After these preliminary remarks, it will be expected that I should give a sketch of the tokens and proofs of one's being under the influence of this sentiment. It occasions, on its approach, important changes in the feelings and character, such as no one experiences without being sensible of their occurrence, although, so close is the resemblance between love and the effects of a warm imagination, that one may fancy herself in love, when she really is not. It wakes emotions and sympathies never before awakened, and lying deep in our nature. No writer has described its signs and effects so minutely as Shakspeare. If we may believe him, it is not always marked by deliberation, and entire self-possession:

"If thou rememberest not the slightest folly That ever love did make thee run into, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not sat, as I do now, Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise, Thou hast not loved: Or if thou hast not broke from company, Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not loved."

Love makes the hours, when its object is absent, long and dreary. It renders even the contemplation of the preferred one more agreeable than the society of others. A prepossession for a particular individual usually makes one jealous of attentions bestowed by him on other persons. I once heard a gentleman remark, that it was this jealousy, which first convinced him that he was in love. You cannot open your lips to speak against him, who has impressed your heart. You will inwardly, although not probably in words, defend him from the attacks of others. To blush and falter under such circumstances would indicate love, much more surely than open professions.

Were the question put by yourself "Do I love this person?" the first reply,—that of timidity and doubt,—would be, "no." Still for no consideration could you rest an hour in that conclusion. Unstaid in all motions else, there would be one fixed object,

"The constant image of the creature That is beloved."

Should Overtures be made by a gentleman, it requires great delicacy to treat them aright. Are you decided in the determination to accept them, let your reply be prompt. It is ungenerous to trifle with the feelings of another, when in your power. Perhaps you need advice. Those entitled to your first regard, on this subject, are your parents. Reserve at this period causes many unhappy mistakes. A word of information, a hint from so true a friend as a mother, may confirm your undecided purpose, or lead you at once to abandon it. Let it not be your fault, if you do not enjoy the benefit of such valuable counsel. Suppose your parents object to the connection, when your heart is interested, and judgment approves your affection. There are examples of noble self-denial under these circumstances. Cases there are, too, in which health, peace of mind, and even life, have been the forfeit paid for compliance with such advice. I believe it right, where the opposition is evidently unreasonable, that a young lady should obey the promptings of her own heart. Gretna Green, if it have witnessed the union of some unprincipled fugitives from home, has seen others joined in a true and sacred bond. Is not such a resort better than to hang, or suffocate oneself, as is so often done in France by thwarted lovers? The instances that justify this procedure may be very rare, yet surely it is better to follow nature's holiest law, than to drag out a lingering life of martyrdom, as thousands have done, to gratify what the world knew to be but a whim of an ambitious father, or a capricious mother. When conscience approves the step, let it be firmly taken. If the blessing of God can be invoked upon it, then is it right.

Another event may occur. The offering of the heart may prove Unrequited. She, who has poured forth the fulness of her affections, meets a chilling repulse. Perhaps it is instant; or there may be intimations of a favorable regard that shall fan, and keep alive, a hope. That hope is at length totally crushed. How is one to demean herself, under this severe trial? Let her cherish no resentment. This will but aggravate her sufferings and expose her to contempt. Neither should she dwell morbidly on her fate, and nurse in her bosom the seeds of consumption. Rather let the whole energy of her soul be given to banish the occurrence from her thoughts, and let her seek relief from the Source of all solace.

The task of extinguishing our affection for an individual, voluntarily, is never an easy one. They, who are called by circumstances to this effort, should know that it can usually be effected only by a resolute purpose, and by a force of exertion which, to those of strong feelings, seems almost to rend the spirit in twain. Yet so it must be. As a lady has well remarked—"to a frank and ardent nature," and such usually have this sex, "reasoning on love is a useless pastime;—it can be overcome only by an effort strong as the whirlwind, such as uproots the young and vigorous oak, in its bright leafing time. Woman's warm nature must cast it far away at once, though death were in the parting."

You may feel it a duty to reject the offers of a suitor. In this case, let your decision be communicated in such a manner as to spare the feelings of him, who cannot but be mortified, if not humbled, by your decision. How can she maintain a clear conscience, or even a sense of honor, who exposes a gentleman, under these circumstances, to the derision of the public? Let no one share the secret, beyond the precincts of your own family. Return all letters, and leave no evidence of the disappointment of your friend, where it may be discovered.

She, who conducts thus kindly and wisely, will retain still a respect for her suitor. If she lose his friendship, or alienate him entirely from her regard, it is sufficient proof that there was something wrong, either in the spirit, or the manner, of her refusal. Why should one sink in your estimation, for an event unexpected on his part, and for which he had seen nothing in your previous deportment, perhaps, to prepare him? Let your conduct be judicious, and then, should he address himself to another lady, she will not indeed have his first love, yet, unless greatly prejudiced by the fact of his previous rejection, she may accept his addresses, and be united to him, with the fair hope of a happy life.



Chapter XII.

CONDUCT DURING ENGAGEMENT.

Two aspects of the Future. Extravagant Anticipations. Calm, and rational ones. We should disclose our true and entire Character. The great error of the Betrothed. Disclosure of Faults. Esteem and Respect to be secured. Sacredness of our Plighted word. Implied engagement. Dismissing a Suitor. A noble example of constancy. Sad fate of Mrs. Hemans. Preparation for marriage. Duration of engagement. Testimony from Pere Lachaise. Short engagements usually most desirable.

After mature deliberation, and in accordance with the sacred impulse of love, you are now, let us conceive, pledged to one, who anticipates a future consummation with you, of the dearest relation which man can form. What views ought you to take of your present situation? and how should you deport yourself in your intercourse with this near friend?

There are two aspects, under which the future may, from this point, be regarded. It may be to you a region of dreams, and extravagant Anticipations. The mind may easily be allowed so to dwell on its scenes, that imagination shall take the place of reality. Circumstances often warrant but moderate expectations; yet amid the most arid waste you see, like the deceived traveller in the deserts of Zahara, the enchanting mirage, a beautiful lake of deep, refreshing, inexhaustible waters.

