ready to give her hand to I mean, not matrimonially. intellectually change; and I am so glad she is going to G, and that you will get acquainted with her. "O dear," said she, when she told me, "I wanted so to speak to him, and didn't dare, for he sat there and read page after page and never noticed me any more than if I had been a washerwoman, and I knowing German as well as he. But somehow I couldn't keep my eyes off the page, and I suppose after a while he felt that I was following him, and suddenly turned and looked at me. I've no doubt my face was scarlet. What could I say? I stammered out, Excuse me, I am very impolite, I know.'" "Not at all, said he, "and if the poems are as charming to you as they are to me, there is no call for an apology. And having been thus introduced, what hinders our having a chat about our mutual friend?" So it was the easiest thing in the world for us to talk after that." And between you and I, I have no doubt they did talk, for take Miss Grey on a subject in which she is interested, and she will talk about as fast as any person I know. And if they had been young people, about twenty or thereabouts, what blushing and confusion there would have been, what tender looks and stolen glances; but these two were man and woman, and there was no thought of confusion or embarrassment. just a pleasant, intellectual conversation, nothing more, and it was perfectly natural in the course of the conversation for them to learn enough about each other to make it easy to keep up the acquaintance if they desired it. Neither of them seemed to have had any embarrassment or scruples about it at all. It was Why, bless you," said she, "How did I know but he was married? He was old enough, and for aught I knew he might have a wife and half a dozen children, it was all the same to me, it made no difference in the pleasure of our conversation." Pure intellect, you see. So the acquaintance began, and it went on until it grew to an engagement, which will probably be consummated in marriage before long. Nothing very romantic about it after all, is there? When she gets to G-she will be quite an accession to your women's ex Now I must tell you the greatest thingthe dream of my life is likely to come true. Do you know what it is? Going to be married? No, guess again. I am going to Europe! I, Margaret W —, a girl who "lives out," is going to England, and Italy, and France and Germany. When I came to Boston I thought I had reached the top of the ladder, but now to think that I am going abroad! Things are just what you make them; true, the coming to Boston was "living out," but I am living out the purpose for which I came; and the going abroad is in the capacity of companion and teacher; but in that capacity I can see all the lovely things to be seen, the galleries, the pictures, the cities, the cathedrals. Rome is Rome to any one who has eyes to appreciate it, and the sunny skies of Italy, and the towering Alps, London, Paris all the glory thereof, are as much for me as for the millionaire. This is philosophy for you. Wealth is a good thing, and it is pleasant to hold the purse-strings yourself, but if some one else holds them, and you give an equivalent for what you get, isn't it the next best thing? and the next best thing is not to be despised. Yes, it is decided that we are to go, Miss Anne, the boy and myself; Mrs. Warren, the lady you recollect, with whom Mrs. Grey and I took dinner, goes with us; being used to travelling, her company will be valuable to us. I suppose Aunt Judith has told you something of the story of the last few weeks, of which I wrote her the beginning a short time ago. Singular and remarkable enough, isn't it? Little Victor is an interesting boy, with soft Italian eyes, and dark skin, a voice sweet and musical, a light, graceful step, quite unlike our tearing Yankee boys. Yet he fills the house; it isn't the same it was before. We all laugh more and talk more, and are better, I think, every way. Though Miss Anne appears like one who has just passed through a strange experience, she is, I know, happier and better for the child's presence. She doesn't take her meals alone, for the boy sits beside her, and his childish talk pleases her. She seems to have taken hold of life with a new grasp, as if some new interest had come to her as it has, for the boy is every thing to her. The gloom that had seemed to be closing down upon her had lifted. She is exceedingly kind to me. I am to have little Victor in charge, to teach him the rudiments of the English language, for he has been taught but very little. So you see I am part companion and part teacher. I shall try and do my best in both capacities. I shall come to see you all before I go, and shall probably stay some weeks. Dear mother, I hope she will not feel badly at the separation. My principle regret is leaving her; but telegraphs and steam have annihilated distance. From your sister, MARGARET W. MISS ANNE TO AUNT JUDITH. My Dear Friend: I send you these few leaves from my Journal. I