith, how home-sick the poor boy' was." (John always called Frank ' the boy,' though he was nearly two years older 'than himself.) '"He was ready to cry when he saw me, and for some time' I really feared our soldier brother was going to make a baby or a woman of himself. I told him all about you, (no indeed, John Arden, that you did not!) and he said he bad had his eyes opened a little to his happiness in having a sister last fall; as if Frank would find out such- thing before I could; he just said that, to keep up his always-insisted-upon seniority, which has been a great wrong done to both of us. You page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 -- ASPIRATION: i know, Edith, I am of right the head of the family, and poor ...Frank, I believe he'd sell his birth-right for a mess of Ikpottage now. The long and the short of it, Edith, is, that Frank, who is getting well wonderfully fast, and is in a tremendous hurry to get out of St. Augustine, will be able to travel in the course of a month, and you may, I think, expect us in Northden about the middle of September. You' must get a leave of absence yourself for a couple of weeks, little sister, for Frank will need your care and your company He is fairly hungry for a home, and the tender care of a woman. I have been questioning him and cross-questioning him about the black-eyed senoritas of this old Spanish town, but I cannot make out that Frank has been hit yet, by any- thing but those Indians.- As I look at the poor fellow lying here, and then consider my own nerve and sinew, I think another mistake has been made in Frank's being the soldier instead of myself. His brother officers say, however, that he fights-well, I will spare you the comparison, but they are proud enough of this last exploit.- They are a gallant, gentlemanly corps here, and are as tender to Frank as men can be. I -have seen one whom I thought would make a good match for you, Edith. I shall explain to him that I have a little sister in New Hampshire, as good looking as Frank, and almost as clever as I amn I advise you to look up your heart, as that is the sort of 'barter in kind,' which precedes a' good match' in my estimation. I really believe. one thing, my dear sister, whoever gets Edith Arden for a wife, will get a good wife. You are the gleam of light which has come into the misanthropy, that was growing to be my second nature before I went to Northden in the spring., AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 213 " Thank God," I said softly; but Walter, who sat before me watching me read my letter-having soon finished the missive for him-read my feeling in the involuntary expres- sion. a Frank is better " "Oh yes, but that was not what I meant particularly. I will letoyou read the letter, only you need not think me too full of vanity." "Come here by me, and I will stop reading when you say." "Read it all, Walter; and may I seed yours?" "Certainly, my darling. Your Uncle Arden and' Uncle Ernest,' are very different men."- "1 hope so-that is, I hope Uncle Ernest is unlike Uncle Arden"." "MY DEAR SIR:--Your letter was very satisfactory, as also your references. I have no objections to offer in regard to your proposition.- I flatter myself you will find my niece as amiable and lady-like a little wife as she is girl. She has some queer old-fashioned or new-fashioned notions about things, however, but those you can ascertain for yourself, I am very thankful she has not thought it" her duty to marry one of-those Yankee schoolmasters or parsons, who abound in that vicinity. I shall expect frown you everything that is honourable in regard to settlements, etc. Edith's property has been well cared for; she will have, on comping of age, a clear annual income of $10,000. I hope she will have sense enough to spend it properly. We shall be very glad to see you here. We had been expecting Edith for two or three days before your letter came. Will you not bring your sis- ter down with you, and pass the remainder of Edith's vaca- tion with us at our own- house and at Nahant, where some of page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 ASPIRATION: my family are now? With the best wishes for the happiness of Edith and yourself, "I am, with sentiments of respect, "Your obedient servant, "GERALD ARDEN. "P. S. It is a pity that you should have given up your com- mission just now. G. A." "My dear Walter,-I beg your pardon." "What for, Edith; what has happened?" "Why, for Uncle Arden's cool way of 'expecting you to do everything that is honourable. " "He is perfectly right, Edith, and I am sure he will not be disappointed. He has been the guardian of your prop- erty, my love, as Mr. Cuyler has been, more strictly speak- ing, of yourself. He seems to think I have done very well, and so I have, though I may not congratulate myself on the same things exactly. He will never see you with my eyes, dear Edith, and I cannot expect hiIn to see the annual in- come of a hundred thousand charms.' You have no idea of my estate, and yet you still propose to give that ten thousand dollars every year to some great work of benevolence. Have you no fears for your comfort?" "Comfort!" "Don't despise it, Edith; it is a need of the human na- ture." "Walter, can we have, independently of my income, a thousand dollars a year." "Oh, yes, we can have that-just that from my own small holdings."' "And you can teach, and I can; or you can do a great imany other things. I've had a grand thought.' You can AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 215 have a paper, a good paper. Editors have a wonderful mis- sion in our day." "We will talk about that by-and-bye. You can live in comfort on a thousand dollars!" - "Of course I can; you don't know, you have never seen how much I can do, and, how little I car. do with, either. Oh, dear!" "What is it?" "Oh, I don't know what to do withi ten thousand dollars every year. I believe I shall have to go to-work, from this time till I am twenty-one, and try to find out what to do with it. I am thankful I have you to help me in it; it would be- too great a responsibility for my poor shoulders to bear. Uncle Arden may settle it fast enough, but I will hand it over to your wisdom as soon as it comes into my possession. What a trouble it will be." "Perhaps, before you have to dispose of it, Edith, you may find some good purpose to which 'to devote it, or much of it. We have not got that to think of yet. I shall go on and study how to make my little sum eke out, by my own labour, comforts enough for my sweet wife." "Walter, Walter, you have nothing of the kind to do. I know what people can do in New Eng and, or anywhere in our country. I know that you can make us a charming home with your present income-just let me plan it by-and-bye-- and you may labour as much as you please, sir, but not to make me comfortable. I will help you, too. I can teach, or I can help you to edit a paper; you don't know how much I can do when helping you is the question, or helping others either, I hope. I wish I hadn't a dollar in the world --how charming it would be to make the imost of that thousand dollars. Let us live entirely on that.- Such a love of a page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 ASPIRATION: home as you shall have, Captain Manners. I can manage it." . - "Such a love of a wife as I shall have!" Can you manage her? They say I am miserably per- verse, sometimes." "I don't believe the time ever comes when a kind word, a really tender word, cannot lead you." "That depends upon who says it." "I shall take it upon myself to say it." "Wait and see." "John says you will make a good wife;-he is growing appreciative. Edith, you must forgive him for some of -he harsh things which he has said about your sex, when he makes such a loving armende to you. Wherever I may be, by that time, I must run up here to Northden for a few days when your brothers are here. What will they say?" "Oh, you don't know how I intend to triumph over John. Such provoking things as he has said before now, about my never keeping anything to myself. He said, a few days after I first wrote to you, that he could read me through and through; and he said, moreover, that the very first person who discovered to me that I had a heart-well, he said it like this; I would take my heart out instantly and give it to the very first person that revealed it to me." "Which you would not do, would you, dear?-you never thought of doing such a thing!" "Oh, Walter, you don't know how many--" "Yes, I do know all about it, transparency, see here." And taking from his pocket a little case of letters, he began to read to me certain passages from my first epistle to him, which made me run away, I was so completely foiled by my own weapons! AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF, GIRLHOOD. 217 Tell thousand dollars a year! Then Frank and John had each of them half of that. I knew I had twice as much as they had. Oh, I wish they would marry--let me see- Margaret;-John should have Margaret, and Frank could have Helen--oh, no, Helen would never suit Frank, but Angela- would. Of course she would be the very person. But I wisely resolved not to say anything about it, or do anything more than keep Angela as much with us as possible while Frank remained at Northden. As for John and Mar- garet ! I was in despair about both of them. Such cross purposes as destiny-no not destiny, I know better; as Prov- idence-well Providence did not sound right in this connec- tion, so I let the power alone, and only complained of the cross purposes which seemed to thwart my plans for these two people. As for Frank and Angela it was plain as, A B C they had been made for each other, and I hastened back to Walter to express my conviction of their destiny. He laughed and said I must not meddle with matches, th6y always burned children's fingers; and so we said good night, for I w as tired, but no longer bored. XIX. I WAs glad to see my friends in Boston-very gla d to see Gertrude and Ho race again; and most glad of all when all the congratulations and comments had been made-upon my extraordinary progress in affiairs. " To think, that up there in Northden, where we have so disliked to have Edith stay, she should have made up such an arrangement as this. I think I did inot see in London or Paris a more distingue lo oking man than Captain Manners and his sister is the very ideal of an aristocratically beauti- page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 ASPIRATION: ful English woman. Really, Edith has done wonders. I wonder if he is rich. Some of these younger sons are poor enough, but no matter; she has money. To what circles she can be introduced into at once,! I suppose they will visit England at least as soon as they are married. It's a pity she will go to school another year; and what a shame for him to sell his commission just now, and be only a plain Mr. Manners." "He is an Honourable, Gertrude,-the Honourable Walter Manners." "I know it, Constantia; but if Horace had been in the army you would not find me suffering him to leave it, and to put off that very becoming uniform. However, Captain Manners has such a military air, and wears his moustache and imperial still, he would be known to be a military man anywhere. He carries himself like a prince." And so on. 'Aunt Arden was charmed, and expended her enthusiasm in buying dresses, lingerie and jewellery of the latest mode for me. This was a grand annoyance. Helen's scrupulously plain though always elegant attire, placed the finery, with which Aunt Arden would have loaded me, in a shocking contrast. My protestations were of no use; they were going to Nahant again as soon as I was free from the mantua-maker, and I had nothing to do to keep the peace but submit with as good a grace as possible. I only resolutely insisted upon not wearing high colours or large plaids or figures, and thus maintained, as well as I could, a shadow of likeness to Helen. -For three or four days I gave as much attention to Aunt Arden as satisfied her, during which time Horace May and his gay young wife were doing the honours -of Boston to the brother and sister, whose interest in publicgschools, hospitals AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 219 and orphan asylums astonished them beyond measure. As for the State House, Old Faneuil Hall, and other places in- teresting to us republicans, the prompt and w-arm appreciation' of the English strangers was as delightful as it was wonder- ful. I had every reason to be satisfied with the impressions each party made upon the other. iBut when I could be re- leased from my durance to the modiste, I went about select- ing the book case for Mrs. Mason, and arranging the volumes which were- to fill it. Her husband had just purchased a small, but really lovely, residence fin one of the beautiful suburbs of Boston. ! We found the house already furnished, one room being re- served by the promise of our dear teacher for our own ar- rangement. Our plans were all thoroughly digested before the term had closed, and the Shiplys, Chamberlains and others had furnished carpets, curtains, lounges, etc., as we had agreed upon. And as soon as my bookcase was ready, and Mary, who was in the city now also with some of her relatives,. had satisfied herself with her selections for that "sewing corner," we, all went over to the house and ar- ranged the room precisely as we wished its future occupant to find it. . The furniture was rosewood. We had ascertained that the dining-room and library were to, be furnished with oak. Wood colours, lighted up by a little 'blue, pervaded the rich velvet carpet which Jane Chamberlain came to Boston pur- posely to' select. The curtains were of rare embroidery, and though at first the blue brocatelle which enclosed them seemed rather too rich and heavy, yet I remembered what Anastasia Shiply had written to me about them,--that when Mrs. Mason reached home the weather would be chilly, and the thick ourtains would give such a comfortable aspect to v^ I page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 ASPIRATION: the room. My dear Margaret's glorious picture hung as she had directed, and it was a feast to our eyes even then, with itA "memories of lake Winnipiseogee." Over the work- table, which stood between the fire-place and the windows, hung Madame Renau's contribution--the famously beautiful basso-relievos of Thorwaldsen -"Night" and "Morning." t My bookcase occupied all that end of the room opposite to : the windows, and on the side fronting the fire-place, stood the { gift of Angela and Ralph-the parlour organ. The room ! was large enough for all these things to be in place, and the , whole effect was exquisite. On pedestals in the corners were two fine marble statuettes, the gifts of Walter and Helen;- one was a sweet domestic personation of womanhood, the other was a " poised soul just ready for flight," as I could but call it, though the artist had found another less suggestive name for it. "Will it do, Walter 2 I said, when for a few moments j we found ourselves alone in this charming room. - "Yes ; it is as worthy of the lady as it is of the hearts and tastes of her pupils. Edith, do you think you will ever ! have such a nest?" ' "I don't want it, Walter. She has earned all this. I wish I could leave here a talisman which would keep away all heartaches, and an elixir which would reach the very springs of life." "She will bring the talisman with her in the faith, the pure, humble faith with which for years she has acknowledged God in all her ways; and as for that elixir, my ownt Edith, all- this beauty, and the glory of the love which now irradi- ates her life, will fade into nothingness before the glories which God will open to her view in the sapphire-paved streets of the New Jerusalem. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 221 "Don't talk about it, Walter, 'it seems impossible for her to die low-God will let her liveland be happy yet, with him she has loved so long and so earnestly--He cannot take her away from this." "It is a real picture house," exclaimed Gertrude, return- ing with Helen from their survey; "such harmonies of colouring in the carpets and curtains, simple as they are, and everything so appropriate-green in the library, and crim- son and maroon in the dining-rodm; and her chamber is dainty enough for a sprite. Whose taste is all this?" "Her own, I believe." "Has she been accustomed to these things, that her taste is so perfect?" "She has a harmonious mind which would not allow of a discord in colour or form; but you see, except in this room, very little money has been expended." "' His library must have cost him thousands of dollars." "Yes," said Malter, "but he gathered it with less ex- pense in Germany, than here. Books, even English books, are very cheap there.' I see, however, some extremely rare and valuable works," "Oh, I heard Uncle Ernest say that the University-I don't know where, but in some place-made him a present of a thousand volumes for some great service which he ren- dered them--something which his peculiar kind of knowledge enabled him to do very easily." "Your information is acceptable, Edith, though not very definite. I remember noticing some huge volumes which I wondered to see in a private library, they are so curious and costly." "She has no property?'" "Oh, no, Gertrude ; where would it come :from? He has page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 ASPIRATION: purchased this house--she has furnished it; and they will be chiefly supported by the income arising from his books. He has already some reputation in philological literature-that was the nature of the service, I believe, Walter, for which it seems he was so liberally compensated." "Will her father be with themn?" "Yes; did you see the small room in the wing, opening from the dining room?" "I thought it might be a guest chamber-it is a picture of comfort.' '"Well, it may be, and the old gentleman will find it so, but I do not think he will enjoy it long. Mrs. Mason's early, life was a bitter struggle. For a long time after she com- menced to teach, she taught only during the summer time, and spent the winters in this city, studying. She was a teacher, at the age of fifteen, in a district school in her native place. She told me once'that she learned the French verbs while working at a wash-tub." "What a noble woman! She may wdll have this luxuri- ous resting-place." "Yes, Helen, and she needs it. She has been overtask- ing herself all her' life, as she confesses, now that the stern necessity for such labour is gone." "Then you think, Edith, that she will not weary of this- that she will be willing to live here always." "Oh, Walter, she is so regulated, so tuned to chords of enduring harmonies. It is a very different thing from my- self. She has had her discipline, -and she has her deep and fervent religious life; that life within a life, it seems to me, to bear her company, always. Then this blessing, at last of her husband's appreciation-and how long it will take them to make up the lost twelve years. Besides all this, I know AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 223 she will go to work immediately, in some systematic and prudent way, prudent as regards her strength, I mean, to accomplish some great labour or other: she will either write, or teach a free class a few hours every day, or as- sist Mr. Mason, if she can. I see just how she will fill up her time, and, therefore, she will not have the unsatisfied feeling." As we left the house Walter remarked upon its choice sit- uation, and said he should not object to such a place himself. "The grounds about are extensive enough to take many im- provements. A little money and some pains would make it as beautiful externally as it is within." "Do you like gardening, Walter?". "* "Oh, you should have seen all my brothers, when they were boys," said Helen. "' They used to have each a plat of ground, which they cultivated, and Walter would send mamma such beautiful bouquets, with a note, to which he would sign himself," ' Walter Manners, Gardener to the Queen!' , "So, I was then, Edith, and so I will be again when, some time, we get a little plat of ground of our own. What a vagueness there is in all our future-there is but one defi- nite point." - . "When is -that?" I "Well, it comes in the month of-September, I think- about a year from now." "Oh, I don't know about- that; maybe--" "'Maybeesonly fly in May,' the children say. I propose to discuss this subject with you from this time till a year from now, at every fitting opportunity. You shall have it in prose and in rhyme-I don't dare to say poetry, you see; knowing that I never made over a dozen rhymes, even, in all my life-you shall have lectures and letters, teaching and page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 ASPIRATION. teasing, arguments and answers to your heart's content; but when all is said and done, I'll have my wife when I said." "Walter, Helen said you were human, and I should find it out. I shall no longer feel humble in view of myomwn perversity ; you excel me even in that; you do contrive to have your own way in a manner which amazes me. I am beginning to find out that you consider it your heritage, and as you are a younger son, are no longer commanderany- where, and have, as yet, no legal authority over myself, I shall teach you the lesson in subordination which Iyou should have learned when you fagged at school. I shall begin by saying that I shall be married when I choose." "Will you have the condescension to inform me when that- will be?" "I shall not tell you more than this--when I find you can no longer exist Without me." "Admirable -that is just the way you shall have your own way all your life long, little girl. I knew it would be all right, notwithstanding your stateliness." "You seem very much delighted-as much so as if I had not disputed your arrangements." I will just whisper to you, Miss Innocence, that you have put the matter entirely into my hands by your own admis- sion. I wish I dared be bold enough to arrange for this month, as well to my liking, as I shall for the next Septenm- ber. This going to Nahant is a trouble to me. I shall have to see you mostly in company with others, and I shall have so many duties pressed upon my own hands. There, don't look so serious, Edith; I am sorry I said what I did. We shall be pleasing your uncle's family, and you will be bene- fited by the sea air, I know; so will that fair lily, our dear Helen-besides, I shall see my Edith in a new aspect." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 225 "I have always been to Nahant at this time, with Uncle Arden's family, only we generally get there earlier in the season. Indeed, until last year, all of July and August have been passed there, for years." "I was there myself, last year, for a week." "We were in Boston, then-Gertrude must needs get - married about this time, because it suited Horace's conve- nience, -in some way or another." "When I know your family, as I am growing to, now, I recall your expressions of disgust, last year, when speaking of a gay life. You were wearied with the round of-frivolity and pleasure. There is some refinement here, but after all, there is much more in the professor's little house. Here, every appeal is made to the sense, and it requires a very perfect taste to adjust properly these appeals, so as never to touch the wrong chords. Your cousins are such young ladies as I have been in the habit of meeting at Saratoga, Niagara, and last year at Nahant. I thought them pretty, but exceedingly frivolous, and wondered where men found wives, for I should never think of proposing to such butter- flies." "Gertrude and Horace seem to be happy. She is better pleased with home than I imagined-the truth is, Gertrude has some of Uncle Arden's good sense, and. I believe she loves her husband to the extent of her capacity for loving. It was a touch of the old Gertrude, her wishing Captain AMan- ners would wear his uniform again." "! wish I need not be called Captain Manners, either; but I suppose it will take years for me to become untitled, now. Still, when I hear myself addressed thus, I am reminded of Alfieri, the Italian poet, who continued to wear his uniform long after he had forfeited his rank as a Sardinian noble, and, 10l page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] ASPIRATION: therefore, as a soldier, and who allowed his estates to be con- fiscated, because he would not submit to the tyranny of the king and of the court iules; yet, brave enough to do this, he wore his uniform for years at Rome, because it was bepfming to him. I am very indifferent to looks now, though I confess, Edith, that petty personal vanity has been a weakness of mine to some degree." "So I thought when I first knew you." " How you rated me then, but I deserved it. You really took me for a fop, I know. I shall lose caste with your friend Clara entirely, when I cut off these formidable sur- roundings." "Don't do it; you will not look like yourself." "Are you not afraid some one else will take me for a barber's apprentice !" "Oh, Walter ! how did you hear that ?" ( From Colonel Woodhouse. What will the Colonel say he will give you a good banter, I am certain, and Clara, too." "No matter; I can stand it, and all John's surprise-but see those boxes going into the house-there go my fine clothes. You will need an introduction when you see me again. Good-bye to my plain dresses, till I find myself in Northden." I came down to dinner "dressed properly," as Gertrude said. Walter was waiting for us, with Horace and Uncle Arden, in the drawing-room, our excursion making us rather late for the dining hour, which was the then unusual, but now, very common hour of six. The gas was in a full blaze as we entered the room. My uncle sprang forward,.and taking me by the shoulder, led me to the middle of the room, and held me still for a moment. " Now, Captain Manners, this is my niece, Edith, as we know her in Boston-what do you think of her-does my wife's bedizening spoil her any ?" "I see she is very lovely," said Walter, laughing gaily at Uncle Arden's evident pride in me, " but I thought that, the first day I saw her." '" Oh, Captain Manners !" said my aunt; " confess that she is-I mean that her dress is charming-perfect--I would have it flounced in that way, and she chose it herself. I must say the pure pearl hue of the silk with that delicate Mechlin lace, and the pearl pin and bracelets, are very beau- tiful, and much more becoming to Edith's style than I thought they would be; she has such dark eyes and hair, and just colour enough." "You look like a bride," he whispered to me, as we took our places at the table; "what a long year this will be I You must wear that dress again, then-it suits you." "Think, Walter, a school-teacher, and in our little home-" " But we must go to my brother's first-they insist upon 'it--and, for a while, you must wear your rank. Will it be irksome? We can come back to our little home and-lay aside these surroundings for the time; I do not fear but that you will always be glad to do it." "I shall, I shall; I cannot bear this long. Uncle Arden," I said, in a louder tone, "I am thinking of finding a wife for Frank, up at Northden." "What a clever managing sister your brother has got," said he; " what is your secret-do you carry a witch hazel which shows 'where the sweet waters flow' natur- ily ?" "Northden seems to be a curious school," said Gertrude page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 ASPIRATION: "I used to think no one went there but farmers5 daugh- ters." "Well, what then, Gertrude?" "Of course the girls would be more or less coarse and unpolished." "This country differs from ours in one respect," said Helen. "In England there is always less vulgarity in the country than in the towns. No one lives in town--unless it is in London. and then only during certain portions of the year-who can live in the country." "'Because, Miss Manners, here few have wealth enough to surround their families with luxuries and refinements, unless they makle it in business; we do not inherit large estates, as is the case in your country-at the North, particularly, we have not much of the country gentry which dignifies Eng- land. It is different in the Southern states-wealth there- consists in large landed property, and trade is scorned by many old families as heartily as it is in England--there the planters' families are educated 'And refined." "I beg your pardon, Mr. May, but my experience of your States has shown me as much real education, and what they have used to much better purpose, in the families of North- ern farmers, as in the families of Southern planters. There, every child has the advantage of liberal culture thrust upon them, and they often do not regard it-here, where such advantages have to be wrested from the sterile soil, they are prized in proportion as they have cost much. Were I an. American, I should pride myself more on Northern yeoman blood than anything else in that line. ^ These very young ladies of whom Mrs. May speaks, are training up to be the wives and mothers of the future great men of the land. I saw many girls at Northden who are doubtless farmers' . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 229 daughters, and I heard them pass examinations which would have shamed young men in your colleges, yet this almost masculine culture had not led them aside from the graces of life-they were refined, sensible, many of them beautiful, if only for the shining through of the soul into their counte- nances. Your schools will soon destroy the strong, peculiar provincialisms of New England. I honour the progress made here in all good and worthy thoughts and purposes. There is but one thing which troubles me, and that is the preva- lence of religious errors, here, in the very hot-bed of ortho- doxy, as you call it--to find so many Unitarians, and this growing body of Transcendentalists." "You are, then, an English liberalist and dissenter?V' "I have not left the Church of England yet, but I am so very ' low church' that I am afraid they will leave me soon." "It is not usual to find a perston of your station and pro- fession so democratic and so strict in religious matters." "I had a praying mother, who taught me more than the ritual of our church, and- who put into my hands a Bible as well as a Prayer Book. Those principles which form the groundwork of your noble Constitution-and of your dis- senting faith, I read for myself inl the New' Testament. There, too, I learned of the life hid in God through Christ. It is because I had a pious, single-hearted, unworldly, ear- nest woman for my mother, that I, and Helen, and my brothers, too, I hope, have such very: decided opinions on subjects which my compeers too often leave untouched, but which I find give stamina to life, and when it has reached its full growth, crown it with the perfection of life, the appro- bation of God." "Such feelings of course influenced you in giving up-your profession." page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 280 ASPIRATION : "( Yes, and will influence mne in the choice of another- for I know there is work in the world for every earnest- minded man." A XX. I FOUNj Walter alone in the saloon at Nahant. "This pale green is more befitting, even, than the pearl- coloured silk which so delighted your aunt in Boston. I can't help noticing these things, Edith, you have been so annoyed by them--they seem quite in place here." "Of course they are, Walter-but look at Helen. Does' not her plain dress-no flounces, no frills, no extravagant laces--please you quite as well and did you not like me just as well in Northden, in my white dresses and my mus- lins? Please do not care for my dresses.". "I only care for them because you become them, and, really, they become you. There, stand still-I see what Henry will say-he will call you a rose-bud, in that dress. The lady Mary must look to her laurels! Now those pearls are prettier than last night, with the dress of the same hue. You should have worn emeralds or sapphires last ni ght." "I am surprised that you notice those things so much. I. thought you cared for so many better things than dress." "I have something of a painter's eye, Edith, and you will not deny that I have a lover's--' Green it shall be, for green becomes you best.' How good of you to dress when every- body was here; now, when all the rest of the world are dressing, you and I can have a nice home-chat. You never ANi AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 231 have sung for me, did you know it? what kind of songs do you sing?" , Old- ballads. I am an indifferent musician." "I sing, too, now and then. I used to sing a good deal with Henry's wife--must you have notes--no?--well, do you know the duo, ' I've wandered in dreams'? 'I "Oh, yes-but, ,Walter, here in this public room, and- and-I feel out of place." "No matter, it is all the more true, here-' i love but thee., I love but thee,' he sung, in a full rich baritone. ' You little singing bird--how glad I am I've caged you," he said, when we had finished. "Now, then, here is some - music-ah, here is 'Norma,' music-we'll have some by- and-bye-and'here, ' I know a bank.' Come, myv fairy queen, trill away. We'll have a piano in our house, 'Edith, if we don't have anything else. Why didn't you tell me of all this before?" "' I really never thought of it, we were so busy every mo- ment, and so excited -in Northden-at Centre Harbour there was no piano-in Boston I had no idLeas of anything but dress-makers--but here, I'll sing for you. I am thankful there is one rational thing I can do." "What did you do at Nahant, when you-came down here formerly 2? "I believe I used to wear pantalettes, and throw pebbles in the water!" "Now that is my way of answering--you are an apt scholar--what shall I say " * "' Do you want to know what I used to think, when all the others were dancing, and riding, and sailing, talking non- sense, and flirting? I used to wish that I might never grow up to be a woman if I must do as they did. I sat, one even page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 ASPIRATION: ing, on the beach, and while Gertrude and Horace walked up and down-and I don't know what they talked about-- I watched the waves come and go, and I thought ' These restless surges eat away the shores Of earth's old continents--' then I fell into a speculation upon this text--'perpetual droppings wear away stones'-and I grew very philosophi- cal, and would have preached a sermon 'or written a poem, either, if I had been able to. Sometimes when ithe struggle which was even then my horror in life, grew intenser, or its perception became so to me, I went out on the piazza, away from the crowd and the throng, and then I always turned my face landward I hated then the restless surging of the sea, and I thought of Heaven as Mrs. Hemans loved best to think of it, ' where there is no more sea,' no more restlessness in nature or the soul-no change-no storms-no deep gulfs where wrecked souls go -down-where there is an eternal repose, a sublime fixedness." "Your idea of Heaven is mine, too, Edith, and we shall not tire of it, for God will fill our cravings for beauty and truth, and satisfy our thirst of soul, which causes this per- petual unrest, by giving us to drink of the fountain of living waters. There is a great deal of beautiful speculation in the world about Heaven, and about the earth, ' when its rivers shall roll through paradise again.'- The beauty of religion appeals to you very forcibly, I perceive, my dear Edith. Whatever fills our souls with the divinest joy here, we imagine in its perfection in Heaven. But do you not sometimes think of Heaven as a state of being, not an abode " - "Why should I 1" AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF G-IRLHOOD. 