these new ideas that become the basis of high art or of noble action. The girl of to-day has a wider field for culture | it able to evolve just and rational principles, or than the girl of the past; but for all that she is no better as a thinker, nor does she so well represent ideas; for it is not the amount of mere knowl James I. of England was filled to the brim 66 with learning by his great teacher, George Buchanan, who, when asked how it was that his pupil was only a pedant, answered, he did the best he could for him; learning would not give ideas," which is most true; there must be a basis of mental capacity, or books will not make us wise. Nero was instructed by philosopher Seneca, yet he was cruel, and vain as foolish. Some minds are mere sieves, through which ideas are sifted out and lost; others retain the thoughts of the author whom they read, and have none of their own. A few great writers well studied will impart dignity to any mind. I once knew a gentleman, a merchant, by no means superior, who had at the same time an enthusiasm for Milton, and could recite nearly the whole of "Paradise Lost," and his habit of now and then giving an apt quotation from his favorite author obtained for him an immense reputation for erudition. The reading of our girls consists quite too much of the cur "Vice is a monster of such frightful mein, That to be hated needs but to be seen; But seen too oft, familiar with his face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace." mire and dirt, not through the poison weeds of The path to supernal heights is not through mire and dirt, not through the poison weeds of mandrake and hellebore, but over flinty rocks it may be, and through deep waters; but where the rose-tree blooms and pure lilies grow and fill the air with their symbolic wholesomeness. I would implore the young girl to avoid this of the day. Those based on the eras of history, pernicious reading, and avoid most of the fictions such as the inimitable works of Walter Scott, are interesting and healthful to the mind, and serve to awaken an interest in history itself, while the the miserable and erring, and few young girls works of Dickens may deepen our sympathy for need more than these for their amount of desirable novel-reading. which we live-the heavens above should be no rent periodicals, such as the New York Ledger, science, geographical discoveries, travels, the re History, biography, constitutional and moral Weekly, etc., full of mawkish sentiment and opin-sults of scientific research, and the several branches ions counter to the true end and aim of life, which is to do good in our little sphere, and make duty wonders and mysteries of this beautiful world in of natural history which open up to the mind the or our obligations to God and man the basis of all we do and are. We are not in this world merely to "have a good time" in it-suffering is the to "have a good time" in it-suffering is the ordeal through which all must pass, or, as our religious friends would say, we must bear the cross," and how we bear it must and will tell upon the character. Far be it from me to foster undue squeamishness -our mothers were perhaps too reserved in speaking of the relations of sex, and their daughters grew up as white-souled as Miranda under the fatherly care of Prospero, or Eve when she first blushed in the garden of Eden; but this was an error on the pure, safe side, while the girl of to-day will coolly discuss cases of social evils that would put our old, innocent grandames quite to the blush. Will all this knowledge of existing wickedness thus prematurely familiarized to the young girl, avail to deepen her sense of the sanctities of her own person? deepen her sense of the innate sweetness hidden in the depths of the human soul only to be obliterated by an unrighteous life? Will it make her more tenderly, more sacredly alive to that which is pure and high and ennobling, or will it only vitiate her taste and corrupt her moral sensibilities? Never, never will familiarity with vice elevate the soul idle display to the young mind, "stars shining because they have nothing else to do;" but as telling of far-off suns and glowing constellations, and all the sweet utterances of poetic thought. "Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of fine gold; There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still choiring to the young-eyed cherubims." The story found in our Scriptures of the sacrifice of the daughter of Jephthah is replete with tender suggestions. This young girl comes down to us with no name except as the daughter of a man who seems to have been an apostate from the grand theism of his people, an audacious soldier. brave but reckless, and living a life of outlawry Her beautiful filial affection shines with a swe lustre on the page of history, and is of value indicating in the mind of father and daughter their deep, solemn view of the sanctity of oath, the sacredness of vow, which in our day are growing less and less to be regarded, and tha the oath before our courts of law and the mar vow are growing into contempt and desecration I never take what is called an oath, considera, my affirmative full as binding; and indeed ir true estimate of human integrity should 2.1 at all, our yea and nay being all that When I was a child, my mother would sometimes be required of us. say to me in reprehension of some misdemeanor, st especially the young girl should feel the "Promise me you will never do so again." try never to do so again; but, oh! please do not ask me to promise. I shall feel so bad if I break my word." Conversation is quite falling into disrepute in our country, most likely in part because of a general flippancy and pretentiousness, and because our people hurry and bustle with no very clear ideas upon the subjects that might seem naturally to engage the attention of a citizen of a republic. Those fine old conversers, profound scholars, and untiring discussers of abstract thought, Sedley, and Johnson, Coleridge and De Quincey, belong to a past age. In travelling I once met John Quincy Adams at a public table, who, full of thought, expressed himself admirably upon some passing theme of general interest; no one made the least response, and I, though rather young, ventured an opinion and reply, with which he seemed well pleased, and continued to talk till the close of the meal. When I rose from the table he rose also, and escorted me to the door with the becoming grace of a man of eighty. My mother, sometimes preoccupied, very early in life used to depute me to receive her callers till she was ready to make her appearance, which was an excellent practice, and familiarized me to the ordinary courtesies of society, but also cultivated. self-reliance. But all this preliminary training of the young girl has nearly passed away. Conversation is now considered a bore instead of a cultivated fine art. To be smart in repartee and ready in