A moment's reflection might teach such an one the delusiveness of these prospects. Let it be that your lover has every good quality you ascribe to him, that he is quite perfection; you must know, from the experience of other anticipated enjoyments, that the possession of an object tends naturally to moderate our feelings in regard to it. The heart, which beat feverish pulsations beneath the summer of expectation, becomes calm, when autumn's tranquil days have arrived. There is a wide chasm between the illusions of sleep and all we can call

"The sober certainty of waking bliss."

There is a joy, it is true, in the marriage bond greater even than we once anticipated. But it comes from an unlooked-for source. It is not that very thing we imagined; in that we are often disappointed. It consists in the shining forth of new and before undiscovered traits. But when were extravagant anticipations ever yet realized, and that too in the precise objects, on which they had fastened?

Another view a lady who is engaged may take of coming life, is, that of the calm and Rational description. She may strive to see her lover in the true light; she may pray that her heart be not betrayed into false hopes, and resolve that she will never abandon her judgment, in so momentous a transaction. Such an one looks at the world as it is, a chequered scene; a place in which "one thing is set over against another;" a mart in which a just price must be paid for every article we obtain. This aspect of life may be less pleasing than its opposite. It may render what is termed "Courtship" something else beside a golden age; yet, in the end, who can doubt, it will prove a rich source of substantial happiness?

If it be desirable that a young woman see her lover in his genuine character, so is it that she disclose to him every feature of her own. Why should she wish to keep any thing concealed? What is the purpose of that period, which passes between the engagement of two individuals, and the consummation of their marriage? If it have any rational meaning, it must be to afford an opportunity for a thorough mutual acquaintance. The parties do not,—ostensibly, at least, this is the case,—they do not, pass hours and months in the society of one another, except the better to understand, and hence the more truly to sympathize with, each other.

Not, surely, does the suitor enter the presence of his friend, to exalt himself into an unnatural position. He is not striving to pass with her for some creature of romance, some hero, or god. No, the ostensible purpose of their interviews is, that he may exhibit himself to her more and more truly as he is, in heart, principle, character, and life. So is it designed, by these acts and conversations, that the lady should present her true phases before him. To suppose that she arrays her person, or frames her speech, with a view to concealing her real feelings, and thoughts, and dispositions, from him, is a mockery of the most sacred relation on earth.

One would imagine that nothing would give an individual such pain, in this situation, as the fear that her too partial admirer might conceive of her as a divinity, instead of a mere woman, inheriting the common frailties of our nature. Her chief solicitude would be, we should think, to guard against his forming too high expectations of her future character. Rather would she that he undervalue her merits, and so leave her room to rise in his estimation, than so heighten her charms, as to render the fruition of his hopes impossible.

Is this the usual tenor of feeling in the hearts of the betrothed? It would argue little practical knowledge of the world to contend that it is. On the contrary, there seems a systematic endeavor, on the part, too often, of both individuals, to disguise their real sentiments, cloak their sincere opinions, and throw a mist over their daily principles and habits. The gentleman usually exhibits only his Sunday exterior and manner, aiming studiously to veil his face, in the company of his affianced one. And instead of encouraging her to speak out her true thoughts, and show her ordinary disposition, he burns before her the incense of flattery, until she is constrained to force herself up to unnatural heights of goodness, in appearance and expression, lest her lover be compelled to lower his conception of his paragon, and at length see her, a poor, unadorned sharer of humanity, just as she is.

Who can wonder, amid this utter want of frankness, and these pasteboard forms, that the foundation is laid for sure disappointment and misery, when the masks are thrown off, and the two individuals stand, a mere man and a mere woman, before one another? Human ingenuity could not devise a system more completely adapted to entail sorrow and suffering on our race, than this.

It may be said that I exaggerate the case, that the parties do not mean to deceive each other, but do really feel all that they now mutually express. In one sense this may be correct. The circumstances in which they are placed tend, I know, to foster kind feelings, and create courteous manners; and to the manifestation of these, all that flow spontaneously at the moment, I do not object.

But is not more also expressed? Or rather,—for the error lies chiefly in restraint,—is not much suppressed, that ought, in all wisdom and ingenuousness, to be distinctly avowed? Suppose I have faults,—and who has not?—why should they be cautiously concealed from my nearest friend? I am, by nature, and indulgence also, peevish and ill-humored; ought I to seek to pass for all that is opposite to this? Contentiousness is a besetting sin of my character. Shall I strive to appear, always and only, one of the most yielding of my sex? My temper is violent, or sullen, why should this fact be kept from my lover, until some outbreak after our marriage day? Ought I not to speak decidedly, and unequivocally, of this my infirmity? I am addicted to occasional depression of spirits and gloom; by what right, or on what principle of religion, or expediency, shall I labor to keep up an unnatural cheerfulness? If I am extravagant, is it wise or just to be always sounding the praises of economy? Why profess a taste for reading, when I loathe the sight of a sober volume? Why force myself up to a pitch of neatness, when my wardrobe would, by a single glance, prove me a slattern?

It is hard, it seems cruel, to require these painful disclosures, to roll clouds over the sun of the matrimonial sky. But is not even this better than to suffer a dense mass to accumulate, which shall at length break in storm, and thunder, and desolation, upon the devoted pair? We are both weak and wicked, if we deliberately lay a train, that must at length explode, and cause decrepitude, if not matrimonial death, to one, who is about committing his entire happiness to our hands.

No marriage can be consummated, with a fair prospect of good, except between individuals, who have made it a point of principle to disclose to each other their entire characters. New scenes may develope new dispositions unfriendly to perfect harmony. But these can be met and successfully encountered, if there were no intentional deception, if there were an earnest desire and effort to show frankly every fault, that did really exist before marriage. Any efforts to engage the affections of another by false appearances will inevitably abate thus much from the future happiness of those who make, or are misled by, them. All that is termed "Courting," so far as that word implies assumption, pretence, and flattery,—and it too often means nothing more,—should be sacredly avoided. Nature alone can lay the basis of an enduring superstructure; art, affectation, disguise, and concealment, are but a sure presage of bitter regrets.

