heart-the thousand channels frozen, through Even the hand that is clasped in ours, the which that feeling ought to flow. So pitiable, so utterly destitute of consolation is this state, to which many women have reduced themselves by mere carelessness of the common and familiar means of giving pleasure, that I must be pardoned for writing on this subject with more earnestness than the minuteness of its detail would seem to warrant. We may set off in life with high notions of loving, and of being loved, in exact proportion to meritorious desert, as exemplified in great and noble deeds. But on a closer and more experimental view of human life, we find that affection is more dependent upon the minutiae of every-day existence; and that there is a greater sum of affection really lost by filtering away through the failure of seeming trifles, than by the shock of great events. eyes that reflect the intelligence of our souls, and the heart that beats an echo to every pulse we feel, may be cold and motionless before to-morrow's sun has set! Were the secrets of every human bosom laid open, I believe we should behold no darker passage in the page of experience, than that which has noted down our want of kindness and consideration to those who are gone before us to another world. When we realize the agonizing sensation of bending over the feeble frame of a beloved friend, when the mortal conflict is approaching, and the fluttering spirit is about to leave its earthly tenement; and looking back upon a long, dark past, all blotted over with instances of our unkindness or neglect, and forward unto that little span of life, into which we would fain concentrate the deep affection, that, in spite of inconsistencies in our past conduct, has all the while been cherished in our hearts, with what impassioned earnestness would we arrest the pale messenger in his career, and stay the wings of time, and call upon the impatient spirit to return, to see, and feel, and understand our love! We are apt also to deceive ourselves with regard to the revival of affection after its decay. Much may be done to restore equanimity of mind, to obtain forgiveness, and to be reinstated in esteem; but I am inclined to think, that when once the bloom of love is gone-when it has been brushed away by too rude or too careless a hand, it would be as vain to attempt to restore it, as to raise again the blighted flower, or give wings to the but-patiently to the outpouring of natural feelterfly which the storm had beaten down. How important is it, then, that women should guard, with the most scrupulous attention, this treasure of their hearts, this blessing of their homes; and since we are so constituted, that trifles make the sum of human happiness, that they should lose no opportunity of turning these trifles to the best account! Besides these considerations, there is one awful and alarming fact connected with this subject, which ought to be indelibly impressed upon our minds; it is, that we have but a short time, it may be but a very short time, allowed us for promoting the comfort or the happiness of our fellow-creatures. Even if we ourselves are spared to reach the widest range of human existence, how few of those we love will number half that length of years! Perhaps we have been negligent in former seasons of bodily affliction; have not listened ing, and have held ourselves excused from attendance in the sick-chamber; and there has gone forth that awful sentence, "It is the last time!"-the last time we can offer the cordial draught, or smooth the restless pillow, or bathe the feverish brow! And now, though we would search all the treasures of the earth for healing medicine, and rob ourselves of sleep, and rest, and sustenance, to purchase for the sufferer one hour of quiet slumber, and pour out tears upon that aching brow, until its burning heat was quenched;-it is in vain, for the eye is glazed, the lips are paralyzed, the head begins to droop, and expiring nature tells us it is all too late! Perhaps we have not been sympathizing, kind, or tender, in those by-gone years of familiar confidence, when we were called upon to share the burdens of a weary bosom, whose inner feelings were revealed to us, and us alone. Yes, we can remember, in the sunny days of youth, and through the trials of maturer life, when the appeals of affection were answered with fretfulness or captious spleen, when estrangement followed, and we could not, if we had desired it, then draw back the love we had repulsed. And now we hear again that awful sentence-"It is the last time!"