could not write the story over again, and I felt it due to you who know all the circumstances of my past life, and to whom I am so much indebted for kindness and sympathy, at a time when I stocd so much in need of them; - that you should know of this new experience which has come to me within a short time. The pages of the Journal I have sent you commence at the last anniversary of his departure. You need not return them to me. If, when I come back, I wish for them, I will signify it; but I think I shall never want to see them again. I shall keep a journal no longer. I intend to live in the present and in the future; the past is a closed book henceforth, put out of sight as we put away our dead. I am nearly forty, and I was but twentyfour when he went away. It is three years since mother died, and since then I have been alone. Why is it that still, ever and ever, the question comes up to me, was it indeed well thus to put away happiness from me? Might I not have had these twelve years of wedded love instead of this weight of loneliness and longing? If I did right, why am I not supported in that consciousness, instead of being haunted by this regret of what might have been? He VOL. LI. 29 too! What has his life been? I made him an exile. Have the years been full of regrets, or has time brought him solace? Ah, since my mother's death, when I have laid hour after hour sleepless on my bed, and felt the dark shadow creeping over me, I have felt that it was for the best, notwithstanding these questionings. Deep down in my heart, I thank God that I had strength to hold out and put the tempting sweetness from me. For years I thought I could not bear to hear from him, and closed all avenues through which I would be likely to hear; but of late, I feel an inexpressible longing for some news from him. Is it because I am soon to hear from him? The thought comes to me like a hope, like a salvation, the only thing that can lift this shadow that is stealing upon me. I try to create objects of interest, I take up new studies, and Margaret's cheerful, sunny spirit does me good. She is a dear girl, and seems almost like a daughter to me. Ah! how pleasant to feel when age comes on, the blessing of a child. This is what I shall never know, and this makes my old age terrible to look forward to. I mustn't think of it. I must put it far from me. Oh! for some word from him! It is come! I am satisfied! I shall be desolate no more! I have heard from him. His child is with me, and is all mine — a precious gift from his father and his mother! My reward has come. I thank God. It happened thus; the child came to me one night with a letter, telling me who he was, and that his mother had sent him, she herself being too ill to come; and would I come to her the next day, and would I love the boy for the father's sake? I went to her the next day and she told me all. I am glad he married. I have no feeling of jealousy that he found happiness in another's love. I rejoice that there came to him the wifely and the parental love, and that I was permitted to see her and to love her, for she was both lovely and lovable. And she made him happy, for she said that life had been happy, and he had told her of me and of our love. She knew it all, but took me to her heart and loved me. -- When he died,-ah. poor widowed heart! he told her to come to me and give me the boy; I would love him and take care of him, for she was weak and feeble then, and he knew her hold of life was very frail. But grief wore sadly upon her, and on the voyage she failed so rapidly she was not able to come to me, but sent the boy with the message. She told me this while I sat by her bedside, and we held sweet converse together. She lived but a few days, but in those days I felt as if the gates were indeed ajar and we were all together. And now she is dead! and the voice that seemed to speak to me through her is silent, but it has told me what to do, and I live but to do it. Now I feel strong and my life seems full; something tells me that I am safe. And I am happy in the thought that I entailed the dread of this upon no human being, which repays me for years of sacrifice. And this precious gift of him whom I so loved and so painfully renounced satisfies my heart. I think upon the future with hope, and a sweet peace comes to me when I look in the boy's face. I must go to Italy for there is business there to be attended to; but I shall take him with me. Margaret's services are invaluable to myself as well as to the boy. She has a good education and a superior mind, and will be all the teacher he will need for the present. HANNAH TO MARGARET. Dear Margaret: I can't help it, I must write you one more letter before you come home. Why don't the "happenings" and the "outings" come to me, I wonder? When I got your letter I had to go and read Whittier's Autumn Woods to bring myself into a proper frame of mind. remember how it runs : "Yet, on life's current, he who drifts Is one with him who rows or sails, No more of beauty's