The intercourse we describe would be pervaded by mutual Esteem and Respect. It would prevent the habit of trifling on the concerns of the affections, and render the conversation worthy of the holy relation now contemplated, and such as could be reviewed with satisfaction. From their taking just views of one another, there would be sincerity, confidence, and a rational, ever-growing, attachment, between the individuals thus situated. Their most private hours would be marked by perfect delicacy, modesty, and propriety, of deportment. In public, no occasion would be given for remarks on their silly and sentimental airs, while all would perceive evidence of a mutual and deep interest between them, and predict, as they ought, that their future connection would be auspicious of the happiest results.

Where a true understanding of each other's characters, and an esteem, sustained by self-respect, exists, the communications, however conducted, whether by personal interviews, or by correspondence, will be of a rational description. The letters will not be crowded with nauseating compliments, with nonsense and vanity, but will contain good thoughts, no less than the expression of pure feeling, and generous sentiments. There will be nothing of insincerity, nor what would lead a stranger, who perused them, to say that they were mere folly and illusions.

A lady should feel bound, from the moment of her engagement, to be true to her plighted word. She is forbidden, by every dictate of Honor, from pursuing any course of conduct that will give pain to her friend. There is a steadiness of feeling and purpose, under these circumstances, which cannot be too highly commended. "What state could fall," asks a recent writer, "what liberty decay, if the zeal of man's noisy patriotism was as pure as the silent loyalty of woman's love." Erring,—all human as she is, to others,—God gifts her with a thousand virtues, to the one she loves; it is from that love, that she drinks her nobler nature;—it gives her the meekness of a dove, the devotion of a saint. In his danger, she has the sagacity of the serpent, and the courage of the lioness. Like the chivalrous knight, she who thus feels, will "avoid no foe, forsake no love."

There are those who apparently enjoy the opposite of this course. They consent to receive marked attentions from others in company. A French author says he has known individuals among his countrywomen, "who unconsciously, actuated by a thirst for emotion, provoked very lively scenes with their lovers, solely to obtain for themselves the pleasure of tears, reproaches, and reconciliations." This luxury is one, in which no lady of principle will indulge herself. Agreeable as an occasional conquest, or flirtation, might be to her, she will sacredly abstain from every act that tends in this direction. The sure possession of one true heart, one affianced protector, and unalterable friend, will suffice her desires.

Nor is it enough to refrain from encouraging the open attentions of others, the truly loyal one will not allow herself to cherish a secret feeling or preference toward any other. Her every affection will be true as steel to the magnet. She will know no wayward inclinations, nor give way to whims and fancies, and undefinable emotions, to feelings, which she would blush to betray to her lover.

This true-heartedness will operate not less where an engagement is implied and understood between the parties, than if a formal pledge had been given. It is what we conceive another to expect from us, and what we have encouraged him to expect, more than any set speeches and written promises, that binds the conscientious mind. Some, indeed, are never formally engaged, before the day of their marriage. The trust which such instances manifest, is a beautiful trait, and will be fostered by every pure heart.

But, it will be asked, if a lady is never to change her mind in relation to a gentleman; if she must always love where her affections have been once placed, and have no power of breaking off an engagement. This I do not contend. There are, doubtless, cases, where one is not only permitted, but bound, to dismiss a suitor. If he have intentionally deceived her in respect to any circumstances, which he well knew would have prevented her consenting to an engagement, had they been disclosed, she ought, at once to refuse any further intimacy with him. Or, if his character change decidedly for the worse, during their acquaintance, if he become a disbeliever in religion, or a known profligate, let her immediately dismiss him.

If on the other hand, he be merely visited with misfortune, by adversities, to be traced clearly to the hand of Providence, then should she not, for a moment, cherish the desire to dissolve their engagement. A noble instance of moral principle, as well as true love, under a change of circumstances, occurred in England but a few years since.

Sir Robert Barclay, who commanded the British squadron in the battle of Lake Erie, was horribly mutilated by the wounds he received in that action, having lost his right arm and one of his legs. Previously to his leaving England, he was engaged to a young lady, to whom he was tenderly attached. Feeling acutely, on his return, that he was a mere wreck, he sent a friend to the lady, informing her of his mutilated condition, and generously offering to release her from her engagement. "Tell him," replied the noble girl, "that I will joyfully marry him, if he has only enough of body left to hold his soul." This is marrying for the gem, and not for the casket. It is true constancy.

I would not have a young woman insensible to any fault in her lover. Many persist in being blind to the least moral blemish in the loved. We are told that the lamented Mrs. Hemans was a victim to a passion of this nature. She was warned by her friends of the unsuitableness and dangers of her intended connection. Yet neither this admonition, nor a three years' separation from her lover, could quench her affection for him. The soldier and hero of her glowing imagination had power to captivate, and then ruin, her noble spirit.

When a dismission becomes inevitable, let it be given with decision, yet kindly. Never should the event be made matter of public remark, nor should a letter or line of the former correspondence be rudely exposed. Let oblivion rest on the whole transaction. But so painful an issue should, if possible, be averted. For no freak of fancy, still less for the gibes and jests of others, should so important a connection be frustrated. The cause should be one that sober judgment will approve, to your latest day.

A most trying lot is hers, who is deserted by one, who had given a solemn pledge to be hers through life. It is no credit to steel one's self against the sorrows of such a lot. There are those, who would well nigh offer their life to gain a lover, and yet could think of a faithless one only with emotions of indignation or anger. Such can possess but an apparent affection. I speak of that which is true and deep. When this is thus wounded, let the sufferer preserve a calm temper, if possible, a calm exterior always, and turn from human faithlessness to that Love which is a perennial fountain.

As regards the Preparation to be made for marriage, where it is contemplated with fair prospects of certainty, little need here be said. The whole previous life should be one act of preparation. The school-room should train the wife and the mother. Fidelity to home, to parents, brothers, sisters, and all the inmates of the paternal roof, is among the best qualifications for married life. If these duties have been hitherto neglected, be assured that the marriage ceremony will do little to supply the deficiency.