—the last time we can ever weep upon that bosom, or lay our hand upon that head, or press a fond, fond kiss upon those closing lips. Fain would we then throw open the floodgates of our hidden feeling, and pour forth words of more than tenderness. Alas! the once wished-for tide would flow, like the rising surf around a shattered wreck-too late! Perhaps we have been guilty of a deeper sin against our heavenly Father, and the human family whose happiness he has in some measure committed to our trust. And, oh! let the young ask diligently of the more experienced, how they can escape the aching consciousness that may pursue them to the grave, and only then commence the reality of its eternal torment-the consciousness of having wasted all our influence, and neglected all our means of assisting those who were associated with us by the closest ties, in preparing for another and a better world. Perhaps they once sought our society for the benefit of spiritual communion. Perhaps they would have consulted us in cases of moral difficulty, had we been more gracious and conciliating. Perhaps we have treated lightly the serious scruples they have laid before us, or, what is still more probable, perhaps the whole tenor of our inconsistent lives has been the means of drawing them away from the altar, on which they saw such unholy incense burning. And now, "it is the last time !"—the last time we can ever speak to them of eternity, of the state of their trembling souls before the eye of a just and holy God, or raise their fainting hopes to the mercy still offered to their acceptance, through Him who is able to save to the uttermost. Oh! for the trumpet of an archangel, to awake them from the increasing torpor of bodily and spiritual death! Oh! for a voice that would imbody, in one deep, awful, and tremendous word, all-all for which our wasted life was insufficient! It is in vain that we would call upon the attributes of nature and of Deity to aid us. They are gone! It was the final struggle; and never more will that pale marble form be roused to life by words of hope or consolation. They are gone. The portals of eternity are closed-It is too late! Let it be a subject of grateful acknowledgment with the young, that to them this fearful sentence has not yet gone forth-that opportunity may still be offered them to redeem the time. They know not, however, how much of this time remains at their disposal; and it might occasionally be some assistance to them in their duties, would they cultivate the habit of thinking, not only of their own death, but of the death of their companions. There are few subjects more calculated for solemn and affecting thought, than the fact that we can scarcely meet a blooming circle around a cheerful hearth, but one individual at least, in that circle, will be cherishing in her bosom the seeds of some fatal malady. It is recorded of the Egyptians, that among their ancient customs they endeavored to preserve the salutary remembrance that they were liable to death, by placing at their festal boards, a human skeleton; so that while they feasted, and enjoyed the luxuries of this life, they should find it impossible to beguile themselves into a belief in its perpetual duration. It is not necessary that we should resort to means so unnatural and repulsive; though the end is still more desirable for us, who are trusting in a better hope, to keep in view. Neither is it necessary that the idea should be invested with melancholy, and associated with depression. It is but looking at the truth. And let us deceive ourselves as we may, the green church-yard with its freshly covered graves-the passing-bell-the slowlymoving hearse-the shutters closed upon the apartment where the sound of merriment shall endeavor to confine my use of it to those cases in which the whim of the mo was lately heard the visitations of disease within our homes-even the hectic flush of beauty-all remind us that the portion of timement is made the rule of action, without any allotted for the exercise of kindly feeling towards our fellow-creatures, is fleeting fast away; and that to-day, if ever, we must prove to the great Shepherd of the Christian fold, that we are not regardless of that memorable injunction-By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, If ye have love one to another. CHAPTER XI. SOCIAL INTERCOURSE OF THE WOMEN OF ENG- MIRATION. reference to right reason, or even to the gratification or annoyance of others; and I shall endeavor to show, that with regard to this feminine fault, as well as many others, women are not fairly dealt with by society. How often do we see, for instance, a beautiful and fascinating girl expressing the most absurd antipathies, or sympathies, and acting in the most self-willed and irrational manner; in short, performing a part, which, in a plain woman, would be regarded not only as repulsive, but unamiable in the utmost degree ! yet because she is beautiful, her admirers appear to think all these little freaks of fancy highly becoming, and captivating in the extreme. If she chooses to find fault with what all the rest of the company are admiring-how delightfully peculiar are her tastes! If she will walk out when others are not disposed for walking-what obsequious attendants she immediately finds, all ready to say the evening is fine, the air inviting, and the general aspect of nature exactly what she chooses it should be! If she persists in refusing to play a favorite air-what a dear capricious creature she always is! and in this, as well as other whims, she must be humor THE higher admiration we bestow upon the nature and attributes