jealous veils You And from cloud minarets hears the sunset call to prayer." It is fine poetry and nice philosophy, but in some moods it smacks the least bit of sour grapes. make my rough Yankee boys into darkeyed, olive-skinned Italians. And when they went out to play they rushed far from gracefully and were just live boys, which in some phases and under some conditions seems but a synonym for young savages. Don't think I'm envious! Not a bit. But when we were children do you remember when one said, "Mother, may I go to such and such a place," and the mother said, "Yes, my dear, you can go," directly up spoke another voice which said, May I go too?" Well, the same voice clamors now, and the reply comes, very unlike the motherly tones, but somewhat similar to the teacher's voice, "No, child, you can't ; sit down in your place.” 66 However, I put a good face on the matter. People say to me, "Your sister is going to Europe?" and I say, "Yes," as if going to Europe were an every-day affair. Mother is planning for your comfort; sometimes I think she anticipates you are to brave the rigors of an Arctic winter, and again the heat of the tropics, so varied are the articles she thinks it necessary for you to take. So I thought it best to tell her what a French woman said, "that the woman who had a black silk, a medium silk, and a white muslin, had a dress for every occasion," but an American woman would add to this a black alpaca and a waterproof. I shall count on you to visit our Women's Exchange, I hope nobody will say ladies,—and make a speech, giving us much useful information. We are open to any profitable suggestions. We listen to all and we have enough. The temperance people think we should have taken a temperance platform, and the suffragists think we should have made suffrage a leading issue, and the benevolent ones argue that the object is not humanitarian enough; but don't you see that the very fact of its being none of these will bring in all kinds, which is just what we want, because we want to give them all a chance to get some benefit from this "movement," to use a terrible hackneyed expression. If you were not coming home so soon, I should write you about many things, but School, too, dragged a bit. I couldn't I'm saving them all for that first night after we have gone to bed. Don't you remember how mother used to call out to us, "Girls girls, ain't you ever going to sleep?" Well, I'll try and be content, to "sit still in my place," and if I feel badly you needn't think I shall let you know it. Come home soon, and bring Miss Grey with you, for the minister wanders round HANNAH. N. T. Munroe. WH The Higher Education of Women. HEN the first Napoleon was asked what France needed for the perfection of her greatness and her glory, he quickly responed, "Mothers." In looking out over the world, and seeing its ignorance, degradation, sin and misery, if the question were asked, "What is needed for its greater holiness, and permanent peace?" I would answer, "A higher education for the women." By education I do not mean a cultivation of the intellect only, but a higher moral, a higher spiritual education as well. Beginning with the child, a great deal may be done for its moral good before the time really comes for the cultivation of the intellect. The child can so early be taught the difference between good and evil, the terrible meanness of untruthfulness, the nobleness of self-denial for the good of others, and the beauty of filial and fraternal affection. When he goes out to his sports among his companions, and returns with drooping countenance to tell of wounded feelings, and of the unkind words that he may have heard, how much good seed may then be sown by a judicious mother, as she comforts her darling, and teaches him to bear nobly these little frictions of everyday life. So far, the sons and daughters of a family are usually trained alike. But the first half dozen years are past, and the schools are discussed in the family councils. The father says, "My boys must be thoroughly educated. They may have to rough it a little in the world, and they must be prepared for future emergencies. They must have the best discipline of the best schools. They must go down into the earth and learn its formation by studying its soils, its rocks and its mines. They must also look upward, and find out all about the stars and the planets, and that strange, silent force that keeps them forever in their places. They must also understand those ancient languages, the Greek and Latin, and know what those old heathen were doing centuries ago. They must also become familiar with the modern languages, the French and German, for they may travel in France or Germany, and a knowledge of these tongues is indispensable. Then, when their school-days are all over, they must aim to stand in some of the high places of the world. My sons must be something more than common-place individuals.” Then, perhaps the mothers will meekly inquire: "Well, what about our daughters? Shall not