The Duration of an engagement should ordinarily be brief, at least, not needlessly protracted. We are told that no tomb in Pere Lachaise is so often decorated with chaplets of fresh flowers as that of Abelard and Heloise. This shows how large is the number of thwarted and disappointed lovers who visit that cemetery. Not a few of these crossing elements would be averted by less prolonged engagements. There are those, I am aware, who maintain that early and long continued engagements are desirable. Applied to those cases where the parties reside near one another, and are placed under similar influences, this doctrine may be true. The earliest attachments are sometimes most happy and permanent. But how often does it occur, that the condition and character of two individuals become completely changed, in a few short years. Suppose a young man to leave a farm, and take up his abode in a city, as a merchant, or to commence a course of study with a view to a liberal profession. The girl, who, as a child, won his affections, has not, as a young woman, improved in her tastes, and character, like himself. His choice of a companion, if now to be made, would fall on one quite unlike her. There is something of this evil often attendant on protracted engagements. The affections may be biased by enlarged intercourse with the world. There are innumerable perils that beset a long acquaintance of this nature. The safe avoiding of them all comes usually from short engagements, from those in which the character and tastes of the parties are much the same at marriage as at the moment of the first decided intimacy.

There is one topic more which I cannot pass over in this connection. It is that of Spiritual Sympathy. How many are there, who never exchange one thought or feeling upon religion, until after their marriage. It is not until they are constrained to do it, in the bitterness of bereavement perhaps, that they communicate with one another on this momentous subject. Were it not wiser to weave a chaplet early, to their joint remembrance of Christ, rather than hang the first consecrated wreath on the tomb? How would it assuage their mingling tears, could they sorrow, "not as those without hope," but in the long cherished spirit of a common faith and submission. They are musing on future joys. With what heightened charms and new anticipations would they enter the marriage state, if they had pledged their united hearts, before the Eternal One. They would then feel, that the bond which joined them was not one of a few fleeting years, but imperishable as their cemented souls. Shall they, can they, maintain a midnight silence upon all Heavenly themes, until "the evil days" overtake them?



Chapter XIII.

TRIALS OF WOMAN; AND HER SOLACE.

An ancient example. Trials springing from Physical Constitution. Acute Feelings. Sentiment of Burns. Trials from Imagination. An affecting incident. Want of Interesting Objects. Defencelessness in Public. Sufferings through Affections. Instance of true love. Trials of Domestic Life. Bereavement. Mrs. Sigourney, on a lost Daughter. Supports should be equal to Trials. Need of Mental Culture. Moral Developement. Friendship. Piety the great Solace.

It was remarked by an observing and wise statesman, recently deceased, that "most women are either formed in the school, or tried by the test, of adversity." In this class stood the devout Hannah of old. She was reproached and persecuted by her haughty rival, she was the subject of remonstrance with her husband, and when she went to the temple of God, to seek peace in her troubles, because she spake not aloud, but only her lips moved, she was rudely charged with the vice of intemperance. To this allegation she replied, "I am a woman of a sorrowful spirit: I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but have poured out my soul before the Lord." These words remind us of the trials of woman; and they point us, at the same time, to her only, and effectual, Solace in trouble.

Human life contains much to try the spirits of all. There are many afflictions, which man must share alike with woman. But, superadded to these, are sources and occasions of sorrow peculiar to her sex. There are none, who do not sometimes descend the vale of tears. The cup of bitterness is placed in the hands of all. But woman is constrained to drink it sometimes to the very dregs.

In dilating on the Trials of woman, I commence with naming, first, those which spring from her Physical Constitution.

To man Providence has assigned severe bodily tasks, but he has given him likewise a vigorous frame. It is the lot of woman, notwithstanding her infirmities, to sustain more physical sufferings than come usually upon him. Her nervous organization is more delicate, and her sensibility to pain must, therefore, be greater. We might cite the scenes of the sick chamber, and hours, in which she needs a martyr's fortitude. But more than this, in those sufferings incident to her sex, and almost universally experienced, she has trials of her firmness, energy, and patience, from which man is constitutionally exempt. How many secret tears are wiped from her cheek; what untold anguish does she sometimes endure. And none the lighter is this load, from her being excluded, by her silence, from the supports of sympathy. On whom shall she cast her cares? If there are motives, which forbid the disclosure to human ears, of the sword that is cutting the bare fibre of her frame, and piercing her heart, to whom shall she go for strength?

But not the outward man, alone, or chiefly, causes the severe trials of this sex. Their Feelings are acute; they are peculiarly sensitive to the circumstances, events, and influences, of this world. The winds of adversity, which to the stern spirit of man, seem but a passing breeze, prostrate her to the earth?

"To feel and to suffer," says one of this sex, "are synonymous, with woman." This may exaggerate the strict truth, and yet it is doubtless substantially correct. Some of the noblest virtues of her sex imply great sensibility. What gives fortitude, in her case, such illustrious merit? Her extreme susceptibility of suffering. The blow, from which the gnarled oak will rebound, shall crush the frail dahlia. Why is patience a prime grace in woman? Not only because she has such burdens laid on her spirit, but still more for the reason that she feels so keenly their weight. Whence is it that tenderness, and a reliant dependence, qualities which, in their excess, unfit man to grapple with this tough world, and are therefore censured in him, as effeminate, are her ornament and praise? Her native sensibility qualifies her for these and their kindred virtues, and without them, we deem her an apostate from her sex.

It would not be too strong an expression to say, that woman lives in the realm of feeling. Her life is not that outward thing, which it so often appears. Beneath a calm exterior she sometimes bears an heart full of disquietude and sorrow. Would you extend her the hand of gratulation? Be first sure that you can discern the interior of her being. You may else admit sunbeams to a plant already scorched with heat, and demanding the waters of sympathy. Consider, too, that as are her griefs, such is her fortitude. Hence, without question, we sometimes regard her as bowed and overwhelmed by some worldly casualty, who has in her soul a power of endurance, that gives her angelic strength.