of any subject of contemplation, the more painful and acute is our perception of its defects. And thus when we think of woman in her most elevated character, consider the extent of her capabilities, and her wonderful and almost unfailing power of being great on great occasions, we are the more disposed to regret that she has a power equally unlimited, of making herself little; and that, when indo-ed to the extent of her selfishness. lence or selfishness is allowed to prevail over her better feelings, this power is often exercised to the annoyance of society, and to her own disgrace. Those who understand the construction of woman's mind, however, will find some excuse for this, in the natural versatility of her mental faculties, in the multiplicity of her floating ideas, in the play of her fancy, and in the constant overflow of her feelings, which must expend themselves upon some object, either worthy or unworthy; and which consequently demand the utmost attention to what is really important, in order that this waste of energy, of feeling, and emotion, may be avoided. The word caprice, in its familiar acceptation, is one of very indefinite signification. I I will not pretend to say that beauty alone can command this influence, though it unquestionably has a power beyond all calculation. The being who thus assumes the right to tyrannize, must have obtained the suffrages of society by the exercise of some particular powers of fascination, which she wants the judgment and good feeling to use for better purposes. We have seen her, then, a sort of idol in society, the centre of an admiring circle, endowed with the royal privilege of incapability of doing wrong. We have seen her admired, apparently beloved; and we turn to the little coteries of dissentients who are sure to be formed in all companies where a being of this description is found. Among these we find that her character is treated, not with justice, though that had been enough, but with the sharp inspection of keen and envious eyes; and we are soon convinced, that if in public she is raised to the distinction of an idol, she is in private most unscrupulously deprived of the honors she was but too willing to assume. I speak not of this instance, in order to bring forward the want of charity and kindly feeling prevailing in the world. I simply state that such things are,-in order to show that the deference paid to the caprices of women by a few partial admirers, is no real test of the favor they obtain in general society. And if, in such instances where youth and beauty cast their lovely mantle over every defect, woman's faults are still brought to light, what must be her situation-what her treatment by the world, where she has nothing of this kind to palliate her weakness, or recommend her to the charity and forbearance of her fellow-creatures? Caprice, like many other feminine faults, appears almost too trifling in its minutiæ too insignificant in its detail, to deserve our serious condemnation; yet, if caprice has the power to make enemies, and to destroy happiness, it ought not to be regarded as unimportant in itself. With regard to many other subjects of consideration connected with the virtues or the errors of woman, we have had to observe, that each individual act may be almost beneath our notice in itself, and yet may form a part of such a whole, as the utmost capabilities of human intellect would be unable to treat with justice and effect. The case is precisely the same with feminine caprice. It is but a slight deviation either from sense or propriety, to choose to differ from the majority of opinions, to choose to do, and to make others do, what is not agreeable to them, or to refuse to do what would give them pleasure. But, when this mode of conduct becomes habitual, when beauty fades, and the idol of society is cast into the shade, when disappointment irritates the temper, and "sickness rends the brow," and grief sits heavily upon the soul-in these seasons of nature's weakness, when woman's trembling heart is apt to sink within her, to what loneliness and bitterness of experience must she be consigned, if her own indulgence of caprice has driven from her all the friends who might have administered to her consolation in this hour of need! This view of the subject, however, she is certainly at liberty to take, and counting the cost, to indulge her momentary wishes at the expense of her future peace. The question of most serious importance, is, how far we are justified in trifling with the happiness, the comfort, or even the convenience of others, for the sake of indulging our own caprices? I have before stated, that in acting from caprice, we act without reference to common sense, or right feeling. If, therefore, a woman chooses to be capricious, there is no help for it. Argument has no power to convince her that she is wrong, and opposition only strengthens her determination: no matter how many are made to suffer annoyance from her folly, or grief from her perverseness. It is her choice to be capricious, and they must abide by the consequences. Thus she