they, too, be thoroughly educated? "Oh, that is different! You know old John Milton used to say that one tongue was enough for a woman; so they need not rack their brains about the languages. My daughters must learn to play the piano, and learn embroidery, and know just enough arithmetic to make the right change when they go out shopping. When old enough they will marry, of course, as their mother did before them, and then their husbands will take care of them." "But all women do not marry," perhaps she will venture to add; "then, if left alone, they may have to rough it a little, too. Ought we not to educate them alike?" "Nonsense! sensible women all get married!" and off he stalks to his business to earn money to push his boys on in the world, while his daughters grow up with such false, false ideas of life, that sometimes lead them down, till, as the poet said: "They are lost in the great town." Is not this all wrong? To women are entrusted the highest, holiest duties in the world, to train young souls for immortality. Ah, fathers! if you neglect the education of any of your children, do not let it be the daughters of your household. You know not their future. The wolf of hunger may yet stare in at their doors, when their home may be in some dreary cabin, and your hands are powerless to help, even as a'l hands are when folded away forever under the daisies. Parents should see to it that their daughters receive a thorough education; one that will fit them for the emergencies of human life. Let them have equal advantages with the sons. Personally, I care not if they be educated together, if so be that they have the same good facilities for culture. As long as we have Vassar College and Mount Holyoke Seminary for our girls, I care not for President Eliot's opinions, nor for the opinions of any college president whatever. I would not send a daughter to Harvard could she be warmly welcomed there, nor to any other college where the chief advanced such low, unworthy sentiments concerning women. My home for two years was in a large boarding-school, a mixed school, where my husband was the principal. I freely admit that we felt a deeper anxiety, a greater responsibility than we should have felt in an exclusive boys' or girls' school. Yet no evil resulted from the mingling of the sexes in the recitation-room, or in the parlors at stated times for social intercourse. For many reasons we liked it. The boys were more gentlemanly, the girls more lady-like, for the desire to please and excel each other. I do not regard it as quite fair that in my own State of New York there are about fifteen millions of dollars invested in boys' schools, while there is only one million in girls' schools. Lady readers, please take the hint here, and if you ever leave money to schools, remember the needs of your own sex, and give and bequeath accordingly. I do not care so much where the girls are educated, only let them have the same good opportu nities. I send my daughter to Vassar College because I regard it as the best school for girls in our country, or indeed in the world. Europe has nothing like it, nor will have at' present. As long as we have such teachers there as Maria Mitchell, Miss Ford and Prof. Backus, we may know that they have the best to be found in the whole world. Though Miss Mitchell watches the heavens so closely at night, ye' she faithfully, through the day, guards the girls committed to her care. But I would insist upon it that girls should be educated where moral' and spiritual instruction go hand in hand with the intellectual; where at times they lay aside all other books, and consult that old book that has given wisdom to the wisest and strength to the strongest; that dear old volume that teaches us the first commandment of all, to love God supremely, and our neighbor as ourself; where the voice of prayer and praise is daily offered to Him in whom we live and move and have our being. Mary Lyon, whom we all revere as one of the greatest educators of our country, of whom an English writer once said, "She is the most heroic woman that America has ever produced," used to make the Bible one of the text books of her school, and very many of her pupils there commenced the consecrated life that is a blessing to the world. That is the kind of knowledge that I would have for all the women of our happy country. Knowledge is power; but we want the higher kind of knowledge that reaches forth to immortality. I would plead, then, for brain culture, for heart culture, and for hand culture, for our sisters and our daughters. Send the girls to the best schools in the country, and keep them there for years, just as we do the boys. No matter if they are twenty, or even older when they graduate. It is not an uncommon thing for young men to finish their studies at thirty; why should it be for the young women? Perhaps some may plead that the purse is low, and the income small, and it requires money for the liberal education of the children. Then let the parents work hard and |