We hear it affirmed that woman is naturally buoyant of spirit, that she is disposed to enjoy life, and look on its brighter aspects. Let this be conceded for truth; what does it show, in relation to her sufferings? That poet, who wrote from his own delicate soul, tells us that

"Cords, which vibrate sweetest pleasure, Thrill the deepest notes of woe."

So is it, that she who feels most keenly each pulsation of joy, is alive to corresponding tones of sorrow. The obtuse may receive less positive joy from the happy events that befall them; but let us not forget that they suffer also less than the acutely sensitive. Says one of this sex, of a powerful mind, and a sagacious remarker, "I have seldom met with a truly cheerful-minded, and contented woman." How should this be, unless the soul often loses its harmony, and then gives forth discordant notes, proportioned to its primitive melody? We admire the Corinthian column. Its lightness and grace are replete with beauty. Yet, in the storms of this rude world, how often does it prove a fragile thing. The gayest smile on the fairest face preaches fearful susceptibilities of disappointment and grief.

Woman is tried moreover by her natural Imaginativeness. The superior force and activity of this trait in her character can hardly be denied. She anticipates, in the day of health and happiness, more coming good, than man dares expect. Fancy creates round her a world of bliss.

"Evermore her eye Is busy in the distance, shaping things That make her heart beat quick."

She dreams of golden gains, of victory, conquest, and triumph. The car of fortune bears her, amid gilded honors, with a subjugated world in her train.

Or, do gloom and despondency come over her, imagination, not content with the cloud of to-day, summons from the deep, dark piles, that are charged with storm and tempest. Let her once begin, with high credit, to borrow trouble, and the future shall be well nigh drained of its myriad sorrows. She becomes fancy-bankrupt. An incident of recent occurrence, illustrates the transition from one to the opposite of these conditions. A young lady was seen wandering by the banks of the Hudson, wailing, and wringing her hands for grief. She related to a spectator the occasion of this grief. A sister-in-law, to whose dwelling the death of her mother had compelled her to resort, had treated her so cruelly, that she had fled from her face, and had now no home or friend on earth. Touched with her troubles, a circle of generous spirits contributed a large sum to her relief. Such was the sudden ecstasy of her joy that she became actually frantic.

Another trial of this sex springs from the want of interesting Objects of pursuits. The boy is no sooner arrived at his youth, than a world of occupations opens before him. He turns from his father's roof and gives himself to preparation for some manly calling. A thousand scenes are daily in his path. Adventure, enterprise, the collision of men, and of interests, all rush in to fill his youthful spirit. In such courses trouble stands in his way but for an hour. The agitation and turmoil of life soon sweep from his bosom even the memory of yesterday's sorrows.

Far different is the lot of the gentle girl. Her school-day tasks completed, what great object comes in their stead? She has a bounding pulse, high hopes, and ardent purposes. But whither shall they now be directed? Will she not fancy the little sphere of home quite too contracted for her feelings and exertions? In this position of the young woman, there is much of suffering, that springs from unexhausted feeling, and is wrought into acute pain. Let her beware of a morbid self-contemplation. Let her see that she do not expend on her own thoughts, desires, and feelings, that energy, which should be given to God, and her associates in humanity. What a foe must she now guard against. How high and glorious should be that great object, that is to receive the full strength of her interest.

Woman is tried by her comparative Defencelessness in Public. She may hold opinions dear to her heart, and sound in themselves. These views may be unjustly assailed. Yet such is the sentiment of the community she inhabits, that it would degrade her, to appear as a public champion of her opinions, wrestling in the vulgar arena with man. Her character may be rudely aspersed; but who does not feel that to defend it by lifting up her voice in tumultuous assemblies, or even to enter the lists with her pen, were derogatory to her sex.

The law of the land may bear, in some instances, unjustly upon her. She may be deprived of natural rights. No one can deny that she did thus suffer, and was grievously oppressed, by the laws against Witchcraft, in the early history of New England. Nor is it impossible that taxation may wrong her; that divorces may separate her, without right, from her partner; that fines, imprisonment, and even capital punishment, may be visited iniquitously upon her. Still what evils, what a vast preponderance of harm, would accrue, on the whole, from her mingling in the affairs of legislation, and standing as an advocate at the bar. If man, through a spirit of despotism, of meanness, or from whatever motive, shall trench on her God-given and inalienable rights, she must commit herself to that Being, who ever judgeth righteously.

Another trial of this sex is one which I descant upon, in this place, with diffidence. Yet so severe are the sufferings, that spring, directly and remotely, from the exercise of her Affections, that I could not acquit myself of true fidelity, were I silent on this topic.

By an appointment of Providence, woman is so constituted as to find her bane, or her blessing, pre-eminently in the interests of her heart. Her natural ardor, and strength of feeling, prompt her to place her affections on some object, with concentration and intensity. Nor is she exempt from that credulity, which usually accompanies an ardent temperament. Hence, the depths of her heart become often a fountain of disappointments, troubles, and sorrows. Her affections may be bestowed where they shall meet no requital. Perhaps this result was wholly unanticipated; or, it may be, there was less self-control than might have been desired. Let the cause be of whatever description, the consequences are most trying to the female character. Man may throw off a grief thus occasioned by seeking new objects of interest. But woman must wear the iron round her very soul, and sometimes, only sits down, to weep, and sink in despondency. For such sorrow there is but one anodyne. No earthly solace can sustain a spirit thus stricken.

In the destiny of her affections woman is, to a great degree, passive. She has little option left her. A negative, or affirmative reply, is all that shall decide the fortunes of her happiness through life. To how many desires, crosses, and reverses of feeling, to what painful indecision, or regretted decisions, is she thus exposed. Friends may induce the receipt of attentions, where her heart cannot follow the assent of her lips. Perhaps her prospects have but assumed some certainty, when the promised hand is capriciously withdrawn. I have read the record of one, who, in the agony of a grief thus awakened, pursued the object of her regard into scenes of trouble, released him from prison, by her generous gifts, and attended him, when driven, by his guilty courses, to actual insanity. She, who thus conducts, is no summer friend. The blight of such sympathy is no ordinary calamity. Who is surprised, that untold sorrows, from this cause, should corrode the very springs of life? Disappointed affection has a melancholy tale to relate, wherever are gathered the sad subjects of mental derangement. And blessed are those noble Institutions, which, by the power of Christianity, soothe the minds, and restore the reason, of those thus unhappily afflicted.