233 "Because I believe it to be so-you, too, will, when you think about it. We picture it as an abode, now, from the fact that we derive our chief enjoyment, here, through our senses-hence we talk of music, of celestial airs, of golden streets; the turmoil about us disturbs us, and we talk of rest, repose, of 'the wiclked ceasing from troubling, and the weary being at rest.' By-and-bye, when the love of God comes to form our chief happiness here, we consider Heaven as the place where , the smile of the Lord is the joy of the soul '-where we shall praise -Him forever-and, seeing him as He is,' shall behold the fulness of His glory, and compre- hend the infiniteness of His perfections. Do you not see, Edith, that this state of being can be approached much more nearly on earth than we generally think?" "Yes, by those who are very good, very spiritual-minded ---my uncle, Miss Hazeltine, Helen-but I cannot find it here, no, nor anywhere. I don't see howe it is that you, can have such serious thoughts here, and in the midst of all gaieties, as you often do. Why, when ][ try to think such things in these places, and after I've been dressing, as now, I feel very much shocked to think how out of place they are. I feel sure that it must be wrong to be engaged as I am, with dress and company, and the things of this life, because when I try to kegep a serious thought in my mind, this dis- cord is so evident. This is part of the struggle-of the jar which distresses me when I am with Uncle Arden's family." "For answer, I will repeat to you a sonnet I recently encountered, written by Miss Barrett, a young English woman: The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel A pleasant chaunt, ballad or barcarolle; page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 ASPIRATION: She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is fall, and artfully her fingers feel With quick adjustment, provident control, The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal To the dear Christian Church-that we may do Our- Father's business in these temples mirk, Thus swift and steadfast, thus intent and strong; While thus apart from toil, our souls pursue Some high, calm, spheric tune, and prove our work The better for the sweetness of out song.' So I, in an humble way, go along, often in the midst of busi ness or of company, with the.' high spheric tune' guiding me and soothing me, and keeping Ime from the inevitable weari- ness of life." "You know so much more about such things, than I do. You will have a great deal to teach me; especially must you teach me the harmony which keeps away the bad, irritable feelings with which I have to endure ungenialities." "' I am only learning myself, my dear Edith. It is but a little while since I found the key-note to this harmony. I have, however, passed through the same state in which I find you. My mother's words and her letters kept me for a long time earnest, and thoughtful, and asking, even as you' are now. I had a great deal to contend with. You can im- agine what my life must have been; but I had a Bible, and when the Sabbath came I went to church,-I went wherever I could hear that which would give me peace, for I was very unhappy, very restless, very unsatisfied. I had no confidence in myself, or in any one around me. At last,' with fear and trembling,' I began to see the light of the Day Star. It was after I first met you, my love, and while I was thinking of AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 235 you, saying to myself, how I longed to win you to walk by me all my life in love, and hope, and peace. Then came still stronger convictions of my inability to support even you. How could I answer that questioning, eager soul; how could I support another, who had found no rock for my own feet yet; and this sent me again to the, glorious Chart of life and liberty, wherein Christ has shown himself the rock, the strong tower. All this occurred soon after I parted from you. I wrote it all to my mother. It made her happy on her death-bed, Helen tells me,-and gave still greater tenderness to the blessings she left for my sweet wife." "And, now, Walter, I am .so thankful that I can lean on you. "Not on me, love; only for earthly spport; but I can aid you, I humbly hope, to the same staff, the same love which strengthens me, and enables me to keep nearer the narrow path." - "Ah, here you are," said Helen. ' I missed Edith from her room, and imagined, she had flown to you., You look grave; you have been discussing something else than Edith's beautiful dress, Walter?" "Yes, something very different. But I did admire- the dress, very much against the little lady's will. She wants me to find her so perfect that no dress can improve her; and she sisin some dudgeon whenever I can see the dress as well as herself.7 "Helen, I am afraid you will both of you :think it so fool- ish in me to wear 'fineries,' and really now I care so little for them. I think it a complete folly, at any rate, and Wal- ter persists in liking it. I believe he will want to keep me in pearl and green silks." "Not quite, Edith. I shall want to keep you the pearl page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 ASPIRATION: you are to nme,-but I shall want others to see you in these things which become you so well. Helen takes a different style of dress from yourself. We should none of us make a study of these things. But when buying and arranging them in the first place, I do not hold it at all sinful to make use of good taste in material and in consideration of the wearer. While I would avoid the excessive decoration for which St. Peter had occasion to rebuke the women of his day,--decorations to which doubtless they devoted most of their time and thoughts, as many of your sex do even now,- you. may still wear 'the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit' without an unseemly and often disagreeable plainness of dress. It is perfectly right for Edith to train those rich brown curls becomingly, and for you, Helen, to arrange those bands of pale gold so as best to suit your Madonna face." "There can be no rule given for such apparelling and ar- raying, Walter,' said Helen; "I time, circumstances and the fitness to the wearer-considerations which in most cases we have tojudge of for ourselves-determine what is right and what is wrong. I, Edith, heartily approve of Mrs. Arden's care for you, and am charmed with the effect of'your united tastes. You are a perfect fairy to-night." "You astonish me, Helen.' Your own plain hair and un- ornamented dress has become a model to me." "If it were proper to be so, I think, my dear girl, that it was a great mistake to give you those sparkling eyes, and tinted cheeks, and that wavy rippling hair., Was it not enough that you have a warm heart, and a kindling soul? Is it not enough for my brother, that you have that hidden in your heart for him, -which 'droops your eyes to their own duty,' and makes you gentle and meek before him?. It is no discredit in his eyes, or mine, that pretty dress should become AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHtOOD. 237 you so naturally; nor would it be if you cared a little more for it, so all is right in your heart. Just forget, Edith, that you have not a simple muslin on, and let us talk and act at Nahant, or in Boston, as we would at Northden; be sure you are not dressed any other way than charmingly, and then for- get it as soon as possible." Philip Lawrence joined us. He was an intimate in Uncle Arden's family, and I know him well--indeed, when Ger- trude was married he had been the groom's man in waiting with me. I introduced him to Helen and Walter, and he accompanied us to dinner; and when we returned to the sa- loon kept by us all the evening. I did;not observe him much, but Gertrude came into my room that night, when I was getting ready for bed, -and she and Constantia compared notes, as was their custom in the evening. To my surprise they had been making observations all the time on Helen and Mr. Lawrence, and the wa:y they jumped at conclusions was really too bad. I sent Gertrude off, telling her I would repeat all the conversation to Helen, whereupon she begged me not to, but she and Constantia persisted in saying that \ Philip Lawrence had lost his heart to the lovely Engli'sh girl. I thought of it the next day when he joined us on the beach, and then I saw how he devoted himself at once to my dear Helen. I could say nothing to her about him till she first spoke to me, but I remembered all the grave looks of Uncle Arden when Philip Lawrence, as Horace May's dear- est friend, began to visit in the family; and I knew he had been counted one of the gayest young men in the city, that he had a reputation even in Paris, where he had passed sev- eral seasons, for extravagancies of all kinds. I was not much disturbed, for Hknew how wise, and pru- page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 ASPIRATION: dent, and good Helen was,-and how unlikely it was that such a man would ever gain any influence over her well-regulated nature; but I became quite excited by the interest which their frequent association awoke in me. Walter heard all my observations, and shared in my feeling of interest, and also in the confidence with -which I regarded Helen. "She is so wise, and with all her simple-mindedness so perfectly assured of herself, that I shall not trouble her with any of my advice; but I shall take pretty good care that she never throws herself, or one emotion of her noble heart, away on an unworthy person. Yet, as you say, she allows him to walk with her, and they have very long conversations together; and Mr. May, who has observed it too, says he be- lieves Lawrence is really interested, and ' falling in love,' as the saying is, for he has quite forsaken the gay crowd here of which he is the life and pride." "It would be such an incongruous thing, Walter, if any- thing serious should come out of this. Why, I have never thought of Helen for one of my own brothers, because& I always say she is so much too good for them, too good for any man I ever saw; and this Philip Lawrence-I have heard of his spending fifteen or twenty thousand a year in unmeaning extravagancies." "He is a highly-educated man?" "Oh, yes, he carried away all the prizes at the University. He just goes on wherever he is, placing himself in the fore- most rank; be it in goodness or wickedness, in learning or in folly." "He must have great capacity;-he must be throwing himself away." 'That is- precisely what he is doing. Uncle Arden was afraid he would be attracted by Constantia, but there was no AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 239 kind of danger of that. Constantia was not clever enough for him, neither was I; he always treated me like a child, and used to call me ' little girl' and 'child.'" "I did not know it offended you to be called 'little girl;' I call you so myself very often." ': I did not know it-yes, I knew it; I don't mean that, but I had not noticed it. I suppose I like anything that you call me, Walter." "What do you like best?' "How can I tell you? You should not ask me that. I like that name best to which I answer most quickly. You call me many naines." "Yes, just what suits you at the moment, and I think of scores of others." "What others?" "Oh, I cannot tell you vet; some time I will give you the advantage of them all. The dearest now is Edith, my mother's name; bv-and-bye, when it is Edith Manners, I will couple with it the sweetest word in our Saxon tongue." Mr. Lawrence and Helen were walking together in the gallery before us; as they advanced in our direction, I called Walter's attention to them. They made a remarkable con- trast, but were a strikingly handsome pair. She was tall fair, slender, and very stately as she stepped now; he was tall also, but dark, with large dark eyes and an elegant con- tour. He was not like Walter; neither was he as powerful and impressive in his aspect as John; but the dark hue of his face, flash of his eyes, and flow of his hair, gave him a very striking appearance. He was looking at Helen as they came near us, as though he would absorb her, there was such an eager admiration-adoration almost--in his manner. Yes, it was clear enough that Philip Lawrence was conquered page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 ASPIRATION: at last; and what were we to understand by Helen's allow- ing him to attend her in this way? She must know this, must feel it, and she never could love him. It was impos- sible! We went back to Northden--Helen, and Mary, and my- self; and we brought Clara up from Concord; by way of going over old ground. We had a merry ride from Concord that afternoon. Walter was gay and buoyant, almost beyond anything I had ever seen in him. He laughed at Clara's nonsense, which she was not afraid to utter now, and rallied me with very little mercy on the change a year had made. We talked about "Wordsworths" and "Arkwrighllts" again, and all the cui bono arguments were produced and discussed. Walter was to leave us on the following morning, for a short time, going on to Quebec; but he would return again when- ever I should let him know of my brother's arrival. We both said very little of .our approaching separation,-we knew it must take place, and that after another very short visit, Walter would probably be away during all the re- mainder of the year. He thought ofngoing over to England and consulting with his brothers in regard to some of his plans, and we talked about these months' of absence as calmly as possible. Clara soon saw how matters stood be- tween us, and she and Mary, and Helen, too, kindly left us as much as possible to ourselves. At the same hour we reached the village as on the event- ful day a year before. Uncle Ernest was not waiting for us now; he knew Walter would take care of me,' and bring me with Mary safely to them. Walter took tea with us; how we all enjoyed the simple, but not homely, table and man- ners of the household again.! He said, "This is so refresh- ing-this is life again," and I thanked him, with my eyes, that. \ AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 241- he had given expression to what I was thinking. Uncle Ernest bade him good-night, with "a God bless you, my son," when they parted that night, and as Walter left me, he said: " Oh, Edith, what a different place to leave you in from your other home ! I can bear it to know that you are here; but it would have made me miserable to have left you amidst the ungenialities of your Uncle Arden's family. You seem more in God's care- here. I feel assured that He will keep you;" and so we parted. XXI. THERE had been a week of school. I had been down there every day, to see the dear people, and get some of the old pleasure--as much pleasure now as ever -to me; but I had not regularly entered any classes. I enjoined it upon Helen, who had but little to do in her lessons this term, to study for me. It was really a work of supererogation with her-persisted in, first, to be with Madame, now, to be with me. Margaret-the dear noble woman-I could no longer regard her as a girl--looked so well, seemed so fitted by nature for- her superior position. She had so much dignity with her chastened sweetness; and the fire of her eyes had become a broad deep light of love and knowledge. Angela fairly danced when she saw us all again. She called Mary sister, whereat Mary blushed very consciously-and she called me sister, too, which had not the) same effect, as she laughingly observed. I thought--but it's not any matter what I thought-Frank was coming in a few days. That was all. page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 ASPIRATION:' Madame Renau was admirable as Principal. Even Helen confessed she had not imagined Madame had such capacities for governing; and she told me now, what I had not known before, that Madame -Renau was the widow of a French nobleman; that in her early life she had lived much in courts, and that she had buried, since her husband's death, which occurred soon after Napoleon's fall, two most prom- ising children, a boy and a girl, who were the sum of her pleasure in life! This, then, had, been her discipline. Every person, every woman, I found received more or less of this wise ordaining of God. I had not found any yet. I shuddered as I thought of the happy future whose clouds seemed now so far away; but still I knew they were there; and what the stroke would be, when the bolt was sped, I could not picture to myself. I) could only wait inl breath- less suspense the coming up of the cloud. Poor Frank! He looked so pale, and seemed worse than he was when we first saw him; for he felt the fatigue of the long journeying. Angela, who had gone home with me from school that evening, was just taking leave of us, as the stage which had come out of its way for the invalid, left him at our door. She looked very much shocked at the ghastly and emaciated man, in whom she would never have recognized the gay Frank, the hero of many of the stories of my childhood. I was vexed that she should have seen him then. I knew how much outward circumstances im- pressed Angela, and I was so anxious that Frank should ap- pear as well as possible in her eyes. So I hurried her away without giving her an opportunity of greeting John, whom she did not even perceive to have acoompanied Frank. It was a good while before I -could quite reconcile my Frank to his present self. His arm was in a sling, and he walked AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 243 very feebly. His very pallid face was in strange contrast with his dark hair and whiskers and eyes, now looking so unnaturally large. Those dancing eyes and those rosy cheeks! Oh, my poor Frank, how you must have suffered! He was better on the following day; he looked Frank again; and when the laugh came as of old, and the merry jest, and when Aunt Eleanor and he had a regular game of pun and repartee, according to their ancient custom, I was de- lighted, and would have been glad now to have had Angela back with us. I hardly noticed John, who bore the neglect very amiably, and amused himself as usual in the library; but I talked by the hour to Frank. I told him everything about myself, as I had not been able to tell him in years. John called us gossips, and laughed at our "childishness," but we dido't mind him; we pitied him very much that he had outgrown these things, and hoped we should never be as old as " grand John Arden". I did not tell Frank, even, about Walter. I was waiting with all the patience I could summon till my letter should reach Quebec and bring back to me the proud answer, which, in the form of my gallant Walter, was to confound, my brothers! I had great difficulty in keeping my counsel when Aunt Eleanor and Mary, and even Uncle Ernest, looked so archly wise as the young men sent their shafts at me, when they found out that none of the students had -made overtures yet to their sister. John said I should keep house for him;- we would be "Charles Lamb and Mary," or some such nice people, which made us laugh heartily-the idea of John Arden and Charles Lamb coming anywhere together on this planet! Uncle Ernest said there was something electrical in the idea; but that he should call John the thunder-bolt; page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 214 ' ASPIRATION: while Lamb was the summer lightning, with its soft spritish flashes and gleams. As for Frank he would not liken him to anything of the kind.- He could not fancy him the terrible, fellow which report said he was, in the battles in which he had already had the honour to serve. He never saw him an hour in his life when he. was not laughing; and what such a disposition did with such fearful things around him, he could not tell. "Nor I either, Uncle Ernest," said Frank. "I have-very little idea of anything I thought, said, or did, at such times. My bravery was more recklessness than true daring, I amn afraid and it is always easy enough to strike when you are struck at, you know. I see no especial merit in that. My company loved me well, I know, and tfo a man obeyed my orders; their trust in me made a soldier of me, perhaps. I could not lead the poor fellows into unnecessary danger. I could not be reckless of their lives, and that taught me prudence, and made me a better officer than I should other- wise have been. They were the bravest handful of men that ever faced danger, and there are no dangers worse than those offered by the ambuscading, wary, desperate Indians of Florida." We were talking in the library; I was sitting opposite the window, and as Frank finished speaking I saw entering at the garden gate my own soldier-my Walter. I did not speak, but left the room very hastily, and in a moment, in the dear little sitting room, whither Iled him, I was folded to the heart which held its life for me. His short absence ot little more than a fortnight had taught us each what we were to the other, and an indifferent looker-on would have thought us very simple people to be so overjoyed at this meeting. Ah! indifferent third-persons have no business in the world. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRL]EOOD. 25 They are the people who are always in the way; they are the people who make all the mischief by their tiresome gossip; they are the people who give good advice when it is not wanted, and throw cold water on our bright hopes and warm hearts. There was no third person in our way. Aunt Eleanor's good sense kept them off, even if she had to lock them out, as it happened to us once! "But come, Walter, let me see you; there, put that curly lock back firom your forehead; it makes you look effeminate; don't laugh at me; .this is a grand denouement, and my hero must be in good order, armed and equipped," and we opened the library door, and so both went in to- gether, I leaning on his arm, and a most wicked light of laughter dancing in his eyes, as he thought of my embar- rassment, for my heart was beating at a prodigious rate. John and Frank stopped talking, and looked on with-wonder inexpressible. We stopped by Aunt Eleanor, who gave Walter her hand with a cordial--' I am delighted to see you," and Uncle Ernest's welcome was even more affectionat6e. Then I said, "Captain Manners, thWs is my oldest brother Frank; and here is my little brother, John Arden, of whom I spoke so often. Captain Manners, young gentlemen, is my promised husband, and we know him here best, by the name of Walter." I never saw two more foolish faces on wise people than these two young men wore. Frank rose up quickly, and, seeing that I was really in earnest, began -to shake hands with Walter with all the strength he could summon, telling him he would congratulate him, for he knew just what a prize Edith Ardenl was. But John 'stood amazed, and quite forgot to recognize the introduction, till Walter was stand- ing before him, holding out his hand with that same wicked page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 ASPIRATION: smile in his eyes. I believe, now, he enjoyed the surprise quite as much as I did, though he had laughed so much at the trouble I had taken to procure it. "What does this mean?" said John slowly, as if waking up out of sleep; " are you and Edith acting a play, sir,'or do, I really see the person whom, by some hocus pocus, she has been smuggling into her heart. Oh! Edith! when I thought you were such- a little ignorant simpleton in such things, to find you have been too deep for me. A very woman after all!" ' But, John," I began, "Walter-but you see him." "Of course I do, as one man sees another." "But, John, I see him as a woman would, and I suppose that is in a different way. I have never had a chance to tell you of this before." "Then you met Captain Manners during your last vaca- tion. You have been expeditious." "I have known your sister, Mr. Arden, more than a year. She promised nearly six months ago to be my wife at some future time." "Nearly six months ago! Why she was sick then, a4&-I was here taking care of her, and praising her transparency, and telling her about hearts, as if I had been to a foreign coun- try, and was describing a wonderful unknown object there! Oh, Edith!" "You could not help saying that, John. You always took it for granted that I did not know anything, and were so condescending on all these subjects;--how could I find it in my heart to give your comaplace'ncy such a fall? If I had been to that foreign country and. seen the wonderful object, and knew just as much about it as you, I should not inter- rupt your narrative when I saw how much pride you had, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 247 in your superior wisdom, and how much pleasure you took in it." "You cannot defend yourself, Edith, even by such an at- tack upon, me. A woman is a woman!" "So she is," said Walter, "and I should be sorry if she were not." "You are an interested party, Captain Manners, and your opinion is not admissible on this subject. How did you get Edith's promise six months ago? I remember hearing that you came here to bring your sister and Ma- dame Renau, for I imagine you to be Miss Helen Manners' brother. Did you see Edith then?" "Bnlt for a moment. I wrote to her, however, afterwards, as soon as she was well enough to receive-a letter." "And Helen brought it up to me the day she and Madame Renau spent with us. You know it, John you were so good, so tender to me that day, and all the time, that I longed to tell you, but Aunt Eleanor thought I had better not. My guardians were not consulted till this fall on the weighty matter, but I told Aunt Eleanor about it at first." "If you have been acting upon her advice, I have nothing to say, Edith; but the skies will fall, or have fallen I judge by your reprisals."', "Be mannerly, John Arden."' "I leave that for you to be, most wise and gracious sister. I shall never dare'to say little sister again, fairly a woman." "John, call yourself a dolt as much as you please, but no hard names for me, if you please, I should think a few more lessons would teach you what an advantage a woman has over you." I saw John's- eyelids- quiver, and he fairly grew pale. I could have bitten my tongue for what I had said. I sprang to his side. page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 ASPIRATION: A "John, you know I jest; call me your little sister again, and say you are glad I am happy." "I am. I am thankful for every sunbeam which falls on the earth. I am very thankful that you are happy, my darling little sister. Captain Manners, she is a dear girl, and I give you joy that her single, loving heart has been won by you. God forgive me if I am not true to my brother's heart in my good wishes for you both." I was satisfied by the way Walter's hand was wrung, and by the fervour of John's tone and words. Oh! what aC brother he was What was the great difference between John and Frank? Why did John always penetrate me by the simplest wish he made for me; by his most common expres- sion of love? There was a depth in John, which, when it- was reached, moved all who recognized the profound source of the emotion. Frank loved me as much as he could love a sister; but John had vastly greater capacities for loving than Frank had. How John would love a woman, I thought, and what a wealth of love lies buried in that deep heart. It is wicked for such a man to shut himself up as he does. Oh, John! John! where is the woman that played you false. What blinded her eyes to such merit as is in youreat soul-your mighty love! That day the postman brought a letter from Mr. Mason to my aunt. We were alarm:l at first, but when: e found inside of it a short letter from ihis wife, we were comforted. Still, she was not well. She said she had taken cold, whilst among the mountains probably; she coughed a great deal, and had been sick in bed, but was able to be up again now, her fever having left her, and her cough abated. "Such an Eden as I have here, will hardly allow mortal suf- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 249 fering to enter," she wrote. "My dear girls have made up the most exquisite boudoir for me that you can imagine. , As soon as I am well enough I shall write to every one of the 'contributors,' and tell them just what I think of their dear love and their fine taste. I suppose Edith has told you of the tout ensemble of the house, and especially of this room in which I am now writing. Edith's book-case contains the most admirable belles-lettres collection I ever saw in our language, and there are some choice Spanish, Italian, Ger- man, and French authors represented there too. They are all in 'half-calf,' and have appropriate designs upon the backs. I wish you could see them, outside and inside, for there are hundreds of books there, which I think neither of us have read. For instance, Landor's ' Imaginary Conver- sations,' and then, of another class of books, Fuller's ' Holy- and Profane State,' and-but I will not spend my little strength this morning in an enumeration. I hope you will come down soon, and see if you know me, with such dainty surroundings. "I have not said a word about the inner life. How can I speak of that which is so spiritual, so removed from earth; there is no language yet for the expression of this kind ot existence. I find on my lips 'a single speech and a thousand silences.' Richard and myself often talk, but oftener we are silent, and look at each other. 'Silence is great,' my friend-- such as ours; words desecrate it. In such a mood this dear room pleases me inexpressibly. ' As sunbeams stream through liberal space, And nothing jostle or displace, So waves "this beauty" through my thought, And fans the dream it never brought:' "Sometimes, and this comes often at night, when the red page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 ASPIRATION: fire glowing behind the polished bars is all the light we have, and when even the-silence has become painful, Richalard oes to the organ and plays some solemn music-- made when a man's soul was full, and a great expression must be found. Such utterances relieve me; by-and-byehe descends in his harmonies to earth again, and perhaps moves me to tears, or gradually weaves into the strain another of gladness, till all wears a different aspect; then light and joy, and the peace of a God- satisfied soul, comes to us. Then we sing our thanksgiving, and bow down and bless Him who has given us all this rich- ness of life. My father prays very often. There is a pecu- liarity in his petitions which both Richard and myself have observed. He seems so near his God ; we cannot but feel that his nearly sixty years' communion with Him, in prayer, has given an elevated tone to his soul which no height of intel- lectual culture, and no fulness of earth's joys could afford. They do my husband much good, those simple, spiritual prayers. 'Except ye repent and become .as little children.' That is my father's fitness for the kingdom 6f heaven, and it penetrates us." Mr. Mason's letter gave us more cause for fear than his wife's. It was evident that he was alarmed about her. lie spoke of the racking nature of her cough, and how pale she looked. She had revived and seemed better since they had been established in their home, but he could not resist the uneasy feeling which induced him to write, ," finding out that Esther was about sending a letter off to you in the morning." So his letter ran: "I may well be uneasy; I might as well confess it to Mrs. Cuyler. I know you have seen it and felt it,--but I am finding out now that I am not worthy of Esther. I know she does not feel it-I hope she never may- for I would not have one iota of her happiness abated ; but she is scarcely now of mortal mould, she comes too near the A /, AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 251 perfection which belongs to the saints in Heaven only. What is there left to her of earth's stain and sin! I know there is no perfect being allowed to live here on earth. When God has purified the spirit it is removed to the celes- tial abode befitting it. When the fine gold is refined again, it is only seemly in the New Jerusalem. I feel my earthi- ness! I see before me the spirit given to me by God, to convince me, as nothing else would, of my inferiority. I have no longer a vainprzide of intellect. The dross is leaving my soul under her influences. And worst of all, Mrs. Cuyler, I am bowed to the earth, and could wrap myself in sackcloth when I consider what this 'finer's-fire' has been to Esther! I see wherein she rises above me. I know you comprehend all this-oh, can you forgive, if God does? Do you wonder that I fear and tremble for the continuance of this heavenly vision? I was so oppressed by these emotions to-night, that I found I must express them; and you, her friend, would understand me and would show me how best to retrieve this past-this past so hopelessly gone. God has given me Esther, for a little while, to show myself to me in plainer colours and in a stronger light. When the lesson is well laid to heart, she will be taken home." XXII. WALTER had come and gone. I might not see him again till after his return from England, whither he was going in October. We were very heroic, and our parting was thus robbed of its bitterness. We thought of the God over all, who had brought us together in the first place, and who would preserve us for each other, even when thousands of miles page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 ASPIRATION: separated us. I bade him "God speed "-and he prayed "'God keep you, my precious Edith." It seemed a desolate life-all these weary months without him; but I would not think of them; I would only be thankful that wherever he was, he was loving me and longing for our reunion, in sympathy with me. There was too much happiness in that assurance to admit of my being very much depressed. The day after he left, Mary told me, when she came up from school, that Margaret was coming up that evening to spend the night and the following day, the Sabbath, with us. She said Margaret had found that some of our guests were gone, and therefore she would dare to come. "' I did not think to- tell her who had left," said Mary, " but I believe she knew Captain Manners was here, and. supposes it is he." Frank, who had exerted himself very much during Wal- ter's visit-too much for his real strength, was lying on the couch in the sitting room after tea, and John was alone in the library, my aunt and uncle having .gone to his usual Saturday evening lecture. I heard voices out of doors, but they were of persons passing-going to the Chapel; by-and-bye there were some which came nearer. One was Margaret's; she was saying "Good night, Angela,-and to you, Mr. Haine, also. I shall tell Mary how well I was escorted." I hastened through the library to meet her. I found John standing up in the middle of the room, and just noticed his strange, statue-like appearance, when the door of the library opened and I greeted my dearest friend. But she did not speak to me, to my utter astonishment; she stood quite still, looking over my head as if she were fascinated by some object before her. I took her hand; it was like ice. I spoke to her, "Margaret then in great alarmin, My dear Margaret, come in, what is the matter? AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 2563 you are ill--speak to me, for heaven's sake, Margaret! what does this mean?" A long-drawn breath, almost a grooan came from her lips, and she leaned against the door- post. I thought she was fainting, and turned to call to John for assistance; he stood yet as I had just seen him, for all this had passed in much less time than I have taken to tell it. There stood my brother as if turned into stone, and here was my poor Margaret almost lifeless before me! Z]here was no need of a word! I comprehended it all-fool that I twas that I had not seen it before! But I did not wait to reproach myself; I went up to John and took hold of him. "s John Arden, why have you done this; if you are human still, why do you not go to Margaret? Is it not enough that for more than twelve months you have been killing her by the slowest poison that ever a man conceived of? She shall not die like this before me, my own glorious Margaret; go to her, if you have a spark of your manhood left! Down on your knees; yes, lay your very soul in the dust and con- fess your guilt. She is a woman, John, and loves you, un- worthy as you are; she will lift you up and pity you and save your soul from destruction, for she will cast out the evil spirit which has led you to do this. Can you not move? Go to her, I say!" He shook me off. "You are mistaken, Edith, Margaret does not love me; I have had it from herself, I have seen it in her own hand-writing--the blasting confession of her folly l:' She heard him, hoarse and low as he spoke, and she stood up again, as he finished speaking, and seemed about to leave us; but in another moment she came forward, and support- ing her trembling form against the book-case where John was standing, she looked up to him with an expression upon page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 ASPIRATION: her face which approached celestial brightness-it was so radiant. She said slowly and softly: "John, is that so ' Have you that confession? Before God I say, I never wrote it. I never felt it-; you have been deceived; I have never written you a line since I saw you last." Oh, the warming of Pygnalion's statue was nothing to the vivifying of that huge form before us! He rose like a giant from the trance of an Evil Genius. He shook off the fetters which had bound his soul; he unlocked the great heart, so long shut up to life--a new being commenced; its first breath was feeble like an infant's, but a smile sprang from it to his eyes, and " so overflowed his lips." He did not move or speak. lie stood before Margaret, yet-a new man, with a soul. She saw it. "John, I know who has done this. I know the fiend who has wrought for us all this misery. You. know hinm. Do you hear me, John? That paper lied, for I love you." She spoke very slowly, and as if without will. "I love you as I loved you the last evening we met; as I have loved you every hour since. in spite of all my efforts to hate you, John!" How he turned now and caught her in his arms, and then loosing his hold he sunk down before her, and kissed the trembling hands which would have raised him, and called her by every precious name that ever mortal lips could speak, and cursed himself, his contemptible, most villanous credulity, his selfishness, his whole unworthiness. Oh! Margaret, Margaret!" and the strong man's voice was like the wailing of a spirit. "I cannot hope to be forgiven. I do not dare to listen to- the love you breathe, those words of yours are coals of fire upon, the heart no longer stone, but melted into the veriest contrition that ever man AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 255 has known. You are an angel of light, but I/--do not say you love me; take back -those words, hate me, spurn me with your foot, rise up in your pride, and leave me to the self-loathing which befits me. Oh! those soft hands upon my forehead, those words of love sinking into my soul-and I have almost killed you, my Margaret.! Edith said so. I know it. I feel every stab these months of horrid madden- -ing silence have been to you. But have not I suffered too? Selfish that I am even now--what matters it? Did I not de- serve it? Aye, and a thousand times greater suffering, had the humanity which still adhered to me been capable of bearing it. Your lips upon my forehead, Margaret! Oh, God forgive me for my sin!" I came softly out of the room and closed the door. I knew Margaret could ministercto that mighty remorse; it befitted the main and his sin-but she could save him from himself. 