upholding a flirtation is growing to be the highest ambition of the girl, and thus are earnestness and sincerity regarded as old-fashioned virtues, and the intercourse between the sexes is losing much of that respectful aloofness which ought to characterize the manners of those who mutually respect each other. I believe that the progress of the ages is developing the sex quite other than in the past. Masculine supremacy will not longer be tolerated, and women will claim admission into any field, whether professional, artistic, commercial or mechanical, that her inclination or capacity may qualify her to fill. She will have to take the chances of failure just as men take them, and learn that to be a lawyer or doctor or speaker is a no greater thing in a woman than in a man, and may be less. In all this the heavens will not fall nor earthquakes take place; it is simply obedience to the implied laws of Nature, or rather I would say the laws of God, who gives no superfluous power, and justifies no idle waste of the talents he has bestowed; who makes the measure of capacity the measure of sphere to either man or woman. Be it remembered, for the sake of the girls, that human affections are the same the world over. Men will woo and maids love now as in the past. All I ask is that the sex shall grow nobly wise with the progress of suns and stars and revolving years. It takes a great deal of hereditary culture as well as gentle training to make what is really the finest thing in the world-a gentlewoman or lady; and I trust this all-perfect woman will characterize the masses of women yet to be. A lady is sphered in grace and sweetness. She is unapproachable by anything coarse or repugnant to the finest taste. The lady negatives all that is strongly marked, and a girl may be trained to be a lady who by the utmost effort could never be converted into a great woman. A lady represents no one gracious quality at the expense of any other. She is the rounded, consummate essence of a true womanhood. All the moralities with the lady range in just proportions, and the proprieties wear the aspect of the graces. She recoils from all that is selfish or obtrusive; and what is harsh or discordant is so foreign to her nature that we should recoil from it in her as we should from spot upon a Vestal's robe. Every girl, as I have said, may be trained to become a lady, while few will become great. In this view I would say she can make the best of herself in the best way, for a great deal is required to make a perfect lady, and she may become thus "a thing of beauty and a joy forever" when greatness is beyond her reach. The commonest mind will appreciate her as a lady, while the meanest pigmy may abuse and contemn a really great woman. A NIGHT ON HORSEBACK. By C. A. GOLDRICK. Ir is only a bit of personal experience I would give you. It stands out clear and distinct from all else in my life, and the remembrance even now thrills me unpleasantly. But I must needs digress somewhat for a full understanding of what I am about to relate. The spring of '65 found me in the Oil Dorado of Pennsylvania. What that was then, words can hardly picture. Should you go there now, you would find the communities steady, regular, lawabiding; the oil trade a regular, recognized branch of commerce, people following the different details of it as a life business. Then the magic cry of "oil!" had wakened this "Sleepy Hollow" of the State, and flooded its hills and valleys with a cosmopolitan multitude, seeking eagerly for the boundless wealth that floated under their feet. Socially and civilly all seemed chaos and confusion. The machinery of law that sufficed for a sparsely settled region of simple, peaceable farmers, had no provision for a population representing almost every nation on the globe, and which literally swarmed over every spot of "promising territory." Lawlessness, robbery, murder even, did not always meet their just deserts. Such were the conditions which I, an American woman, found about me at the time of which I write. For reasons obvious to all who have "pioneered," "by horseback" was our most popular means of locomotion. In this way did I arrange one bright May morning to go from Tankville, where I then was, to Tarr City, some eight miles distant. If any habitué of that region at that time fails to remember these places, let him consider them as generic terms for the many towns that bubbled up with the local discovery of oil, and subsided with its disappearance. But though the towns I knew have never found a place in any map or geography of the Keystone State, in the map of memory they have a location, fixed and abiding. Accompanied by one of the masculine persuasion, whom for convenience we will call John, I started. The swift motion, the crisp, bracing mountain air, the brilliant morning sunlight, made the ride one of exquisite delight. We halted but once, to note the trodden grass and bushes of a spot where a wealthy English traveller had been waylaid, robbed, and well-nigh murdered, only a few days before. On our arrival I alighted at the dingy little hotel, where, my business being completed, I was to await the return of John. "By sundown, sure," he said, as he rode away. Long ere sundown I sat watching the shadows lengthen, and at last saw the day die in a bed of burning clouds; but to the obsequies came no John. I waited. The minutes seemed hours. Then a thought struck me. How stupid not to have done it before! I would go and meet him. Quickly ordering my horse, I mounted and started homeward. Two solitary stars looked down upon me, and the fires from countless engines lit up the surrounding hilltops and valleys. I rode rapidly for nearly a mile, and though the twilight came fast, there was still no sign of the expected rider. But I saw something which in the excitement of the morning I had failed to note, and which made me half puzzled and doubtful. Before me lay two roads. I remembered but one. By which had we come? The more I thought, the less I really knew. At last, thinking I saw some familiar mark, I turned to the left. A light growth of pine trees thickened the shadows over me. I felt no fear, and soon in the distance descried a horseman. I hastened to meet him. Alas! it was only a stranger, laden with drilling tools. He looked curiously after me. I, in my disappointment, said nothing. The darkness increased-only starlight now, lessened by the shadows of the thick branches of the pines, which ever grew in size and number. After some time I became alarmed, and resolved to turn back. But the way seemed to have grown steep and narrow, and to my dismay, I found that in the thick darkness I could no longer discern the road. I rode first one way and then another, until utterly bewildered. I was now conscious of but one thing: I was alone in the dark night in a pine forest, miles perhaps from any human habitation, without any idea of distance or direction-dazed, confused, |