The trials of Domestic Life impose no light burden upon woman. Those daily cares incident to the family, are a touch-stone of her patience, a test of her disposition, and an ordeal to her temper. She has petty disquietudes, and slight annoyances, singly unimportant, yet in amount not trivial. How often is her spirit borne down, and her frame attenuated by the accumulation of these minor troubles. Like the patient in the restlessness of fever, she needs some composing potion to allay, and give peace to, her soul.

Again, the character, and deportment of each inmate in her household may present to her a trial. Self-denial must be practiced by some for the enjoyment of the remainder. How often does the lot fall upon her. The reputation of each near relative is another depository of her joys, or sorrows. Should he, whose position calls him to cherish and care for all beneath his roof, prove unkind, and selfish, and demand every arrangement to conform to his ease and appetites, on whom will the burden of the service required, be imposed? Does he yield to temptation abroad, forsake the partner of his bosom, and give himself up to sensual and inebriating habits, there is one heart that must bleed over his sins. Honor and pride, it may be, forbid her disclosing his errors, and the fire must consume her spirit in solitude. Needs she no support in this exigency? What can the world give her, adequate to her fathomless wants?

But still heavier trials befall this sex in their homes. Sickness visits the loved. By the midnight lamp, the wife bathes an husband's burning brow; or the mother administers draughts to the parched lips of a daughter. To what fears is she then and there subject? Tediously roll the long hours. Not the body alone sinks, but the spirit at length faints. For the conviction is forced on her mind that life is endangered. Suspicion yields to apprehension; that again grows into argument. The physician shows signs of doubt; friends whisper anxieties. Swayed for a season between hope and fear, at length, the dread certainty comes over her. She must part with this being, dear as her own life. The fatal stroke is near; the hour arrives. Gone forever from mortal eyes is she, in whom blent

"All images of comforter and friend, The fireside charmer, and the nurse of pain, Eyes to the blind, and, to the weary, wings. What shall console"

The survivor? To whom can we commend her who thus mourns the riven tie of a mother's love? Where is the solace for the dependent, affectionate female, who weeps over the ashes of a departed parent? A sister is at her brother's grave. Pleasant was their love, and who can assuage these bitter tears? The husband,—deepest of all life's bereavements,—perhaps it is he, for whom the funeral wail is now heard. What can time, and dust, and this tomb of earth, minister to her, who sits in the freshness of widowhood?

The catalogue of your trials, my friends, may seem to some already prolonged. But have I not left much unsaid? Did you guide the pen, secrets of grief could be revealed, all unknown but to your sex. But enough has been written to persuade the thoughtful, that suffering must be to woman a thing of fearful account. Our afflictions, it has been well said, never leave us as they found us. We are always either hardened, or improved, by the discipline of Providence. The question then with woman, what use she is making of her trials, is one of the deepest concern. She has peculiar griefs; whence can she gain strength to endure them?

Woman needs every support that God has placed within her reach. She requires, first, Mental Culture. This will give her strength of mind, power to discern the true relations of our nature. A narrow mind cannot comprehend the great scheme of Providence. If it submit to his will, there is still much blindness in the act. A fuller trust would come from enlarged conceptions of duty and life. She, who enjoys reading, can beguile many a sad hour, by a useful volume. How many are prostrated by domestic afflictions, for the want of that mental discipline, by which they might fix the eye of faith steadily on Heaven. The grave absorbs their thoughts; they want energy to turn from the body, and contemplate the sainted spirit.

Woman needs a Moral developement, corresponding to the demands of her peculiar temperament and dispositions. Her sensitive frame, unless accompanied by great self-control, will betray her into errors, which, added to the thorns that ever beset the path of human life, will cause her continual uneasiness and pain. Let fancy be the guiding faculty of her nature, and in what sins must she inevitably be involved. Its aerial flights will bear her above the beaten, common-sense, road of duty, and make her the prey of a fatal instability and its attendant mortifications, follies, and sorrows. Her acute feelings, and tender affections need a moral counterpoise. The sudden sickness of the loved will else overwhelm her, and unfit her for the service she owes them. In this world of casualties, if her heart be not braced by the power of good judgment, she will yield to disaster and grief, with a hopeless inefficiency. Her virtues must be the result of reflection, inherent, and not incidental. There must be a Christian dignity, a calm repose, that beautiful balance of character, in which keen sensibility is sustained by a patient and firm self-possession. So fortified, let her add one grace more and

"The arched roof, * * * * * * By its own weight, stands steadfast and immovable."

We may not omit, in this connection, the influence of Friendship, as a soother of woman's sorrows. Always susceptible of sympathy, and alive to the voices of kindred spirits, in her trials she feels their indispensable necessity. How are her affections knit to each relative, by adversity, disappointment, and death. In bereavement a family build, as it were, a single monument, each placing its tribute in the mournful structure. They lean on one another, and, thanks be to God, next to his own strong arm, there is none so dear in our grief, as that of a friend. Thanks for human love.

"When cold storms Rack the worn cordage of the heart, it breathes A healing essence, and a strength'ning charm, Next to the hope of heaven."

"The hope of heaven," the prospects and supports of Religion, deep piety, these I name last, because they are the greatest, indeed, the only effectual solace, for the trials of woman. "Those wells of feeling," says a female writer, "hidden in the soul, upon whose surface the slightest smile of affection falls, like sunlight, but whose very depths are stirred by the breath of unkindness, are too often unvisited by the kindly influence of kindred sympathies, and go wearing their own channels deeper, in silence and in secrecy, and in infinite bitterness,—undermining health, happiness, the joy of life, and making existence one succession of burden-bearing days. It is in this species of blight, that that merciful and compassionate faith, whose words are, 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,' becomes a refuge and a consolation. Woman may trust to other lights, in the darkness of sorrow; but they will prove transient, the meteors of midnight. It is the Sun of righteousness alone, which can shed true peace on her troubled spirit. Jesus Christ was 'a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.' He only can present to her, unfailing sources of consolation. She must follow him, and with him, 'glory in pursuing a path of steep ascent.'"