1 sat down by Frankl, trembling still with the intensity of the emotion this meeting had aroused. He was sitting up when' I entered the "room, and was looking around- in astonishment at the passionate sounds which reached him from the library. :"What is it, Edith? Who is in there with John? Why do you tremble so?" ' John--Margaret--" but I could not speak. "Well, what of them? your friend, Miss Crosby! and is she the woman who has treated the poor fellow so badly?'" ("Hush, Frank! you know nothing about it--'treated him so badly!' Frank, if you loved a woman high and pure as light, and the devil incarnate stepped in between you, and told you that that woman was false, that she lied, that she had mocked you to your destruction even, would you throw page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 ASPIRATION: away the pure word for the vile one? Would you cast dishonour on all womankind because the serpent hissed, and you could remember that once a woman was beguiled by him? Would you stand supinely by and suffer the venom to fall into your own soul, and its blight to rest on her you loved? No, you could not. I did not believe John Arden could have done it, but he has; how he has railed at women, he the dupe of a brother-man, into whom the Evil One had entered! Oh, my poor fallen John "' "Tell me all about them, Edith--what do you know of this?" I did tell him all. I did not spare John. John, of whom I was so proud; whom I had called a demi-god, and who seemed so elevated above all human weaknesses. Ah! great was the fall thereof, my Gabriel; thou wert, instead, more nearly, the ' son of the morning!" When the family came home from the Chapel-my uncle, and aunt, and Mary--I went into the hallto meet them and divert them from the ]library,where Uncle Ernest always went at once. But I had no need to be so considerate; Margaret herself came to the library door as soon as she heard us in the hall, and she greeted my aunt as calmly and gracefully as was her wont. They did not see in the dim light of the hall-lamp what my close observation showed me, that Margaret was very pale, and that this self-possession cost her a great effort. But she did not look unhappy; her coun- tenance wore an expression which I had not seen upon it since her return to Northden. I was satisfied. We all entered the room Margaret had just left; John rose from his seat, and offered it to Uncle Ernest. Frank came in too, and for a few minutes there was a general con- versation, in- which, however, John did not join. At length, * AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 207 my uncle said it was Saturday evening, and he knew we had duties of preparation for the Sabbath ; he would not detain us, but we would have prayers at once. John rose up to my amazement, and said: "Not yet, Uncle Ernest.* I have somnething to say first, if- Margaret will allow me to speak. May I?" said he, bending down to her. I did not hear her answer; poor Margaret, she could not say a word now. But she saw John would feel better, and she made no objection to what he was doing. "Nearly two years ago I first met Miss Crosby in her mother's house, and I loved her and won her consent to become my wife. A villain who loved her, and had vowed to win her, though it cost him his own soul, came to me with- a lie upon his lips, and telling me that she had heard him at last with favour-he gave me a letter, which he had forged with a wonderfully skilful counterfeit of her writing, setting forth as from her, that she had deceived me, that she never loved any but the man before me. I believed him; I was given over to believe the lie! I have never met Margaret from that time till to-night. She knows all, she forgives me for my wicked distrust of her-she has been true to me- yes, she will be my wife. My uncl$, my aunt, all the parents I know, give us your blessing--bless my Margaret, and pray for me that I may grow worthy of this dear love which she gives me." They did bless them; my dear uncle, his voice was tremulous with emotion-and as for Aunt Eleanor, she folded Margaret in her arms without a word; but I felt, with a glad thrill, the sympathy that was expressed in that silent action. What were words to her, between them then? We had nothing to say when prayers were over; but page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 ASPIRATION. silently proceeded out of the room, leaving John and Margaret alone again. They called me back a minute. "My little sister,'" said John, "-have you forgiven me? Have I not humbled myself before you worthily? You -believe that I have repented of this great wrong committed against Margaret?" "Yes, John, I do believe it. If I had only known that you'were the man against whom I have so often railed! And I do wonder at my blindness! It was because I could not associate such a weakness with you, a weakness criminal in you, John, just as you feel it to have been."' "Edith has so often told me of your misanthropy, and how she longed for me to know you. Oh, Edith, how you have tried me by your artless affection, which could not see the wound it was always probing." , "I wonder, Margaret, how you bore with me! I should have hated myself could I have dreamed that I ever gave you a pang. If you deserved it, John Arden, I could give you scores of these passages between us, 'confirmations strong as Holy Writ,' of her love for you. Do you remem- ber, Margaret, when I was such a fool, as to think that you might possibly love Ralph Haine, that evening at the Semi- nary when you had been talking about John, and I said, 'Oh, Margaret, if only you could love him'-and how you fairly frightened me by your energetic, passionate rather, expression, ' Love him, I would die for him!"' Margaret laughed a little. "I was thinking so of John, and as Ralph praised him to me, and my heart opened its shut-up record of the past, and I acknowledged that what Ralph said was true,-I was so full of it that I could not comprehend how love could be given to any one else, and so came very nigh betraying myself to Edith, as H often did." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 259 "My dear Margaret," said John with much emotion. "And so when she would hardly rest without knowing your name, when I had told her the story, I could hardly keep it fromn her, while I would not for the world have had her know it." "Yes, John, how I tried to keep her here last spring when you were coming. Now, Maigaret, you know you were wrong in not staying. You ought to confess to me that what you have taken to be a proper leaving of the whole affair in God's hands, was partly a little obstinate pride. You wanted to wait till this man should be con- strained to seek vou. You wanted to see if his love was not powerful enough for that. Confess it." "I may have been wrong, Edith. I don't know but that this issue proves it; but I thought then that I was doing what a woman ought to do under the circumstances. Yes, I was proud, but how could I help it?" '"You knew whatever happened, you were wronged. Margaret, you are an angel; yes, better, you are a Christian woman, loving much, and following Christ in forgiving much. Oh, John, to think how often I have wished:- you never had been born " We went to church on the following day, and my uncle preached upon pride, the sin by which the angels fell. I am sure he was not quite unmindful of two in his congrega- tion, who had recently been suffering from this same abound- ing sill of heart. I sat by MAargaret'in our accustomed Seat, and John occupied al side pew which faced us nearly. He hardly looked towards us till my uncle began to speak of the putting away of pride, which enables us to exerise the gospel grace of forgiveness, Then John looked at Margaret so humble, and so noble in his very humility, page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 ASPIRATION : that I knew Margaret was moved in the depths of her heart. It was not only towards Margaret that John was changed; his softened nature seemed open to all good and pure im- pressions; he walked by UnclesErnest coming home from church, and I heard the dear spiritual teacher answering John's questions with such pointedness, that I could but say to Margaret, " almost a Christian." "Yes, my dear, and to- see him a Christian is all that could be added to my blessedness. I walk as in a dream yet.:' '"There will be no awaking from it, Margaret; to think that this great trouble is taken away from us! To think that you will be my sister p" "Hush, my dear girl, don't publish the banns yet?" "I want all the world to know it." "But I don't. Have you no mercy, with all your fellow- feeling?" "Edith," said Frank, that evening, "what a poor forlorn fellow I am. While you were gone to church this morning I first became conscious of my desolation. That John does not know whether he is in the body or out. I do, I'm sorry to say, and shall for some time yet. What a lucky fellow he is though. Why, I never saw a more superb woman in all my life. They are famously matched, however. When John is President of these United States, Miss Crosby-Mrs. Arden I mean-will be the envy of every Queen who has an envoy at Washington. ,I only wish I could see her crowned." "I used to wish so too, Frank; but really the love of John AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY Of GIRLH1OOD. 261 Arden--such love as he gives her now, is crown enough even for Margaret. 'I would rather rule one such heart, than over the sea-girt empire of Victoria." "Edith, you are in love too,! I am distressed. I feel myself to be the most unconsidered atom in the world. You are all so self-complacent, so exceedingly well satisfied with yourselves and your loves, that if Manners had not gone away, I do believe I should have suffered from neglect. Here an hour ago, I said, 'John, close that door and stir the fire, will you?' and he answered, ' yes, my love.' It almost killed me. I had a good mind to go across the room and touch him with the tip of my slipper.!" "Do forgive him anything- now, Frank; even if he made a mistake, thinking this whiskered cheek was the soft one of Margaret, and kissed you. Don't you see he is quite demented with this sudden revulsion?" "When are they going to be marrieds?" "How in the world do I know?"' "I asked because I intend to be married first, if I can n . persuade any woman to be fool enough to throw herself away on a soldier. Mary is out of the question. John has taken the queen from your school, I know. What eligibles are there down there?" "'I shall not tell you, sir. Do you suppose I am going to expose any-of my good friends to becoming the victim- in a compact so heartless as this you propose. No, you shall not have one of them. You must make 'your bargain' for i match against time somewhere else." But while I said this, I secretly resolved to send for Angela, and I did. I told Margaret the next morning to tell ler that she must come up with Mary that night, that I was onely. Margaret said, ' poor Angela, she thinks you have page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 ASPIRATION: a ghost here in the form of your brother Frank. She said he was the most ghastly man she ever saw in her life." This was not very encouraging to begin with; but Frank had altered very much since then, and I told Margaret she must explain to Angela that he was no longer a scarecrow. How I should have been laughed at if any one had suspected what I was about. With how much interest I superintended Frank's appearance, making him return to his room and change his neckcloth, because the green in the one he wore heightened his pallor. At last all was right, and he was in in a gay good humour, reading aloud, at intervals, from the book he held in his hand, Hood's "Up the Rhine," when Mary came home and with her Angela. No one but myself knew she was coming, and Frank's surprise completed the good effect my care had had. Angela's recognition of him satisfied me." "Surely this is not Captain Arden-! I should not have known you again. You were a sorry looking person when I first saw you." "I should not have been, if alive to the merits of the meeting as I am now, Miss Haine." "You are recovering your gallantry, I see, Captain Arden; that is a proper indication of convalescence.'" "I am getting well I out of spite,' as the children say. There is nobody here taking care of me." "Oh, Frank!" "Oh, your hands are busy. enough for me, Edith, your tongue runs too; but you know your heart is neither with your hands nor your lips; and as for my brother, you know the denouement we had of his affairs on Saturday! There is nothing else going on at Northden-hearts are the only AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 263 marketable commodities, but my wares are not appreciated I am sorry to say. "'It surely does not distress you! That I am in the same category with yourself gives me a wonderful feeling of superiority. To think of Margaret Crosby-but then there was Miss Hazeltine's immediate example. You cannot conceive the annoyance these things are to us sober-minded people. I should about as soon have suspected Psyche of listening to Cupid's overtures as Miss Hazeltine or Margaret Crosby." "Such shooting as John did was like a cannonading, very different from Cupid's archery, you may be sure. Miss Crosby is not to blame in the matter, I assure you. Neither is his yielding very wonderful when Juno, with the graces around her came to the conquest. We must be charitable, "Don't say Miss Haine, Frank, how odd and harsh it sounds; say ' Miss Angela,' if you must ' Miss' her." "I should, be an unhappy mortal to do so," said Frank, "but that seems to be my duty just now." "Don't distress yourself about it, Captain Arden; I am always most missed when I am not Mised." "I imagine so. Angela is a charming name." "Thank you, your gallantry becomes you." "Hood has done you good, Frank," said John, coming into the room; " how much he has improved; Miss Angela!" "Yes. I thought when I first saw him that he was about shuffing oTf this mortal coil. I can congratulate you too, Mr. Arden." Angela stopped suddenly, for John was blushing like a "I beg your pardon. I was going to say, that I must con- , page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] -264 ASPIRATION,: gratulate you onl this surprising effect of your nursing. You and Edith are two happy people." "So we think, Angela." "Nonsense, my dear; do you think I am so stupid as to be harping on your love affairs. Why, they are the very least consequence to me in the world; while keeping such a brother as Captain Arden in the world, is a worthy subject of congratulation." "You are too good, Miss Angela; these people, as I said before, do not half appreciate me." - \ - - "I suppose," said Angela, turning around quickly to him,- "they have sense enoughl to appreciate the necessity there must be for a soldier to live long enough to repent of being one!" XXIII JoHN went away. Margaret said he must go; he had in- tended to remain only a week or two, and she would not have him stay any the more now. It was a hard thing to leave her now, but he saw she was wise--and kind to both of them. I don't know how they arranged for timle to come; I only saw John go away, so full of fire and high resolution, and his own peculiar and mighty energy. The episode was over, and his life was beginning again. I had no care of him now; Margaret was sufficient for every need of his na- ture. She would judge him lovingly but justly, and she would have no idler in the world's vineyard near her; the vintage time was at hand, and every-man had his work to do. It had been a question with me, whether a woman was not intellectually the equal of a man. It was a question involve ing all strength but physical. I saw in these two an an- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 265 swer--but an unusual one. Margaret and John were more perfectly mated than any persons I had ever known. She could have said to him as he to her: "Only that soul can be my friend which I encounter on the line of my own march; that soul to which I do not de- cline, and which does not decline to me, but native of the same celestial latitude, repeats in its own all my experience." As to Frank, I did not know what to think. I was sure he admired Angela, but she would never allow me to say one word about him to her. They kept their own counsels that winter. "You did not tell me about yourself and Captain Manners, Edith, till all the world knew of it or might know, and I have nothing to inform you Of concerning myself. As for your brother-what, in the name of all that is amiable, do you want to know my opinion of him for, Edith? He is not quite so much of a scarecrow as I thought him at first--good enough looking, I've no doubt, when he is well, and wears his pew- ter buttons; but soldiers are my abomination. I could not be coaxed to marry one, I am sure; my greatest objection is, that owing to the influence of gunpowder in some magical way or other, a soldier never can'tell his own wife from his brother officer's; and whomsoever I marry, shall forget that Eve has any other daughter than myself in this world." "Now of all things, Miss Angela, to refuse before you're asked, in this way," said Frank, putting his head into the door ,f the reception room, where Angela and myself were getting ,ur bonnets and shawls for a walk home. " I came up just in ime to hear the 'no good' of myself which people are al- vays supposed to be speaking of the listener. I was in- ending to walk home with Edith this afternoon; I am glad ou are going along. She can go with Mary now. I'will 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266- ASPIRATION: escort you, if you please. In fact, I shall be obliged to walk. with you, for I am quite unconscious of the existence of any other daughter of Eve than yourself in the whole world." "Captain Arden--" "Miss Angela, your humble servant." "I could not be coaxed, as I just said." "Two negatives are equal to an affirmative; however, I do not intend to coax you, it would be lost labour." 4"Indeed it would ; you are sensible." "Of your preference, Miss Angela; yes, I have been a, happy man ever since I became thus, sensible." "Do you think I shall walk a mile by the side of such a piece of arrogance, assurance, and general impertinence?" "I know you will. Let me help you over this stile--no? I never saw a woman yet that wanted to be helped over a fence or stile." "I can walk alone to the ends of the earth." "That is one of the very things which charm me so much. I cannot endure die-a-ways." "They are waiting for us--Mary and Edith. Now we will give over nonsense and talk seriously." "With all my heart. I feared you would make a jest of it all your life. Having rejected me in jest, you will accept me in earnest." "I could not be coaxed to marry a soldier." "You shall not be coaxed, but you will be constrained." "Constrained!' "Yes, that 'you may do me good all the days of my life,' and help me to repent of ever having become a soldier." ' Captain Arden, you are carrying this too far." "I would cut off my arm before I would offend you. I am not jesting, I spoke from my heart. Do not walk so AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. . 267 fast; Angela, you must answer me. You have known since the first evening we spent at my uncle's, that beneath my jesting was an earnest admiration and a pure love of your brightness and sweetness. Must I believe that you will never marry a soldier?" ," Must I eat my own words, Captain Arden?" "No, Angela; I will ask you the question in any form you may please. Will you marry me, Frank Arden, Edith's brother?-me, who love you as I never before have loved? You are the very first woman, Angela, who ever heard these words from my lips-and you will be the last. I had rather hunt Florida Indians than face the possibility of your refusal. I never before knew what a coward I was." "Don't take it so hard, ' faint heart,' and so on; you were going to constrain a favourable answer a moment ago." "Oh, Angela, that was only gasconade.:' "So was my speech to Edith," said Angela in a low voice. "Then you will marry a soldier, Angela!"Frank's face was all smiles, ready Bor the accustomed laughter. Angela told me of it long months afterwards, and said she was half a mind to go back to the first position. "That depends upon how I am wooed." "Good heavens,! Angela, what shall I do now?" "Keep on walking up with me." "But this wooing-how is it to be made most acceptable? It would be distressing, as well as inconvenient, to kneel down here amongst these wild blackberry bushes." "I thought you were accustomed to fighting in the bushes.'" "So I am, but you are not merciful. I yield, I cry quarter; and you say you will grant it according to my cry. How must you be won?" "I have no heart to be sought for now." page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 ASPIRATION: - '"Why did you not tell me so in the first place, and not tantalize me with hopes you must blast?" '"You would not have me say to you without any pro- vocatioi whatever, 'Captain Arden, I have no heart; you have won it from me.' "' "Would that be the truth?" "You cannot take my word--fie!" "Angela-Angela Haine, stand still a moment, right here on the top of this hill; let, me look at you--oh, Angela, I believe you, I do indeed. Brave girl, you will make a sol- dier's wife." "Yes, you are very brave now, after such a confession of cowardice! I am blushing for you." "So you may blush for me all your life, for my looks, for my words, for my kisses; but, Anghla, you shall never blush because of me, because I am a coward, or anything else that would be unworthy of you." 'CYou can make fine promises." "And fast ones-so you can also. I shall hear it some day, ' love, honour, and obey '-yes obey-and the bride says, 'I will.' ' ' "You are intolerable-I am beginning to repent." "No you are not. You are not a bit sorry; you are glad that I love you, Angela, and you are happy, loving me; not because I am -I, my Angela, but because you are a lov- ing woman, and you are very certain that you are loved again; maybe ,not so romantically as Walter and Edith, or so powerfully as John and Margaret, or so worshipfully as Mr. Mason must regard his angel wife'; but, upon my word, you tax me to my utmost. If I had Walter's chiv- alry, and John's giant grasp, and all Mr. Mason's lore, I should not feel able to love y6u quite worthily. I cannot tor- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OP GIRLHOOD. 269 ment myself with trying. I Shall only give myself, what the Indians have left of me, up to you, Angela. Will you marry me on these terms?" "Of course I, will." ': You will run the risk of' the other ,officers' wives' " "Don't say that again." "No, neither will I think it; my wife 'will trust me." "Yes, I will." "Oh! but, Angela, you are not my wife yet." "But I've promised. Oh dear t" "Those officers' wives." "Nonsense, no! my husband." ( What then, such a scarecrow?" "No, indeed, you are handsome enough for a soldier." '"Well." "Well! do you think it is well to lose your liberty? to throw away a command for a subordinate post, to go away from all I love, because my husband must live in Florida?" "But I am not going to live in Florida." "What are you going to do?" t "I shall get- an appointment nearer home; maybe, if it will please you very much, I will retire from the army. You shall tell me just what to do." "May I, my good Frank? Well, do as you would have done if you had no expectation of such an incumbrance as a wife; just what is best for yourself, only take' me with you.. There, that will do; in the open air, too !" When Frank and Angela joined us on that day so event- ful to them, but of whose events they kept me so profoundly ignorant, they were in the gayest humour imaginable. I never heard such bantering; to severe that I trembled for fear of some offence being given. I even took Frank to task * * , I l, page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 ASPIRATION: in a private way, hoping that he would not make Angela angry with him. "For you know, Frank, how much I want her to love you; admire you, I mean." "Maybe she may, some time or other; but one thing is certain, Edith, I never shall ask her to marry me." "Oh, Frank, when you confess how much you admire her! that you heard her speech about you at the seminary. Surely you would not let that keep you from proposing to her, if you saw she would listen to you favourably." "Edith, it has had such an effect upon me that now, I cannot think of asking her such a question." "Ah, you have no love for her, or you would not talk so!" So I tried to forget my foolish fancy about them, and came at last to enjoy their pleasant, friendly intercourse; each so full of life and gaiety. I love- them both very dearly. I wondered they did not fall in love with each other. - There is one thing which annoys me in telling this history of tiat portion of my life. It is, that so much time must be spent with the one emotion of love. And yet, to be true to the time and to the'fortunes of my friends, and even to the period of which I write, the girlhood of those who are now women and wives-I cannot help this history of their lives. This feeling enters more or less into the existence of every one's girlhood; it is natural that it should, and all earnest maidens love earnestly. I have avoided frivolous girls, because I see in their flirtations, their innumerable fancies, their engagements, and "broken" engagements, none 'f the incipient womanhood which alone commands my respect.- How Anastasia Shiply, or Sane Chamberlain, or Estelle Beekman coquetted with the young gentlemen at the insti- AN AUTOBIOGRAPH *OF GIRLHOOD. 271 tution, and broke brittle hearts, or were pierced in return by their own arrows, belongs not to amy veritable history That Margaret, Mary, Angela, or myself, found in the worthy affections which our engagements kept up, warm and ever predominant in .our lives, any drawhacks to the labour and purpose which should have filled these two years of which I write, I cannot believe. Ignorant of Angela's betrothal, I could not speculate on its influence over her mental or spiritual gr6wth; but as I look back, I see that even mny light-hearted Angela was chastened and elevated by her hopes of the future. I know we were made more earnest, more thoughtful'; that we were stimulated to nobler exertions; that feeling the happiness of another involved in our progress, we worked arduously and with no thought of ourselves, this beautiful responsibility being our watchword. How such love shadows forth, in its influences, a higher love, I now understand. I did not then, though I believe all the others did. This was my all of sure possession. There, they had the advantage of me, and therein were happier. They had won " the power which put them in possession of themselves." I was struggling for it always, and while I -kndv its source, I was still trying to find it in an 'earthly- love. Oh! how I lost ground beside them! and how I spurred my intellect and stimulated the loviifg heart, al- ready doing its duty by all the treasure I had given it to keep. I could not, would not see "the loveliest amongst ten thousand." I would not accept the child's faith, which, in the maturity of intellectual culture and development, still stands alone, surpassing all, and guiding all, and hence becomes sublime. Yes, I see it now. .That which the child may learn becomes, in the deep significance the man or woman finds in it, lofty enough to try the -intellect of angels, who page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 ASPIRATION: desire Do look into these things, but are not able. ,God for- give me for my blindness then! I little dreamed of the treasure I was casting from me; I little knew of the respon- sibility which lay upon me, that if I would I night become rich, and have indeed need of nothing-I, who felt my need always, even in my deepest joy. I do not dispute with those who find romances, love-stories, and all aftaires des coeur, unwholesome aliment for the young girl. I repudi- ate these things myself; but I judge, from the observation and experience recorded here, that there may be a love, even a love of a fellow mortal, so judiciously engrafted that the original plant will be strengthened rather than weakened. It adds a grace, and a finish, and an exquisiteness to the su- perstructure, when so firm a foundation has been laid for the edifice, and such wise selections made of the materials by the builder, that only a harmonious and fitting blending of these fine stones can be made. Those tall girls from Lowell, of whom I spoke a -year ago, in this-story, worked on, none more faithfully. They were stamped for teachers, and their high vocations awoke in full strength every power of their immortal natures. They knew what a teacher's responsibilities and duties were,nda they were learning that they might discharge them before God worthily; that souls would be given to them for their hire, it were safe to foretell. . The learning of the ages, of all schools and sects, came to them, divested of its husks; from every theory of the past they unfolded the wrappings which it had pleased sages to fold about their brain-children, and so they found,-in the kernel preserved with so much care, the immutable truth, now no longer disguised, which had struck into the soul of the wise man. Thus these worthy women grew wise, not learned; rich, but not cumbered with treasures. r , * AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 273 There were two, Ruth Owen and Judith Levering; they are now amongst the glorified, who were training for the greatest self-abnegation of any. They were going, with their' lives in their hands, to lay them down in the dark regions of the East, if so they might save souls. The faith which upheld them, and led them always, as they fitted for their mission, and afterwards entered upon its duties, sustained them when their earthly strength was gone, and they stood with feeble feet upon the shores of Jordan. They crossed the current with songs of thanksgiving, and beyond our ken, I know the song was taken up by saints and angels, who welcomed to their Test these faithful ones. I have dealt here with but one class-those who were most human in their emotions, and who more emphatically forecast their coming estate of womanhood. With such, necessarily, the heart with its strong yearning for mutual love, and its peculiarly womanly instinct, filled up, with its joys and woes, the earthly idea of its existence; nay, I mean -not our idea of existence, comprehending in it all there is to be, but they were the single-hearted, "who by to be, do apprehend to love." I show you how, with all but my- self, to love, became only one form of the great idea. of' love, which fills the universe, how this earthly was always subordinate to the spiritual love, and how it gained instead of losing by the divine association. Helen seemed yet to standealone, serenely walking by us in her progress upward; she turned aside to no highways or byways of the heart; but the spiritual impetus sustained her. I pondered on her fate; I imagined that she never would be alive to the purity of the love which she saw in me, without sympathy, though so kindly in her indulgence of it. Yes, the Greeks would have called her Psyche, and the 12* page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 ASPIRATIONS: vulgar of our day would have seen in her- the " old maid," beautiful but, in its perversion, derided name. Ah, Helen, you stand aloof and think that you smile down on us; but we who win, bear your compassion, and reverence you too much to afflict you with our pity, involuntarily as it springs. These meditations, and this summing up, followed my wishes in behalf of Frank and Angela. I had no assurance of Angela, you perceive; and her admission to our ranks I only place here because-it came here in course. As for Helen-but she deserves a new section of this story. XXIV. "MRS. BASCOM is very sick again," said my aunt to Uncle Ernest; " she and' Aunt Abby' are both upon the borders of the grave'; but I never saw or could imagine a greater Con- trast than there is in those two women." ' You mean the two old ladies who live at the turning in the 'three mile' road, Aunt Eleanor?" "Yes; cannot you and Mary go there and watch to-night? Poor Mrs. Green, Mrs. Bascom's daughter, is quite worn out with her cares; and I told her this morning I would find somebody to relieve her to-night." "Inever sat up at night with a sick person in all my life." "It is time then that you should begin," said Aunt Eleanor. "Nursing the sick is one of the necessary duties\ of our sex-one in which, of all things, we should excel. You will go, however, with Mary?" "Does Mary know any more about it than I do?" "I have watched six weeks nearly every night," said Mary, in a low voice; " during all that time I did not have my clothes off." - , * AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 275 "' Perhaps, my dear, it will be too painful for you to go there." "Oh, no, Mrs. Cuyler. I shall be only thankful if I canl be of any service." It was a pretty house; built in cottage style, but with in- numerable rooms, all comfortable, and, indeed, some of them for that region elegant. The property belonged to Mrs. Bas- com, the sick woman; but Mrs. Green, her only child, would inherit it. Since Mr. Bascom's death, a sister of Mrs. Bas- com's had been living with them--"Aunt Abby," as she was generally called. I did not know much about her: she was a tall, thin woman, and had suffered a great deal, I had heard. She came to church occasionally, but not very often, onlyin very fine weather. She could not talk much; an affection of the glands of the throat had almost deprived