The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1856-11-20

Is gratiucu, the pcntup Inlnu mss IounU an
outlet, and the weary woman goes on her way
rejoicing. Years afterward, when the hand that
wrote it is cold in the grave, daughters eyes,
it may be, will fall upon it, and page of that
mothers history, hitherto all unrevealed, be
suddenly illuminated; and between the daugh-
ter on earth and the mother in heaven there
will be another and golden link, which the
world knoweth not Of
Girls, do not be deceived. Write poetry
write in rhyme-if it is only
One, two
Buckle my shoe;
Three four,
Open the door,
Form the habit 1t is often convenient. 1t is
a refuge from ennui. 1t may do good. Any
one of you who refrains from writing for fear Of
ridicule, is a coward. Don't be coward. There
is not much to a woman at best. She is not ex.
pected to have physical courage; but if she have
not moral, pray, what has she The more a
man tells you not to write, the more do you write
By this do not mean to say that you must i'm
mediately publish volume of Something, and
other Poems" though even that advise you
to do, if you feel disposed and can afferd 1t. It
is better than to be talking scandal or making
hounces. Would-be critics lament pathetically
satirize mercilessly this rushing into print"
1t is mere selfishness on their part. You might
rush elbow deep into batter pudding, or bury
heart, and soul, and mind, beyond all hope of
disinterment, beneath a confused rubbish of
unmended stockings, or by letter of recon-
mendation become the fifth wife of some hard
worked, Woodworking, broken-down, and worn
out missionary. and they would not lift finger
to prevent. No, girls; no. If your heart is
stirred within you to write, write If you can
find an editor or publisher who is willing to
print for you, print Somewhere in the world,
kao- Ia oh nd
unsteady touch, with strange bliss. do not
suppose line of poetry was ever written, from
the New Hampshire bard's
"The beauties of nature, l positive declare
The beauties Of nature are very rich and rare"
to the stately hexameters of Britain's sturdy old
Republican, which did not bear a message of
Joy or consolation to some of Gods children
whose coming was not watched for, perhaps, by
many loving eyes, and gazed at with untiring
satisfaction. Never be concerned about read
ers. You will, at all events, read it yourself,
and, better than all, you will appreciate it. Your
darling Arabella will read, admire, and very
probably cut it out and place it in her scrap
book. What is fame, more than this
No. 2.
John Jones and Sarah Smith played together
when they were little children, and took sleigh
rides together when they had become great chill
dren. He has given her innumerable ribbons,
and flowers, and candies, and she has worked
him watch-case, guard. chain, and pair of
slippers. OF course, they are engaged" So
says the world of Onionville, and So very likely,
they think themselves. At least, they have, as
yet, formed no higher ideas of happiness than
to gather flowers and work watch cases for each
other all their lives long, Presently, ohm father
removes to the city, and John goes to school,
and subsequently to college, and then to a theo-
logical seminary. All this while he cherishes a
beautiful and fragrant memory, and looks for
ward with young mans ardor to the time when
boyish and girlsh fancy shall be moulded into
mature and undyng love. In the mean time his
mind becomes cultivated by reading and study,
his manners polished by mingling with beauty
and refinement. He visits his early home, and
Is @s Ssnas SfS Is 81 and
blue broadstriped de laine dress, with bright
plaid ribbon pinned round her neck, and a sill
yer watch-is that the fair dream he has borne
in his heart these years? To be sure there are
rosy cheeks, and bright eyes, and buxom lass
but-but-alas! poor John. He has shrined
her in the secret chambers of his soul 30 long,
but his soul-love grew with his growth and
strengthened with his strength, and Sarah Smith
did not. Walking alone by the riverside where
he so often walked with her, "What shall do?"
is the question that ever and ever recurs. He is
disappointed and miserable. Like too many of
us, be finds his idol is but common clay-very
common. His happiness is turned to cinders,
ashes, and dust. Is she to be the angel of the
house?" Is hers the delicate ethereal nature
which is to bear him on the white wings of love
up beyond his lower level? Will she help him
to be true TO himself to his country, to his God?
Aside from himself, can he make her happy?
Will she not see enough of the disparity between
them, to be discontinued and uneasy? Will she
not be entirely out of her sphere ia the circle of
his educated and accomplished friends The
thought makes him hot and nervous. He be-
comes restless, dissatisfied, and cannot sleep
O. nights. Finally, after much debating and
many struggles, he decides that their future
paths must diverge, and he tells her so very
gently and tenderly. She has felt the same
thing all along. She knows there is something
in him to which she cannot respond. She feels
that change has been going on during the
years of their separation, and that they cannot
make each other happy. They part friends.
She reverences his superiority. he respects
her good sense. When he is gone, she goes to
her own room, has "good cry," almost wishes
she wexe safe in heaven, but finally thinks she
would on the whole, prefer to wait till her little
brothers are grown up, and on the strength of
this postponement goes to bed and to sleeps
paler than usual for while, but her voice soon
RECEIVERS its tone, her cheek its color, her step
its elasticity, and anon she is as merry as be-
fore.
Well, what of it? Nothing, if you would
only let them alone nothing whatever. But
you won't-busy, prying, inquisitive, meddle-
some, mischief. making neighbor that you are.
You think John left town rather suddenly, and
you fancy Susan is 9 little low-spirted and
because Satan can find nothing else for your
idle hands to do, you put this and that TO-
gether and saanter over to Mr.. Smiths, deter
mined to ferret out the whole matter. You
end Mrs. Smith alone. You talk indifferently
on Indifferent topics. Sarah comes in. You
say, smilingly and carelessly, (your look is q
lie, for you are intensely interested, and you
want her to think you are not, "Well, Sarah,
l suppose that handsome young minister is
going to carry you Oft pretty soon, according
to all appearances. On the contrary, the
only reason why you came, was because, &C
oording to all appearances, you suppose no
such thing) Sarah bushes, laughs an en-
barrassed little laugh, hesitates q moment, and
leaves the room. Her mother says, quietly,
That is all given up" "There, thought
vol" leaps to your lips, but you do not say it.
You exclain, " Do tell |" as if you never were
so surprised in your lite; and though you do
not succeed in extracting the details of the oc-
currence, you have, in the simple fact, suf6.
cient capital to do fourishing business 30
you blazon it abroad in Onionville; and Onion.
vile, nothing 10th, takes it up, and at every
sewing circle and tes-party where the Smiths
happen not to be present, you DISCUSS IL in sll
its bearings. Poor John Jones Every virtue is
torn from him piecemeal, till he stands before
you y mere skeleton of vices; while Sarah
Smith, in your transforming hands, becomes