Let her set to her seal, that Religion, however received by man, is a gift which she can never, with impunity, decline. When piety presents its claims to the sterner sex, they raise doubts, and questionings, and comparisons with other goods. But woman may not hesitate for a moment. So does instinct teach us the fitness of female piety, that even the irreligious of our sex expect, and require, it in her.

I cannot but feel that the discipline of her trials was intended by Providence, to impress the first and most affecting lesson on her soul. It was designed that her pliant affections should twine round our divine Father, as a pillar of enduring strength. In almost the earliest stage of her life, and onward to its latest hour, she is upheld by a little less than visible presence. Rescued by that Power in peril, enabled to pass through what was once her chief dread, how can she turn her eye off from him? "God has ever supported and saved me. He will do it in future." This language is a spontaneous utterance of the true woman. Thus, like Jesus, is she "made perfect through sufferings."

In this manner does religion become, with her, the medium of continual Improvement. Mental culture is one invaluable part of female education. The social graces are a chain of pearls about her neck. But her permanent being consists of a spiritual principle. Unless that be called into action she lives but an ephemeral life. Let her pious capabilities be awakened, let the love of God become her ruling motive, let submission to his high behest, be the joy of her heart, and she enters that path, which conducts, eternally, toward holiness in perfection.

She who has a true reverence for her nature, and who comprehends the powers of her sex, will never rest content with present attainments. She will study, and unfold her intellect, because God hath endowed her with Mind, and his glory calls for her mental progress. Her domestic duties will be discharged in the love of Him, who "setteth the solitary in families." No event will be lost on her watchful spirit. Each day's cares and trials will nurture in her a new patience, benevolence, and active piety. Thus will she build up a character, resting, like the pyramid in the East, on a basis so broad, and of materials so solid and enduring, that the ages cannot move its foundation.



Chapter XIV.

ENCOURAGEMENTS.

What woman has done. Zenobia, Isabella, Pocahontas. The Catholics. Facilities for Improvement. Political Institutions. Growing Elevation of the Sex. Illustrious catalogue. Constitutional Susceptibilities. Domestic Habits. Means. Self-observation. The Scriptures. Prayer. The life of the soul, how glorious.

In approaching the conclusion of these Chapters, I cannot doubt that some of my female friends will inquire, "Who is sufficient for these things. How is it possible for me to reach the high standard now set before me?" We reply briefly, that the first thought to be presented in this place is,

That you should contemplate what your sex has actually accomplished in the Past. The Scriptures, the oldest records of our race, contain a long catalogue of female names, illustrious for the virtuous and pious associations, that cluster around them. Greece and Rome abound in examples of women of intellectual, and sometimes, of moral, distinction. Zenobia, queen of the East, stands forth a pattern of excellence, in whom were combined an enlarged understanding, singular refinement, courage, prudence, and fortitude. Modern Europe has exhibited more than one instance of this kind. The kingdom of Spain produced that female, to whom the discovery of this continent might be almost directly traced, one who had rare talents and strength of mind, yet no arrogance, or despotism, like the renowned queen of England; one "who possessed the grace, the gentleness, and feminine accomplishments, of Mary Stuart, without her weakness, who joined to Castalian pride, as a queen, extreme sensibility and softness of deportment, as a woman."

If we turn to the records of this country, we find, among the female portion of its aboriginal inhabitants, proofs of no despicable qualities. Looking at the red man's race, who can fail of admiring the noble, self-denying spirit of Pocahontas, the friend of our fathers, the victim, in her prime, of civilized life? Within the present century, when the men of the Mohawk tribe were debased by Intemperance, and embroiled in sanguinary wars with their brother Indians, the females called a council, by themselves, and so did they protest against these giant sins, as, for a season, to bring sobriety and peace within the borders of their people.

Such being the power of Pagan woman, what might we not anticipate from this sex, where the mild gospel of Jesus had appeared? It was for conscience' sake that females, like the lady Arabella, left homes of peace and plenty, and often families of noble rank, and came to these shores with the Pilgrim band. How many of this sex once fled to this land, from the religious persecutions of France, and chose danger, privation, and death, rather than subscribe creeds hostile to their faith. What sacrifices have they made in the Catholic Church. The Convent may be the fruit of erroneous opinions, yet it has shown forth gloriously the power of woman. Such self-denial, such unwearied devotion to prayer and the ceremonies of a church, such offices of charity, furnish proofs of the moral capacity of this sex, misled as they often have been, on which the Protestant believer may dwell with grateful emotions and inspiring thoughts.

Another encouragement to female effort may be found in the general Facilities for Improvement in our age. Education is receiving more thought, than in any former period of the world. She, who desires it, can enjoy higher literary advantages, better instruction, more useful manuals, and other aids in the school-room, than were ever before possessed in any community. The pulpit is emitting new light for the spiritual man, and the press is redolent with a moral fragrance. Such is the progress of society, that conversation, social manners, and the incitements of example, now combine in furtherance of personal culture.

Our Political Institutions present, likewise, eminent incentives to a higher self-training than has ever yet been witnessed. The republican principle not only gives scope for individual freedom of thought and action, but awakens associated effort. We have, hence, Female Societies for benevolent purposes, Maternal Associations to assist the female parent in her responsible tasks, and Young Ladies Circles for reading and intellectual sympathy and mutual enlightenment. These are a portion of the fruits of our free institutions. They create an healthful atmosphere, and, associated as they are with the memory of their noble founders, they utter to woman the inspiring summons,

"Through thy veins The blood of Heroes runs its race! And nobly shouldst thou brook the chains That, for the virtuous, Life prepares, The fetters which the matron wears, The Patriot Mother's weight of anxious cares."