her of her voice. Her sister was not physically as ilfirm, had not been, I mean; but she was nearly ninety years old, and her mental faculties were failing her, while Aunt Abby, though over eighty, had every faculty of her mind perfect as ever. Mary and I reached the house about nine o'clock; Frank and Ralph walked over there with us. It was a charming moonlight nicght, and we stood a long time by the gate be-- fore entering. Frank was going away on the following day. He felt badly about it, and several times he seemed on the point of making to me some confession which I thought might ease his mind, could he only resolve to make it; but each time he checked himself, and, finally, when Ralph could not have the conscience to keep Mary standing there any longer, they both bade us " good evening," and I saw them sauntering back to the main road, going along arm in arm, Ralph listening to Frank with most eager attention. I con- cluded that Ralph was the recipient of the secret, whatever page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 ASPIRATION: it might be, and I was rejoiced at the friendship which was springing up between these two, who were much more ready to assimilate than Ralph and John had been, inasmuch as they stood upon the same plain and made equal progress forward. Mrs. Green met us at the door, a handsome, middle-aged lady; most of her life had been spent in Boston, but when her husband died, and her parents grew so aged and infirm, she had taken her two children and had come back to Northden to educate them here, and to give to the old people the com- fort their last days needed. In the family-room we found Aunt Abby; she rose to greet us, giving us, however, her left hand, the right one had been useless a great many years, a tumour having formed'about the elbow, the result of the same disease that was affecting her throat. She spoke so slowly and imperfectlv that at first I listened to her with an absolute sensation of pain. Mrs. Green begged we would be seated here a -few minutes, and Mary knowing that "Aunt Abby" was a truly pious woman, and was always interested in af-, fairs of the church, began to tell her about the baptism which was expected to take place on the following Sab- bath. "Old Mrs. Latham would like to be baptized, but she suffers from rheumatism, and her husband will not allow her to go into the water at this season of the year." "' I would go if I had to go on crutches all the rest of my life," said Aunt Abby. "It has been a great many years since you were bap- tized." "Yes, long years- of trial and. suffering. But the- day of my public consecration to my iSaviour was only second to the happiest day of my life. That day was the happiest in th y pi- st in AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 2" which I found my burden removed by that gracious Sa- viour. That was an earnest of Heaven. It will be sixty years next month." o I looked with reverence upon this venerable woman. "You have endured a great deal of physical suffering. I should have-been tempted before this I fear 'to curse God and die.' " "No, Edith. This painful body has been lighter to bear than some other of my God's ordainings. For twenty years after my baptism I walked on the earth sound in body, but then God gave me mightier afflictions. Then, too, I often longed for death. I 'complained in the anguish of my spirit; I loathed life."' "That was before this sickness came?" "Yes, the Lord tried me as he did his servant Job when this tumour first came, forty years ago. Some said, as Job's wife did, 'curse God and die,' but then I saw the hand of my heavenly Father, and the just punishment of my sin of rebellion. I could answer, What, shall I receive good at the hand of God, and shall I not receive evil?' His conso- lations have not been small with me.' I know that ' all these things worketh God oftentimes with man, to bring' back his soul from the pit to be enlightened- with the light of the living.' " "And you are willing to live now, suffering so much?" ' sThe Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea! though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.,' , :t [ page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 ASPIRATION: "Does your arm pain you at night? or do you rest then ." "Oh no, I never rest from that. Sister Bascorn says sometimes-' Ah, Abby, you can sleep at night,' but if I sleep I often dream, that some one has hit my arm a great blow, or that some one holds it in a vice, and then I awake- and find it racking me with pain." Mrs. Green came back into the room. She said, "Did you know, Miss Edith, that Ellen's child was dead-my first grandchild T" "Poor Ellen, she must be broken-hearted."5 "She is; the child was almost an idol with both pa- rents. ", ' If she could only feel as I do about little' children dying, Sarah." "But you love children very tenderly, aunt; you must let her mourn for this fair blossom." "No one loves them more tenderly than I; To hold a baby even with this weak arm, makes me too happy for earth; but how much better Jesus loves them. He could even take them in His arms and bless them on earth, what will He not do for them in heaven?" "Dear Aunt Abby," said Mrs. Green, as she led us into Mrs. Bascom's room, "she is the sweetest tempered, the most spiritually minded person I ever knew. She is always patient, cheerful, resigned. She has had a cruelly, bit- terly hard life, but heaven is in her soul now. I wish my mother had some of her piety. O! it makes my soul sick to see mamma going into the grave so careless of the future." We found Mrs. Bascom awake, indeed she, was awake nearly all night. She had been a handsome woman, with AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 279 a rather florid complexion, quite unlike the pale, delicate features of Aunt Abby; features now contracted by the acute suffering which had been her lot for forty years. "I am much obliged to you, young ladies, for coming. How is your uncle, Edith? "He is very well, I thank you, Mrs. Bascom." "You need not speak so loud, child; I have not lost my hearing yet, though I am most a hundred years old. Think of that girls, most a hundred years old." "You have had a long, weary pilgrimage, Mrs. Bas- com." "Yes, it has been long, Mary, but not so weary. This world has been good enough for me. I have never wanted to leave it." "' You do not think, then, of a better country?" "Why should I, child. I have not had trouble heaped on trouble, as Abby has. I never had a sorrow till Sarah's husband died, and then Bascom followed in a year or two, but he was getting too old to enjoy life; it was no sad thing to see him go. How is your uncle?" "Very well, as I said," I answered. '"Did I ask you that before? Well, you see I forget' things very much; it makes me feel hateful, but I cannot help it. I am most a hundred years old. It's a good while to remember things. I have been a strong woman in my "day. This three mile road was a little walk for me. I dare say you have been tired by it before now, young as you are. How:are your father and mother, Mary '" Mary was very pale, but she answered quickly, "I hope they are very well-but they do not live here." "No--sure enough; you see I forget about it. Abby can remember anything-Abbv has had a great deal of page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 ASPIRATION: trouble too; but I am the oldest-I am almost a hundred years old." "God has been good to you a long time, Mrs. Bascom." "Yes, and& He will be good to me after I die. I know He will not condemn me. I have tried to do what was right all these long years. I have never committed any great sins, and I am sorry for my small ones. I have helped the poor, and kept a respectable, quiet family. God will be good to. me always." "For Christ's sake." "That is what Abby always says; but I think He will not have it in His mind to put- me with drunkards, and mur- derers, and blasphemers. No, I have been to church every Sunday for most a hundred years. He will remember that. He cannot punish such as I am. I am sorry I cannot go out now and spend an afternoon with your aunt and uncle, Edith, but you must tell them to come over here and see us-- come early and stay all the evening. I hope they are well." So the old lady talked and moaned, and often complained of her pains, and wished she could sleep as Abby did who had pain in the day-time, of course, with such an arm as hers; but she always slept at night. We gave her the medicines, and occasionally refreshments. About three in the morning I saw the door open gently, and "' Aunt Abby" standing in it in her night dress. I went to her. She said in a slow manner: "I came to see that you were warm, and I want you to go out and get a lunch, which you will find in the dining- room. I will stay by sister Bascom a little while. I cannot sleep." . She was holding the aching arm with the well one, and the AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 281 contraction of her countenance showed- that she was suffer- ing much from it. We went out as she desired-for, unused to sitting up, we had both of us began to feel weary and sleepy. "What a contrast in these two women, Mary, the Chris- tian and the woman of the world. You don't know how I envied Aunt Abby last night, when she dwas so slowly and painfully repeating that beautiful psalm. What was her pain to her comfort and her consolation!" "I hope I shall see the dear old saint some day in heaven, if I am happy enough to get there.. Just to think, Edith, that her flesh shall be fresher than a child's. What a life hers will be in heaven." "Then you do not think that people will all be equally happy there '." "They will all be perfectly happy there; but some will have greater capacity for happiness. It is like two persons going to a concert, where the music is very charming, and every one enjoys it as much as it is possible; but of these two, one has a totally uncultivated ear, and the other has learned by much study, and practice and observation, to appreciate every chord, and trill, and the most subtle of- the harmonies; will their enjoyment be equal, even though both are there, and both hear it and love it?" "I -see, Mary. If old Mrs. Bascom does have sense enough left to feel her need of her Saviour, which now she will not acknowledge at all, and should at last reach heaven, she will not have a hundreth part of the bliss which we know awaits Aunt Abby. This attainment of greater happiness even in another world, I understand to be the effect also of sanctified knowledge. It will be found by those who studied here, that they might glorify God. Uncle Ernest always page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 ASPIRATION: says, 'all knowledge which we labour for here, must be inm. perfect, because we being finite, apprehend it imperfectly; it will culminate in heaven in the broad light of eternal wisdom.' When I think of such things, when I see such people as Mrs. Bascom and Aunt Abby, I look upon my- self with such distrust, I wonder at my own indifference to these things whose truth my intellect acknowledges. The impressions wear off soon, however, and I go on care- lessly." "God will not withdraw from you, my dear Edith, these convictions, which are, I trust, the work of His Holy Spirit, till your heart, as well as your intellect, believes." We went back and released Aunt Abby from her watch beside the poor restless woman who had received only good from the hands of God for " most a hundred years," yet was blind to the source of these blessings, and who was depend- ing now upon her moral life to find favour with Him, before whom we are all vile; " man that is a worm, and the son of man which is a worm." Poor soul! She tossed and moaned, and talked much, and always of the good deeds she had done, and the kindliness which had marked her dealings with others. I shivered with horror at her situation, passing into eternity with no dependence upon Christ; poor, mistaken, unhappy soul At the breakfast table on the following morning, I ex- pressed my surprise that Aunt Abby had never married. "She must have been a very pretty girl-she has such sweet eyes still, and her features are even now almost fine ellough for a sculptor." '"Never married?' said Aunt Eleanor. "She was married when about your age, Edith, and has a daughter living still. She is the only child left of eight, many of whom died in. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 283 their infancy. This daughter has been one of the greatest sorrows poor Mrs. Gordon ever met with. She has always seemed quite destitute of filial feeling; she is much like her father, who was a hard, cruel man. She, too, had beauty, inheriting it from both parents. 'Aunt Abby' has not seen her in more than twenty years." "How long is it since her husband died?" "1 don't know that he is dead. yet. He went away and left her entirely destitute of any means of living, nearly forty years ago, soon after her arm became so much affected and her voice began to fail her. It is just as well that he did leave her, for he used to abuse her shamefully. At first he brought home an abandoned woman, under the pretext of making her housekeeper; but when Mrs. Gordon said she must leave the house, he said he would go too. She did not-bid him to stay-and she has never seen him since. She has often heard from him during his career of crime. When Louisa was about eighteen, this cruel man wrote to her to come to him; so she left her poor home and her almost helpless mother, and lived for years with her profli- gate father. She is married now, and lives in New Orleans in great splendour, I hear. " "What became of Mrs. Gordon? She has not been here for a great many years, only since Mr. Bascom's death." "No. She lived, however, with Mrs. Green in Boston till she came up here; before that she had fiound a home with Mrs. Herrick, a beloved friend, who appreciated her, and thought it an honour to have her under her roof. I have heard Mrs. Herrick tell of her devotion to her children. She spent much of her time with the children, who all loved her dearly. She taught them all to read their Bibles, and to love their Bibles. Such instruction to her own page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 : ASPIRATION: child had been always rendered of no effect, by the jeers of the infidel and profane father. And yet when Abby Arnold married him, Hamilton Gordon was one of the first gentle- men of his time. I have heard my mother say that the young couple were the envy of half of Boston." ' She speaks so tenderly of little children," I said. "She was speaking of Ellen Green's poor little baby; did you know it was dead, Aunt Eleanor? If the Swedenborgian idea is just, that we shall continue in heaven the occupations of this life--nly in such a form as shall befit that celestial abode, I believe Mrs. Gordon will have little children given to her care. Only think of her finding, again, those whom she laid from her arms into the grave. Thus will come her com- pensation." "-Yes, Edith, heaven will be a blessed home to her-she may well wait patiently, possessed of -such assurance as she has. I think I never saw any one living nearer her God in in daily communion, than 'Aunt Abby,' as all so affection- ately call her." "She must be pained at Mrs. Bascom's situation?" "Yes, that is inevitable. She has been a faithful sister to her, warning her and admonishing her; but as Mrs. Bas- com says, hers has been a happy life. She had her good things in this life, I fear-Aunt Abby her evil things." "Oh, how thankful people must be for afflictions which lead them to God." Frank had not joined in our conversation at all, but he had listened to every word of it. When he bade me good- bye after breakfast, he whispered- "I hope, my dear little sister, that you and I are not to have our good things in life. ,No! much rather would we both, I am certain, welcome 'crosses' and suffering. I think AN AUTOBIOGRAPAY OF GIRLHOOD. 285 a great deal of these things, Edith. I am trying to learn how to pray." "My dear Frank, God give you the knowledge you seek." XXV.. OUR last winter at the village had commenced-at least mine; Mary would probably stay another year. I was studying with all assiduity to make up lost time, for I was weeks away from my classes during. Frank's presence at Northdenr. We were a-very gay set of people. As for me, I troubled myself vastly less than I did a year ago with my speculations about life, and about my own future. I madeWalter-I confess it with shame-I made him my future. While he was away, he seemed to be the great good which my life was lacking. I knew better than this, but I seldom dared even to reason against this fallacy which gave me peace and kept me in a degree of serenity. Ndow that I was coming to see wherein lay the solution of my grand problem, I weakly and sinfully closed my eyes to it, and tried thus to shut out all feeling of the responsibility which this knowledge of my duty cast upon me. It was all in vain. There were times when the stings. of. my conscience-so fully alive to right and wrong- became almost intolerable. Study, writ- ing, even Walter's letters,' or a dream of our happy future, became of no avail then. ,To avoid these pungent truths I talked much less than formerly about my inner life. My friends, especially Mar- garet, noticed it, but she delicately refiained from intrusion, till she was sure what ground I stood upon. I went to church, I went even to the twilight prayer meeting, which , ' page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 ASPIRATION:^ since the building of the Seminary had at that hour con secrated its halls. I did not take part in these meetings; I was not expected to. The feelings with which I attended them were various: sometimes I made a cold mental spec- ulation on the subjects which gave interest to these little as- semblings; sometimes I went out from them in thought which wandered to the ends of the earth; sometimes I even tried to persuade myself that I was doing well enough as I was; that I needed no change; that the feelings which impelled me to seek it, were only morbid; that those who thought they had experienced it, were self-deceived; and then, when I would be feeling quite uplifted by my false theories, and inclined to pity those who were bowed around me in humble prayer, I would remember the night watch by the bedside of poor Mrs. Bascom, and I would shrink from my folly, be- fore the faith, the courage, the divine strength, which showed in "Aunt Abby " that there was a reality in fervent piety. I thought if only Walter were here, I could talk with him; but a pride which I was scarcely conscious of, stood between me and any other persons. Now that I knew to what those questions tended, which had been ever on my lip, because ever in my heart, I was more chary of asking them. I might well doubt my sincerity, in view of my present cowardice. Where was my ideal now? Where was that which should lend a charm to all practicalities, and a glory to life? Would Walter's affection do it? What was it that made me so reverence Aunt Abby, the old decrepit -woman, who lived cheerfully in all her sufferings, from which death would ab2- solve her, because it was fGod's will that yet a little she should tarry -in the weary world? Whence came the radi- ance which from that poor invalid streamed over the life she had led so many years-glorifying her sorrow and exalting r AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 287 her pure spirit --h, so far above all intellectual exaltation! I will again give here: a few passages from my journal. They record amongst other things what seemed to me an extraordinary coincidence, and had upon me the effect of something supernatural. Dec. 14th. "' I find by Walter's last letter,that he has prom- ised his brothers to bring Helen and myself to them after our marriage. Dear Walter, he seems very loath to give up, as he must, if he comes here to live, much that would be charming to us in an English home-with his brothers and their wives near us. The old feeling for home, so beauti- fully English, has its former force with him. What a descrip- tion he gives me of Fulham Priory--his boyhood's home; how lovingly he dwells upon its details of beauty! But I do not fear that he will be seduced from the path he has chosen. "He used to laugh about his pedagoguin. He may come to it yet. Lord Henry urges him to stay, and promises him a seat in Parliatnent, if he will; what a chance that would be for John Arden! But, Walter Manners, you are not the man to be moved bv it! "'Lady Mary praises my picture. She says, Walter has done well. Has he? I remember all old nurse Martin's praises- ending with ,'but handsome is as handsome-does, Miss Edith.' Walter shall dispose of that ten thousand dollars every year for me, that will be giving him some genial occupation, and every dollar of it will tell doubly in his wise disposition of it; but such is not the precise aid which a wife should give to her husband. No, some wives who have not a dollar in the world, go much more richly dowered than I shall be. Margaret Crosby will be. John never deserved his good fortune in winning her at last after his pusillanimous desertion of her." page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 ASPIRATION; 20th. "Mr. Mason has again written to my aunt. He says, he is certain his wife's lungs are affected; there are even fears that tubercles have formed upon them. He is trying to persuade her to go South; but she will not do it. She does not shrink from death in the least. But he-he is perfectly desperate at the thought of being left alone by her-he who did not need her at all during twelve years of his life. Oh, Richard Mason, thy retribution is terrible! That she should die now! Can she. face such a certainty bravely? This is the divinity of her faith, this is the proof of her piety, her love to God, her confidence in His love. With all my joy in my own future I envy her! I never, never shall have this faith which will bridge over such a chasm as divides her in her beautiful, happy home, from the great future of another life. "Mr. Mason says she spends most of every day in her sit- ting room; she lies upon the couch there, and he reads to her, or plays for her; or, when she is well. enough, she em- ploys herself by Mary's little table in various pretty feminine tasks. She has sent to every one who aided in furnishing the room, a pretty piece of embroidery, done there by her own fair hands. She cannot write much; Mr. Mason is her aranu- ensis. She dictated to him a long letter, a few days ago, which as it was for all the school, was read aloud to us after morning prayers. There was not a dry eye in the house, I am sure. How can we ever forget such love as hers, or fail to be impressed by her loving remembrance of us? One pas- sage of her letter read something like this-it. was my share of it emphatically: ' Study with a direct purpose; never work at random. There is no time for desultory study; its epicurianism disgraces the soul that knows its needs and its destiny.' " AN AUTOBIOGRAPH[Y OF GIRLHOOD. 289 lNew Year's Eve. "Had one risen from the dead, and stood before me, I should not have been more solemnly im- pressed than I have been this evening! I was sitting with Imy Moral Philosophy open on the table before nme; but in going over Dr. Wayland's powerful chapter on Conscience, I had stopped studying, and wras looking at the wall inna blank misgiving at my neglect of this faithful monitor. I was just in the mood for what followed. Mary hadgone to Helen's room for some assistance in ' Gerusalemme Liberata,' and I was so absorbed in my reflections, and felt so utterly alone in the Universe, that the tap at my door by Nannie Elting startled me like a peal of thunder from a cloudless sky. I opened the door, still vibrating with the shock, and Nannie put into my hand a thick letter which she hadi just taken from the office for me. I could hardly walk back to- the table to see from whom it came. I had such a presenti- ment of indefinite evil Iread my name in ' Miss Hazeltine's' handwriting! It was so long since I had seen that once fa- miliar writing, that I for a moment dared not break the seal. Then laughing at my folly, I sat down and opened the letter. It was long and closely written by her, whom I only thought of as unable to use her pen at, all. "It is not wonderful that I felt at once as solemn as if a voice from another world came to me. I went deliberately and fastened the door, and then seated myself to the reading of this message- "'What treasure hart thou laid up for the New Year, Edith? Dear child, one year before the night on which I hope this will reach you, I stood in your room, and asked you this solemn question. I cannot see you now, but in spirit I would again be by your side, for I feel onstrained to repeat the message which God then sent you by me. 13 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 ASPIRATION : "' Edith, a whole twelvemonth has passed; marked to you in God's own hand by gracious providences. Has He not filled up your cup with blessings; is not the measure of your earthly happiness complete V What do you need, my child ; what could you ask that God has not done for you? And now the question comes, do you see in this God's "dealings, and do you respond to His demand upon your heart? Is it given to Him, in the- dew of your youth, "while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh when thou shall say, 'I have no pleasure in them'; ' while the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds re- turn after rain,' or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken."' "' You are doing well in all wherein manll can judge you, my child. Early and late, and with all diligence, you labour in every tangible duty. Orderly, industrious, gentle, and kindly with others; generous to them, and stern to yourself; re- fraining from all self-indulgence; even mortifying the flesh; to the natural heart, you commend- yourself with beautiful sirn plicity and consistency. I see wherein you change continu- ally. . You obey some of those intuitions which your en- lightened conscience gives, you. You, every day abnegate yourself in the flesh; you even seek thus to deal with your spirit. You have a strong sense of the right and the excel- lent, and a strong will; and you would emulate the ancient Stoic in your mortifications of the sense. For Christ's sake, Edith, this would all be most commendable; but without this main spring, without this foundation, without this commeil- dation, what is it, my child? Before God, vanity-"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity." "Wisdom is good with inherit- ance, and by it there is profit to them that see the Sun. For wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence; but the excel. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 291 lency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it." What lessons does the Preacher give to us: "I said I will be wise, and it was far from me." "I applied my heart to know and to, search, and to seek out wisdom, and the reason of things." "Lo! this only have I found, that God made man upright; but they have sought out many inven- tions." ' Now, Edith, read the 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians, and see what it is that availeth : "And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity." You comprehend the inner sense of this, and read that grace which prelateth hope and faith to be the love of God. I do not ask you if you believe that Christ died to save you. I know that your intellect has apprehended this truth; you cannot deny it; but the faith which such belief gives you is not a savingfaith; for that is the belief of the heart, the apprehen- sion of love which: answers to love again-" perfect ldve- which casteth out fear." Is the service you render through the admonitions of your conscience, a service of love or fear The conscience pricketh, stingeth; it represents the aw, "which is the schoolmaster to bring us to Christ." "' What is Christ, Edith? Who is He? Not the Judge, not the stern executor of the law, which condemns th unre- penting. Christ in the Godhead represents to us the love so infinite, so long-suffering, so divine in its abnegation. How grateful we are for human love! Iow we exalt those who bestow it! How we magnify their virtues to excuse in our- selves the love which gratitude for their preference of us has awakened! I need not urge the incomparable nature of the divine love. You have listened to the comparison a thou- sand times; you coldly say yes to it; your mind assents,+ but your heart is unmoved. page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 ASPIRATION: "' You have felt the need of this Rock,in the surgings of self and the world, which you feel to be assoilment to your soul. You tremble continually lest you be washed from your sandy foundationby these importunate waves. I have seen you racked by the tempest, and by your efforts, which exhaust you, to keep your ground in such onsets. Simple child, the Rock is before you; you might rest on it; you need but cling to that; and with a hundredth part of the ef- fort you-were making, you are safe; for Eternal arms are around you, and His angels have charge concerning you that your foot slip not. "' One quality of your existence has been this very unrest, arising from a strongly sympathetic and exquisitely sensitive nature. Every struggle in life appealed to you; every dis- cord jarred upon the sense of harmony, which is one of the intimations God has given to you of your immortality. Can you still look for that sweet concord which you crave in life? Must your ideal wear no similitude of the Divine? Is the immortal to be satisfied with the creations of mortality? "' Oh, I pray for you earnestly, my dear girl, that this love which has of late sprung up in your heart be not left to be- come a lure of Satan, to tempt you by its beauty to believe this earth the resting-place of the soul. There is not more perfect earthly love than that which blesses me, but a fairer love is winning me from it; it excels-it as the divine and the infinite must always excel the earthly and the finite. "' But I know that you are not satisfied by this present oc- cupancy of your heart, any more than by the present grasp of your intellect. You see that before such a God as I'is Word teaches you is watching over you, looking down into your heart and reading every secret thing, you cannot stand by your own holiness. You believe that the blood of AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 293. Christ mediates between you and the holy, and righteous Judge; you believe it, for you cannot resist the conviction of the truth of complicated, and abundant, and mighty testi- mony. "What doth hinder you," Edith . "Believest thou with all thine heart?" "' Have you ever thought that in the Romish religion they make Christ the Judge; God being only the Creator. Such, at least, is too often the common idea of those who profess its creed; hence they need in their faith a woman-element, typifying pity, pleading, gentle, but earnest interceding; and they call upon the Madonna. We, in our wider faith, our more perfect apprehension of the Redeemer; see in Him all that the Romanists see in both. "He hath so loved us," as to give himself for us. There is no wife-love like this, to give himself for those who do not love Him, who have hated, de- spised, contemned him from the beginning. There is no mother-love like this, Edith. We find the woman-element in our religion infinitely exceeding all womanly perfec- tion. "' I once spoke to a friend of religion as " love, and abniega- tion ;" and" obedience," she added. Was it necessary, Edith, to say this . What is love, but seeking to please the beloved-; what is love of God but keeping His commandments, be- cause we love Him I know you comprehend this perfect and unquestioning, this child-like obedience, in love. You cannot conceive of the Christian character in any other light; and you who are not actuated by love, but are moved yet by the law, being under it still, therefore have no peace " in which your heart to keep." You have reached just that point where you can go on no farther without coming to God's own terms. You have His Word before you. You have an en- lightened conscience, instead of terrors and threatenings. page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 -ASPIRATION: God's dealings with you are shown in love; He would draw you, win you, to give Him your heart. You believe, but still there is an unbelief which needeth (help; it is found in- the one lacking of your soul, " which will save you from the final lack." "' Oh, my'dear Edith!, with this accumulation of knowl- edge-; with these thousand Messengers from God, the gra- cious God, in the innumerable blessings which beautify your life; with the Word of God in your hand ; with His minister whom you reverence as bearing you a message from Him, speaking to you Sabbath after Sabbath; with prayers rising up around you every day for His blessing upon you; with these intuitions implanted in your nature by the Holy Spirit, what is the burden of your responsibility? What is the condemnation for wasted opportunity? What is the judgment upon those who neglect the pleading, loving, suffering Son of God? "' Where is the treasure laid up for this New Year, Edith. l I shall probably never speak this to your soul again. When another New Year comes I shall have passed from earth; with me " the wheel is broken at the cistern; the pitcher broken at the fountain." Yes, just as I had reached this earth- spring, I was taught that this was not what would satisfy my soul. I cannot come to you from another world. Heed: my last words, my child,' "I have copied all this long letter, that this journal, this reicord of my soul, might tell all the history of its life. This most direct and impressive message, every word of which I feel to have been given by inspiration-the Spirit of God so dwelleth in her-sinks into my soul. O God, help me; mortal can do no more for me! Teach nme to love Thee ; I would love I I see it, I feel it; this need of my inner life, for AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 295 which I thirst, I pant, without which I die. Help me to be- lieve with all my heart." Jan. 1st, 1841. "The tumult of the evening is over. I am at peace. 