exemplifies-it may be said in actions extremely minute and unimportant-but still she does exemplify, how much mischief may be done by a weak judgment, a selfish temper, and an unenlightened mind. The domestic habits and social intercourse of the women of England, are peculiarly favorable to the counteraction of the natural tendency to caprice in the female character, because they afford a supply of constant occupation, and invest that occupation with the dignity of moral duty. When, therefore, we find individuals acting from caprice, in the middle classes of English society, we know that it exists in spite of circumstances; and we consequently regard with proportionate condemnation, those who are so far deficient in good taste and good feeling, as to prefer such a mode of exhibiting their follies to the world. It might require some degree of philosophical examination, accurately to define the nature and origin of caprice; yet so far as I have been able to ascertain by observations upon society in general, I should be inclined to describe it as arising from the same cause as affectation; and both to owe their existence to a desire to attract attention, or a belief that attention is attracted by what is said or done. Caprice refers more to a weak and vain desire to be important; affectation, to a desire to make ourselves admired. Both are contemptible in the extreme. Yet one is so powerful in provoking the temper, the other in exciting ridicule and disgust, that both are worthy of our careful examination, in order that we may detect the lurking evil wherever it exists in our own conduct. Affectation is in practice a species of minute deception; in effect, ap alpable mockery of that which is assumed. I am aware that it is often the accompaniment of extreme bashfulness and diffidence of self; but this is seldom or never the case, except where there is a secret, yet strong desire, if it were possible, to be the object of admiration to others. Along with affectation, there is generally a prevailing impression of being the object upon which all, or at least many, eyes are fixed. For who would be at the trouble of all those distortions of countenance, inflexions of voice, and manoeuvrings of body and limb, which we often observe in company, did they not believe themselves to be "The observed of all observers ?" If by thinking too meanly of ourselves, we are overwhelmed with humiliation in public, and tormented with dissatisfaction in private, it is clear that there is as much vanity and selfishness in this depreciation of our own character, as in the more exalted and comfortable inflation of conceit. The only difference is, in one case we are piqued and wounded that we cannot be admired; in the other, we believe ourselves to be admired when we are not. The suffering produced by this kind of vanity, is generally accompanied both with affectation and bashfulness; but we must not suppose, because a blush suffuses the countenance, and the outstretched hand is seen to tremble, that the individual who is guilty of this breach of fashionable indifference, is necessarily free from vanity, or guiltless of a desire to be admired. Those who have travelled much, and seen much of the world, are generally cured both of bashfulness and affectation, by one of these two causes, either they have been so often in company without making any impression, that they have learned of how little importance it is to society in what manner they behave, or how they look; or they have learned a still more useful lesson, that the admiration of man, even in its fullest sense, goes but a little way towards satisfying the heart. The affectation most frequently detected in the behavior of women, is that which arises from an inordinate desire of being agreeable. A certain degree of this desire is, unquestionably, of great service in preserving them from the moral degradation which I have before alluded to, as attaching to personal neglect as indicating a low state of mind wherever it exists, and procuring a low degree of estimation for the individual who thus allows her negligence to gain the ascendancy over her good taste. On the other hand, what may with propriety be called an inordinate desire to be admired, when it takes the place of higher motives and principles of action, is, perhaps, a more fertile source both of folly and of suffering than any other which operates upon the life and conduct of woman. As exhibited through the single medium of affectation, it is so varied in its character, and so unbounded in its sphere of operation, that to attempt to describe it in detail would require volumes, rather than pages; I shall therefore confine my remarks to that species of affectation which is the most prevalent in the present day. As the peculiar kind of merit assumed by the hypocrite is, in some measure, a test of what is most popular and most approved in society, so the prevailing affectation of the day is an indication of the taste of the times of the general tone of public feeling, and of the tendency of private habits. That which most recommends itself to the accept |