The growing elevation of your sex in popular estimation should also encourage you, my friends, to untiring devotedness, and patient self-culture. She, who was once regarded as but the satellite of a proud planet, is now herself marked in the catalogue of heaven's luminaries. Already are the names of Madam de Stael, Edgeworth, Jameson, Martineau, and Hemans, abroad, and of Sigourney, Sedgwick, Child, Lee, and others, in our own land, enrolled on this bright register. Nor is the moral advancement of woman less remarkable than her literary attainments. The Alcoran may exclude her from Paradise, and teach her that she has no soul; practically, if not literally, it has done this. But Christianity places her in the same high rank with man. She is an heir of the Redeemer's kingdom. In the social edifice, she is viewed as the rich tracery of its massive frame-work; the more graceful and delicate part, yet as essential to the completeness of the structure, as its giant pillars and solid masonry.

In her Constitutional Susceptibilities woman should find motives for signal excellence. Philosophy teaches that sensibility alone will prompt to the kind offices of Christian beneficence. Why does man pass so often, in passive indifference, the helpless child of woe? Because nature has not gifted him with a tender heart. He was formed to buffet the storms of public commotion. Extreme sensibility would have made him shrink from the encounter. But woman was endowed with a sensitive spirit, that she might feel for the sufferer, and an active imagination, to picture his troubles, and an ardent love, to relieve them. How can she fail of perpetual charities?

Again, her temperament is friendly to piety. St. Augustine calls hers the "devout sex." And meet is the appellation. For her weakness teaches her to lean upon an Almighty arm; and her trustfulness,—so striking, that to doubt, suspect, and despond, come, in her, only from peculiar physical infirmity, or from a most erroneous education,—leads her to confide in God. Add to these the earnest affection of this sex, and we have a moral predisposition to religious sentiment. To them is given a vantage ground, which they should joyfully and gratefully occupy. She, on whom the heavier burden is laid, is gifted with superior powers of endurance. Virtue is the prize of humanity, and she is placed nearer than man to its goal. Piety is the crown of our life, and for her brow is it pre-eminently fashioned. The divine Spirit, dwelling in all souls, is yet imaged to our minds, in Scripture, and in Nature, as "a still, small voice," a gentle and quiet influence, which are peculiarly congenial to the soul of woman.

Her Domestic Habits furnish the final encouragement of woman to constant self-improvement. In the sequestered paths of home, having hours and days, in which the needle is her quiet employer, how may she meditate on the touching and lofty themes of human concern. Why should she wander from the ways of truth, integrity, and purity? She has her temptations it is true. In some situations they may be greater than man's. But, taking our whole mortal existence, and the usual occupations of the sexes, it will hardly be denied, that woman may, if diligent in attention, hear those voices of admonition, which are drowned in man's ear, by the world. She may enjoy seasons for communing with her soul, and surveying the riches of the interior world, and for estimating the vanity of sensual, and the glories of spiritual things, such as are seldom granted to man. She walks, ever, as it were, beneath that moral arcade, which Providence has raised above us to proclaim his hallowed presence. Can she withdraw her eyes from it, and look downward, and become a servant of time? Will she,—will one thus nobly privileged,—surrender her birth-right? If she comprehends its value, she cannot be other than an aspirant for the prize of life eternal.

But how shall this prize be obtained?

Let the young woman understand that religion is not a strange thing, disconnected from this world, out of herself, and to be introduced by some mysterious influence. It is the unfolding of a principle within her. You must study self, and seek the kingdom of God in your own soul. There only will you ever find, and establish, it. Religion consists in giving the heart,—this very heart which beats with emotion at the objects around you,—unto spiritual pursuits. So directed, it will flow out on your fellow beings, and spring upward to the Father.

Search the Scriptures. Use them chiefly as a mirror in which you are to see yourself. Dwell on the writings of the Psalmist. They speak to human experience as few books, even in the sacred volume, address us. You will feel no joy, for which they have not the language to express your gratitude. No sorrow will so deluge your heart, that God will not, through them, send a holy wind, to assuage the waters. Peruse especially the life of Christ. There is your model, an incarnation of the Divinity. Rest not until you also have begun to grow in the image of God. Do you love what he loved? Are you living as he lived? Have you the same high purposes, to "please your Father," and to "go about doing good?"

Pour out your soul before the Lord. Prayer is our spiritual aliment. It teaches us humility. For who can carry self-important and haughty feelings to the throne of Infinite Purity? Prayer will teach you to see the hand of Providence in all that befalls you. While you present all issues before Him, second causes will not disturb and distress you. Submission is the fruit of devoutness. "Thy will be done," be this your petition, and it will not only reconcile you to those overwhelming events, which would else prostrate you in the dust, but it will be a daily sedative amid the disquieting cares of your lot. And, though you feel burdened with guilt, do not restrain prayer before God. He is the friend of the penitent. Nor let a cold heart keep you back from this service. The habit of being instant in prayer is indispensable to salvation. Besides, who can tell that, even while you are speaking, the cloud will not roll off, and the face of your Father, a view of his love, deep, unutterable, and divine, and the sense of his precious presence, revisit your soul?

You are now in the prime of your being. Commence to-day the life of the soul, and you will enter on that course, which leads to an immortal virtue. Time is short; why should you give to it your noblest energies? This world is but a passing shadow. Oh, do not consent to build your dwelling, as if the suns, that scorch and blast the soul, could not strike you. That Being, in whose hand is your breath, has placed you, for a few swift-winged years, on a vessel, propelled by fearful elements. In an hour you least imagine, that, which now bears you brightly onward, may burst its confines, and scatter on the wild waves the black fragments of all that is mortal. Yet fear not death; FEAR LIFE. Live as you ought; leave the rest with God. Calmly may you then lean on Him; peacefully will you pass the strange ongoings of earth. Through tears, and through smiles, in the body, or parted from it, live as you ought, and heaven is gained. Wait upon the Lord, and while worldlings, living to earth's pleasures, dead while they live, shall faint and be weary, and many shall utterly fail, you shall renew your strength; you shall mount up with wings as eagles; you shall run and not be weary, and you shall walk and not faint.

THE END