1 know not if this is the peace which He giveth. I am content to rest, asking no questions, trusting all to Him. Without reserve of sense or self, I cast myself on the love which is so freely offered. I cling to the Rock. I seek the shelter. I hide myself in the strong tower. I would 'serve in newness of spirit.' I will nmark mv life by 'a pa- tient continuance in well-doing; not I, but Christ who dwelleth in me.' So help me, God. "Is this the abstraction I have so long accounted it! so vague, so indefinite, so impossible of apprehension; this rich- ness of love, this fulness of peace, this rest? Thank God! ': The New Year! I will write to-day to Mrs. Mason, to this spiritual teacher to whom God entrusted for me the sure word. I will tell her all that I now feel. I will ask her if this is not the 'love which passeth understanding ;' if this rich aliment is not 'the breadof Heaven ;' if this elixir of immortal life is not from the living fountain.' ' Gra- cious is the Lord and righteous; yea, our God is merciful, for Thou has delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling."' XXVI. IT was only a month after this that Uncle Ernest sent down a special messenger, to say that he wanted me to come up home for a day; he had something important to com- municate to me. Wondering much at the nature of the communication, I did as he bade me. page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 ASPIRATION: I found Aunt Eleanor looking quite grave, and I was in considerable alarm by the time H reached the library, with my bonnet and mantle laid aside, and ready for this irnport- ant disclosure. Of course every possible misfortune had come up before me ; but I had tried to be sensible, and not excite myself. I said, "If any I love are dead I should not be summoned in this way ;. Uncle Ernest would have come to me and tenderly told me of it ;" and then, in the confidence which I was coming to feel in my Heavenly Father, I prayed that I might meet all trouble in divine strength, and with the resignation to His appointments that befits the child. My suspense was soon terminated, and in the removal of greater fears I was inclined to make merry over my friend's concern. The failure of the Naseby Bank, in which Uncle Arden had invested many thousands of my inheritance (it had never yet come to be considered by me my property, my wealth ;) I had lost something over half of my fortune. Uncle Ernest looked up from' readingo Uncle Arden's letter, which was full of self-reproach for the bad invest- ment, and found me smiling. There was no affectation of indifference.. To lose what I had never possessed, and had little idea of, was not a cause of sorrow to me; and to find that was all, was the source of great comfort and satisfac- tion. "Poor Uncle Arden; I am sorry he feels so badly. I will write to him -at once, and tell him that it is no kind of matter; I have still a great deal more left than I know what to do with. If I do not have the money maybe it has passed into hands that will spend it just as well." "But, my dear child, eighty thousand dollars was a great trust left by your father in Mr. Arden's care. He had a great responsibility, and must necessarily, being a most honourable AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 297 man, feel this loss keenly. I did not expect that this would make you very unhappy." "No, indeed, Uncle Ernest;. it is agreat relief; you don't know what a relief. Even Walter will feel it so, I am sure. Why! we were going to give it all away anyhow, and live on a thousand a year. Just think, you live on much less here. We shall be rich, rich enough without a cent of that great estate, that great incumbrance, only as it gave us the means of doing good. In that light, and that only, can I give it a thought. Uncle Arden says I have still nearly four thou- sand a year left to me! and he hopes we will be able to live with that! I hope we shall! It will buy bread and butter, I guess, and maybe clothes too! I will write to the poor dear old uncle directly, and tell him that terribly bad in- vestment has relieved me of a fearful burden, and I am much obliged to him for making it." "We are only God's stewards, Edith; you and Mr. Arden must render an account of all earthly possessions." "Well, it never was in my possession, Uncle Ernest, and Uncle Arden was doing just the best he could for me with it. 'The best laid schemes,'you know. If I had ever come into possession of it, I hope I should have felt the force of' what you say, that we are only God's stewards. I am sure Walter would have considered only His cause in disbursing this great amount of money, as he will, I know, in laying out what is left. As it is I hope some good people or other in the long run,' as the saying is, are the gainers by it." "That is hardly likely, Edith. There is suspicion that there has been foul play, and that monies have been em- bezzled, and used at the gaming table." "I am sorry to hear that. But you don't think I ought to make myself miserable about that, do you? -God has over- 13* page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 ASPIRATION: ruled it; we know that He suffers these things to take place. Perhaps this money might have come to be a temptation to Walter- and myself; who can tell? We might have neglected the trust; or it might have cankered the soul, this undue earthly treasure. No, I cannot be sorry for it, try ever so hard. There can be no possibility of ostenta- tious benevolence lnow, and that would have been my beset- ting sin. You know this 'love of approbation,' Uncle Ernest."' "My dear child, I do not commend you for your indiffer- ence to this loss. I expected you would feel as you do; but you tempt me to believe that your words are not the form of words, the set phrase, but that they come from your heart, and that you care not for-this treasure, having found for yourself the pearl of great price." SCI never did care for money; you surely never thought I did!" ("No, not for yourself; for selfish indulgence, as a custom, you ignored it." "As a principle? Uncle Ernest." "As a religious principle, or a stoical, philosophical prin- ciple?" I hesitated. "I believe there was not much religion in. my contempt for it, for it was often real contempt which I felt for it. Itwas not always; there were times when I thought of the means I had for the indulgence of my tastes with much complacency. I used once to question why I was made mistress of this wealth, and had these fine tastes, if it were wrong to indulge them." "But you do not trouble yourself with such speculations now ." "No, Uncle Ernest." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 299 "Answer my question, my love, have you found this pearl of great price, before which all earthly riches fade into nothingness 2" "I sometimes hope I have; my heart seeks it." "I thank God for you, my precious child; ' if Christ has made you free, then are you free indeed.' You will be enriched, though you lose all worldly wealth, by Him, who giveth liberally and upbraideth not.' That pearl of great price, yours, Edith! -you can never know now the terrible poverty which would bring heaviness upon your soul. God is good to you, my child, inexpressibly good. How far this! heavenly-love exceedeth." "How far, indeed i I have not yet found out its height, and depth, and length, and breadth. I cannot yet com- pass it, but I see its beauty, and have opened my heart to it." "You cannot compass it here, Edith; no human heart can take the measurb-of that divinity; but you have found peace ; that would be the form the Comforter would take in your soul, I think." ' Yes, peace. I never knew before what it was." "Truly you did not, and I have bowed myself in impor- tunate prayer; day and night have I asked for you this peace which nothing can take from you. Has it come since the reception of Mrs. Mason's letter?" "Immediately following that." "Then is your soul another seal to the accomplishment of her mission." It was in March again, that month so eventful to me a year ago, -that Helen and myself were coming down together from the seminary, after the twilight gathering. As we walked along we took sweet counsel. I saw how far -before page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 300 ASPIRATION: me Helen was on the road heavenward; but she held her hand out lovingly that I might be near her. As we passed the stage office where the Boston coach was just depositing some passengers, we stopped talking, and moved along quietly, unwilling to attract attention from strangers, as we were quite alone, having lingered at the hal l after the others had returned to the boarding-house. We soon heard quick steps behind us, as of some one in pursuit of us. We had no fear, for in this quiet little place, in thle. dozen houses which composed it, all were our friends; all were persons in some way connected with the schools; and to go from one house to another aftersdark, unattended, was not an unusual or a rash thing. We turned around, thinking to see some mutual acquaintance from the institution, but the person was certainly a stranger, a very tall gentleman, whom I in no way recognized. Not so with Helen. She stopped as if transfixed. ' Mr. Lawrence, what does this mean?" ' "That I could no longer stay away, Miss Manners. You forbade me to- follow you; you would not allow me to write to you; you sought to separate yourself from me by every means. But even these mountain walls could not hide you, and I could no longer refrain from seeing you. It was no more against your will that I should come up here, than that I should write to you; and I was surer if I saw you."' "Do not leave me, Edith," said Helen, as, fearing that I might intrude, I was hurrying on in advance, "Mr. Lawrence has nothing to say to me that you may not hear." "You are impenetrable still; I hoped time would soften you." "This is no time or place, Mr. Lawrence, for such words. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 301 You amaze me; you were ready for this, and you find me startled by your abruptness, and entirely unprepared. You have the advantage; you will be considerate." I will. I was rude; forgive me; forgive me, Miss Arden, that I am neglectful of common courtesies; but my soul is full; the emotion overmasters me. I have kept silence per- force, so long. I have waited-oh, how I have waited-an eter- nity to me! Days have dragged by; I have seen no light; I have heard no music since I parted from you, Helen. - One emotion only has entered into my existence, and swallowed up all others. But I will be calm; I will not insult you by saying this, here. May I not see you alone." "You may enter, Mr. Lawrence, but I wish Edith to re- main with me." When we were seated in the small parlour, which fortu- nately we found unoccupied, I saw that Philip Lawrence remained standing. In the dim light of the single lamp his agitation was still visible; those dark eyes seemed to emit fire; he fairly trembled with the might of the passion which *raged in his soul. He came near the sofa:where we were. seated, and leaned against the wall." "You. do not fear me?" There was an indescribable sweetness in his voice. "Do you not fear yourself, Mr. Lawrence?" "I do--I do, Helen. You bade me leave you for a twelve- month." " And here you are now!" , . "Could I stay caged? H Iave I not paced the narrow bounds day and night, and champed and chafed, and foamed at the restraint! You could have held me." "My will could not." "Oh, be merciful, you left me to myself." page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 ASPIRATION : "I hoped I had left you with Him to whom I commend all--" "Speak on-' all you love ;' say that Helen, just one word, one ray, let me know that you forgive me for coming here; do n6t be too harsh for this only offence." I felt that Helen was trembling with emotion, I did not dare to interpret. It was so strange, if she loved this man, this " child of the sun," this fiery spirit. For myself I was dumb with amazement; I was no longer an intruder, both had quite forgotten my existence. "Helen, you have not a word to say! I have forfeited even the little kindness I have had from you. This is more than I canll bear-this silence is terrible." Still Helen did not speak. He turned his face to the wall as he stood, and a deep groan struggled up through his clenched teeth. I longed to escape from this scene; I knew not what was in Helen's soul-I feared she might not have it in her power to quell this tempest of passion.. I feared for her and for-him. This suspense was indeed terrible. "Mr. Lawrence, will you be seated and listen to me?" "Never-never will I sit before you again. No, I will stand here and bear it; say on, Miss Manners. I have borne it all before, I shall not fail in strength now." "Philip," said Helen, going up to him and laying her small white hand on his arm, " will you not sit down here beside me, while I speak to you?" He started and turned around with a flash on his face like a spirit's radiance. Again Helen spoke, for he did not move from, the wall. "Philip, I have wronged you, but I did not intend it;,will you not sit down here by me? Come"-and the small hand was again laid on- his arm. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 303 He grasped it. "' Helen, I thought I was dreaming, I may be now"-he put his hands over his eyes-" if I look again, shall I see you smiling? if I listen, will you say again, 'Philip, come '" Helen stood before him-oh, what a smile she wore. "Philip, come." He sunk down before her. "Oh God, I can pray now; oh God, for this do I not thank Thee?" then he sat down beside her so calm, so noble in his aspect, so mild in voice and manner! Never was there such fascination before, as in the sweetness of this changed man. "I was wrong in forbidding you to write to me. I did not know you well enough to act differently. It would have been better to have allowed that. But I was afraid of you," and here her voice sunk very low; "I was afraid of myself, for I knew I loved you, and I was unwilling to do so." "Do you love me still, Helen, unwillingly too?" "This has all been against what I thought was my better judgment; I do not comprehend myself." "A sweet perplexity you are to me even now, Helen." "No, no, a sad, most sorrowful enigma am I, in that I, vowed to all things pure, and holy, and calm, whom no- mortal passion has ever swayed, should be so moved by you-a man of the world, whose acclamations follow you as her favourite everywhere. I thouaht perhaps you were forgetting me." "And you hoped I would? Oh, Helen!" "( I don't know what I hoped. I have tried to think little of out last meeting. I have prayed for you and for your well-being, even for her, should another's now be to you, ' sweetest eyes were ever seen."' "I knew you were praying for me." page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304: ASPIRATION: "Oh, that you would pray for yourself, Philip! How can I ever trust you, prayerless?" "Helen, I could not pray. I have bent my knee a hun- dred times, and when I tried to utter my Maker's name, your's came to my lips." Hush,' this is blasphemous." "It is truth. I have been almost mad; you left me so sternly, with so little hope. I seemed withered when you enjoined this twelve months' silence. I have tried-to bear it. Go to my sisters, Helen, and ask them about me; they will tell you what I have done during all these long months. You will see how I have la-id the axe to the root of the tree. You will, believe in the -power you have over me." "I do believe now. I know you love me. I respond to your love, Philip, for I see its might and its devotion." "But you fear me? You shall not, Helen; I come to you so softenled by this new law of my life, that in your hand I shall be plastic to all forms and all impressions." "i Ah, I have no power to hold such as you are, Philip Lawrence. A mightier hand than mine must mould your fiery nature." "Will you not watch the inevitable transformation, and encourage me and love me through all?' Helen placed her hand in his, and as he bent his lips to it, almost reverentially, she said: "Through all, -Philip, God willing, I will stand by you, spirit now and body then. You shall not walk alone with that fire in your soul. I wilLallay its rage, and watch for the pure and holy flame, which will purify and rise toward heaven a holy sacrifice, acceptable before God." s"This is a sacred compact, Helen. lMy soul is still, before you and our God." AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 305 XXVII. IMR. LAWRENCE left in the morning stage. He was calm and subdued in manner when he came to us, for a few moments, before the stage started. There were no rhap- sodies; there were no extravagant demonstrations. His usual elegant manner sat very gracefully upon him, as he talked to me about Captain Manners and about my; uncle's family. He said very little to Helen, and she less to hinm. He took her hand a few moments before leaving, and while he talked to me his eyes were bent upon the fair taper fingers which were clinging around his. Once he looked up from it, to Helen, with such a beautiful smile on his face, full of meaning, full of tenderness, trust, and peace. "I will try to deserve it," he said, when having bid me good-bye, he again bent and kissed the little hand he held. So he left us. I watched him as he went down the garden walk, I have before spoken of his remarkable appearance. I never saw so striking a mnan, his aspect was more nearly magnificent than any one's I ever knew. Helen read my thoughts. ' "His soul is as glorious, Edith; could I suffer its glories tob be dimmed by, such follies as have characterized much of his career?" He turned around,' and seeing us still standing there, he smiled and kissed his hand to us. That indescribably sweet smile! What wonder that Helen could not resist it. I could not fear for her. She knew what she was doing; and was not "God over all"'? He would direct her and strengthen her. The end of the term was-approaching. Our two young -). page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 ASPIRATION': Missionaries left us now, they were going out in May, and all the intervening time was necessary for the preparation for their voyage and their residence in the East. Judith Levering was to be married, and-Aiss Owen- was to go with her husband and herself, and live in their household as a teacher. These girls had never made any parade of their intentions. They had been amongst the foremost in all classes, regular in the performance of every duty, gentle and amiable in their intercourse with the other scholars, and the stay and prop of all the little assemblings for religious purposes. They had kept somewhat more to themselves than was common, but they had been alone in several classes, and this was, therefore, perfectly natural. Both were excel- lent Greek scholars, and in Biblical literature and exegesis they had not their equals. We were sorry that they were going away. It would have been the utmost folly for any- one to say they pitied them, that their future involved such self-denial and sacrifices of all kinds; I rather envied them, that they had risen so far above the world and self, and had ,found so much grace; for nothing else could have given theln their devotion. They were all who left our class, the largest graduating class that had yet been sent out from Northden. There was but one younger than myself in. it, and to contend 'against so much superiority of age as well as other things, had taxed me very much. I had already surmised, from some- thing said in my presence by one of the teachers, that I was to have the chief honour if I sustained my present position. I could not quite trust to this indication, so long before the usual bestowment of the Valedictory, and I said nothing of my hopes and fears to my intimates. The winter term closed sadly: We had our usual public AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 307 meeting, and the drama which we acted was very'unique in its idea, and more interesting to ourselves and one other person than it would be to any third parties. It was a representation of our school in its present aspect, and was intended to be sent to Mrs. Mason as a picture of its indi- viduality now.- For that purpose a copy of it had been made by Helen, who wrote exquisitely, and was forwarded to reach her the evening it should be- acted in the dear old hall, where she had so often presided over our gather- ings. The first scene represented Mary and myself coming over the hill at the back of the Seminary, just as the girls were coming up to the morning prayers. As we came down slowly, we discussed the house, the church standing by it, the scene about it generally, and the girls coming up the paths before it. The second scene was the interior of the large hall, and the morning exercises, together with the lecture which usually followed from our Principal or one of the older teachers. Then came the interiors of several of the recitation-rooms, of the drawing hall, and especially of Madame Renau's, room, the favourite resort of Miss Hazeltine, as she in- structed in, some peculiar study. The fourth scene was the weekly meeting of the Literary Society, which always took place on Wednesday forenoon at eleven o'clock. Margaret Crosby was supposed to be presiding, and theses were read by the best writers then in school; all of which were duly copied. The fifth was the Saturday morning school, which was peculiar. Cases of discipline were then attended-to, and the reports of the monitresses were handed in. This was always , \ page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 ASPIRATION: very interesting, and gave occasion for a great deal of lectur- ing, etc. You can imagine the interest and the faithfulness with which this was written, how all the best talent of the school was occupied upon it, and how daintily it was prepared for Mrs. Mason's eye. There was not so much spirit in our performance of it as might have been expected. We had hoped when Mrs. Ma- son left us in the fall that she would pay us a visit about this time; but now, instead of being with us, she was a confirmed invalid, confined to her bed even, some of the time; and quite unable to leave the house. The thought of this saddened us all. We said little about her that evening, but an occasional low remark made evident what was in every heart. Mary Atkinson, to whom it was assigned, could hardly read the record of the past year--and the reference to our former president. Stifled sobs were heard here and there, and when the meeting closed, we spoke low and Went out softly, as if the presence of the departing spirit was felt by all. One week from that day my aunt received a letter from Mr. Mason, which induced her to decide to go to them. "If you would see her alive-come," was the message. We felt then that all would soon be over. We did not dare send down by her the words of love which our hearts sent contin- ually to our lips. Aunt Eleanor was gone a fortnight. When -she came back, Mrs. Mason--all that was mortal of her-had been two days in the grave. I will give you the account of that death-scene, as well as I can do so, in Aunt Eleanor's own words. "Mr. Mason met me at the Boston station, and we entered a carriage at once -and drove as rapidly as possible to the AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 309 house. It was the first time in several weeks that he had been even so long away from Mrs. Mason, and the horses could not fly back fast enough for his impatient wish. "' She is comfortable-she does not suffer much,' he said, in reply to my questions. 'Dr. Loring says he thinks her worst sufferings are past, and that now, she will have very little pain, but will gradually fade from us. She may die any hour. You never saw so heavenly a vision. I feel con- stantly as if 1 must serve her upon my knees-as if it were irreverence to sit or even stand before her.' "He caught his breath quickly, and then, repressing the emotion, he proceeded to say: "' She asked for you. The evening that the drama came, which she was then even well enough to sit up in an easy chair and read herself with the most intense enjoyment- that evening she told me what Dr. Loring had said-that now she was so far past all hope of life, that she might be in hourly expectation of her departure. She talked to me about resignation on my part, not in view of her supreme blessedness in the heavenly courts, but because it was. God's will that she should leave me. I could not answer her-I was dumb in the presence of the fearful anticipation. I can- not live without her--I cannot live without her.' "He had been speaking slowly, and rather abstractedly; 'now he turned around to me, and the fierceness of his man- ner almost alarmed me. "' Who says I must live when she is gone--she, the soul of my soul, the sum of all my liopes, here and hereafter. She will leave me to the torment of this stinging conscience forever. Have not I killed her? Was ever so vile a deed done since "Christ was nailed to the cross? Can I live and bear about with me this loathsome body, this earthiness page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 ASPIRATION: whence sprang the selfishness that has done this thing? What is the murder of rude men by rude men to this? What is a deed of passion, committed by one almost ir- responsible through that passion, to this? You know I have done it. I have always felt that I was unveiled in your sight, for you knew her before I did, and have watched the poison circulate, and have seen her sustaining life-and have known the end as it has come-to her blessedness, but to my everlasting woe.' "I tried to soothe him. "'Mr. Mason, you are beside yourself--your remorse deprives you of reason. Yes, you have done very wrong-I will not deny that-but that this, her death, is to rest upon your soul, I do not believe. She inherited her dis- ease from her mother. Her father will tell you so. Possi- bly, had her life been a happier one-had she laboured less arduously-had she been nursed and tended when the shad- ow of the destroyer was resting upon her, as faithful and devoted love might have cared for her, possibly, I say, she might have lived a few, years longer. But all your care, all' your devotion-from the hour she gave you her love to this hour--would not have averted it, I am sure.' "' To gain only a few years-only a year, were worth all my life.' "But her mission is ended. Even her mission to you is ended-when she will leave you at peace with yourself and your God. She will not leave you before that time. I am confident this has been her last crowning work, the centre star in her glorious crown of rejoicing. You have made her very happy.' "' Made her happy! What have I done-who could have done less \. AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 3" "' Who could have done more? She loved you so entirely, and you came to her at last; and she believes you have loved her as she loves you; that you have loved her always-as she has loved you. In this belief she dies happy. Had you never crossed her path-had you never stirred the depths of that noble heart, capable of so much love, she would not have known this exquisiteness of life, as sweet as anything can be to her dwelling here. Does she recognize in you a Christian, travelling the same path she has walked?' "' She thinks I am such--God forgive me; but how could I undeceive her-how could I give her another pang-I who have stabbed her to the heart?' ", IDo not talk so, Mr. Mason. I, too, hope you' have before this felt and tasted that the Lord is good. I do not wonder that in your self-reproach-which is in some degree inevi- table after such a life-you cannot now look up-you will not see in this God's ordaining-you will see nothing but your own criminal neglect. It is well to see your sin, it were better to repent of it before God, and resign yourself to the Holy Will which is displaying itself in first giving you this treasure for a brief hour, and then taking it before you to Heaven, that " where your treasure is, there your heart' may be also."' "We had now reached the house; the aged father of Mrs. Mason was standing at the door, to give us the first intelli- gence. "' I have just left her--she is sitting up in her bed watch- ing this glorious sunset.' "I allowed Mr. Mason to precede me into the room, while I followed with the old man-so very old--yet watching for the death of this his youngest child. "Esther was in the dear room which she described to me page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 ASPIRATION: in her letter; a couch had been drawn up before the win- dows, and she was sitting up, supported by pillows. , The glory of a beautiful sunset was streaming into the room, and -lingering about her, as if its rays loved the fair creature so soon to dwell in celestial light. I never saw her look so ra- diantly lovely-the flush on her cheek-the crimson of her lip-the curls, quite golden now, which fell- about her face, gave her an unearthly beauty. I understood how Richard Mason dared not stand: in the presence of this angelic being. I held my breath in awe as the whole scene broke upon my sight. "She held out her hand to me.' It was verv good of you - to come, Eleanor. I knew you would do so. I have always had the presentiment -that you would stand by me at this hour. My good Lucy has been very devoted to me-she is rather a friend than a servant-but you are more than a friend.' "' You have a stronger than I am to lean oi now, Esther.' "Yes, yes, I am sustained to the end, "the rod and. the staff, they comfort me," but my poor Richard, he needs you. Oh, Richard, my husband, see God in this His glorious work -do not mourn so--see to what I amn hastening-congratu- late me, my. friend, that greater glories' are bursting upon my sight-that a dearer love is winning me away even from this earthly Eden.' "'I need not describe to you the various conversations which we had-how she inquired for you all, and sent a blessing to you all-how she kissed me once, and-said,' tell my dear Edith I left her this caress.' I need not tell you of -my conversations with her husband, when sometimes that she was sleeping, and her -nurse was -watching beside her, I followed him into his library, where I always found him AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 813, bowed down, as if trying to pray ; and when I have kneeled beside him, and prayed with him, that he might not be left comfortless-that the Comforter might be sent to him. Grad- ually these terrible seasons of remorse grew more infre- quent, and at last when I would seek him thus, I would find upon'his lips words of trust or resignation--of devout'and child-like faith. The troubled waters were being stilled by the blessed influences we invoked--they might not surge so fearfully in the presence of the departing saint. "Then that last Sabbath came. She had been unusually feeble all day, but towards evening-she begged to have her couch moved before the windows again. 'I am sure I shall see heaven open, and the angels ascending and descending as I have seen it in my night visions.' "Mr. Mason hastened to move her; but I saw that he was trembling like a woman, and I went to his assistance. She lay quite still for a few moments, watching the bright clouds which were floating towards us from the radiant west. Then she turned to me and said, 'Dear Eleanor, faithful friend, I leave my beloved ones to you, my most precious legacy; love them and watch over their happiness for my sake; and may God do so to you, and even more,asyouare faithful in this holy trust;'. and she kissed me a fervent, strong kiss, and then she gave her hand to her father. There were no tears in his eyes, there was no trembling in his frame, there was no fear in his heart. ' The first hands that held me, close my eyes. God has been very good to me, my father. You are not far behind me; , I cannot even say good-bye, you are so soon to join me. A few more days, and you will come to me and to your God, so long and so faithfully served You taught me this faith in which I die happy beyond ex- pression. My father-nmy father--my father' --his arms ;14 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 ASPIRATION: were around her, and his head was bowed to hers; but there was no faltering; the same hope was in each heart, the same gladness filled each soul., "' Richard,'-he was on his knees by her side--' lift me in your arms; lay me on your heart-'so. I would die so. I had hoped to have lived so a great many years. Dear heart --how it has blessed me with its love. It is not quiet now, poor mourning heart; but the peace will come by-and-bye. I see, my beloved, that you will be happy yet-blessed even - in the memory of this pain. You have a lofty life before you, my husband. I had hoped to walk beside you on the dizzy heights to which fame will call you; but oh-those green pastures--those still waters! My Saviour! Oh, Richard, those win me even from you; the divine love, the bleeding, clinging love, the pleading, winning love-I go to it from these faithful arms, from this dear heart. - My precious husband, your tears may fall when I am gone, but by-and- bye-God will wipe away all tears from your eyes; your weary feet will sometimes fail you in your lonely pathway, but the time will not be long in coming when the weary shall find rest. Love God- and keep his commandments, conse- crate to him your great talents; keep your eyes ever on your great examplar, and God will bless you forever and ever. Richard, kiss me--again my beloved--' life's manu- mission won"-my own beloved, for a little while farewell.' "The eyes were closed, the lips were still; a breath came up like the sobbing breath of a child going to sleep from its little troubles on its mother's heart-again-we scarcely saw it-there was no more. -There was a breathless silence in the room. '"Let us pray.' It was the voice of the old man. He stood leaning on his staff, and prayed- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHrY OF GIRLHOOD. 815 "'That Thou hast taken her, my darling, from the lad earth, and from ,our' love, we thank Thee, oh our God; that Thy greater love has borne her to the green pastures, and be- side the still waters, we thank Thee, oh our God; and now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace. Amen."' XXVIII. IItELN was staying with me, and Margaret too, for the spring vacation. We had accomplished a great deal during the time of Aunt Eleanor's absence--a great deal of those innumerable things which fall to such leisure. There were two seamstresses at work for us, and we all plied the needle too, most industriously; all at least but one, who, in turn with the others, read aloud. It was charming how we wove the story into our work, or pondered over the deeper truths as we guided our busy fingers. What long discussions fol- lowed the starting ofmooted questions! I thinkigrew,during that vacation, as much as during ally period in my life. Some- times we appealed to Uncle Ernest or Aunt Eleanor for a deciding vote; or carried on our discussions at the table as- tsisted by them. Helen was full of lfe , gay as a song; day and night she never drooped orflagged. I was astonished at this new development of her character. ' In her lightness there was truth , and often she spoke lightly And had a grace in being gay, which mourners e'en approve The current of som e earnest th ought w as understruck so rightly, As to justify the foliage and the waving flowers abov e." A strange sum mons carried her away from us. W ewere surprised one evening by th e arrival of strangers-a gentle. page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 3'16 ASPIRATION: man and lady-who wanted Helen. She returned from her interview with them pale and very much agitated. 1 "Mrs. Cuyler, Philip Lawrence, whose wife I had promised some day to become, lies very low-perhaps dying-in his sister's house in Boston. Another sister has come up here for me to go to him. He is ill with brain fever. In his de- lirium he calls upon me incessantly. The physician has ad- vised my going to him!" She stood as if waiting Aunt Eleanor's opinion. "Madame Renau is -already in Boston, she would be with me; shall I not go?2"T e "By all means, my dear girl; there is no need to ask that question; you can go down in the morning coach." So they did, and left us in the deepest anxiety, for well we saw how Helen's heart was bound up in the life which seemed about to be extinguished in fiery Philip Lawrence. A week after I received this letter from her: "MY EDITH:--I can breathe again.' I thank my God for His mercy to me and mine. Yes, mine now; no earthly power can part us. He will live; we all know it; and as soon as he is well enough, I shall become his wife. It is a very sudden thing, but I feel that it will be best thus; all advise it. It is now nearly twenty-four hours since the cri- sis past of this terrible fever. Philip had been sleeping the long, almost breathless sleep which precedes this crisis. I was beside him. - I have hardly left the room since I have been here. I was bending over him when he awoke, and opening his eyes, met mine, so tearful in the recognition that I could hardly distinguish the wasted features before me. "My Helen!'--he had not known before that I was by . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 317 him. In all the invocations addressed to me by those dear lips, in the tenderest, most pleading, pitiful tones, my voice, though it soothed him, had not been recognized. I dared not let him talk now. Iplaced my hand before his lips and said, "'Hush, Philip; you cannot talk to me now; I shall stay here close beside you; look at me as much as you please, hold myhand, but not another word if you will please me.' "Such a look, Edith! It would have repaid anvy sacrifice, any suffering. It overpowered me. I laid my head down on the pillow to hide the glad tears which I could not restrain. I uttered in my full heart such devout thanksgiving, I had no reserve to make of myself. I saw how the suspense of those long silent months had operated on Philip, and I felt that I owed him a reparation. I will trust him, if it seems to be God's will that I should; if he asks it, I will become his wife when and where he chooses; he has suffered enough for nme. "He has slept- much through the day.. I too have sle pt- really slept f or the first time since I left N orthden. Two or three hours since, they told me that Philip was awake asking for me. I went to him instantly. I found him much stronger; his voice had its old tone, the sweet tone, which I know you have noticed in it. I bent over and pressed my lips to his forehead. He raised his arm, and held me down by him, as I knelt by the bed. "'You wilt be my sweet wife?' "L Yes.', ": When?' "Whenever you wish it; as soon as you are well enough. There, I shall leave you; if you do not keep quiet you wil/ not get well so soon.' page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 ASPIRATION: "'Yes, I will, nothing can prevent it now-" as soon as XI am well enough!"Do you know what you are promising?' "' Well do I know it, Philip; it is no rash promise.' (" 'No, H0elen, and you shall never repent it while I live; so help me, God,' he added solemnly. "Thus you see all, know all. Perhaps I may be married before Madame leaves. She- seems to wish it; all urge it; I do not resist them-Philip's dear eyes plead with such soft and yet importunate entreaty. We will go up to North- den by-and-bye, and will stay with you during August at least. I see how it is: this compliance wouldl make Philip my slave for life. I must be careful of my power; I must remember that it becomes a responsibility for which I shall be accountable to God. I do not think you will disapprove of this, under the circumstances. I think Mrs. Cuyler would have said with Madame, 'this is your mission, Helen.' " I confess I was npt unprepared for this. We all saw how it would end. My dear Helen, my sister, I prayed for her happiness, and I was not fearful for it any longer. But who would have believed -last August, that ere another year tile gentle and pious Helen Manners would be the wife of Philip Lawrence, the gayest man in Boston, the leader of fashion, the admired and envied of half the world! The summer term had commenced. It was a very dif- ferent summer from that of last year. The feeling' that she for whom we were then working, planning, studying, was in the grave, pervaded every mind, and cast-no, I will not say a gloom over us, but a chastened light, a pure, strong light, which showed to us all more plainly than we had ever seen it before, the end of life, the chief end of all effort. There was much serious feeling in school. There were no violent demonstrations, but a deep pervading seriousness AN AUTOBIOGRAPHy OF GIRLHOOD. 319 silenced the frivolous and empty-headed, and made those thoughtful who had been before the very butterflies of life's show. When the time come for the bestowal of honours, the elec- tion was first made for the Annual Address of the society; it was the gift of the scholars, and it fell always to some popular, but dignified girl. It was perhaps a loftier honour than the Valedictory, which was bestowed by the teachers; yet that was considered the first honour. Margaret had taken it, and 1 had always promised it to myself, with a little arro- gance, perhaps, which I had never shown to others, how- ever, as I had never suffered myself to talk about it. The address was given by the ballot of the school to Maria Elting, one of those tail girls of whom I have spoken in connection with the Lowellians. She had always been a qick undemonstrative girl, an indefatigable student, and yet so winning and amiable in her manners that every one loved her as much as they-respected her. On the afternoon of the same day I was formally summoned to Madame's room " at five o'clock," the usual hour for such summons, and was informed that " the long period during which I had been in school maintaining a ladylike and commendable deport- ment, that mny progress in my studies, and my excellence as a writer, justified my'teachers in giving to me the first honour, the Valedictory." I thanked them for the honour, and went out of the room. As I was descending the stairs I encountered Maria Elting on the first landing. She was leaning against the window with a gloomy look upon her sweet face which amazed me. "I have been waiting to know who has the first honour." "I have it, Maria ;, what is the matter? Surely you did page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 ASPIRATION : not want it," I said with great surprise at her manner; " you have really a higher honour." "So I have, Edith, I know it; and now hear what I have to say. You know my father is dead, and my mother is a poor woman who long depended upon her needle for her support There are four of us, myself, a brother older, one younger, and Nannie. Henry is the younger brother; he lives with my mother and sends Nannie here to school; he is a good son and- a dear brother. When I found that Nannie was coming I was crazy to come also. It had al- ways been the desire of my life, a liberal education. My oldest brother, Stephen, a proud, exacting man, was moved by my longing for this chance to study. He asked me if I came here a year and a half if I thought I would graduate regularly. You know I had studied a great deal, teaching myself, getting any kind of help from anybody. I told him yes, I knew I could. "'You have a tremendously strong will, Maria. Do you think you could command the great honour there at North- den? If I will pay your expenses there for a year and a half, will you earn the Valedictory? You can do it if you choose. I never yet have seen anything you could not do if you set yourself to accomplish it. Now, come; you go there and get the Valedictory. I shall know that you have deserved this encouragement, and have worked as faithfully as you can. Nothing else, mind; nothing else is going to satisfy me of your deserving.' "It was a hard bargain, Edith; but it opened the clouds to me and I saw the glory behind them. I promised. Have I not worked? Has night been night to me, or have I once said I was weary, or has my spirit failed me for a moment? Never. I thought it would be so. I thought you would AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 321' win-you who had nothing at stake. I know you cared nothing about it. Stephen is coming up here to see me graduate. He expects what I cannot show him-this chief honour. I despise myself for having told you this; it will make you uneasy. Do forget it, dear Edith. I don't care what Stephen says. I have done all I could." "so you have, Maria. You have done wonders. All the school recognize it, and have given you really the highest meed you could have. They have their first choice, after all; therefore the address is the first honour." "But it. is not considered so by others. Stephen will not believe it, and I shall disappoint him, he is so hard. What a fool I am to talk so to you." 'a Maria, cannot we change?" "Impossible!^ "Not at all. Let us go together to Madame, and I will tell the whole story."- Reluctantly poor Maria accompanied me. I repeated all she had told me. I had them all gained to my wishes at once; but how to manage with the school? "There shall be a new election," said Madame. - /"I will tell them that we desire to give the Valedictory to Miss Elting. They all love her well enough to give anything that will please her, and then, my dear Edith, if you are not elected, when she is withdrawn, you may --lose alto- gether?" "I know it; I am entirely willing; I almost hope I shall not be elected. I shall enjoy Maria's happiness enough for both of us.'" Poor Maria was already crying at this sudden revulsion, this ending of all her labours. I need not make a long story of it. The 'change was made. Madame did not tell the "* page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 83-2 ASPIRATION: school that I had had the honour, and relinquished it to Maria. I was glad she did not, and when -on a second balloting I found myself in Maria's place, this popular vote made me twice as happy as the Valedictory could have done. I knew my friends were disappointed, and very much astonished at the change. I kept my own counsel, but others did not. Somehow the story was told, and then I had my reward for any momentary feeling of depression I might have experi- enced. It went like wild-fire, to nmy great dislike, and there was not a girl in school who did not come and shake hands with me. and tell me what she thought of it. They could not make enough of either of us. This moved me much on one account. A year ago I was not a popular girl. There was a reserve to those I casually met, an indifference to com- monplace people, a harshy expressed dislike of those who were not altogether what I approved, that had made me enemies. I had strugglesd against these faults, not to cor- rect the tone of the school towards myself, but because I saw my need,of the spiritual graces of humility, meekness, kindliness, and charity. Most unexpectedly I had my re- ward. By this time Helen and Mr. Lawrence had joined us at Northden; they boarded at a pleasant farm-house between our house and the seminary. Helen occupied herself with books and her needle;--she sewed beautifully, it was a regular accomplishment with her,--and with her attentions to Philip.. She rode and walked with him every day. They had saddle horses, and a little pony carriage, which -Helen herself could drive; sometimes when the weather was very hot, she would come down and carry Mary and myself home. We always .saw Mr. -Lawrence standing at the door or win- dow watching for us to pass. He was uneasy every moment AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 323 that Helen was out of his sight, and as we went by him he would come out and say : (Be careful of that steep descent, Helel," or " look out for the turning at the Professor's." Often he walked- up and met us at the gate, and would take the reins from his wife and drive back. The very ground she trod upon was loved for her sake. He made little demonstration, he was always habitually polite and at- tentive to women; but none of those petits soins, which are so fascinating from a lover, were neglected by him towards Helen. When she sewed he read aloud; his voice was won- derfully modulated, and his accomplished and cultivated mind gave its own charm to all their reading. When Helen moved about the room, his eyes followed her involuntarily; the charm of her airy, graceful figure, the perfect refinement and elegance of her, manners, bewitched him--yes, the man was fairly " eye-bitten," as the Saxons said; and, how his heart and soul answered to the spell! That was fifteen years ago. Philip Lawrence loves his wife as ardently now, as admiringly, as worshipfully as ever; but he has learned to love God supremely. XXIX. WALTER returned to be at the August commencement in good season. My best Walter! He stopped in Boston and had an interview with Uncle Arden, arranging all affairs for our future with such manly, straightforward, earnest frank- ness, that against his will my uncle had been led to give his consent to the measures proposed, "To think that Hugh's only daughter, whose dowry he doubled on ,his death-bed, should settle down in a small page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 324 ASPIRATION: house in the country with a thousand a year! and I have racked my brains so to heap up her wealth for her! Well, I have lost part ef it for her, and she is going to give away the rest! This is all nonsense, this Utopian idea of yours, Captain Manners. I am glad you are going to England for a year first. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, and your friends there, will give Edith some more modern notions, I hope." "But we are going abroad chiefly that our house may be prepared for us in our absence. The pretty estate, and the place we intend to erect on it, are gifts from Henry and his wife to Edith; they had found out what she had done with her own property, and while they admired her for it, they were determined she should have the beautiful home which will become her so well. It will be on such a scale, how- ever, that we can keep it up with a thousand a year, or about that. As for the proceeds of my school-" "Of your school! Jupiter Olympus! did I hear you aright?" "Yes, I shall occupy myself with a school for young men- a kind of preparatory school for those who desire to enter college. Others, I shall carry through a course of classics, sciences, and so on, myself. I wish to try a new mode of teaching, educating. I wish, moreover, to add to the school, from time to time, free classes of worthy young men; there are always plenty of such, you know, struggling for an edu- -cation." "Are you going to get up a female school for Edith, too?" "Not quite; but before she had consented to marry me, she intended to get up one for herself somewhere." "Edith Arden! Hughis daughter! The heiress of ten thousand a year! she would have been fit for a straight- AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD, 325 ,jacket, a lunatic asylum! Well, sir, I am glad you have put a stop to that." "I shall like this pccupation, Mr. Arden. I am fitted for it by nature; by the course of intellectual discipline in which I kept myself, even in the barracks, and by my earnest wish to do good to others. I shall employ what assistants are necessary. I shall not bring the-school home to Edith. It will be so far away that she can have as quiet, elegant and refined a home as she chooses, or you could desire. Come and see us in a year or two, and you will be reconcile4 to these things I am certain." "Captain Manners, you may be right, sir; I believe you are. There is something in all this, an undercurrent which I do not quite fathom, I confess; you see for yourself how contrary it is -to all my previous ideas of life. You and Edith are young; you have time, and strength, and oppor- tunity, and means to do good to others, which seems to be your purpose. I cannot say it is an unworthy purpose. It is different from most people's, but it may be better. Only this, take good care of Hugh's child, and make her happy be- fore all things else." And so the old gentleman shook hands with Walter, while he dashed from his eyes the tears he was ashamed of, but which were no dishonour to his age. Walter told me all this, and added: "I said we should be married on the 8th of September, Edith, and should be in Boston in a few days." "Walter Manners! Walter Manners! Well, that is about the coolest thing I ever knew you to do!" "My dear Edith, you said the day we were at Mrs. Mason's house--don't you remember it, little maiden?-' that you would marry me when you found that I could no longer page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 ASPIRATION. exist without you.' I believe those were your very words. I have found that I cannot exist without you another day after the 8th, which is just one year from the time you made the promise." "What shall I do?" "Get ready as fast as you can after to-morrow. Where are those pretty dresses you had last year? You see you have your wardrobe prepared." "Anything else, Captain Manners? This effrontory be- comes you! As I remember telling you on that same day, ' I shall be married when I choose."' "When will that be, gracious little maiden? Now look up at me and tell me nay." It is no matter how the argument was urged, or what I answered; no change of day was announced to my friends in Boston. Frank and John joined us early on Wednesday morning. On that day I went through with my duties as a pupil for the last time. Bright as my future was, this was a sad day to me.- Everywhere in the dear old hall "the past looked on me with its tearful eyes." Here I had grown in earthly wisdom, and here I had felt the first blessed influences of the heavenly wisdom, which giveth life eternal. In heart and soul I had been born again new, and every line and lineament of the halls, and of the dear faces about me, were endeared to me by a thousand tender associations. "Not in vain has been their watchful care," I said humbly ; "not in vain were those panting struggles, the chrysalis was broken at last; the wings of faith were given to my soul. Here earth has faded from my spiritual vision, and the heavens have opened. Here lips that have been to me so long eloquent, will speak to, me no more; but the echoes of their teachings will abide with me yet; the strings of the quivering harp they tuned will yet /. o . 0 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 327 warn my soul of its lofty destiny, in those tones whose key- note was struck in heaven. How we mourned that day for her, our more than teacher, and friend, our spiritual mother! The teachers showed in their mourning dresses the loss which had befallen all. Our class, so long under her charge, wore each a sable badge upon our white dresses. The sadness which had hung over the school during all the summer seemed to culminate now. There were allusions made to the departed, in the prayers and addresses, in the girls' theses, and in the Address and Vale- dictory. Margaret read, in behalf of the teachers, a touching tribute to the memory of her to whom, under God, we owed our high standing, our reputation, our prosperity as a school. Towards the close of the day, as Mary and I were escaping from the crowded hall for a few moments to breathe the fresh air, we met in the entrance-hall a dark, stern-looking man, who stepped up to Mary and laid his hand on her shoulder. I was mute with -astonishment, but Mary, looking up into his face a second time, turned very pale, and was trying to move her lips to frame some unaccustomed word, when she would have fallen fainting to the floor, had not the stranger raised her in his arms and carried her to the open air. I ran for water, but I found her, on my return, already re- vived, but still in the arms of the stranger, whom she made no effort to leave. He was talking to her rapidly, but in a low voice. I heard him calling her "daughter." I heard-him begging her forgiveness for his desertion of her and her mother. Then I saw tears falling from his eyes. It was a most moving sight, the tears of that hard, bronzed man, who looked as if he had outlived with his youth, his love and his humanity. s I went away and left them. This, then, was Mary's page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 828 - ASPIRATIONJ: father, who had left three years before, when I had thought that he died; his desertion it was that broke his wife's heart, which his cruelty had before tried in vain to do! Ah, Mary had a great deal to forgive ; but Mary was a follower of Him who prayed, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." I remembered how Mary had sometimes referred to her sorrows,:but never spoke of them in detail. I remembered Aunt Eleanor's saying, that Mary's fortune, which had been inherited from her mother, had been settled upon her, and that it had occasioned great trouble. I remember her ex- pression of sympathy, which was almost too distressing, as Aunt Eleanor was telling us Of "Aunt Abby's" trials. My l noble, long-suffering Mary! how rich in discipline had her life been! By-and-bye Walter came out, looking for me. "Oh, Walter," was my first exclamation, "Mary Atkinson has found her father!" "Was it the foreign-looking man whom I pointed out to you this morning, as my fellow-passenger from Liver- pool?" "The very same." "' Ah! how I wondered at his 'interest in Northden; his inquiries about the school, and how he listened as I spoke of Professor Cuyler's as the only family I knew here. I men- tioned Mary's name one day in some connection; and he asked if she were a ward of the Professor. How thankful I am for this. If he has come back to her, he has repented of his sins, I am sure. Let us go to them now; they have had a long interview." Walter greeted the stranger as General Cavallo. "My name is Atkinson, Captain Manners. I disgraced it , . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOODs. 329 in fortner years, and going to South America I took a Span- ish name, entered the Spanish army, and earned th'e title by which you knew me. I am simple Mr. Atkinson now. I will wipe away the disgrace which my misconduct has cast on my faUther's name. My child shall no longer blush for one she has restored to hope, and thus to a purer life, by her noble forgiveness." I did not need now to complain of Mary's impassiveness. The bright colour, had returned to her sweet face; her eyes were sparkling in company with the beautiful glow; and from that hour a new spirit of song and gladness entered into my dear Mary, as this new element of joy entered into her life. "What will Ralph say, Mary?" "Sure enough! He will ask what all this means," said Ralph, who could not be long ignorant of Mary's return. "It means, Ralph, that you will have to ask Mr. Atkinson for the hand you have so presumptuously thought your own during this last year." Ralph's greeting was frank and manly, but, to my eye, a trifle of embarrassment betrayed his anxiety for the result of this encounter. The stranger with one keen glance meas- ured the young man, and giving him his hand, he said: "If you have won this dear child's heart, sir, I have no- thing to say. God forbid I should ever give her another pang. I doubt not that you deserve- her. Ernest Cuyler would never have suffered her to love unworthily. Take; my Mary, Mr. Haine, and God bless you as you make her happy." When the exercises of this trying, exciting day were over, many a group lingered in the great hall. There was Stephen Elting with Maria on his arm, and Nannie holding his hand. Like John Arden, he was evidently a " son of thunder," but page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 - ASPIRATION: now his face wore a proud and happy look. Maria told him the whole story, and he came to me and made such an honest avowal of his fault, and spoke so proudly and tenderly of his admirable sister, that what could I do but shake hands with him and congratulate him upon being connected with one who, in so short a time, had won the hearts of all, teachers and scholars alike, and whom all delighted to hmour? I would not hear Maria's answer throwing all the merit on me. I kissed her tearfully. I did not know that we should ever meet again, and hurried away. Half way down the middle aisle I encountered a gentle- man, an old friend indeed, who met me with uplifted hands, and a comical expression of amazement on his face. "Well, well, Edith; while I have been at Washington these two years, looking after this great nation in my humble capacity, you have been giving yourself away to this foreign- er, this ' barber's apprentice.' " "Hush, Colonel Woodhouse." "This ' uncouth, disagreeable'-" "Hush, I say; don't you see I am not listening." "This' bear, Don Whiskerando'; ell! Clara. Such work as has been going on at Northden! I thought you, Miss, were learning common sense under the tutelage of my ward, Angela Haine." "Angela Haine!" "Yes, did you never know she was my ward? Well, almost a year ago I received a letter at Washington from some young gallant up here, asking for Angela." "You confound me with amazement." "Just so; I wonder you never heard of it, as the letter was signed IFrank Arden,' and was enclosed in one from your Uncle Ernest " AN ATUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 381 "Let me sit down; I am breathless."' "Well, it was a good letter. I had nothing to say against the letter. I was glad Angela was doing so well. I did not know, however, that she was teaching this lore. Let me see-you, Mary, Margaret Crosby, the sister of Captain Manners, that elegant Mrs. Lawrence yonder-she's a dainty, -exquisite creature, Edith-all have been taking lessons of Angela. I see, I see." "' You don't, you don't see an inch, Colonel Woodhouse; we were all wooed, won, and betrothed, before ever Frank saw Angela. Such business indeed! and here I have been longing and praying that Frank and Angela might be one day man and wife; and keeping my wishes to myself, lest I should rouse some spirit of antagonism, s6 prone is human nature to it! I knew they were made for each other. I knew they would make each other happy; but they ought to have told me!" "So we would have done, Edith, my darling little sister; but you once declared I should not make my heartless com- pact with any of your friends, so I did"not dare-to tell vou. But, oh! how miserable Angela and I have been in keeping you in ignorance of this," said Frank, with certainly a most miserable expression on his handsome face, as he went up to Angela and drew her arm in his. w: We are to be married to-morrow morning in Uncle Ernest's library, and go over to the Lake with the rest of the company!" "Frank, Angela, this is too sudden!" "I know it; but John is to be married to the lady Mar- garet;-she is a superb woman, but she would not suit me as Angela does;--well, I believe it is to be next month some- time." "Yes." page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 ASPIRATION: "And you know I am the oldest of the family, and of course I must be married first." "There, Angela, that is all the reason that Frank proposed to you; not but you are too good for him-but, my dear, he will never find it out. Why didn't you consult me ." One more extract from my journal: September 18th, 1841. "To-morrow we sail for England, Philip and Helen, Walter and I. Poor dear Northden. I am sure it will miss us all, Margaret, Angela, Helen and my- self. Mary looked very sorrowful when she bade us good- bye, but her father will be there much of the time; and poor Ralph, he looked at her so reproachfully when her tears would fall, that she will not be comfortless I know. Uncle Ernest and Aunt Eleanor, Madame Renau and Mary, were with us till the last moment; their blessings and prayers go with us now. *, "There never were happier people, I am sure, than we are.- That is a trite word; but what shall I say? Philip and Helen dare not measure their blessedness, if they could. Philip's fiery heart beats more calmly than ever before in his life; and in the hush of that deep peace, all that is noble in his nature has risen to a preeminence which will make Philip Lawrence as wonderful, as magical a name for goodness and greatness, as it has been for greatness and folly. Walter is as proud of him as Helen. "Now in this hour of departure, how busy in my heart' are memory and hope. Memory brings up to me those words of Walter's which so impressed me in the stage-coach. My acquaintance with him who is now my husband, my love for him, my marriage, have none of them-great events as they are in my life-history-solved the problem whose mys- s . .. . AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF GIRLHOOD. 333 teries haunted me then. This love will be, perhaps, a faint parallel line-a line stretching out into eternity-I fully be- lieve; but, ah! how feeble is its tracery beside the grand cord of love which draws me onward. "Have I ' succeeded in evoking life from the dry bones of our present social existence.' I have found a power which is equal to this. With awe I repeat to myself, ' Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones: Behold I will cause breath to enter into you and ye shall live.' I have ' found my ideal,' but not where I then sought it. 'The loveliest among ten thousand,' my heart has chosen; Him whom by the vision of faith I have seen. I recognize the Divine presence' in my daily paths.' I see the image of Christ in all who have studied the lineaments of the beloved Master; in all who fol- low in the imitable perfections of the Divine examplar, the God-made man, who dwelt on earth that forever after the striving, struggling soul might have a visible ideal. Walter told me this ideal would cease to be an abstraction, that it would become visible in the powerful influence it would have even over the practicalities of life, and that by these practi- calities 'it would be neither encumbered, nor hidden, nor marred, nor dwarfed, nor blighted.' "Wherefore is this need of Christ not sooner recognized by the asking, seeking soul? Why is it that this life is searched and searched, in vain, for the ideal that will satisfy all aspirations? Why does the mortal seek it in nature which is more mutable than humanity; in a fellow mortal, 'whose breath is in his nostrils; in the finite, when it is the immortal of our being which craves, and the God-sent aspiration, which only God can fill?" "The whole!oreation groaneth and travaileth in pain until page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 8334 ASPIRATION. now." Waiting, asking, suffering soul, full of pain and sor- row, and conscious of countless infirmities; while longing for strength; finding no satisfaction in the world; no peace in all that mother earth can give her children; no consolation in knowledge; no hope in the mortal love which cannot bridge over the chasm separating us from another world, whose shadow we feel, but whose light we cannot see; no joy in laughter, or sunshine, or music, or beneath the starry heavens, or in the silent hour of the heart's election to a "re- lated heart." Oh! soul, wearying of change and of quiet, of labour and repose, of doing and suffering, of rejoicing and sorrowing, seeking vainly an intellectual ideal, and an ideal that shall satisfy a loving heart. Poor soul! weary and '!-:avy laden, I found rest in the shadow of the cross, I found ' v in the fountain of lii'ng waters, I found in Christ, the in- mparable which everywhere had eluded me. His love will idealize my life, dignify my toil, and I humbly hope, will glorify my death. THE END. o + I page: 336-337 (Advertisement) [View Page 336-337 (Advertisement) ] j r* tg y I ' , 7 5 # i Iu B)oks Published by Sheldon, Lamport ' Brlakeman. THE NAPOLEON DYNASTY; or the History of the Bonaparte Family. ! An entirely new work by the Berkeley Men. With 22 authentic Portraits. .1 vol. 8ro. 624 pp. Price, $2 50. A very handsome volume, m paper, typography and plates, greets us under -the title herb - given-and after the numberless books heretofore publishedin the shape of memoirs, bio- graphies and histories, about the Bonapartes, and him in particular who was the Bona. parte-it will be fonnd fresh and hew in many of its details and attractive by its dashing style and rapid narrative. All the members of the family, including the young brevet Ilieu- tenant in the U. S. Army, who has just been graduated from West Point, and Wvho bears the name both of his grand-father and his grand-uncle-Napoleon Jerome Bonaparte-are duly chronicled here ; and among the documents new to us, and we believe before unpublished, contained in this work, is the correspondence between Napoleon and Pope Pius VI., rela- tive to the divorce which Napoleon urged the Holy Father to pronounce between Jerome and his American wife, Miss Patterson-and the absolute refusal of the Sovereign Pontiff to com- ply with his request. 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The subject treated upon recommends itself, and those who wish to save time and gain information will find this volume a valuable companion. A general fault with descrip- tive works of this part of the globe is the size-so numerous are the thoughts that crowd on the writer-here, however. we find the whole happily condensed within reasonable limits. and with language so well chosen that the reader may intellectually follow the guidance of the author. The writer thinks, and we agree with him, ' that no volume of equal dimen. sions can be found to contain more information on the countries of which it treatsgthan this.' IWe have no personal acquaintance with the author, and know not his religious sen- timents, but we are persuaded that, while all readers will find something in the book that will please them, no Christian will find that with'whch he will have cause .to be displeased " Religious Recorder. "We deem this volume the most interesting book of travels relating to the countries of which it treats, that has come under our inspection. Its condensed form, and concise man- ner, together with the richness of its matter, render it a valuable work.' --Monroe Republican. "I have read Millard's .(Travels in Egypt, Arabia Petrsee and the Holy Land.' It is well worth the price, and cannot fail to interest readers of every class. It is to be hoped this book will circulate widely."-' -Christian Herald. THE ORIGIN OF THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS, with a faithful description of their manners and customs, both civil and military, their religions, lan- guages, dress, and ornaments: including various specimens of Indian eloquence, as well as historical and biographical sketches of almost all the distinguished nations and cele- brated warriors, statesmen, and orators among the Indians of North America. New Edition, improved-and enlarged. 1 vol. 8vo. Illustrated with 8 colored Plates. Price $1 50. This is believed to be the best history of the origin and customs of the American Indians ever published, and worthy of place in every library in our land, OVERING, OR the Heir of Wycherly. A historical Romance. By ELD RED GRAYxSOx, ESQ., author of ' SCtandisl, the Puritan," etc. 416 pp. 12mo. Muslin. Price ,1. The principal scenes of "Overing " are laid in Rhode Island, and the story opens on the coast of that mist-invested region, when Rhode Island was a province, some seventy- eight years ago. It covers the balance of that period, and the stirring times of the revolu- tion which succeeded it, and which resulted in its freedom with the twelve other States of the confederacy, from the galling thraldom of unjust and oppressive ZEnglish rule. The story is admirably managed, and the characters are drawn with a bold, dashing, and skill- ful pencil. "The interest is well kept up to the close; and in all, respects it is a work which will command the attention of the reading public, and become a standard work of American historical rpmance. Its typographical attractions vie with the interest of its contents, and display a taste and care which must command for the publishers the public commenda, t. ton.-7-Albany State Register. 'What we have read is so interesting that the volume will not pass out of our hands until we see. the 'Finis. "-Boston Evening Gaztte. I A" Overing is certainly issued in beautiful style, and if the gem be worthy of the casket- the story of its typographical' dress in which it is given to the public--it must take high rank among American works of fiction. It belongs to the same class of works with Mrs, Childs Hobomock "' Peep at the Pilgrims," and Mr Motley's later romance. "--owat PacW. W page: 340 (Advertisement) -341 (Advertisement) [View Page 340 (Advertisement) -341 (Advertisement) ] Books Published by Sheldow, Lamport ey Blateima w. AN OLIO OF DOMESTIC VERSES. By the late Mrs. EMLY JuJsos. 1 vol. 12mo. 235 pp. Price, cloth plain, 621 cents; cloth full gilt, $i. We are confident there are thousands in our land who would delightdl-tfhis volume of poems by the estimable and devoted wife of one of the greatest men ,of modern times IRVING'S ONE THOI'SAND RECEIPTS; or Moderi and Domestic - Cookery.. A complete direction for carving, pastry, cooking, preserving, pickling, making wines, jellies, &c., &c. With a complete table of Cooking for Invalids. By LUCrETxIA IRVING. 216 pp. 2Lino. Muslin. Price 75 cents. THE PASTOR'S HANDBOOK. 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"This is an admirable book. though small, and treats of an lighly important subject, which yet has never, $o far as we are aware, been handled before in a distinct treatise Would that tln-re were some law to compel every candidate for the ministry to possess thi. little volume I We imagine that there would be'less complaint of the dullness of sermons.:' Boston Recorder. ) "We would recommend its careful perusal, not only to every clergyman and Sabbath- School teacher, but to every public speaker. No one, we think, can give it a reading with- out being convinced of the great advantage, not to say, necessity, of illustration, in order to ensure success in teaching or preaching. "The writer attempts to-I. Explain the science of illustralion, and specify the principal classes of analogies which it employs, with examples for the use of each. II. What is rmeant by the power of illutratitm, and gives some directions for its successful cultivation and im- provement. "--labama Baptist. "Modifications have been made for the general benefit, and to adapt the principle to teachers of every gradation, including especially those of the Sabbath School. The author has done a good service, by furnishing the pregnant hints and significant examples, whickh will raise thought and incite to effort, to make the acquisition of the power of illustration." Christian Mirror. I' Dr. Dowling treats his subject con anwre, and we hope, for goodness' sake, he may suc- beed in convincing a-great many clergymen and other public speakers." I-Christian Inquirer "Every Minister of Jesus Christ's Gospel should be possessed of this work. It is the most complete instructor of parabolical composition that we have ever studied." --Ba4tsgTeler aph Boo/ks Published by Sheldoa, Lanport 8 Blakeman,. JUVENILE. KR1SS KRINGLE'S LIBRARY. 12 vols.; embellished with several hundred beautiful Engnavings. Consisting of-Rhymes and Pictures,-Short Stories in Rhyme,-The Little Rhy-me Book,-Thoe Book of Jingles,-The Little Story Book,--The Nursery Rhymes,-Fairy , Res,-s,-Little Picturf Book,-Birds of the Air.- Mother Goose's Melodies, -Picture Riddler,--Book of Fables. Paper, plain, per set, $1 50; Paper, colored plates, per set, $2 50; Cloth, plain, plates, per set, $3; Cloth, colored plates, per set, $4; Cloth, plain, 6 vols. in one, 75 cents; Cloth, colored plates, vols. in one, $1. "TTLE FOLKS' LIBRARY.-The- Rose,--The Lily,-The Violet,--The Tulip,-The Daisy,-The Jessamine. 6 vols. Muslin,/8mo. square, per set, $1 50. Each volume is beautifully illustrated.: NEW J UVENILE LIBRARY. 12 vols., 16mo., square; with from 30 to 50 beautiful Illustrations each:-The Law of Kindness,-The Soldiers, and other Stories,-- Country Sketches,-Remarkable Children,-The Blind Man and other Stories,-Stories of the Woods and Wilds,-Stories from American History,-Great Cities and remarkable Places,-People of America,--Hunters and Trappers,-Sketches of Travels,--Pietures and Verses. Muslin, per set, $4 50. PARLEY'S COTTAGE LIBRARY. 10 vols., 18mo. Make the Best of it,.-Right is Might,-Persevere and Prosper,-What to do, and how to do it,-Tales of the Sea and Land,--A Home in the Sea,--Wit bought.-The Truth Finder,-A Tale of tho Revolution,-Dick Boldhero. Muslin, illustrated, $3 75. The same in full gilt, illumi- nated, French covers; making beautiful presentation-books. Price SELECT LIBRARY. 12 vols., 18mo. Muslin, Gilt Backs, Illuminated Title Page; consisting of-Parley's Moral Tales,--Humorous Tales,-Fairy Tales,-Tales of the Times,-Consul's Daughter,-The Flowret,-Rose Bud,-Flower Basket,-Short Stories,-Biography of Eminent Men,-Biography of Eminent Men, 2d series,-The Gar- land. In boxes, per set, $4 50. In boxes, per set, Gilt edge and sides, $6. YOUTHS' PICTORIAL LIBRARY. 12 vols., 32mo. with Plates; can- sisting of Life of-Gen. beo. Washington.-Zachary Taylor,- Winfield Scott,-William J. Worth -Francis Marion,--Israel Putnam,-Napoleon Bonaparte,--Jacob Brown,-Joseph Warren,-Marquis de la }Fayette,-Benjamin Franklin,-Duke of Wlellington. In boxes, $3. In boxes Gilt edge and sides, $5. THE LONDON APPRENTICE. An Authentic Narrative; with a- Pre- face. By W. H. PEARCE, Missionary from Calcutta. 18mo. 30 cents. This work is especially intended for the benefit of young persons, about to enter on, or already engaged in, the pursuit of business in cities and large towns.' The narrative is also adapted for usefulness to persons of every age, and in the most varied circumstances. It exhibits in striking colors the unsatisfactory nature, and the bitter consequences, even in this life, of what are falsely called " the pleasures of youth." Embellished with engravings. "I should be glad if my notice of this little work should-induce numbers of young men to purchase and read it."-Rev. JA A. James's "Young Man from Home." page: 342 (Advertisement) -343 (Advertisement) [View Page 342 (Advertisement) -343 (Advertisement) ] Books Published by Sheldon, Lamport Sf Blakeman. PICTURE PLAY-BOOK. By PETER PARLEY. Large 4to. 365 cuts. nlu- minited covers. Price $1. FACTS FOIR BOYS. Selected and Arranged by JOSEPH BELCHER, D. D. Handsomely bound in cloth. 18mo. 30 cents. FACTS FOR GIRLS. By the same Author, and uniform with the above. 18mo. 30 cents. These are very entertaining and useful books for children--inculcating religious Truth by interesting Facts, Anecdotes, and Stories. it is just the kind of reading which children like. EVERY DAY DUTY; or Sketches of Childish Character. 18mo. 30 cents. The Author, in this book, in plain and simple language, enters into the sports and inci. dents of childhood, and would show to children that they are always happiest when doing right. 'Uniform with ae above. ' f THE GREAT SECRET; or How to be Happy. By MRS. E. C. JUDSON. 18mo. Cloth. 40 cents. CHARLES LINN; or How to Observe the Golden Rule. By the same. 18mo. Cloth. 30 cents. ALLEN LUCAS; The Self-made Man. By the same. 18mo. Cloth. 30 cents. All beautiful juveniles. GAMBLING IN ITS INFANCY AND PROGRESS; or a Dissuasive to the Young against Games of Chance. By C. H. GRE N, 1 vol. 18mo. 155 pages. Price 38 cents. A good book for Sabbath-School Libraries. HOW TO BE GREAT, GOOD, AND HAPPY; consisting of ALLEN "UCAS, C"ARLES LNN, and TmE GREAT SECRET. By MRS. EMLY CHUBBUCrK. Price 75 cents. TAKE CARE OF NUMBER ONE; or .the Adventures of Jacob Karl. By S, C. GOOPRIC 1 vol 18mo. 192 pp. Price 30 cents. , . Books Published by Sheldon, Lamprt r f Blakeman. MUSIC BOOKS. THE' LADIES' GLEE BOOK; A Collection of choice and beautiful GLEES, for Three Female Voices; in English, French and Italian. Designed for the use of Classes, School. Exhibitions, and to add to the pleasures of the Home Circle. An extra part is added, which may be sung by a baritone or tenor voice, when the third female voice cannot be procured. Translated, adapted, arranged and composed, ,vithan accom. paniment on the Piano Forte, by HENRY C. WATSOx. Quarto, 112 pp. Price half-bound $1 00, cloth $1 50. I cordially recommend the work- to my friends and the public. W. V. WALLACE. I wish the "Ladies' Glee Bool " every success, feeling assured that its merits, its beauty, and its usefulness, will cause it to be generally used and extensively circulated. , A x I MAUR1CE STRAKOSCH. As soon as the "Ladies' Glee Book ) is known, it will, in my opinion, find its way into every drawing-room. RIKS. EDWARD LODER; I recommend the work- to my friends with great pleasure. MAX MARETZ EK. I believe the "i Ladies' Glee Book " will be generally adopted in the Ladies' Schools and Institutes,and also in private circles. E. WALLACE BOUCHFEL E. ;TfHE MTTIT ONS' GLEE BOOK, OR NEIW YORK MELODEON; Consisting of a choice selection of Glees, Quartettes, Duets, Songs and Ballads, many of which have never before been published in this country. By I. B. WOODBbUKR author of the "Dulcimer 1" and other Musical Works. Price 50 cents. THE NEW YORK NORMAL SCHOOL SONG BOOK, containing a New Oratorio, founded on incidents of the American Revolution, with original words; also a great variety of Miscellaneous Music, both Secular and Sacred, with new instruc- tions, adapted to the use of Public Schools, Singing Schools, and the Social Circle. By L. A. BrENJAI N and L. B. WooDBURY. Price 38 cents. THE CRYSTAL PALACE AND FLORAL QUEEN: Containing a New Oratorio of the Crystal Palace, or the Spirit of the World's Fair; also, a Grand Core- nation Festival, The Village Queen, and a variety of Miscellaneous Music, Sacred and Secular, adapted to Public Schools, the Concert-room,.and the Social Circle. By L. A. BErNJAMLW. Price 38 cents. THE INSTRUMENTAL PRECEPTOR; -Designed for the Violin, Bass- viol, Flute, Ciarionette, Bugle and Trombone, together with the greatest collection of Martial Music now in modern practice, consisting of a ;reat variety of Band Music, Duets and Waltzes, carefully selected and prepared, by W aNM L. BALEs. Price 75 cents. THE SABBATH SCHOOL MNSTREL; A Choice Collection of Music and HYMNS, by a Sabbath School Teacher. Price 75 cents per dozen. This book has been exceedingly popular, over 100,000 copies having been sold. The ollection of Music and Hymns embraced in the following pages has been made with espe- cial reference to the wants of the Sabbath Sehool. The style of the music is simple and devotional; and while it will gratify those somewhat advanced in the science, it may be , learned with facility by even the youngest scholar. The object has been to introduce as large a number of appropriate Hymns as possible, varying in length and in measure, and all adapted to the exerc'ses of the Sabbath School, its anniversaries, celebrations, &c. OH page: 344 (Advertisement) -345 (Advertisement) [View Page 344 (Advertisement) -345 (Advertisement) ] The attention of Scchool committees, Supenntendents, princlpals of Academies, High Schools, and Teachers, is invited to the following valuable SchooZ Books, embracing some of the best and most reliable in the United States. NORMAL SERIES OF SCHOOL BOOKS PUBLISHED . BY SlELDON, LAMPORT & BLAKEMAN, "5 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. STODDARD'S ARITHMETICAL SERIES, By JOHN F. STODDAKD, A. M., President of the University of Northern Pennsylvania COMPRISG ' TIE JUIJVENILE MENTAL ARITHMETIC, 121 cents, 72 pp., for Pri- mary Schools, to precede THE AMERICAN INTELLECTUAL ARITHMETIC, 164 pp., an ex- tended work, designed for Common Schools, Seminaries, and Academies, 20 cents. STODDARD'S PRACTICAL ARITHMETIC, half-bound, which embraces every variety of exercises appropriate to written Arithmetic, 40 cents. STODDARD'S PHLOSOPHCAL ARITHMETIC, a higher work for Colleges and advanced Classes in Union Schools, Seminaries and Academies, 60 cents. ga This Arithmetic has neither Rules, Answers, nor Key. The first two numbers of the series constitute a complete treatise on the sulect of Men- tal or Analytic Arithmetic. The last two are no less thorough in their treatment of Practical or Written Arithmetic. The series, as a whole, by a truly progeessive arrangement and classification of examples, including the various kinds and combinations in compound and complex ratios, or 'cDouble Position," original methods of computing interest discount and percentage in all their . variations, together with a variety of Algebraic exercises, is carefully designed to conduct the learner from initiatory steps, by an easy and gradually progressive system, to the moro advanced attainments in Mathematical Science. The arrangement of "The Philosophical Arithmetic," without ( Rules, Answers or Key," in which the examples are met with in the same manner as in practical business life, is adapted to the use of advanced classes in all Schools where there is a desire to take an inde pendent course, and prove the scholars master of the subject. Ais Such a work has long been solicited by the most able and prominent Teachers throughout the country. \ A whole volume of the most exalted recommendations of this series of Arithmetics, from the best Educators in all sections of the country, who have used them, can be shown. The following will be sufficient for the present purpose. c/ A& Books Published by Sheldon, Lamport . Blakeman . TESTIMONLKLS FROM THE STiTE OF NEW YORlK. NESW YORK CITY SCHOOLS. ' I have examined with much pleasure a work entitled c, Stoddlard's American Intellectual Arithmetic." It closely resembles in the nature of the exercises Colburn's Mental Arith- metic, a work that has met with the unbounded approbation of the ablest teachers in the country. I observe that Stoddard's contains many decided improvements on Colburu' s; it is more systematic in its arrangement, passing from what is easy, more gradually to what is difficult ; some very important omisions are supplied, and very considerable additions in Interest, Discount, Percentage, etc. I see that it is also adapted to Federal Money. ' It seems to me to be the best book on- Intellectual Arithmetic now in use, and I hope for the good of education it will be used in every school where Arithmetic is taught. DAVID PATTERSON, M. D., Principal of Public School No. 3, and one of the Teachers of the M1ale Normal School. NEW YORK, July 26, 1853. Concurred in by HENRY KIDDLE, Principal P. S. No. 2. P. D. DESALT, Principal W. S. No. 34. H. FANNING, "4 No. 13. N. P. BEERS, No. 15. C. W. FEEKS, s( No. 4. E. McELROY No. 32. A. MURPHEY, " No. 17. SAML. ST. J6HN, No. 26. ' NEW YORK, July 13,1853. After a careful examination of "Stoddard's Practical Arithmetic," I have no hesitation in pronouncing it a work of very superior merit. The brevity and clearness of its definitions and rules, its lucid analysis of every operation, and the great variety of its examples con- prising almost,every possible combination of arithmetical principles, render it one of the best book, to discipline the mind of the scholar, in mathematical reasoning, I have ever seen. book./ dmc p ' HENRY KIDLE, Prin. P. S. No. 2. I entirely concur with Mr. Kiddle in his opinion of -Stoddard's Practical Arithmetic." H. FANNING, Tu 15, 1853. 185 - Principal P. S. 13. 'I also concur with Mr. Kiddle in his opinion of "Stoddard's Arithmtic." DAVID PATFTERSON, Prn. P. S. 3. j I concur in the above. GEO. MOORE, W. S. 10. BROOKLYN SCHOOLS. 1Having submitted!"Stoddard's Intellectual Arithmetic " to the practical test of the school room4 we have no hesitation in expressing a strong preference for it over all Text-books on the subject. The author has taken a decided step in advance of .those who have preceded him; and his labors are likely to do much towards popularizing a study, the importance of rhich as a mental discipline can hardly be over-estimated. The works formerly in use were - =Tlficient of systematic arrangement, were neither gradual enough in their. transitions, nor sufficiently comprehensive and varied as regards their examples. Stoddard's on the other hand, is an eminently practical book ; philosophical in its arrangement, natural and lucid in its analysis, orjginal in its design. adapted at the commencement to the compre- hension of beginners and carrying the pupil by easy inductive steps through the most com plicated operations: it seems invulnerable to criticism, and leaves little or nothing to be accomplished by future authors' on this subject. The examples are numerous and varied, embracing all cases likely to arise in business; arid there are not less than fifty pages of questions capable of Algebraic solution. The Chapters on Percentage,'Interest and Discount, are worthy of special commendation. In these the author has an entirely original plan, which enables the pupil to solve mentally, with perfect ease, questions which, without this drilling few are able to manage even on the slate. v In view of these striking and excellent features, we warmly commend Prof. Stoddard's work to all who are interested in the education of youth. S. C. BARNES, Principal P. S. No. 4. GEO. H. STEBBNS, Principal P. S. No. 12. JOSIAH REEVE, t No. 8. F. D. CLARKE - ( " No. 3. J. T. CONKLIN, No. 5. - CHAS. H. OLIVER, " NO. 11. DAVID SYME, ' " No. 6. PETR ROUGET, " N.- 10. A. B. CLABRKE, No, 13. E. C. SEYMOUR, N. 7. AN.7 page: 346 (Advertisement) -347 (Advertisement) [View Page 346 (Advertisement) -347 (Advertisement) ] Books Published by Sheldon, Lamport 8y Blakeman. WEBB'S SERIES OF NORMAL READERS. NORMAL PRIMER, Beautifully Illustrated, 12mo. 24 pp. Paper covers 5 cents, stiff covers 6 cents. PR;IMARY LESSONS, a Series of Cards to be used in connection with No. 1. Price one dollar per get. NORMAL READER, No. 1. 12mo. 90 pp. 12- cents. NORMAL READER, No. 2. 12mo. 168 pp. 25 cents. NORMAL READER, No. 3. 12mo. 216 pp. 37i cents. NORMAL READER, No. 4. 12mo. 312 pp. 50 cents. NORMAL READER, No. 5. 12mo. 490 pp. 75 cents. These Readers are used in the principal cities and villages throughout the United States, and are rapidly coming into use in the smaller towns of'the country. Their merits have been fairly tested, and they have universally been pronounced superior to any series of Rea- ders extant, not. only for the improvement in the system of teaching, which is the WORD METOD; but also in the high moral tone and inspiriting character of the pieces selected. The author, Mr. WEBB, was recently from the State Normal School, at Albany. They are Ti BEST Practical Readers that have come under my notice ; they are ALL and EVERY TmING they should be. HON. S. S. RANDALL, Deputy State Supt. Comn. Schools. Webb's Readers are the best books of their kind for our schools. D. M. CAMP, Ez-Governor of Vermont. I am happy to command Webb's Readers to the favorable regard of all Educators. J. R. BOYD, Author of Rhetoric, Moral Philosophy, &c. We have used "Webb's Normal Readers,' and believe them superior to any with which we are acquainted, and would cheerfully recommend their general adoption to all of our chbols. ROSMAN INGALLS and E. S. INGALLS. Teachers of Select School. asving examined "I Webb's Normal Readers," we believe them to possess many advanta- ges over any other series of Readers which has come under our notice, and would therefore o recommend their introduction into the schools of Binghampton. A. D. STOCKWELL, A. W. JACKSON, Tirustees .f District No. 2. GEORGE PARK, R. S. BARTLETT, T7rustees of DistrictNo. 1. T. R. MORGAN, WmI. E. ABBOTT, Triustees ofDistrict No. 4. Dear Sir-I have examined "Webb's Normal Readers," and consider the system superior to any now in use. Respectfully yours, .H: G. PRINDLE, Town Supt. Common Schools, 2Norwuich. Sir-I have examined, with considerable care ;' Webb's Series of Readers," and can cheer- fully recommend them, as in my opinion, superior to any others wlth which I am acquainted. Yours, &c., MARSENA STONE. Pastor Baptist Church, Nlorwich. At a meeting of the Town Superintendents of the County of Chenango, held in the village Gf Norwich, on the 16th of August, the following Resolution was adopted :- Resolved, That we consider the uniformity of text books a matter of infinite importance to our common schools ; and believing W"Vebb's Normal Readers," to be superior in many re- Bpects to any extant, for teaching the principles of reading and instilling sound moral prin. eiples in the mind of the scholars, we therefore recommend their general adoption in the rchools of the county. FROM. THE CITY SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS, UTICA, N. Y. Dear Sir-Having somewhat carefully examined "Webb's Normal Readers," I hare no hesitation in saying I consider them to rank high among the best Practical Readers that have come under my notice. TWe have lately introduced two numbers into some oF our public schools of this city, which have thus far given good satisfaction. D. S. HEFFRON. a Books Published by Sfldon, Lamport SS Blakemnan. GOODRICH'S GEOGRAPHES. THE NEW NATIONAL GEOGRAPHY, with a Catechetical Introduc- tion and Colored Maps. In the elegance of its numerous illustrations, and the clearness and beauty of the M3aps, it is not excelled, if equaled, by any similar work. New Edition, with the late Census. Price 50 cents. A, COMPREHENSIVE GEOGRAPHY 'AND HSTORY, ANCIENT ANID MODERN. -This work contains 272 quarto pages, equal to 1000 common 12mo. pages, and is Illuminated with Seventy-nine beautiful Maps, and numerous Engravings. It is the most complete and comprehensive work for High Schools,. Families, Merchants, Travelers, and Emigrants, that has ever appeared. It contains the Geography and His- tory of every Country. The work has received the highest commendations at the hands of scientific men, in America and Europe, and is regardedas one of the most useful, con- venient and valuable which the author has given to the public. Price $2 50 half-bound. PRIMER OF GEOGRAPHY. A new and elegant ILLUSTRATED . FRmST noox " in Geography. Price 20 cents. PARLEY'S GEOGRAPHY FOR BEGINNERS. New Edition, with Catechetical Introduction and Colored Maps. Price 30 cents. *** Any number of testimonials, from the highest sources, could be added, if thought necessary. jo, This complete Series of Geographies, by S. G. GOODRICu, ESQ., is not surpassed, if equaled, in beauty, interest, and cheapness, by any pow published. FIRST LESSONS IN GEOGRAPHY. By GEoRGE W. FITCH. Colored Maps. 40 pp. quarto, price 45 cents. In this book the learner's attention is mainly directed to one thing-the-study of maps. It embraces very little descriptive information. It is believed the definitions are sufficient- ly extensive for all useful purposes, and as exact as is consistent with simplicity. The author has endeavored to embrace nothing whch should not be studied and retained, and , nothing which may not with reasonable effort be remembered. W ith the hope that it will prove itself a useful manual in the school-room and at the fireside,the author respectfully . submits it to the examination of teachers and parents. FITCHES MAPPING PLATES: Designed for Learners in GEOGRAPYrY, being a collection of Plates prepared for Delineating Maps of the tVorld, and Countries forming its principal subdivisions, viz :-1. The World. 2. United States. 3. North Ame- rica. 4. South America. 5. A State. 6. Mexico and Guatimtala. 7. Great Britain and i Ireland. 8. Europe. 9. Southern Europe. 10. Germany. 11. Africa. 12. Asia. 13. Atlantic Ocean. 14. Pacific Ocean. By'GEoRGE W. FITrc. Price 30 cents. The attention of the public are respectfully called to the above Plates, and to the advan- tages they are calculated to afford in the study of Geography. They are prepared with the suitable and requisite lines of latitude and longitude, for maps of the world, end the coun- tries forming its principal subdivisions, and are designed to be used in connt Wtion with :the school atlases in common use, as well as with outline maps. With these Plates, the puhpil is able to commence, at once, the delineation of maps, without the difficult and perplexing labor of drawirg the meridians and parallels-a labor which generally consumes the time of both teacher and scholai , to an extent entirely disproportionate to any good which may be derived thereby. D page: 348 (Advertisement) -349 (Advertisement) [View Page 348 (Advertisement) -349 (Advertisement) ] SPELLERS. T1E SPELLTTER AND DEFINER. By E. HAZEx, A. M. VPrice 20 cents. SYMBOLICAL SPELLING BOOK. With 553 Cuts. Price 20 cents. / r J. c( a "Part 1st, 288 Cuts. Price 10 cents -" ^ (" " Part 2d, 265 Cuts. Price 121 cents B&iTES UNITED STATES SPELLER, a new work, containing upwards of fifteen thousand of the most common English Words. Price 13 cents. The author of this work is an old PRACTICAL TEACHER; the arrangement and classifl- cation are original and strictly progressive; and in Orthography and Pronunciation, the best STANDARD AUTHORS, WRITEKS and SPEAKERS have been consulted. These Spelling Books are designed to accompany Webb's Series of Normal Readers. "OOMS' ELEMENTS OF ANATOMY, PHYSIOLOGY AND HY-' GIENE. By PROF. J. R. LoomIS of Waterville College, Maine. Price 75 cents. This is a new work, beautifully ILLUSTRATED WITU COLORED PLATES, and many ORIGIN'AI DRAWNGS. The author has been a practical instructor of this science for many years ; but having met with no Text Book of the kind which, in his judgment, was completely adapted to the use of classes, he has prepared a small volume of about 200 pages, that can be gone thorough- ly through in one term of three months, a desideratunm, in which he has presented in a most lucid, concise and comprehensible manner, the entire subject, as far as it is practicable to be taught in Common Schools, Seminaries or Colleges. This treatise is already introduced in some of the best schools and academies, in New York and Ohio, and is rapidly gaining popularity. PSS LECTES ON PHOSOPHY A CHE TRY, PHELPS'S LECTURES ON PHLOSOPHY AND CHEMSTRY, Each 300 pp. 12mo. Are highly esteemed, and used extensively. Price 75 cents CHEMSTRY AND PHLOSOPHY FOR BEGINNERS. By MRS. A. ,iLCOLN PirPs. Each 218 po. 18mo. Price 50 cents. These admirable books, by the distinguished authoress of "Lincoln's Botany," are un- questionably among the very best works of their kind. The great elementary truths which are the basis of these most interesting departments of study, are presented with such direct ness, clearness, and force, that the learner is compelled to perceive and apprehend them; at the same time he is attracted, charmed, and indelibly impressed with that indescribable felicity of language, which none but an accomplished lady or mother can ever address to cd-r lighted and instructed youth. To be approved and adopted, these books need only to be universally known. Though but recently published, their circulation, already extensive, is vapidly increasing. E ' FATHErt COLARK ;" or. The Pioneer Preacher. By an Old Pioneer. 1 vol. large 18mo. Gilt, Muslin. 75 cents. This volume is the first of a series of Etltertaining Pioneer Stories, by the well-known REV. JOHN AM. PECK, of Illinois, whltose experience of frontier life, observant habit and facile pen,.eminently qualify him for the work he has undertaken. We givr some, notices from the press - "It we-uld not take long to guess' who the Old Pioneer' is, who has essayed cllect- tng and tweaving into a connected narrative the materials of this book. He certainly is 'ertitlcd'io a vote of ihanks,' for the sug-.stive tribute to departeid excellence, which is uer- gizven in a form that ensures its preservation."--Boston Watchman and Reflector. "t It is a book that can not fail to interest "-New Yorkc Chronicle. ' The sketch of his life is ofmore than usual interest."-Boston Jouirnal. "The adventures of Johnlm Clark, in early life, were more wonderful than fiction."-- Plrladelphia Christian Observer. '"A, picture of his life is filled out to a large extent with the history of that new counr try, and will be sfeen and traced with muich interest by the general reader."--Philadel- phia Christian C!Lonicle. "It aboiunls In sket-ches and incidents followinzg the course of emigration from Virginia : to Georgia, to Xentucky, INiinois aad Mis so)uri, whch depict various forms and phases of pioneer life, e nd give to the bobo a most fasctinstinu interest. It can not fail to be an , immensely popular as well as useful bo lk."--eav York .Recorder and Register. ; The work abou-,ds with interesting incidents, and has almost the airof a romance, while ye, it portrays :a sinrgularly benevolent and exalted character, in the formation of which many be distinctly recognized the providence and zrac e of God."-Philadelphia Lutheran Observer. "The hnbook ill be found highly interestin! to the adult, but is especially adapted to do good t o the yoting. Every Sabbath School should place a copy in its library."--Hartffrd. Christian Secretarn?y. WISDOM, WIT, AND WHIMS OF DISTINGUISHED ANCIENT PH- LOSOPHER3. By JosEPH BsANVARn, A. M. 1 vol. 12mo. Cloth. 75 cents. This workl embraces the most interesting and most important Incidents in the History of the old Philosophers, their Personal 5Manners and Habits, and Anecdotes of their inter- course among the [Hiirh and the Low, with their most remarkable Apophthegms, Proverbs, and Pithy Replics to difficult and curious quest:onus alphabetically arranged. "Whoever has any occasion to refer to the character or sayings of the Philosophers of antiquity, or desires to know them, should consult this work. It undoubtedly contains more on these subjects than any other American book."- -lbany fAtlas. "This is a most entertaining and instructive volume. A vast amount-of information, about the notable men of antiquity, is compressed into it'; and young and old will derive pleasure and profit from its perusal "-Netw York Sun. "It contains a vast amount of curious and instructive information, which has, hitherto, not been accessible to the general reader."--Arthur's Literary Gazette. "Here we have what has long been needed. Here the o!d philosophers pass before us in their every-day dress, and engaged in ilheir every-day occupations. We commend it to the attention of all who desire to be ' booked up' upon the his:ory of men who have exercised a vast influence in literature, plliiosophy, and law."-qAlbany Journal. t4 This book imparts much curious information not readily otherwise to be obtained. 'It will be among the most successful of the autthor's popular. works." --Boston Post. "The book has been prepared with great care, taste, and judicious discrimination."-- Boston Atlas. "Here we have what has long been needed-a compendious history f the most remark- able sages of antiquity. "-Newark Whig'. "This is a very excellent work, and, we may add, a very opportune one. The public has long needed something of the kind of a popular character. It is well to let the pres- ent generation know that there were wise men formerly as well as now. It is too corn nmon to sneer at the attainments of the ancients; but if they lE d the credit for all the ideas which writers of the present day filch from them, a good'deal that now passes for originality would be found to be of tke second hand order."--Jcw York Day Book. page: 350 (Advertisement) -351 (Advertisement) [View Page 350 (Advertisement) -351 (Advertisement) ] "t. LuUNOUOLN PrHELPS' NEW ROMANCE, IDA NORiMAN; or, Trials and their Uses, is one of the most popular books issued this season. Published in one volume, 12mos coth, beautifully illustrated in tint. Price, $1 25. READ WHAT THE CRITICS SAY OF IT. "It is a work of that rare ad peculiar kind, of which there has always been too teyw."- )swego County Gazette. "It is a work that will be read everywhere, and by everybody, and will rea in 'opularity as it increases in age."--Albany Spectator a AT work of no ordinary ability."-Boston Transcript. IIThe story is very aJtractive, and will be read with absorbing interest. "-Christia, /-nbassador. "Few books that we have ever seen combine i an cqual degree the highest moral and reli;ious sentiments with the highest dramatic interest. Parents who reject the mass of looks as too light for their children to read, may place this worl in their hands with safety."--2New York Recorder. ' We entered upon its perusal at the early dawn of a beautiful day. We were soon lost o every thing else but the story of Ida Norman, and the trialsand vicissitudes of life, as resented in the chaste but forcible style of the author. The plot of the romance is happily onceived, the counterplots are constantly imparting a new and lively interest to each uccecding chapter of the work.' -.Buff$iio Express. "It is a book which will do for the heart of every pure and noble girl more than school ooks or school teachers ever attempted. It will no where be received with the shout and lmult which greet those ephemeral ad heated books of mystery and fashion bshout it anill o to ten thousand homes, and chasten ten thousand spirits, like all the sweet and blessed tfluences that reform and refine the heart."-Daily National Democrat. ILFITTLLAN'S NEW WORK. A Third: Gallery of Portraits, by George Gilfillan. One volume, 12mo. Cloth. Price $1 25. CONTENTS: Vile of French Revolutionists. Y. Cluster of New Poets. Mscellaneous Sketches. MARA U, SYDNEY YESDYS, CARLILE /AND STERLING, ARAOBT, ALFiBRDRR SMTE, EMERSON, RDAOBmPR, J. STANYON DIG, NEAL AND BU NYAX DANRrON, GEnRRALD MAssEr. EDGAR A. POBs VAPOLEOND, 'EDMOND BURKE, -N OLEON , . Modern Critics. SiR EDW. LyTTON BULwzR. nsMtelat'n ofayedAuthors. HL A HLLM, BEJAPRO ISRAELI. EDWARD IRTAVr, JEFFREY AND COLERBDGo, HENY RqGERS, OBR TT ALoELTA, T -SCIIYUS, PROMETHEUS ROBERT HALL' TaACKERAY BoU3osD AND UNDOUND- DR. COBMER. T. BaBrI TO. MACAULAY. StAK^PSARE, ecture. "This volume is really one of surpassing excellence,"-Philadelphia Satuday Courier { This volume is all alive and flashing with poetic spirit,at times challenging criticism, id again extorting swift adniration."--Evening Mirro^r a "e has imbued them all with his own superabundent vitality ; we never fall asleep hile we watch the as yet undeveloped likeness leap into ligh t eath the artist's d. Gl fi an is a passionate and rapid writer; his quick and impetuous thought, has amlded for itself an utterance of language more vigorous, more terse and emphati, an any man of less genius would be able to handle or control. His words, in their ac- mulative and fiery fiow, seem to feel no rein, nor to acknowledge any rider. "If oulr readers can not find in this book much to amuse, i struct, and better them cdh to make them smile, and much to arouse that noble and more humane emotion lose symbol is a tear, then we can only recommend them to look out for such boo's as by require themselves-for we can find no recent issue of the American ' press thicl so many reasons and so strongly, we can recommend. '-Untited Staes Review. It is an exeedingly entertaining book, and displays varied learning and scholarship ited with rare critica facumen and a lively view of satire."--ehv Fork Day Brk.' alaoumen and a lxel vm w , , ? I I.' of satire. -/rew 'orkDay Bo*k. I THE LAND OF THE CAISAR AND DOGE. Historical -and artistic, personal and literary. By WU. EurNM , Esq. 384 pp. 12mo. Price, $1. "His descriptive powers are of the first order, and he has the taste to select'the most itrikirg points to bring forward. We predict for this work a popularity beyond that of the mere crowd of books of travel." I-Albany Express. VHE LIFE, CHARACTER, AND ACTS OF JOHN THE BAPTIST, and the relation of his Ministry to the Christian dispensation, based upon the Johannes der T/aufer, of L. voN ROHDaN, by the Rev. WM. C. DUNCAN, M. A., Professor of the Greek and Latin Languages and Literature in Louisiana University. 1 vol. 12mo. 261 pages. Pzice 75 cents. ( The work as we have it in this volume, and so far as we have been able to examine it, is thorough, learned and decidedly able."-Puritan Recorder. "It is the only complete work on this subject in English, and we need no other; we hope ao one will fail to procure the work."--N. Y. Chronicle. "This is an acceptable addition to religious literature-indeed the only work in the lan- ,ilage exclusively devoted to the life and ministry of the Baptist. It is based upon von Rolhden's- German treatise, which Neander so warmly commends; and, indeed, the whole ff von Rohden's work is comprised in this volume, but with very considerable additions of 3riginal matter, which give it increased value to the biblical student, and also better adapt it to the wants of the general reader." UEMOIR OF S. B. JUDSON. - By Mrs. E. C. JUDSON. Forty thousand sold. 1 vol. 18mo. 300 pages. Cloth 60 cents. Cloth, gilt edge, $1. "Rarely have we read a more beautiful sketch of female loveliness, devoted piety, mis. ;ionary zeal, fortitude, sacrifice and success, than is here drawn by a pen that is well known to the readiug world. We trust its wide perusal will awaken the mission spirit in the hearts Af thousands."--New York Observer. "' Beautiful exceedingly,' is this portraiture of female loveliness, piety and heroism, drawn by the graceful pencil, and embellished by the delicate hues of the fiir author's poetic fancy. AU who are acquainted with the eventful life of that heroine of missionaries, Ann Hassel- ine Judson, will be doubly interested in this memoir of one whose gentleness, patient endu- 'ance of suffering, and cultivated tastes, renderered her no unworthy successor, either in Lomestie seclusion, or on the field of action, of that energetic martyr in the missionary mause. '-Nlewark Advertiser. l"We commend this book as the portraiture of a very lovely, accomplished, and Christian woman. "--Christian Register. ' In preparing this work, the gifted authoress found a theme worthy of her classic pen, mnd thousands will rejoice in the addition she has given to religious literature, and to mis- dionary biography. We shall be very much mnistaken if this beautiful volume does not se- cure a very wide and extensive circulation. "--New York Baptist Regisler. ' Like all the other writings of this distinguished author, this book most happily com- bines interest With instruction. It cannot be read without adding refinement to the feelings nid making the heart better; and if commenced, will not be laid aside till finished.'-New York Evening Post. "We hail this ' Memoir' with much pleasure, and tender our thanks to the enterprising ublishers for the copy sent us. It is a'memoir of a very interesting personage, written in h, highly fascinating style, by a polished and justly distinguished writer."--Christian Index. "Tlhis little volume is full of religious thought and experience, and is so judiciously and tastefully compiled that the reader cannot fail to derive both pleasure and benefit from its pbrusal."-- he Banner and Pioneer. "A most admirable little book it is, and its publication is a valuable addition to the list f religious memoirs. "-Southern Presbyterian. "' Memoir'of Sarah B Judson, by Fanny Forrester,' is before us. We have perused the, pages of this popular authoress with unusual interest; and unhesitatingly pronounce the Memoir' in our judgement a work of. decided merit-and not inferior to the most finShed production from the pen of this graphic writer. "M---'rAvawte i xress. T page: 352 (Advertisement) -353 (Advertisement) [View Page 352 (Advertisement) -353 (Advertisement) ] THE JUDSON OFFERING. Intended as a Token Of Christian Sympathy with the Living, and a Memento of Christian Affection for the Dead. By Rev. JOHm Dow. "NG, A. M., Author of "History of Romanism," &e. Twentieth edition. 18mo. 75 cents "It is done up in fancy style. something after the fashion of the annuals; and a hand- some engraving, representing the ' Departure," faces the title. It is neat and spirited. and we doubt not, will meet, as it deserves an extensive circulation. The fervent missionary spirit that runs through its pages, renders it a valuable work for the young- and we hope it will be selected by thousands as a holyday present, instead of the expensive, but less useful annuals, with which the shelves of the bookstores are plentifully supplied. "--Christian Secretary. . II Altogether it forms an acceptable popularoffering, and has obtained a wide circulation." irew York Recorder. "We are happy to commend this volume, both for the beauty of its execution, and for the valuable and interesting matter it contains. Christian parents, or others, who may wiqs to present a token of affection, will find a suitable one in this ' Offering.' '- -ew En y- land Puxi-an. "It is composed of missionary pieces, from the most pious and gifted poetic and prose writers. Tie whole breathes a rigt spirit; and it is a happy thing that this occasion has been seized upon to give popularity and currency to reading of so pure and be volent a character." i-B--tost Recorder. THE WONDERS OF HSTORY; comprising remarkable battles, sieges, feats of arms, and instances of courage, ability, and magnanimity, occurring in the annals oof the world, from the earliest ages to the present timie. Embellished with several hundred engravings on wood. Compiled from the best authorities, by JoaE FROST, LL. D. 1 vol 8vo, Price $2 50. HEROINES OF AISTORY. Illustrated with six Steel Plate Portraits. Edited by MARY E. HEwrrr. vol. 12mo. Price, Muslin, plain edge, $1 25; full gilt sides and 'edges, $2. HEROIN OF HSTORY, BY MARY E. HEwnT.--Tlhis is one of the most interesting volumes we have had the pleasure of reading for a long tihnn. The incidents of the lives of these eminent women would of themselves render a history of them valuable, but when narrated in a style as chaste and beautiful as that of Mary E. Hewitt, it is doubly valuable. Our readers can therefore procure this work with the full assurance that they are pur- chasing a volume which has merit sufficient to class it among the very best publications which have lately issued from the press.-Syracuse Daily Journal. HEROIN:; OF HSrORY ILLUSTRSATE.--The publication of this charming volume has been fully appreciated by the literati of New York and has been just as it should be. Tle selec- tions of iliustrions women whose heroic lives it records, are rendered doubly interesting by the truthful and soul-stirring incidents portrayed throughout the worlk. The announcement of theoe sketches of lives being arranged by the fair authoress, (Mrs. M. E. Hewitt), is saffi- cient to command an extensive sale. The publishers have ornamented the work\ with some beautiful illustrations of the principal characters.--Day Book. The personal and domestic details interwoven in the memoirs, enliven the record of graver events, and brighten our recollections of the history. '*le book is a charming one, and should find a place in every lady's library. THE HOME; or Family Cares and Family Joys. By FRDERICKA BREMER Translated by Mary HanviU. The Author's Edition. 1 vol. 12no. 449 pp. Price $1. THE, MEMOIR OF ARS. HEILEN M. MASON. Seventeen Years a Missionary in Burmah. By her husband, Rev. FRANsc S MASON. 16mo. With a portrait and several beautiful engravings. Price, cloth, 60 cents. Gilt edge, $i. "The personal character of Mrs. Mfason was worthy of this beautiful delineation. But this is not all. She was for seventeen years a missio:ary in Burmah; and the sketches con- tained in this book, are more thana Memoir; they are so manychapteB of thlrilling history in the glorious enterprise of Christian missions, which will be read with deep interest by the million. The book is printed on beautiful paper, and handsomely illustrated with four tne steel engmnvings.-N. Y. Weekly Chronicle. - . R EXPERIENCES OF A BARRISTER. By WARREX WARt'ER, ESQ., of the Inner Temple. 1 vol. 12mo. Illustrated. Price, Auslin, 75 cents. Paper 50 cents. "This is a collection of tales originally publishd in the Edinburgh Journal, and attributed by some to Samtuel \Varren, Esq., author of the ; Itiary of a Physician.' At all events, they are written with a graphic power, every way worthy of that distinguished writer. They have enjoyed an immense popularity in England, and their repubication in this country vill be welcomed by thousands.-Courier arndEoqpLirer." ': The serials of tales contained in this handsomely printed volume, have been attributed to Samuel TW\arrlen, E sq., author of the ' Diary of a. hysictian, 'en Thousand a Year, &o. For our own part, wei conl'ss to an utter indifference as to the name of the author; it is enouph for is to lnow that the tales are very ably written. and are absorbingly interesting. No one will u:dcertake their perusal without feeling an unwillingness-to/lay down the book until eIvery pngoe has been gone over. The reader should know that these .Experiences appeared origi niy in the Edinburgh Magazine, and. in the intervals of publication, were widely read and much commented on, We commen-d them to the notice of our readers."--. Fitzgerald's City Items. "THE EXPERIENCE OF A BARRISTER.-This work, from the same pres, i:i apparently from the same source as the Recollections of a Policeman, and we cannot omit to congratulate the public on the return of one of its first favorites to the agreeable task of delighting some millions of readers with the creations of his -genius."--Scott's ]Weekly Paper. A GENERAL HSTORY OF THE BAPTIST DENOMNATION in America and other parts of the World. By DAVID BErvDICT. Steel Engravings. 1000 pp. Royal Octavo. .Sheep, $3 50. Cloth, $3. *.* A few more colmpetent Agents may find profitable employment in circulating this %work in fields not yet appropriated, particularly in the Western and Southern States. Apply to the Publishers. From Bet. William R. Williams, D. D. -"The new edition of Benedict's History seems to the subscriber a book of much value. He has made large extracts from the history of the Mennonite M2Iartyrs. From the reat rarity of the work which furnishes these, the extracts will, to our churcles, have besides their own intrinsic interest, ,the additional charms of novelty. As to the Baptists of the United States, he has with laborious fidelity compiled a mass of historical and statistical intelligence nowhere else to be found, and which would, in the judgment of the subscriber, make his volume almost indispensable to every one of our pastors, and abundantly deserving of the patronage and study of our churches." gFom Edcward B. Underhill, Esq., Cor. Sec. of the Harnserd Kmi I lTys Society, England.-"The volume is indeed an Encyclopedia of,Baptist Literature and Baptist History ; a book for per- petual reference in everything relating to our external affairs." "1 The work commences with a review of the dissenting parties of early times, among whom Baptistic sentiments are traced with more or less distinctness. It increases however, in in- terest, as it advances to later periods, where facts are established more numerous and incon- testable historical documents. Since the publication of the earlier work, a good deal of progress has been made in investigating the character and history of the Anabaptists of-the Reformation, and Mr. Benedict has made good use of the additional information which ha been gained in this department of historical literature. Indeed, we think this part of the work intensely interesting, and worth far more than the cost of the volume. "The work contains likewise an extended review of writers and writings on the baptismal controversy, both American and Foreign, some of them exceedingly curious and interesting. It then proceeds to the distinct cornsideration of American Baptists, whose rise is narrated at very considerable length. In Our opinion all Baptists should possess it."'--zew Yor}k Kecorder. "It presents an astonishing amount of statistical information,'and excites the wonder of the reader, how, in all its detail, it could have been collected."--Aew York Baptist Regi ster. "We commend this great work to our readers. Let every Baptist in the land secure a copy. H-'Alabama Baptist. "There is no other single work which even approaches in completeness and comprehen siveaems ofdesign, Benedict's History of the Baptist."-Chrisian iReview. IDA NORMAN-- or Trials and their Uses. By Mrs. LnCOLiN PHELPS 1 vol., 12mo. Price $1 25. Q page: 354 (Advertisement) -355 (Advertisement) [View Page 354 (Advertisement) -355 (Advertisement) ] Books Publislid by Sheldon, Lamport c BMa'eman. THE BAPTIST LIBRARY. A republication of Standard Baptist Works, Edited by Rev. MESRs. G. G. SOMERS, W. R. WILLAUMS, and IL. L. HLL. 1 vol., royal octavo. $3 50. Consisting of over 1300 pages, and embracing the following works: Westlake's General View of Baptism. Wilson's Scripture Manual and Miscellany. Booth's Vindication of Baptists. Biography of Samuel Stillman, D D. Biography of Samuel Harris. Biography of Lewis Lunsford. Backus' History of the Baptists. The Watery War. l'engilly's Scripture Guide to Baptism. -Fuller on Communion. Booth's Prcedo- baptism Examined. Dr. Cox's Reply to Dwight. Bunyan's Grace Abounding. The Back- slider; by Fuller. Hall on the Ministry. Hall's Address to Carey. Hall on Modern Infi- delity. Bunyan's Holy War. Hall's Review of Foster. The Gospel Worthy of all Accepta- tion. Peter and Benjamin. Prof. Ripley's Review of Griffin on Communion. Memoirn of Rev. Robert Hall. Fuller on Sandemanianism. Memoirs of Rev. Samuel Pearce. Brantley on Circumcision. Covel on the American and Foreign Bible Society. Terms of Communion. The Practical Uses of Christian Baptism; by Andrew Fuller. Expository Discourses on Genesis; by Andrew Fuller.- Decision of Character; by John Foster. The Travels of True Godliness; by Benjamin Keach. Help to Zion's Travellers; 'by Robert Hall. The Death of Legal Hope; by Abraham Booth. Come and Welcome to Jesus Christ; by John Bunyan. Biographical Sketches of Elijah, Craig, Joseph' Cook, Daniel Fristoe, Oliver Hart, Dutton Lane, James Manning, Richard Major, Isaac Backus, Robert Carter, Silas Mercer, Joshua Morse, Joseph Reese, John Waller, Peter Worden, John Williams, Elijah Baker, James Chiles, Lemuel Covel, Gardener Thurston, Jeremiah Walker, Saunders Walker. William Webber, Shubael Stearns, Eliakim Marshall, Benjamin Foster, Morgan Edwards, Daniel Marshall. c, The Library is a deservedly popular work; for it is a choice selection from pious and talented productions. The writings of such men need no encomium. Most of theIm have long been favorably known. They have stood the test of time. It contains some rare and costly works-; some that are little known, yet highly prized by-all who have enjoyed the privilege of perusing them. Here the humblest child of God may, if he choose, secure standard authors, for a trifle, and bless h'mself with a fund of useful reading, unsurpassed by any simnilar compilation in Christend=m. We cordially approbate the publication. - I merits a liberal patronage. "-Westersn raplist Reaiew. "THE COURSE OF EMPIRE,"' "VOYAGE OF LIFE," and other Pictures of THOMAS COLE, N: A. With selections from his letters and miscellaneous writ, ings. By Rev. LEw SL. NOBLE. 415 pages. 12Imo. Price $i 25. "All those who love to linger about the memories of a good man's life, and draw lessons of encouragement and great value from the records of his struggles, his self-denials, his in- domitable perseverance, his beautiful traits of character, his genius, and his triumphs, will eagerly read this tvork, nor forget, while they profit by its perusal, to thank Mr. Noble fte the manner in which he has executed his " labor of love," and the publishers for the ele- gant and enduring form in which they have given it to the public. '-AUlany Express. "'To all those who are interested in the struggles, the developments and the triumphs of genius, no less than to those who are -admirers of the art of which Cole was such a master, this book is full of interest and instruction."-N-.. Y. Couier and Enquirer. "This is a book that every artist and person of taste should possess. "--V, Y. EZpress. i Every page is marked with the impress of a lofty genius and the breathing of a pure Spirit. "-Albany Argus. 'We deem it a model for 3iographical Literature, and commend the wo/rk to our readers as one from which they may derive both pleasure and profit."-The Churchman. "We cannot escape the impression that one of the best and most guileless of all the pro. fessors of his art in this country was taken to the skies wlen Cole passed into theln. His memory is a benison. It is written with lkcility and grace, and lhas about it the uhmistalke able aroma of a true and appreciative friendship.!"-. Y. I'id[qrenden2. "Young men should read this book. It will show them what perseverence will accomplish, and teach them not to be discouraged when overshadowed with the dark cloud of misftortune "-incnnali Star. Books Published by Sheldon, Lamport 2 Blacematn. THE CHURCHES AND SECTS OF THE UNITED STATES: Contain- ing a brief account of the Origin, History, Doctrines, Church Government, Mode of Wor- ship, Usages and Statistics of each Religious Denomination, so far as known. By Rev. P. DOUGLAss GORRIE. Price 63 cents. ' It will be found and prized as a valuable and convenient book of reference. "-Chrstian- chsev Uer ': It is a book for all the world, arid will, we predict, be found in every library throughout English Christendom. H- . Y. WTeekly Chronicle. "' The author has studied brevity, comprehensiveness and accuracy; and we know of nn work so fairly and fully describing the history, doctrines, and present state of all the differ ent denominations of the country as this."--N. Y. .Evangelit. CHRISTIAN GREATNESS; A discourse on the death of Friend Hum- phrey., By WILLAX HAGUE, D. D. Price 12 cents. COM1PENDIUM OF THE FAITH OF THE BAPTISTS. Paper. Price 4 cents.-Every Church should get a supply for its members. "ORENZO DOW'S COMPLETE WORKS. The dealings of God, M]an, and the Devil; as exemplified in the Life, Experience, and Travels of LoRENzo Dow, in a period of over half a century. Together with his Polemic and Miscellaneous Writings, complete; to which is added THE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE. By PEGGY DOw. 's Many shal run to and fro, and knowledge shall be increased.-David." With an introductory Essay, by the Rev. Jon DOWLTNSG, D D., of New York, author of Histo7y of Romanimr, dc. Two volumes in one. 8vo. 350 pp. Embossed binding, embel lished with Steel Portraits of Lorenzo and Peggy Dow. Price $2 50. One month he would be heard of laboring for the good of souls, in his own peculiar way, 4 in the neighborhood of his native New England home; the next, perhaps, braving the frost and snow of a Canadian winter; the next on his way to Ireland or to England, in the prose. secution of the same benevolent purpose; and six months afterwards, perhaps, encounter- ing the dangers and hardships of a Georgia or Kentucky wilderness, or fleeing for his life from the tomahawk or the Scalping-knife of the Indian savage, in the then untrodden wilds of the great Valley of the West. Pale, sallow, and somewhat consumptive in the appearance of his countenance; dressed in the plainest attire, with his single-breasted coat, often worn thread-bare-and in his later rears wearing a long flowing patriarchal beard; his whole appearance was such as to awaken a high degree of curiosity and interest. Then the suddenness and the promptitude of his advent in a town or village, at the very h )ur and minute he- had appointed, perhaps some twelve or eighteen months before, the boldness with whichi he would attack the ruling vices, and denounce wickedness-either in high places or low-thegeneral adaptation of his dry and caustic rebukes to the sin and fol- Fies prevalent in places he visited, and which he seemed to know almost intuitively; to- gether with the biting sarcasm and strong mother-wit that pervaded his addresses;-all served to invest the approach to any place of the 6' crazy preacher," (as he was frequently called), with an air of singular and almost romantic interest. Scarcely a neighborhood, from Canada to Georgia, or from the Atlantic to the lississippi, that has not some tradition to relate, or some tale to tell of the visit and the preaching of Lorenzo Dow ; and scarcely an old man in all those regions that has not some -one or moro of the witty sayings of Lorenzo Dow to relate to his children and his grand-children.-Exract- E*VmA Itt^M TM/W/?,*/.^'ILY page: 356 (Advertisement) -357 (Advertisement) [View Page 356 (Advertisement) -357 (Advertisement) ] Boolcs t-oblzs/ied oy Zileldon, jamport 6y Blakeman. DOMESTIC SLAVERY 'CONSIDERED AS A SCRIPTURAL INSTI. TruTxON; In a Correspondence between the Rev. RICHARD FurLa1, D D., of Beaufort, S. C and the Rev. Frs Acs WaY NAXD, D D., of Providence, R. I. 18mo. 40 cents. (I' n this boAok meet two great minds, each tried loung, known well, clear, calm and strong. The point on which they mleet is a great one-few so great for weal or woe. Since it .irt shook our land, the strife, from day to day, has grown more keen and more harsh. it cheers the hetirt, when there is so much strife, and so free a use of hai'sh words, to see men like those whose namnes are at the head of this piece write in a tone so kind, and so apt to turln the edge of strife. But, though its tone be kind and calm, its style is not the ls s strong. Each brings to behr all'that a clear head and a sound mind cancall forth. When two so strong minds meet, there is no room for wealkwords. FaLch word tells--each line bear ls withl weight on the main point,-each small page lias in it more of thought than iweak men crowd into large a book." -Cosrespwideit of National Intelligencer , l'lThis is the best specimen of controversial writing on Slaveryv, or any other subject, we have ever read. The parties engaged in it are men of high distinction, and pre-eminlently qualified for the task ; and the kinl! and Christian spirit which pervades the entire work is a beautiful commentary on the power of the Gospel. This discussion is complete, and who- ever reads it need reatd nothing more to enabe him to form a coirect view of the subject in question.:'-Lutheran Observer. "Its thoroughness, ability, and admirable candtor, and the great and growing importance of the subject, entitle it to a auiversr,1 circulation.-I-N. Y. Evangelist. THE EPISTLE OF PAUL TO THE PHLIP'IANS. Practically explained. By Dr. Avcrstrs NEANDER. Translated from the German, byMrs. He. ;C Conarnt. 12mo. 140 pp. 50 cents. "This work is exactly what it professes to be, not learned criticism, but a practical ex- planation of the Epistle to the Philippians. It comprises two popular lectures. which will not fail to interest any intelligent Christian who will read thelm with care. Clerggymen will find this work eminently suggestive of new trains of thought which may be rrofitably used in the sacred desk f -Literary Advertiser. j THE EPISTLE OF JAMES PRACTICALLY EXPLAINTED. By!Dr. AUGUSTUS N AxNDER. Translated from the German, by Mrs. I. C. Conant. 50 cents. Thle friends of religious truth will be glad to see this Commentary on the Epistle of James; following so soon on the Philippians. Perhaps no book of the New Testament has been more misunderstood than this Epistle, on account'of a supposed contrariety between its, teachings and the 'doctrines of grace.' A more comprehensive and philosophical exegesis, however, sees in the epistles of James nnd Paul only the same system of truth set forth fromi different points of view. The work of Neander is-a most valuable assistance in the elucidation of this epistle. By looking at it from his own eminently historical point of view, we are able to see, at a glance, how it falls beautifully into its place in the system of Christ, confirming rather than weakening the great doctrines, the inculcation of which the Holy Ghost seems to have intrusted to Paul. The translation is clear anud .'iomatic, and almost entirely free froim the abstract and cumbrous phraseology that too often marks trans- lations from the German. No clergyman or Sunday-School teacher can fail to feel his mind invigorated and his heart enlarged by the study of this little work. "--Vew Y'ork Recorder. Mrs. Conant has devoted her accomplished skill as a translator, to a good purpose, in Tendering into English this charming production of Neander. This small vore tme succeeds a similar one on the E pistle to the Philippians, and is itself to be followed bly aLnother on the. FirstEpistle of John-a work published since the Author's death. It e cannot doubt that these volumes will be desired by ministers generally, and we commend them to all thoughtful Btudents of the Bible."- Watchmani and Reqflector. THE FIRST EPISTLE OF JOHN. Practically explained by Dr. AUGUSTUS NEA DER. Translated from the German, by Mrs. H.. C. Conant. 12mo. 319 pp. Pricm 85 cents. \ THE SCRIPTURAL EXPOSITIONS of Dr. NEANDER, complete. Com- prising the above three books, bound in one volume. 8vo. Price $1 75. P , Books. Puzblished by Shddon, Lamport $y JBlakcman. A PURE CHRISTIANITY THE WORLD'S ONLY HOPE. By Rev. It. W. CCusmIAs. A Practical and Standard Work. 18mo. 30 (ents. The events, in the religiougsworld, that mark the present time, show that the day has come when the corruptions of Christianity must be dealt with faithfully, and Christianity itself must be vindicated from the surreptitious institutes and usages which have claimed its authority and assumed its name. "This little book is a desideratum-ought to be read by all classes. It is a most able, lot to say masterly vindication of scriptural or primitive Christianity, both in reference to its spirit and its organization and ordinances.7--Baptist Recor'd. ', There is in this work a forcible statement of some prevalent obstacles to the progress of pure religion which ought to be universally studied. The author shows a sagacious and penetrating mind in his view of the subject, and a degree of boldness and outspoken honesty in setting it forth, quite worthy of a follower of Roger Williams. We commend it to all who lbve religious fi eedom,. as worth study'and admiration."--V. Y. Evangelist.* POEMS, SACRED,: PASSIONATE, AND LEGENDARY. By MARY E. HEwrrr. 12mo. Muslin. Full gilt, $1. "The author of this volume is favorably known to the public by her numerous literary productions, both in prose and verse. 'As a poetess she is distinguished for deep feeling, variety and beauty of illustration, and fluency of -expression. Many of her best pieces are founded on historical'incidents and legendary traditions. In her treatment of subjects -of this, kind, she shows a lively imagination and often a high degree of descriptive power. "W Ve awelcome the appearance of her poems in this collected form and are sure that they will make good her clain to an honored place among her tuneful sisters. "--N. Y. "Tribune. THE ROMANCE OF THE FORUM; or Narratives, Scenes, andAnecdotes from Courts of Justice. By PETE BURKE, ESQ., of the Inner Temple. 12mo. Muslin. ,08 pp. Price 75 cents. ' This book deserves its name, for it is made up of some of the most striking cases that ]have ever been brought before judicial notice. "The trite and yet over-true maxim that ' truth is stranger than fiction,' forces itself upon the reader at every successive page. ' Its materials are entirely authentic, and the impression it leaves, salutary."-Courer and E#nquirer, "This is truly an extraordinary book. It is not, as one might at first suppose, a mere romance, but it professes at least to be the faithful record of scenes and events which have actually occurred. "The book is an admirable exponent of some or other of the wayward tendencies or lead- ing characteristics of human nature. It has somewhat the same general character with 'Confessions of an Attorney,' and ' Experiences of a Barrister,' both of which are among the most thrilling of modern productions."--Albany ArguS. "It is replete with thrilling interest from beginning to end, and we prophecy a popularity for the work here equal to that it received in England. "-Rochester Union. RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICEMAN. By THOMAS WATERS, an In- spector of the London Detective Corps. 1 vol. 12mo. Price, Muslin, 75 cents;- Paper 50 c. "It is a first-rate book. The stories are told in a straight-forward, distinct graphic style, which renders them as effective as testimony upon oath. They remind us strongly of Dr. \Warren's i Diary of a Physician.' Indeed, their style is so nearjr identical, that we do not hesitate to express the opinion that Warren is their writer."'-Scott's Weekly Pitper. , It is filled with vivid 'pictures of European Life, drawn with no less skill than fidelity." N. Y. Tribune. "( The ' Recollections of a Policeman. '-This is the title of a volume which is very inter. esting-we might say exceedingly so, for we have seen its effects upon two gentlemen, who casually took it up. and remained dumb members of society, till they reached ' Finis,' which lies at the end of page 238. It is a series of reminiscences written by Thomas Waters, an In- spector of the London Detective Corps, and there is incident and plot enotugh in his personal adventures, whereupon to build a dozen novels. If the reader possesses an-inclination for noting how singularly crime is at times discovered, this is the book."- Eening Gazette. "This is a book that is read by the thousand.' It has all the interest of a novel with the % substantial merit of matters of fact, with a good moral. The work was issued but a few Idays ago, and the first edition is already exhausted.--New Yorkl Chronicle. page: 358 (Advertisement) -359 (Advertisement) [View Page 358 (Advertisement) -359 (Advertisement) ] Books Published by Sheldon, Lamport S Blakeman. "FE, ADVENTURES, AND TRAVELS IN CALIFORNIa AND OREGON. By Col. T. J. FzAR NaM. Pictorial Edition. 1 vol. 8vo. 514 pp. Embossed binding. Price $2. . THE SERMONS AND OTHER WRITINGS OF THE REV. ANDREW BROADDUS; with a Memoir of his Life, by J. B. JERW, D. D. Edited by A. BROADDUS. son of the author, and Minister of the Gospel. 557 pp. $1 15. "This handsome and substantial volume will be warmly welcomed by the thousands who hare listened tQ the glowing eloquence of Father Broaddus, during his protracted ministry, as well as by many who have heard of his fame as a pulpit orator. The Sermons, which are eight in number, and the notes on select passages of Scripture, prove that their author was possessed of much sound scriptural knowledge, a vivid imagination, and a fervid, glowing piety. We welcome the volume as a valuable contribution to our American Baptist Litera- ture. The neat and life-like prtra 7, engraved by Bannister, will increase the value of the work." --Baptist Memrial. Beautiful is the tribute which is paid to Ar. Broaddus in Dr. 'Jeter's brief sketch of his life and labors, extending through some sixty pages of the volunie before us. We found ourselves enchained by it to the last moment, and we cannot but thank Dr. J. for the charm- ing picture--we have no doubt truthful-which he has drawn.-The remainder contains sermons, sketches of sermons, essays, and newspaper articles, with a few poems, which pro- ceeded from his pen. The spirit which they breathe is the spirit of Christ; the style in which. they are written is simple, clear, and chaste, and his views on every subject are marked by uniform sobriety, good sense, and love of truth. The volume is very handsome- ly printed, and is embellished with a portrait, which seems to us in excellent keeping with the character of the subject.'"-Watchkman and Reflector. STODDARD'S COMPLETE READY RECKONER, adapted to the wants of Farmers, Merchants, Machanics, Lumber Dealers, Boat Builders, Stock Companies, Bankers, &c., &c. Containing a produce and merchandise Reckoner, a monthly and weekly table for Farmers, Merchants, Mechanics, &c., board by the week, board measure, timber reduced to inch board measure, log measure, plank measure. timber measure, bark and wood measure, value of wood and bark per cord, value of articles sold by the pound and ounce, and an Interest Reckoner at 6 and 7 per cent., by Prof. JomHN F. STODDARD, Author of the Juvenile Mental, American Intellectual, Practical, and Philosophical Arithmetics. f4muo. 395 pp. Tuck covers for carrying in the pocket. Price $1. The regular sale of this book is quite large and constantly increasing. While preparing this WFork, I was aware that it was -almost impossible to make a set of Tables that would under all circumstances enable a man to transact business with: out recourse to mathematical operations, consequently it was not prepared with a view of rendering a knowledge of Practical Mathematics unimportant to the man who has a copy of it in his'possession, but for the purpose of assisting him in the transaction of business by placing it in his power to dispose of double the amount of business in the same time with greater ease, and without being liable to fall into the errors which unavoidably attei 4 hurried miscellaneous calculations. These Tables are the results of much labor, and it's believed that implicit confidence can be placed in their accuracy; and should they be the means of aiding business men in'the discharge of their arduous duties, by rendering thelm less tiresome and more pleasant, my object will be accomplished. An explanation of each Table is given at the commencement of the Table. STRUGGLES AND TRIUMPHS OF RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. An historical survey of controversies pertaining to the rights of conscience, from the English Reformation to the settlement of New England. By EDWARD B. UNDEBIL, EsQ. NV ::L ap introduction by Sewe S. C"Wing. 1 vol. 12mo. 242 pp. Price 75 cents. na Books Published by Shldon, Lamport ef Blaieman. HOMCEOPATHC PRACTICE OF MEDICINE. A book for the Family. By MARTIN FRELiGH, M D.. Embracing the history, diagnosis, and treatment of diseases in general; including those peculiar to females, and the managemont of children. 12mo. Muslin, $1 50. 8vo, $2. RECOMMNDATIO S FROM SEVERAL OF .UR MOST DISTINGUISHED PRACTmOINERS, SOME OF WHOM ARM ALSO AUTHORS. Frmn F. Vanderburg, M. D. New Haven, .Jan. 12th. : I doubt not the history of medical science will record the influence of your work througk centuries to come-. Eom Alfred F 'eeman, M D., 48 East Nineteenth Street. New York, Dec. 22, 1853. "Dr. M. Freligh,--I have examined your volume on I The Homoeopathic Practice of Medi- cine,' with great pleasure and satisfaction. It is well adapted to serve the three-fold pur- pose intended. ' Fromn C. C. Kiersted, X D., 145 West Tfirty-fourth Street. ' I regard it better adapted to the wants of the student than any other extant. -Almost indispensable to the young practitioner, and better calculated for the laity, than any other work with which I am acquainted." Front G. Lorillard, M. D. Rhinebeck, Dec. 15, 1853.' cs Dr. Freligh has succeeded admirably in carrying out the design of his Homoeopathic Practice of Medicine. It is truly a text-book for the student, ' a concise book of reference for the profession;' and byt its simplicity, setting forth the various conditions of disease, and the adaptation of the remedies, place it foremost as a domestic guide." roam B. Bartlett, M. D. Harlem, Dec 10, 1853 "I regard Homoeopathic Practice,' by Dr. M. Freligh, as a ' desideratum.' It is more complete than any other similar work." From Hudson Kinsley, A D., 111 .Amity Street. New York, Dec. 23. 1853. "Dr. Freligh. Pear Sir,-I have examined your ' lIomoeopathic Practice of Medicine' with increasing pleasure, and I unhesitatingly pronounce it one of the very best guides, now extant, for domestic use." From Geo. Beakley, MX. D., 35 Clinlon. Place. New Y'ork, Jan. 14, 1854. "It is a work that has been long needed by the' profession, and in my opinion, adds much, and strengthens a system which only demands that clear and enlightened view which 3you have given to it, to disperse all the hasty conclusions and misunderstandings in reference to it." Fron^Samucel B. Barlow, M. D., 222 Twelfth Street. New York, Jan. 17, 1854. "Dr. M. Freligh. Dear Sir,-I gladly tender you my most hearty commendation of the work. Its arrangement is excellent, and there is a perspicuity in the indication of remedies, which is unequaled in any work of the kind with which I am acquainted. I think it is destined to an elmminent usefulness in the hands of students and practitioners of the Ho- moeopathic Art, as well as to the lay-practitioner. I wish you success in the publication." From C. Kiersled, M. -D., West 27inrty-fourth Street. "A careful examination of the System of ' Homoeopathic Practice of rMedicine-' by Dr. IM. Freligh, enables me to recommend it as a work far superior to any other extant; and the accuracy of its description of diseases, and the concise adaptation of remedies, must recom mend it, not only to the laity, but also to the regular practitioner." OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. FPrn tdhe Buffalo Express.-- "It is intelligent and intelligible--teating every ailment with gprecision, and entering into details that leave no room for questions or doubts. It traces each disease from its first symptoms to the last stage; describes its various mutations. and points out the exact remedy which it is necessary to apply, according to its cause and pro- gress. We regard it as the very book that was wanted, and welcome it as a messenger of good. Also Tie Ur/ter Rb/lican.--"This is dqubtless the most perfect work of the L s 7. t issued." page: 360 (Advertisement) -361[View Page 360 (Advertisement) -361] THE SCRIPTURE TEXT-BOOK AND TREASURY; Forming a com- plete Index to the Doctrines, Duties, and Instructions of the Sacred Volume. 12mo. 75 c. It is designed to afford assistance to Ministers, Sunday School Teachers. Tract Visitors, Authors in the compositions of religious works, and individuals of all classes in the study of the Holy Scriptures. With fine Maps and Engravings. In two parts. The first part, or Text-Book, relates to doctrines, duties, &c., forming a complete system of Theology. The second part, or Treasury, relates to history, geography, manners, customs, arts, &8c., form- ing a complete Bible dictionray. Thirty thousand copies were sold in Great Britain in a few months. ' Upon the first glance at this book, it struck us as little more than a Concordance new vamped. But on further examniation we found it to be a work prepared with great labor, and adapted to great utility. And it is in our view eminently adapted to assist ministers, teachers and parents in their work ; and indeed all who are desirous to enrich their minds with the treasures of divine knowledge. "It is hardly possible to conceive, of an arrangement under which can be shown- the teachings of Scripture on a greater number of subjects."--New England Puritan. "i It is somewhat on the plan of Gaston's collections, (for which it is a good substitute, ) but more compact and condensed. Ministers, Sunday School Teachers, and all students of the Bible, will find it a very useful work."--Christian Advocale. "To Bible readers in general, but especially ministers, it is next in worth to the Bible it- self."--Christian Messenger. TRACES OF THE ROMAN AND MOOR; or Twice-Trodden Tracks through Lombardy and the Spains. By A. BACELOR. 1 vol. 12mo. Muslin. Price $125 A NEW AND COMPLETE GUIDE TO THE PRONUNCIATION AND READING OF THE FRENCH LANGUAGE. Illustrated with 'analogous English sounds., By NonRmA W. CArP, D. D. Price 50 cents. "FE OFP BUNYAN. By Rev. IRA CHASE. 12mo. Cloth. 30 cents ODD FELLOW'S MNISTREL. Comprising a variety of Odes to be used on anniversary and other public occasions. Edited by PASCaAL DONALDSON. 32mo. Gilt edges. Price 25 cents, IN PRESS. DPR OLSHAUSEN'S BIBLICAL COMMENTARY ON FHE NEW TESTAMENT. In-8 vols. THE INDIAN CAPTIVE. By Rev. J. M. PEcK. 18mo. Muslin, Ilus. trated. Price, 76 cents.
